Page History: The Superintendent's Dilemma
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Page Revision: Tuesday, 11 December 2018 10:23
The Superintendent's Dilemma was a poem sent to Reagan by Willie Gray Nelson of Idaho Falls and first read on Viewpoint with Ronald Reagan during 1975. It discusses the difficulty of a school administrator in balancing government intervention, the rights of parents/students and maintaining a sufficient standard of education.
Reagan would end up reading the poem 2 additional times due to listener requests. The poem would also find its way into the Congressional Record.
THE SUPERINTENDENT'S DILEMMA
Mr. McCLURE. Mr. President, during the last few years, it has been fashionable to talk about "alienation." Liberals have described Government as unresponsive. Such comments are usually followed by knowing suggestions as to what our Government could be doing for us. but is not. We are told the answers lie in future growth of the bureaucracy, more Government regulations and increased spending. No wonder there is talk about alienation.
Government is certainly unresponsive to anything that could legitimately be described as human need. But this does not take the form of insufficient activity. In fact, Government intervention in the life of the citizen is so pervasive that good men like Mr. Willie Nelson of Idaho Palls, are beginning to wonder how they can continue to do the jobs they are paid to do.
He expressed his concern in the form of a poem which Ronald Reagan thought enough of to read over his radio program recently. I would like to share Mr. Nelson’s lament with my colleagues at this time. I ask unanimous consent to have the poem printed in the Record.
There being no objection, the poem was ordered to be printed in the Record, as follows:
The Superintendent's Dilemma
(By Willie Nelson)
Sometimes I sit and ponder long
About my work and life.
And wonder why in school nowdays
There's so much stress and strife.
And then I realize the job
Is not like yesterdays—
I’m simply flunky now for guys
With the "innovation" craze.
There's Federal projects, grants and gifts.
And piece-meal funding, too.
It leaves no time to teach the kids
And things that I should do.
I try to walk the tightrope
Betwixt the courts of law
And not get tangled up with rights
Of Junior, Pa and Ma.
Some will tell you this will work.
And others say It won't;
Truth is, you'll get h—— If you do.
And twice h—— if you don’t.
Operations in the schools
Must pass the acid test
Of OSHA, HEW and C.L.U.
And all the pesky rest.
There's Civil Rights and Human Rights,
And Women's Rights galore;
I wonder what uncertainties
The future holds in store?
Boys and girls dress alike.
You can't tell one from t'other.
If you should need to know the sex
You'd have to ask its mother.
In clothes and jobs and hair and such.
You can't discriminate.
It makes you wonder how a boy
Knows just which one to date.
The high court Judges see no "diff"
Between a her and him.
Methinks their years are catching up—
Their sight has grown too dim.
Give me the good old-fashioned days
When gals were gals—not men.
For all that femininity
I kinda get a yen.
The liberals say, "Don't frustrate the child
With disciplined control.
Just let him loose to do his thing
And play his chosen role."
But he’ll waste time and life and limb
And ruin others’ lot.
And think he's having lots of fun
On drugs and "grass" and "pot".
His right to freedom, speech and work
He’ll take or leave at will.
And little care for public folks
Who have to pay the bill.
The federal "help" I get from Unc(le)—
I Just can’t stand much more.
With tax, red tape and interest rates.
I'm getting too dang poor.
If you should try the federal way
Of deficits and debt.
You’d find an I.R.S. man
A looking down your neck.
I'm somewhat like the school Supt.
Who tried without success
To stem the tide of "Fed" control,
And all that meddling mess.
They'd told him how to cook the lunch.
And how to run the school.
And threatened to withhold his funds
If he should break the rule.
He finally threw his hands up
And said. "I'm sick and tired
Of all this ruckus, do's and don'ts—
I'll quit before I'm fired."
And so he got a Hud house
With Utle rent to pay,
And lived on welfare's "easy street"
The Socialistic way.
The moral of this story is:
If you can't buck the tide
Crawl on the craft of "easy life"
And take a leisure ride.
When the public folks have had enough
Of all this liberal rot,
They’ll start to call a spade a spade
And things will really "pop".