I have given in “The Goose-step” a list of some of the offenses for which college professors have lost their jobs. I might do the same thing for school teachers, and include everything, from refusing to “pass” the son of a school board member to refusing to become the mistress of a superintendent. The main trouble is that you would not believe the stories without the teachers’ names, and these can so seldom be given. Even when the teacher has quit the profession, her terror still hangs on; one writes me that her husband will not let her talk, and others must protect their relatives who are teachers. I have a letter from one young lady, who tells me that she has quit teaching and is earning a good living as a newspaper writer; but she adds: “On second thought, I am afraid after all I shall have to ask you not to use my name. I despise being a ‘rabbit,’ but my father is a professor in the state university. It would be too bad if he should have to suffer for my opinions.”

This young lady goes on to express her conclusion as to the teaching profession. I quote one paragraph:

Mr. David H. Pierce also has something to say on this subject. He points out that in this respect teaching differs from all other professions; neither lawyers nor doctors nor engineers permit their superiors to exercise control over their social life, and forbid them to dance or play an occasional game of bridge; neither are they kept in such subservience that they regard themselves as bold progressivesprogressives when they utter harmless platitudes. Says Mr. Pierce:

And Mr. Burt Adams Tower, who fled all the way to Hawaii to escape from the school gang, adds a new and unique one to this list: “A few months before leaving Butte I was called on the carpet for receiving a letter on your stationery!” Said a teacher at the 1923 convention of the Northeastern Ohio Teachers’ Association: “The situation today is that if you don’t accept and apologize for every institution, good, bad and indifferent, you immediately become suspect.”

There are two very funny stories which I got from friends of the teachers, and which I am permitted to tell—provided I suppress, not merely the names of the teachers and the school, but of the city in which the incident took place! These stories have to do with Bolshevik hunts, and the hero of the first is a high school boy. He is the son of intellectual parents, but is a mediocre pupil, being obviously bored by school work. He is required to write a theme, and comes to his teacher and tells her that he cannot get warmed up to such subjects as “Beowulf” and “The Rape of the Lock,” and wonders if she won’t let him write on something real. She asks what he would choose; and imagine her bewilderment—he would like to write on Bolshevism!

The teacher probes the boy’s mind, and finds that he knows of Bolshevism as something wicked; he would like to expose those who are trying to spread such wickedness in America. The teacher refuses consent, but the boy comes back and begs again. The teacher points out to him the seriousness of such a subject, and the dangers of it; he promises to be very serious and very careful, and gets the consent of his parents; so finally the teacher relents, and the boy falls to work. He is interested for the first time, and brings in a theme which shows real study; the teacher demands more, so the boy scours the city for original data. In the end, he presents an excellent paper attacking Bolshevism; from a pupil with a low record on “Beowulf” and “The Rape of the Lock,” he suddenly shines as the “A” pupil of his class.

But now comes a terrible rumor, spreading like wildfire through the “silk stocking” district of this city. Some one in the high school has been teaching Bolshevism! A pupil who wrote against Bolshevism had been “failed” because he differed with his teacher! The local Babbitts rise up and roar, and the principal of the school comes to the teacher in terrible distress, and scolds her severely. The teacher demands the name of her accusers, and finally is told that the complaint has come from the chief of police! She threatens to go to the chief, whereupon the principal writes a long letter of introduction, explaining to the chief that the teacher has already been “severely reprimanded.” The teacher protests against this letter, and finally the principal consents to run his pencil through the word “severely”; otherwise he is obdurate, and at the next meeting of the faculty he issues the order that in future no reference to Socialism or Bolshevism is to be allowed in any classroom of this high school!

The teacher refuses to take the incriminating letter, and seeks out the assistant superintendent, who happens to know the boy personally, and takes the teacher to the chief of police. The chief explains that the boy came to him, asking for data, and received some pamphlets which had been taken in a “Red” raid. Soon afterwards the chief was talking before a Sunday School class of parents on the subject: “What are your boys and girls doing?” He mentioned, as an instance of creditable activity, the fact that a boy in the high school was looking up Bolshevism, getting first-hand information so that he could refute the Bolsheviks. So the spectre was laid; the teacher has gone back to “Beowulf” and “The Rape of the Lock,” and the high school principal has been promoted to be assistant superintendent!

