Mr. Frank

I was fortunate to have had several teachers in my grade school education that left a lasting mark on me. At the time that I was in school, I don’t think I registered which teachers those would end up being. I was without a doubt a STEM-focused student, and often I would mentally dismiss the humanities classes as unimportant, the subject matters things to forget about come the final grade report in June. But somehow, nowadays certain experiences of my humanities classes stick with me more than any other aspects of grade school. This is one such memory that my mind lands upon every so often.

On the first day of 8th grade, on my last period of the day at around 1:30, around 20 other students and I walked into our American History class. I had heard mixed reviews of the teacher, Mr. Frank, and I was imagining the worst when I saw him for the first time. He was an older man, perhaps in his 60s, with a neatly styled head of gray hair, big glasses that looked like they came straight from a professor in the 1980s, and a nice sweater over a dress shirt and tie. He was quiet at the start, and didn’t have an imposing presence, but something about how he looked and stood in front of the room caused everyone to sit down relatively quietly and listen to him as soon as he raised his hand and motioned for us to be silent. In a calm, steady tone, he introduced the class briefly, telling us we would be studying the history of the United States and its relationship with the world. Then, he told us he had a few classroom rules that were important for us to follow.

He began, “first, I do not want anyone to have phones out during my class. I ask that you turn them off and put them in your bags before you enter. If you want to go to the bathroom or get water, raise your hand and I will give you a pass. I will also never accept late work. If you turn something in late, you get a zero.”

At this point, students began to look disappointed, realizing that their teacher would be a strict no-excuses one. But Mr. Frank had more rules. “I want full attention on me in this classroom at all times. This means no doodling. If you have your pencil in hand, you had better be taking notes. Also, no food or drink in the classroom, so as to not distract others. This includes chewing gum: spit it out before you come in. And I expect that you will sit down with good posture. That means both feet on the ground and a straight back.”

Everyone started fidgeting in their seats, half-heartedly getting into the correct posture. People started looking around with worried expressions, but everyone was still silent. Mr. Frank continued. “From this point on, you should refer to me as sir. It’s just a matter of politeness. As for clothing, ripped up clothes are not professional, so I expect nobody to wear ripped jeans to class. If you exercised earlier in the day in PE class or for any other reason, you should bring a change of clothes for this class so that you are dressed sharp for learning. Boys should have a short, presentable haircut. I have scissors here to cut off any boy’s long hair.” He pulled out hair cutting scissors. “Also, make sure to trim your fingernails before this class. I will have a nail clipper by the door if you need to trim them.”

We all looked horrified at this point, and yet nobody dared to say anything.

“When you enter this classroom, you should greet me by saying ‘good afternoon, sir.’ I do not want to see anyone smile in this classroom. You are here to learn not to have fun.”

He continued for a few more rules like this, and then stopped and stared at us.

“Are you all really okay with these rules?” he asked. “No ripped jeans? I would cut off your hair? How are you all ready to accept rules like this?”

We all stared at him, now keenly aware that we had fallen victim to his little scheme.

“At some point, one of you should have stopped me and told me that this is wrong, that you disagree with my rules. And yet not a single person did. If you take away only one thing from my class all year, it should be this: never take rules and processes for granted. Question why every system is the way it is, and have the courage to speak out against it.”

Mr. Frank ended up being a strict teacher, but only in the sense that he had high hopes and expectations for us. He was one of the first teachers I had who trusted us to get up quietly and go to the bathroom without asking for permission, and as far as I could tell, everyone else respected him enough to not abuse this privilege. And while he often lectured us and expected us to be alert and taking notes, he also interspersed his teaching with songs and films that gave us a cultural context. I wish I remember more of what he showed us, but all I can remember now are:

Thank you, Mr. Frank, for the most memorable first day of class I’ve ever had.