dedalus_1947 | Right Action

The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism:

Life is suffering;
Suffering is due to attachments (desires);
Attachments are illusionary and can be overcome;
There is a path for accomplishing this.

The Eightfold Path of Buddhism:

Right View is the true understanding of the four noble truths.
Right Aspiration is the true desire to free oneself from attachments, ignorance, and hatefulness.
Right Speech involves abstaining from lying, gossiping, or hurtful talk.
Right Action involves abstaining from hurtful behaviors, such as killing, stealing, and careless sex.
Right Livelihood means making your living in such a way as to avoid dishonesty and hurting others, including animals.
Right Effort is a matter of exerting oneself in regards to the content of one’s mind: Bad qualities should be abandoned and prevented from arising again; Good qualities should be enacted and nurtured.
Right Mindfulness is the focusing of one’s body, feelings, thoughts, and consciousness in such a way as to overcome craving, hatred, and ignorance.
Right Concentration is meditating in such a way as to progressively realize a true understanding of imperfection, impermanence, and non-separateness.

“Mr. Cook, you’re fired”.

“Mr. Cook, you are an incompetent teacher, and I’m relieving you of your position as a teacher at MASH Middle School. I’m sorry”.

“Mr. Cook, I’m doing you a favor by releasing you from your position as a teacher at MASH Middle School. Believe me, you are not meant to be a teacher. You don’t need the abuse you are taking at the hands of your students”.

“Mr. Cook, based on the number of complaints and concerns I have received from parents, students, teachers, coaches and mentors, about your performance as a teacher, I’ve concluded that you are not suited for this job, and I’m ending your assignment at this school”.

“Mr. Cook, after countless observations, classroom visits, conferences, and attempts at helping you master the craft of teaching, you have failed to demonstrate satisfactory growth and improvement in four areas of instruction: student learning, planning and design, classroom performance, and professional development. Therefore, I am compelled to give you an Unsatisfactory Evaluation and release you from your position”.

“Mr. Cook, please don’t take this personally”.

All these statements went through my head as I stood in the shower, letting warm water spray over my head and shoulders. It was Thursday morning, and I would be meeting with Mr. Cook that afternoon. I was visualizing all the possible scenarios that might occur, and letting those uncensored images cascade off of me, like soapy water slipping from my body. The last statement about not taking it personally was the most ridiculous. Negative and emotional confrontations between people ARE PERSONAL matters. I’ve finally learned to never say “Don’t take it personally”, when I’m presenting bad news. It is personal! It is personal when I say “No”, “I can’t”, “I won’t”, or “I must” to a teacher, parent, or student. It is personal whenever I choose an action that contradicts the wishes, needs, and interests of another person. It may not feel personal to me, but it is usually of great personal importance to the other individual, and I should not dismiss or minimize their feelings. It is crushingly personal when I meet with a man or woman to say that they are Unsatisfactory and will be fired. This is the most difficult action I take as principal because of its personal and financial ramifications.

In my 16 years as principal, I’ve only had about 6 or 7 of these contested, termination meetings which ended in immediate dismissal (I may have had more, but managed to wipe the memory from my mind). In most cases involving unsatisfactory service, I (or someone they trusted) convinced them that it was in their own best interest to resign, retire, or take a leave of absence, prior to being issued this formal fitness report. Those teachers made it easy for me; relieving me of the need for a potentially emotional, face to face confrontation. The six or seven contested encounters were painful. Despite my years and experience, I have never been able to suppress the distasteful and unpleasant feelings that arise when preparing to, and telling a teacher that they are incompetent and a failure at their profession. Even though I never use those exact words, they are what the teachers hear. It has the makings of an ugly situation.

