Over Lunch They Dissect Their Day

By Timothy Roche

"Whateverrrr." Marty Walter, eyebrows arched, is imitating one of her biology students who had the nerve to yell it at her in class. Recounting this to her colleagues at lunch is her way of venting. It took strength, when the boy talked to her afterward, not to throw "whatever" back in his face. Her fellow teachers hoot at the mere thought: Oh, how good it would feel--just once--to tell off the little suckers.

Teaching today takes restraint, energy and, above all, a sense of humor. While the kids downstairs eat cheese fries, half a dozen science teachers gather in the third-floor faculty lounge over leftovers from home. These 27 min. are more like a sanity break. When they enter the lounge, they get to be adults. They talk about everything from weekend plans to the lack of staff parking to the difference between sweet potatoes and yams.

When the conversation gets juicy, they shut the glass door, as when Kathleen Ahern, who teaches chemistry, confided her suspicion that a student has cheated. This brings a buzz of advice from her colleagues, who, despite what the kids think, know when cheating is going on. "We're not stupid," says Mike Abegg.

To be a teacher in the 1990s, they say, means to have one's authority challenged daily. It's not just the kids who talk back. Some students curse at them; others don't bother to come to class on time. Teachers may send them to the office to be reprimanded, but the kids usually return the next day with a grudge. Some teachers, they say, don't even bother to assign homework because the students won't do it and will flunk the class. And if teachers have high fail rates, school administrators come down on them.

As jaded as they may sound, the science teachers say they love their jobs. Several, like Margaret Skouby, who teaches concept physics, worked as chemical engineers or had other jobs in the private sector before coming here. At Webster they generally have the freedom to teach the way they want. Teachers must meet minimums in the school's curriculum but are not required to write out lesson plans. They measure the rewards in bits. Just as the lunch bell rang yesterday, longtime physics teacher Phillip Wojak rushed into the lounge, almost too excited to speak. A former student had published a textbook--and cited him in the dedication.

--T.R.