Note: Every year my journalism students are required to write a personal feature on themselves. The last time I coached, over two years ago now, I wrote this as an "in-class example." As it has been well documented, I have been out of coaching now for two years and eight days (exactly). But, starting Monday that will change. And this feature, in all its prophetic glory, foreshadows what will soon become my new adventure...
A coffee house classroom, that’s what it is. Despite his general hatred for all things coffeehouse, Billings sure doesn’t mind decorating his room as such. Octopus lamps provide just the right light, streaming blues music sets the right mood, and a sweet pumpkin smell subdues the stench from the hallway outside.
A student approaches his desk, calling him “Billings” and asking him if he approves the lead of a feature story being written. “That’s pretty bad. It’s a question, don’t use a question,” is Billings’ response. The student shuffles back to his desk, nodding, thinking of a better way to start his article.
Mr. Billings prefers to be called Billings, “Short and simple,” he says. His students oblige, and often feel awkward when accidentally calling him Mr. Billings. It’s not a question of being cool, or wanting to be cool, it’s just easier. And the easier for Billings, the better for Billings.
“My intention isn’t to be the teacher that doesn’t want to be called ‘mister’ just so I can be cool—I can do that without the name,” Billings jokes. “My intention,” he says, “is, and will always be, to keep things as simple as possible.”
He speaks to me with his arms folded, leaning back in is 1980s upholstered arm-chair. A tattoo, Egyptian hieroglyphics, is exposed on his left forearm. They spell out his name “B-I-L-L-I-N-G-S.” He says his tattoo was his attempt to be different, to not be like those people who get tattoos of Chinese proverbs. He admits he’s failed in is attempt at being different, but likes the tattoo—and his name—just the same.
Bags encircle his eyes, which can be attributed to the early morning runs with his dog—something he does religiously rain or shine. He denies that’s why he looks so tired:
“Genes,” Billings says about his swollen eyes. “My dad had two constant black eyes, so I have been blessed with them as well. I may look tired, but really, I’m not.”
The environment is loose. Students move effortlessly through the classroom, without restriction. They appear on task, and comfortable with one another. It is clear to the casual observer that tension has long been abandoned. Billings is aware that there are enough problems outside his doors, he tries his best to keep his class a peaceful sanctuary.
“I can’t always do it,” he says. “It’s not always so relaxed and chill. There are days my temper gets the best of me, and there are days when I bring my problems with me to work. But for the most part, I try not to.”
The kids appreciate it. They know they can go to his class, and not be on guard all the time. The pressure is off, and they perform better that way, according to Billings. If they worked late the night before, Billings will let a nap slide. Or if an assignment wasn’t completed because of an away basketball game, or a wrestling match, or a soccer game, or a Key Club activity—Billings typically turns the other cheek. “Just get it to me,” he’ll say.
One student, in an off-hand remark, suggests he should coach Girls’ basketball. This excites Billings, and he goes on a tangent—as he often does—about coaching philosophies.
“Listen, I understand my limitations. I have a lot of them. I also know what I am good at. It’s not X’s and O’s or fundamentals. I would focus on my strengths as a basketball coach, like I do with my runners. I’m not going to fool [the athletes] or myself if I try otherwise.”
Asked what his strengths are, he smiles, “Getting kids to do what I want and to perform their absolute best for me. Always.”
He says the same thing about teaching in regards to limitations, and his critical of himself in preparing his kids properly for proficiency tests, and entry to colleges.
“I struggle with the basics of teaching—grammar, proper form, classic literature, attendance—crap like that. I like to think that the way I teach, what I teach, is more real-life applicable. That’s not always the best thing for kids. But that’s what I am good at, so it’s what I focus on.”
Billings has been described by his editor-in-chief as a humble egomaniac—a very ironic combination, she insists.
He agrees with the assessment: “It goes back to knowing what you excel in, and almost promoting what you suck at. I do both. Which is why that impression of me exists.”
His students and athletes say it suits him well.
