Being a teacher in the New York City public school system must be one of the roughest jobs around, especially in middle school, or as we knew it “junior high school”.
Mister Spodek had a rough and ruddy complexion, red hair, and was somewhat stocky.
He also had a very short temper.
He was my seventh grade math teacher who's face would always turn the brightest red whenever the class “did it” to him. And the class “did it” to him practically every day, and especially when he turned his back to us.
“Ok, I’m going to draw an obtuse triangle on the blackboard, who can tell me the reason why we call it an obtuse triangle”.
As soon as Mister Spodek turned his back to us, and the white chalk started “clacking” on the green blackboard, it started.
First softly, then louder and louder.
“hmmmm, hmmmmm, hmmmmmmmmmmm, HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
Mister Spodek would quickly swing his body around and fling the piece of white chalk towards the back of the room like a missile.
BAMMMMMM!
It would usually hit the back wall and shatter into dozens
of tiny white pieces, just scattered on the black linoleum
floor of our math class.
“I said STOP IT”
“I said STOP IT”
We would all just sit there and look at Mister Spodek.
His face would be as red as a "Golden Farms" tomato.
Yes, like little angels we all just sat there,
staring at him like he was totally insane.
Like he was totally insane.
I know it's thirty eight years later Mister Spodek.
But I'm sorry, I’m sorry for what I did.
Because even though you thought I never "did it",
I just may have been humming too,
along with everyone else.
Ron Lopez
1 comment:
I was humming too. I haven't thought about him in 38 years. To this day I've never seen anyone explode like he did. And the chalk! Oh my god, no wonder the budget for public education always came up short.....can you imagine what a case of chalk costs?
Matt Burstein, P.S. 179 1963-1969; Ditmas 1969-1972
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