The Crisis in Public Education

I am a product of the public school system in this country, having graduated from Patrick Henry High School in Hanover County, Virginia in 1976. Both of my children are products of the public school system. I have never been a big fan of Christian schools, private schools, or home schooling, although I understand why some people make those choices. For me, there was no other choice. My parents couldn’t afford anything besides public schools. When my kids came along I could afford other options but never seriously considered any of them. It helped that the local schools were terrific. Perhaps if I lived in the middle of Camden, New Jersey I would have made different choices.

Full Disclosure Alert: I come from a family of several educators. My wife, my daughter, my sister, and one of my nieces have all been neck deep in the public school infrastructure for many years. So what I write here is in part influenced by their experiences. I should also admit that when I matriculated at the various schools available to me as a kid—Elmont Elementary, John M. Gandy, Liberty Jr. High then Patrick Henry High School—I wasn’t exactly what anyone would call a model student. I was an underperforming, mischievous goofball who was far more interested in girls than grades, as my many trips to the principal’s office would prove. But, I learned a lot and many of my teachers along the way made positive impressions on me, some life-long.

So, my devotion to public schools does not come from an idyllic experience, but rather, I believe that public schools are essential to the formation and sustenance of the Republic in ways that expensive private schools, parochial schools and even home schooling could never be. A foundational, quality education available to everyone is the surest and most proven tool to fight poverty, crime and a host of other societal plagues. We all benefit from a well educated citizenry, people who have been given the foundation of knowledge and understanding of the world.

But it doesn’t take an Education Department Bureaucrat to see that public schools are in deep, deep trouble. Since the onset of COVID, and uninterrupted since, some of the best teachers in the business have chosen to leave the profession. Teachers that were anywhere close to retirement bailed. To make matters worse, the number of new candidates has dried up. Fewer and fewer college students are choosing teaching as a career, and it’s not hard to see why.

I will not attempt here to diagnose what ails education in this country. I am not qualified, for one thing. For another, there are so many problems I wouldn’t even know where to start. However, I would like to concentrate on one area that is a universe away from how things worked 50 years ago when I cut my destructive path through Hanover County’s school system. The problem as I see it is perfectly summarized by this:

Although my parents had plenty of problems with my teachers back in the day, they never ever shared them with me. Mom and Dad formed a united front when it came to me and my uninspired scholarship, so if I was having a problem in class it was 99% my fault. In the Dunnevant home, our teachers were long suffering angels for having to put up with our laziness, etc. In other words teachers and our schools were held in a position of honor and authority by my parents, which filtered down to us. This simply does not exist any longer. There are a million reasons, but the underlying fact is undeniable. If little Johnny is struggling at school, too often parents take the position that it is the teacher’s fault. The louder they complain, the more likely it is that the administration will back the student and his bitching parents over the teacher. This is not true in every school or in every case, but it has happened often enough to make it clear to many teachers I’ve talked to that nobody has their backs. 

But as frustrating as this must be and as harmful as the breakdown of classroom discipline has become, its not as bad as the constant moving of the goalposts being forced upon teachers and schools by the mismanagement and bumbling incompetence of the education bureaucracy that has grown up over local schools like mushrooms after three days of rain. There are bloated central offices, reinventing the wheel literally every couple of years in everything from reading to math. Then there are the federal bureaucratic kingdoms mandating outcomes on local schools without providing workable guidance or funding. Finally, local school boards have been taken over by politicians instead of educators. Its a wonder any competent teacher stays on the job. Of course one of the worst things that can happen to a really good teacher is for them to win some kind of Teacher of the Year award. What that amounts to is an increased work load for two full years as they struggle to teach their classes while performing all of the TOY responsibilities, all in exchange for some $500 or $1,000 stipend. In the business world that would be considered laughable. In education, its like every Tuesday.

