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Bye, bye Miss American Pie
April 13, 2008, 12:05 AM
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Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, I'd drive my Chevy to the levy if the gas tank weren't dry.
Them old boys will have to get along without me unless I get my stimulus check from the government today. Then I can fill up my tank and drive out there. That'll probably cost me the entire check. They probably need the money in Saudi Arabia. They're one of our bankers. If our bankers don't have money, then, pray tell, from who will we borrow? Our addiction to oil has made the Saudi's rich bankers. It's 'round and 'round it goes, and where the buck stops nobody knows, except Harry Truman, who's not around.
Once upon a time, we all knew our banker. He was the chubby fellow in the nice suit who was continually pulling his watch out of his vest pocket and checking on the time of day. Nice fellow, for the most part. We always had the feeling he didn't have the time to talk to us when we met him on the street. It was that watch thing.
He lived in the nicer part of town, the part we hoped to move into someday. He drove a nice car, the kind we hoped to drive someday. We couldn't afford his suit or watch, although we hoped we could some day. The banker owned the little house in which we lived. We paid him every month for the privilege of living there. He held the pink slip on the 6-year-old Chevy we drove. Yep, once upon a time, we knew our banker. It's like a lot of things gone by - like living within your means.
Once upon a time, we knew the butcher, the baker and the iceman - all honorable professions. Chances were pretty good they all lived in the same part of town as did we. Unlike the banker, these folks were our neighbors. Children on hot days would follow the ice truck up the block until the iceman gave them a small chunk of ice.
If you're lucky, you may still know your baker, maybe even your butcher. They're still around. If you do all your shopping in one of the mega supermarkets, you probably just know the checkout clerk. I know mine; she's nice. The iceman, well, the iceman cometh no more.
"Fill 'er up and check the oil, will you please?" When you left the "service" station, not only were your windows clean, you knew exactly what your dipstick said, your tires were at the right pressure, and you weren't flat broke. Whatever happened to the mechanic/service station attendant? We generally knew this fellow also; he lived just down the block. We had the same banker.
Do they still ring the bell at school? You know, the one Chuck Berry used to sing about. "Up in the morning and off to school - ring, ring goes the bell." Yeah, that bell. Probably not. They probably just blow one of those damn horns, like the one that goes off downtown every day at noon. I liked the bell. Who ever heard of the "Liberty Horn"? Have you ever seen a horn tower?
Some students dropped out even when I was going to school. They went to work to help out the family. That's true today. There are many reasons kids quit school, not the least of which is teen pregnancy.
Far too many not only drop out of school, they drop out of the family - if there is a family. In inner-city Detroit, only 25 percent of students graduate from high school. Similar dismal numbers can be found in most major U.S. inner cities, where the average is about 50 percent.
More than 1 million kids in the U.S. drop out of school every year. Some leave because school just isn't cool. Gangs and drugs are cool. The drug lords are the new inner-city back-room bankers. A drug-addicted America has made them rich bankers. They drive fancy cars and wear Rolex watches. Many inner-city kids know their banker and want to grow up to be just like him. Being a butcher, baker, teacher, doctor or lawyer just won't do for them. Being a professional drug pusher requires no study or homework. They ridicule serious students.
Millions of illiterate youngsters now roam the streets peddling dope and violence for a price, hoping to be the big-shot "banker" with the Hummer. Most of them will not live very long. They will never own a slice of the pie we call the American dream. It's bye-bye, Miss American Pie, for them. It's not the school bell that rings for these young men and women. They're the ones for whom a different bell tolls.
The drop-out rate is soaring as more and more youngsters are choosing a life they will regret, falling far short of their potential. It's not only a problem in Detroit or Baltimore, it's a problem in the suburbs and small communities. Politicians at the local, state and federal level must see this problem for what it is: a threat to the future of this nation. What is their plan to deal with this catastrophe? What is their dream for these youngsters?
That seems to be a timely question, since we recently paid respect to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. as we recalled the day he was taken from us on that bloody balcony in Memphis 40 years ago. We simply must not allow Dr. King's dream of a quality education for all children to be snuffed out, whatever the reason might be. Whether it's because of thugs, who have, in many cases, replaced parents in our inner cities, the complacency of parents in the suburbs, or young people simply making bad decisions, we must turn this thing around.
Some students do better in an alternative setting and don't drop out. That might account, at least in a small way, to the relatively low drop-out rate in Fallon. Whatever we do with LVHS, we can't throw those young people under the bus. We can't afford to leave them behind.
- You can reach Glen McAdoo of Fallon at glynn@phonewave.net.
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