“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility…”
Eighth grade, 1970s Illinois. Six weeks to memorize the preamble, the Gettysburg Address, and pass the Constitution test—or spend another year in the same classroom.
Mrs. Robinson was petite, but strong, and she taught us well.
Principal Gerald “Chips” Giovanine wasn’t bluffing about consequences.
The man who coached Western High to a 29‑1 basketball record ran our school like his team. When he swung that paddle—both hands gripping, feet leaving the ground—you felt it for days. We respected him because he meant what he said. When I blew my knew out in the eleventh grade he said I needed to be a sports writer and cover the team. I listened and haven’t put the pen down since. He was tough, but you respected him because you knew he had your best interests at heart. Which is why he was tough and loving at the same time.
Gerald “Chips” Giovanine
One of our classmates failed the constitution test twice. When he turned sixteen he drove his car to grade eight. But later he became a successful farmer and lived a great life with a loving family happily at his side.
I memorized those fifty-two words out of fear. Still know them. Whenever I do a mic check, I lay it all out there for the electorate to hear. Ensure domestic tranquility!
Last week, Congressman Jeffries talked for eight hours and forty-four minutes straight on the House floor.¹ Republicans were pushing legislation through at 4 a.m., ignoring their parliamentarian when she said they were breaking the rules.
Tuberville tweeted she should be fired.² When Jeffries protested, they ran back to that same parliamentarian whining about decorum.³.
We voted on everything—money, ministers, what color to paint the kitchen. Lost by one vote?
Try again next week
Those Congregationalists who started Harvard back in 1636⁴ knew something: democracy only works when losers accept losing.
Today, only 47% of Americans can name the three branches of government. One in four can’t name even one.⁵
Eight states don’t bother teaching the Constitution.
Graduate in Alaska, Delaware, Kansas, Maine, New Jersey, Rhode Island, Vermont, or Wyoming without ever reading the document that runs the country.⁶ We throw nearly three billion at teaching kids science and math. Civics gets four million. Pocket change.⁷
I quit teaching after twenty-eight years.
The breaking point came watching six kids who couldn’t read walk across that stage for diplomas. Real diplomas. They held up those pieces of paper like trophies, waving documents they couldn’t decifer if their lives depended on it.
One girl’s father went to our church. Lawyer. When I could not justify passing his daughter (a senior), he threatened to sue.
She spent most of every class on the phone with her mother, who always made a point to call during my class. [Context: mom, dad, and daughter were all recovering crack addicts, which made me consider accepting the law suit, but these days, you’d probably lose for holding a crack addict accountable for not being able to read a diploma].
Our principal hid in her office, poofing up her hair, spraying perfume in the air, and talking to he hair stylist on the school phone. One day she pronounced Belgium “Bell-Gee-Uhm” at a faculty meeting. None of us were surprised.
I doubt she’s ever read the Constitution. Maybe she’s an authority on Bell-Gee-Uhm’s constitution?
Graduation day, I found the cell phone girl who couldn’t read hobnobbing with an assistant principal so large he never stopped sweating profusely. Shirts always soaked. Ate two burgers with double fires ever day for lunch. Wedged himself inside a golf cart all day to “patrol” the grounds. I can’t remember if he taught civics or health.
I asked cell phone girl:
“What’s next for you?”
“Drugs.”
“Come on, really—what are you going to do?”
“Drugs.”
She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t stupid either. Just unmoored. No one had ever demanded she be anything else. The assistant principal smiled at her, gave her a hug, and glared at me. He’d babied her all through school. The State of Tennessee (where I currently live) is ranked 27th in education.
Illinois is like many other states: one or two large metropolitan areas and the rest is rural. Pennyslvannia has Pittsburg in the west and Philadelphia in the east. Alabama lies between the two.
Illinois has Chicago and the rest is … Alabama.
Politically, not geographically.
The founders built rules to handle these tensions. Different regions, different interests, same system. It works when people know the rules.
My eighth-grade class knew because we had no choice.
Now students graduate unable to read (comprehend would be a better word choice) the diplomas we hand them, then vote for leaders who treat the Constitution like toilet paper.
Delaware rushed to ratify the Constitution first.⁸ Now they don’t require kids to read it. Vermont’s so proud of those town meetings but doesn’t teach how they connect to anything bigger.
That parliamentarian Congress keeps trying to fire? She’s doing what Chips did—enforcing rules equally. But people who never learned rules exist see any referee as the enemy.
Now we graduate kids who choose drugs because nobody ever made them choose anything else.
Their parents’ money talks louder than their teachers’s ability to cope.
Lawsuits matter more than literacy.
The projector’s still running.
But nobody’s watching anymore.
