The Year They Burned the Books

“What we heard wasn’t official,” Terry explained. “But, Cindy, you tell her.”

“I had to find Matt to show him a new ad,” Cindy said. “But I couldn’t find him here or in his classroom, so I knocked on the teachers’ room door and Mr. Gordon told me Matt had gone home and that he can go on teaching but he’s been suspended from being our adviser. Something about being a disruptive influence or something.”

Jamie threw herself into her desk chair. Tessa went over to her and put her hands on her shoulders for a moment, then sat down again. “It wasn’t Matt’s fault,” Jamie said miserably. “Why didn’t they suspend me? I just saw Mr. Bartholomew early this afternoon! How come he didn’t tell me about Matt?”

Terry shrugged. “He probably didn’t know yet. The school committee probably just told him. I think they had a special meeting at lunchtime.”

“I don’t see how they can do that legally,” Jack said. “I mean, Matt didn’t have anything to do with the Renegade.”

“Yeah,” said Terry. “But I think they’re out to get him, and this gave them an opportunity.”

“I still don’t think it’s legal,” Jack said. “I hope he sues them.”

“What are we supposed to do without him?” Nomi asked softly. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Complain,” Terry said angrily. “Protest.”

“Maybe,” Jamie said thoughtfully. “I’d sure like to. But at least they didn’t suspend him from teaching. Protesting might make things worse at this point. The school committee might be even surer then that he’d helped with the Renegade.”

Jack sighed. “Jamie’s right, guys,” he said, and Nomi and Cindy both nodded slowly.

“Can’t we at least complain?” Tessa asked angrily. “I mean it’s horrible—unfair!”

Everyone looked at Jamie.

“The first thing we should do,” she said, hoping she was right, “is go on with the Telegraph. Matt would want us to, I’m pretty sure. Besides,” she added briskly, “I think Mr. Bartholomew’s on our side.” She explained about her talk with him; Cindy and Tessa looked pleased, but Nomi turned away. “So,” she finished, “we just have to hand the Renegade out someplace else. And I don’t see why we can’t complain about the suspension, Tess, in the Renegade, and make it clear that Matt didn’t have anything to do with our starting it. But meanwhile, we’ve got the regular paper to get out.” She reached up to her “in” box, where reporters left their stories.

Before she could thumb through them, though, the door opened and Mr. Bartholomew appeared with the small dark woman, new that year, who taught freshman English; Jamie had seen her now and then in the halls. Shoulder-length, somewhat stringy hair swung on either side of her neck as she stood apologetically next to the principal.

“Jamie,” said Mr. Bartholomew, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “Tessa—Terry—Cindy—Jack—Nomi. I—er—I have some—difficult news. I just got a call from the school committee about an hour ago, and they have—decided that Mr. Caggin should take some time off from his newspaper duties. He’ll continue to teach, but I must ask you not to bother him with newspaper business for the time being.” He cleared his throat, then awkwardly put his hand on the shoulder of the woman next to him. “Ms. Hinchley, here, has kindly agreed to take his place as newspaper adviser for a while. I’m sure you’ll give her your utmost cooperation.” Mr. Bartholomew let go of Ms. Hinchley’s shoulder and started talking very fast, as if anxious to get what he had to say over with. “I’ve told Ms. Hinchley what a good group you are, and she already knows what a fine paper the Telegraph is. I know you’ll all get along well and keep the paper going till Matt comes back. I know it’s—er—a bit of an adjustment, but I also know you’re equal to it.” He put his hand on the doorknob, pausing momentarily; it’s as if, Jamie thought, he wants to say a lot more than he’s saying but doesn’t think he can. “Well—carry on. Good luck. Let me know if I can be of any help. I’m sure you won’t need it, though.”

And before Jamie or anyone else could reply or ask questions, he left.

There was a heavy, stunned silence, while Ms. Hinchley looked nervously at each of them in turn.

Finally Tessa poked Jamie and said, “I’m Tessa Gillespie, photo editor. Which mostly means photographer, although a couple of other kids take pictures, too.” She poked Jamie again.

“Jamie Crawford, editor in chief,” Jamie said, and introduced Nomi, Terry, Jack, and Cindy.

Ms. Hinchley smiled tentatively. “Hi, all of you. I—um—I teach freshman English. Well, I guess you probably know that. And I know you’re juniors and seniors. Mr. Bartholomew told me you’re very—er—skillful journalists.” Ms. Hinchley edged over to Matt’s desk and sat down tentatively on his chair, as if she wasn’t quite sure she belonged there. “I used to teach junior high in Georgeport, and we did a school paper there, so I guess that’s why the school committee and Mr. Bartholomew asked me to, you know, fill in. I like your paper,” she added shyly after a moment’s silence. “It has wonderful possibilities, I think. You’ve got some very good writers, and …”

“Which paper?” Terry asked, his hostility barely concealed.

