Your Cheatin' Heart

Well, not your heart exactly. A former student, whom I vaguely remember only by name, felt the need to insert himself into a discussion of vote fraud and, in the process, stumbled (jumped would require thought and intentionality) to the conclusion that because, unlike him, I hadn’t worked myself into a dither over the issue, I must have been okay with students cheating while I was in the classroom. 

He suggested that I should have made that known and my classes would have been more popular. I never had trouble filling my classes, although I admit that I also never invested a lot of time and energy in trying to nab cheaters. I had other priorities. But I do have some stories.

First, the reason I didn’t spend much time or energy worrying about cheating dates back to my own high school days. I didn’t have to cheat, but I had a friend who sat behind me who needed, shall we say, help. Now, I know that technically I was cheating, as well, but, well, just let the story tell itself.

It’s American history and we’re in the back corner, me in front of him. I’m getting ready to move from page 1 to page 2 of a test when I hear a whisper: “Wait, don’t turn the page yet.” A couple minutes later, “Okay, I’m ready.” I don’t really remember how many pages the test was, but I paused at least another time or two. Again, yes, cheating by both us. A couple days later the tests come back. I had a score in the mid-90s, his was low 70s and he directly copied my test! I came to the conclusion at that point (I was not even close to realizing I’d end up with my own classroom) that for the most part cheaters are so bad at it that it’s not worth worrying about.

So, when I found myself with my own classroom, kids cheating was neither a large nor loud blip on my radar. Not that I was Captain Oblivious, I mostly just didn’t care, unless it was so obvious and, frankly, stupid, that I had to act.

Anecdote 1

1975-76: If you were to ask me about the worst class I ever had I would hesitate not even a second in picking the focus of this story. I gave weekly vocabulary quizzes in English, because I thought, and still think, words are important and having a better vocabulary than a 5^th grader matters. This class may not have worked hard, if at all (oh, so many stories), but their behavior was awful and I wasn’t very good at managing them. So when one of the worst came to class a bit late and insisted on taking the weekly quiz even though I told him I’d excuse him…. And when he, like many, if not most, of the class got the first 11 questions correct (and then missed the rest), it was clear that I had been careless with the answer key. Their average score of 13 was a big jump over their normal performance. The next week I made sure I gave them time to copy all the answers before entering and starting the quiz. Of course it was a fake key, but their 2-week average came to about 5 or 6 out of 20, so order was restored.

Anecdote 2

Late 80s(?), teaching World history. I was an early adopter of the computer and had a test generator program that made it easy to create multiple variations of a test. Usually two was sufficient to thwart the “efforts” of people like my friend from high school. Of course, I didn’t exactly advertise that there were multiple versions. I usually let the kids watch as I graded the test. One student (Maurice Moultrie, if memory serves) was a good student who did well. A friend of his who shall remain nameless although I do remember him, watching his performance, got very excited. “Oh, do mine next Mr. Berndt. I really studied for this one.” Suspicious, because while he was a charming scoundrel, academic rigor was never one of his strengths. Apparently the kids all knew because they struggled mightily (and not very successfully) to not laugh as his face fell in synch with the rising tide of red marks. “You know, K, there were two versions of this test, don’t you?” “Aww, man.” He was really a good sport and rather than get angry, he joined in the laughter at his expense. Like I say, a charming scoundrel.

So other than a few precautions, I wasn’t really worried about cheating. You don’t need a degree in statistics to realize that, in the big picture, a few stolen points, even on every test, don’t really change anything. Kind of like extra-credit. Kids would beg for extra-credit, never realizing, apparently, that even 40 EC points didn’t really move the needle if there were over 1000 points available during the grading period. Plus, I didn’t enjoy getting mad at kids or trying to trap them in bad behavior. But some teachers did. Which brings us to 

Anecdote 3

I’m thinking this is maybe mid-late 70s. The health/PE teacher, who, honestly, didn’t really like teaching or kids that much, sent a student to my room to take a make-up test. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember, about 5 minutes into the test, her asking, “Mr. Berndt, how long does ossification* last?” “3 months or 3000 miles, whichever comes first,” was the first thing that popped in my head (probably due for an oil change). Ignoring a couple giggles from the class and my arched eyebrow, she dutifully recorded the answer. She apparently decided that worked so well she’d continue to trick me into helping her with her test. I don’t remember any more answers, although the ossification one was the least ridiculous in the progression; if she actually knew any answers, she decided mine would be better. She did ask, once, “Do you really know this stuff?” I assured her that I had taught health and was married to a nurse. On she wrote and eventually off she went to turn in her test. It didn’t take long before an overheated PE teacher steamed into my room, certain that I had disrespected both her course and her. She calmed down (some) when I explained the whole sequence of events. Never content to take the win (all wrong answers) she departed to vent her anger on the student for trying, and failing miserably, to cheat. Whomever you were, if this sounds familiar, I’m sorry. 

