There is a conflagration in Orono – my hometown – as a result of our school committee’s recent vote to consolidate – some would say “subordinate” – our school system with Old Town. This was the so-called “big” option, as opposed to a smaller fusion with Veazie and Glenburn. The result for the school committee, judging from the response of the citizenry, has been hell to pay.

Resident reaction has been swift and persistent. Besides the immediate outcry against the committee’s vote, a petition was circulated to reverse the decision and go with the smaller consolidation scenario. Even though consolidation is supposedly designed to whittle down school unit administrations, the fear in Orono (and no doubt other places as well) is that we will ultimately lose our high school.

This fear and the outrage are understandable. A school reflects the character of its community. As it stands now, when my son heads off for sixth grade in the morning, I know that within 15 minutes’ walking time he will arrive at a place that I am familiar with. I know the teachers, many of the children, and many of their parents. In short, in an age where private spaces are steadily replacing public spaces (the mall as proxy for a downtown), the public school is one of the last commons we have. It is a town’s cracker barrel, its potbellied stove, where we know the names and where we are known. The local public school is where my son has the opportunity to mingle with all sorts of neighbors – the children of privilege as well as those for whom life has gone hard.

Having said this, I, too, am reluctant – no, resistant – to the idea that big is beautiful. I already know that the bigger something is, the less efficient it is, the less accountability there is, the more expensive it is, and the less personal it is. In short, I am not keen to see my son, who now walks down the street to his classes, disappear over the horizon to a place that is miles away and for which I feel no kinship and no bond of affection, and where the faces are as alien as those streaming in and out of a Wal-Mart.

Should Orono consolidate with the larger Old Town and its environs? Or with the smaller Veazie and Glenburn? I think there is a third way.

My modest proposal is that Orono do neither. Instead, I suggest that we consider converting Orono High School (because this is what we are in danger of losing) into a charter school – one of those entities that is, indeed, a public school, but which is largely free of state governmental strictures, so long as learning results are honored.

What would this mean in terms of nuts and bolts? In order to strike out on our own and create something we can afford – and here my fellow residents of Orono must brace themselves and break out the hard liquor – the industrial-level sports teams would have to go. This means no football or hockey. This isn’t as radical as it sounds. Ellsworth dumped its football team years ago. Its muscle defaulted to its soccer squad, which immediately became a juggernaut. Orono’s elimination of these teams would immediately save a bundle.

The next item on the chopping block would be the school buses. This means that we would have to pitch in and get one another’s children to school. Can this be done? Sure. Private schools already do it. This would require organization and commitment, not bad virtues no matter what the circumstances.

A charter high school for Orono would be a smaller school. It would be a more intimate school, with its energy no longer so evenly divided between academics and sports. There would be a decided shift toward the books, with opportunities to play most of the sports administered by the municipal leagues. Other extracurricular activities – chess club, drama club, etc. – would be driven, by and large, by volunteers. Further, parents would have to be significantly more involved than they already are.

The Orono charter school would truly belong to the town, and, as with all charter schools, the yoke imposed by the state would be much lighter, because charter schools, by intent, are all about self-determination and experimentation. It would be a shame if a university town, with all its talent, energy and access to expertise, couldn’t pull this off.

Robert Klose teaches at University College of Bangor. His most recent book is “Small Worlds – Adopted Sons, Pet Piranhas & Other Mortal Concerns.”