School Assemblies by Jay Dubya The Teachers Handbook prepared by the school administration explicitly states, "All school assemblies are scheduled by the main office and the meetings constitute an integral part of the total school program. Assemblies provide opportunities for the cultural and intellectual growth of students and they contribute significantly to the development of school spirit and school' morale." I have attended in the neighborhood of three hundred school assembles in my thirty-four year' teaching career ranging from pep' assemblies and science demonstrations to boring lectures, spelling bees and popular "G-Rated" movies shown before major holidays to "Keep the lid on." Recently the tone of assembly subjects has turned from cultural and intellectual to bleak and almost macabre subjects such as drugs, teen pregnancies and question and answer sessions with convicted prisoners with the convicts showing up (with guards) in their official orange uniforms. However several extraordinary assemblies that I had the misfortune of attending stand out in my mind. Once I had the displeasure of attending a junior-high school assembly in the high school auditorium. A circus clown wearing oversized shoes walked onto the front stage from behind the curtain and began doing magic tricks that were about as complicated as a basal reader. The students became quite restive and soon were hooting and shouting like a pack of vitriolic hyenas. It is embarrassing to have to stand during the entire assembly and play Gestapo when the teacher himself' wished he had an old vaudeville cane to yank the idiot off the stage. ‘A profit-minded huckster could amass a small fortune vending soft rotten tomatoes for the children to hurl at the zany entertainer,' I thought. That particular assembly definitely contributed to the "cultural and intellectual growth of the students." The intellectually gifted student is often stifled spending thirteen years in a public school system that promoted democracy in education within the comprehensive high school. Ben Locanta was a gifted child whose public school preparation was about as useful as a bamboo paperweight during a tornado. The gifted student possessed admirable resourcefulness. Whenever the school videotape machine went haywire or whenever the intercom went amuck, Ben was summoned to the office before any outside repairman was contacted. The young genius's knowledge of physics, electricity and chemistry was praiseworthy indeed. Regrettably Ben Locanta was so advanced that his mental needs were sadly neglected by the school curriculum. In the early ‘70s the high school had no modus operandi to effectively deal with the exceptionally talented student. Usually in high school education the intellectually precocious child gets the short end of the stick since the entire system is geared to raising the mentally downtrodden up to "academic mediocrity." When schools have students like Ben Locanta, that is when they need the "laboratory approach to learning," "independent study" and "the student-oriented curriculum." As it is according to the mandates of democratic education, those three splendid programs apply to the masses and not exclusively to the gifted student. Ben was the child that really needed to explore, create, invent, discover, synthesize and push his intelligence to the max'. But in American education those marvelous terms were and still are harnessed mostly to students that didn't (and don't) know a Bunsen burner from a Franklin stove and who' don't care to know. One afternoon an opera company visited the school to give two assembly' performances for the student body. Ben Locanta assisted the troupe with the stage arrangements, stationing the props', positioning and focusing the spotlights and overheads, and operating the backstage electrical controls. One of the more cocky thespians traveling with the opera production bent down to adjust a spotlight that would be shining on him during the first scene. The light had been turned on for only a minute and Ben cautioned the fellow, "You'd better not touch that right now or your hands will get scorched!" The middle-aged fellow wearing a medieval costume with leotards felt more than slightly chagrined at being admonished by a young high school student. The actor snorted back to Ben "I've been in show business all my life!" he boasted. "Do you think I'm some kind of greenhorn when it comes to simple high school stage lighting!" The enraged actor/baritone bent down and grabbed the spotlight with both hands, and then an instant expression of agony beamed from his facial features. The fellow howled so loudly that I thought he was going to turn himself inside out and the heat from his sizzling hands almost triggered the school's fire alarm. Ben was gracious enough to escort the anguishing singer/actor down to the nurse's office where his seriously blistered fingers were professionally bandaged. The assembly opera program did commence an hour later and the distressed fellow with the gauze around his hands didn't even have to wear white gloves. "That guy was punished by fate for being so nasty to Ben," Bob Gordon confided to me. "He deserved to get roasted because the nurse told me he's about as sociable as the Abominable Snowman." That same year I was the advisor to the high school's chapter of the National Honor Society. Ben Locanta was president of the NHS and as usual, the week before the induction assembly the entire ceremony' program was rehearsed. This was in the early ‘70s during the Vietnam War era and most of the male students in the school had long hair, sideburns, mustaches and wore bellbottom' denim- jeans. I soon found out that there was a degree of rebelliousness and anti-war sentiments even among the school's most honorable students. Towards the end of the NHS induction assembly there was always a segment where the students broke away from formal decorum and did a "Have You Heard" routine where high school gossip was done between two students over two separate microphones. Of course Ben and another NHS officer stepped over the line and announced that students with certain initials were having casual sex with students with certain other initials. Before the principal could run onto the stage and terminate the assembly the NHS officers gave the familiar ‘70s peace sign and all of the students in attendance stood up, cheered and gave reciprocal peace signs to their honorary academic leaders