A Grim Fairy Tale

Beware the Ides and ideas of Maaarch by Sister Grim

Once upon a time it was almost spring in the city of Chicago, located, as always, in the sorry scandal-ridden cheapskate state of Ill-A-Noise, and the membersheep of the CTEwe were looking forward to many exciting developments on the educational front. And baaack, if you counted the infamous “Leave No Child Behind” Act.

“ Whaat’s going to haaappen to us if we don’t improve our test results?” worried Ewenice, who was still Toonice for her Own Good. “They are threatening to close schools all over the country. How can they do thaaat? They’re not even following the test results for the same children. They’re different every year. This is a lose-lose proposition.”

“ Good questions, Ewenice,” said Scott Skeptic, journalism teacher-in-exile, who certainly knew something about testing. “You’re aaaabsolutely right.”

“ Well, I’m sure if you old-timers had done a better job, we wouldn’t have these problems today,” sniffed Nancy Naïve, new teacher and darling of the deposed Pee-Yu caucus.

“ Really? How so?” asked Millicent Militant.

“ Well, as Pammy was telling me just the other day … ”

“ What other day was that?”

“ Oh, I’m not sure. We were helping out with baaallots for something.”

“ Baaallots?” echoed Scott, whose ears were closely related to his nose for news.

“ Some dumb retired election,” she sneered.

Scott whipped out his omnipresent little reporter’s notebook as she praaattled on. One could tell that it was a genuine reporter’s notebook because it said so right there on the cover. In big letters: “Reporters

Notebook.” “So, what did you say about the baaallots?”

“ We were each supposed to make fifty of them,” said Nancy. “Pammy said we were helping out with some sort of election for retired dull-a-gates, because the incumbent leadersheep were incompetent, and couldn’t begin to manage without her help. And then she said that she couldn’t begin to manage without us, either,” she concluded, beaming with misplaced pride.

“ Excuse me,” interrupted Millicent. “Exactly what were you saying about the old-timers not doing a good job?”

“ Oh, everybody knows that most of you just go through the motions and line up for your money. If it hadn’t been for Tom and Pammy and all the other leadersheep, who always defended and protected you, you probably would have all been let go long ago.”

“ Really?” asked Millicent.

“ Oh, aaaabsolutely. You have no idea how hard they worked for you. Behind the scenes, of course. That’s why they still can’t understand how they lost the election.”

“ Probably didn’t print enough extra ballots that time,” mumbled Scott.

“ Whaaat?”

“ Oh, nothing. Tell us more about the retired teacher dull-a-gates.”

“ There’s not much else to talk about. We just did what Pammy asked, and then we had snacks, and then we went home. I don’t know what happened after that. Why are you so interested, anyway? I thought you didn’t even like Pammy,” concluded Nancy.

Just then, Clara Clark, the clerk, raced in, waving the latest edition of the new CTEwe newspaper, which had retained its original name — The CUD, (for Chicago Union Digest), but little else from its previous life as a photo album for Tom Reece, erstwhile President-for-Life of the CTEwe. To validate the old adage, “you can’t please everyone”, the new version had its critics, as well. Someone kept sending letters demanding to see more pictures of Tom Reece. Someone else repeatedly inquired about Pammy Pretty. A few CTEwe members were heard to complain about the contents, and many copies went directly from the printers to the delivery trucks to the school mailboxes to the cylindrical file. Some seemingly unappreciative membersheep had been heard to ridicule the first page, which was a different color every month. Most recently it was “the Pink Stink”, currently waved aloft by Clara Clark.

She was highly agitated. “Look at this!! It’s about the retired dull-a-gates election! There was massive vote fraud. They have to do the election over again.”

“ What did you say?” asked Ewenice, who had been grading papers.

“ The retired dull-a-gates election. They always do it as a mail-in baaallot.”

“ So?” said Nancy. “Isn’t that a waste of money? Why do they mail the baaallots?”

“ Because these teachers and support personnel are retired, Nancy. They live all over the country, especially in winter.”

“ So what’s the problem?”

Clara paraphrased the article, concluding with the fact that too many baaallots were returned. Hundreds more than had been originally printed and officially mailed.”

“ So, as I said before, what’s the problem?”

“ You can’t make your own baaallots.”

“ Sounds creative to me,” said Nancy.

“ Sounds illegal to everyone else,” said Clara. “They had to re-do the whole thing with an outside firm. What a waste of time and money.”

Millicent smiled. “You don’t think Pammy and her little helpers knew about this, do you, Nancy?”

“ Of course not,” she snorted indignantly. “What would Pammy know about vote fraud? Really.”

But, once upon a time, the membersheep of the CTEwe had bigger things to worry about. Such as the mushrooming bureaucracy at the Big Baaad Bored, where, under the less-than-astute leadership of Arne “YoYo”

Duncan, a deceptively pallid substitute for Our Pal Paul, administrators were rapidly outnumbering teachers as employees of the CPS.

Once upon a time a long time ago, the Big Baaad Bored had divided the city into twenty-four, or more, geographical Districts, including both elementary and high schools that were in close physical proximity to each other. Every District was a miniature version of the Big Baaad Bored, complete with a superdupe, several assistant and associate superdupes, various consultant- and consultantesses, and a whole bunch of secretaries and administrative assistants.

Somewhere along the way, the Districts were consolidated into several Areas; the district personnel somehow managed to retain their special perks and positions, and were stationed at the Big Baaad Bored, where they occasionally ventured into the schools, cleverly disguised as consultants.

Eventually the Areas morphed into Regions, which begat a bowlful of acronymonious titles, like REO. And then, just when the membersheep and the new leadersheep of the CTEwe were beginning to learn who was who, after Our Pal Paul had been redeployed to Philadelphia and Scary Gery was planning a campaign for Congress, someone came up with an even more brilliant idea.

Once upon a time, there was considerable consternation

at the Castle on Clark Street. All of the Big Baaad Bored members were concerned about the negotiating powers of the new CTEwe leadersheep team.

“ We always knew what to expect with the Tom Team,” the Bored members sighed wistfully. “It used to be so easy. This might be a challenge.”

“ I have an idea!!” said Arne “YoYo” Duncan, CPS CEO.

“ Great!!” agreed everyone before they even heard it.

“ You haven’t even heard it yet,” Arne observed astutely.

“ That’s OK. We’re sure it’s super, Boss.”

“ So?”

“ So what?”

“ So, what’s your idea?”

“ Idea?” There was a pause. “Oh. Right. Coaches.”

“ You mean like motor coaches? Buses?”

“ Or do you mean athletic coaches?”

“ Right.”

“ Which?”

“ Which what?” asked Arne.

“ Which kind of coach?”

“ Science and Maaath,” he bleated unexpectedly. “I have to stop talking to the Tom Team,” he mumbled to himself.

“ Science and math coaches?”

“ Oh yes. They will visit the schools and help the teachers. This is a great idea for many reasons. First, we can keep appointing coaches forever. And if we pay them a minimum of $100,000.00 each, we can use up all of our money plus tons more, and end up in the red, big time.”

Many of the minions were confused. “Why would we want to do that, Boss?”

“ Because of the — the — ‘N’ word.”

“ What ‘N’ word, sir? What ARE you talking about?”

“ Negotiations. Negotiations with the CTEwe. Don’t you get it?”

There was some burbling around the huge conference table, custom-made of Brazilian mahogany and imported at great expense. “If we spend all the money now, there won’t be anything left for the CTEwe to argue about. If it’s gone, it’s gone. Therefore, we won’t even have to talk to them about a raise. We’ll just say there’s no money. End of story,” he concluded triumphantly.

“ Uh, sir, that’s not exactly how it works.”

“Really?”

“We’re afraid so, sir. Perhaps you would like to reconsider.”

“Too late. I’ve already placed want ads for coaches in the Scum-Times and Scabune. What about all my friends and relatives who have applied already? And all the friends and relatives of the aldermen in the City Council?”

“Hard to say, sir.”

Meanwhile, baack at the faculty lounge, Ewenice, Scott and Millicent had seen the job announcements.

“So, are you going to be a coach?” they asked each other.

“Not I,” said Scott.

They were surprised.

“I want to be a cheerleader!” he announced. “Rah, rah, sis boom Baaaaa!”

“Oh, I see,” they said. “O.I.C.”