You protected an alleged perpetrator. Tell me why, Mac 185.

Head straight to the end of this post is you just want contact information for the Board of Education.  BoE meets this Monday at 7 in MHS library.

I am still overwhelmed by allegations in the suit brought against Macomb 185.  I can’t imagine being a student at Macomb High right now–the same administrators charged with educating me are not willing to to protect my right to learn in a safe environment?

How can our daughters, sons, and gender-queer children attend school confidently and safely knowing that this administration allegedly did not protect victims against a sexual predator?  And our students do KNOW this.  They know it deeply–from their daily lived experiences.  It’s going to take a long time for this town to make sense out of this sexist corruption, and an even longer time to recover.


Schools are required to uphold Title IX at all times.  Title IX is the law, and it is wrong to ignore it.

Today is Laura’s (my sister-n-law’s) two-year death day anniversary, but I’m distracted by the allegations that the Macomb school district–teachers, administrators, the school board, protected the rights of a sexual predator and violated the rights of the victims, and that this went on from the time the alleged perpetrator was a freshman: 4 years.  Laura went to Macomb High–she would be sick if she knew.

There are so many potential angles for this story:  the culture of silence, the ignorance about Title IX, family ties, the large number of people who knew and were complicit, the rush to blame victims and call them greedy, sexism and elitism, patriarchy, the courage it takes for the victims to seek justice, and so many lives forever changed by something that could have been addressed correctly had the 185 leadership been competent and informed.

How does a student remain in a school with her predator for 4 years? She doesn’t.  I know because in the wake of my sexual assault in the school hallway, I told my dad that the culture of my school was too aggressive and nasty and I wanted to move.  As a preacher in the tradition of the Apostle Paul, who moved around, my father obliged.  Likewise, in Jared DuBach’s meticulous reporting, we learn that the first victim left Macomb High.  If she was like me, it would have been hard for her to concentrate in class, and her behavior may have changed.  I stopped eating and got a D in math–that’s how my behavior changed.  If my perpetrator had left school, I would have had an equal chance.

How has the hush-hush culture of Macomb worked out for us?  Badly: we face a ten million dollar lawsuit that could have been avoided if we weren’t so intent on protecting the patriarchy, violating Title IX, and then covering it up while the perpetrator continued to prey on others.   Worse, we take a deserved hit to our reputation.

I have followed several high-profile sexual assault cases in which the victim had to face her predators on campus.  Stuebenville is one.  The University of Missouri is another.  Often, the town/university rallies around the perpetrator, especially if he is a football player.  Already, on social media, I’ve seen folks come out to support the alleged perpetrator and the Macomb 185 teachers and administrators who protected him.  In some cases, the victim-blaming and support for the perpetrator is so overwhelming that the victim commits suicide.

I have complained about Macomb 185 violating either Title IX or state laws many times over the last 5 years, so I can’t say I’m surprised about the current allegations.  When I have contacted the 185 administration to complain about sex discrimination and Title IX violations, they have resisted and taken a stand for a discriminatory practice.  They do eventually back off from the sex discrimination, but not before telling me some version of “Boys will be Boys” or other sexist myth.

I’ll be unraveling this for a long time.

Contact the members of the BoE.  Let them know you believe the leadership has failed and that our teens don’t feel safe in school.

Call 185 and request to be put on the agenda to speak at Monday’s Board meeting (2/26): Ph: (309) 833-4164.

Tag social media with #Mac185.

Superintendent Mark Twomey:

BoE emails


Matt Biermann:

Ardell Thompson:

Lara Adams:

Matt Duncan:

Jim LaPrad:

Scott Torrance:

Quick link to 185 Board of Ed contact and information page:
















I wanted Laura to solve the riddle of my layoff.  She wanted to say goodbye.  

Two years ago, before my first layoff grievance hearing, I invited Laura to Yummy Chin’s.    Laura was my sister-in-law.  I wanted to be with someone who did NOT view her job as a  a calling or a source of personal fulfillment.  I wanted to be with someone who kept the towels in her linen closet folded evenly, who was never in a hurry, who kept 8 or 9 souvenirs on her keyring, and who would write down, each night, exactly how she spent her day outside of work.

Going to lunch with Laura the Thursday before the Monday she died, I did not notice how frail she was– she covered it up by smiling and expressing gratitude:  “Thanks for driving– I’m so glad we’re having lunch.” She walked from the car to the restaurant so slowly, but I thought it was because she was enjoying the sun.  I did not notice that the color under her skin had changed—had become green like the sky before a tornado.  I did, in fact, hear the urgency in her voice, like a plea, but, in my state of shock from being laid off, I could not make sense of it.  She must have been in pain.  She must have known.

