DWIGHT OTT: “I see you called the superintendent at home,” she said. I told her that I had no other option. Then she asked, “What’s this I hear about threats on the superintendent’s life?” I said, “No, no. She must have misunderstood. I asked her about vandalism of her car and tried to verify the story with her.” I shook my head and went back to tinkering with my notes. The phone rang again. It was the Philadelphia Police Department. They wanted to know whether and why I had called the superintendent at home. I explained. Then they wanted to know if I had made threats on the superintendent’s life. I sensed that this was going in the wrong direction. Bright and early the next morning, I called Ackerman’s office hoping it was only a misunderstanding and that the superintendent was still planning to talk with me. I spoke to one of the flacks, who acted as if nothing had happened and said she would check with the superintendent. Shortly thereafter, two plainclothes Philadelphia police detectives showed up at the door of my house in South Jersey. I let them in, confident that I had nothing to hide (though my wife was horrified). My ensuing chat with the police took about an hour, over the course of which they questioned me extensively and asked to use my computer – which, having nothing to hide, I also allowed them to do. MORE
RELATED:Arlene Ackerman, our schools CEO, is small and sturdy, with large, soft, maternal eyes and a short bobbed haircut that is at once modern and fit for a 62-year-old grandmother. She is dressed today in a wide-shouldered jacket with gold epaulets, lending her a kind of military bearing, and whether she is sitting here, in a boardroom with her executive cabinet, or in a public hearing, she seems sure of herself and altogether less interested in others’ approval than their acquiescence. MORE
[Photoshop courtesy of BAD LUCK CITY]