Letters

Monday, April 17, 1995

Where does one begin? With the fact that break sucked, what with Kyle being sick and we having way too much company? With the opening of a new term and the insanity it induces? With news that the Crusher has been put out to District Substituting Pasture (from which he will sub at any school-—except ours?--every day for his regular pay)? With even more fallout from the upcoming change in schedule? Where does one begin?

Well, since I did not write during break, not even-—as was my intention—-to write some more of the History Past pieces for interspersing throughout the journal at large, let us skip a discussion of spring break. This will allow the healthy side of my psyche to repress its memory forever.

That would bring us to a discussion of the opening of a new term. So let us begin there.

I arrive at school a little early, just before seven, so that I can do some last-minute prepping of the room and my clipboards before first period. I could not do this yesterday or any day during the break because we are not allowed access to our rooms during breaks because supposedly the wing is alarmed and we have to pay for any calls made to the police the alarm company makes (I say "supposedly" because I doubt if the d.o. would pay for alarming a wing when it wouldn’t pay for re-keying the Drama room last year, even after a non-break-in-break-in). On campus, I receive a few additional flimsies (programs) in my box before class, and I put those with the ones I will hand out first period. This should work out well, quick and easy, today, since a majority of the students in this class are the same students as from last term.

In past terms, the opening day has been ridiculous. Students would arrive at their regular time (seven-twenty-five), and they would pick up their alphabetically organized flimsies from tables situated throughout the quad. It was a mess. Period one would "begin" at eight-thirty, with most students milling around and arriving to class at least fifteen minutes late (hindered—-or is that helped?--by the nonexistent bell). An hour and five minutes later, period two would begin, and an hour and five after that period three. Then we would break for lunch, followed by an hour-long period four. We would not take roll on this opening day (providing perfect ADA, Average Daily Attendance, for the first day), and word of this, coupled with hour-long classes, basically killed off any chance of any importance being found on an opening day. We knew it, but--worse than that--the students knew it, too. And because of it, attendance was horrible. This, of course, had ripple effects, making the second day of the term another non-instructional one, as we attempted to bring up to speed students who were absent the first day. I had sent a memo decrying the pitiful opening day procedures to Joan Grey in September, and I guess I wasn’t the only one. By February, we were attempting a new opening day schedule.

Now, when we open a term, students look up their names on posted lists, find their names and first period classrooms and report to those rooms by seven-twenty-five for first period (though still without bells, allowing for first-day tardies). The teacher then hands out the flimsies to the students. And we’re off to a regular day, hour and a half-long periods, during which we take roll. What do you know... accountability. What a concept.

First period goes fine. I have only a few new students on the roll. So I have the returning students sit at their old seats—new ones receive seat locations from me—and read the new student letter/expectation sheet from me. We then go over the sheet, previewing/reviewing how the class is run, including the daily agenda, the weekly agenda, the Assignment/Grade Sheet, and the philosophy of the course (only A’s and B’s [and sometimes C’s] given, because of the use of Do-Overs, Writer’s Workshop, and Academic Detentions). The A/G Sheet we use almost immediately, writing down this week’s first assignments: Proper Heading for today, the return of the signed portion of the Parent Letter tomorrow, Book Check on Wednesday, and Materials Check on Friday. We complete the Proper Heading assignment in class, and now everyone has an A in the class. I then, in my preview of the week and the course, admonish the class to have certain handouts in their binders by Friday (How to Re-Submit Returned Work, Written Work Manuscript Format, Writer’s Workshop: the Process, and Writer’s Workshop: Conference Questions). This takes up most of the period, and what’s left I give to them. Thus, first period goes well. Today, I learn that for this term, I even have a Special Education paraprofessional, Wilma, who will be helping me during first periods (but only after eight o’clock in the morning... para’s are not allowed to work more than six hours a day, so they begin their day at eight so they can end their day at the end of the regular school day. Another case of our union doing all it can be bring professionalism to the classroom).

