Worse than science were the special-education people, they were the most eccentric bunch on the entire faculty. Do-good, granola freaks in Birkenstock sandals, who came in with problems of every description. Stories from left field. All Harold could do was sympathize. He knew their burnout rate was high, and he wasn’t good when they came in weeping, half crazy…they would shed hot, salty tears over virtually anything! But there was no one to foist these people off on, and he sat with a number one Dixon tap-tapping. I have never heard of a student openly masturbating in a classroom. This is a mental health issue. Let me make some phone calls. When they left his office, he would mechanically open his top drawer and pop two Extra-Strength Excedrins, a couple of Advils, and a deuce of Canadian 222s.

The people who taught social studies and history were coaches, mostly, and their minds were seldom on innovating the curriculum. They wanted to do everything by the numbers. One thing they could do—they could read the sports page.

The teachers in language arts complained that they had too many papers to grade. Harold hired part-time college English majors as assistants and fed as many student teachers into the language-arts program as he could. The math and business people, Hammermeister found dull. But dull could be good; it had its advantages. These people were undemanding and caused few problems. They were pure gravy in terms of his own job description. Ditto with the vocational-education types.

The group he cultivated most, although he had little interest in high school sports, was the coaches. The coaches who were P.E. teachers didn’t count so much as those who taught academic subjects. P.E. teachers tended to be happy with the status quo. It was the latter bunch, the so-called academic teachers, who were ambitious, who would eventually give up the classroom and move into administration where there was more money.

Coaches had popularity not only with the students and the general public but with the administration. Winning teams meant high student morale and coaches were very important. With these imbeciles Harold laughed, drank, farted, and clowned. Whenever the conversation turned to the gridiron, all Hammermeister had to do was listen intently, carefully orchestrating his body language and throwing in a line like, “Geez, you really know your football, coach. I’m impressed. I never saw it that way before. That’s absolutely brilliant. No wonder the students love you.” He despised coaches, but collectively they had more juice than any other group in the building.

It was only with the women in the administrative office that Harold could let his hair down and be himself. He could tell they found him attractive, and before long, as a joke, he had everyone in the office saying “a-boot” in the Canadian style rather than “about.” He wondered if they had Peter Jennings fantasies about him.