by David Klass
“We’re not in the third grade anymore, Kris snapped.”Don’t take this the wrong way, but when are you gonna grow up?”
I looked back at her. “Is hanging out at the popular table with a bunch of jerks in designer clothes growing up?”
Kris stood up off the bench, and I stood up also. “Your friends are the same friends you’ve had since third grade,” she said. “Your hobbies—those stupid tropical fish, I’m sorry, Joe, but they were cute when you were ten. You’re not even applying to college—”
“A lot of people don’t go to college.”
“So are you going to work in a car wash all your life?”
“My father’s done that. He’s not a bad man.”
“No, he’s not,” Kris said. “I didn’t mean that he was. But you could be so much more. You could do so much more. You’ve got to take chances. It’s part of growing up.” She paused for a second and looked at me, and the breeze blew her hair. “Just like asking someone out on a date, before she got involved with somebody else, would have meant taking a chance, and risking the old for the new. You should have taken that chance. Joe, you’ve got to grow up.”
I was getting pretty tired of hearing her tell me that. “Thanks for the advice, Kris. I may not have my future mapped out too well, but at least I know who I am. Good luck with your new friends and your new clothes and your new boyfriend. I hope it all makes you happy. But somehow I don’t think it will.”
“I do,” she said to my back as I walked away. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
18
They finished putting up security cameras in all the main hallways by Friday, just in time for the big meeting that night. The Mouse said the cameras made him feel safer, but they made me a little self-conscious. You couldn’t pick your nose or scratch your butt or give some teammate a playful shove in the back without worrying that your actions were being recorded, and that an alarm would go off, and cops were going to thunder down the hall to arrest you.
There were rumors that there were other cameras, too, secret ones. Some said sensitive smoke alarms had been installed in the bathrooms in case anyone was dumb enough to try to sneak a cigarette. Others said microphones had been hidden in the locker rooms—always a source of threats and bad blood and violence in our school. I didn’t believe those rumors, but I did feel I was being watched all the time, by police, by office workers who were patrolling the halls morning and afternoon, and by the security cameras.
Iron-mesh grates had been bolted to the outside of all first-floor windows, and several second-floor windows, too. One of my favorite views of Overpeck Creek, from the second-floor science room, was now crosshatched by iron mesh.
Soccer practice was weird that Friday. The local cable news network had run their spot on Antonio on Thursday night. The clip was thirty seconds long and showed him juggling a ball in the air, while a voice-over explained how an international youth star had joined the Lawndale team. More soccer lovers must have seen it than I would have guessed. We had several dozen people in the stands for our Friday practice. Half of them were adults I had never seen before—maybe they were soccer fans, or scouts from local teams, or journalists.
Our team reacted to the unexpected attention by playing better than usual. Antonio was so good that he made everyone on the offense look better. Time and again his crisp passes found open players and created space. Surprisingly, guys like Zigler and Canoe Feet Cavanaugh and Ed the Mouse started looking to make passes themselves, or at least tried to get the ball back to Antonio. Several times during practice our offense moved the ball all the way downfield, changing sides and making short, controlled one-touch passes that I wouldn’t have believed possible from this collection of goofballs.
I guess I should have been appreciative. Coach Collins was right—I had worked harder for our team than anyone else. But I kept thinking that after the Phenom showered up, and blow-dried his hair, and dressed in one of his natty outfits, he would be taking Kris to New York to hear a Spanish guitarist. And I would be stuck in Lawndale, hanging out with Greg Maniac Murray, and Ed the Mouse, shooting pool at the rec center.
Some of Kris’s words to me must have hit home. I have to admit, all during the pool game at the rec center, and later at Mario’s Pizza, I was conscious of watching my buddies and listening to their boneheaded banter in a way I never had before—as if sizing up whether or not they were indeed social zeros. While I knew this was an awful way to think about old friends, it was as if Kris had planted a dangerous seed in my mind, and I couldn’t stop it from taking root.
