Each Fall, enthusiastic, optimistic, and somewhat anxious new teachers begin their careers.  Three or four years later, up to one-half of teachers of students with emotional or behavioral disorders (EBD) will have fled the classroom (Lawrenson & McKinnon, 1982; Schneider, 1984).  Indeed, teachers of EBD youngsters have the highest attrition rates in education (Lauritzen & Friedman, 1991).  Exactly what is happening in our classrooms to disillusion so many dedicated and concerned young professionals?

     Over 25 years ago, Cohen (1966) pointed out that the first year of teaching pupils with emotional or behavioral disorders is often a time of crisis.  Beliefs, premises, values and expectations are frequently shaken to their foundation as approaches recommended in college classes do not bring the expected results.  According to Cohen, the best teachers of these students are often those who had the most difficult time during their initial experience.  Realizing that they had entered a new "culture" with different rules, today's effective teachers came to expect the unexpected, and develop a new flexibility in perceiving and reacting to events.

    Foster (1986) identified four stages of professional passage that teachers of "tough" urban kids typically traverse.  These stages apply to an even greater extent for those who teach urban youth with behavior disorders (McIntyre, 1993a).  Most new urban teachers start their career wanting to nurture students through reason and appeal to their good nature (stage one).  However, this permissive approach is often contra-indicated for urban youth with emotional or behavioral disorders who typically need structured programs (McIntyre, 1993a).  Within hours or days, the teacher realizes that this interactional style is failing to produce self- guided compliant behavior among his/her students.  The classroom becomes disorganized and chaotic as requests for appropriate behavior go unheeded.  At this point, these instructors start to doubt their abilities and their decision to enter teaching (stage 2).  Most who remain in this stage "burn out" and eventually leave the field.  Many others will accept the misguided educational folklore that one must "get tough" (stage 3).  While individuals in stage three may gain some superficial student compliance via punitive and coercive techniques, they still do not experience the joy of teaching.  They feel more like prison guards than teachers.

    Those who persevere, and learn from experience and study, eventually reach stage four.  They now blend structure with humane and respectful interaction.  They implement a consistent behavior management system, augmented by a personable, humorous, and genuinely concerned style of interaction with students.  This builds a "rep" (ie. reputation) of being a "good teacher" among one's students, colleagues and administrators.  The likelihood of obtaining cooperation and enthusiasm from one's students is increased.

    While teachers may begin (or end) their careers at any stage (McIntyre, 1993a), few begin at the fourth level.  Due to the inadequacy of most preservice training programs (McIntyre, 1993b), teachers of urban EBD youth will need to engage in self-study, seek advice from able colleagues, and learn from their experiences, if they wish to become master teachers.

    Below are a few of the experiences and emotions highlighting one teacher's first year with behavior disordered inner city teenagers.  Her trials and tribulations are not much different from others who teach in our urban educational fortresses.

One Teacher's Story
     After a successful experience as a teacher's assistant with physically handicapped and learning disabled students, I was excited about accepting my first teaching position with behavior disordered pupils.  I had 12 credits of graduate coursework in this area and was ready to test my new knowledge base.  I considered myself fortunate to have previously taken a behavior management course and to be enrolled in a "BD methods" course during the first half of my first year of teaching.  I planned to implement these ideas and have them well honed before my practicum class during the following semester, during which my supervising professor, impressed with my skills, would help me "fine tune" my teaching style.

    During the first week of September, I enthusiastically stepped onto my new career path, a bit apprehensive, but fairly confident that my personality and skills would guarantee a positive experience.  Besides, how different and difficult could behavior disordered children be?  Wow!  Was I in for a surprise!

