The Year They Burned the Books

BUEL CALLS FOR CLEAN SLATE

Health Ed Curriculum under Fire

At last night’s Wilson School Committee meeting, member Lisa Buel spoke at length about the recent disruptions at the high school and called for a “clean slate,” involving cancellation of condom distribution, along with a new health education curriculum teaching abstinence and omitting any mention of “so-called alternate lifestyles.” She also called for “careful monitoring of library purchases,” removing “inappropriate” books from the school library, and shelving “controversial materials away from children” in restricted areas in the town library. “The school newspaper,” she added, “also needs to be firmly controlled.”

Both Elena Snow of the town library and Elizabeth Coats of the three school libraries defended the books removed last fall by Buel’s organization, Families for Traditional Values (FTV). According to Snow, those books are now overdue.

In a telephone interview, Coats said, “I stand behind every title we shelve, although I’m always willing to discuss books with parents and other interested citizens.”

When asked about the high school newspaper, Principal Ralph Bartholomew replied, “I have been meeting with the paper’s staff and with its temporarily suspended adviser, Matt Caggin, about the paper’s policies. It is my hope that the school committee will reappoint Mr. Caggin.”

After some debate it was decided to hold a public hearing on these matters on Friday, December 11, in the high school auditorium.

Mr. Crawford threw the town paper down in disgust. “That Buel woman is a pain in the neck.” He pushed his chair back from the kitchen table and reached for his coffee mug, from which he took a last swallow. “I’d like to keel-haul everyone who voted for her.”

“I don’t think too many people who voted for her knew what they were getting,” Mrs. Crawford said.

Jamie had read the article over her father’s shoulder. “I wonder if they’d vote for her now. Are you guys going to that public hearing?”

“You bet we are,” her mother said, beginning to clear the breakfast table.

“Me, too.” Jamie took her plate to the sink and rinsed it.

Her father frowned, then gave her a quick kiss. “You’d better keep a low profile, though, honey.”

“But not so low,” Jamie said, picking up her book bag, “that I have to crawl. Right?”

“Right,” Mrs. Crawford said emphatically. “I’m so mad I’ve just about stopped worrying about trying to be fair to people I disagree with!”

Jamie spent most of the weekend—Terry was off someplace with Ernie both Saturday and Sunday when she tried to call him—doing homework and trying to imagine what the public hearing would be like, who would speak at it, what they’d say. And at around 6:00 Monday morning, when the pre-dawn chill made her shiver and pull her quilt up around her neck, it hit her: I could speak—couldn’t I? Or couldn’t we? The newspaper’s been involved in all the issues they’re going to be talking about at the meeting; the town should hear from us before they vote.

Jamie’s mouth went dry and she shivered again. Standing up and addressing a townwide public hearing would be a lot different from debating at Lord’s Assembly or making an announcement in the cafeteria. She wished she hadn’t thought of it. But the idea, once it hit her, wouldn’t go away, and by the time she got to school, she’d already jotted down some ideas about what to say.

As she turned to go up the school steps, she saw Terry and Ernie walking confidently across the parking lot in animated conversation, hands occasionally brushing together.

Terry looked happy as he and Ernie strode over to her. “Yes,” he said, one arm draped proprietarily over Ernie’s shoulder, “this is really Ernie, and yes, we spent most of Saturday and all day yesterday together …”

“Well into the evening,” Ernie added, smiling at Terry.

“Well into the evening.”

“Congratulations,” said Jamie, trying to change gears, but both boys looked so happy she soon found herself grinning back at them. “So when’s the wedding?”

Terry cocked his head as if considering it. “June, I think. Right, Ernie? I always do like a June wedding. The roses are so nice then.”

“And there’s not much fog.” Jamie smiled, hugging him, then gave Ernie a quick kiss on the cheek. “You want me to be a bridesmaid?”

“Mercy, no!” Terry rolled his eyes. “An usher, please.” He gestured toward the notes Jamie was still clutching in her hand. “What have we here?”

Jamie explained.

“Cool,” Terry said. “But I bet they won’t let you, Jamie; it’s for voters, that meeting.”

“It’s a public hearing,” she retorted. “And they let us speak at that school committee meeting about Matt. Us, Terry; there’s no reason why we can’t all say something.”

But by the end of that day, the others had said they’d rather have Jamie speak for all of them.

The auditorium was mobbed Friday night when Jamie, carrying her notes on a few index cards in her pocket, arrived with her parents and took her seat along with Terry and Ernie, Nomi and Clark, Tessa, and Cindy and Jack in the front of the room, where two rows were reserved for nonvoters. A number of other students were there as well. Brandon, Al, and Sam, who’d returned the Monday after Thanksgiving from being suspended, were among them, plus Karen Hodges. Vicky, who was sitting a little apart from Brandon and his friends, smiled at the newspaper staff; Jamie smiled back.

Soon after Jamie sat down, Morris Just, who had been standing on the stage talking with other members of the school committee, tapped on the mike that had been set up on the lectern and said, “Ladies and gentlemen—folks—I think we should get started. If you want to speak, please go to one of the mikes in the aisles, and remember to let us know who you are. Now, I believe Margaret Crawford has a presentation, and then Lisa Buel. Margaret?”

Jamie listened proudly as her mother traced the history of the health ed curriculum committee, and tried to control her rising anger as Mrs. Buel listed her objections to the curriculum itself. Then, as soon as Mr. Just called for comments from the audience, Matt Caggin stepped up to a mike and introduced himself.

“It’s ironic to me,” he said, “that we’re holding a meeting one of our freedoms allows, in order to decide whether to suspend another freedom. And it shocks me no end that people who purport to support traditional values have so little faith in their own children that they want to withhold knowledge from them.”

Mrs. Buel darted to a microphone in the opposite aisle. “Mr. Caggin, I don’t believe you have any children. Is that right?”

“That’s right, Mrs. Buel. It’s also irrelevant. I’ve taught and advised several hundred kids over the years.”

Mr. Just moved swiftly to the lectern. “Let’s keep this discussion on the issues, not personalities,” he said. “Has anyone anything to say about the health education text and curriculum, or about the condom distribution? Yes? The chair recognizes Anna Pembar.”

Nomi’s mother had already moved to a mike. “Thank you, Mr. Just. When I ran for the vacant school committee seat against Lisa Buel, I was uneasy about the school’s teaching anything except abstinence. But I’ve been impressed with the realistic point of view expressed in the school paper and in the Renegade paper as well. I’m reminded of the ostrich who buries her head in the sand while the forest burns around her. I don’t want my children in the fire. I don’t think my children will go against my husband’s and my teachings, but I have to face the fact that they’re new to the intensity of sexual feelings, and I’ve come to think that maybe they should be taught about safer sex, and that they should have access to condoms, even though I hope they won’t have to use them.”

Mrs. Pembar stopped and glanced down at some notes she held in her hand, then resumed speaking. “As to alternative lifestyles, I go back to the ostrich again. They exist all around us, and I guess since our kids are exposed to them whether we like it or not, it’s a good idea for our kids to be taught to understand them.

“And”—Mrs. Pembar looked around the room, smiling—“in case any of you think what I’ve just said sounds like a campaign speech, I’ll admit that it is. I’ll be running for school committee against Lisa Buel again in March, because I believe we need moderates, not extremists, running our schools. Thank you.”

About half the audience broke into applause as Mrs. Pembar sat down. Jamie leaned across Tessa and gave Nomi a thumbs-up sign; Nomi mouthed “Thanks” in reply.

Then a man in the back of the room shouted, “Jerome Callet here. I’ve got something to say.”

“Mr. Callet?” said Mr. Just. “Please use a mike, sir. We’ll wait.”

