Ghost of Spirit Bear Read online

  The chairman motioned toward the microphone at the front of the room and said, “Please step forward and state your name and address for the record and what it is you wish to comment about.”

  Cole wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he walked to the front of the room. There were nine board members and nearly fifty people attending the meeting. Cole swallowed, then stated his name and address. Why did they need his address? Were they going to publish this in the paper or turn it over to the police?

  Briefly Cole told them who he was and what he had experienced on the island—something he suspected they already knew. “The Circle is what helped me,” he said. “And that is why we had a Circle at school.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about you and Alaska, and I also heard about your school’s Circle,” the chairman said. “But what is your request or comment tonight?”

  “Well, the Circle is why I’m here,” Cole said. “We need your help. Why is our mascot a growling bulldog if real strength comes from inside ourselves?” He paused. “The Spirit Bear showed me my inner strength. To show that we want real change, we want to change our mascot and team name to the Minneapolis Central Spirit Bears.” Cole walked up and handed over the petition and cost estimates. “We’ve collected these—over ninety percent of the students agree this is what they want.”

  “It sounds good, but this type of request needs to be submitted to the district office,” the Chairman said, glancing over the papers.

  “We did that,” Cole said. “And they turned it down—they said it would be too expensive.”

  “Have you considered that aspect?” another board member asked.

  Cole nodded. “You have the rough estimates of cost with the petition, but the real costs are when students fail or turn out to be losers.”

  Board members exchanged glances as the chairman handed the paperwork down the table. “We’ll take this under consideration. If we think there is merit, we’ll schedule it as an agenda item for discussion at our next meeting in two weeks.” The man took his glasses off and set them on the table to end the conversation.

  Cole looked around. “So that’s it?”

  The chairman nodded and smiled politely. “That’s it.” He looked past Cole into the audience. “Are there any other public comments?”

  Feeling defeated by the board’s curt reaction, Cole left the meeting with Peter and the other students. Outside, one of the kids mimicked the board members. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said in a Donald Duck voice.

  Everybody laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet they’ll discuss it,” one student grumped. “I’ll bet the petition is already in the garbage can.”

  Cole turned to Keith. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

  “Whatever,” Keith said, not meeting Cole’s eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” Cole asked.

  Keith turned to Peter. “Can we talk?” he asked.

  Peter eyed him suspiciously. “You were one of the guys who beat me up, weren’t you?”

  Keith shook his head. “No, but I know who it was.”

  “Who?” Peter said.

  “I can’t rat on my friends.”

  “You can’t or you won’t?” Peter said, staring. He blinked as he fought back tears. “If you protect them, you’re scum, too!” he shouted. Then he turned and ran.

  Cole looked Keith hard in the eyes. “Peter’s right. If that’s the kind of friends you want, you’re scum, too. I thought you were better than them.”

  Keith hung his head. “I could have stopped it, but I wasn’t big enough. I told the guys later that what they did was chicken and I’ve quit hanging out with them. Can you talk to Peter for me and explain?”

  “Explain what? That you were a jerk and not able to stand up to a bunch of losers?”

  Keith allowed a smile. “That would be a good start.”

  “A good start would be for you to do what’s right,” Cole answered.

  “You mean rat on them?”

  “I mean, do what’s right.”

  The rest of that week, other proposals made progress at school. One group started up the program that had honors students helping struggling ones. The new school newspaper, Our Voice, ran its first issue. The front-page article was about grading teachers. One kid wrote, “Colleges allow professors to be graded. Companies allow employees to grade supervisors. If teachers don’t want to be graded by students, maybe we need to start a black market grading system where kids vote and the results are posted on an outside Web site.” The article concluded, “If teachers don’t need permission to teach poorly, then why do we need permission to grade them?”

  Several teachers threatened to have the newspaper closed down because of the article, but Ms. Kennedy sided reluctantly with the students, saying, “I support the paper and a student’s right of expression as long as they respect other viewpoints.”

  “Ms. Kennedy is destroying this school,” Cole heard one teacher comment to another in the hallway. Ironically, the teacher was Cole’s history teacher. She was boring.

  Chapter 14

  WHILE HE WAITED to hear from the school board, Cole decided to visit his father one last time. Indian summer made the days warm and lazy as Cole caught the bus downtown after school. Maybe his father had changed some.

  He hadn’t. “From now on you call me before dropping in,” his father snapped. “I might be with a client.”

  “Or you might not want to see me,” Cole said. “You never call or stop by.”

  His father rocked back in his chair. “I told you, your mother and I don’t see eye to eye these days.”

  “Why, because she quit drinking and you didn’t?”

  “You watch your smart mouth! I already told you, your mother and I don’t get along because she filed abuse charges, turned me in to Social Services, won custody of you, and took me to the cleaners in the divorce settlement. How many more reasons do you need?”

  “Dad, you were hitting and hurting me, and you were drinking a lot. You shouldn’t have custody of me because you refuse to get help.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the one who needs help?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “What’s the real reason you’re here?” his father asked. “Does your mother want more child support?”

  Cole hesitated. “I’m here ’cause I still love you.”