    The first few weeks of the semester were relaxed and uneventful.  I concentrated my efforts on the small group of students that attended each day.  Finally, toward the end of September, the rest of my students began showing up.  HOLY COW!!  From the get-go I was continually challenged, degraded as an authority figure, and insulted as a woman.  My "sharks" glared hungrily at me each time I stepped into the classroom, ready to devour me.  Before entering, I would take a deep breath and try to create a stern and confident facade.  That projected image did not play as I had hoped.  I often felt that I was the student and they were my instructors.  But what was the lesson to be learned here?  I felt confused and overwhelmed.  This was not the type of school or student that I had read about in my text books.  I followed my textbook's advise to plan interesting lessons and be enthusiastic, but contrary to expectations, my pupils did not sit still with their hands folded, or thrust them into the air accompanied by sounds of "Ooh!  Ooh!  I know!  I know!  Call on me!"

    Let me introduce my class.  Eight of my twelve students had "done time" (been incarcerated).  They and others frequently fell into the classroom smelling like breweries, or their eyes glazed over from smoking dope in the bathroom.  It broke my heart to see them this way.  No matter how much I spoke to them in concern (not nagging), these kids vented their frustrations in ways that made classroom life very difficult.

    On one typical day, I was working hard to settle my active students.  Just as they began responding to my lesson, one drugged student, in an effort to refocus the attention of the group back onto him, began to call out obscenities that would have made a longshoreman blush.  Other students became contaged.  A behavioral chain reaction occurred.  Garbage cans were kicked, binders were propelled from desks, and the ritual insulting of mothers ensued.  My lesson was shot for that day.

    Alexandra was typical of my tough, streetwise kids.  She thought nothing of challenging authority figures.  She would inquire publicly about the quality of my sex life, preferred positions and penis lengths, and so forth.  Initially, I cringed and turned every color of the rainbow.  This pleased the students to no end.  I often envisioned myself turning into a dustball and having a benevolent wind blow me away.  It took me some time before I could humorously brush off questions like these, redirect them into more appropriate conversational veins, or just ignore them.

    One day, however, my ignoring strategy backfired.  Our lesson concerned "the cell". I noticed snide remarks were being passed back-and-forth, but I paid no mind to them.  When I turned around from sketching the cell on the board, Alexandra had her pants rolled down to her knees, daring a nearby boy to prove his masculinity by saying "C'mon, f--k me".  He rose to stand, unzipping his pants and spewing provocative commentary.  She moved toward him and began pulling his pants off.  With that task accomplished, she attended to the undoing of her own blouse.  When I moved in to stop the disrobing, she flung me away with a swing of her arm.  Rampaging hormones were not to be denied.

    At this point, I summoned an administrator to stop the amorous affair.  He pulled her from the room.  The rest of the class was now too electrified to return to academics.  Another of our spontaneous discussions of life's issues ensued.  Overall, I was frustrated as a teacher.  I was so determined to teach these youngsters something, yet they would always create some incident or distraction to disrupt the lesson.  Despite the initial support of my administrator, the pattern of non-support often mentioned by my colleagues started to surface for me.  Later that day, a note was placed in my file stating that I was negligent in letting the students become "sexually excited".  This was the beginning of my "molding" as a teacher of behavior disordered teens.

    One of the most frustrating feelings I had regarding my students was that they had such potential, but would not strive to reach it.  They were bright, but their energy was frequently channeled into negative pursuits.  I can't begin to tell you how many times these kids were close to making an educational or social breakthrough when they would get hooked up with their street buddies again and forget all about academic excellence.  So many of my students had the capacity to do well, yet preferred their streetcorner ways.  They had their minds made up that they would always be in the street, and that there was no way out.  The only reason they were attending school was so the welfare department wouldn't reduce financial assistance to their families.

    As angry as I got, I felt compassion for these children.  I was continually stunned by the impact of the home environment upon my learners.  Many of them went hungry each day.  Whenever I left a muffin or juice on my desk while tending to some matter, the food disappeared.  I may have known who took the food, but it didn't bother me anymore.  Someone needed it moreso than I.

    Drugs and alcohol were major influences upon the actions and performance of my kids.  I was so concerned about these students being impaired, that not only did I speak with their counselors, but also the head of a group that counsels and works with streetwise youth.  When summoned to see their assigned counselors, the psychological merry-go-round started again.  The kids felt betrayed.  They were cutting classes trying to discover the identity of the "snitch" who reported them.  Aware of the adage that "Snitches get stitches.", I wondered how to approach my disgruntled charges.

