MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmMMMMMM

While passively paying my penance in graduate school for teaching with the temporary certification that I had earned after four years of “study” I encountered an unexpected horrifying and horrible moment.
In New York State, it was required that permanent certification must be achieved by any temporarily certified teacher within five years of the original certification.

I needed an additional 30 hours in graduate school to achieve that goal. I attended during the summer sessions. I didn’t want to be there. I had to be there. I was trying to earn the gentleman’s B and get the hell out. The education courses that I had taken prior to grad school were deadly dull sessions of spray and pray instruction that was as lacking in rigor as it was engagement. The grad school classes were even worse. Most of the professors hadn't taught in many years and their professing had little relationship to the action going on in real classrooms.

So there I was trying to listen to yet another lecture on “education” when the moment arrived. Our teacher introduced a member of the Speech Dept. She introduced a normal looking kid of about 20 “as a student in their six week program”’

After a few seconds of silence, the nameless kid began.
“MMMMMMMMMmmmmmmMMMmMMMMmMMmmm……MMMMMMMMMMMMMNNNNMmmmMmmmmnnmmmmmm”
He stopped and looked at the speech teacher imploringly. The speech teacher said, “continue,”
The kids face was now very pink.

“MMMMMMmmmmMMmmMMMMM…MM.mmmmmmm……MMMMMMMMM”.
His face was now purple. Again he cast the imploring look. Again he was told to continue.
MMMMMMMMMMMMM…kkkk.kk.mmmmmmm.ghmm….Kknknkmmmmmmm.
Tears of rage and frustration and humiliation were streaming down the kid’s face

I couldn’t look anymore.

I put my face down on the desk. I would have walked out of the classroom if the kid and his “teacher” hadn’t been sitting in from of if.

Once again, there was a pause followed by the word “continue.”
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMklkKKLKkNKL mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm MMMMMMMMMMMMM…kkkk.kk.mmmmmmm.ghmm….Kknknkmmmmmmm
and finally, mercifully silence.

The speech teacher thanked us for our “attention”. She and the kid left the classroom, probably destined for another classroom two doors down.
The whole deal lasted less than five minutes.

Now perhaps our grad school teacher that day might have turned the experience into something other than an exercise in fear and cruelty if he had clarified what we had just experienced but instead he just went on with whatever he was going on about as if nothing had happened until the class finally ended. 

I had heard that for some people, speaking in public was their most debilitating fear. Maybe this was intended as a demonstration of that fear. I don’t know. I didn’t have the fear. To me, it was a useless and purposeless exploitation just short of a freak show carnival.

During the remainder of the 6 weeks, I would occasionally see the kid walking around campus, looking normal but usually accompanied by someone who didn’t seem like a friend. I’d see the kid talking, turning violet. I’d see the listener nod and walk away. I hoped to God, the kid didn’t see me because I didn’t want a repeat performance.

The summer drifted away. I got my B and not much else.

The last day of class…..the door opened again and oh Jezzuz No…here comes the kid and his teacher /keeper once again. The kids face was already purple.
Once again the nameless introduction…..
Once again, I put my head down on tne desk
Once again MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmMMMMmMmMmMmMM. I looked up and saw the accompanying facial contortions and the pain and the futility…….
"MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmyyyy nname is Phillip".
Phillip was smiling now.
“I don’t talk the way now that I used to talk six weeks ago," said Phil in a lilting Southern drawl. I wwanted to come back and thank y’all for helping mmeee. I’m from Louisiana and i hheard this was ggood place so my folks sent me up here. I’m going home tomorrow and I can’t wait to talk with them without stuttering so dang much”
His speech imentor looked as pleased as Phil. As they were leaving the class, I gave them both a one man standing ovation. Maybe my graduate class was worth something after all.

I had seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears a miraculous transformation, a manifestation of the power of teaching and learning and courage.

Phil had been around six weeks that summer and so had I. I had a mediocre grade to show from my efforts…..Phil had a whole new life for his efforts.

In retrospect, I did gain something valuable. I gained the story of Phil and a memory that I’m proud to share.