(Jerry Guarino)

The Stop Signs - Part 1

“Watch out Anthony, there’s a stop sign,” said his wife Lauren. Through the rain and blowing orange leaves on this cold November day, Anthony almost headed straight into a newspaper delivery truck coming from his right. With a screech and swerve, Anthony slid to a stop just in time. “Oh!” Anthony steadied his grip on the steering wheel and held the brake with his foot. “Thanks honey. I was thinking about something.” Lauren touched his arm. “Would you like me to drive?” Anthony rubbed his mouth and chin. “No.” You could hear and feel the wind gusting against the windows, the rain overwhelming the wipers. “I’ll be all right now.” Anthony had always been a dreamer and Lauren his anchor, providing stability and support.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving the start up and going back into teaching.” Lauren nodded. “Can you get a job teaching?” Anthony had prepared for this question. “I’ll have to get a credential, but I can start that now and sub teach. Hopefully, I can get a regular teaching job next September.” The blustery weather and sudden change of life wasn’t lost on Lauren. “I just want you to be happy dear.” Anthony knew one of the clearest signals he ever had was marrying Lauren, a perpetual green light. “I am with you dear.”

After twenty-five years at DEC, Anthony had decided to give up the security for a software start-up. But four years later and with very little to show for it, he finally yielded to the reality that he wasn’t going to get rich and retire. He had taught in a New England boarding school for one year during graduate school, but left to complete his degree. That was in the early 1980s when high tech was starting to take off. When he was offered a job after finishing his degree, he decided to take it, leaving teaching as a backup career. Now at the turn of the century, Anthony was willing to start over. At least he could leave the politics and competition of technology behind him.

That next September, Anthony found a job teaching 4^th grade at an elementary school, walking distance from his house. The building was at least thirty years old, maintained with fresh coats of paint, a rebuilt heating system and relatively new, sea green linoleum, which never looks good. His room was overcrowded with 35 desks, a normal class size. “Hi, my name is Alice Johnson,” said the veteran teacher. “Anthony Mariani. It’s nice to meet you Alice,” and they shook hands. “This is Heather Stock. She’s a first year teacher too.” Anthony shook hands and smiled. “Nice to meet you too Heather. But to look at us, you would never think we were both first year teachers.” Heather followed up. “What did you do before this Anthony?” Anthony replied, “Well, I did teach one year after graduate school, but then had a career in technology.” They nodded. “Well, let us know if you need anything. Remember, we’re all in this together.” Anthony felt welcome. “That means a lot. And if you need any help with the computers, just let me know.”

Anthony learned how to bridge the forty-year gap between himself and his students with humor and patience. “Mr. M., I hate homework,” said the kid in the patched blue jeans and wimpy kid tee shirt. “Remember guys. Hard work never hurt anyone but made a lot of people rich and famous.” His kids would laugh at this man the age of their grandfather. The fashionably dressed girl in front chimed in. “Is that why you give us so much work in class and for homework?” Anthony smiled. “I want all of you to be rich and famous.” The kids didn’t like the work, but part of them liked the structure, the discipline and the high expectations. Anthony added. “You’ll thank me someday.” The athletic boy in the back row called out. “You’ll be dead by then, Mr. M.” The class laughed and so did Anthony. “Probably so, Mike, probably so.”

Anthony learned that an eight to three schedule wasn’t his workday. Add a couple hours or more grading papers and planning lessons and you have a normal teacher workload; add an extra hour or two if you’re a new teacher and your hourly wage works out to a lot less than it looked like as an annual salary. But it was all worth it. Anthony had found a community, a family of colleagues and staff that he liked. And his commute was a hundred yard walk, not the hour long, stop and go commute on the highway. That all changed after Christmas vacation, when the teacher unions usually make their demands for higher salaries and benefits.

Anthony joined his colleagues when they rallied after school at City Hall. “Hey Anthony, good to see you here,” said Alice. “Well, I know how hard you work. You certainly deserve more money.” Anthony was hoping the union and administrators would work something out before a general strike was called. He hadn’t considered what he would do if the teachers did strike and they did the next week.

“Scab!” the teachers shouted at Anthony as he crossed the picket line to enter school. Anthony tried to put on a calm face, surrounded by the other teachers. “Hey, I respect you for striking. Why can’t you respect my decision to stay in the classroom for the kids?” They tried to reason with Anthony. “You’re hurting our position by going into the classroom.” Anthony couldn’t rationalize this statement. “How can one teacher prevent you from getting your demands?” But there is no reasoning with a mob.

The strike lasted for 10 days. Each day the teachers would march outside the school, hurling epitaphs and vulgarities at Anthony as he entered and exited the school. Instead of his normal walk to school, Lauren had to drive him past the teachers who just a couple weeks ago considered him their friend and colleague. “We’re coming to your house next.” Everyone had turned on Anthony. He thought they would respect independence and personal choice, especially when he said he was just taking care of the kids, supposedly the reason teachers teach.

At least this stance would insure that he would be rehired next year. By siding with the school administration, his name would be on a list of teachers willing to stand up for the students. Since principals make the hiring decisions, he thought he would be looked upon favorably. Not so. Although the principal at his school thanked him each day for being in the classroom, she would not back him up when the teachers returned. During the first staff meeting, while the other teachers would scowl at him, refuse his attempts to make amends and even ignore him in front of students, the principal just hung him out to dry. “I’m so glad to see my friends back at school. The students and I missed you.” Anthony knew he was alone; apparently, the principal had no principles.

Anthony decided he couldn’t work within a community where the other teachers were antagonistic and the administration was indifferent. His dream of being a teacher was becoming a nightmare. This was clearly a sign he should do something else, a stop sign.

To be continued . . . .

© Jerry Guarino

Bio: Jerry Guarino's short stories have been published by dozens of magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain. His first collection of twenty-six critically acclaimed stories, Cafe Stories, was released in October, 2011. It is available as a paperback on amazon.com and as an e-book on kindle. Please visit his website at http://cafestories.net