A r c h i v e d  I n f o r m a t i o n

Stories of Vision and Values

Getting started. Doug Boushey's story of how the faculty at Kent Junior High, in Kent, Washington, restructured its program provides a good example of developing and implementing a shared vision:

Dreaming of Teaming

Four years ago our staff attended a workshop we called "Dream-A-Team." Its purpose was to introduce the possibility of organizing our school around an interdisciplinary team structure.

The workshop was held in Rooms A4 and A5, which had a movable wall dividing them. One of the obstacles to teaming was a widely shared belief that our facility would not accommodate it. There was a lot of curiosity when the location of the workshop was announced, because most people didn't realize that the wall could be moved. (It had not been opened in many, many years!)A custodian and I folded the wall back and vacuumed out the track. The location alone helped broaden people's understanding of how teaming could occur here.

At the workshop we shared information about the advantages of teaming, described what flexible block scheduling looked like, and summarized what research and evidence of best practices had to offer.

After this presentation, staff were formed into groups of four to develop answers to one of two questions: (1) What are some possible team combinations that could happen at our school, and (2) What should our first steps be?

Before the task could be completed, the teams had to plan how they could divide themselves to gather information from the following sources:

1. A videotape of a national expert on block scheduling
   
2. Presentations from guest speakers on teaming
   
3. A review of current literature

Following the planning exercise, the team started on the project. The outcomes were shared publicly and videotaped. This work has set the course for the innovative interdisciplinary team organization that is now schoolwide and is regarded as an organizational approach superior to the one we used to have.

Leaders who involve their faculties in creating a vision and continuously examining its adequacy and relevance are sometimes surprised by the whole-hearted support that results. Kevin Evoy, principal of Marshall Middle School in Olympia, Washington, tells of the pleasure he felt when the whole staff rose to defend the dream in the face of an outsider's challenge.

As a staff, we have undertaken some fairly dramatic changes in planning and opening our new middle school, and we have wrestled with evaluating and refining what we do, in preparation for next year [1995-96]. In February of this year we were sort of bogged down in our discussions, when an unexpected and rather remarkable event took place.

We were joined at a staff meeting by a district-level advocate for a particular subject area, who came to voice his opinions about the priority of that program in a discussion of next year's schedule. The meeting went dead silent when he offered, "Why don't you stop all of this nonsense and just go back to a traditional seven-period schedule?" (The "nonsense" included teaching teams with common planning time, integrated instruction in a five-hour flexible block of time, and a unique exploratory program, among other things.)

I was immediately compelled to respond. I began with, "I can't describe the pleasure I would take in sitting down with you, away from this meeting, and going one-on-one over our vision and the components of our program." Dead silence became whatever is even quieter. I went on to say that this staff developed a vision for our school through a year-long planning process prior to the school opening, and that we were not interested in backing away from that vision.

I was prepared to steer the meeting back to the business at hand, but one staff member, then two, addressed the visitor and very eloquently described the elements of our vision and programs and why we were committed to them. Then a third, a fourth, and a fifth staff member spoke, and others. I loved every second of it. Those who did not speak were clearly supportive of what was being said. The visitor left very quickly.

That incident pulled our staff together and brought our vision back into focus. It was an articulation of our vision that was personal and more powerful than any vision-talk I might provide.

I've learned to offer as many opportunities as possible to allow staff, parents, and students to talk about our vision. It enables the passion to spread.

Jay Rowley, now principal of Pine Valley Intermediate School in San Ramon, California, found earlier in his career that forging a vision may begin with honest, straightforward admission of frustrations and challenges. Calling upon the community to identify needs is not failure, but the basis of trust needed to build a shared dream and move toward success. Wrote Mr. Rowley of his tenure at Tyrrell Elementary in Hayward:

I was assigned to a school that was among the most needy in the district. It had typical inner-city problems: high poverty, high crime, high staff turnover, high student transiency, high number of students with limited English proficiency; low morale. The staff cared greatly about the students, but they didn't treat one another appropriately or professionally. The school's reputation was such that some teacher presenters from other schools in the district refused to provide inservices for this staff because of rude and boorish behavior during staff development activities.