The other incident happened in a city fifteen hundred miles away; but the Babbitts cover a continent—just like the Bolsheviks! We come to an old and cultured city, with a high school of which the city is proud. In this school a teacher of English suddenly decided that it was her duty to find out what her pupils thought about Bolshevism; she had them write a theme, and discovered to her dismay that a number of them did not think altogether ill of the subject. She hastened to her principal, who was equally shocked; he called a meeting of the teachers, and instructed them that the two thousand pupils of this school were to be immediately educated as to the wickedness of Bolshevism. School assemblies would be held, and the teachers would talk to the pupils about the aforesaid wickedness; also they might get someone from the outside who knew more about this wickedness.

The young man who told me this story is a friend of the principal, and saw the whole adventure from the inside. One teacher, when his turn came, told the pupils that he thought we had plenty of things to concern ourselves about at home, and that it was our duty to clean our own house; the principal rebuked this teacher, saying that his talk had been “too tame.” “You didn’t say a word about the nationalization of women!” So the principal himself talked about the nationalization of women; and in the fall, when the campaign was taken up again, a zealous teacher, whom I will call Mr. Jones, went out and inquired at a church forum for the name of a competent speaker against Bolshevism. Somebody with a sense of humor gave the name of Moissaye J. Olgin, well known as a supporter of the Soviet government! Poor Mr. Jones, too trustful of his fellowmen, invited Comrade Olgin, who came and lectured. I asked Olgin about the incident, and quote from his letter, so that you may see for yourself. He writes:

After the lecture was over, the speaker was asked by Mr. Jones what he thought of a man by the name of Lee-Nyne; to which he answered mildly that this was “something for history to decide.” But, as you know, the Babbitts are not willing to await the verdict of history; a child took home this story to her parents, and the local Babbitts flew to arms. A newspaper exploded with a scare story, all the way across the front page:

/* BOLSHEVISM TAUGHT AT HIGH SCHOOL! */

It happened to be just at the time that a high public official was about to be tried for malfeasance in office, and he was glad of a “Red” herring to draw across the trail; his office summoned poor Mr. Jones and proceeded to put him through the third degree. One of the inquisitors grabbed Mr. Jones’ fraternity pin: “What’s that?” “And what do you know about the American Revolution?” For two days the grilling went on, and each day the newspapers had more frightful stories. Mr. Jones came out mopping his brow, and vowing: “Well, if anything could make me a Bolshevik, it would be such public officials!”

You know how it is—these Soviet propagandists are cunning rascals, and hide under many disguises. The local Babbitts were sure they had an agent of Lee-Nyne in this high school teacher, so they called in the United States secret service, which took the trail, and followed Mr. Jones day and night for two weeks—and reported that he did not go anywhere except to a Methodist prayer meeting! So finally the Babbitts were convinced that their teacher might be given another chance; but the principal received special orders—he was never to invite another speaker without first submitting the name to the superintendent!

Another incident, to show you what it means for teachers who deal with the finer things of life to work under the shadow of this Black Hand. I happen to know a lady who is head of the department of English in a high school of a great city. This lady is a lover of literature, and a teacher of the highest gifts; she knows how to inspire the young, not merely to read and think about books, but in all their school activities, their magazines and debates and dramatic performances. It happens that she is a Socialist, and makes no bones about teaching the children to think for themselves about our social system. Also it happens that she is a “lady,” in the technical sense of that word; she is good to look at, she was brought up in the Episcopal church, she is received in the best society—and so it has been impossible for half a dozen successive school boards to get rid of her. Incessant intrigue has gone on against her, but she has quietly ignored it, and done her work.

This lady was invited to dine at the home of the school board president; a prominent judge, a wealthy Republican politician—and incidentally a gross bar-room animal. The primary purpose of the judge was to get the lady to appoint his daughter as a teacher in her department; but before bringing up that subject, he brought up another one. “I want you to know,” he said, “that I realize you are a Socialist, and that you teach the girls free love.” The lady rose up, and said: “I will not discuss that question with you, Judge Smith.” “All right,” said Judge Smith; “you don’t need to, but I’ve got the goods on you just the same.” The lady’s reply was: “I don’t know what you’ve got, and I decline to permit you to tell me.” But Judge Smith laughed, and went on to tell. “You’ve given the girls a poem by Walt Whitman called ‘The Mystic Trumpeter,’ and I took the trouble to read it, and I know what’s in it.”

Now, I will not complete the story. If I should quote you the lines to which the bar-room judge objected, apart from their context, you also might misunderstand. Get the poem, which you will find in “Leaves of Grass,” the section called “From Noon to Starry Night,” and read a piece of real eloquence. Meantime, I conclude this chapter with letters from two teachers. I have many to the same purport, but the book is long, and two will serve as types of all. A man teacher in California writes:

The other letter is from a man teacher in the far Northwest: