STIMULATING MINDS IN ROOM 305

I peered through the window of the door marked ROOM 305. I was a bit nervous to begin with, so I hesitated for a moment. I counted six kids. At first glance, they all seemed to be in their early teens, and a mixture of pre-adolescent ethnicities. I took a deep breath and opened the door. The kids were gathered together in a group, and when they saw me come in, they all took seats at various desks around the room.

I walked up to the chalkboard and started writing. I thought long and hard about first introducing myself, and then making a segue into the logistics of the class. Instead, I did an about-face and wrote this:

My Name Is REDDY KILOWATT… and I am both your FRIEND and your ENEMY. Next to that, I tried my best to make a chalk drawing of the logo of the most famous electrical mascot in history. It was passable.

I turned around to face the kids. Each and every one of them had that blank stare on their face, sort of like when they first discovered the magic of lava lamps. I then introduced myself, and it went something like this:

“I am Mr. Len Ricci, but you can call me Mr. R. For the next eight weeks, I will be teaching you about electricity. I will teach you how it was discovered, and how it was harnessed for use by mankind. I will teach you how it makes our lives better by doing a lot of the hard work for us, and how it has given us countless hours of fun and entertainment never imagined by our ancestors.”

Before I could get to the next sentence, a hand went up. I paused and pointed to the young man. “Hello,” I said, “what is your name?” He replied, “I’m Henry, Mr. R., and I have a question.” “Sure,” I said, “what is it”? He looked at me intensely and asked very seriously, “I want to know why the ‘lectric doesn’t drip out of the wall socket and onto the floor when nothing is plugged into it.” I had to gasp right there and then, while trying not to burst into hysterics. “Well, that’s quite the question, Henry, but I’m afraid that you will have to learn the basics of what electricity is before you can begin to understand the answer. But, please stay engaged and we will eventually get you that answer, okay?” “Sure,” Henry said as he sat back down in his seat. “Any other burning questions at the moment?” I asked. The room was quiet once again, and I went on explaining the rest of the curriculum.

I received the letter from the Monmouth County Vocational & Technical Institute around the first week of March, way back in 1979. I had been working as a bench technician in a small mom-and-pop TV repair store for about three years by then, and I loved my job. I repaired not only televisions and radios, but also stereos and small appliances as well. I remembered a few months before, a middle-aged woman came into the shop holding an old antique toaster. The cloth-style AC cord was old and frayed, and it was showing bare wire. She practically begged me to get it working again, as it was an old family heirloom and she didn’t want to see it get trashed. I just happened to have a replacement cord. I asked if she could wait about 20 or so minutes, then I would get it fixed up right there and then. She was ecstatic. We chatted while she watched my every move, making sure I didn’t put the tiniest scratch in the chrome-mirrored finish. She told me that she was the program coordinator for the Monmouth County Vocational & Technical Institute, which was located not too far from my shop. She had asked around the school for someone with electrical repair knowledge who could fix her toaster, but she came up empty. One other teacher there recommended me by name and gave her the address of my shop.

I had her toaster fixed in no time flat and she was on her way.

Two months later, I got the letter that would change not only my life, but the lives of at least six enterprising young students. The letter mentioned that since there were no courses taught in their schools to give young adults a basic understanding of fundamental electrical repairs, it asked if I would be interested in teaching one. I jumped at the chance. I called the “Toaster Lady”, and we agreed to meet the following Monday to discuss the details.

As it turned out, it was just a summer program, and it would be limited to six kids at a time. This was decided so it would not overwhelm both me and the students, and so each kid would have enough one-on-one time with me through the various lessons. It would also be a non-paid volunteer gig on my part, but that was fine with me. I always loved teaching. I guess that had also made me a pretty good Scout leader.

For the following eight Mondays, I entered Room 305 and spent two hours teaching everything from Ben Franklin, Nikola Tesla, Thomas Edison and Alexander Graham Bell, to dynamos, transformers, AC and DC circuits, fuses, bulbs, you name it. I made props, signs, handouts, and even showed a couple of 20-minute educational movies on famous inventors. I had those kids so engaged, they didn’t want to leave the classroom. But the best parts for me were the hands-on things, like teaching them how to replace a simple cord on a desk lamp, building simple lights, and buzzer circuits — using batteries of course, and not live electric wires. I also touched briefly on lightning and how it can KILL you in an instant.

Some of the kids were not even familiar with using basic hand tools, like screwdrivers and pliers. Those were eye-opening events for most of them. Teaching the kids self-reliance and instilling confidence also became part of my lessons, as well as adopting safe working conditions. All of these were very important.

The last day of class arrived, and there was a sadness among the kids. I finished the lesson with a question-and-answer period, but there were none. One by one, the kids came up to me and thanked me for being their teacher. Jerry thanked me for teaching him how to fix his old Lionel vintage steam locomotive. Bradley thanked me for getting his battery-operated transistor radio working again after it took a dip in his aquarium. Kenneth thanked me for getting him interested in repairing the alternator in his dad’s Camaro, and Ethan thanked me for showing him how to re-wire his grandmother’s old menorah, which had lost three blue bulbs. Finally, Henry came up last and handed me a small, wrapped gift box. “Open it,” he said. “It’s from all of us… we made it in shop class.” I was already tearing up by this point, but I pulled off the paper and opened the top flap. Inside was a little wooden stand with a small electric lightbulb attached, and a note glued to the top. It read…

“BEST ELECTRICITY TEACHER MR. R CLASS OF 1979 ROOM 305”

I was hoping that this would be an annual summer school class for me, but it wasn’t meant to be. I received another letter at the end of the summer, letting me know that the funding for this particular program had been cut. I was really heartbroken, but I reminded myself that I did the best I could in the little time I had, and I was grateful for that.

I hope in some small way, I helped at least one of those kids to find his own true vocation in life. Showing others your enthusiasm for your own interests can be infectious, and it encourages kids to explore and find their own unique passions. By the end of the class, I knew Henry had already figured out on his own why the “lectric” didn’t drip out of his electrical outlets.

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Ciao!

Lenny