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A Matter of Record

 

I better make it clear straight off that there were two completely different iterations of Cambridge Troop 62 in my tenure with the organization, divided into eras I’ll call with and without Record, this Record being Dick Record, Don’s younger brother. Don at least drew a paycheck to put up with my idiocy where brother Dick did it for free, and for many years too. Scoutmaster Record most patiently taught us bunches of neat stuff every boy needed to learn, from first aid to fire safety.

Mr. Record took us for weekend camping trips, organized and led all sorts of community service projects, and provided a role model few could surpass. Most seriously, I think Dick deserves a statue near the old Cambridge school by the library where he led scout meetings most every Thursday night. Much like his brother Don, Dick had much to do with helping make Cambridge a great place to live by working with and inspiring hundreds of boys who needed guidance to grow and people worth emulating. Mr. Record epitomized every quality expected of a great scoutmaster. Unfortunately, even the best can’t perform miracles. Some scouts rise to eagle status. We were a flock of turkey vultures. Continue reading “A Matter of Record”

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Another Classroom “Monster”

Leroy crashed into my world with deliberate, disturbing intent during the middle of class three weeks after school started in my first year of Texas teaching. My 28 charges were deeply enthralled with CLA III, a low level English program supposedly designed for students not having the ability to master more rigorous subject matter. CLA stood for Correlated Language Arts, but teachers’ lounge interpreters informed me CLA really meant “Can’t Learn Anything.” I soon began calling CLA III “Combat English,” and think it’s a pretty accurate description of the job, if not the curriculum.

After a most belligerent charge, Leroy hovered over my desk like a bear sizing up his next meal. He then proudly announced his extended absences were battle casualties requiring recuperation from six different stab wounds suffered in a gang fight. He tossed a hospital-issued absence excuse in my direction to prove his injuries, and I never questioned the gang part. I already entertained elements of two opposing gangs, one African-American, the other Hispanic, and the additional reinforcement on the African-American team could not have been more unwelcome as the current roster was potent enough. Continue reading “Another Classroom “Monster””

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Fearless Phil

We called him “Fearless Phil,” the origins of the nickname unknown but I thought used mostly because in tiny Cambridge we believed the most danger any policeman would face would be a drunken farmhand riding an old dried-up milk cow down Main Street, an event I think that actually did happen, but I got this third hand, so don’t hold me to it. Much of my knowledge of Chief Sica, however, is of the first-hand variety and why I hold him such high regard today.

One of the most important things to known about Mr. Sica is he was, and I’m sure still is, highly intelligent. With kids like us, he was always three steps ahead of the game, and probably with most adults too. I can provide several first-hand examples. From these experiences and others I long ago concluded Mr. Sica did much to help raise a bunch of young and rowdy Cambridge knuckleheads.

My first direct contact with Chief Sica came when I was in the eighth grade after I decided to balance precariously on a narrow concrete bridge railing on Main Street over what we called “The Sewer Brook,” but I believe is more accurately referred to as Rice’s Brook. While doing my best daredevil imitation, Chief Sica pulled over in his patrol car and called out, “ Don’t jump, sir, I’ll marry your daughter.” Continue reading “Fearless Phil”

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Tips and Motivation for “Growing Up in Cambridge”

“That the powerful play will go on and you will contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

Walt Whitman

OK, I admit it. Once again, I’m trying to start something, stir up a little sand if you will, “instigate” another common descriptor, “troublemaker” often applicable, “catalyst” perhaps the most accurate as it has neutral connotations. It took me years to figure out that some of my deepest personality traits weren’t good or bad, just integral to my being, something I could either harness or abuse. The choice was mine, and like everybody, I guess, I’ve made good ones and bad ones and intend to write about both. I hope to encourage many more of you to do the same by submitting your own articles to the CCS alumni newsletter. But first, it might be best to get a better picture of this old jeer leader for all prospective and already active Cambridge writers and historians, especially those unfamiliar with a natural born irritant.

For visual evidence you’ll need a copy of the 1966 CCS Yearbook. In it is the first picture of me published in Cambridge, and like it’s often said, a picture is worth a 1,000 words. Continue reading “Tips and Motivation for “Growing Up in Cambridge””

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Living at Wallgreens

Part 3: Doing the Medicine Dance

I’ve lost track of the pleasant exchanges I’ve had recently with total strangers, all of us on Medicine Road wishing we were any place but here. Misery may love company, but empathy is one of the best human qualities. We all seem to show much more compassion and concern for each other standing in line at Walgreens or CVS than what’s so unfortunately common today in modern traffic. Nobody cuts the drug line or exchanges one-finger salutes. Instead, we smile and nod knowingly at each other and frequently discuss everything from the Spurs to Texas weather just to pass the time that so very often crawls by interminably when dealing with the consequences of illness.

