Fiction – FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN

NY SLIDE XLVIII: PROMOTION ISSUES

      Anthony D'Arizon came to the school from Puerto Rico with enormous basketball talent. He seemed destined for the NBA, everyone said, and a scholarship was already waiting for him to pick up at Florida State U. The only problem was his low scholastic scores.
     It seemed a shame, his coach agreed, that such a promising athlete should be held back, a great career threatened by persistently low scores in Math and English. Something had to be worked out. For English he was placed in Mr. Bilicki's elective.
     One thing Bilicki would not compromise on was the school's habit of coddling and protecting basketball players. "We worry more about their ability to play ball and win trophies for the school, and less about their education," he protested. His position did not sit well with everyone, certainly not with the prinicipal who was a school basketball fan.
     In his final year, still early and months away from graduation and that scholarship at Florida State, D'Arizon seemed on track to fail Mr. Bilicki's English class. Asked to account for this Bilicki pointed to a pattern of absenteeism. Told by his supervisor that a student could not be "failed" solely on his attendance record, Bilicki held his ground.
     He was approached by Mrs. Angrisani (Guidance) who in the presence of a subdued D'Arizon – towering over his teachers in snazzy sweat suit and bright sneakers – argued passionately that Anthony's circumstances were rather special.
     Okay, he'd missed many classes, everyone knew that; but surely Bilicki could be sensitive to a student's need to put classes second to the interests of his family. The interests of his family? Yes, Anthony had a part-time job; he went to work before and after classes to bring money in for his mother and younger brother. It was something he didn't want made public. Some students had no choice but to work their way through high school. Bilicki refused to give in. Anthony D'Arizon was one day mysteriously yanked from his elective.
     Bilicki stormed into his supervisor's office demanding an explanation. Pete Plimpler, always ready with fluent answers, raised a matter he said had just come to his attention, concerning a "race issue" between teacher and student. Bilicki was apoplectic.
             (from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XLVII: INSTALLED

     For the announcement of her appointment by the Principal at the next faculty meeting Mrs. Haliburton wore a business-style jacket and skirt (not the pants outfit she favoured); and a tiny African hat and a kente cloth strip gracing her left shoulder. When she stood up, bowed, smiled and waved off the applause, the kente cloth and the hat caught everyone's eye.
     So much had happened so quickly - the changes, the rise to new responsibility involving colleagues they'd known and worked with all these years – most teachers hadn't time to make the required adjustments. Few even suspected Mrs. Haliburton carried inside her a quirky ethnic pride.
   Colleagues in her department were nevertheless determined to maintain the spirit of old connections. They came forward and touched the kente strip, "Lovely piece of material"; and they kissed Mrs. Haliburton on the cheek.
     Her office received some renovation. Mrs. Haliburton decided to make 'heroes' of students who'd fallen victim to street violence; she asked the computer department to print out a poster – Victims of Violence /Memorial Wall – which was displayed outside her room. Student friends of the injured were invited to submit poems and artwork to embellish the poster.
     The computer department was asked, next, to print out a colored banner – It Takes A Whole Village To Raise A Child: African Proverb. This was stretched above her office door. The problem of students loitering outside Rm. 217 she solved by insisting that students come to her office only when summoned.
     Bright new notices appeared around the building, posted with Mrs. Haliburton's
authorizing signature. They reminded everyone to bring to her attention any acts of bias or racial discrimination. These notices replaced the old ones which had faded over the years, and enough of which Mrs. Ossinoff had apparently not posted in conspicuous places during her tenure.
     As for her critics, the cynics – teachers who strolled into her office and saw no students, saw nothing happening; saw Mrs. Haliburton frowning as she leaned over papers on her desk, or spoke on the phone – and the teachers she felt sure resented her appointment after Mrs. Ossinoff, Mrs. Haliburton would shake her head, amused and saddened. "I mean, what else would you expect?" she'd say.
     She let it be known, however, that she was hard at work never mind how things looked. Much of her work was done outside the building: visiting the homes of truants, talking with mothers she bumped into at the local supermarket and on the streets of the community.
     She was not always forthcoming with information; in fact, she seemed distrustful, belligerent at times. Say what you like but make no mistake, Mrs. Haliburton was hard at work.
                         (from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XLVI: TURNING POINT

