Death of a School – But Not Its Spirit – Part 3

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In the first two parts, I looked at some of the reasons, both external and internal, as to why RCDS has struggled financially and finally had to close. I look at some more reasons in this third and final part. I also echo concerns raised by others about where the money went, but using my professional skills as a tax preparer for 30 years and a financial professional and auditor for 40 years. And for those who come to my blog to read about transgender issues, I make brief mention of a hope and dream for a new school in the same spirit, one that is geared specifically towards children with an alternative or transgender identity.

Downhill trend: RCDS went in and out of crisis mode throughout its entire history.  Someone recently posted on Facebook a column in the local newspaper by a reporter and former teacher about the school narrowly averting shutting its doors.  Based on my knowledge of that former teacher and coach who was at RCDS during my sophomore and junior year, that headline had to be at least twenty years ago.  So another generation of students was able to attend RCDS since that crisis was averted.

Certainly financial concerns lurked from the earliest days.  At least at the beginning RCDS had a group of wealthy backers, many of whom were sending their own children, interested in the school’s success.  But there were other concerns and conflicts, even as far back as the first decade of the school’s existence.  Those conflicts were over educational philosophy and direction of the school.  I’ve already discussed some of those.  One of them might be summarized as Preppie versus Hippie.  When I arrived, many of the older students fulfilled the dress codes with prep school attire.  But longer hair, particularly among the younger students, was starting to creep in and some of the older students were heading in that direction, too.  As I recall, some of the trustees and financial backers were starting to balk at the lack of discipline and counterculture attitudes that were emerging.  Freedom to explore educational opportunities in a more open manner, yes; freedom to rebel, thumb noses at authority, break rules about sexual mores, smoking (cigarettes and pot) and drinking, no.  And this schism was felt in the faculty ranks as well.  By the time I graduated, many of the teachers who were there when I started and who were among the faculty in the earliest years had left: Downs (although he returned later), Bridgio, Sandulli, Hyatt, McCurdy, and Gibson; Headmaster McClure, whose first year was my first year, stayed only three years and then left for Princeton Day.  His successor lasted only one year.

Yet the consensus is that even in these differences, whether someone stayed or left, while they were at RCDS the vast majority of them genuinely cared about the students and our success.  And after you get past the usual student griping about the pressure of tests, term papers and homework, we look back fondly on most of our teachers and the school in general.  The school had a sense of community that developed through shared activities with the teachers: sports teams, plays, recitals, field trips, clubs, kite day and undoubtedly some activities that sprang up long after I left.

The sense I am getting from parents (some of whom also went to RCDS), faculty members (current and former) and alumni who had stayed closely connected with the school for various reasons is that the attitudes of some of the school administration and some of the trustees started to change about 5-10 years ago.  Since this is all hearsay, I will not name any names.  (I will add that I do not suspect anyone in the final school administration who were present at the 8/31 gathering.)  But here are some of the comments I have heard: parents of alums were dropped from the contact list even though they were faithfully giving; the administration trashed their relationship with the alumni group; someone must have sold out the school; where has the money gone; a lot of key people have left or resigned in the last two years since the campus was sold (and there could be lots of reasons for that: some innocent and some not so innocent); the educational standards and environment went downhill; the school was not properly prepared for the arrival of international students with a lack of ESL teachers (later remedied); the school had too high an amount of scholarships.

On top of all this, the end was handled in a regrettable manner.  I’ve already talked about how the decision so close to the start of the school year on top of the notices sent out in May and June, has been terribly difficult on the students (and their parents), the teachers and staff (and their families).  It was the final insult added to a series of injuries.

I have also heard that there were a few heroes in the midst of this debacle, trying to do the right thing.  But they were outnumbered, overmatched, outmaneuvered and ran out of time.

As it happens, I was just starting to get more reconnected to RCDS in October 2016, although I had been giving faithfully for a few years before that.  (And one time, I was the first person to solve one of Mr. Boyer’s math puzzles.)  I had decided that I wanted my school to know the real me.  So I began going to events: the school-wide reunion in October 2016, the Holiday shopping village, the spring musical in 2017 and the last two graduations.  I was told that the school wanted to reconnect with the alumni and I wrote a series of reminiscences of my time at RCDS which I was told would be put into the school newsletter.  It would have run about 6 or 7 issues.  Only one was included, in part because the school newsletter, even a digital version that should have had minimal cost, suddenly ceased.  I told one of the trustees in 2016 that I wanted to be more involved and never heard from the school.