    I wasn't allowed much time to mull this over.  My paraprofessional, the same one that always sat in the back corner and refused to assist me in any way (they have a very strong union), told the students that I was the squealer.  She also added untrue and subversive comments to fuel the fires, telling the students that I degraded them when speaking to other people, or referred to them as "sickies".

    The kids came into my class angry as hell.  Once again, instead of conducting a lesson, I spent that time explaining to them why I was so concerned about their welfare.  We took the time to reconnect and bond.  It was time well spent.  Although I often felt that I coddled them too much, sometimes this seemed to be what they (and I) needed in order to continue.

    Violence was a normal part of our school day.  Fights frequently ensued during passing to classes, and even during classes.  Knives and guns were commonly used to threaten or injure students and teachers.  Local gangs periodically came to "visit".  I remember that for weeks, "the Deceps", were a constant concern with the frightened pupils in my class.  "Who the heck are the Deceps?", I asked the students.  Apparently the Decepticons were a very violent group of youth who thought nothing of robbing people and even killing their victims if necessary to get what they desired.  I dismissed this talk as mass hysteria until one day I came face-to-face with these creatures from hell.

    We were in the middle of an intense review for an exam.  The room was so hot that I decided to open the door for ventilation.  Shortly thereafter, three disheveled and demonic-looking boys wearing lavender and blue headbands entered my room.  They began to make sexually suggestive forays toward my female students.  One of the boys actually began to fondle a girl's breasts.  She cried out to me for help, but I was so scared that I didn't know what to do. Nobody would hear my screams for help because we were far away from the other classes.

    I knew I had to do something, and remembered what my mom always told me, "Girl, you get what you want faster with honey then you do it vinegar."  I decided to approach the boys, and held out my hand to them indicating that I wanted to make peace rather than promote conflict.  They looked at each other and snickered.  One said, "Yo, the bitch wants to be friends".  He turned to me and snarled "Sure lady, we'll be your friends".  I sighed with relief until I felt my hand being crushed by the handshake.  Then this punk pulled the rings off my fingers.  The other creep stole my coat.  I had to stand by helplessly for fear that confrontation would turn to violence against me or my students.  After they sashayed from the area, I quickly reported the incident to the administration, but was told that there was nothing they could (or would) do.

    As another example of how violence entered into the classroom, one day my students were to take a quiz.  They knew it was standard procedure every Friday.  However, one student crumpled up the test and threw it to the floor.  When I went to pick it up before speaking with the student, he reached out and pulled my antique necklace off, breaking it.  I knew better then to get physical with this Susquash-sized student even though he had broken a family heirloom.  However, my anger thrashed its way to the surface and I "read the riot act" to this kid.  In response, he grabbed my electric pencil sharpener and flung it against the wall.  It bounced back onto the large toe of my left foot, swelling it and discoloring the nail.  I called the administration who escorted the kid outside.

    Later, I was summoned to the office where I was reprimanded for losing my temper.  I was told that because I was a role-model, this incident was totally my fault.  My professional distress was further compounded by administrator comments such as "You know why you can't handle these kids?  Its because you're a woman.  A guy would never have a problem."  I found this interesting, given that my colleagues often mentioned that of all the instructors in my department, I was the staff member most skilled at gaining student compliance and cooperation.  Knowing the difficulties I was having, I shuttered to think of what must be occurring in other classrooms.

    Despite the reprimand, my temper was to surface again a few weeks later.  I returned to my room from running errands for the "sunshine group", a fund set up to bring joy or comfort to the school's community.  As I opened the door, I spotted one of my favorite students, with whom I felt a special bond, rifling through my purse.  He had used his student identification card to "jimmy" the lock on the classroom door.  I starred at him, remembering how I had lost money earlier in the year, only to be told by the administration that locks would not be replaced, and it was my fault for not carrying the purse with me at all times.

