Ghost of Spirit Bear Page 11

  Cole had never dreamed his proposal would turn into such a big deal. Students kept stopping him in the hallways to ask what he was going to do differently at the final hearing.

  “I don’t know,” Cole answered each time.

  He voiced his worries to Ms. Kennedy. “We’ve done all we can. We’ve put up posters all over town and in the school. The newspaper, radio stations, and television have helped, but I feel we should be doing more.”

  “There is one more thing,” Ms. Kennedy said. “Make sure every student shows up.”

  Over the weekend, Cole’s team spent every spare minute posting notices around town: HELP THE SPIRIT BEARS WIN and BE A SPIRIT BEAR, NOT A MUTT. Cole found himself glad when their football team lost their next game—it made it harder for parents to come to the hearing and brag about the school’s proud Bulldog tradition.

  Unable to sleep Sunday night, Cole crawled out onto the porch roof from his upstairs bedroom. He lay back and stared up at the sky. The darkness reminded him of the island. He thought about his struggle to change the mascot. He did want to make a difference in the world. He wanted to honor his ancestors and make them proud. But how? On the island, his choices had been few. It had been all about surviving, cooking, and cutting firewood. He’d eaten bugs and worms, even a mouse and his own puke. Here it was less simple. His opponent wasn’t an injury, hunger, or weather. It was a school board and a whole community of parents and students.

  On Monday, Ms. Kennedy offered to make an announcement to encourage attendance at the hearing.

  “Thanks,” Cole said, “but most students ignore announcements. Could you call everybody into the gym and ask them to attend? Like a pep rally?”

  Ms. Kennedy shook her head. “I can’t take any more time from teaching periods.”

  “Everybody talks big, but nobody wants to stick their neck out,” Cole said.

  “I hope you’re not talking about me.”

  “If the shoe fits…”

  Ms. Kennedy gave him a sharp look. “I’ll make a deal with you, Mr. Matthews,” she said, not smiling. “Tomorrow morning I’ll call a full assembly in the gym, but you’re the one who will do the talking.”

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “Because everybody talks big but nobody wants to stick their neck out.”

  That night, Cole hardly slept a wink. He had fought Keith with his heart, but could he fight a school board and a gym full of angry parents with his heart? He dreamed of students laughing at him.

  The next morning, true to her word, Ms. Kennedy called a full assembly. She quieted the students and then turned the microphone over to Cole. “Now it’s up to you,” she whispered.

  Cole had written all that he wanted to say on a piece of paper, but when he looked at it now, the words blurred together. He paused to gather his thoughts and then folded the paper and just began speaking from his heart. “Tonight is the final hearing by the school board, here in this gym at seven o’clock. I’m not going to beg you to come. All I want to tell you is that there is a mess of adults who don’t really respect you. They don’t think you can make much of a difference. But this is your school now.

  “We are making a difference with the things we’re doing. We now have a newspaper, we have students helping other students study, and we have students helping to decide the dress code.” Cole laughed. “The teachers still don’t want us to grade them, but we are making a difference. We’ve already proved a lot of adults wrong. I know one thing—deep down, every one of you does care.”

  Cole paused the way he had seen Ms. Kennedy pause before saying something really important. Then he spoke quietly. “Tomorrow morning, each of you will get up and look in the mirror and know if you cared enough about yourself to help make a difference.” Cole spoke louder. “Our school board and many parents don’t think we care, so tonight let’s all prove them wrong!”

  It started with only a couple of shouts: “Go, Spirit Bears!” But slowly the chant grew louder and louder, spreading through the bleachers. “Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears!”

  Cole glanced at Ms. Kennedy sitting in the front row. She gave him a wink.

  After school, Cole avoided Peter and returned home to spend time by himself. A little past six, he reminded his mother of the hearing but insisted on walking to the school alone. “I need time to think,” he told her. He grabbed a quick sandwich and then headed out, walking the five blocks slowly. When he arrived, the parking lot was filling with cars. People crowded into the gym, excited as if they’d come for a basketball game. It scared Cole to think he was responsible for starting this whole thing. There was still a part of him that thought of himself as a loser.

