It was May 2000 and, during my senior year at Yale, I turned down a job with an Al Gore pollster to teach in an inner-city school.

Five weeks later, I found myself visiting Emery Elementary in Washington, the school where I was going to teach. As the interim principal showed me around, he cautioned: "The one thing you need to do above all else is to have your children under control." Easier said than done, as I was to discover in a spectacular way.

I was supposed to pick up teaching skills over the summer from Teach for America (TFA), which places mostly recent college graduates with no ed-school background in disadvantaged school districts. In its training program, I learned lesson planning, and I internalized the TFA philosophy of high expectations for all students. But the program skimped on classroom management. As a complete teaching novice, I was ill-equipped when I finally stepped into my own fifth-grade classroom at Emery.

My optimism vanished in hours. I tried to set limits, but I wore my inexperience on my sleeve, and several kids jumped at the chance to misbehave. Most wanted to learn -- but all it took to subvert the effort were a few cutups. Soon, the whole class dissolved into noise and fists.

To gain control I tried using the techniques that classroom-management handbooks recommend. None worked. My classroom was too small to give my students "time out." I tried to take away their recess, but this just increased their penchant to use my classroom as a playground. When I called parents, they were often mistrustful -- though I saw immediate improvement in the students whose parents did come to trust me.

I was a white teacher in a mostly black school, and certain students hurled racial slurs with impunity; several of their parents, I was told, said to my colleagues that they didn't think a white teacher should be teaching their children -- and some of my colleagues agreed. Still, other teachers let me send unruly students to their classrooms to cool off. When I turned to the administration for similar help, I was less fortunate.

I had read that good schools have principals who immerse themselves in everyday operations, set high standards for students, support teachers and foster constructive relations with parents. Emery's new principal, V. Lisa Savoy, didn't fit this model. From what I could see, she seemed mostly to stay in her office. She generally gave delinquents no more than a talking-to. The threat of sending a student to the office was toothless.

Worse, Ms. Savoy forbade me from sending students to other teachers -- the one tactic that had improved the conduct of my class. The school district, she said, required me to teach all my children, all the time, in the "least restrictive" environment. More than once, she called me to her office to lecture me on how bad a teacher I was -- well before her single visit to observe me in my classroom. She filled my file with memos of criticism.

By November, I had actually managed to build some rapport with my fifth-graders. And I thought that my students would shape up once they saw their abysmal first report cards. Most had done poorly by any rational measure. True to the credo of high expectations, I would give them the grades they earned.

Ms. Savoy insisted that my grades were "too low" and informed me that the law obliged me to pass a certain percentage of my students. I paid no attention, and she cited me for insubordination.

After the new year, Ms. Savoy switched me from fifth to second grade. Unbelievably, my second-graders were wilder than my fifth. Most students I sent to the office came back within minutes. Fights broke out daily, with fists flying and heads slammed against lockers.

When I asked other teachers to help me stop a fight, they reminded me that D.C. Public Schools banned teachers from laying hands on students, even to protect other children. You have to be made of iron to wait passively for the security guard while one enraged child tries to hurt another. Almost every time I broke up a fight, one of the combatants would fabricate a story about how I had hurt him. The parent would report this accusation to Ms. Savoy, who would call in an investigative firm employed by the school system to interview me and student witnesses. By February, four teachers, including me, were under investigation on corporal-punishment charges.

Why didn't I quit? Partly because of my own desire not to fail. Plus, Teach for America had instilled in me the idea that I had made a commitment to the children and must stick with them.

Fate made the decision for me.

On June 13, 2001, a boy I'll call Andre was repeating, "I got to go to the bathroom. I need some water." I told him we would have a bathroom break once everyone was quiet and in his seat. "I got to go to the bathroom. I need some water." Frustrated, I led him to the classroom door and nudged him into the hall.

A bit later, police officers swarmed into the building. Andre's mother had apparently been in school to place him in a class for emotionally disturbed children. Andre told her that I had violently shoved him in the chest, injuring his head and back. His mother dialed 911. The police hustled me into the principal's office, where I desperately -- and truthfully -- denied that I had hurt Andre in any way.

Two months later, Andre's mother filed a $20 million lawsuit against the school district, Ms. Savoy and me -- and the D.C. police charged me with misdemeanor assault. Thus ended my first and last year as a public-school teacher.

My criminal trial, in the Superior Court of the District of Columbia, spanned six days in March 2002. Several students testified against me (with wild inconsistency). My lawyer countered with character witnesses, my own testimony and teachers who reported on Emery's brutal atmosphere. Andre's June 13 medical records were entered into evidence, showing no sign of injury. The judge found me not guilty.

Still, Andre's mother pursued civil damages. I refused her offers to settle if I paid her $200,000, a demand that ultimately came down to $40,000. The school system settled her claim in October 2002 for $75,000 (plus $15,000 from the insurance company of the teachers' union).

Of course, Emery is hardly unique. Many new acquaintances of mine who have taught in D.C.'s schools report discipline problems that turned them into U.N. peacekeepers. Several told me of facing fabricated corporal-punishment allegations. A union official confided that the union is flooded with such charges each year. As a result, teachers are afraid to penalize students or give them the grades they deserve. The victims are the kids whose education is commandeered by out-of-control classmates and a broken school system.

Inner-city schools don't have to be hellholes. Some of my closest TFA friends went on to teach at D.C. charter schools. At Paul Junior High School, which serves students with the same backgrounds as those at Emery, the principal's tough approach creates a serious atmosphere, and parents are held accountable because the principal can kick their children back to the regular public schools if they refuse to cooperate.

Students are leaving Emery for charter schools. Enrollment, 411 when I was there, is now about 350. If things don't change, it may soon be -- and should be -- zero.

Mr. Kaplowitz works in Washington. This article is adapted from the Winter 2003 City Journal.

Updated January 24, 2003 11:47 a.m. EST