Telephone Call And Telephone Message In-Class Lesson: Fill & Download for Free

Warning: Long post. Over 1800 words.Let me talk with reference to the 1950s and the 1960s when I was a child and later a teenager.I am now prodding my memory and trying to recall what life used to be for the families who I believed were rich compared to our family.I remember we belonged to the salaried middle class. I had a few upper middle class and rich friends during my boyhood.For me, being rich meant having a refrigerator, a telephone, having your own car and an air conditioner in your house. We had none.I remember we managed with ceiling fans, we stored drinking water in earthern pots (called matkas), and a drive in a car or a taxi cab was a once-in-a-blue-moon luxury. We travelled by buses and trains. We did not have a telephone and instead wrote postcards and sent telegrams during emergencies and were content to have the message received in a day or two. Occasionally, we would request our better-off neighbors allow us to use the telephone or request them to call us when they received a telephone call meant for us. Some of them would oblige while some would be annoyed and snub us. Some of us would offer to pay for the phone call but even this would not be accepted and we would be made to feel unwelcome.I remember the rich boys used to wear proper shoes while we, the middle class, wore slippers or even moved around barefoot when we went out to play. Those slightly better off, wore sandals which were considered halfway between chappals and shoes.The rich boys had their shirts always neatly ironed. They always had a handkerchief neatly folded in their pockets while we the middle class boys could not afford that luxury. We just wiped our noses using our short shirt sleeves.We, middle class boys, played with marbles in the mud or games like lagori (seven stones) or hide and seek or flew kites or played gulli danda or kabaddi. Richer boys who could afford to buy a cricket bat would play in the maidaan and if we sought to join them they would snootily offer us the position of fielders but would not allow us to bat or bowl. All we could do was to play tennis ball cricket in the streets. The rich bought pavilion tickets during test matches, while we listened to the commentary on the radio. TV did not exist.None of us could have afforded to buy cricket gear. We often used a wooden stick that our maid servants used to beat the clothes with, as a cricket bat. An old wooden stool with broken legs served as stumps. We would linger outside the gates of the clubhouse where tennis was played by the rich and request them to part with their old and used tennis balls.The rich children would get dropped off at school in their cars and almost all of them had chauffeurs. We, the poor and middle class folks, used public transport or just walked the distance.The rich kids had teachers coming home for tuitions. That was the only time the rich kids envied us. We played merrily while the rich kids struggled with their lessons prodded on by the tuition teacher. Even after all that tuition, the top ranks were bagged by us, the middle-class, rather than those spoilt rich brats.All the rich kids had bicycles of their own. We used to hire a bicycle, paying by the hour and practised riding them. Our parents could not afford to buy them.When we felt sick, we the middle class, used to trudge wearily to the doctor’s clinic (they called them “dispensary” those days) and each doctor had a compounder in an adjacent room who mixed the potions based on the doctor’s prescription. Antibiotics were not common, injections were. Lab tests were rare. The doctor felt our pulse and found out what was wrong. The rich could summon the doctors home. The doctors would gladly oblige those days and visit the homes of the rich with their heavy briefcases and carrying all their medical paraphernalia like stethoscopes, thermometers and a stock of essential medicines.The middle classes had maid-servants coming in every day for an hour or so to sweep, and swab the floors, wash the clothes, and also do the dishes. (there were no washing machines or dishwashers then) The rich had servants living with them. They had ayahs taking care of babies. Our middle class babies just loitered around the house and peed all over the place. No one could afford diapers. We just wrapped old clothes around their bottoms and let them pee into it. We then washed them and hung them out to dry in the open terraces or balconies.TV was unknown. The rich had gramophones and played vinyl discs for music. We middle class folks were content to listen to the radio. The rich kids had pocket money to buy ice cream. I remember I had to save my coins for a whole week before I could think of treating myself to an ice-cream. All I could afford to buy from the street vendor squatting on the pavements behind a basket, was a fistful of peanuts or gram (chana) or puffed rice (murmura) with the pittance that we got from our mothers after nagging them. “Money does not grow on trees” was heard a lot more often those days. Today money somehow appears from the ATMs for modern kids.During the summer holidays, the rich went on holidays to hill stations, often by air. The farther the holiday destination, the more the snob value. The rich kids whose families living in Mumbai, went to Darjeeling or Mussoorie walked with heads higher than those who merely went to Mahabaleshwar. We, the middle class guys, stood in long queues at the railway stations to buy third class tickets by train to go to places of pilgrimage, or visit our grandparents in our native villages far away in some other state.The rich kids bought books. Their parents had fancy book cases in their drawing rooms and they proudly displayed their expensive volumes (like Encyclopedia Brittanica), Oxford Dictionaries etc. I am not sure if they ever read them. We rarely bought new books, but borrowed books, comics and novels from each other or from circulating libraries and devoured them. The novels that we weren’t supposed to read were neatly covered with brown paper so that the parents did not get wise to what we were reading. This was after puberty. No parent liked it when their kids came to know the facts of life and started reading Harold Robbins after graduating from reading Enid Blyton and later Agatha Christie. Harry Potter was unknown then.The rich went to the movies in their cars after getting their tickets booked in advance and had balcony seats. We the middle classes stood in queues for our tickets and bought the cheapest tickets (upper stall or rear stall).At Aurora Cinema in King’s circle, Matunga, Mumbai, I remember the front stall tickets cost 10 annas (62 paise), the rear stall tickets cost one rupee and five annas. (Rs 1.31) I can’t remember what the balcony tickets cost.I never had an opportunity to watch a movie sitting in the balcony from 1955 till 1967, when I left Mumbai permanently. We never even asked our parents for money for balcony tickets. We figured we could see two movies or more sitting in the front stalls for the price of a balcony ticket.The rich kids watched every movie that was released after buying balcony tickets. . We were content to hear a running commentary from these kids after they came out of the movie hall and some of them would even narrate the story, scene by scene, even imitating the hero! These rich kids had memory problems learning school lessons but had no problem recalling movie dialogues after hearing them just once. Some of them made it a prestige issue and competed to be among those cinegoers who saw a newly released movie on the first day’s first show. They would even buy the ticket in the black market at several times the official price of the ticket.At around 18 years of age, the rich kids had money to buy cigarettes. The middle classes were content to borrow one from the packet of their richer friend. Your status