  On purpose, Cole sat alone in the back of the bleachers, looking out over the swelling crowd. To focus his mind, he closed his eyes and imagined a proud Spirit Bear walking toward him on the shoreline. The bear kept coming nearer and nearer as the time for the meeting approached.

  Just before seven, board members arrived and found their places at a table set up on the basketball court. The gym was packed. At seven o’clock sharp, the chairman called the meeting to order. “Tonight is the final hearing on the proposal to change the proud Minneapolis Central Bulldog mascot to a Spirit Bear. The board calls Cole Matthews as the students’ representative to explain the proposal.”

  Cole worked his way out onto the floor. Proud Bulldog mascot, my foot, he thought, stepping up to the microphone. Already the board was showing their bias. Coughs and whispers sounded through the crowd as Cole introduced himself and explained everything the way he had during the hearing at the district office. Then he drew a deep breath and spoke from his heart. “Years ago, somebody chose a bulldog as a mascot. And maybe it was a good inspiration for them. But a mascot represents both who you are and what you strive to become.

  “Today, this school is filled with gangs, drugs, and violence; there’s discrimination and bigotry. Is that the Bulldog tradition many of you are so proud of? A lot of students and teachers have decided to try and change this, but to do that we have to think, act, and feel different. We need major change. A new mascot won’t solve everything. But it will be a symbol of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

  Cole glanced back at the board. “If we change the mascot, the Bulldog can still be a good thing in your memories. You determined your own futures—please allow us to do the same.”

  Cole returned to his seat.

  With the microphone echoing, the chairman announced, “Because of the large number of people here this evening, we have time constraints. We will strictly limit comments to one minute each. We will form two lines. On the right will be those opposed to changing the mascot. On the left will be those in favor. We will alternate between rows.”

  Students and adults spilled from the bleachers to claim a place in one of the lines. A few kids joined the line opposing the change of mascot, but most in that line were adults. Likewise, several adults stood in the line favoring the change, but mostly that line was kids. It looked like a contest between the students and the adults.

  The first to speak was a red-haired girl. She walked to the microphone and said, “I want our mascot to be a Spirit Bear because I want to change myself. This is the first time I’ve ever really cared about anything, and I hope I’m not wasting my time.”

  Next a man who looked like somebody’s grandfather spoke angrily. “My life has never really amounted to much, but every game I attend, I know that win or lose, I’ll always be a Bulldog. You can’t simply vote that away. Besides, we can’t afford something like this just because a few students think it’s a cute idea.”

  One by one the students and adults took turns speaking. One teacher said, “Some of you ask the financial cost of changing the mascot. It might be substantial, but the real costs will be staggering if students don’t learn they control their own futures. I would trade ten years of my salary to bring back Trish Edwards, the student who committed suicide. What is the beating of a student worth?
What does drug addiction cost? If you want to talk about cost, talk about the real costs when you deny these students their dreams.”

  The next lady walked up from the opposition line. “I am personally opposed to changing the mascot,” she said, “but after hearing these students speak from their hearts about changing and controlling their futures, I want to say this: The Bulldog was our identity and our future, but who are we to tell these students what their identities and their futures should be? This is their school now, not ours.”

  Loud cheers erupted from the students. The chairman banged his gavel to restore order.

  With each speaker, emotions grew more volatile. The owner of a local lumberyard stood and said, “I will always remember my high school days as a Minneapolis Central Bulldog, but as a business person I support the future.” He pointed to all the students. “You are the future, and you have spoken with your petition and by being here tonight. If we change the mascot, I pledge that Olson Lumber will match each dollar you raise to fund that change.”

  Students whistled and cheered as the chairman rapped his gavel again for quiet.

