Used Books in Class

I recently read that Leonard Marcus, a childrens literature historian, is completing a book about Madeleine L’Engle, called Listening for Madeleine. He explains that the book will be “a ‘portrait in many voices’ of the author A Wrinkle in Time, presented through a series of interviews with fifty friends, family members, and colleagues who knew her well.”

My 1963 copy of A Wrinkle in Time had this cover

A Wrinkle in Time was one of my favorite young adult reads, a fact I have noted in earlier blogs. I discovered my hardcover copy  under the Christmas tree, and although I finished reading the book that same day, I spent wonderful hours rereading the story of Meg Murray, her “boyfriend” Calvin,  and her younger brilliant brother Charles Wallace who “tesser” to the planet Camazotz to save Meg’s father. I loved the story.

But I have never confessed publicly how on one occasion twenty years ago, my love for the book completely undermined my sensibilities.

In 1991, a local bookstore advertised that they would host authors for book signings. To my great joy, one of the authors invited was Madeline L’Engle. I was delighted; my favorite YA literature author was coming to a local bookstore!

I immediately called my mother in Boise, Idaho, to see if she could locate my childhood copy of A Wrinkle in Time and mail it to me so that I could have the book signed? She spent several hours looking through boxes of books that had been shipped from Connecticut two years earlier when the family relocated to Boise. Once she located the book, she called to tell me that my copy was really in a very worn condition.
“I’m not sure that the author is going to want to see how badly you treated this book,” she chuckled.
I assured her that the condition of this text was confirmation of my love of the book. I even recited a few lines over the phone could recite lines from the book (“Wild nights are my glory!” and “‘Mrs. Whatsit hates you,’Charles Wallace said”). I recounted L’Engle’s  literary joke, “It was a dark and stormy night….!”
She mailed the book back to me.

I marked the date for the author’s visit on my calendar. No appointment, soccer game, or relative get-together would keep me from this meeting. I would tell Madeline L’Engle how she had been such an influence on me. I would recount to her how I imagined myself as Meg, a brilliant outsider, fighting for the return of her equally brilliant father and brother. In reality, I was not brilliant, and my family was rather average in intelligence, but I very definitely felt like an outsider. I even rehearsed how I would greet her, “Ms. L’Engle? When I was a teen, I read your book a thousand times!”
The day before the author visit, I was suddenly seized with the notion that reservation were required for the event. I panicked. Did I miss something in the notice? I quickly called the bookstore to make sure I would not be shut out of this event.

“Oh, I am so sorry to tell you that Ms. L’Engle will not be coming,” said the voice at the end of the phone.
“What? Why not?” I was immediately upset.
“Ms. L’Engle was in a serious car accident this past week and has been hospitalized.”
There was a pause.

Ms. L’Engle was not coming? I would not get my book signed? I had the book! I had the book sent from Boise, Idaho!
“Well,” I stammered, “when will she be be here? I mean..will you reschedule?  I wanted to get….”

WAIT! What was I saying?? My favorite author was nearly killed, and I was still worried about having a book signed?
Where was my sense of compassion?
Where was my sympathy?

“I mean…I…I am so sorry!” I finally blurted out a proper sentiment. “I mean, I hope she she will get better soon.”
I hung up quickly, lest the call be traced back to me.
I was terribly disappointed, but I became increasingly distressed about my reaction. I could not believe how selfish and clueless I must have sounded on the phone.
My mother called later that week.
“Well, what did the author say about your copy of the book?” she asked.
I had to confess my inappropriate behavior to my mother… to my mother, for goodness sakes!
She offered her sympathy for Ms. L’Engle, scolded my lack of compassion, and reminded me to take better care of my books.

Several months later, as an anniversary gift, my husband sent my copy to Ms. L’Engle, who was still recuperating, to have the book signed.

On the title page, in large curvasive script is the inscription, “for Colette Bennett-Tesser well-Madeline L’Engle”

I never did meet her. I hope the condition of my copy showed how much I cared.

One of my first jobs was as a waitress. The job was physically demanding. The variety of customers meant that no one day was like any other day. There were usually three “waves” during mealtimes. The hourly rate was a little below minimum wage, but there were tips.

My job now is to teach. The job is physically and mentally demanding. The variety of students means that no one day will be like any other. But there are four to six “waves” a day depending on a school’s schedule, and I certainly make more now than the minimum wage an hour.

In a recent discussion about teacher training, I made the observation that being a waitress was great training for preparing a teacher for managing the classroom. My colleagues were surprised, so I made the following argument.

Picture this. In a restaurant customers arrive and are seated at tables with every expectation of a great meal. Hopefully, the arrivals are staggered, but quite often there is a rush of customers who are presented with a menu to make selections. The waitress manages several tables at once.

In contrast, in the classroom, students arrive en masse with a variety of expectations. They seat themselves at desks or tables and are given an opening set of instructions. The teacher engages every student in the activity at once.

Back at the restaurant, customers make their selections from the menu; their individual requests are recorded by the waitress. The clock is “running” once the order is taken.

Back in the classroom, the students’ attendance is recorded, homework collected, and lesson materials distributed by the teacher. The length of class is fixed; once the bell rings, the clock is running.

At the restaurant, the waitress delivers the meals in the order the patrons arrived, the patrons eat accordingly at their own pace. Their progress in monitored by the attentive waitress. Once the patrons are done, the meals are cleared away….leisurely.

In the classroom, the lesson is delivered to an entire group of students, perhaps the students participate together or perhaps there is differentiated instruction. The attentive teacher monitors the students’ progress while keeping all students on pace to complete the lesson. At the end of the lesson, the materials are put away….in haste!

In completing the meal, the customers pay their bills and leave, planning to return soon because of their great experience at the restaurant. Because of the waitress, they have been served good food and provided good service.

In contrast, at the bell, the students scramble to leave the classroom. They are required to return for another learning experience in the classroom. Hopefully, because of the teacher, student learning has been accomplished and good academic habits reinforced.

In retrospect, being a waitress was a great way to develop the skills of timing and monitoring, the skill of delivering materials, and the skill of closure that are needed in the management of a classroom. I did enjoy being a waitress. I liked the busy pace and interaction with people, but I love teaching as a profession much more. However, I  miss the tips.