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NEW FRONTIERS IN EDUCATION, CULTURE, AND POLITICS
NEOLIBERAL
EDUCATION AND
THE REDEFINITION
OF DEMOCRATIC
PRACTICE IN
CHICAGO
KENDALL A. TAYLOR
New Frontiers in Education, Culture, and Politics
Series Editor
Kenneth J. Saltman
University of Massachusetts Dartmouth
North Dartmouth, MA, USA
New Frontiers in Education, Culture, and Politics focuses on both topi-
cal educational issues and highly original works of educational policy and
theory that are critical, publicly engaged, and interdisciplinary, drawing
on contemporary philosophy and social theory. The books in the series
aim to push the bounds of academic and public educational discourse
while remaining largely accessible to an educated reading public. New
Frontiers aims to contribute to thinking beyond the increasingly unified
view of public education for narrow economic ends (economic mobil-
ity for the individual and global economic competition for the society)
and in terms of efficacious delivery of education as akin to a consuma-
ble commodity. Books in the series provide both innovative and original
criticism and offer visions for imagining educational theory, policy, and
practice for radically different, egalitarian, and just social transformation.
Neoliberal Education
and the Redefinition
of Democratic Practice
in Chicago
Kendall A. Taylor
Hubert Humphrey Elementary School
Albuquerque, NM, USA
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Acknowledgements
This book owes a great deal to the support and generosity of many peo-
ple. I want to start by thanking Pauline Lipman. She has served as a con-
stant source of inspiration and encouragement throughout my education.
Her insights into academic and intellectual activism have been invalua-
ble and the support provided during her supervision of my Ph.D. cannot
be overstated. Ken Saltman also deserves my gratitude. He has been a
constant source of encouragement throughout this process and has pro-
vided me with sage advice. This project has been influenced greatly by
my discussions and interactions with many scholars. I would like to thank
Steve Tozer, Kevin Kumashiro, Michael Dumas, Alex Means, Rhoda Rae
Guiterrez, Diane Ui Thonnaigh, Bryan Hoekstra, Josh Shepard, and
Aisha El-Amin. Special thanks are also due to my parents and my in-laws
who have provided emotional support throughout the process. My son,
Oliver, was instrumental in ensuring that I did not take myself too seri-
ously by reminding me constantly of what is important in life. Last, but
most importantly, I want to thank my wife, Erika Robers. Her wisdom,
intelligence, patience, and encouragement have been instrumental and
her love and friendship mean everything.
v
Contents
vii
viii Contents
Index 165
CHAPTER 1
1.1 Introduction
In 2012, the movie “Won’t Back Down” arrived in theaters. It told the
story of a Pittsburg working-class mother, played by Maggie Gyllenhaal,
willing to buck the leviathan of the public school system to ensure a bet-
ter education for her children. She teams up with the only teacher at her
children’s school, played by Viola Davis, willing to give up her cushy
union protection and do what is right for the community and its stu-
dents. Together they wage a grassroots fight against intractable unions,
uncaring administration, and lazy teachers to take advantage of a “par-
ent trigger” law. In the end, they encourage the community to vote for
a charter organization to run their school and, hopefully, improve the
educational opportunity for everyone in the school. Of course, the pro-
tagonists are successful in their endeavor and the movie ends with a shot
of the school halls, bathed in sunlight and adorned with student artwork.
The filmmaker and its actors presented the movie as a classic David
and Goliath story. Daniel Barnz, the film’s director, claimed “The movie
is about how parents come together with teachers to transform a school
for the sake of the kids” (Sperling 2012). In a likewise fashion, Maggie
Gyllenhaal focuses on the growth of her character from a single mother,
alone and afraid, into a political activist. She states, “Jamie [her character
in the film] begins really not thinking of herself as a political person at
all. Or a hero or an activist. Her actions are just based on her own need
and her daughter’s need. That’s what’s particularly heroic about her. It’s
not even about herself; it’s about her daughter. She gets activated and
politicized and becomes… a hero” (Gensler 2012). The focus of the
movie, say those involved, is on parents doing their best for their chil-
dren against all odds. It is not about school reform in general; rather it is
about a particular situation in which parents and teachers come together
to do what is right for a particular group of students. It is meant to be an
uplifting story premised on a small-scale vision of social justice and the
democratic principles of inclusion and empowerment.
Signed into law in 2010, the parent trigger laws allow for a parent
vote to alter the governance of a public school. Under the law, parents
can vote to replace the staff and principal, close the school completely, or
bring in a charter operator to manage the school (National Conference
of State Legislatures). Although similar laws are on the books in seven
states, only California parents have implemented the law to date. In
each case, Parent Revolution, an organization started by Ben Austin,
a former operative in the Democratic Party who served in the Clinton
Administration, was instrumental in facilitating the law’s implementa-
tion. The organization sees the parent trigger law as a means toward the
empowerment and democratization of public education. According to
their mission statement, Parent Revolution works “to empower parents
striving to improve their children’s organization” (Parent Revolution).
They see themselves, then, as a social justice proponent, striving to
release the stranglehold on education and return it to the rightful hands
of parents and community.
The reality of the parent trigger laws, however, is quite different. The
first school to implement the parent trigger was Desert Trails Elementary
School in Adelanto California during the 2012–2013 school year.1 Its
experience is instructive. The law is framed around a voting mechanism.
A petition was sent around Desert Trails seeking support to implement
the trigger law. In a school of 600 students, 286 parents signed the peti-
tion which met the simple majority required. The next step was a vote
between the governance options. However, only parents who signed the
petition were allowed to vote, immediately disenfranchising a large por-
tion of parents. Disagreement and disillusionment with the process led
many parents to ask for their petition signature to be removed. Parent
Revolution took the issue to court, which decided that petition signa-
tures are the same as a vote and cannot be rescinded (Watanabe 2012).
