I am not openly embraced by faculty and staff at every high
school I work at here in Los Angeles. As
a guest part-time instructor, I am viewed as an interloper, who doesn’t fully
understand the day-to-day rigors of being incarcerated with a building full of
teenagers from 8am to 3pm. On top of
that, I teach theatre, which is not a real discipline, as far as the faculty is
concerned. In their eyes, I am a failed
actor trying to make a buck. Often, I’m
assigned a classroom, rather than an auditorium, rehearsal space, gymnasium or
some kind of open space for my course. In
those instances, I find myself dealing with the proprietary nature of the
teacher whose room I’m a guest in. While
I always make sure the space is left exactly the way I found it, many teachers
prefer that I don’t move anything at all, which is counterproductive. At one point during my sessions, I need space
for thirty or more students to be physical in.
Interruptions are another problem. Despite having a “class in session” note
taped to the door, I’ve had staff and faculty members enter my course to talk
to a student, rummage through a desk, or ask me questions, regardless of
whether or not students were in front of the class doing something. If they hear there’s laughter in the room
that usually suggests to outsiders nothing serious is going on. I once had a security officer enter my class
unannounced, reprimanding the students for being “too loud.” Another time, a teacher entered as I was
engaging the students in a group discussion, which involved a great deal of
humor, over selecting a theme to explore in a scenario. He watched for a few moments then bellowed “I
wish I could get paid just to sit around and joke with the students.”
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| Typical full-time faculty fantasy. |
As a rule, once an adult enters my workshop unannounced,
they become a participant. If they’re
respectful, meaning they ask me before class if they can watch, I invite them
to contribute scene suggestions, direct or play. For the contentious few, I immediately draft
them into whatever format I’m doing at the moment the second they enter the
room. This is very effective at cutting
down repeat offenders.
Lennox Academy in Los Angeles, was one of those rare
assignments where everything worked perfectly.
I was assigned the school cafeteria for my course, which also had an
auditorium stage. This arrangement was
ideal. The warm-ups and technique
exercises were conducted on the cafeteria floor. When it was time to move into the format
section, we hopped onto the stage, which made the experience more theatrical
for the students and enhanced their performance skills.
One day, I was doing a character hot-seat exercise, in which
I’m interviewing the students in character as someone they know well. From the corner of my eye, I could see Mr.
Lopez, a history teacher at the school, watching silently from the side. At one point, I turn the interviewing over to
the students and walked over to talk to Lopez.
He was waiting for an opportune moment to walk across the cafeteria to
exit at the other side without interrupting the class. I thanked him for waiting and said he could
cross whenever he wanted.
Lopez waited until the students were finished interviewing
the current character, then he started walking across the cafeteria. Just as he approached the exit, one of the
students yells out “Hi Mr. Lopez! Hey,
you want to play with us?” Before he
could answer, another student quickly explained what the game was about,
followed by the group chanting “Lopez, Lopez, Lopez!” He turned to me to see if it’s okay and I say
“absolutely.”
Planting himself in a chair center stage, Lopez seamlessly
morphed into character as a student, who judging by the students’ reaction,
everyone knew well. The interview, which
normally takes a few minutes, went on for fifteen, followed by a scene where
Lopez, still in character as the student, being counseled by himself, played by
another student, who suspects he cheated on a test. It was wonderful to see how much fun Lopez
was having, and the warmth the students felt towards him. He stayed until the end of class and
participated in the closure exercise, Gift Circle. In this game, students sit in a circle, each
taking a turn making eye contact with everyone in the group, and then pick one
to give an imaginary gift to. It was a
beautiful way to end this particular session.
As the students were gathering their belongings to leave,
Lopez thanked me for allowing him to participate and apologized for
interrupting my class. I told him that
he did no such thing, that it was a welcome addition and I expressed how much I
appreciated that he waited until I had a moment before talking to me. Smiling, he replied “Mr. Golding, here at
Lennox we respect our faculty.” I almost
hugged the man and left him with an open invitation to visit the class whenever
he liked.
A week later, I was introducing the students to the Armando
Diaz Experience, a format where a monologist tells a story, pausing
periodically for aspects of it to be brought to life in scenes. As is often the case when introducing a new
format, the first few attempts were stilted.
Either the monologist couldn’t provide enough detail for players to
enact, or the players were waiting too long to jump in. Again, Lopez was watching from the side,
until he was noticed by one of the students who beckoned with “Mr. Lopez, tell
us a story!”
Since this was the last class before Spring break, Lopez
used that as the theme for his story and made it personal. His monologue involved various students in
the class, covering their family life, friends and vacation plans. Because he knew these students so well, certainly
better than me, they were falling over themselves to enact scenes, which were
rich with detail and emotion. Lopez’s
Armando lasted close to a half hour.
My favorite session with Lopez was when we were exploring
poetry, in a text versus improv format.
In this structure, one person reads a poem, followed by another person
improvising a story based on what in the poem affected them. Sometimes the simplest instruction by a
teacher can be the most complicated one for a student. The class had a problem grasping the second
part of the exercise, and thought that they had to improvise a poem to
compliment the one that was just read. It
was fortunate that Lopez was in class for this one!
After a student read Pablo Neruda’s “Leaning Into The
Afternoon,” Lopez told a story about his first true love, who ended up breaking
his heart. By the end of his story, the
cafeteria echoed with the sound of sniffing noses. The students suddenly understood the exercise
and for the next hour, the stories that followed the written poems were
poignant, emotionally honest and revealing.
The experience encouraged students to bring in their own original poems,
just to see what type of stories they would inspire. This was an unexpected windfall for me.
The final class is always party time for the students, where
pizza is ordered and we talk about what we accomplished during the semester and
what their plans are for the future after graduation. Lopez was noticeably absent, and I made a
mental note to send him a thank-you email.
As I approached my car in the garage, I heard Lopez call out my
name. When I turned to face him I was
immediately struck by his expression, which was filled with admiration. “Mr. Golding, I just wanted to thank you for
letting me participate. It allowed me to
explore a different type of relationship with these students which I never
would have had if it wasn’t for your class.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
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| Lennox Academy. |
In turn, I thanked Lopez for providing me with privileged
insight into who these students were and how wonderful it was to observe the
mutual respect and love they felt towards him.
I wish I had a Mr. Lopez in every high school class I teach.
I frequently write about how valuable the arts are in
education, and the importance of play in the every day life of students. But until I had this experience with Lopez in
my class, I never considered the importance of play in a teacher’s daily work
routine and how it can provide a richer connection between teacher and
student. Empathy is vital in any
relationship. So why not also between
teacher and student?
Michael Golding is a writer,
director and improv teacher. He can be contacted
for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics
& Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv
Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood,
Ottawa. He is a faculty member at El Camino
College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch
School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s
Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development.
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