Marvel of The Bronx

The 29 fourth-graders in Room 317 at P.S. 106 in The Bronx are pretty much in agreement about their assistant teacher, Leachim. They all think he is very smart and has a remarkable memory for their individual habits, failings and hobbies. They like most of his jokes and the way he sings, "even though he has a bad voice," and they have learned to put up with his occasional cross moods. Most important of all, the children think of Leachim as their friend, as well as a good teacher. All of which is quite an achievement for a robot with an oaken body and head, a meter-like mouth and blue light-bulb ears.

Leachim was created for Teacher Gail Freeman by her husband Michael after she complained repeatedly about the time she had to spend with her students on drill and review. A doctoral candidate and professor of management sciences at Bernard Baruch College, Michael spent 18 months and $ 1,000 to design, build and program Leachim (Michael spelled backward, more or less), a 5-ft. 5-in., 200-lb. humanoid with black plastic arms and legs. Although his legs are motorized, he is chained and bolted to a table for security. The robot's brain is a computer, made partly from components cannibalized from an RCA Spectra 70. Plugged in and turned on, he can lecture to the entire class. He can also recognize students by their voices and, in his own peevish-sounding tones, can simultaneously question five different students wearing earphones and take their pushbutton replies.

Leachim's brain is packed with a fund of information that includes the contents of Compton's Encyclopaedia, Webster's New World Dictionary, a Ginn science book, a thesaurus and a Macmillan reading series. He has also been programmed with biographical information on the 29 students, including their reading levels, math scores and hobbies. As he works with the students, Leachim keeps track of their progress and changing scores, sometimes asking extra questions of the faster learners and drilling slower ones on older material. After about six months, he will have to be reprogrammed to keep up with the class.

Last week Leachim addressed Lisa Ilario, 9, as she sat down in front of him and put on her earphones. "My name is Leachim," said the robot. "You are doing Segment 10. Try to follow my directions carefully. If a classmate drops a pin on the floor, what would you pick it up with? Answer A: a screwdriver. Answer B: pliers. Answer C: a wrench. " Lisa punched button B on Leachim's chest. "You are correct," said the robot. "Pliers will help you lift and squeeze things." "He's very polite," says Lisa. "He says 'thank you' and 'please.' "

Ultimate Gesture. After Sports Fan Warner Brown, 10, correctly selected from a list that lit up on Leachim's visual panel the word barometer as the one associated with weather forecasting, the robot rewarded him with brief observations about New York basketball and football teams. "You did very well," Leachim added. "I hope you enjoyed working with me. I like Joe Namath. I'm sure you do too." But if pupils take too long to answer, Warner explains, "Leachim says. 'You are not listening. Choose an answer now.' If you still don't, he'll say, 'I'm getting annoyed.' " Leachim's repertory includes the national anthem, the Pledge of Allegiance (during which he stops and asks what "indivisible" means), the fable of the boy who cried "Wolf!", a few words of Spanish and a joke: "You are thinking so hard I can see smoke coming out of your ears."

Both Leachim's humor and his moments of testiness are deliberate. "He is geared to Gail's-- understanding of the children's tolerance levels at this age and what should be expected of them," says Michael. The robot's ultimate gesture of impatience is one many teachers would envy: he just turns himself off.

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