was decided by the brand you smoked. Those who smoked Dunhill or Marlborough, held their chins higher than those who smoked Charminar.All rich kids had one middle class buddy. It was a symbiotic relationship. The rich teenager shared his pocket money with the middle class fellow and the middle class fellow provided proxy attendance for this richer buddy when he bunked classes, and also shared his home work and class notes with his richer buddy and also allowed him to peek into his answer paper during tests and exams.At the level of adults, the rich families owned their homes. Hardly any middle class family owned their apartments. They paid rent. The rich were involved in some business or the other or had inherited property from the pre-independence days from their landlord grandfathers, or were senior executives in reputed companies. The middle classes worked in clerical and secretarial positions in these companies.The middle-class housewives were busy all day at home. With none of the modern conveniences and gadgets like a gas stove, microwave, refrigerator, mixie, they had their hands full of work at home. I remember my mother used to buy raw coffee seeds, roast them at home and we ground them using a hand operated grinder. Instant coffees or ready made coffee powder came much later. No one ever bought pickles. They were all made at home. The rich ladies whiled away their time at kitty parties and playing cards with other rich ladies. They had maids, ayahs, and cooks to take care of the household.The men went to clubs to drink and play cards and to ‘network’ in person. Hardly anyone used the sport’s facilities to play games and be fit. Many had pot bellies. The bars were more crowded than the tennis or badminton courts. Some of them would be seen being supported by their chauffeurs as they struggled to walk back to the car after a drinking session.The middle classes had no such opportunities. I remember my parents going for classical music concerts, or religious discourses or just visiting friends at their homes and arriving unannounced. No one minded any one dropping by suddenly. These social visits fulfilled our needs.I was not exposed to the lower middle class the really poor. And neither did I get a chance to observe the stinking rich and the aristocrats of society those days.

I really don’t like telling this story, because when I do, invariably, people say “I don’t believe you! That would NEVER happen.” Well, it did happen, and even though it’s been over 6 years ago, I’m still haunted by the many “what-ifs.” It was such a shocking and - frankly - traumatic experience that certain aspects of it did not become clear to me for quite some time. What’s more, some aspects did not reveal themselves for over two years.I lived in a tiny Midwestern town of 200, and at the time of this incident, in October, 2013, I had been teaching for the past seven years at a high school in a city of 80,000, about an hour away. I liked it very much, and felt very secure and comfortable there. Never a problem with anyone….student, administrator, staff member, parent - nobody. Absolutely no problems. Great job, great school, everything A-OK.The last week of September, I had had the flu, and I missed three days of school. Tuesday-Thursday, which is very unusual for me - and it’s hell on my students, because I taught math, and they’re used to my methods, and I’m used to theirs as well. I was feeling better, so I returned to school on Friday, then back on Monday, and the rest of that week, things were back to normal. It’s all good.Friday, October 4 was a soggy, rainy day. That usually means a quiet school day, and today was no exception. I got home around 4:30, as usual, made some dinner, watched a little TV - typical Friday night - and by 10:30, I was just about to go to bed. It was still raining, and I could hear it on the roof. I had just snapped off the TV when the front doorbell rang. Thinking it might be my neighbor, who stopped by now and then, I flipped on the porch light, and opened the door. Much to my surprise, there was a deputy sheriff standing on the porch, in the rain. Another deputy was on the sidewalk, about 15 feet behind him, with one hand on his weapon. Astonished by this, and especially the unsmiling face with one hand touching the .45. I stood there for a moment, and then the deputy spoke.“Are you Mark?”“Yes, I am.”He said nothing for a moment, then he said, “Ahh….Could I come in? It’s raining, you see, and…?”The reality of this suddenly struck. I opened the door wider. “Oh. Why, yes, of course. Please do come in.”The two deputies came in, and closed the door behind them. They weren’t smiling, and the second deputy, especially, seemed to be eyeing me closely. He kept his hand on his weapon.The first deputy did nearly all of the talking. He wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but his tone was very official, and his questions seemed to be very carefully worded. Something was obviously wrong.“Your name is Mark?”“Yes…….and, uh…..what can I do for you?” I had no idea what was going on, but he had only asked me three questions, and two of them were the same question.“You’re a teacher at XXXX High School, in XXXX City, is that correct?”“That’s right.”“For how long?”“Seven years. This is my eighth year.”The other deputy instantly interrupted: “Do you LIKE your job?” His emphasis on the word “like” gave the question a certain tone, an odd mixture of surly disbelief and sarcastic arrogance - as though he was daring me to admit that I did like my job.“Yes. I like my job,” I paused. “What’s this all about?”The first deputy went on, ignoring my question. “Well, would you say you have a difficult job?”“Well…..sometimes. It can be. Like any job. There are things that are difficult.” They seemed to be staring at me…..and it seemed to me that I was babbling.“You were absent for several days this week, were you not?”“No. That was last week. I was sick.”“Sick? Just what do you mean by that?”“Yes. I was sick. With the flu. I missed…..” - trying to remember exactly - “Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, last week. I was OK on Friday, and went back to school.”He paused for a long moment, eyeballing me. Then he said, “Are you certain this was LAST week? It wasn’t THIS week, was it?” I said I’d been sick. Did he think I was lying?“Yes, I’m certain. It was last week. I went to school every day this week.” I wanted to ask again what this was all about, but they just didn’t seem to want to tell me, so I didn’t ask. And the interrogation continued.“You’re saying that you were at school every day THIS week. And you were ‘sick’ last week. Is that what you’re saying?” He emphasized the word “sick” as though that wasn’t the real reason I had missed school. Obviously, they didn’t believe me, and it seemed they were trying to get me to say something in particular.I spoke carefully, and slowly, trying not to sound sarcastic, “Yes. That’s what I’m saying. I was sick three days last week. Then I returned to school. And I’ve been at school every day since then.”They said nothing. “All right.” A long, long pause. Then, “What happened today?” He was watching me carefully.“Today?”