CHAPTER I: Answering Prayers

"Jason Kolry McGuire was a complex man; you had to know him very well to say that you knew him at all. In his final days his memory left him. His memory will never leave those of us who loved him."

Amid all of the sanctimonious drivel that constituted his grandfather's eulogy these words stood out in Jim's mind. Reverend Carter would have preferred that a close friend of Jason McGuire deliver the eulogy. But months before his death the old man had specifically requested that the Reverend give his eulogy.

Stuck with the job, Rev. Carter chose to compromise frankness for the sake of tact and decorum. He was certainly not about to give his true opinion of the deceased: "Jason Kolry McGuire was a deviant egomaniac; to know him was to despise him." No, that would be unchristian and totally inappropriate during a eulogy--especially from a man of the cloth. De mortuis nihil nisi bonum.

Years ago Grandpa McGuire's campaign to remove prayers from the local schools had pitted him against the Reverend. As a history teacher at Gopher Brook High School Grandpa had opposed school prayer in his classroom. When forced to hold a daily opening prayer the old man had found an effective response. On the first day, a Monday, he had the class recite the Lord's prayer. On the second morning the class read long passages from the Torah. The third day saw them bowing towards Mecca. On the fourth day the class chanted Buddhist mantras. Oddly, those parents who had no qualms about forcing other people's children to recite the Lord's Prayer were not so keen about their own children mouthing "pagan mumbo jumbo". That night the same people who had insisted on school prayer reversed their decision. Starting immediately, prayers of any sort were forbidden in Gopher Brook High.

Just before the commencement of classes the next day Principal Studwell informed the teachers of this new policy.

"Odin will not be pleased," joked Grandpa McGuire.

This incident did little to endear him to Rev. Carter or his flock. The local congregation never forgot this fiasco.

The elder McGuire's opposition to Christmas ornaments on the premises of the town hall had further alienated the Pastor. Arguments about the separation of Church and State, official sanctions and respect for minority religions held little sway in Gopher Brook. Few people understood these ideas. Fewer still agreed with them.

Reverend Carter's parish included more than half of the population of Gopher Brook. These "pillars of the community" were conspicuous by their absence from the funeral.

There were a few in town who had admired the old man. Those on the fringe of Gopher Brook society took a perverse delight in seeing their more conservative co-residents rankled.

J.K. McGuire was also very popular with his students. They liked his activism and zest for debate. They loved his occasional use of current slang to describe a historical dilemma. Most of all they loved his stories. During class their teacher would reveal intimate glimpses of historical figures. He would include details of events that other teachers would choose to overlook. Role playing was a favourite venue.

"Imagine this," the teacher had asked his students. "You are the President of the United States. You have remained comfortably neutral during the first two years of the Second World War. England and Germany are locked in mortal combat. Your industries are busy producing war materials. Business has never been better. The population is happy. Only a few of them suggest entering the war and those few aren't unanimous about which side you should take. Joseph Kennedy and Charles Lindbergh argue that you should join on the side of the Germans. Others tell you to join the fight for democracy. Most say `Stay out of it!'

"Politics is `zugswang'. That means that a politician is fine as long as he or she doesn't try to actually do anything. Any move is fatal. Unfortunately, eventually the politician will have to do something. So you remain neutral as long as you can. After all, why go looking for trouble?

"One September morning in 1941 a member of your staff bursts into your office. Naval Intelligence has cracked the Japanese communications code. It seems that the Japanese government is upset by the fact that its enemies are receiving arms and supplies from America, while America `hides behind a skirt of declared neutrality'. Intelligence has just discovered that the Emperor's armed forces are planning to attack Pearl Harbour in early December. Four of your aircraft carriers are scheduled to be docked in Pearl Harbour at that time. If the Japanese manage to destroy them they may force a stalemate in the ensuing war. There will be many warships docked in the harbour but only the aircraft carriers are crucial.

"So what do you do?"

"Easy," answered one student. "I rush down extra ships and ambush the Japs."

"But there are spies and reconnaissance around the harbour," the mentor informed his pupil. "The Japanese will know your every move. You might just as well tell the Japanese that you know their plan."

"So why not do that? Tell them you know they're coming. They'll call it off, won't they?"

"Yes, I'm sure they will," agreed their teacher.