    The turning point in her campaign for change came after an incident in the parking
lot near the school one day. A skinny Hispanic student on his way home was surrounded,
pushed and shoved and urged to fight by a chubby black student. Frightened, his head
lowered, he walked away; then he started running. He was chased into the parking lot where – to the delight of a swollen pack of onlookers, howling for action, and jumping on parked cars for a better view – he turned suddenly and fought back. With swift ferocity.
    Pulling a knife from his bag he went after his tormentor, plunging the knife within an
inch of the lungs.
    The incident raised a furor. The city tabloids, at the time running opinion pieces on the proposal to ask city employees to take up residency in the city, sent in reporters.
Television vans with channel numbers boldly identified parked around the school the
following morning. Reporters waited on the sidewalk to interview teachers hurrying in.
    Many teachers stopped long enough to express distress at the damage done to cars
when students jumped on them. Mrs. Viola Haliburton was stopped and she agreed to
give a lengthy interview before hand held microphones.
    On the evening news she was allowed only thirty seconds of exposure; she complained
bitterly about this to everyone who saw her on TV. She'd said much more, a lot more, than was actually shown; they'd edited out important words. Still, thirty seconds of edited
television exposure added up to thirty seconds of recorded fame.
    One reporter made mention of the racial imbalance at the school ("a staff overwhelm-
ingly white in a district predominantly black".) She observed that Mrs. Haliburton was one of few black teachers at the school "trying to make a difference".
    The interview, while raising her profile as a community spokesperson, incensed many
in the building whose cars had, or had not, suffered damage. (Mr. Lightbody was beside
himself with rage; he hadn't heard one spoken word about damaged teacher cars.) Many kept up their good-humoured relations with her, though privately they considered Mrs. Haliburton's television interview unfair and divisive.
    Days later, disturbed by the adverse publicity the school had received, the District
Superintendent paid a visit. She noticed students lounging outside Mrs. Ossinoff's office
on the second floor and demanded to know why they were not in classrooms receiving
instruction. The explanation she was given did not please her. Near the end of the
spring term Mrs. Ossinoff was suddenly relieved of her post.
    They didn't have to look very far for her replacement – someone with impressive credentials and status (a recent TV interviewee), who lived in the community and felt impelled to "give back" to the community. As the new program coordinator Mrs. Haliburton was considered just right for the job.
                             (from "Ah Mikhail O Fidel!", a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XLV: REVOLUTIONARY MOVES

    Nothing short of a revolution was needed at the school, so Mrs. Haliburton believed.
Serious with intent she armed herself with grim statistics to make her point: the violent
behaviour, the truancy and dropout rates, teenage pregnancy issues. Things were not
just bad, she meant to imply; they were unacceptable.
   Her first moveable target was Mrs. Ossinoff, a program coordinator, whose duties were
to provide counseling to students referred to her office: students with "problems" at home, in the classroom, with abusive boyfriends, drugs. Her office was usually crowded.
Students wanting to talk to Mrs. Ossinoff stayed away from classes; they loitered outside
her door; they played cards in her office as they waited their turn.
    Mrs. Ossinoff had been a student at Berkeley in the 60s. On Fridays, when teachers
dressed down and looked forward to a relaxed funfilled weekend, she wore flowers in her
hair and blue jeans and tie-dyed T shirts; her crinkly hair with its first strands of grey
hung down her rounded shoulders.
    Students loved her. They encouraged her to talk about the 60s when smoking
marijuana was a harmless if socially unacceptable indulgence; they claimed she understood their problems, spoke their language; she was "always there" when they needed help.
    There was, however, a loitering problem outside her office. Mrs. Haliburton made
this the first issue of her campaign for change.
    "You walk past Rm. 217…at any given time, on any given day…what do you see?
Students hanging out. Just hanging out. Nobody's in control," she observed, adding good-
naturedly in reference to Mrs. Ossinoff: "She's doing the best she can, I don't deny that,
but I don't think she's able to relate to these kids on a meaningful level."
    She began cutting out newspaper articles carrying the latest high school violence
statistics. John Wayne Cotter H.S. was usually high on the list. She made photocopies
of columns – the borders and capitals severe with printer ink – and she pinned them up
on the notice board in the main office.
                               (from "Ah, Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XLIV: ISSUES AND IDENTITY