  Two hours after it began, the public hearing phase ended. The board conferred and called Ms. Kennedy to the microphone. “Whatever changes we make here this evening will affect the administration of your school,” the chairman said. “For this reason, the board would like to ask you, as principal of Minneapolis Central High, to share your thoughts and conclusions.”

  Ms. Kennedy carried a piece of paper with her to the microphone but didn’t look at it as she spoke. “It’s getting late, so just a few quick thoughts,” she said. “At the beginning of the year, this school was out of control. What our students needed was structure, purpose, self-control, pride, dignity, and self-determination.

  “Sadly enough, instead of focusing on the students, as a new principal, I was more concerned with pleasing our superintendent, parents, teachers, and the school board. I asked students to be responsible but did little to provide a school free of fear and intimidation.” She scanned the crowded bleachers before continuing. “I asked students to evaluate their lives and to change their behavior. I asked them to put it all on the line and bet their futures on what they believed.”

  She smiled sadly. “I really talked big, telling teachers that what they do for the students must be more important than keeping their jobs. But I wasn’t following my own advice. Tonight, that is going to change. The students have spoken and I support them.”

  She looked over at Cole and Peter. “There are two boys here who taught me more than I ever taught them. They taught me that we can’t be good educators if we play it safe. We must risk everything, every day, if that’s what it takes. My number one concern from the start should have been the students.

  “With all due respect, the Bulldog no longer represents strength, courage, or respect in this school. It is simply a vandalized statue outside the school entrance and a snarling canine face on the wall of this gym.”

  Ms. Kennedy walked over to the chairman and handed him the paper from her hand, then returned to the microphone. “That is my resignation. If you deny these students their request to control their own futures and change their mascot to something more meaningful, then I respectfully ask the school board to accept my resignation as principal of Minneapolis Central High School.”

  A stunned silence blanketed the gym as Ms. Kennedy returned to the bleachers.

  A single voice from the bleachers shouted, “Go, Spirit Bears.”

  Nervous laughter rippled over the crowd as another student shouted, “Go, Spirit Bears.”

  It began as it had earlier in the day with sporadic shouting that quickly became a chant: “Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears!”

  Cole turned and looked around the gym. Both students and adults were beginning to stand and chant.

  The chairman kept rapping his gavel on the table for silence, but the chant grew louder and louder, becoming a thunderous roar. “Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears!” Nearly the whole gym was now on its feet. Cole caught Ms. Kennedy’s eye and she gave him a thumbs-up.

  The chairman quit trying to restore order. With the deafening chant echoing back and forth across the gym, each board member voted on a paper ballot and handed it to the chairman.

  Deliberately he counted the votes.

  Chapter 16

  COLE HELD HIS breath. The chairman rapped the gavel hard and pulled the microphone closer to his mouth. The chanting of “Go, Spirit Bears!” faded away reluctantly, leaving a charged and brittle silence.

  “A two thirds majority vote is needed for the passage of this proposal,” the chairman announced. “Tonight’s vote is seven in favor and two opposed.”

  Cole had never liked math much, and for a split second he scrambled to think if seven of nine votes was a two thirds majority. The thunderous applause erased any doubt.

  “Details of this change will be worked out in the coming months,” the chairman added, speaking loudly to be heard above the applause and whistling. Then he held up Ms. Kennedy’s resignation and said, “I’m glad to be able to do this.” He ripped it in half. “Also, let me be the first to officially say, Go, Spirit Bears!”

  The auditorium erupted again with, “Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears! Go, Spirit Bears!”

  Cole couldn’t believe this was all happening—was it real? He remembered feeling this same way when he recovered consciousness in the boat after the mauling—he had waited to wake up from a dream. But being rescued on the island had been no dream. Nor was tonight.

  Students and adults mobbed Cole, thanking him, congratulating him, shaking his hand, and slapping him on the back. Peter ran up, jumping and shouting and yelling, “We did it! We did it!”

