When I was in the first year of my first elementary general music job, we had an evening full staff meeting where the administration was pushing the platitudes of “we're one big happy family”. They were trying to achieve the vibe of tent revival meeting, the air air of rapture, but none of it rang true.
I looked around and everyone who was older than me (that would be everyone in the room) was smiling and seemed to be buying in with the company line.
Our elementary school gym teacher was an affable, avuncular man nearing retirement by the name of Frank Lafferty. He was in his mid-sixties and knew a ton of old songs like “Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets” that he would sing to the little kids as he walked them up the wooden steps of Alapocas Woods to the playing field. During the evening meeting, he shot me a few smiles, thumbs ups, and fist pumps. It seemed like he was clearly into it.
After the meeting, most people had left when I decided to get a cup of coffee from the staff room. It was empty except for Frank who was sitting on a small sofa.
He had a blank, despondent look on his face. I smiled at him but got no reaction.
Suddenly, Frank got up and grabbed my arm. It startled me and I got wide-eyed real fast. I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he gripped my arm even tighter and pointedly said, “Never forget this – this is not a family. You have a family and it's not here in this school. This school is a job and a job is nothing more than these four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and a paycheck. Don't forget that.”
Without another word or a trace of a smile, he left the room. We never talked of it again. The next time I saw Frank, it was if it never happened.
His words that night stunned me and were weirdly disconcerting, especially coming after his “thumbs up” behavior and the forced euphoria of the staff meeting but I learned in coming years how accurate he was in many respects.
I looked around and everyone who was older than me (that would be everyone in the room) was smiling and seemed to be buying in with the company line.
Our elementary school gym teacher was an affable, avuncular man nearing retirement by the name of Frank Lafferty. He was in his mid-sixties and knew a ton of old songs like “Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets” that he would sing to the little kids as he walked them up the wooden steps of Alapocas Woods to the playing field. During the evening meeting, he shot me a few smiles, thumbs ups, and fist pumps. It seemed like he was clearly into it.
After the meeting, most people had left when I decided to get a cup of coffee from the staff room. It was empty except for Frank who was sitting on a small sofa.
He had a blank, despondent look on his face. I smiled at him but got no reaction.
Suddenly, Frank got up and grabbed my arm. It startled me and I got wide-eyed real fast. I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he gripped my arm even tighter and pointedly said, “Never forget this – this is not a family. You have a family and it's not here in this school. This school is a job and a job is nothing more than these four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and a paycheck. Don't forget that.”
Without another word or a trace of a smile, he left the room. We never talked of it again. The next time I saw Frank, it was if it never happened.
His words that night stunned me and were weirdly disconcerting, especially coming after his “thumbs up” behavior and the forced euphoria of the staff meeting but I learned in coming years how accurate he was in many respects.
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