“Yes. Tell me what you did today, I wanna know everything you did today.”I didn’t much care for the “I wanna know….” schtick, but I let it pass. No reason to piss the guy off, when he’s standing in my living room. I thought carefully, and wondered what he was getting at. I paused between each step. “OK. I got up. Took a shower. Got dressed. Went to school, did my usual things; ordinary day. Came home. Ate dinner. I’ve been watching TV, and I was just getting ready to go to bed.” I shrugged. “That’s it.”He immediately responded: “Who did you speak to at school? Not kids. Just the adults. Which adults did you speak to today?”The deputy didn’t say “with.” He asked whom I had spoken “to.” Clearly, he wasn’t interested in what was said to me. The issue seemed to be about something I might have said to someone else.As very often happens, I didn’t have many interactions with other adults that day. Fridays are often hectic, because my juniors and seniors go into “weekend mode” so I have to be extra chatty, and even goofy, to keep them interested. I concentrate on what they’re doing, and I don’t like to be distracted or interrupted, because I need them to concentrate on what I’m doing. Therefore, I don’t have time for small talk. I had had one brief conversation with a fellow teacher. another even briefer conversation - really, just an exchange of hellos - with another teacher. I had said good morning to my paraprofessional, Roberta, who put her purse and jacket in the locked cabinet, then left to begin her day. That was all. 3 adults, and 6 math classes.Roberta’s schedule was very different from mine; she spent nearly the entire day in a different part of the building. Typically, we exchanged greetings in the mornings, goodbyes in the afternoons, and - more often than not - we would neither see nor speak to each other for the rest of the day. For five years, Roberta and I had gotten along fine; she’s a creature of habit, and so am I. She comes to school, does her job, says very little about her personal life - and I don’t pry - and then, at 3:00, she goes home.In those five years, Roberta had sent me a grand total of two text messages, both times being questions about school, and both times, I hadn’t recognized the phone number, so I had to ask who it was. I didn’t save her number, because I didn’t need her number….and the only reason she had my number was because I was her immediate supervisor. If she was going to be late, for example, her 1st period teacher might want to be aware of it.So I told the deputies this: Two very brief conversations with two different teachers. Said good morning to Roberta at 7:25 - although I hadn’t seen her leave at 3pm - which is also not unusual. Sometimes, if I’m really busy with something, or I’m on the phone, or I’m helping a student with a tough math problem, she’ll just slip in, grab her jacket and purse, then leave quietly without saying goodbye. She wasn’t being rude; in fact, she was being considerate. That was her style; she was very low-key, and she didn’t want to interrupt, just to say goodbye. Actually, it was one of the things I liked best about Roberta. She did a good job without fanfare, she was level-headed, the kids liked and respected her, she handled problems wisely without exceeding her authority, and best of all, she did not waste time on anything. I was a math teacher with no time to sit around and chew the fat.“Now, you’re saying that you DID NOT see this…what’s her name? Roberta? You didn’t see Roberta leave today? Are you certain of that?”Though I didn’t recall actually seeing her leave, I’d always trusted Roberta, and had never paid that much attention to her comings and goings. But I fudged a bit on my reply. “Ahh…no. I did not see her leave.”“Don’t you normally leave with her? At the end of the day, I mean? Don’t you and she leave the building at the same time?”“No. Her work day ends at 3 pm, and my last class dismisses at 3:10. So she’s long gone by the time I finish up each day.”“Hmmm. This Roberta……..you wouldn’t happen to have her home telephone number, now, would you?” The deputy’s question had an oddly casual, almost off-handed lilt. And he looked at me expectantly. Was he suggesting I call her up for a chat?“Actually, no; I don’t. I’ve never asked for her number. I’ve never spoken to Roberta by telephone.”Instantly, the formal, suspicious tone was back. “Never? Why not? Do you have some problem with her?”“Why, no! We get along just fine. We work together. I wouldn’t call us ‘friends’ but we’ve always gotten along quite well.” Roberta was at least 20 years my junior. I respected her as a person and as a first-rate para, I liked her as a co-worker, but that was really the extent of it.The deputy paused. He looked at his partner, then back at me. Silently. Not smiling.I was getting a bit impatient with all of this. 10:45 on a Friday night; they’re standing in MY living room, and being rather discourteous about it. Either get to the point, or get the hell out of here! It was time to handle this as I might handle two of my senior boys, if they were being sassy. “All right. Let’s get to the point. I need to know what this is all about.” Long ago, I had learned that teenagers, especially boys, resent a bossy “I want you to….” or “You have to….” They’re suckers for a respectful “Let’s do…” or “I need you to….” “Tell me what’s going on. Is Bert in some sort of trouble? Is she hurt, or…..” I purposely trailed off. I knew nothing about Roberta’s personal life. I didn’t know if she was married, or single, or whether she had kids. I had no idea where she lived. The fact is, I had never even called her “Bert” before. At that moment, with those deputies, the only reason I called her Bert was to send a message that, although we weren’t good friends, we were certainly on good terms. Whatever it was, it had something to do with Roberta. And I needed to know what it was.26 years as a teacher tends to make one very persuasive. And it worked. The deputy took it down a notch. “All right.” He sighed, then went on. “We are actually here to do a welfare check on you. We got a call from the XXXX City Police Department, telling us that you had told a staff member, at your school, that you were, quote, ‘going to go postal’ at the next staff meeting at your school. Did you, or did you not, make that statement?”For a moment, I wasn’t quite sure I heard him correctly. Going to go postal? As in….with a gun? Seriously? I was so amazed and stunned, I didn’t quite know what to say. I could barely stammer out the words. “That I…..I said, what? What?”He stared at me, and spoke slowly, and very distinctly. “Did you make that statement? Did you say you were ‘going to go postal’ at the next staff meeting at your school?”I stared back, completely aghast. Yet I wanted to make this perfectly clear. “No. I most certainly did NOT. I would never - ever - say such a thing at school. Nor anywhere else.”“Did you say anything like that? Anything at all? As a joke, maybe, or…..?”I was astonished and indignant. “At SCHOOL? A statement like that is not ‘a joke.’ I would never say something like that. Period! Not as a joke. Not for any reason. Not ever!”“Could someone have possibly misunderstood something you did say? Something, along those lines?”“Absolutely NOT! I wouldn’t even consider saying such a thing. And, least of all, at school,” And as I said this, I stamped each consonant for emphasis.He said nothing. He looked at his partner briefly, who, meanwhile, had crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the front door.He turned back. His tone maintained that hard, pugnacious edge. “Do you get along with everyone at your school? Is there anyone you don’t like? Anyone you may have had an argument with? Or maybe have a grudge against?” He paused for a moment, then added, a bit softer, “Or someone, maybe, who doesn’t like you? Someone who might have a grudge against you?”I thought for a moment. There were a few people who I wasn’t especially fond of; more of a clash of personalities, really. But I didn’t have any enemies, nor did I actively dislike anyone, and - as far as I could tell, anyway - no one seemed to dislike me. I didn’t have time to go around looking for adults to have arguments with. Our four principals were, by-and-large, excellent. Our building principal was quite young - I would guess 30 - and had only been with us four years. He was just a little overeager, which is not a bad thing; he wanted our school to be the best. And we were. Grudges? None that I knew of. Jealousy? Hatred? None that I’d ever knew of. Our school just wasn’t like that.It didn’t occur to me then - nor for many months