Blog8_2_2016
Sherri With an “I”
Parkinson’s has definitely affected my ability to argue, and that is a shame because I love to argue politics and ideas and ethics. That is a legacy from my four years at Villanova. I am certain this occurred on other campuses, especially in the sixties, but Villanova was big on questioning things, on finding the truth. It was not enough to make a statement. I had to back it up with some sort of evidence because, if I did not, the other five guys in the dorm room discussion would eviscerate my whole position. My classmate (and still good friend) Stan once walked into the middle of a bull session and he heard the term “U.S. Army.” Stan put down his text and notepad and said defiantly, “What’s wrong with the Army?” “Nothing. We were complimenting the Army.” Stan looked down at the floor. “Oh yeah?! What’s right with the Army?!” We just enjoyed intellectual jousting.
And there was so much to dispute. The Vietnam War, race relations, exploitation of migrant workers, communism and capitalism, the ethics of all of the above, whether it was more expensive to date a girl from Rosemont as opposed to date a girl from Immaculata (hands down, Immaculata—the train fare alone emptied pockets), and the argument as to who would win a match between the then reigning NBA champion Boston Celtics and the Harlem Globetrotters. You know. Important stuff.
One of the high school courses I taught was debate. This experience taught me that my method of argumentation was fading from popularity. I was fortunate to teach many fine young people who grasped the essential concepts and tactics of good debating and performed very, very well. Yet there were a few who did not see the need to learn any concepts or tactics. Usually these students were in my debate elective because their first course choice, The Visual Cliff Notes—Literature Summaries with All Graphics and No Text—was filled up. Research a topic? “Why bother?” Find the truth behind a declaration? “Seriously, I have homework in other courses.” Employ the Rogerian argument to anticipate the opponent’s cross examination? “Who has the time?” Scrutinize your opponent’s logistical weaknesses? “Hey, Mr. Maltese, you mean we gotta listen to the other guy?” The “method” employed by these students is best exemplified by Sherri. That is, Sherri With An “I.”
One of my less stellar tasks as a teacher was to supervise a cafeteria study hall. A study hall in a classroom was fine, but a study hall in the cafeteria with a hundred or more students meant spending the whole forty five minutes not marking papers or planning lessons but monitoring signing of lists of students who wanted to go to the library or the bathroom or their lockers or their cars (forbidden). When all that was finished I had to address students trying to sneak out, phone calls from counselors and principals who wanted to see certain students, etc. In study hall I was a babysitter rather than a teacher.
There were several types of passes. One pass to the men’s lavatory. One pass to the women’s lavatory. One pass to the locker. All these passes were to last only six minutes or the abuser would lose pass privileges. Three sign-up sheets. MEN’S LAVATORY, WOMEN’S LAVATORY, LOCKER. (Of course, modern schools will not require separate lavatory lists.) First come, first to get the pass. This protocol was an attempt to account for the whereabouts of all students. The last thing we wanted was for groups of students to wander the hallways, especially those with reputations for not grasping the purpose of academia.
Sherri With An I had such a reputation. Often caught by hall monitors aimlessly wandering the corridors or sneaking a smoke in the stairways or bullying girls with more academic intentions in the lavatory, Sherri With An I was well known for her meanderings. Sherri With An I’s prime directive was “socialization.”
She arrived about two minutes late to my study hall, thus already committing an infraction. She nodded at her friend Crystal who was lurking in the hallway, and my experience told me that Sherri With An I was anxious to join her friend in misadventures.
Her voice was loud and forceful as if her vocal cords had devoted her sixteen years to lifting weights. She marched up to me and planted her face six inches from mine. In a voice whose decibel level exceeded the landing of a 747 Jet in the cafeteria study hall and in a shrillness that would be the pride of a screaming banshee she began her “argument.”
I-AM-SHERRI-WITH-AN-I-AND-I-WANT-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM.
“Well, first you are late, but I’ll let that go. Sign your name on the lavatory list and take your seat. You are number three on the list, so it won’t be long.”
I-WANT-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-NOW!
“I’m sorry [I really wasn’t sorry], but you have to wait just like everyone else.”
She turned and gave a half smile to Crystal who was peering in through the door.
What followed is hard to capture in print. In writing dialogue one person speaks, then the next, and so on. But in my disputation with Sherri With An I, my comments were simultaneous with her shouting so imagine my comments on top (or behind) hers. Imagine both of us talking not point-counterpoint but concurrently.
