Upon graduation [from college], I wanted to teach. When a position opened at Princeton (New Jersey) High School, I went for it. I had no idea what I was getting into or how it could help shape my life.
I was to teach English and reading, including one remedial class. No one told me that the previous teacher had been beaten up and left bleeding in his car. I didn't learn till later that a woman teacher the year before had been dangled by her ankles from the second-floor window. This was a class that chewed up teachers and spit them out.

"Nonacademic general students," these were seniors, anything but college-bound. I thought they'd enjoy true-life action, so I gave each student a copy of a book on men and war called God Is My Co-Pilot. It was 8:05 in the morning and I was not quite twenty-two years old.

A minute later a huge black kid named Pete stood and ceremoniously ripped the paperback in half. "I an't readin' this crap," he said, and let the pages flutter to the floor. The rest of the students, every one of them, immediately followed suit.

Now what? I wasn't going to be able to beat up thirty kids, much as I would have liked to. And if I sent them to the principal's office I would expose myself as a wimpy disciplinarian. Talk about motivation!~ I had no clue, no training. The class looked at me with defiance, as if daring me to do anything.

In sheer desperation I pointed to Pete and called him Jack. "What's your thing, Jack?" I said.

He glared and narrowed his eyes. "Huh"?

"What do you do for a living that makes you good enough to rip up a man's book?"

"Mechanic," he said.

"Is that right?" I said. "An auto mechanic?"

He nodded. "Best in town."

"No kidden? What if I told you I don't believe a word you said?"

"'Bout what? I am a mechanic."

"About being the best in town."

"Ask anybody."

"How about you prove it?"

"Like how?"

"Well, I'll tell you what. Since you don't want to read any books, you're on tomorrow."

"On what?"

"You're the teacher," I said. "You bring a carburetor in here and teach this class. If you're the best, you ought to be able to teach us what you do."

"You kidden' me?"

I stared him down, shaking my head.

"You got it," he said.

I should have been suspicious the next day when he showed up with a carburetor -- still dripping gas -- wrapped in a newspaper. It didn't hit me where he'd gotten it until I overheard another teacher later in the day complaining that something was missing from his engine.

Pete didn't wait for an introduction. He strode to the front, told me to sit down, and plopped the carburetor on the table. "Everybody shut up!" he said.

I never understood or cared much about auto mechanics until Pete began. Suddenly, in his area of expertise, he was eloquent. He spoke with passion and knowledge. He not only knew his stuff, but he was also able to explain it.

Afterward I told him how well he had done and asked what he knew about race car carburetion. "I don't know, 'cept it's different."

"Find out and you'll be on again next month."

"I don't have no race cars to work on."

"I don't care where you find out. Try the library."

He swore. "I ain't been to no library and I ain't goin' to no library."

"I don't care where you get your information, but find out and teach us."

I asked another kid, who said he was a pool player, to demonstrate for us. I brought in a small pool table, and this guy, who was flunking his math classes, told us more about angles and drag and friction than I had ever know. I challenged him to study up on some of the great pool players for his second presentation. One of the girls talked about her work in a local bakery. One of the hill kids told about trapping.

On Fridays I talked about morality and ethics and demonstrated what I new of the martial arts so that kids would now who was really in charge. For the first thirty class days, I didn't do much of anything but listen to the kids talk about what they enjoyed the most.

When it was Pete's turn again, he showed up with note cards. I had said nothing about note cards. "What are you going with those?"

"That lady in the library said they would help my presentation," he said. "You know they got a whole section on automotive down there? Now you want me to teach or what?"

Eventually, each student taught twice. Meanwhile, I was ordering books on their areas of interest. Soon they were reading and writing, two things I had said little about. Pete began carrying around a pocket dictionary, badgering me about any word he didn't recognize. He would up going to Central State in Ohio.

Verbal Judo: The Gentle Art of Persuation, George Thompson and Jerry Jenkins