"Well, wouldn't that solve the problem and avoid the war?"

"No," said their teacher quietly. "That will only tell them that you've broken their code. The enemy will change their code, destroy your Intelligence Network, execute your spies and call off the Pearl Harbour attack in favour of a later assault--one in which they really will have the element of surprise. No. You must not let on that you know of their plan. And you mustn't let anyone else spill the beans. No one in America--and especially nobody in Pearl Harbour--may know of the attack."

"So what do you do?" asked the class.

"Perhaps," offered the old man, sounding very Sherlockian, "I compromise. Maybe I wait until a few weeks before the attack. I send orders for the first aircraft carrier to go out on manoeuvres. No particular destination. No grand purpose. Just zigzag around the ocean a few times and then stand by for further orders. A few days later I send a similar order to the second carrier. I tease the enemy with the third and fourth carrier until a few days before the attack. Then I sent them out to sea, one after the other. The crews grumble but do as they're told. If and when the devastation hits Pearl these crews will thank God for their good fortune. This dilemma is called the `Coventry Conundrum'. Winston Churchill faced this exact problem when he learned that the Germans were going to bomb the small cottage town of Coventry in England."

"But what about the sailors on the other ships?" asked Bobby Spencer. Bobby was one of Grandpa McGuire's better students. "The Arizona? The Missouri? What about their `good fortune'? Don't you think they deserve a warning? A fighting chance?"

The teacher nodded but said nothing. He would not belabour a point. Provoking thought was much more important to him than instilling ready-made conclusions. This approach contrasted sharply with the names-and-dates approach of others in the History Department. The man's rapport with his students widened this rift between Mr. McGuire and the other faculty members. After classes were over students would congregate around Mr. McGuire's desk and hear other, more fantastic stories: science fiction, adventure and fable. The man was a born storyteller and could hold young imaginations spellbound.

He could also add a twist to the end of many well-worn stories.

"The chief of the Manhattans surveys the bounty that he has received from selling his island to the colonists. He smiles and turns to his counterpart among the Europeans.

`Now that we have sold you the land,' the crafty chief offers, `can we interest you in the sky?'"

J.K. McGuire made learning fun. This would not be tolerated for long.

Jim remembered the day his grandfather was forced to accept an early retirement. The School Board had buckled to the pressure applied by members of Reverend Carter's church. The good citizens of Gopher Brook were wary of the influence over their children that this "scatter-brained lunatic" had earned. The History Department sealed his fate by failing to support him.

Jim approached his grandfather on the day of that ignoble retirement. But the patriarch smiled at his grandson and laughed.

"I look at the bright side," joked the old man, "at least they didn't make me drink hemlock!"

"Hell, if I were you I wouldn't be laughing. I'd be pissed off. I mean, they've stolen much more than your job. This was your career. Your pride. Your dignity, for Christ sakes."

It was a slip of the tongue; Jim knew better than to mention the word "dignity" around his grandfather. How many times had Grandpa rented "Ghandi" and forced Jim to watch it with him? Each time Grandpa would stop the movie, point at the television and say: "You see, this man shovels shit with more dignity than we could attend a royal wedding!"

On this occasion the old man stared at his grandson, shook his head and said: "Dignity can be lost. Never stolen."

The students organized and walked out of their classes in protest over Mr. McGuire's dismissal. School officials and parents failed to end the dispute.

Principal John Studwell was a deacon in Reverend Carter's church. Not surprisingly, his sympathies lay with the forces which had demanded Mr. McGuire's retirement. Principal Studwell was the living embodiment of the Peter Principle. He had been promoted to his present position after failing miserably as a teacher.

From pulpit and school lectern Principal John Studwell had preached the evils of sin. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex. Three years earlier scandal had broken out when a student named Sarah Fraser accused Mr. Studwell of impregnating her. Tongues began to wag. Mr. Studwell denied the charge. A blood test comparison with the foetus? No thank you, was his response. He said that he did not want to flatter the accusation and compromise his privacy by submitting to such a test. The same man who had routinely body- searched students for drugs and weapons now sounded like a civil libertarian. It became common "knowledge" (i.e. well-worn rumour) that Mr. Studwell had not only impregnated her but had also paid for the girl's visit to an abortion clinic. To fellow members of the Pro-Life Coalition Mr. Studwell denied this second accusation, publicly reaffirming his opposition to "legalized murder". But when ladies from the local chapter of the National Organization for Woman showed up in his office demanding a clarification Mr. Studwell proclaimed his support for any woman's right to plan a family. Columnist Kevin Morley of the local Gopher Gazette made note of these inconsistencies.

