In their own words
Jesse Corburn

Jesse Corburn is a 2003 graduate of Cornell University, where he majored in Middle Eastern Studies. He is a 2003 corps member and just finished his first year teaching social studies at Manhattan Center High School in East Harlem.

September 29th, 2003

It is now the third week of school and, surprisingly, the toughest class I have to teach is not one of my four social studies classes — it is "Conflict Resolution" - a class which I was assigned to at the last minute.

I remember my first day, over three weeks ago, my first period ever as a teacher — it was Conflict Resolution class. I had one big goal for that first day — avoid conflict at all costs. I remember when 34 seniors walked in first period, most of them immediately expressed their annoyance at being placed in this class. I remember meeting Tasha who is still upset at me since I accidentally stepped on her shoe. I remember meeting Chris who always pretends to get into a fight - to test if I truly am a master of resolving conflict. And of course I remember meeting Jacob — whose first words to me were spoken at the end of that first period. He stayed in the classroom when the others had left, stared me down, and in his suave tone stated — "Mr. Corburn, you look pretty young, I could fix you up with one of the teachers around here." I silently stared back, replaying my inner voice... "avoid conflict, avoid conflict"... and eventually he left. But I knew I was in for a challenging semester.

Three weeks have passed since that first day and we haven't made too much progress so far. I rushed to class this morning, where the students were waiting, looking no more excited to be there than they did the first day. After me, walks in a small and frightened looking freshman, avoiding eye contact and slumping his shoulders. He hands me his transfer paper and sits in the corner of the room. His name is Stephen West. He is the only freshman among 34 seniors, three of which have already been suspended just three weeks into the school year. Stephen looks like he is on the verge of tears. I see on his transfer paper that Stephen is a special education student. His challenges extend far beyond academics — he has many social issues as well. And he is now in a room of students who would rather take the word resolution out of the class title.

February 23rd 2004

We are well into the second semester. Since the end of Conflict Resolution class, I no longer see Stephen in the classroom — but I do see him in the hallway several times a day. I tutored Stepehn in math and English a few times a week throughout the first semester, and we have built a strong relationship.

Each time I see him in the hallway now Stephen asks me if he can switch into my social studies class. He did survive a semester in a class full of seniors, who dubbed him "the quiet guy in the back"... but how do I explain to him that I do not teach special education? How do I say that my social studies class may be too rigorous in comparison to his special ed. classes? I tell him to talk to his adviser... and he persists — asking his adviser to be transferred as often as he asks me.

Yesterday, Stephen walked into my eighth period freshman social studies class, beaming as he held up his proper transfer form. Not wanting to treat him differently than my other students I sternly motioned to the empty seat in the corner. After class, Stephen stayed to get his assigned textbook — he needed to fill out a form with his address and telephone number... and after a minute of struggling he shyly asked if I could write his address for him. I saw he had tried, but Stephen can not write clearly or sequence the letters in his mind to spell even the simplest words. But Stephen has learned not to be ashamed around me, and I brushed it off. For homework, I decided to assess Stephen's level. I gave him a short reading and asked him to write me an essay about how the Magna Carta is like the Constitution — and like every other student, I told Stephen he would present his findings to the class.

I came to school today at 7:30 a.m., and Stephen was already waiting at my door. He hands in an eight page hand written paper... but I can't read a single word. I accept it though and I tell him I am proud of him for trying his best — and he admits he is too nervous to present to the class. We decide he will present another time. We also decide that Stephen will meet with me four days a week after school. And twice a week we will go to the library to type his homework. I realize now that I have two lesson plans to prepare... one for my class and one for Stephen.

April 2, 2004

Today Stephen met with me during lunch to prepare his presentation on a new topic: Japanese feudalism. After a month of helping Stephen with his vocabulary, organization, writing, reading, and public speaking (not to mention social studies content), everything was typed and neatly organized. At the start of eighth period social studies, Stephen asks me if he can go first, he is so nervous and he has never presented in front of a class. When he gets to the front of the room, I see he is too nervous to begin — so I go stand next to him. I point to the paper where he should start and tell him to pretend that no one else is in the room. Stephen begins to speak softly and I keep him on track by moving my finger along with the words he reads. His two minute presentation takes six minute a major setback for any teacher on a tight schedule, but a major step forward for one student. I couldn't be happier and I avoid tearing up in front of the class.

Stephen seems to have come a long way since the first day I met him. His challenges are ones I can't begin to understand. I am not a special education teacher, nor an expert on working with students like Stephen. But I think he has grown in my class for one reason — he feels like he has an ally. And I've realized that telling him how proud I am has an incredible effect on his achievement. Stephen has also begun to plan for his future. He came to my room after our school's college fair a couple weeks ago with a stack of pamphlets and fliers from schools all around the nation. Although college is several years away he asked if I could help him get in. I don't know what lies ahead for Stephen but I promised myself that I will help him reach his goals in any way that I can.

After class today, Stephen hands me an outline for his semester-long research paper. He has chosen a topic that interests him the most — along with every other male student — the Japanese Samurai. When the bell rings, Stephen eagerly asks me if he can make another presentation to the class later in the semester — this time on his Samurai research. I assure him that he can and I say if he wants- he can teach the whole period. He laughs, thanks me, and weakly shakes my hand. My first thought is — we'll have to work on his handshake.

Note: Some names have been changed in order to protect the privacy of individuals.

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