Nick Chase's Story

My name when I attended MLC was Nick Mahayni. I changed it to Nick Chase in 2000. At the end of one year, during Metro I think, the teachers handed out acknowledgments for civic contributions in school. I got an award for "Best Makeup.”

I had a hard time finding my feet at MLC. I was a late-comer, showing up midway through my senior year. About midway through the term, a painfully quiet new kid showed up. I remember he walked up to me in the hall when no one else was around. He stopped and stared at me with big, slightly terrified blue eyes. I had dyed black, spiked hair, pierced ears and rings of eyeliner and eye shadow on my face. I said, “Hi!” He responded, “It’s just that sometimes boys like to wear earrings,” quietly, then stared at his shoes. I asked him his name and he told me Oliver. I asked him how long he’d been at MLC—it was his second day—then I told him he’d get used to it and he’d be fine. A week later he was running and screaming through the halls like a maniac along with everyone else in his grade.

Organization is something I learned from Betty. She wanted me to sub for her while she was gone for a week. I had graduated the spring before, and I have no idea why she thought it would be okay for me to sub for her, but she did, and no surprise to me, the office wouldn’t let her hire me. So she went through the approved process to get a district sub but wrote in her lesson planner for each day she was out: “Don’t do anything. Nick will do it.”

That’s all. There were two subs that week and the first one was confused, but let me run Betty’s classes all day long. Things went like clockwork and the sub was grateful to get paid to observe our well-oiled social machine. She commented to me at the end of her two days that she was impressed at how self-organized and respectful we all were.

The third day we had a new sub. He thought he knew better and wasn’t impressed that Betty had left an 18-year-old punk in charge of her classes. He refused to leave me in charge and started imposing his idea of approved public school order on Betty’s room. ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. Bedlam! Base Station was louder and more chaotic than I’d ever seen it, but I sat there and said absolutely nothing as I had been instructed to do by the sub. The poor guy flailed. And flailed. No one would listen to him, no one cared he was there and at some point he actually looked like he was drowning in a sea of screaming kids.

The kids wanted to leave Base Station a couple of minutes early and they weren’t letting up. The poor guy looked totally beaten and finally looked at me in despair—“What do I do ??” he asked. I said, “Let me take over.”

“NICK! We want to go upstairs NOW, can we GO PLEASE?!” I said, “Did you get lunch count to Ella?” One of the grade schoolers hollered from somewhere in the room, “I did that ten minutes ago!” I asked the room, “Did you get roll up to Mary?” “Yes!” a voice from the corner shouted. “Who are the absences?” A quick list was shouted back from different corners of the room. “Okay,” I said, “you can go, but be QUIET! Thanks guys, see you tomorrow!” The collective didn’t acknowledge the release, but the room emptied out in a matter of seconds in a fit of quiet organization.

Standing in silence, the sub looked at me in shock and exhaustion. He asked, “HOW did you do that?” I said, “I didn’t do anything. They did it.” He didn’t interfere the rest of the week and actually participated in some of the things I taught for Betty’s classes, like painting and writing poetry. I think he had a good time and maybe learned a few things about kids and responsibility!

A few weeks before I graduated I ran into Gail in the hallway. I remember it was right after lunch and I was on my way to Leah’s Dream Interpretation class. Gail asked me if I was excited to be graduating. There wasn’t anyone around, so I confided in her—“Gail, I’m terrified! I don’t think I’m ready to graduate. I wouldn’t be sad if I flunked something and couldn’t finish!” Gail smiled at me quietly and said, “Well, Nick, that can be arranged if you really want it. If you’re not ready, we’d be glad to keep you around for a while longer!” Of course she was serious. I braved graduation, but the permission to choose for myself changed the sense of doom and horror behind it. Thank you, Gail!

At graduation, Howard gave me my diploma with a little public intro. He said, “I think we’ve learned more from you than you could have learned from us.” I still have no idea what Howard meant, but it’s something I’ve carried in the back of my head ever since: “What am I contributing to this experience, and to this community today?” So, even if he didn’t mean it (he did), it inspired me to participate conscientiously in every community I’m part of. A week teaching in Betty’s classroom taught me everything I needed to know about community, civic responsibility, and social improvisation—the latter being the keystone of work I’d do in graduate school and later professionally as a composer and improviser. Today I am the only adult I know today who can file long-form taxes (thank you, Mike M.), and I founded my own non-profit in California without an attorney (again, thank you Mike!). Colleagues think I'm a wonder, but really, I just attended class.

Nick Chase, 2018

THIS FINE PIECE by alumnus Nick Chase shows MLC in the '80s, not only with norms of gender presentation evolving but with the school holding firm to its subversive origins, embodied by Nick's wonderful turn as a sub for Betty Mayther.

Nick's story first appeared in the 50th Anniversary Magazine, published for MLC's big celebration in September 2018. It is one of several favorites to be republished here on its own, in the Stories section, to highlight the quality of writings there, in the magazine—and to encourage readers to visit and read them all, and perhaps submit your own !!! MLC's history is in its stories.

Thumbnail: Betty and Emil, chaos in the cafeteria (date unknown—Alisa Welch collection, MLC archive)