by Owen Thomas
There is a general nodding and mumbling from behind me. I do the same.
“This is not a pep rally. There will be no commotion. There will be no food or drink. Cell phones off. Not on vibrate. Off. No texting. No games. No photos. I will add your little electronic devices to my own private collection. I see gum. I see lots of gum. Gum is not to be seen. If I actually see gum, I will eject you. Young man, this is not a place to be listening to your music.”
He seems to be looking at me and I start to nod as though there is very little risk that I will be making the mistake of grooving out at my termination hearing. Then it hits me. I stand, gesturing over my shoulder.
“Your Honor. This is my younger brother. I can’t leave him alone. The headphones will really help. I told him to keep the volume very low.”
Judge Archoni tilts his head to look past me at Ben who is swaying gently, oblivious to what we are saying. I can see the reality of my brother reflect on the Judge’s face. His expression softens from granite to limestone.
“Very well, Mr. Johns. But you are responsible.” He points at me.
“Yes sir. Correct. I am responsible.”
“Okay then. I will take evidence in the form of documents, if any, and witness testimony. You may object to the presentation of evidence if you wish, without any penalty from me. But understand two things. First, the formal rules of evidence do not apply in this proceeding. Second, the tender ears and sensibilities of a jury are not at issue. I am a big boy who has been around this block more than a few times. The fact that I hear evidence, or see evidence, does not mean I will rely on it in reaching my decision. My general inclination is to let it all in and then throw away the bits that I think are irrelevant. If you think that I am not capable of sorting through the evidence in this fashion then by all means object. I’m just telling you in advance that I am quite confident in my ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. Most of the time, I’m going to allow it. Once I’ve ruled on an evidence issue, that’s it. We’re moving on. I’m not spending all day debating what I can and cannot hear. Understood?”
The lawyer across the aisle nods sharply. I do the same.
“Good. Now, witnesses to give testimony in this matter may not be present to hear the testimony of other witnesses. If you expect to be called as a witness, you must wait outside the courtroom until you are summoned. Once you have testified, unless either of the parties express an intention to recall you as a witness later in the proceeding, you may stay and observe or you may leave and go get your own life, as my granddaughter likes to say to her little brother.”
There is a wave of laughter and a hint of a smile on the judge’s face.
“So. All people who expect to give testimony, please remove yourselves to someplace nearby. There is a vending machine or two on the main floor, just don’t bring any of it back with you.”
People are moving behind me. Standing. Making room for others to pass. Chuck North is up and stepping into the aisle. Our eyes catch. See you soon, they say. It is the first time we have eyeballed each other since I called him a fucking jack-booted Super Trouper Fernando Dancing Queen Mama Mia Nazi. I can tell he has not forgotten. The other thought I can see in his eyes is the dead girl in Johnstown. We are both thinking about genetic markers and lab-coated scientists and electron microscopes.
Soon, say his eyes.
I break contact, panning the room behind me. Several adults are headed for the door. The students remain. Shepp is too far to my left and I have to turn my head the other way to find him. His back is to me. He is standing, talking to Mae. He is blocking her. All I can see of her is part of her arm and her hand, which is holding on to two of Shepp’s fingers. She wags his hand. Lets go of his fingers. Pats him on the thigh.
I turn back around in my chair and stare at the pitcher of water on the table. There is a grim satisfaction in having been right all along about them. I had almost convinced myself that the pot had made me paranoid. But you’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you. Shepp’s here for me because he has been subpoenaed to be here. And Mae’s not here for me at all.
“Counsel, are you prepared to make an opening statement?”
I have not anticipated needing to make an opening statement. My legal defense is neither long enough nor complicated enough for me to artificially segment it into a number of different procedurally dictated unveilings. Suddenly everything I imagined that I want to say at this hearing has abandoned me. Flying south.
The lawyer at the table next to me stands. He takes off his glasses. He is relaxed. Comfortable. Like he has invited us all to his living room to show us his new flat screen plasma television.
“Very briefly your honor, as I know we have started late this afternoon. My name is Melvin Etus of the firm Randolff, Meyers and Shoon, and I am counsel for the Columbus Board of Education. To my right is Robert B. Robertson III. Mr. Robertson is the Principal of Wilson High School where Mr. Johns has been employed as a history teacher. It is our position that in the fair and good faith assessment of Mr. Robertson, Mr. Johns has exhibited extraordinarily poor judgment as a teacher and has violated, by every reasonable measure, his obligation as a teacher. The evidence will show that Mr. Johns has taken advantage of his authority as a teacher to make his students a captive audience to his own personal political agenda. He has worked to indoctrinate rather than to educate, Your Honor. The evidence will show that he has taken every opportunity to openly mock and denigrate the teaching materials carefully evaluated, selected and purchased by the Board of Education and used in high schools throughout Franklin County. Further, and perhaps most concerning, the evidence will show that Mr. Johns has used his position as a teacher to encourage the delinquency of the students placed in his care and influence, including under-aged drinking, illegal drug use, and – there is simply no delicate way to put it, Your Honor – sexual misconduct.”
