I see the King Corn corporate guy and Cora talking. She tells me later her parting comments to him were, “It’s too bad you didn’t learn real leadership from the civil rights movement leaders like Dr. King, Diane Nash, and James Baldwin, among others.” He apparently had no comeback for her.
He does have a comeback for the collective excitement in the crowd, however. Someone else tells me later that they overheard him in the parking lot calling the governor.
“You better see this principal is fired by tomorrow,” he shouted into the phone. “He could make the whole deal fall through, and you can’t afford to lose King Corn and all our resources.”
In small-town fashion, word spread fast.
At the end of the night, Sean and I go to Chief to thank him for supporting us.
“I hope you won’t feel any pressure from big-wigs for the support you’ve given us,” I say.
Chief laughs. “Any pressure I’m getting just demonstrates how effective you folks are. Don’t worry about me. But I do worry you-all aren’t prepared for as big a fight as you’ve initiated.”
Next battle: the County Supervisors Board meeting, with Fresh Food on the agenda.
Community leaders like the newspaper editor, the CEO of the only local bank, Dad and the rest of the Hardee’s group, college officials, and members of other cooperatives in town all show up. The Board of Supervisors will vote on whether to approve the various tax and other concessions King Corn wants.
Word on the street is the Governor quit pressuring the Supervisors to support Fresh Food due to a close governor’s race in a few weeks. His successor-hopeful, who’s from the same political party, needs all the votes he can get.
Lots of people speak at the meeting, making for a long and tense marathon. One County planner mentions there are USDA grants that might help a non-profit cooperative and also “Virginia Farm to Table” grants. The community college president promises assistance from their newly formed Sustainable Agriculture initiative. The local bank CEO says he is behind the farmers with, as always, low-interest loans.
The last speaker didn’t know you have to sign up on a speaker’s list before the meeting starts. It’s the King Corn corporate guy. The Supervisors allow him to speak anyway, but he has nothing new to say—he just forcefully repeats past themes.
The Chair of the County Supervisors announces they will retire to an anteroom to consult with each other about their decision. “I promise we will not take long, so please wait,” she says.
The King Corn guy stands in a corner, arms folded in front of him, flipping through his phone messages. I sure would not want such an alienating job—nobody wanting to have anything to do with him, investing all his energy in places he doesn’t care about, not living in the present moment, only to repeat the same agenda over and over again.
His dour face, a stark contrast to everyone else’s around him, reflects the accuracy of my assessment. Neighbors are joking with each other. Newspaper reporters are also interviewing students, particularly the ones with FFA jackets on. The TV station from forty miles away is here filming and interviewing some of the speakers from earlier.
In the midst of all the celebration, I become nervous. What if we’re just being dumb hicks? Is this going to be a throwback to how I was treated most of my life, before the change at Stone Creek?
Just as I’m spiraling, the antidote for my mood crash appears, puts her arm around me, and rocks me gently. “Look what you did, Jake.”
I lean into her. “Thanks, Ms. Goodbar. You’re the one that got me going a while back, just when I was ready to give up.” How does she manage to send all those good vibes through a simple hug?
The Supervisors return to their stage. I’m afraid to look at them, so I look at Sean, who emotes confidence. The Chair announces the vote: there will be “no concessions” to King Corn, including no waivers of required approval from several planning committees. That will slow down any go-ahead by at least six months, probably a year.
The King Corn guy leaves so fast all I see is his back in the doorway. I take this as a victory.
I begin jumping and jumping, no stopping. Friends gather around and we form a large circle, arms around one another’s shoulders, swaying back and forth, looking deep into each other’s eyes, finding a universal “can you believe it?”
It doesn’t take long to hear via news reports that King Corn is retreating from our town and going in search of another, more receptive, location to try the Fresh Food model.
Here, high energy about the cooperative is catapulting many how-to ideas throughout the room.
Even Dad seems buoyed by the energy in the room. “Your dream started a whole movement of change back to fundamentals,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Life sure is mysterious.”
Chapter 12: A Life Worth Living
Once upon a time, Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
DANIEL
Jake has his dream still intact. My old dream, as I see it now, was about running to a nowhere called Successville.
I didn’t know how to listen to myself. If I had known how to ask myself where I was running to, I would have heard, It’s what I’m running from that’s key. Now, though, I’m strong enough to let some of that pain and confusion through. I hurt so much after you were gone. Why did you leave me? Was I a bad son? Those questions get easier each time they resurface.
My involvement in journalism these last two years has taught me to listen, and then to ask the next question. Often, people in the middle of an event are so caught up in immediacy they aren’t able to see through to what’s next.