Part way through my first year, the state superintendent came out with the notion of restructuring grants. After attending an overview conference about how to apply, I made this topic an agenda item at the next faculty meeting. This is what I told the staff:

"There is a movement at the state level to support the efforts of schools like ours, and I want to discuss with you whether this is an opportunity we should seize. Before getting specific, let's talk candidly about how we're doing as a school. I'll begin. "

I then shared my frustrations. I said that not only did I feel as though my (very visible and considerable) hard work was providing little success for our kids, but that I personally could not continue without major restructuring efforts where our school program was concerned. We agreed to spend the next three or four weeks discussing the notion of committing ourselves to restructuring. Eventually, the staff agreed to go after our dreams, once they decided on what those dreams would be.

As a result, the school with the "bad little boy" reputation transformed itself. In the first year we won a restructuring planning grant, and in the second year we earned a five-year implementation grant. Where school restructuring efforts are concerned, Tyrrell is now one of the leaders in the East Bay. And we launched it all in two years!

Assembling plans for a systemic change takes time. Elizabeth Onik and the staff of Bishop Hogan High School in Kansas City, Missouri, worked around the clock for two days and several hours on a third to thrash out their differences, find a mission they agreed on, and draft the blueprint for change. Ms. Onik remembers it this way:

I woke up at three in the morning on December 2, struck by the breadth, depth and width of implementing an entire systemic change in our school. I thought through the multiple issues that were involved in creating an authentic, brain-compatible, integrated, thematic instruction model for high school and determined that I needed to take my faculty away to grapple with the challenge of leaping from pilot programs to systemic change.

Seventeen faculty members gathered to begin planning at 6 p. m. on Sunday, January 17. Using data recently collected by a Rockhurst College Executive MBA class for a case study of Bishop Hogan High, we began to talk. We discussed and disagreed until we finally achieved consensus on our mission within the mission of the school. This process lasted four and one-half hours. Convening again at 9 a. m. on Monday, the staff divided up the work of program design and implementation. With breaks for meals, we worked for more than 14 hours and typed the final sentence for the new model into the computer at 11:30 p. m. that night. The following day, Tuesday, based upon the plan, the teachers worked on the budget for the model, identifying the multiple resources and priorities necessary for implementation.

We ended the working retreat by reviewing the process. Early on Sunday, folks had expressed how put-out they were about having to take the time to do this, even though they knew it was necessary. By Tuesday noon, they shared two primary perceptions of the process:

1. Where I was resistant, now I am enrolled. I feel good about what we created together.

2. I know the people I work with, not just the teachers who come to work with me.

We were all exhausted.

When classes resumed on Wednesday, every faculty member--including me--had changed something about how we worked with students and each other. Although the process is time consuming and challenging because of the different personalities and degrees of experiences involved, it is necessary. We didn't have to sell our work to one another; we joined one another in our work. My job seems more complicated now because faculty come to me with the legitimate loose ends that naturally occur in times of change and sometimes expect an immediate response. But the process affirmed what I believe: good schools are a community event.

Realizing the dream. Creating a vision collaboratively involves making successive approximations of the "good school," alternating attention between the big picture and the individual programs and themes that contribute to it. In her work at Trent Elementary, in Spokane, Washington, Shelley Harding found that one initiative suggested by the faculty had unintended sideeffects that clashed with a high-priority value. Her challenge was to figure out how to encourage and act on teachers' ideas without sacrificing important principles:

In my mind, a commitment to equity is the critical factor in my work as a principal. For purposes of illustration, I'll use the process that evolved for restructuring in our school, Trent Elementary. It has implications for all the stakeholders--students, staff, and parents/patrons.

Early in my principalship, a group of primary teachers came to me with a concern about the "lack of readiness" for first grade they perceived in some of their students and the implications of the District's nonretention policy. Their solution was to establish a "step-up" type program, a grade between kindergarten and first, and they wanted to know if I'd support it.

Because of my belief in equal access to quality instruction for all students and the power of diversity, I was very reluctant to endorse what might amount to a watered-down program and homogeneous grouping. Instead I suggested that we explore the research to find other ways of addressing their concern.

Eventually, with the help of Educational Research Service, the Association of Washington School Principals, neighboring districts, and many other sources, our team came up with the concept of developmentally appropriate practices, where high expectations for all, continuous progress, and criterion- rather than norm-referenced tests enhance the curriculum and instructional strategies. In short, young children are viewed as WHOLE, not candidates for remediation at the ripe old age of six!

