Give Teachers a Chance

Reform the vindictive system of discontinuance.

As chapter leader, I used to work with an AP who always hated someone. The person he hated was the worst, guilty of every offense imaginable. It was indefensible, said he, that this person was working in a classroom. And worse, this person did this, that and the other thing. Clearly, no sane person could accept this person as a teacher. The guy would say these things to my face, with no trace of irony.

Here’s the thing—every time that teacher left or retired, he or she was instantly replaced with another. Then this person was the worst. The AP would violate the contract by calling weekly meetings to berate this person, under the guise of encouraging improvement. I couldn’t stop these meetings until and unless I became aware of them. It was pathological. This guy always needed someone to hate.

We all have stories about supervisors, and this one, sadly, is far from unique. The fact that there are supervisors of this caliber in every school I’ve known suggests that our new teachers need multiple chances to find their way. Sometimes teachers in trouble are afraid to approach chapter leaders. Sometimes, in violation of contract, they’re instructed not to. Sometimes, they don’t even know there are chapter leaders.

As a new teacher, I never sought assistance from the chapter leader. It never even crossed my mind. In fact, the only time I met him was once in the men’s room, when he said, “Psst…you wanna join the union?” Then he passed me a postcard I filled out and mailed.

The first semester I taught, I had five preps, and no idea that was contractually prohibited. It was impossible to keep up. Also, I was a terrible teacher. I had no experience whatsoever. I had no idea how to run a classroom, and kids used every trick in the book against me.

I had a supervisor who would bring me into her office, tell me how cute I was, and discuss how she made meatballs with her parents. She told me of an unfortunate male student who owned only one t-shirt, but now somehow lived with her. Our meetings were bizarre, and not helpful at all.

Once a week new teachers would have to stay after school for extra support. We’d listen to a veteran teacher tell us how he now a dean, but that this was just a stepping stone. He was going to be a supervisor, and this after school gig would help him too. One day he’d be principal, he assured us. We learned all about the glorious career he planned for himself.

On my ninth day teaching, the supervisor observed me, wrote up the lesson, which was surely as bad as she said it was, and advised me to be more “heuristic.” To this day, every time I recall this word, I need to look it up.

heu·ris·tic

/hyo͝oˈrisadjective: heuristic

1. 1.

   enabling someone to discover or learn something for themselves.

   "a “hands-on” or interactive heuristic approach to learning"

2. 2.

   Computing

   proceeding to a solution by trial and error or by rules that are only loosely defined.

I see now that Danielson might appreciate that. In fact, I’d encourage that sort of thing these days. But as a teacher with nine days experience, no training, an overwhelming number of lessons to plan, and no support whatsoever, it was not the advice I needed. I had not the remotest notion how to make such a thing happen, and no suggestion of how to do so. I needed fundamental help before I could even conceive of being heuristic.

I was a temporary per-diem, or TPD teacher that year. Basically, at the end of the semester, they were no longer obliged to hold onto me. I transferred to Kennedy High School after that, where they had me teaching guitar classes. It was a different kind of thing. Back then, I was better at it. I also taught music survey classes of up to 50. That was trial by fire, but with a supportive administrator, I began to catch on.

Things are different these days. There’s no such thing as TPD. New teachers are hired differently. Sometimes they become long-term subs. After a certain period of time, they can achieve Z-status, earning up to double pay. But cutesy administrators might tell them to stay home for a day, or a week, and make sure that doesn’t happen. You’d think administrators would show a little gratitude, but that’s not always the case.

Being appointed as a probationary teacher, though, is potentially worse. Probationary teachers are not tenured, and thus not entitled to due process. They can be fired for a bad haircut. I’m sure you know that haircuts are in the eye of the beholder. If you’ve been in the system for any length of time, you also know that a lot of supervisors are, to put it delicately as possible, batshit crazy.

How do you please a supervisor like that? I have a lot of years teaching, and that’s a tough question. One of the very worst APs I’ve ever dealt with had a soft spot for pretty young women. For them, working for him was not necessarily so bad. For everyone else, it was excruciating. One teacher happened to video a lesson demonstrating that the things the supervisor “observed” did not actually happen.

A supervisor, with the approval of the principal, could decide to discontinue a probationary teacher. It would be one thing if that just entailed losing your job. The problem is that this comes with a black mark on your record, meaning it’s highly unlikely any school in the city will hire you under the license you used.

As chapter leader, I was able to negotiate better outcomes for all but one teacher facing discontinuance. I’d approach the principal and ask, “What if Mr. X either found another job, or resigned by such and such a date? You would no longer have Mr. X. on staff, but you wouldn’t necessarily ruin his life.” I served under two principals, and neither wanted to actively ruin anyone’s life. (One member declined, and there was nothing I could do.)

The problem is that some principals are like the supervisors I described. They think they know everything, and have no reservations about ruining a career. They can’t imagine that some teachers (like me) need time to catch on. They can’t imagine that some teachers might be a good fit for one school, but not another. They see themselves as omnipotent, infallible, and not to be questioned. They further can’t be bothered doing their jobs and offering real support.

So much for leadership.

Some of our members have the misfortune of starting out with leaders like these. I was one of them, and but for fate I may have missed out on what was, for me, a great career. We really need teachers, and our young teachers need more of a chance to learn.

The discontinuance process is vindictive and counter-productive. While it’s understandable that some teachers might not fit in some workplaces, we ought not to brand them with a scarlet letter. Particularly if issues are pedagogical, at the very least, the option that I was able to use with my not-crazy principals should be uniform.

For most of my career, I got good ratings from supervisors. But I wasn’t born that way. I didn’t study to be a teacher. I got the job via a subway ad, taking a test at Court St., and getting sent to Lehman High School as an English teacher. I needed a little time, and a little support. At Lehman, I got neither.

Why can’t we grant support to new teachers as a matter of course? If there is one supervisor, and one teacher, who’s to say the teacher is the problem? How many teachers couldn’t wait to “get out of the classroom,” went to supervisor school, and are just as bad leading teachers as they were leading students?

There are a whole lot of people who can’t do this job. Certainly the columnists and talking heads suggesting anyone can teach haven’t got a clue. But hanging the Sword of Damocles above the heads of new teachers is bad practice. Barring things like criminal behavior, teachers need time to learn the job and find their voices.

We can and should do better for our brothers and sisters entering the ranks.