The iCandidate

by Mikael Carlson

  “Did you ever discuss with your students and their parents the possibility information like this might be made public?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “I see.” He jots down some more notes, and I am beginning to wonder if they are real or just a part of the theater he is putting on.

  “Is there anything else?” Charlene asks impatiently, trying to move this along. Apparently she doesn’t want to be here anymore than I do.

  “Mister Bennit has put us at severe risk. This requires more investigation, but I believe he exercised poor judgment and incompetence in this matter. The safest thing to do to protect ourselves would be place him on administrative leave immediately and reprimand him officially for his actions.”

  Being a soldier, I want to start kicking someone’s ass. If we were at Fort Campbell right now, this needle-neck lawyer would be stuffed in a foot locker and Howell on an ambulance trip to the post’s medical center. Violence may not be the answer, but it does feel damn good when exercised once in a while.

  The problem is I’m running for Congress. As I explained to my kids when I took the bet, the only thing I hate more than lawyers are the ones who become politicians. They may deserve it, and as entertaining as it would be for most Americans, kicking people’s asses on Capitol Hill is frowned upon.

  So what would Chalice do? She can’t exactly act as counsel in this company, so I am left to figure it out on my own. She can be a firecracker and ruthless defender of her faculty, but she also successfully navigated the treacherous waters of public education for thirty years. She’d change the paradigm and play their game better than they are. It’s a skill I will need to master if I win this race, so I might as well start now.

  “I concur. Given this incident and the other disruptions he is causing in the school, I believe—”

  “How did the Beaumont camp find out about Vince’s record?” I ask, cutting off Robinson mid-sentence.

  “What?” the stuffed shirt the town calls their attorney asks.

  “You heard me. Vince was a minor when he was arrested. He was tried as a juvenile for underage drinking and possession and his was record sealed. How did Beaumont find out about those proceedings?

  “I don’t know. I suppose the court—”

  “Does the police department maintain a copy of the arrest record?”

  Chalice’s face changes from one of concern to barely- perceptible amusement. That’s all the approval I need from my guardian. The attorney’s face is contorted into a completely different emotion.

  “Of course.”

  “Then instead of grilling me, wouldn’t it be in the town’s best interest to ensure the leak didn’t come out of our own police department? I mean, releasing information about a minor is very serious these days.”

  “Michael, that’s not at issue here,” Howell says, recognizing the meeting was getting away from my lynch mob.

  “Okay, Robinson, let’s move on to the next issue. Outside of me, Peyton, and her parents, there were four people who knew what she did to get suspended. Her teacher, guidance counselor, vice-principal, and …” I count on my fingers for added theatrical effect. “Can you tell me the fourth?”

  What I would pay for a picture of the look on Howell’s face right now.

  “Robinson?” I needle.

  “Me.”

  “That’s correct, a gold star for you. So tell me, which one of those four disclosed confidential student records to a politician for the sole purpose of using them to humiliate a teenage girl?”

  Howell looks to Charlene with eyes pleading for her to save him. She only begrudgingly obliges. “That’s a very serious accusation, Michael.”

  “Yes ma’am, but so far I have been accused of incompetence and poor judgment for failing to anticipate the unsavory tactics of an unscrupulous incumbent. I guess I’m wondering why, if protecting the town from legal action is the real goal here, why there is no investigation into who leaked the information to begin with?”

  “This meeting is about you, Michael!” Howell shouts. I ignore him.

  “Because if someone ever whispers into Brian’s, Peyton’s or Vince’s parents’ ear that they may have cause to sue the town, well, I would shudder to think how much that might cost to settle.” I even wiggle my shoulders for added effect.

  The point of the implied threat is not lost on my audience. Silence can be golden, but in this case, it’s deafening. I wonder who will recover first.

  “Are you saying you would advise their parents to sue?” the director of personnel asks incredulously. We have a winner.

  “Of course not. Unfortunately, this campaign has created opportunists looking to exploit situations for their own benefit and to advance their personal agenda. Isn’t that right, Robinson?”

  If he gets any hotter with anger, the frames of his glasses might melt right off his face. Even Charlene, who has remained quiet through all this, is mildly amused. She would never admit it, but she doesn’t like the weasel either. “I’m just trying to protect the school district and the town.”

  “Well we appreciate that, Michael. And we’re also happy to hear you would never engage in an activity that would seriously jeopardize your chances for tenure.” I am not even sure what this woman’s name is, but the threat drips off her tongue, and also explains why she’s here. If you want to use tenure as leverage, the personnel director for the district would be the one to deliver the message.

  “I certainly would never dream about doing anything that would hamper my chances at tenure,” I reply with a smile. I recognize that getting tenure after all this is pretty much out of the question. I’d be kidding myself to think otherwise.

  “We are getting off the subject. Michael, these students’ parents want you fired. Can you give me a good reason why we shouldn’t remove you from your position?” Howell asks smugly in a desperate attempt to salvage this meeting.

  “Sure. Not one of them said I should be fired when I talked to them a couple of hours ago.”

  “Uh, I …”

  “In fact, the only comment about me that could even be construed as negative came from Brian’s mom who blamed me for not telling him to download the Beatle’s White Album for her.”

