Miasmic Pentameter

Miasmic Pentameter
(A Pandemic Poem)

Grocery store especially grim today
Toilet paper gone, no flour

People are baking and shitting
Like no other time in history

A crabby ass lady hums a dark psalm
Scouring soup label like scripture

Finding no quick redemption
She settles for low sodium

Pandemic Journal

March 20, 2020

Last night, I discovered what turned out to be a poor lost soul hiding in my garage. Here I was stuck at home like so many people, trying to adjust to life during a serious pandemic, and feeling slightly edgy with no visible provocation. Just a week earlier a policeman had been shot and killed a half mile away from my house, the first on-duty SPD death since 1932. People, not really knowing how to prepare, have decided that hoarding toilet paper eases their fear, like we're turning into Venezuela or something. At the very least, a lot of people are being forced to take a moment, a day, a week, a month for some serious self-assessment, ready or not.

I put down the book I was reading, Love in the Time of Cholera (I know), and ventured outside to close the garage doors, as I always do before heading off to bed. The garage is a separate building behind the house that has a small upstairs for storage. The upstairs is where our two indoor/outdoor cats hang out. It's not the best smelling place, but it's become their favorite spot for extensive napping.

The first thing I noticed as I approached the garage was that my newly installed motion-sensor lights did not come on. I found this mildly disturbing, as they were still new enough for me to muster a bit of consumer satisfaction each time they illuminated the dark spaces. Odd. I waved my hands around like an idiot. Nothing. Was that a cat rustling around upstairs? Then, I noticed that the sensor lights had been unplugged. I quickly plugged them in and went back into the house.

"Hey, did you unplug the garage light?" I asked my adult daughter, stuck at home with her dad during a pandemic while on hiatus from seasonal work out west.

"What? No. Why?"
"I think somebody may be upstairs in the garage."
"What?"

I returned to the garage and grabbed a baseball bat from a game tub by the door that contains frisbees, basketballs, old ball gloves. Turns out it was a wiffle ball bat, which wouldn't offer much defense, especially if the garage invader were armed. My mind raced. I stood quietly, wiffle bat in hand, until I heard a slight rustling sound above me. One of the cats, Louie Lamour, intently listened at my feet, tail fluffed. He knew something. I felt that unmistakable metalic rush of adrenaline. Somebody was up there, and I was poised to stun them into submission with blows from a plastic bat.

"Dude," I yelled. "I know you're up there, and you need to come down," I hadn't really thought about what to say. "If you aren't out of this garage in one-minute, I am calling the cops. Come down and leave. Now!" Silence. Then, he finally spoke just as I turned to go back inside.

"Can you help me? I need help," he answered in a feeble sounding voice. I was surprised the voice was higher pitched. I had pictured an older homeless person, or a generic, grizzled bad guy of some sort. Wasn't sure what to expect, really.

"No, I cannot help you," I yelled back. "Come down and maybe you can get some help. Come out of the garage now." No response. So, I went inside, called 911 and stayed on the line. While talking with dispatch, I saw him finally come out and begin walking tentatively, shakily toward my backdoor, arms outstretched as if to show he wasn't armed.

He was a tall, skinny kid with a buzz cut, wearing dirty, torn jeans. His face was in shadows. At that moment at least three police cars arrived. They had already been called due to reports of gun shots apparently. The kid didn't attempt to run. The officers approached carefully, calmly talking to him. At least one officer had his gun drawn. Within minutes, there were five officers surrounding the kid, and they persuaded him to sit down in one of my patio chairs by the umbrella table. Lights were on him, and I could finally see his face.

Over the next couple of hours, a group of four or five attending officers listened to a series of implausible tall tales and tried to figure out where they should take him. A couple of officers left for other calls. The kid was frisked, and police found a small knife, a pack of Newport cigarettes and a small amount of cash in his pockets. He told them his phone was still upstairs in the garage. He was trying to find a place to charge it. I went up to the cat haven with the officer to look around. There is absolutely nothing of value up there. They eventually found the phone.

His first story was that he was being chased by people with knives. Then, it was that his mother had kicked him out of the house. "Wait, okay. I'll be honest," he prefaced each tale. He refused to tell them his name and was overly concerned that the officers knew that he was "of age" to have his Newports. Of course, he wasn't.

As a former secondary teacher, I knew this kid. Not this individual kid, of course, but so many boys like him who were part of a second generation of lost boys in our town. Lost boys raised, loosely speaking, by lost parents, who depend on grandparents, teachers, counselors and social workers to provide at least an introduction to what might be "normal". In this case, the police were attempting to take that role, and they were exercising a great deal of patience in gently nudging him toward the reality of his current situation. If nothing else, this incident provided some real time insights into their daily work.

It turns out this kid, who, of course, was given a biblical name by invisible parents, lived with grandparents maybe a half mile away behind the Christian bowling alley. His grandfather had reported him as missing, as he had done many times before, and officers eventually learned his name and called grandpa. As officers attempted to load him in a squad car to take home, it became apparent that he couldn't walk and was getting sick. Eventually, an ambulance arrived, along with the grandfather, and he was taken to Cox Hospital for possible overdose. Grandpa told officers some Percocet was missing from the medicine cabinet. It was after midnight before everybody was gone.

Of course, all this happened under the pall of a worldwide pandemic that is all too quickly changing the way we view almost everything. I found myself wondering why the police who had frisked, propped up and, for a couple of hours stood well within a foot or two of this young man, were not wearing gloves or taking any apparent precautions.

And I thought to myself, well, this kid probably didn't fit the profile of a study abroad student just returned from Italy or China, and I was pretty damn sure he was not among those who defied health warnings to worship at the suburban mega-church down the highway (two positive cases so far). Just the same, I kept myself at a distance, as I was trying to train myself to do even with friends and relatives.

