GETTING THE SHOWROOM READY

A prison classroom is often viewed as a factory, where the teacher is expected to meet the facility’s quota annually. I’ve found that “making quota” is a nice way to shoot yourself in the foot, especially since no matter how many GED’s you produce, Lansing is never satisfied. They want you to increase your numbers each year by some arbitrary number pulled out of a hat. Never mind that the Michigan Department of Corrections is losing teachers through attrition. Never mind the temporary set backs such as an illness or assault on a staff member. You are on the assembly line dammit, so why are you not producing?

Our yearly audit has been postponed thank God, however, soon we’ll have the leader of our state’s prison education system at our door, her staff asking questions, pulling files, demanding answers. And to be truthful—I have nothing to say that hasn’t been said before. Way back (November 8, 1995 to be exact), School Principal Tim Hogan defended us prison educators in regards to thirty-two contact hours per week with inmates. “What happens when they speed up the line in a factory?” he asked in his memorandum. “The workers try to keep up, but then they start making more mistakes, start getting frustrated, and eventually become less productive, and very, very angry. There are limits to what the human body and spirit can do. If the thirty-two hours is strictly enforced, the teachers will try to do their best, but they too will become frustrated and ultimately less productive.” Twelve years later and I can honestly say that Mr. Hogan’s prediction has hit the target dead center—a bullseye if I’ve ever seen one. Files are incomplete. Academic plotters vary from facility to facility. GED Scores get lost. The list goes on and on.

As for me, I’m starting out my week by cleaning house, by getting rid of the dead weight in my classroom. Our facility has gone from five academic teachers to the current low of two. We have a waiting list of students begging to be enrolled in school. I can’t see someone taking up space in my classroom. I’ve got my target group. I’ve had them sign on the dotted line when quarterly evaluations were due. There should be no surprises. I’m going to get that showroom back in order, just in time for our annual audit. Out with the old, and in with the new. And as usual, when the head honchos walk past my room with their clipboards in hand, I’ll say to the inmates, “Okay now, it’s time to put on a show,” and they will shine.