He may pause and wonder for a moment just what he’s gotten himself into.
Each summer, visitors to Matinicus ask questions about our little school. Misconceptions about our island school, one of the last remaining one-room schools in the country, abound. As a former teacher, former school district bookkeeper, parent of former island students, classroom volunteer over a couple of decades and now a member of the school board, allow me to clarify a few things:
The most frequent and wrong assumption is that the state funds most of what we do or, in fact, has much direct involvement at all. The expenses of the Matinicus Elementary School are paid almost entirely by local property taxes. Those who have heard that the state of Maine is obligated to reimburse the districts a certain substantial percentage of their costs should know that such calculations fall apart when you’re talking about six or seven students. One year, back when I was the bookkeeper, the state cut us a subsidy check of $22.66 per month. Even in years when the state figures its portion to be much larger than that almost comical sum (which we called “the paper clip fund,”) the local share is easily 90% or better.
The state does not pay to send our ninth-graders off-island to high school. Their “out-of-town student” tuition to the public school of their choice (a decision based on where they know somebody and can thus find a bunk) is paid, again, primarily out of local taxes. If they go to private school as my two children did, our district contributes the same amount as it would pay a public school, and the family has to organize the rest of the financial aid themselves. Nobody is going to prep school at taxpayers’ expense.
When people ask (as they often do) “Won’t the state close your school?” or “What is the minimum number of students you need to have a school?” they are getting it wrong. The state would have nothing to gain by closing our school and, as a community, if we taxpayers want to keep the school open for even one student, we will. In fact, we have.
We are our own school district, and have no legal ties to any other. We had been MSAD #65, and consolidation brought us only a name change…to RSU 65. Despite what some think about the benefits of consolidation, it wouldn’t work for us. Our administrative costs are tiny (our part-time bookkeeper and part-time superintendent receive salaries that are nowhere near a living,) loss of the freedom to choose their high school would cause the families of teenagers no end of trouble, and the idea of bulk purchasing of heating oil when we’re out here on this island is really pretty hilarious.
Absolved of the burdens of a dress code, a school bus schedule and endless committee meetings, our teachers still do need to be certified (and no, they cannot commute!) Our students are not “cut off from the real world.” When the weather is bad we are truly isolated, but islanders have access to all sorts of high-speed telecommunications. Yes, the older students do help the younger ones, and our teacher last year even rang the old hand bell at the end of recess, but Matinicus is not stuck in the nineteenth century. The kids do not sit in rows memorizing multiplication tables all day (or, according to some teachers, even enough. Last year we had so many special projects, field trips, visitors, arts experiences and inter-island teambuilding activities that an ordinary day of schoolwork felt like a bit of a rarity!)
Like all the Matinicus teachers before him, Mr. Duncan will teach our children plenty, but he will find himself being taught even more. The two common reactions to time spent on Matinicus are “Get me off this godforsaken rock” and “I’ve fallen in love with the island and can hardly wait to come back!” There is rarely any sentiment expressed in between. Level heads are not the norm. More than a few teachers marry islanders, buy property, or keep coming back to visit. This island has a tradition of teachers spending only a year or two in that position; this remote one-room school is nobody’s career. Still, we teachers don’t always actually leave.
Eva Murray is a freelance writer who lives on Matinicus. Her book, Well Out to Sea: Year-Round on Matinicus Island (Tilbury House) was released July 1.