The satirical novel, which covers one year in a dysfunctional public high school, covers the antics of a clueless superintendent and an ambitious assistant superintendent, whose never ending series of new initiatives and obsessive concern with public relations and not education leads puts the faculty in a tough position, caught between the administrators and an out-of-control student body.
And, of course, it is the book that got me fired from the Joplin R-8 School District.
In his review, Burlingame's first for Amazon, the noted columnist gave me one star out of five:
This book has become a very public and legal matter, locally. I thus read the entire book to form my own opinion of it. Bottom line, in my view the book is PURE TRASH and has NO MERIT for consideration to judge, critically NCLB, a government program. The author simply takes the absolute worse that he has heard about or been told about by other teachers and lumped it all into one tirad against a fictional and dysfunctional school system. Is it good satire? No way in my view. It is gross and ridiculous hyperbole, overstatements that border on being irrational when taken as a whole. This book is not worth reading beyond the first four pages, unless you like raw sex, etc.
(Note: There are sex scenes in the book, but they are a small part of it, contrary to the picture that was painted at my hearing last year.)
Interestingly, of the three lowest reviews No Child Left Alive received two came from frequent Joplin Globe guest columnists Burlingame and Geoff Caldwell, and the other at about the same time from someone who used a pen name and decided to make my book the only one that he or she has ever reviewed for Amazon.
No Child Left Alive, Let Teachers Teach, 5:41, Spirit of Hope, and Scars from the Tornado are among the books I will have available Saturday. Other local authors, including Larry Wood, Helen Hunter, Michele Newton Hansford, and Cheryle Finley, will also be there.
A couple of sample passages from No Child Left Alive, featuring the image-obsessed superintendent, is printed below:
As the head of the Franklin Heights Unified School District’s technology department hunched over his computer, Carlton Dunn looked over his shoulder, peering intently at the screen.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I like the profile shot.”
Dunn nodded. “I do, too. Let’s go with it.”
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go with a picture of the high school or maybe a cougar. That is our school mascot. People are familiar with it.”
“No, no,” Dunn said, his voice ringing with certainty. “The people in this school district need to be reassured that I am in charge.”
“I know I’m reassured,” the tech chief said, though Dunn did not pick up on the trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“Good. That’s the way everyone else will feel, too. Go ahead and put it on line.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. It is high time that we spread the word online about all of the good things that are going on here.”
“Well, start spreading the news. We’re on Facebook.”
Dunn admired the page. “I’ll send out an e-mail to the staff. Everyone will ‘like’ us on Facebook and we will offer a bonus to the staff member who successfully invites the most people to our page. I will have our new public relations coordinator start typing up positive information to put on the page every day. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Oh, yeah. No doubt about it. When did we get a public relations coordinator?”
“I hired her today. She was a steal for $80,000 a year.”
“The taxpayers are lucky to have you in charge of their money.”
“Of course they are and this way we can be sure that they know that. Now tell me one more thing- When you get our Twitter account set up, will we able to have my picture on it, too?”
Interestingly, of the three lowest reviews No Child Left Alive received two came from frequent Joplin Globe guest columnists Burlingame and Geoff Caldwell, and the other at about the same time from someone who used a pen name and decided to make my book the only one that he or she has ever reviewed for Amazon.
No Child Left Alive, Let Teachers Teach, 5:41, Spirit of Hope, and Scars from the Tornado are among the books I will have available Saturday. Other local authors, including Larry Wood, Helen Hunter, Michele Newton Hansford, and Cheryle Finley, will also be there.
A couple of sample passages from No Child Left Alive, featuring the image-obsessed superintendent, is printed below:
As the head of the Franklin Heights Unified School District’s technology department hunched over his computer, Carlton Dunn looked over his shoulder, peering intently at the screen.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I like the profile shot.”
Dunn nodded. “I do, too. Let’s go with it.”
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go with a picture of the high school or maybe a cougar. That is our school mascot. People are familiar with it.”
