Frank Thoms, Teacher in the Rye

In a classroom that has work areas that children can choose from, I learned early on that each station had to be an invitation. Each one took place of a teacher giving directions from the front of the room. Each indicated possibilities for responses. Some examples: the drama area had props suggesting ideas for plays, the math area had books and apparatuses, the reading area books from which to choose, and the science area with instruments including a microscope and suggested activities. And something wonderful happened in the clay area.

We live in a school culture run by the ringing of bells in hallways, the maitre’d of the school day. Whatever is happening in a class, it ends abruptly even if the teacher is speaking. The bell, a trigger to terminate, to end, to leave, no matter what was occurring in the moments before.

But I was fortunate to teach without bells…

When I returned to New Hampshire from teaching in Oxfordshire, England, I found an opportunity to continue with my newfound progressive practices. I was hired to teach in a self-contained room with fifth graders, because the grade had a surprising overflow of students for its four-person team.

I would be responsible for all subjects except French and band. I prepared my room with work areas for science, math, writing, painting, calligraphy, and clay, et al. Tables replaced desks. A tan rug on the floor in a corner, where all of us will meet and where children could read.

In the early 70s when teaching in a progressive school in Oxfordshire, England, I discovered the joy and power of reading aloud to my 7-to-10-year-olds. It was common practice in the county but new to me. One of my early choices was to read Russell Hoban’s, The Mouse and His Child (New York: Harper & Row, 1967). I read it aloud near the end of every day. It was a remarkable time, invoking curiosity, listening, and commentary.

In 1970-71, when teaching in the junior department with my three colleagues at Queen’s Dyke County Primary School in Oxfordshire, England, I took home a new practice: thoughtful displays to intrigue, to inspire, to stimulate, to encourage work. In a sense, a display replaced the teacher standing at the front. It invited participation. As more children engaged with a display, it encouraged others. Some examples:

When we think about public schools, we remember how much of our education was for us to learn what our teachers were teaching. We came to class expecting to learn, perhaps even to discover and possibly remember what we learned for more than a week. Some of that learning elevated us, we felt we got something, something worthwhile. Other times we took what the teacher gave and learned it only because we wanted to get a good grade on the test. So? 

In my progressive classroom, now nearly fifty years ago, when children chose to write, they would create drafts and copy their creations in italic. They would work at their own pace, without interruption, fundamental to our classroom.

We would display their writings to encourage classmates to write. I sometimes offered prompts. One of them was: ’Girls are…’ and ‘Boys are…’, which resulted in two hands-sewn books, one for each set of writings.

Excerpts from ‘girls’…

Acknowledge, Webster’s tells us, among its several definitions: “to express gratitude or obligation for”; “to take notice of”; “to recognize as genuine or valid.”

I am surprised I have not thought about the power and strength of this word. Imagine in a conversation, instead of preparing your response, or expressing a knee-jerk reaction to what you are listening to, you take a breath after the other has finished speaking, no matter what he expressed. Then you acknowledge what the person has said. Simply acknowledge it.

In that moment is a space, a regathering, a break before more words will be spoken.

We teachers talk about our classes, we think about them, worry about them, wonder about them. Who’s in your class, we ask. How many in your third period class? Which class is your most challenging? Which one is a breeze (rarely)? Our class schedule governs the day. We might be lucky to have first period off, or perhaps the one after lunch, or only have two in a row.

In the staff room, we discuss our classes: one is lively, another reluctant, still another rowdy. Sometimes, we speak about individual students, the ones who stand out––they are always there.

It’s 1972, my second year in my open classroom in Hanover with two new colleagues in two rooms with 53 fifth and sixth graders. Our mantra was to give children the right to choose what to do (from art to science to drama) and providing  uninterrupted time. No classes, no periods, no bells. Fifth and sixth graders interspersed with three adults observing, prodding, governing.

One of the multiple decisions that I made in that year: In the clay area, I noticed that children were choosing to make sloppy cups and saucers, dogs and cats, none particularly well done. I posted new guidelines…

The mania for student testing in the U.S. perpetuates the traditional hierarchy of teaching: authorities enforce teachers to deliver knowledge and skills necessary for those tests including taking two weeks to prepare for them. And with the influx of phones and social media and the arrival of AI, the challenge for you who teach to offer your students agency is more difficult than ever.