thereafter - that the deputy didn’t ask about any possible troubles with students. Even so, the answer would still have been no. No problems whatsoever! By then, I had been teaching high school mathematics for 26 years. I had mellowed considerably, and I doubted very much that any student had reason to hold any sort of grudge against me….certainly not of the type to provoke this kind of accusation. What’s more, to be perfectly honest, I had some of the rowdiest kids in the whole building in my math classes. For whatever reason, the kids who really struggled, and especially with behavior, seemed to wind up in my classes. Counselors or principals frequently brought kids to my door, asking if I had room for just one more face in class. Of course! I’m so glad you’re here…and they’d beam happily. The really tough kids never needed to act so tough in my classes. I had never once sent a student to the office, never once written a referral, never once called a parent to gripe. No kid ever swore at me, or made a scene, and if a bad word slipped out, he or she would immediately correct it, and I’d just smile and ignore it. If a kid seemed to be edgy or upset, I’d write a short note, then ask them to take it to the library to read it, then please come right back. In ten minutes, they’d appear again, shyly smiling. I’d thank you, and we’d go on with our day. I provided lots of little safety valves for teenage angst, and the proof was in the pudding. I don’t even remember the last “F” I ever gave.Months later, it seemed peculiar that none of these questions ever came up.And so, I answered the deputy’s question: “Yes, I’d say I get along pretty well with everyone at school. Terrific kids. Great families. First class staff. I have no beefs with anyone. I wouldn’t do anything like that…..and I certainly wouldn’t SAY anything like that. That’s just out of the question!”He was silent, but for a longer pause. What was he looking for here? Almost without thinking, I said indignantly: “How could I ‘go postal’ when I don’t even own a gun?” Which was true; I was never much interested in guns. “Do you want to search the house, or the garage? The basement? Be my guest! I got nothing to hide.”“No. We will not search your home - at this time.” There was a very brief pause in that sentence, and the peculiarity of it made me wonder if he meant they wouldn’t be searching that night, but perhaps would tomorrow. Well, let ‘em search! There weren’t any guns in my house. I hadn’t even held a gun since I was 10 years old, on ONE hunting trip with my dad. We returned home empty-handed. My dad had died 7 years before, and he had left me no guns.I didn’t know what to say about any of this, but that wasn’t the issue. I had never liked being accused of things I hadn’t done. And especially not of having said things I didn’t say.I was still thinking about all of this, as the deputy stood there. It seemed he had run out of things to ask. But I had something to ask him: “Wait - so someone at school REPORTED this? Someone claims that I said this? Just who was it that made the report anyway?”“Aaah…..we don’t know.”“Well, when did this supposedly happen?” I wasn’t just curious. By now, I was getting pissed.“Well, we presume it was today.”“Really? So, you were contacted by the XXXX Police Department? Today? It was reported to them today? Or did this just happen today? Which is it? Do you know?”“Uh….no. We aren’t sure. Like I said, we’re just here…..I mean, we’re doing a welfare check.”Like hell, they weren’t sure! The guy interrogates me for a good twenty minutes, makes with the stink-eye; the other deputy stands there, glaring at me, fingering his weapon - just in case - and they aren’t SURE?The deputy didn’t quite stammer, but my questions clearly had knocked him off-balance. He didn’t want to offer too much information. Several months later, I was telling this story to a lawyer friend of mine. He interrupted to ask me if the deputies had read me my rights - and I told him no, they hadn’t. He seemed puzzled at this, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. One year later, he and I - and another attorney - would discuss this incident in much greater detail, and with a lot more at stake.“OK. So, what am I supposed to do with this? Should I call my supervisor? Are they expecting a call from me?”The deputy’s face seemed to brighten, and he almost smiled. Not quite, but close. “Uh…..yeah. Yeah! That’d be a good idea. Yes, I’d definitely give them a call, and right away!” Then the two deputies exchanged uneasy glances. The other deputy shifted uncomfortably in his boots. He flipped the leather guard back over his pistol, snapping it in place.“Fine then. I will be calling my supervisor. I’ll call her yet tonight.”“Ahh…..OK. We’ll be on our way now.” He touched the brim of his hat, which he hadn’t removed at all. “Please let us know if there’s something we can do.”Such as? What “something” could they possibly do?The deputies turned to go, and I shouldered past to open the front door. They ducked out and crossed the porch. I was just closing the door, when, suddenly, something did occur to me - and I yanked the door open again.It had stopped raining by then. I stepped onto the front porch, and called to them as they strode across the yard. “Officer?”They stopped and turned. “Yes?”“What are your names?”They exchanged glances. “Our names?”“Yes. Your names. In case it comes up. I’d like both of your names.” I deliberately paused before I added the clincher, “And then, you can go.”He seemed to wince at this. “Uh….OK. Here’s my card.” He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform, and withdrew a business card. He turned, and inquired something of his partner, who immediately dug into his own shirt pocket and produced a card.The deputy looked rather flustered as he handed over the cards. “Uh…here. Will that be all for now, sir?”I was not at all pleased, so I chose my words with precision. “Yeah. That’ll be all. For now.” He wasn’t going to get a “sir” out of me.They hurried to their patrol car and climbed in, started the motor, and left quickly. And I thought about what had just happened. I glanced down at the two tan business cards. Each was embossed with the Sheriff’s badge, so I knew they really were deputies. My anger subsided quickly, and I was puzzled by it. This had really happened; otherwise, I might have thought it was an elaborate practical joke. This was no laughing matter. I wondered who might make such an bizarre, nasty claim. Who would accuse me of saying such a thing? At school, of all places?And why?This was only the start of what would become a terrible, painful, and - for a long time - a baffling mystery.I went back into the house, picked up my cellphone and scrolled through the alphabetized list. I found the number of my supervisor, Kay. The call went to her voicemail. I told her it was me, and told her to please return my call, the moment she got the message, no matter how late it might be, or how early the next day. And, I added that, no…..it’s not an emergency, but it’s extremely important. Then I clicked the button, ending the call. It was late, so I didn’t expect a call that night. But I knew Kay, and I figured she’d call me on Saturday. If not Saturday, she’d certainly call on Sunday.Kay didn’t call. I called her again, at noon Sunday, and left another message: I needed to speak to her on a very urgent matter, before Monday. Kay, please call me. At once. It’s urgent.No response.On Monday morning, I arrived at school an hour early, knowing the administration would want to discuss this with me. I wasn’t worried; why should I be? I hadn’t done anything wrong. This was all some sort of goofy mix-up - not a joke, but some kind of misunderstanding. Or something. But I couldn’t begin to figure out how it had happened, whether it was a deliberate attempt to harm or discredit me, or whether it was some kind of