At the Drive-In, page 20
They moved back to East Texas soon after, and a few years after that, Bradford returned to Eastlake as an assistant principal. The move to administration was good for him as he had tired of the politics of coaching, but he soon learned that administrative politics were even worse.
***
Friday finally came and his morning began with another parent phone call. One of his fifth grade boys had been assigned to ISS for the next three days. The boy’s mother was not happy.
“Mr. Bradford, I have a problem with the way your teacher wrote this up.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t deny that Tony hit that other boy and he shouldn’t have done that, but Mr. Roberts put down that he was bullying that boy and that’s not right. My son is not a bully and I don’t want you putting those kinds of labels on him. You need to tear up that write-up and do another one.”
“Mrs. Faulkner, I honestly don’t have a problem with the write-up. Mr. Roberts says he’s talked with you about this numerous times and according to him, Tony frequently teases this particular boy, calls him names, and you know this isn’t the first time he’s hit him. This is his fourth referral for this kind of behavior and the third incident with this same boy. I think that could definitely be called bullying. And frankly this aggressive behavior of his should be your concern, not the label.”
“Mr. Bradford, you know these boys play rough all the time. And the name-calling and teasing goes both ways. All the boys act that way.”
“No, Mrs. Faulkner, they don’t. And I’m not buying that boys will be boys excuse. Your son is the instigator and most of the other boys in class are scared to death of him. And I don’t have a problem calling that kind of behavior bullying.”
“So, you won’t change the write-up?”
“No ma’am, I think I’ll leave it just like it is.”
“Well, my husband will want to talk with you about this.”
“That’s fine. Have him call me. Anything else I can do for you today?”
“What about the three days of ISS? Can’t you just give him swats?”
“No ma’am. I tried that before and it didn’t seem to have any effect on his behavior. As a matter of fact, he was back in my office the very next day.”
“But he’s gonna miss class and that’s not fair.”
“Well, the rest of the boys need a break from Tony. They’ve been having a hard time concentrating in class with the threat of getting beat up every day. And that hasn’t been very fair either.”
She hung up and he smiled at the futile gesture. He found some irony in the fact that Tony’s mother had tried so hard to bully him, while finding it so difficult to accept that her son employed the same tactics daily. It seemed obvious to him where the boy had learned the behavior.
He turned his focus back to the day’s reward trip. There were only a few weeks of school left and the kids were already getting antsy, but Bradford was happy nonetheless. The morning passed quickly and soon they were gathering the students for the trip to Sully’s. Will Ramsey was thrilled to be at the office for something other than misbehavior, and everyone else seemed excited as well. They lined them up and got them out the door a short while later and with the help of one of the deputy sheriffs, they soon had them all across the street and seated at the picnic tables in front of the drive-in. Ellie had added a couple of new tables last year and the current set of tables easily allowed room for the students.
Bradford sat with Will and they talked about football. He had played on the youth league team and had already begun to dream of the Friday night lights that so entranced the boys of Texas. One of the girls at their table talked about being a cheerleader and Bradford smiled. As a former girls’ coach, he couldn’t let her comments pass without some challenge. “Why settle for being a cheerleader? Don’t you want to play volleyball, or basketball? Or run track or play softball? Maybe these guys should be cheering for you.”
“You so funny, Mr. Bradford. I’m gonna be a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader when I grow up.”
“Well, I hope you make it then, if that’s what you want.”
The burgers were great, as always, and Bradford had the kids line up to thank Miss Ellie as they picked up their ice cream cones. Soon, they were on their way back to school, tired and sticky, but still elated. He would miss the celebrations, the rewards.
Mrs. Ramsey came by to pick up Will at the end of the day. Normally, he would have ridden the bus home, but she had made a special trip, so that she could see Mr. Bradford. She had tears in her eyes as she thanked him again for making sure that Will was allowed to make the trip. She hugged him and he let her, knowing that he had made a difference for at least one child that day and wishing he could feel that way more often. He walked Will and his mother to their car and got another hug from both. Again he thought, he would miss the rewards.
He walked to the gym to catch Coach Griffen before he got away. He and Annie wanted to invite Brent and his partner for supper Saturday night. “If you’re not too busy.”