But Mr. Callet ignored him and went on shouting. “I’m a taxpayer in this town. And I don’t want my money going to support what amounts to promoting all kinds of free sex to kids, or to a bunch of liberals or queers who want to force their agendas on other people’s children. I don’t want the school newspaper to be an opportunity for kids to practice yellow journalism either, or to sound off on stuff they don’t know anything about. Think about that before you vote.”

Jamie felt her whole body tense as again around half the audience applauded. She glanced at Matt, but his face was turned away toward his wife.

“Anyone else?” Mr. Just asked, his face impassive. “Yes? There in the back. Mr. Davenport?”

“Oh, wow,” Tessa whispered to Jamie. “Old Philbert himself! Two white blobs and a wheelchair, remember?”

Jamie nodded and strained to see. But there were too many other people in the way. She heard shuffling, though, and static over the PA system, as if someone was taking a mike from its stand. She imagined the person holding it down low so Mr. Davenport could talk into it.

“Yes,” finally came a rasping, breathy voice. “Philbert Davenport here. I just wanted to say that when I went to school in this town long ago we had eight grades in one room, and very few books. I was lucky; my grandfather sent me books—history books, novels, stories, science books—and those books helped me get into college. Helped me hold my own once I got there, too. I wasn’t hurt by anything I read, even though some of it was what I guess Mrs. Buel might call immoral. I was helped by it, made wiser. And I think we need to make sure the kids of this town have all kinds of books. I’m going to write out a check this very night to replace the ones those foolish people took away. I understand they haven’t yet been returned. Thank you. That’s all I have to say.”

The static returned momentarily to the PA system, and over it Jamie heard a squeaking sound—the wheelchair, she thought. And over that came applause, not thunderous, but substantial.

“Thank you, Mr. Davenport,” Mr. Just said. “And I’m sure the libraries thank you for your generosity. Now,” he went on, “I’ll take just a few more comments, and then I think we should move to a vote.”

Jamie felt her mouth go dry and she started to raise her hand. But she put it down as Mr. Just, looking to one side, said, “Yes, Reverend Donnelly, over there on the right. I see you’ve found a mike. Go ahead, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Just,” said the pastor of Lord’s Assembly. “This controversy has become very disturbing to me. So much personal animosity, so much anger! We need to return to what we all cherish, the values on which this country was founded—God, home, the family—these are things we all hold dear, despite our differences. We are all sinners, after all, in one way or another, and we need to remember that as we try to cast sinful teachings out of our schools. It is sin the Bible teaches us to hate, not each other. Thank you.”

Someone called out “Amen!” and there was a burst of enthusiastic applause.

There were a few more speeches on both sides, and finally no hands went up when Mr. Just called for more.

“Go, girl,” Terry whispered, poking Jamie.

Jamie, feeling almost as if something outside herself had pulled her up, had already stood. “Can a nonvoter speak, Mr. Just?” she asked a little shakily, but clearly.

“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Just replied. “And it would be good to hear from a student or two. Any objections?”

There was a murmur, but no one raised a hand.

“Go ahead,” said Mr. Just. “Please identify yourself first. Use the mike up here.”

Jamie stepped to the mike and pulled out her notes. She looked at the audience and then, because it was less intimidating, at the exit sign at the rear of the auditorium.

“I’m Jamie Crawford,” she began, “and I’m the editor of the Wilson High Telegraph and of The Renegade Telegraph. Um—anyone who’s read the papers knows how I feel about most of the issues, especially the condom one and the First Amendment. You probably also know that I believe a responsible newspaper tries to represent all sides of the issues it covers and a responsible library tries to include information on all issues. Of course, that’s not always possible, but it is always possible to try. A responsible school, too, I think, tries to give students information on a wide range of topics so they can make up their own minds and so they can learn to think for themselves. That includes”—she felt her shoulders tense and consciously tried to relax them—“factual information about homosexuality. There are gay kids in our school, as there are in every school. The important thing here is that when you start restricting people’s knowledge, letting only some ideas through, you’re well on your way to controlling people’s minds. Do you really want Wilson to do that? Thank you.”