cruel, tasteless prank. I didn’t know who had made the original report, or to whom, or what it was based on, or the timeline involved. Most of all, there was one things I wanted to know…..and had to know. Why had this happened?I had no sooner unlocked my office door and set my briefcase on my desk when the office door opened again. My principal walked in….and I’ll never forget the look on his face. He’s a big man - at least 6′4″ and 240 pounds. Solid muscle.For a moment, I thought he was going to punch my lights out. He glowered at me. “You and I are going to my office. Let’s go!”I nodded, and he held my office door open, because he seemed to want me to pass by him. For a moment, I was hesitant to do so; he was clearly furious. As I stepped past him, and into the hall, he slammed the door so hard that it echoed down the hall. Then, the long, silent walk to his office. He didn’t walk beside me. Rather, he stayed about 5 feet away, behind me, and to my left. I was being escorted to the office in an official capacity. I didn’t turn to look, but I knew he was watching me closely. Neither of us said a word. Even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, it didn’t seem prudent to say anything until there were others present. Most of all, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know how he might react to it.We arrived at his office, and the door was already open. Inside were the assistant Superintendent of Schools, whom I knew by sight, but had never met before; my supervisor, Kay, who was trembling so that I thought she might become physically ill. There was a thin, bespectacled young man, who turned out to be the District’s union representative; and finally, a woman I didn’t know, who immediately introduced herself as the Human Resources Director. She smiled, and extended her hand, motioning me toward a chair. I smiled, shook her hand, and took the chair. When I sat, the assistant Superintendent froze, then hastily slid her chair away from me. The principal drew a chair forward, and sat down. He stared at the wall without seeing it, and despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at me, he was watching. Kay didn’t smile; she took a chair as far from me as possible. At first, she seemed to be scanning the room, as though planning her quickest exit. She finally sat, but avoided my eyes altogether. The bespectacled man perched on a chair and fiddled with a small tape recorder, as he prepared to record what was about to transpire. He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t introduce himself; he seemed unaware that I was even in the room.The Director came straight to the point. Her voice was businesslike, but her tone was reassuring. “Well, I’m sure you know why we’ve asked you here this morning.” I nodded. “We want you to know the District will conduct a full investigation of this matter, and we shall get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, I’m sure you understand why we’ll need you to be away from school for the time being…” and she looked at me sympathetically. “You DO understand, am I right?”“Yes, I understand.” I smiled at her - but not too much, lest she think I was somehow pleased with myself over all this. Yet I got the impression that she knew this was not what it appeared to be.“Thank you. Please understand that we are NOT suspending you. You are NOT being suspended, and you are NOT being punished. You shall be paid your full salary while you are away. We believe this will take about a week, and you shall be called when we are ready for your return. The Union representative shall be your District contact person,” and she gestured toward the young man, who looked up at me and blinked. “We have already arranged to have a substitute take your classes while you’re gone. Your students shall be told that you are away, on school business, and that you shall be back in a few days. Is that all satisfactory?”“Yes. Thank you.” Again, I didn’t want to appear too eager, nor to convey any emotion at all. But what was I supposed to be feeling? What’s with the overly formal tone, and the repetitions, and all the “shalls?”At the same time, I was somehow reassured by those words; she understood that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was certain of it. Her voice was kind and it seemed to be just brimming with a mixture of sympathy and resolve. I couldn’t possibly be the first teacher who’d ever experienced something like this! I was the victim of some terrible prank, or attack, or…..or something. Telling my students that I’d be back “in a few days” seemed to confirm that. What else could I do but wait? The District would investigate, and it would all be cleared up in a few days. No problem.“We shall also ask that you communicate with no District employees during this process, not by telephone, email, in written form, nor in person. And should anyone attempt to contact you, please call my office immediately. Here’s my business card,” and she handed me the card. “Now, if you need anything, or have any questions at all, please call my office, and speak with me - and me only. Is that clear?”“Yes.”“Good.” She smiled. “As you know, this is a very, very serious matter, and because we do not know what happened, nor who might be involved, we cannot take any chances. Do you have any questions?”“No. Thank you.” But I did have a question: what had she meant by “as you know?” Of course I knew; in this age of school shootings, how could anyone NOT know? Yet there seemed to be a hint of recrimination in that phrase, a scintilla of blame. It was though she was saying “we wouldn’t even be IN this predicament, if it hadn’t been for you! You’ve been very, VERY bad!“You can expect to hear from the Union representative toward the end of the week,” Once again, he looked up and blinked.“Now, is there anything in your office, or in your classroom, that you shall need?”“Yes. My briefcase. And, ahh….I have a basket of…ah….student homework that I’d like to grade this week? Would that be all right?” I said it this way, because I didn’t want to make it seem as though all of this was purposely laid-out - like I’d needed a few days off to grade homework, and this seemed like a sensible way to achieve that goal.She laughed, but somehow, it was more like she was humoring me. “Oh, gosh, yes! By all means! I’m sure your substitute would be delighted to let you take care of that. Mr. Boyel, do you have any questions?”The bespectacled man looked up, looked puzzled, and finally shook his head. Then he tilted his head slightly, and looked slightly bewildered - as thought he’d heard the floor itself speaking to him, then he said, in a thin, reedy voice “Can you stop by my office before you leave town today? We’ll HAVE to go over some things.”The message in these words: What a shame. Just look at all the trouble you’ve caused; and now, we’ll never see the sun again. Never…..I began to wonder if every person in this room was so completely ashamed of me that the very floor would open beneath my feet, and swallow me whole.“Yes, I can do that. What’s the address, please?”He looked at me with a pallid, listless expression, and seemed to hang his head mournfully as he recited it - and, almost wistfully, he told me he really hoped I might be there in………an hour?His expression, tone, and words carried the dismal tidings: There was scant hope at all that I could even begin to find his office, and it’s hardly worth the effort to give you the address - but maybe you’ll be there someday.Doubtful. But maybe.Throughout it all, Kay said nothing. She kept her face turned slightly away, ensuring that I would not catch her eye. But she continued to look elsewhere - anywhere else. At the empty bookshelf. To the plain, blank wall. At the dull gray carpeting. It all held so much more of interest to her than I could every hope to be again.Kay? Oh, please, Kay! Please! Won’t you look at me?Never before had I experienced such complete helplessness. I was adrift and alone, forlorn and forsaken, humbled and humiliated. They had not merely stripped me naked, and cast me into the street. I was, in fact, disemboweled….and all were too sickened at the sight of me to know my distress.