The Tone Zone: Where Adjectives Get a 23-Point Traffic Stop

Since public resources were spent to send a 23-point tone memo, we’ll spend public attention answering in daylight. Consider this a matching (and frankly, exceeding) effort in the public interest: analyze the material, link the receipts, and, where appropriate, laugh at the silliness of it all. Hot air is still air; it just doesn’t carry water.

“Equal prominence” is a distribution concept, so we’re exceeding it. This article is published on-site, Google News RSS-compliant, pushed through our syndication/cross-posting, and accompanied by a featured Facebook post for additional reach. Since the first story ran, our readership has grown substantially; by our estimate, this piece will receive at least 100× the visibility of earlier posts. If the goal was prominence, congratulations—you just super-sized it.

A note on sourcing: as always, we link the documents—audits, board materials, letters, guidance—so readers can read what we read. Where an item was already published and linked in the original article (e.g., audits and the adjacency correspondence), we won’t pretend it’s “new” just to pad a list; we’ll link it again. Satire and rhetorical hyperbole may appear below, because those are protected tools of commentary on matters of public concern—and because sometimes the plain-spoken version tells the truth best.

At your insistence, then, we present the article of equal (or greater) prominence. Let’s walk through the points, one by one, with the same receipts you’ve already seen—and a little extra daylight.

The Letter, the Ask, the Joke

The thrust of the demand is that our work is reckless, malicious, and wrong—because we used words he doesn’t like to describe realities he doesn’t want to discuss. The realities are banal and damning at once: an audit finding unreliable attendance documentation (fabricated/absent phone logs; late or mismatched verification; post-hoc recoding), nearly a million dollars in questioned ADA, six figures in ratio overclaims, later corrected in a ‘revised’ audit, with what attendance records to prove it, the fabricated ones? A superintendent serving under a board waiver rather than holding the credential itself, and a tiny resident student body folded into a much larger charter-managed footprint.

If you think an elected, accountable public agency ought to make essential records easy to find, we agree. If you think “available” means “buried in a prior agenda PDF four menus deep,” we do not agree.

The joke: imagine getting a 23-point, taxpayer-funded style note about tone—while the audit itself is shouting in all caps. It’s like arguing over the font on the fire alarm.

Now, on to the “corrections.”

Corrections Theatre: What Changes and What Doesn’t

On the money line.
Where I wrote “salary” while obviously referring to total compensation (pay + benefits), I’ll say total compensation. The number is the number—about a quarter-million dollars in public money. The correction is diction; the public meaning is identical. Same cash, clearer caption.

On ratios and intent.
I said the district “knowingly” exceeded independent-study teacher–student ratios. The audit quantifies the overclaim; the ratios aren’t a mystery; the superintendent’s job is to know the statute, and oversee it, not fix it after an audit. To close the only pointless debate, I’ll say leadership knew—or, at minimum, should have known. Ratios aren’t a vibe; they’re math.

On instructional minutes.
The audit’s compliance hits attendance accounting (documentation, verification, unapproved digital signatures), not the instructional-minutes schedule. That distinction matters to statute nerds, so now it’s in plain English: your problem wasn’t the bell—it was the bookkeeping. The clock rang; the records didn’t.

On “thousands.”
When I write about out-of-county enrollment at scale, I’m talking about the district’s charter-managed footprint, not the ≈94 resident K–8 students physically in the building that year. By our metric, 94 / 13,000 ≈ 0.7% on-campus—i.e., ≈99.3% charter-managed. Even if we accept your ≈400 on-campus figure, 400 / 13,000 ≈ 3.1% on-campus—i.e., ≈96.9% charter-managed. And that’s in a district with roughly a hundred resident children inside its physical boundaries (excluding Sycuan). If you can read that and still say that’s “normal,” your definition of a neighborhood school needs a map.. and if two words make the hair-splitting stop: across charters. Don’t price a lemonade stand with the county fair headcount.

