In the Name of God. Stephen J. Gordon

my notes, the packet from the teacher, and my Monopoly game down on the desk and took a deep breath. The teacher’s notes spelled out Mrs. Cayhan’s plan for the day, plus the students’ homework. I picked up a black marker from the ledge below the whiteboard and posted the overnight assignment. No sooner had I finished the last line than the bell rang, signaling the end of the current period. Actually, it was more like an electronic buzz, but it was warning enough. I gathered my notes, sat on the edge of the desk, and waited.

      In a minute, two girls — one tall, dressed all in black with spiky hair, and one short and thin with blonde hair tied up in a sort-of bun — came in talking. They took two steps then froze in mid-stride.

      “Mr. Aronson, are you subbing today?” the smaller of the two semi-shrieked.

      “I sure am,” I said smiling.

      The petite girl immediately headed back out to the hallway and announced my arrival, using a decibel level disproportionate to her size. Within minutes the entire room was filled. There were probably eighteen or twenty kids and there was only one desk to spare. The new period bell rang, and we were off.

      “Okay,” I announced, “your homework is on the board and I will be passing out your drill, so please settle down.”

      The buzz in the room quieted as I passed out Mrs. Cayhan’s drill for the day: an analysis of a political cartoon about big business in the late 1800’s. It showed a giant Cornelius Vanderbilt, the railroad baron, straddling a group of railroad tracks. He was holding a leash in each hand that was attached to different railroads. The students’ task was to answer a number of questions about the cartoon.

      I looked out at the students in the room. There were tall and small kids, round and thin; some were in shorts and T-shirts, others in jeans and more fashionable tops. As I watched the boys and girls get down to work, the young, petite girl who had announced my arrival raised her hand. She was sitting in the front row, dead center.

      “Mr. Aronson, are you subbing all week?”

      “No, Arielle, just today. Mrs. Cayhan will be back tomorrow.”

      She raised her hand again.

      “Yes, Arielle,” I smiled.

      “How’d you remember my name? I mean you’re not here that often.”

      A boy diagonally behind her with close cropped blonde-hair and a cherubic face burst out with: “It’s because you ask so many questions, Arielle. God!”

      “Thank you, Zach,” I said. “Actually, I try to make my mind very impressionable, like a field with undisturbed snow on it. Then when I need to remember something, it makes an impression and I remember it.” I paused. “That, and the fact that you ask a lot of questions, Arielle.”

      “If you say so, Mr. Aronson,” Arielle said.

      I smiled again. “Back to work.”

      Just as the class had settled down, the door opened and in walked a dark-haired boy, dressed in jeans and a black and orange Orioles T-shirt. He began heading for the lone desk in the back left corner of the room.

      Our eyes met. “Stop,” I said.

      Everyone in the room looked up.

      “You’re Josh, right?” I loved being able to call them by their names. It made it personal, essentially saying I may be a sub, but I know who you are.

      “Uh huh.” Josh answered, frozen in place near the door.

      “Do you know what time it is?”

      The boy wasn’t even flustered. “I know I’m late. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. You could see it in his expression and in his body language. He was smiling and looking at his friends.

      “Do you have a late note?”

      The entire class was watching the two of us. Except for our exchange and the low rumble of the air conditioner, the room was still.

      The boy in the Orioles T-shirt looked at me. “No.”

      I didn’t say anything; just looked at him

      “Mrs. Cohen let us out late.”

      I addressed the class: “How many of you are in Mrs. Cohen’s class?”

      About fifteen students raised their hands. I thought that might be the case.

      “Class started eight minutes ago, Josh. It’s not fair to all of us, and besides, you missed my explanation on the secret to remembering Arielle’s name.”

      A moment went by. We needed to get past this.

      “Don’t take advantage of me, Josh. I don’t appreciate it.”

      He sat down without further comment.

      “Okay, ladies and gents,” I began, “we have miles to go before we sleep, so let’s take one more minute and then we’ll review the drill.” They all got back to work.

      A hand from a girl seated in the center of the room went up. She had her knees pulled up close to her chest, her feet resting on the chair.

      “Yes?”

      “Could you turn down the air conditioner. It’s freezing in here.”

      I looked at her. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless flowered top. She was rubbing her own arms, trying to get warm.

      “We can’t turn down the air conditioning, Sammi,” Zach, the boy who had earlier needled Arielle, spoke up again. “The knob is broken.”

      I walked over to the window-side of the room and took a look at the wall unit. It was a system similar to the units found in many motel rooms that controls both heat and air conditioning. There were only two knobs: one to select the function and one to control the temperature. The knob for the temperature was missing, leaving only the metal post.

      “You can’t turn it,” Arielle spoke up from the front. “It’s stuck. You need a pliers or something.”

      I looked at it for a moment then grabbed the small post between thumb and forefinger and rotated it to the left. It was a little resistant, but it turned. Immediately, the tone of the unit deepened and the air blowing out became warmer.

      “Oh my God, how did you do that?” someone in the back asked.

      I just smiled. On the way back to my desk I caught a glimpse of the wall clock. It was almost 9:00. I pulled Katie Harris’ note from my shirt pocket. I asked for David Leder to come see me, and a short, disheveled-looking boy with wire rim glasses came over. I handed him the “Harris Get Out of Class Pass” and off he went.

      The remainder of class went smoothly. After reviewing the drill and then working on vocabulary relating to their chapter, I pulled out my Monopoly board. Since the lesson was on the rise of industry in America, I thought it would be interesting if they could redesign the Monopoly board to reflect that era. They could rename the railroads and utilities to something more era-appropriate, and then could also replace the street names with other monopolies of the time, such as the Standard Oil Trust. I divided the class into four groups and gave them time to come up with suitable names. Ten minutes before class was over, we reconvened to share their ideas. They loved it, and I was pleased. Not all my ideas went over so well.

      The bell rang shortly and the class filed out. Most of the kids said good-bye; some said thank you. I ushered two stragglers out — two boys who took an incredible amount of time gathering their books and binders — and then collected my own belongings.

      I went back to the office. It was much busier this time, filled with teachers and a few kids. Teachers were moving from mailbox to door, from door to copier, from one office to another. Students were just hanging out.

      I looked at Diane, the secretary who had welcomed me warmly. She was at her desk and had the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder — she must’ve been on hold — but was talking to a teacher beside her about report cards, jotting down notes