My dad called me about a teaching job near my family’s home in Carlsbad, Calif. He filled out my application while I dictated the answers over the phone from Texas. Ironically, the high school principal assigned me to teach sophomore social studies and English grammar, along with coaching duties.</p>
<p>Again I learned to survive with wile. The students wrote their names on a seating chart and then pronounced them for me. To avoid reading the list, I asked them the next day to call out their names, claiming I wanted them to get to know one another.</p>
<p>Students read bulletins and textbooks aloud. To create the illusion of literacy, I always carried books as props. I learned my lines and acted out my part like an aspiring young actor on a movie set. I could calculate grades, but I evaluated students orally, developing my listening skills.</p>
<p>At the end of my first year, I decided to quit teaching because the pressure was too great. I cautiously entered the principal’s office to resign and emerged with the chance to teach world history instead of English.</p>
<p>Every day presented a new challenge in the classroom, but I wanted to be a varsity head coach. I looked around for other opportunities, getting a friend to fill out an application for me while I feigned a sprained wrist. I was intrigued by a position in Corcoran - a town in California’s San Joaquin Valley - both by the name and by the salary.</p>
<p>I got a reply from the school and handed it to my dad, knowing he’d be amused by the coincidence of names. Until he congratulated me, I didn’t know whether I’d been offered the job.</p>
<p>As I started teaching bookkeeping, social studies and physical education in Corcoran, I entered a situation where half of the kids were intellectual dropouts; their bodies showed up, but their minds were shut down. They were at-risk students, but I always felt they could be reached.</p>
<p>I was like a deaf person who reads lips, making up for my inability to read by developing other skills. I’d have group discussions, bring in outside speakers, hold individual conferences and use standardized tests with hole-punched answer keys.</p>
<p>It was not uncommon for me to find almost half of my students unable to read past a third-grade level. I couldn’t teach them to read, but I could help them learn as I had learned. For all those teaching years, I avoided facing the real problem in their lives and my own, revealing one of the shortcomings of progressive education.