Graduation Day

Friday, June 16, 1995

It's only ten till nine in the morning, and already I'm writing. Since I have no classes to teach today (the two periods that meet are third [but the seniors are gone] and fourth, my prep), I went into the library first to check on the results of Kurtzmann's visit and the Leadership Team's attempt to win approval for their proposed appeal to the WASC accreditation. When I asked, Mary and Liz didn't look happy. Mary had been at the conference table yesterday, while Liz was working in the library stacks, listening.

It seems that all did not go well. After a catered lunch (like that might sway Kurtzmann [fill his fat belly first--what the fuck were they thinking?]), the ladies made the proposal as per Joan’s suggestion. Our fearful leader had stated that Kurtzmann becomes defensive when men present these proposals in a forceful way (jeez, what's his reaction gonna be to my Video Open Letter... like I give a shit) so Aimee and Lori should present. My only smartass comment was a question: Short skirts, high heels, low-cut cleavage... we want him to say yes, right? Well, the proposal was simple: we deserve an appeal because we were not evaluated on the process we were directed to create. Outlined in the presentation were the specifics--the procedure as outlined by the state WASC chief, the support voiced by Roto-Tiller for our composition of our particular process early in the year, the lack of response time given the Leadership Team by the Visitation Committee's late release of the report. All of these were purely factual, not perceptions; we were not going to dwell on the "Gee-my-feelings-were-hurt" defense (as a few members of the team were want to do). Thus, Aimee and Lori gave their presentation. And Kurtzmann responded.

On the playground, his response would have sounded like, "I know something you don't know."

He told the Team that we never had a chance. An inside saboteur had preemptively killed us. Taratino had received an anonymous fax before the visitation, obviously written by a disgruntled member of the staff, outlining all that was wrong with our campus. This she disseminated to the members of her Committee and to Kurtzmann...before Sunday. According to both Kurtzmann and Joan, Grey knew nothing of the fax. And, of course, Taratino never mentioned this fax to the Leadership Team. The perfect time would have been on the Sunday afternoon welcoming meeting, but nothing was said then or later.

Paranoia rises. Beyond the easy question ("Who sent the fax?"), the mind races to see how easily it fall fits together. This would explain no Committee meetings with Jack Knight, or even with Joan (though the truly paranoid would say Joan was in on it all along, possibly even sending the fax herself); the Committee didn't need to meet with any "whitewashing" administrator, they merely needed to corroborate the contents of the fax.

This sounds bad enough, but it gets better.

On March 21, Tuesday night--the night before the Committee was to deliver its report to the Leadership Team, receive responses to and comments on this report from the Team, then rethink and retool the report, finalizing for the staff at large--three copies of another, new, and yet again anonymous letter arrived at the Committee's hotel. The hotel staff called up to the room where the Committee was working and informed them that letters had arrived for Taratino, the Hong Kong military academy guy, and Lucille, the dragon lady from the State (three of our biggest fans). This letter outlined more problems on campus, this time focusing on racial overtones and strife. This letter was shown to Joan early Wednesday morning, then shared with Kurtzmann during the Committee's meeting with him later that morning.

It is both Kurtzmann's and Grey's contention that the Tuesday letter seemed the work of more than a single author. There was a second writer behind the grassy knoll. Thus, Kurtzmann says, it was all over before any defense could be mounted.

On this, Knight and Bob jumped. Then this truly proves the corruption of the process and is an even better avenue for appeal. Kurtzmann disagreed; it is too difficult, he stated; we would need to prove bias previous to arrival on campus, and that is nearly impossible to do. Aimee called to see the fax and the letter. This could not be done; though shared, the missives were not given to Kurtzmann nor Grey.

The Leadership Team was stunned. No one knew what to say. Aimee asked that if the school is so bad, why wasn't the district on campus constantly to monitor our problems. No response (I say, because the mole was feeding them enough mis-information). Mary asked if the D.O. feels the same way about what is happening at C.H.S. as the WASC Committee did. Oh, no, Kurtzmann magnanimously responded, we know that there are many good things happening on campus--there are (now) just some bad apples (as opposed to the "some good teachers" of two months ago). The Team was at a loss; they didn't know what to say, what to do.

As Kurtzmann was about to leave, someone asked him what we could do. His only response was that we needed to support the upcoming state assembly bill outlawing tenure--the implied statement is by getting rid of "troublesome" teachers, our problem is solved. And, son-of-a-bitch, if most of the audience didn’t nod in stunned acceptance of this (like this would have solved anything in our situation... yeah, right... this school needs an enema). And he walked out.

