September is—for me—the most beautiful month of the year. Here in the Northeast part of the United States, the weather is near-perfect, not too hot and not too cold. The autumn leaves are in all their glory, and so am I. I have spent sixty-one of my seventy-one Septembers in a New York City classroom, beginning as a kindergartner and ending as a teacher. I guess that you can say that I never got out of school, and since most of my years in the classroom were spent in the Bronx, I guess you can say that I...

I wrote this book specifically to tell you about my students. My intention was to be the storyteller, not the story. In a world where celebrities rule, fame fades, and idols fall, I am only too glad to have little or no attention focused on me. I am happy to stand outside the crowd and just be myself, my own person. The poet Emily Dickinson said it best:

I’m nobody! Who are you?

Are you—nobody—too? . . .

How dreary—to be—somebody!

How public. . . .¹

Without pursuing fame or fortune, I have led a rich...

In 1975, America was in the midst of yet another economic crisis, and New York City was close to financial ruin.¹ Mayor Abraham Beame and Governor Hugh Carey looked to President Gerald Ford for a bailout, and on August 30, 1975, theNew York Daily Newsprinted as its headline what was essentially Ford’s response: “DROP DEAD.”² (His callous response was in stark contrast to President Barack Obama’s response to the financial crisis, in 2009, of giving federal bailouts to major financial institutions, auto companies, and insurance giants.)

Mayor Beame, on the eve of filing for bankruptcy, successfully negotiated an...

It is easier and quicker to get to know the noisier students than it is to get to know the quieter ones. The student who asks for the bathroom pass and informs you, and the entire class, as to what bodily function must be performed immediately or dire consequences would result, is so different from the shy kid who would rather die than even ask for a bathroom pass! Some students tell you their life stories quickly, and others never say a word. Omara was one who never said a word—until calamity struck!

She was a student who kept...

What you noticed first about Ramika was her large, horn-rimmed glasses. You saw the glasses before you saw her sweet, soft-looking face; she had medium brown skin and was of average height and weight. She could have easily melted into a crowd of students, except for those oversized spectacles. They were the kind of frame that, in the movies, an awkward, shy young woman wore until someone (Prince Charming, probably) discovered that, if the glasses were removed, underneath would be found a “smoldering beauty.” Was Ramika smoldering? I didn’t know.

How can I describe Ramika’s life? Not that she confided...

It was the first day of classes in September, the second day after Labor Day. The halls were filled with students, armed with new programs, searching out their new rooms and teachers. I noticed a very sweet-looking young girl peeking into my room. She was nervously clutching her program and checking the room number and teacher’s name on the door. She entered my room tentatively and was almost pushed aside by more aggressive students in pursuit of the best seats in the room. (For some students, that meant the back of the room, the farthest away from the teacher; for...

The beginning of every term is frenetic, and so it was a few weeks into the term before I realized that not only were two of my students brother and sister, they were also twins. Dora had sparkling eyes, the kind that indicate a healthy glow inside and a spirit not yet killed by either a chaotic home life or a stultifying school system. She was extremely pretty with thick brown hair and a slim figure usually hidden beneath oversized shirts and jeans, a typical teenage outfit. David, her brother, had a twinkle in his eye, not quite a sparkle,...

I taught in summer school only once, almost thirty years ago. (Once was enough; it was so grueling.) It was there that I met Tamika. It was July 5, the first day of classes, orientation day, and I conducted a tour of the enormous and convoluted five-story building for my group of new students. Some students were noisy, some were quiet, and some were very nervous. These students were all ninth graders, and all of them would be entering Harriman High School in September.

I noticed a very shy teenager, definitely from the “nervous” group. My fear of losing new...

I can’t wait to tell you about Dolores, Marisa, and Pedro; their stories are coming up next. But in order to write about them, I have to introduce you to (if you don’t already have his acquaintance) Dr. Howard Gardner, John H. and Elizabeth A. Hobbs Professor of Cognition and Education at the Harvard Graduate School of Education.

If you have no interest in either fixing or knowing what’s wrong with urban and rural education, you can skip the following digression. But I warn you, I may think less of you if you do, because every American, well educated or...

Unsmiling. Tense. That’s how Dolores appeared walking into my classroom for the first time. I said, “A smile is needed to get a seat in my classroom!” It was definitely the wrong thing to say because a large scowl came across her beautiful face. She stopped in her tracks and looked back, wistfully, at the door; it was still open, and she looked like it could be the way out for her.

I saw quickly that I had said the wrong thing, and so I slipped from my opening day trick¹—“Keep the banter light”—into opening day trick 2—...

Marisa was an extremely talented young teenager with an outgoing personality and uncommon singing ability. She could have been written off as not having gifts of any kind (see Chapter 9, “Multiple Intelligences: A Digression”) because of her weakness in math. In high school, math counts exceedingly high; in life . . . ?

Marisa was, maybe, four feet ten inches tall; she weighed, maybe, ninety pounds. But, no maybe about it, with her long black wavy hair and huge dark eyes, she was very beautiful. You had to notice her immediately because she sort of danced happily into the...

Some of the most profound conversations that I ever had with my closest colleagues occurred in our non-air-conditioned, decrepit basement lunchroom. (I tore my hosiery every day on the broken wooden chairs that served as lunchroom “furniture.”) Although these devoted teachers taught English, as I did, we often lamented the lack of music instruction, not only in our school, but in so many city high schools. The assistant principal in charge of English, another of my heroes, put in endless hours, days, and weeks trying her best to bring music into our school—and it wasn’t even her “job.” Since...

There are so many other Bronx students that I could tell you about. Would you believe that a young man, our valedictorian some years ago, admitted to a few of his teachers, near graduation day, that he had been homeless for the last year of high school and had been living on the New York City subway, keeping warm and sleeping on the train?

Then there was a female student of mine who showed great talent as a basketball player. Title IX in 1972 had made more funds and opportunities available for girls and women in sports, and Keisha benefited...

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” When Walter Scott penned these famous words, could he ever have known that over two hundred years later, he would be describing the destructive forces in education today? In all good conscience, I cannot conclude my book without commenting on and detailing what I believe are ill-conceived, deceptive, fraudulent practices in education today that, although ostensibly attempting to solve educational problems, are, in actuality, impeding, hindering, distorting and even thwarting the very goals we seek to accomplish, namely, a sound education for every student. In 2002, No...