Final anecdote, I promise (unless another story pops into my brain while I’m recounting this one).

Spring of 1985, College Credit Composition. This one did bother me because I was especially fond of this group. It came to my attention, from multiple sources, that a cabal had been conspiring to cheat on the weekly vocabulary tests. I was both hurt and disappointed. On the day I decided to confront the class, there was, not coincidentally, an important paper due so I had a stack of compositions on my desk as I expressed, in forceful and perhaps mildly profane language, my feelings of betrayal. I then told them that if their grades were so damn important that they needed to cheat, then they could all just take their damn A’s and I wouldn’t bother any more. I then picked up the entire stack of comps and dropped them in the trash can (which I had emptied), saying any papers that remained when I returned would get an automatic A, but if anyone really wanted to learn something, they could retrieve their work and replace it on the desk. As the grand finalé of a staging that I think possibly eclipsed my portrayal of Felix in The Odd Couple (perhaps not a high bar), I stormed from the room to the teachers lounge where my department colleagues waited to hear the replay. I’ve been told that there were some tears, and at the end of the period, all the papers were waiting for me. And that was that (at least as far as I know). Lesson learned, I think, that process means more than results.

So cheating mattered to me, just not enough to divert energy from the bigger picture of what I was trying to accomplish. And here’s the thing. Cheaters get caught, one way or another, eventually. The price to be paid may not be immediate, it may not be obvious, but the soul will be witnessed, in that I have faith.

*ossification – the hardening of the top of the skull in a newborn. Also, getting stuck, becoming stagnant or rigid in your thinking – while important, I’m pretty sure that was NOT the context.

It's The Little Things

I was recently asked to solicit “testimonials” from former students about the impact of teachers on their lives. That generated some warm fuzzies from formers on Facebook about their years at Hancock, but it also got me thinking.

It also generated some memories, and because it’s been a while since I’ve posted on my HP-HP blog, I thought I would share a few, plus a lesson it took me a while to learn.

When I started at the Place in the early 70s (okay, very early 70s) I resisted the notion of being a “role model.” I parroted some professional athletes of the time who were rejecting that job. “My job is to teach, not preach. It’s not my place to set an example, that job belongs to their parents, not me, etc., etc., etc.”

I was wrong on a couple counts. What it took me years (too long) to realize was that I was a role model whether I wanted the job or not. We are all role models, not just for our own children (and I think I became a better teacher when I became a father because my perspective expanded) but for all the children with whom we come in contact. I immodestly also think that in spite of not wanting the role model job, I managed to do it decently anyway, just because I truly did care about the kids in the Hancock community.

When people asked me what I taught, my semi-flippant answer was always, “Kids.” I instinctively realized that who I was teaching was far more important than what I was teaching. But it took me a longer while to realize that as teachers there is a huge difference between what we think we’re teaching and what we’re actually teaching. What the students in our care remember is not some random fact or skill so much as an attitude, an approach to life. 

Conversations with formers frequently reveal that what they remember best is a random thought, a throwaway line, a kind word, a compliment; it’s not some specific part of the curriculum, it’s not whether you put the day’s objectives on the white board (or smart board, or, in a retro reference, blackboard – and if you have to ask what a blackboard is, just “Shut up!”), or whether you got all the boxes checked on some administrator’s walk through checklist.

I’m guessing that’s what will be revealed in the brief videos that will alleviate what is the usual tedium of those interminable in-service days. For those who submitted them, know they were appreciated. And for those who just thought about that teacher or organization that helped during your adolescent school years, those thoughts, too, are appreciated – because I believe that energy makes the universe a better place.

And if you get a chance, pay it forward with your own kind words, thoughts, and deeds and be a role model for good.

Give and Take, Snow Days and More

As we wait for the Republicans and PEOTUS DJ Trump to come up with their replacement for the Affordable Care Act, and while I listen to announcements on the closing of schools for weather (I still get a charge out of hearing my schools mentioned), I am reminded of the contract negotiations about the calendar and the issue of snow days at Hancock, back in the ‘70s.