Mr. Cook is a first year, probationary Algebra and Pre-Algebra teacher, who turned to public school education after an unsuccessful career as a realtor. His college coursework in math qualified him as a District Intern, and we hired him last spring to fill an unexpected vacancy. Our two math coaches devoted countless weeks and hours training, counseling, and modeling effective teaching and classroom management practices, techniques, and strategies. I hoped that by starting a new school year with brand new classes, Mr. Cook would experience success, gain confidence, and begin mastering the craft and art of teaching. However, rather than improving, his performance, and the behaviors of his students, worsened. What started as a trickle of concerns expressed by his “professional support providers” (coaches, mentors, co-teachers) about his weak leadership and classroom management skills, soon became a torrent of complaints by parents and students. They described images of loud, out of control classes, with students doing what they wished, and a teacher afraid of them. Students would behave correctly when other adults were in the room, but when they left, paper, pens, books, tables, and chairs would be thrown about the room. Students would run out of class, bang on doors and windows, steal his pens and pencils, disconnect the computer and projector, and break ceiling tiles. Many students would talk back, scream, and curse at him. He might yell back, but he never punished them or kept them at nutrition, lunch, after class, or after school. These complaints were corroborated by his support providers and my own observations of his classes.

Politicians and educational critics complain about the glacial process of dismissing incompetent teachers, but they are operating under the delusion that teaching is easy and “anyone can do it”. I have news for them; teaching cannot be taught the way a grocery store clerk is trained to scan and stock merchandise. The craft of teaching is intimidating, hard, and scary. A typical teacher-dream before the start of a school year is to find yourself naked, or half-dressed, standing in front of a classroom of students, wondering, “Why should they listen to me?” This nightmare encapsulates the immediate challenge and insecurity of teaching. To start with, we are given indifferent, unmotivated or resistant adolescent clients, and then quickly learn that we can achieve nothing without their willingness and cooperation. It is a job in which we are academically qualified and state credentialed to teach students, while they are simultaneously learning our frailties, flaws, and weaknesses. To be truly successful, teachers must establish a relationship that is honest, fair, and trusting before teaching and learning can occur. Adults can be trained in the practical behaviors of teaching, but they cannot be drilled in the ability to like students, relate to students, and get students to do what you want. People can earn the diplomas and credentials, and practice the skills, but the aesthetical ability to relate can’t be taught. Some struggling novice teachers realize this fact for themselves, and they quit. Not many, but some. They quit during the first week, the first semester, or at the end of the first year. They conclude that the practical aspects are too daunting, or that they are not aesthetically suited for the job. Unfortunately, too few struggling first year teachers have this gestalt experience, and most continue believing that with more time, more training, and more support, they will master the necessary practical skills and aesthetical behaviors to become proficient. Mr. Cook was one of these ingenuous teachers.

While there are teachers with the natural talent to relate to people, mastering the craft of teaching is difficult and requires time to practice, mature and perfect. It usually takes about 3 to 4 years to really become proficient as a teacher. When I first started teaching in 1972, a new teacher had a three year probationary period before receiving tenure; the contractual right which prohibits dismissal without just cause. Dismissing a probationary teacher was much easier than removing a tenured instructor. This is no longer the case. Now a teacher receives tenure after only one year. This puts incredible pressure on administrators to be vigilant in noting early weaknesses and deficiencies, and then ruthlessly deciding if freshman teachers should be dismissed or retained after ONLY ONE YEAR.

I always hear “horror stories” of how workers and employees are treated in the private sector. In the world of business, it appears that civility, fairness, and respect is sacrificed at the altar of “bottom line thinking” and economical efficiency. In this world, workers are fired for incompatibility, creative differences, and “not fitting in”. If there is a concrete reason for sudden termination of employment, it is fitted into the legal category of “just cause”. If in the owner’s judgment, he has cause to believe that the worker is not performing satisfactorily, he/she can be terminated. This latitude and attitude does not exist in education. Public school administrators, through their university and district training, are indoctrinated and rehearsed in avoiding arbitrary and capricious actions. There is an imperative to be “fair and reasonable” when dealing with students, parents, and teachers. Therefore, the supervision of instruction is not viewed as a negative action, but as a humane vehicle to guarantee quality teaching and student achievement. It is a process that seeks to train, assist, and enhance the teacher as a professional in a difficult field of endeavor. This administrative attitude and training insures due process in the evaluation and dismissal of personnel. There is a double safeguard in the presence of a strong teacher’s union to oversee administrative conduct.

