Eliza Schleifstein is a longtime resident and taxpayer of Randolph, NJ. She is the mother of two daughters who both attended Randolph Township Schools from kindergarten through graduation. She writes and comments on local education, with a focus on school district transparency and spending.

Every spring across New Jersey, local Boards of Education begin approving motions to move forward on capital projects—roof replacements, paving, security upgrades. The unglamorous but necessary stuff.

And then… there’s the other stuff.

In Randolph Township, where I live, this year’s capital fund wish list includes a $25,000 flagpole, a $75,0000 soccer scoreboard, a $200,000 football scoreboard, and a $2.75 million building for IT staff and servers. Because nothing says “academic excellence” quite like a premium flagpole and a $200,000 scoreboard that could probably double as a Times Square billboard.

What makes it all the more impressive is the timing. Residents typically learn about these projects at the exact same moment as they learn their property taxes are going up—again. It’s almost as if the reveal was designed for maximum dramatic effect.

Now, to be fair—and we should be—school districts cannot use capital funds for day-to-day operating expenses. That’s true. But it’s also only half the story.

Because capital funds don’t fall from the sky or grow on trees. They come from prior years’ revenue—most of which originates from, you guessed it, our property taxes. In other words, when districts end the year with “leftover” money, they don’t send it back. They set it aside.

Which raises an uncomfortable but entirely reasonable question: if there’s always money left over, why is there never enough?

In Randolph, the annual budget exceeds $100 million. Yet each year, our Board approves between $5 million and $10 million to quietly transfer into the Capital Fund. “Quietly” being the key word. No parades. No ribbon cuttings. Just a steady accumulation of taxpayer dollars for future use. And then the Board quietly approves projects for similar amounts the next year.

And yet, somehow, we are also told that budgets are so tight that tax increases above the state’s 2% cap are unavoidable.

At some point, even the most patient taxpayer is entitled to pause and ask: wait… what?

The official answer is sensible enough. Districts need reserves for major expenses—roofs fail, boilers break, parking lots crumble. No argument there.

But then there’s the unofficial answer: because no district wants to be outdone by its neighbors. If the town next door has a gleaming new facility, well, suddenly that “nice-to-have” starts looking suspiciously like a “must-have.”

Randolph has been here before.

In 2020, the district unveiled what it calls the Randolph Athletic and Wellness Center—known to most people as “the field house.” Approved by voters in 2018 at around $8 million, it ultimately cost about 25% more. It features a striking rounded roof in Randolph blue – the shade personally selected by the Superintendent at a Board meeting — a carved-in-stone “RAMS” facade, and—depending on the day—a noticeable lack of actual use.

The vision was compelling: students flowing seamlessly from the high school and middle school, taking advantage of a shared, modern athletic and wellness facility. The reality? A logistical headache that has left the building largely reserved for use by the football team as a locker room.

But don’t worry—we’re not slowing down.

This year’s capital plan includes what can only be described as the next generation of shiny objects: new scoreboards for our football and soccer fields, a new flagpole, and a new IT building that students will likely never set foot in—but continue referring to it as they do the current IT building, affectionately, as “the KGB house.”

All told, Randolph is set to spend approximately $3 million of the $4.8 million it voted to withdraw from its Capital Fund this year on projects that, while certainly nice, do not exactly rise to the level of urgent educational necessity.

At the same time, the district is proposing a 4.27% tax increase—because, of course, there’s no money.

Well, no money except for the $5 million to $10 million that will likely be set aside again next year to replenish the very fund being spent today.

It’s a remarkable system, really. Collect surplus. Save surplus. Spend surplus. Raise taxes. Repeat.

And if you think this is the end of the story, it’s not. On deck, according to the district’s long-range facilities plan: $1.5 million tennis courts and a $30 million recreation center.

Because when budgets are tight, the logical next step is… a recreation complex.

None of this is to suggest that schools shouldn’t invest in their facilities. They absolutely should. But there is a difference between planning for necessity and planning for optics—and taxpayers are increasingly being asked to fund both.

At a time when affordability is one of the defining issues in New Jersey, it’s worth asking a simple question: if there always seems to be money left over, why is there never enough to give taxpayers a break?

Until that question is answered with something more convincing than “trust us,” expect more skepticism—and fewer standing ovations for the next ribbon cutting.