Tenth Glimmer: A Warning
A public school of the future suffering for lack of public support. The pupils are crowded into dilapidated desks—two pupils at each. Benches on which other pupils are crowded are arranged along the wall. The pupils are unkempt, ragged, rude. A small blackboard, much defaced, is at one side of the room. On it is some very careless work, misspelled words, poorly made figures, etc. The Teacher is slovenly in appearance: hair fussy and untidy; she is dressed in a sheer chiffon waist, much worn and entirely unsuited for business purposes; a badly hung skirt; shabby slippers with “run-down” high heels. Her movements are awkward and abrupt; her voice harsh; her articulation poor, the “g” being constantly dropped from words ending in “ing”; her pronunciation incorrect, and her grammar faulty. She is the type of teacher to be expected if teachers’ salaries are not materially advanced. Teacher’s desk is cluttered with books, papers, etc. As the curtain goes up the Teacher is talking to, or rather screaming at, a foreign-appearing woman—a woman with a black handkerchief on her head, who has brought two children to school.
Teacher. No, I can’t take them. Look at this room! For the land’s sake, where do you think I could put two more? Hang them on the wall, or plaster them to the ceilin’? Gee! I’d like to quit this job! (Raps on desk.) Stop yer talkin’! You’d think you had never been learned any manners. You know it ain’t perlite to talk when I’m speakin’ to a lady. (Turns again to visitor.) No, it won’t do you any good to see the Board of Education. They’ve got troubles of their own, I guess. I jest can’t take another one in this class and that’s the end of it. You’d better go now. I’ve no time to fool with visitors.
Woman leaves, shaking her head.
Teacher. The A division will take out your Arithmetics. (The A division obey noisily.) For the land’s sake! I didn’t tell you to smash your desks with them. I bet some of you bust your book-backs.
Pupils examine books; one boy deliberately tears back binding. All laugh. At this point, one of the old seats gives way and the occupants are thrown to the floor.
Teacher. There, I’ve been expectin’ that to happen any time for the last month. I have begged and begged for some decent desks, but the cry is always, “No money! No money!” Are you hurt, boys?
First Boy. No.
Second Boy. Yes, I twisted my wrist.
Teacher. Well, go home and have it ’tended to. I have no time to fix it for you. And (turning to First Boy) you can go with him, Sam. You might as well, for I have no place for you now your desk is broken.