THE STUDENT COUNCIL

The Oil City Area School Board normally met in the conference room at district headquarters. A highly-polished mahogany table, fourteen feet in length, was surrounded by high-backed, brown naugahyde chairs for the nine board members. Twenty former school board presidents were commemorated by plastic-framed photos on one of the walls. Because most of the twenty spectator seats were typically empty at meetings, the microphones in front of each board chair were hardly necessary. The members enjoyed using them anyway.

Given the extraordinary circumstances, the Thursday meeting had been relocated first to the middle school library and then to the gymnasium. So had the three hundred-pound table and nine oversized chairs from the conference room. Word was that television cameras from Erie and Pittsburgh might be present, and Board President Gwen Simpson wanted to maintain a degree of dignified decorum. The microphones would finally serve an actual purpose.

For once, Gwen had ignored advice from board member Gary Cole. He had called last night with first news of William Noble’s speech on the internet. The attorney recommended immediate dissolution of the council and removal of the YouTube presentation, before things got out of hand. Upon checking her email, which quickly numbered in the hundreds, she realized opinions were running ten to one in support of the council. This afternoon she had received a call from Good Morning America. ABC was monitoring the Oil City story and considering her as a prospective guest. If this was what “getting out of hand” meant, Gwen was all in favor. She would be diplomatic, sensitive, and altogether professional. In anticipation of the meeting, she had both her hair and nails done. She also directed maintenance to build and paint a partition to place behind her at the head of the table. The gym was huge and she didn’t want to get lost in a sea of space. Not on television. A dark blue background would make her stand out.

High school students started arriving forty-five minutes early, as requested by their council. A week had passed since most saw each other, making the event a social reunion. A council representative had all students sign two documents as they entered.

Bleachers ran down only one side of the basketball floor. Seven rows high, they accommodated six hundred adults if cheeks were pressed tightly together. Two hundred portable chairs were arranged on the floor for extra seating.

By five to seven, four hundred and eighty-eight high school students were officially present. Seeing that most of the later-arriving adults had nowhere to sit, Paul instructed all the kids to give up their seats and park their asses on the wood floor. They obeyed without hesitation.

At precisely seven, Gwen Simpson led her board from the home locker room to the table at the center of the floor. Eight of nine were present. Martha White was still on vacation at a Club Med in the Dominican Republic.

When all were seated, Gwen announced, “Welcome to this special meeting of the Oil City Area District School Board. Let our record show that only Martha is absent and excused.” She nodded to the secretary who sat close by, recording the meeting.

“As you see,” Gwen said, nodding to three cameras that were pointed at her, “we have guests with us tonight. They represent television stations in Pittsburgh and Erie. We welcome their interest in Oil City, as we try to unravel the problem stemming from the unfortunate loss of our high school.

“Before we discuss a contingency plan to move high school classes here to the middle school ...”

She was interrupted by a loud cough from one of the students. It sounded a lot like “Bullshit!” Then a whole chorus of the same. Gwen sat open-mouthed until Paul stood and lifted his arms. The coughing stopped, only to be followed by a short burst of laughter.

A tight-faced Gary Cole leaned forward to his microphone. “That behavior won’t be tolerated. Anyone who doesn’t act like an adult will have to leave. Is that understood?” He glared at the initial group of coughers.

Gwen reassumed control. “I think the students came to hear from their student council, so we’ll listen to them first. William Noble, I believe?”

Paul walked to the empty board member seat, hoisted it over his head like a lawn chair, and carried it to the narrow end of the table facing the board president. He placed it between two folding chairs for guest speakers. William, dressed in a three-piece suit, sat in the big chair. Google, slick in a sport jacket that his mother bought for the occasion, sat down to William’s left. Paul wore a home-white Oil City jersey, shorts, and sandals. He filled every bit of the third seat. Cameramen shuffled positions to point at the three.

William stared at a microphone on a stand, unsure of himself. Google slid a switch to ON and held his hands six inches apart.

The council president leaned forward. “I’m William Noble. The microphone technician to my left is Sam Runsfeld. Everyone knows the man to my right, Paul Barner. We represent the high school student council. I’d like to begin by reading a resolution that we approved unanimously. It was also signed by almost five hundred high school students that are here in this gym.

“Whereas it is the duty of the Oil City Area School District Board to act in the best interests of the students, families and all the citizens of the district, and

“Whereas the expedited construction of a new high school is clearly consistent with those best interests, and

“Whereas the option of double-shifting in the interim would adversely impact both the high school and middle school programs and unnecessarily inconvenience the Oil City community, and

“Whereas the academic achievement of Oil City students, as measured by standardized test scores, has been and continues to be unacceptably poor, and

“Whereas computer-based education has a documented history of improving student performance, and

“Whereas the Allegheny Mall has been identified as a workable interim option for housing the high school, and

“Whereas the Oil City Area High School Student Council was specifically established to encourage student participation in the governance of the academic institution, and

“Whereas that Student Council has dutifully considered all of the above,

“It is therefore resolved that the Student Council, School Board and administration will work together to insure the immediate full funding of the new high school as already designed, to organize an interim move to the Allegheny Mall, and to implement a new computer-based curriculum.”

William looked up from the paper and his fellow students applauded, whistled and cheered. They were soon joined by most of the adult audience.

Gary Cole raised a hand and was recognized by President Simpson. He began with a condescending chuckle, then focused on the voters in the bleachers and chairs. “You see, ladies and gentlemen, this is why you elect a school board to study laws and procedures, become familiar with finances, and work cooperatively with other agencies. What these kids are saying is not only unworkable, it’s irresponsible.” He turned to William’s father, who sat directly across from him. “Worse yet, it sounds like one of our own members is using his son and the student council as puppets to serve his own agenda. Denny Noble is on record as wanting that new school built right now, no matter what.”

Paul Barner extended a long arm and grabbed the microphone from in front of William. “Madam President, we didn’t come here to be insulted ... not by one of our own elected school board members. Gary Cole just referred to me and every student in this gym as puppets. We all signed the resolution.”

The students erupted into another boisterous, mock coughing fit. “Bullshit!” “Douche bag!” “Dick wad!” “Scumbag!” “Asswipe!” Cole looked at the students as if he were memorizing faces, gathering a list. An eighty-year-old lady in the front row turned to an equally mature friend. “My, Gladys, I believe that is bullshit. Don’t you agree?”

Paul stopped the noise by continuing. “Which brings us to a second resolution.” William pushed a paper to his friend. The resolution would have added impact coming from Big Seven Three.

Paul cleared his throat and the gym went silent. “Whereas Miss Trisha Berman, a certified teacher at Oil City Area High School, was requested to serve as the student council advisor by unanimous vote of said council, and

“Whereas she was duly appointed as advisor by Principal Norman Johnson, and

“Whereas Section One-Twelve, paragraph four, of the Oil City Area School Board bylaws states that no individual Board member is authorized to direct or attempt to influence personnel decisions within the district, and

“Whereas School Board member Gary Cole ordered the termination of Miss Berman as Council advisor without authorization from the School Board at large,

“It is therefore requested that the Oil City Area School Board demand Gary Cole’s immediate resignation from the Board as empowered in Section One-Fourteen, paragraph two of said bylaws, and

“It is also requested that, absent just cause for termination, Trisha Berman be reinstated as student council advisor immediately.”

The veins over Gary Cole’s temples looked ready to burst. He rocketed up from his chair. “That’s outrageous! I did no such thing! That decision was made by the superintendent herself!”

William recaptured the microphone from Paul. “Madam President, may I speak?”

Gwen was too stunned to respond, so William plowed ahead. “I have the text of an email in front of me. It was dated yesterday at around one o’clock and sent to you and all the other board members by Gary Cole.”

Cole, still standing, leered at William’s father and snarled, “So, this is all your doing! You shared private school board email with your kid?”

Denny leaned close to his microphone and smirked. “I don’t think private and school board go together, Cole. This is a public office and we conduct business openly.”

William continued. “The email says, ‘Our problem with the student council is gone. I instructed Rachel to terminate the new teacher advisor.’” He looked down the table to Mrs. Simpson. “I don’t know how Mister Cole’s action could be documented more clearly than that. Are you going to get rid of him or not?”

With the gym eerily silent, Gwen fidgeted with her bifocals. “I agree there seems to be a problem. The board will go into executive session immediately after this meeting to discuss it. In the meantime, it might be best if Mister Cole stayed silent for the rest of this open meeting.” She looked around the table. “All in favor?” Every member except Cole raised a hand. “Let the record show a vote of seven in favor.”

Amy Westin sat alone on the floor at the far end of the gym, leaning against a rolled-up wrestling mat. She tapped a brief text to Google.

He read quickly and whispered the message to William and Paul. “Not good enough. Seven Three. Plan B.”

Paul nodded and took the microphone. “Miss Berman is a great teacher and a super advisor. She’s been insulted, pretty much humiliated, by a member of our own school board. That’s a black mark against our whole city. It’s our intention to circulate a petition for Gary Cole’s dismissal.”

Paul stood, turned to the bleachers, and yelled, “Based on what you’ve seen and heard, how many of you will be happy to sign that petition?” Hands shot up everywhere.

Paul then glared at Cole as if he were wearing an opposing jersey. “Is that clear enough? Leave the table and the gym now ... before we carry you out.” Thirty members of the football team jumped to their feet.

Gwen glanced at the cameras and squirmed in her seat. She bought a new pantsuit for this? The reporters would have a field day at Oil City’s expense! She felt like leaving too.

Gary Cole sank in his chair. His natural inclination was to launch a rebuttal, but what was the point? The jury already signed off on the verdict. His dream of one day being elected to the State House had gone down the shitter. The fatass Barner boy would pay for his insolence, that much was certain. After nodding to every board member except Denny Noble, he rose from his chair and walked from the silent gym, shaking his head and craving a stiff drink.