A Change in Direction

Monday, February 20, 1995

Eight-thirteen, evening. The three-day weekend has ended, not that it felt very restful. Between a visit by one of my wife Lisa’s college friends (a young woman who went through teacher-training with Lisa at UCLA, only she never went into the classroom), a call from Lisa’s old principal (from a private school teaching position in Los Angeles), news that Lisa’s grandfather may have cancer, Kyle’s first big "boo-boo"--a fall that opened up a small cut to the outside of his eye, and no, I never thought I’d actually use the term "boo-boo"--and horrendous ninety-degree heat (to which I respond very poorly, especially in February), my eyes feel hot yet rusted open like old battleship portholes. From what deserted corner of my psyche that last image came I have no clue, except possibly that Long Beach, which used to have a naval shipyard, will be my destination on Wednesday. But my mind wanders.

Does it ever...that opening paragraph is a meandering mess. But it stays unedited as a testament to my mental state right now.

Point of Information. In November of the past year, 1994, when I was becoming more and more disillusioned with my present position at Chumash High School, I began to think of other possible employment opportunities. Since I have always wanted to make money doing what I love, I took an inventory of my loves: the arts, writing, film, technology, teaching. And I began to think of avenues of employment. I sent off cover letters and résumés to the local newspapers and the local television station, calling for the creation of a local arts reporter (a position that could be filled by me, of course). I also e-mailed the same type of information to Entertainment Weekly, who when they failed to receive all of my transmission asked me to re-send it, then subsequently never contacted me again.

By the end of the year, I was sending off résumés and cover letters at the pace of one per week, contacts mostly gleaned from the Sunday L.A. Times classifieds. And as with all other queries (save the local television station, the owner of which wrote to tell me that he liked the idea and that he was passing it along to the news director, who--he assured me--after creating a northern bureau station in Santa Maria would be looking into the idea, and to whom the owner was going to give my name; then the station went bankrupt), no response was received. The lack of response, while not exactly ego-building, was not the end of the world, either. The whole exercise was an experiment, meant to help me discover how difficult it would be to find a new job, if it become necessary. I was--and am--not desperate.

So there had been no response. Until this weekend.

First came the call from Linda, Lisa’s former principal, who like Lisa had moved on from her former private school post, only Linda had gone on to a new private school post, as assistant principal of a well-known and dynamic private school on the West side. I had worked with Linda, on a few occasions, whenever she would visit Lisa here in Pleasant Valley to go over teaching methodology. When I was in the process of switching schools, she had mentioned to me that I would be perfect at her new school. I laughed it off. I was in the process of switching schools already. Lisa had moved up to Pleasant Valley to leave L.A. Why would I want to commute to L.A. every day? Especially at private school pay.

After working for the Pleasant Valley Union High School District for nine years, my annual salary is around thirty-nine thousand dollars. Not bad as teacher salaries go, especially when one considers the health benefits that are thrown in as well (Non-teachers are advised, at this point not to mention "and three months vacation". This is the most asinine of all anti-teacher arguments. When one considers the amount of work during the year a good teacher takes home, how many nights and weekends are lost to reading and grading work, preparing for class, developing lessons and entire curricula, as well as trying to contact parents, the three months are really nothing more than accumulated evenings and weekends. Plus, the best teachers usually spend a month of the two-and-a-half month break [mid-June to end of August] developing curricula for the following year. So until you’ve walked a school year in my moccasins...). Lisa’s recompense nearly doubled when she left L.A.--between her salary, the health benefits (which the private school did not provide), and her student loan deferment (because she now teaches at a socio-economically disadvantaged school). Thus, when Linda blew her new school's horn (new buildings, classes of less than twenty students [half of my class sizes]), I felt it wasn’t worth even listening.

Linda called yesterday to tell Lisa that she wasn’t going to be able to make it up this weekend to visit. The reason was simple: she had forgotten. Life for her, too, was hectic. As assistant principal, she is pivotally involved in the hiring (and firing) of teachers. And she has to let a teacher go at the end of the year. Also, she needs to find a new English Department chairperson. "Would Bill be interested?" Lisa, looking after my guilt and our mortgage, asked if the salary would be near thirty-eight grand. Pretty near, Linda said. So Linda put the bug in Lisa’s ear. And Lisa put it in mine.

Interested? Lisa reminded me about class size and student motivation (I wouldn’t have to worry about my too-tough reputation there). She also said that I could try it for a year...maybe I just needed a year off from this area. It could revitalize my love of teaching here, or it could be the beginning of a new career down south. Of course, the silent cynic in me whispered, "Yeah, it could be the last nail in the coffin, too." But would that be all bad? I’ve spent the last two days’ showers daydreaming of possibilities, and I was about to tell Lisa that I was considering calling Linda up to learn more about the position, when the phone rang an hour and a half ago.

I was playing with Kyle on the floor of his room. I heard muffled talking and footsteps heading down the hall. Lisa looked confused. "A 'Shirley' from Cutting Edge?" She handed me the phone.

Shirley? Cutting Edge? My mind raced as I reached up for the phone, but I couldn’t make any connections, the heat and my sinuses having sapped me of any energy, physical or intellectual.

"Hello."

"Mr. Walters?"

"Yes."

"Hi, my name is Shirley [the last name was garbled and I still can’t remember it; I know this is bad form, so sue me] from the Cutting Edge. Earlier this month, you sent us your résumé in response to an advertisement we ran in the L.A. Times. We’ve been so deluged with responses that we’ve been burning the candle at both ends to get back to people..."

Aha. I handed Kyle over to Lisa, and took the cordless to the computer where I called up the cover letter I had mailed to them. I listened and looked over the letter as she talked about the company, an electronics firm that needs a manager to put together organizational teams for their firm. I had applied because (I remembered now) the ad sounded vaguely interesting, touching on electronics, organization (a strong point of mine), and motivating groups. And now I was receiving my first callback. Great. She said that my résumé and cover letter made me sound like the perfect candidate for the position they were trying to fill, since they were looking for someone who could teach new employees organizational and problem-solving skills.

She mentioned that since she knew I was a teacher, she wanted to know when I was available to meet during the coming week, and she gave me a few choices. Afternoon is best, since I won’t have to miss any class that way. And Wednesday afternoon it will be. Long Beach, four in the afternoon. It’s going to be a long drive, but it should prove interesting. If nothing else.

I’ll have to move Academic Detention for the English 9s to Thursday, but perhaps this is a blessing. This will give the students an extra day to turn in old work from last week to remove their names from the detention list. Maybe this could be a good thing.

Wednesday, it sounds so far away. It’s the day after tomorrow. And I’m exhausted tonight. And a week of teaching lies ahead, in wait.