We have a problem on our hands as a nation. If public schools continue on their present course they will be virtually gone in twenty years, replaced by home schooling, the rich private academy, and some charter/for-profit enterprise hybrid. The only remaining public schools will be in the poorest neighborhoods, producing predictably pathetic outcomes. Something has to be done. We need to attract gifted teachers into the business. That can’t be done solely by raising the pay; it will also require a new level of respect and support. We need to stop tying the hands of administrators by allowing them to enforce classroom discipline. And parents need to stop coddling their children with the false message that they are special and deserve nothing but the best. They, in fact, deserve nothing but a decent education and a chance to succeed. That only happens when they work hard, apply themselves and respect the only authority that matters when they are in class … their teacher!

There’s an Election?

I find myself in a brief baseball hole since the World Series doesn’t start until this Friday. This allows me to think about other stuff, so I better take advantage of this four day window.

Ok, so there’s an election coming up. The reason I know this is because I can’t avoid the political banners and signs that festoon nearly every major intersection in the west end. But for the life of me I couldn’t tell you a single candidates’ name. I could probably pick a couple of them out of a lineup because I would recognize their faces from the banners, but I couldn’t put a name with a face if my life depended on it. Another weird thing is that although every time I find myself at one of those west end intersections I am careful to read every word of the signs, I have not yet been able to identify which political party these candidates are aligned with. Nowhere on the signs is there any such admission. Honestly, I don’t blame them one bit.

Not only can I not put names with faces or know which party they represent, I must admit that at this point I don’t even know what office they are running for. Partly, I blame my appalling election illiteracy on spending eight of the past sixteen weeks in Maine. I do know that up there Former Governor Paul Lepage is running against a woman with blond hair…so I got that going for me. But as far as the political contests in the Old Dominion, I am hopelessly uninformed. Here’s what will happen. I will enter the voting booth on Election Day and be presented with several names with D’S and R’s next to them with the occasional L or I. Then, the ballot will tell me what office they are running for and I will make my choice based on basically zero information. So, the question is, should I vote at all?

Is it good for democracy for everyone to cast a ballot or just people who have taken the time to study the issues and candidates? What about a guy like me who long ago soured on politics to the point where his distaste for it has rendered him apolitical and apathetic? Should I cast a ballot, or let those with passionate convictions one way or another have the floor?

In the five days or so before Election Day I will receive a barrage of slick one page ads in the mail telling horror stories of what will befall the Commonwealth if so-and-so gets elected. Then the airways will be filled 24/7 with ads as each party spends all the money they raised over the past two years trying to scare the hell out of me. Nevertheless, I was always taught by my parents and most of my teachers in high school that it was my sacred duty to vote, my responsibility to participate in the franchise. So, I will vote. Maybe I’ll write in someone. I won’t vote for anyone who is running unopposed and I won’t vote for anyone with misspelled words or missing punctuation in their last minute mail appeals. I mean, I do have a few standards.

Its Friday. Are You Golden Yet?

When I was pulling out of my driveway Monday morning my neighbors, Jamie and Stu, were walking their kids to the bus stop. I rolled the window down to say hello and Jamie replied with a voice that sounded like something you would hear in a tuberculosis sanatorium…three octaves low and as raspy as a two pack a day smoker. I delicately observed, “Good Lord girl, you sound horrible!” Then she said something very cool. In fact, I am stealing it and using it for motivation. 

She said, “I’ve got to get better because we have family portraits this weekend. My plan is to be…golden by Friday.”

Golden by Friday. That sounds like a plan. I know what some of you are thinking. But what about the rest of the days of the week? Shouldn’t we be golden every day? Puhleeze. Most Mondays its all I can do to remember to put my contacts in. And don’t get me started on the occasional sense of despair that comes with certain Wednesday mornings. No, what I like about this golden by Friday thing is the two things it suggests. First, that there is a plan of improvement, that life is a process and there’s a goal. And second, its optimistic. The plan isn’t to be ok by Friday. No, the expectation is to be golden. That’s a high bar.

So, there you go people. Let’s all work on becoming golden by Friday.

