HispanicVista Columnists
Teaching English as a Second Language in The Bronx: A Discovery
By Manuel Hernandez
February 1, 2006
(Editor’s note: Manuel Hernandez created a Yahoogroup for the discussion of literature and education. HispanicVista highly recommends this effort and urges its readers to join and participate. Write to Manuel at: mannyh32@yahoo.com or visit and join at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/latinoliterature)
- Teaching English as a Second
Language in The Bronx: A Discovery
By Manuel Hernández
In 1988, the New York City Board of Education visited The Island of Puerto Rico looking for English as a Second Language and Bilingual teachers. I was impressed with the yearly salary and fringe benefits. My marriage was on the rocks, and I believed it could benefit from a new setting. Maria was unhappy because she had not had a child, and I prayed to God and asked Him for a signal. If my wife got pregnant, it meant we had to stay in Puerto Rico. If she did not get pregnant in a period of six months, it meant we had the green light to move to The Big Apple. A month later, my wife gave me the good news, but I kept quiet about His orders and decided to move to New York City anyway.
We packed our bags and headed to New York. Deep in my heart, I knew
it would be difficult for us in New York, but I was twenty-three
years old, and I was inspired by the so-called American dream. I had
mixed emotions while reflecting on the bumpy plane ride to Kennedy
Airport. Maria was nineteen years old and had never been to New York
before. I knew that I was moving in disobedience, but I wanted to
defy my Creator.
When we arrived at Kennedy, our friends forgot to pick us up. Two
hours had gone by, and no one showed face. I called my buddies, and
they were sleeping. Finally, Freddie came by in his 1987 Chevy Blazer
blasting a hit song by Terence Trent Darby: sign your name across my
heart, I want you to be my baby, sign your name across my heart, I
want you to be my baby. He said he was sorry, but I did not hear
sincerity in his voice. We stayed with Freddie for a month and later
searched for an apartment in Brooklyn. We had lots of relatives, and
I wanted my pregnant wife to have them around while I was gone
studying and working. We were told to dress up and look neat when
searching for a place to live. My cousins lived in Los Sures, but I
wanted to live a couple of blocks away from them.
I found a Polish neighborhood very close to where I had lived ten
years before. The neighborhood looked quiet and calm, so I decided to
hunt for an apartment there. It was a gloomy and cloudy day when my
wife and I got ready to look for a dwelling. I wore designer
polyester pants and shirt, and my wife had a cute dress, which
highlighted her growing belly. Apartments that were for rent looked
empty, had the curtains up and had the for rent sign hanging on the
outside of the window. We found a nice apartment in a two-floor
private house. I knocked on the door and heard a voice from the
inside asking for my name. I responded:
My name is Manuel Hernandez.
Wait a second, mister, answered the fluttering voice.
Whats your name again?
Manuel Hernandez.
Hi, Mr. Hernandez, what can I do for you? Answered the man, after
hastily opening the door.
My wife and I are looking for an apartment.
What? He answered observing every detail of our humanly body.
There is a sign up there that says that you have an apartment
available. I replied.
What sign? Not here! he quickly replied.
Sir, but you have a sign.
You Dominican? the man asked in a bickering manner.
No.
Mexican?
No sir, were Puerto Rican.
Same to me, and he politely threw the door in our face.
As a consequence, we looked for an apartment closer to the Latino
neighborhood because getting one outside of it would be virtually
impossible. It was on the second floor of an old two-story house.
Every time I walked up the stairs, the house shivered. The landlords
complained about my snoring. The floor trembled with my steps, but it
was the best we could afford for $500.00 a month. The landlords were
a retired couple from Puerto Rico who had made their living in New
York and were months away from moving to Florida.
After two months of adjusting, moving and getting acquainted with the
New York City way of life, it was time to work. The New York City
Board of Education hired me to work at West Bronx High School. The
school was right in the middle of the largest Latino communities in
the Bronx, and I was looking forward to the experience. When I
knocked on the front door on the first day of class, I was confused
for the new custodian. With that in mind, I was introduced to Mr.
Quezada, the Assistant Principal. In many public schools, assistant
principals had absolute control of all administrative affairs. This
was the case at West Bronx High School. Mr. Quezada was as thin as a
needle. He wore a Puerto Rican guayabera, which initially made me
feel at ease and was very careful with his words.
Mr. Hernandez there seems to be a problem here.