Even so when we toured the school at the 2016 reunion; when we saw the progress on the new STEAM lab; when I saw the happy faces at the 2017 spring musical: it still seemed like the same positive RCDS experience.  I liked the people I met from the administration.  When I had positive, supportive one on one conversations with teachers and administrators, there was no hint of anything terribly wrong.  The school looked great, the food was great and kids looked like they were doing well.  It may have been a patina.

Partially because it is my biggest concern and partially because it is my area of expertise, I am most concerned about what happened to the money.  But once again I need to tread lightly here.  I do not have access to the books of the school, nor do I have access to the closing documents for the sale of the campus.  The only things I know are that it has been widely reported without dispute that the school sold its campus to the Town of Clarkstown in early 2018 for $4.4 million and that I have read RCDS’s required Form 990 filed with the IRS for its fiscal year of 7/1/17 to 6/30/18.  Form 990 for the fiscal year ending June 30, 2019 is not due until November 15, 2019, so it is not available for download with the IRS as of a few days ago.

With those caveats in mind, I have cause for concern.  This caution has to be kept in mind: there could be an accounting reason that is particular to non-profit organizations that explains it.  But based on a cash flow analysis of the Form 990, the numbers don’t add up as far as I have been able to dig with what I have available to me.  I’ve heard possible explanations offered up: what if the Town was allowed to pay in installments under the contract of sale?  Then, it should show on the balance sheet as an asset of some kind.  What if the school took out additional credit lines against the property to keep going?  Then that should be offset by additional cash coming into RCDS when doing the cash flow analysis.  What if there were $3.4 million in mortgages prior to the 2017-18 fiscal year?  Then why does only $2.1 million show up on the Form 990 reported to the IRS?  But until I have more proof, all I am willing to say publicly at this time is that the discrepancy appears to be major.

Should it be looked into further?  I believe so.  If wrongdoing was done, those responsible should be held to account and as much restoration made as possible, especially to the parents who paid out tuition for the upcoming year.  The sad thing is that if this money had been on hand, the school would have been able to open this month.  It would be even sadder if the people were finally in place who had the ability to find a long-term financial solution and still maintain the wonderful education that made RCDS so special to all of its alums.  Now they won’t have the chance.  But there is more investigation needed to confirm my suspicions about the monetary discrepancy.

I hope there is a better explanation, even if it is my own inexperience or error.  I’d rather the school failed because of falling enrollment revenue (and it did drop $550,000 from 2016-17 to 2017-18).  I’d rather the school failed because of poor fundraising efforts (it did drop by $120,000 between those two years and without hiring an outside fundraiser, RCDS actually lost $7.000 on its fundraising efforts in 2017-18).  I’d rather the school failed because of poor but honest management.  I’d rather my hypothesis is wrong either because of my error or because the accountants for RCDS filed Form 990 with an error in the numbers.

When I graduated, there were about 170 students spread over 7 grades, with 1 Headmaster, 5 non-faculty staff members and 27 faculty members (6:1 student-faculty ratio).  According to the website, there are about 120 students spread over 14 grades with 1 Head of School, 15 non-faculty members (more if school secretaries or administrative assistants aren’t listed on the website) and 18 faculty members for a 7:1 student-faculty ratio.  Some of those extra non-faculty employees are needed because of the International students who were boarded at Dominican College.  Even so, the number of employees is about the same for about 30% fewer students.  The faculty to non-faculty ratio went from about 6:1 to 6:5.  And yet this doesn’t necessarily mean poor management.  This might have been necessary to stay competitive with what other private schools in the area were offering for the high tuition being charged.  All I’m saying is that I’d rather the downfall be something other than evil.

The surrounding community: For most of the years that I attended RCDS (1963-70), we were called “Hippie Hill” by the public school kids (and maybe adults too … and maybe worse).  Boys were wearing Beatle boots and longer hair when the public school boys were wearing button down shirts, chinos, loafers and crew cuts.  Girls had long straight hair, granny glasses, boots, and Hippie or Bohemian fashions when public school girls were wearing Peter Pan collars, sweater sets, plaid skirts, wing-tip glasses and either penny loafers or saddle shoes.  The drug culture hit us in high school; it hit the public school kids in college or for many of the boys, in Vietnam.

