Theodore Boone: The Activist

Chapter 2

The necktie and jacket were gone, and Theo was somewhat more comfortable in his usual khakis, though the button-down white-collared shirt was a bit too dressy. Classes were over; the final bell had sounded, and on this Wednesday Theo made his way to the band hall for a little after-school activity. Along the way, several eighth graders congratulated him on another fine performance. Theo smiled and took it all in stride as if it were no big deal, but deep inside he was quite pleased with himself. He was savoring another victory, but doing so without being cocky. “Don’t ever get the bighead,” a veteran trial lawyer had once told him. “Because the next jury can break your heart.” Or, the next debate could be a disaster.

He entered the large band hall and went to a smaller rehearsal room where a few students were unpacking instruments and preparing for a class. April Finnemore was inspecting her violin when Theo approached. “Great job,” she said softly. April rarely spoke loud enough for anyone else to hear. “You were the best.”

“Thanks. And thanks for being there. It was a nice crowd.”

“You’re going to be a great lawyer, Theo.”

“That’s the plan. Not sure where music fits in.”

“Music fits in everywhere,” she said.

“If you say so.” Theo opened a large case and carefully pulled out a cello, one that belonged to the school. April and a few of the other students owned their instruments. Others, like Theo, were still renting because they were not sure if this music thing was going to last. Theo was in the class because April talked him into it, and because his mother loved the idea of her son learning to play an instrument.

Why the cello? Theo wasn’t sure, nor could he remember why he’d chosen the instrument. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d actually made the decision himself. In a string orchestra there are several violins and violas, a large bass, at least one cello, and usually a piano. The girls seemed to prefer the violins and violas, and Drake Brown grabbed the bulky bass. There was no one to play the cello. Theo knew from the moment he first held it that he would never learn to play it well.

The class was a last-minute addition to the current six-week schedule, and it was billed as a beginners’ class for kids who couldn’t play an instrument. Real beginners, raw beginners, students with little in the way of musical backgrounds and even less in the way of talent. Theo fit in perfectly, as did most of the kids. It was a low-pressure, one-hour class once a week and designed primarily for fun with a little instruction thrown in.

The fun was provided by the teacher, Mr. Sasstrunk, a spry little old man with long gray hair, wild brown eyes, several nervous twitches, and the same faded brown-plaid jacket each week. He claimed to have conducted several orchestras over his long career, and he had been teaching music at Stratten College for the past decade. He had a great sense of humor and laughed at the kids when they made mistakes, which happened constantly. His job, he said, was simply to introduce them to music, to just “give them a taste of it.” He had no dreams of turning them into real musicians. “Let’s just learn some basics here, kids, do a little practicing, and see where we go,” he said each week. After four sessions the kids were not only enjoying the class, they were actually becoming more serious about their music.

All that was about to change.

Mr. Sasstruck was ten minutes late, and when he entered the rehearsal room he looked tired and worried. His usual smile was gone. He looked at the kids as if he wasn’t sure what to say, then began, “I’ve just left the principal’s office, and it looks as though I’ve been fired.”

There were about a dozen students, and they glanced at one another with uncertainty. Mr. Sasstrunk looked as though he might start crying. He continued, “As it has just been explained to me, the city’s schools are being forced to make a series of cutbacks for budget reasons. Seems as though there’s not as much money as they expected, so some of the less important classes and programs are being eliminated, immediately. I’m sorry, kids, but this class has just been canceled. It’s over.”

The students were too stunned to speak. Not only were they upset over losing a class they enjoyed, but they also felt sorry for Mr. Sasstrunk. In one of the earlier sessions, he had joked about saving the small salary the school was paying to finish his CD collection of the works of the greatest composers.

“This doesn’t seem fair,” said Drake Brown. “Why do they start a class if they can’t finish it?”

Mr. Sasstrunk had no answers. He replied, “You’ll have to ask someone else.”

“Don’t you have a contract?” Theo asked, then immediately wished he’d said nothing. Whether or not Mr. Sasstrunk had a contract was none of Theo’s business. However, Theo knew that every teacher in the city school system signed a one-year contract. Mr. Mount had explained it in Government class.

Mr. Sasstrunk managed a grunt and a grin and said, “Sure, but it’s not much of one. It plainly states the school can cancel the class at any time for any valid reason. That’s pretty typical.”

“Not much of a contract,” Theo mumbled.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry, kids. I guess class is over. I’ve really enjoyed myself here, and I wish you the best. A few of you have some talent, a few do not, but, as I’ve said, all of you have the ability to learn to play with hard work and practice. Remember, with practice anything is possible. Good luck.” And with that, Mr. Sasstrunk slowly and sadly turned away and walked out of the room.

The door closed quietly, and for a few seconds the students stared at it in silence. Finally, April said, “Do something, Theo. This is not fair.”

Theo was standing. “Let’s go see Mrs. Gladwell. All of us. We’ll take over her office, and we won’t leave until she meets with us.”

“Great idea.”

They followed Theo from the room and marched as a group out of the band hall, across a foyer, outside through a courtyard, into the main building, down a long hallway, and finally into the central lobby where the principal’s office was located near the doors of the school’s front entrance. They marched inside and stopped at the desk of Miss Gloria, the school’s secretary. One of her many jobs was to guard the door that led to Mrs. Gladwell’s inner office. Theo knew Miss Gloria well, and he had once given her advice when her brother got caught driving while drunk.

“Good afternoon,” Miss Gloria said as she peeked over the reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She had been typing away and seemed a bit irritated by the fact that suddenly a dozen angry eighth graders were in front of her desk.

