Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
In City Hall, a radio’s blasting the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive.” The new mayor’s brow furrows as she tries to concentrate on a sheaf of documents. “I don’t know what this is!” she exclaims. “Who do these go to?”
A friend, there to check the gas meter, approaches for a quick chat.
“Not right now,” the mayor snaps, not even looking up.
She’s feeling the weight of running BizTown, a Junior Achievement of Greater St. Louis program that’s been growing since 2004. This year, more than 15,000 kids will spend a day at BizTown. Today, it’s fifth-graders from Sappington Elementary and Twin Oaks Christian School.
First they take out a loan to start their businesses, which include MasterCard, Tech Mahindra (where kids learn to code the other businesses’ websites), and Deloitte (which audits all the books). Next, AT&T workers don hard hats and install phones, then invoice for the service. (In one session, a girl whispered to JA president and CEO Lori Jacob, “My phone’s not working.” Jacobs replied, “Have you paid your phone bill?” The girl’s eyes widened, and she hurried back to her business: “I need the CFO now to pay the phone bill!”)
At their first break, the kids flood First Bank for their paychecks. (By the second break, they’ll have direct deposit.) They’re required to put some of each paycheck into savings; the amount differs from kid to kid, because they all make different salaries.
At KPLR, a meteorologist is checking data from the weather station, and Ella, the on-camera talent, is rehearsing an interview with a local business exec. “Do you feel comfortable without a teleprompter?” she asks Rome, who’s wearing a business suit.
Over at JA University—where students can take courses and, if they pass an exam, find more money in the next paycheck—faculty members are discussing the TV interviews. “Not me,” mutters math whiz Tyler. “I’m not doin’ it.”
Brooke is next door, working retail: “I like saying, ‘Would you like to buy this? Would you like to buy that?’” She’s already decided what she’s buying on her break: “A dog. I’m going to name her Daisy.”
The vet, Betsie, says they will microchip and vaccinate and get the dog on the right diet. (No grapes! No chocolate!) Jack, draped in an oversized navy blazer, introduces himself as the CFO. “Right now I’m waiting for a deposit.” He says he applied for this position because he wants to be a leader: “I like that you have power. I wanted to have power.”
Next door, the Smokehouse Restaurant is hopping, selling fresh-baked cookies for a dollar. At the print shop, a towheaded youngster wants to send himself a pricey candygram just to get the cherry Twizzler. “If that’s how you want to spend your money,” the cashier murmurs. And it is: He really wants that licorice. He fills out the form and cheerfully forks over a chunk of his first paycheck. After checking to see whether he wants to donate to the United Way, the cashier demands a signature, then plucks the licorice from his hand and announces: “I’ll deliver it to you.”
“No!” he wails, hands dropping to his sides. He looks like Sisyphus, watching the boulder roll away after he’s nearly reached the mountaintop.
In a few years, he may choose differently: Over in the Finance Park, eighth-graders from Roosevelt High School are juggling a budget as they move from Commerce Bank to Edward Jones Investors to Groceries to Fontbonne to Lou Fusz to Entertainment.
It’s quieter in Finance Park, because the kids are older, closer to the real world.
The game is starting to count.
