Are You Nuts? Read online

  He’d used the magic words—it’s not fair. I’d heard that refrain so often I was more than sick of it. Besides the obvious response of “life is not fair,” there were other problems with it. Too often when people say “it’s not fair,” what they really mean is “I’m not getting my way.” Further, by overusing “it’s not fair,” that which is truly “not fair” becomes trivial. I didn’t have the energy to get in a big fight with him about it, but I did ask, “What other things are the elementary teachers upset about, and why, if they are so important, weren’t they brought up to Kurt before this?”

  He said, “Planning time. High school teachers have more planning time than we do. We teach far more subjects than they do. They only have to plan for one or two subjects. We’ve got over a dozen. That’s not fair.”

  “I hear you’re in favor of ending all the tenure laws.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “There are too many unqualified teachers in the schools.”

  “Do you understand what tenure means?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “For public-school teachers in this state, it simply means they have to give you due process before they can fire you. It means an administrator has to tell a teacher what they are doing wrong and give them a chance to fix it within ninety days. How is that a burden?”

  “The teachers’ unions are out of control.”

  “And you want to be the head of one? Are you nuts?”

  “I think we should have the IEA come in here instead of the IFT.”

  This referred to an old feud between the Illinois Education Association and the Illinois Federation of Teachers. For years there had been bad blood, “raids,” and nasty feuds between the two groups. Fortunately, for the past few years the two groups had been having merger talks and had signed a “no raid” agreement. That meant neither group would try to get the other out as the exclusive bargaining agent in any school district. I remembered vaguely we’d had some problems like this many years before I started teaching at Grover Cleveland. The way I saw the merger talks was that they gave chronic complainers one less threat to make when they were pissed off.

  Battles between teachers could leave scars and wounds that might never heal. I explained to Seth about the “no raid” agreement.

  His response was, “It doesn’t hurt to talk to them.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to argue, and I didn’t see this discussion as going anywhere, but I was curious. “Are you going to the PTA meeting tonight?”

  I caught him off guard. “I don’t think the union needs to be involved in that kind of controversy.”

  “Which kind?”

  “You know, with elections. I don’t think we should have endorsed anyone in the past school board races. Look how that Belutha Muffin has turned against us.”

  “I don’t remember her ever being for us. We could have had three more just like her if we hadn’t endorsed anybody.”

  “I don’t know that. Those people who are supposedly on our side might have won anyway.”

  “Or maybe not. I wasn’t willing to take a chance. How can someone be union president without going out on a limb sometimes?”

  “Obviously you do take chances. I know that at least one of the PTA candidates has been talking about you and your friend being on all those television shows. You probably shouldn’t have been.”

  “Why not?”

  “It stirs people up. Makes it harder to defend you.”

  “I’m not hiding in anybody’s closet.”

  “Well, that’s your decision.”

  I wanted to end this interview and get back to work. I said, “I have an appointment with your opponent this afternoon. For now, I’m holding off endorsing anyone in the election.”

  “No matter who wins, I’d like to see you remain as grievance chair.”

  I love politics. Whether it’s on a national scale or a little local union election, it’s favors, promises, and compromises. I laughed outright. “Seth, I’d be happy to let you have the job starting right now.”

  He edged farther toward the door. “Well, no. I just … Well … We can talk about it after the election.” He scuttled out.

  His performance just then did not endear him to me. I began to think about the possibility of endorsing his opponent. The next person who said “it’s not fair” near me better be wearing a suit of armor.

  I turned to begin dragging more computer equipment out of the boxes.

  At noon I met with the building reps and several officials from the union-local office. The reps got the standard patter about do’s and don’ts. I’d heard it before, so I tuned a lot of it out. No one made mention of Scott, celebrity status, television shows, Beatrix Xury, or the PTA. Good.

  3

  After lunch I returned to my classroom preparations. I was wearing an old pair of cutoff jeans, calf-length white socks, athletic shoes, and a T-shirt with the Grover Cleveland logo—a tyrannosaurus rex. Wherever cloth touched body, I was sweating. I could feel moisture bead on my forehead and form pools under my armpits. I’d have to remember to bring a fan from home tomorrow to try to beat back the oppressive heat. The central office area of Grover Cleveland High School was air-conditioned but not the rest of the school. They claimed it was too expensive to fix the old system or buy a new one, but it sure looks odd when you take care of the administration and no one else.

  For about twenty minutes, I worked in blessed silence, then a noise at the door drew my attention. A lanky, blond male stood in the doorway. He wore tennis shoes with white, ankle-length socks, gauzy, white running shorts, and a black T-shirt cut at the midriff to reveal a flat stomach. The remaining portion of the T-shirt had the name of a heavy-metal rock group in lurid red letters.

  “Students aren’t allowed in the building yet,” I said.

  He came far enough into the room so that the windows backlit his torso. The light showed through the flimsy material of his shorts and outlined his legs up to his crotch. “I’m not a student. My name is Trevor Thompson. I’m a second-year teacher here in the math department. Are you Tom Mason?”

