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I never thought to post this story here till I posted the thread about my niece's 4th grade teacher. Most of this happened when I was a sophomore in high school, which would be...about...10 years ago now. Warning: When I say "epic", I truly mean "epic!"
Some backstory is appropriate first:
I loved music. Well, I still do, but I don't play anything anymore, largely because of the story I'm going to tell you here. I started piano in 5th grade, clarinet in 6th, flute in 7th, and percussion in 8th. My middle school band teachers loved me because I was so diverse that they could stick me on any one of those instruments and I could play pretty much any of the parts, in case they needed an extra somewhere to fill in. In short, I was generally considered something of a musical genius and everyone expected big things from me, myself included.
My freshman year of HS (9th grade) the band director was Mr. F. He was, to put it lightly, not well liked by students, parents, and other teachers. In reality, everyone hated him. This was Mr. F's 3rd year teaching in our district. Before him, the band director was Mr. S. Mr S. was LOVED by EVERYONE. I'm not really sure what it was about him, since I never personally had him as a teacher, but the concerts he put on with the HS band were legendary. Unfortunately, the HS decided to switch from a 7-period day to a 4-period day, and Mr. S foresaw a great drop in numbers in the music department, so he left the district. And in came Mr. F to take his place. Long story short, Mr. F was hated because 1) band numbers really did drop the year he started, and everyone solely blamed him even though Mr. S leaving and the switch to the 4-period day obviously affected numbers as well, and 2) he wasn't Mr. S. The older band members' thoughts were basically, anyone who isn't Mr. S sucks and isn't worthy of teaching.
My freshman year was Mr. F's last year to teach in our district. He was given a "forced resignation" at the end of the year. From what I understand, the district started interviewing people before Mr. F even got the news. They hired the very first person who interviewed with them, and the person who this story is really about: Mr. J.
Mr. J was about 24 years old at the time and had exactly one year of teaching experience to his name, but they hired him on the spot, largely, I suspect, because he wasn't Mr. F and anyone could be better than Mr. F. I remember the first time I met Mr. J. I shook his hand, and it was clammy. It was...gross, seriously. I had a weird feeling about him from the minute I laid eyes on him, but I was excited and hopeful about the band situation getting better.
It didn't. It got worse. It got so, so much worse. Well, it started out okay. But as the year progressed on, I started seeing things about Mr. J that were definitely inappropriate for a teacher. For example, if he got pissed off at someone or a certain group (like the trumpets) during lessons, he'd throw stuff at them. Anything on hand, from his baton, to his pencil, to his shoes. He also swore a lot. I can't remember if he ever dropped the F-bomb in class, but certainly everything else. It got to the point where he had to set up a swear jar and anytime anyone swore (because, you know, since he was doing it so often, the students thought they could too) they had to drop a quarter in.
There was one time when we were getting ready for a big concert -- Christmas, I think. We were out on the stage where the band performed their concerts practicing, rather than in the band room, so we could get used to the acoustics in the room. Mr. J got so pissed at the flutes because they weren't playing perfectly that he made them walk back to the band room and practice by themselves while the rest of us carried on in the auditorium. Then the first chair trumpet player told him off for something (I don't remember what, might've had something to do with the treatment of the flutists) and Mr. J wouldn't stand for him "talking back" so he sent him to the principal's office. Then Mr. J himself just stormed off stage without saying a word to the rest of us, just left us there.
He also had a Christmas party at his own personal apartment for select members of the band. I was invited and so I went. We all baked cookies. Okay, good times, right? We baked batches upon batches of cut-out sugar cookies. I later found out that these cookies were used to bribe and suck up to everyone from his neighbor to his parents to officials on the school board, and never once did he tell any of these people that he had 6 or 8 members of the band help him make them. He took full credit for everything.
He volunteered me to play in the pit band for the drama's production of "Fame." I didn't want to. I really. didn't. want to. I'd heard horror stories about drama and having to stay until midnight to get things right. Granted, I wasn't actually acting, but I'd also heard the pit band could be brutal. He gave me no choice. He said it was part of my assignment as a band member and that he'd fail me if I didn't. So I did. I admit, I had a good time in the end, but I didn't appreciate being strong-armed into it. Especially when, about a week before opening night, I got the most head-wrenching migraine that I have ever had. We were supposed to practice all night, from the time school was done until about 10 or 11 that night. I couldn't even make it to the auditorium; I had to stop in the girls' locker room in the gym to dry heave over the toilet. My gym teacher called my mom to pick me up, and I think if we hadn't been a week away from opening night, Mr. J probably would've kicked me out of the pit band then and there (hey, I should've done that months ago!) he was so mad that I didn't show up. How dare me.