  His father turned and opened a file cabinet to hide his face. His voice wavered. “In your book, I’m just one big screwup, aren’t I?”

  “Dad, I didn’t say that.”

  His father’s voice hardened. “Listen, why don’t you just worry about yourself.”

  “At least I’m trying,” Cole answered. When his father did not look up, Cole turned and walked quietly from the office. “I won’t bother you again,” he said, closing the door. Cole blinked back tears as he ran from the building out into the bright sunlight. Tears flooded his cheeks.

  Later that week, Ms. Kennedy called Cole to her office. “It looks like the school board has put our mascot proposal on their agenda for next Wednesday evening,” she announced, as if she were the one responsible.

  Cole had been so sure the request would be denied, his thoughts scrambled. “So how do we get ready?” he asked.

  “The same as before,” Ms. Kennedy said. “State your case clearly. Anticipate the arguments or questions the board might have and be ready with answers. They already have your petition and cost estimates. Maybe get more students to show up.”

  “Why am I the one that has to do the speaking?”

  Ms. Kennedy took off her glasses and set them on her desk. “I’ve read through your juvenile file and you’ve been quite the troublemaker,” she said. “Tell me, when you broke into a store to steal, did that scare you?”

  Embarrassed, Cole nodded. “Sure. I was afraid of getting caught.”

  “So why did you still do it?” Ms. Kennedy asked.

  “I don’t know … maybe it was a challenge. Maybe I was just angry.”

  Ms. Kenne
dy nodded. “Right now you’re scared of speaking because you’re afraid of failing—it would be like getting caught.”

  “That’s different,” Cole said.

  She smiled. “You did a lot of gutsy things as a troublemaker, but you’ve done even more daring things to turn your life around. Peter told me about your visit to Keith in the hospital—that took a whole lot of courage.”

  “But I don’t want to be the group’s leader,” Cole said.

  “Leaders are born, and I suspect you’re one of them. The students in your group need a leader.” Ms. Kennedy looked Cole directly in the eyes. “You were afraid as a juvenile delinquent, but it didn’t stop you. So don’t let it stop you now from doing something good. Fear is just life telling you to be careful. Tell me, do you want to see the school mascot changed to a Spirit Bear?”

  “Sure,” Cole said. “That would be good.”

  “Okay, then quit questioning yourself—it’s wasting your energy. Roll up your sleeves and go make it happen.”

  Cole stood to leave the office. At the door, he turned back and studied Ms. Kennedy. Maybe she did care. “Can I ask you a personal question?” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why aren’t you afraid of the gangs hurting you?”

  Ms. Kennedy hesitated, pursing her lips before answering. “My husband died a few years ago, of bone cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Cole.

  “So am I,” she replied. “We both fought his cancer for five years. Compared to cancer, somehow a bully doesn’t seem so tough.”

  Cole spent the next few days preparing for the hearing. Each day, his team gathered after school. Because cost alone could spell failure, team members made a more complete list with everything from bids on new uniforms to the cost of changing the school stationery. Working with the art teacher, several team members prepared a sample Spirit Bear logo to show the board. “Who came up with the bulldog mascot anyway?” one kid complained. “The mutt looks like it wants to eat someone.”

  Cole tried to think of everything. “Find out how old the uniforms are, too,” he told his group. “If they’re really old, maybe they need replacing anyway. And this time we need more students to attend the hearing.”

  By Wednesday evening, Cole’s guts were tied up in knots. Peter met him early and they walked the half mile to the district office together. “Do you think the board members will change their minds?” Peter asked.

  “They better,” Cole answered defiantly, “or we’ll be a pain in their butts.”

  “Yeah, we’ll be hemorrhoids.”

  Nearly one hundred people crowded the room as the chairman called the meeting to order. Cole glanced around. Keith had not come tonight, nor had he helped the group since the night he talked to Peter. A reporter from the local newspaper sat at one side taking notes. Cole also noticed a large number of parents attending—that could be good or bad depending on whose side they were on. Shortly after the meeting began, Ms. Kennedy slipped in and seated herself alone near the back.

  As before, the meeting droned on and on with financial discussions, salary decisions, and policy reviews. Finally the chairman announced, “Now it’s time to discuss the Spirit Bear issue. Mr. Matthews, would you begin by explaining the students’ proposal?”

  Cole struggled to stay calm as he approached the microphone. Once again he spoke briefly of going to Alaska as banishment. He mentioned the suicide, vandalism, and beating that had occurred at school. Then he described the students’ Circle around the football field and the proposal to change the mascot. “A Spirit Bear helped me understand myself during banishment. How can you ask us to be kind to each other if our mascot is a snarling bulldog?”

  “I understand a Spirit Bear mauled you,” a board member said.

  “Only to protect himself. The Spirit Bear also let me touch him when I quit being angry. We want to change the mascot to a Spirit Bear because the students at Minneapolis Central have decided to turn their school around. Changing the mascot is our symbol of that effort. The Spirit Bear represents our own inner strength.”

