It’s pouring down rain on a Monday morning. One whole day in Houston, Texas with no clue what was happening or what was going to happen. I left Woodville in my Volkswagen Beetle with several suitcases. Found the apartment I would share with two other Lamar graduates off Campbell Road. I had a map and stupid blind faith that I could find this outpost of civilization called Cypress-Fairbanks High School. I had to report in by 8:00 a.m. since school still started a reasonably civilized time. I was winding my way towards Hempstead Highway. Campbell curved and turned, then I took a left on Hempstead, headed West, and to quote Don Thornton who had hired me over Christmas Break, “you’ll know it when you get there” because it was the only dang thing that far out. First thing that told me I was headed somewhere new and different was at the intersection of Huffmeister Road (dirt by the way) and Hempstead Hwy. There was a farm sitting right there with a huge hand painted sign that said: BABY CLAVES FOR SALE. CHEEP! No, these are not my spellings. Sure enough taking the driveway, NOT AN EXIT, a drive way into the huge edifice, I parked my little bug, grabbed my umbrella, and walked in the front doors. There was a receptionist right there and I informed her I was reporting for my teaching position starting that day. I stood there (wettish) ; she looked at me and muttered “Boy is he going to be surprised. Follow me.” So, I did and boy was HE surprised!
Out comes this big man, laughing right out of his office, and his secretary who had this startled look in her eyes said “Mr. Watkins, this is Charlz Twitchell.” The look was priceless. I remember it 47 years later. In typical Carlos Watkins style, he said something like “Damn Don Thornton.” Someone did not tell Mr. Watkins that his new history teacher was named like a boy, but hopefully pulled off the girl thing pretty well. I got this job during the Break and Mr. Thornton left a tennis game and interviewed me at the old Administration building off of Fairbanks Road across from Dean Middle School. HR and Personnel was much simpler then. Bet some of you think you know all the history of CFISD. Mr. Watkins looked at me, welcomed me and called Jan Aragon to come downstairs. Her eyes kind of went wild for she also thought I was a male teacher, but in the Mrs. Aragon’s classy manner she took me upstairs. From there, to be honest, it is a huge blur for at least six weeks. Here’s what I remember:
Four history classes of freshmen.
No book
No lesson plans, no paper, no pencils, no attendance. I did have a box of chalk.
14 year olds looking at me: Are you a Substitute? Where’s Coach Carr?
TEA was doing a sight visit and some of the coaches did not have the right number of hours to teach four sections of history. Coach Carr was moved to PE.
The students kept rolling in. There were four other teachers upstairs, but no one remembered I was there. I sat in stunned “deer in the headlight” panic. It was the first day of a new semester. HELP! HELP! HELP!]
I didn’t know when or where lunch was.
I didn’t know I had a “conference” period…heck! I didn’t know where the bathroom was.
Then, here comes my 6th period study hall…ALL SENIORS, AGE 18.
GUESS WHAT? I was 21 years old and would not turn 22 until February. In many ways we were peers. Scary thought if that happened today. Headlines and jail time might happen. You know I’m right.
The Seniors told me what to do, where things were, and who people were. Times were very different. The school infrastructure was very basic and many of the teachers had been at CFHS for many years. CFHS was much like any other institution…learn as you go…figure out the different pieces… Somehow, I figured out what to do and who to ask for help. Thank you to the God that looks after babies and young uninformed teachers! The kids of this era still respected the teachers and did not lock me in my closet or throw spit wads. I wish I could have those kids back and show them that I actually became a competent teacher. Come Back!!
TRUE STORY: The Seniors and I would sit and talk in the study hall. There were about four boys and the rest were girls. Shout out to Sandy McCain…she “adopted” me introducing me to her family in Cole Creek Manor and to her aunt, the famous Wanda Jowell. About mid-semester, the boys asked to go to the bathroom. Who knew they needed a hall pass? I was so busy chatting with the girls, the boys just asked and went one at a time. I didn’t even miss them. Right before school let out at 3:00, I hear a truck horn outside my second story window. There in the back of the truck were four slightly tipsy boys being returned to school from RIPPERS POOL HALL at the corner of Huffmeister and Telge Road. The assistant principal was Marvin Richards. The boys had run down to Rippers, played pool, and once they had some beers, Rippers called the school. OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!
Different days…times…Marvin brought them to my room. Called their parents. We waited for them to be picked up. The parents APOLOGIZED profusely for their kid’s behavior. WHAT YOU SAY? Yep, they blamed their kids, not for drinking and playing pool, but for disrespecting a young teacher. I lived to teach another day. I learned a valuable lesson that day or maybe I should say lessons or as I say “basic principles from two wise principals.”
All new teachers are clueless. Pray for help. Today, the system is in place to guide them
But it still is not enough. Still pray for first year teachers as they are like baby gazelles facing down hordes of hungry lions.
Carlos gave me sage wisdom of an old coach: Trust no one under 21…. seriously that’s what he told me. Then he said, “Don’t get mad at something like this…just get even. Yep, that’s what he said. Take charge and don’t let them get away with anything and if they give you any problems, tell them Mr. Watkins will deal with them personally.
Marvin said if given the chance all students will lie to get their way or get out of trouble. Well that shot my idealism straight to hell.
I survived the debacle. The girls in senior study hall gave me the heads up if the boys were going to try anything and so I looked wise and all knowing. And, by the way, each boy had to write me a letter of apology and offer to help me after school. GOOD TIMES.
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