There are a number of topics that Ed and I converse about on a regular basis. Since we went through high school together, we frequently talk about the FHS of today vs. the experience we had when we were going through our high school years.
Somehow this topic came up yesterday and we wound up discussing guidance counselors. I was telling him how wonderful the team of guidance counselors is at Farragut High School and what great experiences Holly and Paul have had working with them.
Like the teachers and administrators at FHS, they’re first-rate.
Our conversation thread then turned to our own interaction with guidance counselors back in our era. We just don’t have much memory of them at all. It’s not that they were bad, per se. They just weren’t actively engaged in our academic pursuits.
I think if you sought them out, they were a big help. Most regular teens just don’t know to do that.
We were trying to remember about how we interfaced with guidance in those days and one thing we could definitely recall was how a trip to the guidance office was a regular stop during the class called “Freshman Guidance.”
Freshman Guidance was a short-lived course that FHS offered during a three-year trial period during my eighth grade year, my ninth grade year (freshman) and my tenth grade year. The main teacher was a man whose memory sticks with the two of us as strongly as about anyone from high school years – Mr. Allen.
Mr. Allen was a hard-working and earnest teacher with modern educational theories focusing on time management and developing strong study skills. On the subject of time management, one of his favorite quotes was “Time is the most important factor.” And regarding study skills, he advised everyone to take copious notes that should be “Neat, complete and in order.”
He had a cache of multi-colored pens that he arranged, fastidiously, in his pocket protector and he wrote voluminous class outlines on the chalkboard or whiteboard at the front of the room. He also carried thick notebooks stuffed with volumes and volumes of teaching materials. Mr. Allen walked with a fast gait as he shuffled to and from each section of the course. There wasn’t a dedicated room, you see, for Freshman Guidance.
When Ed and I took the course, we were in the music theory classroom. There, occurred one of the moments I still remember vividly from my high school years.
That was the room in which Mr. Allen, ultimately, lost control of the class. And from that point forward, he could never get it back.
Despite his modern teaching theories, Mr. Allen left one minor detail out of his repertoire. He had trouble connecting with teenagers. And, as such, he also had a difficult time controlling the class. Discipline was NOT neat, complete and in order.
One day stands as the turning point in this experience. Some of the troublemakers in the class - ‘tools’ as Paul would refer to them these days - began chattering. Pretty soon the din of noise was distracting. Mr. Allen tried to call them down – his pointer finger dancing to and fro as he pointed to the perpetrators and shouted “Now, boys; Now, boys.” They weren’t phased.
Their next move was even more astonishing. Maybe, in fact, our location in the music hall provided inspiration.
Soon, almost as if it were planned, a bunch of them broke out in song, singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in perfect rounds. Mr. Allen’s finger danced mightily as he continued to shout “Now, boys; Now boys.” Eventually, defeated, he just slumped in his chair. And, the only thing that would end this mirth was, in fact, the final line of the song:
“Life is but a dream!”
The whole scenario was, indeed, dream-like as it played out in front of those of us who were innocent by-standers. As you can imagine, things were never the same. Mayhem ensued. With control of the students gone, I’m sure the aforementioned field trip to the guidance counselors office provided a nice break for Mr. Allen.
Soon, our classroom location shifted to the vocational building (now CTE), where we visited each of those programs over the next few weeks.
After my sophomore year, the class was discontinued. During my junior year, Mr. Allen was assigned to study hall. By my senior year, he was gone.
Ed and I have often discussed Mr. Allen and our associations with him. We’d chat with him and have friendly exchanges. I guess he could discern which students were the tools and which were the more studious and well-behaved ones. After he was gone, we wondered where he went. To this day, his name will come up in conversation and we will wonder how things turned out for him.
He was a nice guy who meant well but was probably mis-cast in that particular role at that time. I hope, wherever he landed, it was a better experience than he had that day in the music hall.
JG
Originally posted 12/13/2012
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