A low, rolling murmur of disgust passes behind me. There is a soft commotion in the back of the room. People stirring; coming and going. There is a numbness, a deadness, in my extremities as my blood migrates inland. The lights are dimming. I feel light-headed.
“Mr. Johns? Mr. Johns.” I look up at the Judge. “Are you feeling okay? Perhaps you should take a breath. Have a cup of water. You are looking a bit pale.”
I nod and pour myself a cup of water. The room is silent as I swallow. The lights come back up. I drink again. I nod.
“Okay?”
I nod again, pretending to write something on my pad.
“Please continue Mr. Etus.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I appreciate that it is difficult for Mr. Johns to hear his conduct recited back to him. But I’m afraid it is going to be an unpleasant afternoon. And, indeed, the unpleasantness is not soon to let up since Mr. Johns has recently been indicted for felony drug possession and, the Board of Education is informed, he is a person of interest in an on-going law enforcement investigation into the disappearance of one of his students.”
Another low grumbling from behind me like distant thunder.
“Everybody settle down,” says Judge Archoni calmly. “I don’t want to be hearing that all afternoon. Keep it to yourselves.”
“In short, Your Honor, the evidence will show that the Board of Education has good and just cause to terminate Mr. John’s contract and, pursuant to Ohio Revised Code 3319.6, seeks an order of termination.”
“Thank you, Mr. Etus. Mr. Johns? Your opening statement. Feel free to remain seated if you wish.”
I stand, slowly, bracing myself against the table with my fingers. My ears ring. My mouth is a soundless desert. My words die in the crossing. I wait for something, anything. I am conscious of sounds from beyond the walls. A burst of siren six floors down. A squeal of electronic feedback. The judge clears his throat.
“Mr. Johns.”
“Your Honor… None of that… what he just said… is true. I… I teach history. It is true, I don’t think… yeah, I mean, I don’t like the history te
xt. I think it is simplistic and even outright misleading. So I try to teach how we should go about thinking about history. Learning from it. You know, questioning it. I’m not… he says I’m trying to indoctrinate. I’m not indoctrinating anyone. I do have my own political views, but who doesn’t? History is politics. You can’t separate history from politics. Nothing is objective. Everyone looks at the past through a lens. And every lens has a color. I try to get my students to identify the lenses. To identify the colors. And then to ask questions. So, yes, we talk about politics. And religion. We talk about anything that might color perspective. Our contract has an academic freedom clause in it. It says… just a minute…”
I shuffle through the contract, looking for the paperclip, conscious of the silence.
“It says ‘The right to academic freedom herein established shall include the right to support or oppose political causes and issues outside of the teaching role and the teacher’s school-related activities and relationships.’ They can’t fire me because they don’t like my politics. And as for the other… issues…”
The judge leans forward, raising his eyebrows in interest. I cannot think. Melvin Etus turns and looks at me. I imagine I am back in the classroom. I can see the faces of those kids, my charges, staring at me. Blink. Blink. Chew. Even in my own imagination, Brittany’s face is not among them. Someone’s getting sued, says Martin. John Wilkes Booth was innocent until proven guilty by a lawyer, says Becca.
“Mr. Johns?”
“Sorry. I am innocent until I am proven guilty. None of that … stuff… has been proven. I don’t think it is fair for the Board to use that as evidence against me. They can suspend me pending resolution of those charges, but they cannot just take my job away for something I did not do. And I would say the same thing about this investigation into Brit… the student’s … disappearance. I had nothing to do with that. I have no idea where she is or what, if anything, has happened to her. I have never even been charged with anything. They should not… I don’t think it is fair for them to get into those issues here. This hearing should be about my performance in the classroom. I know … I know people are upset. I think there are a lot of misimpressions about the class. I’m not trying to do anything other than teach the subject. And all of the other stuff is unfair to bring up. I guess that’s all I have to say.”
Basil Raymond Archoni leans back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. He speaks, never taking his eyes off of me.
“Am I to take it, Mr. Johns, that you object to the Board introducing evidence pertaining to any and all pending criminal matters and investigations?”
“Yes. I guess I do. I’m sorry, Judge, I just…” He holds up a hand.
“No, no. No apologies. I just want to make sure I’m clear. Mr. Etus?”
Etus stands.
“Your Honor, the Board’s position is that the pending criminal matters are entirely relevant because, as we will show, they stem from Mr. John’s role as a teacher and his relationship with his students. These are not extraneous, unrelated criminal inquiries with which the Board is attempting to unfairly tarnish Mr. John’s credibility in this hearing. This is conduct specifically related to the role Mr. Johns is expected to fill in the pubic school system. Given that connection, the Board is not required to keep Mr. Johns employed and simply keep its fingers crossed in the hope that it does not have a felon in the classroom. And on the other issue, your Honor, I would only add that if in the future Mr. Johns wishes to quote contract language about preserving academic freedom, he should be careful not to leave off important clauses such as ‘academic freedom shall be exercised within the bounds of general standards of professional responsibility.’”
