The Love Song of GCA Charter

In honor of the anniversary of the "tough pill" e-mail written by Secretary of Education Paul Reville, Amanda Cook has written a parody of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

In case you have forgotten what it is that Paul Reville wrote one year ago, I give you the following excerpts from his infamous e-mail:

"Our reality is that we have to show some sympathy in this group of charters...Frankly, I'd rather fight for the kids in the Waltham situation, but it sounds like you can't find a solid basis for standing behind that one. I'm not inclined to push Worcester, so that leaves Gloucester."

"...It's a tough but I think necessary pill to swallow." E-mail here.


The Love Song of GCA Charter
by Amanda Cook

for Jane Cunningham

Let us go then, you and I,
When the District’s budget is spread across the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain reduced-lunch streets,
Through car-radio beats
Of restless nights in our own downtown,
Upon which future doctorates frown:
Streets that fill with working men
Of generations spent
Who do not stop to ask the question…
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In Malden they stop and stoop
Bending down to interest groups.

The pink light of sun rising over City Hall,
Over neighborhood schools, one and all,
Licking its tongue, its learning of language,
Lingering in classrooms filled with Fundations.
Let us look upon small learning communities
Filled with parent groups and activities.
And seeing there was little oversight,
They made an application, and started a fight.

And indeed there will be time
For the pink light that guides the morning buses,
Rumbling yellow backs along Washington Street;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a statement for the faces you meet,
There will be time to write letters and debate,
And time for phone calls and meetings and plans
Time for Van Ness and Amy,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the chatter in the state committee.

In Malden they stop and stoop
Bending down to interest groups.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do they dare? And, “Do they dare?”
Time to reapply, when it is fair,
With a Board that is barely there—
[We will say: ”How the Board is growing thin!”]
Their curriculum, innovation lifted from within,
Their science, walks to where the water’s been—
[We will say: “But where’s the building they’ll be in?”]
Do they dare
Disrupt the District?
In a year there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them already, known them all—
Have spent the evenings in cold meeting rooms,
Have measured them out in doom and gloom,
Have seen them ignore their own bylaws
While Mitchell and Chester fester in their own rooms.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the flaws already, known them all—
The hearing with no-one from the state,
And when I am angry, fuming over injustices great,
When I call the governor, and call, and call,
Then how should I begin
To justify emails written so late?
And how shall I presume?

And I have known the players already, known them all—
Players like Chester who doesn’t play fair
[But the committee! There was no approval there!]
Is it power, like a cloak
That affects these folks?
Players that lay blame, and refuse responsibility.
And how should I presume?
And can the school begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have countered each misstep with letters
And waited for justice from the men in power,
And what from the Governor, hiding out in his proud room?...

Their community of civics, their own bylaws
Cast off like lost sailors on a silent sea.

. . . . .

And the Board has acted so slowly!
Cancelled meetings for personal commitments,
Asleep… or incapable… or malevolent.

Played out in the papers, the globe and GDT.
Should I, having read the email of Paul Reville,
Have contented my self to swallow that bitter pill?
But though I have made note and attended, called and engaged,
Though I have seen my community [grown weary with disillusion] served upon a platter,
I am just a citizen—and that doesn’t matter;
I have seen chances as resolution given,
And I have seen the Men of Education driven, by games
Of political expediency. I was betrayed.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the email, the do-not-recommend,
The calls from all sides to make this mess end,
Would it have been worth while,
To let them proceed with a smile,
To have drained from the budget a good part of it all,
Without asking the overwhelming questions,
And say “The GCAC is Lazarus, come from the dead,
They know better than all, they will tell us all’—
If, once the school opened, those who meant well
Should say “This is not what we meant at all.
This is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the hearings and the protest and the cardboard bitter pills,
After hours at a meeting, Ballin wouldn’t take questions from the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible they say what they mean!
But as if a genie had come and signed a lease:
Would it have been worth while
If, finding some brown-site not quite downtown,
The board should turn to each other, and say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all.”

. . . . .

No! I am not some naysayer, nor was meant to be;
I want change and improvement , and will do
What I can for progress our schools,
For all Gloucester’s children, not just a few,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Political, cautious and meticulous;
Full of honest anger, and wanting justice;
The men in Malden think me ridiculous
And play me, at times, the Fool.

Votes are sold… votes are sold…
The truth about the Charter process remain untold.

Shall I still support Patrick? Do I attempt another speech?
Do I argue there are no tide pools on Pavillion beach?
I have heard them talk of art and science, each to each.

I do not think they will integrate me.

I have seen the GCAC Board riding forward on the waves
Quieting rumors of no building, the head of school they lack.
They push forward and we push them back.

We have lingered in the chambers of their meeting halls
Gloucester girls, political and strong,
Until justice comes, and they are gone.