One more thing. Any parent of multiple kids knows all about sibling rivalry. Anyone with brothers or sisters also knows about sibling rivalry. But now, thanks to baseball, there is scientific evidence that attests to its existence. A couple days ago something happened in the Phillies v Padres game that had never happened before. A pitcher for the Phillies, Aaron Nola had to pitch to his older brother Austin for the Padres. As Austin walked to the plate, the camera caught the boy’s parents in the stands. The Dad was wearing both teams’ jerseys! In his first appearance, Austin made an out. The second time up he got a hit. But here’s what some statistician discovered. Aaron Nola had thrown over 10,000 fastballs in his career up until facing his brother in that game. Only 9 times did one of his 10,000 fastballs reach 96 miles per hour or higher. 3 of those 9 times were against his brother!!

Have a good Friday everyone, and if you aren’t quite golden…go for silver.

What All of You Have Been Waiting For

Its been a while since I have shared any Dad jokes in this space. I’ve been preoccupied with other things that haven’t exactly lent themselves to the pursuit of humor. For many of you this has been very good news, but for others—like Pam Cole—it has been devastating. I’m hearing rumors that she is inconsolable. So, this morning I visited a few of my reliable sites looking for some new material and I have to say—there’s isn’t a lot of funny happening out there at the moment. But yesterday afternoon I did receive a text from my wife of all people with this gem…

How do you describe Dracula’s fashion sense?

…fang shui.

Then there’s this:

The Ukrainian guy whose job it is to decommission Russian armored vehicles doesn’t get enough credit.

…its a tank less job.

…and by now he probably has turrets syndrome.

…really difficult to get any traction in his career.

What do you get when you send a wolf to therapy?

…aware wolf.

Cancer, diabetes, and COVID-19 walk into a bar.

…bartender says, “what? Is this some kind of sick joke??”

I recently started writing a novel about hurricanes.

…It is only a draft at the moment.

…but I’m sure it will take the world by storm.

What did Abraham Lincoln say when he was on trial?

“I’m in-a-cent.”

…to coin a phrase.

The Best Time of the Year

So, while I was in Maine I was able to read a few books. Its one of the major benefits that Maine-life affords me.

They were all good. Well, all except the Cal Ripken auto-biography. Note to self: avoid autobiographies written by athletes. I mean, Cal was amazing and all but this thing was flat and boring. But the others were terrific. Amor Towles continues to astound me with his writing. Lincoln Highway was brilliant. Also, I had always felt a little guilty that I had never read anything by P.D. James. The woman is a British institution and has twenty crime novels under her belt—almost ALL of them having been made into movies—so I gave Death in Holy Orders a try and she didn’t disappoint, although I had firgured out who the killer was 70 pages before the end! But, enough with literature…its Postseason baseball time, which means I am glued to all things baseball for the next few weeks.

So yesterday the black knights from Gotham advanced to the American League Championship series against the Houston Astros, placing me on the horns of a dilemma. Who do I root for when the choices are between the the spawn of Steinbrenner and the notoriously caught red-handed cheating Houston Astros? After a night of fitful sleep I have determined that I will root against the depository of all that is wrong with baseball, and root for Dusty Baker. If none of this makes any sense to you, its ok. Its a baseball thing.

In the other league, I have to decide between two teams awash in former Nationals players. For the Phillies there’s Kyle Schwarber and Bryce Harper, while the Padres have Juan Soto and Josh Bell. While I am very grateful to the Padres for ridding us of the dreadfully entitled Dodgers, I have decided to cast my lot with the Phillies who seem to be playing inspired baseball of late. The home run that Kyle Schwarber hit last night was so incredible it got this reaction from Bryce…



So, there you have it. I’m all-in on an Astros v. Phillies World Series.

Whatsoever Things are Lovely

Ever heard the expression—tanned, rested, and ready? It’s normally used to describe someone who has been away on an extended vacation, then returns all rejuvenated. But did it describe me as I returned to work today? Well, because it was a fall trip, I am not tanned. Without question I am rested. The question of whether or not I am ready is totally irrelevant. Life does not much care if we are ready. Life happens whether we are ready or not. 

