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Ron Copeland pulled into the lot at the bus barn and made his way to the dispatch office. After thirty-five years as the principal of Eastlake High School, he was now the highest paid flunky in the entire district. One too many disagreements with the new superintendent had ended his tenure at the school and for all he knew, his entire career in education. Dr. Mary Anne Marston might seem to be a sweet, old country girl, but underneath the folksy façade beat a heart of pure ice. If she even had a heart, he thought.
He spoke to a few of the drivers as he passed. They were a really friendly group, but they were still not sure what to make of Copeland’s current situation, and things were definitely awkward. Several of the drivers had worked for him at the high school and the pity in their eyes was hard to take. It had been two weeks since his reassignment and most people in Eastlake still had no idea what to think.
Those with connections to the central office knew the real story. Marston hated him and wanted him gone. Some thought she was threatened by his popularity with the board, and there were at least two who had lobbied for Copeland to be promoted to the superintendent position instead of hiring Marston. Others believed it was just a matter of control. He had a mind of his own and she preferred someone who would follow her directives without question. In reality, she wanted him gone in order to bring in her own people. Eventually, she would do just that.
At the high school, the reaction was simply shock. Most of the staff had seen the conflict growing between Marston and Copeland, but removing him without even letting him complete the school year seemed extreme. The assistant superintendent that everyone called the Bulldog had been on campus frequently the last several weeks meeting with Copeland’s assistant principal. He had hired her a year earlier despite the reservations of his interview committee. Kenisha James was a young, African-American woman with only five years in the classroom and no administrative experience. The committee had really liked her, but several of the teachers were concerned about her youth and lack of years on the job.
The committee was leaning toward an older man with more than ten years experience as an assistant principal at two schools, each with similar size and demographics to their own campus. Copeland was concerned that he had been an assistant for so many years without ever being promoted to the principal’s job. And here he was applying for yet another assistant’s position. He had talked with the man’s previous supervisor and had gotten a rather lukewarm recommendation. Although the man looked good on paper, Copeland was less impressed by his interview than others on the committee and had a gut feeling that the man was not right for the job.
Ms. James had quickly won over the staff and Copeland was glad to have her. With all the new initiatives being forced down his throat, he quickly came to rely on his energetic new assistant. When the Bulldog had begun spending lots of extra time on his campus, he enthusiastically foisted her off on James. He wondered later if he had sealed his own fate by doing so. Behind closed doors, with the full support of Dr. Marston, the Bulldog had begun to assess James as a potential replacement for Copeland. When it happened, she professed total ignorance and begged his forgiveness. He told her to take the job, even congratulated her, but he also told her to watch her back. What they had done to him, they would certainly do to her at some point, he warned.
He thought about Sonny from The Godfather who had expressed his opinions too openly and gotten his own father shot. Maybe James should have been less willing to discuss what she would do if she were the principal. Obviously she had said enough to convince Marston and the Bulldog that she would be better than Copeland, for their purposes anyway.
For the rest of the community, the sudden reassignment led many to believe something serious must have happened. Copeland told Brother Manning at the church that he felt like some kind of child molester. “Everyone in town thinks I must have done something awful. They look at me like I’m a criminal. Or worse.”
“Ron, I’m really sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Let me tell you, Pastor. Reassignment is the dirty little secret of the school business.”
They settled down in the Pastor’s Study and Copeland expounded on the subject.
“It’s all about the contracts. If you’ve only been somewhere a few years, usually three or less, the district will put you on a probationary contract. Basically, that means, you have no rights and the district can let you go at the end of the year and not have to give you any reason at all.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. They’ll look you in the eye and say something like, we believe it to be in the best interest of the district, blah, blah, blah, and then they pat you on the back and say sayonara. And it’s all perfectly legal.”
“And they don’t have to give any reason?”
“None at all. But if you aren’t on a probationary contract, it’s even worse.”
“How so?”
“Well, in that case, they do have to state a reason. Now if you commit a crime, or cuss out your boss, or do something really dumb or outrageous, then it’s easy and most of the time, the person will just resign and go away. Then the district pretends you were a saint and gives you a great recommendation so someone else will hire you and they can wash their hands of you.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“It’s not, but believe me, it happens all the time.”
“So, what happens if you don’t do something stupid or illegal or unethical?”
“That’s where the fun comes in. The way the contracts work, it’s almost impossible to prove someone is unfit and justify nonrenewal. So, the school either has to spend years doing the whole growth plan thing and trying to prove they’ve done everything they could to fix you, and fill a binder with documentation on every single thing you’ve ever done, OR they find a way to make you quit.”
“And how do they do that?”
“Usually, they start by bluffing. They call you in and say, ‘Hey there’s a board meeting tonight and your name is on the list for nonrenewal, so if you want to sit down and give us a quick resignation letter, that would be great.’ And every teacher knows that if you ever get non-renewed, no district will ever hire you again, so it works a lot of the time.”
