It's a beautiful thing when God manifests win-win scenarios among family and friends. Thanks to Chloe Dunham and Melissa Denison for brokering a deal and linking up Elias Denison's need to sell his 2009 Hyundai Sante Fe with Katie Dunham's need for speed. Fastest and fairest car deal in the history of car deals.
In other news, I voted (by absentee ballot) and plan to mow the lawn/leaves this weekend. I’m also anticipating four new books to arrive by mail, so I got that going for me, which is nice.
In response to my request at the end of last week’s feature article for ways some of you are engaging the world, I received this lengthy email that I thought worthy of reproducing in full:
“We must have been on a similar wavelength this past week. During the Covid shutdowns I signed up to receive the ‘Morning’ newsletter put out by the New York Times. At the time it seemed to be a semi-reliable source of information in regards to Covid and its spread. I have since felt that it has been less useful and more biased than fact-based. Now, I more or less use the newsletter for the mini crossword included and to improve my critical thinking when the articles posted claim a ‘common consensus.’
On 10/19, they posted a graph I am copying below:
Covid data is an annualized rate from the week of Aug. 29 to Sept. 4, and is a sample from 16 U.S. jurisdictions. Data for other causes is from 2019. Source: Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, reproduced in New York Times.
On the surface, I thought this graph made sense - Covid has been much more deadly for older people - but then I read the text below the graph and some questions came to mind:
Why would they only use one week…and a week when Covid and Covid deaths were surging to extrapolate/annualize for the year?
Why would they only use 16 US jurisdictions, and which jurisdictions were they?
Is this cherry picking of data to make a point or to continue to scare the population at large?
If they used all US jurisdictions that report this data and a longer time period, say the previous 8 months, would the visual still be as impactful?
Being unable to answer those questions, I decided to email the authors. Below is my email, which could have been better-written and less accusatory, but hindsight is 20/20:
“I'm writing in regards to the graph included in the 10/19 newsletter. Why did you choose a time period when Covid was spiking to annualize? Why did you use such a short time period (1 week)?
At different times throughout the newsletter, you have accused the current administration (CDC, NIH, Presidency, Governors, etc.) of sending mixed messages about the dangers/severity of Covid yet, you are guilty of the same mixed messaging.
You state, ‘When you subscribe to The New York Times, you’re helping support journalists who are uncovering stories around the world, holding power to account and keeping the public informed.’
I don't think you are following through on this statement. If I'm wrong or interpreting your data incorrectly, I'm happy to reconsider; otherwise, I hope you will do better to truly ‘hold power to account and keep the public informed.’”
Here was the only response I've received so far (maybe they are like [Senator Jon] Tester and I will hear back in three months):
“Thank you for reaching out to The Morning team. We read every email sent to this address, but because of the high volume of messages we receive, we can't respond to each one. We will do our best to address your questions, concerns or requests. We appreciate your taking the time to write to us.”
Speaking of Senator Tester, if it makes you feel any better, I wrote him an email probably about three months ago as well in regards to the exciting topic of the 1031 tax deferred exchange, which is in jeopardy of being eliminated by Congress. I received no response, but somehow was added to his email list so I can now enjoy his mass emails on unrelated topics.
I was sorry to hear about your mistreatment at the hands of the Mayor and City Council. I assume they had predetermined their conclusion on the matter as it is inline with the City's goals of limiting sprawl, but to verbally reprimand and accuse citizens of discrimination when there was none is ridiculous and an abuse of power. As you said, your vote counts.
Now I'm off to email Senators Manchin and Sinema to encourage them to stand their ground as I'd rather not be saddled with $3.5 trillion in debt.”
I applaud this reader’s careful reading of the New York Times article, as well as his initiative to engage with those who produced the content. Again, emails and letters don’t always get responses (the Bozeman Daily Chronicle has yet to publish my letter to the editor from last week and probably won’t), but they at least remind those to whom we’re writing that we’re here.
Speaking of being here, thanks. And, as always, thanks for reading.
Craig
P.S.: As a reminder, you’re welcome and encouraged to email me directly with feedback, ideas, links, etc. at cmdunham [at] gmail [dot] com. Just know that, unless you specifically tell me not to, I may quote you here (though it will always be anonymously).