The thing that really got me about the Fame pit band was that he made me play percussion...which was great, because at that point, I wanted to play percussion full-time in the band anyway. My "main" instrument was considered clarinet, but we had something like 12 clarinetists, and 4 percussionists, so I asked him to switch me to percussion (and besides that, I was the only one who could play any of the keyboard instruments, like xylophone.) He wouldn't. I begged him. He said he needed me on clarinet. The clarinet section got SO BAD over fighting for the first chair position that he eventually had to have "blind auditions" where he listened to all of us play while staring at the wall, so he wouldn't know which one of us was playing. It was ridiculous, but he wouldn't let me out.
Things got particularly bad after Christmas. I don't remember if there was a specific incident (or incidents) but I eventually started to "rebel." I saw how inappropriate Mr. J was as a teacher; there was more than what I listed above, I just don't remember everything. So I started talking to people. It started with the band directors from the middle school, who I was very close with. They told me to forget about it and "just enjoy the music." Then my guidance councilor in the H.S. He told me (and my mom, who was with me) that we could write a letter of complaint and that it would go on Mr. J's file, and that if someone else wrote a similar letter, they would "look into things." But nothing until then. The principal wouldn't even see me, so we went to the superintendent, who seemed genuinely concerned and interested in what was going on, but, much like Mr. F, he was hated by everyone else in town so no one took him seriously. He was actually fired that same year, but I don't remember any of the details of his story.
In short, no one would listen to me. No one wanted to believe that there could possibly be anything wrong with Mr. J, because on the outside, he appeared to be the perfect band director. He was so friendly and courteous to parents and other teachers, but he was crude and disgusting in class. He did make the band perform some amazing pieces, mostly by shouting, cursing, and threatening the band members. He would frequently get into somebody's face and yell, "You SUCK!" right in the middle of rehearsal if he wasn't happy with their performance.
It came to a head when I finally told him I wasn't going to go on the band trip with him. The trip had been in the works most of the year; the band was supposed to go to Chicago to meet a college buddy of Mr. J's who was working down there, and we were going to play for their band. We were going to play PEP BAND MUSIC for their band. For those who weren't in band, pep band music is the music that the band plays during football/basketball games when they're present. Like, "Eye of the Tiger," and "Gonna Fly Now (theme from Rocky)." Stuff that we'd been playing since the beginning of the year, since we also march to it during marching band in the fall. I didn't really fancy going on a 6 hour bus trip, having to share a hotel room with 4 other girls who I despised (I didn't get along with most of the clarinetists, which was my main instrument), just to play pep band music to show off for our band director. So, about a month before the trip, I told Mr. J I wasn't going.
He about hit the roof. His face got as red as a tomato (really looked like one, too, because he was a pudgy bastard and his face was very round) and his eyes about popped out of his head. He stammered something along the lines of "get out of my sight", so I went to the auditorium, which was empty at the time, and just sat behind stage where the Fame pit band had played, and cried. This was not the grand dreams of band that I had foreseen when I was in middle school. I sat there for the full hour and a half that was my band period, and he never came looking for me. I left "band" directly from the auditorium when the bell rang.
The next day when I came into the band room for class, Mr. J pulled me into his office, alone, and shut the door. He told me that I was no longer needed to report for band for the next four weeks, since they were going to be practicing for the trip to Chicago and since I wasn't going, he didn't want me practicing with the rest of the band. He said I was to go to the library instead, but that I would need to come into his office every day at the start of class so he could write a hall pass for me.
I was upset. I took the hall pass and made it outside the band room before starting to cry again. I started toward the library and stopped at a pay phone alone the way to call my mom, and we talked for a few minutes before the bell actually rang.
The day after that, I went back to his office to get another hall pass. Once again, he shut the door. He said, "Maggie, I know you're not happy with this situation, and neither am I, so you had better seriously start thinking about your attitude, because I am not going to put up with this behavior next year." He handed me my pass and bid me on my way.