I dread second period, but it is inevitable and there is nothing I can do. It arrives. I’ve lost a few miscreants from last term. Jaime, Amador, Hector (a perpetual no show), and George are all gone. In their place, however, I now have Felix, Leonardo, and Guillermo (this huge behemoth is a senior, though on the roll sheet he is listed as an eleventh grader [though no one actually believes he has enough credits to have attained even that status], in my English Nine class). And I still have Eric, Sal, Javier, Gilbert, and Andrew all on the roll. Oh, joy. Looks like another fun term. The opening day agenda is the same for them as it was for first period. And it goes almost as well, as there are many no-shows (reminiscent of opening days past).

And of course, third period’s English 4/4H is its usual godsend. I go over the Book Report Essays from the week before break and outline the upcoming term, and then we dive into T.S. Eliot’s "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Gotta love real lit.

All in all, not a bad first day. Less hectic than usual, a little more work than usual.

Now, onto the continued fallout from the Kurtzmann situation. When I arrive on campus this morning, I am greeted in the lounge by Lupe, the ESL teacher who ten days earlier had told Aimee that she could rally the community on a discrimination suit. She is now handing out flyers, urging teachers to attend a show-of-force/ planning meeting Tuesday after school. She also hands me a letter that has been drafted to be sent to Kurtzmann and the Board of Trustees for the district. She is soliciting comments from me on how to improve the letter. I barely glance at it before heading to class.

Between the lounge and the class, I run into Aimee who says that she had wanted to call me over the break, but she had only returned back from Arizona yesterday, but (again, but) "we need to talk." Okay. In class, I give the letter the once-over. It decries the decision to revoke the four-period day. Then it goes on to state that we can furnish proof of the success of our program. And finally, it discusses "advice" given by "several assemblymen" and "legal" counsel; it mentions "affirmative action" and the upcoming board meeting on Wednesday. It’s not the world’s greatest letter, but it’s a draft. It’s signed by the "Faculty, Staff, parents and students of HHS." Not that any of them had been approached by the writer of the letter. Attached to my copy (I am supposedly one of the lucky few who have received a copy--don’t I feel honored), is a note asking for input concerning the letter; we can give the input to either Lupe, Gloria, Bob or Aimee, thus implying their involvement in the letter. I put it aside. If I want to respond to it, I will later. First, I have classes to teach... er, administer.

During my post-first-period bladder run, I find another memo in my box. This one is from Grey, entitled "The Next Step." It outlines the switch that is to be made in the coming months. No mention is made of the possible alternative schedule; it just plows ahead with the "district line"... we’re now in Stage Three... yadayadayada.

During lunch, on my way to see Aimee, I stop by Cindy Daniels’ room du period francais. After telling me her horrible sub-story (she was out on the Thursday before break, which is why she couldn’t cover second period for me), she spins an even more interesting tale. It seems that over the break, she attended a party at which she met up with Bob Bonds, Trustee, former principal at PeeVee, former president of the Board. He had asked her what Kurtzmann said (as if he didn’t know). She told Bonds that Kurtzmann had unceremoniously pulled the block schedule, and when Bonds asked how the staff took it, she responded by saying that we were stunned, outraged but stunned. And it was at this point that he made a very interesting comment. "Well," she said he said, "it should have happened two years ago." Seeing what pleasure with which he had made the statement, she decided not to pursue the matter.

I had heard rumors that the only person who was a lesser fan of our block schedule than Geoffrey Duncan (Assistant Supe in charge of all things academic, and our own WASC GoD) was Bob Bonds; Kurtzmann being a fence-sitter. Now it was out in the open. Daniels has little nice to say of Bonds’ integrity, both publicly and privately. She queries me on my take.

It was and is my belief that had Frankie sold the block schedule to the PeeVee faculty while she was there as Assistant Principal (under Bonds, who let her have pretty free reign to guide the campus), and it had flown there—-with Bonds receiving media kudos for innovation—-then he would have had no problems with Chumash’s block system. But since he had nothing to do with its devising, he would have everything to do with its derision. Daniels sees the possibilities in this.