“Why, I meant—I mean—the Wilson High Telegraph, of course. I think we can all forget about that other paper, can’t we? I mean, everyone can make mistakes. The job of a school paper,” Ms. Hinchley said, sounding to Jamie as if she was parroting a textbook she’d read, “is to reflect the school community. It’s really not supposed to be an investigative sheet or to dwell on controversy. Controversy,” she went on, with increasing authority in her voice, “is divisive, and a good school paper is a unifying factor. Let’s see what the Telegraph can do to bolster school spirit and bring the school community together.”

“I didn’t know it was apart,” Terry muttered to Jamie.

Nomi, Jamie noticed, had looked pleased at what Ms. Hinchley had said about school spirit and the community, and was smiling, but Tessa and Cindy looked dismayed. Jack had gotten up and was pacing, as if he wanted to leave.

“Now,” Ms. Hinchley said briskly, “what have we got for the next issue?”

“I don’t believe her,” Terry said, when they’d all left the office at the end of the day; they were clustered around Terry’s car. “It’s like she wants the paper to have about as much character as—as—oh, I don’t know.”

“Rice pudding,” said Jamie. “Or a memo from the office. Rah, rah, Wilson, aren’t we all wonderful and don’t we all love each other. How many ‘Blue Ribbon’ features did she tell us to do?”

“Let’s see.” Jack counted them off on his fingers: “Student, Athlete, Teacher. Three so far.”

“Oh, come on,” Nomi said angrily. “That’s not so bad. She’s right that the paper’s been too negative this year. You know how people always grumble about there being no good news in newspapers and on TV? Well, we were going in that direction. People don’t just want to hear bad things.”

“No,” said Tessa, “but when there are bad things, people need to know about them.”

“Not when they besmirch the name of good old Wilson High,” Terry said sarcastically. “Give me a break!”

“Give us all a break,” said Jamie. “I almost wouldn’t mind quitting.”

“Neither would I,” said Cindy.

“Like little kids who can’t have what they want?” Nomi said. “Or sore losers? I thought you were both better than that!”

“Whoa, Nomi!” Terry said, as Jamie, hurt, tried to think of a reply. “Haven’t you ever heard of social protest? I think it’s a great idea. We could close down the Telegraph, at least till they let Matt come back, and …”

“… and put out the Renegade Telegraph instead,” Tessa finished. “Sometimes you’re almost a genius, Terry, you know?”

Nomi’s eyes clouded; Jamie took a step toward her, then pulled back as Jack shouted gleefully, “A newspaper strike!”

Jamie considered that for a moment, then discarded it. “I guess a strike would be a good way to protest Matt’s suspension or leave or whatever they’re going to call it,” she said slowly. “But I’d still be worried it might make things worse. And shouldn’t we try to save what we can of the old Telegraph? Don’t we owe that to Matt?”

“Yeah,” said Terry, but he sounded deflated nonetheless. “You’re right. Again.”

“You are,” Jack agreed.

“I guess,” Tessa said, and Cindy nodded slowly, saying, “Okay.”

“Nomi?” Jamie asked, trying to sound neutral. “Can you accept that? Can you work with us on the Telegraph?”

Nomi hesitated. “I’ll try,” she said at last. “I can probably work with Ms. Hinchley, anyway.”

Tessa shifted her camera bag’s position on her shoulder. “So okay. Nomi stays with the Telegraph, and the rest of us do both papers, at least for a while. Right?”

“Right,” Jamie said. “Thank you, Nomi,” she called as Nomi walked away. Nomi gave a tentative wave and went on walking.

Terry unlocked his car. “Okay. It’s decided, then. Hey, I’ve got to go. Want a ride, anyone?”

“Sure,” Cindy said. “Come on, Jack.”

Jamie glanced at Tessa, who shook her head. “No thanks, Terry,” Jamie said.

Tessa startled Jamie by draping her arm casually across Jamie’s shoulders; Jamie tried unsuccessfully to ignore it. “She needs to calm down,” Tessa said to Terry. “I’ve got to walk her, you know, like a crying baby. She looks calm, but I can tell she’s going to explode if she doesn’t move.”

Terry held up one hand, palm out. “Peace,” he said, going around to the driver’s side as Jack maneuvered Cindy around to the passenger side. “Let me know when you want to start work on the next issue of the Renegade.”

