There are probably a variety of reasons why I made
most, if not all, of my administrators nervous over the course of my career. Lately I’ve been
asked why I’m not subbing at the school from which I just retired, and answering those
questions got me thinking, because I would have enjoyed staying in touch with
my kids from last year, whom I love and miss.
A propensity for (often) public expression of (usually
accurate) assessments of people and situations was certainly one. Anecdote:
Superintendent* is giving his welcoming speech to open the school year. He
advises teachers that if they have a problem, they should first go to their
principal. If the principal doesn’t know the answer, he assured us that his
door was always open. Then, his punchline: “And if I don’t know, go see Mr.
Berndt, because he knows everything!” Remains the most complimentary insult I
ever received. (I took that right, didn’t I?)
I had an elementary principal (for whom I didn’t
work) tell me, “It’s one thing to be a big fish in a small pond, but you’re a ¡#☢¿☠§ whale!” When I made the
move from the classroom to the guidance office at what seemed then to be the
end of my teaching career, the outgoing superintendent said, “You know you
weren’t my choice for this job.” Notice he didn't say “my first choice” or even
“second choice.” Just not any kind of choice, and I was the only applicant!
As a teacher my opening speech covered my classroom
rules. It usually went something like this: “I don’t like rules. I have trouble
following rules myself. If I wanted rules, I’d find a job in law enforcement or
religion [both of which generated negative scores on a career inventory test].
You all know right from wrong. Do what you know is right, do your job, we’ll
get along fine.” We generally did, but I wanted administrators to treat me the
same way. Less successful in that desire.
The principal with whom I worked best, and for whom
I may have done my best work, was smart or intuitive enough (or both) to co-opt
me onto his leadership team. It wasn’t just one of those pretend jobs, either.
Too many people who say they want you to “think outside the box” really mean,
“Think inside my box.” Not the case with Jerry Schloss. That lack of tension did
nothing to stifle my creativity, because I’m the first to admit I sometimes
benefited from needing to “push back” against authority.
Way back in the day I wrote a weekly column opining
on what was going on in the School District of Hancock Place. I used a variety
of mastheads over the years: a cannon, a poker hand, a bull. Each went with an
appropriate column title, but, in retrospect, it occurs to me that each also
carried with it an element of chaos or unpredictability: loose cannon,
concealed cards and surprise revelations, the proverbial china shop. So I
can see why I wouldn’t have always been a popular guy in the offices of the
schools where I worked.**
The more an administrator needs to control things,
well, I admit it, I’m a control freak’s worst nightmare. Worse yet, I’m proud
of it!
*Roger Brodbeck, whom I consider to be a friend, although, like most of
my friendships, one that took some time to develop.
** Esoteric literary reference for those familiar with John Sandford’s crime novels and his character of Virgil Flowers. I had a similar adjectival nickname in the superintendent’s office my last year. Don’t worry if you don’t get this. You could probably Google it if you’re that curious.
