In Snyder's Corners, a small dot on the western rim of New York's Catskill Mountains, life is tough. Jobs are scarce, money is tight, and the best part of education is the state-ranked basketball team. Jimmy Kalid, a ninth-grade English teacher at Kaaterskill Central School in the area's centralized district, realizes something's amiss. Despite impressive test scores, his students can barely read. Then his new girlfriend, Phyllis Nielsen, while substituting for the eighth-grade English teacher, makes a discovery that causes everything to make sense. When Joseph Scalani, the nephew of a mob boss-and paper pusher in the State Department of Education-comes to town with evidence of test tampering, he's hoping to shake down the perpetrators. Instead he meets a pair of incompetents: the bumbling Chief School Officer and his lackey. These two must scramble to cover their tracks, confounding a county sheriff, who rarely sees anything beyond petty theft. As the mob, the school's leadership, and the sheriff collide, each player rises to his true level of incompetence. Their only hope to unravel the mystery is the town's singular pair of intelligent teachers - Jimmy Kalid and Phyllis Nielsen.
Minimum Competency
A novel about education, testing, life, and death in upstate New YorkBy Jim MortenseniUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2009 Jim Mortensen
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4401-3947-5Chapter One
It was not a good Monday morning for Moses Barkman. Sunday night's rain had screwed up the reception on his satellite dish and, when that finally cleared, the pay-per-view, no holds barred, smack down, WWE wrestling match he had ordered was partly over. By the time the rerun started, he was almost through the first six-pack of Premium Genesee Beer and, since he could not remember who won or lost the bout, he had to stay up and watch the whole damn thing again on the rerun. This meant consuming a second, and his final, six-pack. Now, the combination of the late night and cheap beer was not making for an especially pleasant morning. To make matters worse, his welfare check had arrived in last Friday's mail and, since it was Monday, it meant it was about time he got to town to cash it. While he could have had the check directly deposited, he was not one to trust any damn bank to handle his money; he wanted the cash in his hands. Besides, a trip to town and the cash would at least give him a chance to restock his supply of Camels, Genny and Slim Jims at the Stop 'N Go.
Moses lived about three miles from the center of Snyder's Corners at the end of a single-lane, dirt road. The area around him was mostly second growth timber that, after having been logged a number of times, had now reached the point where anything that was worth cutting was long gone. Maybe in another hundred years, if there were no major infestations of gypsy moth larvae or other exotic insects, it might merit harvesting again. Not that Moses minded. Since the land had been logged over and was not near any kind of fishable stream or lake, the land was worthless to outsiders that might buy it up for delinquent back real estate taxes. Moses was a prime candidate for this, since he had not paid his real estate taxes-school or county-for five years.
As long as his rural road was not snow-covered-a common factor in the winter months-it normally took five minutes for Moses to drive his Ford pickup to town, including a stop at the mailbox located where this dirt road met New York State Route 618. Today, however, it was going to take a bit longer since deer season was only a couple of weeks away and Moses wanted to check a piece of cover for deer-sign on the way. There was one area in particular that had a small run-down apple orchard next to a shallow pond which made it ideal deer habitat. Moses had considered putting up a tree stand in one of the apple trees assuming there was enough encouraging deer-sign around to make it worthwhile-of course, too, that would have meant that he have to find wood, nails and the ambition to build the stand. Of the three, the latter was decidedly lacking.
So he decided he would just check the cover and, if he found anything, file it away for later use. This examination did create one more problem for him, however, because in order to check the cover thoroughly he would have to park his truck on the shoulder of Route 618 and walk down a deer path for about a hundred yards through overgrown brush and blackberry brambles. This was nothing Moses was especially fond of doing on even a good day much less one when he was still feeling the effects of the previous evening. Given his hangover, he was in no condition for bushwhacking and would have been content to stay in the truck and do a visual check from there.
He was considering his options when he arrived at the pull off spot and was leaning toward ignoring it when he noticed that the path leading to the clearing showed signs of recent use. Brush, primarily the golden rod and sumac on either side of the path, was mashed down, a clear indication that something big had used the path sometime over the weekend. Getting out of the truck, Moses closely inspected the ground for deer tracks but could not see any. This was not surprising since, while as Moses, with his scraggy beard, oily baseball cap, flannel shirt and bib overalls looked like a central casting type of mountain man, he was anything but an expert outdoorsman. His appearance had more to do with lack of hygiene and apathy about wardrobe than any attempt to fill any role. Not that his tracking ability or lack thereof would have made any difference anyway since, had there been tracks, they would not have survived the previous night's rain. However, he did know that if deer had used the path and if one had been a buck, there was a good chance of spotting antler rubs on some of the scrub brush along the way. Therefore, hangover or no, a hike to the pond was unavoidable.
As he went further down the path, checking both sides for rubs, he could not help but notice there was an increasingly larger amount of disturbed brush as he went further from the road. Even with his nominal amount of experience, he could see that something big had taken place within the last day or two. Excited, he figured he had better check closer to the little pond, in case a couple of bucks had fought in the clearing. Someplace in his distant past, Moses had read in an outdoor magazine about these duels and how often the bucks could get their antlers locked together.
Now wouldn't that be somethin'? Moses thought, ignoring his pounding head and increasing his pace in anticipation.
As he neared the clearing beside the pond, Moses found the shortest route blocked by a mass of brambles. In a hurry and rather than go around he decided to push his way straight through, which is how he put is foot right in the middle of the dead man's chest.
* * *
There was a dead coyote lying on the west side of Route 618. Jimmy Kalid noticed it as he was driving north, made a U-turn, and came back to check it out. He had seen one or two of these animals from a distance but never up close, so he did not want to pass up this chance. Flipping on his hazard lights, he pulled his C-J5 onto the shoulder and got out.
It looked like a miniature version of a German shepherd. Either a female or young adult, it probably would have stood no more than fifteen to eighteen inches at the shoulder-large for a western coyote but, given that this was New York State, not especially big for the eastern subspecies. Its death had been, judging by the flattened head, mercifully quick, probably done in last night's rain or this morning's fog since the body was still in good shape.
I wonder if whoever hit it knew what he did. Jimmy thought, Probably they thought it was someone's pet dog and never stopped to check it out.
Jimmy reached down and stroked the dead animal, feeling the soft underfur. Rising, he considered throwing it in the back of his Jeep and taking it with him to school. Maybe it would stimulate his ninth grade English students to write something of interest. Then again, carrying a large dead animal past massed high school students and up to the second floor at eight o'clock on a Monday morning would probably mess up the day, if not the week. So he reconsidered. Instead, using his foot, he moved the body off the edge of shoulder into the grass. That is when he saw the note lying under the hindquarters.
Printed in block letters, the note read, "DISTROY THESE." Nothing more: bad spelling, no salutation, no signature.
However, there was something recognizable about the stationery. Someone had removed the letterhead and from the looks of the job, they had probably cut it off with a paper cutter. Whoever had done it apparently had been in a hurry and left just enough color and ink so if one was familiar with the stationery, they could tell that it came from Kaaterskill Central School's district office. Jimmy had seen enough memorandums and directives under that letterhead in his three years at the school to identify the source.
Jimmy laughed at the misspelling, crumpled up the note and, not wishing to litter, tossed in on the Jeep floor behind the front seat.
Back in the vehicle, he made another U-turn and headed in to school leaving the coyote carcass to the crows. It was the first Monday morning of October and he did not want to start off the month by being late. Besides, today, of all days, he wanted to make sure he had time to stop in the faculty room before going upstairs to his classroom.
* * *
Jimmy Kalid was the youngest member in terms of age and service, to be teaching in the KCS High School English department and, as such, his assignment was to teach whatever courses the more tenured teachers did not want. This meant four sections of Ninth Grade English. His fifth preparation was the one and only section of Advanced Placement English. While this latter assignment appeared to be a plum for such a young teacher, it was not really the case. The truth was that none of the other three high school English teachers had the time nor the inclination to do the work required to handle the six or seven seniors taking this course. They simply were not interested in teaching it so it fell to the rookie. To Jimmy it was a challenge and he enjoyed having to shift intellectual gears once a day-speeding up my brain was the way he thought of it.
In addition to teaching five courses, Jimmy, as well as the rest of the faculty, had other mandatory duties. First thing every morning some had to supervise and take attendance in a homeroom while those without a homeroom were required to do bus duty. This duty necessitated watching students disembark from the buses and making sure they were not bringing any contraband to school. Given that most all the students had large backpacks with which they could sneak just about anything short of a fully assembled AK-47 into the building, this vigilance was not a much of a deterrent. When they thought about it this was unsettling to those whose job was to intercept smuggled goods. During the school day, all teachers were required to monitor one study hall and check bathrooms for tobacco or pot use whenever they passed a "john" on their way up or down the hall. In addition, they had to supervise either the gymnasium or the outdoor campus, depending on the weather, during two of their lunch hours each week.
Jimmy was one of the fortunate few who had a homeroom. In his case a section of thirty ninth graders. However, because he did not coach an interscholastic sport team, Jimmy had to put in at least two evenings a month chaperoning the school's students at extracurricular events. To facilitate the assignment of this duty, the school's assistant principal posted a sign-up sheet in the faculty room at the beginning of each month with a listing of all the upcoming athletic and social events. The staff was required to choose the two events on a first come, first serve basis or face being assigned to those no one wanted. Since this was a new month it meant Jimmy's attendance was required at-he had a choice of two and in any combination-a football, soccer, field hockey game or a dance following one of the two home football games. But, because he had been busy getting ready for the new school year, he had neglected to place his name on this month's list during the previous week, thus the need to get to the faculty room.
