Skullcaps n switchblades, p.19
Skullcaps 'n' Switchblades, page 19
Back in the safe confines of the school, each and every one of them promised they'd be in that tent. They spoke frequently about how they would dismember anything that resembled good ol' Smokey the Bear. If need be, they'd tear it apart with their bare hands. The first night, due to the unexpected tag-team wresting and fireworks, everyone slept indoors, including me. Tonight was a different story. Everyone was actually getting along and helping one another out. Setting up that tent, that symbol of courage, loomed large on the horizon.
Our Glatt kosher meal was simmering on the coals, courtesy of our flint & steel fire. The sun was at the top of the trees. Slowly and deliberately, and with a bit of Hollywood flair, I began erecting my three-man tent. In a pinch, especially with small students, I could squeeze in four campers – total. Five would be sardine city. (I had a second tent in my trunk, but I was highly doubtful it would see any action).
A very strange thing began to happen. It had all the earmarks of being directly associated with the setting of the sun. Their macho seemed attached to that fiery orange ball in the sky. Both sank together behind the trees.
"You ain't really sleeping outside, are you?" Leland called from the campfire.
"Yup," I called back, without turning my head. "Why not?"
"Oh," he responded. "Just asking."
I staked out the four corners. It was a gorgeous tent. Built-in bottom. Mosquito netting all over; a "breathable" roof so your sweat didn't accumulate on the inside like an old rubber raincoat; a large back window; inside pockets; a zippered "fly" to keep out the rain; and a support line running down-center of the roof for hanging up a flashlight. It was extremely lightweight – a back-packer's dream. When you went hiking with it, you felt like a snail with your home on your back.
To my inner-city crew, however, it represented evil incarnate. It was the unknown; the dark hidden world of the woods and its creatures. It was like having Darth Vader, Alien, & Predator rolled up into a single horrifying creature; beyond one's worst-ever imagination of pure terror!
I pulled the front pole into position, and the tent took the shape of a large A. The guys were watching me with both fascination and dread. Tony was in the woods by himself getting wood for the fire, of course. He refused to wear a shirt, and paid no attention whatsoever to the relentless biting mosquitoes. Not only could be climb like a mountain goat, but he absolutely loved scouting and camping. The great outdoors, not the confining walls of a classroom, was his element. At least I wouldn't have to sleep alone in the tent.
That notion hadn't really bothered me, though. I'd probably get a better sleep alone in my tent than with a bunch of wild inner-city boys in a bunk bed.
In fact, I had once led a wilderness Shabbaton in the Everglades of Florida. My old Yeshiva buddy, Rabbi Yaakov Werde, was sponsoring a "Unique Shabbos Experience" with twenty-three college students from Tampa Bay and Miami. As you entered this particular state park, there were signs dealing with the various forms of wildlife. One warned people not to sleep on the ground in order to avoid contact with dangerous ants. Another displayed the illusive black panther. Others depicted different types of poisonous snakes. Last, but not least, was the information about gators.
We had an incredibly beautiful Shabbos meal beneath the palm trees, surrounded by exotic plants. It included zemiros, (special Shabbos songs), and lots of brew, (purely to keep the college students happy, of course)! Later that night, I retired to my tent for a good Shabbos sleep. The students couldn't believe their eyes. They thought I was out of my mind. How could I turn down classy air-conditioned cabins for a flimsy, easily-chewed piece of plastic. Especially in the Everglades, of all places?
Not trying to play macho or Davy Crockett, (although he was one of my childhood heroes), I told them it was really quite pleasant outside and that nothing would bother me. Besides, I would have my Chitas, (acronym for three Jewish holy books: Chumash, Tehillim and Tanya), with me. I did my usual bear-proofing number and told the group I was much more afraid of crazy people on camping trips than wild animals. They thought I was some sort of lunatic and they headed for the safety and comfort of the cabins.
"Hey, nature nut," one called from the bunk in fun; "If you see that panther give it a kiss for me!"
"Yeah, no problem," I yelled back. "I'll send her your way."