This discovery opened the door for team discussions on whole language, cooperative learning, manipulative math, and all the other super primary techniques which might possibly render even "gradedness" obsolete in our school.

Multi-age classrooms have evolved at Trent, and with Reader's and Writer's Workshops, thematic integrated instruction, and team planning has come a more equitable structure for all!

The process also illustrates two more attributes for a successful principal which I value: the ability to take small events and turn them to accomplish larger goals, and the idea of principal as co-learner.

Common dilemmas. The community actions stimulated by these leaders reflect the moral imperatives that impel educators collectively to find consensus about how to provide good programs for students. However, leaders often find themselves in moral dilemmas arising from the conflicts between the requirements of the collective vision and the demands of their individual vision of personal integrity. Joanruth Hirshman, formerly a principal in Philadelphia and now working in Morrisville, Pennsylvania, belongs to a group of principals who have been meeting with a professional researcher twice a month for several years to puzzle out these dilemmas together. Journal writing is shared as a mechanism to reflect and focus on administrative practices, to revisit and explore behaviors in meaningful ways. Dr. Hirshman shared this journal entry about the complexities of urban school administration:

That Jermaine

Wednesday Morning, 9: 20 a. m.

I walked into the office to hear the following from my secretary: "Jermaine is sick. He's running a high fever. The nurse was called to the other school on an emergency. I tried to get Jermaine's mother to come for him, but she says that she lives too far away. How could he live far away and come to our school? No wonder that he is often late and that Mother did not come for a report card conference. I didn't want to send him back to the room. He is too sick. What should I do? "

I looked at a listless, lethargic, hot, sweaty, feverish seven-year-old Jermaine lying on the office bench. I uttered an inane, "I'm sorry that you are not feeling well, Jermaine. Don't you know that you are not supposed to get sick in school? "

The secretary pressed me with the telephone number. I always wind up feeling like Mr. Answer Man, in that radio show from my youth in the days before television. I took the telephone number and dialed.

"Jermaine is too ill to remain in school," I stated after identifying myself to his mother. Is there anyone who could come for him? . . . . If you cannot take him home, I will have our School Community Coordinator drive him. I am concerned about the extent of his fever. . . . Fine, with your permission, we will have him home shortly. I want to make certain that I have your correct address. . . . Have you always lived there? . . . You have? Well, that means Jermaine is not attending his neighborhood school. If he were, you would be able to get him easily. I will have the coordinator bring him to you. I am sending you Jermaine's transfer papers for the school closest to you. "

My thoughts were so self-righteous! So much for elementary school choice activists. I am certain that illness, emergencies, and punctuality are not a part of the choice vision. What a dreadful position for a child!

Wednesday afternoon, 2 p. m.

The school leadership team had gathered around the table to discuss assessment issues when Mr. Jackson, Jermaine's second-grade teacher, absolutely gyrated into the room.

"Yes, there is a God!" he exclaimed.

I asked what he meant and he replied, "Jermaine's transfer. "

Mr. Jackson replied that he had tried "everything" with Jermaine. Jermaine was being seen by the psychologist, the school counselor, the math support teacher, and the reading support teacher. Senior citizen volunteers had adopted him. Even the behavior shaping team was working with him. Jermaine's behavior was so erratic and volatile that his removal would establish some normalcy in the classroom.

Each of the adults in the room spoke up. Each expressed a feeling of relief over no longer having to cope with this highly disruptive child. One teacher stated that if he were the only youngster with such enormous needs, that would be one thing. However, there were so many that she was saddened to admit that she, too, felt lightened by this one removal.

I exploded with, "THAT JERMAINE! I cannot believe I did that! I cannot believe that I actually transferred that Jermaine!"

I was devastated. I have a school full of Jermaines. I have I don't know how many Jermaines in second grade. No wonder that I did not equate that tired, listless, fever-flushed Jermaine with the whirling dervish full of rage who usually lived within that young, tormented, and emotionally abused body. I had been busy and preoccupied with a dozen matters that now seemed so trivial that I had not paid sufficient attention to a young child.

