Making A Difference

“What exactly does a vice principal do, Bob?” asked Frank, spooling noodles with a fork.

I snickered. “Why, they run the school—that’s all.” I stared at his smooth, pampered face, waiting for any acknowledgement. Nothing. Looking down, focused, he kept working. He picked up the spaghetti, stared at it triumphantly, and shoved it in his mouth. I glanced at his young, beautiful wife, Cindy, across the table. She smiled embarrassedly.

“Isn’t that the job of the principal?” he said after several chews.

“Well—”

Frank interrupted, “Pass me the parmesan, will ya, Lorraine?”

My wife obliged. “Of course,” she said, handing Frank a shaker.

I paused before resuming, making sure no one had anything to say. “The principal manages teachers, various groups like PTA and school-site council, and budgets.”

“Ooh…money,” said Frank, idiotically. “How much cash we talkin’ about here, Bob? Enough to shave some off without anyone noticing?”

“Frank!” said Cindy, elbowing him. Frank raised his hands in surrender.

We used to be in business together, Frank and me. I’d started a wealth management company, Prosperity Financial Services, Inc., at the turn of the century here in San Diego. Built it up nicely, too, raising over 150 million of investor capital. Back in ’05, I’d needed help, and I found this brash, recently certified, younger man out of La Jolla. He’d said his daddy had tons of rich friends. Wanted skin in the game to prove he was committed. Asked me for a twenty percent stake; I sold him fifteen. At the time, I didn’t need Frank’s money. I desired his contacts. In 2008, when the market went to shit, I was glad I’d taken it. It’d held me over, for a little while at least. “No, Frank,” I said, shaking my head, “not enough to sacrifice one’s career. Unless you’re stupid, of course.”

I raked my bowl, gathering what remained of a chicken salad. I was a large American man, six-foot-two, two-hundred sixty pounds. Wished I was muscular like Frank, but I’d only recently started exercising consistently. And eating better. The doc said I had to, on account of my job being stressful, me being in my fifties. “How’s business, Frank?”

“Just passed a billion in AUM, baby.” He clapped. “Woo!” AUM is an acronym for Assets Under Management—how managers measure their success. “If you wanna come back, the door’s wide open.”

“Bob’s happy where he is,” said Lorraine sharply, with a flushed face. “He’s making a difference.”

I put my hand on Lorraine’s knee, under the table. She took a sip of iced water. “I don’t regret selling to you,” I said. I’d had no choice, having put my clients’ funds heavily in stocks just before the financial meltdown. When the economy collapsed, investors lost huge sums of net worth, pulling out of PFS, Inc. But not before calling me an ‘incompetent fiduciary.’ “It’s how I paid for my credential.”

“That so?” Frank commented, glass of Cabernet in hand. He took a sip. Doing most of the work online, becoming a teacher had taken under two years. After parting ways, Frank and I stayed in contact periodically via social media. It’d been sometime since we’d gotten together with our wives, Cindy being his second. “Well, you didn’t teach very long. What was it…four, five years?”

“Five.”

“Pay not enough?” He buttered warm, brown bread.

“Not that at all,” I lied. Lorraine and I had needed the cash. I’d taken a huge pay cut. We were scraping by during the Great Recession. “With Lorraine pitching in, I was making plenty.” Lorraine was banking associate at our local credit union. That was where we met.

Frank nodded. “Work wasn’t what you expected then, eh?”

“I enjoyed being in the classroom.” Another lie. I was miserable, working long hours preparing what I’d assumed would be fun, enriching math lessons. Students didn’t care, preferring socializing over listening. I even tried making real-world curriculum, discussing how to use algebra when purchasing future investments. It didn’t matter; students were ensnared by the present. Also, I’d felt like I could do more. I’d said to myself: As an administrator, I can bring about much-needed change, make schooling 21st century. Looking back, boy was I an idealistic fool. “It was quite rewarding. But you know me, Frank, I’m a go-getter.” I placed a forkful of greens in my mouth.

Frank nodded, clenched hand covering a soft burp. “So, what’s next? How do you get to be top dog—principal?” he said.

I finished chewing and said, “Do a good job—put in the time. I’ve only been in this role five years.” More lies. Promotions in education aren’t merit based. They’re political. You gotta kiss the superintendent’s ass, not piss off the wrong parent faction, and most importantly, maintain the status quo while innovating. I learned these lessons my first year at Jefferson High, where I landed after teaching. “I’ll make principal soon enough.” I glanced at Lorraine. She smiled proudly.

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