I stopped at the pay phone again on my way to the library, intent on calling my mom and telling her that I was quitting band. Keep in mind, the bell had not rung at this point to indicate the start of class. Mr. J suddenly threw the band door open (the pay phone was just down the hall from the band room, so he had a clear shot of me) and yelled at once of the hall monitors, "She is to go to the library and NO WHERE ELSE! I want you to FOLLOW HER and DON'T let her stop anywhere else along the way! NO PHONE CALLS!"
I ran. I ran all the way to the library, and as soon as class started, I asked the librarian for a pass to the guidance councilor's office, where I sat for most of the rest of the day, unable to go to the rest of my classes. I had already been to my councilor a number of times telling him that I was considering quitting band and trying to get advice. This time I didn't ask for advice, and I didn't ask to be removed from band, I demanded to be removed from band, immediately. I would not, under any circumstances, set foot in that band room again while Mr. J was around.
So they took me out of band. I think I just had a free period (study hall) during that period for the rest of that quarter. I don't know how Mr. J reacted as I absolutely refused to even look at him after that -- if I saw him coming down the hall toward me, I turned around and walked the other direction. I understand from one of my best friends that he made some very derogatory comments about me in front of the entire band, such as how I "abandoned" them and that I was "worthless." I got a lot of grief from the other band members, too; one of the other percussionists actually got right up in my face and told me what a horrible, selfish bitch I was and how I'd left the entire band in the lurch.
The rest of my high school career was not fun. I spent most of my lunch periods during my junior year hiding in my favorite math teacher's room. He'd even go down to the cafeteria and buy lunch for me because I got a lot of nasty looks and snide remarks if I went myself. I nearly didn't graduate on time because I had absolutely zero desire or drive to do anything school-related.
Redemption came my first year of college. I was taking classes at a local community college and things were much better. One day when I was in class, my mom got a call...from a police detective. They wanted to talk to her, because she had largely been involved in the whole Mr. J situation right along side me, but he mostly wanted to talk to ME, as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I was sitting in the middle of college algebra at the time and they couldn't reach me on my cell phone. So my mom told him what she could, and asked what was going on. He said we'd know soon enough.
By the end of that day, Mr. J had been arrested for 40-some counts of sexually molesting a minor. Well, not just a single minor, there were several. He was sent to prison for 7 years with an additional 14 years of parole after.
Karma's a bitch, ain't it?
Some backstory is appropriate first:
I loved music. Well, I still do, but I don't play anything anymore, largely because of the story I'm going to tell you here. I started piano in 5th grade, clarinet in 6th, flute in 7th, and percussion in 8th. My middle school band teachers loved me because I was so diverse that they could stick me on any one of those instruments and I could play pretty much any of the parts, in case they needed an extra somewhere to fill in. In short, I was generally considered something of a musical genius and everyone expected big things from me, myself included.
My freshman year of HS (9th grade) the band director was Mr. F. He was, to put it lightly, not well liked by students, parents, and other teachers. In reality, everyone hated him. This was Mr. F's 3rd year teaching in our district. Before him, the band director was Mr. S. Mr S. was LOVED by EVERYONE. I'm not really sure what it was about him, since I never personally had him as a teacher, but the concerts he put on with the HS band were legendary. Unfortunately, the HS decided to switch from a 7-period day to a 4-period day, and Mr. S foresaw a great drop in numbers in the music department, so he left the district. And in came Mr. F to take his place. Long story short, Mr. F was hated because 1) band numbers really did drop the year he started, and everyone solely blamed him even though Mr. S leaving and the switch to the 4-period day obviously affected numbers as well, and 2) he wasn't Mr. S. The older band members' thoughts were basically, anyone who isn't Mr. S sucks and isn't worthy of teaching.
My freshman year was Mr. F's last year to teach in our district. He was given a "forced resignation" at the end of the year. From what I understand, the district started interviewing people before Mr. F even got the news. They hired the very first person who interviewed with them, and the person who this story is really about: Mr. J.
Mr. J was about 24 years old at the time and had exactly one year of teaching experience to his name, but they hired him on the spot, largely, I suspect, because he wasn't Mr. F and anyone could be better than Mr. F. I remember the first time I met Mr. J. I shook his hand, and it was clammy. It was...gross, seriously. I had a weird feeling about him from the minute I laid eyes on him, but I was excited and hopeful about the band situation getting better.