     On the occasions they met – in the hallway, the teachers' cafeteria – Mrs. Haliburton,
with folders and computer printouts in hand, always seemed in a hurry to get somewhere.
She stopped long enough to drop remarks that left Radix puzzled about her role.
    For instance, she told him one day she was on her way to the principal's office. What
about? The asbestos threat. Radix had no idea there was an asbestos threat. Where was
the threat? Mrs. Haliburton looked at him half amused, half amazed. She explained that
some time ago a teacher from the Foreign Language department, Mrs. Battershield, had died of cancer. Exactly two years ago, to be precise. Now she'd just got word that a second teacher, who had been on a mysterious long leave of absence, was receiving treatment for cancer.
    So what was the connection, Radix asked. Was the teaching of foreign languages
somehow hazardous to teacher health. Couldn't it be simply coincidence?
    The connection, Mrs. Haliburton said, her lips drawing close to his face, for this was
no trifling matter, the connection had to do with that section of the building where the
foreign languages department was located. The school administration and the Board of
Ed. were not willing to acknowledge there was an asbestos problem there.
    She walked away shaking her head affirmatively, her lips pursed with conviction. Radix
looked after her open-mouthed. What should he make of this? Had Mrs. Haliburton, now an investigative reporter, stumbled on some closely guarded school secret?
    It was possible she was deceiving herself; maybe she'd developed an inflated sense of
her own importance; maybe there was some truth to the gossip in his department that
she was just another office seeker, a player in the school's identity politics.
    One morning he walked in her office, closed the door, and ignoring her distant manner
told her he had some important news. "I was speaking with the Chapter Chairman, about that business of the asbestos…? He says there's nothing to worry about." She looked up, clearly taken aback. (Just takes a little "news" to switch her on, Radix thought.)
    "I'm not surprised he said that. The Chapter Chairman doesn't care who lives or who dies in this building. He's looking out for his own interests."
    "He says the Board of Education sent in a team last summer to examine the situation. They reported the building was safe."
    "I know about that report. There is a serious problem with asbestos in this building
and nobody's doing anything about it. And by the way, the next time you talk to Steve
Kite, our beloved Chapter chairperson, you ask him what's he doing about the money
for the swimming pool."
    "Money for the swimming pool?"
    "That's what I said…Money. That was supposed to be spent. On facilities. For Swimming in this school. Where did it go? You ask him why he isn't raising a stink about that." She tugged the collar of her jacket as if to suggest her assertions were as neat and correct as the fit of her clothes.
    Though Radix hadn't meant to sound adversarial it seemed now he had crossed a line;
he had gone over to the other side seeking truth; he'd returned to question the integrity
of someone from the community.
    Mrs. Haliburton sighed and looked away from him as if the view from her window offered solace, helped her deal with people new to the country, astonishing in their
naivete.
            (from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XLIII: THIS CHINUA PERSON

     For her part Mrs. Haliburton had heard of the exciting things Mr. Bilicki was doing and
she was impressed. She saw him as an old trooper willing to move with the times, to fight
the powers for change; though she never missed an opportunity to chide him about the
absence of black males from his class.
   "I don't get it," she said to him. "Help me here, Brendan. We start off with overcrowded
classrooms in the ninth grade, everybody complaining about the registers, and by the
time they get to you in their senior year, the numbers are what?…15,16 students? Where do they go? And what is it about you that apparently turns off some students, particularly
black male students…? I mean, I see all these pretty Hispanic girls in your class, but no black males. What's going on here, Brendan?"
   And Brendan who liked her combative spirit, who knew she didn't mean to hold him
accountable for student attrition over the years, who was neverthless wary of the razor
of anger he sensed hidden within the folds of her humor, changed the subject and spoke
of innovations he had tried to introduce to the department; and the obstacles placed in
his way by "reactionary" people like Pete Plimpler.
    Bilicki's interest in Chinua Achebe – the African connection, as he put it – really impressed her. Mrs. Haliburton was an avid reader; it was part of her book club image to walk the hallways with a hard cover edition of a famous author clasped to her breast. Stop her to enquire what she was reading, you found Alice Walker, Toni Morrison and (though not very often) Danielle Steele. If anyone said they'd never heard of these authors, an expression of dismay and censure came over Mrs. Haliburton's face.
    She spoke to Noreen at the Board of Ed about Chinua Achebe, how Bilicki had asked
his students to write a book report on her work. She was smacked with chagrin when she
learned that this Chinua was a male, not a female person. "You mean all this time…"
disbelieving laughter "..you know, I was on the phone to a book store last weekend, and
the woman was telling me she had no idea who this Chinua person was."
             (from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XL: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

