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David  Cash Staff Photo
Mr.  David  Cash
Social Studies
Phone Icon 504-298-8892 (cell)      Email Icon   Email

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Subjects Taught
Louisiana History Seminar, Student Leadership, U.S. History

Education


Experience

Mr. Cash has taught at the following schools:

  • George Washington Carver High School (2007-2013)
  • McDonogh No. 35 High School (2013-present)

 

Mr. Cash has experience teaching the following high-school courses:

  • U.S History
  • AP U.S. History
  • Student Leadership
  • World Geography
  • World History
  • African-American History
  • Psychology
  • Sociology
  • Economics
  • GEE Preparation

 

Mr. Cash has sponsored the following clubs, over the years:

  • Guitar Club
  • Anime Club
  • Photography Club
  • Debate Club


Bio

Mr. Cash's personal mission tells you why he teaches, which is rooted in his own personal story. It is written to his students:

"Who I am is deep-seeded.  It’s taken me a long time to grow my roots.  To understand why I teach, you have to understand what’s in my blood.

"My mother and father were both born and raised on farms during the Great Depression.  My father wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he was the youngest and his two older brothers also wanted to be farmers.  The farm wasn’t big enough to support three families, so he pursued another passion: math.

"My mother wanted nothing to do with the farming life.  She imagined a life for herself in the world she hungrily consumed in catalogs and on the radio.  She pushed herself to excel in school and as soon as she could, she left the farm for college.

"When my parents met, my mother was a teacher and my father worked at a TV station.  When they got married, they decided the best opportunities for a middle-class life lie westward.  The Cold War was heating up and the West Coast was a booming hub of the military-industrial complex.  Leaving their families behind, my parents pulled up their Midwestern and Southern roots and headed, like so many others, to the Promised Land: California.

"In addition to his financially rewarding job in the aerospace industry, my father also moonlighted as a teacher.  He made enough money that my mother could afford to stay at home.  They settled in and started a family.  I was born two months before Dr. King was shot down in Memphis fighting for the dignity of working people.  A year and a half later, in the year Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin set foot on the moon, my brother was born.

"My brother and I grew up safe, secure, nurtured and privileged.  Our suburban neighborhood was full of kids to play with.  Our parents never fought (at least not in front of us).  We went to church every Sunday.  We went to high-performing public schools.  As the United States and the Soviet Union increased their conflict around the world, my brother and I were oblivious benefactors of its escalation.  My father’s salary rose.  There was no struggle in our lives, except the minor dramas we created and the pressure we exerted on ourselves for self improvement.

"But something was missing.  I couldn’t have told you what it was when I was young, but it’s obvious now looking back.  Far away from grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, I grew up without my roots.  They say you can’t miss what you’ve never had, but deep down, I knew something was missing.  I needed fertile soil if I was ever going to grow.  And behind all the greenery and glamour of my childhood home lies a simple truth: Southern California is a desert.  The plant varieties in my neighborhood, like the people I knew, were all from somewhere else.

"I graduated and left for college the year the space shuttle Challenger exploded horrifically as it tried to escape the Earth’s mighty pull.  In college, my eyes were opened.  It soon became clear to me that the idyllic world of my childhood was nothing like the wider world.  Injustice, I learned, was everywhere, even in my own sheltered backyard.  After college, I began to confront my disconnection.  Days before Bill Clinton defeated George H.W. Bush and Ross Perot, I boarded a train heading east, leaving the California desert behind.

"My transcontinental journey became transatlantic, reversing the course of my ancestors all the way back to Europe.  After spending a year living in Prague, a city founded more than a thousand years before I got there, I was still looking for a place that would cultivate me.  A twist of fate brought me to New Orleans a week before the end of hurricane season in 1993.  I’ve been to so many great American cities—Chicago, Miami, Seattle, Boston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, Houston, St. Louis, Memphis, Dallas, New York, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Nashville, Minneapolis, Phoenix, Washington—but none of them is New Orleans.  None of them is a place quite like New Orleans is a place.  None of them has such a deep, rich soul.  Before long, I knew I’d found it.  This was the place.  This was home.

"I dove in and was soon swimming in the lush, thick funk of this magical, water-bound city.  Everywhere I turned it opened itself up to me and beckoned me deeper inside.  My heart was soon taken by its charms, even as it was broken by its fatal frailties.

"It didn’t take long to realize that what made New Orleans great, what drew people to it, what made it a cradle of American culture was its Blackness.  The iconic architecture of the city’s stoops and porches: Black.  The beats and lyric lines bumping and bouncing through the streets: Black.  The aroma of sustenance made succulent: Black.  The somber commemoration of life in a jubilant parade of death: Black.  The way with words, the chapter and verse, the Voodoo curse: Black, Black, Black.  Despite centuries of mistreatment and against the odds, this simple truth prevails:  if, in some far flung corner of the world you’ve heard of New Orleans, it’s Black that put it on the map.

"I found this city’s rich history irresistible.  I planted my seeds and let my roots slide deep into the living legacy of New Orleans’ muddy layers.  Unlike in California, deep-seeded natives were everywhere.  And most of them needed two hands to count their generations of ancestors born in the city.  I’d found a city with a story made of up many stories.  I was honored and delighted to add mine.

"When the levees failed after Hurricane Katrina swept through my dear city, I was heartbroken and terrified.  What if the city I loved was gone forever?  What if the people who had made it great could never come back?  What if opportunists obliterated all vestiges of the city’s soul?  What if the precious Blackness at the heart of this city slipped through its fingers?  What if New Orleans became just a story we told over gumbo?  I couldn’t bear the thought of any of these fears coming true.  I knew I had to act.  I wasn’t sure how, but I hoped I could make a difference, to help my dear city recover from this tragic blow.

"I teach because New Orleans is in my blood.  History matters and this city revels in it.  Warmth is not just a seasonal effect, but a daily, personal affect.

"I teach because teaching is in my blood.  My mother was a teacher.  My father was a teacher, like his mother before him.  The education we each received was a gift we knew we must repay by repeating.

"I teach because farming is in my blood.  We can never grow the future we desire without nurturing the seeds of youth.  We owe it to our children to root them deeply in the rich terra firma of this magnificent city.

"I teach because justice is in my blood.  The world is wrong.  I was born lucky.  No one should be born lucky.  Luck tilts playing fields.  Luck plays favorites.  Luck is obscene.  I want to make luck obsolete.

"I teach because you are in my blood.  I cannot imagine the world without you.  The puzzle of this life would be incomplete without your piece.  The world is a song and your heart is the beat, the rhythm gets everyone up on their feet.  Your fire is blazing.  You are amazing.

"I teach because we need you.

"I teach because I love you."

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