Ed the Mouse and Maniac Murray decided to find out who could eat a slice of pizza faster without using hands. They got down on their knees in front of our Formica table and practically licked their slices off the paper plates. Shirts got covered with cheese and tomato. Crusts slid into collars. Red pepper got into Maniac Murray’s eyes, and he let out one of his patented howls and flushed it out by pouring a pitcher of ice water over his face. I thought about Kris and Antonio at some elegant Manhattan restaurant, dining by candlelight. When I blinked and looked around, it seemed like I was trapped in a Three Stooges movie.
As it got close to seven, we headed down to the high school for the big town meeting. Even before we reached the school, I could tell that the newspaper had been wrong—there would be a lot more than a few hundred people. The parking lot was already full, and police were directing cars to side-street parking, three and four blocks away.
Our town’s entire police force must have been on duty that night. They weren’t just helping with the parking and directing traffic, but were also on guard in the school, making sure that everyone walked through the metal detector at the front door. I could tell that it felt as strange to our parents as it felt to us. “I don’t mind walking through one of these at an airport,” I heard an elderly woman complain. “I understand the danger at an airport, so I’m happy to cooperate. But just to get into a school?”
The meeting had been moved from the auditorium to the gym to accommodate the overflow crowd. The gym bleachers hold a thousand people, and they were filling up rapidly. Mouse, Maniac, and I found seats in a middle bleacher, near a lot of other students. I saw kids from Lawndale and Bankside, hard guys and nerds, popular kids and loners. My father had been right—this was the big Friday night event of the year, and no one wanted to miss it.
At the front of the gym, our town’s movers and shakers milled about, pressing flesh and smiling for news cameras. I spotted Mayor Garsons, and Police Chief Keller, and School Board President Hamilton. But even though these bigwigs wanted to be seen, apparently they didn’t want to be heard at such a controversial meeting. When the lights dimmed and people started to quiet down, all of them quickly took seats.
Deputy Police Chief Coyle was seated up on the platform, near the microphone. Vice Principal Tobias was there, too, in a brand-new pin-striped suit. He had a pocket watch on a gold chain, and he kept pulling it out and looking at it, as if impatient for this big show he had produced to get underway. Sitting between Tobias and Coyle was the thin man I had seen for the first time at the school assembly, sporting what looked like the same polka-dot bow tie. He kept glancing at a pad he had brought, as if cramming for a big test.
But when the moment came to open the night’s proceedings, neither Tobias, nor Coyle, nor the bow-tied mystery man made a move. Instead, it was old Principal Landisman who limped slowly and unsteadily to the microphone, and tapped it with his finger. “TESTING, TESTING,” he said. “CAN YOU HEAR ME? I don’t think the darned thing’s turned on.”
There was some laughter, and people called out, “It’s on, say something worth listening to,” and “Get him out of there before he electrocutes himself.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw something small fly through the air near my head. I thought it might have dropped from the ceiling, but then I saw another tiny pellet fly by and hit Mouse in the back of the head. He turned, and I also pivoted. Tony Borelli, Jack Hutchings
, and Chris Coleman were sitting two bleachers behind us. They had a bag of popcorn, and they grinned at us. “What are you looking at, Mouseman?” Jack Hutchings asked.
“Cut it out,” Mouse said back to him.
Meanwhile, someone got the message to old Landisman that he was coming through loud and clear, and he stopped thumping the microphone with his finger and looked out at us. He must have been more than seventy, and he didn’t look in very good health. In fact, as he stood there, peering out at a thousand or so of us, on row upon row of bleachers, he looked very frail. He reached out and held the microphone stand, as if for support. The crowd quieted.
“Welcome, all of you,” he said. “I won’t be doing much talking tonight. I’ve been a little under the weather. In fact, I broke doctor’s orders to come. But I wanted to be here. In my school. Talking to all of you, students, parents, members of the community. I know we’re all here because we care. That’s the way it’s been for many years.”
He cleared his throat, and it sounded like an old car trying to make it up a steep hill. “Many years,” he repeated. “I started as a high school teacher more than fifty years ago. Do you know why I went into education? Heck, I knew I wasn’t going to make a lot of money. But I believed that there was no higher profession on this earth than being an educator. I believed that girls and boys are fundamentally good at heart, and are curious, and soak up what they need to know like sponges. And I’m not just talking about book learning. I’m talking about good behavior, too. Fifty years.”
