Death in the Dessert

How was my vivid narrative received? My sainted mother read the manuscript. She said, "Dear, dear." She rolled her eyes. Then she corrected my spelling and returned my schoolboy's journal. That was that. In 1930 some people showed more good sense in Oklahoma than some people exhibited on Long Island in 2003. That was when a few overwrought schoolmarms suspended 10-year-old Dylan Finkle for 30 days — because of a story he wrote.


I am not making this up. For today's column, let us turn to petition No. 06-542, filed by Dylan's dad two weeks ago in the U.S. Supreme Court. Sad to say, his case against the Syosset, N.Y., School Board may not have the heft that wins a hearing. The Supremes could strike a blow for justice by letting his cause go to oral argument, if only to shame the henny-penny schoolmarms and the witless federal judges who have contrived to push it there.

Three years ago, Dylan Finkle was in the sixth grade at Harry B. Thompson Middle School in Syosset. As the school year began in September, Philip Kaiser, Dylan's English teacher, gave his pupils a great assignment. They were to keep a personal journal through the school year in which they expressed "thoughts, concerns or feelings." They were to develop "creative writing abilities."

Thus encouraged, our hero sharpened his pen. He turned up the midnight oil. He appealed to his muse. Before three weeks had passed, he had turned out more poems than Eddie Guest at the same age and more short stories than O.Henry. More to the point, he was four chapters into "Costume Party," a harrowing tale of horror at Halloween. Before the third chapter ends, a boy named Dylan has gone on a killing spree. He has walked in on a female student having sex with another student. He has chopped off the girl's head with an ax.

The text of this unfinished saga does not appear in the Supreme Court record. In the fourth and future chapters, the plot may have turned the other way, with Dylan as the hero and his evil classmates as the slain. Whatever. Clearly it was a tale of glorious gore, in the tradition of Homer's bloody Odyssey and the spooky tales of Mr. Poe. On the morning of Oct. 3 he asked if he could read part of a chapter to a group of 16 outstanding students who meet for "Latin at Lunch." A faculty adviser asked to read the manuscript first. She read it, and was not amused.

Quelle horreur! The adviser sought advice from Principal James Kassebaum. Without notice to the boy's parents, he summoned a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist administered a battery of tests. Then came a formal hearing before Superintendent Carole G. Hankin. She also was not amused. She had never been a little boy.

This led to a curious kind of trial before a kangaroo court. The hearing officer was the school board's own attorney. Key witnesses for the school were neither sworn nor identified for the record. Dylan's family attorney was denied an opportunity for cross-examination. Hearsay abounded. Due process? These models of jurisprudence never heard of due process. After this fair and impartial examination, Ms. Hankin upped the principal's five-day suspension to 30 days.

The worst is yet to be told. Dylan's father sought justice in U.S. District Court. Fat chance! Judge Thomas C. Platt upheld the boy's suspension on every count. Still more: Three months ago, a panel of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 2^nd Circuit affirmed Platt's "thoughtful and comprehensive opinion" without further comment.

Let me spare you a distillation of Platt's opinion. It ranks among the worst I have read in 65 years of covering appellate courts. The judge found that an assignment to keep a journal was inconsistent with the school's "basic education mission." If read to the scholars of "Latin at Lunch," the boy's disturbing story could have "materially interfered with the work of the school."

The judge conceded that, yes, Dylan's parents had been unlawfully denied an opportunity to exercise a statutory right of cross-examination, but so what? The boy's rights were outweighed by the school's interest in protecting the identities of anonymous witnesses. Finally, the lad's fiction "clearly warranted serious disciplinary action."

Let us say a prayer for Dylan in the intellectual climes of Syosset, Long Island. This straight-A kid will make it on his own.

(Letters to Mr. Kilpatrick should be sent by e-mail to kilpatjj@aol.com.)

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