    In response to my tearful questions, the student responded with comments such as "You teachers got money.  You don't need it."  I snapped.  I grabbed his knapsack and emptied the contents onto the floor where I kicked them about the room.  My questions became more pointed: "How does it feel to have your possessions violated?" and "What would you do if I kept these things?"   The student, amazed by my actions, said "You're crazy!" and ran from the room.  I sat on the floor, feeling betrayed yet again.  As time passed, we rebuilt the relationship, but the bond of trust remained broken.

    Despite the difficulties, things were slowly getting better in my class.  I had initially downplayed the enthusiasm I displayed during my lessons because the least bit of excitement resulted in disorderly behavior.  With improving relationships between my students and me, and increasing skill in behavior management, I was able to work with, rather than against the spontaneous and humorous participatory style of my students.  Teaching became more enjoyable as I was able to let my fun-loving personality surface.  Even the intoxicated students attempted to get involved, slurring distorted logic or yelling out tangentially related answers.

    One day, I was working my tail off trying to keep my students enthused about the lesson on the human body.  Suddenly, an administrator entered my class to conduct a surprise observation.  Up to the time he entered the room, my kids were devouring the work (instead of me) and enthusiastically volunteering answers and making funny, yet related comments.  I was proud of the progress of my students and was glad that my supervisor would see them in action.  However, once they spotted him, they put their heads down on their desks and wouldn't respond.  I was confused and embarrassed.  Two of the students kept the lesson moving, but all- in-all it was not a lesson representative of the midyear progress we had made.  I did receive a "satisfactory" on my observation, but it bothered me that the administrator never saw these kids in action.

    Later, I asked my students why they had clammed up.  They  told me that they didn't like or trust our visitor.  Therefore, they would not work in his presence.  In the interest of self preservation, I told them how important it was for my career that they behave and respond in class.  They didn't let me down the second time around.

    As I reviewed the IEP files to keep myself focused on goals and objectives (and to look for any suggestions a previous teacher might have offered on how to better reach and teach my students), I noticed that most of my students didn't have telephones (or didn't list the number in order to prevent negative school behavior from being reported to parents).  I felt that I had no choice but to use written correspondence to invite parents to come to school to discuss their progeny's progress.  As per stated procedure, I asked a supervisor to send standardized forms requesting that parents contact the school to set up an appointment.  He gave me one excuse after the other for not sending the forms.  I was continually told that this was a waste of time.  Consequently, I took the matter into my own hands, informing parents on my own.

    When parents started to contact the school, the administration got wind of what I had done and called me out of my classroom in the midst of a lesson.  One administrator berated me in front of another (and my class).  This was too much!  I told them in no uncertain terms, and I quote,  "I got tired of asking your permission to send standard forms to these families.  All you do is sit on your fat ass in that office all day.  Maybe its time you listened to a teacher who cares about these kids, and if you're not ready to do that, I have nothing else to say to you."

    With that, I slammed the door in their faces.  My kids applauded and cheered, and told me it was about time I quit being bossed around by the uncaring administration.  That day, I did indeed lose faith in the administration's ability to assist with specific incidents that arose in my classroom.  Thereafter, I was hesitant to put myself in a position that might be perceived as compromising by the administration, even when it would benefit my students.  I did what was best for the kids and tried to hide it from the administration.  This gained the respect of the kids, right?  Well, not initially.

    One of the students in my class later saw the letter I had mailed to his parents and brought it to school.  He passed it to others, and the class came to feel that I had somehow betrayed them by contacting their parents to "tell them how bad we are".  None of them would cooperate with me that day.  They wouldn't even talk to me.  The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.  Two even walked out of my class, but not before threatening me with after-school retaliation.

    The ones who stayed told me they were looking forward to tomorrow when I would have my first observation by my practicum course professor.  I certainly believed their threats that they would make me look like a fool the next day.  To my surprise, with the exception of a few smart remarks followed by a glance at the professor sitting in the back (near my useless aide), they cooperated.  After speaking with the professor at day's end, I collapsed and took a much needed nap on my desk.  The next day, two pizzas arrived at our door, rewarding my students for their turn of heart.