“No, no,” Dunn said, his voice ringing with certainty. “The people in this school district need to be reassured that I am in charge.”
“I know I’m reassured,” the tech chief said, though Dunn did not pick up on the trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“Good. That’s the way everyone else will feel, too. Go ahead and put it on line.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. It is high time that we spread the word online about all of the good things that are going on here.”
“Well, start spreading the news. We’re on Facebook.”
Dunn admired the page. “I’ll send out an e-mail to the staff. Everyone will ‘like’ us on Facebook and we will offer a bonus to the staff member who successfully invites the most people to our page. I will have our new public relations coordinator start typing up positive information to put on the page every day. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Oh, yeah. No doubt about it. When did we get a public relations coordinator?”
“I hired her today. She was a steal for $80,000 a year.”
“The taxpayers are lucky to have you in charge of their money.”
“Of course they are and this way we can be sure that they know that. Now tell me one more thing- When you get our Twitter account set up, will we able to have my picture on it, too?”
***
The first 16 girls entered the second floor bathroom, did what they had to do, gossiped about boys and discussed the pros and cons of various and sundry sexual positions, and even had one near fight.
It was just a typical day.
Even the crude “Out of Order” sign on the third stall didn’t put a dent in the traffic or slow things down…until the clear red pool of blood seeped out from under the stall and onto the tile floor outside.
A sophomore opened the door and discovered the lifeless body of one of the school’s regular substitute teachers, Dorenda Plumb. At one time, Mrs. Plumb had been an English teacher at Franklin Heights High, but after taking maternity leave with her third child, she decided not to go back into the classroom on a full-time basis. Since that time, she had been at the top of the list when substitutes were called.
During the current school year, with teachers gone to one meeting after another, and others just calling in sick to get out of going to one meeting after another, she had been subbing nearly every day.
Abigail Saucier and Stanley Kramer were in a meeting in Carlton Dunn’s office when he received word of the death.
“They’re sure she is dead?” Dunn asked. He nodded as he received a response. “I suppose suicide has been ruled out?” Dunn paused. “I suppose suicide has been ruled out?” He continued nodding. “Thirty stab wounds, you say?”
A few moments later, when the call ended, Dunn breathed in deeply and then exhaled. “This is not a good day for a murder,” he said. “We have the TV stations and the Daily News coming to the high school so we can announce our new initiative for the homeless.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about the reporters showing up,” Kramer said.
“I suppose not. I’ll need to call her husband and give him our condolences.”
“What will we tell him?” Kramer asked.
“What can we tell him?” Abigail responded. “He just lost his wife and their three kids have just lost their mother.”
“It will be tough to spin this in a positive way,” Dunn said, staring out the window.
“Do the police have any suspects?” Abigail asked.
“Not yet. It has to be a janitor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We can’t afford to lose any more students if we are going to improve our graduation rate.”
“Maybe we will be lucky and she was killed by an underclassman,” Kramer said.
“I hadn’t thought of that. That would be just as good as a janitor.” It was the first time Dunn had smiled during the conversation.
He began pacing the floor, wearing a path between his desk and the door. “We will have the press conference just as planned, but we will delay the announcement of the homeless initiative.” As Dunn passed his desk, he punched the button on the intercom. “Celia, put the following message on the district Facebook page. Are you ready?” Dunn continued pacing as he dictated the message. “We are all saddened by the loss of Dorenda Plummer…”
“Plumb,” Abigail corrected.
“We are all saddened by the loss of Dorenda Plumb, a longtime employee of the Franklin Heights Unified School District. Our staff will offer the police department our full cooperation in investigating Mrs. Plummer’s death.”
“Mrs. Plumb’s,” Abigail corrected.
“If this is determined to be a murder…
“She was stabbed more than 30 times!”
“If this is determined to be a murder, it will be the first time in the 89-year history of the Franklin Heights Unified School District that a substitute teacher has been killed on our watch. We are proud of the incredible protection that we provide to the teachers and staff. When substitutes come to our school, they know the odds are heavily against them being murdered. Let me see that before you post it, Celia.”