We were disliked for being different.  (What else is new?)  We were disliked because it was assumed that we were all stuck-up rich kids.  (In fact many of us were getting quite mellow on a regular basis and many of us were not rich.  I know my parents weren’t.)

Some people say that the animus has never quite gone away.  Other sources would indicate that as the times changed and the cultural divide between town and gown narrowed, most or all of the animus departed.  I live in Suffern, far enough away that RCDS is not a topic of conversation.  People have heard about it and that’s all.

Nevertheless, there is talk and conjecture by some that there was politics involved in the purchase of the RCDS campus by the town, and politics involved in the slow response to the school’s request to renegotiate the lease agreement to give the school some breathing room and the Head of School more time to work out another of the school’s traditional last minute saving moves.  Some suggest that it was never about helping the school stay afloat.  It was about a land grab by the Town for its own purposes, reasons to become known when the Town makes its next move after the school is cleared out.  I have heard from more than one person close to the school that there was a shadow effort, sources unknown, that were at work countering the attempts to find the funding, whether through donations or new tuition paying students, or any other legal means to keep the school afloat and on a new path to sustainability.

I would love to see a school on that campus again, either a revival of RCDS or a school with the same spirit of RCDS but one that is geared as a place of learning and refuge for children who identify as part of my gender community, the transgender community.  It wouldn’t be Rockland Country Day School any more, but the name I would give it is “The Magnolia School at the Rockland Country Campus”.  (If the RCDS campus is no longer available, the school would simply be “The Magnolia School” but the goal would be to use the best aspects of the RCDS tradition as its academic model and the RCDS inspiration would be noted on the new campus.)

As we can see from the example of NYMA during this decade, that would require a large influx of liquid assets.  (I would estimate at least $10 million, mostly in cash with some high quality stocks and bonds as well to provide income.)  Hurdle number one is the same as the first headmaster wrote in 1961: where will the money come from?  Hurdle number two is how determined is the Town of Clarkstown board to get the property back on the tax rolls (assuming that they can find a developer willing to pay their price) or to keep the campus as an additional recreation site for their own residents.  Hurdle number three is outbidding anyone else who wants the property if it is put up for sale.

Even so, land and property, while not strictly fungible, can be found elsewhere if there are enough people with the vision to make it happen plus the ability to provide or find sufficient funding to make it happen.  And then it would remain to be seen if it could be run in a businesslike fashion without losing the special qualities that made RCDS so beloved by so many of its alumni.

There are 444 listed members of the Rockland Country Day School Alumni Group on Facebook (which is open to anyone who attended the school, even if they did not graduate, plus former faculty and staff).  Of that number, 65 have joined since the school announced its closing.  What can we do to keep that momentum going and accomplish something worthwhile with it?  The floor is open for suggestions.

Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he. – Proverbs 29:18

God bless,

Lois

And Now For Something Completely Different … – Part VI

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ABD pad, aesthetician, agitated, appetite, Bala Cynwyd, bedding change, belongings, bowel movement, Bristol PA, bumpy roads, caregivers, caring, Certified Nursing Assistant, cheerful, Christian, climbing stairs, clitoris, Combine Pad, conversation, Dr. Sherman Leis, fainted, Foley catheter, food serving schedule, friends, Gender Reassignment Surgery, granny panties, GRS, hospital bedding, hospital food, hospital staff, Jenna, labia, Lower Bucks Hospital, medical discharge, non-woven sponge, nurse, positive attitude, post-surgery dressing, recovery room, SCD, Scriptures, sequential compression device, supportive, thighs, Transgender, urethra, vagina, vulva, walking, wings (knit pants), witnessing

… and a Fortnight

After nearly three months, a lot of my stay in the hospital is a blur and I don’t remember the names of most of the staff anymore.  But what I do remember was that all the nurses and CNA’s (Certified Nursing Assistants) were very caring and supportive.  All of them were good and most were excellent.  Not once did I detect any measure of negativity towards me because I was transgender.