We live in exceptional times, trying times for sure. Lost boys like this probably aren't infected with the virus yet. But by now we should all know that it will be the lost people, the forgotten people at the low end of the social order who will eventually suffer most from this pandemic. It's just a matter of time. And I'm trying not to feel guilty that I didn't help this poor lost boy more than I did.

Street Light

Kit laid on her back on a picnic table in hopes of catching the media shower, as she had done so many times as a girl. A spot for deep thoughts. The table rested on a slab of patio just beyond a sliding glass door that separated her from Mom and Dad, who were glued to cable news in the dining room. There had been another bombing. Maybe a shooting. Kit hadn't listen for details.

She knew her parents were watching interviews with bewildered neighbors (can't believe it happened here), crime scene videos with flashing emergency vehicles, conflicting rumors. Tomorrow they'd watch heart wrenching victim profiles (she was the light of our lives) and, of course, the killer profile (angry, heavily armed white guy).

She could hear the excited voices of droning doom from her parents' network of choice - the one that stoked fear, patriotism, faith in Jesus, and was sponsored mainly by pharmaceutical companies suggesting a multitude ailments that lurk in their future. Fear brought to you by more fear.

Kit was straining to see meteors beyond the blue glare of the new streetlight in the far corner of the yard. Goddam streetlight, she muttered.

The streetlight had been installed, pole and all, over winter break soon after a string of house break-ins and shootings in the neighborhood. This was Dad's tireless explanation to neighbors or anyone who had the misfortune of stepping out onto the patio after dark. The fact that the break-ins and shootings occurred miles away on the west side of town was irrelevant. There were shootings in the news. Mom was scared. So, Dad put up a goddam street light in the alley.

Planes flew by but no meteors. There was a time when you could spot satellites moving across the sky, probably the same satellites that beamed the television signals that made Mom fearful, she thought. A vicious cycle. Not tonight. No satellites, no meteor shower. The more fearful we become, the less we are able to see in the natural world. File under Picnic Table Deep Thoughts, she smirked. Probably the last.

A distant flash of lightning briefly lit up the southern sky. Kit started counting. A thousand one, a thousand two all the way to ten. Nothing. No thunder, probably a summer thunderstorm a hundred miles away in north Arkansas, beyond the blinding lights of Branson.

Branson, Missouri. Christian Las Vegas with no gambling or showgirls, but similarly filled with poor hotel workers, underpaid musicians and washed up celebrities, so washed up you had never even heard of them in the first place. Her parents' favorite date night, Branson. Drawn to light like moths.

There would be no meteor shower tonight, maybe never again unless somebody shoots out that goddam light, she thought to herself. Mom would freak, would just make things worse. She knew finding her own place was the next big thing after school, somewhere where she could see the stars again.

Bass Pro, Assemblies Announce Merger

The Springfieldian, Volume 1 Number 1, Summer 1992, on early Microsoft Publisher.

Shock waves rolled through Springfield's business community early Monday at the news of a huge, if unlikely, merger of two giant entities, Bass Pro Shops and The International Headquarters of the Assemblies of God.

Officials from each organization held a news conference at Hemingway's restaurant. The new religious sporting goods venture, to be named "The International Bassemblies of God", marks an unprecedented merger of Evangelical elements from the former Pentecostal movement with the popular Bass Fishing and Sporting Goods retail industry of the American Midwest and South.

"We have seen bass fishing become a regular religious activity for millions of people," said Bassemblies co-owner Ronnie Forrest, "and at the same time, denominations like the Assemblies have become more like big business. By combining our assets and customer bases, we create the potential for unlimited growth, not to mention eternal life for all those Christian fishermen out there."

 "It's a logical progression in God's eyes," said Assemblies Public Relations Specialist, Julian Turnbridge. "The Bible is full of fish metaphors and stories. In fact, you could say the Bible is one big fish story. There's Jonah, the sermon on the mount with loaves and fishes, and, of course, all of Christ's disciples were bass fishermen.  Also, don't forget the Bible clearly states that Jesus was the first man in recorded history to water ski."

The merger of the two local industries will bring some changes to business practices for the Church/Watersports giant, according to Bassemblies Marketing Director, Uncle Buck Swaggert. "We'll soon present new catalog that will include a popular line of Christian Camouflage and a new pontoon boat that will be marketed as Noah's Party Barge."

Other promotions include special discounts for born-again bass fishermen and an annual Fishers of Men travel package that doubles as a missions event. Salvation Stations and Baptism Tanks will be featured in larger stores, and tithes to Bassemblies churches may now be paid by credit card and are exempt from any fees or interest. A sign stating "Over 10 Million Saved" was unveiled during the ceremony.

"We're ecstatic," said Forrest of the merger. "It's a combination of Divine Intervention and Free Enterprise. We call it Divine Enterprise. What could be more powerful? And it's all tax exempt. Hallelujah!

The Springfieldian (1992-94) was a satirical quarterly that lampooned local politics, religion and other aspects of life in the Queen City of the Ozarks. There were three main contributors who put together nine issues. Springfield Public Libraries has entire collection of original hard copies stored somewhere in Local History archives.

The Words of a Prophet 2019 A.D.

Prophet of God

I was called upon by God* today to visit a Christian church in Springfield, Missouri. I don't care if you don't believe me. It's True, capital T. I am a prophet of God. If you question my status as a prophet of God, that does not make you special, nor does it make me less a prophet.

This is not an attempt to persuade you to adopt a set of man-made riddles intended to make you feel better about yourself, though my hope is you will someday. That is to say, I don't give a shit if you turn away from Truth at this moment. Truth will eventually find you, whether you seek it or not.

Self-Proclaimed Men Of God.

Self-proclaimed "men of God" like Franklin Graham, Joel Osteen, Jerry Falwell, Jr. and their ilk espouse spiritual insights only to enhance their own temporal condition. That is, they're frauds. If you haven't figured that out yet, maybe you should stop reading.

