Cara paused, waiting for Mr. Larson’s reaction. He took a sip of coffee, looked out the window, and then back to Cara’s face. “You said you are sure this is a true story. Is it trying to hurt anyone?”
Cara shook her head and said, “No—in fact, it really helped me,” and then she blushed at what she’d said.
Mr. Larson pretended not to notice and quickly said, “Well, it helped me, too.”
“So I should put it in the newspaper, right?” said Cara.
Mr. Larson said, “I appreciate your talking to me about it, but that’s a decision that the editor in chief should make. I will say that whatever you decide to do, I will support you completely.”
Four days later, the first Friday in December, in the middle of page three of the ninth edition of The Landry News, there was a story by an anonymous writer, a story called “Lost and Found.”
It was the same story that Dr. Barnes was so excited about.
CHAPTER 16
SALVAGE CREW INSPECTS WRECKAGE
ON THE MONDAY after the ninth edition came out, Mr. Larson got a large brown envelope from Dr. Barnes, hand delivered to him before school by Mrs. Cormier—just in case he forgot to check his mailbox in the office. There were two items in the envelope. The first was a copy of a letter from Dr. Barnes to the school superintendent and each of the seven members of the school board. It requested an emergency meeting concerning “a disciplinary proceeding against Mr. Karl Larson.” The letter stated that “Mr. Larson allowed the attached article to be published in a classroom newspaper under his supervision, and over three hundred copies were distributed throughout the school and community.” Other phrases in the letter included, “lack of professional judgment,” “disregard for individual privacy,” “unprofessional behavior,” “inappropriate use of school resources,” and “insensitivity to community values.” A photocopy of the third page of the ninth edition of The Landry News was stapled to the letter, with the story about the divorce circled.
The second item in the envelope was a letter to Mr. Larson from Dr. Barnes, informing him of the intended disciplinary action. The letter told Mr. Larson that this would be a public hearing and he might want to have his own lawyer present at the meeting. The secretary of the teachers’ union at the school had been informed about the hearing. Dr. Barnes also reminded Mr. Larson that, if he wished, he could choose to resign. If he resigned, there would be no need for a disciplinary proceeding. He could quietly retire, and that would be the end of it. Dr. Barnes ended the letter by saying that publication of The Landry News must cease immediately.
Mr. Larson slumped back in his chair, his long arms hanging limp at his sides. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. The threat of losing his job was certainly real. Ever since Dr. Barnes arrived at Denton seven years ago, Mr. Larson had known that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. And Mr. Larson thought, “Maybe I deserve this. I’ve been a rotten teacher, more like half a teacher, for a long time now. Maybe this school will be a lot better off without me. I’ve probably got this coming.”
But Karl Larson was absolutely sure of one thing. The kids did not deserve this one little bit. The Landry News had become something wonderful. And the thing that hurt him the most was that because of his problems—not the kids’ problems—Dr. Barnes was going to use this innocent little newspaper as the whip to send him packing.
But sitting there on his chair in his cluttered room, Mr. Larson turned a corner.
He forgot about his own problems. He began to think about how he could protect his students from the ugliness of this situation. He wanted to be sure that not one of them was harmed or upset in any way. As he began to think about the kids, all the heaviness and burden seemed to drop away. Then all at once, Mr. Larson got an idea, and he sat bolt upright in his chair.
And the thought that formed clearly in his mind was incredibly simple. It was a plan that would protect all the kids, and it would protect him, and it might even protect Dr. Barnes as well.
And one word summed up the whole solution: teach.
The newest copy of The Landry News lay there on his desk next to the letters from Dr. Barnes. Mr. Larson looked from one to the other, and he smiled. Everyone else could get as upset and angry and worried as they wanted to, but he was not going to worry. Why? Simple. Because his kids were going to see this whole thing as one large, exciting, learning experience about the First Amendment and the freedom of the press.
And who was going to transform this mess into a thing of educational beauty?