One major change for me since I transitioned is that I have a much more positive attitude towards medical situations and personnel than I used to have.  Yes, if I am truly in pain, I will not hide that fact.  But I try to be pleasant, even cheery and I can even tell a joke or two, sometimes in the midst of pain.  Hopefully the hospital staff came away with a good feeling after interacting with me with each shift.

Every so often, I had a few moments to chat with one of the staff members.  With one we talked about dealing with psoriasis.  Another time, I shared about probably having played high school baseball against Denzel Washington.  With another, I shared about my talent to imitate popular singers (although not enough breath to do it at the time and not sure if I will still be able to do so when I get dentures).  I remember explaining to one nurse the meaning of “cisgender” and talking about transgender issues in general.  Another staff member told me about some differences in Dr. McGinn’s protocol.  And shortly before I was about to be released, I had an emotional moment with an understanding CNA who had another staff member wait while I had “a moment”: talking about what my surgery meant to me, how fortunate I had been to not have any negative public incidents in the five years since I had begun presenting as Lois to the world and how bad I felt for my transgender sisters who haven’t been so fortunate.

That’s not to say that everything went perfectly.  The machines which monitored the drip from my IV bags beeped far more often than they should have.  One staff member told me that they never worked properly.  But I never wanted to ignore that beeping for long.  So I rang the nurse’s station more often than I would have liked, probably 90% of the time for that reason.

My operation was on a Thursday.  Business must have been slow because on Friday evening around 5 PM, I got a ride to a different wing of the hospital on that floor.  So few beds were occupied that they shut down the wing I was on and consolidated the patients.  That wasn’t a problem.  The problem was when the nurse went into my closet and didn’t find my belongings there.  They never came up with me from where they had been put before surgery.  And because it was now the weekend, it was much harder to find someone to bring my bag to me.  I had some jellied candies in it that I would have loved to eat at times when I had an appetite and no food in sight.  And I had some pocket testaments that I would have loved to have offered to some of the staff.  (If the conversation went in certain directions, I was not shy letting staff know that I am a Christian.)  I was only reunited with my belongings about 15 minutes before I was discharged on Sunday.

Then there was the food: do not go to the hospital for the food.  To be honest, I didn’t have much of an appetite for a couple of weeks after the operation.  Furthermore, I don’t understand the Romans wanting to be fed while lying on a couch.  Breakfast in bed doesn’t seem to be much of a luxury for me anymore.  In summation, the food was edible (and sometimes better than that) and occasionally I was hungry.

There was also a matter of timing.  We were served at 8 AM, Noon and 5 PM.  There was also a shift change at 8 AM.  One night, I ended up horizontal instead of slanted at my usual 30º angle.  I rang for someone to put me into position to eat breakfast.  It didn’t happen until 9 AM.  And I enjoyed that breakfast (French toast with bacon, as I recall, and both were very good).  But lunch three hours later was too soon.  And there was always a long gap between dinner and next morning’s breakfast.

Somehow by around 10:30 on Sunday morning, October 8, I was reunited with all my belongings, I had calmed down from my “moment” and one of my dearest trans women friends came to take me from the hospital to the recovery room at Dr. Leis’s office.  Since she had two of her children with her, I don’t know if she wants me to identify her by name.  But since she reads my blog, she can certainly do so if she wants to and if it won’t cause a problem for her.  And she knows that when it is time for her recovery from surgery, I will be there for her.

Slowly getting to my feet for the first time since Thursday morning, I managed to navigate the distance from my bed to the wheelchair and the walk from wheelchair to front seat of her car, while being cognizant of having to carefully handle the catheter bag.  While it was nice to get out of bed and out of the hospital in general (even as wonderful as everyone was), if I had my druthers I’d rather have stayed in place until that catheter had been taken out.

Roosevelt Boulevard (US 1&13), Philadelphia

And so I made the return trip from Bristol to Bala Cynwyd during daylight hours on a gray, drizzly, cool morning.  The GPS took us a different way than Dr. Leis used, a combination of I-95, US 13 and US 1.  There were lots of places with bumpy pavement (and the occasional railroad track) and after major surgery I was much more aware of those bumps than I was on Thursday morning.

Then we got to the doctor’s office and confusion.  I thought someone on staff was meeting me.  And I thought that Dr. Leis would examine me at some point, maybe even when I arrived.  (I didn’t see him at any point while in the hospital after the operation.)

