Mark Dunn - American Decameron

Nonetheless, Grimm read the pertinent paragraph aloud. “By affixing my name to this contract, I promise that I will not advise, advocate, or teach the overthrow by force, violence, or other unlawful means of the Government of the United States of America. I further promise that while I am in the employ of Sanpitch Academy, Mount Pleasant, Utah, I will not become a member or become in any other way affiliated with any group, society, association, organization, or party that does not uphold and respect the laws of the United States and all of its constituent governmental units.”

Grimm looked up. Mrs. Showalter was poised to speak; she waited until his eyes met hers before saying, “What I continue to find incredibly troubling, and the reason that I didn’t vote for this oath in the first place regards the wording ‘which does not uphold and respect the laws of the United States’ and so forth. That’s all well and good for keeping any of our male employees who happen to be members of the LDS Church from taking a second or third wife, for old times’ sake…”

“Don’t be disrespectful of our Mormon brethren, Wanda,” said one of the other board members, a former Presbyterian minister named Dorrell.

“I apologize, Gordon, to all of our Mormon brethren who may have been within hail and taken offense. Now let me make my point. There are some of us here who don’t believe every law in this country to be sacrosanct and inviolable. Witness what is happening in the American South right now — massive protests against unjust laws that discriminate against our colored citizens — laws that no good Christian in his right mind should ever ‘uphold and respect.’ The wording in your oath is problematic and unrealistic, especially for those of us who happen to care about effecting positive change in this country.”

“So I take it, Wanda,” said Sprawley, narrowing his gaze on the long-opinionated former schoolteacher (ten years at Sanpitch), “that you would be fully supportive of the oath were we to strike that offending second sentence.”

“Only in your dreams, Vince. The whole thing is ludicrous. Asking teachers to promise that they won’t advocate the overthrow of the U.S. government — it’s an insult.”

“And yet,” said Grimm, with a lugubrious expression that well suited his name, “at least five of the nine of you went along with this. I’d be interested to know which of the longstanding members of the board were persuaded that this oath was in the best interest of the school.”

No one spoke. The vote had been taken by secret ballot, and so the secrecy would remain…for a while at least.

The board broke for lunch. Afterward came the presentation of a special program of student music performance, recitation, and declamation in the school’s auditorium. It was thought best by Superintendent Grimm and the school’s twelfth-grade English teacher, Miss Greene (and at the very last minute), to remove from the program Danny Worley’s five-minute oration, “Jesus, the Original Liberal.” There followed a tour of improvements to the campus, which was led by the deans of boys and girls and assisted by the dormitory supervisors. The tour was mapped so that by its end, the board would have had an opportunity to visit with nearly every one of the school’s adult employees, as well as make passing acquaintance with a good number of its most promising students.

Superintendent Grimm, who was supposed to go along with the tour, delegated the responsibility to his second-in-command, Director Rainwater. Grimm sat in his office with the Reverend Claxton, the two discussing whether or not to mount a protest against the loyalty oath. Such a protest might do little good and could only alienate the three new members of the board, each of whom had won his seat due to generous (and ongoing) financial contributions to the school. Future donations might very well be imperiled by administration contumacy.

“There are members of this faculty who will refuse to sign it,” said the pastor. “I can name four right off the bat. I assume you’ll have to terminate them. It’s going to get very messy, Tim.”

“I know,” said Grimm. “Here’s the rock and there’s the hard place. I got spoiled, Howard. All those years of minimal oversight. Occasionally we screwed up, but what got broken we fixed, and in some ways we even made it better than it was before. It’s not easy, as the board certainly knows, shepherding all these kids twenty-four hours a day, nine months a year — not only teaching them but feeding them, keeping them healthy and safe, tucking them sometimes literally into bed at night. The parents of these kids have always put a great amount of trust in us because they know how committed we are to this school. Most of them could not care less whether we’ve ever entertained thoughts of insurrection against this government. They just want their children to grow up to be decent adults, good citizens who love this country but aren’t afraid from time to time to point out ways in which she could improve herself. I wish I knew who those board members are — the ones Sprawley got to. I thought I knew the old timers better than that.”

“I can tell you who they are,” said Miss Taylor. Sharon Taylor was Grimm’s secretary. Because everyone at the school shouldered multiple responsibilities, she was also dorm mother to the sophomore girls. “They asked me to count the votes. I don’t mind spilling the beans. I hate the whole idea of a loyalty oath. I had an older brother who died in the Battle of Okinawa. I have another brother who was injured at Inchon. Swearing an oath presumes you aren’t patriotic to begin with. It galls me. I almost altered the votes on a couple of the ballots. But I knew that God was watching.”

Miss Taylor shared a smile of spiritual affinity with the Reverend Claxton.

“Anyway,” she concluded, “it was Dorrell and Cummings.”

Grimm nodded. “Just those two. That’s good news, at least. Dorrell I suspected. His heart hasn’t really been in this school since his wife died a couple of years ago. I can see how he might go that way. Cummings is a surprise. You’re sure it was Augie who went along with Sprawley and the others?”

Sharon was about to explain that she easily recognized Augie’s blocky handwriting when a new voice — a deep and cavernous voice — entered the conversation: “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

This from Augie Cummings in the flesh — a large, burly, ham-fisted sheep rancher in his fifties. Augie was the only board member who lived in Sanpete County (earning his seat because of his militant Gentile status: he was an outspoken Baptist in an overwhelmingly Mormon county). Augie had been listening outside a door that Sharon had inadvertently left slightly ajar. Now the door was open and Augie had stepped fully into the room.

“And you’re aware, Miss Taylor,” he appended, “that what you just did could result in your dismissal from this school.”

“I would fight that effort tooth and nail, Cummings,” responded Grimm.

“Do you want me to leave the room, Tim?” asked Sharon.

“No. Stay. Sit. Augie, I don’t get it. By your single vote you’ve put me and the rest of this school in a terrible fix. I don’t understand how you could go along with it. Your politics have never run toward platitudinous spread-eagleism.”

“The school’s getting a reputation, Tim. I happen to like what you’re doing here, but perception is changing: we’re not just some college-prep boarding school for the kids of boondock ranchers and National Park rangers anymore. The word now is that Sanpitch is becoming a lefty school — like one of those Greenwich Village little Red schoolhouses. Look, I hauled myself thirty miles across the county to cast my vote for Adlai Stevenson both times, even though I knew that he didn’t have a prayer when it came to winning this state, so don’t question my own progressive credentials. But the Westerners who send their kids here — they may be a live-and-let-live bunch, but they aren’t Wobblies, and if Sanpitch starts to get known as the place where Rocky Mountain Reds board their Marxist brood, the other parents — the kind who’ve been the backbone of this school from the beginning — they’re gonna start yanking their sons and daughters right out of here. This loyalty oath is going to make a lot of those parents feel better.”