When Radix first met Mrs. Haliburton he was unaware of her reputation as a woman
whose power in the comunity was not to be taken lightly. He happened to wander past
the open door of her office, and he caught a glimpse of her looking out the window,
seemingly lost in thought. He hesitated; he was struck by the empty feel of the room,
the spartan arrangement of chairs.
   "What goes on in here?' he asked with cheerful innocence.
   "Why don't you come in and find out?" the lady at the desk replied.
   He was startled to discover she knew who he was; knew his name, the department he
worked in.
   "I hear you're from the Caribbean islands."
   "Where did you hear that?"
   "My father came from the island of St Kitts."
   Mrs. Haliburton seemed friendly and engaging, and mysteriously self-possessed; a stout
woman in her forties, with firmly upholstered breasts; dressed with an older woman's
concern for clothes that reflected her age and status and identity. There were thin
elegant streaks of grey in her full head of hair which reminded Radix of island women of
prominence who devoted their energies to organizing other people's lives. In Mrs.
Haliburton's case there was the desk, the telephone, an air of leashed impatience; but
no sense of her room as a humming centre of activity.
   "So how're you getting along here?" she asked.
   "I'm still feeling my way around."
   "I hope you decide to stay with us. We don't have too many like you here?"
   "You mean people from the islands?"
   "I mean, there aren't too many black men in the teaching profession. You can count
the ones we have on your fingers. Our community needs more men like you…role models
for the kids…young men with your neat little Malcolm X beard, and…" she gave a fist
pump "..fire in their bellies."
   She was looking at him directly, as if measuring his worth. She asked where he lived
and was delighted to learn he lived in the Bronx. It prompted her to introduce her theory
of borough residency requirements for teachers.
   "You weren't here during the snow days last fall…see, lots of teachers couldn't get in,
they live far outside the borough. The kids made it in through all that snow, but not the
teachers. In fact we had so many teachers out, we ended up warehousing kids in the
lunch room for most of the day."
   "So how do we fix that problem?" Radix asked.
   Mrs. Haliburton's face flashed a look of disappointment.
        (from "Ah, Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XXXVIX: THE PROPOSAL

   When they got inside her office Pete Plimpler looked around, then walked over to
the window. Mrs. Haliburton took off her coat and asked what the problem was.
   Pete Plimpler cleared his throat; he spoke in a clear measured tone. Mrs. Haliburton
was stunned by what she heard.
   "He had the nerve, are you listening, Noreen?…he had the audacity to suggest I give
up my office…that's what he said…he wants me to switch rooms…give up my room,
with the view…exactly…that's what I'm saying, he moves here, I go there!"
   Pete Plimpler was quite serious. Might Mrs. Haliburton not feel more comfortable, he
began respectfully, occupying his office, away from "the hurly burly" of the second floor?
The reason was simple: the location of her office, directly above the Principal's office,
made it ideal for quick communication between someone like himself and "our mutual
friend" below. Besides, with the elevator breaking down when it felt like, the logistics
of the situation would seem to suggest such an arrangement could be of benefit to
everyone.
   "Well, honey," she told Noreen,"I. don't. give. a pail of horse droppings about the
logistics of his situation..that's right! They're going to have to get a court order to
make me vacate this room."
   Actually, she was pleased with the way she handled Pete Plimpler that morning. She
tried not to look startled; she listened with fingers splayed thoughtfully on her jaw, her
eyes never wavering. And she gave the impression she was somewhat intrigued by the
proposal.
   When he'd finished Pete Plimpler focussed his beady eyes on her face, convinced by
her nodding silence that he'd persuaded her, that she would acquiesce. He seemed to
be waiting for a response right on the spot.
   But the phone rang and Mrs. Haliburton picked it up. She raised her hand, a finger
asked him to hold on one moment. Pete Plimpler didn't care to hold on while she talked
on the phone. He wiggled his finger and whispered he'd get back to her on the matter,
no hurry; and he slipped out the door.
   "Noreen, didn't I tell you something like this was going to happen?…that's what I said
too…exactly…well, he'd better get ready to rumble with this black woman."
         (from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XXXVIII: PETE PLIMPLER (A.P. ENGLISH)

