WORK

The School of Thought on Breaking Bad

When true crime is on the classroom agenda

The professional yapping class carries on excessively about teachers.

Even before the Pandemic Era, we were expected to be educators, counselors, social workers — even, in some cases, rabbis, pastors and priests.

What with the full-scale battles over vaccines and the daily soap opera I like to call “The Young and the Maskless,” teachers these days have more than enough to sift through in their Covid-fried craniums.

Things weren’t always lollipops and roses when I was in the classroom, either. From intrusive parents to a lack of potty breaks during high-stakes testing, we faced our share of challenges.

Public education is often a lot like making sausage — sometimes you just don’t wanna know. But then what happens when the unthinkable transpires?

The following tales are instructive. Trust me — any one of them would be enough to make even the unflappable Professor Valerie Frizzle, PhD, blow her curly top.

And please keep in mind: Each is pretty much an open and shut case. Oh, and the bad guys — in my workplace, at least — never won.

The day the long arm of the law got caught red-handed.

He was in his 40s; relaxed, kid-friendly. The perfect kind of policeman to hire as our first School Resource Officer — an enforcer meant to extend at least the semblance of protection to the 2,200 or so folks in our high school. SROs, as they’re known, basically provide a daily presence — intended as a reminder that crime doesn’t pay.

Our school cop used to hang out with the kids in the cafeteria. Then, he started taking long, off-site lunches.

He’d told one of my colleagues that he had some “money problems.” These things happen. But don’t often escalate in such an off-the-wall way.

We learned about Officer SRO’s indiscretions through the usual channels.

My classroom’s loudspeaker crackled to life one afternoon. The principal cleared his throat. Started to speak. Sounded like he could be drowning in bad news. Or regrets.

“Um…I wanted all of you to know that we’re gonna probably be at the top of the evening newscasts tonight,” the principal said.

OK, you’ve got our attention.

“Well, I wanted everyone to know this before we all see it on Channel 4. Our School Resource Officer was arrested about an hour ago.”

What? We’re all ears.

“It seems…um…I should point out that in our justice system, one is innocent until proven guilty…but, um…Officer SRO has been accused of several bank robberies…”

Huh?!?

The Man in Charge paused, then continued. Everyone in Room 215 stared all agog at the small speaker in the classroom ceiling.

“I’ll have more details soon, I hope. I am sending an email out to all school families and employees with more information.”

Turns out our particular PoPo was, indeed, later found guilty of robbing five local banks in three different jurisdictions. During the school day. Lunchtime, in particular. His total haul, give or take a few thou, was about $70,000.

Easy work, if you can get it. And a great way to pay off your debts. If you don’t get caught, I reckon.

At press time, the perp was still in prison.

Our school library was certainly a well-oiled operation.

We all thought of her as our very own Marian the Librarian. Efficient, friendly. But took no guff from no one.

Ms. M. had a well-earned reputation as a knowledgeable, highly competent school asset; a constant, delightful but firm presence, whose skills were in high demand. Until, of course, they weren’t.

After years of faithful service, Ms. M. took to carrying one of those Big Gulp plastic cups around. The containers that hold 32 refreshing ounces of one’s favorite beverage.

What we didn’t know was Ms. M. had been rendezvousing during the school day with a guy named Smirnoff. No rocks, no OJ. Just the undiluted hard stuff.

Turns out our perennially helpful bibliophile, who baked muffins for the faculty on Fridays and hosted frequent foodie fests at the big, round library tables near the stacks, had a serious problem.

One Friday, Ms. M. organized a get-together during lunch. A couple dozen of us contributed, and she ordered Chinese take-out.

We communed over lo mein and dumplings. We looked forward to our next soirée, and discussed possible future cuisine themes.

But the next day, she was gone.

Turns out a 9th-grade teacher had taken her cherubs to the library. She’d asked Ms. M. to speak to the class about research.

Our crafty cataloguer started her presentation with a sip from her Big Gulp. Then another. Then a third. What transpired right after that is still open to interpretation.

I do know that someone finally summoned help. The principal arrived to drive the well-lubricated librarian home.

Moral to this story? We never saw her again.

Mr. Holland’s Opus? Not even close.

And this creeper — who happened to be our school’s band director — didn’t get a Disney ending, either.

Those of you who’ve been paying attention can probably write the rest of this sad song. Mr. B. — well-respected, much-honored, including once as Teacher of the Year — was picked up by authorities in the middle of June. In his office. At the school, which also happened to be in session.

I give law enforcement props here — they swooped in during Mr. B.’s free time. Took him out the back of the building, and didn’t put the cuffs on ’til he reached the patrol car. Appropriated his laptop and other possibly pertinent electronics.

Fortunately, at least for a quick sec (it’s hard to harbor secrets in a high school), no one was the wiser, even when the orchestra teacher took the rest of the band classes that day, and then for the rest of the week. To her credit, she didn’t miss a beat. Just combined the ensembles and they all made beautiful music together.

As for Mr. B., he was collared for having “inappropriate conversations” with a 14-year-old boy and then charged with five counts of “taking indecent liberties with a child while in a supervisory relationship.” During his trial, more than one of his students came forward for the prosecution.

Mr. B., of course, proved one of the oldest maxims true: There is no such thing as a stupid question. Until there is.

Police, you see, had already canvassed Mr. B.’s home, seizing a multitude of communication devices. Prior to his arrest, they’d also assumed the online identity of a teenage boy to chat with the band director and collect further evidence.

So, Mr. B. should have been cognizant of the fact that someone was probably listening when he made the call from the lockup after his arrest.

A deputy monitoring the conversation between Mr. B. and his wife overheard him asking if police “took the laptops in the garage.”

Of course, the cops then seized 15 more computers. Case closed.

I don’t know much about music education, but the English teacher in me knows that particular call could be classified as tragic irony.

Guilty as charged. Serving 12 years, with five years’ probation tacked on to the end of his sentence. Oh, and he has to register as a sex offender.

Just…eeewww.

I saw a lot in 23 years of high school. The good outweighed the bad, and even the mediocre, during my tenure.

I holstered my grading pens and silenced my “teacher’s voice” — oh, you’d know it if you heard it — four years ago.

I miss a lot about my time in the trenches. But there’s some stuff I’d rather not think about anymore.

Do I still work? Yes, I guess, but mostly no — for money, anyway. I dabble in writing, editing and the occasional tutoring gig. At least that’s what my LinkedIn profile says.

In other words, I’m working really hard at being retired.

One thing all of you should know: Teachers must be prepared to summon their better angels. But we also have to shoulder an enormous amount of trust in the bargain. And hope that some kind of divine being will be there to catch us when we fall.