For most of my intermediate school years, I had an unconventional education at a school for gifted students grades 4 - 12 simply called Pine View School, in Sarasota, Florida. The 70s and 80s represented the early years of gifted education, and as such an experimental school such as Pine View attracted many innovative educators. Being a student there, I was exposed to many different teaching styles and perspectives, but perhaps the most inspiring and memorable was that of Solomon Malinsky.
Solomon Malinsky. How could you forget a name like that? But more importantly, how could you forget a guy like that? Standing maybe 5'10" and nearly as wide, Mr. Malinsky was built like a fire plug. His shirts always seemed too small, so tufts of salt and pepper hair peeked out of every opening, and numerous tattoos were often visible. I remember vividly on his tree trunk forearm he had an elaborate tattoo of an anchor with USMC underneath. I know my memory may be playing tricks on me, but I could swear he had a heart with "MOM" written inside tattooed on his other arm. Perhaps more memorable than anything were his glasses, black-rimmed standard-issue military glasses with lenses thicker than "bottle bottoms" that made his eyes appear to cover half of his face. (In a jest which went over most of our 6th and 7th grade heads, he humorously called these glasses his "birth control goggles.") Completing his look was the oversized black leather eyeglasses case that bulged out of his breast pocket like Godzilla's own pocket protector.
Mr. Malinsky's main subject as a teacher was life science. He didn't seem to enjoy teaching with textbooks very much, but for some reason he felt it necessary to use them some of the time. Perhaps this was a demand placed on him by the principal or school board. His classroom manner was both riotously humorous and sternly uncompromising. He definitely had a strong sense of "withitness," to borrow Kounin's term. Being a preadolescent boy, I often joined my colleagues in endless mischief in all of our other classes, but we learned quickly that no matter how sneaky or quiet we thought we were, it would be mere seconds before Mr. Malinsky would roar in his drill sergeant voice, "And what exactly do you think you are doing, Coleman?" And that would be the end of that. He always acted outraged at our misbehavior, but there was a definite gleam in his eye that sent us the message "Nice try, better luck next time." To us he seemed like a grown man that remembered what it was like to be a boy, and not only did he not mind a little mischief, but he expected it, perhaps viewing it as a sign of life.
It wasn't just boys that benefitted from his boisterous style. I saw him bring some of my female classmates out of their shells as well. He would often joke with the girls and give them a feeling that he was on their side. He would make comments like "Jill, I am sorry that you have to sit next to Coleman, but he needs all the help he can get. Plus he gave me a twenty dollar bill so I would put him next to you." No amount of denial on my part would suffice, but we all new it was part of his "schtick." Anyone who thought they would sit in the back corner and keep their head low to avoid participating was an immediate target for his questions. Most students yearned to be picked to come up to the front and be a part of one of his demonstrations, but inevitably he would find the one student who was trying to be invisible and "volunteer" the student. At first this might be awkward, but soon it seemed that many of the "quiet ones" from other classes were right in the mix in his class.
Where Mr. Malinsky really excelled was out of the classroom, which was where he frequently took us. I remember a field trip to South Lido Beach in particular. He took us into the surrounding wilderness, and as we waded through the tide pools, he would reach down and pull up everything from sea cucumbers to horseshoe crabs and tell us fascinating facts about them. It was a dazzling display of his knowledge, a completely extemporaneous lesson sans lesson plan, and his sense of respect and wonder for living things shone through. Soon he had us fanning out with nets and bags to discover other elements of the tide pool ecosystem, and it felt like real science, not a mediated cookbook lab exercise.
Another place where he demonstrated this technique was on our campus. Pine View in those days consisted of maybe thirty portable classrooms scattered in a dense south Florida pine thicket. In his many years at Pine View, Mr. Malinsky had become the self-proclaimed groundskeeper, planting everything from exotic tropical shrubs to every species of pine tree imaginable. He was always experimenting with grafting branches onto different kinds of trees and creating interesting hybrids. As a result of this, usually without any warning, often Mr. Malinsky would just tell us to stash our book bags and "Come on!" We would tramp around campus following our fearless leader's loping gait, stopping frequently for discussions and questions about the flora and fauna of the campus.
In an interesting twist, it wasn’t even during biology class when he taught me one of the best lessons ever. Being a predominantly outdoor campus, we were allowed to roam free and picnic during our lunch period. One day I was alone and frustrated about something, and I was hitting things with a stick I had found. Outside Mr. Malinsky’s room, there was a giant plant that had huge green leaves like lily pads. Some kind of bug often chewed holes in the leaves, and this gave me the idea to hit the leaves with my stick. It made it look like some monster had come and taken huge bites out of the plant, and I was quite satisfied with the aesthetic effect, so I continue to whack away at the leaves. But soon I heard Mr. Malinsky's echoing voice threw the walls of his classroom as he lectured his class and this reminded me of the danger I was in, so I scurried off.
Later that day, in my last period class, Creative Writing I believe it was, Mr. Malinsky burst into the door and bellowed "WHERE'S COLEMAN?!" All eyes settled on me, and before I knew what was happening, I was lifted from my seat by my ear and dragged to the other end of campus by Mr. Malinsky's bear paw of a hand. When we arrived at the scene of the crime, he began cursing at me, the first time I had ever heard a teacher swear. "What kind of *%$# would do a thing like this, huh Coleman?! What the hell would possess someone to do this?" I of course didn't have an acceptable answer, and the cursing continued. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I do remember that this was a different kind of anger than I'd seen from him before--this was real anger, rage even. Although he had scared the living daylights out of me and thus totally bypassed the usual adolescent swagger and nonchalance I had perfected, his message came through. I had perpetrated an act of violence. I had viciously assaulted a living, breathing thing. I had mutilated something's organs and perhaps committed homicide. This heinous act was now on my soul.
I am not sure such a enduring lesson could have been delivered as effectively by anyone else. This was a real man, a strong and powerful man that was a role model for nearly all the boys on campus. And here he was showing a militant sensitivity, an uncompromising respect for living things that spoke volumes about real masculinity, not a macho put-on or a fey affectation of New Age-y susceptibility, but a strength and resolve to not senselessly destroy. In that moment, I was changed forever. For the price of one sore ear, I had been given a priceless gift.
My ear healed, the plant recovered. But ten years later, Mr. Malinsky would pass away from a heart attack. Every time I have spoken with a fellow former Pine View student since, we have paused for a reverent moment of respect for the man that taught us all so much. I regret that I never had the chance to tell him how much that first-class butt chewing changed me. But to this day I do honor his memory in my teaching to the best of my abilities. Except for the ear-pinching.
-- Alan Coleman, American University