[img]1826|left|LAUSD Superintendent John Deasy||no_popup[/img]
I am not certain – yet – that LAUSD Supt. John Deasy should start counting, fingering or swallowing his worry beads because 91 percent of the Teachers Union voted no-confidence. Their preference is that he should walk back and forth across the track next month during the Indianapolis 500.
He can comfort himself that half of the World’s Greatest Instructors were too busy counting the fortunes they have amassed to vote. Or he could despair and heave himself over the Ballona Creek bridge.
Still a decade shy of retirement age, Mr. Deasy knows that, like good left-wingers, teachers spend their lives ceaselessly polishing their Complaint gene. They tell us they selflessly have sacrificed a profit-making career in favor of dedicating their worn-out bods to a noble profession. Turns out that, daily if not hourly, the noble profession demands they coax generous donations from the strapped families of the children they selflessly chose to teach.
As for Mr. Deasy, he warmed up for this herding-cats assignment by volunteering to serve as super of the heavyweight Santa Monica-Malibu district, no place for girls or for softies of the opposite/similar sex.
In two years, he has compiled an ostensibly honorable record with LAUSD, which has a history of hiring peculiar people.
At this early stage of the Let’s Overthrow Deasy Revolution, the President of the LAUSD Teachers Union, like many – but by no means all – of his fellow union leaders across the land, sounds like a recovering mental patient.
My counsel to Mr. Deasy, whose career record shows respectable, not spectacular, accomplishments, is to go home, retire to his study, cuddle a martini, close one eye and read a challenging book to distract himself.
Between a Rocha and a Hard Place
[img]1769|right|Dr. Mark Rocha||no_popup[/img]On the subject of mental patients, I would freely offer the opposite advice to the least apposite community college administrator this side of jail bars, the syrupy-minded Mark Rocha.
I have a new contender for the title of dumbest, thickest person I ever have interviewed, the President of Pasadena City College.
Several years ago when we last sat across a table from each other and he made an offer I wish I had accepted, I walked away marveling at his so-smooth manner.
PCC students and faculty have worked themselves into a fever during the past three years developing detestation for the slick car-salesman methods of a slow, stubborn fellow who never was taught by his parents to vanish when he no longer was wanted.
He has alienated important people and little people to the core in his last three jobs.
Say, fella, have you thought about pumping gas? Why not? Above all other Pasadenans, Dr. Smooth possesses an abundance of gas.