An hour later, just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard footsteps in the grass by my tent. Out of habit, I grabbed my hatchet, which rested only inches from my hand.
"Hey, nature," the voice whispered. "Mind if I join you?"
"With pleasure sir," I said unzipping the netting to let him in.
Twenty minutes later, another student came by to join us.
"Hey, what's going on?" I asked. "I thought you guys wanted all the luxuries of home?"
"You don't understand, man. There's humongous spiders hanging out in the corners of the cabins that look like killer tarantulas. I ain't sleeping with those things!"
"And you thought I was nuts to be out here," I laughed. "Those spiders know where to go for some cool air. Join the party."
I had to turn down six more students. We ran out of room. Like I was saying, sleeping alone in my tent doesn't bother me. I actually look forward to it. I look at the stars; breathe in the fresh air and rock to sleep with the wind and the sounds of nature. It's a welcome change-of-pace from ambulance sirens, car horns, and ghetto blasters.
As a Boy Scout, I had to complete a "solo." They give you a sleeping bag, some food and water, a few matches, and drop you off at a pre-arranged spot in the forest somewhere. You're on your own for the next 15 hours; that's when they come back for you. You can always quit and walk out whenever you like, but most guys go the distance. It's more of a macho thing. It's about proving something to yourself. It's about thinking, meditating, putting things into perspective, and overcoming your fears and anxieties, which for the most part, are blown way out of proportion by Hollywood and television.
I remember seeing the movie The Hound of the Baskervilles when I was about ten years old. For the next two years, I couldn't sleep without first checking all the closets and making sure my blankets were tucked in, especially at the end of the bed. I didn't want nothin' coming in the middle of the night and nibbling off a few toes, ya know! The movie industry hasn't improved the image of the great outdoors, especially when it comes to wilderness outings, and they are particularly fond of starting all this drama just as the sun begins to set. All the monsters out there are just waiting to pounce.
The tent was finally up and it was looking mighty fine. My students, fresh out of Buffalo's inner-city, were eying it with mixed reactions. "Well, boys," I said pointing to my finished masterpiece. "Whatcha say to this beauty?"
"Have a good time," Terrence mumbled half-heartedly, munching on a hotdog. "You one crazy honkey, Mr. Laz. You're really sleeping in that thing?"
"No, guy," I said. "Not just me, remember? We're sleeping in this baby!"
"Shoot brother, you ain't catchin' me in that thing. I plan on livin' a few more years."
"Nothin' to it, Jack," Tony interjected. "Unless you afraid of yo black shadow!"
Tony was as white as they come, but he could jive-talk with the best of 'em. He was one of three white kids bussed into the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School. Apparently, he didn't come from a prejudiced home; he genuinely liked and got along with anybody, no matter what their color.
"At least my shadow looks like I do," Harold laughed. "Too bad you can't say that, white boy!"
Once it got really dark outside, they spent an hour-and-a-half building an anti-bear barricade by the front door using some logs, old metal bunk beds, and a turned over log table. After this energetic endeavor, they attempted to figure out ways to secure the windows. The problem was that they had no nails or bolts. Eventually, they agreed to place pieces of wood inside the window frame so it was impossible to move up or down.
"Ingenious, fellows, absolutely ingenious," I said standing outside the cabin next to the window.
"But, uh, I've got one question for you," Sheldon said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now, let's say, for argument's sake that one of you just might want to you know, use the facilities. Know what I mean? How you folks planning on getting out of your barricaded cabin?"
They paused for a few moments.
"I'll hold it," Phil said.
"Yeah, we'll hold it," Terrence chimed in.
"Good luck, boys," I chuckled, walking to my tent. "Don't let the bed bugs bite! But if they bite, squeeze 'em tight with all your might."
"Despite your fright," Sheldon Added
"Don't be all uptight," Tony yelled out.
And like that, we were freestylin' to the delight of the entire group. It was the indoors men versus the outdoorsmen. Or, as they reminded us, the sane versus the insane.
