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| AI generated image of manly man Big Jim Talarico |
Democratic Senate hopeful James Talarico has apparently discovered that a political career is a lot like a middle school classroom: It helps to have a good story, even if the attendance records don't quite cooperate.
Much like Joe Biden's claim that Charlottesville inspired his 2020 presidential run, Talarico, a former middle school teacher, has built part of his political origin story around a harrowing tale of educational austerity.
According to manly man Talarico, his first year teaching in San Antonio was a nightmarish exercise in overcrowding, with 45 students crammed into a single classroom and not enough desks to go around.
It's a compelling story. There's just one small problem. According to former newspaper The New York Times, the official records don't support it. Is it possible that a political candidate would lie? Heaven forfend!
Talarico has repeatedly trotted out the tale to explain how Republican budget cuts supposedly opened his eyes to the cruelty of conservative governance. In one account, he recalled teaching sixth-grade language arts at Rhodes Middle School, home of the Fighting Wildcats, in a poor neighborhood on San Antonio's west side.
He practically had to fight his way into the building.
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| Manly man Big Jim Talarico |
"The west side is this beautiful, historic neighborhood. It's also one of the poorest ZIP codes in the entire state of Texas," Talarico explained. "And it was in 2011, right after our state legislature in Texas cut more than $5 billion from public education in our state. And so I saw the impacts of these cuts firsthand. I saw how decisions made in the halls of power hurt flesh and blood human beings."
Then came the classroom catastrophe.
"At one point, I had 45 students in one classroom, and there weren't enough desks for all those kids," Talarico said. "And it was after lunch so you can imagine middle schoolers after lunch in a giant, you know, in a packed classroom."
One can practically hear the anguished cries of overworked teachers and the distant sound of a Democratic campaign consultant realizing he'd found the perfect anecdote.
Talarico repeated the story on The Breakfast Club podcast, again connecting his supposed classroom ordeal to Republican education cuts.
"I always say that teaching middle school is the best preparation for politics," Talarico said. "And the west side of San Antonio, it's one of the poorest ZIP codes in the state of Texas. I entered the classroom in the fall of 2011, right after the state legislature in Texas cut $5 billion dollars from public schools. So as a brand new teacher, I saw the impact of those cuts firsthand. At one point, I had 45 students in one classroom. There weren't enough desks for all those kids."
Apparently, the story was too good to leave in the classroom. It had to be taken on the road.
Unfortunately for Talarico, The New York Times decided to do something increasingly unfashionable in modern journalism: check the records.
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| Big Jim and Howdy Doody |
According to the newspaper, Texas Education Agency documents show that the largest class assigned to Talarico ever contained 30 students. Most of his classes had between 22 and 27 students, while one had just 17.
Former students and colleagues remembered classrooms in which every desk was occupied. They did not, however, recall the sort of overcrowded human warehouse Talarico described, complete with students apparently competing for seating rights on top of air conditioners.
Thirty students is certainly a substantial class. But it's also 15 fewer than the number featured in Talarico's repeatedly delivered tale of educational misery. That's a rather inconvenient discrepancy for a politician who has made a career out of explaining how his classroom experiences shaped his progressive worldview.
Talarico's spokesman, JT Ennis, did not dispute the official class-size records, but offered an explanation that raises its own questions. According to Ennis, Talarico had worked with school administrators to reduce the number of students in his classroom.
"After having 45 students placed in his classroom, James worked with school administrators to redistribute students across classes and create the learning environment that his students deserved," Ennis said.
That explanation appears to introduce a crucial distinction. Perhaps 45 students were initially assigned to Talarico's classroom before administrators redistributed them. But the official records cited by the Times do not establish that this happened, and the spokesman declined to arrange an interview with Talarico to clarify the matter.
For a candidate who has repeatedly used the 45-student figure to illustrate the damage allegedly inflicted by Republican lawmakers, some additional details would seem appropriate.
How many students were actually in the room? When were they redistributed? And if the classroom was reduced to 30 students or fewer, why does the original number continue to appear in Talarico's political storytelling?
These are apparently the sorts of questions that can turn a stirring campaign anecdote into an administrative paperwork problem.
And the 45-student story isn't the only part of Talarico's teaching career attracting scrutiny.
Lone Star Liberty PAC has also highlighted Talarico's recurring account of a troubled student named Justin, whose story has become another centerpiece of the candidate's personal mythology.
According to Talarico's telling, Justin was a new student who had been kicked out of his elementary school twice for bringing a knife to school and threatening to stab his teacher. The Texas Tribune reported that Talarico described welcoming the boy with a handshake and telling him he was glad to have him in class.
The story then followed a reassuring narrative arc. Justin began seeing a school-provided therapist, joined a group of students who ate lunch in the classroom, and started participating in lessons.
Then came the Christmas break.
After returning from the holidays, Justin reportedly got into a fight and was removed from the building by "two football coaches." According to Talarico's account, the boy was never seen again.
It's a dramatic tale of troubled youth, compassionate teaching, and the limits of intervention. It would also make a fine screenplay, assuming the production could secure the necessary documentation.
The Texas Tribune reported that school officials remembered Justin but "could not confirm the specific details Talarico described."
That doesn't prove the story was fabricated. Memories differ, and school records may not preserve every detail of a student's life. But it does mean that another emotionally powerful anecdote in Talarico's political biography remains unverified in important respects.
At some point, voters are entitled to wonder whether they're hearing a teacher's recollections or a campaign writer's increasingly polished screenplay.
Talarico's broader political record has also drawn criticism over his positions on fossil fuels, transgender issues, and boys competing in girls' sports. Conservatives have challenged his explanations of those positions, particularly when they appear at odds with his more moderate public presentation.
Now, with the classroom story under scrutiny, Talarico faces a problem that no amount of carefully rehearsed political theater can easily solve: his own repeated words are colliding with the available evidence.
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| "Yes, Mom, I'll shave when I get home" |
The irony is that Talarico has spent considerable time presenting himself as a teacher who understands the consequences of dishonesty in public life. His classroom anecdotes are intended to establish his moral credentials, demonstrating that he witnessed the failures of conservative governance firsthand and emerged determined to fight for ordinary Texans.
But if the numbers in his signature classroom story are wrong, the lesson may be rather different from the one he intended.
Texas voters should not have to grade a Senate candidate on a curve. They should be able to expect that the stories politicians use to justify their ambitions bear some resemblance to reality.
And if Talarico wants to lecture Texans about accountability, perhaps he could begin with a simple assignment: explain where the other 15 students came from.
No extra credit will be awarded for dramatic storytelling.
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