God understands that the easily led are prone to follow blatant fraudsters more out of convenience than conviction. Or, put another way, Evangelical Christianity is to religion what professional wrestling is to sports. Both can be entertaining once you suspend your disbelief.

Genuine prophets of God do not seek followers nor do they want your money. I will occasionally purchase items when God sends me on "answer-to-prayer" missions, but it's usually not that much. He ignores 99%, by the way.  You'd do more good gifting your money to a homeless person working a street corner near you. This more visible level of poverty is a relatively new phenomenon locally but certainly not in human history. Any thriving tyrannical empire will produce plenty of beggars. God knows it runs in cycles.

My aim in sharing prophesies is no different from the old timers back in the day. Consider it a warning, a wake up call. This is what prophets do. The rest is on you.

Venturing Forth on East Sunshine Street

Verily, I ventured forth to answer God's calling, passing many a humble consumer servant along east Sunshine Street. Dutiful bargain hunters were ever-so-carefully creating a traffic snarl at a Sam's Club entrance. This despite clear traffic signals intended to provide smooth passage. Many of the elders were driving Buicks, which God finds oddly amusing. That's not much of a divine revelation, I know, just passing it along.

As God's obedient servant, I traveled eastward and, in good faith, turned south on Blackman Road. Blackman Road is so named because a man of African descent was spotted there many years ago. He may have been walking down a nearby path carrying some fish. Perhaps he lived near the James River for a short time. I don't know if this is true, but having lived in the area for many years, it seems plausible.

In the blink of an eye, I came upon a large house of God nestled high atop a neatly mowed hill several hundred paces from the road. I beheld an angular arrangement of bricks with metal roofing. This, I felt reasonably sure, was the spot. I pulled into the huge parking lot. Nobody was there.

God & Architecture

At first glance, I mistook the church for a middle school or high school. It seems whomever God had blessed with the construction contract for this house of worship had thrice utilized the same pre-ordained template with larger school districts in surrounding counties.

For what it's worth, and it's a lot, God prefers His homes to be singular in their design, which may explain His sighing disdain for prayers emanating from cookie-cutter suburban landscapes. And I'm sorry to report that God no longer attends to the distorted pleadings emanating from prefabricated metal buildings. Sadly, most of these "full metal churches" are found in rural settings, frequently visible on outer roads across I-44.

For the record, the rare open air tent meeting remains the preferred assemblage from which God enjoys receiving worship and prayer requests. 

I began examining the roof lines of this particular church. Walls, windows, and corner masonry slapped together in a lazy geometric. I've seen Lego structures with more character. I found myself visualizing, for a moment, God's Word bouncing off the angled roof lines like laser beams back into the atmosphere, piercing clouds and careening off orbiting satellites into the deepest reaches of space. Metal roof. Ugh. Impenetrable, virtually prayer proof. This explains a lot.

Inside, a multitude of prayers from congregants becomes an indoor bombardment of prayer lasers careening from ceiling to floor and back again until fading out entirely. Sunday worship at a metal roofed church would amount to nothing more than an indecipherable, discordant mix of mangled pleadings and missed directives. And then they all get in their cars and drive! God knows where they go, but they are dangerous.

Figure It Out!

God sometimes reveals Himself through idle thought portals like this. That is, I've come to value moments of wandering, or what some people would call day dreaming, because mental meanderings sometimes end with a flash of divine light. One person's daydream is another person's epiphany. Revelations from God don't happen that often, really, just often enough to effectively condition me to keep the playground open. You never know.

Was God revealing to me that the church roof served as an impenetrable deflector shield? Could this explain why so many Christian churches have lost their way? Metal roofs deflecting God's message? Could it possibly be that simple? Is this why Evangelicals are so susceptible to manipulation by unscrupulous charlatans? Seems plausible.

Come to think of it, the area's favorite mega church, James River Assembly of God, has a metal roof like this! By the way, it's now James River Church, as they've scrubbed their website of any references to the Assemblies of God denomination, which is headquartered in Springfield. Did we miss something?

Church squabbles are delightful entertainment for God. It's His reality television, if you will. Witnessing self-righteous men - and it's always men - puffing up and making fools of themselves in His name? Hilarious! The wives? Well, they are trained early to be submissive, so what would you expect?

Is it possible that a metal roof on James River Church explain why Pastor preaches that yoga is demonic and gay people aren't worth protecting from discrimination? Could it be that messages from God just haven't been getting through? Is Pastor just winging it?
Having heard him speak on several occasions, I find this quite plausible.

Heaven, Hell & the Rapture

I'm now imagining Pastor's arrival at the Gates of Heaven and in answering for his misguided political meddlings says, 

"You see, it turns out our church had a metal roof that served to deflect the Lord's Word. I never actually received His messages, and should therefore be held harmless for any sins I may have committed. To which Peter replies,

"Oh? Sorry, but the "Know Not What They Do" absolution is valid only when administered by God or His Designee. If you don't know what you're doing, you cannot possibly absolve yourself for not knowing what you're doing. Figure it out! Therefore, no entry for you, false prophet!"

Pastor, falling into hell, screams "Aiiyeeeeeeeee!"

Disclaimer: Pastor being flung into traditional Hell is my own self-directed flight of fancy. Truth is, God has never outright revealed to me whether Heaven or Hell exist actually exist as separate places, nor has He confirmed, or ever suggested to me, that there is a final day of judgement after death. He has cleverly implied many times that heaven and hell (lower case) exist in real time right here where we live, which I find both troubling and comforting depending on the situation.

Of course, as a prophet of God, the troubling question is, am I projecting scenarios from my own mind, or did God reveal it to me through my mind? Metal roof deflecting God's message? Plausible?

