Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do (94 page)

I worked for very wealthy families and for very poor families. I sometimes worked for nothing because they were so poor . . . I felt sorry for them. I slept on an army cot and fell out every time I turned around. (Laughs.) I once worked six weeks without pay. These people lost everything in the Depression, and they needed me. I didn’t get cash, but I got some lovely paintings. I worked for them sixteen years.

When the mother comes home from the hospital she’s tired and nervous, high strung. She needs someone to rely on. Today a baby nurse gets twenty-five, thirty dollars a day. If they couldn’t afford it, I’d go for less. I worked for very, very high-grade rich people, too. Sometimes they’re more tight than middle-class. (Laughs.)

Most of the time I go to the hospital and pick ‘em up—just born, about a week or ten days old. It’s always nice to see them grow up and get nice and round and fat and chubby and smiling at you. I’ve seen ’em learn how to walk and talk and help themself, and they run away from you when you try to catch ’em. (Laughs.)

In one place, the baby was nine months old. They went on a trip for two weeks. When she came back, the baby wouldn’t go near her. He cried and he clung to me and he puts his arms around my neck when she talked to him. I said to her, “Don’t feel bad about it.” She said, “I’m happy because I know he had good loving.” He’s nineteen now.

Another boy, when he came home, all the blood was drained out of him, he had leukemia and was very sick. I stayed up nineteen hours. I walked the room with him. He cried and I cried and she cried, too. But he grew up to be a very nice boy. They moved to California. One year I was there and he was seven. When he saw me, he put his arms around me. It’s so rewarding to find that. He’s forty-seven now. One family, I took care of her children and her grandchildren. The children of the very ones I baby nursed.

Sometimes it’s really hard to leave ‘em, I tell you. I took care of two little girls, their mother passed away. Their father was all alone. The little girl was one year old and the older one was four. I stayed with them for two years. That was my hardest job to leave. That little girl, she stood there by the door and she pulled my skirt and she said, “Mommy, don’t leave me.” Oh, how that affects you! I have letters from ’em yet. Oh yes, you get very attached. They cry and they reach out their hands to you. You want to stay. That’s the worst, to leave them. That’s really hard.

You’ve got to be careful how to treat them when they’re little. It’s a wonderful profession. It’s a responsible profession. I never worked in a place where they looked down on me, even people that was of means and had help. Sometimes they’d call me into the living room, “Sit down, let’s talk.” When I first came to this country, being a maid was a low caliber person. I never felt that way. I felt if you could be useful and do an honest job, that was not a disgrace.

 

 

Babies are rewarding. No matter what, they cry all night, I like ’em. I go baby-sitting for those that need me, two-, three, five-year-olds. I even babysat last week.

I’m never gonna retire. What for? As long as I can be useful and needed someplace, I’ll work. Even if I can’t scrub floors, I’ll do some other things. When that day comes when I can’t work, I’ll be a lost soul.

I’m a teacher. It’s a profession I loved and still love. It’s been my ambition since I was eight years old. I have been teaching since 1937. Dedication was the thing in my day. I adored teaching. I used to think that teachers had golden toilets. (Laughs.) They didn’t do anything we common people did.

 

 

Oh, I have seen a great change since January 6, 1937. (Laughs.) It was the Depression, and there was something so wonderful about these dedicated people. The teachers, the children, we were all in the same position. We worked our way out of it, worked hard. I was called a Jewish Polack. (Laughs.) My husband tells me I wash floors on my knees like a Polack. (Laughs.) I was assigned to a fourth grade class. The students were Polish primarily. We had two colored families, but they were sweet. We had a smattering of ethnic groups in those times—people who worked themselves out of the Depression by hard work.

I was the teacher and they were my students. They weren’t my equal. I loved them. There isn’t one child that had me that can’t say they didn’t respect me. But I wasn’t on an intimate basis. I don’t want to know what’s happened in the family, if there’s a divorce, a broken home. I don’t look at the record and find out how many divorces in the family. I’m not a doctor. I don’t believe you should study the family’s background. I’m not interested in the gory details. I don’t care if their father had twenty wives, if their mother is sleeping around. It’s none of my business.

A little girl in my class tells me, “My mom’s getting married. She’s marrying a hippie. I don’t like him.” I don’t want to hear it. It is not my nature to pry. Even a child deserves a certain type of privacy in their personal life. I don’t see where that has anything to do with what a child studies. I came from a broken home. My mother died, I was eight years old. Isn’t that a broken home? I did all right.

I have eight-year-olds. Thirty-one in the class and there’s about twenty-three Spanish. I have maybe two Appalachians. The twenty-three Puerto Ricans are getting some type of help. The two little Appalachians, they never have the special attention these other children get. Their names aren’t Spanish. My heart breaks for them.

They have these Spanish workers that are supposed to help the Puerto Rican children in their TESL program.
⁷²
I’m shocked that English is the second language. When my parents came over I didn’t learn Jewish as a first language at the taxpayers’ expense. The Polish didn’t learn Polish as a first language. But now they’ve got these Spanish-speaking children learning that at our expense. To me, this is a sin. As long as they’re in this country, English should be the first language. This is my pet peeve. One of these teachers had this thick Spanish accent. So they picked up this accent too. He pronounces dog “dock.” That’s horrid.

