10:52 P.M. Astronomy

By Timothy Roche

Brian Yates points to the dark sky, hardly able to contain himself as he recites the names of the stars and the planets. Over there is Andromeda, the chained lady. There's Pegasus, the winged horse--and the Northern Cross, Vega and Jupiter! "Get over it, Yates," yells one of the students who, for 50 extra-credit points, have come to the playground to watch the moon rise. "Never," replies Yates.

At times, it's hard to tell whether Yates, physics and astronomy teacher and chair of the science department, is a member of the faculty or still a kid. He often tells students how much he's craving an RC Cola or a Moon Pie or a Slim Jim. He allows them to drink bottled water in class and speak up without raising their hands. But he's best known for his antics--shooting chalk through a plastic tube, or dropping a huge chemistry book on the floor for its startling effect. It's a formula that works, creating an environment that engages students. When one called him a mean old a--hole in class, he corrected him calmly. "That's mean old bastard to you."

Yates teaches in the same third-floor classroom where he once studied geometry. He was raised a short bike ride from the school, graduating in 1985. He moved to Colorado and Texas but returned after marrying, so that he could raise his two children in Webster's small-town atmosphere--and see his students at the pizza parlor or the Krispy Kreme. He doesn't mind when they stop by his house, or hide outside his back door to blast him with water balloons. "I would never teach in a school where I didn't live," he says.

At the start of every school year, he gives students a letter in which he tells them that he wants to help them excel, but that the real work is up to them. When he talks about his teaching philosophy, he turns serious. "It's not about the answers you get; it's about the questions you ask," says Yates. "I want them to be curious."

While the kids sometimes seem to diss him in class, Yates sees them as simply being comfortable enough to be themselves. At times they stay after class for advice, a measure of his influence. One afternoon in the counseling office, he saw Patrick Velten, a senior who plays soccer and is the kicker on the varsity football team, looking up colleges Yates says the teen couldn't pronounce. Knowing Pat's grades, Yates suggested, gently, that he consider the Navy or the Coast Guard and discuss it with his father. The next day, Pat stopped by to say he'd looked into the Coast Guard, even talked to a recruiter. He said he was thinking of being a Coast Guard spokesman. Less gently, Yates told Pat he didn't think quickly enough on his feet for that job. Pat wasn't offended; he just laughed and said, "If I go into the Coast Guard, I'm going to get one of those big Coast Guard tattoos on my arm." Yates smiled his boyish grin and said, "If you go to Havana, will you bring me back some cigars?"

At 33 and after nearly a decade of teaching, Yates is worried about going stale. Before school started, he trashed much of the material he had gathered over the years. He makes himself do the same homework he assigns his students. At least two or three times a semester, he invites his astronomy classes to watch meteor showers, or to count planets or, like tonight, to see the moon rise.

The first time he invited the kids to a vacant field, the police showed up to investigate; Yates had forgotten to tell them that he'd be there. Now he limits his excursions to school-district property. Not all the nearly 60 kids here are his students. His outings are not only fun; they are an excuse to stay out late. (Those in his classes must bring written permission from their parents to get the extra-credit points.) Nicole Lopez, a 16-year-old junior who has Yates for fifth period, listens to his every word. "He does what no other teacher does," she says. Besides the kids, several parents have also come to watch. At 11:21, a sliver of moon finally peaks in the east above a stand of trees. "Mission accomplished," declares Yates. The students begin to drive away, but one remains behind, watching Yates pack up. The boy's father is getting married this weekend, he confides, and he's been happy for him--until now. Yates knows this senior comes from a troubled family and stays to listen, though his own wife is home waiting for him in a warm bed.

--T.R.