Hot Takes
A few readers have asked for the news sources I pull articles from for commentary purposes. So, in place of this week’s Hot Takes, I’ve put together a set of links to Substack authors, culture outposts, and news sites that tend to inform my weekly newsfeed. My goal is to read for balance, and I’ve found these writers and outlets - taken as a whole - are helpful to stay objective in evaluating news of the world.
I hope you find these interesting and encourage you to form your own list of helpful resources. If there are any you think I should check out, please send them my way.
On Leaving Education
Author Louis Auchincloss.
The italicized quotes in this week’s feature article below are taken from The Rector of Justin, a novel by Louis Auchincloss. Originally published in 1964, the book is written from the perspective of six students about one Reverend Francis Prescott, D.D., founder and retiring headmaster of Justin Martyr, a 60-year-old Episcopal boys boarding school thirty miles west of Boston that Prescott began in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
For me - a former headmaster - this book captures much of what I hoped - but failed - to accomplish as a headmaster at a school. I was no Francis Prescott…but I sure wanted to be.
“Prescott himself, who later became a somewhat austere figure to the multitudes of students who passed under his all-encompassing brown stare, was then on easy, even bantering terms with the older boys. He had a natural authority and could check the least familiarity with a glance, and he could be terrible in his tempers, but the occasions for them were rare.”
October 29 marks a sad anniversary for me: it was two years ago today that I learned and had to tell Megan and the girls that I was (again) being asked to resign my position as headmaster of a classical Christian school here in Bozeman, where I had served for four-plus years.
Almost five years previous to the start of this tenure, I had been asked to resign from the same role at a classical Christian school in Oklahoma City, after only three-and-a-half years. (According to a 2020 study done by the Association of Christian Schools International, “nearly half of all heads of school (46%) have served at their current schools for five years or less.”)
For those of you who have followed our journey, you know these lows were hard - on me, on my family, on the families of the respective schools. Lest anyone wonder, my firings were not for reasons of fiscal impropriety nor moral failure; in both cases, I was fired because I did not meet expectations as an educational “administrator” (a repugnant term) in running the schools as a CEO would run a business. In both cases, I was told that “I was not a fit going forward” and “a change needed to be made.”
I suppose it’s true: I was never a good Chief Executive Officer, mostly because I fought the mention and mentality of the title whenever it was foisted upon me. Yes, I understood there was business involved in leading a school and I didn’t shirk my responsibilities there, but when parents began primarily viewing themselves as “customers” rather than partners (as one father proudly declared at a board meeting) and board members (many of whom had background in nothing but business) began trying to convince me I needed to be more CEO-like, well, I knew the jig was up.
After twelve collective years as a teacher, a coach, and a headmaster (twice), what I saw educational leadership becoming was not something I saw myself thriving in or surviving. Even now, when headhunters contact me from time to time to ask if I’d be interested in applying for their latest “education executive” position, it takes all I can muster to gently but firmly say, “Thanks, but no thanks.” At both schools, I would have liked to have left on my own terms, but regardless, the desire to return is gone.
My vision for my role as a headmaster was a pastoral one - a “lead teacher” (which is what “headmaster” historically translates to); a wise counselor; a sacrificial servant leader who modeled a love for God, for the students and families who made up the school, and for the miracle and mystery of kids learning to learn. Few of these things are clean or cut-and-dried; none of them can be quantified in an Excel spreadsheet.
But as one “head-of-school-as-CEO” convert shared with me, “Stories of change only go so far in leading a school; people want numbers before they give money or sign up.”
Ugh. I should have known then my two tenures of school leadership would be short.
Nice Work, If You Can Get It
“During the three weeks of my convalescence Prescott tutored me for an hour a day, and when I rejoined my classes I was actually ahead of the others. Even at that age I had some dim appreciation of the remarkable keenness and scope of his mind which could reduce anything, an eclogue by Virgil or the War of the Spanish Succession, to a few vivid terms that would glue the material in all but the stupidest mind at least until whatever test was pending. But Prescott was being far more than a brilliant tutor; he was nursing a sick soul. His kindness was overwhelming, without ever being in the least sentimental, without even, perhaps, being personal. He raised the great beaker of his hope to my lips like a communion cup and watched with grave countenance as I drank, and when he took it away, I knew that it was because I had had enough. There was not question of turning my convalescence into a party.”