On where the audits lived.
As of publication, the Audits page did not contain the correct audit files; they were tucked inside board packets. The Audits page was updated the very next day. Time-stamped screenshots are forever, so is a district searchable database of updates. Transparency isn’t hide-and-seek with PDFs.

On minutes, votes, and what “publicly available” actually means

Agendas. For regular meetings, the Brown Act requires posting the agenda at least 72 hours in advance in a place freely accessible to the public and on the agency’s website (if it has one).

Agenda packet materials. Any writings distributed to a majority of the board about an agenda item must be made available to the public at the same time. If the agency has a website and the record was prepared by the agency, it must also be posted online.

Minutes & actions (school districts). School boards must keep minutes and record official actions; those minutes are public records. The Brown Act doesn’t force a standalone “minutes page,” but once minutes (or action summaries) are created/packaged by the district and given to the board, the online-posting rule above kicks in.

Charter-school bodies. For charter networks covered by Ed. Code § 47604.1(c)(4)(C), their governing body must audio- or video-record meetings and post the recordings on each charter school’s website.

Public Records Act baseline. California’s CPRA starts from a simple premise: access to information about the people’s business is a fundamental and necessary right. “Available” isn’t satisfied by “technically somewhere if you dig.”

Plain English. If finding the vote or the record takes Ctrl-F, three submenus, and a headlamp, it’s not “readily accessible”—it’s a scavenger hunt dressed up as transparency.

On displacement.
He keeps insisting “no one was barred from campus,” as if that’s what I wrote. It wasn’t. Parents and students described—and I reported—programmatic, on-campus displacement: smaller/combined classes, IS/async options, Flex days, and priority to charter-linked programs. That’s how people experience displacement in a school without a “Keep Out” sign. Not a locked door—just the floor moved under their feet.

On “me-too.”
The contract extends parity benefits—management health/welfare and retiree health on certificated terms. I called that “me-too” and, frankly, “me-first,” given the waiver status. If you want “clause” trimmed to parity benefits, done.

Plain English: teachers and other certificated staff bargained these perks; the superintendent—not certificated, serving on a waiver—gets the same perks by contract. That’s “me too” in the ordinary sense. All of the benefits, none of the credential. Participation Trophy awarded, at tax payer expense.

On pipelines and ADA.
I never said dual enrollment. I said pipelines: students who had been at virtual charters moved into a Dehesa-run program and, once enrolled there, ADA flowed to Dehesa. That’s how LEAs work. Not two straws in one shake—just poured the shake into your cup.

On $950k in overclaims

Auditors initially questioned ≈$949,590 in ADA tied to classroom-based attendance; in the revised 2023–24 audit, the potential fiscal impact for that finding was reduced to $96,756 after the district’s post-hoc documentation. The revised audit still states the District “did not keep a phone or absence log during the 2023–24 fiscal year and the two previously provided during the audit were fabricated,” leaving auditors unable to verify absences under the Audit Guide. Against that backdrop, the $96,756 “potential fiscal impact” reflects post-hoc cleanup, not exoneration. You can fix the spreadsheet; you can’t unfabricate the evidence.

On the $68,500 settlement.
The audit carries a $68,500 legal-settlement payable year-over-year. There was no readily accessible explanation in public-facing materials. Telling the public the reporter should have “bothered” with a CPRA isn’t a flex; it’s a confession that transparency is optional. “Public” means visible without a treasure map.

A Pause for Serious Business

Let’s step out of the satire for a moment, because the public deserves the quiet version as much as the spicy one.

East of 52 reports from official records and firsthand sources. We keep notes, copies, and timestamps. We link what we cite so readers can see what we saw. When rebuttals arrive, we read them closely. If a word can be misunderstood in a narrow technical sense, we refine the word. If something is materially wrong, we correct it. What we do not do is retract true reporting or erase fair commentary because a public official prefers different adjectives.

That’s not attitude; that’s law.

