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with empty Starburst wrappers. I wondered what Cliff was up to today when I noticed his head bobbing as if he were watching a concert. Then I heard the tinny sound of Walkman music and understood Cliff's hood. "Hand it over," I said. "You can have it back after class." "It's Seven Mary Three. Let me at least finish the song." "Now, Cliff." Later that period, while conferring with Shelly, I caught him pelting a peer across the room with modeling clay Apparently, they'd been volleying for several minutes. "See me after class, Cliff." "What, are ya crazy? I didn't throw anything. Danny's been throwing it at me." "See me after class, Cliff and Danny." "I ain't seein' nobody," Cliff argued. As I wrote out the detentions, Cliff gathered his coat and stomped out the door.

nddad.hd found on the floor of hi cat and had pocketed after neither of them could identify its functin. On Christmas morning Nelson h d nd this same unidentifiable doodad, wi elaborately wrapped inside a velvet jewel box in the bottom of his Christmas stocking. Somehow, when they'd tried to explain to Mom and Dad and Nelson's older brothers, nobody could see what was so funny. But Nelson had saved it carefully and given it back the following year, and ever since then, he and Granddad had faithfully swapped their little thingamajig at Christmas. It had started when he was eleven. Now that Nelson was sixteen, however, the whole tradition seemed pretty lame to him. It was so pointless to wrap up some knickknack just so somebody else could unwrap it and save it and paper it over again for you a year later. The whole idea of giftwrapping bothered Nelson increasingly as he came closer and closer to the moment when there would

do I know? I.t's being employed by the language-makers and users, the people. All of us. English (I prefer to call our language, replete with dialects, American), is constantly being infused (no, not infected) with energy and life blood by immigrants who bring their native tongue to American shores. Chi, from Vietnam, responded in writing to our all-school debate about the pros and cons of kids carrying book bags: "Books are not good to your bones," she wrote, bringing a fresh supply of energy to her new language, English. Yiddish expressions such as meshugge (pronounced m'-SHU-geh and means crazy); chutzpa (pronounced HOOTSpah and means audacity); yente (pronounced YEN-ta and means one who gossips) have become a part of mainstream American vocabulary, probably because of their distinctive sound effects and implied meaning. I'm reminded of the freshness that immigrants, who are tripped up by the idiom, bring to a language when I recall hearing a Soviet Jew, a recent emigre to the United States, speak ebulliently to a group of sponsors: "Thank you from the heart of my bottom." My African American students tell me that black vernacular spoken on the streets, changes from day to day; the actual vocabulary and the meaning are in a constant state of evolution. Trippin', doggin', mackin', jockin' have their place in certain conversations for a time, but are soon replaced as the needs of the language coiners change. Far from being a language preservationist, the likes of Edwin Newman (Will America Be The Death of English?), I want to know the latest lingo. Dig? Not surprisingly, my best source is my students, seventhand eighth-graders, who are (as some people are fond of saying about something new and important) on the cutting edge of linguistics. I marvel at my kids' bilingualism, their keen ability to sense audience and use language richly to fit the occasion. For example, "Nobody be dissin' the brothers and the sisters in they own 'hood," which in standard dialect means: People in their own neighborhoods ('hoods) don't disrespect (dis) their family and friends.

The students had read the article as part of the innovative Illinois Rivers Project, a unit I had recently added to my American literature and composition class. The students were incensed that the town was blatantly polluting "their river,"just north of Peoria where they frequently enjoyed boating and water-skiing. But they were torn. It seemed like a waste of time for teenagers to write political-action letters. "Nobody is going to publish them," John assured the group. I had just returned from a special workshop on the Illinois Rivers Projects, conceived and directed by Robert Williams, a professor at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville. The six-day workshop was designed to train teachers from throughout Illinois and the surrounding states to present lessons across-the-curriculum, in social studies, English, and science. "Well, John," I suggested, "maybe some of the students would like to give it a try." Undaunted byJohn and the other young cynics, and perhaps inspired by my fresh enthusiasm, they voted to write the letters. As a result, forty-five sophomores from two classes began writing to the editor of the Journal Star, Peoria's major newspaper, commenting on the August 21, 1992, story, "Henry not ready to treat sewage for years" (Davis, A5). Within twenty-four hours of receiving the letters, the Journal Star published student Chris Johnson's critical comments in its "Forum" section. Under the title, "I'm disgusted," Chris complained that the town of Henry planned to take another five or ten years before doing anything about their pollution of the river (1992, A4). Empowered by their first success, my classes became more enthusiastic. "Why are we sending letters all to the same place?" asked Amy. "Let's all write to somebody different, or send out letters to different newspapers." The class agreed. I drafted a list of politicians, newspaper editors, and community leaders. The next day, students drew names randomly out of a box and began writing more letters. They had to look up addresses at the public library or phone various political organizations. We compiled a master list of names and addresses, then photocopied it for all the students to use. The sophomores wrote first to their assigned persons, but they were then free to write to anyone else on the list. One copy of each letter was turned in for my suggestions, corrections, and a composition grade. Students then mailed the letters independently, using their own return addresses on the envelopes. Some students wrote six or seven letters! They complained about the town of Henry being allowed to pollute the Illinois River without any penalties or censure and about the absurdity of a solution ten years in the future. After all, ten years to a sophomore seems like half a lifetime.