Footnotes
¹ Hakeem Jeffries delivered an 8-hour 44-minute speech on July 3, 2025. ↩
² Tommy Tuberville tweeted the parliamentarian should be fired. ↩
³ Republicans returned to the parliamentarian to complain. ↩
⁴ Harvard University was founded by Congregationalists in 1636. ↩
⁵ According to Annenberg 2022 survey, 47% of Americans knew the three branches. ↩
⁶ 8 states require neither a civics course nor a test for graduation. ↩
⁸ Delaware was the first to ratify the Constitution, Dec 7, 1787. ↩
hillpoet56
Gene Scott grew up on an Illinois tenant farm where kitchen-table tales mixed magic with hog farms and strip mines. After 40 years in East Tennessee, he’s witnessed nature’s raw power—and its quiet grace to heal what’s broken.
Domestic Tranquility?
“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility…”
Eighth grade, 1970s Illinois. Six weeks to memorize the preamble, the Gettysburg Address, and pass the Constitution test—or spend another year in the same classroom.
Mrs. Robinson was petite, but strong, and she taught us well.
Principal Gerald “Chips” Giovanine wasn’t bluffing about consequences.
The man who coached Western High to a 29‑1 basketball record ran our school like his team. When he swung that paddle—both hands gripping, feet leaving the ground—you felt it for days. We respected him because he meant what he said. When I blew my knew out in the eleventh grade he said I needed to be a sports writer and cover the team. I listened and haven’t put the pen down since. He was tough, but you respected him because you knew he had your best interests at heart. Which is why he was tough and loving at the same time.
One of our classmates failed the constitution test twice. When he turned sixteen he drove his car to grade eight. But later he became a successful farmer and lived a great life with a loving family happily at his side.
I memorized those fifty-two words out of fear. Still know them. Whenever I do a mic check, I lay it all out there for the electorate to hear. Ensure domestic tranquility!
Last week, Congressman Jeffries talked for eight hours and forty-four minutes straight on the House floor.¹ Republicans were pushing legislation through at 4 a.m., ignoring their parliamentarian when she said they were breaking the rules.
Tuberville tweeted she should be fired.² When Jeffries protested, they ran back to that same parliamentarian whining about decorum.³.
These are our leaders?
We voted on everything—money, ministers, what color to paint the kitchen. Lost by one vote?
Try again next week
Those Congregationalists who started Harvard back in 1636⁴ knew something: democracy only works when losers accept losing.
Today, only 47% of Americans can name the three branches of government. One in four can’t name even one.⁵
Eight states don’t bother teaching the Constitution.
Graduate in Alaska, Delaware, Kansas, Maine, New Jersey, Rhode Island, Vermont, or Wyoming without ever reading the document that runs the country.⁶ We throw nearly three billion at teaching kids science and math. Civics gets four million. Pocket change.⁷
I quit teaching after twenty-eight years.
The breaking point came watching six kids who couldn’t read walk across that stage for diplomas. Real diplomas. They held up those pieces of paper like trophies, waving documents they couldn’t decifer if their lives depended on it.
One girl’s father went to our church. Lawyer. When I could not justify passing his daughter (a senior), he threatened to sue.
She spent most of every class on the phone with her mother, who always made a point to call during my class. [Context: mom, dad, and daughter were all recovering crack addicts, which made me consider accepting the law suit, but these days, you’d probably lose for holding a crack addict accountable for not being able to read a diploma].
Our principal hid in her office, poofing up her hair, spraying perfume in the air, and talking to he hair stylist on the school phone. One day she pronounced Belgium “Bell-Gee-Uhm” at a faculty meeting. None of us were surprised.
I doubt she’s ever read the Constitution. Maybe she’s an authority on Bell-Gee-Uhm’s constitution?
Graduation day, I found the cell phone girl who couldn’t read hobnobbing with an assistant principal so large he never stopped sweating profusely. Shirts always soaked. Ate two burgers with double fires ever day for lunch. Wedged himself inside a golf cart all day to “patrol” the grounds. I can’t remember if he taught civics or health.
I asked cell phone girl:
She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t stupid either. Just unmoored. No one had ever demanded she be anything else. The assistant principal smiled at her, gave her a hug, and glared at me. He’d babied her all through school. The State of Tennessee (where I currently live) is ranked 27th in education.
Illinois is like many other states: one or two large metropolitan areas and the rest is rural. Pennyslvannia has Pittsburg in the west and Philadelphia in the east. Alabama lies between the two.
Illinois has Chicago and the rest is … Alabama.
Politically, not geographically.
The founders built rules to handle these tensions. Different regions, different interests, same system. It works when people know the rules.
My eighth-grade class knew because we had no choice.
Now students graduate unable to read (comprehend would be a better word choice) the diplomas we hand them, then vote for leaders who treat the Constitution like toilet paper.
Delaware rushed to ratify the Constitution first.⁸ Now they don’t require kids to read it. Vermont’s so proud of those town meetings but doesn’t teach how they connect to anything bigger.
That parliamentarian Congress keeps trying to fire? She’s doing what Chips did—enforcing rules equally. But people who never learned rules exist see any referee as the enemy.
Now we graduate kids who choose drugs because nobody ever made them choose anything else.
Their parents’ money talks louder than their teachers’s ability to cope.
Lawsuits matter more than literacy.
The projector’s still running.
But nobody’s watching anymore.
Footnotes
hillpoet56