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 3
After the discord which led to parents leaving or abstaining from the
process, only 180 of the parents who signed the petition could be cer-
tified to vote and of those only 53 voted for a charter organization to
take over the school. Although it is too early to determine if opening
as a charter improved student education, the disruption to the commu-
nity is evident. Chrissy Guzman, a parent at Desert Trails and president
of Desert Trails Parent Teacher Association, reported that “the parent
trigger process has left deep wounds in the Desert Trails community”
and that “no one talks to each other now, no one wants to be associated
with each other” (Ravitch 2013). She recalled strong-arm tactics, intru-
sive advertising and organizing by proponents of the law, and confusion
surrounding the process. Similar complaints were numerous enough that
the Los Angeles School Board is considering a proposal to seek and dis-
seminate more information on the law for parents and community mem-
bers so that these problems will not be repeated in the future (Watanabe
2013). In the end, the parent trigger law was implemented and a charter
organization did take over the school, but the consequences of doing so
were dire, destroying the parent solidarity which existed at the school. In
short, the only winner was the charter organization whereas the school
culture and parent community were the losers.2
school districts (Saltman 2005). Still, however, school districts and leg-
islatures across the country push for and accept new charter applications
and relationships with EMOs, as if this time it will be different. This list
is by no means exhaustive. Public/private partnerships, shifts in govern-
ance, the inclusion of philanthropy in policy decisions (Lipman 2011)
and rabid antiunionism (Compton and Weiner 2008) all follow the same
pattern of failing as reform policies and still holding on to their cache as
viable options for districts.
Second, in addition to ignoring its own track record, neoliberalism
operates as if in a vacuum, ignoring the historical residue of past poli-
cies which have led to the very problems neoliberal proponents seek to
solve. School failure has a very specific history in the US which is tied
directly to previous policy choices. The system of education in the US
is a conservative one. Historically education has been positioned stra-
tegically, allowing for the continuation of whichever set of social rela-
tions was existent at the time. Put more accurately, the education system
has historically served systems of both patriarchy and white supremacy.
Jefferson proposed an education system designed to both search out the
best qualified (that is the best qualified among white land-owning men)
to run the country while providing just enough learning for the citizenry
to make reasonable choices in their leaders (Spring 2010a). The com-
mon school movement positioned education as a binding agent based
on cultural acculturation, thus seeking to smooth over the discordance
of increased immigration (Spring 2010a). Education was denied those
held in slavery and used as an acculturation tool to control the native
populations (Spring 2010a, b). The administrative progressive move-
ment sought to solidify the control over school districts and curriculum
through centralization, reliance on “expert” knowledge, and bureau-
cracy (Tyack 1974). Vocational education sutured the education system
to the needs of the economy (Labaree 1997), and neoliberal education
introduces competition, hyper-individualism, and punitive measures to
ensure that educators, parents, and students alike behave in an acceptable
manner (Dean 2010). In each case, the schools adjusted their curricu-
lar offerings and provision structure in an effort to support the condi-
tions of production, both socially and economically. Of course, these
conditions of production were (and remain) dependent on a differential
treatment of minority populations. This means that the populations who
were excluded from society at a given time, such as African Americans,
women, Native populations, and immigrants, were also excluded from
6 K. A. TAYLOR
Arne Duncan, in his role as both CEO of Chicago Public Schools (CPS)
and as Secretary of Education, is fairly indicative of this.
On May 29, 2009, he gave a speech to the National Press Club out-
lining the new president’s educational agenda. It was not an important
speech, simply one of the many “get out the message” speeches that
Cabinet members are called on to give whenever the Administration
changes hands. In the speech, Duncan outlined several problems with
our educational system and outlined possible policy solutions. He argued
that educational standards have been dumbed down and called for a
“common, career-ready internationally benchmarked standard”. He said
that “good ideas are always going to come from great educators in local
communities… We want to continue to empower them”. Later in the
speech, speaking again about the poor standards our schools uphold, he
asserted that “we have to stop lying to children. We have to tell them
the truth” that the education they have been receiving to date is inade-
quate to their needs”. “We need”, he suggested, “a dramatic overhaul.
We need to fundamentally turn those schools around” (Duncan 2009b).
The speech is more interesting for what it does not say than what it
does. First, there is an inherent logical contradiction between the call
for a centralized curriculum focused on the needs of the economy and
recognition of local control of the schools and curriculum planning.
Historically, national (or state) goals have not paralleled localized com-
munity concerns about education. Omitting recognition of this diver-
gence relegates local expertise to technical support while intimating
support of the national education plan by local school communities and
educators. Second, the language of respectful honesty connotes a con-
cern for students and their needs, dreams, and desires while once again
suffering from an act of omission. Suggestions of honesty regarding
the disinvestment of urban schools, inequitable funding mechanisms of
the deleterious effects of testing schemes are noticeably absent. Lastly,
Duncan suggests a dramatic turnaround of schools (clearly a reference
to neoliberal reform policies discussed above) without any mention of
whose schools are to be turned around, what this entails, or the already
known negative outcomes of the policies he supports. These omissions
all serve to paint the national education plan with a patina of democratic
legitimacy, calling to mind social justice movements throughout history
with their concern for community input and student needs.
In another speech given at the University of Virginia in 2009, Arne
Duncan addressed students from the Curry School of Education. He
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 9
began his remarks by explaining the competition that children will face
for jobs after graduation, not just with their fellow students, but with
students from across the globe. He contrasted this reality with the abys-
mal drop-out rate of students in the US to suggest that we, as a nation,
have not “achieved the dream of educational opportunity”. He then
said, “I believe that education is the civil rights issue of our generation.
And if you care about promoting opportunity and reducing inequality,
the classroom is the place to start. Great teaching is about so much more
than education; it is a daily fight for social justice” (Duncan 2009b). In
order to make his point, Duncan recalled the education work of Thomas
Jefferson, of whom he said, “It was Jefferson who thought that Virginia
should support impoverished students whose talents were ‘sown as lib-
erally among the poor as the rich, but which perish without use if not
sought for and cultivated’. And it was Jefferson who thought that teach-
ing, an educated citizenry, and public service were the essential corner-
stones of democratic government”. Teachers, he argued, were central to
fulfilling Jefferson’s vision but that schools of education could not do it
all. Strangely, at a speech given to pre-service teachers in the education
department, Duncan drew his speech to a close by praising the work of
alternative teacher certification programs such as Teach for America, a
program whose goal is to convince the “brightest and best” of gradu-
ates to serve a two-year stint in a public school after receiving a five-week
summer training course.
Here again there are contradictions between Duncan’s message
of social justice and the content of his speech. Duncan’s reference to
Jeffersonian educational policy is a misreading of history at best and a
blatant revision at worst. Jefferson’s Bill for the More General Diffusion
of Knowledge did call for a common education (at least for white men
who owned land), but one designed to seek out and instill the “natu-
ral aristocracy” into the government, for it was they and they alone who
possessed the intellect, morality, and fortitude to guide the country.
