Why I am a Candidate for Seattle School Board. Part 1- Cigarettes and Boiler Rooms

Monday morning-  20+ years ago I worked as an Instructional Assistant helping At-Risk students in a program that, like many good programs, didn't last very long.  I learned a lot that year about kids, poverty, F-4 Phantoms, and boiler rooms.  Yes, boiler rooms.  Let me explain, during the late '80's I was...a cigarette smoker.  Shocking, I know.  At this time not only were staff allowed to smoke on school grounds but students were allowed to smoke on school grounds too.  The difference was that the kids had to smoke outside while staff had the choice of smoking outside with the kids or going to a designated smoking area. One of those areas was the Boiler room.  It was an easy choice:

Johnny + Tobacco addiction + Vermont Winter = Boiler Room.

The guys (women staff smoked somewhere else) who hung out down there were an interesting mix of older maintenance workers, teachers and occassionally administrators (although rumor had it that they smoked in a special room with leather chairs, a fireplace and attendants who catered to their every whim).  It was quite the experience for this little Jersey boy and I am grateful to Phillip Morris for giving me the need to go down there.

One of the daily smokers was a Teacher who was also a Vietnam Veteran.  He flew F-4 Phantoms (a kick-butt jet fighter-bomber).  This was during the time when there was renewed interest in the war.  Movies like "Platoon" and "Full Metal Jacket", were made during this period and were very popular.  I remember after Platoon debuted that all of a sudden there was a proliferation of support groups and Help-Lines for Vietnam Veterans.  Some of my students' fathers were Vets and they were...damaged.

But not this Teacher.  He didn't fit the stereotype that was portrayed in the media.  He seemed relatively unscathed by his experience.

One day a student of mine, Allen (not real name) showed up at school with a black eye and a split lip.  He had gotten into an argument with his father (one of the Vets) that had turned into a beating.  It was a shock to see Allen that way.  His father took good care of him normally.  He seemed like a good guy.  He was a good guy, but he carried around images that he couldn't shake and sometimes he lost it.  His son was in the way one night and paid for it.  I was angry and judgemental and ignorant.  I took my stupidity to the Boiler room and over the next 30 mintues learned more than I had in any class I had ever taken.

I ran into the Teacher on the way down and started telling him about what had happened and what a sonofabitch Allen's dad was and I don't care that he was in the war it's not an excuse for beating up his son and maybe he is just a weak man who needs to get a grip and get on with life and be more like the Teacher who left the war behind him and isn't pitiful and full of shit and why can't he be more like you?

I had gotten pretty loud by the time I stopped to take a breath.  The room was really, really quiet even though there was the normal crowd there.  I looked around and everybody was looking at me.  That's when I started to notice.  These guys were Vets.  Not Vietnam necessarily, maybe Korea or World War 2, but they were.  They all had some token from their time in hell, maybe a pin, or an old fatigue jacket, or a baseball cap with their Division printed on it.  They stared quietly at me as the Teacher started to talk.

"John", he said.  "Allen's father was wrong to hit his son.  And being a Vet is not an excuse for what he did.  But it is a reason.  Today you saw first-hand that everything we do carries a consequence.  Everything.  But some of us don't see the results of our actions.  I never saw who I killed.  They were hidden by smoke and fire and distance.  I flew my missions and went back to my base and had a beer and maybe watched a movie or played poker with my buddies.  Guys got shot down for sure, and that was scary and hard to deal with but it was distant.  Allen's dad was on the ground, living in the consequences, walking through the consequences, eating his meals and sleeping in the consequences until they became a part of him that won't leave him alone."

He stopped talking.  Being a great Teacher, he knew when to shut up and let the lesson sink in.  The guys started up again picking up whatever they had been talking about and I sat there feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.

Everything we do carries a consequence.  Everything.  But some of us don't see the results of our actions.  

Some of us are lucky.  We get to do our damage from a distance and never see the consequences.  That doesn't make us less responsible, does it?