There are few places as perfectly suited to crush idealism and hope as a high school classroom. Yet, every year when September rolls around, another young graduate will face a class of ninth graders, confident that she can "tame the beast." Ms. Annette Kalin, a young teacher, leaves the relative security of her midwestern community to take on the challenge of teaching in New York City. From day one, a student named Leon challenges her for control of the class. Day after day she comes to school armed with a lesson plan, hoping to make a breakthrough, but each day her hopes are dashed by a class that has mastered the art of the "lesson kill." The end of the semester approaches, and almost all the students are failing. Annette clings to the naive belief that by making a home visit to talk with Leon's mom, who never made the scheduled parent-teacher conference, she could change the dynamic in her favor. Instead, she walks into a trap, with tragic consequences.

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

A Lamb to the Slaughter

Hope and Defeat in a High School ClassroomBy W. Lionel Williams

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright � 2010 W. Lionel Williams, EdD
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-3504-4

Chapter One

On the morning of January 20, 2006, nature frowned, wept, scowled, and hissed. The day dawned cold. Winds whipped and lashed as if to tear concrete sinews from the steel skeletons of urban giants that scraped the skies. Snow dunes banked about every door and entrance, daring any to find now invisible paths to rail, car, and subway. But the "City That Never Sleeps" was fighting back. Commuters battled with persistent waves of biting winds and got to work. Teachers and students, in an unlikely coalition, damned the Board of Education for not closing school. At 8:45, fifteen minutes after classes began, there were such rumbles of bedlam in Room 301 at Fort Green Academy High School that Rose Shepard was compelled to take account of the evolving tumult emanating from across the hall. Even behind closed doors, the sound of unrestrained ebullience caused the walls to dance.

She had been trying to ignore the distraction but was somewhat baffled that the teacher in Room 301 had taken so long to get her class to settle down. When Ms. Kalin first came to the school, Ms. Shepard had had to go across several times a day to help her put down disturbances and stop fights. As the semester progressed, however, she gradually wrested control and imposed a measure of order that, until today, seemed to have won a grudging tolerance from the worst offenders. But from the sounds Ms. Shepard was hearing, whatever gains her colleague had made were suddenly reversed. The uproar was making her class restless. With the giggling, oohs and aahs, and rhythmic drumming in sync with the sounds of music seeping through to her room, Ms. Shepard had had enough.

The door to the front of the class was locked. Not so the back door. The portal that allowed so many unwelcome visitors and ended Ms. Kalin's few lessons of promise opened to touch. As expected from such incongruous revelry, the students had breached the bounds of discipline. Some danced to hip-hop; some argued over checkers; some were wrapped about each other; some vented pent-up anger in coded scribbles on the board. And a few, caught in the maelstrom, watched it all, afraid.

"Where is your teacher?" demanded Ms. Shepard.

"She's not here!" someone yelled back. She spotted Rochelle poised at the door as if ready to escape the turbulence into the hallway.

"Rochelle, go call the principal!"

Ms. Shepard knew that Rochelle DeSantos had knitted a friendship with Ms. Kalin and that she had tried to help her teacher by lending quiet support. She consistently completed her work and maintained good conduct. Ms. Kalin had confided to her that Rochelle was the kind of student that every teacher wishes to have. It was natural, therefore, for Ms. Shepard to call on her to get Mr. Jones.

With an eye on the subdued mob, she watched Rochelle sprint toward the school office, ignoring the many posted warnings against running in the hallways. Within minutes, Mr. Jones appeared with a walkie-talkie in hand and two security officers in tow. Ms. Shepard, who had secretly worried about Mr. Jones collapsing on a stairway on account of his great girth, wondered how he managed to get to the class so quickly. One glance at the three angry men who exploded into the classroom was enough to end the impromptu carnival. The torturous climb and his anger as the kids scattered to find a seat, choked Mr. Jones's effort to sound in control. Ms. Shepard sort of felt sorry for him.

"Ms. Garafolo, please come to Room 301 immediately," the principal barked into his walkie-talkie, which magnified the stress in his voice. The assistant principal, sensing that something was terribly wrong, arrived shortly, breathing noisily. "Please supervise this class until I locate Ms. Kalin," Mr. Jones ordered.

As she returned to her room, Ms. Shepard thought about her missing colleague and hoped she was all right.

* * *

Sadie Moskowitz, the school secretary, confirmed that Ms. Kalin had not called to say she would be late. Perhaps she, too, was contending with the elements and making strenuous efforts to get to school. Thirty minutes went by, long past the interval the school had allotted to hear from Ms. Kalin. In the personnel file Sadie found a home number and one to dial in case of an emergency. She telephoned Ms. Kalin's home first. Although she wasn't expecting an answer she wanted to be able to say yes when someone asked, "Did you call her house?" Next, she tried the emergency contact. Ms. Moskowitz's heart skipped a beat as someone picked up the telephone.

"Hello?"

"This is Fort Green Academy High School. I am trying to reach Ms. Kalin. She listed you as an emergency contact."

"I am Ms. Rogers, her next-door neighbor. Is something wrong?"

"We don't know. Ms. Kalin didn't show up for work today. She hasn't called. Did you see her leave for work this morning?"

"No. I last talked with her Wednesday evening."

"She left here at 3:30 yesterday."

"God ... I hope nothing bad happened to her. I'll go over to her place and knock on the door. Maybe she overslept."

"Will you call us back?"

"Yes. In a few minutes."

Fifteen minutes later Ms. Rogers called back to say that Ms. Kalin wasn't at home. She was quite sure she wasn't there.

The snow had picked up again. Blizzard conditions extended citywide. Old Man Winter had set his sight on demolishing a century-old record.

Another thirty minutes went, but Sadie had no success reaching Ms. Kalin. By that time Mr. Jones had asked a "float" teacher to take over the class and keep order until Ms. Kalin arrived.

During her free period, Ms. Shepard went to the office to check if the secretary had heard from Ms. Kalin.

"We haven't heard anything," explained Sadie. "That's not like Annette not to call. Even if she is going to be ten minutes late, she calls to say she'll be late. I called her neighbor, a Ms. Rogers who we have on file as an emergency contact. She said that she checked and nobody's at Annette's place."

"Does she drive to work?" asked Ms. Shepard.

"No. She takes the subway. She said it only takes her about thirty minutes to get here from her place."

Ms. Shepard frowned and shook her head as if to suppress an awful thought. "I'll check with some of the other teachers to see if they've heard from Annette."

At lunch break, Ms. Shepard asked the teachers in the faculty lounge if anybody had heard from Ms. Kalin. No one had. She decided to ask Sadie to call her house again and headed for the office.

"Sadie, did you try calling Annette's again?"

"No. I'll try now." The secretary dialed Ms. Kalin's home number. The phone rang four times, and then the answering machine picked up.

"This is Annette Kalin. I am not here now, but please leave a message and a phone number and I'll call you back as soon as I come home."

After the beep, Sadie left another message. "Annette, this is Sadie in the school office. We are worried about you. Please call us as soon as you come home."

* * *

At two o'clock, thirty minutes before dismissal, Mr. Jones decided that he could not leave for the weekend not knowing what had happened to one of his teachers. He paged his secretary.

"Ms. Moskowitz, please get me the police."

"The police, sir?"

"Yes. The police."

...

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