Wishful Thinking & Faith

It pains me to admit that I soon became overwhelmed with indecision about this day's calling. Why can't everything be easy? Being incapable of understanding God's message is the main reason man invented faith, with zero Guidance, by the way. God says that faith is dressed up wishful thinking and nothing more. But again, that doesn't necessarily make it a bad thing. So, if you consider yourself to be a man or woman of faith, rest assured there is nothing inherently wrong with that.

At this moment, my own wishful thinking was being severely tested. I resisted the temptation to leave and instead chose to wait for Divine Affirmation of some kind. This could take a while.

I once parked for the better part of an entire evening outside a strip mall massage parlor in southwest Springfield. Once there, I could find no sign or clue.

I did happen to see a guy who looked very much like Josh Hawley furtively exiting the parlor door. He appeared to be wearing a cape, which I found curious. He glided to a car that was parked outside a Chinese restaurant down the row. I marveled at his quickness and agility. Maybe it was the cape. I thought, "Whoa, am I here to catch Josh Hawley after a happy ending? That would be so amazing! Self-righteous twit!"

God quickly interjected. "He's going to be limber after a message."

This is how you know you're on the wrong track with God. It's never, "Hey, you're on the wrong track." No, it's always a statement of fact followed, and maybe it's me, seems to be followed by an unspoken "dumbass". Guidance from God is seldom direct, and don't waste your time with questions. Click. Among His most frequent directives is "Pay Attention". Easy for the omniscient to say.

It turned out the massage parlor outing was all about a woman who worked there, rather than a cape-wearing Josh Hawley. I never learned her name. She may have been ill, because I eventually was directed to a nearby market where I purchased specific items and returned to drop them off. That was it, but it took more than four hours for me to figure it out.

So here I was again, sitting in my car in a church parking lot on Blackman Road waiting for something to happen while speculating on metal roofs and mega church pastors being cast into hell. And lo, it came to pass that I fell into a troubled sleep behind the wheel of my Toyota.

Children Are Dying!

I awoke from a horrific nightmare, still in car, heart racing in full panic mode as I pieced together bizarre images. My mind filled with haunting echoes of anguish and death. I was stranded on a narrow ledge high atop an underground water park. Early Bransonesque. Marvel Cave meets White Water.

People were dutifully lining up their kids to be randomly killed on a water slide lined surrounded by jagged, flesh-cutting, man-made boulders. I don't know how else to say it. The slide was too swift for children. I watched in horror as their flailing little bodies were launched into the misty air and dashed against blood-soaked rocks, screams muffled by roaring water. Their bodies drifted off around a corner on a lazy river of death.

"What are you doing?" I scream at the families below. "Can't you see? No! Don't do this! They're dying!"

But people continued moving patiently along in neat lines that doubled back on themselves. They clutched their brightly colored rafts and kept moving forward, afraid to look up at me. A few children were obviously petrified, but parents urged them along toward the top of the slide, where smiling park attendants helped them lie down on their rafts.

Like happy vacationers boarding a doomed Duck Boat, they had somehow convinced themselves this particular ride was a must. True to Branson, all of the parents were too heavy to be thrown off the slide, but the younger kids were flying high into the air, one after the other. Oh, God!

"What's wrong with you people?" I woke up screaming. "Jesus!"

Sometimes I think this is how God likes to wake me up. He was laughing, which is about the most disarming thing there is. "Why would anybody listen to you? They don't listen to Me!"

Sometimes I think God has a sense of humor. I'm pretty sure He does, but most of it is way over my head. Like old people driving Buicks is funny? I don't get it. But, here's one you may have missed. God placed a giant prophylactic atop the Missouri Capitol as the ruling patriarchy passed restrictive laws to more effectively suppress women. It appears to be ribbed with no lubricant, which sounds Republican. God works a lot with metaphors, I've found.

With my dream, I believe He was trying to show me how tough it is to be God's prophet in 21st Century America. People don't listen, even when their lives are at stake, and they are struck dumb when confronted with Truth.
Truth often comes in blows, He once told me.

And then, still reeling from my dream, the sign from God came to me. I mean, literally, it was a sign right in front of my face. It said, "ATM".

At this moment, God reminded me how comfortable I had become with the superficiality of consumer life, that it would take over an hour for me to notice a big, bold bank ATM sign sitting squarely on Church grounds. Is this not His house? Did anybody bother to confer with Him about this? Obviously not!

A Den of Thieves

You may recall the only time we see violent Jesus is when he unloads his righteous rage on the money changers in the Temple, beating their asses, overturning tables, spilling cash boxes, freeing the sacrificial livestock into the streets and calling out the priests for turning the Temple into a "den of thieves". Oh, man! Wish I'd seen it. This was the real reason they had him killed him, of course.

Such a public display of disrespect to the owner class could not go unanswered. They had him executed in the most gruesome manner for all to see. You know the story. Sometime later, a bunny with colored eggs became involved. I have no idea. But the wealthy elite's message to the peasant class - virtually everybody else - was crystal clear. "Don't get any ideas."

Historical Note: Sixty-six years later a violent rebellion did erupt, forcing Roman Emperor, Nero, to send multiple reinforcements. The great Jewish Rebellion lasted seven years before it was finally defeated, leaving much of what we now call the Holy Land in ruins.

My point here is that most modern day "Christians" think that Jesus died for their sins. In truth, Jesus died for upsetting an established order that had allowed exploitative money changers to establish a foothold in the Temple of God.

Fast forward two thousand years, and we see money changers setting up banking services in God's house, and the church has become so thoroughly secularized that it's blind to the obvious desecration of God's house.

God's position is this: People can go ahead and worship money like crazy. I mean, we have free will, right? This isn't new. Just don't expect it to end well. Churches, however, cannot also be banks. God considers this spiritual bankruptcy, if you will. And here we have Exhibit A in the spiritual bankruptcy filing from Glendale Christian Church in Springfield, Missouri.