Likewise, the purpose of education for the rest of the population was to
allow them just enough learning so that they could recognize the superi-
ority in others and vote responsibly for them to rule (Spring 2010a). In
a similar vein, and quite bizarrely for a speech at a college of education,
Duncan praised the Teach for America (TFA) program as evidence that
the school was fulfilling its social justice role. TFA is a program, begun
in 1994 by Wendy Knopff, designed to place the top students from Ivy
League schools into the classroom for two years. It is seen as a domestic
10 K. A. TAYLOR
service position, similar to Peace Corps, but with the added elitist view-
point that the salvation of schools lies in the superior intellect, rigor, and
commitment of top students. This implies a subtle inherent critique of
those who go into the teaching profession who do not have the same
credentials. It ties nicely into Jefferson’s notion of aristocracy; we need
the brightest and the best to lead us out of our educational morass.5 The
viewpoints Duncan referenced in his speech are diametrically opposed to
the history of social justice, the building of solidarity, and the respect for
difference he uses to justify his remarks.
In yet a third speech in 2008 while Duncan was still serving as the
CEO of Chicago Public Schools, he spoke at a symposium entitled “Free
to Choose, Free to Succeed: The New Market in Public Education”.
The symposium was organized and hosted by the Renaissance Schools
Fund, the financial element of the Renaissance 2010 plan, a policy
designed to close public schools and replace them with charter schools.
The symposium was attended by Chicago business elites, charter school
advocates, and management organizations, as well as representatives
of think tanks and philanthropic organizations already involved in the
policy. During his speech, Duncan referred to Renaissance 2010 as a
“movement for social justice” and “invoked corporate investment terms
to describe reforms, explaining that the 100 new schools would leverage
influence on the other 500 schools in Chicago” (Giroux and Saltman
2008). He referred to himself, using language better suited for a sym-
posium on stock market investments than education, as a portfolio man-
ager of 600 schools who is simply trying to improve the worth of his
investments. He explained that the primary focus of schools should be
on the creation of good workers and he argued that the primary goals of
school reform is to blur the lines between public and private by enlist-
ing the private sector to play an increasingly large role in school change
through monetary and intellectual support. He concluded by arguing
that teacher unions are the largest roadblock to business-led reform
(Giroux and Saltman 2008).
Here, once again, the contradiction between the language of democ-
racy and the content of the speech stands out. Renaissance 2010 has
been responsible for the displacement of countless students and fami-
lies as schools are closed, has weakened the democratic gains made in
Chicago in 1988 through the exclusion of Local School Councils
(LSCs), democratically elected bodies made up of parents, community
members and faculty, from charter schools, and has been the spearhead
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 11
1.4 Neoliberal Rationality
Neoliberalism needs to be understood as a new governance rationality.
Foucault’s work on discourse and power are applicable to understand-
ing the idea of rationality. Power, for Foucault, is a productive force
(Foucault 1977, 1978, 1980, 1994) which is not held by some and used
against others, but rather constitutes the reality through which we live
and only exists in its use (Gordon 1991; Foucault 1980). Power has as
its goal the formation of “truth” and “knowledge” through discourse.
Stephen Ball eloquently describes discourse as being about ‘what can be
said and thought, but also about who can speak, when, where, and with
what authority. Discourses embody the meaning and use of propositions
and words. Thus, “certain possibilities for thought are constructed” (Ball
1994, pp. 21–22). Discourses produce conceptual frameworks through
which we interact with our world by giving legitimation to particular
fields of knowledge and particular truths. At the level of government,
these discourses form the rationality, or overarching logic, of govern-
ment. Of rationalities, Rose writes “they have a distinctive moral form,
in that they embody conceptions of the nature and scope of legitimate
authority, the distribution of authorities across zones or spheres—polit-
ical, military, pedagogic, familial and the ideal principles that should
guide the exercise of authority; freedom, justice, equality, responsibility,
citizenship, autonomy, and the like. They have an epistemological char-
acter, in that … they are articulated in relation to some understanding
of the spaces, persons, problems, and objects to be governed. And they
have a distinctive idiom or language (Rose 1999, pp. 26–27; see also
Barry et al. 1996). In this sense, discourses operate on a macro-level of
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 13
1.5 Methodology
It is this process, the subsumption of democratic ideals under neolib-
eral rationality that I want to examine in this book. Specifically, I want
to use education reform policy as the fulcrum with which to understand
the ways in which democracy is being redefined and newly understood.
Chicago will serve as the target of this paper for several reasons. First,
Chicago is an ideal site in that it has an extensive history of education
reform, both pre-neoliberal and post. In fact, Chicago has played an
important role in the reform trajectory of the nation, serving as one of
the foundations for the No Child Left Behind (NCLB) Act of 2001 as
well as providing the proving ground and informing the policies of Arnie
Duncan and the Obama Administration. As such, educational reform in
Chicago serves as a stand-in for reforms across the nation, allowing for
me to examine the specificity of reform in one place while providing the
ability to generalize to the larger reform movement. Second, Chicago is
a city with a historical background of segregation and community dis-
investment. This has led directly to the creation of a dual city in which
some citizens are treated to the good life while others struggle for sur-
vival. This duality provides a multitude of spaces into which neoliberal
reforms can be implanted using the rationales I am examining. Lastly,
education policy is felt most intimately at the urban or community level.
Chicago’s density and the spatial juxtaposition of communities allows for
policy outcomes to be readily visible through comparison.
In order to do this, I draw upon the work of Critical Discourse
Analysis. CDA is both a theory and a methodology (Chourliaraki and
Fairclough 1999). Theoretically, CDA positions discourse in relation to
other elements of the social process (Fairclough 2010) such that dis-
course becomes a key element in the production of social and cultural
meaning (Fairclough 2001, 2010; Wodak 2001). Wodak explains CDA’s
goals as aiming to “investigate critically the social inequality as it is
expressed, signaled, constituted, and legitimated and so on by language
use (or in discourse)” (Wodak 2001, p. 2). CDA defines discourses as
having three elements. It is simultaneously a written or spoken text, an
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 15
related to this theme are analyzed with an eye toward the relationship
between the plane of the discourse and the theme. Key texts are selected
from those gathered for linguistic analysis, the results of which are used
to understand the theme/plane relationship further. The real work is
in the detailed linguistic analyses of the selected texts as it provides the
embedded and implied workings of power.
In addition to Critical Discourse Analysis, I draw upon the insights
provided by the field of Citizenship Studies. Citizenship is as much a
process as a fixed political status (Isin 2002; Smith-Carrier and Bhuyan
2010). It is about comparison, relational definitions, the construction of
identity, and conduct based on that identity (Isin 2002; Jopke 2008).