The pastor was shaking his head in disbelief.
Ron continued. “And of course, if you don’t give them the letter, they’ll be quick to point out that when the next district calls for a recommendation on you, they’ll be forced to tell them how uncooperative you were.”
“So, then what happens?”
“If you resign, nothing happens, except that you no longer have a job. But you can start sending out resumes and maybe they’ll be decent and give you that good recommendation they promised.”
“And if they don’t?”
“If they don’t, there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“Wow.”
“Sometimes all you can do is walk away and hope they will at least be somewhat fair when other districts call.”
“So, you’re pretty much at their mercy at that point.”
“Yep. But if you don’t resign and they were bluffing, then they’ll have to go ahead and give you a new contract for the next year.”
“So, then you’re okay for at least another year, right?”
“Not if they really want you gone, and if they’ve gone this far already, they’re probably all in. That’s when they get nasty and go for reassignment.”
“How does that work?”
“Contracts are always written in favor of the district. Teachers, and administrators for that matter, don’t really have much choice. If you want to work at the district, you pretty much have to sign the contract they hand you. And down in all that fine print, it will always say that the district can assign you to whatever duties they deem appropriate.”
“That doesn’t even sound fair.”
“It’s not, but that’s how it works. So, if they want you gone and you won’t resign, they just call you in and tell you that they’ve decided to reassign you to a different position and then you’re screwed.”
“What if the person doesn’t mind the new job? Or even prefers it?”
“Oh, Pastor.” He shook his head and laughed. “That’s the best part. There’s always a little sadism involved at this point. The real beauty is the new assignment itself. I mean, the real purpose is to make the person quit, so whatever the reassignment, it’s gonna be something that person just won’t do. Look at me. I went from being a campus principal to being assigned to the bus barn. I don’t even have a real job anymore. It’s just a way to embarrass me so I’ll quit. Think about it this way. What if your deacons came to you and said they wanted to reassign you to a new position. They could say, we’ll keep paying you the same thing we’ve always paid you, but instead of preaching on Sundays, we want you to mop the floors and clean the bathrooms.”
“I see your point.”
“Yeah, if it’s a head coach, they’ll demote him back to junior high or JV. If it’s a teacher, they’ll figure out the grade or subject that person hates the most. Administrators, well, they just banish them to the bus barn.”
***
Cora Peters needed a job. When her husband Evan had dropped dead of a heart attack four years earlier, she had used the insurance money to pay off the mortgage on the house and put the rest away to supplement her meager income as a teacher’s aide. Evan had kept her from working for years, but now that he was gone, she could do as she pleased. She had always regretted not having children of her own, but now she was working three days a week at the primary campus and loving every minute of it.
She also had her cats, her fur babies. Their numbers had grown and she was spending more than she could afford on cat food and toys. She was fast becoming the neighborhood crazy cat lady, but she couldn’t help herself. She loved her pets and they loved her. After years of starving for affection, she was finally happy. Poor, but content.
Unfortunately, the last of the insurance money was nearly gone, and even with the little bit of social security she received each month, she was barely making ends meet. Recently, she had discovered another job with the school district that paid well and fit her schedule nicely. As with most small districts, finding bus drivers was always a challenge. Cora had studied to pass the written tests to obtain her CDL and with the help of Mr. Ferguson at the bus barn, she was almost ready for the driving part of the test. She had been terrified when she first sat in the driver’s seat of the big yellow school bus, but she adjusted quickly and was soon zipping around the yard with ease. Jay Ferguson was a widower himself and when he touched her hands to place them correctly on the steering wheel, she had felt a fluttering in the heart, a stirring that had been quiet for decades.
She came by to practice several days a week when she was not at the primary school and passed the final test just before Spring Break. Jay promised to get her on a route as soon as he could. Ron Copeland had his CDL, but no amount of persuasion had gotten him to agree to drive a route. He had driven the bus back in the day, taking kids to UIL contests when he was the shop teacher, and once he had been forced to fill in at the last minute for a field trip, but he had never done a daily route and had no intention of starting now. Ferguson had some initial worries about Cora, but he was running out of options. A month back when a driver quit unexpectedly, he had been forced to combine two routes and the superintendent had been riding him ever since to get the position filled. Parents had complained about the kids getting home later and Dr. Marston did not like complaints. Cora was soon driving a route and her first several weeks passed without incident.
Ferguson’s other problem had been Ron Copeland, but that had worked out fine. When Dr. Marston informed him about the reassignment, he was worried that the principal who had always seemed gruff and unfriendly to him would make his life difficult. Instead, he found Copeland humble and a little embarrassed, but perfectly willing to help out in any way he could. Except for driving a bus. Ferguson’s regular dispatcher had been ill since Christmas. A cold had turned into pneumonia and after almost a month away he had returned, but he had zero energy and had fallen asleep twice on the radio. He was seventy and had worked for the district forever, or so it had seemed.