My layoff was a riddle and I wanted Laura (she was so quick and witty) to solve it for me. Instead, she kept asking about Maya and Mathew.  She had seen them only two days before, but she kept asking.

“Maya goes from school to track to home for dinner and back to school for musical rehearsal. And Tom will take her to drive in the parking lot this weekend,”  I said.

“And Mathew?” She asked.

“He likes his teacher and friends and reads a lot now, and moves along quickly with piano.”

“He’s so talented.  What about sports?”

“I will be happy if he runs cross country and track, like Maya.  I don’t want to deal with any concussions.” Laura already knew all of this, but she wanted me to say it anyway.

I resumed my trash-talking of WIU–their actions were so unbelievable.  Laura listened and supported me.

What makes my eyes sting now is that my answers were so inadequate.  I want so much to have been able to give her more.  My layoff had depleted me even more than the tenure process had.  The more time passes, the more I realize that. When I am in pain, it is so hard to tune in to how others are doing and feeling, so hard to have a relaxed conversation.  And so it’s not just about Laura, and how I could not be present for her in a way that I might have and that now feels like such a missed opportunity, but also, what comes out in the story of lunch is how I wasn’t present for my children either—I could only speak about them in the most general of ways–couldn’t tell her something she didn’t already know.

I wasn’t even fully present for my own pain.  It should have been a happy time—completing the work of tenure after 20 or 30 years of dreaming about the life of an academic and working towards it!  Travel and study and travel and study and accumulating experience and more experience and the rejection letters from editors, and the re-submissions!  Only now, two years later, do I dare begin to feel the loss of my dream and the loss of Laura in the same winter.

Tom and I take walks around Compton Park and try to practice “couple compassion” (a rif on Dr. Kristin Neff’s Self Compassion). The circumstances of our marriage have been quite challenging—PhDs are hard on marriages; sudden deaths are hard on marriages.  We’ve had two of each of these.  Layoffs are hard on marriages.

I often feel I’ve done my best to cope with a death and a layoff and the grievances for that layoff that occurred at the same time.  I also feel that my best is lacking.  My best leaves me with such regret.

There is nothing Laura could have done to solve my layoff, and nothing I could have done to stop the cancer I didn’t know she had.


For Christmas one year, Laura gave me a magnet with this New Yorker cartoon on it. Laura was not impressed with the work world.  It’s funny that we had lunch on a Thursday.  That was the only time ever.


AAUP Committee ‘A’ finds WIU violated Tenure Standards

Yestserday, Western Illinois University President Jack Thomas and 16 other administrators and faculty received a letter from The Committee A on Academic Freedom and Tenure of the Illinois Chapter of the American Association of University Professors.  Committee A has concluded that WIU has clearly violated the standards that are articulated in the AAUP Redbook (Policy Documents and Reports).  The AAUP’s Recommended Institutional Regulations on Academic freedom and Tenure is a national model for academic due process across the academy.

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A screen shot of the page with the link to the letter on behalf. 

If Committee A finds a violation, it means that the institution has failed to protect academic freedom and tenure.

Committee A’s Chair, Peter N. Kirstein, says that “Tenure is a sacred commitment on the part of and institution and cannot be arbitrarily revoked through layoffs without a determined, good faith effort at relocation.”  He’s referring to the fact that I am easy to relocate within WIU.  I don’t need retraining:  I have two advanced graduate degrees in Spanish and more than ten years of teaching Spanish.  Dr. Kirstein is also referring to the fact that two of my colleagues teaching Women’s Studies resigned after I’d been given notice that I would be laid off.  He’s referring to the fact that I have not been reinstated.

If tenure can be arbitrarily revoked from one professor, as it has been in my case, then  not one professor at WIU can count on the institution to uphold tenure.  If we must self-censor or risk losing our jobs, that’s not academic freedom.   Tenure was not created to reward those who are complicit–rather, it was created to protect those who dissent.

WIU advertises itself as a military friendly School, but this administration has violated even military standards.  In the military, rank is respected.  The higher the rank, the greater the expected loyalty.  Honor is important.  Trustworthiness is important.  Contracts are important and must be honored.  This administration chose an arbitrator, and that arbitrator ruled that they have violated the contract with the UPI.  This administration agreed to go into arbitration, but when things didn’t go their way, they tried to back out.  That is dishonorable.  How can we trust this administration to follow through on their promises?  Promises to a contract.   Promises to faculty who earn tenure.

Two  verdicts are in.  And the verdicts come from recognized authorities in Education and Academics. This administration is guilty.


