Here Comes Trouble - Michael Moore [105]
“I think so. You gonna gimme my gun back?”
“Yup. That was the deal. Your life is in your hands. I’ll just ask you to consider not ending it anytime this week. Maybe try an AA meeting. Hang out with your sober friends. Can you do that?”
“Sure. I can give it a try.”
I handed him his shotgun.
“How ’bout dem shells?”
“Nah, I think I’ll keep those. A memento of this night. Cool?”
“Cool,” he said with a nod of his head.
As he left in his truck I could hear his radio blasting out “Fly by Night” by the band Rush. As I watched him go down Coldwater Road to the intersection of M-15, I noticed that he dutifully obeyed all traffic signals and speed limits, small indications given by those who at least, for now, on this balmy summer night, might want to live.
A Public Education
I’M NOT QUITE SURE when the honeymoon ended.
But my days as a novelty of being the youngest elected official were about to come to an end. And it was God who would do me in.
It was a regular monthly meeting of the Davison School Board, pretty much like any other monthly meeting. Recognition of visitors. Done. A request for maternity leave. Approved. A motion to pay some bills. Passed. Then I made a motion that our public schools be opened on Wednesday nights for extracurricular activities, just as they are on every other weeknight. As this was “church night” (the night the Protestant churches held midweek services), the public schools were always closed. I suggested to the school board that this was illegal. I brought a lawyer from the ACLU to the meeting to make the case. I might as well have flown him in from Moscow. They looked at the ACLU man like an interloper who had no business here. The entire issue was tabled and referred to “further study.”
At the following meeting, the committee set up to investigate whether or not to keep the ban on Wednesday night school activities presented its findings: the ban should be dropped. Amen.
The superintendent also mentioned that denying access to our schools by students who don’t go to church night may be in violation of the Constitution. And that we would probably not prevail in court.
I had not threatened any legal action, but I guess that was what they assumed when they saw the lawyer from the ACLU sitting in the front row. I made the motion again, one of the two other Catholics on the board seconded it, and the board voted unanimously to do the right thing. But it was a reluctant vote, and the other board members did not like being put in the position of voting against the wishes of the born-again Christians in town.
The Free Methodist and Baptist churches in Davison were now keeping an eye on me. They were not going to forget what I had done to challenge their influence and power in town. And just saying a few prayers for my soul would not be all that they would do.
Prudence would have dictated that I perhaps ease up, maybe back off a bit, try to get back into their good graces so that I could still have some effectiveness on the board. And for a while that was what I did. But I was nearing the age of twenty, life was moving by so fast, and I was getting older. “Wisdom” had not yet set in.
“Mr. President,” I said, “I’d like to make a motion that we endorse the directive from Lansing that we publicly reaffirm that our schools have a nondiscrimination policy and that we believe integrated schools provide the best education.”
And then—why not?—a twist of the knife:
“And that we invite people from all races to come and make their home in Davison.”
A long, long pause.
“This is ridiculous,” board president Russell Alger finally said, exasperated. “We do not discriminate in Davison, and there is no need for this. Next order of business.”
“You didn’t ask if there was a second for my motion.”
“Why are you doing this? Anyone can move to Davison and go to our schools,” the dentist on the board said.
“Then why, out of six thousand students, are there only about fifteen who are black?”
“Fine,” he said, “I’ll second the motion.”
A roll call was then taken and they