Whats the problem?
We dont have a position for you here?
I dont understand. I have a contract.
We dont have a copy or original for that matter.
There must be a mistake
Mr. Hernandez, its simple; we dont have a job in this
school for you . Can you teach Math or Science? We
may be able to dig up a program for you.
But Im not a Science teacher, and I hate Math.
Im sorry Mr. Hernandez, take it or leave it. Ill be back
in a little while.
The teachers lounge was terribly damp and dark. I sat down in a
corner sofa, put my head down in between my legs and cried. I dont
remember ever crying, but I could not hold back the tears this time.
After a short period of frustration, I remembered having the
telephone number of my recruiter in a piece of paper tucked in my
wallet. I called his office and told him of my troubles at West Bronx
High. He told me to call back in a half an hour. The half an hour
seemed like an eternity. I was finally placed at Henry James High
School.
This time I was received with a nice warm smile by the assistant
principal, Ms. Laura Gonzalez. It was very difficult not to notice
Ms. Gonzalez. She was forty-something, weighed about one hundred and
thirty five pounds, light-brown hair and shining green eyes. She
walked with an air of confidence that kept all of us in awe. She was
a versatile woman, doubling as an ESL teacher and Assistant
Principal. My teaching skills were polished at James. Ms. Gonzalez
made every effort to make me feel comfortable as a professional. She
made unannounced visits that kept you on your toes. I got involved in
extra-curricular activities and organized an ESL journalism club. I
enjoyed my teaching experience there and felt at home.
One day, the ESL Program at James invited a Nuyorican poet, Lalo
Latorre. I observed him while he got ready. Latorre was medium
height, had black curly hair and deep brown eyes. He dressed
completely in white and looked like a Santera priest. He came in the
library with drums and a guitar. Latorre was gregarious and
flamboyant. I was anxious to hear the poet do his thing. When he
started reciting his poetry, he read verses in English and Spanish.
He combined music and verses and went from prose to poetry. He
followed no rules. He closed his eyes as if evoking some unknown
spirit.
Oye tu, como vas?
I dont know si me quedo, o me fui ya.
I speak ingls, espaol and Spanglish.
Soy de aqui y de alla, you know!
The students loved it. They laughed, cheered and yelled whenever the
poet instructed them to do so. I was amazed at their reaction. I
identified with the message, and I was curious to know who he was and
wanted to know more about his poetry. Mr. Latorre and I became good
friends, and he gave me a list of Latino/a writers who were writing
and performing in the United States and abroad. Next day, I ran to
the bookstore and bought a few of the books recommended by Latorre.
Latorres experience opened my eyes to a whole new world. As a
teacher, I had always been looking for alternatives. I wanted the
best for them, and I knew that the study of literature was the only
situation in which students had to explore issues that were relevant
to their interests. Latino/a literature combined the language,
history and the cultural expression of the Latino/a experience that
allowed students to examine themes and made language their own by
making personal connections with their lives and background
information.
As a result of my discovery experience, I found that some of the
themes portrayed were self-esteem, education, family, values,
domestic violence, identity, varied approaches to race, cultural
confusion, growing up in a bicultural/bilingual setting, peer-
pressure, the challenges of learning a new language, father-son;
mother-daughter relationships, standing up for what one believes in,
the celebration of culture and music and other issues which provoked
students to become critical thinkers in the process.
I started to use Latino/a Literature to help students improve
educational outcomes and provided the preparation and encouragement
needed for them to be successful in the English classroom. I designed
specific strategies to prepare students to read and write and
prepared them for further literary analysis. Much to my surprise, my
ESL students, especially those at the higher levels started
developing a greater interest in literature. I strongly emphasized
Latino/a literature as a bridge to the teaching of American and
British Classics, and it was starting to make a difference in the
city, state and national exams.
There was a way to measure success but my personal experience with my
family superseded my teaching experience, and in the summer of 1991,
my family made the move back to The Island. Although I had not
entirely tested my theory, I knew that time would be the great
equalizer. There was an alternative. I had not created it, but I had
the plan to help Latino/a teens improve academic performance on city,
national and state standardized testing. It was much more that extra-
curricular activities and coop programs. There needed to be a mirror,
then a bridge and the final outcome which would be reflected in a
five year plan. It was necessary, not only for Latino/a teens but for
the millions of American high school teens as well.