The desk teetered from age, a hundred scratches and dents in its wooden legs from dozens of school janitors cleaning up after class. The old blotter was stained and nearly worn through from hundreds of books and children’s papers, one part more discolored and thinning where past teachers’ right elbows had rested on the green covering. I could see them sitting where I was, red pencils clicking against their teeth, watching the last fall leaves blowing outside the windows after the kids had left for home.

The workbooks and piles of essays that weighted one end kept the desk from tipping awkwardly and spilling my thermos of tea over the papers I was correcting. It was one of those days when I did double duty as a substitute teacher, one class on American government, the other on literature. The paperwork in both could be as heavy or involved as you wanted, but I liked to keep it unusual, which meant picking a subject completely outside the curriculum the youngsters were studying at the time.

In each class, I’d handed out a news magazine to the students, told them to write an essay on a particular article after reading it, and illustrate how the article showed style in writing or how Congressmen ran an effective election. It was a month before the November ’74 midterm vote came, with Watergate still on everyone’s minds, so they had plenty to think about. Nothing would need grading, thankfully, and I could get by with just a little spelling correction, which was why I was staying after the school day had ended.

I was trying to figure out how one boy had managed to spell “Lower House” as “hower hoose” (handwriting was not this kid’s specialty), when I looked up to see a pair of overly-washed bell-bottomed jeans leading upwards into a red tie-dyed tee-shirt and mop-styled hair. A sense of panic spread through me as I frantically tried to remember the teenager’s name. Oh yeah, Ross I think.

“Ah, what did you need, uh, ummm, Ross? Forget something?”

“No, Mister Golden, had a question.” Oh no, a question? More panic, I could feel my face going red. Substitutes don’t get questions, they’re not even supposed to answer questions, just keep the kids busy with questions. The real teachers do the teaching, because you’re not a real teacher yet, eh teach? At least, that’s what they teach you in college “education” courses.

Forcing myself to be calm, I set my official red pencil down and looked the boy in the eye, what I could see of it through the hair, that is. Blue, or was it brown? “And what would that be, Ross?”

“I’m supposed to vote in four years, eighteen ya know? How my supposed to vote, ya know, when I don’t like any of those poly-tishuns, ya know?”

"Uh oh."

“Well, umm, I suppose, umm, that you’ll have to choose the ones that are the least bad compared to the others. That’s what most people do.”

Ross’s face (what little I could see) was a crossword puzzle of acne and freckles, and it turned a little more red than his shirt, though I couldn’t initially tell if it was from frustration or embarrassment.

“That’s the point, ya know? That just means they’ll do less evil than more, ya know, instead a’ good in the first place, ya know?”

From the mouth of babes, I thought. That’s when the light went on and I smiled at him. “Hey, I don’t like a lot of these fakes either. That’s why I want you to be better than they are, so that better people enter politics and can improve things, like you want to do. Take a look at this.

I dived into the grocery bag that I used as a carrying case, brought out an old magazine I’d been considering using in class. The glossy pages were worn and streaked with smudges from handling, but the story I was looking for was clear as I turned to it. I pointed to a particular paragraph.

“See, there was a Korean admiral back in the 16th century, and he had to put up with bad politicians and cowardly leaders even while he fought to save the kingdom from an invasion. I want you to read that paragraph to me, because it applies to politicians as well as military men.”

Ross stared at the page for some seconds, then began to read aloud, picking up speed as he went on. “Admiral Yi wrote in his diary that a warrior must master three roads, four obligations, five skills, and ten keys to security."

"The three roads are knowledge of the world; understanding of things as they are; and wisdom toward humanity.

”The four obligations are to provide national security with minimal cost; to lead others unselfishly; to suffer adversity without fear; to offer solutions without laying blame. 

”The five skills are to be flexible without weakness; to be strong without arrogance; to be kind without vulnerability; to be trusting without naiveté; and to have invincible courage.

”The ten keys to security are purity of purpose, sound strategy, integrity, clarity, lack of covetousness, lack of addiction, a reserved tongue, assertiveness without aggression, being firm and fair, and patience."

I took the magazine from the boy and had him write the paragraph down for himself.  When he was finished he flashed a smile that blazed through his bleached hair like a fog lamp.

“Wow, Mister Golden, that’s heavy stuff, ya know? Did that help him win battles, ya know?”

“He was a genius, Ross, and as honest as he was smart. Despite being thrown in jail on false charges of treason, he won the king’s respect again and saved the country.”

“Isn’t that like Joseph did? Pharaoh threw him in jail, ya know, then he got out ‘cause he was honest, ya know, and saved Egypt.”

I smiled at that. He must be reading something besides comic books and surfing magazines.

“Yeah, something like that, man. Anything else I can answer for you?”

“Nah, gotta go. Thanks, ya know?” And he was gone before I could pick up that red pencil again.

I’ve often thought about what ever happened to Ross. Something tells me that he took those words of an ancient Korean admiral to heart, though I can’t prove it.

But I still have those sayings in mind when I watch generals or politicians on television, or when I read the Biblical passages about Joseph and Pharaoh. It appears our leaders have given up on honesty and integrity these days. I wonder what would happen if we really applied the standards of Joseph and Admiral Yi to them, and what results we might get for it?

Ya know?
Steven E. Golden