Fair report & substantial truth. California’s fair-report privilege protects fair and true summaries of official proceedings and reports—audits, agendas, minutes, filings (Cal. Civ. Code § 47(d)). “Fair and true” does not require stenography; it requires the gist to be substantially accurate. The “substantial truth” rule recognizes that minor imprecision doesn’t make a statement actionable when the sting or gist is true (see, e.g., Masson v. New Yorker Magazine, 501 U.S. 496 (1991)).

Opinion from disclosed facts & rhetorical hyperbole. The First Amendment protects opinions grounded in disclosed facts. If readers can see the underlying documents and the article clearly signals evaluation, it’s classic protected comment (Milkovich v. Lorain Journal, 497 U.S. 1 (1990)). Sharp language is not “malice”; courts protect “rhetorical hyperbole” and “vigorous epithets” used in public debate (Greenbelt Coop. Publ’g Ass’n v. Bresler, 398 U.S. 6 (1970); Hustler Magazine v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988)). We disclosed the audits, the board packets, and the correspondence—and then drew conclusions. That’s exactly what the doctrine shields.

Public official, actual malice, and burden of proof. A superintendent is a public official. To make a defamation case, he must prove the reporting was false and was published with actual malice—knowledge of falsity or serious subjective doubts about truth (New York Times v. Sullivan, 376 U.S. 254 (1964)). On matters of public concern, the plaintiff bears the burden to prove falsity (Philadelphia Newspapers v. Hepps, 475 U.S. 767 (1986)). We read the audits, watched the meetings, interviewed sources, verified numbers, and linked the record. We believed the reporting when we published it; we believe it now. That is not malice; that is journalism.

Anti-SLAPP. California’s anti-SLAPP statute (Code Civ. Proc. § 425.16) protects reporting on issues of public interest—public spending, school governance, audit compliance. If litigation is used to chill that speech, an anti-SLAPP motion tests the claims early; a successful movant recovers fees and costs, and an adverse ruling is immediately appealable. That remedy exists for exactly this kind of dispute.

Bottom line. We gave readers the documents. We labeled opinion as opinion and tied it to disclosed facts. We corrected narrow wording where clarity helps. What remains are value judgments on public business, drawn from the public record. Those are lawfully protected.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

What the Record Still Says (and why it matters)

The audits don’t need my adjectives. They say it themselves: required attendance documentation wasn’t maintained; the District told auditors it had no phone/absence log for 2023–24 and the two produced during the audit were “fabricated”; teacher verifications/signatures were late or mismatched; entries were re-coded; and auditors could not obtain sufficient, appropriate evidence to support portions of the reported classroom-based ADA. The original audit questioned roughly $950,000 tied to those problems; the revised audit converts that to a “potential fiscal impact” of $96,756 after post-hoc fixes. Separately, the audit still calculates about $171,000 in overclaimed ADA from independent-study ratio noncompliance. Call it what you like—the findings are the findings. If your attendance receipts are “fabricated,” polishing the spreadsheet after the fact doesn’t turn it into a clean bill of health—it just makes the paperwork shinier. 

Enrollment? The resident population has been steadily shrinking—from the low hundreds into double digits—while the district’s footprint swells by hosting and overseeing charters. If I measure per-student compensation against the resident on-campus denominator, that’s because it’s the population the locally elected board exists to serve. If you want to be judged by the thousands in the charter network instead, say that out loud to your taxpayers and see which story they think is honest.

Credentials? The CTC shows no Administrative Services Credential for the superintendent. He serves under a board waiver. That is lawful; it is also exactly the point about qualifications and transparency. Waiver is not credential.

“Adjacent” counties? The rule for independent-study apportionment uses the words in the county or a contiguous county. Los Angeles County is not contiguous to San Diego. An auditor can “consider” whatever she likes; the statute still owns the room. You hired a lawyer to argue geography; I own a map.

The Part Where We “Correct” the Record

Since “equal prominence” was the demand, here’s the official record of what changes:

I now say “total compensation” where it was clear it meant total compensation, as referenced on Transparent California.

