5-16 “All Or Nothing”

“Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” The advice is generally sound, but it’s also important not to settle for “good” out of a fear that “perfect” is unattainable. Negotiation, settlement, and compromise are all important, but it’s equally important to avoid stagnating. What I’m trying to say is, don’t you dare ask me who I’m liking among the contenders in the Democratic Primary.

Jo, meanwhile, learns the meaning of winning the battle but losing the war. Not literally. My friends overseas have been shaming Americans for overusing/misusing the word “literally,” and I hope to educate. It is not to be used to emphasize that your metaphor is indeed a metaphor.

For the longest time, I thought “metaphor” was spelled with an extra ‘e’ on the end. Who can guess what word I was confusing it with?

Today’s episode of the girls being shits begins with Jo sauntering into the living room. Mrs. G plays cards, and is uncharacteristically dismissive of if not downright rude to Jo, who asks about her roommates and dinner. Mrs. G suggests that Jo scrape the fuzzy stuff off the old pasta salad in the refrigerator and eat that.

Jo insisted that no one make any fuss, but Jo’s election to the Langley Board of Regents is just too big a deal to let slide by without a party.

Natalie has proactively prepared a speech for Jo, but Jo turns it down, preferring to wing it. Natalie declares that she’ll just send it to Jesse Jackson, then. That little line gives us the era’s political climate, Natalie’s affiliation, and a quick retort to anyone who wants to deny that this is a lefty show.

Jo promises to work very hard on her constituents’ behalf. In particular, she notes that Langley has raised the student activity fee and cut scholarships. It’s not surprising that Jo’s advocacy leans strongly toward the financially insecure. So far, she’s righteous.

Jo arrives at her first board meeting, where good ol’ Jami Gertz as Boots St. Clair hands out pencils. She offers to introduce Jo around, starting with Steve Garland, a generically attractive ’80s boy who apparently is captain of the football team.

Does not follow. At a school where anyone cares who the captain of the football team is, the captain of the football team would not have time and probably would not be allowed to represent the students on the board of regents. Also, he would not be that short.

Jo pulls Steve aside and says that as the student representatives, they ought to stick together. She’s about to review what she thinks is important, but Steve assures her that Board Chairman Beaumont is just as concerned as anyone, and he knows what the school needs. Jo’s attempt to continue is interrupted as an old white man bellows the meeting to order.

First order of business is to welcome the new student regent. His mispronunciation of her Polish last name is written in as an easy gag, but says more about power structures than the writers probably realized.

The first item on the agenda is a vote to eliminate the microbiology department. The speed (fast) and amount of discussion (none) involved in this vote takes Jo aback, and Steve explains that Chairman Privilege wastes no time.

Jo raises her hand and asks to talk about the student activity fee increase. Chairman Privilege declares that since it isn’t on the agenda, it’s not up for debate. That is reasonable. It is also probably true that if the activity fee increase was already implemented, then it was already debated. There’s not much new regent Jo can do about policies already in place.

Nevertheless, she persists. The fee was raised to raise money to renovate the student center. Jo reviewed the budget…

Apparently no one actually reads the budget. That’s disturbing.

Anyway, Jo reviewed the budget and found a surplus in Buildings and Grounds. Another regent protests that they can’t pull out of that budget, but the chairman, now playing Look How Progressive I Am, decides that they can pull $10K from Buildings and Grounds “for a good cause.” He declares the budget adjustment done and bangs the gavel, and just like that Jo has done a thing.

Empowered by her initial victory, Jo goes on to ask why scholarships are being cut. Chairman Privilege grumbles that the school has been hard-hit by inflation; the administrative staff haven’t had raises in two years and this year they absolutely must get a raise.

As a poor kid who become a university administrative staff member, I agree with Jo the money should come from somewhere else. The rest of the board drops their foreheads to their hands as they mumble that they need two hundred thousand dollars from somewhere, and it can’t be Buildings and Grounds, and ugh could she just shut up and go with the flow.

Oh Jo, how I sympathize with expecting to show up and fix everything only to find that your hands are just differently tied in the new environment. Major change under these circumstances takes more time than a volunteer has unless said volunteer has extraordinary privilege. Which I have. Hmm. Well, hugs to you as you go through this process, yet another that advantages the wealthy.

Chairman Privilege speeds the meeting along to the good news! Oh hay! Here’s a drawing of the new Duke Patterson scoreboard for the Langley stadium!