I wanted to escape and cry, "PLEASE GOD, FORGIVE ME!" I would never have transferred this hellion who has never had a constant in his life from a mother who sees him as a burden. . . . It all came to me: Jermaine, the oldest of all of his brothers and sisters, each from a different father. Jermaine, on whom mother blamed all of her problems and lack of success. Jermaine's mother, a beautiful young woman, immaculately groomed, tastefully made up, articulate, in therapy, and now living with a man who had not fathered any of the children. The sickness within me rose in my esophagus. Could I take the morning back? Please, have the mother call to protest the transfer.

I heard the comments from the group: "Now, I know why she transferred him. She didn't realize who he was. It's a good thing that she wasn't paying closer attention." "I was surprised, but I didn't want to say anything." Such were the comments from staff I know to be caring advocates for children.

It is now more than a week later. I have not gotten over my guilt. Do I truly believe that we or I could have made a supreme difference in Jermaine's life? I think about him as I start every day with inner pain.

I wonder whether there is a separation between my administrative life and my role as a mother. Is an elementary school principal a mother to the world? I contemplate the values that I hold dear. The values that I share are often not shared at all or to different degrees with the other adults of my world. Therein is created much of the loneliness. The word, however, is not loneliness, for I am always surrounded by people. Rather, Molly's word, loneness, is apt, except within the group. I would hesitate to express my feelings to most of my fellow administrators. I believe that they would tell me that principals cannot save the world. Yet, I do believe that to save one child is as if to save the world. The episode with Jermaine has been a significant emotional event for me.

Most participants insisted that although it occasionally leads to painful experiences such as Dr. Hirshman's, modeling behavior implicit in the values that drive the vision is a crucial element of leadership. Sometimes the best one can do is model an honest struggle--coping with Jermaine is complicated, and balancing the competing goals is not easy. Other times, leaders succeed by reminding themselves what they aim to stand for and taking matters into their own hands rather than delegating. That is what Robert Garlett, now principal of Fox Elementary School in Camas, Washington, found himself doing with Tony.

Several years ago I received a frantic phone call from the secretary at a neighboring school. The principal was gone, and a situation in a classroom needed immediate intervention. I drove over to the school.

The secretary directed me to a sixth-grade classroom where a student had a teacher intimidated and stressed to the point of being irrational. The room was in chaos; other staff were peeking in the windows, and other students appeared either to cheer the student on or to be afraid. I had no problem removing the student, Tony, to the office area, where I got him calmed down, and called his mom.

While waiting for his mom, I had a chance to listen to Tony and to speak with several teachers and paraprofessionals. No one, including Tony, had anything positive to say about Tony, and it was clear he had no chance in that school. After telling the secretary to redirect his mom to my school, I put Tony in my car and took him there.

When his mom arrived, I had the necessary enrollment forms and in-district transfer papers ready for her to sign. I told her my plan: Tony was going to attend my school and change his ways because we were going to believe in him. She looked at me somewhat shocked and signed the papers.

We made sure Tony had a positive school year. Later, I kept in touch with him, attended some sporting events and concerts he took part in. A year ago I received an invitation to his high school graduation; he has now completed a year of college. He has his own rock band and is active in drug and alcohol prevention programs for local teens.

This experience helped me gel as an administrator and let me know I could stand for my belief in kids and what good teachers could do for them. It was a risk to make such a move unilaterally, but I knew that Tony had to have a different environment to be successful in school.

For perceptive leaders, the problems of individual children such as Jermaine and Tony serve as indications of glitches in the system. They stimulate reflection and sometimes lead to change. For Lea Anna Portmann, principal of Enumclaw Junior High in Enumclaw, Washington, the case of Robert caused a reassessment of her own goals and a critical look at routine practices that served most students well enough, but left at least one out in the cold. Robert taught her that sometimes she needed to flex the program to support student success.

A teachable moment that dramatically affected my belief system as a principal was presented by a boy named Robert. Robert was a Native American eighth-grade student who was a chronic non-attender and seemed to receive little support from home for school success. In November we got his mother to agree to come in for a conference. As the counselor and I prepared to conference with Robert and his mother, I had several thoughts about why Robert wouldn't come to school. He was a large boy and tenth out of 11 children. Not one of his brothers or sisters had graduated from high school.

