Have I mentioned my bankrobber past?
First, let’s return to the students. In 24 years as an urban public high school teacher, I believe only the following valued items of mine have been stolen from my classroom, most likely during normal school hours:
Two Compact Discs (worth considerably less now):
a. Louder Than A Bomb, featuring Chuck D
b. Run-DMC Greatest Hits.
A new Wilson catcher’s mitt.
A pair of old Buddy Holly safety glasses.
Original Marvin Gaye What’s Going On vinyl LP, with sleeve lyrics and album cover all swiped separately (prime suspect involved a short-hire custodian).
Only one book: an autographed copy (with personal well-wishes) of Stupid White Men by Michael Moore (a filch he’d surely find flattering).
Over the years, about a dozen pairs of scissors; at least two with longer sharp-pointed blades.
More recently, after a substitute took over for three days, a microphone with charger cords (oddly compatible with vape pens).
That’s it. That’s all. In two dozen years.
It’s somewhat remarkable considering how some students complain about getting beat by suspected peers (including cell phones, purses and certain brands of footwear). Should I trumpet some self-congratulatory proclamation about the trust established with my students (blah, blah, blah)?
Ah, no. My larceny-free space is more likely due to seldom possessing anything of much (material) value within my small classroom, even during those emergencies where I temporary left the room unattended.
Compared to a few colleagues, I do seem rather fortunate.
Over a decade ago, brazen car thieves, in separate crimes, made off with at least three teacher vehicles from the staff parking lot, in broad daylight. One lunchtime victim, Marty Kaye, a close friend and department head at the time, stumbled into my room, half out-of-breath.
“Bill, my car just got stolen. Stolen. Just now. A student, maybe two.”
“What??”
A year earlier, another injured party “lost” her car twice that spring. Activating the remote beeper to locate and unlock the matching vehicle makes real-life Grand Theft Auto relatively easy, if a crafty teen can secretly snatch the keys from the slightly careless — then carless — educator.
Of course, two administrators tried to blame one understandably upset teacher with her poor “classroom management” until union comrades stepped in to verbally defend her (and later in writing), by reframing the concern to an obvious lack of administrative accountability and any empathy to our stressful conditions.
A sympathetic office worker later smuggled information to the distraught teacher about two suspects from the same Detroit neighborhood, how one had no academic record, the other all failing grades with a scantly notated expulsion from his previous school.
All the slightly damaged vehicles were eventually recovered, students charged, expelled and dropped into the vortex of the juvenile justice system. Nervous grimaces continued all around. . . .
It’s also worth noting how often resident Detroit teachers chose economy car insurance plans, due to the highest rates in the nation (my personal experience with two stolen and dismembered vehicles surely recorded in some buried electronic mountain of statistical data).
These dubious econo theft policies include only vehicles actually stolen, not those thoroughly vandalized while gear remained in park.
I discovered this disturbing trend — and the insurance claim denial — one Saturday morning last September, after my annual first full week in the trenches. A few students would belatedly warn me of the popular nation-wide TikTok KIA challenge, with step-by-step visuals on the relative ease in hot-wiring a KIA.
The insurance scam hurts worse than the original violation, or the free speech video.
The remains of our 2010 Kia Soul in September 2022. The would-be auto thief must not have taken very good notes from the video. Insurance claim denied.
Exit Question (multiple choice, no “all of the above” option). Choose the best letter answer:
What is the greatest teacher, administrator, and parental fear about an unsupervised classroom?
a. felony larceny
b. petty vandalism
c. applied sexuality
d. students harming themselves and others
So, what remains most disconcerting from my list above are the missing scissors. . . .
I once witnessed middle school authorities apprehend a quiet, artsy kid, a rumored target of some unreported bullying, for possessing a separated pair of long scissor blades discovered in his backpack. He allegedly dropped out of the district before his required administrative hearing.
Like my older city neighbors, I may long for the days when we could leave our doors unlocked without any worries, long before our most vital, ongoing responsibility became attempting the reduction of serious school violence. . . .1
Incidentally, my spouse once dated a man until his arrest and conviction for an actual bank robbery. Not long after his release on parole, we accidentally ran into him at a noisily crowded bar in Ferndale, Michigan. His grinning introduction suggested much relief to be out of prison. He also casually thanked me for being a public school teacher. An inspirational exchange.
As for my magic cup of writing utensils, they often betray the logo of various financial institutions. Some students rely on my modest supply, never suspecting the pens came from any sort of unremarkable bank heist.
To be continued. . . .