In his wake, depression reigned. People started to question who would do such a thing as to sink the program. No one wanted to name names of those still on campus. So the Crusher came up, though many dismissed this idea (the fact he doesn't have the intellect necessary became his only defense). Most found the racial aspect troubling, appalling. But Lorraine ("Gee-our-feelings-were-really-hurt-by-your-report") Washington stated that it is not surprising. Many teachers of color, she claimed, feel left out of the process, out of the campus community. They, she spoke for all of Them, feel that the original Leadership Team (as well as Focus Group leaders) were not demographically representative of staff at large; and that perception holds true too for the new, elected Team. She contended that there is a huge silent movement of discontent.

By all accounts, the post-meeting began to get ugly at this point. Jack, a day away from retirement (and, hell, folks, he's not leaving the school... he's leaving the fucking country, off to Ghana for missionary work, where no local edition of the Times can bring him news of happenings here... I bet he's hoping to return and find nothing but Scorched Earth on this acreage), made some off-the-cuff remark about how Gloria was involved in the process, only nobody considers her Chicana. Lorraine bristled at this. Bob defended the democratic process of electing the new Team, eliminating, he thought, the discrimination claim, but again Lorraine talked of perceptions. Bob ended it with, "Well, let’s not confuse the perceptions with facts."

The meeting broke up at that point, the members already broken. Lori in tears, Aimee crying, Bob even misty. When Jack Green began to watch members exit the building, he noted to Bob, "Ain't nobody smilin'." Ain't that the truth.

And now suddenly I feel guilty over not calling Aimee. I had asked her to give me a call after the meeting. She said that she was going to be busy and frazzled, however, getting ready for the trip up north for her mother's seventieth birthday; it would be better if I gave her a call. I said I would. And now I see that she probably needed it. And I vegged last night.

And this guilt bled over into the debriefing Liz and Mary gave me. Diane Digby walked in about this time and instantly asked our take on who the culprits are. No one's sure on the fax, though Diane, the Crusher's old department colleague, thought the neanderthal did it. Liz's still stuck by her guns on the lack of intellect defense, but I tried to explain that evil and intellect are apples and oranges; he might not be smart enough to be conspiratorial, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to send a damaging anonymous fax. He certainly had the motive (he was disgusted by the student body and what he perceived to be the lack of administrative support to help his Final Solution to the "problem"), but I was not sure he did it. I still think, in my conspiratologist view, that it came from Joan or the D.O.; but this I kept to myself. Mary kept quiet as well.

We moved on to the letter. Mary brought up the contention that it was a group "thang." Liz immediately went after bilingual/ESL; she noted that their department was the only full department to be singled out for praise in the next day’s report (and only Math and Science received partial praise... all others were ignored or seemingly slammed), its members are volatile, and many would fall under Lorraine’s silent unhappy people. But who would be the instigator? Diane instantly defended Bill Viveros, bilingual math teacher and inept Focus Group leader, though Liz immediately pinned the blame on him, saying that Ortiz--who many of us, I think, were leaning towards--had made his racist rant public during the Focus Group meeting on Tuesday (thus, her thinking goes, why would he need to instigate an anonymous movement later in the day?). I comically stated this is where I thought the Crusher comes in. I was met with incredulous stares. I only smiled. The irony of the racism angle sunk in slowly. They laughed. But what about the group feel of the letter? they asked. I stated only that he, of all people, would need a proofreader and an editor. Another laugh. This had become all so ridiculous.

We began to toss questions around. Why didn't Taratino call for a response to the fax from the Leadership Team on Sunday? What was she afraid of hearing in response? Why didn't she tell Grey? Or did she? (Mary was almost sure Grey didn't know, given her facial reaction yesterday... though I wasn’t so sure... she's acted shocked and dismayed far too much this year.) Why didn't Kurtzmann tell Grey? Lots of why's and no answers on the horizon.

If it wasn't obvious before, Kurtzmann and Grey are not to be trusted. Grey knew of the letter (if not more) but said nothing on Wednesday. Kurtzmann knew of both and watched the Committee devastate our staff and said NOTHING. Even when he yanked the schedule and told us it wasn’t because of WASC, he knew of these things and said nothing (had he said anything, it might have taken our perceived linking of WASC and his yanking of the schedule out of our minds, thus helping his cause). What else do they know? What will we learn when we next ask for assistance from the D.O.? "I’m sorry we can’t do that because what you don’t know is...." And I really question his timing as well. He yanked the schedule the day before we go off to spring break. He vetoed a possible appeal a day before we leave for summer. He scheduled these blows so that we would have no opportunity for rebuttal. I think everyone must be feeling, to some extent, this same sense of distrust I’m feeling (though everybody now seems suddenly to be more sympathetic of Kurtzmann, since "yesterday he was just explaining to us how things were," like any good father should), but I kept it to myself, and they did, too, as the little pow-wow turned to issues of race.