"Mr Studwell," wrote the pundit, "would do well to listen to General Omar Bradley, who once advised: `Be guided by the stars; not by the lights of each passing ship.' This is not the first time Mr. Studwell has revised his views to fit the circumstance and the public's mood. He is constantly swaying to the winds of current opinion. It seems that the man lacks the courage of his convections. What an irony: a principal without principles!"

Mr. Studwell's job survived the scandal after it boiled down to a question of credibility. Who did the people of Gopher Brook believe: a "silly preggo slut" from the wrong side of the tracks who didn't even use birth control pills or the deacon of their local church? No one stopped to wonder how 14-year-old Sarah Brook could have known about birth control; Principal Studwell and the P.T.A. had vetoed sex education at Gopher High. With time, fewer and fewer cared. The girl and her family moved away. Local rumour-mongers found new characters to assassinate.

The issue of Jason McGuire's forced retirement had come to a head. The students continued their walkout. A lawyer from Corbeil Corners threatened a class action lawsuit.

The School Board caved in. It quietly advised Principal Studwell to re-instate Mr. McGuire. Parishioners and staff urged him to resist--at least until the School Board explicitly ordered re-instatement. Would the board members dare issue such a written order, facing an election the next year?

Kevin Morley descended onto this issue like a bird of prey. His newspaper column reminded its readers that the Principal was employed by the School Board. Would this particular Principal force the issue by insisting on an explicit directive before re- instating Mr. McGuire? Would he risk his own position here?

Of course not. Principal Studwell waited two days in order to portray to parishioners and staff the image of a man under intense coercive pressure. Then he had his secretary phone Mr. McGuire and offer him his job back.

"In typical Studwellian fashion," wrote Kevin Morley, "our Principal has capitulated. Mr. Studwell obviously lacks the intestical fortitude for such brinkmanship."

Jim was at home when the phone call came. He had expected his grandfather to be overjoyed at this new development. Such was not the case. In a sad but resolute voice Mr. McGuire Sr. said that he would announce his decision at Assembly on Friday. What decision? Wasn't it a foregone conclusion that he would accept? Didn't he love teaching? Indeed, didn't he live to teach?

Jim remembered the date: Friday, November the 29th, 1981. Grandpa woke up early. He took a shower. Shaved. Muttered something about Sicilian tradition as he solemnly donned his best clothes. Jim wondered what Sicilian tradition had to do with a 3/4 Irish, 1/4 native North American getting dressed in the morning. Grandpa put on the tuxedo he'd worn to his wedding decades earlier. The same tuxedo he'd worn at the funeral of his wife and the funeral of his daughter, Jim's mother. The same tuxedo he would later wear to his own grave.

"You're quitting, aren't you?" asked Jim.

"Can't quit. They retired me."

"You know what I mean. You're going to give it up."

The old man sighed. He stood silent at the mirror, carefully adjusting his bow tie.

"Will you come with me?" his grandfather asked.

"Uh, yeah, of course."

Jim had been surprised by the invitation. His grandfather did not usually include Jim in his career. He didn't "bring the office home". And Grandpa had never taken him to the high school. Not since Jim had graduated from it fifteen years earlier.

Jim felt certain about one thing. If Grandpa was, indeed, going to decline the offer he would at least go out in a blaze of glory. Surely Grandpa would lambast his colleagues and principal. He'd expose them for the jealous, incompetent hypocrites they were. He might even drop a bombshell or two. Maybe he would finally reveal how a publicity-shy John Studwell had asked him to broker the arrangements for that abortion three years ago. Perhaps Grandpa would relate to the audience how it felt to accompany little Sarah Fraser to that clinic...

The two McGuire men arrived at the school an hour and a half before the scheduled assembly. The students had returned two days earlier, when the announcement of the re-instatement offer had been made public. Grandpa McGuire waited until classes were in session before entering the building. With his grandson beside him he strode into the Principal's office.