After lunch, I find Bob and Aimee in the lounge placing copies of Bob’s very public response to Lupe’s letter in people’s boxes. It is scathing. It proclaims his lack of support for the letter, his dis-appreciation for having his name attached to the letter, and his proposed nonattendance at the scheduled meeting. It goes on to take his own "personal" Leadership Team take on the matter, mentioning the alternative schedule which will be proposed to Kurtzmann on Wednesday. I ask Aimee how it is going. "You need to come to my room. I need to show you something," is her only response. I am about to make some smart-ass response about what it was that she needs to show me, but I realize she is in no mood to bullshit around. Usually, Aimee is amenable to humor... I gather the very tangible impression that this is not one of those times.

Before I go, Bob hands me a two-page typed memo. Another letter. This one addressed to the Leadership Team, from Lorraine. It discusses her feelings about what had happened at the meeting on the Friday before break. It sounds like another attempt at a group reprimand again (redundantly). While it does raise some valid points (concerning committee chairing/ facilitation and agenda-setting), much of it becomes a rehash of her toeing of the new district line and her disbelief at the team’s seemingly selfish and futile attempt to cling to the school’s former schedule (my interpretation, not her verbiage). Other than some really bad grammar, nothing really stands out to me. And I toss it back to Bob. He makes reference to yet another letter, this one from Cedric. But this one has Bob’s respect, though. He uses the terms "really big balls" and "a man." But before I get a chance to ask for specifics on the letter, Aimee has me heading to her room with her.

There, I get to read Cedric’s letter as well as Aimee’s own response—albeit a less public one—to Lupe’s. Cedric’s begins with an apology to the Team for his outburst at the meeting. Balls. A man. A gentleman. It goes on, moves on, to discuss a possible solution to the concerns of campus safety, with the formation of a committee to explore new methods to make the campus a safer place. Aimee’s letter is basically one of support for Lupe’s ideas, but not for her methods, and an outright demand that Lupe send out a notice to all staff members who received a copy of the draft, stating that Hamm had no involvement in the letter.

After I read all this, I look up at Aimee. She looks tired. And this after a vacation. And it only gets worse. Within minutes, Gloria comes in the door with more news. Bob, in his efforts to distance himself from the Lupe letter, had taken his letter to Joan. She had wanted to see the original letter. Bob gave her his copy.

And she faxed it to the d.o..

What the FUCK was she thinking?

It’s unbelievable. Aimee is now more pissed than ever at Lupe. Gloria, Lupe’s friend, is placed in the middle, friendship to one side, anger at how badly this reflects upon the Team on the other. And I can’t believe either of them. Don’t they see the real problem? Forget Lupe. She had good intentions. She wanted to get us fired up. Misguided, but well-intentioned. She fucked up... no big deal, everybody makes a mistake. But this Grey fax is no mere mistake. This is a fuck-up bordering on the criminal.

Gloria tries to explain what happened. Grey had told Gloria that there is obviously a "spy here on campus, feeding the d.o. information. In an attempt to "come cleans before any spy-rumors hit the d.o., Grey sent the fax. Yeah, and if I believe that one, I’ll make a down payment on the suspension piece of architecture in NYC called the Brooklyn Bridge. Bullshit. Grey is playing way too much to the district at this point, as far as I’m concerned. This is a huge tactical error, if it’s an error.

Aimee begins to see my point. Even if Kurtzmann had been serious about his claims of flexibility, even if he might have been swayed to consider the alternate schedules on Wednesday, all of that is probably moot now. If he was upset by the WASC report, he’s gonna be fucking apoplectic because of this letter, with its veiled references to discrimination litigation. We are fucked.

After Gloria leaves, Aimee tells me that she doesn’t even want to attend the Leadership Team meeting after school. She looks up hopefully. Will I go? Nope, I’ve got things to do. Like go home to my wife and son (and write this). She says she wants to quit the Team. And I believe her. Her voice cracks as she tells me that it seems that all her good intentions, all our hard work on the report, all the great ideas in devising the Action Plan, are now spiraling out of control. Tears well up. She’s on the edge. It all seems to be falling apart.

