I imagine most teachers have a story that haunts them years later. For me, having my student arrested for threatening me, is that story.
It was my second year teaching a self-contained special education class at a neighborhood school, on the near south side of Chicago. Ten students, with a range of disabilities, spent the majority of their day with me in a small, orange-carpeted, second-floor classroom at the end of a long hallway.
Richie* was my most difficult student. Wild and unpredictable, he was well-known in the community, where people often referred to him as “crazy.”
Except for occasional suspensions, Richie came to school every day. He rarely did school work but was a talented artist and spent his days drawing or practicing “tagging” the large bubble-letter moniker he spray-painted on neighborhood buildings, late at night.
It had been an otherwise uneventful afternoon when Richie began, “Miss Blaska is going to die,” he said. “She is bogus. She needs to die.” He continued, repeating the words, growing more agitated, as the rest of my students froze in stunned, frightened, silence.
My classroom had no phone or working intercom, so with my heart visibly pounding, I walked to my desk and quickly wrote a note to the office asking for help, which I sent two female students to deliver.
Within minutes, the school security guard appeared in his crisp, blue uniform. He was calm, but serious, and said something to Richie in Spanish, who got up and left the room without looking at me.
Soon after, a paraprofessional, who mostly helped in the front office, and was a grandmother-figure to many of the schools’ students, appeared at my door. “They want you in the office,” she said.
The Vice Principal was waiting for me outside her bright office with big windows, facing the street. She motioned for me to sit down, then sat across from me and started right in.
“I need to know if you want Richie arrested,” she said.
Arrested? My stomach clenched.
“He made a terroristic threat,” she said.
I struggled to find words, unsure what to do. “What would happen to him?” I asked.
“It might help him get the help he needs,” she said.
When I still didn’t respond she continued, her green eyes direct and piercing, “If it was me,” she said. “I would have him arrested.”
So, I agreed.
Richie was led out the back door of the school in handcuffs and taken to the police station. He was suspended for the maximum ten days, and because he was a special education student, a manifestation determination meeting was held to discuss the possibility Richie’s actions were due to his disability—and therefore couldn’t be punished. Unanimously, the team—including Richie’s mother—determined they were not.
At the Principal’s request, the school security guard began escorting me to the teachers parking lot, a separate gravel lot across the street from the school, enclosed by a wire fence. Clearly, she felt his threats or retaliation warranted this, but when I asked if Richie’s backpack could be searched before coming back into my classroom—especially considering he’d once been suspended for bringing a screwdriver to school—her answer was firm.
“No,” she said adjusting the sleeves of her black pant suit. “That would be an infringement on his rights. We can’t single him out, so unless we search every student, we can’t search him—and we can’t search every student.”
His rights? What about my rights? What about the other students’ rights?
“I’m sorry,” she said slowly shaking her head. “It’s the law.”
It’s been ten years since Richie was arrested, and still I wonder if I did the right thing. Would he really have hurt me? Did he ever get any help? Shouldn’t I have tried to make this a “teachable moment”?
Being a teacher can be scary. Our classrooms are comprised of future doctors and scientists, or possibly future criminals and felons. It doesn’t matter. The law requires we treat everyone the same—and while there are laws to protect us—there are also limits to those protections the law allows.
Many teachers have been hurt by their students—and many have found themselves forced to choose between a student’s behavior and their own sense of safety.
It is hard to know what to do. Sometimes even ten years later, we still don’t know.
* Name changed for privacy.
My first job teaching was at a high school on Chicago’s west side. There were fights every passing period. The teachers were scared of the students and a some of them had been hit by students. I made it very clear that if any student lays a hand on me they will go out in cuffs. Two students (not mine, not SPED students) battered me and I had them arrested. One of the students had been acting very bizarrely and started following me around the school. I suspected he had serious mental health issues. After he was arrested, I called the state’s attorney’s office and talked to the prosecutor who had the case and gave him information on his strange behavior at school. I strongly suggested a mental health eval. I don’t know what happened but he was gone for several months and came back and different kid. I suspect he was hospitalized. That was a good end. Regardless, no teacher should put up with students making threats and/or committing assault and battery.
Jill, You absolutely did the right thing! Terroristic threats require this response. Never got this far for me, as a threat that I would press charges solved the problem. I was fortunate.
Mary Jo Kurtz
I reported to our school resource officer as a student threatened to stab me. I did not press charges, but there were certainly consequences. I knew I needed to report it, but I didn’t want to because of the worry of how it would/could impact the child negatively. The family was very supportive and understanding and getting the child the support they needed. Hopefully, the support is helping.