Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, September 13, 1995 TAG: 9509130058
SECTION: NATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JUDY PASTERNAK LOS ANGELES TIMES
DATELINE: ALEXANDRIA, KY. LENGTH: Medium
In Room 120-South of Campbell County High School, Andy Bray launched a campaign two years ago against his Spanish teacher, Fran Cook.
He yelled. Red-faced and clench-jawed, he furiously snapped pencils in two. Asked to use a vocabulary word in a sentence, he chose ``matar'' - to murder - and said he'd ``kill the cook.'' There was never a lull in his behavior.
But on the second floor of the Campbell County Courthouse last month, Senora Cocina - as her classes call her - got the last word.
A circuit court jury ordered her ex-student to pay $33,700 for harassing and intimidating his instructor. Cook, 55, says she'll use the $25,000 in A punitive damages to establish a fund for threatened faculty.
Now, as the academic year begins, school superintendents in northern Kentucky and across the Ohio River in Cincinnati are making sure their staffs and students know that disruption and threats in school can be costly indeed. Editorials in local newspapers, as well as educators across the country, are applauding Cook's decision to take young Bray to court, as well as the jury's decision to back her up.
``This is a really nice twist,'' said Ronald Stephens, executive director of the National School Safety Center - a joint project of the U.S. Departments of Justice and Education and Pepperdine University in California. ``Usually if the teachers have attempted any kind of discipline, the teacher gets sued. ... To me, this is a promising tool.''
Bray's attorney, Timothy J. Nolan, disagreed. He said Bray was only joking and noted that his client never physically harmed Cook. He added that the judgment will be difficult to collect from an 18-year-old college student who worked recently in a restaurant and as a landscaper.
``This was a character assassination, a reflection of the frustration people have toward juveniles today,'' Nolan said. He said that Bray is considering an appeal.
In recent surveys, one in 11 American teachers report they've been attacked at school - and 95 percent of those attacks came from students. And 41 percent of teachers say they've lost ``a fair amount of teaching time'' because of discipline problems.
So even in this blue-collar town of 6,500, flanked by suburbs to the north and farms to the south, unruliness and violence are far from unthought of in the halls of academia.
At the old red-brick building where Cook taught Bray, a banner proclaiming ``Best Students, Best Teachers, Best School'' is juxtaposed with signs warning that weapons on campus mean a felony charge, and drugs are reported to police.
Well before the incidents that led to the lawsuit, Campbell County High had formed a discipline committee, which reported that teachers thought students were ``obnoxious,'' ``loud'' and had a ``lack of respect for authority ... no fear of punishment.''
Bray did not fit that stereotype, Cook believed, at least not while he took Spanish 1 or Spanish 2 from her. The youngest of five children, a church-going boy, he rarely spoke in class and earned good grades. He was over 6 feet tall, slender, with wire-rimmed glasses and a clean-cut appearance.
In fall 1993, however, he seemed different from the start. In October, the teacher called his mother in to discuss Bray's tardiness, cursing and class interruptions. In the spring, he began working ``matar'' into every sentence that he could. Sometimes the verb's object was the Spanish word for ``cat'' or ``dog,'' but other times it was ``teacher'' or ``redhead'' - Cook has auburn hair.
An assistant principal suggested Cook take Bray into the hallway for a private talk. Cook said she did, asking Bray why he kept saying he wanted to kill her. She said Bray calmly responded: ``Probably because I do.''
``I asked why,'' Cook recalled. ``I said, `I never did anything to you.' And he said, ``'I'll have to give it a lot of thought.'''
When the school year ended, she thought the worst was over, although her class was well behind in the textbook.
But the next fall, Bray sent a letter, which she confiscated from a student: ``I am afraid now that I am gone, the class will no longer be disruptive and may even begin to do their homework,'' the missive read. ``This cannot be permitted to happen. ... You can still drive the Cocina crazy.''
For this, the administration meted out 40 minutes' detention. Cook was horrified. She called an old college friend, attorney Philip Taliaferro III.
He urged her to press criminal charges. Bray was sentenced in juvenile court to community service and a restraining order was imposed.
But the civil suit was also necessary, Taliaferro said, because ``we wanted to make a point."
by CNB