I still affirm and expand knew to “knew—or at minimum should have known” where he wanted me to pretend the statute is optional.

I precisely use the language “attendance accounting, not instructional minutes” to make the auditor’s scope idiot-proof.

I now append “across charters” when I describe enrolling out-of-county students at scale, to prevent deliberate misreadings about bodies in seats on the K-8 campus.

I now describe the $68,500 item as having no readily accessible explanation in public-facing materials, so no one confuses “posted somewhere once” with “transparent.”

I confirm mee too benefits exist: Johnson received about $252,000 in total compensation (pay + benefits) in 2023 and gets “me-too” parity benefits (same health/retiree terms as certificated staff) while serving under a board waiver without an Administrative Services Credential.

I added a methodology footnote: the per-student figure uses ≈94 resident on-campus K-8 students for that year; charter/partner headcounts are excluded.

I Added a reader footnote clarifying the parents’ letter is theirs, the district uses a §35029 board waiver + SDCOE Temporary County Certificate, and—per CPRA—Mr. Johnson holds no Administrative Services Credential or other CTC-issued educator credential (links in-article).

I added language to clarify: “overstated attendance-based revenue claims, according to its own audit, and now faces material fiscal risk if the questioned ADA is upheld—risk that could prompt heightened county oversight,”

In article language reflects: As of July 15, 2025, the 2024 audit was not on the Audits page; it was only accessible inside board-agenda packet PDFs.

I expand language to indicate: Dehesa does not maintain a dedicated, easily searchable online archive of approved minutes and vote outcomes; they’re buried inside agenda PDFs—“posted somewhere” is not transparent, readily accessible public access.

Tone Isn’t Tort: Why the Record Stands

Changing “salary” to “total compensation” and sharpening a few nouns doesn’t change the story because the substantial truth doctrine protects the gist even if minor phrasing shifts (see Masson v. New Yorker). What matters is whether readers were left with a materially false impression. They weren’t. The audits said what they said; the numbers add up to what they add up to. Revised audit or not, the numbers got a haircut; the facts didn’t. You can revise totals, not history.

East of 52’s framing—“knew, or at minimum should have known,” “across charters,” “attendance accounting, not minutes”—is not backpedaling; it’s precision. And precision ≠ concession. On matters of public concern, the plaintiff must prove falsity, not the publisher prove truth (Philadelphia Newspapers v. Hepps). For public officials, the bar is higher still: they must prove actual malice—knowledge of falsity or serious subjective doubt—by clear and convincing evidence (New York Times v. Sullivan; St. Amant v. Thompson). Publishing what you believe after reviewing audits, board materials, and firsthand accounts—and linking the documents so readers can judge—does not meet that standard (Harte-Hanks clarifies that even a sloppy investigation isn’t malice absent purposeful avoidance of the truth).

Where we use punchy language, that’s protected opinion and rhetorical hyperbole grounded in disclosed facts (Milkovich v. Lorain Journal; Hustler v. Falwell; Greenbelt Coop. v. Bresler). Readers saw the underlying materials (including the adjacency correspondence and the audits (including the revised audit) and then saw our take—classic “opinion from disclosed facts,” which is not actionable. Even with a revised audit, we’re allowed to judge whether it holds water—especially when it arrives after the audit documented fabricated absence logs. You can re-tally a dollar figure; you can’t un-fabricate a record. Until someone invents time travel, lipstick on a pig is still lipstick on a pig—and the original findings remain exactly what they were on the page. My view, based on the record above: the first audit reads closer to the truth.

Our summaries of audits and meetings are also independently protected by California’s fair-report privilege for “fair and true” accounts of official proceedings and records (Cal. Civ. Code § 47(d)). And attempts to convert tone-policing into litigation over public spending and school governance run squarely into California’s anti-SLAPP statute (Code Civ. Proc. § 425.16), with early dismissal, fee-shifting, and immediate appeal.

