We'll make due because we have to

I began teaching at White-fish High School in 1992. I had 28 students doing science labs in the long, narrow yearbook room. We rushed to get the labs done. The students needed to clean up 10 minutes early because there was only one sink.

Students bumped into each other. Glassware shattered. Many didn't finish the lab. Between classes, I rushed to wheel equipment across the hall and set it up again before the bell rang. I never quite made it. We made due because we had to.

Next, half the lunchroom was turned into my new science classroom. If I plugged in more than one hot plate, my power shut off. I summoned a maintenance person, and they got the power turned back on.

I used portable butane canisters for lab burners and hoped that no one would puncture one. When the portable pump beneath my counter plugged up, and my sinks backed up, they come to the rescue.

They have tried valiantly to fix the set of ceiling lights that hum so loudly it drives some students to distraction when they take a quiz or a test, but to no avail. I shut that set of lights off. We run a trickle of water.

Now imagine my days. During my preparation period, I walk to another science room, down next to the shop, to borrow some equipment. There is no sink. There is pounding and the hiss of torches igniting next door as my colleague tries to lecture. I wonder — can his students concentrate?

It is winter and I walk from one side of the building, where it is stifling hot, to the other, where it is goose-bump cold. I put on my cardigan like Mr. Rogers. I know people worry about their taxes and fear what will happen when their property is re-appraised, but I wonder, how much of my tax dollars are going out the doors and windows?

It is May or September. I've brought my class to the computer lab in the library. The doors and windows are now open. The huge fan roars like a jet engine and blows my students papers off their desks. We laugh as we chase them. It's still too hot.

There are three classes in three computer labs. One student punches another and one wheels his chair into his neighbor as they wait and wait for the log-in process to be complete. I take them aside and talk to them about respect. I wonder if this is just one more discipline problem that could have been avoided.

It is after lunch and I walk through the rows of desks looking for sleepy, bloodshot eyes. I sniff for the smell of cigarette smoke, or worse.

I wish we could close the campus at lunch and bring in some of the local food vendors the kids really like, but there is no room. I teach in half the old lunchroom. I wonder, how many of these students will drop out before they finish high school?

It's the weekend and I drive to The Wave to exercise. I drive past the O'Shaughnessy Center and the library. I drive past the new hospital and new churches and new playing fields. I feel proud to live in a community that values reading and the arts and exercise and good health care. I drive to my school to get caught up before the new week begins. I wonder, "How much do we value our teenagers and teachers?"

But I have hope. I hope that the next time we vote to remodel our building, people will not fear the unknown. I hope voters will believe us when we tell them that this is what we need and not a Taj Mahal.

I may not be teaching by then, but I know how I will cast my ballot. I do not want students and teachers to just keep making due because they have to.

Reed Kuennen is a Whitefish High School science teacher.