5-4 “What Price Glory”

My husband has gotten used to the phrase, “There’s a Facts of Life episode about that.” Readers of this blog likely know that in its nine seasons in prime time, Facts covered a wealth of serious and poignant issues, including a number of Very Special Episodes generally of excellent quality.

Earlier this month, the New York Times ran a story on the front page of the Sunday sports section about a particular athlete and program whose academic abuses cost the basketball program their shot at the postseason and may have cost the student his education.

There’s a Facts of Life episode about that.

Jeff was the longest-recurring Facts boyfriend, making appearances in seasons five, six, eight and nine. By the end of the series, Tootie and Jeff were engaged, and other than some rando named “Rudy” who shows up for one episode, Tootie doesn’t date anyone else after she meets Jeff.

But do you remember that when they first met, Jeff was illiterate?

It’s season five, so Tootie is a mere sophomore in high school rather than the stunning adult woman she is in the picture above.

At Edna’s Edibles, the girls take inventory while Blair blithers about booking Cousin Geri to open a thing at Langley. She hasn’t cleared it with Geri yet, and this can’t possibly go wrong in any way, but it doesn’t really matter since I don’t even remember this subplot and I’m Geri’s biggest fan.

Enter our plot, a child at this point but clearly well on his way to being the tall drink of water you saw in the photo above.

Because Natalie is awesome and by far the most sex-positive of these girls, she announces that she will be happy to help the customer, but Tootie blocks her.

“Keep counting the olives, Natalie. This one’s mine.”

That is very objectifying language to which I generally object in principle, but I also have to admit it’s refreshing to see it in a girl-centric show. In 1983, no less.

The young man tells Tootie he’s hungry, and she suggests Greek salad, tortellini, or quiche. He suggests a hero sandwich.

“You’d make a hero out of any sandwich.”

We learn that the young man is named Jeff Williams. Tootie knows; she also knows that he’s a senior at Bates and that he’s on the football team.

“I hear you are the football team.”

The only thing cornier than Tootie’s shameless flirting is Natalie’s and Blair’s approval of it.

Both Natalie and Blair are much smoother than this. But Tootie is young, and Jeff seems to be responding, so, carry on, girl.

She introduces herself as Tootie Ramsey, Eastland sophomore, and says she’d love to make him a sandwich, on the house.

“Too much!” I exclaim. Jo agrees.

Mrs. Garrett returns to the shop and is as awed by the beefcake as any of us.

Natalie explains that Jeff is a senior at Bates and every football college in the country is after him. He and Tootie obviously dig each other. We find out there’s a football game tomorrow that Tootie would love to go to, and Jeff asks her to be his date for the party afterward.

The next day, Tootie catches Natalie up on the amazing time she and Jeff had on their date. Tootie fantasizes about their future together as a star athlete and a star actress to a rapt Natalie. All we need now is conflict, and Blair and Cousin Geri arguing about the thing from the opening doesn’t cut it.

The tension increases when a cranky Jo, on her way out with Mrs. Garrett, scolds Tootie for not having completed the inventory yet. We’re left with the impression that our central conflict in this episode is that Tootie is shirking her duties because of the time she’s spending with Jeff. She also did that with Jermaine Jackson.

Later, Jeff pouts around the shop while Tootie furiously works on inventory. After a gross exchange about girls and horror movies, Tootie notes that if he helps her, they can finish more quickly.

Excuse number one: he’s been busting ass on football all week. Isn’t Sunday his day of rest?
Tootie: “Not unless you created the world in the other six.”

Excuse number two: he can’t concentrate on food when he’s got passes and plays in his head…and her smile…and this is boring…and whine whine whine…

Jeff’s petulance is as confusing to Tootie as it is to the watcher. Why is he spending more time moaning about the job than it would take to just do it? Jeff gets angrier, and Tootie gets more frustrated.

Tootie: “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you read?”

“Hey, reading’s not my thing. OK?”

He says he’s into football, and his coach says he shouldn’t get distracted. He’s getting recruited by nine colleges. And besides, he can read.

Jeff: “I don’t walk in the exit. I don’t sit on wet paint. I’ve never ended up in the ladies’ room.”

It’s heartbreaking. Tootie hands him a jar and asks him to read it. You see him identify the “H” and triumphantly say “horseradish mustard,” which they’d discussed earlier. It’s hollandaise sauce. It’s not Jeff’s finest moment when he slams the jar down.

Tootie still doesn’t understand how he gets through high school without being able to read, and he explains that since people think he’s special, they do things for him. Tootie is incredulous that people cheat for him, but Jeff insists that “it’s not cheating, it’s helping.” Specifically, he gets tests ahead of time and his friends look up the answers. But he memorizes them, dammit. It’s not like he doesn’t do anything. And if anyone does know, they haven’t said anything about it. Sure, he’ll learn to read someday, but right now he has the chance to be the best quarterback in the nation.