In education, due process translates into the following sequence of actions: observing and documenting (in writing) specific areas of instructional weakness, informing the teacher of these areas and providing assistance and guidance to improve them, observing and documenting the attempts at improving instruction, meeting with the teacher to apprise him/her of their progress (or lack of), and warning the teacher that if improvement is not demonstrated, they may be subject to dismissal. Due process is often confused with “glacial process” because of the time, documentation, and attention to detail that is required. While the process is, admittedly, slow and cumbersome, it is also thorough and transparent. It guarantees that the principal is acting in a fair and reasonable manner, free of emotion, prejudice or caprice. The bottom line for a principal is to be sure that their decision to dismiss a teacher can withstand a legal challenge by the union. In the case of Mr. Cook, the process began the third week of the new school year.

I was already alerted to Mr. Cook’s slow development from the previous semester, so when early concerns surfaced, I wasted no time to see for myself. I purposely chose to observe a morning class, knowing that students were more cooperative at that time of the day, and wanting to give Mr. Cook every benefit on my first visit. Even in the morning, it was bad. My presence in the classroom sent visible shockwaves through the classroom. Students were paying more attention to me than their teacher and his lesson. They would look at me, then at him, as if deciding who was in charge. There were papers and trash strewn throughout the room, and students were moving freely from table to table, talking to each other, and occasionally yelling across the room. Throughout this confusion, the teacher stood at the front of the classroom, lecturing over the noise, calling on students who were listening, and giving explanations and directions that few students were following or attending. I stayed through the entire length of the class, noting the specific words and behaviors I was observing. After class I shared these observations with him. I attempted to describe a situation where a teacher was going through all the correct motions, but with no command of the class, and dependent on the goodwill and generosity of the students. He was teaching in a vacuum, seemingly oblivious to the boys and girls in the classroom, and ignoring their offensive language and behaviors. Although my main concerns were about his aesthetical ability to relate to his students and command their respect, I dictated a list of practical classroom management and instructional suggestions that would address the deficiencies I saw in his class, with his lesson, and in his delivery. I also mentioned specific people I would be sending to assist him with student discipline and classroom management: the dean, counselor, coach, and retired teachers. This visit and conference was followed by a memo I sent him documenting my observations, and the assistance and guidance I provided.

This was the first step in what was to be a painful, three month process; painful for me, the observer, the students, and the teacher. My job was to make every attempt to help Mr. Cook succeed, while watching him fail, or hearing about it from others. The hardest moments came when I met with him in October to review his instructional plans for the year. While discussing parent and student complaints, he described the rude, aggressive, and offensive behaviors and actions that were occurring in his classes, and his inability to stop them. His comments portrayed a climate and classroom environment that bordered on being hazardous and unsafe for him and his students. I could not believe that he was volunteering such damaging information. When I verbalized my concerns about his progress and abilities, his mental well being, and the safety of his students, he countered with assurances that improvements were occurring and he was getting better. At that point I realized that Mr. Cook was in denial about his skills, and no personal epiphany would occur to convince him to resign. I would have to trust the process and perform my required actions, even while dreading the year long agony of observing his futile efforts. I was rewarded for my faith in December.

On the first Monday of the month, I received a form from the District Intern Program asking for an evaluation of Mr. Cook, and a recommendation to retain or release him. I had enough evidence to quickly mark that his performance was Below Standard and recommended his dismissal. I assumed that this form was an early warning device meant to alert the program of struggling probationary teachers, so they could mobilize more assistance in the spring semester. Three days later, I was surprised to receive a phone call from the director of the program, asking me to confirm my evaluation and recommendation. She told me that since Mr. Cook had entered the program at mid year, his contract and credential was subject to review and renewal in December. If I held firm to my judgment, Mr. Cook’s credential and contract would lapse, and he would be dismissed from the district. I was stunned by this sudden turn of events, but I was confident in my answer, and my ability to support it. I repeated that Mr. Cook was performing in a Below Standard manner, and recommended that he be dismissed. I also told the director that I would observe one more class and then meet with Mr. Cook the following week. I thought it was fair that he hear my final evaluation in person.

