Even though I am fifty-five pounds lighter than I was last year at this time, a mythical group, Friends of the Well-Intentioned School Board, have asked me to help hold the door against all the money the obsessive-compulsive School Board dumps into the Super’s yawning pockets.
For the four years this sadly insecure School Board has been assembled, it has treated the Super like a girl it had met just before closing time. Afraid she wouldn’t go home with them without a little encouragement, the members built a wide-open chute, from School District coffers straight into the Super’s appreciative pockets.
The heapingly generous School Board reminds me of an intemperate parent. He hands his six-year-old a fifty-dollar bill for lunch, and then he covers it with a twenty in case the kid wants dessert.
Why a Cash Register Hums
As we continue our dialogue this morning, I hope you will not be distracted by periodic tinkles from the cash register at my side. It rings every time the School Board blows into its old-fashioned bean-shooter and aims a few hundred new dollars into the Super’s account.
Before discussing a replacement for Dr. McGaughey, it must be noted that, personally, she is a lovely lady.
I just don’t think I will have to drive over to Cash ‘n Carry this afternoon for a fresh supply of pens to write down all of the accomplishments during her tenure.
As far as I know, it isn’t (entirely) her fault the philanthropic School Board has developed a curious addiction to thrusting pay envelopes into her hands even when it isn’t payday.
The Board, according to sources, can’t help itself.
At the beginning of the 1980s, I wrote for a trade publication in the Wilshire District. Without asking, my salary was increased with virtually every paycheck.
That is not exactly the case with Dr. McGaughey. Shortly before disclosing her retirement intentions, she requested, and apparently is receiving, a disputed, allegedly overdue, double bump in her salary.
Sounds like an enviable gig to me. If someone were walking into my office every morning slipping money into my palms, I would think up a reason to postpone retirement.
Since the Midnight School Board — not to be confused with the Midnight Mission — prefers to make decisions after everyone has gone to sleep, or behind closed doors and drawn blinds, one is curious about the search process for a Super successor.
I am concerned. Some Board members believe that “transparency” is Albanian for “avian bird flu,” and that is why they have been rushing to avoid it instead of embracing it.
How influential will community voices be during the next hundred days in helping to decide on a successor?
Since there is no danger of Culver City’s next mayor — Gary Silbiger, as of this coming Monday night — making a Mayor Wrong-type of power grab, the School Board has nothing to fear.
Wouldn’t a Super with a strong personality, with a public profile be a fresh breeze?
Postscript
Regardless of whether he wins the approval of his former pals in the State Legislature, Mayor Wrong’s proposed incineration of the School Board in his bloodthirsty lunge for control of the LAUSD is stunning.
I thought liberals believed in consulting the people before taking over.
Welcome to a one-man revolution in this raw usurpation of authority.
Ain’t no partnership involved.
He is Mayor Solo on the throne. Everybody else is an order-taker.
His notion of surrounding himself with flaccid representatives from each of the twenty-six cities of the Los Angeles Unified School District smacks purely of cover not counsel.
Twenty-six Easter Bunnies will make the same contribution.
If you admire totalitarian revolutions, you will love the Mayor’s master plan, shrewdly being disclosed one vague peek at a time.
Los Angeles is a mere, but helpful, waystation in his Washington career plan. Strongarming the Los Angeles schools into meek submission gains him fresh national ink every day. That is the game du jour.
Do not underestimate Mayor Wrong’s charm, his main asset. This useful diversionary tactic is intended to make the brash grab taste sweet.
The mayor’s Amen corner at the Los Angeles Times — those who speak English and those who struggle with it —is in charge of leading the cheers.