Radical (24 page)

“But I still don't think we should look at test scores,” the legislator continued. “It just isn't fair.”

“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “Do you have children?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have a daughter who is going into the fourth grade.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let's say that there are two fourth-grade teachers in your daughter's school. You find out that for the last five years, students in one of the classes have consistently scored in the bottom five percent of the state on standardized test score. The other's students have consistently scored in the top five percent of the state on the same test. What would you do?”

“I'd make sure she was in the classroom of the person who had the high test scores,” he answered—without a hint of irony to his response.

“What?” I responded. “But how could you do that? You made that decision solely on the basis of test scores! You didn't even go into their classrooms!”

He stared at me for a moment, confused. Then he smiled and said, “Okay, you got me.”

“My point is that student academic achievement does matter,” I said. “It shouldn't be everything. I think it's important to consider a broad range of factors in a teacher's evaluation. But how much students learn has to be a major piece of it.”

I had this same conversation dozens of times. I found that people seem to be all too willing to make decisions for other people's kids that they would never make for their own children.

An evaluation system like D.C.'s IMPACT that measures growth in student achievement as well as using observations of classroom practice and school contributions addresses all of the problems with the current system—it's objective, fair, consistent, and not overly prone to politics.

T
REATING TEACHERS WITH RESPECT
means that we acknowledge how difficult it is to be a teacher, we remove people who cannot do the job well from the profession, and more important, we recognize those who are highly effective.

This means that we should significantly change the way that teachers are compensated. I see this happening on two fronts. First, the most highly effective teachers should be paid a lot more money than their peers, in acknowledgment of their skills and value. Second, effective teachers should be paid in a way that recognizes their worth to society.

Sometimes when I talk about paying teachers more money, people tell me that money doesn't matter, and that educators don't go into the profession for money. While I agree that the vast majority of teachers haven't made their career choice based on financial reward, you can't tell me that money doesn't matter. If we stopped paying teachers tomorrow, how many people would show up for work? If we capped teacher salaries at $20,000 per year, there would be an uprising, and rightfully so. Money matters, so let's not pretend that it doesn't.

The merit pay system that we put in place in Washington, D.C., is seeing benefits in the retention and satisfaction of the best teachers in the district. I'll give you two examples of teachers whose stories made the
New York Times
in 2012.

Mark LaLonde, thirty-two, was getting high marks teaching social studies in a D.C. high school. He and his wife were living in Baltimore. Why make the commute? He could have found a teaching job in Baltimore. He stuck with D.C. after he was rated “highly effective” twice. His salary increased from about $58,000 to $87,000 last year. Under the contract we negotiated, LaLonde also brought home a bonus of $10,000 for two consecutive years. The union pay scale in Baltimore sets his salary in the low $50,000s.

Take Jimmie Roberts. His job was to tutor slow readers. He was good—highly effective. At twenty-eight, he saw his salary increase from $53,000 in 2010 to about $75,000 in 2011–2012. He also received $30,000 in bonuses over two years. The money helped him pay off college loans. The recognition, according to the
Times
, helped keep him in the classroom.

Teachers like LaLonde and Roberts are not motivated solely by dollars, but there's no doubt that healthier compensation can make a positive difference in their lives and their views on the profession. Given that, let's pay effective educators in a manner that recognizes the incredibly important work that they do. Let's pay them on par with the best lawyers, doctors, and investment bankers out there.

That will ensure that our society takes a first step in respecting teachers for the incredible professionals that they are.

It should also dispel the notion that I am not on their side.

Wanda Smith still keeps me close.

“You taught me to make no excuses,” she wrote in an email long after I had left D.C., “because excuses are totally unacceptable. We have to keep in touch.”

And we will.

9

Listening to Students

L
ate one night in the winter of my first year as chancellor in D.C., I was about to turn off the lights when I checked my email one more time. My BlackBerry pinged with a note from Brandon, a senior at Anacostia High School. Brandon wrote to me because he thought there might be too many people giving me too many ideas about how the school district needed to change.

“I think you should hear straight from students,” he wrote.

That sounded like a fine idea to me, I responded.

I arranged to visit Anacostia High, where Brandon promised to pull together a group of students.

It was neither my first nor hardly my last conversation with students.

Throughout my years as chancellor of the D.C. public schools and now CEO of StudentsFirst, one thing I know for sure is that children are quite capable and willing to articulate what needs to happen in order to fix our public education system. Time and time again, through my tenure in D.C., students confirmed that fact to me. And they're often very reasonable in their solutions, unlike a lot of us adults!

As chancellor, I was committed to being very responsive. I believed that the entire school system had an obligation to serve our children, their families, and our school staff well, and to be customer service oriented. Word got out very quickly that I read and responded to my emails, which meant that I got a whole lot more of them!

So Brandon's email in the wee hours of that winter night was no surprise. I welcomed it and arranged to visit Anacostia High.

