Chivalry, M & M's, and a Toilet: A Jay Shane Tale

It was the end of 6th period and I was on a roll. I screamed, "This you will never, ever forget!" Jay Shane, who was supposed to be assisting me, acted too slowly. I stomped over to the opaque projector and jammed down the lever. What appeared on the screen was a picture of my very favorite bronze sculpture of Poseidon -- but it showed only the area from a few inches below his waist to a few inches above his knees! Pandemonium! Students were roaring. Jay Shane, guffawing, was about to have a stroke. And I, red with embarrassment, was laughing so hard I had difficulty breathing. Thank Heaven the announcements came on at that time. I don't think any of us could have lasted another moment. And I certainly could not have continued teaching!

Teaching Humanities is quite a challenge, especially during the first two or three years. The course usually includes history, literature, philosophy, religion, art, architecture, and music. The teacher must do much research, prepare many handouts, find pictures. She should strive for depth as well as breadth, and she should try to get students involved, not just spew out a bunch of facts.

When I found out Jay Shane, teacher of Russian, French, and Latin, had been assigned two Humanities classes, I suggested that we combine our two sixth period classes into one large group. I would teach them, and Jay would teach the same material to his fourth period class the next day. I would share with him my lesson plans, my research notes, my handouts, my tests, lessening the burden on him. Jay readily accepted my plan, and we found a double classroom with a sliding partition where our sixty-five students could meet.

Jay enjoyed standing in the back of the classroom muttering nasty little remarks about whatever I was saying. One day, for example, while explaining the role of the soothsayer in ancient times, I told the class about my visit to a psychic. She had envisioned my meeting a man in a gray suit, learning how to cook his favorite food, and living happily but subserviently in a little white cottage with a white picket fence. So not me! As I finished this story, I heard laughter from the back of the room. There I marched. "What is so funny?" I asked. A student giggled, "Mr. Shane said he has burned all of his gray suits!" More laughter, this time from the whole class. "Aha," I thought. "This I will not forget!"

During the unit on the Middle Ages, I taught Man of La Mancha. www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfHnzYEHAow. I love the play, and though it isn't from the period, it gives an interesting view of chivalry. This year I decided to end the unit with a Chivalry Day. Each male had to draw out of a hat the name(s) of his lady love(s) for whom he would find an appropriate love poem. Each had to get down on bended knee, hold his lady's hand, and recite or read the poem while the rest of the class watched. Then the lady would give her knight a token of her affection - a dirty dishrag, a silk scarf, a piece of candy, whatever she deemed fit.  Naturally Jay Shane drew my name. After he recited his poem, I gave him a fitting token, a box of M&M's.

Jay Shane hated M&M's because his Russian classes each year sold thousands and thousands of them as a fund raiser. For his 40th birthday that year, with the help of his Russian students, I had him bombarded with M&M's.  We placed them in his gradebook, on his desk, in his chair, on his lectern.  His birthday cakes were covered with M&M's, and many of his gifts were huge bags of M&M's.

During the week before his birthday, I had the principal add to the morning and afternoon announcements something about the upcoming day: "Watch out, Mr. Shane. You have only five more days!" "Beware, Mr. Shane, only three days are left!"

To get even with me, Jay Shane must have hidden an explosive device in his toilet! What other explanation can there be? A couple of weeks after his fortieth M&M birthday, he and his wife held a party that I attended. During the evening I had to use the bathroom. I have flushed toilets thousands and thousands of times without ever having a problem. This time, though, when I flushed, the damn thing blew up on me! Water, much, much water went everywhere!

The next time I visited the Shanes, next to my chair was the largest hunk of what remained of the toilet bowl.  It now had become my end table. Above the chair was a placard that read, Our Lady of the Boule.