  I said I was. With so many teachers in the school, it wasn’t odd I didn’t recognize him—especially a first- or second-year teacher. You seldom met other faculty members unless you had a planning period or ate lunch with them. Normally you knew your fellow department members and that was it.

  Trevor had short, brush-cut hair and didn’t look as if he needed to shave but once or twice a week. He glanced back at the door, then edged toward me. His voice was soft and low. “I wanted to talk to you. I’m worried about my job. I don’t have tenure and I’m gay. I’m trying to find out what’s going to happen.”

  I left the computer stuff and plopped myself on the ledge next to the open window. He sat in a student desk. He rested his left ankle on his right knee. The angle at which he sat afforded me a view all the way up his shorts to his skimpy jockstrap. He noticed my glance, slumped lower in the chair, and opened his legs wider, providing a more extensive panorama of his lower torso. I felt as if I was in the presence of a youthful Mrs. Robinson wanna-be. For a further display of his masculine charms, he entwined his fingers and rested them behind his head. This emphasized his flat stomach and narrow hips.

  I asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “I was working in my room today. I stopped in the lounge and I heard some of the faculty talking about you. I saw you on television this summer. You’re really brave.”

  “I never expected to be on any talk show or be anybody’s spokesperson. I’m not sure I ever want to be again. I’m afraid my renown is due more to circumstance than it is bravery or wanting to fight the world.”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “But you live with Scott Carpenter. That is so cool. Every gay guy I know is jealous. Everybody wants to know what he’s like.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No, not really, but knowing the lover of Scott Carpenter is way cool.�
��

  I gazed at him silently. He shifted in his chair and gave me the spread-leg crotch-shot again. I kept my eyes on his as the silence lengthened beyond a comfortable few moments. I waited for him to speak. Finally, he cleared his throat, then said, “I’m most concerned about my job. I’m worried that if they find out I’m gay, they won’t give me tenure. I heard something was going to happen at tonight’s PTA meeting.”

  “The PTA doesn’t grant tenure.”

  “They can cause trouble.”

  “People make all kinds of promises and threats.”

  “You can be that calm and detached?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “A little.”

  “Of course, with a rich lover, you don’t have to worry at all.”

  “Which is none of your business.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I bought a house and a new car. Without a job, I can’t make those payments. I don’t have a lover to fall back on. And yeah, I was curious to meet you. You’re the most famous gay person in the country right now, you and your lover.”

  “I’d prefer less notoriety and simply teaching.”

  “But isn’t it fun being on all the talk shows?”

  “Look, I’m only a schoolteacher living with a man I love. If I’m lucky, the world will be a little better for that.”

  “You’re never going to be just a guy.”

  The silence began to build again. Finally, Trevor said, “They made me be an assistant coach on the football team.”

  “So?”

  “Can they do that? I teach math. I ran track in high school and college. I was maybe better than average, but that doesn’t qualify me to coach football. I really don’t want to do that.”

  “They didn’t assign you any extracurricular duties your first year?”

  “They made me be a judge for the All Scholastic Team. They changed it this year.”

  “They can change it if they want. When they hired you, did they say anything about coaching?”

  “Yeah. They said that if I wanted the job, I’d have to agree to coach various after-school activities. I said yes. I didn’t think I had a choice. I didn’t know they meant athletics too.”

  I said, “Lots of school districts do this nowadays. It’s getting harder and harder to find teachers to fill extracurricular positions. Now, before they hire you, they’re sure to ask if you’re willing to work outside your classroom. If you had said no, you probably wouldn’t have gotten the job.”

  “I needed a paycheck. I had to say yes.”

  “Yeah, they can make you coach.”

  “But a gay guy being a coach? Come on.”

  “Come on what? You don’t think there are gay coaches in sports?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “They don’t care that I’m in a locker room with a bunch of naked teenagers?”

  “Are you going to be seducing them?”

  “Teenagers aren’t my thing.”

  “Good.”

  “How can I not look?”

  “My suggestion is to avoid staring. They’ll notice. Homophobia tends to run most strongly in exclusively male teenage groups.”

  “Do you think I should try and be completely in the closet, at least until I get tenure?”

  “I can’t make that kind of decision for you. How much do you think hiding your sexuality is worth to your psyche? What price are you willing to pay? You’re right, I don’t have to worry about making the rent like you do. You have my sympathy. My suggestion to you as a union official is—be a good teacher. Don’t molest any kids and don’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious of you.”

  “What do you mean don’t do anything suspicious?”

  I gave him the standard pitch any teacher would get—straight or gay, tenured or not. “Don’t touch them for any reason. Don’t be in a room alone with any student, male or female. If that happens, at the very least, make sure the classroom door is open.”

  “That sounds terrible.”