“We’d be happy to come over and have supper with you guys. Tell Annie we really appreciate it.”
He thought that his coach was near to tearing up. “Sure thing. We’ll see you tomorrow.” More rewards, he thought.
He went back to his office and typed a rather generic resignation letter. He printed it out and signed it, before dropping it into the school mail, and then he went home to Annie and the rest of his life.
Accidents Happen, 2009
Ron Copeland pulled into the lot at the bus barn and made his way to the dispatch office. After thirty-five years as the principal of Eastlake High School, he was now the highest paid flunky in the entire district. One too many disagreements with the new superintendent had ended his tenure at the school and for all he knew, his entire career in education. Dr. Mary Anne Marston might seem to be a sweet, old country girl, but underneath the folksy façade beat a heart of pure ice. If she even had a heart, he thought.
He spoke to a few of the drivers as he passed. They were a really friendly group, but they were still not sure what to make of Copeland’s current situation, and things were definitely awkward. Several of the drivers had worked for him at the high school and the pity in their eyes was hard to take. It had been two weeks since his reassignment and most people in Eastlake still had no idea what to think.
Those with connections to the central office knew the real story. Marston hated him and wanted him gone. Some thought she was threatened by his popularity with the board, and there were at least two who had lobbied for Copeland to be promoted to the superintendent position instead of hiring Marston. Others believed it was just a matter of control. He had a mind of his own and she preferred someone who would follow her directives without question. In reality, she wanted him gone in order to bring in her own people. Eventually, she would do just that.
At the high school, the reaction was simply shock. Most of the staff had seen the conflict growing between Marston and Copeland, but removing him without even letting him complete the school year seemed extreme. The assistant superintendent that everyone called the Bulldog had been on campus frequently the last several weeks meeting with Copeland’s assistant principal. He had hired her a year earlier despite the reservations of his interview committee. Kenisha James was a young, African-American woman with only five years in the classroom and no administrative experience. The committee had really liked her, but several of the teachers were concerned about her youth and lack of years on the job.
The committee was leaning toward an older man with more than ten years experience as an assistant principal at two schools, each with similar size and demographics to their own campus. Copeland was concerned that he had been an assistant for so many years without ever being promoted to the principal’s job. And here he was applying for yet another assistant’s position. He had talked with the man’s previous supervisor and had gotten a rather lukewarm recommendation. Although the man looked good on paper, Copeland was less impressed by his interview than others on the committee and had a gut feeling that the man was not right for the job.
Ms. James had quickly won over the staff and Copeland was glad to have her. With all the new initiatives being forced down his throat, he quickly came to rely on his energetic new assistant. When the Bulldog had begun spending lots of extra time on his campus, he enthusiastically foisted her off on James. He wondered later if he had sealed his own fate by doing so. Behind closed doors, with the full support of Dr. Marston, the Bulldog had begun to assess James as a potential replacement for Copeland. When it happened, she professed total ignorance and begged his forgiveness. He told her to take the job, even congratulated her, but he also told her to watch her back. What they had done to him, they would certainly do to her at some point, he warned.
He thought about Sonny from The Godfather who had expressed his opinions too openly and gotten his own father shot. Maybe James should have been less willing to discuss what she would do if she were the principal. Obviously she had said enough to convince Marston and the Bulldog that she would be better than Copeland, for their purposes anyway.
For the rest of the community, the sudden reassignment led many to believe something serious must have happened. Copeland told Brother Manning at the church that he felt like some kind of child molester. “Everyone in town thinks I must have done something awful. They look at me like I’m a criminal. Or worse.”
“Ron, I’m really sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Let me tell you, Pastor. Reassignment is the dirty little secret of the school business.”
They settled down in the Pastor’s Study and Copeland expounded on the subject.
“It’s all about the contracts. If you’ve only been somewhere a few years, usually three or less, the district will put you on a probationary contract. Basically, that means, you have no rights and the district can let you go at the end of the year and not have to give you any reason at all.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. They’ll look you in the eye and say something like, we believe it to be in the best interest of the district, blah, blah, blah, and then they pat you on the back and say sayonara. And it’s all perfectly legal.”
“And they don’t have to give any reason?”
“None at all. But if you aren’t on a probationary contract, it’s even worse.”
