Through the Looking Glass

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Hello readers, and here’s hoping you had a very wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. I meant to post something about being thankful, but could neither find nor make the time to actually sit down and do it. I will do so, however, some time before the end of the year…but since it’s already late now, my spider spirit has been guided to post something completely different.

Why do we sometimes wait so long before picking up the phone and catching up with old friends and family?

I pondered that question during a Happy-Belated-Thanksgiving call with a loved one who regularly volunteers for the District. It had been a while since I’d discussed the District in any depth with this individual (who was also unaware of my blog) – rendering our conversation spontaneous, and untainted by my own bias. I certainly gained some fresh perspectives from our chat.

In explaining the decision to close Buena Vista Elementary to its neighboring community, the District maintained that the necessary improvements to that century-old facility were cost prohibitive.

(Oh – maybe that’s why the District gave away the Buena Vista school building to the city for free. Hmm…but…then why did the District see fit to cram so many kids into the equally-aged Haunt Elementary – er, I meant to say Hunt Elementary School building – which along with its spooky sibling Ivywild Elementary, required far more extensive and expensive work than the Adams buildings to update?

And speaking of updating, is everyone aware of the one-way traffic inside Sabin, or the type of work that’s going on in connection with the West K-through-8 school consolidation? Hold on to your hats, friends, lest they be blown away by my upcoming post on the District’s capital improvement spending.)

This individual had an opportunity to help pack up what seemed to be a gazillion Buena Vista library books. Sadness permeated the atmosphere; evenso, at a certain point, curiosity moved this person to ask: “Where are all of these books going?”

“To the Warehouse,” came the answer.

“The Warehouse!” I sneered. “Maybe that’s the reason why Adams is crammed full to the brim with all of those T.V. sets!”

Let me explain. I mentioned in my “Travesty at Adams” post that I’d often peer through the looking glass of the school’s doors…and described all that I saw languishing there. The District’s response to my concerns was to cover up the rectangular panes of glass with long strips of construction paper to block my view.

So, when the surprise opportunity for an escorted tour of the building’s interior presented itself, I did eight handsprings of anticipatory delight in rapid succession.

We entered the building’s main hallway – which was strewn with assorted trash from the movers – turned the corner and stepped in to the gymnasium. I was astonished to see the rows and rows and rows of audio-visual carts standing there, each equipped with large televisions, VCRs and slide projectors; stretching from wall to wall, and packed so tightly that one could only sidle, I estimate there were at least 20 carts contained in each column and row – so, 400 in the gym alone.

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet and we continued on.

The main hallways were clogged with a jumble of desks, bookshelves and chairs…and off to the side were classrooms packed full of Dell personal computers – at least 10 of which were equipped with wide-screen, flat-panel monitors. Making our way to the library, I was again rendered speechless, and simply did not know what to make of the wall-to-wall electronic equipment there – all of which appeared to be fully functional and up to date.

I was a little dizzy when we exited to the rear of the building and stood together in the sunlight. My escort and I began pelting each other with questions that began with “Did you happen to notice all of the …?” It wasn’t until later that I realized we’d forgotten to walk through the remaining wing of the building; I continue to kick myself for that oversight to this day.


Adams is in a purportedly “bad” neighborhood – even worse now, with a great big abandoned school building in its dead center; so why’s the District storing all of that expensive equipment there? Wouldn’t the Warehouse facility offer a more secure and appropriate housing for such an inventory? Or am I to presume the Warehouse is crammed too full with library books?

Of course, making sure the Adams building is filled to the brim with this, that and the other effectively prevents STAR Academy from utilizing even a portion of it.

It’s my understanding that the District plans to use the Adams building as an ad-hoc storage facility and “bargain mart” through the end of November. Employees come to Adams from across the District to “shop” its stockpiles of desks, chairs, audio/visual equipment, etc., and then take their selections back with them to whence they came – a lot like Christmas Unlimited, for my literate-but-po’ brethren out there. Some time before 2010, the District will donate any remaining surplus to charity.

Hopefully, this one-stop-shopping opportunity has been extended to everyone in the District, and not just the friends and family of Glenn Gustafson and his inner sanctum. And I’m just musing out loud here, but…what an awesome way to ensure that a “new” school like Swigert Space Academy had everything it needed.

There’s a link on the District’s website for the public to view and bid upon surplus equipment…but a visit to that link shows absolutely nothing. In what’s probably just a strange coincidence: while researching the recent sale transaction of the Bijou Alternative School, the name “Eddie Bishop” popped up in connection with a surplus school supply website that’s hawking – I’m not making this up – audio/visual carts.

I know I’m mathematically-challenged…but for me, these things simply do not add up; actually, they DO add up...and I just keep on adding and adding to the oddities and inconsistencies and coincidences I happen to stumble across.

Public schools provide so much to their surrounding communities besides educating children. In times of emergency, for instance, school buildings serve as emergency shelters for their neighboring communities. Parents lacking computers of their own can use their school’s public computer, and are often permitted reasonable use of fax machines and photocopiers. This – and much more – has been taken from the communities that saw their neighborhood schools close, and is evidence of the Administration’s total disregard for equity and parity.