Since his mother had no car, I went to get her. I began the conference with a simple question: "Robert, we care about you and want you to be successful in school--why won't you come? "It took a few minutes for him to answer. As large tears slid down his cheeks, he looked down at the floor and quietly replied, "'Cause I'm no good at it!" He had no great excuses, just a simple declaration of pain. His mother, who wanted very much for Robert to attend, explained that Robert couldn't bring his books home to study, because his father and brothers made fun of him or, worse, took his books and hid them.

We cut a deal with Robert. What if we created a different program for him, one that would focus on what he needed most to be successful? We had staff who volunteered to provide the support system to him that his mother and family could not or would not. We enrolled him in two English classes instead of one. We gave him one and a half periods of math and set him to work tutoring others during the second half of the extra period. We made sure that each and every day people greeted him by name and let him know how glad we were to see him. We told him that if he would come every day he would "get good at school" and that we believed in him. We challenged him to take a chance on us.

His mother agreed to walk to a pay phone and give us a call should Robert not be coming to school, and Robert agreed to make more of an effort. No books went home. Instead, quizzing and study time was built into his school schedule. Robert went from failing to Honor Roll by June. His mom only had to walk to that pay phone twice in the next six and a half months.

Robert caused me to view our school in very different terms. I realized that there were a lot of kids who attended and failed, who were "no good at school." I wondered if I would have the courage to go day after day to a job that I was "no good at." I formulated the belief that our schools needed to become a lot more flexible, not only for kids but for the adults. Robert taught me that not every youngster or staff member needed to take the same path through our system. To continue with this lockstep mentality would lead to more failures. Robert taught me to be flexible at the most basic level and to view our school in a more personal yet global manner. He taught me that if we took the time to listen to one another and were willing to trust one another, success--not failure--was possible. Robert turned around from flunking school to obtaining a 3.2 GPA. It was a success story for the entire faculty and helped me realize that we need to look at things in a human way. We can't use cookie [cutter] solutions--we need to find solutions that help everyone.

On good days, commitment to a vision and the related values helps leaders solve problems and even bring all the resources of an institution to bear on the success of a Robert or Tony. On bad days, the best that can be hoped is surviving until the tide of woes subsides. In his first assignment as principal, one urban administrator in Washington State discovered that sometimes having a dream simply helps faculties and their leaders slog forward when their situation seems temporarily hopeless.

November 26, 1985: one month, 26 days after accepting my first principalship, three students were killed on campus. At that time it was the first multiple homicide/suicide on any school campus. The story went worldwide instantly.

Throw out the Ed 101 lectures, the books on public education, the need to form a committee--just do it! Do what? In the next 72 hours I had to take charge of the national and international media, the community, and everything and everyone that these three students touched, and attend three funerals in three different neighborhoods of the region.

My "end" then was to keep the lives of the living going, create an atmosphere of dignity and compassion for those who died, and navigate through the demands of sustaining self, family, and work world.

Since then, several more students have been shot, some dying as a result; most recently two students were shot to death off campus for pranking with eggs right at the beginning of the school year.

From these deaths have come my lessons for life:

1. Keep those that survive as the main focus for the long term.

2. Treat everyone with dignity and respect--give each the opportunity to participate and achieve at a high level each day.

3. Take calculated risks every day to help people enjoy the journey they are on and see the positive opportunities.

4. Structure and keep a vision of life constantly in front of us, because we just don't know what the next minute brings.

5. Fight the "poor-woe-is-me" syndrome to the max. (It is mighty nice to be alive and be able to keep trying).

6. Know that Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs must be met, but they are only the foundation for the truly inspirational endeavors, the dreams that we human beings are capable of achieving.

7. Keep the destination in mind, but enjoy the journey every day!

The stories of vision told by these sustaining leaders show some of the ways dreams can come true. Vision, they know, is a changeling: the particulars that constitute an educational "Eden" shift as a school community nears its goal and learns more about what makes programs good and effective. Leadership in a reforming school seems to demand both clarity about what is to be achieved and tolerance of the ambiguities that are part of this kind of work. From lofty academic aeries, classicists may portray Utopias achieved by uninterrupted work on glorious visions, but amid the clutter and confusion of real schools, sustaining leaders depend on quick flashes of insight and glimpses of progress as they inch toward their goals.
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[Stories of Partnership and Voice]

[Stories of Knowledge and Daring]