on the stage. "That assembly was a disgrace to this school!" the principal screamed at me in his office. "Look, we rehearsed the whole program last week and none of that sex stuff at the end was in the rehearsal!" I defended myself by yelling back. "Those students inserted that dialogue at the end without my knowledge or permission!" "You're through as NHS advisor!" the head honcho bellowed. "And this disgrace will definitely go into your personal folder!" he added. And so that's the way it often goes in American education. Botch up unintentionally and by a stroke of luck the teacher is suddenly and fortuitously freed of an important responsibility like being NHS' advisor. At another school assembly the faculty and students were honored to have an inspirational guest speaker whom John Rizzo had heard address the local Kiwanis Club. The driver education' teacher was very impressed with the hard life and tough approach of the self-made businessman so he convinced the administration to schedule the fellow to be an assembly speaker. The assembly was slated for eighth period, the final timeslot of the school day. John Rizzo introduced the self-made man and a distinct hush followed by light applause filled the six-hundred-seat chamber. The fellow approached the podium and then began speaking didactically into the microphone. The man's "talking down to his audience" style completely turned off his youthful listeners after the first three minutes of his biographical presentation. At first I felt a degree of compassion for the silver-haired Pericles. I got up from my seat like a dozen other teachers and patrolled the aisle chastising snickering wise guys. But then the speaker used an excessive amount of selfish personal pronouns like I, me, my, myself and mine. The students were becoming more neurotic, impolite, obnoxious and unruly as the man's rigid speech continued. Again I rebuked several young punks by saying, "This fellow is a self-made millionaire. He has gone from rags to riches!" I clearly lectured. "Maybe you can learn something from him about success by paying this man the respect he deserves!" But most of the students (who were used to being entertained at assemblies and not lectured to) were as interested in Horatio Alger stories as they were in quadratic equations. The elderly gent then sanctimoniously spoke with a heavy Polish accent about the need for patriotism, nationalism, free enterprise and loyalty to flag and country. By then nine-tenths of the children in the jam- packed audience were becoming quite antsy. The undercurrent of muffled student conversations could be heard throughout the auditorium when the entire assembly became less and less receptive to the self-made Polish immigrant millionaire's speech. Civil peace was rapidly reaching the danger level. ‘This guy is completely turning these spoiled students off!' I thought. ‘What was John Rizzo possibly thinking when he invited this man to speak? What works great at the Kiwanis Club might bomb when immature students are asked to sit still and listen for forty-five minutes!' The end of the period arrived on the clock and the dismissal bell finally sounded. But the self-appointed Polish Demosthenes at the podium' microphone disregarded the bell and kept on addressing the totally bored students. The guy just wouldn't shut up! The assistant principal and John Rizzo motioned and waved their hands for the man to finish his presentation but the undaunted speaker simply waved back responding to what he thought was a supportive salutation and kept talking to his lost audience. The old fellow then sensed the restlessness that existed in the auditorium so he demonstrated his dexterity. The former circus acrobat did three consecutive cartwheels on the stage for the benefit of his audience. The students then went crazy and gave the old gentleman a standing mock round-of-applause as the principal, vice principal and John Rizzo first gesticulated with their hands and then wildly and frantically signaling with both arms for the students to be seated so that an orderly dismissal could be initiated. The hapless old gent started speaking again since he interpreted the students' reaction as a relishing of his work-ethic philosophy. Ben Locanta came out on stage with a plaque to present to the speaker to terminate the bizarre assembly program. By then the school' day was over by a full ten minutes and all of the bus routes to the elementary school were already messed up and off schedule. The now-enthusiastic students again stood up after the brief plaque presentation and the assembled children gave the oblivious speaker a second mock ovation. The old man left the school five minutes later thinking that his talk had been well' received and he told John Rizzo on his way out of the building's front entrance that he "has faith in the future of America based on the fine students in your high school." At another daft assembly just before the Easter holiday break the students were slated to view an hour and a half Hollywood motion picture entitled A Man Called Horse. The children silently filed into the auditorium by homerooms, sat in their prearranged seating sections, the lights were dimmed and the projector began flickering the film frames upon the stage's white screen. One of the movie's opening scenes was a real eye-catcher. Richard Harris had been stripped of his attire and was running naked through prairie grasslands while being chased by a virulent Indian tribe. Any teacher seated in the auditorium could hear a pin drop. The silent students were amazed that their high school (a bastion of Victorian middle-class morality) auditorium would suddenly be converted into a bawdy X-rated movie house. The abashed school czars scurried to the back of the auditorium and had the head of the student audiovisual crew (now a prominent town councilman) place a flimsy piece of cardboard in front of the projector' lens every time a bare pair of buttocks flashed onto the white screen. The unhappy students booed, jeered and chanted every time their innocent eyes were denied the opportunity to view what they considered carnal pleasure. A scene later in the film A Man Called Horse was one of the most gory and gruesome spectacles I had ever seen in a movie. The pursued cowpoke (Richard Harris) had been captured by the Indians and was about to be accepted as a leader in the tribe after winning the clan's approval by demonstrating extraordinary