For a long time, with everyone except for Mom, I functioned as a stepped-back kind of person, removed from the depth of personal connection and the intensity of events in a moment. It was because of Sean and Cora and Godfather, and eventually others, like Chief and Sean’s dad and some of my teachers, that I finally learned to open up to people and know I can rely on them. Some people say you have to do the step-back thing to be objective as a journalist. I disagree. A journalist has to be able to go back and forth. First, connect with a person and truly listen to what is at issue. Then step back so you can help the person see the next question. The people involved in any event tell me the story. Then I write it in a way that will make it possible for other people to hear and relate to the story too. So, as a journalist, I get to hear stories all the time and retell them. It’s a job of building connections between people.
I recently finished writing up a more in-depth story of farmer Jake and his friends last summer, including Sean’s pictures, all the way through to the King Corn drama. While I was working on it, I read an article in The New York Times about a school in South Carolina and the issue of graduation rates versus grade inflation. Before reading the article, I clearly identified the school’s problem just by looking at the pictures. Of the four pictures in the article, two are of students sitting in desks in a classroom, staring straight ahead with blank expressions. No animation, no interest, no life, no learning. Another photo shows a student completing a math assignment with pages full of questions like, “Based on the equation given, find the position function of the particle.” That explains the motionless, bored looks in the other two pictures. The last picture captures a principal standing in the hall outside the cafeteria, his hands held out in front of him like a traffic cop. This article convinces me how seeing can accentuate the words in storytelling.
Several of my teachers helped me with the King Corn rebellion story, and they encouraged me to submit it to Mr. Peyton, the editor of the local paper. He remembered me from the meeting early last year with the school newspaper staff, and said he has been following my stories in the school paper and thinks I am improving with each one. He agreed to run my King Corn story. Then he asked if I’d thought about writing about my experience in the group home. Even though I have come out to everyone about my history, I was still a little thrown by his question. But the more I thought about it
, the better I felt about the idea—and about myself. Not only is he complimenting my writing ability, I feel like I’m free to be the person I really am, even with important people who I don’t know very well. That is a milestone for me.
Based on the positive reaction to my King Corn article in his paper, Mr. Peyton asked for my permission to send it off to the Washington Post for their consideration. He also offered me a job at the local newspaper after I graduate, if I agree to take a college class or two every semester in addition to my reporting. He says he would be proud to mentor me in investigative journalism.
It’s an amazing opportunity for me, but lately I have been thinking about how much I enjoy doing interviews “live,” like with the firefighter who came in on 9/11 last year. I also interviewed a local businessperson in first period the other day about his company making military uniforms and equipment for our government. He has instituted many progressive approaches to running a business, including employees having a say in overall business objectives and how to meet them. His motto about decision-making is to always ask “why” first. I followed that statement with asking if he and his employees find it difficult when they think about why, since the ultimate purpose of their work is to equip the military to fight and kill people. He didn’t flinch, obviously having thought a great deal about the question before. I really respected how honest and straightforward he was, and he seemed impressed that I had the guts to ask.
The excitement of that interview—thinking quickly on my feet and maintaining a positive relationship with the person I am interviewing while still asking tough questions—all that felt like what I am supposed to do. And students listening to the interview got to see the story live, which is even better than seeing pictures in an article in a newspaper. Of course, that experience could have been a lucky shot. I should probably get more experience in the basics before setting my sights on TV reporting and interviewing.
I am not anxious to leave town after graduation like some of my friends are. For one, Mom and I are really enjoying life right now, both individually and together. Also, I’m adjusting to another big change in my life: With Mom’s help, I found my father. He’s now living in the Midwest. Our two phone conversations have been pretty awkward, since we don’t really know each other or where to start. But we both seem okay with taking things slow and starting to fill in the gaps, mainly talking about what each of us is doing now. Every once in a while he’ll mention something related to his continuing PTSD. In our last conversation, I told him about my work in journalism and he said, “I used to be the storyteller. Now you are.”
That connection alone is enough to keep a warm light shining in me for some time.
CORA
I posted comments on Stone Creek’s website about a recent event, with the title “Black Lives Matter Goes to School,” while the whole King Corn controversy was going on:
The black high school girl, South Carolina again, thrown violently across the room by a police officer assigned to the school. Some wonder what the girl was doing before the three videos shot at the scene. Turns out her crime was not giving up her cell phone to the teacher. Do people then wonder how much she had been asked to give up previously in her life? Could the police officer, assigned to protect young people, not imagine there might be something legitimately important at stake? No. A black person is not entitled to human complexity, only obedience to authority, conveniently still overwhelmingly white.
James Baldwin wrote, many years ago, “The question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the graver questions of the self.” He argued that is why the question of race is so tenacious in American life, and so dangerous.
The post went mostly unnoticed, since the King Corn thing was taking up most people’s attention, but a few people wrote responses in the days that followed. Mostly favorable, but not the deep reflection I need. Then I received a private message from Jake.
