The district offices were located in a flat stretch of weedy ground between the elementary school and the junior high. The small lot was already filled with other teachers' cars and trucks, so she parked in her usual spot at the elementary school and walked over.
The boardroom was crowded. All of the folding chairs were taken, and Eleanor Burrows and the other cafeteria and clerical workers were seated on too small plastic chairs that had been brought in from some classroom and arranged along the side aisle against the wall.
There were a few baby chairs left, but Ginny preferred to stand, and she moved to the left of the door, where two male high school teachers were already leaning against the cheaply paneled wall.
The board wasted no time in getting down to it. Immediately after calling the meeting to order, Paul Fancher, the superintendent, announced that unless drastic steps were taken, there would have to be wholesale teacher layoffs from all three schools. "We simply cannot afford to continue on as is," the superintendent explained.
"There goes our raise," someone said.
Nervous laughter greeted the remark.
"Now, we have several options," Fancher said. "Everyone can take an across-the-board ten percent pay cut --"
A chorus of angry words erupted from the gathered employees.
"I know," the superintendent said loudly. "I don't think that's fair, either. But that's one option we're considering. Another option is reducing services. Eliminating bus service, for example, and forcing parents to provide their children's transportation. Or we could eliminate selective positions and double up the workload for senior employees -- without overtime or additional compensation, of course." He paused. "Or we could privatize and contract out all non-teaching positions."
People were yelling at the board members now, all of whom were sitting in smug silence, watching and apparently enjoying the commotion caused by their plans.
Fancher raised his hands for silence. "These are hard choices we have to make for this coming school year." he said above the noise of the crowd. "That's why we're here today."
Ginny felt sick. She glanced over at Eleanor, who was in her late fifties and had been working for Juniper Elementary School since its inception. Most of the board members, Fancher included, were in their early thirties and had only moved to Juniper within the last five years. How dare they eliminate the jobs of people who had given the best years of their lives to Juniper's schoolchildren?
There was another man seated to the left of the board at the table in the front of the room, a youngish business-suited man who stared idly up at the ceiling, obviously bored. She did not know who he was, but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she was pretty sure she knew whose interests the man represented.
Sure enough, after a heated discussion between Fancher, two other board members, and the most vocal employees in the audience, the superintendent called for order. He said a privatization proposal that should satisfy both sides had already been presented to the district by The Store.
Fancher introduced the man at the end of the table as Mr. Keyes, and Ginny watched as The Store representative stood, walked in front of the table, and addressed the assembled employees.
So this was the famous Mr. Keyes, she thought. This was the man Bill had ranted and railed against.
In a loud, clear voice, Keyes explained the privatization proposal. At this time, he said, only food and transportation services would be contracted out. And since The Store did not have any qualified employees of its own, it would keep on all existing school workers in their present positions. The only difference they would notice would be a technicality -- their paychecks would now come from The Store rather than the district.
The angry tone of the crowd's noise subsided.
Should the financial crunch continue, The Store had contingency plans to fund all district operations. But, he emphasized, The Store would only provide funding and would not attempt to influence classroom subject matter or dictate curriculum.
Keyes smiled reassuringly, and Ginny wanted to throw a tomato right into the middle of his smug, duplicitous face.
"What about pensions?" Ginny couldn't see the woman speaking, but she recognized Meg's voice. "If The Store takes over, will you still contribute money toward our retirement? And will it be the same amount now contributed by the district?"
Keyes's smile remained constant. "I'm afraid there will be no more pension fund. Those monies will be absorbed into our operating costs. We encourage all of you to open your own individual retirement accounts."
Debate started up again. Ginny listened for a few moments, then slipped outside. This could go on for hours.
And it didn't make any difference.
The board had already reached its decision.
Back home, the girls were gone and Bill was making Rice-A-Roni.
"That's the last straw!" she said, slamming her purse down on the counter.
Bill looked up. "What is it?"
"The board's talking about letting it take over the district!"
"It?" he said, though he knew exactly what she meant.
"The Store!" She opened the refrigerator, grabbed a Diet Coke, popped open the tab, and took a long drink. "Elections are coming up, and they're supporting this tax cut, which'll gut the district, and in order to save money they're thinking of contracting out not only transportation and food services but clerical and teaching positions as well. The Store, of course, has graciously offered to provide funding for those services, no strings attached."
His jaw tightened. "How's it flying with the troops?"
"It's being presented as the only feasible option. It's a done deal."
"Goddamn it. Park maintenance . . . street maintenance . . . fire . . .
police . . . schools. The Store owns this town." He shook his head. "That's it.
I'm running for council."
Ginny's heart rate suddenly accelerated. "No," she said. "Don't run. Let Ben run. Or Street."
"Why?"
"I'm afraid."
He was silent, looking at her, and she realized that he was afraid, too.
"We can't let ourselves be intimidated," he said quietly.
She put her Diet Coke down on the counter, moved next to him, and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm getting so tired of this," she said.
"Who isn't?"
"There just doesn't seem to be anything we can do."
"Maybe there isn't," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean we stop trying."
"We can't let them take control of education."
"We won't," he said.
It felt good, standing here like this, hugging him. It felt reassuring, and she reached behind him and turned down the burner on the stove so his dinner wouldn't burn.
They were still hugging when the girls returned home.
TWENTY-THREE
1
SUPPORT THE STORE
VOTE LAMB-KEYES-WALKER
Ben tore the sign down from the telephone pole, ripping it in half before dumping it in the trash can in front of Street's shop.
That's what it came down to this time: pro-Store candidates and anti-Store candidates.
And most people seemed to be siding with The Store.
There'd been a sea change in American politics since the first time he'd run for council in the late seventies. He'd lost then, by a large margin, and that had kept him away ever since, but he'd lost to a man he respected, a man who had turned out to be a decent councilman and later a decent mayor.
Back then, people admired the citizen activist, were in favor of individuals getting involved with causes they believed in. But these days, that was looked upon with disfavor, considered an example of "special interest" politics, and the respect went to those who talked finances, not ideas.