“All right, then. I believe we’re finished for now.” The Director stood and consulted her Blackberry, ready to be off to her next contretemps. She strode past me, and I heard the click click-clicking of her shoes on the tile floor. And then, all at once, she was gone, and I was truly alone.The HR Director had been the only person here who was a person at all.The only one here who seemed to have any awareness at all that what had happened, the reason we had met under these circumstances, were, in fact, a lie.It had never happened, and they had no interest in knowing the truth.I had never said those words. I had never said them.Never thought them. Never would think them.I had NOT said, “I’m planning ‘to go postal’ at our next faculty meeting.”What had I said? Nothing of the sort!I’m not “planning” beyond my office, a week’s math lessons. ZNow, I wouldn’t go there.“Our next faculty meeting” was to have been that afternoon.Now, I wouldn’t be there.And “to go postal” to the brick building, close to my home.Now, I would go there.The place I go, for my mail, weekdays and Saturdays.Now, I would be there always.A criminal “goes postal.” I was a criminal. Someone had made me a criminal!Who?And why?None who remained wanted anything more to do with me.The Union representative had vanished. I hadn’t seen him go.What was his name again? Mr. Boy? He was young. Too young. He couldn’t help me.“Never send a Boy to do a man’s job.” I’d heard that many times, back in college,when we played cards. Bridge, and 500. Mr., Boy. A college Boy.No, wait. Not “Boy.”The principal rose, and without looking at me, said, “Let’s go. I want you off this campus before school starts.”On that unfriendly note, he and I made our way back to my office. He followed me as before, behind and slightly to my left, and he said nothing. I grabbed my briefcase from my office, and the homework basket from my classroom next door. He stood at the classroom door, and I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the room, as if daring me to touch anything other than that basket. I left the room and relocked the door.Then he growled, “Side door. Right now,” and jerked his head toward the double side doors at the far end of the classroom pod. I walked toward the doors, as he followed, and just as I was about to exit, he spoke up sharply.“Give me your keys.”I turned around, puzzled. I’ll be back in a few days. Why does he want my keys?“Your keys. Now,” and he held out his hand.I unhooked the two interior keys, and the magnetic fob that provided access to the building, from my keychain, and dropped them into his outstretched hand. The contemptuous look had returned, and he stared out the window.I wanted to throw those damned keys as far down the hall as possible. And in retrospect, I wish that I had. This guy had always been a bit stand-offish and condescending, but he was young - 20 years my junior - so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was no longer just a PE teacher, but a high school principal, which gave him status, with that peculiar mix of arrogance and egotism some principals develop when they rise too far, too soon. He was going to be fine, once he got more comfortable in his own skin. I had no issues with him. But now, he had issues with me, and I was dirt under his feet. In the past hour, this man had changed from a slightly oafish, but reasonably competent, building administrator into something unrecognizable.Give him the keys, I told myself. I’ll get them back next week.I met with the Union rep for over an hour that morning, repeating every detail over and over again: the perfectly ordinary school day; the routine evening at home; the late-night visit from two deputies - one sneering, fingering his revolver, and the other intense, then defensive; the ignored phone messages to Kay; the hostile, glaring principal, intimidated…by nothing! And, most of all - worst of all - how I had absolutely no idea who, or how, or why someone would make such a vicious, horrible accusation. the idea that I would ever make such an idiotic, ugly threat - and in so many words, too. Words I had never used, considered using, or even thought about using, ever; and most certainly not at school. Words quoted directly to me, by an officer of the law: interrogating me: “Did you make that statement?” The very idea that I would go armed with intent, into MY OWN school. A safe place, a good place. To hurt people? To kill people? With a gun….and I hadn’t even held a gun in my two hands since I was 10 years old, with my dad, at a trap shoot. The first, and only, time I ever fired that gun - rifle? shotgun? I don’t know - it knocked me flat on my back. And my dad laughed.I never touched a gun again. And now, someone decided to place it in my hands.Four days later, the Union rep called me at home. The District had completed its investigation, and wanted me to return to school the following Monday. But first, they wanted to meet with me, at 7:15 am. School started at 7:30, so I knew it was little more than a formality. I understood; they wanted to tell me the results of that investigation. By this time, I didn’t even care about the resolution. I knew it wasn’t me…..and I didn’t care who, or even why. I just wanted to go back to school, and let this entire ugly incident disappear into memory.The following Monday, I arrived at school at 7:00. I couldn’t enter the building by my usual route, because the principal had confiscated my keys. So I used the main entrance. I walked into the office, greeted the receptionist, the secretaries, and the other people who were there at that early hour. Nice people, each and every one. They had never been anything but kind to me.The team was already assembled, in the Conference Room this time. The same cast…with one exception: Kay was not there. Fine; Kay and I would work things out, in time, once she learned the truth, that this whole thing was nothing more than a hoax. But the principal was there, the assistant Superintendent of Schools, the Union rep, and the Director, the youngish woman who had been so polite and decent about it all.They beckoned me to come in, and I did, taking the chair they had designated for me. I was smiling…I couldn’t help it. I was back to school, and that was all that mattered. Nothing else mattered. At its most basic, school is about students, and a teacher. That was the center of it all, the core, and all else revolved about it, fleeting and then gone. Tell me what you need to tell me, I’ll thank you, pick up my briefcase and my homework basket, go to my office, and get ready for Algebra II at 7:30. Me, and 18 juniors. Life will go on.The Director reached into the black folder she had beside her, and pulled out a single piece of paper. She placed it before her, on the table. I saw that it had just one short paragraph. This would not take long. The explanation would be very brief. Mercifully, blissfully brief.She cleared her throat. Then she looked up…..and WITHOUT looking down the paper, not even once……..she recited the findings:“The result of the District’s investigation reveal that you DID make that statement, on Friday, October 4, 2013, at approximately 3:30 pm, in the presence of an employee of this District, who shall remain anonymous. This individual, recognizing it as a credible and imminent threat, immediately reported it to a member of the Administrative Team, and as a result, XXXX City Police Department was called.“As a result of this investigation, you are hereby suspended immediately, for a period of three days, without pay. You are hereby ordered to leave this campus immediately, and you are not to return until Thursday morning, October 17, 2013, at 7:20 am. At that time, the file on this case will be permanent sealed, and all reference to it will be expunged from your employment record.