Hard to imagine, but just six days ago we were in my hometown of Fort Collins, standing outside the administration building of the local school district, both of us with clipboards in our hands while circulating among the crowd of people that were arriving in the large parking lot.
"I remember being here many years ago, almost forty years ago," I told Ginger. "I'm pretty sure this was the place. We came here, a bunch of us, to speak out against a plan to put undercover cops in the high school."
I added that I think they didn't go through with the plan. I was obnoxiously outspoken back then, and used my theatrical skills to punch up the moment.
Now many years later, an old man with grey hair, I had a different agenda. The last thing I wanted to do was call attention to myself. I simply wanted to gather as many signatures as possible on the piece of paper on the clipboard, as a favor to my friend Heather, who was one of the people who had signed up to speak at the meeting. Her two sons attended schools in the district.
I had agreed to help her when we were at their cabin up in Glen Haven a few days earlier, having dinner at their invitation, as we had last year. We had stopped at the same liquor store to get a bottle of rosé, as we had done a year ago. Randy had led us up into the mountainside for a walk before dinner. He and I splintered off while the women talked and headed back to the cabin. It was a good chance to catch up on old friends.
The previous year, their new house in Fort Collins--designed of course by Randy himself--was still under its remodeling. They had wanted us to come down into town to see it, and have dinner out at a restaurant. Heather had jumped in to ask us if we wanted to help gather signatures at the school board meeting. We said yes. She said show up at 5:25 and gave us directions. Heather is very to-the-point. She doesn't beat around the bush. She has been doing vaccination-rights advocacy for many years. Now her strength and experience is coming to the forefront at the moment when we are in the midst of the drama.
The protest at the school board was specifically over the issue of whether students would be forced to wear masks during the upcoming school year. Hundreds of people showed up, many with homemade signs.
The signature petition was specifically for parents of children in the district, to ask if they wanted to be part of a demand letter to the school board that had already been drafted by an attorney. They would simply be counted as one of the people behind it.
At first when Heather handed us the clipboards, I was sure I would disappoint her by coming back empty. The last thing I wanted to do was accost strangers in a parking lot with a pitch to sign something, even something as worthy as that. But part of me knew I would get into it once I broke the ice, and that is what happened. Soon I was far into the parking lot, intercepting people before they got to the main bulk of the crowd by the building. I gathered several dozen signatures in all. I was proud to be able to hand in my clipboard.
To be certain, it was easy work. About 95% percent of the people there were against the mask mandate. Most of them were eager to sign.
There were less than a dozen pro-mandate people there. They arrived early and stood away from the main crowd. A news crew showed up, a young woman in a tight dress with an obese cameraman wearing a baseball cap. They set up their camera to interview the tiny group of pro-mandate folks, with the camera aimed away from the huge group behind them. They must have spent twenty minutes interviewing them. I don't know if they bothered to cover any of the huge crowd behind them. It was a poignant reminder on how the media manufacturers their coverage.
Soon the school board members arrived and were greeted with jeers as they entered the building through the side entrance. While the meeting was in progress, parent-speakers were allowed into the building through the front entrance in groups of ten, escorted by police officers. The meeting was broadcast outside. All the speakers I heard were against the mandate. After they spoke, they came out one-by-one through the front door to a hero's welcome from the crowd.
We didn't get a chance to hear Heather speak, as the meeting ran late and we had made dinner reservations. Randy showed up in the parking lot and gave us directions to the restaurants. We gave our clipboards to another member of the Heather's group.
As we stood in the parking lot, I reminded Randy of the protest from forty years ago. He vaguely recalled the issue but not the meeting we attended. I don't think he was one of the speakers that day.
We talked about one of our old friends, Sarah, with whom Randy is still in contact (as he still talks to everyone). She and her husband live just a few blocks from the place we were standing. I had never been invited to their new house, even though I had been their friends for decades and had lived in their basement before they moved to their new place. It had not been my favorite time of life, living in their basement apartment.
Randy said that their youngest daughter, who is in high school, had spent the entire last year confined to their basement of their new house, because of the shutdown. This coming year is likely to be the same. Poor girl. I know how she feels.
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