Remember that we’re talking about ritzy private school Bates Academy here. By no means am I suggesting that hoity toity schools don’t engage in this kind of deception to churn their athletes through the system; to the contrary, it happens everywhere, and  I appreciate that Facts went there.

Tootie is devastated, and Jeff tells her to cheer up, because he doesn’t want his girl going around like that.

“But Jeff, this is your fut – your girl?”

And so goes Tootie, with the golden football and the status of “Jeff’s Girl.”

We next see Tootie celebrating the end of inventory with Mrs. Garrett and the girls. They’re briefly interrupted by Cousin Geri and the irrelevant subplot, which does nothing but date the show by telling us it’s a big deal that Blair booked Robert Klein.

Jeff arrives shortly thereafter, and is excited to share the news that he passed his big biology exam. If he passes English, he can sit back and let the colleges fight over him. Mrs. Garrett gives him some punch and suggests that Tootie make a toast. She passes the buck to Natalie, the writer, who says, “To Jeff Williams, the Bates Bomber. An athlete and a scholar. He’s not just another dumb jock.”

Tootie storms into the shop as Geri asks Jeff about his college choices. Mrs. Garrett and Natalie follow, and Tootie yells at them about the plastic knives and forks getting mixed up. It’s obvious something’s wrong with Tootie, and Natalie guesses that she’s upset that next year Jeff will go away to college. Natalie promises her that he’ll write, and Tootie responds, “No he won’t.” Which is hilarious, but Natalie doesn’t know why yet, so she’s her old enthusiastic self, encouraging Tootie to write first and ask a lot of questions. Tootie replies, “Not if he can’t read my letter.”

Awesome Natalie defends Tootie’s handwriting, but the truth finally comes out: Tootie babysits for kids that read better than Jeff, and that he gets through high school because his friends give him the answers to memorize.

Mrs. Garrett gets indignant. “Some friends,” she seethes. She rants about how the people who do his work for him are cheating him out of his future, and they don’t give a damn about anything but his football.

When Mrs. Garrett says “damn,” you know it’s getting serious.

Tootie fights back that the people who help him do so care about him. She knows because she’s one of them.

Mrs. Garrett awesomely acknowledges that he’s gotten through high school, and he’ll probably get through college, with help from his “friends.” But Tootie should be a better friend than that. She gives Tootie an encouraging shoulder-pat as she and Natalie depart, leaving Tootie alone as Jeff enters with drinks.

Jeff wants to take Tootie out for a pizza to celebrate, and Tootie declares that she doesn’t think they have anything to celebrate. Hooray high road! He remains indignant that if all his friends acted like this he never would have gotten through high school and had a chance at a football scholarship, and yeah yeah, he knows what if he gets injured or doesn’t make the pros but he figures he’ll worry about all that later.

Heartbreaking.

And, no, Tootie says, that’s not what she’s worried about. What if he gets all the fame and fortune and glory he’s hoping for?

No, she says, he’ll just be an illiterate jock. Oooh, she goes to the “our people” place and pulls a killer metaphor by pointing out that their people had to work in the fields, and if they wanted to learn to read, they did it in secret. Now, when an education is his right, Jeff is still out on the field.

Now that was inspired.

She goes on to suggest that when he’s on the cover of Sports Illustrated, doesn’t he want to be able to read the article? He appeals to futility and says even if he’s not happy with the way things are, he’s almost 18 and he’ll look like a fool if he comes out. He’s worried that when people find out he can’t read, they’ll all leave him. And she says that she knows, and she isn’t going to leave him.

Awwwww. But also ewwwwwww. I mean, I don’t know. It would be pretty hard for me to date someone who is illiterate. I once broke up with a guy because he gave me a love note which had no punctuation except two sets of parentheses that didn’t belong there. But I’ve also been struggling lately with the some of the disconnects between “proper grammar” and social justice (e.g., rejection of alternative dialects; gendered language).

I don’t like that talented young athletes are sold a dream at the expense of their education. I’ll discuss this topic in more depth in my other blog; here, with respect to this episode, the recognition of the tragedy in a story like this is making me pull back on my visceral reaction that a man who couldn’t read is undateable. It’s not entirely his fault; it’s a system that told him that was something other people did. But I still don’t think I could actually handle it.

Apparently Tootie can, though, because that’s where our episode ends. Jeff goes off to college and he and Tootie take a hiatus. Apparently somewhere along the line he catches up on the literacy; it’s never mentioned again.

Too bad so many student athletes in the real world don’t have that Facts magic. For more of my thoughts on the issue in general, please visit my other blog, According to Vikki.