Wiesbrook: How did you get the veterans? How on earth did you gather 27 or 30? Were they in uniform?
Cothren: Well, I should be clear that not all were in uniform – it had been years for some of them since they’d last donned their uniforms – decades in some cases – and frankly, most of us aren’t the same size as we were “back in the day.” But some were in uniform, and so was one of our teachers. She was in the Guard and wore her uniform that day to escort to one of the oldest guests in attendance, a WWII veteran. He was so proud to be there that day; arrived in a suit and tie. He couldn’t carry his desk though, so his escort carried it for him.
The fact is, I truly can’t tell you how many veterans attended in total that day. When I first told the story, I said “group of veterans,” and somehow that fact got a little distorted in the retelling. It could have been 27 or 30, I just can’t recall; I invited over 35-40 veterans for the event. Reality is though, that I didn’t know until they began filing into the classroom exactly who was going to show up. Other teachers handled that part of the visit for me. And, not only were the veterans coming into the classroom, so were the media and all the students from classes earlier in the day, probably just under 130 kids altogether.
And why did they come? We asked them. For the kids to take anything away from the lesson, it was important that they hear the stories from the veterans themselves.
Eileen Considine (Assistant Principal, Columbia Explorers Academy, Chicago Public Schools): Most articles describe the remarkable visual of a classroom without desks into which 27 combat veterans enter, each carrying a desk, which is placed before each student. They don’t talk about the kids’ reactions to the symbolic gesture. How did your students react? Did they have an opportunity to interact with the veterans?
Cothren: The veterans filed in and set their desks down neatly in rows. Then each backed up against the wall as if at attention. Tears were pouring down my cheeks, and it was dead silent as I told them, “You don’t have to earn your chairs. These men have done it for you.”
20-30 seconds passed and the silence hung in the air – you could have heard a pin drop. I was still sobbing, quietly. So were some of the veterans. And then the bell rang. Every kid in that room – every single one – jumped to their feet and hugged or shook hands with every single veteran in the room. Then the room was flooded by all the kids from earlier in the day.
Every single student that day responded with profound respect and gratitude.
Considine: This story happened on Day 1. What effect did this lesson have on your students for the rest of the school year?
Cothren: I had them write essays immediately afterwards to get a feel for the impact. I still cry today when I read them. For 5% of those students, the point went right over their heads. One student even wrote that he didn’t mind sitting on the floor – completely missed the point. For the other 95%, however, the experience was amazing, and it didn’t stop with that day, or even with that classroom.
We did so many programs that year; the kids made big paper signs that students from all over the school would sign and then we’d take them to the VFW to an unbelievable response of appreciation. We did Christmas cards – the kids took cards and passed around school for singing. 300-400 parents took cards to work. We put together Christmas packages. That same atmosphere is still there today. I lead the pledge every morning. And my kids do not dare misbehave when I’m out. Kids stop in hall during the Pledge, and it’s silent in office. It’s ingrained. We have so much respect at assemblies. Our students take pride in the knowledge that we were the school that started this. And never has another student refused to stand for the Pledge. Not that anyone has made me aware of.
Considine: Students in the classic “Brown Eyes/Blue Eyes” tolerance lesson maintained relationships with their teacher and discussed the impact it made on their lives. It’s been nearly ten years since this lesson. Are you still in contact with your students? If so, what do they tell you?
Cothren: Thanks to Facebook, it is amazing how we stay in contact. I do still see most of them, and their ten year reunion is coming up, so I expect I’ll see more. When I went to vote the other day, a man came up to me and shared that he had taken a copy of what we did that day and sent it to his son.
Considine: Besides the life lesson, were there any other pedagogical components to the lesson itself?
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Wiesbrook: Did any of the students from that day go into the military?
Cothren: Oh yes. 25 students from the 125 or so that were in my classes that year, I’m guessing. Some went guard and some went active duty. One little girl, she was 4’11,’’ joined guard. And the image of her carrying big guns worried me continuously. That’s one of the most memorable. So tiny, yet so moved that she wanted to give back. Now she’s a teacher and has a baby.
Wiesbrook: What military connection does your family have?
Cothren: My father and uncle were WWII veterans, Army Air-Corps Training Pilots. Many of my friends from high school, including my sweetheart and later, fiancé, Danny, all served in Vietnam. Danny came back, but…he was killed in a car accident.
Considine: Your father, I understand, was a WWII veteran and POW. To what degree did his experience and service contribute to your decision to do this activity with your class?
Like Danny and my friends that came back from Vietnam, my father never seemed to want to talk about his wartime experiences. When I was growing up I knew he had been a POW, but it didn’t mean much to me because frankly, I hadn’t been educated about it. In school we never studied WWII, so I still didn’t know to ask questions. Once I got to college my education began to expand, but it wasn’t until my aunt and I took a trip to Europe and a veteran was with us on the journey got her to tell him the story of my father.
He was a waist-gunner (a position in the middle of the plane) on a B17. There were supposed to be two manning the position, but the other guys was sick, so my father was it. There were no windows, the plane was just open, and as they flew over France, the Luftwaffe shot at them and my father was shot through right arm and in his right leg, which shattered his kneecap. The next round knocked off his oxygen mask, and he had no spare. He managed to make it away from the door and collapsed bleeding against the opposite wall of the plane.
The turret gunner realized that my dad wasn’t shooting anymore and came back to check on him.
He had two choices. Let my father die there, or throw him out of plane and hope for the best. So he slipped a parachute onto my dad – it wasn’t buckled – it was just…on, then shoved the door open, pulled the emergency cord while Dad was still in the plane and shoved him out. My father regained consciousness during the fall and landed in farm field. His knee, the one with the shattered kneecap, was twisted 180 degrees from the landing. French farmers came up to get him and put him in a chair. Dad saw a German pilot waggle the wings of his plane at him – basically acknowledging that he knew Dad was alive, and radioed for other German soldiers to come pick him up, which they did, chair and all. So, there he was, in the truck, flanked by two guys with machine guns who took him to the POW camp where he would be held captive.
You may have heard of it…it was called Stalag 17. Until that trip, I had never heard that my father was the first American to set foot in the camp later made famous by the movie and television show, Hogan’s Heroes. One of the characters from that movie, although not one of the starring roles, was actually based on my dad, who, I later learned, actually knew all the guys from that story very well.
Why did he not tell me any of this, I asked him when I got home. His reply? “You didn’t ask.”
That was my “aha” moment.