Back in January, the fine residents

of Clayton County woke up one morning to find that the new majority-black

county school board had up and fired a well-liked white superintendent,

without warning or justification.

That action and the way it

was handled was illegal. Are you surprised? The three women sitting at

the top of the school board who hatched the plan certainly were, once

the legal bills began rolling in. That single action eight months ago

led to a grand jury inquiry, cat-fights and walkouts at board meetings,

threats of lawsuits on top of lawsuits, a Chamber of Commerce plea for

resignations, a black boycott of white businesses, an exodus of experienced

teachers and, finally, probationary status from the Southeastern Association

of Colleges and Schools, the agency that accredits Georgia's public schools.

Have you heard the latest?

Apparently under the advice of Jesse Jackson, the power brokers on the

Clayton board think they should sue SACS for discrimination, an action

so stupid on its face, it's stunning anybody would consider it.

Clayton Countians say they've

had enough.

So say the people of Fayette

County, up in arms at a school board vote back in June to save some money

on transportation spending by making kids walk just a bit further to the

bus stop.

Are we a bunch of snobs, or

what?

Apparently so. In Fayette County,

every government body will tell you (if your tax bill does not) that this

is a service-oriented community. We pay for good schools; good schools

are a service. The Board of Education is elected to ensure that service

is maintained. Bus transportation that far exceeds the minimum requirements

set forth by the state is luxury service.

I've heard enough sob stories

this week about the bus route policy change to know that many families

did, indeed, end up on the wrong end of the stick, and many kids were

placed in unsafe situations, and many of the decisions made over the summer

about just who would be picked up and when and where and how often ...

well, those decisions were not thought through very well.

And like you, I still want

to know what happened to the "letter,"the mail-out that allegedly

went to all the families affected by the loss of bus service. Most everybody

said they found out from their principals, but even the principals and

bus drivers seemeda little stunned by the news.

I talked with a father who

was sent one of the postmarked letters, with his name on it, but it arrivedat

the address of his brother a few streets over, and even then it referenced

his daughter and his brother's son as siblings though they are, of course,

first cousins.

I'm sure that's just the tip

of the iceberg, and you can either laugh that off as some computer or

human glitch, or believe it is more evidence of the grand conspiracy put

forth that John DeCotis has horns, laughs with a devilish hack and walks

around all day rubbing his hands together as if to be plotting the next

grand plot.

And have you heard the one

about schools transportation director Pam Holt? That she's so jealous

of Peachtree City tennis moms that she devised the new route plan just

to get back at them?

And that last one was told

to me with a straight face.

Clearly, two truths have emerged

from the Great School Bus Route War of 2003:

· School administrators

dropped the communications ball, big time.

·People in Fayette County

have very little grasp of how their schools are operated or paid for.

That last one became painfully

clear to me last Wednesday, when I attended a gathering of parents at

The Estates neighborhood where horror stories were shared and strategy

was plotted.

Though it is a cardinal rule

in journalism not to cross that "line" between observer and

participant, I lowered my notebook to point out that over the three months

or so during which I wrote about the school board budget adoption, not

one time did a parent, resident or taxpayer rise up to ask for a copy

of the budget to examine, much less ask a question.

In a broad sense, this blame

needs to be shared. At the least, understanding is in order.

The Fayette County Board of

Education doesn't resemble a piece of plywood and they don't walk around

all day wearing robes and mortar boards.

They are a citizen's advisory

panel elected by you to four-year terms to fulfill three main tasks:

1. Hire a superintendent;

2. Approve staff-proposed policy;

3. Adopt a balanced budget

and set a tax millage rate.

Not very exciting, huh? You

should attend some of the meetings.

No, really: You should attend

some of the meetings.

Better yet, run for one of

the five seats. You can live anywhere in the county and win. That's why

the current five-member board has two Tyrone residents, two Fayetteville

residents and one from Brooks.

Uh? What's missing from that

mix? About 33 percent of the county's total population lives inside Peachtree

City. Debbie Condon, who went off the board nearly three years ago, was

the last city resident to serve, and nobody's sure who came before her.

Where's the outcry over that?

As for allegations that the

board manhandles your money without you knowing what they're spending

it on, join the club: I feel certain none of them comprehend where every

nickel, dime and penny go, either.

When your task is to provide

oversight of the county's largest employer and (if product output could

be measured) biggest industry, you should be forgiven for not knowing

right off how much savings goes into moving a bus stop down the hill a

bit.

Would another set of eyes or

clear heads, brought together to consider the consequences of altering

bus routes, made a difference last week? I bet so. Think about it.

A few years back, the school

district enlisted the aid of regular joes and sues to come up with a "Facilities

Equity Plan," to make sure all of the county's high schools had like

facilities.

Why can't the same be done

for next year's budget process? To make things more representative than

the school board itself, draw three taxpayers from each of the county's

five high school clusters, one each to focus on elementary, middle and

high school spending needs.

Those 15 people would be charged

with a task as simple as this: Read the budget.

Go over it with a fine-tooth

comb and a red pen. Ask questions in an appropriate forum and at an agreed

upon time. Try your luck understanding the funding mechanism.

But most importantly, question

things that just don't seem to add up or haven't been thought through.

Things like cuts to transportation funding and service and the potential

consequences to some families.

If we had a group of folks

into the budget like that back in May, do you think we'd have had the

kind of week we just experienced?