A Walk in the Sunshine

At first sight, Beverly Hills High has the faint appearance of a four-star hotel on the Italian Riviera.

It is a series of white stucco buildings with red-tiled roofs and immaculately kept gardens, spiritually detached from the homes around it and the Century City towers that edge its western border.

The school, by nature of its unique appearance, seems smug and self-satisfied, chosen by God to protect its children with monastic dedication, jealous of its moral isolation, proud of its special existence.

There is tranquility to beauty, and the school reflects it. But look a little closer, friend. Pickets walk Moreno Drive. Anger fills the morning.

A teachers’ strike is in progress at this and four elementary schools in Beverly Hills. Chaos mars the function of education. Calamity is in the air.

I write about it today not to mock those in turmoil but to wonder at the dichotomies of class that appear when trouble stirs in paradise.

Irony abounds, and one phrase embodies it all. A striking teacher, asked if she resented the affluence of her students, said no, then added: “I just don’t want to earn less than their housekeepers.”

Beverly Hills is one of the richest cities in America. At almost $100,000 a year, its average household income is four times the national average. It can well afford to survive on the shoulders of its domestic help.

Cleaning ladies, nannies, baby nurses, gardeners, caretakers, maids, butlers, major domos and chefs make up a small army of women and men who do the work mom and dad are loathe to undertake.

Competition is fierce for the kinds of people, usually from other countries, who can burp a newborn, clean a bathroom, cook a coq de bruyere, run a household, speak English and not disrupt the fluency of family life just this side of heaven’s gate.

But do they make more than a Beverly Hills’ teacher? Some do.

The salary range for the teachers on strike is from $21,604 to $48,270 a year. The range for domestic help is from about $15,000 to $50,000.

That’s a guess, but it comes from the head of one of the oldest domestic-hiring agencies in the Beverly Hills area. He insists on anonymity.

“First of all,” he said, “erase the picture you’ve got of what a ‘domestic’ is. They don’t get down on their knees anymore with a scrub brush and a bar of soap.

“A baby nurse can make $200 a day for the three or six months she might be hired, take a week off then pick up another job. An estate manager can make $4,000 a month or more.

“They are engaged in careers and are well paid for it. Even at the bottom range, domestics get free medical insurance, free lodging, free food and in some cases free use of a car.

“They can quite literally save every penny they earn. One couple we placed did exactly that and opened an agency of their own!”

Hearing that, teacher Mickey Freedman shook her head and lit a cigarette. “Maybe I shoulda been a maid,” she said, walking down Moreno Drive. A sign slung over one shoulder said, “Teachers are down and out in Beverly Hills.”

“You know what I tell my students when they make a mess?” She laughed, thinking about it. “I say, ‘Either clean it up or get your nanny to do it. I’m not.’ ”

At 59, Freedman has been teaching history at Beverly Hills High for 23 years. She’s got a Ph.D. and is at the top of the salary scale, but she’s thinking of giving it all up.

“It isn’t the kids,” she said. “They’re terrific. It isn’t even the money. No one goes into teaching to get rich. Sure we want parity with L.A., but most of all you know what we want? Respect. And we ain’t getting it from the district.”

A crowd of others gathered. The latest information obtained by their union had them fuming. Money for capital improvements in the district had increased 160% since 1987. Money spent for equipment was up 419%. But teachers’ salaries had climbed only 1.3%.

“We’re at the bottom,” Freedman said disgustedly. “The very bottom.”

I asked an attractive, well-educated domestic once why she had given up an office job to clean houses. She shrugged and replied, “Who needs the hassle?”

I asked Freedman why, knowing its anguish and its salary, she had chosen teaching? “It sounds corny,” she said, “but I wanted to make the world a little better. I wanted to count somehow.”

It was the lunch hour and a student drove by. He honked his horn and doubled his fist for support. Freedman smiled and waved back. Support is always appreciated . . . but it was hard not to notice he was driving a Porsche.