Another party-pooper, not Jo, asks how much this contraption costs, and Chairman Privilege says it’s about five hundred thousand dollars – the exact amount of Duke Patterson’s donation to the university!

To poor, naive Jo, the solution is obvious: Take $200K from that donation and save the scholarship fund. This is where Jo gets a hard lesson in earmarked donations and satisfying donors.

Back at the ranch, Mrs. Garrett sits patiently at the table while Natalie and Tootie field telephone calls from sororities wanting Jo to speak for them. Jo and Blair enter with a girl and a boy in tow. Jo has become a celebrity around campus for her efforts since becoming a Regent, and the two guest stars, along with Blair, have been helping Jo hang up posters advocating “Scholarships yes! Scoreboard no!”

Jo suggests that instead of booking multiple speaking engagements, she get a room in the student union and speak to the entire student body tomorrow. One of her minions offers to get it organized as the other helps himself to the food on the table.

Mrs. Garrett’s initial shock gives way to delight that finally someone wants to enjoy her dinner with her.

Meanwhile, Jo’s minion has gotten the student center on the phone, and they don’t have anything available tomorrow. Jo suggests looking into later in the week, but Blair interrupts.

“You don’t have to wait. You are a regent!”

Blair knows how to exploit privilege. Jo gives it a go and is joyfully surprised to enjoy having the privilege for once. One of the minions suggests getting the student paper to cover the event; when the other says that the week’s paper has already been put to bed, Jo declares that it’s not too late for a regent to get the coverage she wants. Mrs. G does not like what she overhears.

Jo declares that she is going to show the board how “the students” feel about their “stupid scoreboard.” Mrs. Garrett asks if everyone feels the way she does.

“Who cares? They’re wrong and I’m right!”

After Jo brushes off Mrs. G’s reminder that she’s going to have to continue to work with these people, Mrs. G can only look on in concern as we fade to commercial.

Back in the living room, Natalie and Tootie finish picket signs for Jo’s rally.

The other sign reads “Scholarships yes! Scoreboard no!” but Jo, who impatiently stomps in with her minions in tow, chews Natalie out for taking liberties with the wording. “I said ‘Stop the Scoreboard’ and I want ‘Stop the Scoreboard!'”

Mrs. G reassures Natalie and Tootie that they did a good job despite Jo’s dragon treatment, and sends them to mind the shop while she tells Jo she sucks. Jo sighs a frustrated non-apology. A disappointed Mrs. G retreats into the shop.

Jo and her minions discuss her entry into the rally when Blair comes through the front door. She proudly tells Jo that she collected 500 signatures on her anti-scoreboard petition (and got three dates along the way). Jo snots that “wimpy petitions” aren’t going to accomplish anything.

Jo wants to come up with something big to show the board what the student body thinks of their scoreboard, but before she finds inspiration, Mrs. Garrett summons her to the shop, where, she reports, several “large men” are waiting for her (and getting larger by the second).

Oh hay! it’s Jo’s fellow regent, Steve Garland, along with two boys who look like they might actually play college football, which just underscores how tiny Steve Garland is. Quarterback and offensive linemen? The one on the left looks too lean. Frankly, it looks like a prop, a second row, and a tiny little hooker. They’ve come to plead with Jo to back off of her opposition to the scoreboard. Duke Patterson is a longtime contributor to the school; he paid for their new gym and their trip to Hawaii.

Jo: “So when you say he gives to the school, what you mean is he gives to the football team.”
Football guy: “No, the band got to go to Hawaii too!”

I have complicated feelings about college athletics. I hate it that colleges are essentially farm teams for many of the major American professional sports, but I like athletics in general, and I like school spirit. I also get that there’s a relationship between school sports programs, especially football, and revenue. However, I am also aware that given the cost to run a football program, the amount that a football program brings into a school for things besides football is often overstated, and we’re sometimes given to look the other way for the sake of athletics. Facts even has an episode about it.

There is merit, though, to the argument that the other students benefit from opportunities that competitive sports teams offer. The band is one such example. Cheer or spirit teams are another. It’s a broken system, but its not all bad.

Most of all, donors are important. I’ve worked and/or volunteered in a university setting and for at least half a dozen nonprofits, and nothing happens without the money. You might say that Nothing’s Shocking about the recent admissions scandals in the media given the need any nonprofit institution has for money. Part of the job of anyone involved in a nonprofit is to keep the donors happy and figure out ways to attract new ones.