Copeland had readily agreed to work the radios and soon had the routine down pat, although he quickly discovered that the drivers could be a hard-headed bunch. They didn’t mind checking in at the various campus stops and letting the dispatcher know where they were, but they were all prone to ignore the radio when it came to incoming calls. Copeland was irritated by this, but he honestly couldn’t blame them too much. They were creatures of habit, and there was a lot to be said for staying on schedule and being consistent. Most of the drivers prided themselves on being at the stops at exactly the same time each day and hated to be thrown off their routine.
A call from the dispatcher usually meant a parent had phoned and some kid had been late to his stop and missed the bus. Taking the call meant having to argue about whether or not they had the time to go back and pick the kid up, which they didn’t without making them late to the next stop. The parents would swear the bus had been early, the driver would insist he had been right on time, and the dispatcher with no real authority to force the driver to alter his route would have to deal with the parent who was either angry or frustrated or both. To avoid this ugly, daily scene, many drivers would simply ignore the call and blame the radio. The dispatcher would make a note, and the maintenance guy would check the radio and report that it was functioning perfectly.
Occasionally, the driver would initiate a call, and it was seldom good news. Mechanical problems on the road sometimes occurred. Every now and again, a driver would find an empty house where a kindergartner lived and call dispatch to help locate a parent before letting the kid off the bus. Weather conditions might prompt a question about low-lying areas on the route. The call that came in on that afternoon was different. It was Cora Peters and she was frantic.
The law in Texas requires all traffic to stop when approaching a bus with flashing red lights. Amber lights are used to warn that the bus is nearing a stop. Local newspapers publish information about the bus procedures at the start of every school year and often republish them in the spring, but every experienced bus driver can tell stories about vehicles that have sped by them despite the flashing lights and unloading children. The old dispatcher had told Ron that if a driver radioed in a license plate number to write it down, but he had also told him that local law enforcement would not do anything unless they happened to be sitting on the side of the road and observed it themselves. Even then, they probably would let the driver off with a warning, a slap on the wrist and nothing more.
Sadly, the director, the dispatcher, and most of the drivers had said the same thing over and over whenever they heard about a driver ignoring the red lights and flying past a bus. “Somebody’s gonna get killed out there one of these days.”
Ron was on the radio when the call came in from Cora. She was screaming and crying and he would remember for the rest of his days the pain in her voice.
“Oh my God, oh my God. Please help me. Please, somebody help me.”
Ferguson appeared instantly, followed by Pat, the old dispatcher, and the few drivers who had already made it though their afternoon routes. Ron looked behind him, but no one seemed willing to touch the microphone, so he spoke to Cora in the calmest tone he could manage and told her they were there, they were praying, help was on the way, and everything would be alright. They were all crying behind him and tears were forming in his own eyes as well, but he stayed on the radio with Cora until Ferguson got there to take her home.
***
Ty Mills got the call around four. His Uncle Gary worked as a deputy with the sheriff’s department. He left the auto parts store he managed without even bothering to lock up. The accident had happened on the old farm-to-market road north of town. The bus had stopped to let off the kids who lived in the little trailer park just off the road. Two of Ty’s grandchildren got off there several days a week to stay with their aunt. She and several other parents were standing in the courtyard of the trailer park, waiting for their kids, and witnessed the entire thing.
The white pickup had been following the bus on the narrow road impatiently waiting for the opportunity to pass. When the bus slowed and the amber lights came on, the truck’s driver cussed and slapped the wheel. She was late and she had been stuck behind the bus for miles. She punched the accelerator and swung around the bus ignoring the lights which were now flashing red. She told the deputies later that she never saw the children in the road.
The Carter children, two little blond boys, ran across the street as soon as the doors of the bus popped open. Behind them were Keisha Mills, a five-year-old kindergartner and her brother Kevin, a second grader. When Cora was finally able to speak about the incident, she gave a clear account for the official record and then never again spoke about the accident. The Mills children looked up to see the pickup bearing down on them and then the boy shoved his sister violently out of the road just before the vehicle struck him, killing him instantly.
Keisha took an awkward fall into a culvert breaking her leg and chipping a tooth, but she was spared the sight of her brother’s lifeless body lying in the road. It was an image that would haunt Cora till the day she died. The white pickup pulled to the side of the highway and the driver sat motionless until the authorities took her away. She would end up with nothing more than probation and community service, a fact that left many in Eastlake confused and angry.
Ferguson arrived within minutes of the radio call and sat with Cora until the deputy had taken her statement. The old dispatcher Pat had come with him and when the road was clear, he took the remaining children home. Fortunately, there were few students still on the bus and none of them actually witnessed the tragic accident. Pat parked the bus to inform the parents at each stop and slowly drove back to the bus barn. The thought that would not go away was that it could have happened to any one of the drivers on any given day. He prayed for the Mills family. He prayed for Cora.