There was a ripple of applause, but before it had a chance to grow, Brandon called out from the second row, “No one wants to read about homosexuality except a bunch of queer kids. Like you,” he added in a voice that didn’t carry beyond the first two rows. “Homosexuality is evil and sick,” he went on, shouting again. “Disgusting!”

Mr. Just banged his gavel on the lectern, but Al’s voice rose above it. “God says homosexuality is wrong. Read the Bible!”

“Raise your …” Mr. Just shouted angrily, but Tessa interrupted.

“Your god may say it’s wrong,” she yelled at Al. “But mine doesn’t. What about freedom of religion? That’s in the First Amendment, too!”

“… hand,” finished Mr. Just. “Any more outbursts like that, all of you,” he said severely to Brandon, Al, and Tessa, “and you will be asked to leave. If you have something to contribute”—he looked at Brandon—“please step up to the mike.”

Jamie saw Al punch Brandon, but Brandon shook his head.

“Very well. Anyone else? Any other student?”

Again, no one in the front raised a hand, though Jamie saw Karen Hodges whisper to Sam and saw Vicky start to put up her hand and then bring it down again; Vicky shook her head just as Jamie was going to point her out to Mr. Just.

Then, to Jamie’s surprise, Nomi’s hand went up, and Mr. Just nodded.

“Hello, everyone,” Nomi said hesitantly into the mike. “I’m Nomi Pembar.” She smiled apologetically and cleared her throat. “I’m a little nervous. My mom’s a lot better at making speeches than I am.”

“Most folks are nervous about speaking in public,” Mr. Just said. “Take your time.”

Nomi cleared her throat again. “I just want to say that like my mom I didn’t agree with the—the condom distribution at first. I’m still not sure about it. Oh—I’m a senior at Wilson High, I guess I should say, and I’m art editor of the school paper. Mostly I just want to make sure everyone knows that this whole—argument—has led to some pretty ugly things at Wilson High, as well as in the town, as the pastor said. I think calling people names and threatening people is pretty ugly. One of the things the health textbook that’s been taken away from us says is that people should respect each other even if they’re different. Respecting people doesn’t include calling gay kids—or any kids—names, and threatening them or trying to beat them up. That’s happened recently at our school. I don’t care what a person is, that shouldn’t happen anywhere. If the health curriculum can help people understand each other, and the newspaper can help us have a—a dialogue of ideas, sort of, in our school, and the library books can help us learn about and deal with our differences, then I think they all should stay.”

Nomi paused for a moment, suddenly looking confused and surprised at finding herself where she was. “Well,” she said, “that’s it. But I hope you vote for the paper and for the health ed curriculum and for putting those books back in the libraries.”

Blushing, Nomi turned away from the lectern; Clark and Jamie both stepped forward and caught her in a bear hug. There was a moment of silence from the audience, and then applause filled the auditorium.

Mr. Just returned to the front of the room. “Thank you, students,” he said. “Anyone else from the high school, on the other side of the issue, perhaps?” He looked again at Brandon and Al, both of whom squirmed uncomfortably. Jamie saw Vicky shake her head again.

“Very well,” said Mr. Just. “I think we’re ready for a vote.”

Several voters’ hands went up, Mrs. Buel’s among them, but Morris Just, with a dismissive gesture, said, “No more, folks. No more. There’s a point beyond which additional discussion is useless, and I think we’ve reached that point. Let’s vote now. Just registered voters, please. And remember, these are nonbinding votes. The school committee will ponder the results, plus the comments you’ve all made tonight, and come to a decision as soon as we can. Now, will all those in favor of retaining the new health education curriculum signify by raising one hand?”

As the votes proceeded one after the other, Jamie tried to count them. But it was impossible to see everyone, even from the front.

“It looks close,” Tessa whispered when the voting was finished.

And it was: