Arthur Goldstein recently retired, concluding his nearly four decades as a teacher in the New York City public schools. For those who have followed his blog, NYC Educator, it’s clear that Arthur speaks his mind and fears no one. He is devoted to his students, his profession, and his unerring sense of principle. Arthur recently moved his blog to Substack, and we can expect him to continue to speak out against the powerful with clarity and humor.

Kids are kids. They really make this job rewarding. All teachers know, though, that beyond that, the quality of your supervisor can make this job rewarding, bearable, or even unbearable.

I’ve had all kinds. I have to admit, for most of my time in Francis Lewis High School, I’ve been blessed with a few extraordinary supervisors. I had escaped from another school, from a witless administrator who tried to blackmail me to teach Spanish. I know Spanish, but I know English much better, and I love teaching it to newcomers.

I took a UFT transfer, a great thing that was unceremoniously dumped in 2005 contract. I worked for Nivea Cavallo, a very understanding AP who made it a point to actually teach every possible level of every subject she could. One of my colleagues back then was Jackie Irving. Jackie’s the best ESL teacher I’ve ever seen. This notwithstanding, she scratched and clawed her way to the top, until she became my AP. Everyone will tell you she’s a great AP, and that we’re lucky to have her. I’ll try to show you instead.

Jackie and I worked together when she was a lowly coordinator. I was the LAB-Besis coordinator. I took the job because I was chapter leader and it was the only way I could get an actual office. I was terrible at this job, and understood nothing. I had to come in on weekends to keep up with the tedious data entry. Whenever Jackie calmly said, “I have a concern,” it meant “Run for your life! The ship is sinking, it’s the end of the world and nothing will save us now!” To me, there was absolutely nothing more terrifying than that phrase.

I sometimes come to school meetings late. (Perhaps more than that). Whenever I do, I say, “Boy, this place is hard to find.” Really, there’s no excuse for being late. When Jackie observed my class, my beginning English students came late with incomprehensible explanations. I laboriously forced them to say, “Boy, this place is hard to find.” I made sure they emphasized, “Boy.” While it didn’t do much to discourage lateness, it made it more inconvenient, and also forced them to use English publicly.

Another thing Jackie noticed when observing my class is that, whenever someone said, “I’m sorry,” half the class replied, “Sorry is garbage!” I once had a young Korean student of diminutive stature, and he said it frequently. I have no idea where he got it from. But I started repeating it, and it became a part of our classroom vocabulary.

Aside from disciplinary hearings, where I was kind of relentless, Jackie and I had many borderline contentious meetings when I was chapter leader. She would never lose her temper. She would never lose view of her goal. She would sit there, and patiently explain whatever it was until I absolutely agreed with her. I can’t recall a time she didn’t persuade me she was right. No one else has that particular power over me.

Now I’m on the cusp of retirement, and our department just threw a party for new and recent retirees. As chapter leader of a very large school for 12 years, I’ve been to many such parties, but also more disciplinary hearings than I care to recall. I’ve read many a letter to file, and explained them in great detail to many members. By some miracle, over almost 39 years, I’ve never gotten one myself.

On many occasions speaking with Jackie, I’d say, “Let them put a letter in my file.” She would take a very formal tone, and say, “MISTER Goldstein. Do you know who would have to WRITE that letter to file?”

Anyway, at our retirement party, Jackie spoke touchingly of all the other retirees. To me, she gave my first letter to file, and read it aloud to all. Here it is: