A devoted high school history teacher, Mr. Besserian enjoys motivating his students at the highly diverse Fillmore High School and tries hard to make his subject matter interesting. His efforts have earned him the Teacher of the Year Award and the respect of the faculty, not to mention the students themselves. But at a staff meeting, Besserian learns of the proposed academic improvement plan for Fillmore High that may fundamentally alter the school-and not for the best. Simply named the Reform Plan, it calls for community involvement on such a large scale that it will virtually turn the school into its own independent city, as well as impose corporate values on the students themselves. Besserian isn't at all sure this is such a wise idea and decides to unearth the truth behind the project by assigning his history class to research it. Besserian and his students start digging into the plan and uncover disturbing and dangerous information that underscores the precarious level of academic instruction in the school. The more they uncover, the more Besserian realizes that greed and corruption are the backbone of the supposed "Reform Plan." But can a lone teacher and a group of students possibly stop the juggernaut of Fillmore High's reform before it destroys the school's very foundation?
The Reform Plan
By Bill BlanchetTrafford Publishing
Copyright © 2010 Bill Blanchet
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4269-3637-1Chapter One
A Meeting
"Excuse me." She was exasperated. Her words were slow, distinct ... patronizing. Manicured nails of long, slender fingers tapped the edge of the rostrum. The demanded silence, however, was not forthcoming. Chin pinched with left middle finger and thumb, pinky extended, the marquise diamond on the fourth finger flashed dutifully. "If our agenda is not resolved this afternoon ...", she waited imperiously, "... then, ladies and gentlemen," ... pause, eyes rounded, ... "then, it will simply have to be resolved: subsequently. At a later meeting!"
That notwithstanding: continuing, blatant, non-compliance! The faded blue eyes narrowed combatively. Thin lips pursed, jaw set, the third entreaty was strident. Piqued, she enunciated distinctly, voice rising several semi-tones, warbling at the edges, "Ex-cu-use me: pl-e-a-es-e? May-we-have-your-attention!"
No result. If anything, the private conversations became even more earnestly self-centered. The scurrying between seats progressed to an erratic kind of darting, accompanied by dramatically intense stage commands: theatrical mouthing of incomprehensible words, pantomime pointing, and semaphore gesticulations with pencils, roll books, purses, textbooks, a large plastic right-angle triangle, disorganized wads of semi-corrected papers. The communication efforts were augmented by facial contortions registering incredulity, exasperation, confusion, and exaggerated agreement. The apparently random movements were underscored, moreover, by haphazard efforts to stifle loud giggles and grating laughter as a number of individuals, in their eagerness to find their seats, backing or climbing, stumbled and clutched, for steadying support, the most proximate shoulder, arm, or what evoked the loudest guffaws and squeals ... leg.
Now overtly bellicose, Dr. Allsbury gripped the microphone as if it were the throat of a particularly vexing member of her audience. "Ladies and gentlemen!" The appeal was shrill. Lips compressed to a thin line, eyes dilated, she personified indignation: the stymied teacher—outrage ineffectively masking impotence. "It is now-ow [she separated the syllables] af-ter th-ree-e [she rolled the "r"'s ] ... and if we cannot get started by three-e ... we will simply have to continue after fo-o-o-r!"
"Wanna bet," came from a baritone voice in a confused area towards the back. The irascibility of the comment was obvious because, immediately, occurred one of those momentary, open silences, which often punctuate interpersonal resentment. No longer thoughtlessly immature, the scenario was now combative. The cacophony recommenced with renewed vigor.
Allsbury's expensive, high-heeled, mauve cocktail sandal was turned compulsively on its side, a gesture at odds with the immaculate presentation of silk violets, whispering among multiple tiers of organdy and chiffon, which floated above thin and superbly shaped legs. Décolletage revealed the alabaster complexion. Lavender ribbons fluttered from auburn hair, twisted precisely into a chignon.
She looked over her shoulder. The tiers rising behind were designed for the Gospel Choir. Now, the administrative group were congregated at the top around a scarred upright piano.
The unpleasantness of the audience subsiding somewhat, she seized the opportunity, and plunged into the parañá-infested waters. The voice quavered. The elegant ankle bone was glued to the floor. "The first topic on our agenda—if you pl-e-e-a-se, ladies and gentlemen—will be a presentation that will elucidate the anticipated legislation and differentiate the critical role substantiated by our school in a proposed Reform Plan: how it will ameliorate the education of youngsters in our community ... our students at Fillmore High. Now, I-am-sur-ure," she paused for emphasis, "that all of us realize how very important this topic will be to each and every one of us!"
She nodded solemnly having convinced at least one person of the gravity of the situation. "Moreover, I am absolutely confident we will all give our complete," significant pause, "and total attention? In that way we can be totally apprised of its connotations." There were smirks in the audience.
"Also ... may I add," she was condescending, "that it is not frequent that a leading citizen from the business community is willing to depart from an already demanding schedule to visit with us and inform on issues. And I am sure we all appreciate that."
She rotated inquisitively toward the command post, mouth turned down at the corners, jaw lifted, head tilted back. The plucked eyebrows, arched in expectation, however, fell immediately, and the thin lips constricted into a skeletal line. Impossible! The anticipated guest was not there!
Indifferent to the sycophant grins of his colleagues, one of the administrative group stirred his bloated appearance: large hips and expanding waist evidencing lack of exercise and acquiescence to the junk food culture. The flopping, well-worn camel hair jacket did little to conceal the burgeoning pear shape.
"Hi everybody. I was just telling the Superintendent earlier? How you guys are just the greatest? Bunch of teachers? Absolutely! Numero Uno! And I know you're zonked from just a super hard day! Slugging it out in the trenches! Wow!"
Exhaling noisily, the Principal moved his head wearily to underscore the veracity of his observation. And his empathy. "Now, as most of you already probably have heard, Mr. Pritchard is in a delay mode. But when he gets here he's gonna fill us in about possible new kind of reform plan? Reshuffles that will impact us here at Fillmore. And our Cathedral Heights community? Stuff that's going to help us to continue your just super dedication to helping Fillmore kids. So, obviously, his words will impact on each and every one of us. Big time! And I believe," he was coy, "that he might even have some information about a salary increase?" The Cheshire smile was Number Seven on his List of Facial Responses.
"Hey! Right on!" Female twittering reinforced the remark.
"And hey! After School Board's been using the salary increase plan for their seat cushions now for how many umpteen months! Go for it."
"How about a new school? Got any new skinny on that consideration, Joe? As of yet?"
Speaking quietly and slowly, a device intended to mask insecurity as well as barrio accent, the speaker, grasping at the perceived approbation, allowed his smile to persist, motioning with a thrust of his jaw. "All good questions. Let's let our guest to resolute them." He nodded crisply to Allsbury. "They'll be waiting to continue with you until Mr. Pritchard gets here."
Allsbury overlooked the rudeness. "While we're waiting," she stressed the verb; "we have some updates about CAHSEE. Word has come down that State might revise it."
A few derisive cheers broke the hostility. "Yeah! Say it!"
"It'd be a cold day in hell when they revise something that's not working anyway. Marginalized on the dark side as per usual. That's us!"
"Of course none of us wants more tests that's unfair to minorities."
Deaf to the comments, Allsbury looked to the command post for support; and receiving none, continued, "I know we all agree on fairness." She smiled emptily. "However, it does seem that we will administer...
