RUDIMENTS, pt. 119
Making Cars
While I was working the biker
racket I was able to learn about
a million things, the sort of things
that can be absorbed into the
lifestream and easily remembered.
Covering those meetings that I
mentioned, for the Star Ledger,
they were the real eye-openers.
There was a Board Of Education
guy in Piscataway (Schoolhouse
Road, actually) who, whenever
they held their meetings, to which
I was assigned, he was the meeting
Chair and was, and comported himself
as, an absolute raving maniac, with a
gavel, no less. It used to just about
make me crazy to have to sit there,
(for 50 bucks a meeting) and listen
to him. I was supposed to, by definition,
just be there to report proceedings,
facts and figures, budget and curriculum
stuff, etc. It never worked that way
because, by the time this guy was done
with a meeting, even I was ready to
lunge for his neck. This was already
like 22 years ago, so understand that
I no longer even remember the little
jerk's name or position, except that he
should have been shackled and chained.
No one else in the entire stupid room
ever piped up or pushed back on him
- these were locals and Board of Ed
people who were complete cowards.
This guy ran rampant over them - he
was filled with vile and attitude. He
was also, by chance (!) the Superintendent
of Schools for Piscataway. We had press
credentials to wear around our neck,
and a seating area for the 'Press.'
After the first few meetings I caught
on, and never wore my card again,
nor sat in the proper seating - and I
found it didn't matter, and I also
found myself alone. Others of
the small Press contingent had
just stopped coming. The reason
for that as because this raving
lunatic would, in the middle of
his rant, pick at or pick out a
press person and begin loudly
berating them, almost violently,
as representative of the foulest
most irresponsible organization
in existence. He blamed the Press
for every problem in the Piscataway
School District, somehow also
including in that the 2 million
dollar tax shortfalls and discrepancies.
Now, he may have been right enough
or close anyway, in calling out the
Press for its rank shortcomings, but
he didn't know what he was even
talking about, and he'd mixed up
his milk with his cream, so to
speak. He acted as if the biggest
issue in the entire USA, and
captivating everyone's attention,
was the small-beans paw-play
of the Piscataway Bd. of Ed.,
which merely meant to me that
the small-man's Ego was so
inflated and so twisted that I
don't know how he even faced
a wife and family, if he had one.
I pictured his getting home,
bragging 'I showed them', taking
off his tie, and bending his wife
immediately over the stove or
kitchen table and sex-pounding
her for about three minutes. To
achieve satisfaction, as it were,
through her submission to him.
The guy was obviously deranged,
as was I, almost, when I realized
that, as elected officials, these Board
of Ed people actually had people
who voted for him. How that
occurred, I never knew. I think
the position of Superintendent
of Schools is a hire, by interview,
etc. In that case, as well, I have
no idea how this man was ever
even considered, let alone hired,
nor how he possibly could have
gotten on with any underlings. I
hope he's found some peace by now,
dead or alive, I wouldn't know. But
in the testimony book of bad public
officials, I hope that creepy guy
has a chapter of his very own.
-
In the complete other direction to
this, and a meeting for which I
monthly asked and volunteered
my services (still however being
payed), was the almost comedic
East Orange Board of Ed Meeting.
It was almost like a revival meeting,
1995 version anyway. Totally
pre-computer, as all of these were,
and pre-smart-phones too, so none of
the weird and distracted stuff occurred.
These were all, believe me - no slander
intended - fat, black people in gaudy
and cheap but 'formal' clothing. East
Orange, if not a ghetto, was as close
to one as could be for blacks and poor
people everywhere, with storefront
churches at every third building,
named things like the 'Glory Hallelujah
Heavely Church of the Risen Christ-Body
in Heaven,' or the 'New Jerusalem Holy
Water Living Stream Temple.' You get
the idea. When prosperity moves out,
the storefront churches always move in,
and the poorer the community, the more
invigorating the storefront churches get.
This was front-and-center, Ground Zero.
There was absolutely, in East Orange,
NO separation of church and state, as,
in any indigence and welfare state, one
demanded the other and relied on its
services for people to stay alive. 'The
Church of the Holy Can of Free Soup'
would have said it no better. Somehow
the State of NJ required them, as
well, to run a school system and
have 'Bd. Of Ed.' meetings. Beats me
why. They were call and response shout
outs, meetings in name only, covering
curriculum, text books, theories of
evolution and salvation, behavior
modification, funds and funding,
how to get funds and funding, and
'where'd that fund and funding go?
If a black version of the Marx Brothers
could have run a meeting, this would
have been it. Nothing really ever got
done anyway, and Brother Spencer, for
all I know, right after the meeting took
Sister Marcus to the Hacienda Motor
Lodge on the nearby highway to 'work
things out,' and testify. It was a total
riot. I dutifully reported whatever facts
and numbers I could glean from
the meeting.
-
The biggest pain in the butt, really, and
the item which made me realize this was
NOT worth fifty dollars, was both the
travel and gas (all on me - most of the
other reporters, as did I, tried to get
assigned as close to home as possible),
and the annoying need to turn in copy,
by telephone, for 11pm. As I said before,
this was before computers and smart
phones (I still don't have one of those,
thanks), so it was always a mad dash for
a phone booth or wall phone, and a made
dash as well, turning the scrawl and weird
shorthand into real copy, AND getting the
budget numbers and ordinance numbers
and resolutions and laws, by number right.
It never failed that the person on the other
end of the phone would then ask, 'OK,
this year's passed budget figure I see is 7.3
million. What was last year's, and what's
the percentage increase or decline?' Of
course, smart reporting and good reporting,
I learned quickly would do all that along
the way, and slip those facts and figures
into the copy. But it was always the ONE
thing maybe missed that would snag you,
while the clock ticked, you wanted to get
home, and had yet to drive. In addition
and also treacherous and often needing
call-backs and correction, was the spelling
of names and titles, job categories, and
the rest. And then, lastly, the quotes.
'Did he really say that, exactly?' (I kept
a book of home phone numbers for
various officials after a while, and
would then call them up to ascertain
the exact quote's accuracy, often of
course, denied, or altered, that too
causing untold problems, from a
7pm, 2 1/2 hour or so meeting. These
guys were often angry or annoyed
to be quoted, wouldn't cooperate,
or they'd stonewall what they said
or meant, or they were so full of
themselves and looking for higher
office that they'd twist and pillage
anything - the reporter included -
to have it their way. Many, many
annoying follow-up phone calls.
It was no fun, at all.
-
When I covered any of the local
Woodbridge Meetings, which I did,
my favorite thing, actually was - because
it seemed so cliched and textbook for
journalist stuff - how the few reporters would
rush out and head right outside to where there
was a 'Quick-Chek' store, right there, with two
pay telephones (long ago removed) on the
outside wall. Myself and, most often another
reporter too, would get to the phones
about the same time, ignoring each
other, never comparing notes or
anything. and madly dial the editor's
desk to run in copy over the phone.
It was a cool fifteen minutes of chatter,
like in a movie. Very fun. Ant necessary
follow-up, the people needed were often
still inside, talking away.
