In 1963 , the Manitoba Teachers College was still open and running a one year teacher training program. While teacher education in the Province of Manitoba dates back to 1882, it was only in 1935 that the Faculty of Education was created to offer programs leading to secondary teaching certificates and to M. Ed. degrees. It was not until 1965 that the elementary school certification program and the staff of the Manitoba Teachers’ College were integrated into the University of Manitoba. As I was interested in becoming an elementary teacher, I left my job at the CN Railway after much persuasion from my older colleagues, who did not want me to be trapped in what they felt was a dead-end albeit a well-paid career.
I started classes that fall and reported to my first class on the day following Labor Day. The main building of the College was a long, narrow stone structure. Inside the front door were the main office area on the left and the auditorium or chapel on the right. Four classrooms lined the left side on two floors along the hallway. At the opposite end to the right were staff offices and the library. On the left were more staff offices and the science room. Above this room on the second floor was the art room. From there to the hallway were more staff offices. Above the library and on the third floor at this end, I believe, were female student quarters. Above the front entrance was another classroom, known as the Quiet Room. Through this room were entrances to the projector room and the balcony of the auditorium. Above the main offices were other rooms not used for classes.
Outside the back door was a former Air Force building that was being used as the canteen and a gathering place for students when they weren't in class. Just beyond that was another large stone building. This housed a large dining-hall for the students, a smaller room for staff members, a much smaller room where the students dining-hall workers ate, and a large food preparation area.
Beyond the back of the dining-hall were three long Air Force buildings which housed the boarding students. A little distance to the north of the canteen building was the large drill hall. This is where physical education classes were taught and where indoor sports were played. To the left on the way to the drill hall was an outdoor skating rink and the infirmary.
We were about 500 students in number and between 17 and 20 years old with about 20 or so students including me who were older than that. Our numbers were to be divided into about a dozen groups of about 30 - 35 students in each class. I was assigned to Class B which consisted entirely of students who, along with English, spoke another language. Over half of our class had students who had French as their first language. Included in that group were about 8 nuns who at that time still wore the traditional habits.
We had classes in social studies, which was divided into two separate classes of history and geography, science, primary methods, library/literature, English, English grammar, art, health, music, phys-ed, child psychology, and of course, classroom management. Some of the teachers were interesting and instructive but just as many were just playing out the string to retirement and were in my opinion simply extremely poor teachers. Into this category fell a certain teacher of classroom management who with his facial features and diminutive stature resembled a cartoon character from the funny pages of the time by the name of Pogo. This was how he was known by his students although formally he was Mr. Stewart. To his colleagues and friends and family he was probably an "okay guy". But my perception of him, and this was shared by many other students, was that Pogo was a petty and a mean man who abused his powers as a "professor" of ours. This is a strong perception on my part, but I really felt it!
He lectured us and didn't allow for any discussion. His communication with us was to ask a question of a particular student and wait for an answer which usually did not meet up to his standard of requirement. He was very strict and brooked no movement or whispers or any laughter. Any such transgressions he seemed to take as personal affronts. He had little understanding of the workings of the young post teenage mind. Everything was by the book and by rote.
All these negatives! I tried to think of some positives...he dressed neatly; he always had his hair cut short; he was always clean-shaven; he was prompt; his hands were always perfectly manicured; he spoke in a loud clear voice; he attempted some humor but unfortunately his humor always fell flat.
We soon realized that he actually had no classroom management skills but rather kept discipline with coercive methods and threats of office discipline. He did keep us in line this way because no one wanted to fail in this class. A failing grade in any class would mean there would be no teaching certificate at the end of the year!
We learned that Pogo picked out a student in each class who became his "whipping boy". He selected me in his first class because in addition to being a poor teacher, I suspected (strong emphasis on the 'I suspected') he might have also been a racist. Even though most of us in his class were of different ethnic backgrounds, that is non-WASP, he seemed to home in on my Polish/Ukrainian background and my ability to speak, read, and write in Ukrainian. He sometimes prefaced his remarks to me by saying this was how things were done in English.
He also was "cutting edge" in his assignment marking. I use "cutting edge" sarcastically. We had to hand in our notebooks at least once a week to the professors and they would grade us on the quality of our note taking and to also weed out any slackers. At the end of the notes they would assign a letter grade of A,B,C,D, or F. An F resulted in an immediate meeting with the teacher. Pogo, being "cutting edge" used X,Y, and Z, with X as top rank.
Because he was targeting me, I made doubly sure that in his classes I kept neat copious notes. Many students copied my notes word for word because they recognized that I did take good notes. When our books came back to us from Pogo after he marked them each week, my notes always rated a Y. He never gave me a Z because I believe he was afraid of meeting with me in a one on one meeting knowing fully well that what he was doing was not right. I knew my notes were not of Y level because the students who had copied my notes word for word always got X's.
It was a tough time for me in his class but I "sucked it up" and made it to the end of the year. It helped that my classmates were behind me and encouraged me.
