Navigating Somber Confusion

At the beginning of each session, we received a handout with a scenario ranging from a minor incident to a major crisis that might occur in a school setting, and after a few minutes of reflective thought, we presented our solutions to the group which was composed entirely of fellow teachers on a shared academic track. 

Then, we discussed our various takes on the “case,” all the while learning from our fellow students and professors that problem-solving is rarely easy and often requires quick thinking, great discretion, and Solomonic wisdom. 

While these exercises were theoretical (to us, at least), they were designed to prepare us for the real-life challenges that we would face as teachers, coaches, and administrators.

Never in my career – and I would guess anyone else’s – did challenges get more real-life than navigating the multiple tragedies of September 11, 2001.

And nothing – no in-basket case, no textbook, no classroom lecture – prepared any of us to ministering to the children entrusted to our care as well as to our own colleagues in the immediate aftermath of the terrorist attacks that changed the course of history forever.

No doubt you remember where you were when you heard the news. 

Perhaps in your mind’s eye, you can envision yourself, 20 years younger and much more innocent, attempting to comprehend the incomprehensible. 

Perhaps you can remember that sense of incredulity, that sucker-punch-to-the-gut feeling, that sadness and worry and, perhaps, anger, and that overwhelming desire to call family members and close friends just to hear their voices, just to make sure they were safe, even though you knew they probably weren’t actually in harm’s way, all the while knowing that many, many people were.

And perhaps you recall a sensation that my Collegiate School colleague Justin Robins, then a sixth grader, terms “somber confusion.”

Somber, for sure. Confusion? Absolutely.

When children (and fragile colleagues) are involved, though, there is no time to be confused. 

While there was no template for reacting to a catastrophe of 9-11 proportions, those in leadership roles, which means every adult, found themselves acting on instinct and doing all within their power to remain calm and allay fears, no small task.

Simply put, we were called upon to reassure 1,500 or so of other people’s children that they were safe when we had no idea if any of us were safe or what the future would bring.

“We really tried hard to make sure the teachers and adults in the Lower School didn’t show how upset and worried they were,” said Dr. Jill Hunter, the LS head from 1988 until 2015. “We didn’t want to tell the children. With children that age, we wanted their parents to explain it in the way they wanted and the way it would be appropriate for their family.”

The subject arose the next day, of course. 

“It was a horrible time, but our teachers really stepped up,” Jill continued. “They were professional. They really did their jobs. They knew their responsibility right then was to those children who had no idea what this was all about.”

Word spread quickly through the Middle and Upper Schools. Faculty and administrators followed news reports on televisions in a secure area in what’s now the Reed-Gumenick Library. Quickly, the decision came to present information as it unfolded, first through divisional assemblies. Much discussion ensued in classrooms and advisory groups. The premise was share facts as they presented themselves rather than allow rumors to spread.

“We talked about how best to take care of the kids and communicate with parents,” said Sally Chambers, Middle School counselor from 1986 until 2018. “How do we protect kids but not shield them from information? The adults were beginning to hear things. Kids were beginning to sense something, but we still knew so little.

“Then there was the process of working together to determine which families were directly impacted by the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. A tragedy like this could bring up old feelings of loss and fear for families that had experienced losses. We also had to think about kids who tended to be more anxious than others and the adults who would be impacted to the degree that it heightened their anxiety and made it hard to function.”

Televisions were positioned in several discreet areas in the Upper School so students who wished could follow the news, always with adults in close proximity. As in the Middle School, many – probably most -- classrooms and advisories became forums for discussion of the rapidly unfolding events. 

“Kids wanted to gather,” said Andrea Miller, an Upper School guidance counselor from 1988 until ¬2020. “It was really about being available and trying to kee¬p some sense of normalcy. Our (the counselors’) door was open.

“It wasn’t just the students who were numb and had to absorb all that was happening. The faculty needed each other too, and they needed guidance about how much you allow conversation with kids. While we wanted to continue to teach, we did take the time when they wanted to have conversations. We had no answers, but we had to be strong for the kids.”

Which is the ultimate responsibility for all who have answered the sacred call of teaching.

“Everyone pulled together as a team,” Sally Chambers said. “It’s so much beyond teaching your class. It’s how we support these kids and make sure they’re having the best learning experience possible and making sure we’re taking care of them psychologically. It’s a big job.”
~Weldon Bradshaw