Calendar negotiation was a minefield for both the union and administration, because one thing was guaranteed: no matter what you agreed to about the start of school, the end of school, the breaks, both length and placement, a significant number of people would be pissed off and loudly unhappy.

Snow day scheduling was also a challenge for a while. Hancock teachers, being on the bottom as far as competitive salaries were concerned compared to most other county districts, were not inclined to work more days than was required by law. The district, on the other hand, wanted a set calendar and thus insisted on a certain number of snow days to make sure we met state requirements. If we didn’t use them, well, BONUS! (Bonus for the district. anyway.) This was before snow days were as common and state aid was tied to attendance for districts like the Place.

Our proposal, for several years running, had called for scheduling the minimum number of required days (no snow days), with the proviso that whatever days necessary to meet state standards in the event of a run of bad weather would be tacked on to the end of the year. Every year that proposal was rejected and the fight went on. Compromise wasn’t a dirty word back then and we always managed to reach agreement.

Knowing that our usual proposal was destined for rejection, we offered a variation – scheduling several extra days (we didn’t care how many) but removing any extras at the end of the year. The administrative negotiating team responded that they couldn’t possibly do that, but would return with a counter-proposal.

And they did. Their proposal: schedule no snow days, but add any needed extra days on to the end of the school year. After we rubbed our sore jaws, removed them from the table, stopped the bleeding from our tongues, and composed ourselves after stifling our incredulous laughter, we caucused and came back to accept their proposal. Once the proposal wasn’t ours, but theirs, it became acceptable.

The ACA (aka Obamacare, née RomneyCare, originally of the conservative Heritage Foundation) seems doomed, but Speaker Ryan and PEOTUS DJ Trump both claim to have (secret?) plans to replace it. Mr. Trump even says his plan will cover everyone. Given that I have both a daughter and now a granddaughter with auto-immune diseases that would, pre-ACA, have eliminated them from  insurance coverage due to their pre-existing conditions  (a known problem before the ACA {I’m choosing to use that acronym to minimize the frothing that seems to result in some corners every time President Obama’s name gets mentioned}), that piece is crucial to me and my family.

I admit that it will irk me if the vilified Obamacare morphs into superfantastic Trumpcare or Ryancare or GOPcare (modifications that could have begun 6 years ago had the goal been to actually do something for the citizens and not just deny credit to the president), but, like the snow day policy of so many years ago, I’ll just take the win and move on.

Oh, and just like you paid for the treatment of those who did not have insurance when they showed up at an ER before the ACA, or got “free” care from a hospital, you’ll also pay for the new and improved health care plan that is coming soon to a neighborhood near you. It just won’t be called Obamacare. If that makes you feel better about it, okay. After all, health care is all about feeling better.

Also on the Don't Get Berndt Blog

Sexism & Misogyny at the Place

I know I haven’t posted here in a while. But the recent furor over Donald Trump’s hot-mic reminded me of a story that is not particularly flattering but maybe needs to see the light of day.

It was my first or second year and there was definitely a locker-room culture thriving at the Place. Certain male staff members would ask generously endowed female students to deliver a note to another member of the club. The least offensive one that I can remember went something like, “Check out the knockers on this one.” In the incident I observed (I was in another teacher’s classroom), the receiving party smirked, wrote something to add on, and sent the girl on to another staff member.

I did observe the players huddling together on occasion, guffawing and chortling like schoolboys, if schoolboys guffawed and chortled, There were certain favorite messengers but several students apparently qualified. I was quietly, but obviously, appalled and evidently was denied membership in a group I would never have joined, even if asked.

Disgusting, you say? Absolutely. But if you think it’s only because these were young women who were also students, you’re missing the point and bigger picture. Sexism and misogyny were perhaps more prevalent then (we hadn’t even started debating the Equal Rights Amendment yet) than today, but, obviously those attitudes are not just lurking in the darker corners, but occasionally come strutting into the open.

I guess my question is, how would you feel if it were your daughter or sister who was the object (the absolutely correct word) of those kinds of words and actions? I know my answer.

Women's Sports

I am posting this on both my blogs, because it has obvious Hancock roots and memories as well as the more obvious general application. (Slight) apologies to the Hancock Place Hancock Place followers if this has more political overtones than you are generally accustomed to seeing (t)here.

I noticed a FaceBook meme last week, pointing out that amidst all the celebration over American Olympic achievements and medals, there was little if any credit given to Title IX.