This last bit seems to annoy the judge, who starts flicking the back of his hand at Melvin Etus before he is through. Etus sits.
“Mr. Johns,” says Archoni, “I am denying your request to exclude the evidence. That does not mean I will consider it as a factor in my ruling. That depends on the testimony. But I see no reason to exclude it from the hearing. Mr. Etus, are you ready to call your first witness?”
“I am, Your Honor. The Board of Education calls Mr. Walter Green.”
I glance back at Ben. He is looking into the depths of his music bag, organizing his CD’s according to some secret priority I could not begin to guess. The woman next to him is giving him a wide birth, crowding the woman next to her so as not to get too close to the mental defective just in case whatever he has is contagious. I look at her and smile. She looks away. No one is in the aisle seat on Ben’s other side. I can hear a faint staccato buzzing from the earphones on his head. Disco. I want him to scoot over so that he can avoid getting sandwiched in. I wave my hand in his direction, but his head is down. He is too far away to touch.
A tall, gangly man strides up the aisle into my field of view. Walter Green looks remarkably like his son, Todd. He has a head of thinning red curls and a boyish, lightly freckled face. He pushes through the gate, looking away from me as he passes.
Walter takes a seat in the witness chair, which is much too small for his frame. He tries crossing his legs, but the table will not accommodate his knees so he extends his legs beneath the table, out the other side, and into the middle of the room. He crosses them at the ankles in a classic Barcalounger pose. All he needs is a beer and a remote.
“Mr. Green,” says Archoni, “will you please raise you right hand.”
Walter swears to tell the truth, so help him. Etus asks his questions from a yellow pad of paper, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the witness and the judge. He glances slyly at me every time he passes in front of my table, as if trying to gauge my reaction to the testimony.
Walter Green answers Etus in a quick, rhythmic fashion, almost nipping off the end of each question, as though this is the fifth time he has been through this drill today. Originally from Tulsa, he has lived in Columbus for eighteen years. He sells insurance. His wife, Doris, runs an antique business. They are very active in their church. He and Doris have been married twenty-three years. They have three beautiful and loving children – he says this with a breaking voice, as though I have somehow tried to defile them, and they are now closer to becoming ugly and hateful children than ever before. His oldest son is Todd. He and Todd are still active in scouting. Todd is a freshman at Wilson High School. He has attended the history class taught by that man. Mr. Green points but does not look.
“Mr. Green, did there come a time when you found it necessary to complain to the school principal, Mr. Robinson, about Mr. Johns?”
“Yes.”
“Can you explain?”
“Todd came home from school very upset one day.”
“What was he upset about? Did he tell you?”
“He told me and Doris – we were all in the car headed out to a weekly fellowship gathering at the church – and he told us that his teacher had told the class that Christians were terrorists.”
“Terrorists.”
“Yes sir.”
“His word.”
“Yes.”
“And that upset Todd?”
“Yes. It sure upset me, I’ll tell you that. I am a Christian and an American. My whole family has been raised in Christ. My brother is in Iraq. It is a Christian God that keeps him alive every day, sir. My family knows the difference between a Christian and a terrorist and I don’t need a godless history teacher trying to turn morality on its head.”
“Is that all Todd told you?”
“We were … well, we were just plain upset and so I pulled the car over and we asked him what else was being said in that class. And Todd told us that his teacher was teaching them… well, let’s just see here,” Walter Green starts counting on his fingers, “he told them that America is on the side of Saddam Hussein. That America taught Hitler how to exterminate the Jews. Thomas Jefferson and George Washington liked to rape slaves. Woodrow Wilson was a member of the Ku Klux Klan. President Bush, our Commander in Chief, is a fool and a drunk. He told them
that the history book was nothing but fairy tales or bedtime stories or some such thing. He sang the praises of communists. He criticized students for expressing their patriotism. He told Todd that his religion was questionable.”
“Anything else?”
“When Todd tried to defend his religion and his country, he was singled out, humiliated, and assigned extra work as punishment. That man wanted to make an example out of him.”
“And I take it you did not find that acceptable?”
“No sir. Absolutely not. That’s not why I pay taxes. Doris and I work hard to raise our children right. Right by our God and right by our country. I don’t mind debate in the classroom, but that goes much too far.”
“What did you do about it?”
“I talked to Principal Robertson that very night.”
“And what did Principal Robertson say?”
“That he had received similar complaints and was looking into it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Green. Your Honor, I have nothing further for the witness.”
Walter Green begins to retract his legs and push himself up out of his chair, but Judge Archoni stops him with a gesture.
“Mr. Johns?”
I stand slowly, keeping my fingertips on the table. I am smarter than to try to walk and ask questions at the same time. I will end up tripping and biting my tongue off, which may not actually help me, even as welcome as the distraction might seem at the moment. I have scribbled three lines in my notebook. I cannot read any of them. I am flying blind. Etus watches as he sinks back into his chair.