About harassment and respect ... me, too

     It has taken many weeks, years, and thought to reach the point of writing this, and I was not harassed into doing it.
     That is not a funny line. And this blog piece is not about athletics.
      It is about an attitude, my attitude, toward other people, primarily women. And if you care to read on, I am going to trace that attitude to my last two years in elementary school, so that's only 60 years ago. 
      I can trace my "attitude" to a couple of women then -- a principal I respected greatly, a teacher I harassed constantly. It's the first remembrance I have of what was to be a lifelong pattern.
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     The #MeToo has my attention and it provides an everyday reminder: Don't be an ass.
      Yes, me too. I have been harassed -- but not sexually, just mostly verbally. BUT mostly, I have been the harasser. 
      Verbal harassment, both toward men and women. Far too often. Physical harassment ... it has happened. 
      Sexual harassment, yes, to an extent. Depends on how you define it. If inappropriate touching -- innocently touching an arm, a hand, a face, a hug, a rub of the shoulders, to seem friendly -- and out-of-bounds comments are part of it ... then, yes.
       Wrong place, wrong time: oh, yeah.  
       Sexual abuse? I don't think so, but where is the line on "abuse?" If it's verbal, I am more than likely guilty of crossing that line.
       You don't need the details; I don't feel like sharing publicly. Not yet, probably not ever. (But if you want to have a private conversation, I will consider that.)
        Let me assure this: It has been painful -- for me, for my family, some friends and co-workers, and for those who I offended. Cannot undo the pain and the consequences. There is shame and embarrassment.
        But had to move on, and start over, and think about it, and get counseling, and try to do better. Haven't always changed the pattern.
        Certainly not bragging about this. No, this is apologizing for crass behavior. I have had to do that so many times.   
       These were not "power" plays, not with any kind of hold on or real threats to the other person(s). No, mostly, this was stupidity, immaturity, recklessness. Not a good reputation to build or have.
        And so, here I am today, at 70, still having to be reminded every day -- my own reminders and the #MeToo reminders. 
        My reminder: Keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself. Don't offend, don't be disrespectful, don't make others uncomfortable, don't be an ass.
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       The women I mentioned above: Ruth Hughen, the school principal; Lyndall Tinnin, my sixth-grade teacher.
       Those of us who were kids at Sunset Acres all remember Mrs. Hughen. She was a legend. 
       She was an educator in Caddo Parish for nearly 50-plus years, the first principal at our school; she was there 15 years, but before that, she was principal at Parkview Elementary (a long foul ball from SPAR Stadium). In fact, I found a 1940 story and she was there then.
        Some who had her as a teacher will remember Mrs. Tinnin. 
        I wrote about them more than five years ago (see link at bottom) when remembering those Sunset Acres years. They are linked to this story.
        With the exception of the usual sibling squabbling -- my poor four-years-younger sister -- I do not remember being conscious of how to (not) treat others, male and female, until I was about 10 and, after a tough 1 1/2 years of adjustment from a foreign country to this one, going into fifth grade at Sunset Acres Elementary School.
         I was always a high-strung, nervous, temperamental kid, from early on. If it is what you grow up in, it's what you learn.
        (But let's be clear; I never learned harassment from my mother or my father. They were very respectful people.)
        In that fifth-grade year, I -- well -- kicked one girl (Pam) in the shin. Trip to the office. Got into a verbal spat with another girl (Diane). Trip to the office. Diane has never let me forget that one.
        But the teacher that year, Maxie Cooper, was a good one and took special care of a tiny, funny, zany, different kid trying to find his way in America. I liked her, respected her, minded her.
        On my trips to the office, Mrs. Hughen was a compassionate, calm counselor. She could read me, and she knew some of my family's background.
         Sixth grade, not so much fun. Mrs. Tinnin was a veteran teacher, and probably a good one. But we did not connect, and -- my fault -- I was a troublemaker. Talked too much, yelled too much, would not mind her, left the school ground a couple of times (the house was only a block and one turn away) ... and was sent to the office multiple times.
          I can remember her dismay and her often saying, "I beg your pardon ..."
         Again, Mrs. Hughen stayed cool and calm with my mother, who apologized profusely.
         Sunset Acres kids might be surprised because Mrs. Hughen had a stern outward persona. "I was scared of her," my friend Diane remembered last week, and I am sure that is how many kids felt.
        Anyway, I got through the year, but my harassment of Mrs. Tinnin was maybe the first example of how far a line I could cross.
        (Nothing sexual then, but at that time, my body was beginning puberty and I remember first being aware of "sex," a young man's fascination with the female body. So the mind went there often.) 
        It has taken a long, long, painful time -- and painful experiences -- to face up to a major issue.
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         OK, here is my brain bounces. Knowing I have wanted to write about #MeToo and harassment for a while, I thought of this angle last week while Shreveport researching baseball history online (and on The Shreveport Times microfilm). Decided to try to find the obituaries for Mrs. Hughen and Mrs. Tinnin ... and did. It did not take long. They've both been gone for almost 25 years.
          I also found a March 24, 1985, story on Mrs. Hughen by Margaret Martin -- our old buddy from late 1960s/early 1970s days at The Times who is still writing interesting people-in-town/area stories/columns for the paper. 
          (I have included the two sections of the story).
          I knew the subject. I was there the night it happened. I told this story before, but it is pertinent here.
          Early in 1985, I saw in the paper that the Sunset Acres PTA was going to honor Mrs. Hughen with a "night." I was sports editor of the Shreveport Journal then, but I went to that night -- and she was as happy to see me as I was her.
          I thanked her again, best as I could, for being so kind and compassionate to me. So glad I got that chance.
          I was sorry that Mrs. Tinnin was not there that night. Don't think I ever saw her again after the spring of 1959, although she remained at Sunset Acres for another decade. 
          Never did apologize to her, and I should have ... many times. I saw in her obit that she has several grandchildren. If they somehow see this piece, please know that your grandmother was a good teacher and a fine woman (read the obit), and you should be proud. I am sure they are.
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         So, harassment ...
         Darned right I am paying attention, and I identify, and (again) I apologize to those I offended. Don't know how to make it better other than to keep from repeating my actions. 
         We should not stop learning and never stop growing mentally, and that is a personal goal.
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http://nvanthyn.blogspot.com/2012/10/it-was-elementary-at-sunset-acres.html
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The obits: 
Mrs. Hughen (Nov. 15, 1992)