Also, please note that Springfield City Council unanimously approved this bank/church arrangement. The mayor quipped that the church might find it easier to collect tithes with an ATM on their property. Ha! Funny! Church, state and money changers united in what? Enterprise? Admit it, at first blink, you don't think it's that big a deal. Verily, I say to you. It is a big deal! 

God Did Not Create Corporations

Oh, and let me just pass this along, since we're discussing church/state/moneychanger things. God condemns the notion that corporations are people. Hobby Lobby and Chick-Fil-A will not rise up during the Rapture. 

Neither will you, for that matter. There's isn't going to be a Rapture. A full scale Apocalypse maybe, but no Rapture.
He wants you to know this. Stop deluding yourself.

For God's sake, I tell you this now so that appropriate actions may be taken, though I'm not exactly sure whether it would be better to repent or join a rebellion. Historically, both produce dubious outcomes. If pushed to choose, based on my interpretations of God's message, I'd probably go with rebellion at this point. It just seems more proactive, and sometimes rebellions succeed in changing things.

I will report more Insights as they are provided to me. It is my calling. Meanwhile, I would advise anyone reading this to offer prayers to God only while outdoors for best results. Also, just to be safe, if you attend a church covered by a metal roof, please listen very carefully to the message. Does it sound like it could come from God, or are they just making shit up?

You have free will. 

Pay attention. 

Figure it out.

*God has no gender and doesn't care about pronouns. I thought about mixing pronouns, but that would have made this piece even harder to read than it already is.

Letter to Editor: Public School Accountability

There was an excellent letter to the editor published in the News-Leader last week. Two A+ students from Hillcrest High School, who tutor at Fremont Elementary School, penned the piece as part of a journalism class assignment. They may not have expected it to be published, and they almost assuredly couldn't have expected the kind of reaction it sparked.

The letter was well-written and thought provoking, especially on the heels of the district's big bond win last week. In that context, the letter was also cautionary. You see, Fremont Elementary is the one pilot school that reflects the superintendent's unwavering desire to innovate - tech integration, large classes, flexible seating, co-teaching, the works. Yet these young A+ tutors expressed criticism of the school's design, actually saying what many teachers at Fremont have been thinking for quite a while. The manner in which this school was designed actually detracts from student learning. Or, as they put it in the letter:

"This classroom is one long room and is packed with 40 students. This is a challenge in and of itself. Combining two classes for lack of room is hurting the students’ learning."

Based on my experience with this administration (and school board) as a teacher union rep, I can tell you that it won't sit well to interrupt the bond victory lap. Rather than praise the students for writing a civic-minded opinion piece, it's more likely they'll be ignored or worse. Their high school principal may face a formal reprimand, perhaps the journalism teacher, too. The principal at Fremont will be questioned.
(Possibly by coincidence, HHS principal, Gary Moore, was non-renewed at the next board of education meeting. Moore had been principal at Hillcrest since 2012.)

This is the SPS culture I came to know. Now in it's fourth year, the current SPS administration is like a fine wine. Bold yet incredibly sensitive with subtle hints of compliance.

If there is school board discussion about whether building design, along with multiple simultaneous integrations, could have possibly caused Fremont to finish last among 37 SPS elementary schools in Math/English scores, it won't be public.

The fact that Fremont was redesigned to exactly fit the superintendent's vision - a vision that was unilaterally pushed with zero input from community or teachers - seems like a valid point to discuss with huge district wide implications.

The fact that a teaching staff and building leadership have worked their tails off for three years to make this grand experiment work will not be recognized. In fact, they may face benign penalties in the form of denied transfers or promotions. 

The one decision maker responsible for this sparkling educational disaster will not be held accountable. Accountability will be dished out, make no mistake. It just won't touch the responsible party.

The letter to the editor from the A+ tutors expressed real concerns from real young people who were legitimately expressing their opinion about working in an educational environment that doesn't work very well. The community of people who have daily interactions with students should be listened to, preferably before unworkable designs and initiatives become a forced reality. And we should certainly listen to the students. 

It's all about them, right?

School Superintendents: Vital or Irrelevant?

School Superintendents: Vital or Irrelevant?

Springfield's superintendent has received yet another award from the Missouri Association of School Administrators (MASA). It's always nice to be recognized by your peers. Come to think of it, we haven't seen much of the superintendent during the big school bond push, which will be decided Tuesday. So, it was nice to see him receive some recognition.

Dr. Jungmann has brought a lot of change to Springfield Public Schools over the past few years. The award mentions some of the initiatives that Dr. J brought to the district: IGNiTE, LAUNCH, EXPLORE, GO CAPS, GO CSD. 

A lot of acronyms and a lot of change. How the change affected students, teachers and employees in the district seems to be an area overlooked by our school board, which I'm sure has also won awards from their peer association.

Awards are great, but besides extending the superintendent's contract and issuing closed session evaluations, does the school board really do an in-depth evaluation of the superintendent?

While teachers have been evaluated ad nauseam under the reform microscope for lo these many years, to my knowledge there has been only one sizable study regarding how superintendents affect student achievement.

A 2014 Brookings Institute study entitled "School Superintendents: Vital or Irrelevant?" yielded some interesting data that reinforced what many teachers and school employees have known for years.

Foundation: Teachers, Student Characteristics, Schools & Districts

The nine-year study concluded that the superintendent effect on student achievement, positive or negative, was "orders of magnitude smaller than that associated with any other major component of the education system." Major components outweighing superintendents would be teachers, student characteristics, schools and districts. These components would be the foundation for any school district's performance.

After four years of disruptive "innovation" at Springfield R-12, there are more than a few people who might be wishing Springfield were lucky enough to have a small magnitude superintendent about now. You know, one that looks after basic operations, hires enough staff, supports paying them a decent wage, oversees a lean administrative staff whose main job is support rather than compliance.