Cora, I read “Black Lives Matter Goes to School.” I want to tell you how much I admire who you are. You are brave every day, taking responsibility for defining who you are—not a finished product but alive, with sense of purpose for whatever comes along. I know you have been struggling with where to go to college, so I’d like to offer my thoughts for you to consider. To think you need support in college to grow is to doubt yourself. What you need is the challenges of a lifetime, which will allow you to expand your own platform of support for yourself. Your platform foundation has the experiences of love of family, friends, and Stone Creek High School. Now, broaden your horizons and free your inner spirit to soar. Don’t doubt it’s already there. Sometimes I look at the dirt under my fingernails to remind me where my purpose lies. If you need reminder of your purpose, reencounter your portfolio of beautiful writing, deep questioning, analytical mind, and passionate values. It’s also okay to ask for hugs. I still imagine, in my hardest moments, rocking in my mom’s lap. Love, Jake
Jake is right. I have been afraid of being terrorized by others defining me as black. I hate the idea of being judged from the outside. That’s what’s been going on with the college thing. My resistance to judgment of colleges, to the idea of them deciding if I am worthy based on ridiculous criteria like tests. How did that power get shifted? It should be my decision what college suits me; it shouldn’t be based on irrelevant criteria like tests or so-called race. The consumer, the student, should get to decide if they want to purchase the college’s educational product.
Today at school, I walk up to Jake before first period and give him a bear hug like I gave my grandfather last year. “Thanks, Jake. It’s nice to have friends I trust enough to listen to them.”
“And for you,” he says, smiling, “I have a gift for your future. Chelsea gave me one of these brochures and asked me to give you the other. I’m not ready to go down this road, but you may be.”
I take the brochure home with me and pore over it in my room. It is about the Echols Interdisciplinary Major at UVA. The program is founded on student self-motivation and intellectual creativity. That’s an academic way of saying you get to take courses from different areas and call it a major. How fabulous it would be to combine areas like neurobiology, developmental psychology, and cultural studies. Not either/or but all three/and. Stone Creek has prepared me for a program like this. I’m confident I could talk my way into the program, which starts sophomore year, by showing them my high school portfolio and proving I am capable through my college freshman classes.
Chelsea attached a sticky note that reads:
I don’t even have one interest yet, much less a program like this. I could see Jake combining agricultural science, natural ecology, and cooperative organizational structures. But I understand why he wants to continue working with the new Sustainable Agriculture department at the community college. They have him suggesting what speakers they should invite for an upcoming regional meeting. And, mainly, he is already putting in every spare minute to reforming the current Farmers’ Cooperative. Both of you attending Stone Creek as a background, plus practical experiences, would likely get you accepted for the Echols program. Meanwhile, I’ll work on getting some direction for my life. The Sufi dancing somehow allows the authentic me inside to bubble up sometimes. Funny how my teenage years were spent listening to everyone else but me. One new development here—a psychology professor wants me to take an independent study class with her next fall, reading in my areas of interest and talking with her. I can’t wait! Also look forward to you coming here next year … maybe??
An unsettling thought hits me. I might have taken an entirely different direction. My involvement in the farm cooperative idea prevented me from having time to decide among colleges and apply for early acceptance like I planned, not even knowing about this UVA program. I can’t technically apply for Echols until after my first year, but I bet my interest in it will help me get accepted to UVA and also get financial aid.
I message Jake:
Yes, it’s true I’m over my self-doubt phase, thanks
in part to you. I think my crisis in confidence was coming from the fear of leaving my parents, not realizing they would always be with me. Also, my close relationships with Chelsea, Daniel, Sean, and you helped me learn to accept myself as I am. Leaving Stone Creek will be hard, too, because I have felt so comfortable here. But you were right, and my time in the science program at Howard this summer helped me realize I’m ready to throw myself into more demanding challenges.
Saying to Jake how comfortable I’ve been at Stone Creek makes me wonder if I haven’t been too comfortable. Maybe it’s time to add action to the thought of spreading my wings.
SEAN
I applied for early acceptance to the Maine Maritime Academy. Dad managed to get an exception to the early decision deadline for me, and they gave me an in-person interview after the County Supervisors made their decision about Fresh Food. Mom and Dad fret over my appearance to the college people; my hair is now super long, uncut since last summer. I didn’t let them talk me into cutting it. It’s a badge of honor to remember who I am, with sun-bleached hair. And my confidence apparently came through louder than my shaggy hair: the interview went well and the Academy people seemed impressed with my leadership role in the King Corn invasion. I heard pretty quickly I was accepted.
Weird, and a little scary, to think I’ll be going to another academy. I hope it is nothing like Hilltop. Based on advice I received in first period sessions at Stone Creek, I knew to investigate what life is really like at the Maine Academy when I went in for my interview: I talked with many students, not just the ones selected to tour prospects around, visited freshmen classes, and talked with professors in the science department. It seems like a great combination of being adventurous and challenging, and yet chill (no pun) in atmosphere—probably since it is so small.
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