UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Friday, April 5, 1996
5A
Badge to boo
Continued from Page 1A.
Every KU education major student teaches, but Stuntz, Frink's cooperating teacher, said older interns brought more outside experience that younger education majors.
"Being a little older carries a little more credibility," she said.
Frink has strong ties to the Lawrence community, and he grew up in a loyal Jayhawk family. After his parents graduated from the University, his father practiced medicine in Lawrence for 30 years before they retired to Cocoa Beach, Fla. Frink's wife, Sharon, has owned a beauty shop for 12 years and Frink, a fourth degree black belt in tae kwon do, has taught it for eight years. Two years ago he opened a studio and teaches classes there in the evenings.
By sixth period, Frink is ready for the 8th graders. From the beginning, he takes a zero tolerance stance toward the students — no talking is the rule of the day.
To get students to quiet down, Frink has an agreement with them. For infractions such as talking or being late for class, they receive points. At the end of the week the eight students with the fewest points get privileges like sitting in the front row and leaving 30 seconds earlier than the rest of the class.
Despite the strict atmosphere that sometimes exists in the class, Frink's students say they still like his teaching style and the way he makes topics more interesting.
"He keeps it interesting by using experiments," says 8th grader Andrew Stallworth
His classmate Dominique Cornelius agrees, saying Frink makes them do more projects.
"You actually get more involved," she says. "You actually see how things work."
Frink's road to South Junior High began with his graduation from Lawrence High School in 1971. He first enrolled in the School of Architecture at the University but left after one year.
During a chemistry element exercise, James Frink checks on his students' progress. As an award for one of the many games played in class, Frink gave the winner a package of M & Ms.
"Being a typical 18 year old, I didn't have any clue as to which way I wanted to travel," he said. He also had just married his high school sweetheart, Sharon, and wanted to spend more time with her.
In 1975, a friend who was a police dispatcher told Frink the department was taking applications for new officers. Frink thought it would be cool to be a police officer, so he and his friend decided to apply.
"We went down for the interview and both got hired," he said, laughing at the spontaneous act.
The public expectations of police officers began to wear him down and affect his relationship with his family, too.
Although he enjoyed law enforcement, after 15 years, Frink said, he realized police work was for young people. Younger bodies could handle the physical and mental demands of police work better, he said.
"You're on show and you don't have a chance to let down," he said.
On Oct. 23, 1988, the Franks had to face the fear that all police families endure. The department's tactical unit was in a standoff with an armed man who was thought to be holding a woman hostage. As the suspect left the house to get cigarettes, he ran into Frink. In the ensuing scuffle, the man's gun went off, sending a .25 caliber slug into Frink's left foot. Although he can joke about the incident now, the incident was a sobering one for Frink and his family.
"I knew exactly what I was doing," he said. "I knew the risks long before this happened."
His foot, which healed quickly, began to give him trouble during the unit's required two mile run. Frink could make the run in the required 16 minutes but afterward would limp on a sore foot. That's when he began to think he was getting too old for police work.
One of Frink's fellow officers, W. Ronald Olin, now chief of the Lawrence Police Department, said he believed the incident had a major effect on Frink's decision to leave the force.
"Any kind of injury in the line of duty, fol-
owered by orthopedic surgery, followed by a recovery period, is very trying psychologically as well as physically." Olin said.
decision was one of the best feelings in the world.
Two years later Frink and his wife decided he would take early retirement, return to the University and study to become a teacher. Once the decision was made, Frink wanted one more approval — his father's. Frink and his father had a long talk about his leaving the force. he next day Frink resigned
"As soon as I did it, it was like Atlass lifting the world off my shoulders — this huge boulder was released from me," he said. "And I felt great!"
--schools as part of a department program to counter common misconceptions about how police operate and the role of police in society.
Frink was inspired to become a teacher when he was still on the force. In 1980 Frink began visiting Lawrence's junior high
"This program was designed to bridge the gap between the younger generation here in the school system and the police," Frink said.
Olin said he had noticed early that Frink had been excellent at dealing with children.
"He was always very comfortable in the classroom and very interested in educational opportunities for children," Olin said. "I was not particularly surprised when he went into teaching."
Frick said he also realized he liked being around children.
"I think what really kicked in was not so much that I could do this, but that I wanted to have more contact with kids," he said. "I'm just a big kid myself, and my wife will tell you that." He often plays with neighborhood children on their touch football team, he said.
Sitting in their living room, Sharon Frink agreed that James still enjoyed doing things with children. James had coached little league even before they had children, she said.
But she took on a more serious tone as she explained how the stress of having her husband work evening shifts and his police work in general began to take its toll on the family, especially with their children, Megan, 14, and Derek, 11. Sharon Frink said she worried that as Megan grew older she would see her dad less.
CONTRIBUTED PHOTO
James Frink, left, and fellow officer Mack Pryor patrol Massachusetts Street in 1979. Frink left the Lawrence police department in 1990.