Mr. Larson, Teacher.
CHAPTER 17
RESCUE SQUAD TACKLES CLEANUP
CARA FELT AWFUL. Mr. Larson had just told the class that The Landry News could not be published anymore—at least, not right away. He had made transparencies of the letters from Dr. Barnes and put them on the overhead projector so the whole class could see them while he explained what was happening. Then he showed a transparency of the story about the boy and the divorce.
Mr. Larson said, “Now, it’s important for each of us to think very clearly about all this.” Glancing over the twenty-three faces looking up at him from the darkened room, his eyes met Cara’s for a moment before looking back at the screen. “Some of you might be tempted to think, ‘Oh, if only we had not published this one little story, everything would be all right.’ But is that true? No, it’s not. Because if it wasn’t this story, it would have been some other story or some review of a movie or a review of a book that someone does not like. You have to remember that publishing this story was the right thing to do. It’s a wonderful story and a brave story, and I know that it was very good for a lot of people to read it and think about it—and a lot of people have told me that it’s the best thing The Landry News has published so far. So that’s the first thing—the paper just told the truth.”
It sounded good—hearing Mr. Larson say it like that—but it didn’t make Cara feel any better. She had a copy of the newspaper on her desk, and her thoughts went round and round. I should have known better—I should have thought about Mr. Larson instead of the stupid newspaper. I should have just handed that story right back to Michael Morton. I should have known better. The classroom snapped back into focus for Cara as Mr. Larson turned off the overhead projector and Sharon flipped on the lights.
As the kids squinted and blinked, Mr. Larson said, “So someone thinks that divorce is too personal to write about in a school newspaper. I’m the teacher in charge, so I’m the one responsible, so it looks like I am suddenly in trouble. But am I?”
Picking his way over to the bulletin board, Mr. Larson tapped the Bill of Rights poster and then rested the pointer on the First Amendment. “Am I in trouble here, or is something else in trouble?”
Mr. Larson could see by their faces that all the kids got the idea. It was Cara who said it. She said, “It’s the First Amendment that’s in trouble—the freedom of the press is in trouble.” Then she frowned and said, “But I still think you’re in trouble, too.”
Mr. Larson grinned, touched by Cara’s concern. “Well, I am perfectly sure that there’s nothing for any of us to worry about. We’ve all been doing good work here, and now, thanks to this situation, we’re going to get to learn about the freedom of the press in a way that very few teachers or kids will ever get to. Besides, I’ve been in trouble before, and let me tell you—I think this is the best trouble I’ve ever been in.”
A few of the kids laughed a little when Mr. Larson said that, but not Cara. Walking toward the front of the room, Mr. Larson glanced at her. She sat stiffly in her chair, glaring at her copy of The Landry News, biting her lower lip.
Back at his desk, Mr. Larson picked up a stack of stapled handouts and passed them around. “This is your study packet for this unit. Take a look at page one with me.”
For the next ten minutes, Mr. Larson walked the class through all the steps in the process—things that would happen before the hearing, at the hearing, and after the hearing.
He wanted to make sure there was nothing mysterious, nothing scary about any of it. He did not paint Dr. Barnes as a villain or himself as a victim. It was not us against them. It was just a contest between two different ideas of what was right, what was the greatest good for the greatest number.
As Mr. Larson calmly explained everything, Cara relaxed a little. He wasn’t just pretending to be brave—Cara could tell he was truly excited about all of this. And when Mr. Larson squinted and rubbed his hands together and said, “It’s like we get to mess around in our own private democracy laboratory!” even Cara had to smile.
She flipped ahead to look at the last page of the handout, looking for a clue about where this whole thing would end up. There was only one word on the last page: Conclusions. The rest of the page was blank.
That blank page was actually comforting to Cara. She was used to looking at blank pages, and she was used to filling them up with things that were true and good. To Cara, that final page looked like hope.