Talking to my softball girls the other day after practice, I noted that when I started teaching, there was only the GAA, a club for the “sporty girls,” but no interscholastic sports. The same was true when Carolyn attended Centralia HS – no Orphan Annies, had she wished to play. Girls were limited to May Fete, a kind of dancing thing in white dresses around a May Pole. 

When forced indoors, my Tigers practiced in the “Girls Gym” (the one with the warped floor and no locker rooms and bleachers right next to the sidelines). One year I got permission to order new uniforms for the girls; the local sporting goods store ordered men’s slow pitch sleeveless uniforms. The huge (really huge, gigantic, biggest ever) arm slots were embarrassing. We rejected them and reordered from a company that specialized in women’s sports and equipment. 

In 1994 when it came time to select the St. Louis Post-Dispatch Scholar Athlete, there were two eminently worthy, 3-sport choices, ranked one and two in the class (only a B in one class separated them). Originally the coaching staff and administration picked the male candidate. “Obviously it’s --------------.” I dissented (not an uncommon position for me), despite the respect I had for the male candidate. “Ummm, [the female candidate] has a D-I scholarship offer and also played three sports, all at an exceptional level. This award is for an exceptional athlete who is also a (and in this case, also exceptional) scholar. If the male had that resume, then it would be obvious. To my view, the choice is clear.” To the credit of the Athletic Director and others on the coaching staff, we rethought our choice and Hancock nominated the (IMO) most worthy candidate (of two almost equally worthy students).

Note, we had had previous female scholar athletes, so this is not intended as any kind of criticism of the coaching staff, administration, or process. In this case, however, the seeming tie at first went to the male, “obviously.”

My real point is this. Women’s sports did not progress because of the generosity by their male counterparts or because those in power recognized the long-standing inequality or sexism. Women’s sports and athletes progressed because people, mostly women, recognized their importance and worked and fought to create tools to elevate that status. When you were cheering the incredible accomplishments of the female athletes in Rio, you were also, like it or not, cheering for Title IX. Yes, that same Title IX that was decried, derided and disrespected by conservatives.

Those same conservatives also opposed (in their time, of course) declaring independence in 1775-76, the ratification of the Constitution in 1789, abolition in the mid 1800s, women’s suffrage in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries, integration of the armed forces in the 1940s and 50s, civil rights for African-Americans in the 1950s and 1960s, women’s rights (including Title IX) in the 70s and 80s, gay rights at the end of the 20^th century and beginning of the 21^st.... 

I understand that change is scary, that people want to keep things the way they were. And conservatives play a vital role, forcing those who would rush, without sufficient thought, into change, because, The.Law.Of.Unintended.Consequences. But (and I’ve never had anyone offer any kind of counterpoint, coherent or otherwise) conservatives have been on the wrong side of history for centuries. [Addendum: to be fair – I hate that – conservatives probably DO get credit for the Bill of Rights, but that was before compromise was a dirty word.] I’ve noted my disinclination and skepticism about labels, so I’m not claiming any particular one for myself, but I could never call myself a conservative (unless we’re talking about the environment; that is something I definitely want to conserve, and, ironically, some so-called conservatives seem to discount).

Yes Deer, No Deer, My Deer, Oh Deer

Many apologies for having taken such a long time between posts. Thanks to those of you who have encouraged me to reboot by telling me how much you’ve enjoyed my observations. My original intent was to sort of take a chronological approach, but if I can get back into this, I’ll just kind of make random observations from my 37 years at the Place. 

The confluence of two different bits led to this memory, another in my cultural dissonance with Hancock. Veterans Day (upcoming) makes me think of my father, of course. Although he liked the outdoors and took us on camping vacations (although those may have been motivated as much by frugality as a desire to commune with nature), apparently he had gotten his fill of guns during the war, to the point that they were not a part of our lives and hunting never was on the family radar.

I’ve noted elsewhere my disconnect with guns, so you can see why I was confounded in my first few years at Hancock High School by the annual disappearance of a significant number of (male) students during deer season. Apparently it was a not uncommon Lemay (and elsewhere, no doubt) family tradition to take off a few days or even a week when the season opened. I didn’t get it, but the administration just kind of shrugged their collective shoulders and took a “What you gonna do?” attitude. Maybe there was some subtle discouragement at play of the practice, or a suggestion that weekends would also work for that foray into manhood, because I don’t remember it being any kind of issue as the years wore on. When it actually faded away I don’t recall, but only remember it as an issue for the first maybe 3-5 years. Or maybe I got use to it.