"Good to see you, Jason," blubbered Studwell, "glad to have you back."

"Who does he think he's kidding?" thought Jim.

To Jim's astonishment his grandfather extended his hand and shook hands with Studwell. Jim found himself doing the same thing.

"It's good to be back," concurred his grandfather. "You remember my grandson, Jim."

"Yes, of course. Hello, Jim. Please, take a seat."

Jason McGuire declined politely.

"No, thank you. Jim and I haven't had our morning coffee. We just wanted to check in here on our way to the cafeteria."

"Jas?" asked Studwell.

"Yes?" asked the teacher.

"I hope that we will be able to put all of this behind us."

"It is behind us. It's all behind us now. Assembly at 10:00?"

Studwell nodded. The two McGuires left his office.

Jim waited until they were a few steps down the hallway before confronting his grandfather.

"Gramps, what was that all about? What are we doing shaking the swine's hand? After everything that asshole has done--"

The senior McGuire stopped his grandson with a wave of his hand.

"Jim, lad, let's not forget who we are. This tit-for-tat bitterness isn't our way. There are many Studwell's in this world."

"That doesn't mean I have to like him."

"No, I suppose you don't have to like them. Nor do you have to be like them. We know what Studwell is. But what are we? And what will we become?"

These were harsh words coming from such a gentle soul. Jim studied his grandfather. He expected some sign of triumph. Or bitterness. Determination. Maybe even fury. What he saw was despair.

In the cafeteria Jim breached the subject.

"Why so glum, Gramps? The coffee's not that bad!"

"Battery acid tastes better."

"Seriously, why so serious? They've offered you your job back. They've given up. You've won."

"If this is victory," Jason observed, holding his coffee in front of him, "then this shit must be champagne." He took a drink and winced. As he put the cup down he gestured towards a small group of students gathered around a table across the near empty cafeteria.

"They're a captive audience. Their parents don't have much say about sending them here. It's the law. Compulsory attendance. And this is the only high school around."

"Yeah, so?"

"I've always tried to do more than just teach their children a bunch of naked facts. I try to get the kids to think. With open minds. Even if opening minds widens the generation gap. Yes, even if opening minds closes churches. It's my job to make them think for themselves."

"Well, I understand that, but--"

Jason McGuire stopped his grandson with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

"That's not all. We can lead them to water. Hell, we can even make them drink. The trick is to inspire the kids to want to drink. The trick is to make them thirsty. After all, thirst...thirst is more precious than water. I wanted to show them how much fun it is to learn things. Not just history. Anything. Learning. Languages. Computers. Literature. Geography. Anything."

"So what's the problem? You can still do that."

"No. You see, I always thought I was helping these kids. And their parents. I guess I was flattering myself. You see, the truth is that these parents don't want me. They just want the facts. Just the facts, ma'am. Just tell the kids what they need to know to get good college entrants exam results. Cram the facts in, spit them back up at exam time, then forget 'em. This isn't education, it's regurgitation. The kids aren't being taught. They're being graded. Like eggs. We even make them Grade A."

"Look, I know you're a little dispirited..."

Again the elderly McGuire shook his head.

"You don't understand. This hasn't got anything to do with me. It's about what these people want. We can make them hire me back. But we can't make them like us. We can't make them like what I'm trying to do. I've stated my position to them as precisely as I could. Now, they've had their say. They've spoken loud and clear. And even if we could dictate tastes the question would arise: should we? Of course not."

"But you still think they're making a mistake."

"Yes. But that's their right. In fact, the freedom to make such mistakes is their most sacred right. And I won't twist any arms to deny these people that right."

"I'm still not sure I understand."

Grandfather McGuire glanced at his watch and stood up to leave.

"Come on. Assembly's starting."

The LGI--Large Group Instruction--room was spacious enough to seat most of the student population. Attendance was mandatory, which meant that between half and two thirds of the student body usually showed up. The rest would usually duck out for an early lunch break. On this day, however, the LGI was filled to overcrowding. The lack of space was exacerbated by the presence of about twenty parents.