  As soon as the chairman opened the floor for discussion, several parents approached the microphone. “Our teams have always been the Minneapolis Bulldogs,” the first mother argued. “That’s tradition.”

  “We have deep financial problems right now,” the next parent said. “It’s irresponsible to change mascots at this time. Changing band and sport uniforms alone would cost twenty or thirty thousand. That’s too much money to spend so that somebody can have a cute little teddy bear on their jersey.”

  Cole forced deep breaths to keep from getting angry. Most of the adults here tonight had come to fight his proposal. What had he expected?

  “Can anybody else address the cost issue?” a board member asked, looking toward the student section.

  A quiet tenth-grader named Tina Olson approached the microphone. She sounded very businesslike when she said, “We checked and most of the uniforms at the school are almost twenty years old. I don’t know anybody who wears clothes that old. Besides, we don’t need to change the whole uniform to change the logo. All you need to do is change the jersey on the sport uniforms. With the band uniforms, we just have to make the Spirit Bear logo big enough to cover the bulldog.”

  Tina looked down at a piece of paper in her hand. “Our estimate is only four thousand three-hundred and eighty-two dollars and six cents. We’re already planning fund-raisers. Changing mascots shouldn’t cost the school anything.” She returned to her seat as board members jotted down notes.

  The next man to approach the microphone looked like a bulldog himself and grew even more belligerent. “I’m not going to stand here and let a bunch of impulsive children destroy our Bulldog tradition,” the stocky man challenged. “What about the cost of a new mascot statue? You can’t just whittle that out in shop class.”

  A shy boy Cole did not know stood and approached the microphone. “I’m new this year to Minneapolis Central,” he said. “I guess I don’t see the proud Bulldog tradition some parents have spoken about tonight. All I’ve seen are gangs and drugs. That’s not much of a tradition.”

  When everybody had spoken, the chairman asked, “Are there any other comments before we vote on this issue?”

  Ms. Kennedy stood and came forward. After stating her name and address, she said, “I hadn’t intended to speak this evening, but I want this board to be aware of what will happen when they vote. If the students lose, I predict a dangerous explosion of emotions tomorrow—students will think they weren’t given a fair hearing and their voices didn’t count. Likewise, if the students win, I think much of the booster support we enjoy will be at risk.”

  Board members nodded as Ms. Kennedy spoke. Cole noticed the district superintendent in the audience. The silver-haired man listened intently but showed no emotion.

  “Claims will be made that not all the facts were presented,” Ms. Kennedy continued. “There will be accusations that board members themselves weren’t well enough informed or that not enough notice was made for community comment before the vote. Many parents and students weren’t even aware this issue would be voted on tonight.

  “There could even be the risk of lawsuits. I guarantee, no matter how the board votes, there will be a fallout of anger and controversy. I suggest that your vote be deferred so you can hold a special meeting for the community. I think it would be prudent.” Ms. Kennedy returned to her seat.

  The board members spoke briefly among themselves, and then the chairman announced, “We agree with Ms. Kennedy. Considering the number of people here tonight, we will take final comments and vote on this issue at a special session in a larger meeting area. The date and location will be posted. A school’s mascot is not to be taken lightly.”

  Cole noticed the local reporter scribbling furiously on her notepad. The chairman looked down at his paperwork and said, “The next item of business is district rezoning.”

  As Cole and Peter left the crowded room with
the other students, the reporter approached Cole. “Do you really think changing the school mascot can change your school?” she asked.

  Cole hesitated. “If we can change the mascot, maybe students will realize that they can control their own futures. This is all about change.”

  “Thanks.” The reporter hastily waved down a couple of other students for interviews.

  In the parking lot, Cole spotted Ms. Kennedy leaving and ran over to her. “How did this get to be such a big deal? All we want is to change a mascot,” he complained. “We’re not hurting anyone. Those parents make it sound like we’re robbing a bank. We’re just trying to change a picture on a wall.”

  “I thought you said a mascot was a lot more than that,” Ms. Kennedy answered. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have suggested the change. Would you be doing all this work for just a painting on a wall? Was that what you encountered on the island, a cute little teddy bear? Is that what changed your heart, a teddy bear?”

  Cole shook his head. “Okay! Okay! You’re right—it is a whole lot more and it means a whole lot more.”

  “Then start treating it that way,” Ms. Kennedy said.

  Cole eyed Ms. Kennedy. “I can’t figure you out. When school started, you fought change. I figured you’d be gone in a week. Now I don’t know what to think. Why did you ask for a special session? Now we have to go through this whole thing again.”

  Ms. Kennedy looked tired. “Because tonight you would have lost,” she said.

  Chapter 15

  TWO DAYS LATER, the date for the special hearing was posted: Tuesday evening, November 7, in the high school gym. Suddenly, Cole became the center of attention. The newspaper interviewed him, and the local radio and television stations recorded segments for their evening news. Cole didn’t like all the publicity. He wasn’t always sure what to say except to encourage everyone to support changing the mascot. He found it worked better to speak from his heart instead of from his brain.

  Keith kept to himself, not talking to Cole or helping the group anymore. Cole noticed he wasn’t hanging around his old friends either.