    I was especially surprised that despite the conflicts with my misbehaving students, a strong bond developed.  They spread and defended my "rep" throughout the department and made sure that I traveled safely through the school.  They would stop by at all times to ask how I was doing, or to discuss a current personal difficulty they were experiencing.  When I asked "Why me?", I was told that I was the only person they knew who cared about them.  Amazing!  Of all the people in their lives, I was the one they trusted!  I was overcome by the mix of emotions; sympathy, concern, distress, pleasure, confidence, and many others too numerous and ill-defined to be mentioned here.

    It was about 8:15 one morning.  Before homeroom, I was writing material on the board and munching on my breakfast roll.  A girl from my class entered and told me it was urgent that she speak to me.  A few days previous, I had found her cowering in a bathroom, refusing to move despite the fact that the fire alarm indicated the spread of a fire set in an empty room.  I led her to safety outside, where she joined most of the rest of the school's students in leaving for home early.

    While telling me how much she valued my advise, the young lady proceeded to open up a piece of foil.  In it was feces.  She told me she was concerned about a trace of blood she had found in her stool and inquired as to what she should do.  Nearly choking on my roll, I recommended that she go to the free clinic in her neighborhood.  We decided to go to the office to look up the phone number.  Needless to say, I was in no mood to finish my breakfast that morning and left the roll on my desk to be swiped by a hungry student.  I was told later by my professor that I should be flattered that she (and others) would place such value in my opinion.  Over the course of the year I was surprised at how often these hardened students would "flatter" me.

    As another tragic example, consider Tracy, a little bit-of-a- thing who was an absolute joy to have in class.  She completed her assignments and warmed the class with her wonderful sense of humor.  One day, she approached me with tears streaming down her cheeks.  She confided in me that she was pregnant.  We talked for awhile before I asked her if she knew the identity of the father.  She nodded yes.  I asked her if her mother knew the father.  Again she nodded.  She sobbed more intensely as her shaking and broken voice identified the father as being her brother who often raped her while on crack.  Her mother told her not to tell anyone, to go ahead and have the baby, and then raise the child at home.

    I told this story of a "hypothetical student" to an administrator and asked for guidance.  He told me to "forget it".  Later, I suggested to Tracy that she see her counselor, but she said that I was the only one she trusted.  I then asked her permission to contact her mother.  Hesitantly and in tears, she gave me permission.  Upon addressing the issue in a phone call with her mother and offering support, the vulgarity that came out of that woman's mouth made me feel like I was the source of the problem.  My racial/cultural background was defiled, as were my parents and ancestors, and the fact that I was educated.  Despite continued offers of assistance, shortly thereafter, Tracy dropped out of school and moved back to Puerto Rico to stay with relatives.

    Perhaps the worst experience I faced that year (or any year for that matter) was when one of my students found out he had tested positive for HIV.  I was teaching a health class at the time, when I heard sobbing outside and kicks on my door.  When I opened the portal, three hysterical girls entered, wailing something about AIDS.  When the girls were calmed, they told me that Derrick and his girlfriend "have it".  Derrick had confided in a friend, but his trust had been violated.  Word had spread and mass hysteria resulted.  Students from the special education classes were screaming throughout the halls, "He's dying!  He's dying!".  The administration and security guards were summoned to control the situation as rumors of a school-based AIDS epidemic spread throughout the building in classic Paul Bunyan and Pecos Bill fashion.

    Meanwhile, back in my room, I had three gals who were distraught.   Their crying, along with the screams heard from the hallway started a chain reaction among the other students in the room.  I felt the issue had to be addressed sooner rather than later.  We discarded the rest of the lesson, discussing the present situation and how we could support Derrick during this tragic time.  An emergency departmental meeting was called that day to address the day's happenings.  We were told by administration to tell the kids that the story was a lie.  Later, I was pulled aside and reprimanded for discussing this topic with my students.  Supposedly, I had added to the hysteria and should have continued with my lesson.  Despite my attempts to contact Derrick, he disappeared from sight for eight months.  The administration's continued response was not to respond at all.  (Recently, Derrick returned to school saying that the HIV diagnosis was incorrect.  Teachers and students are concerned.  Some teachers refuse to accept him into classes.  Many students refuse to socialize with him or sit nearby.  The Union and the administration refuse to talk with teachers about this issue.)

