Sunnyside Academy

“If walls could talk”. I bet you’ve heard that one. Of course walls can talk. It’s just a matter of who we have the good sense to talk to. Right? Humans are quite self-centered, so if we don’t choose to talk to them they assume we can’t talk. You and I know better.

I mean, I like humans all in all. They’re very interesting to observe, especially where I live. My address is Room 205, Sunnyside Academy. I live in a school. I’m the east wall on the east side of the building so I think it’s a pretty good address. I can feel the sun on my back every morning. It’s very pleasant most of the time.. The light filters through my windows at dawn and makes lovely shadows on the walls. Sunnyside wasn’t always the name of the school, but they changed it recently since it came to light that the person it was named after was not a very reputable human being. It wasn’t named Hitler High or anything like that, but after all these years Sunnyside is a nice change.

But I’m blathering on about me when I should be thanking you Mr. Archie Stone! What a brilliant way to set up long distance wall to wall communication. When the computer screen lit up a couple weeks ago at about midnight with your message I thought it was a dream. I couldn’t believe my apertures! I thought, is this really a message for me? I memorized your email address like it said before it vanished. Anyway, it took me a little while to recruit a mouse and a fly and teach them to do my bidding, but I’ve always been a good communicator. And of course I’ve been occupied by mice for years and there’s always a fly on the wall. Fleance (the fly) had some confusion for a bit about the difference between “mouse” and “mouse”, until we learned that the mouse’s name was Al. I just wanted you to know that I got the message and I’m all in on helping you with your project. I’ll get back to you real soon. Yours truly, Walter J. Facade.

ps. Did you get the picture I sent you? It’s my view in the room where I live. The human in the photo is Mr. Casteneda. He’s the teacher in this room presently. He’s a really hard worker and an inspirational math teacher. Al took the picture. I think he’s got a very good eye for an amateur.

Dear Mr. Stone, This is a silly way to start I know, but do you know what’s really annoying? Constantly having people stick pins in you. I know you don’t have this problem since you’re a block of granite, but youch! They do it all the time. It’s some type of teacher obsession to poke holes in us. I know, first world problem, right? Whatever that means. Anyway, how are things in the Castle Library? Must be pretty quiet compared to here. It gets really noisy here sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to back in the day. When I was first a wall this was a kindergarten room. Wow, I was really green. Literally. My paint was barely dry. They must have gotten that paint on sale from the Pentagon, because it was really ugly. Anyway, I was really thankful for the teacher, Miss Ross. She had been around as long as mud huts, but she really knew what she was doing. She taught me my A,B,Cs . It took six years, but still. Those little kids were so cute. And so loud! I don’t know how Miss Ross took it. And she was so calm, and so kind to the children. I did hear her say to the class one day that she’d be right back because she needed to take one of her “nerve pills.” I don’t know what that meant, but when she came back she was especially calm. As I say, she taught me the alphabet. What do you do all day in the library? Is it drafty? Do you ever see the Queen? I hear she’s charming. Oh, and another thing. When Miss Ross put her hand in the air the kids stopped moving and stopped talking. It was like a fairy tale. I really believe she knew magic. And so did the kids. But during “Talk like you talk” period it really taught a wall what the word reverberation meant. But they’re so cute! And I almost forgot. I loved “Nap Time.” Yours truly, Walter J. Facade

Dear Mr. Stone, I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. You’ve been standing there hundreds of years more than I have. I suppose you would prefer the tranquility given your previous brief stint as a torture chamber. I’ll try and keep in mind that you’ve been around quite a while and you surely have much useful wisdom to impart. Have you seen any Queens in your venerable career? Anyways, Miss Ross was there for my first ten years. Then she retired and started a worm farm. Just kidding. I’m sure she had a long and happy retirement. She was followed by Miss Anderson who taught 3rd grade. Miss Anderson was young and sweet and pretty. All the girls wanted to be just like her and all the boys were secretly in love with her (Note to humans: Walls can not only talk, they can listen, so if you've got a secret to keep, like you're in love with Miss Anderson, you might not want to whisper it to your pal while a wall is standing around). Miss Anderson eventually became Mrs. Fiske and had three kids of her own, but the girls still wanted to be like her and the boys were still secretly in love with her. Oh, I almost forgot, Al says he would be happy to increase the font size. What would you like? And is there any particular font you would prefer? It does get very quiet here too, especially at night. Sometimes the only thing you can hear is the back and forth swish of Malcolm’s mop. Yours truly, Wally

Arch, (do you mind if I call you Arch?), That’s pretty funny! Who would have thought THAT Queen would have read THAT kind of book. Wait till the other walls hear about this. I’m not into that kind of gossip, but what kind of clothes and jewelry did she like? Asking for another wall.

