The Didactor Read online

  Her nose pushed closer and Sylvester instinctively leaned a little away lest he be speared. Shaking off irritation, he too wished Ben Troop was a little more sociable, more of a mixer, maybe even belong to a club or two. Having served twenty years in the Army he was even eligible for the Legion or the Vets, but he never joined anything. Sure gave the Claras and the Lydias of the town something to yowl about. A lot of citizens wondered about Ben Troop.

  Wryly, he admitted to a little curiosity himself.

  +++++

  Newport, 1965

  Because he faced the window, Boden saw the car pull into the curb. The driver appeared unfamiliar with the parking and Boden thought it probable that this might be his teaching applicant.

  He watched the man leave his car and take a moment to pull on a suit jacket before approaching the school entrance. He walked well and carried a manila folder in his left hand which he tapped rhythmically against a pant leg.

  There was something military in the man's bearing, as well there should be in a retired serviceman. At least he isn't some physical monstrosity, Boden thought. Lately he had interviewed a number of social studies teachers, all of whom had been peculiarly shaped. Two had been so fat (Boden never said heavy when he meant fat) that they virtually sloshed when they moved. He felt he would rather combine a couple of classes than introduce such poor examples into his school system.

  The prospective teacher passed from Boden's view, entering the main door and then into the outer offices where the secretarial staff would quickly form their own collective opinion of him.

  Boden glanced at the application lying on his desk, checking that he had the most salient points in good order.

  Ben Troop (no middle initial), age 41, education, B.S. plus numerous credits. Boden hesitated there, considering the strangest set of transcripts he had ever encountered. Troop had compiled credits from eight American universities and two foreign schools. Together they comprised an inordinate jumble of courses that indicated little organization or professional guidance. There were a great number of credits, well over two hundred, Boden found. If they had been coordinated, there would be enough credits to complete degree requirements for a doctorate.

  Apparently, during his service years, Ben Troop had chosen courses as his interests directed. Boden suspected there had been a great deal of head scratching in certification when Troop's credits were evaluated. Eventually they culminated in a bachelor of science in education from Penn State.

  Actually, Boden cared little for certification, credits, and recommendations. He used them as tools and complied as closely to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania's requirements as he felt practical. The personal interview was Boden's primary battleground. Face to face, eye to eye, Boden chose his staff. No matter how impressive a person's documentation, if a prospective teacher failed to suit Boden in the interview, he was never hired.

  During his years as superintendent, Robert Boden had become convinced his system was good. Occasionally he was less than satisfied with a selection he had made, but balanced against that part of the teaching staff which predated his appointment as superintendent, he felt his selections were superior and knew that he was steadily upgrading the Newport teaching staff. Given normal attrition, another five years should see Newport revitalized with a dynamic faculty that met Boden's concept of a quality teaching staff.

  Right now, Newport needed a history teacher. The position was an odd one including three different subjects at three different levels. They had tried to adjust the schedules but Newport was a small school with a limited number of classrooms and the situation persisted.

  Boden felt a trifle ill at ease when interviewing for the position. Applicants were taken aback by the schedule and one of them had immediately withdrawn his application.

  As his buzzer blinked, Boden checked the clock. Five minutes early; score a point for the applicant.

  Troop fit the written description. Just under six feet, well-built, clear blue eyes, brown hair, and Boden checked off: firm handshake, good eye contact, positive manner. Boden liked what he saw.

  He determined that Troop didn't smoke and then lit his own Tiparillo.

  "Think you might like it here at Newport, Mr. Troop?"

  "Yes, sir. I was born and raised in Perry County and this time I'm home to stay. If I'm accepted, I plan to buy a place in town."

  "Really? Where, if it's no secret?"

  "An old store on the square. I thought I could renovate the upstairs into a comfortable apartment and maybe rent out the store."

  "Interesting idea.

  "Now, tell me, Mr. Troop, What made you apply to Newport high School? Why not Susquenita or West Perry, or Greenwood for that matter?"

  This was Boden's favorite question. Often he caught the prospect. Some stuttered, searching for valid sounding reasons. Usually they came up with something about how nice the town was or how they had known a man who used to teach at Newport. Boden found the reactions interesting and helpful in seeing past the professional veneer.

  "In part, I chose Newport because it is my old high school and my years here were good and rewarding. More important, I chose Newport because I wish to be part of the best, Mr. Boden, and I believe this school is good now and getting better."

  Boden maintained his aplomb by wreathing himself in cigar smoke.

  Troop did not find it necessary to look away or hesitate in continuing. "I've shopped around, Mr. Boden. I've checked the other school systems. Newport's one of the few that isn't troubled by student arrogance, embroiled in teacher-administration problems, or wracked by school board ineptitude. Newport is the school at which I wish to teach."

  Troop's answer was unique, and mentally Boden hired him on the spot. My god, he thought, someone straightforward enough to take a stand. Unheard of in these days. Lord, don't let him be all show and no go!

  "Perhaps you'll find Newport unresponsive and disappointing," Boden said, knowing he wouldn't.

