LOUDER THAN BOMBS

Back when I was in my late 20’s I’d rewind The Smiths’ "Louder Than Bombs" cassette tape to "Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now," and internalize Jim Morrissey’s broody message. Sometimes I’d mumble along while having an Old Milwaukee or two or three, usually making trips to the refrigerator during the rewinding process. The Smiths’ song did not influence my state of mind so much as it amplified what I was going through. I had just finished my student teaching at a nice suburban high school where the principal took me under his wing, made me feel like a valuable commodity, suggesting that I become a permanent substitute teacher for their school district. I thought of his offer as a tour of duty. Unfortunately, he was rather taken aback when I told him that I would be more than willing to sub for one school year if, and only if, they could guarantee me a teaching position somewhere within their school district. After all his hollow compliments, his demeanor changed. I remember him telling me that the only way to get into the public schools was by subbing and that there were no guarantees. He said I wouldn’t get hired any other way. Say I’m crazy, but I did not get my college degree and teaching certificate so I could sit around the house waiting for phone calls. He wished me well, and I told him I’d call him as soon as I found a permanent teaching position—my way of saying… ________ (you fill in the blank). With the wave of his hand I was dismissed as insignificant.

And yes, I felt miserable. The song validated my mood; it spoke to me. Within two months, in the middle of the summer, I had a teaching job educating delinquent youths from the Wayne County Youth Home. Not an easy task. "I was looking for a job, and then I found a job," Morrissey sang, "and heaven knows I’m miserable now." My sudden employment did not stop me from applying to every public school district in Michigan (excluding the Upper Peninsula). It didn’t matter though—I received nothing but rejection letter after rejection letter. I did get some temporary relief when I made that promised phone call, yet I was hoping that maybe I’d gain some insight into an opening in his school district. I wanted to be where I thought I belonged. That never materialized. My misery increased.

I don’t know exactly how, or even when, I broke out of my downward spiral. Perhaps Morrissey’s voice became too overbearing. I can’t even say whether I eased into the teaching profession slowly or whether I had an innate ability to work with the downtrodden from the start. I do know this: I have the best students a teacher could ask for—the failures of our public schools. Also, I have plenty of character sketches to add to my arsenal of fiction. Hopefully, some day, through my writing, I shall be heard … louder than bombs … louder than bombs.