The Union, Part 1 of many

In honor of Labor Day I thought I’d share a little about the teacher’s union. Because I recognize this is a topic with limited appeal, these entries will be rationed.

Most people know I eventually rose to a position of some power within the local and even state organizations. How in the world did that happen to boy raised by good corporate Republican parents? Admittedly, I was just a series of disappointments to them: wrong wife, wrong career, union activist....

My involvement in the HPCTA (Hancock Place Community Teachers Association, at that point affiliated with the Missouri State Teachers Association [MSTA] and the National Education Association [NEA]) was anything but inevitable. At the luncheon for first year teachers I was handed a form. My only thought, “Here’s the first of my payroll deductions.” The organization’s leadership, role, functions, none of that mattered to me.

Remember, we had the highest starting salary in the state of Missouri, thanks primarily to the work of Michael Bingman, who then left the district and was working for an umbrella group called the St. Louis Suburban Teachers Association (SLSTA) representing local associations around the county. Enough acronyms for you? Wait, there’s more, or at least will be in future posts....

I guess there were conflicts brewing, but I was pretty oblivious. I had my hands full just trying to survive my inaugural year (and plan for the next year) to worry about anything else. Had Finding Nemo been a movie then, it would have been Dori’s mantra, “Keep on swimming” that I would have adopted. I remember using the treading water analogy, just struggling to stay afloat.

I also remember being asked to run for building representative (representing the high school on the HPCTA Executive Committee) at the end of that first year; I declined, saying, “Nah, I’m not interested in that stuff.” I probably didn’t even go to the general membership meetings at that point. Or, if I did, they weren’t particularly memorable. Clearly my radical true-believer days were ahead of me! I would point out that at this time principals were, or at least could also be members, which had a chilling impact on some teachers, especially at the elementary level. I don’t recall the high school principal having any involvement or even membership.

I truly don’t know what happened to change things so dramatically during the next year. The superintendent was creepy and incompetent. The school board clearly had buyer’s remorse about giving teachers the big raise, talking about the “wagon pulling the horse.” Our starting salary was frozen and some attempts made to even block experience steps. Hancock teachers were a little ahead of the organizing curve, but unionizing* teachers was building momentum throughout the state and nation, and a Vietnam vet shop teacher, the late Richard Sharp, was more than happy to take the reins (of the wagon?) and stir the pot.

Years later I came to believe that a part of the conflict was jealousy, thinking that teachers were going to be making too much money, especially when compared to board and community members. That same attitude continues to fuel modern-day resentment of unions and union members, in my opinion. Because unions have successfully raised the standard of living for their members, both those feeling left behind and those feeling pressure from below (“those people don’t deserve to make almost as much as me!”), countermeasures and movements have arisen to block (what I consider) progress. I’ve mentioned it before, but the erosion of middle class America directly parallels the erosion of labor union membership.

Sorry for the digression. This blog is about Hancock, not politics. The struggle for power during my second year really forced a taking of sides. Neutrality was not an option. The board and administration seemed intent on showing who was boss, but were so clumsy and ham-handed that everything they said and did became fodder for Sharp’s needle. He started a newsletter, TGIF, prompting a memo from the Superintendent that he should try to find a more positive title. Sharp promptly responded with his “brown-helmet edition,” So Happy It’s Thursday. There was no further discussion of retitling. TGIF became an institution and a powerful weapon for teachers for the next couple of decades or so. 

Anyway, at the end of the third year, I was asked to run for HPCTA Vice-president. Sharp (and his allies, most notably Curt Kenner) wanted someone from the high school and there was fear that Mary Geldmacher, a School 3 teacher, wouldn’t be strong enough. Flattery is powerful and so I agreed to the nomination, but I think they underestimated Mary, as well as the elementary teachers (sexism?). It became a moot point, however, when she won the election. The radical block then made the awful decision to put me up for Treasurer, and I did win this post. 

Because the history of HPCTA and my involvement could be a book in itself, let me end by offering the following unsolicited piece of advice: Never, never, never, elect someone to an office that requires actual competence, like Treasurer, for political reasons. I was awful, but it did launch me into the forefront as things heated up the next year. But those are stories for another time.

* For the most part, teachers at this time tried to avoid using the term “union,” thinking it sounded unprofessional.

Let's Get Physical

As I was discussing her need for a sports physical with a potential player this morning, my mind drifted (aimlessly, as it is wont to do these days) to the (ancient) requirement that teachers needed an annual physical before they could teach. I’m guessing this was probably a state rule, not a district requirement.

Hancock actually had a contract with a local physician for the first two or three years I was there; we could go get our physical at his office (on Telegraph, I think) at no charge. As near as any of us were able to tell, making it to the office and continuing to breathe was the essential component, although Jerry Schloss did apparently have it noted on his “permanent record” that he suffered from hearing loss because he asked the strongly-accented doctor to repeat a question he couldn’t understand. The requirement was in place for several years, but I quickly decided it was a rule I didn’t need to follow. I did get the TB tests, but having a doctor certify that I was alive seemed downright silly.

However, back in those days, teaching certificates were lifetime things, so perhaps it was important. Now, of course, teaching certificates are only good for 99 years, a change implemented so that politicians could claim they had eliminated lifetime certificates. Thus I’ll no longer be certified to teach English, French, or social studies after I’m dead. Apparently, though, I will be able to continue counseling students until 2102. Given my opinion of most school counselors, that sort of makes sense. I’ve never thought you really needed to be actually among the living to occupy that office.

Anyway, like clockwork, every October for those many years, Mrs. Bernice Warren would call me to tell me that I hadn’t yet turned in my physical and that my paycheck would be withheld were it not in by whatever date was required, usually within a week or so. She probably wrote it on her calendar when she got it: “Call Berndt for his physical.” I would scamper over to Little House on (Conn) the Prairie and get the requisite form. Miraculously I would be able to get an appointment and turn in the form with the undecipherable signature the next day. Bernice would always laugh and inquire how Dr. Carolyn was doing. “I like getting physicals,” I would tell her.

In her defense, Carolyn was never comfortable doing that, but I was incorrigible. She and Bernice were both relieved when the requirement disappeared.