Read Online Ms. Miller and the Midas Man by Mary Kay McComas - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Kay McComas
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his father would reject the title of Principal Hammond in favor of Mr. Jack-of-All-Trades. “It’s not a part-time job,” he used to say. “People call me Principal Hammond whether I’m at the school or not.”
Of course, that hadn’t meant much to Scotty until he was older, until he was old enough and wise enough to see that being principal was his father’s vocation, not just his occupation. It didn’t start and stop at the doors of the institution he was associated with. It was who he was, whether he was passing out diplomas at graduation or filling in nights for a sick janitor.
Scotty liked the idea of being someone and belonging to something. Being a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and belonging to a family. Being a teacher or a principal and belonging to a school. Being a good citizen and belonging to a community. It was fundamental and solid, safe and simple. There was no confusion in being who you were.
And so, when he’d accepted the position of principal at Tylerville High School he knew exactly what he was getting into. He knew how important high school was to a child’s intellectual, physical, and emotional development. He knew small-town schools had small budgets, staff shortages, and limited outside resources. He knew it was up to him to maintain academic excellence, to promote community interest and involvement, and to provide the best possible experience for the students.
“I discovered almost immediately the loss of several intramural sports teams, the incorporation of the school newspaper into the English department curriculum, and that the drama club, debate team, chorus, and—for all intents and purposes—the entire art department had been cut away entirely by Mr. Kingsley to meet his budget. In essence, a lot of the fun stuff is gone,” he told an eager, if a bit wary, group of his peers during their first preseason team meeting on Tuesday morning. Faculty meetings were a necessary evil they endured, to present and maintain a united front to the opposing team, their students.
The wariness that morning stemmed, no doubt, from the fact that he had been a lively player on the opposing team less than twenty years earlier and had scored more than once on many of his present teammates.
“Believe me,” he said, sounding very grown-up in his own disbelieving ears. “I understand budgets. And cuts like these are necessary to maintain the core of the curriculum. However, we all know that not every student’s talents will lay within the realm of the three R’s. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Fiske?”
Mrs. Fiske, the English teacher at Tylerville High since the dawn of time, arched a brow and said, “Once upon a time, I had not the slightest hope for you in that direction, Mr. Scotty Hammond.” She paused. “Obviously, appearances can be deceiving.”
He laughed and she smiled at him fondly.
“Time will tell on that one, I suppose, but being a late bloomer myself, I have a special fondness for kids who have to check out all their options before they settle on a career. And I believe it’s our duty to expose all our students to as many adventures as they can handle. To give them every opportunity we can muster to try new things. To provide a safe testing ground for their youthful whims and dreams.”
He gave that a few seconds to sink in, and when he saw heads begin to nod in tentative agreement, he continued.
“I’ve been mulling over an idea that I’d like your opinions on,” he said humbly, knowing full well he could institute his idea without their opinions. “I haven’t quite figured out what to do about the sports we’ve cut, but I’ve been thinking of starting a new tradition here at Tylerville High School.” A pregnant pause. “A senior class play.”
The silence that followed his announcement was ominous. Small towns were notoriously reluctant to change, and this included teachers in small-town schools.
“I know that in the past, the drama club put on a yearly
Of course, that hadn’t meant much to Scotty until he was older, until he was old enough and wise enough to see that being principal was his father’s vocation, not just his occupation. It didn’t start and stop at the doors of the institution he was associated with. It was who he was, whether he was passing out diplomas at graduation or filling in nights for a sick janitor.
Scotty liked the idea of being someone and belonging to something. Being a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and belonging to a family. Being a teacher or a principal and belonging to a school. Being a good citizen and belonging to a community. It was fundamental and solid, safe and simple. There was no confusion in being who you were.
And so, when he’d accepted the position of principal at Tylerville High School he knew exactly what he was getting into. He knew how important high school was to a child’s intellectual, physical, and emotional development. He knew small-town schools had small budgets, staff shortages, and limited outside resources. He knew it was up to him to maintain academic excellence, to promote community interest and involvement, and to provide the best possible experience for the students.
“I discovered almost immediately the loss of several intramural sports teams, the incorporation of the school newspaper into the English department curriculum, and that the drama club, debate team, chorus, and—for all intents and purposes—the entire art department had been cut away entirely by Mr. Kingsley to meet his budget. In essence, a lot of the fun stuff is gone,” he told an eager, if a bit wary, group of his peers during their first preseason team meeting on Tuesday morning. Faculty meetings were a necessary evil they endured, to present and maintain a united front to the opposing team, their students.
The wariness that morning stemmed, no doubt, from the fact that he had been a lively player on the opposing team less than twenty years earlier and had scored more than once on many of his present teammates.
“Believe me,” he said, sounding very grown-up in his own disbelieving ears. “I understand budgets. And cuts like these are necessary to maintain the core of the curriculum. However, we all know that not every student’s talents will lay within the realm of the three R’s. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Fiske?”
Mrs. Fiske, the English teacher at Tylerville High since the dawn of time, arched a brow and said, “Once upon a time, I had not the slightest hope for you in that direction, Mr. Scotty Hammond.” She paused. “Obviously, appearances can be deceiving.”
He laughed and she smiled at him fondly.
“Time will tell on that one, I suppose, but being a late bloomer myself, I have a special fondness for kids who have to check out all their options before they settle on a career. And I believe it’s our duty to expose all our students to as many adventures as they can handle. To give them every opportunity we can muster to try new things. To provide a safe testing ground for their youthful whims and dreams.”
He gave that a few seconds to sink in, and when he saw heads begin to nod in tentative agreement, he continued.
“I’ve been mulling over an idea that I’d like your opinions on,” he said humbly, knowing full well he could institute his idea without their opinions. “I haven’t quite figured out what to do about the sports we’ve cut, but I’ve been thinking of starting a new tradition here at Tylerville High School.” A pregnant pause. “A senior class play.”
The silence that followed his announcement was ominous. Small towns were notoriously reluctant to change, and this included teachers in small-town schools.
“I know that in the past, the drama club put on a yearly
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