Of course, you can't lay all the blame for a district's downward trend on a superintendent. But if you happen to end up with one (and accompanying CFO) who arrives with a boat load of educational hubris and the singular intent to implement a bold vision that nobody really asked for, well, you may see the district's foundation start to wobble.

• Graduation rates off 2.3% from last year.
• SPS district below the state average in English and Math proficiency.
• Superintendent's Pilot School in third year (open classrooms, 1-1 tech, co-teaching, teachers re-applying for their own jobs, etc) combined for lowest scores of all 37 SPS elementary schools, only 9.4% proficiency score in Math.

While chalking up awards is wonderful for those receiving them, and world class branding provides some nice logos, acronyms and catch phrases, it appears that change for the sake of change can lead to some disastrous results. When graduation rates fall, when the superintendent's model school has the lowest comparative performance in the district, when student disciplinary issues are up, when teacher attrition is up, something is amiss. Let's not act surprised.

What If It Doesn't Work?

Early in Dr. J's tenure, I remember talking with a cabinet level administrator who had been around for several years and was heavily involved with all the new "deployments". As teacher union rep, it was part of my job to point out concerns from teachers, who were starting to leave the district in droves. They'd been advised to "Grow or Go", and a lot of them were choosing to grow somewhere else or go into early retirement.

"What if it doesn't work?" I asked.
"What do you mean?
"What if all this disruption is just disruption, and institutional chaos makes it harder for everyone to do their job? Things weren't really that bad here." I said.
He smiled and leaned back.
"It's going to work. I believe in what [the superintendent] is doing. He's a good guy,"
"I don't doubt that," I said. "But what if it doesn't work?"

That cabinet member left the district within the year. His replacement lasted one year and abruptly departed. The entire Human Resources Department left, save one employee. What little institutional memory remained was absorbed by a leadership dynamic characterized by rapid change, unforeseen consequences, and group think.

I submit for your consideration that despite all the awards, contract extensions and excellent branding, the district is in decline. New buildings will make it prettier, but it won't change the culture. Employee morale is in the tank. And it's going to take a long time to even attain previous levels of district performance, both in basic operations and in academic achievement.

Opinion: Superintendents Are Not the Answer

We need relief from the innovators, for God's sake. Superintendents and the migrant administrative class should not be inflicting their over-excited versions of education reform on students and school employees while simultaneously controlling everything a school board hears and sees.

Superintendents should not bring home 7 or 8 times what a teacher makes. Ever. They simply aren't worth that much. Public schools should not seek to parrot corporate structures that reward CEOs far beyond their worth, while marginalizing front line employees.

The idea of a teacher led school is worth studying but is unlikely to be promoted within the current admin-heavy structure.  Perhaps requiring all administrators to achieve tenure as teachers would be a modest first step.

Further, administrators shouldn't be in the business of grooming an additional layer of administrative employees at the expense of classroom teachers. These positions, almost always blessed with titles like "Learning Specialist" inevitably morph into an administrative vanity project that effectively drains money from the classroom. I've seen this so many times, but top administrators can't seem to get along without this added insulation.

A Bit of Local District History

Remember the recession of 2008? Springfield had a different superintendent with an entirely different vision. Plan, Do, Study, Act was the slogan on bulletin boards everywhere. Continuous Quality Improvement. Seems almost quaint now. 

School funding took a serious hit with the recession, but rather than cut teaching positions, that particular superintendent and BOE actually eliminated an entire swath of mid-level "Instructional Specialist" positions and saved the district over two million dollars.

Remember what happened next? Nothing. 

In fact, graduation rates and attendance increased a bit in following years. SPS remained above average by state test standards. The instructional specialists were moved back to the classroom and charged with, wait for it, providing instruction to students!

Fast forward five or six years and a new visionary superintendent comes to town and quickly moves to re-establish a middle layer of administrative nothingness. This after beginning his tenure with a 55% increase over his predecessor's ending salary. 
"The recession is over! Praise the Lord!"

To be fair, Springfield's superintendent was surprisingly generous in his comments about teachers as a response to the recent airing of the district's low MAP scores - although the timing and context is perhaps a bit telling.

"It's only becoming more difficult as expectations rise and more things are piled on the backs of educators on an annual basis," he told the News-Leader. He failed to acknowledge that his own attempts to innovate (IGNiTE et al) dumped an extraordinary weight of disruptive chaos on SPS teachers and employees.

Where Not to Look for Solutions

If our schools are screwed up, and some of them surely are, where do we look for solutions? Do we look for another innovative miracle worker superintendent to possibly lead us down another expensive rabbit hole? A school board blessed with leadership experts who seem more adept at following?

Do we cast our fate to a state agency pushing standardized tests and time-wasting teacher evals while performing a political high wire act with a governor whose majority party is, ahem, inherently hostile to public schools and would just as soon privatize the whole thing and turn them into Christian Madrassas, or something? More choices please!

No, our schools are not going to be improved by state or federal policy changes anytime soon, though adequate funding would be nice. The superintendent study actually revealed how we improve our schools. We do it through advocating for teachers, students and community. Not the Good Morning Springfield community, where superintendents and board members live. We're talking about the community of Springfield parents, students, teachers, custodians, school secretaries, school nurses, counselors, the people who interact with each other daily in our schools. That, and maybe vote out some worthless state legislators.

By now, all of us - even the school board - should be starting to recognize what doesn't work.

Short Take: Religion, Capitalism & Political Power

Christian/Military yard ornament. Wal-Mart, Springfield, Missouri

There are three enormous constructs that serve to inhibit and discourage a robust pursuit of happiness in America today. Here's a short take on the current state of Religion, Capitalism and Political Power from here in God's Country (next to the super center).

1. Religion*

First of all, you are cursed with a sinful nature 

You have fallen far short of the Glory of God
Far short

Not even close

Hell awaits you

Your flesh will burn

You will suffer in agony for eternity
Unless

You become Born Again™️
Far less traumatic than first time
Believe me

*Rules may vary.

