When I walked into the classroom with the tiny chairs and tables, a little boy named Khaled excitedly ran up, tugged at my jacket and asked a question I had never before encountered.
“Do you speak Somali?”
You could see his disappointment when I replied that I did not. It was how I knew I was in a special place.
Eighteen boys and girls ages 10 and 11 are assigned to this room, with its brightly colored animal photographs, cartoons and writing exemplars resembling more a classroom for first-graders.
That is, in fact, pretty much the education level of most of the kids here. Even that is a remarkable achievement considering a year ago most were living in a refugee camp.
Eight immigrated with their parents from Nepal. The others came from the Congo, China, Burma, Yemen, Sudan, Somalia or Sierra Leone.
Together, they make up the level one fifth and sixth grade newcomer class at Place Bridge Academy, the former Place Middle School that now serves Denver’s immigrant children.
Sue Rudoff has taught the class since Place Bridge opened two years ago. She had been an English language acquisition teacher for nine years in Texas and for 21 years in Cherry Creek Schools and was retired the day she saw an ad for her position.
Now 55 years old, she speaks of her job like a first-year teacher might.
“I love this job,” she gushes. “My entire career was nothing but preparation for this.”
Not one student knew a word of English when they walked into her classroom. Most had never seen the inside of a school.
All are now past their “silent period,” which is evident as all 18 sit in small groups of four or five, reviewing the storyline of a book Rudoff has just read to them.
The silent period differs from child to child, but generally runs from two weeks to as long as six months. When they first arrive, they say nothing, sitting quietly, listening and absorbing this new, strange place.
“The first word usually is ‘bathroom,’ ” Rudoff said. “Or ‘water.’ ” Teaching becomes easier from there, she said.
The silent period sometimes is connected to their recent, often traumatic, past, she said.
One student told her of the dead people she had seen in her refugee camp.
“You just make eye contact with them, smile or laugh with them, to show that this is an OK, safe place to be,” Rudoff said.
The classroom is loud, the conversations often punctuated with the sound of laughter. All of it is encouraged.
“In this classroom we talk. And we write. And we talk some more,” Rudoff says.
And they sing. She believes it is a gateway to understanding English. One round of the ABC song is never enough. Same goes for “Bingo.”
“They are a joy to teach because they have no preconceived notion of what they should be singing,” Rudoff says, “the way American 10- and 11-year-olds would find ‘Bingo’ and the ABC song so corny.”
Most will stay with her for a school year before moving to level two. The goal is to mainstream them into an age- appropriate class.
Lunchtime arrives and the 18 have filed out when their teacher hands me the workbook of the girl from Sierra Leone. Take a look, she says.
The first few pages, done at the beginning of the school year, are filled with barely legible printing of mostly three-word sentences — “I am happy.”
Flip the pages and the lettering is crisper, the sentences have spread out, become more complex as the months passed. Drawings accompany the thoughts.
Last week she described in detail the way to build a house, including color drawings of wood, a foundation and concrete blocks.
I closed the workbook and looked wide-eyed at Sue Rudoff.
Barely able to contain herself, she smiled broadly.
Bill Johnson writes Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Reach him at 303-954-2763 or wjohnson@denverpost.com.
