an aged brother, disallowed any questions during the meeting and read from prepared sheets the entire time. He was not to be seen around the school and staff needed to make appointments should they wish to speak with him.
The following year I took a teaching position at Charitz College. I was teaching music, drama, English and humanities, and was head of the Drama Department (not a particularly large faculty, it comprised myself and one or two other teachers).
Charitz College was a school of about 500 boys from upper primary to year 10 (it would later expand to include years 11 and 12) perched on a hill overlooking two Corios, the Geelong suburb and the bay. We could boast that we looked down on Geelong Grammar School, however we were also on the road to Anakie, in this case (fortunately) nothing more menacing than a small country town.
Drama was a relatively new area for me and I quickly discovered that improvised theatre, packaged as ‘theatre sports’, struck a chord with students (the fact that it was a popular television show at the time helped) and had enough variety to cover most of the skills we wanted to develop. The classes were fun, energetic and full of laughter as students worked on commercials for nuclear-powered cars or told a story which had to include random words called out as they went along. We would also have an ‘Accent Day’, when each student (myself included) was required to speak with a foreign accent for the duration of the lesson, causing considerable merriment when someone would visit the class to borrow a book or pass on a message. The Geelong Rock Eisteddfod was popular at the time and we competed with an all-male cast doing a comedy disco/heavy metal spoof which was the most popular act with audiences over the nights it ran. The all-male cast was quite a challenge, but the students’ enthusiasm quelled any doubts I had and we pieced together a comedic dance routine akin to those in films such as Flying High.
My love of travel allowed me to run a geography unit on the Pacific island nation of Vanuatu—which I had recently visited. This made a welcome change from studying the Kalahari Desert Bushmen, who had been in the textbook since I was a student in year 8. Cannibalism, volcanoes, pirates, isolated tribes and rare wildlife made Vanuatu an exciting topic in a pre-internet time when such places were truly exotic and little known.
The staff at Charitz were a close-knit, socially obstreperous bunch who were more sport-orientated than academic at that stage. Among them were at least three VFL footballers (and a future AFL coach) as well as a number of semi-professional soccer and basketball coaches. That professional sportsmen such as Brad Johnson (Western Bulldogs, AFL), Josip Skoko and the Didulica brothers Johnny and Joey (Australian soccer players) came from a school such as Charitz was no surprise.
Teaching at Charitz was remarkably uncomplicated. The students were tough, but also honest and open if you gave something of yourself. With an ethnic profile similar to that of Melbourne’s western suburbs, the school had a high percentage of European migrants from working-class backgrounds. This was as basic as Catholic schools got and we were aware that these were students who would not get another opportunity outside of the even more rundown local government schools. There were a couple of other Catholic secondary colleges on the opposite side of town, but their fees and facilities put them into an entirely different category to us, something we wore with pride. In contrast to my previous school this one was in the charge of a short, bespectacled, balding principal, Brother Smith, who was friendly and open. When I knocked on his door to ask about obtaining leave to travel overseas during the Christmas break after my first year there, he told me to close the door behind me and take a seat. Fearing a lecture about losing valuable teaching time at the end of the year, I sat down and buckled myself in for the worst.
I was surprised to be given a list of all the things and places I should do and see while travelling and, on leaving an hour later, the question of how many days I needed to be aboard the crowded pre-Christmas aeroplanes leaving the country was met with, ‘Whatever you need, this is something truly special.’
Such concern for my own benefit left me feeling so indebted to this wonderful man that I rarely missed a day of teaching in the next few years. His leadership style was brave, transparent and very much about his staff. Staff meetings involved debate on major questions, and any vote on a decision was implemented thoroughly as we all had ownership of the decision. Some staff meetings went beyond 6pm as teachers got involved in issues that they genuinely felt committed to. This created an incredibly vibrant atmosphere which no doubt influenced the growth in student numbers, and expansion to include years 11 and 12, at this point.
Br. Smith attended all union meetings and I saw him vote to go on strike (‘Anything that improves the wages and conditions of my staff is a good thing,’ he announced) before heading back to his office to put together a skeleton staff to cover the staff out on strike.
Knowing my inexperience as leader of the Drama Department, Br. Smith asked if I had any ideas to redress this and I suggested setting aside a day where I would visit other similar schools to talk with their drama teachers and see their programs and facilities. He immediately made this happen at least once a year for the next few years, and it provided some of the most valuable professional development I’ve ever experienced.
Br. Smith was replaced by another Brother, whom I shall call Berry (because, like Caesar, his staff did not come to praise him). We were sad to lose Tony Smith, but confident that under his superintendence the school had grown immensely in every way and was now in a strong position with plans for further growth in the form of a new library building.
The august Berry—a man well into his 60s possessed of a speaking voice that suggested not a plum but an entire plum tree in his mouth—quickly made it clear he could not accept his predecessor’s participatory leadership style, and matters went downhill from there. His immediate goal appeared to be to put as many staff, students and parents offside as possible. He displayed an innate talent for doing just this. The situation was extraordinary, but everyone, even the long-serving vice-principal (who always reminded me of a wartime military general and was respectfully treated accordingly) was powerless to do anything.
Staff meetings quickly became chores that people avoided or got away from as soon as possible and our once bubbly, enthusiastic morale was replaced by a black humour reminiscent of Hogan’s Heroes as Berry appeared incapable of building a relationship with anyone. Individuals and various groups met him in attempts to turn the situation around, only to return more bewildered than before. ‘He says he is aware of what is happening but doesn’t think it has anything to do with him,’ they reported to those who still held out hope.
Student numbers plummeted over the next few years with a wealth of good schools nearby. It didn’t help that nearly all our students were bussed in. Poor schools (that was us now) can hold student numbers if there’s a dearth of alternatives, but Charitz didn’t have that luxury. Some of the senior staff left for greener pastures.
Berry continually refused to acknowledge that the principal had anything to do with morale, coming down hard on the matter of student uniforms. One of his responses to the challenge of the school’s decline was to ask staff for written reflections on ‘why Korea is important to giving us a vision of education’.
‘Listen to upbeat and zingy music on the way to school if you want to improve your morale,’ he told us with complete sincerity. We wondered if we were in some kind of reality show where our reactions to bizarre requests were being filmed. How were we supposed to react to Berry roller-skating around the schoolground wearing a cap with a propeller on it?
A triennial performance review in which staff vented their frustration at the loss of a great school was met with Berry’s reappointment for a further three-year term, by which point most teaching staff had accepted that the only possible explanation could be that the school’s closure was imminent. We were in free fall, with no safety net in sight.
Berry was replaced after his second three-year term. But student numbers had halved and some of the