bravery. His acceptance as honorary chief was accompanied by a most bizarre and sadistic Indian' initiation rite. Two gaping incisions were made into the paleface's chest, one into each breast (if this were a woman being initiated obviously the audiovisual crew would have to cover the projector lens with the piece of cardboard as commanded by the school principal standing nearby). Two meat hooks were tethered to ropes that had been suspended from a rafter and then the hooks were inserted inside Richard Harris's chest. The white man' honorary chief was then hoisted up into the air, hanging and suspended in a vertical position from the ropes and the inserted meat hooks on either side of his sternum. The actor's body was then spun around so fast that, as his form assumed a horizontal plane, the honorary white chief resembled a gyroscope whirling around. The scene was so hideous that even the most daring pugnacious students had to turn their heads on lower their eyes. Not even the worst behaved students that were always suspended themselves' could watch the climax to the ugly Indian initiation exhibition. But the entire A Man Called Horse movie assembly was quite indicative of our American Puritanical society. It's all right to show bloodshed, murder, death, suicide, homicide and shootings, so gore is generally regarded as acceptable and almost commendable. But to show a man's buttocks, a woman's breast or a pubic hair required a rectangular piece of cardboard in front of the movie projector's lens. The elite student audiovisual crew however was able to focus the forbidden images on their side of the piece of cardboard and had a few visual treats all to their own. The week after Easter break I saw Mr. Bill W., the assembly program advisor in the hall. "What happened with the administration after you showed that movie before the Easter break?" I asked. "I was really chewed out!" the advisor confessed. "I guess they'll now get somebody else to order and show the films." "Don't feel bad!" I empathized. "I was fired as NHS advisor after the honor students pulled a fast one on me and changed the ending of the assembly." "Good, you can have my former job as assembly film' organizer!" my colleague joked. "If the boss doesn't fire me I'll quit!" "No thanks," I replied. "I think I'd rather go into alligator mud-wrestling or elephant training!" Another interesting assembly was of the school spirit-pep' variety and this one happened in the late 1990s. The middle school football team ran out onto the school gymnasium' basketball court. The last student football player carried a manikin's faceless head with a woman's wig on top. He was enacting an imitation of a famous and popular World Wrestling Federation professional wrestler at the time, Al Snow. Just like WWF fans had done on television many times in response to the appearance of the manikin's head, the energized students in the gallery wildly chanted, "We want head! We want head!" The next morning the beleaguered principal called the student that had held the manikin's head down to the office and the child claimed that he was unaware that the chant "We want head!" involved any sexual connotation. "And besides if it did," the student argued to the principal, "the kids in the stands were yelling the dirty words and not me! I was only holding the fake head up in the air!" The clever student got away with murder conducting his little "inappropriate" charade and received only two days of Office Detention for causing widespread chaos and instigating the ultimate in bad taste during a school spirit pep' assembly. Finally, schools also have quasi-assemblies where films are shown on rainy days to fill the second half of a forty-five minute lunch period. I usually stepped into the main office just before lunch duty and asked the principal what films might be available to show to the eighth graders in the auditorium after they had eaten their lunches in the cafeteria. "Here, try this one!" the busy principal suggested. "It came from the county film library." "Code Blue!" I exclaimed with surprise. "Have you screened or previewed it to make sure it's safe to show to eighth graders?" "I just told you it came from the county film library," the school executive insisted, "so it's probably something like Blue Hawaii or something like that!" "Okay, you're the boss!" I sarcastically complimented and then left the main office to set up the film for viewing. The students were expertly transferred from the cafeteria to the auditorium and after settling down, I dimmed the lights while the other teacher on duty started up the projector. Neither Joe Sacci nor I had realized at the time that Code Blue was hospital' terminology for "Emergency Operating Room." The first bloody scene showed a man with a bashed up head being assiduously stitched-up by a very skilled surgeon. The second scene showed a huge Afro- American woman giving birth. The corpulent lady's legs were wide open and all of her femininity was right there for the absolutely captivated audience of fourteen-year-olds to inspect and evaluate. The other teacher on duty and I rushed to the projector to shut the questionable film off when suddenly the hospital scene shifted to two unconscious automobile accident' victims in need of immediate surgery being wheeled on gurneys into the very busy emergency room' operating suite. The scene continued and showed the men being attended to and resuscitated by qualified and competent hospital nurses and doctors. Then suddenly the medical film shifted back to the black Afro-American woman giving birth to her second and third babies. Joe Sacci and I made a beeline to the film projector and shut it off just as the second part of the lunch period came to an end. A deluge of boos generated from the disappointed students engulfed my embarrassed colleague and myself. "I think I'll stay home after this fiasco," my friend related. "I need a mental health day!" "Me too Joe!" I concurred. "There's bound to be a ton of parent flack after this farce, that's for sure!" The next day was Friday and Joe Sacci and I both took a "mental health" or "stay alive" day off from school. The following Monday we both showed up and were amazed to find out that not one irate parent phone call had been received in the office about multiple birth scenes shown in the second half of the previous Thursday's eighth grade lunch period. More articles by Jay Dubya http://feeds.rapidfeeds.com/4820/