Last night’s Meet-The-Candidate forum at Lyndon Town School was one of the strangest events I’ve ever attended. Well, maybe strange is not the right word.  Bizzarro is more like it.

In a second floor classroom stood a single candidate seeking the job of LTS Principal. She was standing about six feet inside the door, facing a wall about three feet in front of her.  Community members were lining up for a chance to slide into the open space between the candidate and the counter for a chat.  Because of this odd arrangement, most people in the room were forced to look at the candidate’s back while she talked.  It was almost as if she had been told to stand facing a wall as some kind of penance, while the rest of us – including a newspaper reporter and a television camera – gawked at the scene from behind.

You would have thought that a Meet-The-Candidate forum would have  included, oh, you know, a CHAIR for the candidate so she would not have to stand there in an odd corner of the room facing away from most of the people.  Instead, the whole setup seemed less like a forum and more like watching a priest in an open confessional from about ten rows back. I could see the candidate’s back and hear bits of conversation…but that was it.

You also would assume that someone from the Lyndon School Board would be there. I asked around and couldn’t find one.  Similarly, if there was someone from the principal search committee or the CNSU office there I didn’t see them either. I suppose some officials could have been there and I just didn’t make the connection because I was looking – perhaps foolishly – for nametags, or some other identifying device.

Many people I know don’t like nametags, but I hear they are very useful in situations like this where there are lots of people coming to a forum who  have no idea what their local school officials look like.  I must make a note of this and send it along to whoever set this thing up…although, that too seemed entirely unclear.

While I waited for my turn in the conversation space against the counter, I looked for a handout on the candidate. You know, some kind of resume’ or carefully crafted bio designed to fill me with confidence. There was nothing.  Well, there WAS a survey I was asked to fill out because somebody really wanted my input.

“Was the candidate accessible to your questions and concerns?” was the first question.  I would soon find out the answer as another community member finished their counter confessional with the candidate and the next one moved in.

The rest of the questions, however, seemed a bit out of left field.

“Does the candidate have the skills to handle school finances?”

How would I know?

To me that seems like a difficult question to answer about a person after a simple five minute conversation in a crowded room.

Maybe if I could have heard the candidate’s answers to other people’s questions, I would be able to forge some kind of opinion on the subject. But all I could hear was background noise generated by a room full of parents waiting for their chance to see what all the fuss was about over there by the counter. I would just have to wait my turn and have my private audience.

Turns out the lone finalist approved by the search committee already knew my name.  “Hello Todd,” she said, as I slid into the space against the counter.

How did she know my name?  Did someone tell her I was coming?  Was there a dossier on me that all candidates are given?

One that said:

“Avoid this man. He’s a clown.”

But the answer was much simpler.  She knew me because she’s a local girl named Amy Gale. She used to be a teacher and now works for the Caledonia North Supervisory Union. She’s never been a principal before, but now appears to be one school board vote away from assuming control of the largest school in the supervisory union.

We chatted for a few minutes.  She seemed nice enough and she answered my questions. But she looked a bit uncomfortable.

I would be too.

If I had been set-up in such a poorly organized event and thrown to the lions and wolves without any help, I might wonder just what I was getting myself into. You’re nervous enough at job interviews.  Imagine being sent alone into this.

Or maybe it was just me that made her uncomfortable. Maybe she’s uncomfortable around clowns.

It happens.

I thanked her for her time and wished her the best of luck. I really meant it, too.  Seriously.

Todd Wellington