Memories of the Civil War Years at BHS

Being an educator myself, and seeing the state of education in the US, I thank my teachers every day at BHS for doing their best under the difficult circumstances of the civil war to teach and continue to do so during those hard times.  I remember well the early years of 1975-76 conflict when most of the foreign students, along with some of the local rich kids simply left the area and never came back to finish the school year or their education at Brummana High School.  Most of those who were left were the locals who persevered, or had no means of leaving the country, and to those were added the riff-raff who belonged to a local powerful political figure who put enough pressure on the school administration to accept their “people”, in addition to those who had enough money to pay their way through the school system somehow.  This of course brought the standards down a bit, because of the adjustments that had to be done to accommodate the new arrivals to the system.  I pride myself in belonging to the group who persevered and stayed there till 1983 when I was sent to the US to finish my final Senior year.  Perhaps my greatest heartbreaking disappointment is to have attended BHS for 12 years, and then to graduate from another school where I had no ties at all.

In those war years, I remember having to practice shelling drills where we were told to go to a particular safe area when the shelling started.  I even remember the 120 mm mortar shell that landed near the Sick Bay area once, back in the first part of the war.  Warplanes were often breaking the sound barrier with their booming noises, and sometimes one could not tell the shelling from the sonic boom.  We kids loved it when school was dismissed and we were all sent home for the rest of the day or week.  When we went home, we played war and enjoyed collecting the shrapnel after a volley of shells had landed in the village.  I do not remember seeing blood or guts anywhere, so the war seemed a benign event.  After all, we never experienced the massacres or became refugees, and the family survived, but with a few close calls.  One was so close I almost lost both parents in April 1985 when a shell landed next to their car.

I remember having to study by candle light, kerosene lamp, and the LUX.  I was looking at my old report cards which my mom had saved for me, and most teachers had written that I was a good hardworking student, but a “day dreamer”; he never finishes his work in class.  Yet, I like many others who did not have electricity at night during the early war years spent many nights studying under these “enlightening” conditions.  Why the play on words? Because we truly became enlightened due to our persistence to study, and our parents’ wanting us to get the best education under those conditions.

I remember the SRA exercises, the Longman’s English book, the dictionary, the long compositions, and of course, that little brown English Grammar Book.  I remember all these more because I can say I do not remember much about the Arabic books, except the miserable grammar exercises with Miss Rizk, and the days we spent writing “ I must not talk in class” one hundred times on sheets of paper.  With those tight Jordache Jeans, I don’t think she ever could sit down to grade them anyway.  So I can’t say I learned much in Arabic, for more than one reason.  Even so, we tried our best under the circumstances.  Teachers showed up to class even when the shelling was going on, and they did so for the little money they earned to do it.  These teachers deserve a Medal of Honor and Courage.  I remember our “glorious” principal Mr. Robert Hudson receiving the Order of the British Empire for his services when he returned to merry old England.  All he had to do was walk a little to get to his office across campus.  Some teachers drove all the way across dangerous zones to get to school, and they did not get the OBE, but rather a lot of BS later on when they retired, or were made to retire.

When the Columbine High School shooting happened 10 years ago, I tried to remember if anyone brought guns to school when I was there, but I do not remember.  Even if they did, they did not shoot their teachers or other students.  Why? I am not sure.  I think it is partly the culture, and perhaps the school upbringing.  No, I think it was one mean look from Mr. Albert Kamel that scared the wits out of you that did it.  When I first started my new teaching job this past year, I was volunteered to be the one to receive the School Shooting Trauma training class and I was given the kit to keep in my office.  Wow, I thought we only had earthquakes and tornadoes to worry about.  Now I have been given a simple First Aid kit with some large bandages, duct tape, and a piece of plastic wrap to plug up some bullet holes in some poor fellow who got in the path of a speeding bullet fired by a demented nut!  Workplace hazards, is what they call it.  Well folks, since no gun was included in the kit so I could at least shoot back, I declared myself a Chicken, yes folks, I will be the chicken that chickened out so I can lay another egg another day!  I will run, or hide until the shooting stops.  This folks, is the difference between the Live Chicken and the Rotisserie Chicken!

With all these memories of the past in mind, many thanks to all those teachers who risked their lives to come to teach us everyday during those difficult times.  Many thanks to those who did so whole-heartedly and with total dedication.  I call upon the BHS Old Scholars and community to start a fund to make a memorial plaque or statue honoring those teachers wherever they may be now. We celebrate nostalgia in those reunions every year, but not once have we honored those who risked it all so students could get an education.  I believe it is time to honor them now.