Not Just the Strap: Discipline by Control in Ontario Schools: 1900-1960

Copyright © 2006 by Vera C. Pletsch

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Cover Photographs: (upper left) Portlaw Public School: 1956-57: Courtesy: Ray McNally

(upper right) Guelph CVI: 1918: Courtesy: Janet Scott

(lower middle) Gesto Public School: 1936: Courtesy: Lois Sweet

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-39159-2 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-83547-8 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-39159-1 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-83547-3 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Dedicated to the memory of my mother-in-law,

Edith Pletsch (1906-2004), her twin sister Ethel Reist (1906-2004),

and their sister-in-law, Ruth Hunt (1917-2004), all teachers during the era.

Contents

Introduction

1

Pioneer Schooling Prior to 1900: Patterns of Discipline and Control

2

Trustees: Their Role, Power and Control

3

Inspectors as Monitors

4

Teachers: A Cracker-jack Teacher was Always in Control

5

Persuasion, Rewards and Other Influences

6

Pupils out of Sight: A Teacher’s Daunting Task

7

Prejudice: Controlling, Often in Ignorance

8

In Retrospect

Epilogue

Abbreviations

Endnotes

Bibliography

Introduction

In the mid-1990s a disgruntled teacher handed in her resignation with the following comments: In our public schools today the teachers are afraid of the principals, the principals are afraid of the superintendents, the superintendents are afraid of the board members, the board members are afraid of the parents, the parents are afraid of the children and the children are afraid of nobody.¹ Based on the reports of numerous teachers, it is entirely possible that this teacher’s sentiments reflected those of many of her colleagues.

When dealing with some issues, writers cannot escape the urge to reflect on their own experiences and I have yielded to that temptation in introducing the topic of ‘control’ in Ontario schools. Recalling my first seven years of schooling, the idea that physical punishment would be used as a form of discipline, seldom, if ever, entered my mind. Our adored, no-nonsense, Mrs. Lyons kept us busy with the ‘three Rs,’ combined with impromptu corrections in grammar and deportment. We took for granted the wintertime recess and noon hour coaching in knitting, embroidery and hot lunch preparations. These, along with supervised games of’May I,’ ‘Hang man,’ ‘Bingo,’ ‘Red-light Green-light’—a game with little relevance, except on a rare trip to Owen Sound or Toronto—and Red Cross meetings on Friday afternoon all provided opportunities to practise our skills and to socialize. Remaining ‘after four’ on the magical day of the Christmas concert implied an earned reward for diligent studies and good behaviour. Leaving home in the morning, with my new velvet dress in tow—fresh from my mother’s sewing machine—meant that I would be helping Mrs. Lyons with the final preparations until 7 p.m., when the curtains would be pulled back for the welcoming recitation.

For seven years, in Portlaw’s large one-room school in Artemesia Township, life at school seemed grand, while learning merely transpired without fanfare. The hissing white geese, threatening to wing us down as we scurried down the road in front of the Shier barn provided the biggest challenge; but reality hit, when I entered grade eight, after Mrs. Lyons left. There stood a nervous young woman, and within days we became very aware of the ‘problem children’ that had always been with us, but, until that year, had been discreetly managed.

Then, one afternoon, moments before recess, a large red faced grade six boy ran down the basement steps and returned seconds later with an upheld axe, announcing, in a loud bitter voice that he was going to kill the teacher. Only when this lad’s younger, wiry cousin (appropriately named ‘squirrel’) intervened, did the screaming halt. Quickly, and in shock, we filed out into the playground. I have no memory of what provoked the incident, but, during that final year, I became cognizant of trustees. These men attempted to monitor the ‘lack of control’ that had invaded our safe haven. Because our new teacher lacked control, incompetence in teaching seemed a given. Under the tutelage of Mrs. Lyons, with many years of experience, we knew our limits and each day moved along in an organized, orderly fashion. No doubt a strap lurked in that secret drawer of the teacher’s desk or in the library closet, but not being privy to such information left us in complete dismay when it appeared on our new teacher’s desk, only days after the ‘axe’ incident. The exhibited strap served as a tangible sign of authority, stability and control, supposedly effective because of its availability.

