To Whom It May Concern :
As a presenter for Humanities Montana, and as Montana Poet Laureate, I have visited schools in every corner of our state. I am also a former high school teacher. I’m writing now to praise a school I recently visited: Geraldine High School in Geraldine, Montana.
It’s heart-warming to me to see kids smiling in the classroom, to see them interacting with one another with decency and kindness. It’s heart-warming, as a visiting presenter, to enter a classroom and find students who are willing to look me in the eye, who are willing to talk with me honestly and openly, who are willing to “engage.” Sadly, this is not always the case. At times, in even the shiniest and most modern schools, there’s a hollowness of spirit; students are withdrawn and sullen. How does it happen? In some schools, I’m greeted by students and teachers who are thriving. In other schools, I feel less than welcome. I feel like I’ve stumbled into an institutional dead end.
I don’t know the answer to the question I’ve just posed. But I do know that schools like Geraldine High School have something important to teach us. “Where’s the office?” I asked the first kid I passed in the hallway. “I’ll take you there,” he said, and he reversed course to show me the way. In the office, the principal/school superintendent stood to shake my hand, joked a bit about his job, and walked me over to the classroom. It was class-change time, and as we walked the “man in charge” greeted students by name, and students smiled or nodded greetings in return.
The class itself, I soon learned, was a collaborative classroom: a history teacher, science teacher, and English teacher -- all teaching “life skills,” all three present and smiling. This was the last class period of the day, a sometimes low-energy hour where students are still sitting in their chairs, but their souls have already exited the building. In Geraldine High School, this was not so. The students before me were relaxed, curious about what I might have to say. I, too, felt curious about what they might have to say, and soon my “lecture” was a conversation, an easy flow punctuated with good humor and thoughtful reflections.
When is a classroom functional? When is it dysfunctional? You will know it when you see it. I saw it in Geraldine, Montana. After the final bell, I walked the snow-covered pavement back to my car. “Hey, thanks!” one of the students from our class called to me from across the street.
Lowell Jaeger