The boredom season is always June, July, and August. The last thing the teachers do before they leave is pull the pins out of you and take down all the signs telling what time everything starts and stops, and probably some rules that the teacher tricked the kids into making up that they’ve been stuck obeying all year, and signs saying what an adverb is or how to add and subtract fractions or when the war of 1812 was or how to make a hypothesis without matches. It’s always quite a relief to be rid of the pins for the summer, but the furniture is piled in the corner of the room, and all you can see is darkness through the windows into the hall and you miss all those raucous voices you thought you hated. The only good thing is that everything eventually smells like a fresh coat of wax. I like that smell. I’m not sure it’s good for me but I like it. The only other good thing is this. If you look at the picture of Mr. Castenadas room, just to the left of the edge of the photo there is a mirror that for some reason has always been there. So I’ve always been able to see the outdoors reflected in the mirror and through the window. I can see the leaves in the trees or the snow on their branches. I feel a kinship with the trees. I think you can find scientific diagrams that show we’re part of the same evolutionary branch. The Piñon Partition by Woodrow Rincon is one of my favorite books. I love the part where the tree is turned into the trim of the chalkboard. It was so realistic.

After the summer they repainted the walls, green again, (a new shade, Goose Turd Green), comes the year Mr. Metamorphosis arrived. He lasted all the way from the Beatles to the fall of the Berlin Wall (an epic now studied in Wall History 101). I think Mr. Metamorphosis was the first male teacher ever in the school. This was during when they were transitioning from elementary to secondary grades. I can’t see what goes on in the hall but I’ve heard it’s quite amusing to watch the captain of the basketball team attempt to use the drinking fountains that were once just right for 1st graders. Mr. Morph (as the kids called him) was not only the first male teacher but also the first black teacher at the school. Oh my plaster! You’d have thought the neighborhood was going to fight the Civil War all over again. And Sunnyside is NOT in the south in case you were wondering, so get off your high horse any Yankee who happens to see this. The Beatles were singing I want to hold your hand that year but not too many people in this neighborhood were humming along. You wouldn’t believe things that were splattered on my back, not to mention the words I heard shouted from the street. And meanwhile within the walls Mr. Morph was calmly working to turn the students into decent human beings. Eventually his kindness seeped out into the homes in the neighborhood, and of course, irony of ironies, this school now has an annual award given in his honor. I hope things are going well at the Castle Library. Process soon, Wally

Dear Arch, I’m sorry to hear about your mother. Had she been crumbling long? Did she have a “Do Not Repair” order? Are you giving the eulogy? I remember you said she loved The Wall Not Climbed by Jack Frost. Perhaps you’ll read that? Sorry to be so intrusive. I just know it’s hard losing a loved wall.

Gosh, I haven’t even told you about any of the individual students at this school! I’ve seen a profusion of amazing human behavior while standing here minding my own business, I’ll tell you that. I remember my very first year there was this big little kid. I mean there was this little kid, but he was bigger than all the other little kids, so they kind of looked up to him because, you know, they had to. Anyway his name was Ralph Waldo and wasn’t good at doing puzzles. And word on the playground was that you had to be able put together all ten puzzles or you flunked kindergarten. It was the beginning of May and Ralph was still only on puzzle 7. And they get harder and harder! He even started staying in from recess to work on the puzzles. He'd scrunch up his face and puff out his cheeks and turn those puzzle pieces every which way but all to no avail. Everyone was afraid Ralph Waldo wouldn’t make it, but somehow he pulled through. Personally I think some backroom deals were made with Miss Ross. The next fall Ralph Waldo was in Mrs. Landy’s 1st grade class with all the rest of them studying the adventures of Dick, Jane and Sally. I don’t know whatever became of Ralph but I never did hear of him winning a Nobel Prize or anything like that.

