Recollections of the First Day
by Jeff Klein

The room froze in silence when the Principal, Rabbi Zucker, walked into our sixth grade class. The raucous sounds of children screaming with unencumbered delight as happens when a teacher is not present in the class that had filled the room a split second before stopped almost instantly as if a spell had been cast by his presence. The mostly ten and eleven year olds (I was a youngish nine year old but for only two weeks more) who had been running around the room in wild abandonment only moments before, quietly walked to their seats hoping not to invoke Zucker's wrath. After all, Zucker was the school disciplinarian, the seventh grade teacher in the morning during religious studies (which we called Hebrew) and the English Principal in the afternoon for general studies (which we called English). He was a man with a temper and a reputation for slapping the kids. His blows were fierce and came with only the slightest provocation. Any student who had ever been struck, and some who had only seen others struck, did not dare provoke his ire. A heavy silence filled the room.

Standing next to Rabbi Zucker was a tall, lean, nattily dressed Negro man. Zucker and the Negro man stood just inside the doorway; a long silent pause ensued; there was no movement, no sound, as if we were all afraid to exhale. After what seemed like minutes but in retrospect was more likely no more than 15 to 20 seconds, Zucker, in a quiet but authoritative voice said "Class, this is your new teacher, Mr. Talbert".

Zucker motioned and the Negro man walked calmly to the front of the room, placed down the thin briefcase that was under his arm and addressed the class. "My name is William C. Talbert", he said as he wrote it in white chalk across a screeching blackboard. "I am your new teacher."

As if on queue, Rabbi Zucker nodded and slowly walked out, leaving us alone with this strange Negro man. All thirty Yeshiva Bochers shifted in their old creaky bench seats at their old wooden desks as an uneasy silence wafted over the room, waiting to hear what Mr. William C. Talbert had to say.

It was 1:10 PM on a Sunday afternoon in mid-October 1958. The exact date is impossible to verify since no one remembers exactly the date that Mr. Talbert started at Yeshiva Rabbi Chaim Berlin and the school has no written records that precede 1965. It was not unusual for a Yeshiva to have English on Sundays since there was no English on Fridays, the day before the Sabbath, when students were encouraged to go home after morning Hebrew studies to do family chores to prepare for the Sabbath which began at sundown on Friday. To compensate for not having English on Fridays we had English on Sundays, maintaining five days of English as did the public schools.

As would become his standard practice at the start of each class Mr. Talbert withdrew the attendance book from his case and in a southern drawl that was comforting yet firm said "now that you know my name let me see if I can learn a few of your names. You need only answer here or present when I call your name". And, so he began calling the roll, "Mr. Altman", followed by "Mr. Brodt" followed by "Mr. Feder" until he made his way through all thirty students.

At one point during the ritual approximately ten consecutive students had responded with "here" when they heard their name, when Henry Prybysh said, "present". The class laughed almost nervously. Mr. Talbert laughed too. He saw the humor in Henry breaking the cadence of the roll call. He looked up, smiled at Henry and said 'I am sure that that's not the last we will hear from you Mr. Prybysh, is it"? He didn't wait for a response and continued with "Mr. Rudman".

That was our first glimpse of Mr. William C. Talbert who would take us on a short nine-month adventure that would eventually span two generations.