Today’s two-year anniversary of my one-month notice of forced retirement coincided this week with this headline: “Bozeman School Board to Begin Advertising Superintendent Position.” For those reading from out of town, BHS fired their District Superintendent (another title along the lines of “CEO”) a few months into his second year for “verbal assault,” and it was (and still kind of is) a pretty big mess.
Former Bozeman School District Superintendent Bob Connors.
The events went down a year ago in October and the man was relieved of duties and placed on administrative until a review in November. Then the school board voted in January to buy out his contract…to the tune of over a quarter of a million dollars.
Nice work, if you can get it.
This week, “after a survey and almost a dozen meetings with staff, students, parents and community members,” the school board announced they’re ready to begin their search for a new hire, utilizing a national search firm (again) to find their champion.
As quoted in the newspaper article, here’s what they’re looking for:
“Some of the highest ranked characteristics included promoting a positive and professional environment; someone who is willing to listen to input but is a decision maker; someone who has a strong moral compass; someone who has leadership skills to respond to a diverse student body and community; and someone who is a strong communicator.”
Okay. Positive, professional, willing to listen but decisive (always a fun line to toe). “Strong moral compass” seems a lot to ask of a government school (particularly when you consider our government), but I’ll play along. Responsive, sure; strong communicator, never a bad thing.
But wait, there’s more:
“Ann Schultz, of Ray and Associates, also presented an overview of the input they received from the series of virtual community feedback meetings. Across the board, Schultz said, people said they wanted someone who was empathetic and a strong communicator.”
Again, okay: someone who cares; someone who can exude that care. Makes sense.
But let’s not stop there:
“Many of the groups also said the next superintendent would need to be someone who could manage the growth of the district, could bring people together, could recruit and retain highly qualified staff and understood the political and cultural landscape of Bozeman.”
Business and promotion savvy, recruitment and retention ability. I can tell you from experience, that’s a lot. Exegeting the politics and culture of Bozeman? Good luck.
And finally,
“Other trustees including Lei-Anna Bertelsen, Douglas Fischer and Sandy Wilson spoke up in favor of the list of characteristics as it was drafted, including leading diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts.”
Of course; government schools wouldn’t be government schools without the Trinity of wokeness. I’m sure none of these efforts will take up time or distract from teaching students history and literature and mathematics and science and music and art.
Regardless of how many pronouns he or she brings along to help, I don’t envy the man or woman (or “other”) who applies for and gets this job. Large government school districts have more people and resources (regardless of what the teachers unions will tell you) to help, but just as the American people have made too much of the Office of the Presidency in the past 15 years, so too have American parents made too much of the CEO cult of personality in schools. Even smaller independent schools are placing more value in having a CEO in their board rooms than a headmaster in their halls. Because I never viewed the role that way, it’s good I’m gone.
Learning Education
“He [Prescott] talked to me of God and of his early doubts and of the loneliness of his own childhood. He talked of the futility of any action in life that was not service to others. He explained to me and made me believe that happiness had nothing to do with one’s outward circumstances, but could be created only within. And then he made me laugh, too, by talking of the past and poking fun at the Joneses and persuading me not only that they were less formidable than they appeared but that they might even be human.”
Teaching students in St. Louis about perspective (obviously) back in the day.
I went to seminary not to become a pastor, but to become a pastoral leader in education - a rector, a headmaster, whatever term best captures it (note: “CEO” does not). As part of my studies and for my final project, I put together a booklet titled, Learning Education: Essays and Ideas from my First Three Years of Teaching, as I was teaching full-time at a Christian high school in St. Louis even as I was studying how to do it better. The following is from the last chapter:
“Kids grow. They do. Sometimes it can be hard to measure and sometimes it’s in the tiniest of increments, but kids – and even adults – grow because they’re designed to by God. The trick of a good teacher is to help them realize the former and understand the latter, none of which is as complicated as it sounds, but neither is particularly easy…
…God is at work in the lives of students and teachers alike, both in and out of the classroom. As a Christian who teaches, I can’t not believe that, for to do so would be poor theology (not to mention an exercise in educational futility). If I don’t believe that God, by his Holy Spirit, is sovereignly at work in the lives of my students – teaching them new lessons, reminding them of what they’ve already learned, growing them up in the most persevering of ways when they are as well as aren’t with me, then I wouldn’t make it. The job’s too big, the work’s too hard, and – honestly – I’m not that good of a teacher. Nobody is.
