Frank McCourt

I fell in love with teaching all over again because of a thrown sandwich.
Stunned a student would waste food no matter how angst the adolescent point, new teacher Frank McCourt utilized the situation as what we in education call a discrepant event.
He picked up the sandwich and ate it.
From his memoir, Teacher Man: A Memoir:
"And there's the bologna sandwich. What are you going to do about a situation like that? No professor at NYU told us what to do about flying bologna sandwiches. They don't get into that. They have higher level philosophy of education. There's a sandwich. What are you going to do?"
Teachers often find themselves sandwiched between the politics of education and the minds seated before them, students hungry for knowledge, but many, just hungry. As I write, a family lives tucked within the scrubs of a large vacant expanse, just a a couple of sandwich throws away from my home. My son stumbled across the camp one day while out walking the dog. Clothes hang from branches as if hung out to dry and a single unlit candle serves as a poor man's lantern. A can of mosquito repellent stands guard over toys scattered beneath a pine tree where a child's teddy bear nestles in the fork of two branches. We've yet to sight the family during the day, but as darkness falls, our dog's low growl and glance toward the door serves as a doorbell to a world very much unlike ours.
If a child is indeed sleeping beneath the sky and is of of school-age, in a few short weeks, he or she will enter a classroom, likely hungry for knowledge but mostly, just hungry. These kids are easy to spot--tired, worn out, wearing a hang dog look of everyday desperation, yet school is the very best part of their day, a haven, if only for a few hours. As the best and brightest teachers well know the stomach is a direct link to the brain, my guess is, if that bologna sandwich were thrown today, Frank McCourt would eat half and save the other for the kid whose eyes lingered a bit too long during the ceremonial unwrapping of the cellophane.
Frank McCourt lost his battle with cancer Monday, July 19th. A teacher for nearly thirty years, his legacy lives on through his memoirs, his family and his extended family...
...his students, in particular, McCourt's first, who learned on one long ago day that education is sometimes "... layered with slices of tomato, onions and peppers, drizzled with olive oil and charged with a tongue-dazzling relish."
May the road rise up to meet you, Teacher Man.
"Instead of teaching, I told stories.
Anything to keep them quiet and in their seats.
They thought I was teaching.
I thought I was teaching.
I was learning."
--Frank McCourt
1930-2009
Teacher and Author
Angela's Ashes, 'Tis and Teacher Man
Read what students have to say about Mr. McCourt over at the New York Times.
Labels: Frank McCourt, passings, public education




































