For years people have been telling me that Studly Doright and I need to watch “The Wire.” For some reason we resisted. Now, though, we’ve seen the light. We’re well into season four, and I must say, this is incredible television. It’s gritty and real.
As a former teacher, and as someone who worked as a consultant in inner city schools, this fourth season is certainly resonating with me.
I still remember vividly the day I was standing outside a school on a corner in Newark, New Jersey, waiting for the hotel’s limo service to pick me up after school.
A teacher hurried out from the school. “Leslie, it’s not safe for you out here. Come back in and wait for your ride.”
I took her advice.
At another school, this one in Detroit, Michigan, I had to go to the principal to get the educational materials my company provided released from a storage room. “They’ll only get stolen,” she said.
But I insisted. “Your school district paid a lot of money for those materials, and your teachers need them to implement the curriculum.”
She shrugged, but allowed me to distribute the materials.
That was the same school where I watched a teacher slap a student. I reported it, and then was called down to the school office where I met the superintendent of schools, a handsome, charismatic man who almost made me swoon. I gave him my account of the incident.
I have no idea what happened to the teacher or the student. The halls of that school were littered with glass. That handsome superintendent was dressed to the nines. My mind couldn’t comprehend the disparities.
The Wire has stirred up all these memories. I’m reeling. Probably won’t sleep tonight.