My Classroom Television
The bell rang, and 23 fifth-graders walked into my classroom for the first time. They looked around, found their seats, and waited. After a quick scan of the room, I began my first day as an elementary teacher by taking attendance. The previous 17 years of my career had been spent as an industrial arts teacher. Back then, grade seven and eight students were bussed to my shop, where I taught them design, tool safety, and construction-work I thoroughly enjoyed.
Now, however, my principal had reminded me that daily attendance was a fundamental task in my new role. I moved down the list until I reached "Johnny." I called his name. No answer. As I scanned the room again, a student in the back raised his hand, turned 180 degrees, and pointed to the corner. Tucked under my long electricity bench was Johnny, crouched with his back against the wall. I said hello. He didn’t answer. Since he wasn't disrupting the class, I marked him present and moved on.
After finishing the list and sending the results to the office, I began telling the class about my shop background. One student pointed to a scroll saw on the bench and asked if I’d teach them to use it. "Now is as good a time as any," I replied. I wrote "Scroll Saw" on the blackboard and called the class over. They were excited. I chose a volunteer from the front and handed her safety glasses. As the class chuckled, I put on my "serious teacher face." I gave them my classic safety lecture: "Your eyes are part of your brain. These glasses don't just protect your sight; they protect your mind."
I demonstrated how to adjust the footrest, drew a line on a scrap of wood, and showed her the switch. She turned it on and made a clean cut. As I looked up, I saw Johnny standing at the back of the crowd with a huge smile. I caught his eye and smiled back. It was a successful first day. As the month progressed, I integrated my technical skills into the grade five curriculum.
However, I soon faced a challenge: the shop had a large budget, but my new classroom did not. When I moved, I brought my own TV and VCR, but the picture tube failed within weeks. I was forced to share the school’s two communal TVs, which was a logistical nightmare. Up to that point, I had collected, made, and cataloged many VHS tapes. That was the teaching medium I was focusing on. I had an extensive David Attenborough collection that my class thoroughly enjoyed. The great thing about having your own equipment was you could pick the right moment to use it and make lessons much more interesting. I also had a great math series called Mathmakers with Derek McGrath; a funny guy who made math interesting.
In mid-October, the principal walked into my room. A man of few words, he asked directly, "Do you need anything for the classroom?" I told him I needed a TV. He looked at me, said nothing, and walked out. I didn't think much of the exchange until one morning in early November. There, sitting on my bench in its box, was a brand-new 26-inch Sony TV. I was stunned. Why had he bought it? I mounted it above my desk, inspired by the new possibilities it offered. That TV stayed with me for the rest of my career.
A few weeks later I was in the stockroom and ran into the school secretary. We started chatting, and I had to ask her why the principal had purchased the TV for me; I was still puzzled. She knew everything about our school. Apparently, the previous school year, Johnny had spent most of his school days in the principal's office.
As the years moved on, I picked up the Bill Nye series, Art Attack (a great series), and a host of other educational series because the TV was a tool for me. For the principal, it was a reward for creating a classroom where Johnny felt he belonged. I knew that when we find ways to motivate the "Johnny" of our schools, the administration is often more than willing to provide the tools to keep that momentum going. Burt Savage
Now, however, my principal had reminded me that daily attendance was a fundamental task in my new role. I moved down the list until I reached "Johnny." I called his name. No answer. As I scanned the room again, a student in the back raised his hand, turned 180 degrees, and pointed to the corner. Tucked under my long electricity bench was Johnny, crouched with his back against the wall. I said hello. He didn’t answer. Since he wasn't disrupting the class, I marked him present and moved on.
After finishing the list and sending the results to the office, I began telling the class about my shop background. One student pointed to a scroll saw on the bench and asked if I’d teach them to use it. "Now is as good a time as any," I replied. I wrote "Scroll Saw" on the blackboard and called the class over. They were excited. I chose a volunteer from the front and handed her safety glasses. As the class chuckled, I put on my "serious teacher face." I gave them my classic safety lecture: "Your eyes are part of your brain. These glasses don't just protect your sight; they protect your mind."
I demonstrated how to adjust the footrest, drew a line on a scrap of wood, and showed her the switch. She turned it on and made a clean cut. As I looked up, I saw Johnny standing at the back of the crowd with a huge smile. I caught his eye and smiled back. It was a successful first day. As the month progressed, I integrated my technical skills into the grade five curriculum.
However, I soon faced a challenge: the shop had a large budget, but my new classroom did not. When I moved, I brought my own TV and VCR, but the picture tube failed within weeks. I was forced to share the school’s two communal TVs, which was a logistical nightmare. Up to that point, I had collected, made, and cataloged many VHS tapes. That was the teaching medium I was focusing on. I had an extensive David Attenborough collection that my class thoroughly enjoyed. The great thing about having your own equipment was you could pick the right moment to use it and make lessons much more interesting. I also had a great math series called Mathmakers with Derek McGrath; a funny guy who made math interesting.
In mid-October, the principal walked into my room. A man of few words, he asked directly, "Do you need anything for the classroom?" I told him I needed a TV. He looked at me, said nothing, and walked out. I didn't think much of the exchange until one morning in early November. There, sitting on my bench in its box, was a brand-new 26-inch Sony TV. I was stunned. Why had he bought it? I mounted it above my desk, inspired by the new possibilities it offered. That TV stayed with me for the rest of my career.
A few weeks later I was in the stockroom and ran into the school secretary. We started chatting, and I had to ask her why the principal had purchased the TV for me; I was still puzzled. She knew everything about our school. Apparently, the previous school year, Johnny had spent most of his school days in the principal's office.
As the years moved on, I picked up the Bill Nye series, Art Attack (a great series), and a host of other educational series because the TV was a tool for me. For the principal, it was a reward for creating a classroom where Johnny felt he belonged. I knew that when we find ways to motivate the "Johnny" of our schools, the administration is often more than willing to provide the tools to keep that momentum going. Burt Savage