As a Christian educator, I have to believe kids can change; my covenant theology of restoration won’t allow me to think any other way. And, if God is indeed the giver of all good things – including our very ability to observe and understand all the good things he has given – then I have to believe my job is not so much to teach my students as it is help them recognize how God is teaching them – affirming and encouraging them as they ask deeper and more honest questions, try to be more faithful to study for tests and prepare for projects, and learn to interact with others in convicted civility about all that they're learning. This is the curriculum within the curriculum. I didn’t write it; God did.
Experiencing this is when ‘the jazz’ happens – when teaching becomes more than teaching and feels like what one imagines calling must feel. It’s the joy of being a part of helping a kid get it, whatever it happens to be, recognizing God just did something in our shared midst. In Ethics, it’s when a student points out that breaking the eighth commandment of ‘You shall not steal’ is really as much a commentary on one’s view of God as provider as about addressing ‘wrong’ behavior; in New Testament, it’s when a student observes that the Christian life is really a lot harder than she was ever told because she’s beginning to see and take seriously her own sin and her need for God’s mercy and grace in Christ. As a teacher, these are the good days...the great days...the days when you feel like teaching forever.
And then you realize that the Teacher has been teaching forever – about faith, hope, and love, all wrapped in truth, for that is how the Teacher teaches because that is whom the Teacher is – and you begin to feel the cry of your heart well up in the words of the psalmist when he wrote:
‘O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come.’
Psalm 71:17-18 (ESV)
Ten years and a lot of lumps later, I don’t feel that cry in my heart, at least not in a way that compels me to take a third run up the educational leadership mountain. Hoping to perhaps keep at least the teaching flame alive, I taught a Logic course this past spring for the local Bible college in town, but despite the class going well and me enjoying my students (and vice versa), I called the Dean a month ago to let him know I wouldn’t be taking him up on his offer to return this spring. I’m just not up to it.
Unfortunately, mine is not the story of Louis Auchincloss’ Francis Prescott, nor of others I know who, at least for now, have adapted better than I did to what education is and is becoming. On this two-year anniversary of October 29, I don’t feel shame, but I do feel sadness - and I look with hope to a day when, by God’s grace, these past ten years - essentially the whole of my 40s - will make more sense than the mess I see in them now.
My official last day as a headmaster, November 26, 2019.
Post(erity): “Confession of a Montana Headmaster”
Each week, I choose a post from the past that seems apropos of something (of course, you’re always welcome to search the archives yourself whenever you like).
The Yellowstone Park sign at the entrance from West Yellowstone.
This was the last post I wrote for the school blog before I was asked to resign ten days later. From October 19, 2019, “Confession of a Montana Headmaster” was a tongue-in-cheek encouragement for families to enjoy their fall breaks and to hold me accountable to do the same. An excerpt:
“Confession is a difficult thing. We talk to our kids about the importance of confessing our faults and failures, yet how often do we conceal that which brings us shame? In the Scripture, Jesus calls for confessions of our shortcomings, and in his own aptly named book, St. Augustine summarizes multiple iterations of familiar ones for us by way of his own life and writing.
I'm thankful that God's grace and mercy are waiting for us when we confess, and because of this assurance, I have a particular confession I need to make. It is this: After four years living in Bozeman, I’ve not been through Yellowstone National Park.”
This book on baseball greats is longer than Moby-Dick.
Peaches and I have been slow to jump on the bandwagon of sportswriter Joe Posnanski as there’s never seemed to be a lot of room (and we dislike bandwagons as a rule). However, after reading him on Substack for the past few months and hearing about his new book, The Baseball 100, we decided to make use of a gift card and step up to the plate for “880 pages of sheer baseball bliss.” The book jacket:
“Baseball’s legends come alive in these pages, which are not merely rankings but vibrant profiles of the game’s all-time greats. Posnanski dives into the biographies of iconic Hall of Famers, unfairly forgotten All-Stars, talents of today, and more. He doesn’t rely just on records and statistics—he lovingly retraces players’ origins, illuminates their characters, and places their accomplishments in the context of baseball’s past and present. Just how good a pitcher is Clayton Kershaw in the twenty-first- century game compared to Greg Maddux dueling with the juiced hitters of the nineties? How do the career and influence of Hank Aaron compare to Babe Ruth’s? Which player in the top ten most deserves to be resurrected from history?”
Peaches and I are going to nurse the book through November, December, and January, which should take us up to around when pitchers and catchers report in February.
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