    Given the non-supportive climate of the school, many teachers took days off in order to cope with stress levels imposed by aggressive and defiant students and the lack of support by administration.  When teachers were absent, others were assigned to cover their classes because substitute teachers refused to work in this school.

    One day, instead of relaxing during my lunch break, I was assigned a "coverage".  I distributed a worksheet that had been left for the pupils.  This regular education class was, in general, talking quietly and finishing the work.  However, one gal continued to talk loudly and play a flute for attention.  I approached the young lady and politely and tactfully asked her to be quiet as the rest of the students finished their work.  She rose up, stood close to me with a focused stare and said "Shut the f--k up you white honky bitch."  She proceeded to play the flute near my face.  I stepped back and in an attempt to bring forth any empathy she might possess, asked her gently how she would like it if I had referred to her in a derogatory manner.  Before I could react, I was whacked on the right side of my head with the flute and bitten viciously by the student.

    The next thing I knew, her friends were holding her back while I was being restrained by a fellow teacher who had been passing by and noticed the commotion.  The assailant ran out of the building, but was apprehended by a police officer on patrol.  She was taken to the school office for questioning.  My administrator became upset upon hearing that I was going to press charges.  However, I followed up by going to the precinct that night.  I was told by one of the detectives that the case would be dropped because my assailant was under the age of fifteen, and because special education laws protected her.  I found out that she was a behavior disordered student who was "crashing" the mainstream class instead of attending her class because she knew a coverage teacher wouldn't be able to determine who belonged there.

    Because her actions were a function of her disability, she was not legally responsible for her behavior.  No disciplinary action was taken.  That made me even more determined.  I contacted the Union and wrote letters to superiors.  It got me nowhere.  Given this and other non-responses to threats and attacks on teachers in my school, I now walk the hallways frightened that students are getting the message that its OK to challenge and injure teachers.

    During another one of the visits by the Decepticons, they slithered into a room and once again proceeded to fondle the breasts of girls.  When the male instructor went to the rescue, his face was slashed with a box cutter.  The perpetrators were never captured and the teacher now sits at home, disabled by emotional distress and collecting half-pay.  When he spots a group of adolescents on the streets or in a mall, he begins to shiver and runs away.

    Another of my colleagues took action when confronted by violence.  This guidance counselor was visited in her office by a student who pulled out a gun and asked her what she thought of it.  She told him to put it away and leave.  At that point, the student pointed the gun at her and enjoyed the power inherent in seeing another cower in fear.  The counselor eventually bolted from the office and returned with security officers a few minutes later.  The student, who had remained in the office, reacted in amazement, saying that he never had a gun in his possession.  A search did not reveal the weapon (which was probably now carried by a friend).  A few days later, the guidance counselor was involuntarily transferred to another school.  The student remains in our school.

    The stress emanating from defiant students and safety concerns builds insidiously until even the best instructors crack. One of the most frightening experiences I've ever witnessed was when a colleague had a nervous breakdown right before my eyes.  He appeared to be one of the most stable, upbeat and knowledgeable  teachers in the school.  In fact, I often went to him when I needed advice on how to modify lessons to better teach my students.  One day, during a staff meeting, he crawled from one row to another, making animal noises, raising periodically to challenge the principal to hit him.  We all felt helpless, not knowing what to do.  He was eventually taken away by security, kicking, trying to get away, and saying terrible things about the school.  The next day he returned, running from classroom to classroom, hiding behind desks. I thought to myself "Is this what happens to you after years of teaching in this environment?"

    Recently, some of my students from last year came by to talk with me on parent-teacher night.  Three generations often arrived together.  I couldn't believe that five of the students from the previous year had children of their own.  While my former students were in other rooms finding out how they are doing grade-wise this year, I ended up with balloons tied to my chair, bottles on my desk, knick-knacks on the floor, and wet babies on my lap.  My room looked more like a nursery then a classroom.  I didn't mind having the babies in my room, but feared an administrator would have something to say about its unprofessional appearance.  It certainly was a strange evening; just another one of those situations they don't tell you about in college.