When I lost my Foil

Twenty years ago, hundreds of sympathy cards arrived.  One was from an old church lady:  “I enjoyed Chad and his devilish ways,” she wrote.  Chad was very kind. He was also roguish.

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Christmas Eve, 1997. (Yes–I had short hair.)

I’ve spoken and written (p4) about Chad and his death, but I don’t really dig into it.  I’m still not ready.  But I will tell you why our TV in Tennessee had a bullet mark:  when Chad was 5, after the Dallas Cowboys lost the Super Bowl and everyone left the den, Chad shot the TV with his BB gun.

I will tell a little about how Chad and I learned to foil each other:  One Sunday after church, I beat him to the bathroom.  I peed in the toilet.  He peed in his bedroom vent.  I played the piano.  He played the rogue. I was the good girl and he was the bad boy.  When he died, I lost my foil.

Yesterday, the dentist told me I have a dying molar.  Of course my tooth would throb on my brother’s death day. The dentist and his assistant speak with caring and empathetic voices.  My molar has too many cracks from all the tooth grinding of the last two years (my layoff caused tension and anxiety).  Tomorrow, a specialist will attempt to save my tooth.  I had fantasized about saving Chad.  At night, I would be beamed from New York to the edge of the Bernadotte dam, where I’d pick up a long stick.  Chad’s canoe would have capsized right next to shore, so he would have been close enough to grab the other end of the stick.  In the fantasy, the stick and I were stronger than the force of the dam.

Some months before Chad died, I lie on my psychoanalyst’s couch and said, “If Chad can make it to age 30, he will be fine, but the risks he takes.  He keeps taking them.  One of these times, he won’t be lucky.”

Chad made it to age 23. For Chad, a Trump Presidency would be dystopian.  We are living the dystopia now.  As Ruth Bader Ginsburg so sadly understates:  “We are not experiencing the best of times.”  The justice looks sad and defeated.

I am worried about the dangers Donald Trump is exposing us to.  Trump takes so many childish risks–he taunts a dictator who owns nuclear weapons, he says he’d love to see a (government) shutdown, he has authorized the police to use weapons of war against communities of color, he has, without hearings, sentenced to death hard-working young mothers,  he has handed over state secrets to Russia, and he has alienated our allies.  Trump and the Republicans are exposing most Americans to risks and insecurities we do not choose.

One of these tweets, we’re not going to be lucky.  Trump’s going to sacrifice us.  We just need to make it until we can restore the balance of power in the top branches of government.  We may not get there.  Especially if Trump keeps taunting North Korea.

Two days after Chad died, I piled in a mini van with my closest family members and we drove out to Bernadotte.  It was daytime,  but it felt dark.  A man from the Bernadotte cafe approached us:   Chad should not have taken the canoe out on a cold day when the river was rushing from melting snow, he said.  Perhaps I should have told him to leave us in peace–to get the hell away, but we were a preacher’s family.  We were polite.

When Tom, Maya, and I moved back to Macomb in 2005, it would often occur to me that I should visit the Bernadotte dam–that was the only grave Chad had.  I didn’t go until last month. I waited twenty years.  The Spoon River has shrunk so much that the shape of the top of the dam is now exposed.



Cry with Us Macomb

The community filled the church–upstairs and down.

Eights of Winter

The death days of my three family members who died while working or studying at WIU fall on the same day of the week–this year on a Thursday.  The death days occur within a 28-day span.  Each death day lays two weeks apart.  Today is the Thursday between Charles’s and Chad’s.  fullsizeoutput_1524

8 is the number I never confuse or forget.  Each winter, 8 haunts me like a ghost. Charles died in 1985, Chad died on the 8th in 1998.  Laura died 18 years after Chad.  There are 28 days between the death days of father and daughter (Charles and Laura).

I like the perfect figure 8 symmetry:  Charles’s day is the bottom of the bottom loop, Chad’s is the middle, and Laura’s is the top of the top loop.  If you fold the eight in half at its narrowed equator, the death days of Charles and his daughter meet.

The number eight is now associated with another anniversary of great loss.  December 8th is the day that WIU President Jack Thomas and his provost announced their plan to lay off 50 faculty.

The word university is derived from the Latin concept of a “community of scholars and teachers.”  Now that the administration has laid off tenured faculty, now that morale has been dropping for more than two years, now that the adminsitraiton is doing everything in its power to eliminate fair and equal pay among faculty, it’s a stretch to describe WIU as a community of scholars.  Especially if we compare our current “community” to what we had once been, to what we might have become, to what we might recover if the the current administration were to leave.

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President Thomas called us to the Grand BallRoom for a devastating announcement.

Sometimes I think of  December 8 as the death day of the “University” in Western Illinois University.