  “I’m surprised no one told you last year. Teachers have to be careful today. Probably kindergarten and first-grade teachers can touch the kids without suspicion, but not after that. It’s too easy for some loony parent or child to make a wild accusation. It didn’t use to be like that, but that’s the way teaching is today.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it.” He smiled shyly and asked, “Could I buy you a drink sometime up in Chicago?”

  He had a great smile. I wondered if his shyness was an act or if this was another mode of seduction. I didn’t know if he had planned the outfit and his presence here, or if it was really due to the “accident” of hearing people talking in the lounge. Maybe I’m too suspicious. I said, “I’m sure Scott and I could try to fit it into our schedule. Although, after he gets back, I expect his and my life will be hectic for quite a while.”

  His smile remained, but I thought I caught glimmers of worry and shyness in his eyes. He said, “Maybe just you and I could go?”

  Back when I was dating, I never knew what to say to someone who I suspected was coming on to me, but who I didn’t want to date. Certainly, Trevor might simply be a friendly guy making an innocent offer. As he grabbed the front of his shorts and readjusted himself, I thought—then again, maybe not. But I didn’t want to give unclear messages either. As gently as I could, I said, “If you’re asking for a date, I’m sorry, I love Scott and that is not possible. If you’re being friendly, I appreciate it, and if the opportunity ever came up for the three of us to go, that would be fine.”

  He gave me a thin smile. “I understand.”

  But he didn’t look look satisfied. If there was a nicer way to say no, I wasn’t aware of it. I didn’t need more distractions at this moment. I could have used less. With a cheery wave and passing closer to me than necessary, he left the room.

  Celebrity seduction? My first groupie or a lonely gay guy who wanted to be friends? Scott talks about the people who hang around the baseball players. Male fans desperate for a touch of the magic. Female fans often eager for more. I think I was flattered more than annoyed. But I have been faithful to Scott since the day we met, as he has been to me, so Trevor wasn’t even a remote possibility.

  I hunted for any random custodian. I discovered most of them were at the new high school. Benjamin Harrison High was supposed to be ready to open in a few days. The population of River’s Edge had more than doubled in the past few years, as had that of most of the southwestern suburbs of Chicago. It had taken them three tries, but they’d finally passed a bond referendum two years ago. In our district, they had expanded three existing schools, built two new grade schools, a junior high, and a high school. We’d also had a large increase in the number of teachers as well as a big turnover in personnel in general. In the past couple years, because of an early-retirement incentive program by the state and so many new kids, we had nearly a hundred new teachers out of a rapidly expanding staff of nearly three hundred.

  The only person I found resembling a custodian was a scrawny teenager scrubbing floors on his hands and knees. Besides his youthful appearance, I could tell he was a teenager and not an adult by the numerous snarls he managed to work into his brief answers to my questions. There’s no one like a teenager to communicate outrage at the world with tone of voice and body language.

  I asked about people working in my room. He said, “I don’t know nothing”—[snarl]—“about nobody”—[snarl]—“working nowhere.”

  “Do you know where the other custodians are?”

  “I don’t know where nobody else is. I ain’t seen nobody.”

  I stopped in to see Jerome Blenkinsop, the other candidate for union president. He was packing boxes in his old classroom. He was going to be teaching in the new high school.

  After we exchanged greetings, I pointed to the boxes. “I thought the janitors were supposed to do that.”

  “These are my perso
nal things. They moved all the textbooks and cabinets.”

  Jerome was in his middle fifties. He wore designer jeans, cut off at the knees, and a plain white T-shirt that covered a slight paunch. His gray hair was three-quarter-inch long on top and short on the sides. He was around five feet six inches, round faced, with darkish circles under his eyes.

  He dumped a few more things in a box, then said, “I’m concerned about the union election.”

  “I am too.”

  “Good. I think it’s time for a new start and a new direction. I want to really stick it to the administration. For too long we’ve been afraid of confrontation.”

  “Where has Kurt been afraid of confrontation?”

  Every teachers’ union has a “radical faction.” This was the group that always demanded war instead of negotiations. You could never possibly do everything that they wanted, because once you got them something, they wanted another thing. They lived for fighting and chaos. They were usually the most useless and most bothersome group to deal with.

  Jerome said, “The most glaring example is last time when we gave up on that strike much too soon.”

  “Before we took the strike vote, you stood up at meeting after meeting and demanded we avoid striking. I remember you running up and down the halls talking to people trying to spread anxiety and fear. Most of the time you didn’t know the facts, but that didn’t stop you from instigating uproar.”

  “I keep hearing rumors that Kurt has sold out to the administration.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I heard it around.”

  “If you can’t give me specific names of who told you, then the accusation doesn’t exist. I’d hesitate to accuse you of making it up.” Actually, I wouldn’t, but I was trying to be diplomatic while keeping my temper in check.

  “Doesn’t he have secret meetings with the administration?”

  “What don’t you think you are being told?”

  “I think we have to be more strong and united.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “And you told Beatrix Xury to quit the union.”