These are not simply conferred but rather actively pursued such that the
struggles, negotiations, and contests in creating these definitions are
as much what citizenship is as is the outcome of these processes (Isin
2002). In other words, citizenship is not given but must be taken. In
addition, these processes of identification and definition are not binary;
there are not just citizen and noncitizen. Rather these distinctions are
constructed together rather than existing a priori of their use and they
are multiple as they are created through the interplay of status and a
multitude of systems, such as the market, neighborhoods, communities,
schools, cities, and regions (Isin 2002; Smith-Carrier and Bhuyan 2010).
This complexity means that citizenship is not consistent across all aspects
of society and one can have effective citizenship status in one area of life
and yet not in another. “Citizenship is the entire mode of incorporation
of a particular individual or group into society” (Shafir, quoted in Lake
and Newman 2002, p. 110). Therefore, citizenship is not contained in
the individual or group, but rather in the inclusionary and exclusionary
practices of state institutions (Lake and Newman 2002). This also means
that citizenship can change over time as these practices are changed
through social struggle, political debate, or legal ruling. At any given
moment, then, what citizenship looks like both formally and normatively
is a snapshot of the state of equity and power relations within society.
Citizenship is an empirical reality and, because it is a process, it exists
only in its use.
Citizenship is operationalized through the logics of inclusion/exclu-
sion, which in turn leads to its erosion in some cases and expansion in
others cases. The criteria for recognizing the boundaries of inclusion
and exclusion are not natural but rather are the historically contingent
outcome of social practice (Isin 2002; Somers 2008) negotiated and
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 17
the disciplinary space through which the state operates and the social
sphere through which groups negotiate for, against, and with the state.
In short, Citizenship Theory allows for us to locate the practices through
which we experience our inclusion or exclusion and focus our attention
on how these scaffold neoliberal relations of power.
Taking both theories together, I suggest that the meaning of “text”
should be expanded to include both linguistic elements as well as policy
design and implementation, administrative practices, spatial organization,
and any other material or symbolic action which implicates the popula-
tion in the relations of power. These instances, then, become the “texts”
through which power relations can be explored ala CDA. As such, each
chapter will in this dissertation will begin with a “text”, a material out-
come of the discourses through which our understanding and practice of
democracy is (re)defined, which will serve as the avenue for analysis and
understanding.
1.6 Book Preview
I focus on the years between 2011 and 2014 for the book. This was a
time of particularly energetic reform efforts and equally energetic resist-
ance. These years saw the closure of a record number of schools, the
appointment of several CEOs of Chicago Public Schools, a mayoral elec-
tion which led to a historic run-off election, increasing coalescence of
community organizations, and the first teacher strike in 25 years. While
neoliberal education reform efforts, and the Bizarro Democracy that
underpins them, has been a permanent fixture of the Chicago education
landscape since the mid-1990s, this time period was particularly fertile
in both the gains made by the education reform movement and in the
increasing strength of those antagonistic to Chicago’s education policy
ensemble (Ball 1994). As such, these years are indicative of the continual
struggle for the meaning of public education in Chicago and our altered
understandings of democratic practice in urban settings.
Chapter 2 of this book takes a closer look at democracy as an ideal,
locating it more deeply in the concepts of governmentality, security, and
rationality. I argue that neoliberal rationalities have operated to redirect
the focus of democracy on the institutional inputs rather than on the
outcomes of democratic practice as experienced by citizens. This focus
on the institutional practices of democracy has served to remove the ide-
als upon which democracy has historically been based, instead replac-
ing them with a technocratic understanding which both individualizes
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 19
Notes
1. Since then, two other schools have implemented the parent trigger law.
24th Street Elementary in Los Angeles voted for a public/charter hybrid
in which the public-school system would run grades K-4 while a charter
organization would run grades 5–8 in the same building. Weigand Avenue
Elementary School, in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles, voted to
reopen their school with a new principal and several new teachers. In each
instance, Parent Revolution was the organizing force behind the law’s
execution.
2. The choice made to turn the school over to a charter organization was, in
fact, incredibly contentious. In this it was not unique however. For exam-
ple, the bilingual movement has engendered much disagreement as well
with some pushing for rapid assimilation into the English language, others
advocating the maintenance of the home language, and others demanding
any number of positions in between. I tell the parent trigger story not to
claim it is uniqueness but rather to highlight an example of the ways in
1 DEMOCRACY AND THE DOUBLING-DOWN OF NEOLIBERAL REFORM FAILURE 21
Bibliography
Ahmed-Ullah, N. S., & Richards, A. (2014, February 26). CPS: Expulsion rate
higher at charter schools. Chicago Tribune. Available at www.articles.chicag-
otribune.com/2014-02-26/ct-chicago-schools-discipline-met-20140226-1-
charter-schools-andrew-broy-district-run-schools.
Anyon, J. (2005). What ‘counts’ as educational policy? Notes toward a new para-
digm. Harvard Educational Review, 75(1), 65–88.
22 K. A. TAYLOR
2.1 Introduction
Early in 2012, during the very contentious protests surrounding the
annual school closings in Chicago, something revealing happened. Two
men reported to the Chicago Sun-Times that they had, at separate times
and in separate instances, been paid to protest in support of school clos-
ings in the Englewood neighborhood, a poor and predominately African
American community on the South Side of Chicago. Both men had
approached HOPE Organization, a nonprofit community organization
run by a collection of ministers, for assistance with their utility bills. In
both instances the men were offered remuneration for speaking at edu-
cation rallies. One was not told what the rally was for until he arrived
and was given a list of prepared remarks in favor of closing a neighbor-
hood high school. The other was told he was attending a rally in sup-
port of a longer school day, one of the new Mayor’s pet projects for the
school district, only to learn upon arriving that he was there to support
closing the elementary school which he had attended as a child. Both
men felt tricked and were accordingly horrified. “They thought that for
a few dollars they could get us to say whatever they want”, said one of
the men. “We were preyed upon” (Rossi 2012). For their part, the min-
isters in charge of HOPE Organization and the recruitment for the ral-
lies argue that the money was for training purposes and did not come
backdrop of the news story. In other words, the clergy’s actions make
sense under neoliberal rationality and this is why the story did not gain
traction. The real story is the school closing policy itself and what it says
about the state of democracy in the current moment.