I don’t know what to tell her. I want to come up with some witty, smart-ass remark, but nothing comes to mind. She notices this and tells me that this is the worse sign of all. It means we’re really fucked.

Not nearly as fucked as she thinks.

After the meeting, I head over to the library, where Mary and Liz are holding a quick, end-of-day conversation. Word from the secretaries in the front office is that the d.o. is trying to pressure Knight to retire. Once he’s gone, every administrator who was around during the creation of the block schedule will be gone. Liz ventures that this is the reason that the former Assistant Principal Daisy Roosevelt was sent to Gateway High (the continuation school) as its new principal when Joan was installed as the temporary/ replacement principal here. Within a year, Lily was principal at PeeVee. It would have been just as easy to name Lily as the temp/replacement here, but she wasn’t; this, according to Liz, is because that would have left an administrator who had some history here. Not what the d.o. wanted. Liz is starting to sound like Bob. Interesting, but still farfetched (the break having restored my yeah-right attitude toward the conspiracy).

Then I call Kevin Davis at Adult Ed to discuss some software stuff; we had been comrades at PeeVee--he teaching the 4Hs while I had the 2Hs--before he moved onto administration and I onto the better fertilized pastures of C.H.S.. He asks me what was up with our schedule. He’s out of the loop worse than I. I tell him it is old news; Kurtzmann had dropped the big one. He questions if it was Kurtzmann who did the dropping. I figure he means Bonds and the Board. WRONG.

"Funny thing, Bill," he starts, "is this memo we got from Joan today."

"Huh?" I’m confused.

"Yeah. We got routed an internal memo from Joan today. Don’t know why it came to us. Didn’t really pertain to us. But it was routed our way, so I read it, initialed it and passed it on to Mike (Kevin’s superior and the ‘principal’ at Adult Ed)."

"What was this memo about?"

"It was like a list. An outline of possible repercussions of the reinstitution of a six-period day at Chumash. It was real sloppy. I’d never send out a memo this raw. The weird thing is that I couldn’t tell from the wording who was behind the move back to the traditional schedule." Interesting. "I mean, I would think that the decree would have come from above. But this memo doesn’t give that as a clear impression."

"You still have the memo?"

"Naw. Sent it on to Bob. But the funky way things get routed around here, it’ll probably end up on my desk again at some point."

"If it does, can you put that puppy in the Xerox and pop a copy my way?"

"Can do."

"So you think Kurtzmann wasn’t the real culprit?"

"Well, when I put the memo on Bob’s desk and asked him what it was all about, he said that it’s been a long time coming, that Joan’s been prepping the Board for months."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah. Those were the words. ‘Joan’s been prepping the Board for months.’"

"You sure you got the name right?"

"What was the name Bob used. I can usually tell the difference between ‘Joanne’ and ‘Bill’. ‘Bill’ is, after all, your name, too. I would’ve remembered that."

"Son of a bitch. It sounds like she fucked us. We’ve known there’s been a mole on campus, and I think we just found her."

"Could be, but if it’s Joan, it’s like saying Khruschev was a mole."

"You gotta get a hand on that memo, Kev. Get me a copy if you can."

"I’ll try. Can’t make any promises. Can’t just go in and say, ‘Duh, Bob, silly me, I need that memo back..., and uh, by the way, can I use the copier...’"

"I know. But I could really use it..."

And he said he would try. Again.

I just got off the phone with Aimee. It’s ten o’clock. I’ll recap that conversation tomorrow. Suffice it to say (in case I don’t get around to it), we both feel like characters from a certain Oliver Stone film, and we ain’t talkin’ Natural Born Killers (though that’s what I feel like doin’ now...).

Maybe Johnston’s right. The conspiracy is widening. To places we do NOT want to go.