You Suck!

You Should Fix That

2. Capitalism

You suck! 
In so many ways 
The mirror is not your friend
You're not very smart
Even when it's obvious you are being conned 

You fall for it every time

Because you suck
You don't have enough money 
You could smell better 

Your teeth aren't white enough

And they are crooked

The drugs you should be asking your doctor about 
May cause you to have oily stools
And perhaps make you suicidal
If you aren't already

Consolidating your debt could help

3. Political Power

You are surrounded by threats to your safety 
You should probably own a gun
Several guns
It's that bad

Thank God (see #1 above) for our troops
And the immigration police 
And first responders
Who sacrifice what could be more useful lives
To protect your freedom 
To become a better consumer (see #2)

We hold these truths to be self evident
All men are created equal

That's what we say
Some are threats to your safety
You should probably own a gun

YOU MUST STOP AT THE END OF THIS SECTION!

Standardized tests. As a teacher, I wasted many a day administering these tools of the devil to children who, like their teachers and principals, were merely doing what they were told by those above them on the education totem. People talk a lot about local control of schools, but it's funny how widely accepted state mandated tests have become with barely a whimper of protest. 

The picture above is sort of quaint, pencil with bubble test. Tests are administered by computer now. Bland as hell. Unimaginative. Screen gazing. A broken pencil at least expresses something.

I did everything I could to let my middle school students know that their teacher didn't care about this test. I read the instructions in a comically threatening samurai voice ala John Belushi.

"YOU MUST STOP AT THE END OF THE SECTION AND CLOSE THE BOOKLET!"

We even created a class gesture to go along with a chant of "UP Your MAP Scores!", for which I probably could have been reprimanded if not fired. I remember the English Second Language (ESL) teacher asking me about it after a class full of Romanian and Vietnamese students displayed the gesture for her with great glee. What are you doing? Who taught you that? Ah, middle school.

Test prep included covering the door window with brown paper, which seemed ridiculous. Bulletin boards, possibly containing helpful info, were also covered. It felt like an intruder drill. The intruder, in this case, would be the Department of Elementary & Secondary Education (DESE). The weapon was the Missouri Assessment Program (MAP). No one was killed, but the learning environment was seriously wounded.

As an advocate for teachers and students living in the real world, I submit that the MAP test is the scourge of public education in this state. If parents were really paying attention and weren't stressing over their job, kids, bills, health issues, prison, being deported or worse, they would rise up and lead a massive boycott of MAP testing.

Do people realize that, by the time MAP scores are finally released, the teacher is already involved in a new school year with different students? It's like receiving the results from an autopsy to remind everyone that somebody died a year ago. Yet the autopsy proceeds, all hands on deck, until all the data is appropriately parsed and any accountability, especially at the administrative level, is assertively and effectively dodged.

If Score Are Low, If Scores Are High

If MAP scores are low, it's because we cannot measure what's truly important. If scores are high, we celebrate their importance and claim that our schools are successful.

Ask an administrator about standardized tests, and they'll sigh and say, "This is the world we live in," or some such thing. Then they'll busy themselves scouring test data for nuggets of insight. Lucky for them, the world we live in rewards them pretty well for their sighing compliance.

Inverse rule of measuring: If you cannot measure what's truly important, one must place undue importance on what can be measured.

MAP tests do not measure physical health, mental health, nutrition, resilience, creativity, kindness or compassion. Nor do they measure the acceptance and trust that grows between teacher and student, even those unfortunate enough to be working under pressure in state targeted schools.

Thought exercise: If a school is determined to be a failure through the lens of a failed assessment tool, can it then be deemed successful?

One Salient Piece of Data

This. Year after year: Students living in higher income areas have higher levels of proficiency. Students in poverty-stricken neighborhoods struggle with basic skills.

This is perhaps the one salient piece of data that every standardized test proves true, yet it is effectively swept under the rug by school boards and education leaders out of political expediency. A task force of usual suspects will surround the issue and provide a report. End of story.

Issues like minimum wage and Medicaid expansion that would make substantive differences for the poor are off limits and considered far too political, a tacit acknowledgement that our political/economic system still favors those living in the "proficient" neighborhoods.

No, we'll pay top dollar for an expert speaker on the effects of poverty. Their insights will amaze us. Teachers will be required to take mandatory sessions from a diversity expert (person of color) to help them learn how to talk to and teach poor kids. Early Childhood Education will be the answer, just you wait and see - along with generous charity grants for shoes and coats. The charity will receive high praise for their work. Look at those numbers!

Most poor kids are pre-disqualified from attending what are termed "choice" programs in my city. Discipline issues, you know. (No, it's not racial bias. We've trained the teachers.) And attendance, of course. Poor kids tend to move a lot, something completely out of their control. And even if they did qualify with good behavior and attendance, lack of transportation becomes the ultimate disqualifier.

For the most part, parents from poor neighborhood in this town cannot choose "choice" programs for their kids to attend. It's the same reason their kids don't participate in youth sports programs. They either can't afford it or can't get there, or both. As with standardized testing, it's just not set up for them

The Bizarre World of Rep. Ed Emery (R-Lamar)

In the strange, twisted world of state representative Edgar Emery (R-Lamar), there is no color gray, and he'd just as soon there were no brown either. Like many Republican legislators, he believes in the simple rule of law (we'll have amend this section since 2016), right and wrong, cause and effect - there is a simple response to every action.

Emery, a staunch conservative who does little to hide his disdain for undocumented workers, currently serves, ironically enough, as chairman of the House Special Committee of Immigration Reform. At a recent hearing in Joplin, he spent the day listening to a host of Hispanic educator/advocates plead their case on behalf of immigrant workers.

During the afternoon session, several immigrant activists spoke quite eloquently about the plight of undocumented workers in the Ozarks - how Mexican agriculture collapsed after the implementation of NAFTA, how Mexican farmers were forced to look elsewhere for work in order to earn money to support their families - you know, family values.

