The Waning of a Dream
The move to southwest Iowa in 1976 was a bit of a compromise. I wanted to teach in the state that generally sets the standards for what public education should be, to teach Spanish, and to provide the wholesome rural environment that I felt would be best for my three young children. That summer, the bicentennial year, was a busy one. Mark, our youngest, arrived on June 16. I had accepted the "perfect" job offer to teach in Woodbine Community Schools. It met Margery's wish not to be far removed from a large city. Omaha was 40 miles away. Also her twin sister was in Kansas City, and her elder sister in Des Moines so I felt she'd enjoy being closer to both of them.
I was to introduce Spanish to the local high school. The last language taught had been French. I also got to moderate the yearbook, which we expanded to be fully inclusive of the high school. Previously it had been a senior class memory book only. I also taught a class in journalism and worked on improving the weekly school news in the community paper, the Woodbine Twiner. There was a lot of turnover in the schools that year I discovered. Both principals were new, and there were a lot of new teachers.
We first rented an old two-story house that had been bought for the purpose of tearing down so that the next door lot could be expanded. We found a lot of our own and made arrangements to put a modular home on it with a full basement. The house arrived in two halves from Gretna, NE, and was put together on the spot. We liked it. It may be the closest thing I ever own to a newly built home of my own. It was home to my children until Mark finished high school in 1994 and left for college.
I liked my time at WHS; however, I soon found out that it was not perfection. I guess I was still young enough to feel that I was pursuing an attainable dream. The only change after three years in my assignments of Spanish and English was to drop journalism because I took no academic initiative to meet the requirements of my state waiver to teach journalism. I am sure I knew more about teaching the course after three years than I did before, but that is how regulations work.
I was able to continue my interest in community theater as even tiny Woodbine had an interest in the arts. We not only did local shows but also expanded to county-wide auditions and venues. Margery and I also took square dance lessons (she had belonged to a singles club previously) and became fairly active. I found it to be something I truly enjoyed.
After four years at the high school, I felt something was missing. Also I was distressed by too much pettiness that had come about within the community over the school administration. In those four years I had three superintendents and two principals.
I found a job that seemed up my line in spite of the big cut in income. A group, calling itself Nebraska Association of Farmworkers, was using CETA funding to promote a better life for persons finding their way out of the migrant stream. I served as a bilingual education counselor and helped guide them to find training and/or college courses as well as ESL lessons that would enhance their chances at being successful in the main stream. I loved it. I had to commute to Omaha. I carpooled with two women so it was not so bad. Margery also got a job that she could do at home working on the catalog of a wholesale veterinarian supplier. I should learn my lessons about working for the government. It soon lost its funding under Reaganomics.
I then went to work at a small private college, Bellevue College, as the administrative assistant to the academic dean. It was a lot to handle because he was on medical leave, and I saw him only a couple of times. For nine months I did the work of that office for a pittance under the ego-maniacal control of self-absorbed president, who was probably gay and actively abusing certain employees. I was glad to escape finally his realm. I did get to take a couple of introductory courses in German during the time frame.
Leaving that job was like being a kamikaze pilot.
I was to introduce Spanish to the local high school. The last language taught had been French. I also got to moderate the yearbook, which we expanded to be fully inclusive of the high school. Previously it had been a senior class memory book only. I also taught a class in journalism and worked on improving the weekly school news in the community paper, the Woodbine Twiner. There was a lot of turnover in the schools that year I discovered. Both principals were new, and there were a lot of new teachers.
We first rented an old two-story house that had been bought for the purpose of tearing down so that the next door lot could be expanded. We found a lot of our own and made arrangements to put a modular home on it with a full basement. The house arrived in two halves from Gretna, NE, and was put together on the spot. We liked it. It may be the closest thing I ever own to a newly built home of my own. It was home to my children until Mark finished high school in 1994 and left for college.
I liked my time at WHS; however, I soon found out that it was not perfection. I guess I was still young enough to feel that I was pursuing an attainable dream. The only change after three years in my assignments of Spanish and English was to drop journalism because I took no academic initiative to meet the requirements of my state waiver to teach journalism. I am sure I knew more about teaching the course after three years than I did before, but that is how regulations work.
I was able to continue my interest in community theater as even tiny Woodbine had an interest in the arts. We not only did local shows but also expanded to county-wide auditions and venues. Margery and I also took square dance lessons (she had belonged to a singles club previously) and became fairly active. I found it to be something I truly enjoyed.
After four years at the high school, I felt something was missing. Also I was distressed by too much pettiness that had come about within the community over the school administration. In those four years I had three superintendents and two principals.
I found a job that seemed up my line in spite of the big cut in income. A group, calling itself Nebraska Association of Farmworkers, was using CETA funding to promote a better life for persons finding their way out of the migrant stream. I served as a bilingual education counselor and helped guide them to find training and/or college courses as well as ESL lessons that would enhance their chances at being successful in the main stream. I loved it. I had to commute to Omaha. I carpooled with two women so it was not so bad. Margery also got a job that she could do at home working on the catalog of a wholesale veterinarian supplier. I should learn my lessons about working for the government. It soon lost its funding under Reaganomics.
I then went to work at a small private college, Bellevue College, as the administrative assistant to the academic dean. It was a lot to handle because he was on medical leave, and I saw him only a couple of times. For nine months I did the work of that office for a pittance under the ego-maniacal control of self-absorbed president, who was probably gay and actively abusing certain employees. I was glad to escape finally his realm. I did get to take a couple of introductory courses in German during the time frame.
Leaving that job was like being a kamikaze pilot.