Bulletin Board Classroom Quotes

IN JANUARY 1959 Police Chief Herbert Jenkins found a poem tacked to a bulletin board at his departmental headquarters. Tellingly, the anonymous author had titled it “The Plan of Improvement,” in sarcastic tribute to Mayor Hartsfield’s 1952 program for the city’s expansion and economic progress. The poem looked back over a decade of racial change and spoke volumes about the rising tide of white resentment. It began with a brief review of the origins of residential transition and quickly linked the desegregation of working-class neighborhoods to the desegregation of the public spaces surrounding them: Look my children and you shall see, The Plan of Improvement by William B. On a great civic venture we’re about to embark And we’ll start this one off at old Mozeley Park. White folks won’t mind losing homes they hold dear; (If it doesn’t take place on an election year) Before they have time to get over the shock, We’ll have that whole section—every square block. I’ll try something different for plan number two This time the city’s golf courses will do. They’ll mix in the Club House and then on the green I might get a write up in Life Magazine. And now comes the schools for plan number three To mix them in classrooms just fills me with glee; For I have a Grandson who someday I pray Will thank me for sending this culture his way. And for my finale, to do it up right, The buses, theatres and night spots so bright; Pools and restaurants will be mixed up at last And my Plan of Improvement will be going full blast. The sarcasm in the poem is unmistakable, of course, but so are the ways in which the author—either a policeman himself or a friend of one—clearly linked the city’s pursuit of “progress” with a litany of white losses. In the mind of the author, and countless other white Atlantans like him, the politics of progress was a zero-sum game in which every advance for civil rights meant an equal loss for whites.

Testing is weird. The whole school feels different . . . . . especially our classroom. It’s usually so colorful. Now the walls are bare! “What happened to this place?” Jimmy Russell asks. “A sneak attack from the bulletin board bandit?” Mrs. Holt shakes her head. “State testing rules mandate that our room can’t have anything displaying words or numbers on the walls while testing is taking place.” “Why?” Brandi asks. “Are they afraid you’re going to post the answers on the walls?” Mrs. Holt gives her a weak smile and says, “Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to test and try.

To mix business with pleasure, schedule your next staff retreat in an elementary school. Talking about strategic priorities takes on new meaning when you’re in a classroom whose bulletin boards admonish everyone to Play Fair, Don’t Hit, and Be Nice. And if this retro approach is really working for you, head to a children's museum for a day of discovery. You’ll benefit not only from tackling the hands-on museum exhibits, but also by soaking in the learning and laughter of the little people around you.

We all know the symbols for school: an apple, a red one-room schoolhouse, a bell. But those symbols never really worked for me.... If I had to pick one symbol that represents teaching, it wouldn't be any of these. It would be the bulletin board.

Class was almost over, thankfully. Right before the bell rang a girl entered the classroom, the same chick that had cornered Greyson in the hall that first day. She hadn't really, but I rewrote that scene to one I liked better. Mr. Price had already retired to his desk. He looked exhausted. "Alexis Owens?" I was focused on the pink paper in her hand. My flyer. This couldn't be good. "Yes." She turned the paper over. It was the LOST CAT flyer. I chuckled then realized the chick looked about ready to cry. Didn't she know you couldn't believe everything you read on a bulletin board? "Did anyone claim him?" Before I could answer her, her focus shifted to Greyson. My jaw might have dropped, but his chick did not walk into our class with a bogus flyer just to get a look at Greyson? By the way she was licking her lips, yes, she had. I had to give it to her; she was bold. I glanced over at the object of her obsession only to find he was looking at me. That sweet burn moved down my spine in the most pleasant way. Maybe she wasn't so crazy walking in here to get a look at him. If I wasn't such a coward, I'd take the opportunity to talk to him but I was glued to my seat. I watched every move he made. I wasn't much better than the chick. He headed for the door, but as he passed the girl he said, "I claimed him. Cat is a delicacy in Ireland." Those pale eyes glanced back at me and he winked before he walked from class.