Ron turned off the radio when the last bus came in. It was Cora’s bus.
***
Seeing an eight-year-old child stretched out in a coffin at the altar of the First Baptist Church was a sight most citizens of Eastlake would never forget. Brother Manning had volunteered the sanctuary for the funeral knowing that the little church on the outskirts of town where the family attended would never hold the crowd that was sure to attend. Most of the school district employees came at the direction of Dr. Marston who seemed not to realize they would have come anyway. Her memo ordering them to appear at the service struck most as offensive, and even though she had been in Eastlake less than a year, cracks were already showing in her carefully constructed ivory tower.
Kevin was dressed in his youth league football jersey and the family had placed a ball in his arms that had been signed by all of his teammates. Pictures surrounded the altar and Ron noticed that every photo showed the boy with a huge grin. By all accounts, he had been a happy child, quick to smile, quick to laugh. Keisha had a large cast, but she was remarkably nimble on crutches. When she approached the coffin at the end of the service, Ron let fall the tears he had been holding back.
Cora Peters had not left her house since the day of the accident. She really wanted to be at the service for Kevin, but Brother Manning had advised against it. She had cried continuously for days and was in fact, out of necessity, heavily medicated. Her doctor feared she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. Even though she blamed herself, the Mills family had already reached out to let her know that she was in their prayers and that they in no way held her responsible. Jay Ferguson had come by every day to check on her, but she begged him to stop. She couldn’t face him. Seeing him reminded her of the bus barn, and the very thought of a school bus made her want to throw up.
***
Several weeks later, Ty Mills stopped by the bus barn to see Ron Copeland. Ty had been on the school board for many years, but he had known the man since his days as a student at Eastlake High. Copeland stood up and embraced him, holding tight, feeling his pain. “Ty, I’m so sorry. I wish to God there was something I could say or do for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Copeland. I know you mean that too.”
“How’s Keisha doing?”
“Better than the rest of us actually. Keeps tellin’ us Kev is in heaven and we’re all gonna see him again. And of course, she always calls him her hero.”
“I’ve been praying for you guys every day. You need anything, you let me know, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Copeland, but honestly, I came by today to see what I can do for you.”
The radio squawked, but Pat was back on duty. Ron motioned to the door. “Let’s go outside. Get some fresh air.”
The two men walked out to the parking lot seeking the shade of the one tree near the building. Ty Mills at fifty still had the athletic grace that had once made him a star running back. Copeland was considerably slower, but despite the knee replacement several years back, he was in pretty fair shape for a man his age. Ty looked directly at his old principal.
“Mr. Copeland, what are you plannin’ on doing next year? I know you don’t want to be here.” He gestured at the building and the parked buses behind them.
“No, I certainly don’t want to be here, you’re right about that. You askin’ as my friend or as a school board member?”
“Friend, I guess, if it makes any difference.”
“Ty, I’m sixty-four years old and I’ve done about all I can do in the school business. You know I went back and took all those online classes to get my superintendent certification, but you guys went and hired that woman instead. Even after that I kept on doing my job at the high school as best I could. I deserved better than this and you know it.”
“Why didn’t you just resign when she first said she was gonna send you over here?”
“I would have if she had given me a choice.”
“She said you refused to resign.”
“Well, pardon my language, but she’s a damn liar.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Ty, she called me over on a Friday afternoon and told me to clean out my office and be at the bus barn at eight Monday morning. I had to spend the whole weekend boxing up all my crap and cleaning the place. You know, you can collect a lot of stuff in thirty-five years.”
“I wish I’d have known she did that. I never did trust her. Still don’t.”
“And of course, nobody’s gonna hire me now.”
“You gotta lot of experience, Mr. Copeland. Anybody would be lucky to get you.”
“I appreciate you saying that, but when they call to check my references and get transferred to the bus barn, they’ll probably figure out something’s up.”
“Tell ‘em to call me. I’ll give ‘em the straight scoop.”
They shared a laugh and Ty repeated his original question. “But what are you gonna do next year?”
“Honestly, I’ll probably go ahead and retire. Sharon and I aren’t gonna move away from here. She’s gonna keep running that library at the middle school till she drops. Maybe I’ll finally get to some of those chores out at the house she’s been after me about. Unless I can find a job within driving distance of the lake, this will be it.”
“You know, you can quit whenever you want. You don’t have to stay out here till the school year ends. This job at the bus barn was just her way of getting rid of you.”
“I know.”
“You’re a good man, Mr. Copeland.”
“You are too, Mr. Mills.”
They embraced again and Ty drove away. Ron went back to the dispatch office to see if Pat needed any help. It was almost time for the afternoon routes to start.
