astically as I could. The class let out a collective groan, and in a good-natured voice, I said, “Aww c’mon, this is some scintillating stuff, folks! You read it for homework, so I know you know what I’m talking about, but we still need to fill in some of the details.”
I launched into a short lecture about Irish immigration to Boston in the wake of the Great Potato Famine and talked about how Bostonians viewed the new immigrants as part of the servant class.
“Keep in mind that this allowed employers and landlords to exploit the fact that the Irish had no economic or social standing,” I said, as I used a handheld device to click through the PowerPoint slides I’d organized to show the dire conditions of the new immigrants. I quickly moved through a series of photos that showed newspaper headlines, flyers, and signs on businesses that all read “No Irish Need Apply,” and heard an audible gasp from the class as I stopped on the front page of the American Patriot, a mid-19th century newspaper devoted to the task of excluding all immigrants from participation in the labor force, schools, and social activities on the basis that they were depriving real Americans their rights as citizens.
“So, what do you think about this?” I asked. The class was silent. Students looked down at their desks as they tried to pretend that I couldn’t see them. I smiled a little as I waited. I knew I could out-wait them all.
“I think it’s weird,” a girl in the front finally muttered.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“Because it’s the Irish; I mean, what’s the big deal?” she said.
“But how did the city view them?” I pushed to get her and her classmates to further analyze what they’d learned.
“They saw them as totally different from everyone else who was already here,” a boy in the back said, without raising his hand.
“And what did that mean?” I asked, looking around the room. “Nina? What do you think?’
“Huh?” Nina said, as she looked up and then averted her eyes.
“I wanted to know what it meant that the residents of Boston saw the Irish as totally separate from them,” I said, repeating the question.
“I dunno,” she shrugged. I let it go and moved on asking questions until the class was almost over. I passed back the essays, saving Nina’s for last.
There were the requisite groans and muttered curses, but no one complained too loudly. I held Nina’s paper in my hand as the rest of the class filed out after the bell.
“Nina, can I see you for a moment?” I said. She walked up to my desk with a stubborn expression on her face. I knew that there had to be a little bit of worry mixed with the defiance, so I said, “Here’s your essay. You did very well in the introduction, but you didn’t back your argument up with evidence this time.”
“Okay,” she shrugged, as she took the paper from me and stuffed it into her backpack.
“Nina, you’re a smart girl. I’m concerned about the fact that you’re barely skating by in this class,” I said, as I studied her face. “I’m concerned that you’re going to get too far behind to catch up and that you’ll miss out on scholarships for college if you don’t bring your grade up.”
“Uh huh,” she said, looking past me out into the hallway.
“I’m going to have to schedule a conference with your parents so we can talk about how to motivate you to get your grades up,” I said, trying spark some kind of response.
“Okay,” she shrugged. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all,” I said, shaking my head. Nina walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance. I watched her leave and then sighed as I pulled up my email and began composing a message to Nina’s parents, inviting them to meet with me.
Chapter Five
Blake
By the time I got to the firehouse, Tony was already standing by the rig waiting for me to help him do the morning run-through on the equipment. I quickly stored my gear in my locker, refilled my coffee mug, and then headed back out to the garage to complete our morning task.
“Late night?” Tony grinned, as he handed me the clipboard and began pulling open the doors at the back of the rig.
“Meh,” I shrugged, as I checked off the equipment as Tony pulled it out and then put it back properly. Both of us hated this task, but we’d been on more than one call where someone had skipped out on their duty, and the last time it had happened, it almost cost two firefighters their lives. As a result, Chief had cracked down on the whole squad.
“The swingers again?” Tony asked, eager for the sordid details.
“Nah, just me, Nina, a pizza, and the Saw trilogy,” I said, shaking my head. “The pizza gave me heartburn.”
“God, you’re getting old,” Tony sighed, as he slammed the doors that enclosed the oxygen tanks and moved around to the side of the rig. “If I ever get to be as old as you are, shoot me, will ya?”
“Fuck off; you’re a year younger than me,” I said dryly. “And you’re still married. That counts for double in my book.”