Old Landisman broke off for a second. I thought he might have forgotten what he wanted to say next, but then again, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe he was speaking to us with his silence. He just stood there for ten or fifteen seconds, and the thousand people in the gym waited.
“Fifty years is a long time,” he finally said. “Too long. I’ll be stepping down as principal at the end of this term. Vice Principal Tobias is more than competent to run the school. The board may decide to bring in somebody from the outside. That’s up to them. All I know is I’m tired … and a little confused. So I won’t be talking much more tonight. These new changes … the security measures … this emergency … frankly, it’s all beyond me. It’s not what I understand about being an educator of good girls and boys.”
His hand, holding the microphone rod, shook, and the mike rattled. “What has happened to change things in our peaceful community?” he asked. “What is this new danger, this fear … this violence … this … phenomenon?” The crowded gym was silent—his question hung in the air.
A faint squeaking came from two rows behind us. And I heard whispers: “Mouseman. Mouseface. Mousedick. Yeah, you, Mouseboy.”
Next to me on the bleacher, Mouse tensed up but did not turn around. He was watching Landisman, as if waiting for an answer from the old man, and he didn’t even flinch as another piece of popcorn hit the back of his head and lodged in his hair.
“I’m sure the vice principal will be able to answer your questions,” old Landisman finally said, and for a moment he seemed to look right at us, right at Ed the Mouse, with a slightly sad, almost apologetic expression. “I know I can’t. So I’m going to walk away now.”
But the old man didn’t walk away. He just stood there, and finally he smiled a tiny but wonderful little smile, and he said, “Forgive me, I was just remembering a scared twenty-three-year-old teacher, fresh out of college, who faced a class of high school students for the first time half a century ago, and let me tell you, were his knees knocking that day! He looked around at a bunch of teenagers who were looking back at him, and he thought to himself, ‘Here you are, old boy, you’d better try to teach them something worthwhile, because they’re good kids, with hearts of silver and gold, so give it your very best shot.’” Old Landisman took his hand away from the microphone rod, stood up straight and tall, and said, “It’s been a real honor. Thank you all very much.”
A chair had been set for the old principal on the stage, but he headed for the stairs instead, and descended into semidarkness. There was a strange silence in the gym, and then somebody started clapping, and in a minute applause rolled through the gym like a thunderstorm. Vice Principal Tobias walked to the microphone, but the clapping didn’t end. So he stood there, a bit uneasily, clapping himself, and he waited. I saw him steal one quick glance at his pocket watch.
The applause slowly died, and the big man on the stage adjusted the microphone to his commanding height. “Good evening,” he said. “I’m Stephen Tobias, the vice principal. Those were wise words from Principal Landisman, and I’m sure we’re all very sorry to hear him announce his retirement.” Tobias paused, and licked his lips, as if anxious to taste a meal he had waited a long time for. “I’m the one who set up these new policies and security measures, so I can speak to you about them. My purpose tonight is to tell you what we’ve done, why we’ve done it, and how it’s working.”
A tough-looking man near the front stood up and shouted, “HEY, BIG SHOT, WHAT’S WITH MAKING ME WALK THROUGH A METAL DETECTOR? WHY DON’T YOU TALK ABOUT THAT?”
There was nervous laughter at the show of disrespect.
“Sir, I fully intend to,” Vice Principal Tobias replied with dignity. “Why don’t you sit down and give me a chance.”
The man sat down, and Tobias began detailing the new zero tolerance policy. Then he described some of the security measures that had been installed, from the cameras to the police patrols. There were more than I knew about. Windows and doors had been secured all around the school. Direct hot lines had been set up with the county police, and with a School Violence Rapid Response Team from the state police. There was a new School Evacuation Plan, and in addition to fire drills, we would soon have a School Emergency Evacuation Drill.
All during the recitation of safety measures, I kept hearing squeaks from behind me. Popcorn strafed us. The three hard guys behind us weren’t just squeaking and calling names, they were whispering messages now, too: “You know what you have to do, Mouseman. You don’t show respect, you know what’s gonna happen. You’re cruising for a bruising. It’s your choice.”