Yes, control reigned supreme in the classroom of the 50’s, just as it had for many decades. Looking back, sixty years after securing her first teaching position at S.S. #12 Ottonabee Township, Peterborough County, in 1937, Ruth Hunt confessed that her heart strings still throbbed every time she thought of her unequivocal devotion to control—an innocent science lesson was especially memorable. After instructing her pupils to colour a picture of a plant, one youngster went right to work using an orange crayon on the entire plant. Convinced that defiance motivated his actions, Ruth strapped the boy. Utter pangs of guilt set in two months later when she learned of the lad’s colour blindness. A similar anguish lingered with Isaac Horst, years after he slapped a young boy who kicked a girl’s backpack out from under her desk, probably intentionally. I had my students marching up and down the aisle to music when this happened, said Isaac. I still wonder if the boy realized why I strapped him. It would have been all right if only I had stopped and explained. But we were expected to be in control, even if we didn’t know how to do it.²

Another story, this time from the late 1970s, demonstrates that discipline and control remained closely aligned. The account also lends support to those who advocate the continuation of prayer in Ontario’s public schools—a practice introduced in the 1850s. A teacher ordered the diligent, but moderately shy, Pamela to the office, for chewing gum—the same and only charge that had taken me, her mother, to the principal’s office some 35 years earlier. Believing that the school functioned in a quasi-military fashion, Pamela pictured herself backed up against the wall, meeting eyeball to eyeball with the principal, and left in the hallway to become a public spectacle. This image drove her to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, as quickly and sincerely as possible, as she made her way down the corridor. When the secretary assured her of the principal’s absence and suggested that she spit out her gum before returning to class, the shaken girl immediately became a staunch apostle of prayer and guardian angels. Now, as a teacher, Pamela ponders the lasting effect of rigid control. Domination evokes fear, and children react in varying ways.

Perhaps an anecdote from 1992 best demonstrates changing attitudes, both of children toward discipline and the response of teachers to student behaviour. One morning educational assistant Suzanne Madill guided a frisky young fellow into the office of an Orillia area separate school. Noticing the hanging crucifix, the boy yelled out, What happened to that guy? Realizing the deficiency in this lad’s theological training, and aware that the staff member had reached her wit’s end, the principal called out, Don’t you even think about it, Suzanne!³

In the early years of the twenty-first-century, many teachers, parents and, indeed, numerous students, covet the idea of the classroom order and quietness of bygone years. But implementation is a challenge. Living in a society where a raised voice may be considered abuse, and the Charter of Rights and Freedoms is solidly entrenched, few tactics are available to teachers. Horrific incidents like the student killings in Alberta and Colorado, although rare, have resulted in the creation of a code of conduct in most schools. In 2000 the provincial government introduced ‘zero tolerance’ legislation, complete with student suspension for such offenses as swearing at the teacher, or expulsion for carrying knives.⁴ The government encouraged local boards to create school-based programs in violence prevention and conflict resolution; and newspaper releases touted school uniforms, the recitation of the ‘pledge of citizenship’ and mandatory singing of the national anthem, as well as class size reduction.⁵ Mike Harris’ ‘common sense revolution’ government also introduced a return to mandatory standardized testing for students and recommended teacher testing and upgrading. All these measures were meant to assist in restoring ‘good order’ in the classroom.

In 2002 the Ontario Court of Appeal ruled in favour of upholding Section 43 of the Criminal Code, agreeing that the legislation provides essential protection for teachers in exercising their responsibilities to provide a safe and secure learning environment for students.⁶ The Canadian Teachers’ Federation welcomed this broader explanation, stating that teachers have recognized that Section 43 does not condone corporal punishment or child abuse, but they have had great difficulty interpreting the legislation’s permission to use ‘reasonable force’ in disciplining children.⁷ Further clarification followed in January 2004 when the

Supreme Court of Canada upheld the law, ruling that teachers could restrain pupils to gain compliance with their instructions.⁸ According to a CBC news report, "Teachers said they didn’t favour corporal punishment, but feared that if the law was overturned they could face charges for physically restraining an unruly child.⁹

My interest in school discipline first sparked when, as a graduate student, I wrote a paper on the subject. My research was limited by space and time, but over the years I continued to think about its implications. So when I broached the topic of ‘discipline’ with an elderly friend, and he immediately responded, Oh that was done with the strap, I realized the importance of investigating the broader significance of the word. A good guide to keep in mind is the Latin derivative that means instruction or disciple—a disciple being one who receives instruction from another and learns to respect those guidelines and restraints.¹⁰ This interpretation prompts one to recall things like routines, rituals, competitions, and rewards—not just the strap, in other words. Running a close second to the military, teachers are often depicted as disciplinarians. As one woman put it, Old teachers never die, they just fade away.¹¹ This truth confronted me early into my interviews when Ralph Tait corrected my use of the word ‘can’ by saying, I’m sure that you meant to say ‘may,’ didn’t you?¹² In quick defense I said that I most certainly had, but that the modern day generation’s speech is ‘doing me in.’ I stopped in to see Ralph on a couple of occasions, each time making sure that I was up to the challenge. To my surprise, Ralph had never taught, but explained that his teacher-wife had kept him ‘in line.’

