[Sidenote: Ringleaders at Their Worst]
Instances of the operation of mob psychology in schools are
comparatively rare, but they occasionally occur in industrial
communities, where the walk-out method of gaining ends is kept
prominently before pupils. Such an occurrence took place in the oil
district of a Middle West state, where the social conditions are poor
and the schools are not yet well organized. Mr. Frank, a new principal,
found that his predecessor had gained and kept a certain degree of
popularity by making concessions to his pupils and patrons which had
greatly lowered the scholastic and other standards of the school.
Mr. Frank resolved to sacrifice personal popularity if necessary to the
efficiency of his school, and among the reforms adopted was that of
doing away with a Friday afternoon holiday which had been allowed to all
pupils who had had perfect attendance and punctuality all week. This
weekly half-holiday, which reduced the working hours of the school
one-tenth, Mr. Frank considered a bad thing. He said nothing about his
plans to his pupils, but his rather rigid views on other matters led
them to suspect that he might return to the old plan of five full days’
work; hence, they came to him frequently during the first week to ask if
the Friday half-holiday would be continued.
“Wait and see,” he would reply; “I’ve not decided yet.”
“You’d better,” replied one group of high school boys. “We’ve had it for
three years, and if you want us to work for you and like you, just keep
it up.”
This attitude of the boys settled the matter for Mr. Frank, who called
the board together and announced his position. They agreed that the
giving of the holiday so frequently was a bad thing, and told him that
they would “stand back of him if he could make it go,” which meant that
they themselves were waiting to see what he would do with a bad
situation. The board members were tradesmen who were afraid of offending
the families of the school pupils by initiating such a reform
themselves, but were willing to stand by someone else who would do so.
The grade teachers sympathized with his desire to bring up the standard
of the school, and promised to do as he directed. There was no trouble
in the grades when the discontinuance was announced. In the high school,
anticipating a general epidemic of truancy if he announced his
revolutionary policy before the noon recess, Mr. Frank told his
fifty-five pupils to come back at one o’clock, as he had a matter of
general interest to explain to them.
Thinking that some new scheme not effectively different from the old one
might be forthcoming the fifty-five gathered as they were told. Mr.
Frank noted, as the bell rang, that they had left on their coats and
carried their caps in their hands.
He told them first, as soon as they were quiet in their seats, that
there would be no Friday afternoon half-holiday. He said that perfect
attendance was expected unless illness prevented it, and that no reward
would be given for it. After a full explanation of his reasons he said
that afternoon classes would begin in five minutes.
The effect was electrical. Sam Poultney, a bully of nineteen, who led
the high school boys, sprang to his feet. He was a boy not without
ability, a boy of undisciplined will and great physical courage. He
faced Mr. Frank now, fearlessly, perhaps sincerely feeling that he
defended a real right.
“No, they won’t!” he exclaimed. “You made us come to school this
afternoon by a dirty trick, and we’re not going to stay. You can’t take
our holiday away from us that we earned by being here all week and not
tardy once. Come on, all of you!” and he started for the door.
Mr. Frank saw a quick and vivid example of the working of mob impulse.
As the great, confident leader of the high school boys made for the
door, the whole school rose and followed him, until a stream of angry
pupils surged toward him as he stood staunchly before the only exit.
Just as Sam reached the platform near which he stood, Mr. Frank’s quick
wit saved the day. He knew that the action of a mob is largely
unconscious and wholly emotional and instinctive, and he appealed to
instinct skillfully—the instinct of self-preservation.
“Stop! Oh, stop!” he called, his white face set sternly. “Don’t you see
what you’re doing?” He looked with wild eyes to the back of the room, as
though he saw a fearful spectre there. The crowd of excited pupils,
wholly under the control of whatever leader might show himself
strongest, followed his eyes, turned around, and looked where he looked.
Sam turned with the rest, and in the second of his hesitating inquiry,
Mr. Frank gained the upper hand. His voice was raised in authority; his
anger—for he was righteously angry—gave a threat to his words that the
pupils felt and heeded.
“Turn around and go to your seats this instant!” he commanded. “Sam,
walk to your seat! Turn around, all of you. If I hear one word—”
He stood like an avenging angel, a slight man, facing a mob of angry
pupils, and the dignity and confidence of his attitude won the day. Sam
started to mutter threats and objections, but stopped when Mr. Frank
took one step toward him. Two or three girls began to cry; then first
one pupil and then another took his books out slowly. The assistant, a
girl fresh from college, stood at one side of the room, bravely stifling
a temptation to indulge in hysterics. When he could trust his voice, Mr.
Frank said:
“The senior English class may pass.” The class passed very meekly into
their recitation room, and Miss Spangler closed the door after her as
she went in with them. It was a sullen group of boys and girls, however,
that stayed with her that afternoon.