Dunn looked at the assistant superintendents. “That is the way we are going to deal with this murder.”
“You don’t think she was killed by that Salazar thug, do you?” Kramer asked.
Dunn shook his head. “No, he’s a partner in our graduation initiative. He knows that murdering substitute teachers is bad for business.”
Even the crude “Out of Order” sign on the third stall didn’t put a dent in the traffic or slow things down…until the clear red pool of blood seeped out from under the stall and onto the tile floor outside.
A sophomore opened the door and discovered the lifeless body of one of the school’s regular substitute teachers, Dorenda Plumb. At one time, Mrs. Plumb had been an English teacher at Franklin Heights High, but after taking maternity leave with her third child, she decided not to go back into the classroom on a full-time basis. Since that time, she had been at the top of the list when substitutes were called.
During the current school year, with teachers gone to one meeting after another, and others just calling in sick to get out of going to one meeting after another, she had been subbing nearly every day.
Abigail Saucier and Stanley Kramer were in a meeting in Carlton Dunn’s office when he received word of the death.
“They’re sure she is dead?” Dunn asked. He nodded as he received a response. “I suppose suicide has been ruled out?” Dunn paused. “I suppose suicide has been ruled out?” He continued nodding. “Thirty stab wounds, you say?”
A few moments later, when the call ended, Dunn breathed in deeply and then exhaled. “This is not a good day for a murder,” he said. “We have the TV stations and the Daily News coming to the high school so we can announce our new initiative for the homeless.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about the reporters showing up,” Kramer said.
“I suppose not. I’ll need to call her husband and give him our condolences.”
“What will we tell him?” Kramer asked.
“What can we tell him?” Abigail responded. “He just lost his wife and their three kids have just lost their mother.”
“It will be tough to spin this in a positive way,” Dunn said, staring out the window.
“Do the police have any suspects?” Abigail asked.
“Not yet. It has to be a janitor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We can’t afford to lose any more students if we are going to improve our graduation rate.”
“Maybe we will be lucky and she was killed by an underclassman,” Kramer said.
“I hadn’t thought of that. That would be just as good as a janitor.” It was the first time Dunn had smiled during the conversation.
He began pacing the floor, wearing a path between his desk and the door. “We will have the press conference just as planned, but we will delay the announcement of the homeless initiative.” As Dunn passed his desk, he punched the button on the intercom. “Celia, put the following message on the district Facebook page. Are you ready?” Dunn continued pacing as he dictated the message. “We are all saddened by the loss of Dorenda Plummer…”
“Plumb,” Abigail corrected.
“We are all saddened by the loss of Dorenda Plumb, a longtime employee of the Franklin Heights Unified School District. Our staff will offer the police department our full cooperation in investigating Mrs. Plummer’s death.”
“Mrs. Plumb’s,” Abigail corrected.
“If this is determined to be a murder…
“She was stabbed more than 30 times!”
“If this is determined to be a murder, it will be the first time in the 89-year history of the Franklin Heights Unified School District that a substitute teacher has been killed on our watch. We are proud of the incredible protection that we provide to the teachers and staff. When substitutes come to our school, they know the odds are heavily against them being murdered. Let me see that before you post it, Celia.”
Dunn looked at the assistant superintendents. “That is the way we are going to deal with this murder.”
“You don’t think she was killed by that Salazar thug, do you?” Kramer asked.
Dunn shook his head. “No, he’s a partner in our graduation initiative. He knows that murdering substitute teachers is bad for business.”
3 comments:
While not great literature, this book is okay. The sex could have been left out or been less descriptive.
The most interesting part is that I could tell you right where the meetings were in the story and who the characters were based on.
Can someone take away Anson's ability to print this garbage?
Trying to read Anson's writing and understand it gives me a headache. He must be of super intelligience!
No, you're early of lessor.
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