  Charlene smiles and leans back in her chair. Everyone seems to be at a loss for words before she breaks the silence. “Could you all excuse us for a moment? I would like to talk alone with Mister Bennit. If you are comfortable with that, of course,” she adds, nodding at me. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the kind of guy who hides behind a useless union rep, or even my benevolent department chair.

  “Certainly, ma’am.”

  The others evacuate the room, including Howell who didn’t seem eager to get off his ass and leave. Once the door closes to her office, Charlene gets out of her chair and sits on the corner of her desk.

  “That was interesting,” she observes. “Nearly everyone in this room wanted your head on a platter.”

  “So I noticed. Oh well, less Christmas cards to send out this year.”

  “You’re an enigma, Michael. A rare breed of educator who manages to thrive in a system he otherwise hates. I suppose if you were to ever win this thing, life in Washington wouldn’t be much different.”

  She looks at me for a reaction. She’s right on both counts, but I’m not feeling compelled to tell her that. I give her a little nod to the side in acknowledgement and nothing more.

  She gracefully slides off the desk and begins repositioning a potted plant on the credenza along the wall. “Your preemptive move against the school board was politically savvy, but unwise. They feel manipulated, and harbor a lot of resentment toward you because of it. Now they take it out on me.”

  “I apologize for causing you any heartburn, ma’am,” I say, half meaning it. The other half wants to scream ‘that’s what you get paid for.’

  “The board I can handle,” she dismisses with a quick wave of her hand. “The parents are another thing entirely. I field dozens of complaints a week,
and no, not all of them are organized by your political enemies.” She read my mind. I bet the percentage is pretty high though.

  “Ma’am, you didn’t want to talk to me alone just to tell me that.”

  “Of course not. Did you know Chalice and I started teaching right around the same time?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I respond, unable to hide my surprise.

  “We go way back, and have been friends for a long time. I trust her judgment and value her opinions. She told me that your didactic approach to teaching history makes you well-respected by students and parents. You’re a brilliant teacher. Nothing I have seen gives me reason to doubt that.”

  “It’s good to know Chalice speaks so well of me.”

  Charlene moves back around the gargantuan oak monstrosity and sits in her chair, taking the time to carefully fold her hands in front of her. The signal is unmistakable – it is back to business. In some respects, she reminds me of a Colonel I knew in Afghanistan.

  “As superintendent, I am not afforded the luxury of making decisions based on personal observations. Many good people here asked me to make your life miserable so you will leave on your own,” she deadpans, ”but I don’t want to do that. In my professional opinion, the way press portrays the school district is an advantage to us. I sincerely hope recent events have not upset that paradigm. If that turns out to be the case, or another revelation paints this district in a bad light, I won’t be willing to protect you anymore. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  Most Americans will say they don’t like politics, never realizing that it exists all around us – church, volunteer organizations, families, and especially at our places of work. Charlene’s message is a simple one. So long as I can be perceived in a positive light, she won’t take action against me. This is all politics for her.

  “Then there’s nothing further to discuss here,” she says, standing and outstretching her hand. I take it and we shake across her desk. As I am about to release, she tightens her grip. “I wish you well, Michael. Please remember what I told you. There are far too few teachers like you, and I’d hate to have to be the person who fires you.”

  .

  -THIRTY-SEVEN-

  CHESLEA

  The air is brisk, although not bitterly cold this early in October. The sun is hanging low in the sky, but there is still a good hour or more of daylight left. I suppose that’s why he wanted to meet at Briar Point instead of the coffee shop. Every inch of Laura’s little haunt is covered by a phalanx of reporters and cameramen all waiting to get the official reaction from the Bennit campaign to the news about Vince, Brian and Peyton. Considering he has not yet done a single interview over anything other than Skype, no wonder he is avoiding the place.

  We piled into Peyton’s SUV, breaking all sorts of Connecticut state laws for vehicle capacity in the process. Peyton agreed to let Vince drive, because face it, when trying to lose a horde of media following your every move, the resident derelict should be in charge. He ditched our tail on the first attempt and sped over to the park for our meeting.

  Cramped in the back of the overstuffed car, I struggled with how to present this to Mister Bennit. We settled on the course of action, but convincing him we’re right is not going to be easy. He is going to protest and fight me on this, but I don’t see any other way out.

  Peyton and Vince agreed that this was best, although neither is happy about not working with us anymore. Downloading music illegally was more of an accusation than something they had proof of in the article, and we need Brian too much to let him go anyway. The damage we will cause by keeping him around is acceptable.

  As we untangle ourselves and climb out of Peyton’s chariot, I still have no idea what I’m going to say to Mister Bennit. As we have all learned in class, no argument with him is easy. I’m trying to think up some clever way to propose this, but I got nothing. Walking through the parking lot, I only settle on the direct approach at the last possible moment.

  “We decided it’s in your best interests that Vince and Peyton leave the campaign,” I say, without introduction to Mister Bennit and Kylie who are sitting atop a picnic table between the parking lot and the river.