Mrs. Tinnin (Dec. 30, 1993) 

             

It was elementary at Sunset Acres

     Ruth Hughen was the "iron lady" of Sunset Acres Elementary School. She was the school's first principal and she stayed a long time, and there was no question who was in charge.
      She was a small, middle-aged woman with a gruff voice and, seemingly, a demeanor to match. I know it wasn't so, but it seemed like it in the late 1950s. She was omnipresent and kids were in fear of her. I'm sure her staff and faculty were leery of upsetting her, too.
      I can see her still, on rainy days, in her yellow slicker suit out in front of the school directing cars through the traffic circle. I can see her in the cafeteria during lunch time, also directing traffic.
      She and I had many a talk in my two years at Sunset Acres (1957-58, 1958-59). I was sent to the office every day of my fifth-grade year (there was a reason for it), and more than enough times as a misbehaving sixth-grader.
       She was as patient with me as she could be. I'm sure I tested that patience. More on Mrs. Hughen later.
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        The school's layout was five wings of classrooms, six classes per wing. In the late '50s, we had two fifth-grade classes and two sixth-grade classes. I'm wondering, if each grade had two classes, that's 12 total -- for 30 classrooms?
        I know this, by the late 1960s, there were temporary buildings -- shacks -- for classes at Sunset Acres, and it certainly was a growing neighborhood. So ... if someone from those days can explain, please let me know.
       As I've noted in previous blogs on Sunset Acres, we spent hours and hours on that schoolground. You could play between the wings -- and hopefully leave the windows intact.
      One of our favorite places to play was a covered area next to the cafeteria/auditorium (which was next to the school office). This area had a fairly low roof and at the end leading to West Canal Street, there was an opening above the back wall.
        So we had baseball games there -- two-man games, playing with a tennis ball, and you'd get a single, double or triple depending on where you hit the ball. If you hit it through the back-wall opening ... home run. If you hit the ceiling, an out. This was a great place, even on rainy days, and this was a regular stop ... until we found wiffle ball (that's another blog).
      Loved that schoolground, too, for recess -- baseball, always baseball -- and for Field Day. Who didn't love Field Day? It was something we talked about all year. Blue ribbons, red ribbons, white ribbons ... no ribbons. And those events -- the potato-spoon race, the sack race, the 50-yard dash, the class rope pull and -- most important -- the class baseball game. One fifth-grade (or sixth-grade) class against the other. We planned our lineup for weeks, and it was so important, I don't even remember if we won or lost.
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       Making the move from one elementary school to another (Line Avenue to Sunset Acres) was much easier than the move from Holland to the U.S. a year and a half earlier. I would have been OK if we'd stayed in the older neighborhood where we first lived and I would have gone to Hamilton Terrace Junior High and C.E. Byrd High School. But moving to southwest Shreveport proved to be a blessing.
      The keys to my fifth-grade year were (1) the Sunset Acres kids who quickly made me one of their own and (2) by that time, I had learned to read English fairly well.
        So my favorite memory of Mrs. Maxie Cooper's fifth-grade class is the library in her classroom. Here I found  simple biographies written for kids on George Washington and Abe Lincoln and George Washington Carver ... and Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig.