CHAPTER 18
CENSORSHIP+ COMPUTERS =NO WAY
JOEY SAT NEXT TO CARA on the bus that Monday afternoon. He was quiet, and so was Cara. Even after all the explanations, she still felt responsible for the whole mess, especially for what was happening to Mr. Larson. There was a lot to think about.
Joey broke the silence with a question. “So you’re going to keep on publishing the paper anyway, right?”
Cara’s ponytail wagged as she shook her head. “We can’t, Joey. If we don’t obey the rules, it will just make it harder for Mr. Larson.”
They were quiet again, looking out the windows on opposite sides of the bus for the next two stops. Then as if a puppet master had rotated their heads at exactly the same moment, they faced each other and both started talking at once. “But the letter said The Landry News!” said Cara. “It didn’t say stop making all newspapers!”
“I know, I know!” blurted Joey. “As long as we don’t make a newspaper at school or pass it out there, we can publish anything we want to—as long as it’s true!” Joey was practically shouting. “And why? Because it’s a free country, that’s why!”
Cara had hold of Joey’s arm, squeezing it, and her voice had gone up an octave. “So you’ve got a computer, right?” she asked. Joey nodded, and Cara went on. “And you’ve got a printer, too?”
Joey nodded again and said, “It’s not as big as the one at school, but it’s a good one, and it even prints in color! We’ll have to redesign everything for a smaller sheet size, but that’s okay, because it’s a whole new paper anyway!”
Cara stayed on the bus and rode to Joey’s stop. LeeAnn and Alan and Ed had joined the conversation, and in four minutes they had already taken a unanimous vote on the new name that Ed came up with. By the time they got off the bus and had begun to walk the last block to Joey’s house, the publishing committee had offered Cara Landry the job of editor in chief for a brand new newspaper, the Guardian. And she accepted, provided that the motto of the new paper could still be the same: Truth and Mercy.
* * *
Halfway through science class on Friday morning, Mrs. Cormier arrived with an invitation for Cara Landry. The principal wanted to talk to her.
A few minutes later, Cara sat across the desk from Dr. Barnes. She was glad she had experience in these matters. Cara had observed quite a few angry school administrators—at least one a week for most of fourth grade. She had developed what she called the Mad-O-Meter. It was a scale from one to ten, where one equals “mild tremor” and ten equals “erupting volcano.” Judging from the color of his face, the rate of his breathing, the flare of his nostrils, and the fact that both doors of his office were closed, Cara thought that Dr. Barnes was probably at about eight—the “steaming mud slide” stage. She waited politely for Dr. Barnes to begin the conversation.
He slid a copy of the Guardian across the desk and turned it around so she could see it. The headline of the lead story was WHY THE FIRST AMENDMENT IS FIRST. The article laid out the situation involving The Landry News, Mr. Larson, Denton Elementary School, and the Carlton school board. Dr. Barnes had to admit to himself that it was a masterful piece of reporting. The story was honest, it was impartial, and it lived up to the newspaper’s motto.
Dr. Barnes cleared his throat and said, “What is your connection with this newspaper, Cara?”
Cara disliked being treated like a baby. The masthead of the newspaper was on the front page, as plain as the nose on Dr. Barnes’s face—and his nose was very plain from where Cara was sitting. The masthead listed all the workers on the paper. All twenty-three kids in Mr. Larson’s afternoon class had wanted their names in the masthead, and each had done something to help get the Guardian pulled together in record time. Cara and Joey had gotten the idea on Monday afternoon, and the first edition had been ready to distribute today, Friday morning.
Dr. Barnes was a tempting target, but Cara didn’t get snippy, and she didn’t get angry. She didn’t even get sarcastic. She pointed meekly at the masthead. “It says what everyone does for the paper right here in the masthead. I’m the editor in chief.”
Dr. Barnes said, “I see. And weren’t you the editor in chief of The Landry News as well?”
Cara nodded. “Yes, until Mr. Larson told us we had to stop publishing it for a while.”