"She needed him now and not when she went to college," she said.
--that with Frink.
On a cold, blustery day, Frink has the sun grade students in the fourth-period class outside with stopwatches, timing Stuntz as she drives her van down a 172-foot stretch of Louisiana Street. It's only his second week with the class but Frink isn't taking things slowly. The lesson is how to determine the velocity of a moving object using mechanical means like the stopwatch, and observation. Stuntz makes three trips past the students, once at a constant speed, once speeding up at the end and once slowing down at the end. Frink quickly lets the students know he is in charge and wastes little time organizing them into small teams that will clock the van's speed.
"He does seem a little strict," says student Michael Sawer.
Most of Frink's students don't know he used to be a police officer because Frink doesn't mention his days on the force.
"He seems too nice to be a cop," Sawyer says when he finds out.
Neither Sawyer nor his classmate Tiffan Church knew of Frank's previous career.
Church says that "Mr." Frink and "Mrs."
"He was always very comfortable in the classroom and very interested in educational opportunities for children."
Chief of the Lawrence Police Department
Stuntz share a common style of teaching.
"They're like the same people." she says.
W. Ronald Olin
As a police officer, Frink earned just under $30,000 annually. Part of that was extra pay he made as part of the department's tactical unit and for his assignment as an accident investigator. All full-time teachers in the Lawrence school district earn a starting annual salary of $22,078.
"Usually the contact I had with them was negative, because I was called to where they were shoplifting or vandalizing something," he said. "That wasn't the contact I wanted."
But a paycut doesn't really matter to Frink. What does matter is having positive contact with kids.
--that with Frink.
Frink said his experience in law enforcement prepared him to handle the stresses of a junior high environment.
"My edge in being a police officer is I had to deal with the public," he said. "I had to think on my feet. I had no time to sit there and assess, saying, 'Well, hang on, lets discuss that issue further tomorrow.'"
In the classroom, Frink said, he addresses problems as they occur, using that same sense of urgency he used in his police work.
"That's just being able to think on your feet and know what to say and how to say it so you don't dampen their eagerness to want to learn and ask questions," he said.
--that with Frink.
Stuntz shares the badge of being a non-traditional student with her intern. Stuntz married, had three children, divorced and remarried before she went back to school.
After working as a substitute teacher, she was hired full-time at South Junior High in 1993. When she found out she was getting an intern, Stuntz was concerned that she would get a student fresh out of school, a younger teacher who would have a hard time with discipline.
She said she didn't have to worry about
"I don't feel I need to be in there to help him," she said.
Stuntz said she had seen in Frink a sense of dedication to teaching and a desire to have a positive impact on the lives of students.
Russell Blackbird, principal of South Junior High, said he had no doubt that Frink's prior career helped Frink manage the classroom.
"He was in control and they were going to learn," Blackbird said. "He nalled it real quick."
---
It's the last class of the day and Frank's 7th graders are moving to their seats. Conspicuously absent is Stuntz, who ducks out as class begins. Today the students are learning the periodic table of the elements — but with a twist.
Instead of simply memorizing the table, the students are about to play Element Bingo. On a sheet of paper divided into 25 squares, they fill one element into each square.
Using small black squares, the students mark their sheets as Frink calls out the two-letter symbol of elements — Fe for iron, Au for gold. The students are soon caught up in the competitiveness of the game. To the winner, Frink tosses a small bag of M&M's. After clearing the boards, they begin another round. As students use up the black squares, Frink grabs a handful from one student and passes them around to the others.
When the class erupts as five students yell "BINGO" simultaneously, Frink sees a little surprised at their fervor. But he quickly recovers and begins checking the cards.
"He makes it fun," says student Matt Krische, the winner of this round of bingo. "And uses games."
Frank said he knew that the classroom environment, like any work arena, had its good and bad sides. He is aware that leaving the police department for the public schools simply traded one bureaucratic system for another.
"Every profession has its ups and downs," he said. "You can't get away from it. You can't just say 'All I want is the positives.' They don't exist, at least not in reality."
We Buy, Sell, Trade & Consign USED & New Sports Equipment
But if he can influence the life of a student in a positive way it will have all been worth it, he said.
"Maybe I can have some impact on their life to where, if they're a fence-sitter and they don't know which side of the fence they're going to drop to, maybe I can be the force that pushes them to the right side of the fence," he said.
841-PLAY 1029 Massachusetts
NATURAL WAY
• NATURAL FIBER CLOTHING • NATURAL BODY CARE
• 820-822 MASS. • 841-0100*
$20 Today for new donors Up to $40 this week
CASH IN A FLASH
Return donors - Extra bucks
NABI Biomedical Center 816W24th 749-5750
By donating your life saving blood plasma
WALK-INS WELCOME!
LAWRENCE AUTOMOTIVE DIAGNOSTICS 842-8665 2858 Four Wheel Dr.