I woke this morning around 5 o’clock. After my regular routines were completed, I felt the beginnings of mild nausea. I had woken up with a mild headache which was now growing but I knew that a cup of coffee would keep it at bay. I began to think of the list that was waiting for me at the office. It wasn’t daunting, but there was work to be done and a lot of it. But I knew that Kristin would have it organized for me. I also knew that my files would be in infinitely better shape than they were when I left. She always uses my time away to clean things up and correct my alphabetically-challenged system. There will be a box of discarded paperwork, maybe two depending how far she made it through. The woman is irreplaceable.

As I sat on my sofa flipping through the financial news, my spirits began to falter. Its the same thing that happens after every vacation I’ve ever taken. Its the same thing that I felt on the first day of school when I was a kid. You would think that after 64 years I would have evolved into someone wiser and less plagued by anxiety. You would think that after 40 years in the same career I would be better able to handle the pressures inherent in my business. Shouldn’t I be better equipped now than I was 30 years ago? As it turns out—no.

But then I remembered a little exercise that I had started doing before I left for Maine, the thought exercise that goes along with that verse from the 4th chapter of Philippians. I wrote a blog about it on September 26th. So, I started thinking about things that are true, noble and just. Then I closed my iPad and thought about things that are pure, lovely and admirable. Nothing miraculous happened. My nausea didn’t go away. I still had a big challenge facing me when I walked through the doors of my office at 7:30. But, for thirty minutes I did manage to feed my soul with good things. I did feel less fatalistic, less overwhelmed. By 8:00 my nausea had faded and my headache was gone and I was, in fact, ready.

When lunchtime arrived I had cut a mighty swath through my to-do list. As I sat at my library desk I remembered some advice a friend had recently given me—“when you start feeling stressed out, flip back through the great pictures you took in Maine.” So I did. One of them stood out for some reason…

“ Whatsoever things are lovely…think on these things.”

Battening Down the Hatches

Normally, the last full day in Maine is divided into two parts, the part where you get as much last minute fun in as is humanly possible, and the part where you pack everything up and clean up the cabin. Tomorrow is that day. Only, we have been thrown a curveball by Mother Nature. Somewhere in the next couple of hours, we are due to be hit with a fall storm that will last all the way through until Saturday morning. The current forecast calls for up to 3 inches of rain and sustained 20 mph winds with gusts up to 45 mph. The possibility of power outages are also in the forecast. If you are thinking to yourself, “what a horrible way to end a vacation,” nothing could be further from the truth. Unless you have sat inside a warm and dry Maine cabin while watching a fierce rain storm pummel a lake, lashing it with sheets of water while white caps dance across the surface, you can’t possibly know how incredible cool it is to watch. Tomorrow will be amazing.

However, all is NOT well. Pam took her paddle board out this morning when the lake was still as glass. As she was passing a smaller cabin she noticed at least a dozen empty beer cans at the bottom of the lake at the end of their dock. Pam, of course, was mortified. This is Maine, for God’s sake. Why, in the name of all that is holy, would anyone throw empty beer cans into a beautiful lake when their trash can is literally ten steps away? It felt like a unspeakable violation of the laws of nature, some kind of unforgivable sin. It reminded me of the time we were at Loon Landing and one day when I went for a run I saw that some cretin had thrown at least 30 empty cans of BudLite into the woods on both side of Brierly Road. I ended up filling a tall kitchen bag with them, took a picture of my work and wrote a blog about what I considered an outrage. This seemed worse somehow, because they had been thrown in the water. If the water wasn’t 60 degrees, I would have done a dive, collected them all and deposited them on the moron’s front door. But…enough negativity.

Here are a few pics from the last couple of days…

My sister, the new retiree.

So very, very, Maine.

Camden’s town square awash in fallen leaves.

Living the high life…