The disgruntled teacher who resigned in the 1990s mentioned teachers, principals, superintendents, trustees, parents and children. One hundred years earlier, all these participants would have been in their positions of hierarchy, and in varied combinations, each would contribute a measure of influence and control. How was this manifest?

History is the drama of individuals, of people, of their joys and their conflicts; it is the drama that gives life and rhythm to the many historical dates connected with reform or legislation—the ‘good time,’ ‘bad time’ stories. So I turned to our seniors for their stories. Semi-structured, the interviews covered several thematic areas, but also allowed the pursuit of particular issues that arose during the course of our conversation. As a result, my list of questions grew simultaneously as the number of interviews increased. Less distracted by my laptop computer than by my tiny unpretentious tape recorder, over 100 men and women (many of them former teachers) between the ages of 85 and 100 shared their experiences, and did so with great passion. Recognizing the vast leap in technology between my laptop and the slate used in her early school days, my 98 year-old mother-in-law reminisced about being ‘brought to task’ for misusing her slate when she was a pupil. Slates were great tools for hitting someone over the head, or making a hasty sketch of the teacher. I got into difficulty myself, she said, when I was caught sitting on mine. You see, if you wiggled around in just the right fashion, it was a hasty way to rub it clean.¹³

I made a deliberate effort to gather information from across Ontario, a province composed of diverse local communities with distinctly different economies and cultural traditions. Starting close to home, I soon discovered that retirement and nursing home residents reflect that multiplicity. Many retirees relocate to be close to children or siblings, and may have attended school and spent most of their lives in entirely different parts of the province. As well, I purposefully lingered at the dining room table during gatherings of my own extended family, a family that boasts longevity and enjoys recounting the days of their youth—a perfect spot to redirect the topic and garner information.

Branching farther afield, with roadmaps in hand, I stayed at Bed and Breakfast stops—excellent sources for collecting local facts. Probably my best hit was at a B & B in Sudbury where my hostess volunteered twice a week at the nursing home down the street. It had been a long day of driving, but I was in no position to argue, when at 11 p.m. she enthusiastically presented me with a list of people she had arranged for me to meet, starting at 8:30 a.m. the next morning—and the list wasn’t limited to the nursing home.

As I explored different communities, it was a delight to be welcomed to discuss the schooling of people with varying backgrounds: First Nation’s people, settlers and their descendents, including French, German, Black and Mennonite. Regardless of the setting, I usually came away with another name, or two, someone else to contact.

The ageless topic of discipline roused emotions, sparked ready opinions and provoked copious suggestions. In the words of former teacher, Clifford Hincks, Yes, the discipline may have been too harsh, but what has happened to respect, manners, politeness and good grammar? We teachers were responsible for those areas.¹⁴ One could detect the sadness in his voice when he said, But, it’s been years since anyone has seriously listened to what I’ve had to say on that sub-ject.¹⁵ So I spent three enjoyable hours in Cliff s apartment seriously listening to his stories. And when I visited Edna Bradley, in Toronto, she firmly refused to go for lunch at her nursing home, stating that she wanted to visit and talk about her school days. It’s sad, she said, trying to talk with a group of folks who used to have interesting careers, but can’t remember their experiences well enough to talk about them. So she balked. I can always eat, she explained to the nursing attendant. But very few people ever come in here and want to know about my teaching days.¹⁶ Likewise, 93 year-old Andy Dixon, living in a bachelor apartment in Ailsa Craig, pointed out how difficult it is to maintain contact and share experiences with the younger generation. You have to work at it. Most of my friends are in the ground, he said.¹⁷ Then he flattered me by playing Amazing Grace on his violin (a hobby he took up at age 88), and invited me to stay for a meat loaf supper with him and a newly retired local school teacher.

Another way to track seniors is through the ‘celebration’ section of the local newspaper, and to my delight one featured a 100 year-old woman whose routine included walking several blocks,