A CONVENTIONAL TEACHER'S NIGHTMARE IN 1959?(Copied from the 1st few pages of Harrison's "Discipline at School Made Easy" book)

     A cold wave of fear passed down my spine despite the 90 degree temperature which is not unusual for September throughout the Southern California area. Not even a clear blue sky could raise my depression as I drove my old '54 Ford station wagon past the newly-plowed potato fields and toward the sixth grade classroom awaiting me at Sunnydale Elementary School.
     Once again I nervously attempted to mentally tick off all the necessary items for a successful first day in the teaching profession. But, as in most moments of anguish and fear, my mind wouldn't function properly. I would have given anything at that moment to have returned to my old job as personnel specialist at the nearby Air Force base. However, such was not possible. My ties to the security of military service had been permanently severed in July and my future hitched to the uncertainty of teaching.
     Just what caused me to make such a foolish decision escaped me at that time. Forgotten were the many miserable overtime hours, the stifled advancement opportunities, and even the initiative-killing Air Force regulations. Compared to the 35 ten and eleven-year old monsters I was about to face in the classroom, I felt that everything in the military had been a mere inconvenience. My imagination recently had many times pictured the poor helpless teacher, me, being driven from the classroom by a barrage of spitballs, unmanageable kids, angry parents and even the wrath of my principal.
     To make matters worse, I had been unable to acquire, in the short three months available for summer school courses, any "how to teach" methods of instruction. Therefore I was in the unenviable position of possessing knowledge without the foggiest idea of how to impart it to pupils. And to climax all, in the previous week I had listened to the usual new-teacher advice from every well-meaning veteran instructor who couldn't resist any opportunity to show off a bit of his or her classroom prowess. Several times I had been scared stiff as the helpful-teacher remarks went something like this:  "Would you believe it? Only last year Mrs. Blank Blank was bitten twice, and the last time it was right on the breast by her kindergarten student." Great jumping jehosephat! I thought at the time. Where might the little devils get me?
     Another motherly type of instructor kindly suggested that I immediately march any malcontent to the office by hanging on to the hair of his head. Another recommended a drawn circle on the blackboard into which the naughty pupil places his nose while standing on his tiptoes. But what probably frightened me the most were the dire warnings to avoid relying too much on the principal for discipline. "Handle it inside your classroom," everyone said.
     I braked the station wagon to a stop in the school parking lot. Every step toward my classroom was dreadful with anticipation. Perhaps I could last a month and then surely the worst would be over. As I attempted to pull the classroom door open the kids swooped towards me. It seemed as if at least a hundred children were pushing while I was pulling. Actually, there were no more that fifteen or twenty. Finally I stopped pulling and the kids stopped pushing. I made a mental note to remember this strategy for later use.
     "All right!" I yelled, above their chattering. "Line up and you can go inside one at a time." Surprisingly, they complied.
     Hot dog! I thought. My first skirmish, and I had won. But my elation was short-lived. Once inside, I saw two boys trying to drag another from a choice desk seat at the back of the room. Classroom furniture was never designed for this and the desk upset with a loud bang. My first impulse was to rush over and knock some heads together, but I controlled myself with difficulty. What was it the books had said? A teacher must learn self-control before expecting it in others. But, as I was soon to discover, books were never written with my personality in mind. And after all, something had to be done right then. I asked myself: How would I handle this situation if it had occurred between my own three sons? The solution was immediately clear. The devil with books!
     I rushed over and grabbed the two mischief-makers by the neck and hustled them out of the room. Once outside, I proceeded to give them a piece of my mind. But before I could do a good job, I heard further noises of disturbance coming from the classroom. I hurried inside. Instinctively, I knew the students were testing me. How I reacted now would determine my future success. Class discipline and control is the least taught but most sought subject in college. I had previously realized, as probably most new instructors have had to do in the past, that any expertise in classroom discipline would of necessity come from experience in actual classroom combat. At least, this was always the evasive answer I received at college. Well the chance to learn was certainly and rapidly coming my way.
     Inside the classroom, I understood the situation immediately. The chalkboard revealed the following derogatory statement: "JACKASS JOAN loves DONKEY DAN." And evidentgly "Jackass Joan" was in hot pursuit of the male poet, up one aisle and own the other. Before I could reach them, the tall stringy blonde zeroed in and let fly with a large piece of chalk that bounced neatly off the head of her chubby quarry and then shattered against the wall.
     I don't know what it was that stopped me as I started in pursuit. Probably the sudden realization that when the chips were down, and in the heat of excitement, I was acting no better than the kids I was supposed to change. Drawing again on my experience as a father, I tuned up my famous "bullhorn" voice and truly made the classroom windows rattle. "Stop your running, instantly! Freeze and don't move a muscle!"
     The results frightened even me. All movement in the classroom came to a halt. Jaws hung open, and eyes widened. I quickly recovered my composure and made my voice as stern as possible.
     "Out! Every one of you outside. If you are going to act like cattle, then you must rejoin the herd." I pointed toward the door for emphasis. "And don't come in again until the bell rings." 
     Surprisingly, they all left, meek as lambs. I felt a sigh of relief escape me after the last pupil had closed the door behind him. Here it was - reality staring me in the face. The experienced teachers had been right and the books wrong. All the old hands had warned, "Books won't help. Either you have the knack for classroom control or you don't. Those lacking it might just as well get out of teaching before they start, because successful discipline seldom arrives later." Without exception, the experienced instructor seemed to feel that failure breeds failure until all confidence is destroyed, at which time the teacher reverts to a mere information robot that doesn't care whether or not the pupil learns anything. He will blame his pupils, administrators and parents but never himself. I had already met a number of such robot instructors and felt a mixture of contempt and pity for them as they related classroom experiences. Contempt, in that they hadn't enough social conscience to retreat from teaching, and pity, in that such a move on their part was necessary for the children.
     As I sat at my desk now, I mulled over the problem. Except for my God-given bullhorn voice, I might have become just such a teaching casualty. It didn't seem fair and it certainly wasn't logical. Many instructuors possessed far more knowledge than the most successful disciplinarian, yet they were usually denied the pleasures and success expected in the profession. Perhaps there was a way to help these people. I felt that there would be a remedy which only experience and time would clarify. There just had to be!

AND THERE WAS! CLICK ON THE DESCRIPTION FOR BUILDING THE "HARRISON SYSTEM" AT SCHOOL OR HOME!