“How so?”
“Well, in that case, they do have to state a reason. Now if you commit a crime, or cuss out your boss, or do something really dumb or outrageous, then it’s easy and most of the time, the person will just resign and go away. Then the district pretends you were a saint and gives you a great recommendation so someone else will hire you and they can wash their hands of you.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“It’s not, but believe me, it happens all the time.”
“So, what happens if you don’t do something stupid or illegal or unethical?”
“That’s where the fun comes in. The way the contracts work, it’s almost impossible to prove someone is unfit and justify nonrenewal. So, the school either has to spend years doing the whole growth plan thing and trying to prove they’ve done everything they could to fix you, and fill a binder with documentation on every single thing you’ve ever done, OR they find a way to make you quit.”
“And how do they do that?”
“Usually, they start by bluffing. They call you in and say, ‘Hey there’s a board meeting tonight and your name is on the list for nonrenewal, so if you want to sit down and give us a quick resignation letter, that would be great.’ And every teacher knows that if you ever get non-renewed, no district will ever hire you again, so it works a lot of the time.”
The pastor was shaking his head in disbelief.
Ron continued. “And of course, if you don’t give them the letter, they’ll be quick to point out that when the next district calls for a recommendation on you, they’ll be forced to tell them how uncooperative you were.”
“So, then what happens?”
“If you resign, nothing happens, except that you no longer have a job. But you can start sending out resumes and maybe they’ll be decent and give you that good recommendation they promised.”
“And if they don’t?”
“If they don’t, there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“Wow.”
“Sometimes all you can do is walk away and hope they will at least be somewhat fair when other districts call.”
“So, you’re pretty much at their mercy at that point.”
“Yep. But if you don’t resign and they were bluffing, then they’ll have to go ahead and give you a new contract for the next year.”
“So, then you’re okay for at least another year, right?”
“Not if they really want you gone, and if they’ve gone this far already, they’re probably all in. That’s when they get nasty and go for reassignment.”
“How does that work?”
“Contracts are always written in favor of the district. Teachers, and administrators for that matter, don’t really have much choice. If you want to work at the district, you pretty much have to sign the contract they hand you. And down in all that fine print, it will always say that the district can assign you to whatever duties they deem appropriate.”
“That doesn’t even sound fair.”
“It’s not, but that’s how it works. So, if they want you gone and you won’t resign, they just call you in and tell you that they’ve decided to reassign you to a different position and then you’re screwed.”
“What if the person doesn’t mind the new job? Or even prefers it?”
“Oh, Pastor.” He shook his head and laughed. “That’s the best part. There’s always a little sadism involved at this point. The real beauty is the new assignment itself. I mean, the real purpose is to make the person quit, so whatever the reassignment, it’s gonna be something that person just won’t do. Look at me. I went from being a campus principal to being assigned to the bus barn. I don’t even have a real job anymore. It’s just a way to embarrass me so I’ll quit. Think about it this way. What if your deacons came to you and said they wanted to reassign you to a new position. They could say, we’ll keep paying you the same thing we’ve always paid you, but instead of preaching on Sundays, we want you to mop the floors and clean the bathrooms.”
“I see your point.”
“Yeah, if it’s a head coach, they’ll demote him back to junior high or JV. If it’s a teacher, they’ll figure out the grade or subject that person hates the most. Administrators, well, they just banish them to the bus barn.”
***
Cora Peters needed a job. When her husband Evan had dropped dead of a heart attack four years earlier, she had used the insurance money to pay off the mortgage on the house and put the rest away to supplement her meager income as a teacher’s aide. Evan had kept her from working for years, but now that he was gone, she could do as she pleased. She had always regretted not having children of her own, but now she was working three days a week at the primary campus and loving every minute of it.
She also had her cats, her fur babies. Their numbers had grown and she was spending more than she could afford on cat food and toys. She was fast becoming the neighborhood crazy cat lady, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved her pets and they loved her. After years of starving for affection, she was finally happy. Poor, but content.