Cara already knew exactly where Dr. Barnes was headed with this. She did not want to suffer through a long and boring cat-and-mouse question session. Cara wanted to lay it all out on the table. And she also wanted Dr. Barnes to know right away that she saw what he was up to.
So before Dr. Barnes could ask his next question, Cara said, “You probably think that this paper is just The Landry News, only with a different name. But it’s not, Dr. Barnes. First, The Landry News was written and assembled and produced during school hours on school property, using school equipment and supplies. The Guardian was written outside of school, and it was produced in a private home using privately owned equipment and supplies.
“Second, The Landry News was distributed to students by other students during school hours on school property. The Guardian is distributed by a group of kids to their friends on privately owned property before or after school hours.
“And third, The Landry News was supervised by Mr. Larson, and from the second edition to the ninth and final edition, Mr. Larson saw every copy of it. The Guardian was thought up and created independently by only the friends listed here in the masthead, without adults being involved at all.”
Cara hadn’t meant to push Dr. Barnes up toward the “erupting volcano” point, but the lava was starting to flow anyway. He glared at her and jabbed at the paper with his blunt index finger. “Young lady, do you mean to tell me that you did not intend to distribute these papers at school today? These papers are all over this school and all over the floors in all the buses.”
Cara said mildly, “We didn’t bring a single paper to school, honest. We have friends at almost every bus stop, and we had our newspapers ready this morning, so we handed them out. We even made sure that we stayed in someone’s yard instead of on the sidewalk—because the sidewalk is owned by the town, and when kids are waiting for the school bus there, it’s like school property. But after we handed the papers to our friends, where they took them—well, that wasn’t up to us.”
Cara leaned forward and pointed at the little symbol Joey had added to the bottom of the front page. “We even reminded kids to be sure to recycle the paper.”
Cara sat up straighter in her chair and said, “Hey—I know! Next week, we’ll add ‘Please don’t litter,’ and see if that helps.” Cara paused a minute, smiling absently at Dr. Barnes. Even his ear lobes were red now.
“And guess what?” said Cara brightly.
“What?” said Dr. Barnes, almost in a whisper.
“If you flip that paper over, down at the bottom you can see our Internet address—isn’t that cool? By this time next week the Guardian will be online, and our Internet edition won’t use any paper at all! No li
tter! Isn’t that great?!”
Dr. Barnes disliked displays of emotion, especially anger. It wasn’t professional. So in an abnormally quiet voice, Dr. Barnes said, “Yes, that’s a fine idea, Cara. Well then. Please . . . go out to the front office now . . . and ask Mrs. Cormier . . . for a pass . . . to your class. And close the door behind you . . . please.”
Two minutes later Cara left the office. Dr. Barnes’s door was still shut.
If it hadn’t been against the rules, Cara Landry would have skipped down the hall, all the way back to her science class.
CHAPTER 19
DECEMBER TO BE WARMER THAN NORMAL
MR. LARSON HAD not been a favorite among his fellow teachers in recent years. He was too standoffish, too solitary. Most of the other teachers disapproved of the wildness of his classes. To the teachers who had been around a long time, seeing Mr. Larson become less and less professional about his teaching had been especially sad, because they remembered the old Karl Larson.
But The Landry News had gotten everyone’s attention. Every teacher had watched the newspaper grow from one sheet to two, then to three and four. They saw the quality of the writing and marveled at it. “Fifth-graders!” they said to each other as they passed the News around the teachers’ room. “Larson’s got fifth-graders doing this kind of work! Amazing!”
Most of the teachers had met Cara Landry. They knew that the success of the newspaper was due in large part to her hard work and energy. But they also knew that it was no accident that The Landry News had come out of room 145. Without the experience and the guidance and the understanding of Karl Larson, The Landry News could not have become what it was.
So, when the teachers’ union representative was notified about the disciplinary hearing, the faculty rallied around Mr. Larson. There was a teacher’s meeting, and the vote of support was unanimous.