THOUGHTS ABOUT RACISM

I began my career as a special education teacher in California when I was fresh out of Duquesne. I wrote a letter to the Los Angeles city schools requesting a job application, and received instead a contract as a response....no interview....no references.....but a school district desperate for male special ed teachers. I was assigned to Ninth Street School...in downtown Los Angeles. I drove my VW bug across the country and arrived just two days before school was to begin. When I got there I went straight to the school, and introduced myself and was welcomed as the new music teacher. I quickly responded that there must have been some mistake because I had no background in music education....and they then asked if I could play the piano...(which I can....especially if I've had a glass of wine or two...and my audience is ready for some old Irish tunes ). Evidently that was more than anyone else on the staff could do, and the die was cast.

Our school was a pilot project for "trainable mentally retarded" kids from 12 to 18 years old. The idea was to have the kids change classes, and model any other high school environment. Easier said than done.

Mass confusion reigned ! Almost everything was new to me, and even newer to the children, and I had no idea how I would handle the job, no curriculum guide, little supervision....but a big imagination. While at Duquesne, my fraternity would team up with a sorority for the Fall carnival, and we'd put on a musical, while five or six other groups would do same...in large tents on the campus. I conceived an idea to rewrite those shows for the kids I was teaching, and thus my students began rehearsals and learned songs from

Broadway

During this time I met the wood shop teacher and his assistant who was a fabulous artist. We became quick friends...pulled our talents, constructing sets.painting them, and lured costume makers and musicians for our big productions. Our shows ( two a year ) were smashes....two nights, full houses, big wigs from the board, and applause for the kids that I'm sure they've never forgotten.

I wanted to write a piece today about racism....how we three "producers" were different colors, and how the kids were black white and hispanic, and how it didn't matter. The fact that I got to the end of this long tale without mentioning our colors seems to actually make my point. The kids were all just the kids...and my lifelong friendships with the carpenter and the artist mean the world to me. I guess the content of our characters easily trumped the color of our respective skins.