A favorite of mine was Jenny Ashland. She always snuggled up to me and stared out the windows on the south wall, Señor South. His real name is Larry, but he likes us to call him Señor. Sometimes Jenny just stared out the windows. Sometimes she wrote in her diary. I’m not even sure she knew what class she was in, or cared. Her mind was somewhere in deep space and I totally get it. February nights will send me there. I’m not proud of it but when she wrote in her diary I’d peer over her shoulder to see what she was saying. Unfortunately she didn’t have a very happy life. I won’t reveal her thoughts but it was clear she needed help from someone and I knew just who. I asked Larry what he thought and we came up with a plan. Larry was inhabited by a wise old mouse at the time who agreed to recruit some help from his young nephew, Horatio. It was really quite simple. There was a small Heartleaf philodendron on a shelf right above where Jenny would lean on me. Horatio hid up there, did a little mouse math, and calculated just the right amount of force needed to launch the plant so it would land in Jenny’s lap. Right in the middle of class as Jenny was watching a squirrel scamper up the oak tree a few feet from Larry the philodendron came tumbling down into Jenny’s lap and she suddenly burst out sobbing. This had just the desired effect and within minutes Jenny was in a soft chair in Ms. Peterson’s office. Betty Peterson is a magical social worker worth her weight in gold, and she quickly saw that Jenny needed some serious help. Jenny was gone then from school for a long time, but when she came back she was a changed girl. Still serious, still quiet, still more interested in the other side of the window than what was going on in the front of the room, but changed. Like a giant weight had been lifted off her shoulders. I won’t name names but a famous female American poet used to lean on me (for inspiration I’m sure). Nobody knows how Ms. Peterson does her magic but us walls know her worth, and we could name a few people whose worth in gold would have to be calculated in milligrams. I’m sure your mother’s funeral will be a time to celebrate many wonderful memories. Be strong for those around you. Sincerely, Walter

Hi Arch, Just wondering if the information I’m sending about my life is helping with your project. I hope so. I was just thinking about the day the spaceship Challenger exploded. It was a school day and I think it was in January. It happened in the morning, before lunch. Mr. Morph taught Social Studies and had a TV in his room so he turned it on as soon as the Principal announced something about it over the loudspeaker. The kids were 7th graders and they didn’t know how to react. They were shocked of course, but they didn’t know just what to do. A couple boys made explosion sounds and giggled, but most of the kids just stared at their desks and a couple girls started to cry and a few boys looked like they might too and Mr. Morph looked sad. After a few minutes he began talking softly to the students. He talked about how sad he felt and how it was OK to be sad when something terrible happened. He talked about how brave astronauts must have to be and teachers too and even kids when something really terrible happens. Then they all sat there quietly for a long time. I guess lots of terrible things have happened while I’ve been here. Terrible things big and small. Weathered by children short and tall. Weathered by teachers and weathered by walls. Weathered by summer weathered by fall. Weathered by poets who lurk in the hall. Just a little impromptu wall poetry for you. Sorry. Sometimes I say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like my thoughts on. Wally

Arch, Glad to send you more stories about teachers and students! That’s what I enjoy the most about my situation. Wow! The Queen walked by in the hall during your mother’s service? What an honor! Unfortunately I have some disturbing news. Fleance has disappeared. I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks. Al and I are getting things done on our own, but I’m worried. Al is asking around. I’ll let you know what I hear.

Returning to my school stories, after Mr. Morph the most favorite teacher of most kids was Ms. KZ. Her name was Katherine Zambini, but everybody called her MS. KZ, even the staff. She came swooping in at the turn of the 21st century, armed with a personality the size of Texas, stories galore, the temper of a rattlesnake, and a booming laugh. She had an amazing whistle. She could control a lunchroom of middle schoolers with one whistle and a hand in the air. She probably robbed stagecoaches in a former life.