Before being given away to charity, the equipment that remains after the District “shopping mart” has closed should be made available for sale to the general public; and at least some of what’s left over from that public sale should be donated to the communities hardest hit by the school closures. Given the right spin, such a gesture of good will and appreciation in return for years of community support could spiff up the District’s sullied image.

Come on, District Administrators; we are not sheeple. Are we not men? Are we not just?? Don’t you owe the taxpaying citizenry of the city of Colorado Springs better than this for the hard-earned dollars we’re forced to blindly surrender to you?

Travesty at Adams

Note:  I wrote this back in August...and though several of the issues I raised have been addressed and remedied by the District, the majority of this article remains as current today as it was three months ago.

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A neighbor recently asked me, “What exactly is going on at the school right now?  What are all those moving trucks doing there?  They unload at the back of the building, then another truck comes and loads up again in the front – if you ask me, they look like a bunch of crooks!”  And indeed, they do.  I’ve filmed their activities – sometimes surreptitiously, sometimes openly – and their typical reaction upon spying my camera is to sound an alarm, pack up, and scram.  I know that if I noticed someone filming me, I’d march right up and demand to know why; yet no one ever has.

The time they’ve spent ducking and dodging me has caused considerable delay, however.  Their increasingly furtive attempts to confuse and conceal their movements have been both amusing and disheartening:  trucks from five different companies back up over the grass and right up to the doors for loading; large sheets of paper and cardboard have been taped up to cover certain doors and windows; and it seems that at least a couple of the moving crew have been tasked to dress as civilians and walk the perimeter of the building as lookouts.  The other day I heard John Griego describe the whole thing as a “fiasco,” and I’ve been tempted to approach him and ask how things are going – after all, this is a prime example of our tax dollars at work –  I’m not sure what stops me.

Once the movers have departed, I walk around the building and peer into the main doorways; what I see there causes my heart to sink.  The hallways are crowded and cluttered with all kinds of everything, including sofas and other home furnishings that I’d figured had come from a dismantled teacher’s lounge; but after glimpsing a tall standing ashtray (like they used to make in the sixties), I’m not so sure.  On many occasions I’ve seen individuals drive up and load items into what appear to be their own private vehicles.  Lights are routinely left on at night in the gymnasium and anywhere in the building where the movers have been…and their trash and debris left all around.

The trash bins located on the property were removed nearly three weeks ago, despite the fact that the movers themselves still needed them.  The kids who still play basketball on the school’s courts had been very good about properly disposing of their trash, but since the cans were removed litter is strewn everywhere; incidents of vandalism have multiplied; window screens torn to shreds and left dangling, sometimes ripped completely out of place and left bent on the blacktop; three windows are broken; spray-painted graffiti appears in various places; weeds are big and bushy, and too difficult to pull.

Though I’ve worked hard to spread awareness throughout the neighborhood, many people did not know the school really did close.  Summer’s ending, and school’s back in session – but not at Adams.  The smell of fall in the air had always been accompanied by the music of children laughing; now, there’s just the soft, shocked silence that occurs when the heart of a community stops beating; punctuated only by the occasional beep-beeping of moving trucks snaking through the otherwise empty parking lot of a building in the act of being abandoned.

My own family has lived here for four years, and many’s the time my husband and I sat together on our back porch swing, envisioning the wonderful educational opportunities presented by our arms-length proximity to the school.  I had every intention of regularly volunteering at my children’s school; but since my family doesn’t own a car, and bus service in our area has been discontinued, even my own opportunities – to work with my children’s teachers and play a more active role in their learning – have been squelched.

I’ve spoken with many others who feel the same way:   some opted to walk their children to Rogers…easier to do now – but what about winter?  Others are moving away, closer to work or family.  Those with vehicles are truly envied, since they are the only ones truly able to exercise any real choice in the matter.

One Spanish-speaking family in particular, limited by transportation issues and concerned for the safety and well-being of their disabled child, worried along with me.  In spite of language barriers, we actively sought out alternatives to the one that’s been forced upon us by the District…but for naught.  In the end, with no other choices open to them, they enrolled their children at Hunt – bitter, and vowing never again to support a school the way they had supported the one that sat in our midst for over half a century.

And I, the last hold-out, sit on my back porch swing, swaying and sighing, contemplating my next steps:  am I up to home-schooling my little ones?  And how will it affect their socialization?  I blink back the tears that sting my eyes at the sight I see when I look across the street.  My five-year old son quietly clambers up beside me; after a moment, he looks at me and asks, “Why did they have to close my school, Mom?” I look into his face, unable to answer his question, and an enormous sense of loss envelopes us both.

I determined to check out Hunt for myself. It seemed clean…but crowded; lines of children waiting for what, I’m not sure.  I looked for a reason to reject the school, which was presented by the office secretary.  Curt and condescending, I felt.  I took the enrollment package anyway; there seems little option for us but to surrender and have my kids bussed to Hunt; one in preschool, one in kindergarten – both on separate busses.  It just doesn’t make sense.

