Salvatore Toscani wanted another glass of wine. Everyone had had one or two with their meal, Salvatore had four. Now he wanted a fifth. One more would be really good. He’d feel just great with one more glass. He had a slight buzz now, another glass would give him a nice high. No more after this last glass, he didn’t want to risk getting drunk around his colleagues. After all this was a business dinner. The top brass of the teacher’s union were gathered to discuss strategy for upcoming contract negotiations. No, it wouldn’t do for Salvatore to get too tipsy, he was the union president and had earned the respect of not just teachers, students and parents, but administrators. Salvatore had even been an administrator himself, serving as principal for two different schools before returning to classroom teaching and subsequently being elected union chief. Salvatore was a well-known figure in the school district in particular and the city as a whole. Thirty five years in education, all in Berkeley. Salvatore had earned a sterling reputation. But he had to have another glass of wine.
The closest carafe was in the middle of the table. Salvatore wasn’t going to ask anyone to pass it to him. Too obvious. So he stood as if to stretch. “That lasagna was delicious, Betsy,” he said to their host Betsy Connor. Betsy was a middle school math teacher. She was married to a big time lawyer and they had a huge house that included a large enough dining room to host the union’s executive committee.
Salvatore made like he was studying a painting as he edged over towards the carafe. Finally he picked up the carafe in a motion that suggested the most natural act in the world but made Salvatore feel as though he were common criminal stealing something. There was a bit of a shake in Salvatore’s right hand as he filled the glass to the brim. The union president felt that every eye in the room was watching and that they were appalled that he was drinking more wine.
In actuality no one paid much attention to Salvatore pouring himself a glass. Betsy and union vice president Cathy James noticed. Cathy was well aware of Salvatore’s weakness for alcohol but didn’t think too much about it since it never seemed to infringe on his work.
Everyone was still chatting socially as Salvatore re-took his seat. He took a long gulp of his wine and the inner warmth spread throughout Salvatore’s body and caused a feeling of elation. Salvatore did not think he had a drinking problem. Not at all. Alcoholics were people who spent long nights in bars getting stinko or drank alone for hours on end. Alcoholics lost their jobs, passed out in gutters, got the DTs. Nope, none of that was me, Salvatore would think. He just enjoyed drinking — sure maybe a little more than most people — but he had it fully under control. Salvatore would wonder why such thoughts as a drinking problem would even enter his mind. Silly.
There in fact was a situation at the middle school — Cady Stanton Middle School — that Betsy represented, in which someone did have a serious drinking problem. There was a science teacher there,Vida Jones, who frequently had booze on her breath during teaching hours. One day she even showed up to school sloshed. A school safety officer had to take her home and helped cover up the incident with the school’s principal, Mrs. Lane who just so happened to live with Vida and was her lover. Mrs. Lane had left her husband for Vida. Any other teacher would have gotten the sack but Mrs. Lane sent Vida to rehab and told everyone that she had taken ill. No one believed it.
Mrs. Lane had transferred a Vice Principal to another school who had made a stink about Vida’s boozing. Lane and Vida were a lesbian couple who were securely in the closet so no one dared to mention the impropriety of it all.
Salvatore thought: now there was a situation with an alcoholic. Plus the whole business of Lane being Vida’s boss was unethical as hell but again we’re talking lesbians who weren’t officially a couple. Nod, nod. Wink, wink.
Salvatore was brought back from his musings by a question from Reid Thompson the high school rep. Before he could answer Betsy suggest they all repair to the living room where they’d be more comfortable. Salvatore saw another chance. As everyone got up to go to the other room he dawdled a bit pretending to look at some framed photos. Then when he was alone he re-filled his glass. Easy as pie this time. Salvatore ignored the fact that he’d promised himself that the previous glass was the last of the night.
Sarah Steiner was the newest and youngest rep at the gathering. She was a twenty-six-year old first grade teacher. Sarah took a good look at Salvatore as he sat down because something was bothering her about him. No, it wasn’t his flirting, that was all innocent enough, clearly he didn’t mean anything and she could handle the likes of him if it got serious. But something…than she figured it out. His nose. It was just like her dad’s nose. Sarah’s dad was a raging alcoholic. Her mom had finally kicked him out of the house when Sarah was fifteen. She still saw dad from time to time. Anyway, both her dad and Salvatore Toscani had unnaturally large, red noses. Sarah had also picked up on the way Toscani snuck an extra glass or three, just like dad. It wasn’t information she intended to use in any way, it was just there.
The execs chatted and argued a bit and mused and laughed and eventually made some firm decisions about how they were going to approach the difficult contract negotiations that were forthcoming. Ultimately the voice of wisdom had been Salvatore’s. He had known exactly what to say to shed light on vexing situations and had managed to bring everyone together. Salvatore was a natural leader and facilitator and everyone loved him.
It was almost 10:00 when the meeting broke up and people headed home. There was more to do but it was a school night and anyway they’d made significant progress. Everyone felt good about the evening. Everyone also further admired Salvatore Toscani for his leadership and wisdom. Salvatore was a truly humble person and gave himself no credit at all. In his own mind Salvatore was just one of the team playing his specific role, no more important than anyone else. His humility was evident to all who knew him, even if only casually.