    In closing, I have mixed feelings on being a teacher of behavior disordered youth.  On one hand I adore working with teenagers.  They can be such a joy, and I gain great pride in guiding them toward adulthood.  Naturally, there will always be behavior problems of one type or another with this type of student, but to see them grasp material and give me correct feedback brings back the positive feelings that I held when I first started.

    On the other hand, there are students who only know violence as a way of life.  Because of them, I have lost five friends and colleagues. In addition to the one on disability and the one who had a nervous breakdown, one went back to being a secretary, and two transferred to "better" schools (one involuntarily).  Another of my colleagues has recently returned from a six month hiatus after being kicked down a staircase by unidentified students near the behavior disorders program.  He is still a little "gunshy", as is another colleague who was slapped across the face when she told a young lady to sit down.  Recently, I was pinned to a desk and fondled by a former student who now serves as a paraprofessional.  I escaped and told two administrators who promised to "talk with him".

    I hope that very soon we will find an answer to all the hatred and negativity in this school.  It would be wonderful to be able enter a classroom without fear of being threatened, beat, or shot at.  Perhaps someday we will be supported by an administration that creates a positive school climate and works with faculty as team members in a common cause.  Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel.  We can only hope...

Analysis and Recommendations
     This teacher's chronicles show how concern, melded with somewhat limited training, yet continually improving professional instincts, can help one reach many, but not all pupils with emotional and behavioral disorders.  Teachers of students with EBD sow the seeds of knowledge upon a hardened field; a task made even more difficult when one's attempts are pecked at by administrative crows.

    If this pestering continues, a bird of prey arrives; the career vulture.  We see that buzzard hovering over our teacher.  In the course of a year, this teacher passed through stages one, two and four.  She entered with optimism and enthusiasm (stage one), but quickly became disillusioned (stage two) when her skills were unable to motivate her students to attend and cooperate.  This was exacerbated by a lack of support from administrators.

    Although, she did show a bit of stage three's negativity at times, this behavior surfaced due to concerns regarding her safety and that of her charges.  Being mean to students is not something that is part of our teacher's professional or personal demeanor.  Despite the lack of support from administration, she sought assistance from a few trusted colleagues and a professor who had experience with these kids.  With their support, her energetic persistence, and a belief in herself and her pupils, she was able to reach a point where, with the exception of a few "hard cases", she was able to "reach and teach" her students (stage four).

    Even at this point, however, she is "at risk" due to the non- supportive administration and the students' streetcorner lifestyle that enters the school.  Optimally, educational professionals work together with a sense of comradery, resolving difficulties and making the school building a more rewarding place for all, including the students.  This professional team effort, so important to creating a supportive and collegial climate, is absent in too many schools.

    Even a motivated, skilled and concerned instructor needs a strong support system.  In this case, our teacher has struggled and achieved on her own, but the isolation is taking its toll.  Right now, she is feeling anger toward those who keep her from being as effective as she could be.  What Bloch (1976) pointed out over 15 years ago applies even moreso today for urban teachers in "combat zones".  He contended that those most susceptible to burnout are idealistic, passionate and dedicated teachers who are unprepared for the violence, hostility and non-support they confront.  Unable to strike out, they instead internalize their rage and fear.  In the case of our teacher, her needs must be addressed now before the anger turns to apathy or flight.