Closing schools as a matter of policy hews closely to neoliberal logic
which sees education simultaneously as a strategic node for capital accu-
mulation, urban development, economic accountability, and social
control. Schools are closed for reasons of creative destruction (Harvey
2005). The school closing policy in Chicago has its roots in the may-
oral takeover of schools in 1995. Then Mayor Daley brought in corpo-
rate hatchet man Paul Vallas to shock the schools into progress following
what the Mayor and business groups saw as limited gains following
previous reform efforts. Vallas closed the first schools under his tenure,
but presented the policy as an action of last resort only after multiple
interventions failed to raise test scores and graduation rates. The school
closing policy came into its own following the implementation in 2004
of “Renaissance 2010” under Vallas successor Arne Duncan. The policy
initiative is designed to shutter 60 “failing” schools and open 100 new,
mostly charter schools. Note that the closing of schools is no longer a
last resort option here but is rather a strategic and integral part of the
policy. As such, school closings work to facilitate urban development and
capital accumulation strategies for the city.
Chicago is undertaking a “class conquest” (Smith 1996) approach to
urban development, directing its policies toward recreating the city as
a playground for high-knowledge workers and the businesses in which
they are employed (Lipman 2011; Lipman and Haines 2007). School
closings are central to this effort. The discourse of failure here is essen-
tially one of obsolescence. As Weber writes, “Obsolescence has become a
neoliberal alibi for creative destruction and therefore an important com-
ponent in contemporary processes of spatialized capital accumulation”
(Weber 2002, p. 185). Labeling schools as failures argues that schools
are obsolete in their mission, that their use value is gone. By replac-
ing them, the city implies a renewal of use value, but also the addition
of exchange value for schools. The value of schools is redefined such
that they signal the city’s friendliness to business interests through the
replacement of closed schools primarily with privately managed charter
schools and serve as lubrication for gentrification strategies designed to
attract business.
2 SHIFTING RATIONALITIES AND MULTIPLE DEMOCRACIES … 37
Among the lost legion are two kinds of men. There are those who
have killed or buried so deep the divine fire of their manhood that for
them there seems no chance of recovery in this world. There are
those in whom still burns somewhere a faint candle that may yet
flame to a dynamic glow of self-respect.
The young tramp slouching along the bank of Willow Creek drank
deep of the waters of despair. The rancher had called him a slacker,
rotten to the core. It was a true bill. He was a man spoiled and
ruined. He had thrown away his life in handfuls. Down and dragging,
that’s what he was, with this damned vice a ball and chain on his
feet.
There was in him some strain of ignoble weakness. There must be,
he reasoned. Otherwise he would have fought and conquered the
cursed thing. Instead, he had fought and lost. He could make
excuses. Oh, plenty of them. The pain—the horrible, intolerable pain!
The way the craving had fastened on him before he knew it while he
was still in the hospital! But that was piffling twaddle, rank self-
deception. A man had to fight, to stand the gaff, to flog his evil
yearnings back to kennel like yelping dogs.
His declension had been swift. It was in his temperament to go fast,
to be heady. Once he let go of himself, it had been a matter of
months rather than of years. Of late he had dulled the edge of his
despair. The opiates were doing their work. He had found it easier to
live in the squalid present, to forget the pleasant past and the
purposeful future he had planned.
But now this girl, slim, clean, high-headed, with that searing
contempt for him in her clear eyes, had stirred up again the devils of
remorse. What business had he to companion with these
offscourings of the earth? Why had he given up like a quitter the
effort to beat back?
In the cold waters of the creek he washed his swollen and
bloodstained face. The cold water, fresh from the mountain snows,
was soothing to the hot bruised flesh even though it made the
wounds smart. He looked down into the pool and saw reflected there
the image of himself. Beneath the eyes pouches were beginning to
form. Soon now he would be a typical dope fiend.
He was still weak from the manhandling that had been given him.
Into an inside coat pocket his fingers groped. They brought out with
them a small package wrapped in cotton cloth. With trembling hands
he made his preparations, bared an arm, and plunged the
hypodermic needle into the flesh.
When he took the trail again after his companions, Tug’s eyes were
large and luminous. He walked with a firmer step. New life seemed
to be flowing into his arteries.
Where the dusty road cut the creek he found the other tramps
waiting for him. Their heads had been together in whispered talk.
They drew apart as he approached.
Taking note of Cig’s purple eye and bruised face, Tug asked a
question. “Was it the big foreman beat you up?”
“You done said it, ’bo,” the crook answered out of the side of his
mouth.
“I reckon you got off easy at that,” Tug said bitterly. “The boss bully
didn’t do a thing to me but chew me up and spit me out.”
“Wotcha gonna do about it?” Cig growled significantly.
The young fellow’s glance was as much a question as his words.
“What can I do but take it?” he asked sullenly.
Cig’s eyes narrowed venomously. He lifted his upper lip in an ugly
sneer. “Watch my smoke. No roughneck can abuse me an’ get away
with it. I’ll say he can’t.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m gonna fix him.”
Tug’s laughter barked. “Did you fix him when you had a chance?” he
asked ironically.
“Call that a chance? An’ the big stiff wide as a door. ’F I’d had a gun
I’d ’a’ croaked him.”
“Oh, if!”
“De bulls frisked me gun in Denver. But I’ll get me a gat
somewheres. An’ when I do—” The sentence choked out in a snarl
more threatening than words.
“Sounds reasonable,” Tug jeered.
“Listen, ’bo.” Cig laid a hand on the sleeve of the young fellow’s coat.
“Listen. Are youse game to take a chance?”
Eyes filled with an expression of sullen distaste of Cig looked at him
from a bruised and livid face. “Maybe I am. Maybe I ain’t. What’s on
your mind?”
“I’m gonna get that bird. See?”
“How?”
“Stick around an’ gun him. Then hop a freight for ’Frisco.”
There was in the lopsided face a certain dreadful eagerness that was
appalling. Was this mere idle boasting? Or would the gangster go as
far as murder for his revenge? Tug did not know. But his gorge rose
at the fellow’s assumption that he would join him as a partner in
crime.
“Kill him without giving him a chance?” he asked.
Again there was a sound like the growl of a wild beast in the throat of
the Bowery tough. “Wotcha givin’ me! A heluva chance them guys
give us when they jumped us. I’ll learn ’em to keep their hands off
Cig.” He added, with a crackle of oaths, “The big stiffs!”
“No!” exploded Tug with a surge of anger. “I’ll have nothing to do with
it—or with you. I’m through. You go one way. I’ll go another. Right
here I quit.”
The former convict’s eyes narrowed. “I getcha. Streak of yellow a
foot wide. No more nerve than a rabbit. All right. Beat it. I can’t lose
you none too soon to suit me.”
The two glared at each other angrily.
York the peacemaker threw oil on the ruffled waters. “’S all right,
’boes. No use gettin’ sore. Tug he goes one way, we hit the grit
another. Ev’rybody satisfied.”