"You crazy mugheads," came a voice from inside the safety of four walls. "You say that you don't got no fear, but I'll hear yo screams when yonder bear growls in your ear!"
"Where will you run, oh where?"
"Are you so brave that you don't care?"
"You'll be wishing that you could fly!"
"Like a baby you will cry."
"Cuz yo white butts is gonna die!"
They were squealing with utter delight, but our turn was coming.
"No, no, no, the babies ain't us," I started the response, "Just look who's makin' all the fuss!"
"You think that your cabin door is shut," Sheld added. "But a bear's a'comin' for yo butt!"
"Cuz now it's got you trapped inside," responded Tony. "Ain't no place to run and hide. Despite yo awful smelly feet. It's you the bear'll greet!"
"And it's called a black bear," I said with a laugh, "Cuz it loves black meat!"
I figured that all the humor and laughter would put everyone more at ease. We started making our way to the tent and to our warm and cozy fire. They weren't about to let me get the last word.
"Yeah, bugs ain't nothin'. Don't let the bears bite, Mr. Laz!"
"Yeah, try squeezin' that sucker tight, Mr. Laz!"
"Give it a bear hug for me, okay? Haha! Get it? Bear hug!"
I responded by throwing some rocks on top of the cabin roof and giving them my best bobcat roar, which immediately brought forth a chorus of delighted screams.
Before retiring, I went back one more time to the cabin, just to make sure everything was okay. They begged me to sleep inside with them, but I stuck to my guns. I really wanted to show them it was harmless, even pleasant, to sleep in a tent. More than this, however, I wanted them to confront this new, challenging situation on a gut, emotional level. It would be great for them. They would come out feeling victorious. We spent a good ten minutes trying to persuade one another, but it was useless; neither side would budge. I headed for the tent.
We arranged our sleeping bags inside the tent, (which was a good fifty yards from the cabin), and retired for the night. We were more than happy to be away from the noise. It was a pleasant way to end the day. Sheld settled into his sleeping bag and Tony read some Sports Illustrated while I did my Chitas (three holy books, including the Torah, Psalms, & the Tanya) and said some special prayers before going to sleep.
Lights out didn't come soon enough. We were exhausted.
"I don't know about the other guys," Tony said, curled inside in his bag, "but I'm about to z-out till sometime tomorrow."
"Yeah, I'm wiped out big time," I said. "See ya in the morning."
"You think they'll get any sleep in there?" asked Tony. "Or ya think they'll stay up worrying about a bear breakin' the door down?"
"I think in about an hour they'll be out like lights," Sheld said. "Sleep good, amigos."
I don't remember a thing after that until the following morning. Speaking of lights, it was as if someone just pulled a switch. I heard Tony and Sheld chatting and then I woke up. It was warm and quite uncomfortable in the tent, causing me to drift in and out of consciousness. I wanted to wake up and get out of the tent, but the heat kept my eyelids shut.
I gradually became aware of my surroundings. Something hard and bony, a foot perhaps, was digging into my left side. Tony's elbow was pressing against my left ear. A long, heavy object was laying on my right side, which did wonders for my breathing.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. A large, half-socked, somewhat smelly black foot came into focus, a mere inch-and-a-half from my nose. My eyes opened wider. Scanning the foot, I realized it was attached to that heavy object covering my right side.
Suddenly, I became aware of a tape-type substance on top of my head. I turned my head upwards and inhaled tent! Somehow, it had caved in during the night. It didn't make sense. It could stand up to anything short of a hurricane. As far as I could tell, there hadn't even been a rain shower!
Moving body parts aside, I sat up slowly, careful not to rip the tent. As I attempted to get upright, however, my body seemed to suck the tent in like a vacuum. I quickly stood, not thinking about the consequences to the tent, and lifted my arms upward from my sides. The scene that came into view was totally flabbergasting. I almost fell over backwards.
On the floor of my three-man tent were the bodies of eight inner-city students and Bro. Sheld! They were all over each other. Harold's toes were in Joe's nostrils. Phil's thumb was in Leland's ear. Four guys had their legs sticking out the tent door!