We went back to Lorraine’s contention that some of the teachers of color feel out of the loop. Well, so do many of the white ones. She has a point, but it’s not a racially exclusive one, so I have problems couching it in those terms. Others were even more adamant. While Diane and Mary saw a positive outcome in learning what the minority teachers on campus are feeling, Liz was of the mind that if people are unhappy, then they should have the guts enough to talk about it, or they should have the fortitude to deal with it and/or move on. Whatever. All I know is, it looks like next year, this could be the hot-button issue, ready to divide further a no longer unified staff.

But out of this bitterness and despair, a little light must come. Our fearless leader walked in and surprised Mary with word from the state that library’s been awarded a five thousand dollar grant; Mary worked on this grant last summer and fall, pulling ideas and strategies from Diane and me, both. It was fun to be there when Joan showed her the paperwork. Yes, finally, something good happening. It’s about time, and I told both Mary and Joan that someone ought to call the papers, as we were the only school in the district, and possibly the county, to receive a grant. It would be a great opportunity to end the year with some good PR (for a change). They smilingly nodded, but I wonder if it will ever get done.

I slid my checking-out paperwork over to Joan, who asked me if I had been evaluated this year. I told her no--except for ten minutes she spent in my English 3H class last year, I’ve yet to be observed by any administrator in the four years here. She signed my paperwork, and while the ladies gloated over the grant victory, I took my blue sheet down to the office for the final signatures.

Teachers have to "check-out" before leaving for the summer. You must pick up your next year’s schedule from your department chair. Been there, done that--sorta (though still no final word). You must make sure that you don’t owe the library texts, supplementary materials, or audio/visual equipment. Done. You must turn in your grades (scantrons) and your roll- and grade-book. Finished and Done. You must turn in any advisor or coaches materials. Not applicable... this year. You must sign off, agreeing to the number and hours of substitutes that you had over the year. You must check off your keys. These last two still needed to be done.

Thus, I had only two more signatures left, after getting most of them signed off yesterday. In the office, waiting in line for an audience with Elizabeth (Grey’s secretary and the keeper of the sub-book and the keys), I learned of the latest exit: Lupe received an approval for a sabbatical for next year. The deliverers of the news were not sad to see her go. As they left me at Elizabeth’s desk, I wondered how they’d feel to see me go. I checked the sub-book (I have now 168 sub-hours still coming to me--28 school days--not that I’ll ever use them). I checked off my keys, learning that I could not pick up room 38’s keys until at least next Wednesday; I figured I would still move my stuff, just in case I’m back in September. I said good-bye and happy summer to the office ladies, and I thought I was out of there.

But Bruce pulled me aside into the conference room. As he closed the door behind me, he said, "I just want to let you know how things turned out." Door closed: "They didn’t go your way."

"Okay."

"Here’s what happened... Out of the eight 3H students who were not taking 4H, four of them said a change in instructor would make a difference. Plus, we had the four new students who took the Honors test and passed. I showed Joan the lists, and she said, ‘Take these four and these four and add them to the roll.’ So you see how that decision was made. Now the district gets its numbers."

I just stared at him, not really even thinking. Go on...

"Your schedule is still the Fours and the Twelves. A really good schedule."

"Yeah. I know. And I can live with that." I never broke his gaze. "But I gotta be honest with you. I have to get this off my chest. I have a deep-seated philosophical problem with the way this was handled. Taking a vote was bullshit."

"I know--"

"Wait. I’m not finished. The message we are sending is completely wrong. We’re telling the kids, that if a teacher is demanding, then it is his problem, and they can get rid of him. That sets a bad precedent. I can see it if I was out of line, but I wasn’t; I’m not even asking the level of work I was getting from my 2H’s over at PeeVee. And, OK, maybe I can see it in a standard class or even CP. But this is Honors, Bruce, and FOUR Honors at that. This is the last opportunity we have to push them and prepare them for university-level teaching, where they won’t get the chance to vote out a professor who’s too tough for their fragile sensibilities. You do this and you hurt the kids in the long run. And you gut the program, you take every bit of integrity out of it. That’s how they gutted Jane Harb’s French AP program, by telling her it was too tough. She had ninety percent passing of the AP test two years ago, but by combining her classes, now she’s lucky if she can get anyone to take the damn test. And she’s leaving this year and she’s not coming back. And who loses out? the kids lose out."