Tug swung his roll of blankets across a shoulder and turned away.
CHAPTER IV
BETTY RIDES
Betty Reed had watched unhappily the young tramp shuffle into the
willows and disappear. She felt depressed by a complex she could
not analyze. In part it was shame, for her father, for this tramp who
looked as though he were made for better things, for the whole
squalid episode; in part pity, not wholly divorced from admiration at
the boy’s insolence and courage. He might be a wastrel, as her
father had said. He might be a ne’er-do-well. But by some sure
instinct she knew that there had been a time when he fronted with
high hope to the future. That momentary meeting of the eyes had
told her as much.
Something had killed him as surely as a bullet fired through the
heart. The boy he had been was dead.
Lon Forbes chuckled. “They’ll keep going, I reckon, now they’ve
found out this ain’t no Hotel de Gink. You certainly handed that
youngest bum his hat, Clint. I’ll say you did.”
Now that it was over Reed was not very well satisfied with his
conduct. The hobo had brought the punishment on himself. Still—
there was something morally degrading about such an affray. One
can’t touch pitch without paying the penalty.
“We’ll begin cutting this field to-morrow, Lon,” he said shortly. “Hustle
the boys up so’s to finish the mesa to-day.” Across his shoulder he
flung a question at the girl. “You going to town, Bess?”
“In an hour or so. Want me to do something?” she asked.
“Call at Farrell’s and see if he’s got in those bolts I ordered.”
The ranchman strode to the car followed by Forbes. The foreman
was troubled by no doubts. His mind functioned elementally. If
hoboes camped on the Diamond Bar K and made themselves a
danger to the crops, they had to be hustled on their way. When they
became insolent, it was necessary to treat them rough. That was all
there was to it.
Betty swung to the saddle and rode back to the house. She was
returning from an inspection of a bunch of two-year-olds that were
her own private property. She was rather well off in her own right, as
the ranch country counts wealth. The death of her uncle a year
before had left her financially independent.
As Betty cantered into the open square in front of the house, her
father and the foreman were getting out of the car. A chubby, flaxen-
haired little lass came flying down the porch steps a-quiver with
excited delight.
“Oh, Daddy, Daddy, what d’you fink? I went out to the barn an’—
an’—an’ I fink Fifi’s got puppies, ’cause she—she—”
“Thought I told you to stay away from the barn,” the ranchman
chided.
His harsh voice dried up the springs of the child’s enthusiasm. She
drew back as though she had been struck. From the winsome, wee
face the eager, bubbling delight vanished, the enchanting dimples
fled. The blue eyes became wells of woe. A small finger found the
corner of the Cupid’s-bow mouth.
Clint Reed, ashamed and angry at himself, turned away abruptly.
Little Ruth was the sunshine of his life, the last pledge of his dead
wife’s love, and he had deliberately and cruelly wounded her.
Swinging from the saddle, Betty ran to the porch. Her arms enfolded
the child and drew her tenderly close. “Ruthie, tell big sister all about
it,” she whispered gently.
“D-d-d-daddy—” the sobbing little girl began, and choked up.
“Daddy’s worried, dear. He didn’t mean to hurt your precious little
feelings. Tell Betty about Fifi’s puppies, darling.”
Through her tears and between sobs Ruth told her great news.
Presently she forgot to weep and was led to the scene of Fifi’s
amazing and unique triumph. She gave little squeals of delight when
Betty handed her a blind little creature to cuddle in spite of the
indignant mother’s protesting growls. The child held the warm white-
and-brown puppy close to her bosom and adored it with her eyes.
With reluctance she returned it at last.
Ruth’s happiness was quite restored after her sister had given her a
glass of milk and a cookie and sent her out to play.
The young woman waved her a smiling good-bye and went to work.
She had some business letters to write and she went to the room
that served her as a library and office. The sound of the typewriter
keys drifted out of the open window for an hour or more.
The girl worked swiftly. She had a direct mind that found fluent
expression through the finger-tips. When she knew what she wanted
to say, it was never any trouble for Betty Reed to say it. A small pile
of addressed and sealed letters lay in the rack on the desk before
she covered the machine.
These she took with her.
Clint Reed she found tinkering with a reaper that had gone
temporarily out of service.
“Want anything more, Dad? I’m going now,” she said.
“You’ve got that list I left on the desk. That’s all, except the bolts.”
The sky was a vault of blue. Not even a thin, long-drawn skein of
cloud floated above. A hot sun baked down on the dusty road over
which Betty traveled. Heat waves danced in front of her. There was
no faintest breath of breeze stirring.
The gold of autumn was creeping over the hills. Here and there was
a crimson splash of sumac or of maple against the almost universal
yellow toning. It seemed that the whole landscape had drunk in the
summer sunshine and was giving it out now in a glow of warm
wealth.
The girl took a short cut over the hills. The trail led by way of draw,
gulch, and open slope to the valley in which Wild Horse lay. She
rode through the small business street of the village to the post-
office. Here she bought supplies of the storekeeper, who was also
post-master.
Battell was his name. He was an amiable and harmless gossip. Wild
Horse did not need a newspaper as long as he was there to hand
tobacco and local information across the counter. An old maid in
breeches, Lon Forbes had once called him, and the description
serves well enough. He was a whole village sewing circle in himself.
At a hint of slander his small bright eyes would twinkle and his
shrunken little body seem to wriggle like that of a pleased pup. Any
news was good news to him.
“Mo’ning, Miss Betty. Right hot, I’ll tell the world. Ninety-nine in the
shade this very minute. Bart Logan was in to get Doc Caldwell for his
boy Tom. He done bust his laig fallin’ from the roof of the root house.
Well, Bart was sayin’ your paw needs help right bad to harvest his
wheat. Seems like if the gov’ment would send out some of these
here unemployed to work on the ranches it would be a good idee.
Sometimes Congress acts like it ain’t got a lick o’ sense.”
Betty ordered coffee, sugar, tobacco, and other supplies. While he
waited upon her Battell made comment pertinent and impertinent.
“That Mecca brand o’ coffee seems to be right popular. Three
pounds for a dollar. O’ course, if it’s for the bunkhouse— Oh, want it
sent out to the Quarter Circle D E. How’re you makin’ it on your own
ranch, Miss Betty? Some one was sayin’ you would clean up quite a
bit from your beef herd this year, mebbe twelve or fifteen thousand. I
reckon it was Bart Logan.”
“Is Bart keeping my books for me?” the girl asked dryly.
The storekeeper cackled. “Folks will gossip.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “How much is that corn meal a hundred?”