Unfortunately, the last of the insurance money was nearly gone, and even with the little bit of social security she received each month, she was barely making ends meet. Recently, she had discovered another job with the school district that paid well and fit her schedule nicely. As with most small districts, finding bus drivers was always a challenge. Cora had studied to pass the written tests to obtain her CDL and with the help of Mr. Ferguson at the bus barn, she was almost ready for the driving part of the test. She had been terrified when she first sat in the driver’s seat of the big yellow school bus, but she adjusted quickly and was soon zipping around the yard with ease. Jay Ferguson was a widower himself and when he touched her hands to place them correctly on the steering wheel, she had felt a fluttering in the heart, a stirring that had been quiet for decades.
She came by to practice several days a week when she was not at the primary school and passed the final test just before Spring Break. Jay promised to get her on a route as soon as he could. Ron Copeland had his CDL, but no amount of persuasion had gotten him to agree to drive a route. He had driven the bus back in the day, taking kids to UIL contests when he was the shop teacher, and once he had been forced to fill in at the last minute for a field trip, but he had never done a daily route and had no intention of starting now. Ferguson had some initial worries about Cora, but he was running out of options. A month back when a driver quit unexpectedly, he had been forced to combine two routes and the superintendent had been riding him ever since to get the position filled. Parents had complained about the kids getting home later and Dr. Marston did not like complaints. Cora was soon driving a route and her first several weeks passed without incident.
Ferguson’s other problem had been Ron Copeland, but that had worked out fine. When Dr. Marston informed him about the reassignment, he was worried that the principal who had always seemed gruff and unfriendly to him would make his life difficult. Instead, he found Copeland humble and a little embarrassed, but perfectly willing to help out in any way he could. Except for driving a bus. Ferguson’s regular dispatcher had been ill since Christmas. A cold had turned into pneumonia and after almost a month away he had returned, but he had zero energy and had fallen asleep twice on the radio. He was seventy and had worked for the district forever, or so it had seemed.
Copeland had readily agreed to work the radios and soon had the routine down pat, although he quickly discovered that the drivers could be a hard-headed bunch. They didn’t mind checking in at the various campus stops and letting the dispatcher know where they were, but they were all prone to ignore the radio when it came to incoming calls. Copeland was irritated by this, but he honestly couldn’t blame them too much. They were creatures of habit, and there was a lot to be said for staying on schedule and being consistent. Most of the drivers prided themselves on being at the stops at exactly the same time each day and hated to be thrown off their routine.
***
Friday finally came and his morning began with another parent phone call. One of his fifth grade boys had been assigned to ISS for the next three days. The boy’s mother was not happy.
“Mr. Bradford, I have a problem with the way your teacher wrote this up.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t deny that Tony hit that other boy and he shouldn’t have done that, but Mr. Roberts put down that he was bullying that boy and that’s not right. My son is not a bully and I don’t want you putting those kinds of labels on him. You need to tear up that write-up and do another one.”
“Mrs. Faulkner, I honestly don’t have a problem with the write-up. Mr. Roberts says he’s talked with you about this numerous times and according to him, Tony frequently teases this particular boy, calls him names, and you know this isn’t the first time he’s hit him. This is his fourth referral for this kind of behavior and the third incident with this same boy. I think that could definitely be called bullying. And frankly this aggressive behavior of his should be your concern, not the label.”
“Mr. Bradford, you know these boys play rough all the time. And the name-calling and teasing goes both ways. All the boys act that way.”
“No, Mrs. Faulkner, they don’t. And I’m not buying that boys will be boys excuse. Your son is the instigator and most of the other boys in class are scared to death of him. And I don’t have a problem calling that kind of behavior bullying.”
“So, you won’t change the write-up?”
“No ma’am, I think I’ll leave it just like it is.”
“Well, my husband will want to talk with you about this.”
“That’s fine. Have him call me. Anything else I can do for you today?”
“What about the three days of ISS? Can’t you just give him swats?”
“No ma’am. I tried that before and it didn’t seem to have any effect on his behavior. As a matter of fact, he was back in my office the very next day.”
“But he’s gonna miss class and that’s not fair.”
“Well, the rest of the boys need a break from Tony. They’ve been having a hard time concentrating in class with the threat of getting beat up every day. And that hasn’t been very fair either.”
She hung up and he smiled at the futile gesture. He found some irony in the fact that Tony’s mother had tried so hard to bully him, while finding it so difficult to accept that her son employed the same tactics daily. It seemed obvious to him where the boy had learned the behavior.