The language! I could never use some of the words I hear. Up to five years ago I could never spell a four-letter word. Now I can say them without any embarrassment. The kids come right out and say it: “Teacher, he said a bad word.” I said, “What’s the word?” He said, “Jagoff.” I said, that’s not a bad word. And they all started to laugh. I said, “Jagoff means get out of here.” They laughed. I came home and asked my husband, “What’s jagoff?” So he explained the gory details to me. I didn’t know it before. These children know everything. It’s shocking to me because I think that anyone that uses that language doesn’t know any better. They don’t have command of any language. (Sighs.) But maybe I’m wrong, because brilliant people use it nowadays, too. I must be square.

There’s a saying: Spanish people don’t look you straight in the eye be-cause of their religious background. It isn’t respectful. I don’t believe that. These children, they look you straight in the eye when they use those words. I have never learned how to use these four-letter words until I came into contact with them. I never could even swear. Now I’m brazen. I had a fight with my husband one day. You know what I said to him? “Fuck you.” (Laughs.) And I never talked that way. (Laughs.) I hear it all the time from the students. They use it the way we use “eat” and “talk.” They don’t say “pennies,” they say, “f-pennies.” Every word. It’s a very descriptive adjective.

They knew the words in the old days, I’m sure. But they knew there was a time and place for it. I have never had this happen to me, but I was told by some teachers that the children swear at them. A child has never done that to me.

I loved the Polish people. They were hard-working. If they didn’t have money, they helped out by doing housework, baby-sitting for ten cents an hour. No work was beneath them. But here, these people—the parents—came to school in the morning. This is a social outpost for them. They watch their kids eat free breakfasts and lunches. There isn’t any shame, there isn’t any pride. These Polish people I knew, there was pride. You didn’t dare do anything like that. You wouldn’t think of it.

I see these parents here all the time. A father brings his kids to school and he hangs around in the hall. I think it’s dangerous to have all these adults in the school. You get all these characters. I’m afraid to stay in my room unless I lock the door.

We see them at recess. They’re there at lunch time. These people, they have a resentment that everything is coming to them. Whereas the Polish people worked their way out of the Depression. They loved property. They loved houses. My father loved his little house and if anyone would step on the grass, he would kill them. (Laughs.) He’d say, “Get out of here! This is mine!” (Softly.) There was a great pride. These people, they have no pride in anything, they destroy. Really, I don’t understand them.

They take the shades. They take the poles. Steal everything. Every window is broken in our school. Years ago, no one would ever break windows. These kids, if they’re angry with you, they’ll do terrible things. (Sighs.) Yes, the neighborhood is changing and the type of child has been changing, too. They’re even spoiling a nice little Jewish boy who’s there.

There were middle- and upper-class people in this neighborhood when I first came. They were very nice people and their children were wonderful. There was an honor system. You’d say, “I’m going to the office for a moment. You may whisper.” And they would obey. I was really thrilled. I don’t dare do that now. I don’t even go to the toilet. (Laughs.) I’m a strong teacher, but I’m afraid to leave them.

In the old days, kids would sit in their seats. If I had to leave the room for a few minutes, I’d say, “Will you please be good?” And they were. These kids today will swear, “We’ll be good, we’ll be good.” I don’t know what it is, their training or their ethnic background—or maybe it goes back to history. The poor Spanish were so taken they had to lie and steal to survive. I tell them, “You don’t have to lie and cheat here. Everyone is equal.” But their background . . .

The first contingent of Puerto Ricans that came in were delightful. They were really lovely kids. I adore some of them. I don’t care what ethnic group you belong to, if you’re a low-down person, I don’t like you.

Today they have these multiple chairs instead of the pedestals, seats that were attached. The kids slide all over the room. Anything to make life more difficult. (Laughs.) If I didn’t laugh at these things, I couldn’t last. Whereas it was a pleasure to teach a motivated child, how do you motivate these children? By food? By bringing cookies to school? Believe me, these children aren’t lacking in anything. If I ask for change for a dollar, I can get it. They have more money . . . We have seventeen that get free lunches, and they all have this money for goodies.

I’ve always been a strong disciplinarian, but I don’t give these kids assignments over their head. They know exactly what they do. Habit. This is very boring, very monotonous, but habit is a great thing for these children. I don’t tell them the reason for things. I give them the rote method, how to do it. After that, reasoning comes. Each one has to go to the board and show me that they really know. Because I don’t trust the papers. They cheat and copy. I don’t know how they do it. I walk up and down and watch them. I tell you, it’s a way of life. (Laughs.)

At nine o‘clock, as soon as the children come in, we have a salute to the flag. I’m watching them. We sing “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” And then we sing a parody I found of “My Country ’Tis of Thee.”

And then we sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I watch them. It’s a dignified exercise. These children love the idea of habit. Something schmaltzy, something wonderful.

I start with arithmetic. I have tables-fun on the board—multiplication. Everything has to be fun, fun, fun, play, play, play. You don’t say tables, you say tables-fun. Everything to motivate. See how fast they can do it. It’s a catchy thing. When they’re doing it, I mark the papers. I’m very fast. God has been good to me. While I’m doing that, I take attendance. That is a must. All this happens before nine fifteen, nine twenty.

The next thing I do is get milk money. That’s four cents. I have change. I’m very fast. Buy the milk for recess and we have cookies that I bring. To motivate them, to bribe them. (Laughs.) I also buy Kleenex for them, because they’ll wipe their nose . . . (Laughs.) By nine forty, which is the next period, I try to finish the marking. Two of the children go to a TESL program. (Sighs.)

Then I have a penmanship lesson on the board. There it is in my beautiful handwriting. I had a Palmer Method diploma. On Mondays I write beautifully, “If we go to an assembly, we do not whistle or talk, because good manners are important. If our manners are good, you’ll be very happy and make everyone happy, too.” On Friday we give them a test. They adore it. Habit, they love habit.