   The first challenge to her office space came from the supervisor of the English Dept.,
Pete Plimpler. He caught Mrs. Haliburton early one morning as she strolled into the main
office. She got the distinct impression he'd been lying in wait for her; one minute he
appeared to be studying notices pinned on the main office board; the next he looked
around, smiled and announced, "Ah, there you are…"
   Mrs Haliburton threw her arms up in mock surrender – what offence had she
committed to warrant his attention? – her bosoms shaking with mirth. And Pete
Plimpler cleared his throat, touched her gently on the elbow and assured her with
corresponding good humor she had committed no offence. "At least not yet."
   "My heart went bumpity, bump," Mrs. Haliburton later told Noreen, girlfriend at the
Board of Ed. "All these years this man has nothing to say to me, walks by me like I'm
the corner mailbox…and now all of a sudden, he's happy to see me?…I mean, be still
my heart."
   "Are you going up to the second floor?" Pete Plimpler asked. "There's something I've
been meaning to discuss with you."
   Smiling, still mystified, she walked with him to the elevator.
   Mrs. Haliburton was a bosomy woman with firm, fleshy arms and a full head of hair
she kept well groomed. Pete Plimpler was short and slim, with thinning grey hair; he
wore an obligatory jacket and tie. He walked head lowered, deep in thought, his manner
gruff; and he gave the impression he'd rather be anywhere but in the Bronx, among
people not exactly genteel in manner; who wore their emotions on their sleeves; and
were quick to take offence.
   Once the elevator door closed Mrs. Haliburton sensed the physical advantage she might
otherwise not have had over him. Seizing the moment her ebullient nature slipped off
its leash.
   Her voice boomed and walloped Pete Plimpler's head and ears as she complained
jocularly about the arbitrary nature of the elevator which some days got stuck with its
door open on one floor while people on other floors pressed the buttons, waiting and
waiting. Did he have any idea how many pounds she lost whenever this happened,
heaving herself up the stairs?
   Her laughter made him cringe inside. He stood erect and smiled painfully, his winter
pale face tight with distress. Yes, he told her, he had been a victim of elevator misuse.
In more ways than she could ever imagine.
              (from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)

NY SLIDE XXXVII: POWER PLAY

   Her office on the second floor permitted Mrs. Haliburton a view of the front entrance.
She was reluctant to give up this view. She was able to observe everyone, students and
staff, coming in, and report on their morning disposition. Case in point, the incident
that developed from the fracas in the car park across the street, where a student was
stabbed while onlookers jumped on the cars for a better view of the fight.
The car park had been used by some teachers without formal permission. It was
intended for residents of the apartment building but since they owned very few cars
there were always spots available. For years teachers, glad for the feeling of security
the enclosure offered, drove in and parked in the empty spots.
   Imagine their surprise, the shock, one morning, when they arrived to find the
entrance blocked.
   A group of residents, mainly women, were walking up and down in what seemed a
kind of protest action. They lowered a chain to let a resident car out; they raised it to
block teachers from entering.
Mrs. Haliburton was at her desk observing the situation, and reporting developments
blow by blow to Noreen at the Board of Ed.
    "Here comes…I think it's Mr. Estwick…teaches Biology…a young man, he started
last fall, his wife had a baby the other day…um hmm…he drives in from the Island…
he's been parking right outside the front entrance which nobody in their right mind
would do, these kids don't think twice about sitting on your hood when they want to
hang out after school…well, he had his sideview mirror broken, and the antenna bent
…you'd think he'd learn his lesson by now…no, he continues to park there…on the
same spot…um hmm…Now wait, this is interesting…Mrs. Karnipp just drove up…
they've raised the chain…she's getting out the car…she's speaking to them… My
goodness! she's really upset…she's backing away!…Lord knows where she'll park today."
     Later Mrs. Haliburton couldn't resist asking Mrs. Karnipp about the encounter. They
were in the teachers' cafeteria. Mrs. Karnipp was sipping coffee and pulling on her
cigarette.
    "I noticed you had some trouble this morning…with the people across the street…in
the parking lot?" she probed.
     "You know, I've been parking there for years…never had any problems with those
people. It never occurred to me I was taking someone's parking spot…I mean, there
are more spaces there than people own cars."
     Mrs. Karnipp's eyes were wide open with pain and distress for all the world to see.
Her fingers with the cigarette scratched the air. She searched Mrs. Haliburton's face
for some understanding of the chaos she'd been thrown into.
    "Well it is their parking lot. They can do whatever they want with it," Mrs. Haliburton
said matter o' factly.