       I was already a Yankees' fan. When I read the book on Gehrig -- whose parents were immigrants -- and he was a Yankees' great and left-handed, I had a hero. He wore No. 4 on the back of his jersey. When I joined a baseball team that next summer, I asked for No. 4, and wore that number throughout my "career."
       And I learned to love to read. That was also the first year my dad got a subscription to the daily newspaper -- the afternoon Shreveport Journal (he knew he could get the morning paper, The Times, at work). Every weekday afternoon, I would get the Journal, spread it on the floor, and was on my hands and knees reading all I could in the sports section.       
       Who knew how important those papers would be in my future? Talk about foreshadowing.
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       Another highlight of the year was studying Louisiana history. Mrs. Cooper, who was an excellent teacher, prepared us all year for a field trip ... to New Orleans, by train. We knew all about St. Louis Cathedral, the Cabildo, the Andrew Jackson statue, the boat ride on the mighty Mississippi, and, yes, the French Quarter.
       Mrs. Cooper also taught us about elections and campaigns. A week into the school year, we chose class officers. For some reason, I was chosen vice-president; I sure didn't volunteer.
       Every school day started with the Pledge of Allegiance, the Lord's Prayer and the class vice-president read a Bible quotation. First day when I went to read the quotation, it had a quote from Jesus ... it was in red type. "I can't do this," I told Mrs. Cooper. She was caught a little off-guard.
       Next day, she informed me that every day I would take the class lunch money to the school office while the class went through the routine. Some days, I would hurry and I would be back before the routine was finished, so I just waited outside. (And so now you know why I was always against prayer in school.)
        Sixth grade didn't go so well. Mrs. Lyndall Tinnin had taught for a long time; I doubt she had many students who gave her as much trouble as I did. She bugged me, and I bugged her. Lots of trips to the office for me. But I never got anyone else in trouble (Pam Parker and Diane Thomisee will have a different opinion of this.)
      One day, I saw my dog Snowball on the school ground. That wasn't supposed to be. I bolted out of the classroom -- without permission -- and took him home. So, another visit with Mrs. Hughen.
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       In 1985, when I was working at the Shreveport Journal, I noticed in the paper that the Sunset Acres Elementary School PTA was having a Ruth Hughen Appreciation Night. I had to go, and I took my kids, who were 11 and nearly 6.
       Hadn't seen Mrs. Hughen in probably 20 years. When I walked in the office, where she was visiting with her old secretary, Mrs. Canal, and she realized who I was, she gave me one of the greatest hugs of my life. It was hard to hold back the tears.
       Saw several familiar faces from the old neighborhood that night -- among them, my first good friend there, Lynn Mills; Larry and Kent Wheeler's mom; and Mrs. Ruby Beadle, who lived in the house closest to the school ground (at the end of our block of Amherst).
        When she spoke to the crowd, Mrs. Hughen introduced me and talked about my mother, about my mother's Holocaust experience and how fragile and apologetic Mom had been at times in my troubled sixth-grade year. Again, I had to choke back the tears.
       I get emotional thinking about those two years at Sunset Acres Elementary. Those kids, those wonderful kids.
       They took me in -- a tiny, loud, temperamental, brash but also self-conscious, left-handed Jewish kid from Holland, crazy about sports -- and made me feel like someone who belonged.
        I know at least eight of us, maybe more, went all the way through the rest of school together -- Sunset Acres, Oak Terrace, Woodlawn and Louisiana Tech. I'm prejudiced, but that's a special memory.