Lightning, then thunder, then rain, then snow

By Doug Page | Fri, August 29, 2008, 01:31 PM

Here on the eastern edge of the Great Plains our DNA is attuned to the skies.

From Ohio to Wyoming, from Minnesota to Texas, we are a distinct race, well attuned to the flashes in the sky.

With lightning comes the thunder. It won’t hurt you. Its far away, deep bass may even lull you to sleep.

Thunder doesn’t scare us. The lightning makes us wary. Our hindbrain urges us to flee, to take cover, to find shelter from the power and the light.

It’s a key survival trait on the Great Plains.

Those graceful white prairie schooner clouds can turn in a blink into massive grey men of war, ready to cannonade the earth with bolt after bolt.

A line of thunderheads is dramatic when viewed from a distance with a stout porch roof over your head.

At nightfall, the march of the storm across the flat horizon seems accompanied by an unheard celestial symphony. The winds ebb, flow and swirl to the unheard melody. The birds mute their song. The squirrels cease their chatter.

All awaits.

The wind shifts. The fat drops fall, a percussion session on the roof. The lightning illuminates the stage, and the bass-drum thunder rolls down from the heavens like an Old Testament prophet calling the people back to the faith.

With a voice such as that, who would not want to believe?

Those are the early summer storms, when the land is rich with moisture and heat and energy. It would seem the raw, regenerative power of the Great Plains’ soil is mirrored by the raw power of the sky.

By late summer, the plains are parched. The crops are all but grown. The grass is brittle, and flowers need constant watering.

The brash storms of early summer are a mere memory — a hope from the past. We need water, but none falls.

Then in the evening there is a rumble along the west. The winds fall. The corn seems to perk its ears to better hear.

“There,” points the daughter to the west, “lightning.”

A precursor or a tease?

We sit on the porch as the thunderheads roll in and tower over us.

The rumblings no longer are rumors. They shake the porch. This is serious business, they say with each bass-note salvo.

Then the fat drops fall. Scattered at first, then quick enough to cover the sidewalk with damp. Then comes the wall of finer drops. Pushed hard by wind, they twist small trees in whirls of water, make the downspouts gurgle and the gutters frolic.

The Great Plains’ soil takes a final deep drink. The final storm will finish the crops. Harvest will fill the wagons to their bumpers.

The final storm has passed.

Gentle rain may come in fall. But the plains are buttoning down for the next great change.

The snows are not far off.

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Consolidation: A dirty word?

By Doug Page | Thu, August 28, 2008, 12:51 PM

Someone uttered the “C” word the other day.

And it was immediately rebuked.

“That is not something we talk about,” Jefferson Twp. Superintendent Richard Gates told reporter Scott Elliott.

Elliott was asking, in light of the tiny district’s dire financial condition, whether consolidation with another school system was a possibility.

Consolidation can be like a death in the family.

Everybody grieves when the center of the community closes its door. That’s what a school can and should be.

It’s an identity.

We are the Jefferson High School Broncos, some residents might say.

You are also broke.

According to the district’s five-year forecast, it will have $7,263 in the bank at the end of this school year.

By the end of the next school year, it will be more than $400,000 in the hole.

And even if district voters pass a new 5-mill tax in November, the new money will last the district only to the 2012-13 school year.

If the district is lucky.

Which is why the state declared the district in fiscal emergency and is appointing a 10-member commission to take charge of the district’s finances.

The district is small, rural and poor.

Academically, it has not measured well on the state report card — last year it was rated in the academic watch category, one step up from the state’s lowest. This year’s report card will come out Aug. 26.

As finances and academics have slid; so has enrollment. There were only 625 students enrolled last year.

More than three-quarters of the elementary school students qualify for free or reduced lunches, as do more than 40 percent of the high school students.

Jefferson Twp. schools is just one of four districts — Dayton, Trotwood-Madison and New Lebanon are the others — that serve students in the township.

It’s the smallest, the poorest and the most expensive to run of the four.

Given that, you’d think consolidation would be something you’d need to talk about — whether you want to or not.

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Too dumb for words

By Doug Page | Wed, August 27, 2008, 10:31 AM

I’m having difficulty wrapping my small mind around Monroe school district policy.

The suburban Cincinnati school district has banned skirts that fall 3 inches or more above the knees. That’s their call.

That does mean the district’s cheerleaders can’t wear their uniforms to school. I’m sure that’s a heart-breaker for the young ladies. But it’s the district’s call.

The young ladies, however, are required to wear their uniforms to pep rallies and games. There seems to be a major disconnect here.

Dudes, do really have any concept of how dumb this makes you look?

Perhaps Mark Twain had it right — at least in the case of Monroe school district.

