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Two years ago this month, when Admiral David Brewer waddled into Council Chambers — suddenly filling the room — for Mark Ridley Thomas’s swearing in as a new state Senator, I suspected his professional future should be measured in inches rather than years.
Here was the newly appointed Superintendent of the abysmal Los Angeles Unified School District, not Topeka or Kansas City, looking as if he were going into rehearsal for “Hee Haw.”
Admiral Makes Waves
Didn’t he get the memo that he had a new job? That all of those people around him were not deckhands?
The building wasn’t moving. He was landlocked, like it or not.
He could not have been more embarrassing if he had shown up in short pants, a sweaty tee-shirt and a wilted red rose in his teeth.
Water him. See if he grows.
As an example-setter, as a model for young people, he was an unintentional joke.
He has turned out to be precisely the buffoon that he resembled that morning. I looked around City Hall for the circus he had escaped from.
The big lug apparently thinks he is a fire plug. He has taken root, never to be moved again unless an unemployed crane drives by.
Admiral Brewer had no more idea how to superintend than he did how to dress when people are looking. He must have left his dignity at the bottom of an ocean.
That Admiral Brewer has been a colossal failure as Superintendent of the most mismangled School District west of London is no distinction. All of his predecessors, dating at least back to mid-century, also executed bellyflops.
Store Until They Are De-Soured
Academics, like pickles, should be permanently stored in jars, forbidden to mingle with normal people. They know texts but have no idea how to conduct their lives, much less not looked like a nuclear waste dump for the last 40 years because academics are wise people.
One of the most dreadful faults of most professional educators is that they are political liberals, bean-counters, narrow-minded egalitarians, philosophical prisoners who have been inmates of mental jails throughout their adult lives.
A couple of years ago the beanbags on the LAUSD School Board closed their buck teeth over their bloody lower lips, pointed a finger toward their belly buttons and brilliantly concluded that multiculturism was the panacea for the District’s insoluble problems.
The answer, they deemed, was to hire a black man — it would have helped if he had been a two-headed lesbian who had been abused by his or her spouse — but Admiral Brewer would have to do.
A Great Recommendation
In the last 24 months, not one single reason has been uncovered to justify the hiring of Admiral Brewer except he had that single inescapable quality that liberals, light in the loafers, love to lean on:
He was black.
What a gem.
It is believed that when Howdy Doody and Mortimer Snerd died and went to puppet heaven, God gave us liberals to laugh at. Only nobody suspected they would be this tragically funny.
It is axiomatic that if you hire a bridge-sized boob you have to have an escape route when it inevitably comes time to dislodge the bum.
Oops. The other day, a coterie of feathery-minded Los Angeles liberals suddenly remembered that it is against liberals’ secular religion to fire black people. What to do?
Who Will Have the Final Laugh?
Admiral Brewer may have all of the black and white liberal boobs in this town over a barrel that is the size of his titanic tummy because liberals traditionally lack moral courage to do the right thing.
The unadmired Admiral has two more years to go on the not-bad contract that had him laughing into his billowy sleeves when the beanbags on the School Board weren’t looking.
I would say the clumsy beanbags were hamhanded about the way they have (once again) botched the firing of the latest Supt. Buffoon, but even our neighborly Muslim terrorists-in-training know ham ain’t kosher.
So the School Board dim bulbs threw their arms around each other’s sloping shoulders yesterday afternoon and began whispering to each other in foreign tongues, “Here is how we will dump the big dummy.”
Anybody Important Missing?
Being fluffy liberal lightweights, they had forgotten to assign one of the resident geniuses to do a head count. Oops. Being colorblind, the beanbags had failed to note that Marguerite Poindexter LaMotte, who definitely is not, wasn’t in the room. Darn.
The dim bulbs promptly dispatched a flunky of unknown ethnicity to Union Station where The Only Black on the School Board was about to step onto a train for San Diego.
Because we would be red of face, though not Indian of heritage, this newspaper did not inquire what Ms. Poindexter LaMotte said to The Hapless Emissary of Unknown Race, but we are confident it is not printable. Being a loyal little liberal, Ms. Poindexter LaMotte stands opposed to the uncoupling of Admiral Brewer — for a verifiable reason. She recently noticed that she and he have something in common.
As we went to press, School Board President Monica Garcia, known for her colorful imagination, was slipping into a telephone booth. It appeared she was dialing her closest Earl Scheib.