“You are further ordered not to make any reference to it, neither orally nor in writing, to any employee of this District. All affected parties have been duly notified on this order, and should you choose to violate this order, by speaking about it, or by referring to it in any way, to any affected party, such party has been instructed to immediately contact me, with the details, and the District will take immediate action against you, up to, and including, termination.”Just then, the principal slid a sealed envelope across the table toward me. I picked it up, and it felt slightly heavy and bulky. My keys. I was overwhelmed by the unreality of what had just happened. I couldn’t think. I could barely breathe.I remember very little about the rest of that day. Classes happened. Students came and went, and the bells rang, reminding us all that time marks itself, and then moves on. The Earth continued to turn……and in so doing, it seems to force the sun to cross the sky. The sun really doesn’t cross the sky. It’s an illusion.I was really there that day. But it wasn’t really me that day. It was an illusion. I never really felt secure in that building again. Security was, itself, really an illusion.That illusion was very short-lived. In December, after consultation with my attorneys and the Union representative, I accepted the terms of a negotiated release from my teaching contract. I was awarded eight months’ pay. In January, I received an offer to teach high school mathematics in a school district in another state, beginning in the second semester. J took part in two telephone interviews; they hired me, sight unseen. But how had they heard of me? How had they known how to reach me?Well, the administrator replied, someone from your old school contacted us, and said you might be available. They even gave us your telephone number.Who was it? Well, actually, the person hadn’t said. But they spoke very highly of you. So, how about it? Will you take the position?I asked for three days to think it over, and they agreed. I wondered….who had recommended me? I thought back. Someone from the past. But the past was painful. The same questions, only this time with a different reality. Who, and how - and why. Always, always, the same question.Why?Finally, with great apprehension, I decided to leave the past in the past. I accepted the offer. I moved 320 miles north, to a new town, where nobody knew me, and I was careful to keep it that way, too. I taught there for three years, then my new state allowed me to take early retirement. For 24 years, I loved to teach. Then, one terrible event destroyed it. It destroyed my sense of reality. It made reality itself into an illusion.Why?It’s been six years now, and the questions remain. I can usually put them behind me, but the reality is, they’ll always be there. I know that now. I had wanted to know - I demanded to know - but I would never be told. “Affected parties” had seen to that. The HR Director did reveal the how - that day, in the Conference Room. I believe I know the who - but perhaps it doesn’t matter who. That individual, that “affected party” had, once upon a time, made a fateful, terrible, and destructive decision, and in so doing, I became an “affected party.” In that sense, perhaps I’ve been the only “affected party” all along.Why?That individual did an evil thing. He (or she) lied. Falsely reporting the threat of such a crime is itself a crime. My lawyer friend explained this to me. He (or she) was never prosecuted for it, nor did the person face any consequences from the school district.Why?I haven’t come to terms with it. The reality is, I was accused to contemplating a very serious crime. And threatening to carry it out! Making terroristic threats. And what happened? I was suspended for three days without pay. Nothing more. This reality, in turn, gave rise to still another reality - and it was my lawyer friend who pointed it out. A reality he found positively astounding……and it was TWO YEARS before either of us even realized it.During the course of that District investigation, I was never interviewed, nor questioned, nor asked to provide a statement. And that’s not all: the District had no idea that I had even been questioned by the deputies. I know, because my lawyer friend called the Sheriff’s Office, and they told him they had nothing on file. There was no record of a criminal investigation - nor even a report of a suspected crime - which means no report was filed. It had been a “welfare check.” That’s what the deputies told me…..and, to them, that’s all it was….so they didn’t bother filing a report. In other words, why file a report, when there’s nothing to report?That’s why they had lost interest in talking to me. I simply had nothing to tell them.What I never did discover, though, was the answer to one crucial question. The one question that echoes in my mind, six years later. It wakes me in the night, when I hear a sudden noise, and I can’t go back to sleep again. It haunts me in the day, when a stranger looks at me in the grocery store, for no apparent reason, and I have to turn away, or leave the store, and I’m quaking with a terror that I can’t explain, or resolve, or conquer. And I’m ashamed because of it, and ashamed by it, and I’m ashamed of myself. I’m ashamed by a reality that wasn’t real.For six years, I’ve been ashamed of something I didn’t do, and could never do. I’m ashamed of an illusion.But it wasn’t an illusion. It really happened. The illusion became reality. It’s my reality.Why did this happen at all? Why did it happen to me?Why?NOTE: The facts described herein are true.. It happened precisely as I have described, and it happened to me. Some details have been excluded for personal reasons, but no relevant detail has been omitted. The conversations detailed herein are authentic, but in some cases, precise wording of those conversations has been recreated, but not fictionalized. True names have been changed to protect the innocent from the guilty - or, perhaps, the guilty from the innocent.

Uh, you have quite a lot choice here. I would be careful though, because you may need a social intranet instead of a collaboration tool. Or rather both???According to well known experts in the field, standard social intranets have 3 main downfalls.Here I will explain to you why you do not need to worry about them.​Social intranets have been around for quite some time now. Any re-launch of an intranet is nowadays planned as a social intranet, for which there are loads of ready made tools like JIVE, COYOTE, BITRIX24 etc... And yes, the idea seems appealing! You get an employee information and communication tool that facilitates working together!However, there are three main downfalls to that thought:Security of Information or Reach?One of the biggest touted advantages of social intranet is their reach compared to traditional intranets.Communication needs reachAnd yes, the reach of a social intranet is way higher than just writing a blog post on a traditional intranet. Every employee has an account and can potentially access any information at the touch of a button. Most social intranets also have a responsive website (meaning that they can be viewed on a mobile) but employees have to login every day into it - and honestly, would any of your employees do that? If the answer to that is Yes, then please contact us over the support button, because we would like to know how you do it!!!Communication actually needs real REACH.IT means that it should be possible to contact every employee, even though they have not got any access to a computer or are not sitting in the office.The only solution to this dilemma is that if your social Intranet is reachable via an app over each employee's