"Nobody of sound mind would take a bunch of students to Europe!" I'd said that for five years when I finally lost my mind and made the decision to set off for Europe with kids in tow. Not every teacher is equipped to escort a group of intrepid youngsters abroad, but if you have a sense of adventure, some energy and a great deal of patience, you might want to make the attempt. You're probably already aware why teachers take study groups abroad. The rising costs of travel and the ever-more-attractive bonuses offered by student tour companies are persuasive arguments. If you don't know about the bonuses, here are just a couple. Many tour groups offer a cash stipend, enough to cover incidental expenses, to counselors who recruit more than their minimum eight (sometimes six) students. Even better, some companies offer to arrange supervision for students on the trip home so that counselors can stay on in Europe and fly home when they choose, as long as the date is specified in advance. This particular lure was more than I could resist, and so I spent three weeks last summer cruising the Mediterranean with my students, and three more weeks wandering through Cornwall with my sister. My round trip airfare was paid by the student travel company. Once you commit yourself, in your own mind anyway, to travelling abroad, you have to make a decision about exactly where you'll go. It's a good idea to include at least two major European capitals, since most students are attracted by recognizable names. The length of your stay and the cost of the package are important factors, but try to remain flexible because, alas, everything in life is subject to change. For example, I originally chose to spend five days in Kiev as part of our tour, and I am certain

Cliches are abroad in the land, far too many of them. On the public side there are cliches like "The product is worse than ever before," "Students don't write enough," and "Teachers, especially English teachers, are unapproachable." On the professional side there are other cliches, "The public is more interested in lower taxes than in quality education," and "The public can't understand our goals and programs." Classroom teachers at all levels are fond of saying, "Nobody understands what it's like day after day in the trenches," yet classroom teachers too often leave public relations to the very peopleadministrators-whom they suspect and accuse of not understanding their students, their teaching situations, their materials, and their goals. Why do we classroom teachers keep silent and fail to take public relations into our own hands? We say we are too busy trying to survive, or we find tomorrow's lesson much more fascinating than the letter we know we should write to a parent, an editor, or a legislator, or we are afraid we aren't articulate enough to be clear. So we rationalize, procrastinate, and become even more frustrated. And there we

We put it up-you and I. We have hyperbolically nailed our own hides over our doors; we permitted people to believe we turned students against reading and writing and thinking, against education, against their language, even against themselves. We know that we who teach English have the greatest responsibility for the success of our students. Those who do poorly in our classes suffer in all classes; they suffer outside of school as well, now and forevermore. School systems today are fighting legal actions by high school students who claim we left them illiterate. In return for twelve years of their lives we gave them the next-to-nothingness of a few hazy concepts: "Nobody had ever ought to say ain't"; "Shakespeare wrote plays"; "Poetry is beautiful, but poets are nuts."

Does your English teacher image ever suffer? Does it seem that nobody understands you? Does it appear that all is in vain, as you grade the fifty-fifth composition of the evening, and that nobody appreciates what you are trying to do for students? If you have answered "Yes," to two out of three of these questions, you are probably a beleaguered English teacher, and you are ripe for our suggestions. We propose that you put pen to paper, duplicate your message, and tell the world what you are doing for students in your classes. In other words, develop and implement a series of public relations practices aimed at the parents of your students. Through the skillful use of that language which we English teachers consider an art, you can write about your program, speak about what you do in classes, and make the public more aware of the invaluable work you do as an English teacher. All this takes is a duplicating machine, the innate skill you have to use words logically, effectively, and succinctly, the willingness of your school to post your pennings, and a fair bit of time. Several years ago, the administration of our school, The International School of Brussels, Belgium, brought to the attention of the faculty its growing concern about the communication gap which seemed to exist between parents and school. We were asked to consider ways of remedying the situation. One of the responses of the Middle School English Department was to write a quarterly newsletter to parents in which we outline the English program for grades seven, eight, anrd nine. We also try to explain an aspect of the work undertaken by the Department, our methods of teaching grammar, the rationale behind our library-visits program, or the purpose of weekly journal writing. Through this system of quarterly newsletters, we have better informed, more knowledgeable parents, who feel more comfortable and more satisfied with the English education their children are receiving. Writing, typing, duplicating, and mailing a quarterly newsletter is a time-consuming effort, but both in the short and long terms, the benefits outweigh the human effort expended. We have found that when parents know what thematic unit, books, or subject their child is studying in English they will not be satisfied with the reply, "We didn't do anything today in English." Mom or Dad knows full well that son or daughter did do something. The newsletter has caused parents, who have previously felt threatened by a school environment (possibly due to bad school experiences of their own), to be pleasantly surprised by this open approach to the "secret" world of the classroom. The following extracts are taken from newsletters of the past two years, and we hope that they will illustrate what we are attempting to communicate.