Encourage initiative whenever possible. Otherwise, students may not value thinking for themselves. They will more likely to become susceptible to rabbit holes if you don't teach them to weigh true content against misinformation, which is...

Texas, the last major Republican state along with Arizona, West Virginia, and Iowa, is leading the way to deconstruct, dismantle, destroy public education. The NYT (4/18/25) reports that the Texas House of Representatives has authorized taxpayer’s $1 billion to give to parents to fund private school tuition and costs for home-schooling.

By the year 2030, the estimated amount may reach $4.5 billion a year; Betsey DeVos is a supporter, go figure. Their rationale: competition from private schools will force public schools to improve. An oxymoron argue opponents, because public schools would have less funds and resources....

After my first seven years teaching social studies, I wanted to expand my knowledge and understanding of teaching. I became curious about the new progressive primary school movement in Oxfordshire and Leicestershire, England. I read books by John Holt, Charles Silberman, Charity James, Ivan Illich, and others. Something was on the horizon, something fascinating, something to take on to expand my repertoire, and deepen my understanding of the process of education.

I resigned from teaching in Hanover and took up a PhD residency in elementary education at UConn. The highlight was the seminar with the incomparable professor Philo T. Pritzkau.

My choice to write my Substack “Teacher in the Rye” is a shot in the dark. Many voices are expressing themselves, some with large followers and many like mine beginning to reach out. I have decided on Substack, because I now live in Mexico and cannot participate in civic action in the States. Writing is my best option. My love for teaching and many adventures in the classroom might encourage todays’ public school teachers.

I have taken Timothy Snyder’s principle that we need to know the past to bring into the present to create a better future.

Cory Booker: “Did you speak up?” The question for all of us. Whether we are willing and able to go into the streets, protest Tesla, write postcards, call Congressmen, speak on social media, whatever we choose for our resistance. When we do, we “speak up.”

I write this Substack from Mexico as my way to speak up. I urge readers to get involved in today’s crisis in public schools. Whoever you are, a parent or a citizen of your community, you need to speak up. Teachers need your support.

Think of your classroom, first as a conversation, a two-way interchange between you and your students and among students themselves. A place where personal restraint is absent, where speaking up is the norm. Paraphrasing Rebecca Solnit, ideas go back and forth like a tennis ball, ideas that grow and change with every volley. Conversations, especially when exploring the unfamiliar, enable you and your students to bite into absolutist thinking, to seek nuances, openings, each person contributes to the shape of what is being discussed. Different ideas stimulates thinking. Affirmations build community and lead to understandings.

I remember my first year entering my first classroom with its desks lined up in rows, the teacher’s desk up front, behind a scratched blackboard with some white chalk. I may have assigned seats, but I’m not sure. But I recall sometime during the that year, probably in the spring, I rearranged the desks into a horseshoe shape, the first in my school to do it. I am not sure what my rationale was. Upon looking back, the important result was that it freed my students to look at each other in the eye rather than the backs of heads.

How can I, and what right do I have as a former 20th century teacher, to speak into today’s challenging issues in public schools? My perspective is far removed from today’s fast-paced school life. But my experiences that I am sharing on this Substack have both advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, I have had multiple opportunities to develop a creative curricula with varied and deep learning experiences. I could be the teacher I wanted to be, and could invite students to make choices in their learning. But on the other hand…

In August 1962, I signed a contract to be a public school teacher, a time when schools were a collective home for children and teachers. We walked in and out of doors to the outside. Our cars were left unlocked in the parking lot. No students walked into classrooms with coffee. Parents and visitors appeared without signing in. Parents and teachers serving children together. No police at the front door. We monitored study halls and the lunch room. Occasionally, I encountered an angry student who shouted at me or threatened another, fewer times than I can count on one hand.

I visualize the classroom where teacher and students engage imbuing the fundamental principles of democracy. The American public school, now under threat, has been the backbone of the country. Children come to school at an early age not only to learn but to experience America’s values. When teachers educate, engage, their children become who they are, not a clone of some authority’s bidding. Recent outside demands, such as state testing, political interference, and parental anger have constricted teachers.

The most important value of a democratic education is that it demonstrates that it is only ‘we, just us’ and ‘no other.’