Just to be perfectly clear, when I worked in higher ed, I was never offered money to fix admissions. My limited involvement with potential donors was to bring certain applicants to the attention of people higher up than me, with my recommendation and extensive supporting notes. When I was a supervisor and I received such a referral from my direct reports, I would either hand the file to my supervisor with my recommendation and notes or present it at a management meeting for a group decision, while also giving information to the development office to consider their potential value as donors based on their expertise. It has its flaws, but I never did anything I would be ashamed of. Donor children are at least as likely to become successful, spirited alumni as the average student. Anyone with an additional stake in the process does.

The football meatheads encourage Jo to talk to Chairman Privilege, which is a reasonable request. But Jo is on a crusade now, and she declares that she has nothing to discuss with him unless he’s willing to forget about the scoreboard. The biggest meathead, whose name we learn, is “Moose” (oh c’mon! Try harder!), is about to take Jo on, but Steve Garland begins to lead his posse out of the shop, muttering that they tried.

Jo demands that Tootie fetch her camera and the boy minion. Then she starts baiting the meatheads.

She thinks it’s hilarious to ask them where the rest of the herd is, and she brushes off Blair’s warning to insist that she loves to hear from her constituents, “even those without necks.” Mrs. Garrett tries to defuse the situation with cannoli, but Jo’s suggestion that she try raw meat instead achieves her desired result.

Having successfully provoked The Great Gourmet Food Shop Brawl between three football players and her exceedingly average minion, Jo suppresses a grin as she tells Tootie to take pictures and Mrs. G to call the police.

At an undetermined time in the future, the halls of Langley are crowded with students carrying signs as the regents plow through to attend their weekly? monthly? meeting. Jo’s arrival prompts applause and she can’t hide the smug.

Blair pulls her aside to let her know that someone trashed the football locker room, and there have been fist fights all over campus since Jo started stirring the pot. Jo protests that she’s not responsible if people get crazy, and Blair tries to tell her that “It’s just a scoreboard.”

Now, even though Jo has been an asshole, I’m still on her side regarding the substance. Cutting $200K from scholarships and installing a $500K scoreboard to keep a regular donor happy might be reality, but it still sucks. Her advocacy for preserving the scholarship money remains righteous, even if she’s acting like a shit.

Chairman Privilege exits the meeting room and wants to talk.

He reports that Duke Patterson really wants a scoreboard, but he found a cheaper scoreboard that cost about $100K less than the original plan, and that savings will go toward new scholarships. Jo stands her ground, to the delight of her supporters, and Chairman Privilege tells Jo he’ll see her inside.

The other regents are exhausted. Alumni have been sending telegrams (hee!) indicating their displeasure with the riots on campus (oy!). Jo continues to insist that the students don’t want a scoreboard, and moves that the board reject Duke Patterson’s donation. A divided board votes to pass her motion. “Congratulations,” snarks a snide Steve Garland.

Jo and Chairman Privilege are the last to leave the meeting room. “Well, you won,” he digs. “I didn’t win, Langley won,” Jo insists. Chairman Privilege: “Did they?”

Jo apologizes for causing him trouble, but he is unfazed. All he has to do is “tell Duke Patterson that he just saved half a million dollars.” He suggests that when the rah-rah rally around defeating the scoreboard dies down, Jo will have a lot of explaining to do to her fans. Before excusing himself, he says he’ll see her at the next meeting, and he pronounces her name correctly.

I’m ultra-sensitive to the name thing. A person with whom I had a tense relationship insisted on referring to me as “Victoria.” Nobody calls me “Victoria.” My dad sometimes, I guess, and my husband, which now that I write that sounds very creepy. Carry on.

When Jo is off the deep end, Blair is the voice of reason, and she comes in to the meeting room to point out that Jo just turned down one hundred thousand dollars in scholarship money. Jo continues to insist that she couldn’t accept any amount of money that came with a scoreboard and maintain her credibility; Blair reminds Jo that she is one of Jo’s constituents, and the Jo she voted for would have gotten that money, scoreboard or no scoreboard.

Blair doesn’t suggest counter-offering a $300K scoreboard and $200K in scholarship money, but her general snark-free encouragement persuades Jo to eat humble pie. Jo puts her tail between her legs and goes back out to tell her constituents that she screwed up; she will ask the board to reconsider the vote she just goaded them into. As cries of “Jo! Jo! Jo!” echo in the hallway, Jo humbly goes outside to own up to her error. Blair supports her all the way.