“First, God made idiots. That was for practice. Then he made school boards.”

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A public servant rather than a politician

By Doug Page | Thu, August 14, 2008, 03:07 PM

They said it was never about him.

After his first couple of Englewood City Council meetings, they started calling him “Dr. Mellow.”

Twenty-eight years later, he was still Dr. Mellow to his friends and patients.

Twenty-eight years of service on the council, the last 10 as mayor.

He never put out a campaign sign.

He never faced opposition.

Even when he was wasting away with brain cancer, he still was the mayor of Englewood.

It was understood he would be mayor until he drew his last breath or decided to quit. Death got him before he quit.

“He had no personal gain in any agenda,” said Eric Smith. Smith became the city manager around the time Mike Bowers joined the council.

Work with a man for that long, and you get a pretty complete picture of him.

“He was interested in the community, interested in what people had to say and then responding quickly. He liked to hear what people had to say.

“He saw anywhere from 20 to 40 patients a day, and he loved that.”

Dr. Mellow had a huge optometry practice. Likely because he was good at listening and good at responding.

If a patient was on hard times, Dr. Mellow often forgot to send out a bill. It wasn’t charity. He just forgot.

In all those years, Smith never saw him fly off the handle.

And he always focused on making sure the basics were covered — the potholes filled, the water clean, the sewer running, the streets safe.

“That’s what is important to the citizens,” Smith said.

He was in awe of Bowers’ ability to lead.

“His management style was through consensus. He always brought something thoughtful to the table.

“He was never overbearing. He was always mild-mannered.”

That did not, however, make him a warm and fuzzy milquetoast.

“He knew when he wanted something done, how to get it done,” Smith remembered with a smile.

“I kept after him one time about hiring an assistant city manager. He finally had heard enough.

“He said, ‘Get over it. You’re not getting one.’

“And I did. You could always count on him to be candid.”

We are trained from birth to be skeptical about our politicians.

Dr. Mellow was never seen as a politician by most of Englewood.

He was a public servant.

I believe another doctor, Dr. Seuss, had folks like Mike Bowers in mind when he said: “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

He did make things better.

What more can be asked of a man?

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Budgeting on this year’s cost and revenues from long ago

By Doug Page | Wed, August 13, 2008, 11:49 AM

This is the time of year when school boards decide how much they will ask of the voters.

This is also the time of year when voters start grumbling about how school boards have their hands out and should live within one’s budget.

Jane and Joe Taxpayer have to live within their budget. They aren’t forever harping at their boss for a raise.

Why should school districts be any different?

They aren’t.

School districts do live within their budgets as much as they can. But there are three things that stress that budget out of whack.

First is the state General Assembly. The legislators have the best of intentions. They just don’t always have the money to see those intentions through.

The legislators believe that for Ohio students to be competitive, they should have more science, math and foreign language to graduate from high school.

Noble endeavor. The legislators, however, did not provide funding to pay for such a bold move. That will come out of the local district’s pocket.

Imagine the look on Jane and Joe’s face when they open the letter from the state informing them that, henceforth to preserve the public weal, they will be required to triple their car insurance.

Messes up a budget big time.

Second, the cost of everything is going up. Jane and Joe are paying at least a buck more a gallon for gas than they did a year ago.

So they drive less.

The local school district is paying about a buck-and-a-half more for diesel than it did a year ago. Problem is, you can’t stop busing kids in the middle of the year. Just as you can’t up the price of lunch mid-year to cover the increased food costs.

That would put any budgeteer behind the eight ball.

And finally, let’s crack on the state legislators — and ourselves — again.

Most people see a cost of living raise every year. If you collect Social Security, you got a 2.3 percent increase last October. Most salary and hourly wage earners see annual raises.

School districts can expect nothing year-to-year. While Social Security payments were increased 2.3 percent, revenue to the Brookville schools, for instance, dropped 2 percent.

Part of the decrease is the state’s phasing out of a business tax. Part is because voters in 1980 passed a constitutional amendment.

It began back in the hyperinflation days of the 1970s, when the taxable value of houses began outstripping income. To protect homeowners, the legislature in 1976 passed House Bill 920, which locked in the property tax rate. If a levy raised $4 million when passed in 1977, it would collect $4 million for the life of the levy, even if the value of the property increased 10-fold.

In 1980, voters made that permanent by approving a constitutional amendment. In essence, the voters froze a major source of school income. The only way to increase income was to go back to the voters again and again.

We taxpayers are asking school districts to live within budgets that have this year’s costs but revenues from the past.

My family, just like Jane and Joe, would have a hard time paying 2008 costs on 2000 income, for instance.

And that’s what we expect from school districts.

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