L
ONG BEFORE
I
CONSIDERED
venturing into the teaching profession, I had an affinity for children and students. In Toledo I earned cash as a babysitter—and looked forward to caring for little ones. As an upperclassman in high school, I mentored younger students. When I volunteered to help Mary Weiss teach her classes in downtown Toledo, my favorite time was working directly with her students in small groups.

Did I love my students at first in Harlem Park? Not on your life. But things did improve. Tameka Tagg, the one who tormented me my first year, warmed up to me once I gained control of the classroom. Her buddies would become my supporters during my second and third years. We connected over time.

I will never forget Quantray Adams. She came to Harlem Park every day ready to learn. She lived with her grandmother; her mother was not in the picture. She had to navigate a gauntlet of drug dealers and troublemakers just to get to class. Through the poverty and chaos, she was able to focus—and learn, once she had the opportunity and expectations of success, rather than failure.

When Quantray read about my work as D.C. chancellor, she sent an email: “I am about to graduate from college!”

Denise Hall and I have never lost a closeness that started in Harlem Park as well. I taught her in second and third grade. She was tentative, especially at math. When I instructed her how to do long division, she said, “Hey, I'm not supposed to learn that yet.” But when I showed her and told her she could handle it, she did.

Denise turned out to be the student who has kept me in contact with many of my students from Harlem Park. They ask about me on Facebook; Denise forwards their questions and lets them know I'm still in the game.

Denise Hall is headed to nursing school. I was elated but not surprised when she gave me the news. When we give children the chance to succeed, they can.

And when we give them a chance to lead and guide, they can do that, too.

Once I settled into the chancellor job in D.C., I formed a Student Cabinet. We invited representatives from all of the high schools to meet with me at least once a month. We knew that we were implementing reforms at a fast and furious pace. I wanted to make sure we kept in touch with the people most affected: parents, teachers, and students. I met parents in their homes and conducted listening tours for the teachers in schools. But I often learned the most from the Student Cabinet meetings.

I always looked forward to these sessions. The kids didn't put on a show for my benefit. They weren't worried about trying to impress me, and they weren't afraid of hurting my feelings. They gave me their opinions, no holds barred, and I loved it. It became our practice that before we rolled out a major initiative, we tried to meet with the Student Cabinet members.

They never ceased to impress me and drive our reforms, especially when it came to evaluating teachers.

W
HEN
I
ARRIVED AT
Anacostia High, I was led to the library, where Brandon and his group were seated. They pulled out a three-page, single-spaced typed list.

On it were complaints about the cafeteria food, the lack of working computers, the fact that they didn't have the books they needed for their classes, and more.

“There are a lot of things that need to be improved in our school,” Brandon said. They proceeded to read their list, providing thoughtful explanations along the way. An hour later, they were winding down.

“Well!” I exclaimed. “That was very comprehensive. And pretty much on the mark. I'm going to be honest with you, though. I just got here. There's clearly a whole lot broken and a whole lot of work yet to be done. You guys are seniors and realistically, there's no way I can address and fix all of those problems before you graduate from high school.”

Groans all the way around.

“If you could pick one thing that you think I could do that would have the most impact on the quality of schooling you got for your senior year, what would that be?” I asked.

They didn't skip a beat.

“Bring us more great teachers,” a student said.

Not pizza in the cafeteria, early dismissal on Friday, or relaxing the dress code. They wanted more great teachers.

“Bring us more teachers, like Mr. Wallace,” Brandon said. “That guy is the greatest! He works us hard, but he works right along with us.”

“He sets up camp at the McDonald's down the street after school,” another student said. “The kids all come by to get help. If you're hungry, he buys you a hamburger, but he won't let you leave until he's answered all of your questions, and he knows you're prepared for the next day. If you bring us more teachers like him, we're set. We don't need anything else on the list.”

I was intrigued. Who was this Mr. Wallace? I summarized the meeting, thanked the kids for coming, and said I was committed to working hard to change things at their school—not just for them, but for all the kids who would come to Anacostia in the future.

Then I set off to find Mr. Wallace. After walking up and down several hallways I came across a door with a ragged sign reading, “Mr. Wallace.” I pushed the wooden door in and walked through.

I found a twenty-four-year-old man who looked like he'd aged about eight years in two years' time. He was a mess. He had chalk dust in his hair and pit stains in his shirt.

“Mr. Wallace?” I asked.

“Yes, I'm Craig Wallace,” he replied.

“I just wanted to meet you,” I said. “I was just having a conversation with a group of students about what they think needs to change in the school. It was a very enlightening discussion, and there were a lot of things on their list.”

“Yeah,” he answered back cautiously.

“But the one thing they said they wanted most was more teachers like you. They raved about you. Each one of them had incredible things to say about your dedication and effectiveness. You should be proud. You've really made an impression on those kids.”

“Yeah,” he said again.

“So, are you going to stay?” I asked.

I surmised pretty quickly that he was a Teach For America teacher. Right about this time of the year was when the corps members were determining whether to stay or apply for graduate school.