“Soon,” Jamie shouted as he got in and slammed his door. “We can talk at lunch tomorrow. Bring ideas.”

Terry beeped his horn and Tessa removed her arm from Jamie’s shoulder, waving as he drove off.

Tessa turned to Jamie. “You’re really boiling about that suspension, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “Yeah, I’m really boiling. But I’m also really excited, because I think we can do some good with the Renegade. We’re free, Tess, with that paper, at least! Freedom of the press, like it says in the Constitution.”

“First Amendment to the Constitution,” Tessa corrected. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look—um—very mad when you’re mad?”

The next day, when Jamie walked into health class, which had continued despite the absence of the textbook, Ms. Frick, the teacher, was late. By the time she arrived, the classroom was buzzing and Brandon Tomkins and Al Checkers were having what they called a scientific paper-airplane contest near the window. Jamie was glad to see that Terry and Ernie, sitting near the back, seemed deep in conversation.

Ms. Frick came in so quietly Jamie didn’t even see her till she heard her say, “Class.”

The strain in her voice, which was usually calm, made Jamie look up. The room fell silent, and Brandon and Al quickly pocketed their planes.

“Class, I have some bad news.” Ms. Frick sat on the edge of her desk, as she often did. “Or maybe it’ll be good news to some of you; I’m not sure. For at least the next few weeks, you’ll all have a study this period. Health class has been indefinitely suspended while the school committee and a special committee of—er—parents study the curriculum.”

There were a couple of quiet cheers, followed by a good deal of loud murmuring, and Jamie felt herself go cold inside.

“So,” Ms. Frick said, “that’s it, unless there are any questions?”

Jamie raised her hand. “Was this the school committee’s decision?” she asked. “Or Mr. Bartholomew’s, or whose?”

“As I understand it,” Ms. Frick said, “that new group, Families for Traditional Values, got copies of the health education curriculum for all the town’s schools, after the school committee impounded the textbooks and temporarily suspended condom distribution. They studied the curriculum and the books, and then went to the school committee with a list of complaints. They sent a petition around …”

“Yeah,” said Al Checkers. “My folks signed it.”

“So did mine,” said Ernie.

“Mine didn’t,” Jamie said. “They didn’t even get it, as far as I know.”

Terry and several others said theirs hadn’t gotten it either.

“Interesting,” Ms. Frick commented. “Just out of curiosity, how many of you know your parents got the petition?”

About a third of the class raised their hands.

Terry snickered. “Looks like FTV did a pretty selective poll.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Ms. Frick, “but I guess they collected enough signatures to get the school committee to reconsider.”

“What are they planning to do?” asked Vicky Chase, in the next row over from Jamie.

“I’m not sure. I think they want to rewrite the health curriculum, or parts of it anyway.”

“The sex parts,” said Terry.

Al said, “You got that right,” under his breath. At the same time, Brandon guffawed, and then clapped his hand over his mouth and widened his eyes as if pretending to be shocked.

“Yes,” said Ms. Frick, glaring at them. “I’m sorry. In fact, I’m very sorry. If any of you have questions or want to talk about anything related to the old curriculum, please feel free to come to me.”

Silence followed her invitation. “Okay, then,” Ms. Frick went on. “I guess you should all get started on some homework.”

“It’s true,” Jamie’s mother said when Jamie and Tessa burst into the Crawfords’ kitchen after school; at lunch, they had decided, along with Terry, Jack, and Cindy, to devote the next issue of the Renegade to both suspensions, Matt’s and the health curriculum’s. “We got the same edict at the middle school,” Mrs. Crawford told Jamie and Tessa, “and so did the elementary school. Lisa Buel strikes again.”

“I don’t get it,” Jamie fumed. “I don’t get how she can have so much power.”

“She’s got people behind her now, Jamie; she’s been talking—campaigning, almost. A lot of people at Lord’s Assembly are on her side, but she’s convinced many others as well. She’s also got support from that organization that printed the pamphlet you showed Dad and me.” Mrs. Crawford sat down at the kitchen table. “And since sex education’s an explosive issue all over the country …”

“Yes!” Jamie exclaimed excitedly. “There’s the focus!”

Tessa raised her eyebrows and sat down next to Mrs. Crawford. “Has she always been like this?”

“Always.” Mrs. Crawford looked amused. “You just have to wait till she decides to fill the rest of us in.”