  Cole gave him a big hug, lifting him off his feet and swinging him in a full circle. “Yes, we did it,” he shouted back. Cameras flashed, and everywhere people kept clapping.

  When Cole quit swinging Peter, he noticed Keith beside them. Keith extended his hand to Peter. “I’m really sorry,” he shouted. “I’ve told Ms. Kennedy who hurt you.”

  “You ratted?” Peter asked, showing his surprise.

  Keith shook his head. “You can’t rat on rats,” he said. “It’s what I should have done from the start.” He kept his hand extended.

  Still Peter hesitated.

  It was hard to hear above the bedlam of noise. “Maybe change starts by forgiving!” Cole shouted to Peter.

  Slowly Peter reached and shook Keith’s hand.

  “Go, Spirit Bears!” Cole shouted, cuffing them both on the shoulders.

  Ms. Kennedy came up and gave Cole a big hug. “You and Peter created a new reality for everyone tonight,” she said.

  “With your help,” Cole added. “I can’t believe you offered your resignation.”

  She smiled. “We all had to put everything on the line. Just know I’m proud of you. And I’m proud of our school.”

  “Cole Matthews!” shouted a local television reporter, his camera rolling. “What do you think of what happened here tonight?”

  “We did it!” was all Cole could respond. “We did it!”

  One by one board members stopped to offer congratulations before leaving. As students kept shaking his hand, Cole’s gaze swept out over the thinning crowd filing from the gym. One single figure caught his attention. Stopped against the moving crowd, looking back at him, stood his own father. For a split second their eyes met.

  “Excuse me,” Cole interrupted. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” But even as Cole started across the gym floor, his father turned and disappeared into the departing crowd. Cole searched frantically, running outside, but couldn’t find him. Slowly he returned to the gym.

  “Where did you go?” his mother asked.

  “Nowhere,” Cole said. “Just tried to catch an old friend.”

  Peter stood beside his smiling parents, still shouting “We did it! We did it!”

  Garvey walked up to Cole. “I never knew
you were such an eloquent speaker,” he joked. “You beat them with your heart, your head, and your mouth.”

  “Thanks for all your help,” Cole said.

  Garvey cupped his hand and shouted into Cole’s ear, “Your father was here tonight and asked me if I thought a Circle could help an adult.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him yes, if he wanted the change.”

  “Is that all he said?”

  “Hey, it’s a start.”

  Cole’s mother stepped in and hugged Cole. “I’m so very proud of you,” she said. “Do you need a ride home?”

  Cole looked over at Peter. “I know it’s late but I’d love it if we could go out for ice cream to celebrate.”

  Cole’s mother nodded, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Driscal. “Do you mind if Peter joins us?”

  Peter’s father approached Cole and extended his hand for a firm shake. “I never thought I would see the day when I said this to the boy who hurt my son, but tonight I am very proud of you both. Can we join you? The ice cream is on me.”

  Cole nodded. “Can you come, too?” he asked Garvey.

  “It would be an honor,” Garvey replied.

  Cole smiled in disbelief as he looked up at the snarling bulldog mascot on the gym wall. It no longer seemed so fierce.

  The next day, Ms. Kennedy agreed that they needed to take down the bulldog statue and change the gym-wall mascot immediately. “I’ll have the art department start right on it,” she promised. “It may take a little longer to replace the bulldog statue with a Spirit Bear—that’s something we want to make sure is done right.”

  Cole and Peter agreed.

  At noon, students gathered to help paint over the old bulldog. Everyone cheered when the stroke of a paintbrush covered the last of the fierce mascot.

  “Go, Spirit Bears,” the students chanted.

  Cole stood watching. Emotion blurred his vision and he kept swallowing. When he had carried the ancestor rock on the island, it represented all the generations of ancestors that had lived before him. If he squandered his life, he wasted their legacy. Now Cole realized that the legacy being created at this moment, here in this gym, was part of what he would pass on to a new generation.