On the Corruption of Our Youth by Hands, Noses, and Plato

It was Wednesday when Claire Smith was asked to report to the principal’s office at 9:30 in the morning. Claire had absolutely no problem with this summoning; in fact, she was rather pleased with the arrangement because it ensured that she would miss a significant bit of Chemistry class. After smiling sheepishly and waving at the receptionist who had her bare feet pulled up in Indian Style in her swivel chair, Claire knocked on the door bearing a small golden sign reading ‘Mr. Timothy Jackson, Principal’. 1

“Hey, Mr. Jackson, it’s Claire,” Claire said as she knocked on the door.2

“Come in,” Mr. Jackson called back. 3

Claire opened the door and went into the office. Mr. Jackson, a man in his fifties with an impressive mustache, was leaning back in his chair behind his desk. 4

“Sit,” he nodded at the chair across from his desk.5

A little confused as to why she was in the office in the first place, Claire sat in the chair. 6

“Do you know why you’re here, Claire?” Mr. Jackson asked in his heavy southern drawl.7

“Nope.”8

“You’re the editor of the school paper, aren’t you?” Mr. Jackson asked, leaning forward so that he sat with his hands folded on his desk.9

“Yes…” Claire said, squinting her eyes and tilting her head. What could that have to do with anything?10

“You’ve done a find job this year, a fine job. Never has the newspaper been done so well.”11

“I try.”12

“But, I do have a problem with this month’s addition,” Mr. Jackson took a rough copy of the newspaper that was given to all the teachers in advance to publishing from his desk and slid it towards Claire.13

Claire’s eyebrows furrowed. She couldn’t remember having cleared anything to be put in the newspaper that would cause trouble. She had, of course, received quite a few things that were inappropriate (mostly editorials from freshmen who obviously didn’t have enough homework to do), but she was too proud of the ‘editor in chief’ title that was going on her college resume to print anything like that.14

“Really?” Claire asked, picking up the newspaper and thumbing through it.15

“Yes, more specifically, I have a problem with the story you have on page three, in the ‘Regional’ section.”16

“Oh,” Claire nodded fondly, that was one of the stories that she had not only edited but written, “Yes, the story about the woman who had her hands bitten off by a shark but overcame her disability to play piano.”17

“Yes, can you see the problem now?”18

“No…not at all. I thought this woman’s story was pretty inspirational. I went and met her when she found out I was writing about her. She’s really good.”19

“But you don’t see the problem with this article?”20

“No, not at all.”21

Mr. Jackson sighed, “I guess I’m going to have to spell it out for you,” he stood up and started to pace in front of the window that faced all the classrooms, “Claire…I don’t know if it’s just my opinion, I have yet to confer with the teachers on this matter, but I just don’t feel comfortable with you doing an article that…well, that involves a reference to…to hands.”22

“Hands?” Claire had to stop herself from laughing. 23

“Yes,” Mr. Jackson seemed to be physically pained from the awkwardness he imagined in the situation, “Hands.”24

Claire took at deep breath to stop from rolling with laughter, “Why do you have a problem with me talking about hands?”25

“Why wouldn’t I have a problem with hands seems like the more prudent question!” he paused, ran his hands though his moustache and studied Claire, “But if you really can’t see my problem, I must tell you, hands are simply not appropriate for a school newspaper.”26

“Why? I mean, we use our hands to make the newspaper; you know, to type it and deliver it and edit it.”27

“I realize that, hands do many good things, but I just don’t think that they are an appropriate topic for a newspaper…”28

“They’re not really the topic,” Claire cut in, “the woman is the topic. She just happens to have lost her hands.”29

“Be that as it may,” Mr. Jackson continued on, “hands are responsible for almost all crime in the world. Hands pull the trigger on guns, hands can strangle people, and hands can even make inappropriate gestures.”30

“I suppose,” Claire admitted, not really believing a word of it.31

“I’m glad you see it my way, Ms. Smith,” Mr. Jackson said, sighing and plopping back down into his chair.32

“So, hypothetically, if I were to write this article about a woman with a missing nose instead of missing hands it would be deemed, by you of course, to be strictly appropriate?” Claire knew that she shouldn’t be doing it, but she wanted to test this man’s limits for her own amusement.33

Mr. Jackson practically gasped, “No, goodness no. If we don’t allow hands we most certainly can’t allow noses.”34

Claire waited for an explanation, and it didn’t take long to come.35

“You can smell bad things with a nose, and we don’t want to imply anything unpleasant in any of our publications. If we do that, people may be disgusted, or even offended. And then we start to lose donations from important people and the school starts to backslide.”36

“Mmmhhmmm,” Claire murmured, “Is there any body part I can allow mentioned in the newspaper?”37

Mr. Jackson seemed to think long and hard about that questions. He tugged on his mustache and looked at the ceiling above his desk before replying slowly, “No, I’m afraid not. There are simply too many implications with the various parts of the human body.”38

“So we’re supposed to start writing really ethereal, intellectual articles about ideas?” Claire couldn’t wait to hear the answer.39

Yet again, Mr. Jackson gasped, “Heavens no! If there is anything worse than the human body it is definitely thoughts! No thought ever pleases every person! And we can’t risk that, certainly, we can’t risk that. We can’t offend anyone. No one…” he trailed off.40

Claire was laughing hysterically inside, “Then, Mr. Principal, what do you propose we are to write about?” she asked in her most serious voice.41

Mr. Jackson yet again seemed to be deeply contemplating the issue at hand. His hand started to stroke his moustache more fervently. But, yet again, he came up with an answer: “Perhaps we should postpone this edition of the paper. You’ve made me think, Ms. Smith, you’ve brought up some good points. Perhaps this writing thing is a little too offensive for the students and their parents. I believe I need some time to discuss this matter with the teachers.”42

“You’re disbanding the paper?” Claire asked, seeing the Harvard acceptance letter slipping away from her in her mind with the blank space on her application where ‘editor’ would have gone.43

“Yes, I believe so. Perhaps I should also talk to the English teachers…”44

“Do you need me for anything else?” 45

“No, you may go,” he was starting to scrawl what looked like a plan onto a legal notebook.46

Claire left the room and closed the door behind her. She sighed and ran her hands though her hair as she crossed the reception area, trying to make herself believe that what had just happened was some bizarre dream induced by something weird she had eaten this morning. Claire looked over at the receptionist, still sitting cross legged in her swivel chair. She was now munching on a granola bar and thumbing through a romance novel featuring an unrealistically buff man with a Claymore on the front cover.47

“You better watch out, Mr. Jackson might take that away from you,” Claire nodded at the book.48

The receptionist furrowed her eyebrows at Claire, but didn’t have time to say anything before Claire left the office.49