Why did I not complain about Pogo to his superiors? In that time (era) this was just not done because the student was always wrong and I did not want to be kicked out of the College. So I doubled and tripled down and I was really prepared for the final exam in Classroom Management. When I walked out of the gym the morning of the exam, I knew I had aced the test questions. But it was no surprise to me that my mark came back as a 51% and my grade as a D. But I did get my certificate for teaching elementary education. I also left with a firm conviction in mind that I would never become a Pogo in my classroom with any of my students and I strongly felt that most often the best classroom management was to do the opposite of what Pogo had tried to inculcate us with in his class.
Several years later I attended a junior football game. It was being played in the old velodrome on a regulation-sized grass field located inside the bicycle track which ringed it. Located just off Empress Street near Polo Park in Winnipeg, the velodrome had been built for the 1967 Pan-Am games. It has since been torn down to make way for a shopping centre.
Under the stands which were located on the west side of the velodrome nearest to Empress Street was the concession stand. Further in under the stands was large tunnel-like path to access the washrooms. At half-time I went to use the washroom facilities. Because the game had only a few die-hard fans in attendance, I was quite surprised to see approaching me in the tunnel my old nemesis from Teachers' College. He had his head down and was hurrying back to the concession stand or to his seat.
As he neared me I took a quick step to my left which put me directly in his path. He looked up as he nearly walked into me. I had stopped right in his path. He took a step to the side to go around me. I stepped to the side in the same direction and I was again in front of him blocking his progress.
Many thoughts ran through my mind of what I could say or do to him to give me some satisfaction for the mental abuse I had suffered at his hands! But I silently stood there as he focused on my face. At first there was no recognition showing on his face. Then slowly as he realized who I was, his face transformed into one of almost abject terror. His mouth was open, his eyes were fully rounded as he cast his gaze from side to side looking for an escape. The sheer look of horror on his face as he realized he was trapped in the tunnel with no savior or safety in sight caused a change in me.
I realized that in front of me was a terrified "old" man who probably lived in constant fear when he ventured outside the safe confines of his home that he would run into a student he had picked on. It was now happening to him! In that instant I also realized he was not a man I should spend my time on in seeking some form of vengeance. Rather here was a man who should be pitied for the life that lay before him. He lived in constant fear of a chance meeting with a former student whom he had treated as he had treated me. Perhaps someone else somewhere else already had laid into him either verbally or physically!
No, I, in that short encounter, let go the ghosts of Classroom Management Past. No more would I seek revenge on Pogo in my mind. Nothing I could inflict on him would match what he faced daily in his life.
I said, "Maybe you didn't recognize me but it it's good to see you again, Mr. Stewart!" I stepped to one side and he quickly he scurried out of the tunnel and into the night. I returned to my seat free of the baggage I had carried for several years. I really enjoyed the game that night!
I started classes that fall and reported to my first class on the day following Labor Day. The main building of the College was a long, narrow stone structure. Inside the front door were the main office area on the left and the auditorium or chapel on the right. Four classrooms lined the left side on two floors along the hallway. At the opposite end to the right were staff offices and the library. On the left were more staff offices and the science room. Above this room on the second floor was the art room. From there to the hallway were more staff offices. Above the library and on the third floor at this end, I believe, were female student quarters. Above the front entrance was another classroom, known as the Quiet Room. Through this room were entrances to the projector room and the balcony of the auditorium. Above the main offices were other rooms not used for classes.
Outside the back door was a former Air Force building that was being used as the canteen and a gathering place for students when they weren't in class. Just beyond that was another large stone building. This housed a large dining-hall for the students, a smaller room for staff members, a much smaller room where the students dining-hall workers ate, and a large food preparation area.
Beyond the back of the dining-hall were three long Air Force buildings which housed the boarding students. A little distance to the north of the canteen building was the large drill hall. This is where physical education classes were taught and where indoor sports were played. To the left on the way to the drill hall was an outdoor skating rink and the infirmary.
We were about 500 students in number and between 17 and 20 years old with about 20 or so students including me who were older than that. Our numbers were to be divided into about a dozen groups of about 30 - 35 students in each class. I was assigned to Class B which consisted entirely of students who, along with English, spoke another language. Over half of our class had students who had French as their first language. Included in that group were about 8 nuns who at that time still wore the traditional habits.
We had classes in social studies, which was divided into two separate classes of history and geography, science, primary methods, library/literature, English, English grammar, art, health, music, phys-ed, child psychology, and of course, classroom management. Some of the teachers were interesting and instructive but just as many were just playing out the string to retirement and were in my opinion simply extremely poor teachers. Into this category fell a certain teacher of classroom management who with his facial features and diminutive stature resembled a cartoon character from the funny pages of the time by the name of Pogo. This was how he was known by his students although formally he was Mr. Stewart. To his colleagues and friends and family he was probably an "okay guy". But my perception of him, and this was shared by many other students, was that Pogo was a petty and a mean man who abused his powers as a "professor" of ours. This is a strong perception on my part, but I really felt it!