“Cost you ten cents more’n the last. Folks talk about cost of livin’
coming down. Well, mebbe ’tis an’ mebbe ’tain’t. I told Bart I wouldn’t
believe you’d cleared any twelve or fifteen thousand till I heard you
say so. That’s a lot of money, if any one asks you.”
Apparently Betty misunderstood him. “Yes, you’re high, but I’ll take
two sacks. Send it to the Quarter Circle and charge it to me.”
Betty stopped at the railroad station to ask the agent about a
shipment of goods her father was expecting, and from there went to
Farrell’s to find out about the bolts.
It was well on toward noon when she took the road for home. At
Four-Mile Crossing it intersected the railroad track. A man with a
pack on his back was plodding along the ties in the direction of Wild
Horse. The instant her eyes fell on him, the girl recognized the tramp
her father had beaten. The pallid face was covered with wheals and
bruises. Both of the sullen eyes were ringed with purple and black.
They met face to face. Full into hers his dogged gaze challenged.
Without a word they passed.
Betty crossed the grade and followed a descent to a small grove of
pines close to the road. The sun was so hot that she decided to
dismount and give the pony a breathing spell.
From the saddle she swung, then trailed the reins and loosened the
cinch.
A sound brought her head round sharply. Two men had come over
the brow of a little hill silently. One of them was almost at her elbow.
A twisted, malevolent grin was on his lips. He was the hobo Lon
Forbes had thrashed two or three hours ago.
“Welcome to our city, goil,” he jeered in choice Boweryese. “Honest
to Gawd, you knock me dead. Surest thing you know. We’ll treat you
fine, not like your dad an’ that other big stiff did us. We’ll not tell
youse to move on, m’ dearie. Nothin’ like that.”
The girl’s heart felt as though drenched in ice-cold water. She had
not brought with her the small revolver she sometimes carried for
rattlesnakes. Both instinct and observation told her this man was vile
and dangerous. She was in his power and he would make her pay
for what her father had done.
She trod down the fear that surged up in her bosom. Not for nothing
had she been all her life a daughter of the sun and the wind and
wide outdoor spaces.
“I stopped to rest my pony from the heat of the sun,” she explained.
“You stopped to see old Cig,” he corrected. “An’ now you’re here it’ll
be him an’ you for a while. The hop-nut don’t belong to de same
push as us no longer. I shook him. An’ York don’t count. He’s no
lady’s man, York ain’t.”
The slim girl in the riding-suit could not quite keep the panic out of
her eyes. None of the motives that swayed the men she knew would
have weight with him. He was both base and bold, and he had lived
among those who had small respect for a woman.
Betty’s glance moved to York. It found no comfort there. The gross
hobo was soft as putty. He did not count, as his companion had
openly sneered.
“No. I won’t stop,” she said, and made as though to tighten the
loosened cinch.
“Won’cha? Think again, miss. Old Cig ain’t seen a skirt since he left
li’l’ old New York. Sure as youse is a foot high he’s hungry for a
sweetie of his own.”
He put his hand on her arm. At the touch her self-control vanished.
She screamed.
The man’s fingers slid down to the wrist and tightened. His other
hand clamped over her mouth and cut off the cry.
She writhed, twisting to free herself. In spite of her slenderness she
was strong. From her lips she tore his hand and again called for help
in an ecstasy of terror.
The crook of his arm garroted her throat and cut off the air from her
lungs. He bent her body back across his hip. Still struggling, she
strangled helplessly.
“Youse would, eh?” His voice, his narrowed eyes, exulted. “Forget it,
miss. Cig’s an A1 tamer of Janes. That’s de li’l’ old thing he’s de
champeen of de world at.”
He drew her closer to him.
There came a soft sound of feet thudding across the grass. The arm
about Betty’s throat relaxed. She heard a startled oath, found herself
flung aside. Her eyes opened.
Instantly she knew why Cig had released her. The man stood
crouched, snarling, his eyes fixed on an approaching runner, one
who moved with the swift precision of a half-back carrying a ball
down a whitewashed gridiron.
The runner was the tramp whose face her father had battered to a
pulp. He asked for no explanations and made no comment. Straight
for the released convict he drove.
Cig had not a chance. The bad air and food of the slums, late hours,
dissipation, had robbed him of both strength and endurance. He held
up his fists and squared off, for he was game enough. But Tug’s fist
smashed through the defense as though it had been built of paper.
The second-story man staggered back, presently went down before
a rain of blows against which he could find no protection.
Tug dragged him to his feet, cuffed him hard with his half-closed fist
again and again, then flung him a second time to the ground. He
stood over the fellow, his eyes blazing, his face colorless.
“Get up, you hound!” he ordered in a low voice trembling with anger.
“Get up and take it! I’ll teach you to lay hands on a woman!”
Cig did not accept this invitation. He rolled away, caught up York’s
heavy tramping stick, and stood like a wolf at bay, the lips lifted from
his stained yellow teeth.
“Touch me again an’ I’ll knock your block off,” he growled,
interlarding the threat with oaths and foul language.
“Don’t!” the girl begged of her champion. “Please don’t. Let’s go.
Right away.”
“Yes,” agreed the young fellow, white to the lips.
York flat-footed forward a step or two. “No use havin’ no trouble. Cig
he didn’t mean nothin’ but a bit of fun, Tug. Old Cig wouldn’t do no
lady any harm.” The tramp’s voice had taken on the professional
whine.
Tug fastened the girth, his fingers trembling so that he could hardly
slip the leather through to make the cinch. Even in the reaction from
fear Betty found time to wonder at this. He was not afraid. He had
turned his back squarely on the furious gangster from the slums to
tighten the surcingle. Why should he be shaking like a man in a chill?
The girl watched Cig while the saddle was being made ready. The
eyes in the twisted face of the convict were venomous. If thoughts
could have killed, Tug would have been a dead man. She had been
brought up in a clean world, and she did not know people could hate
in such a soul-and-body blasting way. It chilled the blood only to look
at him.
The girl’s rescuer turned to help her into the saddle. He gave her the
lift as one does who is used to helping a woman mount.
From the seat she stooped and said in a low voice, “I want you to go
with me.”
He nodded. Beside the horse he walked as far as the road. “My
pack’s back there on the track,” he said, and stopped, waiting for her
to ride away.
Betty looked down at him, a troubled frown on her face. “Where are
you going?”
A bitter, sardonic smile twitched the muscles of the bruised face. He
shrugged his shoulders.
“Looking for work?” she asked.
“Maybe I am,” he answered sullenly.
“We need men on the Diamond Bar K to help with the harvest.”