He did not want a situation like occurred two years ago. As a new teacher in the district, he was ignorant of this requirement so failed to sign up for any duty in September and was forced into a last minute cancellation of a Friday date in order to fulfill his duties. His date, a psych major at SUNY Oneonta, had not been the least bit understanding and that was the last time he heard from her.
* * *
"Too late, my boy, the football games are all taken. Looks like its field hockey or soccer. Nothin' like a spirited field hockey or soccer game on a cold day, especially if it's rainin' or, better still, snowin'." The speaker was Mike Case who had settled into the most comfortable chair in the room, a cup of coffee on the table beside him. As usual Mike had a smile on his face and traces of his breakfast dribbled over the front of his sweatshirt.
Mike Case was "a local boy makes good" story. Having graduated from KCS 10 years ago, he went on to a small liberal arts college in the Midwest that had open admissions-meaning admission was open to anyone able to pay the tuition and students could remain enrolled until the money ran out or they graduated-whichever came first. After nine semesters, Mike found he had inadvertently passed enough courses that he was in imminent danger of graduating and, as such, needed to declare a major. When this requirement was made known to him, Mike thought Oh my God, what am I going to do now? After a quick check of the options, he chose physical education, probably because he found PE was easy to spell. When, two years later, he had finally accumulated enough credit hours, the college actually conferred a degree on him. This forced him to leave the campus. Having no place else to go, he returned home to Snyder's Corners.
At this point, his father, who owned the biggest bluestone quarry in the area, informed Mike that he had paid too much to let him idle around and he-Mike-had better either get a job or come to work in the bluestone mine. Mike, having seen enough men with missing fingers and toes and not wanting to join them, applied for the recently opened high school physical education job at KCS and was accepted. Given that he got along well with everyone and the fact that he was a KCS alumnus, he fit in well with the faculty, students, and, most importantly, the administration. The administration and board of education saw no problem in giving him tenure after his third year. The fact he had coached three consecutive winning basketball teams helped. This was especially important, since it made it easier to ignore the fact that the person in charge of the high school physical education was five-foot eight inches tall and weighed close to 300 pounds.
* * *
"I don't mind the field hockey games, but you're right, it's a lot better if the weather's good." Jimmy brushed past Mike's outstretched legs and, digging a pen out of his shirt pocket, signed his name on the schedule for the field hockey games next Thursday and the following Wednesday.
"Yeah, watchin' those young girls runnin' around in those kilts isn't bad," Mike's smile was now a cross between a grin and a leer. "'specially if it's Katie Lasher. Otherwise, it's a lot like watchin' grass grow."
"Hadn't noticed." Jimmy lied.
Actually, as far as Katie Lasher was concerned, he had noticed. Katie was in his AP class, a senior, all everything whether it was sports or academics and the proof that genetics can be wrong-both her parents were KCS dropouts. In fact, while she lacked nothing in athletic and academic ability, she was also tops in good looks and personality. Easily the most popular girl in the school with both her peers and the faculty, she had only one fl aw as far as the boys were concerned. She ignored all of them.
Jimmy's mind was drifting between Katie and AP English as he went across the room for his first cup of coffee of the day. Tossing a quarter into the collection pot and taking his cup off the wall rack, he waited while another teacher milled around in confusion in front of the coffee urn.
"May I help you?" Jimmy asked.
"Where are the coffee cups?" The teacher was dressed in a long green dress, her blond hair done up in a bun, and she wore no make up or jewelry. Jimmy did not recognize her as being anyone he had seen around school before.
"Unless you're a regular, you will probably have to go to the cafeteria and ask for a Styrofoam cup."
"Sorry, I'm afraid I don't know the rules. I'm substituting today for Mr. Meyers. This is the first time I've been in this building. How do I get to the cafeteria?" The poor woman looked like she was badly in needed of a cup of coffee so Jimmy felt sorry for her.
"It's just a couple of steps down the hall. Why don't you wait here? I'll go get one for you." With that, he went out the twenty or so steps to the cafeteria and begged the cooks, who were busy dicing carrots that were to be mixed with cans of assorted meats to form the basis for that day's stew, to get him a cup.
Returning he asked. "What's the problem with Milt?"
* * *
Milt Meyers was the eighth grade English teacher. Jimmy was not sure how long Milt had been teaching at KCS but he was on the staff and tenured when Jimmy started. Even though Meyers taught in the same area, although technically in the Junior High English Department, and was responsible for the lead-up courses to those Jimmy taught, the two rarely spoke. This was not a rare occurrence since Meyers tended to be a loner and ignored everyone. On those rare occasions when he showed up in the faculty room, he would take a seat in a corner and spend the time with his nose stuck in a novel. Unusual for an English teacher, no one ever remembered seeing him correcting papers.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Minimum Competencyby Jim Mortensen Copyright © 2009 by Jim Mortensen. Excerpted by permission.
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