"Bill, I understand. You gotta see, it’s more of a district thing. That’s why I quit as dean of students. The numbers--"

"Yeah, yeah. Numbers. Well, you and I didn’t get into this profession for numbers. We got in it for the kids and for knowledge, not numbers. The pinheads at the D.O. may be in it for the numbers--and maybe we should be glad they’re no longer in the classroom--but it still doesn’t make it right." And I started for the door.

"Bill, we cleared moving all the stuff, the t.v.’s, desks, everything, to 38. And I’m working on getting you a computer for the room, so that you--" will be happy... don’t stroke me, you fucking little shit "--can do more in that multimedia direction. By the way, how did your stuff turn out?"

You were an administrator once, weren’t you? And I told him of the Open Video Letter. He wanted to see it; there’s another Czech conference next week; he’d like to show it. Stroke me a little faster, please. "Yeah, sure." And I was outtathere.

On the way back to the library, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It was either that or screaming, as I realized how badly I’d been fucked. Four new names for 4H: those four (added to the seventeen who were taking the class) would have put the class roll over the twenty-student threshold just as easily as the four who didn’t want me. "So you see how that decision was made," I remembered Bruce saying, his subtle way of saying, "It’s not my fault, Bill." Blow me, Bruce. I laughed out loud even harder again as I re-entered the library to find Lori and Liz talking.

"What are you so happy about?" Lori asked.

"I wasn’t here yesterday, and today’s the last day of school." Literally. Gonna rent me a Ryder. I smiled, and we began yet another rehash of yesterday.

Lori had Liz now convinced that the Crusher was the Mad Faxer. Sure, I’ll buy it. Not that I really care anymore. As for the letter writer, they were still bouncing back and forth between Ortiz and Viveros. I tossed out the idea of Lupe, her name fresh in my mind. They both shot down the suggestion; their evidence was her vehement attempt at saving the schedule (thus, she would have never done anything to possibly jeopardize that schedule). Then I floated out my hypothetical. She sided with the Silent Unhappies, wrote the letter (and we know she’s a missive mistress), then when everything went so horribly wrong, desperate out of sense of good-intentioned guilt, she became vehement in her vain attempts to resuscitate the schedule. And now she’s out of here for a year. I paused for a response.

They laughed harder than at my Crusher theory. They must have thought my own laughter outside was from the realization of how ridiculous my theory was. And they might have been correct.

My theory was part Ellery Queen, part pop-psychology, and complete bullshit. Because I know who both the faxer and the writer are. A disgruntled teacher. A writer good enough to cover his tracks. A person who had taken a little too seriously the refrain of Elvis Costello’s "Radio Radio" ("I want to bite the hand that feeds me // I want to bite that hand so badly // I want to make them wish they’d never seen me...").

The Mad Faxer and the Anonymous Compositional Saboteur was...

Me.

Just kidding. Anyway, I excused myself and headed into the Professional Room to start typing this.

Didn’t finish it, though. Mary needed help loading computer network hardware (for next week’s TechnoMentor workshops) into her car in the rain. That’s right. In a act of divine symbolism, it rained on graduation day at Chumash High. What a fitting end to this year.

As I was helping her, I crossed paths with Yosh and he pulled me aside, "Hey, so we’re gonna be neighbors next year, huh?"

"Absolutely."

"But what’s this about you not teaching the H’s next year."

"News travels fast, huh?" He didn’t crack a smile. The computer was getting heavy. "Long story, Yosh. But it will be told. Give me a call."

"Maybe some beach time for you, Lisa, and the boy, eh?" He let loose a wry grin.

"Sounds great," and I was off to Mary’s Saturn, getting wetter by the minute.

It rained hard for the three hours leading up to the ceremony, then cleared as it began. I stood my post as crowd control, listening to the Valedictory speech, given by Jefferson, one of the 3H’s who didn’t take my class this year. He spoke of potential. But he used the term "self-righteous" (as something we all should be). How fitting. Hypocrite.

After the ceremony, I had wanted to personally congratulate some of the new grads--Kimi, Karina, James, and the rest--as I’ve done with my favorite graduating classes, like I did four years ago as my last function as an Pleasant Valley teacher. I felt a fleeting desire to tell them of the 4H decision. Part of me wanted them to know (In the Hollywood fantasy finale, they would join forces to tell the administration of our progress together, of the decision’s stupidity; in a last-minute, music-swelling turnaround, the decision would be rescinded and I reinstated). But I had had it with Chumash.

So I came home to type this in.

This should be the last entry. It is the last day.

I don’t know how to end it.

I feel like going over to the folks’ house and getting my own Valedictory speech for Chumash High from fourteen years ago. Typing that in. Maybe that would give this a sense of closure. To see how far both society and I have fallen.

Or maybe just ending it is best.

Because this is the end.