There was a rumor the Urban League sought use of the building for daycare – but that turned out unfounded.  I know that for the better part of the year, STAR Academy sought partial use of the building for their overflow students; to the best of my knowledge, there’s been no response or explanation as to a reason why not from the Board.  STAR had to turn away 80 students this semester – one of them mine – because they had no room.  I don’t pretend to understand the legal intricacies, but STAR is a District charter school: doesn’t their legal right to utilize the Adams building supercede the District using it as some shady truck stop?  And since the District is using the building in this manner, is there not an ethical – if not legal – obligation to properly maintain its grounds?  It’s as though the District is purposely allowing the building to fall into utter disrepair, certainly rendering the building less desirable and more difficult to lease or sell later.

Whatever the reasons behind it, the wanton disregard shown by the District regarding Adams is morally wrong, akin to a man denying that he fathered his own offspring.

Yesterday, a family that’s lived here for ten years walked away from their home – opting to move due to the closing of Adams and the limitations they would experience for their two son’s education – and allowed it to slip into foreclosure, because no one was interested in buying a house in a neighborhood without a school.  So, this does not merely impact parents and children; it affects every property owner and business establishment in this neighborhood.  When I stop to consider that this might also be taking place in the neighborhoods surrounding the other schools that closed, I become deeply saddened for the city of Colorado Springs.

I am literally watching this community die – one of the saddest things I’ve ever personally witnessed – and for no clearly discernable reason.  I know there’s not much chance that the school will miraculously reopen…but that’s why they’re called miracles:  ‘cause there’s barely a chance.

The people in this neighborhood simply need a school to operate at the Adams building once more.

The absurd and disturbed

Knowing that I read it only occasionally, a friend called to direct my attention to John Gudvangen’s op-ed in this week’s Colorado Springs Independent; it was filled, predictably, with self-congratulatory sermonizing and pompous puff-uppery. A whole lotta hot air and pride has swelled the poor man’s head – which loomed so large, I nearly missed the more interesting article on District #11’s newest elected officials.

“Departing board president Tami Hasling notes, ‘There are some really strong personalities that will be on this board.’” And two tepid ones that won’t.

“[Al Loma and LuAnn Long] are meeting with their new colleagues, getting briefed on board rules and major issues.” Hopefully Hasling isn't overseeing their orientation, considering that – by her own admission – she was and remains largely unaware of and/or unfamiliar with many long-standing District policies, procedures and board member by-laws.

“Loma has already begun softly rocking the proverbial boat,” the article clucks. “Besides staying on the STAR Academy board, he says he doesn't plan to recuse himself from D-11 votes on the STAR Academy. Legally, that's allowed, though as of press time Hasling was still investigating whether it would violate a district policy. One thing is certain: Hasling doesn’t approve. ‘It seems to me that there would be a conflict,’ she says. ‘It's disturbing, to be honest with you.’”

I’m sorry, but am I the only one who finds Hasling’s comments utterly absurd? She clammed up like the rusty-jawed Tin Man when the subject was her good friend Jan Tanner’s inflated dough; now, she’s suddenly loose-lipped and offering her sage two cents on Loma? How laughable – as in, I am laughing right now…out loud!

Why is our Board’s lame-duck President play-acting the Enforcer and concerning herself with policy now? Is it because she can be counted on to muscle in and bend the rules this way and that whenever her handlers order her to, or if it involves a close friend?

STAR Academy is a District #11 charter school; it is part of the District. CFO Glenn Gustafson sitting on the Budget Advisory and Accountability Committee…Loma sitting on the STAR Academy Board: is there a difference, or any harm? It’s a District #11 charter school, after all; it is part of the District.

Let me break this one down in no uncertain terms: regardless of the Boards on which Loma may be seated, we can all pretty much rest assured that he’s not quietly earning hundreds of thousands of dollars annually from Colorado Springs taxpayers by selling the District pizza under a 10-year, no-bid contract. This could only be more preposterous if Jan assumes Tami’s self-appointed role as the Board’s Conflict of Interest Cop.

The article then turns to take a lovey-dovey look at LuAnn Long.

“Ask current board members about their new colleagues, and you'll hear this statement over and over, ‘I don't know Al well at all, but I know LuAnn.’ They've seen her at meetings. They know her as an employee, a parent, a grandparent. They've served on district committees with her. Like her or not, Long, who most recently worked setting schedules and doing employee training for D-11, is no mystery.” 

Is it safe to assume they also already know whether she prefers anchovies and extra-cheese?

The article concludes, “[Long’s] not for charter schools unless they provide something to kids that traditional schools don't.”

Bravo.  Well, here's something the District isn't providing my kids that STAR Academy would:  a school within walking distance.

We should not be surprised to see these know-it-all elitists cuddling contentedly next to Long while peering uneasily at the lesser-known Loma: as an example of the good that can and does come from the ghetto, he is a walking contradiction of their mistaken notion that schools are wasted on poor kids because they’re inherently stupid.

Point blank, my friends:  Hasling and Tanner prove that money's neither an indicator to nor a prevention for stupidity.