“So, that’s the gist of our new security measures,” Vice Principal Tobias finally finished. He glanced at Deputy Police Chief Coyle. “Anything I left out?”
Coyle looked like he might say something, but a tall woman from the audience beat him to it. “WHAT ABOUT EDUCATING OUR CHILDREN?” she shouted. “YOU HAVEN’T TALKED ABOUT THAT AT ALL.”
Tobias smiled at her. “You’re absolutely right. Principal Landisman reminded us of the joys and challenges of being an educator. I agree with him, and with you, ma’am, that’s why we’re here. To educate our kids. But we also have to make sure they’re safe. That’s our first priority. Nothing I’ve done goes against education. Everything is for the purpose of protection. In order to educate, we need to protect—”
“WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS WHO ARE YOU PROTECTING THEM FROM?” a big woman in a blue dress rose to demand. I recognized her from the town pool. She was the mother and grandmother of a huge Lawndale family and was always shouting at some kid or grandkid to put on lotion, or stop fighting, or get out of the water.
“You tell him, Mary,” a woman near her shouted.
Mary didn’t look like she needed encouragement—she forged ahead. She had a voice like a foghorn: “WHERE’S THE THREAT?” she demanded. “WHO’S THE THREAT? IS IT THE TOWN? THE PARENTS? ARE YOU PROTECTING OUR KIDS FROM THEMSELVES AND THEIR OWN FRIENDS? I’VE SENT SIX KIDS THROUGH THIS SCHOOL, AND THEY TURNED OUT JUST FINE.”
“I’m sure they did,” Vice Principal Tobias told her. “You’re just the kind of concerned parent who should appreciate what we’re trying to do. There isn’t one specific threat. These are general, preventative safety measures—”
She shouted him down. “YES, BUT DID YOU EVER STOP TO THINK WHAT MESSAGE YOU’RE SENDING KIDS, WITH ALL YOUR METAL DETECTORS AND BARS ON WINDOWS? YOU’RE TURNING THIS SCHOOL INTO A JAIL, A WAR ZONE. BE CAREFUL, IF Y
OU BUILD IT, IT MAY COME! AND YOU MAY BRING IT!” She sat down, to loud applause.
Vice Principal Tobias pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “The suggestion, that I built this … that I’m creating this problem … is the opposite of the truth,” he said. “I didn’t find this problem … it found me. Deputy Chief Coyle, why don’t you tell them about Red Flag.”
So Coyle walked to the microphone and told the crowd about Red Flag, and how a sophisticated state-of-the-art prognosticating tool had determined that Lawndale was facing mounting teen violence, and was considered high-risk.
“HIGH RISK OF WHAT?” a bald man near the front demanded.
“We don’t know what,” Coyle admitted. “We’re trying to take the proper precautions … so we don’t find out.”
“WHAT’S HAPPENED SO FAR?” the bald man shouted back. “WHY DON’T YOU TELL US ABOUT THIS MOUNTING VIOLENCE SO WE CAN JUDGE FOR OURSELVES HOW SERIOUS IT IS?”
“I wish I could,” Coyle said. “But it’s not in your best interest for me to do that.”
People whistled and stamped on the bleachers and shouted that they could decide what was in their own best interest. The meeting was getting out of control.
A hand reached down from a bleacher behind us and flicked Ed on his earlobe. He jumped up, and whirled around, but the hand had been withdrawn. Ed the Mouse glared up at the three hard guys, who grinned back at him.
“Ed, maybe we should move,” I suggested.
“No way,” he said, sitting back down. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Deputy Chief Coyle shrugged at all the jeers and foot stomping, and glanced toward the thin man with the bow tie, who got up and walked to the microphone.
Tobias introduced him. “Ladies and gentlemen, please let’s be civil. This is Dr. LaFarge, an expert in the study of school violence and a professor of sociology at New York University. Professor LaFarge is writing a book on how schools like ours can prevent violence, and he’s been retained by our school system as a consultant. Professor …”