Award-winning teacher uses characters to entrance students
Published: October 12, 2005
Chef Boyardee appeared in Brian Freeman’s class at Peterson Elementary School last week wearing a tall chef’s hat, a plastic apron and a fake goatee.
Mama Mia.
His accent was fake, too, a mix of exaggerated Italian and homegrown Southern spiced with a dash of pure enthusiasm.
The chef put his fingers to his lips and made a kissing sound. His fingers flew away like birds, and he sang out to 17 second-graders, “I love-a you. You are going to do-a something important with your life.”
Never mind that beneath his apron, the chef wore the same bold red-and-white checked shirt Mr. Freeman had worn that morning. Or the same shoes Mr. Freeman had worn. Or the same belly, for that matter. To Ja’Quan and Aracely, Lariah and Ikea, this was the chef, come to teach them an apple recipe in honor of Johnny Appleseed’s birthday.
Freeman’s teaching style and his love of children have propelled him into the spotlight many times. He has brought recognition - and cash - to himself and to his school, and focused positive attention to this small community in one of the state’s poorest counties.
The chef is only one persona Freeman employs to help him teach. Old McDonald visits his classroom sometimes. So does Granny, the grandmother of Johnny Appleseed and Little Red Riding Hood. Then there’s J.J. Jailbird, who occasionally breaks out of prison to teach a science class in his striped uniform. All - even Granny - bear a striking resemblance to Mr. Freeman.
Freeman, 34, has taught for 12 years. Nine of those have been at Peterson Elementary, the school he attended as a child.
But Freeman never planned to teach.
At the University of North Carolina at Pembroke, he studied broadcast journalism. After graduation, he couldn’t find work in that field, so he took odd jobs. A buddy suggested he try substitute teaching.
“It was not what I wanted because I remember how bad I was in school,” Freeman said, laughing.
An empty wallet landed him in a classroom of fourth-graders for a five-week stint.
He has written a book about his teaching experiences that he hopes to publish one day. One chapter describes his first day in the classroom.
One student vomited on Freeman’s shoes. He cleaned them off and left them outside the trailer-classroom to dry. He taught in his socks, one of which had a hole that let his big toe stick out.
Those fourth-graders tormented him about that sock. It was distracting the class, so he took his scissors and snipped a piece out of the other sock. Both big toes protruded.
“Now I have a pair of holy socks,” he told the surprised students. “Amen.”
One student responded, “That white man is crazy.”
But it broke the ice, Freeman said. They laughed and got on with their work.
At the end of the day, he went to retrieve his shoes and go home. One was missing.
“Then I looked up, and the other shoe was on the roof of the adjacent building,” Freeman’s book reads. “That was such a fantastic departing gift for me on my first day of substituting.”
At some point in those five weeks, though, the children changed their minds about Mr. Freeman.
On his last day, the most troubled student in the class told Freeman something that would change his life. “I don’t want you to leave,” that child said. “Others don’t treat me as smart as you do.”
Back to school Freeman went back to UNC-Pembroke for his teaching credentials and a master’s degree in education and became a nationally certified teacher.
“I think I’ve found something that I’m passionate about,” he says. “And every day is not the same. That is what I like about teaching.”
Freeman’s passion and creativity are a winning duo.
Last month, he was awarded the Wal-Mart teacher of the year award for North Carolina, which came with a $10,000 grant for his school. He will compete in the national contest for a $25,000 grant.
It was not the first - and likely will not be the last - honor to come Freeman’s way. The National Education Association Foundation Award for Teaching Excellence, which he won in 2003, put him - and his hometown - in the national spotlight.
Red Springs is a town of about 3,800 people, many of them just scraping by. Ninety percent of Peterson Elementary’s 660 students qualify for free or reduced lunches. And 90 percent are members of minority groups - American Indians, blacks, Hispanics.
In Freeman’s class, he is the minority.
Penny Gibson has been principal at Peterson Elementary for as long as Freeman has taught there. He was her student there years ago as well.
Gibson said Freeman has earned nearly $25,000 for the school in awards, grants and donations. Wal-Mart has given almost $11,000 of that.
Freeman’s own winnings total $40,000. He and his supporters last year donated $5,000 to UNC-Pembroke to establish a scholarship in his name.
Freeman has received a lot of recognition, Gibson said, but his relationships with students impress her most.
“He teaches in such a way that the children are learning,” she said, “but they don’t realize they are learning because they are having so much fun.
“They are in that classroom having a good time, and the whole time they are having a good time he has a plan and they are meeting objectives. It is just his unique presentation.”
A love of learning Freeman credits his third-grade teacher, Helen McDonald, with showing him that teaching can be fun.
Freeman remembers one day arriving in her classroom to find a cheerfully decorated box in the room. Mrs. McDonald was missing. He was disappointed, until she jumped out of the box in costume.
Freeman wants to be that jack-in-the-box for his students, he said, to teach them to love learning - and themselves in the process.
He has had several job offers since he won the national award. They would have paid more, but he turned them down to stay put.
Freeman likes Red Springs. He grew up here, in a blue-collar neighborhood called Mill Village. It was a neighborhood of mill workers and salesmen, like his father. The houses all looked the same, he said. He had a happy childhood there.
Four years ago, Freeman won a seat on the Red Springs Town Council as a write-in candidate. He will be on the ballot this year. It is one way of giving something back to his town.
He serves as vice president of the Robeson Association of Educators and president of his district of the North Carolina Association of Educators.
In his spare time, he is looking for a publisher for his book. The rejection letters are piling up, he said, but he is hopeful it will happen someday.
Last year, he kept busy with speaking engagements that resulted from his 2003 national award. He traveled coast to coast talking about his teaching experiences and racking up 50,000 air miles and countless hours in his car.
He has served as a consultant for LeapFrog Enterprises, a company that makes electronic learning toys. That involved making public-service announcements and appearing on morning television shows.
Gibson is afraid Freeman will someday outgrow his position and discover he can make a difference elsewhere, too.
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see him as a speaker with a national organization,” Gibson said. “He just has that natural gift of communicating. Not everyone has that.”
He communicates in many voices, too. English. Street slang. Bad Italian. Even bumblebee.
Last week, before Chef Boyardee’s visit, Freeman pulled out his bumblebee wand. He waved it around at the students, who stood at their desks.
“Bumblebees, start your engines,” Freeman called, “Zz-Zz-Zz-Zz.” The room hummed with the sound of buzzing bees. He tickled one child with the wand, and the whole swarm laughed.
“If the bumblebee stings youz, you have to comz wiz meez,” he buzzed. When stung, the students took the wand and walked to the blackboard to read the “ug” words - jug-hug-mug-rug - or the “ip” words - zip-dip-sip-hip - or the “en” words - then-hen-den.
After a bit of spelling, which was accomplished with music and some disco moves, Freeman finished the lesson with some positive reinforcement.
“Say ‘I feel good,’” he shouted. His students shouted it back.
“Go on with your bad self,” he hollered. His students hollered it back.
“I got it going on,” their teacher yelled. His students yelled it right back.
“I’m the best. I know it. I show it,” he said, finishing up. The second-graders said it, too.
“Now, freeze, relax and have a seat.” They sat. The room went quiet.
He had them.
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