I’ve been told that I need to change my tone. This is probably good advice from well intentioned community members that just want to see cooperation and forward movement. People are exhausted by the anger and division. I get that. But what I also hear is: tone it down, shine less bright, smile more.
I’ve been told that because I’ve become a public figure in the fight for small schools, I have a responsibility to be more measured and collaborative. I want to believe that collaboration would lead to progress. But here’s what I’ve learned: collaboration only works when both sides are willing to engage in good faith.
Most people don’t have the full picture. Many aren’t in one of the schools which faced closure. Or live next to a park that’s in jeopardy. Or have a child that’s struggling to read because of an out of date literacy program. They’re busy. Until now, many of us have spent every spare moment trying to understand school budgets, bonds, and enrollment projections—piecing together the information the district has not made easily available.
How We Got Here
In April of last year, the West Linn-Wilsonville School District informed parents that it needed to make modest cuts of $3 million to balance the budget. Just one month later, another announcement was made: due to increased costs of materials and supplies, higher utility rates, and a miscalculation with substitute contracts, the district now needed to cut $10 million.
I remember thinking it was strange that the district could have been surprised by an additional $7 million in cuts. But as a busy mom, I didn’t look much further into it at the time.
At the same time, I was attending literacy adoption meetings. My family had moved to West Linn, choosing our home based on its proximity to a great elementary school. But soon after, we learned that the district was out of compliance with Oregon’s literacy standards. They were teaching Lucy Calkins’ Units of Study, a curriculum that relies on the three-cueing system instead of phonics—teaching kids to guess words instead of sound them out.
My brother struggled with a learning disability and never learned to read properly. I witnessed firsthand how that impacted his life. So, I took matters into my own hands and taught my child to read using Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons, a phonics-based system developed by the University of Oregon. But I constantly found myself undoing the bad habits my child was learning in school—repeating over and over, sound it out, don’t guess.
At those literacy adoption meetings, I met other moms whose children were struggling with the district’s curriculum. Some had been fighting for years to get a better system in place, only to be told the district was in compliance with Oregon standards—even though it wasn’t.
So, when the district announced potential school closures…
I had questions.
The Search for Answers
I started looking into the budget areas the district claimed were responsible for the sudden shortfall. But when you add up the increases in materials, substitute costs, and utilities, they only account for a few million dollars—nowhere near $10 million. Now I had more questions.
I reached out on social media, spoke with moms, teachers, and community members. The same story kept coming up:
• The district is not transparent.
• Public records requests are difficult and expensive ($75 per hour).
• Getting clear answers is next to impossible.
Then came the announcement of the Small Schools Task Force, which was supposed to evaluate core costs, renovation needs, and the impact of school size on programs.
At the September school board meeting, parents were given a stern warning: no clapping, booing, or “grandstanding.” We had just three minutes to make our case. Three minutes to explain why we love our schools, why they matter to our community, and why school closures don’t actually save money.
We were told the Assistant Superintendent would visit each PTA to explain the task force.
A Broken Process
Dr. Pryor, the Assistant Superintendent, attended a PTA meeting at Cedaroak. Parents had many questions, but the district had few answers.
So, the Bolton group compiled a list of questions in advance of our meeting, gathering input from many parents. These were early days and we didn’t know as much then as we do now. We were building the landing gear while trying to fly the plane so to speak.
But instead of getting answers, we were mostly brushed off. We were told that only questions directly related to the Small Schools Task Force would be answered—budget questions, capacity concerns, transportation, and staffing would be sent to an FAQ page (which, a month later, still had no answers).
The district decided the number of parents involved, the meeting times, and even the secret location of the task force meetings. 3J Consulting, a company that typically works on land use and construction projects, was hired as a mediator. Does any of that sound parent led?
Why 3J? They had previously worked on Athey Creek’s relocation to Dollar Street—another process that many felt lacked transparency and disregarded community concerns. The district ultimately did what it wanted, spending $80 million when similar projects typically cost around $40 million.
I applied to be on the task force along with 12 other highly qualified candidates. I didn’t vote for myself—I wanted the best people on this, those with the most expertise in finance, construction, and planning, and man did we have a wonderful, qualified group of parents.
The Task Force Was a Shield, Not a Solution
What I later learned about the task force process was alarming:
• District officials sat in the back while parents faced forward, asking questions through 3J.
• If a question required a district response, 3J had to ask for them.
• Documents were provided each meeting, but alternative solutions were deemed “out of scope.”
• Parents were told that 3J would write the final report—something the parents strongly opposed.
Just as the task force was finalizing its findings—unanimously agreeing that school closures were not financially or educationally sound—an ethics violation was suddenly filed. Members were told they could be fined $1,000. Some no longer wanted to continue. The district then halted the task force’s work.
This Isn’t Just About Small Schools
This same flawed process plays out in nearly every district committee.
• The Long-Range Planning Committee gets reports written by Arcadis Architects (not community members).
• The Budget Committee is only allowed to ask pre-approved questions and can only request documents if the entire group agrees.
Meanwhile, companies like 3J and Arcadis avoid the competitive bidding process by taking on small district projects first, which then secures them larger contracts later.
This isn’t how other districts operate. Other districts communicate clearly and trust their communities to handle the truth. If the West Linn-Wilsonville School District truly wanted collaboration, they wouldn’t have designed these processes to shut parents out.
So, About My Tone…
I would love to work collaboratively with the district. But at every step, parents have been locked out. The task force was a shield, not a bridge. Other groups have tried to make change by being “friendly” and “collaborative,” but those efforts have led to slow, minimal progress—if any at all.
Our children only get one shot at their education. Their futures will be shaped by the experiences and instruction they receive now.
So, I’ll ask again ,
“How do we collaborate with a district that refuses to give us straight answers?”
There isn’t just one problem—it’s the entire system.
There’s so much more to this story that I could probably write a book. But hopefully, this gives everyone a clearer understanding of what we’re up against. If you have ideas, I’m here for them.