I-AM-SHERRI-WITH-AN-I-AND-I-GOT-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-AND-YOU-CAN’T-STOP-ME-BECAUSE-I-GOT-TO-GO-AND-MR.JONES[assistant principal]-IS-MY-FRIEND-AND-I-DON’T-HAVE-TO-WAIT-IF-I-DON’T-WANT-TO-AND-I-DON’T-WANT-TO-SO-JUST-GIVE-ME-THE-PASS-TO-THE-BATHROOM…
“Please sit down and wait until your turn like everyone else.”
I-AM-SHERRI-WITH-AN-I-AND-I-GOT-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-AND-YOU-CAN’T-STOP-ME-BECAUSE-I-GOT-TO-GO-AND-MR.JONES-WILL-GET-IN-YOUR-FACE-IF-YOU-DON’T-LET-ME-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-AND-I-AM-NOT-EVERYONE-ELSE-I-AM-SHERRI-WITH-AN-I-AND-I-GOT-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM.
“Please sit down, Sherri. Oh, look, Margaret returned with the pass. You are next.”
I-AM-SHERRI-WITH-AN-I-AND-I-GOT-TO-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-AND-I-CAN’T-WAIT-AND-I-AM-GOING-TO-TELL-MY-COUNSELOR-ABOUT-YOU-AND-YOU-WILL-BE-IN-BIG-TROUBLE-IF-YOU-DON’T-LET-ME-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-YOU-CAN’T-STOP-ME-THAT’S-THE-LAW-I-KNOW-MY-RIGHTS
Of course, every student in the cafeteria study hall was watching her explosion when suddenly she just left. I watched as Sherri With An I and Crystal stomped away from the lavatories and toward the gym. I followed protocol, called the office and alerted a hall monitor to the whereabouts of Sherri With An I and Crystal.
I spent the rest of the study hall period monitoring the sign out lists and keeping the room quiet so students could, well, study.
With five minutes to go in the study hall, Mr. Jones appeared with Sherri With An I who sported a smugness that had not taken very long to cultivate.
“Sherri told me you would not let her go to the bathroom.”
HE-WOULDN’T-LET-ME-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM-MR.JONES-AND-I-NEEDED-TO-GO.
“Shhh, Sherri. I will handle this.”
Jones was basically a good guy, but like everyone else he had his favorites.
“First, she was late to study hall. Second, she needed to sign up for the lavatory on the lavatory list which she refused to do. Third, she would not take her seat when I asked her to. Fourth, she cut study hall and did not go to the lavatory but to the gym with her friend.”
HOW-DO-YOU-KNOW-WHERE-I-WENT-MR.JONES-HE-IS-ALWAYS-PICKING-ON-ME-LIKE-EVERY-DUMB-TEACHER-IN-THIS-SCHOOL-AND-HE-SHOULD-BE-FIRED-FOR-NOT-LETTING-ME-GO-TO-THE-BATHROOM.
“Sherry, sssh.”
“Ralph. Let her slide on this one.”
“In front of all the study hall she wouldn’t follow my directions and wouldn’t sit down. And she wandered the halls the whole period.”
Jones took my elbow and led me away from Sherri With An I. Whispering, “She has a tough home life.” I hated that argument. So what? Far too many of my students had tough home lives and most of them were good students and civil. Besides, how did allowing the student to get away with murder help the student or the student body as a whole?
“So you want me to allow her to go whenever and wherever she wants?”
Jones looked down at his shoes. “I know she gets in people’s faces with that shouting act. She has done it to me.” Jones lifted his eyes to mine. “But you know, really, you cannot deny a student from going to the bathroom.”
Really? And that was it. Not quite. During my next supervision of cafeteria study hall two days later, Mr. Jones visited me in the middle of the period, visibly upset. He wanted to know why I had issued nineteen lavatory passes simultaneously. That conversation is for another blog entry.
Looking back over the experience with Sherri With An I, I think she was, in the argumentation department, way ahead of her time. Because, in the current adult world, shouting out loud, shrilly and forcefully, platitudes and promises and falsehoods, invoking emotions ballooned with fear and hate, cultivating bluster and me-hood have replaced true intellectual exploration of ideas and energetic and insightful dialogue that would benefit us all.
Parkinson’s has drained my ability to project my voice. The development of ideas in my brain is still operating, but the physical shaping of words to express those concepts comes hard. And I have learned that the method of disputation I learned at Villanova and taught to my debate classes is outdated. Debate is one form of argumentation, one in which the participants try to score points. In everyday life with everyday people, scoring points is not as important as resolving the issue that caused the dispute. In a democracy especially, the ability to compromise is a keystone of progress.
Intellectual exchanges and disputations that lead to understanding and growth have faded from the public eye, residing perhaps only in academe. In far too many “debates” being true or untrue is not a priority. Shouting fast and loud is the tactic which seems to reign. In today’s social climate, Sherri With An I would stand a good chance in the political arena.