She squeezed his hand. But when he moved closer to her, she was not receptive. “Stay with the movie,” she said. What the hell was going on? “Movies are a lot more fun than they used to be, Walter, now that you can put yourself in as any of the characters.”
“I could be John Wayne,” he said.
“Sure. And it’s not just limited to movies. You can anchor the CBS news, cover the Titans, take over the Scarborough talk show. Whatever you like.” She took his arm onto her lap. “Meantime, let’s stay with this one for a while so we can see how good you are at tossing that shield around.”
Walter wondered how Steve Rogers performed as a superhero while simultaneously earning a living. It was in his thoughts during the next few days as he drove his taxi through the Knoxville streets. At home, he couldn’t resist using the Quark-box to watch himself play Frasier on the reruns of the hit comedy show, and Sam Malone, the bartender on Cheers. He really liked to think of himself in a John Wayne role, or maybe Tom Selleck, but it didn’t really feel right. Somehow he’d been better as Captain America. Maybe because Diana had been there and hadn’t laughed.
A few days after his birthday, she called again. “I was talking this morning with Vince Scaparello.” Vince was a history teacher at Brackenwood Academy, a college prep school north of town. “He tells me their physics teacher hasn’t been feeling well and has decided to retire.”
The school would be opening next week. “That’s pretty short notice,” Walter said. “How serious is it?”
“I don’t think it’s life-threatening.”
“But they need somebody.”
“Yes. You’d be the perfect hire.”
“Diana, we’re talking about high school kids. I have no experience doing anything like that.”
“Your call, Walter. I’m not sure experience is critical. Every teacher has to start somewhere. I’m not pushing this. I just thought you might be interested. It’s the field you like. And you’re obviously not happy riding around in the cab.”
“Yeah. Well, thanks. I appreciate it. But I don’t think I’m the guy they want.”
That afternoon Walter drove to the school. A security guard watched as he entered the administration office. One of the secretaries looked up. “My name’s Peacock,” he said. “I understand the Academy’s looking for a physics teacher.”
“Have a seat, please, Mr. Peacock,” she said. “I’ll tell Dr. Mullen you’re here.”
He’d barely sat down before she came over and asked him to follow her across the hall into another office. Dr. Mullen smiled and invited him to have a seat. “It’s good to see you again, Walter,” she said. “How have you been?” Francine Mullen had been the principal during Walter’s years at the Academy, but he doubted she really remembered him. Smaller than most of her students, she nevertheless possessed a commanding presence. Her once-black hair was now almost fully gone to gray. But her dark eyes retained the intensity he remembered from his first year.
“I’ve been fine, Dr. Mullen. The school doesn’t seem to have changed much.”
“Probably not.” She made herself comfortable behind the desk and indicated he should take one of the chairs. The walls were covered with framed photos of her with students in caps and gowns, with teachers, and with athletes. “I understand you’re interested in teaching physics for us.”
“Yes. I’ve been told you have a sudden vacancy. I’d like to help, if I may.”
“Do you have any classroom experience, Walter?”
“No, ma’am. I have a master’s degree in physics, though.”
“From Tennessee?”
“Yes.” Walter had been on the honor roll consistently at UT. He produced a transcript of his grades and gave it to her.
She studied it and nodded. “What else have you done?”
“I was a supermarket cashier during my college years. This past summer I’ve been driving a cab.”
“Do you have plans to pursue a doctorate?”
“Eventually.” Best to sound optimistic.
“Why are you applying for the teaching job, Walter?”
“Because it’s my field of interest. And I thought I could help.”
Her eyes locked with his while she considered her options. Walter tried to affect a confident manner while he wondered if anyone else had applied. And whether he really wanted her to accept his application. He remembered how much he’d hated the public speaking course. It was one of only two C’s he’d received. And that had been a generous grade. He loved physics, but he’d never been comfortable talking to an audience.
“Good enough, Walter.” She delivered a welcoming smile. “We’ll have a preliminary meeting of the faculty Monday at nine. Classes start Tuesday. Check with Melinda on the way out. She’ll have a copy of the curriculum for you.”
Diana was pleased. “I think you’ll enjoy yourself,” she said.
His mom tried to encourage him too, but his father sighed and suggested it was just another dead end. “I don’t want to sound negative. But teaching will never provide any serious money. You might as well stay with the cab.”
Walter suspected he was right. But he needed a start in a different direction. He thought about staying with the taxi while he tried his hand in the classroom. He drove at night, so it wouldn’t interfere with his schedule. But he’d probably need the time to prepare for his classes.
He called the cab company and let them know he’d be in that evening, but it would be his last night. Short notice wasn’t a problem for them. Drivers were easy to come by.
The curriculum looked simple enough. Motion and forces. Heat and thermodynamics. Electricity and magnetism. He’d have a lab available for each class twice a week. There was no list of reading assignments included, so he’d have to put one together. Find some books that the kids would both understand and enjoy.
He spent most of the weekend planning classes. He used index cards to write notes that would guide him through the material. And he put together some assignments. He’d start with Newton’s three laws of motion and tie them into conservation of energy.
He took a break Saturday night and used his Quark-box to watch himself infuriate his superiors as the disc jockey in Good Morning, Vietnam. The software gave his personality a substantial boost. Nobody had ever accused him of being funny, but on that evening he was hilarious. He sat, laughing more than he had in ages and wondering why the computer could make him that good while he couldn’t do it himself.
But he couldn’t. And he knew it. If he could go into the classroom and perform as he had in that film, his students would love him. And more to the point, they’d pick up some basic physics too. The teachers who’d been most useful to him had all possessed a sense of humor and an ability to instill laughs into the process. One of his more vivid memories was a history class on the start of the War of Jenkins’ Ear in the eighteenth century. The Spanish Coast Guard had boarded a British ship, and one of them had used a sword to slice off the ear of its captain, Robert Jenkins. Jenkins, according to the instructor, had picked up the ear, confronted his attacker, and said, “Sir, you’ll ’ear about this ’ere ear.”
But Walter was strictly a monotone kind of guy. Damn.
He spent additional time on the Internet reading about the qualities of a good teacher. Talk with the students, not at them. Take notice of what they do right, rather than spend your time pointing out errors.
Be aware that people spend a considerable amount of their formative years listening to authority figures, parents and teachers and bosses, telling them how they screw up. “Don’t touch it; you’ll break it.” The result is that most of us tend to underrate our own capabilities.