He turned his focus back to the day’s reward trip. There were only a few weeks of school left and the kids were already getting antsy, but Bradford was happy nonetheless. The morning passed quickly and soon they were gathering the students for the trip to Sully’s. Will Ramsey was thrilled to be at the office for something other than misbehavior, and everyone else seemed excited as well. They lined them up and got them out the door a short while later and with the help of one of the deputy sheriffs, they soon had them all across the street and seated at the picnic tables in front of the drive-in. Ellie had added a couple of new tables last year and the current set of tables easily allowed room for the students.
Bradford sat with Will and they talked about football. He had played on the youth league team and had already begun to dream of the Friday night lights that so entranced the boys of Texas. One of the girls at their table talked about being a cheerleader and Bradford smiled. As a former girls’ coach, he couldn’t let her comments pass without some challenge. “Why settle for being a cheerleader? Don’t you want to play volleyball, or basketball? Or run track or play softball? Maybe these guys should be cheering for you.”
“You so funny, Mr. Bradford. I’m gonna be a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader when I grow up.”
“Well, I hope you make it then, if that’s what you want.”
The burgers were great, as always, and Bradford had the kids line up to thank Miss Ellie as they picked up their ice cream cones. Soon, they were on their way back to school, tired and sticky, but still elated. He would miss the celebrations, the rewards.
Mrs. Ramsey came by to pick up Will at the end of the day. Normally, he would have ridden the bus home, but she had made a special trip, so that she could see Mr. Bradford. She had tears in her eyes as she thanked him again for making sure that Will was allowed to make the trip. She hugged him and he let her, knowing that he had made a difference for at least one child that day and wishing he could feel that way more often. He walked Will and his mother to their car and got another hug from both. Again he thought, he would miss the rewards.
He walked to the gym to catch Coach Griffen before he got away. He and Annie wanted to invite Brent and his partner for supper Saturday night. “If you’re not too busy.”
“We’d be happy to come over and have supper with you guys. Tell Annie we really appreciate it.”
He thought that his coach was near to tearing up. “Sure thing. We’ll see you tomorrow.” More rewards, he thought.
He went back to his office and typed a rather generic resignation letter. He printed it out and signed it, before dropping it into the school mail, and then he went home to Annie and the rest of his life.
Accidents Happen, 2009
Ron Copeland pulled into the lot at the bus barn and made his way to the dispatch office. After thirty-five years as the principal of Eastlake High School, he was now the highest paid flunky in the entire district. One too many disagreements with the new superintendent had ended his tenure at the school and for all he knew, his entire career in education. Dr. Mary Anne Marston might seem to be a sweet, old country girl, but underneath the folksy façade beat a heart of pure ice. If she even had a heart, he thought.
He spoke to a few of the drivers as he passed. They were a really friendly group, but they were still not sure what to make of Copeland’s current situation, and things were definitely awkward. Several of the drivers had worked for him at the high school and the pity in their eyes was hard to take. It had been two weeks since his reassignment and most people in Eastlake still had no idea what to think.
Those with connections to the central office knew the real story. Marston hated him and wanted him gone. Some thought she was threatened by his popularity with the board, and there were at least two who had lobbied for Copeland to be promoted to the superintendent position instead of hiring Marston. Others believed it was just a matter of control. He had a mind of his own and she preferred someone who would follow her directives without question. In reality, she wanted him gone in order to bring in her own people. Eventually, she would do just that.
At the high school, the reaction was simply shock. Most of the staff had seen the conflict growing between Marston and Copeland, but removing him without even letting him complete the school year seemed extreme. The assistant superintendent that everyone called the Bulldog had been on campus frequently the last several weeks meeting with Copeland’s assistant principal. He had hired her a year earlier despite the reservations of his interview committee. Kenisha James was a young, African-American woman with only five years in the classroom and no administrative experience. The committee had really liked her, but several of the teachers were concerned about her youth and lack of years on the job.
The committee was leaning toward an older man with more than ten years experience as an assistant principal at two schools, each with similar size and demographics to their own campus. Copeland was concerned that he had been an assistant for so many years without ever being promoted to the principal’s job. And here he was applying for yet another assistant’s position. He had talked with the man’s previous supervisor and had gotten a rather lukewarm recommendation. Although the man looked good on paper, Copeland was less impressed by his interview than others on the committee and had a gut feeling that the man was not right for the job.