He lectured us and didn't allow for any discussion. His communication with us was to ask a question of a particular student and wait for an answer which usually did not meet up to his standard of requirement. He was very strict and brooked no movement or whispers or any laughter. Any such transgressions he seemed to take as personal affronts. He had little understanding of the workings of the young post teenage mind. Everything was by the book and by rote.
All these negatives! I tried to think of some positives...he dressed neatly; he always had his hair cut short; he was always clean-shaven; he was prompt; his hands were always perfectly manicured; he spoke in a loud clear voice; he attempted some humor but unfortunately his humor always fell flat.
We soon realized that he actually had no classroom management skills but rather kept discipline with coercive methods and threats of office discipline. He did keep us in line this way because no one wanted to fail in this class. A failing grade in any class would mean there would be no teaching certificate at the end of the year!
We learned that Pogo picked out a student in each class who became his "whipping boy". He selected me in his first class because in addition to being a poor teacher, I suspected (strong emphasis on the 'I suspected') he might have also been a racist. Even though most of us in his class were of different ethnic backgrounds, that is non-WASP, he seemed to home in on my Polish/Ukrainian background and my ability to speak, read, and write in Ukrainian. He sometimes prefaced his remarks to me by saying this was how things were done in English.
He also was "cutting edge" in his assignment marking. I use "cutting edge" sarcastically. We had to hand in our notebooks at least once a week to the professors and they would grade us on the quality of our note taking and to also weed out any slackers. At the end of the notes they would assign a letter grade of A,B,C,D, or F. An F resulted in an immediate meeting with the teacher. Pogo, being "cutting edge" used X,Y, and Z, with X as top rank.
Because he was targeting me, I made doubly sure that in his classes I kept neat copious notes. Many students copied my notes word for word because they recognized that I did take good notes. When our books came back to us from Pogo after he marked them each week, my notes always rated a Y. He never gave me a Z because I believe he was afraid of meeting with me in a one on one meeting knowing fully well that what he was doing was not right. I knew my notes were not of Y level because the students who had copied my notes word for word always got X's.
It was a tough time for me in his class but I "sucked it up" and made it to the end of the year. It helped that my classmates were behind me and encouraged me.
Why did I not complain about Pogo to his superiors? In that time (era) this was just not done because the student was always wrong and I did not want to be kicked out of the College. So I doubled and tripled down and I was really prepared for the final exam in Classroom Management. When I walked out of the gym the morning of the exam, I knew I had aced the test questions. But it was no surprise to me that my mark came back as a 51% and my grade as a D. But I did get my certificate for teaching elementary education. I also left with a firm conviction in mind that I would never become a Pogo in my classroom with any of my students and I strongly felt that most often the best classroom management was to do the opposite of what Pogo had tried to inculcate us with in his class.
Several years later I attended a junior football game. It was being played in the old velodrome on a regulation-sized grass field located inside the bicycle track which ringed it. Located just off Empress Street near Polo Park in Winnipeg, the velodrome had been built for the 1967 Pan-Am games. It has since been torn down to make way for a shopping centre.
Under the stands which were located on the west side of the velodrome nearest to Empress Street was the concession stand. Further in under the stands was large tunnel-like path to access the washrooms. At half-time I went to use the washroom facilities. Because the game had only a few die-hard fans in attendance, I was quite surprised to see approaching me in the tunnel my old nemesis from Teachers' College. He had his head down and was hurrying back to the concession stand or to his seat.
As he neared me I took a quick step to my left which put me directly in his path. He looked up as he nearly walked into me. I had stopped right in his path. He took a step to the side to go around me. I stepped to the side in the same direction and I was again in front of him blocking his progress.
Many thoughts ran through my mind of what I could say or do to him to give me some satisfaction for the mental abuse I had suffered at his hands! But I silently stood there as he focused on my face. At first there was no recognition showing on his face. Then slowly as he realized who I was, his face transformed into one of almost abject terror. His mouth was open, his eyes were fully rounded as he cast his gaze from side to side looking for an escape. The sheer look of horror on his face as he realized he was trapped in the tunnel with no savior or safety in sight caused a change in me.
I realized that in front of me was a terrified "old" man who probably lived in constant fear when he ventured outside the safe confines of his home that he would run into a student he had picked on. It was now happening to him! In that instant I also realized he was not a man I should spend my time on in seeking some form of vengeance. Rather here was a man who should be pitied for the life that lay before him. He lived in constant fear of a chance meeting with a former student whom he had treated as he had treated me. Perhaps someone else somewhere else already had laid into him either verbally or physically!
No, I, in that short encounter, let go the ghosts of Classroom Management Past. No more would I seek revenge on Pogo in my mind. Nothing I could inflict on him would match what he faced daily in his life.
I said, "Maybe you didn't recognize me but it it's good to see you again, Mr. Stewart!" I stepped to one side and he quickly he scurried out of the tunnel and into the night. I returned to my seat free of the baggage I had carried for several years. I really enjoyed the game that night!
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