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Text originally published in 1952 under the same title.
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Publishers Note
Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.
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PLEASE EXCUSE JOHNNY
BY
FLORENCE MCGEHEE
1I Become a Hookey Cop
I never did mean to be a hookey cop. My becoming one was a thing that came about, quite by accident, when I applied for a job as supervisor of instruction, which I did not get. For a long time I had been preparing myself for some such thing, yearning to get my hands on the new Progressive Education, which spelled itself in capital letters, and shake some sense into it. It was such a beautiful and promising thing, this theory of the child-centered school, in which all learning stemmed from Johnnys own thirst for knowledge. One had only to be a good shepherd and lead him into green pastures, guiding him to where the mental fodder was high and lush. This was the poetic sort of approach my mentors had given me during the years that I was getting myself indoctrinated, while less earnest souls, home from a hard day of teaching, were staying young and gay in pursuit of pleasure.
About that time many a sincere parent, himself reared in the traditional school, was looking down his well bred nose at Progressive Education. The kids could not spell, he said. They could not read. They could not add. Of what use for a ten year old to be able to converse with facility about the land and sea lanes of medieval commerce if he could not count his change at the grocery store? Johnny might preside over a parliamentary session with more aplomb than his father could muster for such a task, but he was unable to write an acceptable letter to Aunt Bertha, thanking her for the nice necktie.
Dedicated disciples of the Progressive leaders discounted both the crisis in the grocery and Aunt Bertha. Johnny was a whole child, and the whole of him must be taught. He was to get the Wider View; his visual acuity was to be sharpened by competing, not against others, but against himself. Tool subjects, interpreted to mean the tired old three Rs, were to be come by incidentally rather than by drill; and everything would be all right if parents would just stand still and let the educators demonstrate this shining new thing. In time Johnny would become indeed the whole child everyone wanted him to be, initiating his own program, finding his own areas of experience.
It seemed likely that Johnny would be called upon at some time in his life to put a motion before the house; it seemed more likely that he would frequently use the United States mails to communicate with Aunt Bertha. I was convinced that he could become adept at both, and I wanted to convince others. I had tried it out on countless dozens of other peoples children and it had worked. What I needed was a wider field of endeavor. There seemed to be one fairly close at hand, and I decided to heed the advice of the old hymn to Brighten the corner where you are.
I had the necessary teaching experience, plus the extras over and above the college degree needed to become a supervisor of instruction, but the one other candidate had seven years of actual supervision behind her. These added up to more than my pleasant theories and my willingness to brighten the corner. I also had two children, a fact which, or so it seemed to me, gave me an edge over the rival applicant, who was a virgin (were we not to work with children, for goodness sake?), but I was surprised and dismayed to find that it didnt count. I lost.
There is another thing, though, said the superintendent whose staff I wished to adorn. How would you like to be a supervisor of child welfare and attendance?
Im not qualified, I objected. I studied only in the field of instruction. I want to work at reconciling two opposing
How do you know youre not qualified? Here, take a look at this. Much of the required preparation is the same.
She handed me a leaflet listing the qualifications for super-visors of child welfare and attendance. A quick look showed me that there were quite a few that I did not have, so, disappointed, I moved toward the door.
Well, I guess this is goodbye forever. Thanks, anyhow.
Dont be in such a rush, advised the woman who was to be the Boss for many years. Take a run over to the state capital and have your credentials evaluated. Who knows?
I do. I just dont have the stuff. Im not much interested, anyhow. I have never even considered such a thing. Besides, its not lady-like. (I was thinking back a great many years to the time my father had said, with true Victorian authority: You be a schoolteacher, dear. Its a nice lady-like profession.)
Quit moaning. Go home and sleep on it, said the Boss.
I slept on it, and awoke to the decision that the defeatist attitude was no good. Had I not got my very first teaching position because the hiring authority was impressed by the fact that I walked on my heels? One who walks on his heels is a strong character, he had said. Too, I might like this child-welfare business once I investigated its problems and possibilities. Perhaps I could do something about the whole child in a less familiar field.
An austere person in the State Department of Education ran a calculating finger down my list of assets and accomplishments, said a noncommittal Um-hum from time to time, and kept a careful poker face. To my credit she checked off History of Education in the United States, Tests and Measurements, Educational Statistics, Psychology of the Unadjusted School Child, Philosophy of Education, Critical Difficulties in the Teaching of Arithmetic, School Law, Elementary Supervision, Supervision of the Rural School, Abnormal Psychology, Training for Citizenship, Growth and Development of the Child. All of these had been background for the now lost job in supervision of instruction and were now, educationally speaking, money in the bank. Smug at these happy evidences of my erudition, I was brought up short by hearing her say, Now about yourself.
Myself?
Yes. You are in good health, have no apparent blemishes, have no evidence of mental or physical disability, have been vaccinated (Irrelevantly, I thought of my husband leading a horse to the auction sale.) No history of epilepsy? Deafness? Poor eyesight? Allergies? And you have sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States. You have served with various character-developing groups, Scouts, Y, Campfire Girls, Sunday School. Um-hum. You have fifteen years of experience as a classroom teacher, including work with subnormals, and you have done some mental testing. Um-hum.