Ms. James had quickly won over the staff and Copeland was glad to have her. With all the new initiatives being forced down his throat, he quickly came to rely on his energetic new assistant. When the Bulldog had begun spending lots of extra time on his campus, he enthusiastically foisted her off on James. He wondered later if he had sealed his own fate by doing so. Behind closed doors, with the full support of Dr. Marston, the Bulldog had begun to assess James as a potential replacement for Copeland. When it happened, she professed total ignorance and begged his forgiveness. He told her to take the job, even congratulated her, but he also told her to watch her back. What they had done to him, they would certainly do to her at some point, he warned.
He thought about Sonny from The Godfather who had expressed his opinions too openly and gotten his own father shot. Maybe James should have been less willing to discuss what she would do if she were the principal. Obviously she had said enough to convince Marston and the Bulldog that she would be better than Copeland, for their purposes anyway.
For the rest of the community, the sudden reassignment led many to believe something serious must have happened. Copeland told Brother Manning at the church that he felt like some kind of child molester. “Everyone in town thinks I must have done something awful. They look at me like I’m a criminal. Or worse.”
“Ron, I’m really sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Let me tell you, Pastor. Reassignment is the dirty little secret of the school business.”
They settled down in the Pastor’s Study and Copeland expounded on the subject.
“It’s all about the contracts. If you’ve only been somewhere a few years, usually three or less, the district will put you on a probationary contract. Basically, that means, you have no rights and the district can let you go at the end of the year and not have to give you any reason at all.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. They’ll look you in the eye and say something like, we believe it to be in the best interest of the district, blah, blah, blah, and then they pat you on the back and say sayonara. And it’s all perfectly legal.”
“And they don’t have to give any reason?”
“None at all. But if you aren’t on a probationary contract, it’s even worse.”
“How so?”
“Well, in that case, they do have to state a reason. Now if you commit a crime, or cuss out your boss, or do something really dumb or outrageous, then it’s easy and most of the time, the person will just resign and go away. Then the district pretends you were a saint and gives you a great recommendation so someone else will hire you and they can wash their hands of you.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“It’s not, but believe me, it happens all the time.”
“So, what happens if you don’t do something stupid or illegal or unethical?”
“That’s where the fun comes in. The way the contracts work, it’s almost impossible to prove someone is unfit and justify nonrenewal. So, the school either has to spend years doing the whole growth plan thing and trying to prove they’ve done everything they could to fix you, and fill a binder with documentation on every single thing you’ve ever done, OR they find a way to make you quit.”
“And how do they do that?”
“Usually, they start by bluffing. They call you in and say, ‘Hey there’s a board meeting tonight and your name is on the list for nonrenewal, so if you want to sit down and give us a quick resignation letter, that would be great.’ And every teacher knows that if you ever get non-renewed, no district will ever hire you again, so it works a lot of the time.”
The pastor was shaking his head in disbelief.
Ron continued. “And of course, if you don’t give them the letter, they’ll be quick to point out that when the next district calls for a recommendation on you, they’ll be forced to tell them how uncooperative you were.”
“So, then what happens?”
“If you resign, nothing happens, except that you no longer have a job. But you can start sending out resumes and maybe they’ll be decent and give you that good recommendation they promised.”
“And if they don’t?”
“If they don’t, there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“Wow.”
“Sometimes all you can do is walk away and hope they will at least be somewhat fair when other districts call.”
“So, you’re pretty much at their mercy at that point.”
“Yep. But if you don’t resign and they were bluffing, then they’ll have to go ahead and give you a new contract for the next year.”
“So, then you’re okay for at least another year, right?”
“Not if they really want you gone, and if they’ve gone this far already, they’re probably all in. That’s when they get nasty and go for reassignment.”
“How does that work?”
“Contracts are always written in favor of the district. Teachers, and administrators for that matter, don’t really have much choice. If you want to work at the district, you pretty much have to sign the contract they hand you. And down in all that fine print, it will always say that the district can assign you to whatever duties they deem appropriate.”