I shook each one just to make sure they were alive. After making this positive determination, I broke into hysterical laughter.
"You guys are out of your gourds!" I yelled, shaking them from their beauty sleep. "I thought you weren't going to leave that cabin!"
They just moaned and rolled over. A few guys didn't even stir, even though I was practically stepping on top of them.
"Hey boys, wake up!"
No reaction. They wanted sleep. I tried talking to myself: "Here I am, a teacher at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School in good ole Buffalo, New York, standing amongst slumbering bodies, nine of them to be exact, in a three-man tent. One does not usually put nine people into a three-man tent, you see, as a tent has the capacity to stretch somewhat, but it cannot grow!"
A few more groans and moans, but no real movement.
"Boys, I am standing here holding this tent up with my arms," I said. "As ridiculous as that sounds, it is true. At least, I think it's true, unless, of course, this is a dream. Well, make that a nightmare."
"Hey, Mr. Laz," Tony called from the pile of students near my feet. "You always talk to yourself?"
"Yeah," I replied. "And I always hold up tents for people to sleep in, too. It's just one of my bad habits, okay?"
"Oh, lordy!" he said looking up. "You really are holding up this dang thing!"
In about 30 seconds, with Tony's help, we had all the boys out of the tent, rubbing their eyes and stretching their arms. The tent looked like a fallen parachute.
"Listen, guys," I said. "I haven't laughed so hard in a long time, especially when I saw all those legs sticking out the door. I thought I'd seen everything from you guys, but this one was it, no doubt about it! But, can somebody please explain what was going on?"
"Well," volunteered Jimmy. "I wasn't about to sleep in there without you, Mr. Laz. Shoot, there ain't no lights or nothin'."
"Yeah, me too," Terrence agreed.
"Me three," Phil dittoed.
Then, like an old fashioned marine countdown, they went down the line from "me four" until it was Leland's turn.
He just grinned and said, "I told you'd we'd be in that tent!"
34
Teacher Of The Year
TOWARD THE MIDDLE OF my second year at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School, I was called into Dr. D's office. I asked the secretary if it sounded serious.
"What did I do now?"
"Oh nothing," she said. "He's smiling."
"That's a good sign. I'll be right there."
I valued my association with Dr. D. It was founded on mutual respect. Our relationship was not chummy, but we were close enough. Many times throughout the years he came and told me I was doing a good job. As a new teacher, I needed both his positive remarks and his guidance. He had a demanding set of standards. Teachers who didn't meet his standards were soon pasturing elsewhere.
Accountability was his favorite word. He held it high over every teacher's head. Dr. D backed me up on all the meshugas with my guys, (Yiddish for crazy endeavors), because, "They're valid learning experiences," he would say.
In particular, he liked my peer-and-cross-age tutoring program, and our year-long outdoor/experiential ed component. I, in turn, admired his guts and fortitude. If he was confident the students would benefit in some meaningful way from a program, he was willing to stick his neck out. There are not too many administrators who would even contemplate implementing a cooperative tutoring program. Yet, in spite of the risks, Dr. D gave me his backing, and we ran a very unique and successful project.
He would frequently post news articles and other tidbits about my class on the faculty bulletin board. We got great PR for both the school and the program when The New York Times published the article about my tutoring program
Dr. D, realizing that I was somewhat of a go-getter, told me, "Toot your own horn; nobody else is gonna do it! Besides, they need to know about all the good things we're doing around here."
On this particular day, I was waiting for a grant from the New York State Department of Education, so I figured our meeting was about that.
"Mr. Laz," he said, motioning for me to take a seat. "I've got some interesting news for you."
"What's going on?"
"Every year, the city honors one teacher," he said. "You know, the Teacher of the Year Award. Anyhow, I'm nominating you and I personally think you've got a good shot at it."
"You're kidding! I mean, I'm quite honored. But you've got other solid teachers who have been teaching for a long time. I'm just a fresh teacher with some strange notions. Don't you think others will resent it?"