“Hi, Miss Gloria,” Theo said without a smile. “We’d like to see Mrs. Gladwell.”

“What’s the problem?”

So typical of Miss Gloria. Always wanting to know your business before you could discuss your business with Mrs. Gladwell. She had a reputation for being the nosiest person in the school. Theo knew from experience Miss Gloria would find out sooner or later what the kids were up to, so he knew how to play the game.

“We were in Mr. Sasstrunk’s music class,” he explained. “The one that just got axed by the school, and we want to talk to Mrs. Gladwell about it.”

Miss Gloria arched her eyebrows as if this simply wasn’t possible. “She’s busy, in a very important meeting.” As she said this she nodded to the door of Mrs. Gladwell’s office. It was closed, of course, as always. Theo had been in there many times, usually for good meetings but occasionally for something not so pleasant. Just last month he’d been in a fight, his only fight since the third grade, and he and Mrs. Gladwell had discussed it behind that closed door.

“We’ll wait,” he said.

“She’s very busy.”

“She’s always busy. Please tell her we’re here.”

“I can’t interrupt.”

“Okay then, we’ll wait.” Theo looked around the large reception room. There were a couple of benches and an assortment of well-used chairs. “In here,” he said, and his classmates immediately took over the benches and chairs. Those who could not find a place simply sat on the floor.

Miss Gloria was known to have grumpy moods, and evidently she was in the middle of one. She did not like the fact that her space had been invaded by a bunch of unhappy students. “Theo,” she said rudely, “I suggest you and your friends wait outside in the front lobby.”

“What’s wrong with waiting in here?” Theo shot back.

“I said to wait out there,” she replied, suddenly angry and raising her voice.

“Who says we can’t wait in the school office?”

Miss Gloria’s face turned red, and she seemed ready to explode. Wisely, she bit her tongue and took a deep breath. She had no right to order the kids out of the reception area, and she knew Theo knew this. She also knew Theo’s mother and father were respected lawyers who did not hesitate to defend their son against adults when the adults were wrong and Theo was right. Mrs. Boone, in particular, could get rather firm when Theo took a stand against unfairness.

“Very well,” she said. “Just keep it quiet. I have work to do.”

“Thank you,” Theo said. And he almost added that they had yet to make a sound, but he let it pass. He’d won this brief little battle; no sense in causing more trouble.

For five minutes they watched Miss Gloria as she tried to appear busy. But it was almost 4:00 p.m., and school had been out for half an hour. The day was quickly winding down. A few minutes later, the door to Mrs. Gladwell’s office opened and two young parents stepped out. They barely glanced at Theo and his gang as they hurried away, obviously not happy about the meeting. Mrs. Gladwell stepped into the reception area, saw the crowd, and said, “Theo, nice job today in the debate.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s going on here?”

“Well, Mrs. Gladwell, this is what’s left of Mr. Sasstrunk’s music class, and we’d like to know why the class has been canceled.”

She sighed and smiled, then patiently said, “Can’t say I’m really surprised. Please step inside.” The students filed into her office, with Theo bringing up the rear. As he closed the door, he couldn’t help but flash a nasty grin at Miss Gloria, who was watching. To her credit, she returned the smile.

Inside, the students all stood in front of Mrs. Gladwell’s desk. There were only three chairs for guests, and no one was bold enough to sit down. Mrs. Gladwell understood this. “Thank you for stopping by, kids, and I’m very sorry about the music class,” she said as she picked up a report of some kind. “This is a memo I received this morning from the main office of the city school administration. It came directly from Mr. Otis McCord, the superintendent, the number one man and my boss. The school board met last night in a special meeting to address the rather urgent budget problems. It seems as though the Strattenburg city school system will receive about a million dollars less than what had been promised from the city, the county, and the state. All three contribute to the school’s budget, and for several reasons the funding has been reduced. So, cuts have to be made. Throughout the city, part-time teachers are being laid off. Field trips are being canceled. After-school programs, such as Mr. Sasstrunk’s music class, are being cut. And the list goes on and on. It’s very unpleasant, but I have no control over it.”

Mrs. Gladwell had a wonderful way of making things clear. The kids absorbed every word as it became obvious that there was nothing they could do.

“What happened to the funding?” Theo asked.

“That’s a difficult question. Some people blame it on the recession and tough economic times. Tax collections are down, and so there’s not as much money to go around. Other people claim the school system wastes too much money, especially at the home office. I really don’t know. My job is to follow orders. In addition to this music class, I have to eliminate one janitor, two cafeteria workers, four part-time coaches, as well as six other after-school classes. And, I’ve just told Mr. Pearce that his seventh-grade science class cannot take the annual trip to the Rustenburg Nuclear Plant.”

“That’s awful,” Susan said. “That’s a great trip.”

“I know, I know. Mr. Pearce has been doing it for years.”

“It doesn’t seem fair to give a guy a contract, a promise, then yank it away in the middle of the course,” Theo said.

“No, it doesn’t seem fair, Theo. But, I’m not in charge of contracts. There’s a lawyer in the home office who handles these things.”

Several of the students looked at each other as reality settled in.

Mrs. Gladwell said, “I’m very sorry. I wish there was something I could do, but it’s out of my hands. I’m sure Mr. McCord and the school board will hear a lot of complaints, and you’re free to join in.” After a long pause, she said, “Now, if there’s nothing else, I have a meeting to attend.”

“Thanks for listening, Mrs. Gladwell,” Theo said.

“That’s my job.”

Defeated, the students filed somberly out of the office.