Jamie leaned against the sink. “The health curriculum piece,” she said, after explaining briefly to her mother about the Renegade’s next issue. “We could do a real in-depth piece on sex education. I was already thinking of interviewing Mrs. Buel and maybe Ms. Frick, but we could expand it—not just the controversy about sex ed in Wilson, but the controversy in Wilson compared to the controversy in other towns. I could hunt up some information on what you were saying, Mom, about problems all over the country. There’s got to be some stuff in the library.”

“There is,” Mrs. Crawford told her. “Quite a lot, in fact. We got the town library to order some books for us last summer when we were working on the health curriculum. And then we suggested a few additions to the school library, once we settled on it. But the town library’s your best bet, I think. There are lots of newspaper articles there, too, The New York Times and The Boston Globe and the Georgeport paper. But, Jamie, are you sure this is a good idea? Doing all this in the Renegade?”

“You bet I do. I think it’s necessary to do it. I’m pretty sure Ms. Hinchley isn’t going to let us even mention Matt’s suspension or the health ed curriculum in the Telegraph. The kids have a right to know what’s going on.”

“Oh, Jamie,” said her mother softly. “I love the fire in you. But I don’t want you to get hurt, or suspended yourself.”

“It’s in a good cause,” Jamie said fiercely.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Crawford, “it is.”

Jamie looked at the kitchen clock. “Library’s still open. How about it, Tess?”

“Sure.” Tessa stood.

“Supper,” Mrs. Crawford called, “is at six-thirty, Jamie. Pick me up some milk at Lang’s Store on your way back? I was so steamed up myself about the health ed curriculum I forgot.”

The Wilson Public Library, it turned out, kept back issues of The New York Times and The Boston Globe, plus a few other papers, for only two years, in a special room in the basement. “For anything more than two years old,” the reference librarian told them, “you’ll have to go to Georgeport and read the papers on microfilm.”

“That’s okay,” Jamie replied. “Two years back ought to be enough anyway. Thanks.”

“Why don’t I look for books,” Tessa suggested as Jamie headed for the stairs to the basement, “while you check out the papers? Then I’ll come help you.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, Jamie was in a damp and dimly lit basement room, scribbling notes from articles listed under sex education in The New York Times Index. She’d gotten through about a month’s worth when Tessa returned.

“What’ve you got?” Jamie asked, stretching and then rubbing her cramped right hand.

Tessa sat down beside her. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Huh? But Mom said …”

“I know. And there are books listed in the computer catalogue. But they’re out. I decided to check the shelves anyway, just to make sure; that’s what took me so long, that and asking the librarian, who was waiting on someone. When she was finally free, she said she was really sorry but she couldn’t tell me who has the books, just that they’ve been checked out. She said she could put a reserve on them, but that probably won’t do us any good; they’re not due for another couple of weeks. Someone else beat us to it.” Tessa picked up one of the newspapers. “How’re you doing with this?”

“Great. We probably don’t need the books anyway. There’s a lot here. Want to help?”

“Sure.”

Jamie gestured to the shelves. “Why don’t you take the Globe? We can split up the other New England papers, probably.”

“Okay.”

By the time they left the library, they each had several pages of notes, and Jamie felt confident that she had enough material to write a really good feature. And after dinner that night, Jamie called Lisa Buel to ask her for an interview.

“No, dear,” Mrs. Buel said. “Thank you for the opportunity. But I really don’t have anything to say right now. We’re studying the curriculums, and when we’re through, we’ll make recommendations to the school committee.”

“Is ‘we’ Families for Traditional Values?” asked Jamie.

“Yes, it is.”

“I get the feeling,” said Jamie, “that your group is against sex education in general. Is that true?”

“I told you,” said Mrs. Buel smoothly but with an angry edge to her voice, “that I don’t have anything to say right now.”

“May I call you again when you’ve made some kind of decision?”

“You certainly are a very persistent young lady. Yes, I suppose you can call me.”

“Thank you.”

Jamie hung up and dialed Morris Just.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” Mr. Just said. “But yes, that FTV group, through Mrs. Buel, is looking at the health curriculum at all levels. I guess that’s their right; it’s any citizen’s right. A couple of school committee members are also in FTV, which makes the situation a bit more complicated.”

“Do you think the curriculum needs looking at?”

“No,” said Mr. Just. “I don’t. The school committee passed on the health curriculum when it was adopted late last summer, before Mrs. Buel was elected. And it has faculty and administrative support at all three of the town’s schools, elementary, middle, and secondary.”

“What does FTV have against it?”

“You were at that meeting, Jamie. If you want to know more, you’d better ask them. I don’t want to lose my temper.”

Jamie laughed. “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Just.”