  Troop accepted the suggestion seriously, "I don't think so, Mr. Boden. I've weighed Newport and myself very carefully. I believe I can fit in here."

  They spoke on about other things.

  "How do you feel about classroom discipline?"

  "There is only one chief in my classroom, Mr. Boden. I run a benign dictatorship. I allow freedom of action and expression, but my wishes are commands and I demand that they be carried out."

  "And corporal punishment?'

  "It should be rarely required, never withheld if needed, administered immediately, and the incident forgiven."

  Boden wondered if he was considering turning a tiger loose on the school. More likely he would be gaining a dynamic educator who just might prove to be a strong right arm.

  "You believe in the old philosophy of spare the rod, spoil the child, Mr. Troop?'

  "As a broad principle I do, Mr. Boden. In actual practice, the rod should be rare and reserved. A teacher must control through his presence, his knowledge, his techniques, and his example. The respect a teacher engenders in his students, their appreciation of his classes, and in some cases, their liking of him are all part of class discipline."

  "You've looked over the schedule you would be teaching here at Newport, Mr. Troop?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What do you think of it?'

  "Well, there is one thing that I feel should be considered."

  Boden thought, that damned schedule. By God, I'll do something. I'm not going to lose this man,

  Troop explained, "We'll have to watch our class assignments over the years or possibly some students will receive all of their history from me, and that wouldn't be best."

  Boden's relief was profound. He had arrived at the same conclusion and had made a mental note to regulate student assignments so that no student studied under a single history teacher. He found himself asking, "Does the wide range in grade levels and different history areas concern you, Mr. Troop?"

  "No, sir, I prefer it. Pennsylvania history will be new to me. I've ne
ver taught it, but I think I will enjoy it."

  "Why? Because it is new to you?'

  "Well, that's part of it, surely, but I can think of a million unusual things we could do both in and out of class." Troop stopped himself, almost sheepishly. "I think the schedule's fine, Mr. Boden. I can handle it, I'm sure,"

  The interview foundered into a common bull session with two strong men from widely different backgrounds discovering common ground and room for agreement. They talked of other things, relaxed, neither yet fully committed to the other.

  Boden's secretary finally buzzed, reminding him of other appointments and a party waiting on line one. He checked his watch and stood up, bringing the conversation to a close and resuming his position as chief school administrator.

  Troop also rose. Although not a tall man, he towered physically above the superintendent. Neither noticed.

  "Your application is accepted, Mr. Troop." Boden's extended hand was enveloped by Troop's powerful clasp. "Welcome to Newport High School."

  "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your confidence and I intend to deserve it."

  Boden watched him return to his car, jacket swinging from a shoulder. He listened to a voice on the cradled telephone, but his thoughts were still on Troop. There was depth to the man. Boden wished they could spend time together. Probably it wouldn't be possible though, teacher relations and all. He felt regret, as though he was being hurried through a gallery without time to consider or digest, but the telephone required his attention, and Troop went from his mind.

  +++++

  Ben Troop often described for his younger students detailed and thrilling events in the life of the Roman soldier "Felonius Balonius," Who held the exalted rank of "Unoturion" (a commander of one).

  According to Mr. Troop, Unoturion Felonius was present and involved in most historically significant Roman activities. Who else, for example, would have sharpened Brutus' knife, or provided the asp for Cleopatra's closing scene, and certainly it was Felonius Balonius who scratched much of the remarkable graffiti on Pompei's walls.

  Mr. Troop even found it conceivable that it was Rome's only Unoturian who personally carried fresh elephant spoor from the Alps to Rome as positive proof of Hannibal's passage.

  At first bemused by the introduction of a ludicrous and blatantly fictitious character into the solemn hall of history, the students soon claimed Balonius for their own. Within classes, Balonius appeared both in and out of Roman history. Who had to change the water after Achilles was dipped? Felonius! Who held the rope when Alexander hacked at the Gordian knot? Of course—Felonius.

  Troop's classes were filled with unorthodoxy. There were no assigned seats. There was virtually no homework. There were loads of voluntary after school projects that students struggled with so enthusiastically that the results often became spectacles.

  What other school could boast a catapult that actually hurled a fifty pound limestone rock a full fifty yards? A pair of boys cast an aluminum replica Roman armor, short sword, and shield. A number of youths affected "Young David" haircuts, and on one memorable day most of a class wore togas they had themselves created. Tom Ruby was absent that day.

  The administration observed the teacher with satisfaction. A visit to the humming classroom was a pleasure and the principal never failed to stop by with school visitors.

  Only rarely during these visits was Troop lecturing. Usually he was moving from one group of students to another. Seldom were the groups performing the same activity and it was common to find an individual student nestled into a corner completely engrossed in a study all his own.

  Boden became a regular visitor to Troop's classes. Education and his school were life to Robert Boden and he found in Ben Troop his prime example of how it all should be brought together.

  Tom Ruby fought the enjoyment of the active Troop classes with heart and soul. He groused about "Big-shot" Troop to any student who would listen, and because he was an important athletic figure, a few listened.