  “In my best interests, huh?” Mister Bennit asks. The tone he uses reminds me of what happens in class when someone makes a point he disagrees with. I get the feeling he’s in teacher mode, so I wonder if Kylie got subjected to a lesson at some point today.

  “Whether we like it or not, they’re a liability,” I plead.

  “Their mistakes become the story,” Amanda says, picking up the argument.

  “We’re okay with the decision, Mister B. Your campaign is too important to be sabotaged by our stupid mistakes,” Vince concludes despondently.

  Mister Bennit looks over at Peyton who nods agreement. She hasn’t said much since the story broke, whether out of regret or embarrassment I’m not sure. Mister B. looks like he is pondering the thought. Could he actually agree with us for a change?

  “Okay, I understand your positions. As for Vince and Peyton’s resignations, I don’t accept them. You’re not going anywhere.” Nope, guess not.

  “You have to!” Vince and Peyton exclaim at the same time.

  “It’s the only option,” Xavier adds.

  “We came to an agreement Mister B. It’s settled,” I offer to the cause.

  “Did you hear them, Kylie? My staff thinks they settled this without me. What do you say to that?”

  “Nuts,” Kylie says, smiling. Uh-oh, she got the Bastogne talk. We didn’t cover World War II in class, but Mister B loves the story, and found some reason to tell us about the plight of the men defending the city.

  “My thoughts exactly. Grab a seat guys,” Mister Bennit says, ceding his spot on the table so we can all be seated. He stands and Kylie moves off to the side. “You think you are the only ones here to ever make a mistake? Well, let me tell you how a real-world, high-stakes mistake sounds.

  “During my last tour in Afghanistan, I was part of a three-man team on a recon mission in a village down near Kandahar. The Taliban were reasserting themselves in the region, killing everyone they thought assisted the U.S. and our allies there. Our unit was tasked with finding out where the head honcho was holed up so he could be taken out.

  “We were observing a small hamlet from a hide site when a group of armed men showed up and started randomly pulling whole families from their homes. I regularly spent time with the village elders, and they gave us information every now and then. Their cooperation made them prime targets for retribution. An idiot could figure out what would happen next.”

  Mister Bennit is not here. The light in his eyes is gone, replaced by a darkness I never want to experience. This story is taking him back to Afghanistan, and he’s reliving the nightmare.

  “I radioed in and was denied permission to intervene. I pleaded with command, but the mission was more important, or so they said. We watched as the men made whole families kneel in the street. I couldn’t stand the idea of watching them die, so I tossed my binoculars and grabbed my rifle. My two peers grabbed me and stopped me from leaving our position.

  “I remember one of them shouting, ‘We have orders not to do this Mike. Do you understand me? We have orders!’ I understood the orders, but I didn’t care. I was about to open up on them from where I was, knowing if I squeezed the trigger on my carbine it was probably all over for us. There were fifty armed men against only three of us, with no available air support. So you know what I did?”

  I am so captivated, I am unable to speak. I think we are all in the same boat until the shyest among us is finally able to mutter something. “You found a way to save them?” Emilee asks.

  “I eased the grip on the rifle, took my finger off the trigger, and watched as they killed the women and children right in front of the men. Their screams of anguish were only silenced when they put a bullet in each, one by one. Then they left them in the street as a warning to others. All sixty-three o
f them.”

  We are stunned into silence. No small feat for a group of talkative teenagers. I glance over to Amanda and see the tears welled up in her eyes. You would think Mister Bennit shared war stories with us all the time. Outside of some funny stuff about basic training, he never talks about it. We all knew he was a Green Beret, and assumed he was in Iraq or Afghanistan, but he never once mentioned it. We didn’t ask, either.

  So to listen to him share this with us is huge. Funny thing is, we all have heard the rumors other students spread. He got a Medal of Honor, or was Captain America, or belonged to G.I. Joe fighting off the evil forces of Cobra. Okay, maybe not those particular rumors, but ones equally laughable. Knowing the truth, or at least some of it, makes Mister Bennit much more real.

  Kylie is the first to break the silence. “You feel responsible for letting them die. You think you should have been punished, and instead, they gave you a medal.”

  “What medal did you get?”

  “It’s not important, Vince. Too long a story to explain, and much of it is classified anyway. What’s important is I could have saved them. All of them. Lord knows I should have.”

  “No. You were under orders. There wasn't anything you could have done,” Vanessa argues.

  “I could have disobeyed orders.”

  “You would have gotten in trouble though.”

  “Yeah, X, I would have. The military calls it a court martial.”

  “Would the mission have been a success if you had gone into the village?” I ask, wondering what other demons are haunting him from his time in the Army. “Yes. At least I think it would have.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Amanda finally asks, after another silence that seemed to last a lifetime.

  “Edmund Burke once said, ‘All that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing.’ I did nothing, and that was my mistake. One I relive every day.

  “So I learned from it. I swore I would never sit on the sidelines and not do the right thing just because someone says to, or because it’s safer, or less convenient. We make choices in life. Some of them pan out the way you want, others don’t. You’ll learn failures define you more than successes do because of how you cope with them. They tell you the most about your character. Which leads us back to today.