Salvatore had only a five-minute drive to his house. For some reason his mind drifted back to Stanton Middle School and what he considered the fiefdom that Ms. Lane was running there. Bad enough that she protected her alcoholic lover when by rights she should have been fired or at least given a healthy suspension and a red flag in her personnel file, but Ms.Lane lied and manipulated people in other ways. Unlike any other principal Salvatore had come across, Ms. Lane had a well-earned reputation for harassing her teachers, constantly threatening them with more or poor evaluations, or more committee work or letters to their files or not honoring their classroom or course requests. She was particularly adept at playing one teacher against an another. Ms. Lane didn’t just listen to the gossip spreading around her staff, she spread it to suit her needs. Sometimes she had a specific purpose, other times she was just trying to make trouble. She loved the action. Salvatore knew all this, a lot of people did, but it seemed no one could do anything about it. As far as the district administration was concerned, Lane was an excellent principal running a top notch school. Lane was positioning herself for a job in central administration with an eye on some day being a district superintendent. Ms. Christine Lane was the grand master of self promotion. “She should have gone into politics,” someone once said. “hell, she probably will,” Toscani had responded.
By the time Salvatore walked through his front door he was good and angry. He’d been the principal at Stanton just before Lane. She’d come over from an elementary school (bringing Vida Jones with her) when Toscani went back to teaching. Toscani had resurrected the school after a series of bad principals had rendered it the worst school in the district. Lane was given a lot of credit for its current ranking as one of the area’s best middle schools, but as far as Toscani and others were concerned, she was just utilizing the programs her predecessor had put in place along with the personnel he had hired.
Salvatore’s wife, Addie was asleep. He was too worked up to go to bed. Maybe a nightcap will settle me down, he thought. Toscani liked the idea — hell he loved it — and dashed over to liquor cabinet and poured himself a brandy. Then another. He relaxed in his easy chair and soon began to doze.
Giuliana Toscani was holding her grandson Salvatore in his lap. She was singing to him. Little Salvatore was five, he spoke Italian as well as English but didn’t understand his grandmother’s song what with her throaty voice and some of the strange words in the song. But it was comfortable sitting on her spacious lap. But then she grew wings and flew out the window up, up, up above the clouds. It was exhilarating, until little Salvatore fell. He was falling to his certain death. The little boy screamed and that is when the sixty-three—year-old union president awoke with a start. It was 3:30 in the morning and he was still in his easy chair.
Salvatore shuffled off to bed and had three hours of sound sleep before it was time to get up.
Addie was already up and in the kitchen by the time Salvatore had finished his morning shower and shave. She greeted her husband of thirty-five years with a kiss. Addie loved her husband totally and unconditionally. They’d had two children together. Boys who had gone on to good universities and good jobs and in one case a marriage and two children. Addie didn’t think she’s spent a bad day in all her years with Salvatore. Yes, he drank a bit more than perhaps he should, but who cares? Her Salvatore was a great husband and had the respect of all who knew him.
Addie and Salvatore sat and talked as they ate their oatmeal and grapefruit and toast and drank their coffee. He filled her in on union matters and she told him about her work volunteering at the community center.
An hour later Salvatore was back at his desk at union headquarters. There was a lot to do today, besides union negotiations there were several teachers facing disciplinary actions. The union generally defended them to their utmost ability although one of them was in hot water so often that it hardly seemed worth the time. Salvatore decided to look at his case first curious as to what the latest mess was. He was a history teacher at Stanton who kept running afoul of Lane. His name was Penhall. This time Lane had charged him with insubordination for supposedly cussing at her under his breath after a staff meeting. Because of the volume of complaints against Penhall the district was looking to move for his dismissal. Penhall maintained his innocence in virtually every complaint filed against him though he did admit to kicking a waste paper basket once in a pique during class. Attached to the file on Penhall was a note from him to Salvatore sealed in an envelope. He hadn’t noticed it before. It read: “Salvatore, Lane is coming after me hard. I think someone ratted to her that I tipped the central administration off about Vida’s drinking. They didn’t touch it downtown but any effort to smear Vida is essentially a smear on Lane. She is seeking vengeance. The swearing under my breath claim is bullshit and Lane knows it. She figures it’ll stick because of how she’s muddied the waters against me. Call me at home to discuss further. I’m determined not to go through an attempted dismissal just because a principal plays dirty. Thanks, Matt Penhall.”
For the first time since he’d first encountered Penhall, Salvatore felt sympathy for the guy and in fact believed him. Salvatore had heard the Penhall was actually an excellent teacher. Not easy for colleagues to get along with and prone to long digressions in the classroom, but revered by students. The union president suddenly had the idea that there was now a wedge against Lane. Maybe she could be brought down a notch. Maybe instead of being on the fast track to bigger and better things she could be put in her place. Maybe even pushed out of Stanton. Toscani was thinking big, he’d learned in life that the impossible was often merely the untried.
Salvatore Toscani smiled. There were so many exciting challenges, so much to do, so much action. He was excited about another full day of work. He was also already anticipating a pleasant evening at home with Addie. A nice dinner with a good bottle of wine. He loved his life.
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