smartphone. An app does not need to be logged in every day and an app also offers the benefit of allowing push notifications (even if the user is currently not on the app) which DRAMATICALLY increases the reach and engagement of users. Furthermore, it is possible to tailor the necessary push notifications and/or the content to the user, meaning that employees will engage with the app much more as it will help them in their work.Reach vs Security of Information​The issue of accessibility is often complicated by issues of data protection. Most companies in Europe use a graded security level for each of their data. The normally used categories are:ExternalInternalConfidentialStrictly confidential data.Normally, for real reach, you can only choose information that belongs to categories 1 or 2, which can be easily covered by above mentioned apps. But the problem is that when working on projects, data belonging to categories 3 and 4 often also make their way into the social intranet.And here is the problem. How do you prevent these Confidential and Strictly Confidential data from diffusing out into the intranet when people are working on projects together? It is near impossible!SION has thought of a very elegant solution.Social intranets miss the two biggest trends in digital collaborationAt the heart of every social intranet are virtual rooms containing document storage, team blogs, task management and wikis. These can be used by every team member to improve collaboration. These team rooms are good for structuring the information in a structured way but they are not ideal for collaboration.In recent years, there have been some interesting developments in the form of collaboration tools.Team Messaging​In recent years, one form of collaboration has been replacing emails and that is team messaging. Tools such as Slack and Microsoft Teams have shown how to do collaboration across team groups. After only two years, Microsoft has managed to get 329000 companies to use its tools for internal communications.But what about the structured data from the social intranet team forums? What about having both in one tool?The new product SION includes exactly that. At the heart, it is a social intranet and has got these virtual rooms but it also has, exactly like the above mentioned team messaging tools, the possibilities to join groups streams, receive updates on team projects and even video conferencing possibilities. All in one tool.Video conferencingAs the corona crisis has shown, companies will be moving more and more towards remote work. It simply works.One of the things though that is missing in order to effectively collaborate is seeing the facial expressions of the other person that you are currently phoning with. Yes you can have another tool for it, but that is another tool that you have to spend money on, that increases the confusion of the employees in the multitude of tools that are being used in the company.It would be ideal if social intranets could catch up on that vital trend. SION is currently the only one that I know that offers Chats, Calls, Video Calls and Conferencing. No more trying to piece together thousands of tools into one working tool collection, and after a short time, one single one fails and the whole IT-construct of your IT company falls together...Social intranets miss innovations for employee engagementOne of the central duties of an Intranet is that it should support the employee in his day to day tasks, thus increasing the productivity of that employee as well as his engagement. And here all the social intranets fail.Continuous employee evaluation via gamification​One of the biggest trends where current social intranets completely miss out on is gamification. Computer games rely on the social conditioning of its users. For example, the most popular games use a point system in order to show how far along a person is to leveling his character up and opening up new features for his character etc...In recent years, other parts of the economy have started taking up on this gamification idea to promote certain behaviour in its users. A good example of this is Class Dojo. Good behaviour in class is rewarded by giving the avatar of a child Plus points or bad behaviour results in Minus points. The psychology behind this is actually quite old, from 1902. The experiment is called Pavlov's Dog.What about using this gamification to reward productive behaviour or smaller achievements on a continuous basis? Great idea? Then you can read more here!SION uses this new trend of gamification to further increase the productivity of the employees. Managers or designated employees can give other employees a continuous assessment, thus rewarding productive behavior. At the same time, the employee gets conditioned to be productive and gets a continuous assessment of their performance.AccessibilityThis part has already been discussed extensively above. Current social intranets do not the actual real reach that they claim to have. Over 65% of current employees do not have every day access to a computer terminal. These are not at all reached via traditional social intranets.Some social intranet apps start to emerge now, but their use is often not as intuitive as one would like and they do not allow the fine-tuned push notification customisation that normal apps should normally have.SION is based on the lessons learnt running the popular social network International Friends. Its success is mainly due to its mobile first strategy that has allowed International Friends to grow and become an established app in the social network field. The same strategy is also employed in SION, which gives your chances of a successful Intranet launch a huge boost.Focus on all types of company internal communicationFocus on all types of company internal communicationAs we have seen in the above, social intranets are good at providing a space for organising documentation and presenting it in a structured way. However, social intranets need to allow much more than that. They need to enable the employee to efficiently collaborate on documents, to efficiently communicate and also to motivate employees. The communication is now all about team messaging. The upper management needs to be able to reach every employee, while the divisional lead needs to be able to be able to talk to the 50 or so employees that are under her area of responsibility, while project teams need to be able to contact all members of the project even though they may come from other areas.Also, as it became especially clear during the corona pandemic, it is vitally important to have video telephone calls so as to avoid any miscommications and enable us to effectively communicate with each other. It is NOT useful to have this part integrated in another tool and another tool, but it should be directly part of the Social Intranet (effectively moving it to be a Social Collaboration Intranet). The user should not have to jump to another application with a different user experience and a different password etc.Conclusion​Social intranets have been around for a decade now. The standard social intranets though have three glaring downfalls:Social Intranets claim to have a big reach, however with a big reach comes also the problem of data security, with confidential data often being spread to non-confidential placesSocial Intranets miss the two biggest trends in collaboration: Team messaging and Video conferencingSocial Intranets miss innovations in employee engagements.All in all, if you set up a social intranet, be sure to consider the above points as your new social intranet may soon become obsolete because nobody will use it.However, there are ways around the above problems. A new type of Social Intranet is currently rising, aimed at Small to Medium sized businesses with the aim to provide a complete digital workplace. SION belongs to these new types of Social Intranets​.