It didn't. It got worse. It got so, so much worse. Well, it started out okay. But as the year progressed on, I started seeing things about Mr. J that were definitely inappropriate for a teacher. For example, if he got pissed off at someone or a certain group (like the trumpets) during lessons, he'd throw stuff at them. Anything on hand, from his baton, to his pencil, to his shoes. He also swore a lot. I can't remember if he ever dropped the F-bomb in class, but certainly everything else. It got to the point where he had to set up a swear jar and anytime anyone swore (because, you know, since he was doing it so often, the students thought they could too) they had to drop a quarter in.
There was one time when we were getting ready for a big concert -- Christmas, I think. We were out on the stage where the band performed their concerts practicing, rather than in the band room, so we could get used to the acoustics in the room. Mr. J got so pissed at the flutes because they weren't playing perfectly that he made them walk back to the band room and practice by themselves while the rest of us carried on in the auditorium. Then the first chair trumpet player told him off for something (I don't remember what, might've had something to do with the treatment of the flutists) and Mr. J wouldn't stand for him "talking back" so he sent him to the principal's office. Then Mr. J himself just stormed off stage without saying a word to the rest of us, just left us there.
He also had a Christmas party at his own personal apartment for select members of the band. I was invited and so I went. We all baked cookies. Okay, good times, right? We baked batches upon batches of cut-out sugar cookies. I later found out that these cookies were used to bribe and suck up to everyone from his neighbor to his parents to officials on the school board, and never once did he tell any of these people that he had 6 or 8 members of the band help him make them. He took full credit for everything.
He volunteered me to play in the pit band for the drama's production of "Fame." I didn't want to. I really. didn't. want to. I'd heard horror stories about drama and having to stay until midnight to get things right. Granted, I wasn't actually acting, but I'd also heard the pit band could be brutal. He gave me no choice. He said it was part of my assignment as a band member and that he'd fail me if I didn't. So I did. I admit, I had a good time in the end, but I didn't appreciate being strong-armed into it. Especially when, about a week before opening night, I got the most head-wrenching migraine that I have ever had. We were supposed to practice all night, from the time school was done until about 10 or 11 that night. I couldn't even make it to the auditorium; I had to stop in the girls' locker room in the gym to dry heave over the toilet. My gym teacher called my mom to pick me up, and I think if we hadn't been a week away from opening night, Mr. J probably would've kicked me out of the pit band then and there (hey, I should've done that months ago!) he was so mad that I didn't show up. How dare me.
The thing that really got me about the Fame pit band was that he made me play percussion...which was great, because at that point, I wanted to play percussion full-time in the band anyway. My "main" instrument was considered clarinet, but we had something like 12 clarinetists, and 4 percussionists, so I asked him to switch me to percussion (and besides that, I was the only one who could play any of the keyboard instruments, like xylophone.) He wouldn't. I begged him. He said he needed me on clarinet. The clarinet section got SO BAD over fighting for the first chair position that he eventually had to have "blind auditions" where he listened to all of us play while staring at the wall, so he wouldn't know which one of us was playing. It was ridiculous, but he wouldn't let me out.
Things got particularly bad after Christmas. I don't remember if there was a specific incident (or incidents) but I eventually started to "rebel." I saw how inappropriate Mr. J was as a teacher; there was more than what I listed above, I just don't remember everything. So I started talking to people. It started with the band directors from the middle school, who I was very close with. They told me to forget about it and "just enjoy the music." Then my guidance councilor in the H.S. He told me (and my mom, who was with me) that we could write a letter of complaint and that it would go on Mr. J's file, and that if someone else wrote a similar letter, they would "look into things." But nothing until then. The principal wouldn't even see me, so we went to the superintendent, who seemed genuinely concerned and interested in what was going on, but, much like Mr. F, he was hated by everyone else in town so no one took him seriously. He was actually fired that same year, but I don't remember any of the details of his story.
In short, no one would listen to me. No one wanted to believe that there could possibly be anything wrong with Mr. J, because on the outside, he appeared to be the perfect band director. He was so friendly and courteous to parents and other teachers, but he was crude and disgusting in class. He did make the band perform some amazing pieces, mostly by shouting, cursing, and threatening the band members. He would frequently get into somebody's face and yell, "You SUCK!" right in the middle of rehearsal if he wasn't happy with their performance.