A sign six feet or so from the counter directs our group to stand behind it. I’m told it’s to allow privacy for medicinal conversations, but the distance does little to impair hearing; I can almost always pick up word by word exchanges between staff and customers, and even many feet further away where a pharmacist now informs some agitated person over the phone she can’t fill a prescription because it’s held up for “prior authorization.” Continue reading “Living at Wallgreens”

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Bad Medicine: Health Insurance from Ebenezer Scrooge

Insurance Math-When One Plus One Equals Zero

“Who reads insurance policies?” my pastor said rhetorically to a very distraught parishioner as we visited in his office. I didn’t think much about the statement until later, my wife’s illness the far more painfully urgent focus of our discussion, but as I think back now over my 64 years on the planet I can only remember one time I carefully read any insurance policy. When I did I was standing in two feet of water inside of our opulent mobile home in the aftermath of Hurricane Juan in Louisiana, and discovered we weren’t covered for floods.

Our recent situation is similar, but emotionally, 100 times more traumatic and way more expensive. Message? Break out those policies brothers and sisters and make darn sure you know what you have and what you don’t. Secondly, don’t feel stupid if you fail to understand what’s in print both large and fine. I have three college degrees, one of them in communications, and I often couldn’t interpret the specialized language commonly reading like some ancient incantation. I believe this is most deliberate, common coherency in insurance documents one of many changes greatly needed to even begin to modestly repair the awful mess impersonating an integrated health care system today. Continue reading “Bad Medicine: Health Insurance from Ebenezer Scrooge”

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Sick in the of Heart of Texas-Learning from Cancer

 

Part 1: In the Eye of the Storm

If I’ve learned anything from our horrific rollercoaster ride through the perilous world of cancer, grossly inadequate insurance, and deep emotional pain it’s that long before one comes to the point of considering a bridge dive into concrete and traffic, there’s almost always help within walking distance, in my case found less than 15 feet away.

Although I’d long admired the enormous contributions social workers make in our society, I never reached out to one for help myself and waited far too long to grab a human life preserver, a savior especially trained to help people like me cope with a wickedly complicated, terrifically expensive, and emotionally debilitating situation that is American health care today. Continue reading “Sick in the of Heart of Texas-Learning from Cancer”

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Teaching and the Rodney Dangerfield Syndrome

“I get no respect. The way my luck is running, if I was a politician I would be honest.”

Rodney Dangerfield

A few years back I received a nice, but unfortunately negative response to a book proposal about education. Having spent years selling and also being frequently rejected for book and article ideas of all sorts, the rejection was not particularly painful, just another aspect of the writing game, but part of the reasoning for the rejection opened a door to perception with respect to how teachers are viewed by the general public in terms of professionalism and expertise.

As with much in this blog, my book proposal concerned teaching and pathways to better performance of schools. As part of the proposal, I noted over 30 years of successful classroom experience in challenging environments, nationally published articles, numerous teaching awards, and a master’s degree in education, what I considered to be fairly solid credentials. Apparently, these weren’t considered very significant. Let me share part of the literary agent’s response. Continue reading “Teaching and the Rodney Dangerfield Syndrome”

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Charter Schools

I’d like to put a personal face on charter schools from the perspective of a retired public school teacher. I often felt like America wrongly blamed teachers for a slogging war on ignorance much like it unfairly blamed returning Vietnam War soldiers for losing an unwinnable war. The popular insinuation for many today is that teachers have somehow failed our country and the remedy is to bring in the mercenaries, private charter schools, to fight the education war the right way. To anyone who has ever been on the front lines in the war on poverty, the notion is ludicrous, and I’ve taken some solace in my retirement in thoughts that, eventually, just as we did with Vietnam, most Americans will come to the realization a lot of good people were mistreated by the country at large and will some day come to see the light of reason, painful as it may be.

I will have much to share about the “education reform” movement and people like Betsy DeVos as I weave my tapestry, but let’s take a brief look now at the general charter school concept.     Continue reading “Charter Schools”

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Mission Impossible

A master cookie thief, provocateur, trespasser and weird noisemaker of the highest order, JJ won my heart as he destroyed any semblance of serenity. The diminutive rascal toddled more than he walked, often rushing about like a blind man with his pants on fire: arms extend, balance tentative, direction erratic, but still demonstrating abundant enthusiasm that generally made me smile no matter what JJ did, which often involved getting into some sort of trouble. I was tasked to change his life, but don’t believe I did much except to inject a little light into the deep darkness of poverty.

JJ careened like a pinball off of furniture and other kids who rarely became upset as they would if some other kid invaded their space. It seemed everyone understood JJ required a different set of rules. Shorter than a yardstick, he often lived in his own tiny world, almost a cartoon character in behavior but very real all the same. However, JJ’s actual future in a less than hospitable larger world was more than slightly clouded, my responsibility established to improve daunting odds owing to JJ’s disability and misfortune. The brutal reality is that the little black five-year-old born prematurely with obvious disabilities would face many challenges. I tried to make his future a little brighter, but often felt and still feel I hadn’t the time, talent or resources to pull off any major transformation and could only make JJ’s days with me a little better. Continue reading “Mission Impossible”