Sailors Respond to Island PTA’s SOS

In April, Mackenzie Phelps, first-grader, second-year honor student and lifelong resident of paradise, went home with a flier in her backpack. Mackenzie’s mother, Michelle, opened it and shrieked.

The flier announced a meeting at which the grimmest of news would be delivered to the parents of Two Harbors by emissaries from the Long Beach Unified School District, which runs the schools on Catalina Island.

Thanks to budget constraints, and given the fact that Mackenzie made up a full third of the entire student body of Two Harbors Elementary School, nicknamed the Little Red Schoolhouse, the wood-frame structure would have to be shuttered.

Students at the one-room, K-5 school would be bused to and from Avalon on the other end of the island, traversing a long, winding, unpaved, bumpy road. The trek would take up to two hours in each direction.

This news did not sit well with the locals, a proud and independent lot who refer to the mainland as “over town” and like to say “isthmus be the place.”

Nearly 30 of them attended that meeting, the vast majority of whom don’t even have children. In fact, Two Harbors has 100 official PTA members -- or 33 for each student -- among its 150 residents.

If I thought I could get away with it, I’d lie. I’d tell you I cruised across the channel just to check out the story. But anyone who’s been to the isthmus, on the island’s quiet west end, would be onto me.

The first time I saw this town, having sailed across with pals, I thought we’d landed in French Polynesia. Each and every time I’ve approached since then, I’m convinced it’s a mirage. The crystal blue coves and cliff-hugging trails; the blissful absence of cars, angst and haute cuisine. All of it just 26 miles and 17 galaxies away from Los Angeles.

That’s exactly how it felt Monday morning when I stepped off the Catalina Express, strolled past the general store and up the path to the Little Red Schoolhouse. It turned out the Two Harbor folks had things well under control.

Unwilling to simply accept the bad news from “over town,” the people who packed the meeting wanted to know what they could do. “We asked, ‘OK, what do we have to do to keep the doors open?’ ” says Phelps, who works in the harbor master’s office, which handles moorings for boaters who come across the pond.

School board member Jon Meyer and Avalon K-12 Principal Sally Gregory didn’t want to offer any false hope, so they leveled with the locals. The school, which opened in 1987, was operating at a staggering loss because of the tiny enrollment, which fluctuates from year to year but has been as high as 18. With only three students, state per-pupil compensation would leave a $60,000 hole each year.

The locals argued that as many as 10 or 11 students might enroll this September, depending on whether a couple of openings at the USC Wrigley Marine Science Center are filled by families with grade school kids, as expected. But the district, rather than face uncertainty, wanted a $200,000 kitty to cover the three-year cost of a teacher, custodian and supplies.

“Nobody said, ‘Oh, well, that’s it,’ ” says Phelps. “People here have a can-do attitude, and at the end of the meeting, we all rallied and formed an action committee.”

But $200,000 is a lot of action, especially in a hula hut town where jobs are scarce, the locals rent modest dwellings and 88% of the island is protected -- thank the Lord -- by a conservancy and is off limits to commerce.

Phelps, however, and her boss, Harbor Master Doug Oudin, know lots and lots and lots of boaters. On May 20, the notice that greeted them when they arrived on the island began:

“Dear friends ... ,

“Two Harbors Little Red Schoolhouse is in trouble.”

Ross Macdonald and his wife, Juli, who teach at Santa Ana College but have spent summers in Two Harbors since the 1970s, immediately wrote a check and alerted other boaters.

“Over the years, we’ve all become like part of an extended family,” says Macdonald. Once you’ve experienced the time-warp feel of the isthmus, he explained, the natural instinct is to cherish and preserve it.

Macdonald anchors in Cherry Cove, near a mate who pulled out his checkbook and forked over $1,000. A Nissan executive cruised in, heard the story, and produced a $4,000 check from the company.

Most donations ranged from $10 to $100, says Michelle Phelps, who soon was devoting every free moment to collecting and banking.

“Nearly 100% of the money has come from people who don’t live here full time,” she said on the steps of the schoolhouse. Meanwhile, Roxy Abigail, a black Lab, watched Mackenzie run around in front of the school while a cool breeze blew in from Cat Harbor, whistled across the isthmus and headed “over town.”

“The residents of Two Harbors have gone out of their way to accommodate us over the years,” says Terry Caldwell, a Victorville attorney and boater who has tied up here for 35 years.

“They don’t just put gas in your tank or sell you a hamburger at the cafe. They’ve made an effort to learn the needs of the boaters, and the boaters are reciprocating. It’s important to maintain the quality of life there, and the boaters are committed to making that happen.”

Last week, the drive to save the Little Red Schoolhouse hit the $90,000 mark, with various fundraising events still in the planning stages, and Mackenzie still hasn’t set up the lemonade stand she’s building.

“It has brought tears to my eyes again and again,” says Michelle Phelps. “The graciousness, the support, the letters. And it’s not just money. People have donated books and offered to do maintenance and gardening at the school.”

District officials were impressed, too, and decided to reward the effort immediately rather than wait for the entire $200,000.

So it’s official:

The Little Red Schoolhouse will open for business in September. As for next year and the year after, I may have to spend more and more time over here to stay on top of the story.

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Tax-deductible donations can be mailed to the Two Harbors School Foundation, P.O. Box 5093, Avalon, CA. 90704.

When he isn’t unplugged in Catalina, the columnist can be reached at steve.lopez@latimes.com