During his years as a teacher J.K. McGuire had noticed that, given a choice, people of conservative leanings tended to sit at the very front of a room. Behind them the liberals would position themselves. At the very back one would find the free- thinkers and rebels. Bomb throwers. Occupying the vast space between the liberal/conservative block and the revolutionaries would be the apathetics. These diffidents comprised the true "audience", often more interested in the struggle between the extremes than in the efforts of those onstage. Jason McGuire smiled wryly as the students unconsciously arranged themselves in the LGI.

"Nothing involving humans is truly random," he had once observed.

Jim stood in the wings as his grandfather joined Principal Studwell, his two vice principals and the chairman of the School Board onstage. The parents murmured their dissatisfaction as the senior McGuire took his seat.

As usual, Principal Studwell commenced the proceedings with the national anthem. The parents participated wholeheartedly in the singing. Jim imagined that they were trying to make some obscure point with their enthusiasm and presence.

Studwell introduced those onstage. School Board Chairman Phillip Sutter gave a mercifully short speech about educational objectives and priorities. To Sutter the school system's only objective or priority was keeping these youngsters off the streets and out of the way. Sutter once joked that kids should be neither seen nor heard. They were bad for tourism. Bad for law and order. Bad for business. Sutter saw students as minor glitches in an otherwise smooth-running school system.

Jason McGuire had often giggled at the Chairman's attitude. Grandpa referred to himself and the other teachers as glorified babysitters--"Sutter's sitters". Sutter had consistently vetoed class excursions to factories, businesses or historical sites. Too much chance of things getting out of control. Too much chance of embarrassment. Far too much chance of the students getting a useful education. The Gopher Brook school system was designed to avoid such things. Most adults in the area reflected Sutter's attitude: keep the kiddies off the street. After all, what are we paying taxes for?

Principal Studwell reassumed possession of the microphone. After some mealy-mouthed praise for Mr. Sutter's efforts Studwell cut to the chase.

"This week, after much thought, we have decided to bring our most esteemed colleague, Mr. McGuire, out of retirement. We have all missed his presence here at Gopher High. Speaking for myself and the School Board, I would like to welcome back Mr. Jason McGuire."

Offstage, Jim rubbed his sweaty palms together. As usual, the air conditioning wasn't working. The small portable fan whirling behind him did little to alleviate the heat in the LGI. Jim tried to cut the tension by joking with the school secretary.

"Don't stand too close to that fan," he chuckled, "I have a feeling something's going to hit it..."

Grandpa rose to take the podium. The students erupted into triumphant clapping and cheering. Not everyone in the audience was happy, though. Mrs. Johnson rose up from her front row seat and yelled "Pagan!". Another woman cupped her hand to her mouth and shouted "Go home, McGuire!" Other parents chimed in with jeers and hissing. Reaction from the students was immediate. A boy in the back row bellowed at Mrs. Johnson "Sit down, you old trout!" Just behind her, little Freddie Johnson whined "Yeah, Ma, sit down. Please!"

Jason McGuire glanced over to his grandson. Jim was thinking about what his grandfather had said to him in the cafeteria.

Jim was beginning to understand.

Mr. Studwell raised his hands in the air, calling for order. Mrs. Johnson labelled the boy in the back seat an obnoxious punk. The boy in question called her "a senile old bat that must've overdosed on Geritol this morning". The shouting match between friends and family was too much for Freddie Johnson. He covered his face and ran from the LGI.

Studwell stepped across Jason McGuire to regain the microphone.

"Could we have your attention? Please, take you seats. A little peace and quiet, please."

No-one listened to Studwell. Force of habit.

"PLEASE! ORDER! TAKE YOUR SEATS AND BE QUIET!" he insisted.

The bickering between parents and students continued. "Grow up!" bellowed one of the parents. "Up yours!" volleyed the students. Parents scanned the group of students to find their own children. Most of their children were hiding their faces, sinking low in their seats or joining Freddie Johnson in exile.

"EVERYONE: TAKE YOUR SEATS AND BE QUIET OR I WILL HAVE TO CLEAR THE LGI!" Studwell's voice was becoming shrill and threatening.

The rancorous debate persisted. The kids wondered why the parents were here in the first place. One parent dubbed the students "ungrateful wretches". Both sides ignored Studwell's screeching over the microphone.

"WILL EVERYONE PLEASE SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!" hollered Studwell.