“I-I don't know,” Mr. Wallace stammered.

“Dang!” I thought. Unlike some TFA corps members, it was clear that this guy had seen tremendous success in his classroom. Other than the fact that he was a twenty-four-year-old who probably spent half his paycheck at McDonald's, I was wondering what he was thinking.

“I just don't know. I work hard, the kids work hard, but I don't know how much I'm really making a difference. And frankly the other teachers don't like me. ‘Wallace,' they say to me, ‘stop coming in so early and staying late! And don't do that McDonald's thing or the kids will start expecting it from all of us!' I'm just not sure it makes sense for me to stay.”

“This is exactly the kind of teacher that we need in the classroom,” I thought, “but he's beyond discouraged. We have to figure this out.”

Mr. Wallace didn't know what he was going to do with his life. And I knew I couldn't make changes fast enough to satisfy all of the students' demands. But the students made one thing very clear: they wanted more Mr. Wallaces.

Was I able to fix Anacostia for Brandon and his seniors? I couldn't snap my fingers and magically pull a shiny new school with energetic teachers out of a hat. But we did start to turn Anacostia around. We reconstituted it, making all of the teachers reapply for their jobs. We brought on Friendship Public Charter to take over academic instruction. The District of Columbia began renovating the school building.

We improved the teaching corps at Anacostia High, as Brandon and his friends requested, and test scores began to rise.

B
RANDON AND
M
R
. W
ALLACE
made an impression on me because the kids defied expectations. As adults, we assume what students care about in school is the cafeteria food or more recess. We don't expect them to be able to articulate their desires for a great education. But students know how to improve their classroom experiences, and given the chance, they can describe what works. I always tried to give them that opportunity.

Nothing showed this more powerfully than the experience at John Philip Sousa Middle School in Southeast D.C. Sousa was once famously referred to in the
Washington Post
as “an academic sink hole.”

During my round of principal interviews in the summer of 2008, one of the clear standout candidates was Dwan Jordon. Dwan was the kind of guy who was going to rub some people the wrong way. He spoke his mind, even if his words inflicted pain. I could also tell that he cared deeply about kids and that he was going to get things done. I thought he had the wherewithal to oversee the turnaround of Sousa.

Early in Dwan Jordon's first year, I started hearing positive things about his work. Bill Wilhoyte, a veteran instructional superintendent whose insights I trusted, said he was doing a remarkable job. I heard similar reports from teachers and parents. Kaya Henderson told me that the paperwork and attention to detail on his teacher evaluations were second to none.

When the test scores came out after his first year, Sousa was leading the pack on academic gains. The school saw a 16 percent increase in reading and a whopping 25 percent gain in math. In fact, the gains were so large that they were a little hard to believe. So I wanted to see for myself.

I made a trip to the school. This was not my first time at Sousa. I had visited during my first year as chancellor, and it had been tough to make it through my time there. Kids had been running through the hallways, screaming in classrooms, swearing at teachers, and causing general mayhem. There wasn't a whole lot of learning going on.

This visit was very different. When I walked in, the school was silent and sparkling clean. Class was in session, and there were no children in the hallways. As I walked past the classrooms, I saw kids and teachers hard at work. Everyone was disciplined and focused. There was not a hood on a head or an earphone in an ear. Every student was in uniform with his or her shirt tucked in neatly. It was inspiring.

I wanted to not only congratulate the staff but also hear a bit about how they did it. I scheduled a teacher listening session at the school. The following week at about 3:15 p.m., I pulled up to the school just as the students were being dismissed. I started walking toward the front door and was mobbed by a group of kids.

“Chancellor Rhee! Chancellor Rhee!” I heard them yelling.

“Can I give you a hug?” one girl asked.

“Can I get my picture taken with you?” another asked.

“I want a hug, too, Chancellor Rhee!” said another little boy.

Now, you have to realize that usually when I went to visit schools the kids would look at me and ask, “Who's the crazy Chinese lady and why is she here?” So this was a bit of a surprise.

I asked them how they liked their school and what subjects they preferred. I asked about their teachers. Rave reviews all around.

One boy said it was his first year in middle school and he loved it. “What elementary school did you go to?” I asked.

“Davis,” he said. Davis was not too far away.

“How is this school, the same or different?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “the teachers here really teach us. They push us hard to think outside of the box.”

“Outside the box”? From a sixth grader?

I said good-bye to the children and made my way into the library. Because I had been holding listening sessions for some time, I could pretty quickly get the vibe on a group of teachers. I knew if they were a happy bunch, a bitter one, angry, and so on. This group was anxious. I could feel it.

I went out of my way to praise them for everything that I'd seen. The academic achievement growth was astounding, but more impressive was the culture that they had instilled in the school. To ease the anxiety a bit, I said, “Look, you all saw huge academic gains last year. That was great, but please don't think we expect that kind of growth year in and year out. That would be nearly impossible. From this point forward if we saw three- to five-point gains a year that would be a real feat.”

It didn't work. They were unmoved.