“That doesn’t even sound fair.”
“It’s not, but that’s how it works. So, if they want you gone and you won’t resign, they just call you in and tell you that they’ve decided to reassign you to a different position and then you’re screwed.”
“What if the person doesn’t mind the new job? Or even prefers it?”
“Oh, Pastor.” He shook his head and laughed. “That’s the best part. There’s always a little sadism involved at this point. The real beauty is the new assignment itself. I mean, the real purpose is to make the person quit, so whatever the reassignment, it’s gonna be something that person just won’t do. Look at me. I went from being a campus principal to being assigned to the bus barn. I don’t even have a real job anymore. It’s just a way to embarrass me so I’ll quit. Think about it this way. What if your deacons came to you and said they wanted to reassign you to a new position. They could say, we’ll keep paying you the same thing we’ve always paid you, but instead of preaching on Sundays, we want you to mop the floors and clean the bathrooms.”
“I see your point.”
“Yeah, if it’s a head coach, they’ll demote him back to junior high or JV. If it’s a teacher, they’ll figure out the grade or subject that person hates the most. Administrators, well, they just banish them to the bus barn.”
***
Cora Peters needed a job. When her husband Evan had dropped dead of a heart attack four years earlier, she had used the insurance money to pay off the mortgage on the house and put the rest away to supplement her meager income as a teacher’s aide. Evan had kept her from working for years, but now that he was gone, she could do as she pleased. She had always regretted not having children of her own, but now she was working three days a week at the primary campus and loving every minute of it.
She also had her cats, her fur babies. Their numbers had grown and she was spending more than she could afford on cat food and toys. She was fast becoming the neighborhood crazy cat lady, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved her pets and they loved her. After years of starving for affection, she was finally happy. Poor, but content.
Unfortunately, the last of the insurance money was nearly gone, and even with the little bit of social security she received each month, she was barely making ends meet. Recently, she had discovered another job with the school district that paid well and fit her schedule nicely. As with most small districts, finding bus drivers was always a challenge. Cora had studied to pass the written tests to obtain her CDL and with the help of Mr. Ferguson at the bus barn, she was almost ready for the driving part of the test. She had been terrified when she first sat in the driver’s seat of the big yellow school bus, but she adjusted quickly and was soon zipping around the yard with ease. Jay Ferguson was a widower himself and when he touched her hands to place them correctly on the steering wheel, she had felt a fluttering in the heart, a stirring that had been quiet for decades.
She came by to practice several days a week when she was not at the primary school and passed the final test just before Spring Break. Jay promised to get her on a route as soon as he could. Ron Copeland had his CDL, but no amount of persuasion had gotten him to agree to drive a route. He had driven the bus back in the day, taking kids to UIL contests when he was the shop teacher, and once he had been forced to fill in at the last minute for a field trip, but he had never done a daily route and had no intention of starting now. Ferguson had some initial worries about Cora, but he was running out of options. A month back when a driver quit unexpectedly, he had been forced to combine two routes and the superintendent had been riding him ever since to get the position filled. Parents had complained about the kids getting home later and Dr. Marston did not like complaints. Cora was soon driving a route and her first several weeks passed without incident.
Ferguson’s other problem had been Ron Copeland, but that had worked out fine. When Dr. Marston informed him about the reassignment, he was worried that the principal who had always seemed gruff and unfriendly to him would make his life difficult. Instead, he found Copeland humble and a little embarrassed, but perfectly willing to help out in any way he could. Except for driving a bus. Ferguson’s regular dispatcher had been ill since Christmas. A cold had turned into pneumonia and after almost a month away he had returned, but he had zero energy and had fallen asleep twice on the radio. He was seventy and had worked for the district forever, or so it had seemed.
Copeland had readily agreed to work the radios and soon had the routine down pat, although he quickly discovered that the drivers could be a hard-headed bunch. They didn’t mind checking in at the various campus stops and letting the dispatcher know where they were, but they were all prone to ignore the radio when it came to incoming calls. Copeland was irritated by this, but he honestly couldn’t blame them too much. They were creatures of habit, and there was a lot to be said for staying on schedule and being consistent. Most of the drivers prided themselves on being at the stops at exactly the same time each day and hated to be thrown off their routine.
