[Sidenote: Play in Study Hour]
In a certain large high school the teachers had had much trouble with
the students in the assembly room. A spirit of uncontrolled play seemed
to take possession of the room a few minutes after the hour had begun.
Instead of settling down to work, the boys and girls wrote notes, played
little tricks on each other, whispered and made endless meaningless
trips to dictionary and bookcase. They seemed to think the hour was
given to them for social purposes.
Many teachers had failed to remedy this condition, before Miss Stansbury
was relieved of two classes that she might take hold of the assembly
room.
“Do you give me permission to do whatever I think is wise?” she asked
the harassed principal.
“Go ahead,” said he. So she did.
She had been in the room about five minutes, and was busily marking
papers, when a hard lemon came rolling up the aisle toward her desk. She
went to it, picked it up, and saw that two boys, the only two who could
have thrown it up that aisle, were looking at her under lowered lids.
Very quietly, so as not to be overheard except by those hard by, she
asked who had thrown the lemon, and the doer acknowledged at once—lying
was not a fault in this school.
“You don’t seem to know what a study period is for. You may take your
books and go home, and study your lessons there. I shall call up your
mother on the telephone and tell her why you are coming home.”
“But I have a class this next hour, and I live clear across the city!”
exclaimed the student, in dismay. “I can’t go home!”
“But you can’t stay here, since you don’t know how to use a common study
hall. Please go at once, and I’ll report to your teacher why you are
gone. I have work to do, and can’t spend my time policing the room.”
The puzzled boy rose slowly and left the room. Miss Stansbury went to
the high school office, called up his mother, and told her that her son
would be home shortly, as he had been playing in the assembly room and
would therefore have to do his studying at home that day.
“But he can’t study at home. We live a mile and a half across the city.
What was he doing? Was it anything dreadful?”
“Not at all. He merely rolled a lemon up the aisle, a very innocent
performance at any other time—but this happened to be study hour.”
“Well, you may be very sure he won’t do it again!” and the indignant
mother hung up her receiver with a snap.
When Miss Stansbury reached the assembly room again she saw a group
standing around a boy near the center of the room. They were giggling
and peering over his shoulder at something on the desk—which, when she
reached them, Miss Stansbury discovered to be the last copy of _Life_.
“Don’t go to your seats yet. I want to talk to you a moment, and I don’t
want to disturb those who are studying by talking very loud. You six
people also seem not to have learned what a study hour is for. Play and
fun and _Life_ belong to other times and places. I shall write your
names on slips, and send them to the teachers of your various classes,
so that if you are absent or tardy they may know why. And now you six
may take whatever study books you need and go home. You can not stay
here unless you study, for this is a study period. I shall call up your
homes and tell your parents why you are coming home.”
“Will you give us an excuse for absence from physics next hour?” one boy
asked.
“Why, no. You have excuses only for necessary absences.”
“But then we’ll get a zero for the recitation!”
“Yes, I suppose so. But a high school boy is supposed to know enough to
study during study hours.” Miss Stansbury was smiling and implacable.
The six passed out, grumbling and almost rebellious. Miss Stansbury went
again to the telephone, and told five mothers (the sixth one being out)
why their children were coming home.
“Why don’t you _make_ him study?” said one mother.
“I am doing so,” was the reply.
When she returned to the assembly room all was quiet. Not one of the
students who were left cared to play, or write notes, or roll lemons.
Here was a teacher who meant business. Miss Stansbury did not reform the
students altogether, for they often slid back into their old habits when
the younger and weaker teachers had charge of the room. But when she was
in charge, there was quiet and industry, and no attempt at ill-timed
fun.
By the time they have reached the high school, pupils know what is
expected of them during school hours in a general way; but they also
know that teachers vary greatly in their standards. Some tolerate play
during work time, some do not. Those who will tolerate it usually have
to. Miss Stansbury simply and quietly defined her stand, which was one
of absolute adherence to a work-while-you-work program. Neither did she
fall into the error of a certain high school teacher who dallied around
a note writer, neither asking what he was doing nor demanding that he
work. She reasoned that if a study period is for study, there is no
sense in having it spoiled by interpolated fun. She did not scold, she
did not lecture, she did not entreat, she did not moralize; she just
eliminated the disturbers, and after two examples of her method everyone
understood her and did as she demanded. She assumed differentiation
between working and play hours. If she had used this method with
untrained, little children in the lower grades it would have been a
stupid and harmful mistake, for such children have not yet learned to
control their play impulses. High school students know how; they will do
it if held up to a standard of action.