New York state generally believes that no rehabilitation measures can cure the latent danger of murders, rapists or other menaces who diminish the wellbeing of society. If the warden, twirling his nightstick, sees drugs in the prison yard or knives in the cafeteria or hears threats shouted through the cell doors, he punishes the prisoners quickly and without remorse, without discretion and without leeway. After all, inmates detained in high security prisons are dangerous folk, and nothing can fix that.
This Draconian discipline philosophy makes a great deal of sense in a system designed to punish and ostracize lowlife prisoners. But in a suburban school in place to equip teenage boys and girls (who aren't dangerous folk) with the skills needed to succeed in the real world beyond Cameron's Deli, the prison ethic that knives are for killing and drugs are for destroying is wayward, dangerous and the cause of a great deal of human unhappiness.
In the age of zero tolerance, the buzz-word for school administrators, discipline hearings conduct themselves as trials in carnival courtrooms of the absurd. A picture with a beer bottle means forced abdication from peer group, National Honors Society, suspension from sports teams, poetry clubs and Campus Congress. No questions asked. A pocket knife equates to five day suspension regardless of intent or motivation or circumstance. Signing a yellow pass without a monitor so one can go home on the late bus – a requirement bafflingly illogical – means forgery and theft and destruction of school property and a five day suspension reported on the college application.
Teenagers do foolish things and make nonsensical decisions; That's the hallmark of being an adolescent. We're certainly not children, but we're not yet adults. Sure, mistakes are made, but even by the most decent and forthright students. Gratuitous violence is a rarity, so why assume that a pocket knife is a weapon? Fraternizing and co-mingling with others that drink beer is a requisite, so why treat such actions and wicked and evil and punishable in an extreme degree? Because there's a slip-up doesn't mean we're armed and dangerous, prepared to destroy the world's gentle. It means we're teenagers. It's gleefully understood by administrators of school justice that no-mitigation five day suspensions are permanent fixtures on a student's college application. If we're decent and well-meaning students and not despicable fugitives, why do our punishments damage our futures rather than guide them? Why do they destroy rather than improve?
It's a truism that any philosophy taken to the extreme is bad. But the impulses behind zero tolerance (the name itself belying its sanity) are a reflection of the broader impulses behind Americanism. There is no statistical evidence whatsoever that zero tolerance works to decrease school violence or drug use; Instead, it's a political and symbolic policy that reflects in a nation whose flag colors don't run our collective fetish for “personal responsibility.” We pull ourselves up from our bootstraps, we wage war on poverty, drugs and terror and we need to take ownership of our actions. We prosecute the “bad apples” at Abu Ghraib, but don't investigate the insidious undercurrents that the apples grew from. To admit that perhaps teenagers drink because they're stifled and bored or cheat on tests because they're beaten by the high expectations of John Jay hyper-competitiveness, to suggest that certain banalities are symptomatic of broader pathologies of adolescence would be permissive, and permissiveness is the sign of an ideology which is in serious disfavor. The advocates of zero tolerance scoff at nuance as yellow-bellied and discretion as weakness.
Zero tolerance leaves a profound impress on the minds of the decent future leaders of our world that they are not teenagers who might make a few mistakes, but are inmates in a dreary bureaucracy where procedure takes precedence over common sense, where authority is the enemy, justice is irrelevant and the distinction between a school system and prison system is merely rhetorical decoration.
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A Marilyn Monroe Never-Before-Seen Black and White Snapshot, 1955. An original print, depicting the star standing next to an unknown woman at the premiere of “East of Eden” which took place on March 9, 1955 at the Astor Theatre in New York City.
“Marilyn consented to be an usherette at the Actor’s Studio benefit and world premiere of East of Eden, starring James Dean. With the news of Marilyn’s participation the benefit was an instant sellout. The magic name of Monroe caused a run on tickets, which were being scalped at triple their sales price. One of the crowd at the Astor Roof who was anxiously waiting to see the usherette was Arthur Miller, who has attended the Actor’s studio benefit with his sister, actress Joan Copeland. Marilyn had been very much on Miller’s mind. He stated, ‘I no longer knew what I wanted – certainly not the end of my marriage, but the thought of putting Marilyn out of my life was unbearable.’
“Soon came the announcement Monroe would be an usherette at the March 9th world premiere of the James Dean film, East of Eden,
opening at the Astor Theatre. That night at the Gladstone I came upon wooden police horses set up on both sides of the entrance to the hotel, holding back hundreds of Monroe admirers. In addition, there was a long line of people that wrapped around onto Park Avenue, fans who had cameras and autograph books awaiting the Monroe image and signature. With her limousine sitting at the curb, what had been arranged for the more ambitious fans was that when Monroe came down in the elevator these people would be allowed to go one at a time to the elevator door and either take a snapshot or obtain an autograph.
Little by little, finally everyone had been serviced, as it were, and I got on the end of the line and was the last person to reach the door of the elevator. With a feeling of dismay that I didn’t have my camera along, I walked right into the cubicle, looped my arm through hers, and said, ” I’ll take you out to your car, Marilyn.” She was wearing an off-white brocade gown with a fur-trimmed stole, I was dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. We must have been a sight and a half! As we came through the hotel’s revolving doors, probably seventy-five or so flashbulbs exploded into a virtual sea of bright light, yet I have never seen even a single photograph taken of that moment. I escorted Marilyn into the limo, helped her inside and closed the door. Having just usurped his job, I then noted her chauffeur standing there quite mute. I went around to the other side of the car to look at Marilyn through the window. Although she was to me consistently beautiful, there were few moments, this being one of them, when Marilyn looked so outrageously gorgeous that it was actually hard to look at her. But I did. She went on to the premiere, and the word quickly spread throughout Times Square that ‘Marilyn Monroe is over at the Astor Theatre!’ Soon people in the thousands picked up that information along Broadway. Marilyn was going to a post premiere party at the Astor Roof atop the Astor Hotel, directly across the street from the movie theatre.
By the film’s conclusion, there was no way to move along that block bridging the theatre and the hotel. To one side of the hotel, next to an entrance, was a very large display window with a healthy-sized cement sill that I managed to take refuge on. Side doors to the theatre were opened, and celebrities like Sammy Davis Jr. came walking through the crowd, and were welcomed and shouted at and applauded. One by one the celebrities came across, and then the doors were closed again, with everybody still there waiting for Marilyn. As if on cue, at exactly midnight the doors reopened and you could see about eleven or twelve policemen and a tousled blonde head in the middle of them. It was no small task getting Marilyn across that jammed street. I remember more than one person suddenly pirouetting out of the crowd, screaming hysterically ‘I touched her!’ When she got up close to where I was, heading for the entrance of the hotel, she was out of breath. I gazed at her face and there were tears streaming down her cheeks with joy and exhilaration, the excitement and love that was happening all around her. I didn’t go into the hotel, but someone who did told me there were people in the Ladies Room standing in the line outside the bathroom stall that Marilyn took refuge in, passing papers and pens underneath the stall for her to sign.”
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