In the Arena
Mike Curry
Copyright © 2020 Mike Curry
All rights reserved
First Edition
Fulton Books, Inc.
Meadville, PA
Published by Fulton Books 2020
ISBN 978-1-64654-046-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64654-614-5 (digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
—Theodore Roosevelt
April 23, 1910
Foreword
The genesis for this project came from some writings of my wife’s grandmother passed down through her family. The writings describe a time none of us had or would experience and a much younger person than we would have known.
I know almost nothing about the lives of my parents or grandparents. Unfortunately, as a general rule, when we die the texture of our lives is lost. I have had some great experiences, and I wanted to leave something behind that allowed other generations to know something about me.
Initially, I wrote about my experience as a Marine Corps infantry officer in Vietnam. My writing was based on official Marine Corps records and numerous letters I wrote home. Then I expanded that to include incidents noted in diary entries from my rather tumultuous years in education. I added the Watts Riots and the years I spent in Jamaica as a Peace Corps volunteer. The latter also based on letters.
I have changed the name of the schools as well as both teachers and students, or I didn’t use a name. It seemed a prudent thing to do. Many of these incidents are not in chronological order. I grouped some of them in order to provide some sense of order, particularly if it involved the same student or group of students. Also, these incidents took place over a thirty-one-year span and in two different schools. However incredible, I made nothing up. It all happened.
Some of the incidents I describe are trivial in the larger scale of things and some are not. Most, literally thousands of students who attended Jefferson Middle School and Franklin Elementary, have gone on to become productive citizens. Numerous positive things went on in the school, thanks to some wonderful teachers. However, most situations I describe are not positive because they represent where I spent so much of my time. As with countless other situations, it is the problems, the exceptions to the norm, that suck the air out of the room. In some cases, they were traumatic incidents. My account also gives the reader an idea of the constant barrage and diversity of issues occurring in a school.
1
The Beginning
We were just wrapping up the conference when she reached for her pistol. Whoa! My teacher emitted an audible gasp and clearly looked faint. I, for a change, was rendered speechless. To say this turn of events was unexpected would be a classic understatement. I thought the conference had gone well, it had been low keyed and non confrontational.
As a member of the California National Guard patrolling Central Avenue during the 1965 Watts Riots, I watched fires light up the Los Angeles skyline. While a Peace Corps volunteer, I coped with many unpredictable and unexpected situations. I even had been shot at in Vietnam while a Marine Corps infantry officer leading long-range reconnaissance teams. But I never actually had a gun pulled on me. A knife, yes. A gun, no.
Fortunately for everybody involved, the parent, waving her gun, said she brought the gun to insure we took her seriously. I can absolutely and unequivocally assure you we were taking her very seriously! Saying that, she put the gun back into her purse, got up, and left.
My teacher made a beeline for the exit in the opposite direction. He no doubt thought we were about to be shot. He was taking no chances she might come back with her gun. Subsequently, he requested a transfer saying he thought it too dangerous in this school.
Well, admittedly, a parent with a gun did qualify under the too-dangerous label. However, with that big exception, the school was not too dangerous. It was an inner-city school filled with all kinds of challenging situations during a difficult period of our history: desegregation. Birmingham City Schools were operating under court-ordered desegregation that resulted in some pretty intense situations. Middle schools were created to facilitate the court order.
How was it that I participated in some major historical events of my time? More immediately, how did I end up as a middle school principal with a woman waving her gun in my face?
Well, that is my story. It is the story I am sharing with you. It starts as far back as first grade.
“I don’t want to go to school!”
“Me neither!”
“Let’s ditch.”
“Okay.”
“Wanna ride horses?”
So the conversation went, walking to school in first grade. Well,