Perhaps it had something to do with attendance being more closely tracked and monitored, rather than the early-years procedure of Mrs. Dougan asking Mr. Messner or Mr. Eichhorst what our attendance was on any particular day, followed by a pause and the shouting of a (clearly) fictional number, e.g., “93%” or whatever. Ah, the good old days.

TBT - Working to Contract, October, 1973

For Throw Back Thursday, an old picture (probable photo credit to the late Curt Kenner, passed on to me by the late Richard Sharp, and that's two too many “lates” for my liking) of me being interviewed by Betsy Bruce (who, incredibly, is still working). It was, for the record, one of the worst interviews of all time, and if any other record exists I hope it never sees the light of day. Just the memory of it is embarrasing enough. I would have had to improve to make it up to awful. Thankfully, it never aired. Before that school year ended, however, I was giving (radio) interviews almost in my sleep for the early morning broadcasts. Key: ignore the actual question and answer what you really wanted the reporter to ask.

This came to mind as I read an article about Marshawn Lynch’s tactic to avoid being fined by the NFL prior to the Super Bowl last weekend. (See: http://theweek.com/articles/536184/subversive-brillianceof-marshawn-lynch ) “Work to Rule” is an old tactic, although at Hancock in 1973 we called it “Work to Contract.” I’ll leave it to others to debate whether it was a reasonable, fair, or even effective tactic, although teachers were definitely frustrated and felt like we had to take a stand.

Among other issues, like frozen salaries, we were protesting the attempted elimination of personal leave. I think there were others, but that was the flash point I remember. Jim McLaughlin and I were selected to meet with a subgroup of school board members to try to work out a compromise. We meet weekly in the evenings for at least a month and finally reached an agreement. However, the school board, I specifically remember Earl Meuhlfarth, Berlina Green and Art Hartman as the prime recalcitrants, and Superintendent Veryl B. Young rejected the agreement, giving momentum to a period of labor strife that lasted for several years.

There were two daily newspapers back then, and a (sympathetic) reporter for the St. Louis Globe-Democrat once told us, “Just call me when you go out on strike. The story is already written, I just need to plug in the dates and new information.” That’s how inevitable such an action seemed.

But that October we were certainly not at that point; the grievances had not yet accumulated and we hadn’t done the necessary planning and political groundwork. So the teachers association (HPCTA) voted to “work to contract,” meaning, like Marshawn Lynch, we would do the minimum required, which meant we would not stay past the listed hours for any “extra, uncompensated, duties.” As you might guess, students were not happy to hear that whatever clubs or extra activities they participated in would disappear until the dispute was resolved.

Politically, that did not include sports teams, of course, because coaches were compensated via extra duty contracts. Although the action would have been even more effective had sports been threatened, we would have lost the coaches’ support, as tenuous as that seemed to be at the time (and, in fairness, would have cost them the minimal money they made for coaching).

Student reaction was swift. They staged a walkout that quicly brought the media to our front steps and pushed me in front of Betsy’s microphone. I have no knowledge that our students were actively encouraged by teachers, but it would take a level of naivete beyond even mine to deny that the seed had at least been planted and, probably, nurtured. Certainly HPCTA was accused of working behind the scenes for such an outcome, with the expected denials. In any case, there we were, making history with the first (to my knowledge) student walk-out in St. Louis.

Things got worse before they got better, but a new school board and superintendent, Roger Brodbeck, slowly reached accomodations, and, eventually, even trust, with the union. That strike story remains unwritten, although there were at least two last-minute agreements in the next couple or three years to avoid that ultimate confrontation, but those are stories for another time.

As evidence that even the teachers were not completely on the same page in terms of what actions to take, I’ll share a final story of how Jim McLaughlin and I split, temporarily, on our own stand. Debbie Weissflug and I had been working to start a Drama Club. Not being a sport, there was no question about us being compensated, of course. But Debbie and I came up with a proposal that kind of made an end-run (another football reference to tie in to the Super Bowl) around “work to contract;” we convined the school board to issue us a contract that would pay us with a cut of the “profits” from whatever play we put on. I’m pretty sure that play was You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. Mac argued with me that we were sabotaging the job action and undermining teacher unity. Being trained as a lawyer, however, he recognized that technically we were also following the “letter of the action.” I’ve always loved irony. And I don’t remember getting any money.