Another immigrant advocate observed that most workers were taking on jobs that the vast majority of American workers didn't want. Yanking chicken guts eight hours a day at a Tyson plant is not considered a viable career choice for most white folks. One speaker pointed out that the human hand is the only device that can perform that particular task.

Emery, in his infinite wisdom, countered by proposing that perhaps immigrant workers were to blame for the lack of technological advances in the chicken-gutting industry - that a robotic hand may have already been invented to perform these tasks if it weren't for those pesky immigrants.

Emery and other panel members actually took up more air time than the speakers at the forum, which was unfortunate, since most who testified were far better versed in American history and economics than the panel members. Instead, Emery used the hearings as a bully pulpit for espousing his own cracker barrel ideas on American patriotism and ideals.

"You know, our immigration laws are in place to protect Americans, not Mexicans," Emery chided one speaker. "Mexico has their own immigration laws to protect their people."

And then, without provocation, an inexplicably emotional Emery spoke with quivering voice about the depth of his own patriotism, implying that immigrants were a underlying threat to America.

"I feel so strongly about maintaining our own American freedom, our love of liberty, that I would even be willing to sacrifice my own children in the defense of those ideals."

The room went silent. I wanted to ask him how many of his clan were currently serving in the military, but I was just an observer, and it would have spoiled a poignant moment. I did, however, take the opportunity to talk with Emery just after the meeting adjourned.

I asked him if he really thought that state laws would do anything to help solve a national problem. "Are you just wanting to establish some kind of state law that would push immigrants into Arkansas and Kansas?"

"Hopefully," Emery said with a smile. "And you know, this whole immigration problem would not even be an issue if it weren't for Roe vs. Wade."

"Excuse me?"

"Twenty million potential workers have been needlessly killed. We would not need any immigrant workers at all if those twenty million aborted fetuses were contributing to the economy."

So there you have it. The World According to Ed. In Emery's world, where the prohibition of abortions presents all those millions of saved fetuses a golden opportunity to build careers in yanking chicken guts and picking fruits and vegetables in patriotic service to the American economy. Wonder if he'd sacrifice his children to such a fate.

------------------------------------------------
Please vote for a rational human to represent you in the state legislature. It's more important now than ever.

Literacy Success Story #8

Literacy Success Story #8 - from the notes of a reading teacher working with illiterate adults. The year is 1989, and Barbara Bush, like so many dutiful first ladies, is pushing a big literacy campaign.

Student #122 - Doug, construction worker, Springfield, MO.

Doug, 23, came to the program to improve his reading so he could advance in the construction trade. He was a general laborer and needed to learn how to read plans and blueprints to have any chance of promotion. Doug drank a little and had recently become separated from his wife of five years and his two children. He was living on his own for the first time and fashioned himself as a bit of a ladies' man.

The program director took him on as a student until a good volunteer could step in, but since most of the good reading tutors were young women, it took a while. After three months of twice-weekly instruction, Doug was starting to make some progress, but his late night carousing was also starting to take its toll. He began canceling appointments.

It was at this time that a new reading tutor came along that was able to take over Doug's instruction. Diana was a tough biker chick that had been in the merchant marine and now tended bar at the Silver Leaf on Republic Road. She had dropped out of high school but had worked hard to pass the GED. She wanted to do something to help somebody and give something back.

Doug and Diana had been meeting for several weeks when the program director received a phone call from Doug. He was very upset. Apparently the tutoring sessions with Diana had gotten a little off topic, and he had somehow come down with a case of gonorrhea. Doug took this hard. His doctor had recommended an AIDS test as well, which scared the hell out of Doug given the fact that he'd fucked no fewer than a dozen women in the last three months - and he had to wait an excruciating two days for the test results.

To sum up, the test was negative, and Doug subsequently moved back in with his wife and kids, gave up drinking and found Jesus as his personal savior. Despite our best effort, Doug still couldn't read worth a damn, but the literacy program had once again yielded a stirring success story.

Aunt Norma's Dark Past

I was thumbing through some old Springfieldians and came across an interesting article that delves into state senator Norma Champion's early days at KYTV as host of the Children's Hour. Champion parlayed her television notoriety into a city council seat and eventually defeated Craig Hosmer in 2002. Her record as a legislator has been, arguably, one of the least distinguished and vacuous in southwest Missouri political history. You can read more about Aunt Norma at All About Norma. Anyway, back to the crack investigative reporting on Aunt Norma from Issue #1 (Summer 1992) of the Springfieldian. 

Champion hosted the popular Saturday morning children's show "The Children's Hour", sharing the stage with puppets, pets and shy, embarrassed children. ". . . While Champion's service on City Council raised no question of character, a closer look at Champion's television years may reveal another side of the candidate. . . .The controversy centers around a contractual dispute between KYTV and children's entertainer Skinny McGinnis, who performed along with Champion on The Children's Hour broadcasts. Department of Labor documents indicate that McGinnis filed a complaint against KYTV in April of 1975, a year before the show went off the air. McGinnis, a lifelong resident of Bois D'Arc, now lives in a rehabilitation center in north Springfield and is openly bitter about his relationship with Champion. "Oh, she was all smiles while the cameras were rolling and the kids were there," said McGinnis, who insisted no pictures be taken. "I was the main draw on the show, and everybody knew it. Me and Rusty. When we asked her to go to bat for us she laughed in our faces - called us glorified prophylactics. Rusty was crushed."

Rusty Rooser, McGinnis's life-long friend and co-star, fell upon hard times with the close of the Children's Hour. After touring the midwest doing shows at libraries and county fairs, he was tragically killed and eaten by a group of transients at a north Springfield park in 1987. McGinnis does not speak of the incident.

Democrat Doug Harpool is challenging Champion for Missouri's 30th District senate seat.