This was their valuable lesson: the best way to teach is by demonstration. Perched on edges above white spaces, the ski instructor said, "Everybody put your hands forward as I have mine, feel your boot-top against your shins, and keep your upper body square with the fall-line." Then he skied a few turns, stopped, and said, "Now you do it." The pottery instructor gave similar instruction. He made a pitcher-too quickly for our slow eyes to see-and then made another, saying, "Now you do it. Make twelve for next week's critique and have them all out in front of you on the table." As a novice skier and potter, I knew my chances for failure loomed, but I also knew what I had to do: first, I had to watch that instructor very carefully. Then I had to try it, imagining myself in that instructor's skin, leaning my body down the slope or centering my shoulders over the clay. A few falls and some funny-looking pots did not surprise anyone. At first most of the class failed in more ways than they succeeded. Nobody laughed; we were too sympathetic as we surveyed our pitchers, pointed out the most and least successful, discussed them, and heard the instructor and classmates offer their criticism. Criticism and suggestions became important as they involved us more immediately in the process. Throughout all this I noticed one reassuring thing: my ski instructor could fall down and get up again. What he was doing on that slippery hill Photo Credit: Tolleson Union High School Photo Lab

WE are living in an age when everyone wants to be an artist. Referring to the overkill of contemporary culture, Dean Robert Brustein of the Yale Drama School remarked, "Everyone wants to be in the theater today, but nobody wants to watch." Ghetto kids sing their frustrations. Boxers and politicians write poetry. Inspired by high decibals of rock music, teenage spectators shake and undulate on TV's American Bandstand. Cinema-verite

ELEMENTS of what may be called "fantasy" were present in Ray Bradbury's works from the beginning of his writing career. His own recent remark distinguishing science fiction from fantasy in literature is that "science fiction could happen."' This implies, of course, that fantasy could not happen. But in today's world, where change occurs at such rapid rate, nobody would venture to state dogmatically that any idea is incapable of realization. Therefore, whether or not a work of literature is fantasy becomes more a matter of the author's intention rather than a matter

THERE are two main bases for judg-, ing any method of verbal persuasion: (1) How well does it work? and (2) Is it ethical? Without implying for a moment that the two can be completely divorced, I should like to take a critical, perhaps even querulous view of the second. Let me point, for openers, at the topic of this section meeting as stated in the program: "Semantics-or the loaded composition." This phrase amounts to a loaded title, if I've ever heard one, and I've heard a good many. Its purpose is to entice people into this room to become a more or less captive audience for the speakers. If many of you are here it has succeeded; if not, it has been ineffectual. But I can't work up much of a temperature over its ethical quotient. If anyone has been lured away from spicier fare and finds the food here tasteless, surely the ethical onus rests upon the speakers, not on the composer of the loaded title; and if nobody at all shows up at a gathering no consumer has been cheated by the hidden persuaders and hence the ethical question is purely academic. A good deal of self-righteous. snobbery, it seems to me, beclouds the whole concept of loaded words, whether taken singly or combined into whole compositions. I think most semanticists would

FEW textbooks deal adequately with the writer's relationship to his reader; yet, many teachers recognize the need to encourage their students to write with a particular audience in mind. This necessity to imagine a particular audience begins at the earliest stages of pre-writing, or organizing one's general plans, because writing directed at "anybody" usually pleases nobody. The teacher who does not stress the importance of the audience is apt to receive essays from his students which treat him as a professional in one paragraph and as a foreign idiotboy in the next; such errors of inconsistency of tone, vocabulary, and approach can frequently be traced to the novice writer's inattention to his as

N reviewing the seemingly endless number of books and articles dealing with censorship, it becomes rather obvious that censorship is somewhat akin to the weather in that everybody talks about it, but nobody does much about it. From time to time teachers, librarians, college professors, and publishers raise their collective voices to protest the terrible inequities of censorship. However, the overwhelming number of these protests have done nothing more than state that censorship is a problem and that something has to be done about it. The area of censorship with which I am concerned is that which is directed

But they're good communicators. They have to be. Otherwise they lose their jobs and starve to death. (Unless, of course, they throw themselves upon the mercy of the government and ask for food stamps. Or they get another job that uses their talents, i.e., writing receipts for Sears.) Maybe high school themes would communicate a little better if English teachers had to earn their daily bread from writing. English teachers can encourage students to use flowery vocabularies, sentences with many semicolons, and paragraphs with exactly five sentences. Nobody cares how many tubes of pancake makeup or loaves of bread they sell. Advertising writers have to communicate. So they write ads that are easy