“The ranch where I was kicked off?”
“Father’s quick-tempered, but he’s square. I’ll talk with him about you
—”
“Why waste your time?” he mocked mordantly. “I’ll not impose on
him a good-for-nothing loafer, a worthless rotten-to-the-core hobo, a
slacker, a wastrel who ought to be on a rock-pile.”
“Dad didn’t mean all that. He was angry. But if you don’t want to work
for him, perhaps you’d work for me. I own a ranch, too.”
He looked up the road into the dancing heat waves. She was
wasting pity on him, was she? No doubt she would like to reform
him. A dull resentment burned in him. His sulky eyes looked into
hers.
“No,” he said shortly.
“But if you’re looking for work,” she persisted.
“I’m particular about who I work for,” he told her brutally.
She winced, but the soft dark eyes were still maternally tender for
him. He had fought for her, had saved her from a situation that held
at least degradation and perhaps horrible despair. Moreover, young
though he was, she knew that life had mauled him fearfully.
“I need men. I thought perhaps—”
“You thought wrong.”
“I’m sorry—about Father. You wouldn’t need to see him if you didn’t
want to. The Quarter Circle D E is four miles from the Diamond Bar
K.”
“I don’t care if it’s forty,” he said bluntly.
Her good intentions were at an impasse. The road was blocked. But
she could not find it in her heart to give up yet, to let him turn himself
adrift again upon a callous world. He needed help—needed it
desperately, if she were any judge. It was written on his face that he
was sailing stormy seas and that his life barque was drifting toward
the rocks. What help she could give she must press upon him.
“I’m asking you to be generous and forget what—what we did to
you,” she pleaded, leaning down impulsively and putting a hand on
his shoulder. “You saved me from that awful creature. Isn’t it your
turn now to let me help you if I can?”
“You can’t help me.”
“But why not? You’re looking for work. I need men. Wouldn’t it be
reasonable for us to get together on terms?” Her smile was very
sweet and just a little wistful, her voice vivid as the sudden song of a
meadow-lark.
Under the warmth of her kindness his churlishness melted.
“Good of you,” he said. “I’m much obliged. But it’s no use. Your
father had the right of it. I’m not any good.”
“I don’t believe it. Your life’s got twisted somehow. But you can
straighten it. Let me help. Won’t you? Because of what you did for
me just now.”
Her hand moved toward him in a tentative offer of friendship.
Automatically his eyes recorded that she wore a diamond ring on the
third finger. Some lucky fellow, probably some clean young man who
had given no hostages to vice, had won her sweet and gallant heart.
She was all eager desire and sympathy. For a moment, as he looked
into the dusky, mobile face that expressed a fine and gallant
personality, it seemed possible for him to trample down the vice that
was destroying him. But he pushed this aside as idle sentiment. His
way was chosen for him and he could not go back.
He shook his head and turned away. The bitter, sardonic smile again
rested like a shadow of evil on his good-looking face.
CHAPTER V
TUG IS “COLLECTED”
Yes, he had kept the faith in France, but he was not keeping it now.
The obligation was as binding on him in peace as on the battle-field.
He knew that. He recognized it fully. But when the pain in his head
began, his mind always flew to the only relief he knew. The drug had
become a necessity to him. If the doctors had only let him fight it out
from the beginning without help, he would not have become
accustomed to the accursed stuff.
But what was the use of going over that again and again? He was
done for. Why send his thoughts forever over the same treadmill?
The flaming sun poured down into the bowl of the valley and baked
its contents. He moved from the track to the shade of a cottonwood
and lay down. His racing thoughts grew more vague, for the hot sun
had made him sleepy. Presently his eyes closed drowsily. They
flickered open and slowly shut a second time. He began to breathe
deeply and regularly.
The sun passed the zenith and began to slide down toward the
western hills. Still Tug slept.
He dreamed. The colonel was talking to him. “Over the top, Hollister,
at three o’clock. Ten minutes now.” He shook himself out of sleep. It
was time to get busy.
Slowly he came back blinking to a world of sunshine. Two men stood
over him, both armed.
“Must be one of ’em,” the shorter of the two said.
“Sure thing. See his outfit. All rags. We’ll collect him an’ take him
back to the ranch.”
They were cowboys or farmhands, Tug was not sure which. He knew
at once, however, that their intentions were not friendly.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You,” the short, stocky one answered curtly. He wore a big broad-
rimmed hat that was both ancient and dusty.
“Interesting. You a sheriff? Got a warrant for me?”
The little man raised the point of his thirty-eight significantly. “Ain’t
this warrant enough?”
“What’s the trouble? What d’you want me for?”
“Tell him, Dusty,” the lank cowboy said.
“All right, Burt.” To the tramp he said roughly: “We’ll learn you how to
treat a lady. Get up. You’re gonna trail back to the Diamond Bar K
with us.”
“You’ve got the wrong man,” explained Tug.
“Sure. You’re jus’ travelin’ through the country lookin’ for work,”
Dusty jeered. “We’ve heard that li’l’ spiel before. Why, you chump,
the ol’ man’s autograph is writ on yore face right now.”
Tug opened his mouth to expostulate, but changed his mind. What
was the use? He had no evidence. They would not let him go.
“I guess you hold the aces.” He rose, stiffly, remarking to the world at
large, “I’ve read about those three-gallon hats with a half-pint of
brains in them.”
Dusty bridled. “Don’t get gay with me, young feller. I’ll not stand for
it.”
“No?” murmured the hobo, and he somehow contrived to make of
the monosyllable a taunt.
“Just for that I’ll drag you back with a rope.”
Dusty handed his weapon to the other cowboy, stepped to his horse,
and brought back a rope. He uncoiled it and dropped the noose over
the tramp’s head, tightening it around his waist.
The riders swung to their saddles.
“Get a move on you,” Dusty ordered, giving the rope a tug. The other
end of it he had fastened to the horn of the saddle.
Tug walked ahead of the horses through the sand. It was a long hot
tramp, and Dusty took pains to make it as unpleasant as possible. If
the prisoner lagged, he dragged him on the ground, gibing at him,
and asking him whether he would insult another woman next time he
got a chance.
The cowpuncher found small satisfaction in the behavior of the man
at the other end of the rope. The ragged tramp neither answered his
sneers nor begged for mercy. He took what was coming to him
silently, teeth clamped tight.
At last Burt interfered. “That’ll be about enough, Dusty. The old
man’s gonna settle with him. It’s his say-so about what he wants
done to this guy.” He added, a moment later: “I ain’t so darned sure