A sequential compression device on a patient’s calves, while in a hospital bed.

But when we arrived, no one was there.  I finally reached the doctor on his cell phone and he told us to just go straight to the recovery room.  He saw me that evening.  So I gingerly made my way up the stairs with my thighs feeling like they had turned to lead in three days.  During the hospital portion of recovery, Dr. Leis uses SCD’s (sequential compression device) on the calves in lieu of walking early to prevent blood clots (plus an injection of blood thinner), but they do nothing to stimulate the thighs.  Having been told that everyone manages to do it, I pressed on and made it.

The most important thing I can tell you if you are facing GRS or any other major internal surgery in the future is that every person’s body reacts differently.  They can only tell you what happens in most cases.  Your mileage may vary.

Dr. Leis had told me that it would be a few days before I would have a bowel movement.  Jenna told me that for a while I would have a feeling of pressure like I was having a bowel movement, but it wasn’t one for the first few days.  The hospital staff doctor who checked me and pronounced that I was fit to be discharged told me that I wouldn’t have a bowel movement for a few days.

Even so, I had experienced a watery discharge from my bowels the day after the operation.  It had come on my quite suddenly, too fast for the nurses to get there when I rang for them.  So I got to experience what it is like to have your hospital bedding changed when you are in the bed.  I’m sure it isn’t their favorite job, but they are quite proficient at it.  And fortunately for them, I’m more featherweight than heavyweight.

Now I am in the recovery room in Bala Cynwyd.  I wasn’t able to get anyone to stay with me for the first day (my friend who chauffeured me had to leave for a family event) and there is no one staying in the adjoining room.  Jenna is going to come at some point and make something for me to eat but she hasn’t arrived yet.  I have finally figured out which remote will change the channels and I am looking forward to watching some playoff baseball.

You know how you are warned on the passenger side mirror that things aren’t what they seem to be?  Well I had been told that something that felt like a bowel movement wasn’t really a bowel movement.  But by golly it sure felt like one.  And finally I decided I couldn’t take the chance.  It was a good thing I moved when I did.  Dragging a catheter and moving at a reduced pace and trying to avoid soiling the floor, I made it over the toilet bowl just in time.  (Of course, I was in the room furthest from the bathroom, but it was the room out of the two where the TV worked.)  I couldn’t get the outer dressing out of the way in time, but I did the best I could.  Sorry Jenna!  At least I was wise enough not to flush and clog the plumbing with the dressing.  With rubber gloves, the packing could be retrieved (and was).  I think I finally convinced Jenna that I didn’t put the dressing in the toilet on purpose.  Hopefully by now she realizes it could have been much worse.  And life went on.

I got good news early on.  I was told that my friend Carolyn (wife of college classmate, Blair) had rearranged her schedule to come a day earlier than originally planned.  Actually she did more than rearrange.  She cancelled some piano lessons (paying customers) on Monday so she could come a day earlier.  Blair stopped in when they arrived and it was great to see them both.

Foley Catheter

All of my caregivers were wonderful.  But of the three, Carolyn was the only one who had children.  So she was the most experienced caregiver at a time when I needed the most care.  And she figured out how to empty the Foley catheter bag, a strange contraption of clamps, tubes and storage compartments that seems to be illogically configured at first, second and third glance.  (I had done it when no one else was there, but very clumsily and it was difficult for me to explain it.)

Dr. Leis showed me how to change the dressings when the catheter was in, and more importantly, once the catheter was removed.  The removal caused an interesting sensation and a moment of pain when it popped out, but then it was over.  I have been told to be glad that I never needed a penile catheter.

Carolyn was there from Monday to Saturday.  In between sleep, watching television, reading, phone calls, meal prep and Carolyn’s daily walk, we had many interesting conversations.  GRS in itself is somewhat surreal, even as much as it was important for me.  But it was also surreal to be having deep conversations with her.  My mind flashed back to having similar deep conversations with Blair, sometimes to the wee hours of the morning, whether about life in general or what we were going through in terms of relationships, school or career. Those conversations were ostensibly guy to guy.  Now I am having woman to woman conversations with his wife.  I am blessed to have two such wonderful friends and conversationalists in my life.

