< Frozen In Time, Remembering The Students Who Changed A Teacher's Life

RACHEL MARTIN, HOST:

In the spring of 1965, a young substitute teacher in Boston was fired. His offense was reading the poems of Langston Hughes to his fourth-graders. Jonathan Kozol's dismissal would've gone unnoticed had it not been for the book he wrote about it. "Death At An Early Age" won the National Book Award and sold more than 2 million copies. As part of our 50 Great Teachers series, NPR's Claudio Sanchez has this profile.

CLAUDIO SANCHEZ, BYLINE: Jonathan Kozol, now 78, sits at his small kitchen table, staring wistfully at a black-and-white picture on the jacket of the book that made him famous.

JONATHAN KOZOL: I'm amazed how young I looked. That picture was taken the Monday after I was fired from the school.

SANCHEZ: You were 27.

KOZOL: I was just 28 then and I remember I was kind of terrified suddenly at being in the spotlight. It became a news story right away.

SANCHEZ: His dismissal for introducing 9 and 10-year-olds to Langston Hughes of course would not have been a story, says Kozol, had it not been for parents' reactions.

KOZOL: They were very upset that I was fired, so on Monday they kept their children out of school and picketed the school with them.

SANCHEZ: Christopher Gibson Elementary, which served mostly black families, was perched on a hill straddling the Roxbury and Dorchester neighborhoods, not far from downtown Boston. Kozol had started working there in the fall of 1964.

KOZOL: I was stunned right from the beginning, the moment I walked into that school.

SANCHEZ: There was no heat in most classrooms, falling pieces of plaster, rotted window frames. Kozol says the place smelled of despair. With a few exceptions, teachers were indifferent and cold towards children of whom they expected little.

KOZOL: Something about the presence of those African-American children brought out the worst in them, referring to the children as blacks, the black stuff - the black stuff. One teacher's saying, you know, this school is a zoo and those are the animals.

SANCHEZ: Towards the end of the school year, Kozol was assigned to a group of fourth-graders that nobody wanted.

KOZOL: They'd had nine substitute teachers that year before me. They were called the bad fourth grade.

SANCHEZ: Some could barely read or write.

KOZOL: I just would do anything to get them to want to read, to want to read something.

SANCHEZ: The curriculum, though, was a reflection of its time.

KOZOL: Jane and Spot kind of stories.

SANCHEZ: The children, says Kozol, had no interest in that it all.

KOZOL: So finally, I settled on Langston Hughes - probably the most respected black poet in America and just one of the most respected poets, period.

SANCHEZ: One poem in particular mesmerized his students.

KOZOL: (Reading) Landlord, landlord, my roof has sprung a leak. Don't you remember I told you about it way last week? Landlord, landlord, these steps is broken down, and when you come up yourself, it's a wonder you don't fall down.

SANCHEZ: The poem was titled, "The Ballad Of The Landlord."

KOZOL: (Reading) What? You're going to get eviction orders? You're going to cut off my heat? You're going to take my furniture and throw it in the street? It was like, the first time since I've come into that class that they were on their edge of their seat. A child who'd been quite belligerent to me and not trusting of me came up to me and sort of touched my shoulder and asked me if she could bring that book home to show her mother, the landlord poem.

SANCHEZ: A few days later, the principal called Kozol into her office.

KOZOL: She was absolutely incensed, and she told me I was to leave the school that day and I couldn't say goodbye to the children.

SANCHEZ: Kozol was fired on the spot. The official charge...

KOZOL: Curriculum deviation - that I was unsuited for the highly responsible profession of a teacher.

SANCHEZ: Word of Kozol's firing spread quickly among black parents.

THELMA BURNS: That this white teacher was fired because he read this black poem, Langston Hughes's poem.

SANCHEZ: Thelma Burns, who still lives near Gibson Elementary, has agreed to meet us there today. She was one of the parents who picketed the school after the principal refused to meet with them.

BURNS: No one in the school would talk to us. That's the way it was at that time.

SANCHEZ: Burns and Kozol have stayed in touch over the years. Like so many other black parents, Burns credits Kozol and his book for opening people's eyes - rich and poor, black and white.

BURNS: I think that "Death At An Early Age" brought all the leaders together. A lot of people didn't know what was going on.

SANCHEZ: What was going on was criminal, says Kozol, which is why he felt so terrible - not because he had lost his job, but because he could no longer be with the children he had grown so fond of...

KOZOL: (Reading) Stephen is 8 years old.

SANCHEZ: ...Like the little boy Kozol describes in the opening chapter.

KOZOL: (Reading) A little light-brown person staring with unusual concentration at a chosen spot upon the floor. Stephen is tiny, desperate, unwell.

SANCHEZ: Stephen was starved for affection, an orphan living with a foster mother who beat him. At Gibson Elementary, Kozol says, some teachers and administrators were no less cruel.

KOZOL: For example, the administrator at the school whipped children down the basement of the school. He brought me down there once and wanted me to witness what he was doing. So I actually saw Stephen being whipped.

SANCHEZ: The whip was dipped in vinegar so it would sting more. For years, Kozol stayed in touch with Stephen. The last time they spoke, he was in his teens.

KOZOL: He called me - phoned me, and he was in prison. He'd murdered someone. Had all this pent-up fury in him and just rage in him. I never heard from him again after that.

SANCHEZ: Kozol says writing "Death At An Early Age" was an attempt to deal with the crushing guilt that lingers to this day.

KOZOL: I felt that I had to make it up to the children for having been silent.

SANCHEZ: It's late and Kozol looks tired.

KOZOL: Can we take a break for just one moment?

SANCHEZ: Kozol, a chain smoker, excuses himself and lights-up another cigarette. Before we say goodnight, he agrees to drive us to Gibson Elementary the next day.

KOZOL: I remember all these streets 'cause I remember the kids that lived on them, on various streets. The school is right up here.

SANCHEZ: We park in front of the abandoned vacant lot where Gibson Elementary once stood. A stiff wind pushes trash against the fence encircling the property. There's no hint there was ever a school here, except for what's left of its foundation - large slabs of cracked asphalt, weeds everywhere. Kozol ponders the scene quietly.

KOZOL: I have not wanted to come here because the memory is painful.

SANCHEZ: When Gibson Elementary was torn down, Kozol kept a brick left from the rubble. He's held onto it the same way he's held onto old photographs and the memories of the fourth-graders who changed his life, children now forever frozen in 1965. Claudio Sanchez, NPR News.

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