Up the Down Staircase

by Bel Kaufman

We have keys but no locks (except in lavatories), blackboards but no chalk, students but no seats, teachers but no time to teach.

The cardinal sin, strange as it may seem in an institution of learning, is talking.

“Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.” Like most sayings, this is only half true. Those who can, teach; those who can’t–the bitter, the misguided, the failures from other fields–find in the school system an excuse or a refuge.

There is a premium on conformity, and on silence. Enthusiasm is frowned upon, since it is likely to be noisy. The Admiral had caught a few kids who came to school before class, eager to practice on the typewriters. He issued a manifesto forbidding any students in the building before 8:20 or after 3:00–outside of school hours, students are “unauthorized.” They are not allowed to remain in a classroom unsupervised by a teacher. They are not allowed to linger in the corridors. They are not allowed to speak without raising a hand. They are not allowed to feel too strongly or to laugh too loudly.

Teachers try to make us feel lower than themselves, maybe this is because they feel lower than outside people.

I think the problem is not unreachable kids but unteachable teachers.

don’t misjudge teachers–they’re not so much unteachable as unrewarded.

The important thing is to make them feel King Lear’s anguish, not a True-or-False test on Shakespeare. The important thing is the recognition and response, not an inch of print to be memorized.

I want to point the way to something that should forever lure them, when the TV set is broken and the movie is over and the school bell has rung for the last time.

Major issues are submerged by minor ones; catastrophes by absurdities.

Walk through the halls. Listen at the classroom doors. In one–a lesson on the nature of Greek tragedy. In another–a drill on who and whom. In another–a hum of voices intoning French conjugations. In another–committee reports on slum clearance. In another–silence: a math quiz. Whatever the waste, stupidity, ineptitude, whatever the problems and frustrations of teachers and pupils, something very exciting is going on. In each of the classrooms, on each of the floors, all at the same time, education is going on. In some form or other, for all its abuses, young people are exposed to education. That’s how I manage to stand up.

For love is growth. It is the ultimate commitment. It imposes obligations; it risks pain.

What he was really saying was: You are so special. You are my teacher. Then teach me, help me. Hey, teach, I’m lost–which way do I go? I’m tired of going up the down staircase.