It came to a head when I finally told him I wasn't going to go on the band trip with him. The trip had been in the works most of the year; the band was supposed to go to Chicago to meet a college buddy of Mr. J's who was working down there, and we were going to play for their band. We were going to play PEP BAND MUSIC for their band. For those who weren't in band, pep band music is the music that the band plays during football/basketball games when they're present. Like, "Eye of the Tiger," and "Gonna Fly Now (theme from Rocky)." Stuff that we'd been playing since the beginning of the year, since we also march to it during marching band in the fall. I didn't really fancy going on a 6 hour bus trip, having to share a hotel room with 4 other girls who I despised (I didn't get along with most of the clarinetists, which was my main instrument), just to play pep band music to show off for our band director. So, about a month before the trip, I told Mr. J I wasn't going.
He about hit the roof. His face got as red as a tomato (really looked like one, too, because he was a pudgy bastard and his face was very round) and his eyes about popped out of his head. He stammered something along the lines of "get out of my sight", so I went to the auditorium, which was empty at the time, and just sat behind stage where the Fame pit band had played, and cried. This was not the grand dreams of band that I had foreseen when I was in middle school. I sat there for the full hour and a half that was my band period, and he never came looking for me. I left "band" directly from the auditorium when the bell rang.
The next day when I came into the band room for class, Mr. J pulled me into his office, alone, and shut the door. He told me that I was no longer needed to report for band for the next four weeks, since they were going to be practicing for the trip to Chicago and since I wasn't going, he didn't want me practicing with the rest of the band. He said I was to go to the library instead, but that I would need to come into his office every day at the start of class so he could write a hall pass for me.
I was upset. I took the hall pass and made it outside the band room before starting to cry again. I started toward the library and stopped at a pay phone alone the way to call my mom, and we talked for a few minutes before the bell actually rang.
The day after that, I went back to his office to get another hall pass. Once again, he shut the door. He said, "Maggie, I know you're not happy with this situation, and neither am I, so you had better seriously start thinking about your attitude, because I am not going to put up with this behavior next year." He handed me my pass and bid me on my way.
I stopped at the pay phone again on my way to the library, intent on calling my mom and telling her that I was quitting band. Keep in mind, the bell had not rung at this point to indicate the start of class. Mr. J suddenly threw the band door open (the pay phone was just down the hall from the band room, so he had a clear shot of me) and yelled at once of the hall monitors, "She is to go to the library and NO WHERE ELSE! I want you to FOLLOW HER and DON'T let her stop anywhere else along the way! NO PHONE CALLS!"
I ran. I ran all the way to the library, and as soon as class started, I asked the librarian for a pass to the guidance councilor's office, where I sat for most of the rest of the day, unable to go to the rest of my classes. I had already been to my councilor a number of times telling him that I was considering quitting band and trying to get advice. This time I didn't ask for advice, and I didn't ask to be removed from band, I demanded to be removed from band, immediately. I would not, under any circumstances, set foot in that band room again while Mr. J was around.
So they took me out of band. I think I just had a free period (study hall) during that period for the rest of that quarter. I don't know how Mr. J reacted as I absolutely refused to even look at him after that -- if I saw him coming down the hall toward me, I turned around and walked the other direction. I understand from one of my best friends that he made some very derogatory comments about me in front of the entire band, such as how I "abandoned" them and that I was "worthless." I got a lot of grief from the other band members, too; one of the other percussionists actually got right up in my face and told me what a horrible, selfish bitch I was and how I'd left the entire band in the lurch.
The rest of my high school career was not fun. I spent most of my lunch periods during my junior year hiding in my favorite math teacher's room. He'd even go down to the cafeteria and buy lunch for me because I got a lot of nasty looks and snide remarks if I went myself. I nearly didn't graduate on time because I had absolutely zero desire or drive to do anything school-related.
Redemption came my first year of college. I was taking classes at a local community college and things were much better. One day when I was in class, my mom got a call...from a police detective. They wanted to talk to her, because she had largely been involved in the whole Mr. J situation right along side me, but he mostly wanted to talk to ME, as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I was sitting in the middle of college algebra at the time and they couldn't reach me on my cell phone. So my mom told him what she could, and asked what was going on. He said we'd know soon enough.
By the end of that day, Mr. J had been arrested for 40-some counts of sexually molesting a minor. Well, not just a single minor, there were several. He was sent to prison for 7 years with an additional 14 years of parole after.
Karma's a bitch, ain't it?
-a-thon.
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