It’s just another day

 Yesterday was the final day of my 8-day assignment in a 4th grade class; I’ve written something about that assignment in a previous post, “Revolt of the Guinea Pig,” It’s been a challenging 8 days which, as Dickens might have said, brought out the best in me and probably the worst in me as well. But yesterday morning I had that experience that every teacher dreads—shelter in place, also known as possible shooter situation.

I had arrived at the school at 7:20 thinking how wonderful it was that our heat had broken a bit. The skies were overcast, we’d had rain the day before, there was a cool breeze. As I walked to my classroom (photos below of what the buildings look like), I waved to the students already gathered on the other side of the gate, who were waiting to rush in, some to the cafeteria for their breakfast, some to the playground to run and hopefully get some of that energy out before the bell rang at 7:55. I unlocked the outside door to our building, walked down the corridor to my classroom, unlocked that door. 

I was busy separating out papers, trying to interpret the lesson plan that the other teacher had given me. At 7:50 the announcement came over the PA, “Lockdown, this is not a drill. Lock your doors, draw your curtains.” My first thought was to the children who were on the playground outside so as I hurried to my door, I opened it, looking across to the other teachers in the hall who had their doors open, not shut tight. Our children were out there, unprotected. We looked down toward the door to the playground. It burst open and confused students came through, looking to us to know what to do. We waved toward them, “Come here, come here, no, don’t worry about hanging up your backpacks, just come here and get into the classrooms now!” As they entered I said in about as even a tone as I could, “This is lockdown, you know what to do, go to the white board, sit on the floor and be very, very quiet.” I stayed at the door, as did all the other teachers in our building, until we knew we had every student in the hall in a room. Then I closed the door, put the protective sleeve on the door opener, turned around and made sure the students were following directions. 

I had “ALICE” training (Alert, Lockdown, Inform, Counter, Evacuate) training seven years ago. Subs aren’t considered part of regular training efforts at our school so yesterday I called on every memory I could about what to do. The classroom I was in has windows across one wall, thankfully at least with blinds over them; the blinds are always closed. My door, which is on the wall across from the windows, is meant to have a curtain over it. I had asked the office about it but they said to wait for the regular teacher. Hence my telling the students to hunker down across the side of the room that was as much away from the windows and the door as it could be. But, truthfully, each side of the room had its disadvantages; I had to choose what I thought would be the safest. I thought about barricading the door but remembered that the training had said only barricade if I knew the “shooter” was actually trying to get into my building through the hall doors. Again, pros and cons, if a shooter came through the window, we’d have to speedily evacuate through the door; barricading wouldn’t be a great idea. 

Having done what I could, my main thoughts were for the kids in my care and for my daughter who was in the classroom four rooms down the hall and her kids. Actually, I thought about all of us, every single person in that school. Repeating over and over in my mind, “Please God let everyone be safe” I focused on appearing as calm and in control as I could as a huddle of faces turned to me—Miss what’s happening, Miss what are we doing, Miss is this a drill. I whispered, You’re safe now as long as you keep down and keep quiet (knowing that might be only a half truth) and sitting criss cross among them. The kids were magnificent, these 10 and 11 year olds. They sat perfectly quiet as we waited in the silence. My own ears were straining to hear any shots or movement. 

Finally, after what felt like eons but was only five minutes, the PA announced, “It’s all clear, lockdown contained to Main Office, students may go to class.” Carefully, because there’s always a very slight possibility that this might not be wholly true, I went to my door and looked out into the hallway, other doors were opening, other teachers emerging. We all looked at each other—we’d done our jobs, it was time for another day of teaching.

That was how my day began. Here in the US we hear about the active shootings, the terrible toll, but we don’t hear about all of the near misses and the knowledge that teachers carry about the dangers they face beyond the normal recalcitrant students and multiple expectations about curriculum teaching. I asked later at lunch what had happened and was told that, as a sub, I wasn’t privy to “confidential” information. I mentally shook my head—I am so used to the way subs are treated but, really, I possibly risked my life this morning but I’m not supposed to know why? Later I found that our local newspaper had the story. A former remedial teacher had come to the school this morning and was behaving in a threatening way toward students. She appeared “intoxicated” according to the article and police were called. She either evaded police or they just gave her a warning—the article didn’t say—and she then went to another school and harassed the students there who were still arriving for class. That school, the middle school where my youngest granddaughter attends, starts an hour after the elementary schools do. At that point, the police did arrest her.

I know that woman. The newspaper published a photo of her, probably the most unflattering one they could find. I liked her when I worked along with her. She was dedicated, professional, and the students she tutored liked her too. I don’t know what happened that caused her to break down like that, where she would go to a school and behave in a way that made people feel afraid. On the one hand, I would never want to judge her, and I sincerely hope she gets help. I feel it awful that the newspaper would publish her name and photo like that when  she so clearly needed help, when her behavior cried out for help. On the other, if she’d had a gun—and most states, including Arizona, have fought hard to keep the right to bear arms open to everyone, even those with mental health issues—the headlines could well have been much different. And as long as her mental health is such that she feels that she can approach school kids in a threatening manner—if the article is to be believed—then I don’t want her near the school or at Target, WalMart or any public place. But mainly I don’t want her to have any kind of weapon.

The gun lobbies keep failing our children and adults in the line of fire from people who are suffering from mental health issues. They are failing those people as well, making care and help so difficult to obtain. Failing to monitor them. 

Photos of some of our school buildings. In the second photo you can see the building on the left; that’s the bathroom where students in the building on the right, have to go to if they need the bathroom. They have to exit a locked building (which is the building I was working in lately), go to the bathroom, and then find a window to bang on in order to get back into the safety of that locked building. But with all of the money that’s been used to “upgrade” these buildings, there’s been no money spent to make this safer.