The enormity of my decision hit me that weekend, and my second-guessing and doubts erupted like a volcano. Was I sure that Mr. Cook was a lost cause? Was I acting hastily? Was he getting better? Could he get better? What effect would this sudden termination have on him, his wife, and family? Was I doing the right thing? These questions besieged me, along with nightmarish images of possible scenarios and repercussions. Would Mr. Cook become emotional, angry, or hostile? Would he weep, beg, and plead? Was he suicidal or vengeful? I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind, but the more I tried, the more graphic the questions and scenes became. I finally gave up, stopped fighting these illusionary furies, and began meditating.

Meditation is more a practice of necessity than choice. I meditate because I must, when I need to. I have two other practices that share this imperative. Meditation is the third member of my trinity for peace. The others are writing and jogging. Meditation is the most direct means of quelling my fearful thoughts, images, and doubts. I close my eyes, focus my mind on breathing, and allow the mental illusions to float in me, through me, and out of me. I quiet myself and wait; ultimately for God’s peace and acceptance (see Sacred Spaces). Once the images, thoughts, and fears are exposed as illusions, without sustenance or reality, they dissolve, and I am left with a single resolution: to act correctly. What is the right action? The correct action was to insure the safety and well being of my students and assure them of a quality education. That was not happening in Mr. Cook’s class. My course was clear, I needed to harden my heart, and act correctly.

Now that’s an odd phase to use: hardening the heart. It sounds awful! Is that what I do when I prepare to perform a difficult task and act correctly? Do I strengthen my resolve or harden my heart? When I think back on my life and assess many of my actions as a principal, I’d say that hardening my heart was what I did when I acted out of anger, hubris, or fear. Those were moments when I wanted my heart to be numb and not interfere. On the occasions when I was RESOLVED to doing the right thing (refraining from hurtful behaviors), despite my doubts or discomfort, my heart felt pain, but not guilt. The action was right, but my heart still felt sympathy and pain for the unhappiness it might cause the other person. The clearest image I have of this heartfelt pain is when I telephoned a retired principal, who was a dear friend, mentor, and patron. She had asked a favor for her son, and I was calling to say that I would not give him a job at my school. I owed her countless favors, but I could not bring myself to knowingly give an incompetent teacher a class of my students, and I could not lie about my reasons. My heart told me that lying would dishonor her and our friendship, so when she asked why I couldn’t hire him, I told her the truth. On a tip from my Head Counselor, I checked with her son’s previous principals, and they all confirmed that he was a kind and gentle man, but a poor teacher, who was always one step ahead of an unsatisfactory evaluation. If a principal invested a semester to a year of documenting his unsatisfactory performance as a teacher, he would take a leave of absence and avoid the confrontation. This was his modus operandi, the manner he maintained the illusion that he was a teacher. My friend always accepted her son’s reasons for leaving and helped him get new jobs at other schools when he needed work. To this day, I still don’t know if she accepted what I told her. That phone conversation was the worst and most painful professional experience of my life. I never wanted to relive it, but I knew my actions were right. Buddhists define Right Action as abstaining from hurtful behavior; it is not abstaining from action, but acting with compassion, free from the paralysis of fear, imagination, and doubt. I knew what was right the first time I saw Mr. Cook teach, and how students reacted to him. There was no doubt in my mind that he was performing in an unsatisfactory manner – but I wanted him to realize it for himself and relieve me of the pain of saying it and trying to convince him. That was my illusion; believing that people had to agree with my judgment. I was more afraid of reliving a painful experience than doing the right thing. I left my heart alone, and resolved to act correctly.

I arrived at school on Thursday with resolution and a plan of action. I would observe Mr. Cook’s 3^rd period Math class, organize my notes during period 4, and meet with him at the beginning of period 5, during his conference period. I did have an unexpected visit from the teacher union representative. Mr. Cook had spoken to him about his contract and credential situation with the District Intern Program. They were both aware that my judgment of Mr. Cook’s performance would determine his ability to work after December. The union rep spent the next 20 minutes reminding me that this was Christmas time, the season for generosity and kindness. He emphasized the difficulties of teaching, the imperfect nature of teacher evaluation, and how Mr. Cook had improved since my last observations. All the doubts I had sought to dispel over the weekend were dredged up and revived in my office. I listened patiently to his arguments. When he was finished, I reviewed the due process steps I had followed; the visits, meetings, and the written conference memos. The union rep and I have worked together for three years, and we respect each other. I knew that he was aware of the difficulties Mr. Cook had this semester, and his weaknesses as a teacher. At the same time, I expected this appeal, and knew that he was obliged to make it. I concluded the meeting by saying that while an unsatisfactory rating was merited at this time, I would make my final determination after visiting his 3^rd period class. The union rep said that was fair, and he was confident that I would make the correct decision.

