Arkansas Strong in the making

When I was floating my plans for Arkansas Strong, a friend told me, “You need to meet Rex Nelson.” Astonished that I didn’t recognize the name, my friend went on: “Rex is famous in the state of Arkansas. He writes for the Democrat-Gazette and does about a hundred other things. He’s only the nicest guy you will ever meet. You guys have so much in common…Rex loves Arkansas. He goes all over the state writing about the good things that are happening, especially in small towns.” This friend had a vision Rex and I might end up on the road together and do a show called “On the Road with Rex and Gwen.” He introduced us in an email, certain we would be peas in a pod.

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What he wants from state leaders now is not allegiance to a party, but a return to serving people. Meeting practical needs. He wants Arkansas to be kind, prosperous, and safe, guided by common sense.
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He was right. I met Rex one morning in Little Rock at the Capitol Hotel for breakfast. By this time I had done my own research and understood that Rex was a big deal—Washington Bureau Chief for the paper during the time of Senator Dale Bumpers; Director of Communications for Governor Mike Huckabee, and appointed to the Delta Regional Authority by President George Bush. Also a husband, father, sports radio commentator, and author. I felt like a moron for not knowing who he was before; it was a huge honor he agreed to meet with me.

 

Listen, learn, and leave with a changed perspective

 

I sat waiting for our meeting, sipping coffee all nervous and fidgety. That lasted till the moment Rex walked through the doors of the Capitol lobby, instantly spotted me, and smiled like a long-lost friend. As we walked together into the restaurant Rex greeted everyone he knew, which was everyone. When we finally made it to our table and ordered, Rex pulled out a yellow tablet. “Just thought I would ask you a few questions.”

I had planned to interview him, but ended up telling him my life’s story. It was a lesson in journalism  watching him work. He took complete charge of the conversation, asked brilliant, probing questions, listened with rapt attention, led me from one subject to the next. In other words, all of the things I usually try to do when I interview people—and had planned to do with him. But there’s no managing Rex Nelson. I usually think I’m not the easiest person to lead or guide, but Rex puts you under a spell. He’s like the favorite uncle you wish you had, the one you can trust with anything.

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What Rex does is remind us of the best that is in us—the good we have been, and can be again.
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Our hope for Arkansas

 

Since that day Rex has been a mentor. Someone I want to emulate. He’s a lifelong Republican with many friends on both sides of the aisle. He’s sad about the meanness he sees coming from Christian people and feels somewhat disoriented, as I do, in places that used to feel like a spiritual home. What he wants from state leaders now is not allegiance to a party, but a return to serving people. Meeting practical needs. He wants Arkansas to be kind, prosperous, and safe, guided by common sense. And while his work occasionally finds him bravely touching on the subject of politics, mostly what Rex does is remind us of the best that is in us—the good we have been, and can be again.

He does this by seeing us and celebrating our successes. One day he’s in the Delta, writing about how well we grow rice. The next week he may be in Northwest Arkansas, pointing out our business acumen, philanthropy, and artistic success. He’s especially fond of restaurants that serve world-class food in rural areas. The places in Dumas and Lonoke and Hazen where people know your name when you come through the door.

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There may be anger and unrest and fear on Facebook and stormy weather on the nightly news. But Rex, without sugar-coating, gently lifts our eyes to the good. The true.
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He likes to find us doing new things in creative ways, making a difference in the world whether it’s a museum in McGehee or casino in Pine Bluff. Rex is there whether it’s a ballgame or a ballet. He is there for all things Arkansas.Like the Southern food he samples around the state, Rex comforts us. Things may look bad in our legislature. Covid may ravage those we love.

There may be anger and unrest and fear on Facebook and stormy weather on the nightly news. But Rex, without sugar-coating, gently lifts our eyes to the good. The true. He shifts our focus to the excellent things that are worthy of praise. Week after week he amplifies voices of everyday Arkansans who are out there in every region, doing good work. And in sharing their stories, he brings light and hope to the state we’re in.

 

The post The Man Who Comforts Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

It was the best of times for Grace. She was born into a loving family where both parents have graduate degrees and well-paying jobs. They’ve been married to each other for 26 years, live in a beautiful home on several acres, and have lots of books on their shelves. They even have a grand piano. Grace takes lessons.

Grace’s mom takes her shopping for all of the latest styles and lets her pick out school supplies. Her dad helps with math homework. They have plenty of healthy food and most nights the family sits around the table together and talks about their day. At night, after a nice bubble bath, Grace’s parents read her a Bible story and tuck her into bed. She gets a good night’s sleep. In the mornings Grace’s dad makes a hot breakfast, mom packs her lunch, and she rides to school with her aunt, a teacher who lives next door.

Grace’s parents go to conferences with her teachers. They hold her to high standards. Grace works hard and takes advantage of all of the great things her public school offers, and graduates as Valedictorian with 30 hours of concurrent college credit. She becomes a National Merit Finalist, gets the Governor’s Scholarship, and goes to the University of Arkansas on a full ride. Her long-term goal is to attend law school and move back to her small town to raise a family and practice law.

The Worst of Times for Justin

The other student we’ll call Justin. He’s the same age as Grace but it’s the worst of times for him.

Justin doesn’t know his dad and his mom, who had him at 16, is on drugs. He lives with his two younger siblings way out in the mountains in an old shack with his disabled grandmother. Their yard is full of trash—old cars, rusty appliances, and broken toys. Two skinny dogs languish on chains.

Justin sleeps on the couch. He squirrel hunts so the family has something to eat for supper. His grandma doesn’t get her check for a few more days. There are three potatoes on the floor and an onion in the fridge; old grease for frying the squirrels. That is all. If it weren’t for free breakfast and lunch at school the kids would be starving. Some church in town sends them home with backpacks of snacks over the weekend.

Justin’s pants are too short and his shirt is stained. His shoes have holes. He doesn’t own a coat to wear in winter. But every morning a big yellow bus rumbles down his dirt road, stops to pick him up, and takes him to school. School is warm in winter and cool when it’s hot outside. Justin feels safe there. Although he goes to bed hungry, doesn’t sleep well, and Grandma has never read him a story, every morning Justin walks through the same door to the same classroom as Grace. He sits at the same table with the same books. All day they both interact with the same highly trained certified teachers. Because Justin was screened for dyslexia when a teacher noticed difficulty reading, Justin gets explicit, direct instruction from a dyslexia specialist. Justin’s favorite class is shop, where he’s discovered he has a knack for welding. Justin is good with his hands.

Justin eats a hot lunch, goes to Math lab for extra help with Geometry, and plays football where he’s part of a team. His coach is a good man who encourages him to do well in school and checks his grades every week. Because Justin works hard and takes advantage of the great things his public school offers, Justin graduates and receives his high school diploma. The school counselor helped him fill out a FASFA, so he gets financial aid to attend the local community college where he plans to become a welder. He’ll have a good job waiting as soon as he’s certified. Justin’s long-term goal is to get a place of his own and help his siblings make it through school. 

Public School: the Great Equalizer

This story may sound outlandish to non-rural readers, maybe even rural non-public school teachers and staff. But these students are not fictional. They are actual people. The people our schools serve every day. Grace’s name has not been changed—she’s my daughter—and Justin, whose name is not Justin, was a player on my husband’s football team. Both are Ozark Hillbillies, though they could be from any school in rural Arkansas, which is to say the vast majority of schools in Arkansas. 

In a rural state where over 66% of kids qualify for free and reduced school lunches, there are a great many more Justins than Graces. It’s the public school system more than anything else that brings them together and offers equity. It’s the one place they are guaranteed to stand on common ground. Justin didn’t choose to be born into poverty any more than Grace chose the middle class. But because of school—miraculous, generous, beautiful, American public school—Justin can get out. Public school is his ticket to the American Dream.

Why Funding Public School Matters

Bills circulating in our legislature right now would void that ticket for the most vulnerable children among us—those in poverty, those with special needs, those with learning and physical disabilities—all of whom public schools are required by law to accommodate, whatever extra space, staff, and equipment are required. While voucher pushers promote their bills as supporting low income families and those with special needs, that’s a smoke screen for the real reason: corporate greed. Recently a bill was debated in the Arkansas House and marketed as a “scholarship” program to benefit underprivileged kids, although the income cutoff is higher than the average family income in Arkansas. Lobbyists paraded parents of children with disabilities—a total of two–lucky enough to receive one of these “scholarships,” to testify how their children benefited from private school experience. My heart goes out to them. But their sincere anecdotal experience fails to negate the fact that hundreds of thousands of rural students are harmed in states that funnel public tax money to vouchers. We don’t need that rip-off in Arkansas. Yet the bills are such wolves in sheep’s clothing most voters have trouble understanding the consequences.

To be plain, the way the scam works is that rich people receive tax credit for every dollar they put toward the fund to pay for private school vouchers. This means they can choose to pay tax only to support private school vouchers. It would be like if I passed a bill that set up a fund to pave my mile-long dirt driveway. Regular taxpayers—the ones who fund our shared public highways–would credit me dollar-for-dollar even though I’d never let anyone use the private road but my family and friends. Sticking with this comparison, I’d argue the legislature should do it because it would really help my family—we can’t otherwise afford a paved driveway–and it’s such a tiny amount of money no one would miss it. Of course, the most recent school voucher bill allows the fund cap to rise 25% per year. So in 10 years we go from that insignificant amount to 37 million. And in 25 years it rings up at over a billion dollars siphoned away from public schools.

The American Dream of Public Education

If this happens, the Graces of the world might have to move to an urban area, but they’ll likely be okay. They have networks of support to help them. The biggest losers are the least of these—rural children who have no transportation or parental support or ability to navigate the system that makes private school in a larger town an option. There are no real options for them but the public school. And as it loses more and more funding, the quality goes down. Less money means less teachers, bigger classes, run-down facilities, old technology, and fewer supplies. Instead of the great democratic space that convenes diverse community, schools become segregated into rich and private, public and poor. Special interest groups grow fat like dog ticks sucking the public revenue dry. Rural districts ultimately don’t survive, and the 66% of students who are Justins fall through the cracks, likely perpetuating the cycle of poverty.

It doesn’t have to happen—not here. But it’s time for patriotic Arkansans, we who believe in the American Dream, to stand together and stand strong for Arkansas children. Which means we stand up and fight for our public schools.

The post A Tale of Two Students: The Gift of Public School appeared first on Arkansas Strong.