Bottom line: we adjusted wording for clarity; the facts and conclusions didn’t budge, I can’t unsee fabrications and then have confidence in the revised audit. You don’t erase truth by sanding an adjective.

On the Revised Audit (a.k.a. the Filtered Selfie)

I’ve read the revision. I’m also allowed to judge whether it holds water. When an audit already documented that the District “did not keep a phone or absence log” and that the two logs later produced were “fabricated,” a cleaner dollar total after the fact doesn’t retroactively make those records real. You can adjust a “potential fiscal impact”; you can’t rewind a school year and take roll again.

So yes—I’m weighing credibility. A revised PDF that arrives after fabricated logs were in play is, to me, a grain of sand next to a beach of problems. Leadership certified reports while auditors later found core documentation missing or made up. That history doesn’t vanish because the follow-up math got tidier.

That’s my protected commentary on disclosed records: I prefer the unfiltered selfie to the after-the-fact touch-up. Or put another way—nice new numbers, but you can’t un-fabricate a log.

The Law That Lets Me Say This

1. First Amendment & California Constitution. Speech on public business gets the strongest protection (U.S. Const. amend. I; Cal. Const. art. I, § 2(a)).
2. Opinion from disclosed facts. If I lay out the records (original + revised audit, letters, minutes) and then tell you my take, that’s protected opinion—not a provably false “fact.” Milkovich v. Lorain Journal, 497 U.S. 1 (1990).
3. Rhetorical hyperbole & satire. Sharp language, ridicule, and satire about public officials isn’t actionable when no reasonable reader would take it as literal fact. Greenbelt Coop. Pub. Ass’n v. Bresler, 398 U.S. 6 (1970); Hustler Magazine v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).
4. Fair-report privilege (California). Fair and true summaries of official proceedings and reports—like audits and board actions—are privileged. Cal. Civ. Code § 47(d).
5. Substantial truth. Minor wording tweaks don’t matter if the “gist” is true. Masson v. New Yorker Magazine, 501 U.S. 496 (1991).
6. Public-official standard. A superintendent is a public official. To win, he must prove falsity and “actual malice” (knowledge of falsity or serious doubts), by clear and convincing evidence. New York Times v. Sullivan, 376 U.S. 254 (1964); St. Amant v. Thompson, 390 U.S. 727 (1968).
7. Burden of proof on matters of public concern. The plaintiff bears the burden to prove falsity. Philadelphia Newspapers v. Hepps, 475 U.S. 767 (1986).
8. Anti-SLAPP (California). Lawsuits aimed at chilling reporting on public spending/governance face an early motion to strike and fee-shifting. Cal. Code Civ. Proc. § 425.16.

What that means here: I’m allowed to read a revised audit that followed documented “fabricated” absence logs, decide how much weight to give it, and say—plainly—that I find the initial audit more credible. That is opinion grounded in disclosed records and fair-report of public documents, not defamation. You can revise a dollar figure; you can’t un-fabricate a log, or catfish me. My thoughts aren’t subject to your change orders. 

Why Satire Belongs in This Story

Because when a public official spends taxpayer time and money to crank out a 23-point tone memo about adjectives, that’s not just correspondence—it’s the news. I work in the public interest, not on a public salary. He’s paid by the public to police wording; I’m unpaid by anyone to scrutinize how public money moves. That imbalance is exactly why communities reach for humor when institutions won’t reach for candor.

Satire is the pressure valve when bureaucracy insists that “posted somewhere in a packet” equals transparency, that a private letter can redraw county lines, and that website updates the day after publication are simply coincidental housekeeping. Those aren’t crimes; they’re tells. They tell you who gets comfort, and who gets the runaround. They tell you why the public needs a plain-spoken translation layer—sometimes sharp, sometimes funny, always grounded in the record.

And yes, satire is protected. The First Amendment makes room for rhetorical hyperbole and sharp opinion—especially about how public agencies spend public funds. If you can bill the public to argue over adjectives, the public gets to laugh at the invoice.