Good for the Jews

6. June 2005

Chapter Six June 2005 Clara Massengill left town in April. Two months later, a note in Mose’s mailbox asked him to stop by the principal’s of‹ce during his free period. This was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Perhaps the new principal hadn’t meant to ignore Mose’s earlier invitation for coffee. Perhaps he’d only needed to settle in before he could attend to the business of getting to know his faculty. “Hello.” Mose entered the main of‹ce and waved to Betty, Hyman’s secretary. Betty had long, once-blond hair, and a prominent blue vein at her pale temple that made her seem vulnerable to Mose, closer to death than the rest of the population. “Clark wants to see me?” “Oh, yes.” Betty turned to look through the open door to Hyman’s of‹ce. Part of their shared wall was glass, so Mose could see three boys, all slumped in chairs, legs extravagantly spread, a posture that suggested their boredom with whatever reproach they were receiving. Or perhaps the stance was meant as a general announcement for passersby: “I’ve got balls, right here, between my legs. Check it out.” “Have a seat,” Betty said. “I don’t guess he’ll be too long.” In general, Mose liked his students. Karly with the blue ankle bracelet over her black stockings, Jenafer—she insisted on the odd spelling—who drew elaborate ballpoint vines up and down the underside of her ‹ngers, “Sam” of the unclear gender preference, Thomas 56 who couldn’t help but smile when he gave the right answer in class. All their endearing efforts to distinguish themselves. And their tics, too: one constantly swallowing, as if puzzled by the surplus saliva in his mouth, another sucking on her lip, another pulling her sweatshirt sleeves down over her hands, making of her arms two giant worms, another ›attening and folding then re›attening a cough drop wrapper, a girl using a paper clip to twist her lips, a boy freckled with red acne scars, running his ‹ngers over an as yet unexamined lesion. And the hair! The shaving of it, the twisting of it, the pulling of it, the pushing of it (in and out of a headband, a rubber band, a clip) or the spearing of it (with a chop stick, a Bic pen), the reorganizing of it (into a pony tail at the back of the head, or at the base of the neck, or at the top of the scalp, a joke, a fountain of hair spurting from above). What wasn’t to like? They’d won Mose over with all these signs of battles within. And even when Mose didn’t like the students, he tended to sympathize with them, especially those kids who chose Sudbury over dropping out. These kids had predictably sad stories—crack addict fathers or prostitute mothers. They were hungry, some teachers said. Hungry, right here in America. But they were also invariably fat. The fat seemed like just another bad thing that had happened to them. No one had ever given them good food. No one had ever suggested that they stop eating when they were full or that the world offered something more interesting than TV. Still, some students were hard to sympathize with, no matter how miserable their childhoods. Like Matt Snyder, Devon Cryer and HoHo Coombs, the three who happened to be in the principal’s of‹ce. No doubt Hyman was offering the boys ‹rm but respectful words, such chastisement being part of the “school contract” that all members of Sudbury signed. At Sudbury, you could tell someone you didn’t like something they were doing, but you couldn’t say anything that would make another student or teacher feel emotionally, physically, academically or socially unsafe. The contract—printed on a large wooden plaque—was the ‹rst thing you saw when you entered the school. “Grab Mr. Sheinbaum a chair,” Hyman ordered loudly, when he noticed Mose. Devon, dressed like the others in baggy black, jumped up to get a chair from Betty’s of‹ce. Meanwhile Hyman waved Mose through his door. 57 “You know these kids?” Hyman asked Mose. “I do, indeed,” Mose said. He nodded a hello to each boy. “HoHo, Devon, Matt.” Mose knew more than their names, of course. A science teacher had found a crack pipe on Matt. HoHo...