The students began stomping their feet and chanting "TROUTS!" Parents joined in condemning their counterparts as "PUNKS!" This was not the Oxford debates.

"ALRIGHT, THAT DOES IT! ENOUGH!" Studwell was about to announce a course of action. McGuire interrupted him by stepping back up to the microphone and raising his palms in the air, asking for calm.

The melee subsided immediately. There was only the sound of people taking their seats. Then quiet. Studwell gawked in amazement at the transformation. He turned and stared at the old man, who simply looked back and shrugged his shoulders. Then the teacher turned his attention to the crowd.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming here today," McGuire began softly. The old man's tone contrasted sharply with Studwell's hysterical approach.

The audience strained to hear the speaker. Mr. McGuire had their complete attention.

"During these past few days we have all learned a great deal about the education system: its goals, methods and structure. We have been addressing the question of who is served by the school system. Many of us believed that it should be structured to serve the needs of the educators. After all, it is the administrators and teachers who spend the tax dollars, impart knowledge to the students and serve the community. But the events of this last week have served to change this attitude. Schools may provide us all with our income, our careers and our vehicle for educating the youth of this town and surrounding area. It does not exist, however, to serve our purposes. And that is as it should be: leave it to the educators and we will be teaching only what is convenient. Fast food for the mind. Silly pap. Meaningless quadratic equations in math, names and dates in history, capital cities in geography, boring jumping jacks in Phys Ed, musty old tripe in English classes. None of this will help our graduates in the real world. None of them will even know the laws of our society. None will be able to spell the word `entrepreneurship', much less engage in it! We will graduate students who cannot even fill out a simplified tax form. Some won't even be literate! We will continue to release our children into the world with the dangerous notion that they have been educated. As for sexual or social responsibility, well, those subjects were never even discussed.

"Others would assume that the educational system should serve the students. After all, they are the direct beneficiaries of the process. It is their attitudes, futures and outlook that are being moulded by our efforts. `Surely the education system should be geared towards the needs of the students', these people would say. Many of the young people gathered here today have adopted this stance. But who defines these needs? We agree that the students are too young to make such decisions. If so, we might find ourselves teaching Creative MTV Watching, Nintendo Tactics and Progressive Partying 101."

The students laughed. Parents smiled.

"So who defines these needs, if not the students or teachers? It is obvious that we must leave the definition of student needs up to those who can be held responsible. In our society we hold the parents responsible for their children. Since this is the case we must leave this decision up to them. How do you, the parents, want your children to be educated? If they do not get a practical and useful education it will be you, the parents, who will suffer. Your children will not succeed in the competitive world of business. They will sink into despair and unemployment. Worst of all, they won't be able to leave the nest. You'll be stuck will these `punks' for life!"

Now it was the parents who were laughing. The students smiled as they watched Mr. McGuire earn their parents' admiration and affection--just as he had long since earned theirs.

"During my tenure I have learned far more from my students than I have been able to teach them. You know, this education stuff is a two-way street. I've learned the value of an open, questioning mind. The value of creativity. Trust. Hope. Infectious optimism. These kids have reminded me of how everything really is possible. We old fogies tend to forget these things. We get calloused. Our eyesight dims with age. We find it harder and harder to see the beauty and the opportunities that surround us."

Mrs. Johnson and the other parents were disarmed by Mr. McGuire's intimacy and insight. The students enjoyed his informal language and demeanour.

"During my years here I have enjoyed seeing my kids--I've always thought of the students as `my kids'--embrace education as an adventure. A gallant struggle against our archenemy: ignorance. Learning is a process that cannot end with graduation. But it should always be seen as fun. Otherwise, the process will certainly end when it is no longer mandatory.

"I've always been thrilled to see my kids accept their diplomas. I've especially loved seeing them come back years later to tell me how they've done.

"I will miss all of this," said his grandfather. Then, without another word, he left. No good-bye. No farewell. No bombshells.

The drive home began in silence. The two McGuires said nothing until the truck passed McMurdock's farm, halfway to the McGuire house.

"I wonder if they understood," wondered the old man.

"You wonder if they understood. Hell, even I didn't understand. What were you trying to do, run for office?"

"Hardly."

"Well, I certainly didn't..."

"You will, Jim. In time. All too soon you will understand."

---

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