Carolyn was my caregiver (although she excused herself) when the catheter came out.  That was when I was handed the mirror and got a glimpse of the Dr. Leis’s handiwork for the first time.  The raw tissue and stitches were still very visible, but at least from the outside, I now look female there.  That wasn’t surreal.  It was very matter of fact.  I started to change my dressings with two non-woven sponges (that look more like gauze pads to me), covered with what is known as either a combine pad or an ABD pad.  And I learned how to pull up what Dr. Leis calls “granny panties” (aka wings) over them to serve as my disposable underwear.

Most of all, I had a surge of delight when Dr. Leis (clinically, of course), described my genitalia as “your urethra”, “your clitoris”, “your vagina”, “your vulva” and “your labia”.  This was my actual skin and tissue, not some prosthetic device.

While Carolyn was there, I got a visit from an aesthetician that Dr. Leis provides for his trans women patients recovering from GRS (perhaps others as well).  She told me that she could come back on Friday.  It would be a time of pampering, I was told.  She would arrive between 1:30 and 2:30 in the afternoon.  My friend Deirdre also called me to tell me she would be coming to visit on Friday afternoon.  Gauging the traffic and when she could leave, she expected to arrive around 4 and 4:30 PM.  No conflict, right?

Of course, the aesthetician arrived at 2:30 or even a few minutes after.  And Deirdre, even after a stop at Murray’s Deli, was early.  The traffic between DC and Philly must have set a record for lightest ever on a Friday afternoon.  And my tablet is ringing with her phone call while I am covered with a skin treatment and can’t get to it.

As far as the aesthetician, all I will say is that sometimes two people just do not hit it off.  I get along with almost everyone.  After all I move comfortably in very conservative Christian circles and very liberal LGBT circles.  But she and I, after the first few minutes, just did not click.  What was supposed to be a pleasant, relaxing pampering experience turned out to be the opposite.  In fact, I was somewhat agitated and talked to Deirdre and Carolyn about it a few times after the aesthetician left.  Plus the session cut short my visiting time with Deirdre, which in retrospect I would have much preferred.  (Fortunately Deirdre and Carolyn, both having music backgrounds, had friends in common and had a lovely conversation in the next room.)

Margaret, my friend from sixth grade, followed Carolyn in the caregiver role from Saturday to Monday.  Despite my telling them not to bring food (I had enough there to feed Sherman’s army and with me off my feed, it lasted longer than expected), they both did.  But it was good and we enjoyed it.

Standard equipment for Jamee before she retired.

My friend Jamee (a former engineering co-worker of Blair and a client of mine until she retired) took the final caregiving shift.  Jamee met me for the first time a couple of years before I transitioned and she and I just hit it off immediately.  It was also great to get to know her better as one can do when sharing a room for three days.  We also had some great conversations.

Jamee also helped make a key decision for me.  Dr. Leis wanted to see me before sending me home.  But he was delayed on Wednesday.  By the time he arrived and checked me out, it was past time for us to have dinner.  While Jamee had started to load the car for me (she was a blessing in that department), we hadn’t finished.  She told me that she could stay until the following morning and suggested I stay rather than leave and get home late.  It was an excellent suggestion.  So that’s what we did.

Mid-morning on Thursday October 19, I headed for home.  Wanting to avoid stopping to go to the bathroom if possible so I wouldn’t have to do a dressing change in a public bathroom (I eventually became quite good at doing so), I made excellent time and found myself home in a little over two hours.  But by then, I really did need to use the facilities.  I took care of business and then rushed back downstairs because I had cold food in the car that needed to be refrigerated.  From the exertion, I barely got inside my apartment when I passed out.  Fortunately, I grabbed hold of a quilt nearby and slid rather than fell.

I revived, put the food away and went to sleep rather than try to bring the rest of my things upstairs.  In fact, that would take a while and was done gradually over the next week or two.  The next day, October 20, I would have my next irreversible surgery of the month: all my teeth were being pulled in preparation for dentures.  As of this writing, due to complications in my healing, I expect to be without usable teeth and on a soft food diet for about three months before I have wearable dentures.  But that is an entirely different story.

I will have one more blog post in this series, dealing with the aftermath of the operation, evaluations and recommendations.

Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert. – Isaiah 43:18-19

God bless,

Lois