  Ruby claimed Troop was a dictator who gave orders and taught nothing. He found Felonius Balonius particularly repugnant and maintained that he, Tom Ruby, might as well have stayed home if all they were going to do was ham it up.

  Troop and Boden often met before school opened. Both were early arrivers. Troop used Boden to support his interest in the day's problems and Boden never let him down. Boden was invariably interested and spontaneously enthusiastic.

  In exchange, Troop left Boden with determination reinforced. Troop's ideas and goals paralleled Boden's. The men neatly complemented each other. They were professionals; they respected, supported, and encouraged each other.

  On a number of occasions, Boden and Troop discussed Tom Ruby. Both men were concerned. Through the guidance director Ruby had been offered reassignment to another subject. Tom had refused. He was nourishing his dislike, building it with each complaint, personal failure, or Troop success. He was growing a big hate.

  Boden could see trouble brewing. So could Troop. Neither backed away. They were there to educate all of the students, not just the cooperative. Boden ran the school; Troop ran his classroom. There would be no student domination in either. They took steps together to handle each Ruby situation, but neither anticipated its savage climax.

  +++++

  Ben Troop walked up the hall to the "T" Where students enjoyed pushing and shoving, and worked his way through the traffic jam. This period there was markedly less crowding, and small groups were huddled together along the hallways. Ben wryly noted that his just released class members were the centers of attraction.

  He found himself being eyed warily and with decided interest. He made it a point to nod and speak normally. Perhaps he should hurry down the hall demonstrating a harried concern. Well, he didn't feel harried!

  He turned through the "T" And strode down the long lobby toward the administrative offices. Students thinned out as he neared his destination. They rarely loitered where authoritative eyes could see them. He thought of his own school days, when he had spent most of his spare time with the coaches in their hideaways or with the janitors lost in the bowels of the furnace room.

  He saw the receptionist watching his approach through the glass of the large windows that left both office and hallway exposed to common view. She turned quickly and spoke to the other office girls and they adjusted their highly coiffured heads to observe his approach. He considered thumbing his nose at them and normally would have, for unlike many of the teachers, he did not appear to hold himself above the clerical staff. He ate their candy, extended fantastic proposals of marriage, offered sea voyages together, and listened to their sides of problems with genuine consideration. They got along well, but this time he thought a gesture would seem flippant.

  He stepped through the glass outer door and leaned across the swinging counter gate with a thumb pointed at the superintendent's closed door.

  The receptionist nodded with a familiar quirk of the lips and a slightly raised eyebrow. He stood waiting while she buzzed and announced that Mr. Troop would like to see Mr. Boden for a moment. All concerned knew that Mr. Boden wanted very much to see Mr. Troop and all suspected the little man had been pacing and chewing on his equally tiny cigar, barely restraining himself until the class period ended and he could get the story firsthand from Ben Troop.

  The receptionist nodded approval, adding a little shake of her head to the nod, which Troop took to indicate a latent sympathy and understanding. He knocked lightly and stepped into the school's inner sanctum.

  As Troop entered, Boden jumped from behind his desk exclaiming, "Sit down, sit down" and waved generally toward the chair closest to his desk. He fiddled with a match and cigar for a moment then popped himself back on his swivel chair. He studied Ben Troop through the heavy glasses that slightly distorted his eyes, making him look a little owl-like at close range.

  Boden appeared to be evaluating him. Troop wondered if he looked different somehow or if henceforth he would be seen in other light. Probably
he's having trouble getting off the ground, Troop thought, and was about to open the conversation when Boden removed his cigar and spoke.

  "Better tell me about it, Ben."

  "Mr. Boden, the boy deliberately broke wind. I went over to him and told him to stand up. If he had resisted I would have grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled him up, but before I moved, he came up swinging. I nailed him twice and that was that. He hit the floor and I had a couple of boys take him to the nurse's office."

  Troop paused, feeling the explanation inadequate. He felt he should fill in all the details of the continued harassment by Tom Ruby but Boden already knew about them.

  Then he thought he knew why he felt ill at ease with his explanation. His discontent was with himself. He had thrown two punches where one might have done the job. He had felt no conscious volition in throwing the second punch; it had just occurred as automatically as breathing. A reflex from years of training, he supposed. But he hadn't boxed for years. Twenty at least. Should a punching combination have endured by instinct that long? Well, it had. Tom Ruby had a flat nose to prove it.

  Boden said, "You never touched him until he swung at you?" Troop noted he was first checking out the legal aspects.

  "No, sir, but I would have in another moment. I figured on jerking him to his feet and heaving him bodily out of the room."

  "Didn't his punches hit you?"

  "No, sir."

  "Why not, if they were that hard and close?"

  "Well, I'm not sure just how I moved. You know, that stuff is automatic. I suppose I moved my head out of the way—slipping the punches it's called."

  "Then you hit him how many times?"

  "Twice, both with the left hand. The first hit his jaw and I guess he sort of turned into it because the second one hit his nose."

  Boden shifted uneasily in his chair. "Boy, I wish you'd only hit him once. That second punch makes it harder to justify." He shifted nervously again. "At least that's what a lot of people are going to claim."