In September of her first year she decided to start out the year with her unit on the Sacred Four Paragraph Essay. Coincidentally this particular group of seventh graders was obsessed with sharpening their pencils. Ms. KZ had an electric pencil sharpener that had seen better days and while she was giving the sacred instructions on the Four Paragraph Essay, the unsuspecting happy-go-lucky Cameron Nelson got up to sharpen his pencil. An electric pencil sharpener doesn’t make a pleasant sound on a good day, and this one made an excruciating whine when put into service, in addition to which it didn't actually sharpen pencils anymore, just ground them to a dull nub. Ms. KZ paused while Cameron attempted to sharpen his pencil, though technically he wasn’t supposed to be out of his seat during the sacred instructions. Then she continued, but Cameron, noticing his pencil still wasn’t sharp, stuck it back in the sharpener. Ms. KZ paused again. They played this game for a while, but finally Ms.KZ calmly walked over to the pencil sharpener, unplugged it, took it over to the open window and gently tossed it out the second story window. She kindly suggested that Cameron use one of the hand held sharpeners she kept in a basket, and then, without missing a beat, continued the sacred instructions. The buzz hit the lunchroom that the new teacher had thrown a pencil sharpener out the window and it wasn’t long before she was summoned to the Principal’s office and told in no uncertain terms not to throw pencil sharpeners out the window. And to her credit, she never did that again.

MS. KZ could hold her classes in thrall with her stories. One of the gems involved Valentine heartbreak. She was teaching personal narrative to her students and the tale took an entire class period to relate. In kindergarten Ms. KZ was deeply in love with Jimmy Botchy. The rule was this. If you brought valentines you had to bring one for everyone and no special ones were to be given out. This is boiler plate teacher instruction. Well, little KZ was having none of that. She put her Valentines in the line of bags on the table but when she reached Jimmy’s she dealt a super love filled Valentine off the bottom of the pile into Jimmy’s bag. Convinced they would be married at recess she headed happily out to the playground only to find, to her absolute horror, Jimmy kissing Corine Rupp. The curtain came crashing down on true love. Take attendance, add a few details and you’ve got a tale of heartbreak that fills a 52 minute class period. The students ate out of her hand, literally. She would be able to prove to you that you could get a room full of twelve year olds to work their butts off if you rewarded them each with a skittle.

MS. KZ did occasionally run afoul of administration. Once SHE got in trouble when a kid threw a trash can at her head. Apparently, she didn’t tell him to put the trash can down in a kind enough way before he cursed at her and threw it at her head. She was fond of telling this one to colleagues who stopped by her room so I heard it several times. She told them she had been sent to Anger Mountain, which I think was some kind of class where you dealt with your feelings.

On Fridays everyone was encouraged to wear some kind of gear from a favorite school or college.Ms. KZ was a big fan of Notre Dame so she was often decked out in her finest Notre Dame sweatshirt and hat and could be seen lecturing the boys in the hall outside our door about why the Georgia Bulldogs sucked. It was always lively in her room on Fridays. One Friday when they’d been discussing the Electoral College her little buddy Tobias was heard wondering aloud whether the Electoral College had a football team. Not long after a teacher presented Tobias with an Electoral College Football t-shirt which sported a very nice bogus logo. He couldn’t have been happier! He even went on to play college football. I could go on and on with stories about KZ and her students but Al’s nose is getting sore from tapping the keys. On the good news front Fleance has returned! He was just visiting some relatives who live in the gas station bathroom down on the corner. Case closed.

Well, it's time for summer vacation. They'll be unplugging the computers and piling up the furniture as soon as school is out so I won't be able to contact you again until fall. I've got lots more stories to tell you about my time here at Sunnyside Academy including stories about the current occupant of Room 205, Mr. Casteneda. I hope you have a productive summer working on your project. Until then, your faithful friend, Walter J. Facade.

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Mr. Casteneda? ......... Mr. Casteneda?

Oh, sorry Elena, I didn't hear you.

Yeah, you were really concentrating on your computer.

Uh, yeah... I was just looking at an email account I must have forgotten I had.

Well, I just wanted to say have a nice summer. And thanks for all your help. My parents are so proud I passed precalc. I don't think they thought I could do it.

Thanks Elena. But remember, you did all the work.

Ha! Maybe so. But if walls could talk I'm pretty sure they'd tell the world what a great teacher you are!