Downtown Jason Brown

In my third or fourth year of teaching, circa 1989, I had a sophomore class, Writing About Lit. It was a pretty generic class, average level students and largely forgettable. What I do recall is Downtown Jason Brown and how I pushed it too far.

So much of teaching isn’t about communicating content. Yeah, you need to know basic grammar and how to spot symbols in Gift of the Magi and explain the five-paragraph essay. But high school teaching is mostly about student management, predicting problems and preventing them, reading a room full of hormonal teenagers, and packaging content in 45-minute bites.

My favorite part was, and still is, the interpersonal part of relating to teenagers. Over the course of a school year (185 days), you learn a lot about your students. Most of them I truly liked and a few I liked more than others. Jason was a good one.

He wasn’t the smartest or funniest or anything-est. Jason loved sports, was good with people, didn’t complain, a strong B student who showed up every day and worked. We’d banter about Bears and Packers, life and school and family, always good-naturedly. The give and take invited others to join and provided some fun and community in the midst of learning about types of pronouns.

Jason loved to hoop it up, as did I. A few times he challenged me to a one-on-one game. “Come on down to the fieldhouse, Mr. H. Let’s see if you got any game. Friday PE is free play day.”

I demurred the first few times, but after a time, I sensed the wave growing. Other students were goading me, daring me, to take on Jason. He called himself “Downtown” Jason Brown, more because it rhymed than because he was a future NBA legend. If he were that skilled, he’d play for Wheeling’s losing basketball team, but he couldn’t make that squad. I could take him, I thought.

In a fit of hubris one day, after another invite from Jason, I accepted. Two things happened almost simultaneously. The class erupted in unison, far more excited at this grudge match than I anticipated. Also, I instantly regretted agreeing, wondering what I had done, but it was too late to back out.

In an era before i-Phone cams, there is no video evidence of our match. I thought about renting a camcorder from Wally the AV guy, but wasn’t sure I wanted the event recorded. And I knew, when a crowd began to form around us that day, I wanted no evidence at all.

Students in my class said they’d show up. They claimed they’d even cut class to attend. Not only were a good number watching, but they appeared to have brought some friends. I estimate twenty-five or so showed up to watch the epic showdown. Downtown Jason Brown vs. Mr. H, student against teacher, young buck against the old guard. We were maybe a dozen years apart, but you’d never know it by Downtown’s home crowd advantage.

What had I done?

I recall very little from the game. Despite the throng’s urging, groaning or cheering every move from Downtown, I won. It was close, but I made a few shots more than Jason. Maybe 11-8 or so. True to form, Jason was gracious and friendly, exactly as I would expect from him in victory or defeat.

A little young and cocky (if that’s not redundant), I decided to broadcast my win beyond my sophomore class. Wheeling HS used to do daily announcements–club meetings, upcoming athletics, anything that needed publicizing. I thought, wouldn’t it be funny if I put in an announcement about my absolute beatdown of Downtown Jason Brown? Even better, they read the announcements during third period. Coincidentally, Jason was in my third period class. How perfect!

The day arrived. I stood before third period watching students enter. Jason was upbeat as ever, even congratulating me again. Rather than feel glee at my clever announcement trick, I wondered if I had crossed a line. But it was too late to undo.

I hoped students would talk over the announcements or just ignore them. No luck. They sat quietly, attentively to the very end. “In Wheeling High School sports news, Mr. Hurley crushed Downtown Jason Brown last Friday, 11-8, during seventh hour PE in the fieldhouse. Congrats, Mr. H. on an amazing performance. Better luck next time, Jason.”

I cringed on every word, unable to look even in Jason’s direction. Potentially, I had publicly embarrassed Jason, one of my students, and a really good guy. There were so many things wrong with this. Foremost, I had treated him like a peer instead of a fifteen-year-old. Major miscalculation.

The class ate it up, giggling and complimenting me, repeating my own words back to me. In the back of the room, Jason was staring down at his desk. The guy sitting next to Jason gave him a playful shove and razzed him.

I could feel the flush on my face while I pondered how to undo my deed. What could I do or say? Students love free food, I thought. This might require a few dozen doughnuts to regain the class. Maybe even a few pizzas and drinks. I began to formulate my personal apology as well.

Finally, Jason looked up. He smiled that Jason smile. “Ya got me, Mr. H. That was pretty good. Well done.”

And that was it. I suspect he had no idea how he let me off the hook that day, how he helped maintain the class community that could have fractured for the rest of the semester. I never even thanked him.

There was never talk of a rematch and discussion of the game faded. I have no idea what became of Downtown Jason Brown. After that year, we’d exchange greetings in the hallway. Then he graduated and was gone.

I wish I had a better resolution, some grand Aha! moment. Instead, chalk it up to another simple case of teacher learns from student.

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