The kid must really like his pizza

“The Pizza Kid -- he delivers.”

It’s not a new pizza place. It’s Aaron Ludlow. You’ve probably

heard of him.

Aaron is the 11-year old fifth-grader at Adams School who saw an

injustice, decided it could not stand, and fought back on behalf of

kids, pizza and the American way.

The Newport-Mesa Unified School District is an excellent school

district and highly unified. But like all public agencies, it is

subject to what Costa Mesa City Manager Alan Roeder taught me long

ago is the most important principle in government: the Law of

Unintended Consequences.

When you sit on a large dais in a big swivel chair and think deep

thoughts about important things, you might think you’re extending the

hours on a city park or changing a textbook or upgrading a computer

system. But you are really setting in motion a complicated, invisible

machine with a thousand moving parts. And you have no idea what the

machine does or how it works.

Thus began the saga of Aaron and the Amazing Pepperoni Pizza. One

day not long ago, someone at the school district decided that the

policy of making one day a week “Pizza Day” was good, but could be

even better.

“Let’s make Pizza Day every other week,” they mused. “This way,

the kids won’t get bored with it, they’ll be eating less fat, and

they’ll come to appreciate Pizza Day even more!”

Uh oh. The invisible machine began to hum. To begin with, trying

to snatch a raw porterhouse from the mouth of a large Doberman is a

better idea than getting between a kid and his pizza. Much better.

Kids believe that pizza is an inalienable right, guaranteed by the

Constitution. Due process and protection against unreasonable search

and seizure are fine, but do not, at any time, for any reason, touch

the pizza.

It wasn’t just the new bi-weekly pizza policy at Adams school that

sent Aaron into a tailspin, but that it had been done sans discussion

and without notice.

“I was enraged,” Aaron said. “They canceled it and didn’t let

anyone know.”

Thus Aaron learned one of life’s important lessons: Never trust

anyone over 20. Maybe that’s 30. The deed was done, but Aaron was not

about to lie there like a large pepperoni, extra cheese, Canadian

bacon, no anchovies and just take it.

He consulted his mother, Chris, who advised him to conduct a

survey at school to measure the support for the previous policy of

getting a pie in your face every Thursday, as the Founders intended,

versus every other Thursday, as they did not.

When all the chads were punched and the results were tabulated and

the recounts were done, you could have knocked Aaron over with a

feather.

“Out of 389 students who participated, 371 wanted the pizza back

every Thursday,” Aaron said. “That’s 95%!”

Aaron organized his results, packaged them with a letter, and

forwarded everything to the district’s director of food services,

Richard Greene -- a very perceptive man who recognized the power of

pizza immediately.

On the 4th of December 2002, Director Greene emerged from the

district offices on Bear Street and, waving a slice of half-sausage,

half-mushroom pizza above his head for effect, announced that across

the land of Newport-Mesa, effective immediately, Pizza Day would once

again be a weekly affair.

In classrooms from Corona del Mar to north Costa Mesa, it was

pandemonium, with screaming and yelling and hugging and crying and

books and papers being thrown in the air -- all thanks to Master

Ludlow.

Soon, Aaron was national news as the story of the Pizza Kid spread

far and wide, including an appearance on the Tonight Show with Jay

Leno last Friday night, where Aaron conducted himself very well,

indeed.

But the glare of his appointed 15 minutes of fame is getting old,

fast.

“I’m hating it already because I’m sort of a private person,”

Aaron said.

So why the big buzz about a kid and his pizza? What seems to

intrigue most interviewers is that Aaron, with the sage counsel of

his mom, worked the system, went through channels, didn’t get

discouraged and kept his cool.

He didn’t sue anyone, he didn’t play the victim, he didn’t ask the

ACLU for help. He just stayed focused, stayed calm, and kept his eyes

on the pies until he got what he wanted, for himself and his pals.

That’s a big lesson for an 11-year old to teach.

Apparently, Aaron’s allergy to publicity isn’t absolute.

“It puts our school on the radar screen,” Aaron said. “Most of the

time, our school is ignored, so it’s about time we get some

publicity.”

Well, OK, then. Here’s a little bit of Adams School history that

Aaron can use to impress his family and friends at the next pizza

party.

In 1983, Orange County was clobbered with a 100-year storm

courtesy of that little brat, El Nino. The only recorded instance of

an honest-to-Dorothy tornado in Costa Mesa touched down at none other

than Adams School, yanking out some of the trees that line the

schoolyard like so many carrots.

I happened to be pulling into the school parking lot just as one

of the trees was ripped out of the ground, lifted about 10 feet

straight up, then slammed down on the Adams schoolyard. It was very

impressive.

But that was then, and this is now.

Given his success at his first venture in the public sector, Aaron

said he might pursue a career in politics, as a congressman or a

mayor.

Hmm. I don’t know, Aaron. Between you and me, I’d stick with the

pizza. It’s easier and cheaper, and people don’t call you names.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached via e-mail at [email protected].