Walking to Mr. Cook’s 7^th grade math class, I had one last haunting thought: What will I do if he gives a satisfactory lesson? Will that be sufficient to change my mind? I took a deep breath and let that thought go. I would just concentrate on reality and make a judgment on what I saw. As it turned out, the lesson I observed and the student behaviors I saw did not change my assessment of Mr. Cook’s teaching ability. While there were some improvements in procedures and cleanliness, his weak delivery, lack of command presence, and inability to direct student actions and activities undermined the lesson. It was not as chaotic as the first lesson I observed, but it was still noisy and confusing. I returned to my office and set about organizing my notes for my conference with Mr. Cook. It was going to be cut and dry, consisting of the student and teacher actions I observed, listing my recommendations to correct weaknesses and deficiencies, and then stating my overall assessment about the progress he had demonstrated. I would conclude by stating my intention to give him a Below Standard Performance rating on a mid-year form, and that this evaluation would affect his status with the District Intern Program. After all the emotions of this week, this drama was finally drawing to a close.

When I finally turned my attention to the accumulated correspondence from the last two days, I noticed a Christmas card. It was the first I received this season, and I set it aside. After going through all the mail, I finally opened it to see who had sent it. Suddenly, an object slipped out of the card and fell to the ground. However, before retrieving it, I looked at the card and saw that it was a holiday greeting from Mr. Cook. At first I was struck by the irony of receiving my first holiday greeting from a teacher I was going to fire that same day. But when I looked down to see what had fallen, I was shocked! There were bills of currency on the floor; not a gift card to Staples or Starbucks, but money, that looked different. I reached down and picked them up. These were not the familiar $20 dollar bills; they were bills of $100 dollars. In numbed disbelief, I slowly counted one, two, three, four, and five. There were 5 bills of a hundred dollars. The first thought that entered my mind was the idea that this money would really help in the purchase of a gift for Kathy’s birthday tomorrow; and then the second thought hit me, this was a bribe! Mr. Cook was trying to influence my decision about his future. And then a third notion intruded on my thoughts, I could pocket this money and no one would know. That’s when I got scared. No one knew about this money, or my final decision on Mr. Cook. The union rep had begged me to reconsider my intention, to be generous, and to remember that it was Christmastime. No one knew what I intended to do. I felt isolated, vulnerable, and alone; knowing that I could deny ever receiving the money frightened me.

“Stop thinking about it” I told myself. “I’m letting my imagination spin this as an opportunity for personal gain. Don’t think, act! Act correctly!”

The first step was to end my isolation. I needed help. I needed a witness to this event. I needed a trustworthy counselor to document what I had discovered, to note the amount of money involved, and to witness my succeeding actions. I called Terry, my Head Counselor, to come to my office, where I showed him the card and money, and I explained what had happened.

Just when I think that I’ve seen, done, and experienced everything as a principal, an unexpected situation arises to humble me. This was something new. I had never been overtly bribed. However, what was even more shocking was that for the briefest moment I imagined myself taking the money. That stunned me. I know through meditation that thoughts are random, unreal, and illusionary. I also know that thoughts are not actions, nor do they represent intention. Thoughts are thoughts, and they are normal. However, I also realized that the longer I allowed myself to dwell on these imaginary scenarios in isolation, the more tempting they became – and the more real. Calling for help was my way of getting back on track – it stopped the imagining, and committed me to action, right action.

I met with Mr. Cook later that day. Terry was present at the meeting. I told Mr. Cook that he had not demonstrated sufficient improvement to warrant a satisfactory evaluation. I also thanked him for the card, but told him that I could not accept the gift of $500. I returned the card and money and ended the conference.