I've just finished reading Joanne Jacobs' Our School: The Inspiring Story of Two Teachers, One Big Idea, and The School That Beat the Odds (Palgrave MacMillan, New York, 2005). Joanne (who also hosts the book's site here) should require no introduction to Devoted Readers of N2P; those of you who have been here since the beginning know that I consider her my blogmother (the part about her grandfather inventing Whoppers candy; that, you may not know). Without her trailblazing edublog, her thoughtful advice, and her generous and helpful nature, Number 2 Pencil would have never existed.
So on to her tale, four years in the making (in more than one sense of the phrase)...
The book details the efforts of two San Jose teachers, Greg Lippman and Jennifer Andaluz, who were struck by, and devoted to, an absolutely crazy idea. Specifically, that it would be possible to create a charter school that was so innovative, tough, supportive and phenomenal that poverty-stricken and shortchanged students from bad neighborhoods who graduated from that school could and would receive a guarantee that they'd be qualified for a four-year college or university.
Their craziness can be quantified. It hardly seems possible for the odds to have been any more against these two. You want statistics? Joanne's got them, right in the first chapter, and they are ugly: "Hispanic and black students in the twelfth grade read and compute at the same levels as white students in the eighth grade." "Among native-born Californians ages 25 to 29, 13 percent of Hispanics...and 62 percent of Asians have a college degree." "Of every 100 Hispanic students entering kindergarten...fewer than 10 obtain a bachelor's degree."
Finally, "Only 12 percent of Hispanic students and 14 percent of blacks who start ninth grade will graduate in four years with the course work and grades required for admission to California's public four-year universities."
And here Lippman and Andaluz were promising that 100% would be prepared? This magic could be worked by two young (yes, I feel old) firebrands? Jennifer Andaluz was a 27-year-old teacher who'd worked as a waitress to pay for college, while 30-year-old Greg Lippman went to Princeton and ended up with Andaluz at Gunderson High School, where teachers spent time hashing out mission statements while the students who needed the most help were barely noticed.
They quit their jobs, set up office in a Starbucks, raised hundreds of thousands of dollars in donations and grants, got the charter granted by the local school board, hired teachers sight unseen from as far away as NYC, and set up classrooms across two donated sets of rooms (a church and the Y) that were 8 blocks apart. They barely got the weeds pulled from out front of the church building before Downtown College Prep opened on August 30, 2000. The first freshmen class was 83% Hispanic. Half the students were not fluent in English; most students were reading at the sixth-grade level.
Were Lippman and Andaluz nuts?
If so, the world needs more of that brand of insanity. Joanne's book follows the first four years in the development of DCP along with the first incoming freshman class (she was there not only as an observer and reporter, but also tutored along the way). Did the school keep its promise? I won't keep you in suspense (the book provides enough of that when the DCP staff realizes just how unskilled their incoming freshmen are). Every student who graduated in the first class of DCP was not only qualified for, but accepted to, a four-year school.
How did they do it?
"Progressive" educators should not read further unless smelling salts are at hand. Enough "protofascism" (one critic's words) exists in DCP's academic and disciplinary policies to make a touchy-feely educator faint dead away. There is no pretense of the students being at the same level of the teachers, and no condescending sugarcoating of the intensity of the work. Homework is assigned in every class, every day. Students who are still learning English aren't immune from academic probation. English students who haven't done their homework must march "the walk of shame" to update their homework charts in the front of the classrooms. No 11th-grader earns promotion to their senior year without having the GPA and test scores indicating they're eligible for Cal State (for which scholarship funds were raised).
Hoodies are confiscated; rough language is cause for a discipline referral; any student caught with drugs or alcohol is expelled (three strikes applies only in baseball - at DCP, only two referrals are necessary for a disciplinary meeting). One girl gets pregnant her first year; she is allowed to return, but is not allowed to bring the baby on campus for other girls to fuss over, and never mind free daycare. One teacher proudly displays a card, written by a student, that says, "Our teacher makes us suffer." In another classroom hangs an old WWI poster, aflame with images of crashed warplanes: "Consider the Possible Consequences If You Are Careless In Your Work."
Their policy on standardized tests? You have to ask?
Unlike many educators, Lippman and Andaluz spend no time complaining about standardized tests. They know they will be judged on measurable results by their sponsor, San Jose Unified, and by their donors. DCP started behind but it catching up...DCP jumped to a 731 on California's Academic Performance index (API) in 2005, exceeding the state average for high schools; compared to high school with similar demographcs, DCP is rated a perfect 10...Passing the state graduation exam is not a hurdle for DCP students, who beat the state average. DCP's class of 2006 had the second highest pass rate in San Jose Unified.
It should also come as no surprise to you that mixed in with these high standard and tough sanctions were a tremendous amount of love, acceptance, and determination from Andaluz, Lippman, and every other staff member at DCP. Teachers scored the incessant homework, hiked between buildings with students, called parents when students were late or rowdy, and adhered to the same fashion and behavior standards as their charges.
Everyone, teachers and students alike, learned to turn disadvantages into possibilities for triumph. One ninth-grader's classroom misreading of the line, "ride the carousel" as "ride the carrot salad" inspired the unofficial school motto. "Riding the carrot salad" meant struggling through the unknown and conquering the seemingly-impossible. Another student made the school's bright orange "Loaner" shirt his personal, stylish trademark. When there were too many students and teachers to fit on the shuttle bus between campuses, the entire assembly walked the distance - making sure to pass the San Jose State campus on the way.
It's true that of the 102 freshman accepted the first year, only 54 graduated in four years, with two more expected to graduate the next year; the remainder transferred, moved, or were expelled. But San Jose Unified's average four-year graduation rate for Hispanic students in 1999 was only 55%, and SJU wasn't guaranteeing the results that DCP not only promised, but delivered.
The book is more than an inspiring tale of two dedicated teachers (and a raft of other crazy people devoted to the same ideals) who worked magic on their students, some of whom were entering high school with elementary-school level reading and math skills. It’s also a phenomenal and concise summary of the charter school movement in the United States. There's even a handy "How To Start A Charter School" chapter in the back. And believe me, after reading this book, you'll want to do so. I hope this book's true purpose is to convince truly progressive education reformers to reject the current system and strike out with new charter schools, because that's what it's sure to cause.
Oh, and the student whose English was so poor that he read the "carrot salad" line so wrong? After taking AP and honors classes, he was headed to Cal State Monterey Bay after graduation.
Posted by kswygert at December 13, 2005 08:30 PM