    We initially met our teacher during her "educational adolescence".  She faced new challenges, yet lacked the experience and knowledge at that point to react effectively.  This is typical of first year public school teachers who find their initial experience to be more difficult and less satisfying than they expected (Metropolitan Life Survey, 1992).  This unfulfilling experience lowers new teachers' expectations regarding their ability to positively affect the lives of their students (New York Teacher, 1993).  Discouragement with the teaching profession is particularly common among new teachers of urban adolescents (Metropolitan Life Survey, 1992)

    Ineffectiveness can be often be blamed on the inadequacy of their preservice training.  Most often, our teachers are taught methods used to instruct middle-class pupils who achieve on grade level and speak Standard English.  Most of their professors lack knowledge of cultural differences in behavior and values (McIntyre, 1992a; McIntyre, 1992b; McIntyre, 1992c; Yates, 1988) or the tactics of students from the streetcorner sub-culture (McIntyre, 1991) that permeate our urban classrooms.  Therefore, college faculty are unable to pass this information to their majors, and new teachers are sent out to fend for themselves with inadequate or inappropriate strategies.

    Teachers of urban youth are in need of realistic behavior management strategies (Urbanski, 1986).  Our prospective educators must also become knowledgeable in cultural differences in behavior so that they can modify behavior management procedures to assure that techniques are culturally appropriate and sensitive (McIntyre, 1992a).  A friendly, confident teacher with a consistent and respectful behavior management system earns the respect of his/her charges (McIntyre, 1993a).  Professors who train their majors only in authority imposed behaviorist techniques do their future teachers a disservice.  Instructors of urban EBD youth must learn to work within the student's frame of reference and use his or her perspective on reality to induce behavioral change (Maag, 1991).  Our teacher faced all the above challenges, realized that her training was inadequate or counterproductive, made revisions to better cope with difficulties, and devised methods to motivate her students to produce their best effort.

    Because streetwise youth view those who those who can be victimized as being unworthy of respect (McIntyre, 1991), teachers of urban EBD youth must also become "streetsmart" to avoid becoming pawns in their pupils' streetcorner ploys (Foster, 1986; McIntyre, 1991; McIntyre & Mack, In press).  Educators who project a confident leadership style while displaying genuine concern for their pupils are less likely to be confronted by streetcorner behavior and more likely to be able to defuse it when it does arise.  Given the propensity for aggressive behavior on the part of urban youth with EBD (McIntyre, 1993a), and the fact that teachers in self-contained classes for behavior disordered youth are six times more likely than their resource room colleagues to be attacked during the school year (McManus & Kauffman, 1991), violence prevention training is also necessary at the preservice and inservice levels (Maag, 1991).

Conclusions
    The field of behavior disorders has the greatest teacher shortage, and within our specialty area, teachers of urban youth are in greatest demand (Lauritzen & Friedman, 1991).  Our profession has unwittingly predetermined this phenomenon.  We have a young and comparatively inexperienced teaching force because school conditions and inadequate training cause so many to flee the field early in their careers.

    According to the Carnegie Foundation (McIntyre, 1993a) urban teachers in general work under the most difficult conditions.  Because students with EBD are the most difficult to teach (Algozzine, Ysseldyke, Kauffman & Landrum, 1991; Pullis, 1991), within city schools, their teachers undoubtedly have the most difficult assignments (McIntyre, 1993a).  Teachers of behavior disordered youth from urban core areas face circumstances not confronted by their rural and suburban colleagues.  For example, their pupils are more likely than rural or suburban students to engage in inappropriate, anti-social, or delinquent behavior (Farrington, 1986; National Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence, 1969; Natriello, 1987).

    Wherever one hangs his or her teaching hat, educating behavior disordered youth is intensely hard work when done correctly (McIntyre, 1992a).  Indeed, it is the most difficult and stressful job in education (Algozzine, Ysseldyke, Kauffman, & Landrum, 1991; Lauritzen and Friedman, 1991).  If we are to retain caring professionals in a specialty area that is avoided by most educators (Grosenick, 1981), we need to guide our teachers to the professional and personal rewards that are available in these settings.  To assure that this occurs, universities and districts must provide reality-oriented teacher training while professional organizations that push hard for inclusion of socially maladjusted youth (in special or general education classes) show at least as much concern and advocacy for the teachers they represent.  We need to stand with those who are shaping the character of our youth and attempting to create a brighter future for our society.  Non- supportive administrators, incompetent supervisors, backbiting colleages, and "ivory tower" professors all impair the effort to effectively educate EBD youth.