Chapter Six: Are you the Boss of Me?

Chapter 6: Are You the Boss of Me?

There are five Prospect Schools. Each Prospect school has a contract with the local public school spelling out the amount of money the public schools will pay Prospect and the number of children to be educated (along with various other terms and conditions). Ebencorp is the parent company for Prospect schools. Ebencorp is a private, non-profit company that gets 15% of the money from each Prospect school contract. This money pays the salaries for my boss, his business manager, and an accountant. Other Ebencorp employees who work on both Prospect and non-Prospect projects (the HR department, Risk Management and Clyde, my boss’s boss) also receive some of the proceeds from Prospect schools. Ebencorp does not provide any funding to my school (for salaries, operating expenses etc.) or any equipment or supplies. But Ebencorp does provide me with an ample number of headaches.

Good bosses

When I first interviewed to be the Prospect principal, I met with Sheila. Sheila was “Operations Manager” of Prospect schools meaning she was the boss of the five Prospect school principals. Sheila is a forty-something white woman. She is widely considered to be the “mother” of Prospect Schools.

For many years Ebencorp only ran residential programs for troubled adolescents, many of whom were criminals, court adjudicated to attend these Ebencorp programs. Although these programs feature an academic component, they are viewed primarily as alternatives to prison for juvenile offenders. These programs continue to be Ebencorp’s bread and butter.

In the late 1990’s, Sheila, who was then managing several of these Ebencorp residential programs, thought it would be great to work with younger children who were at risk of becoming criminals, so she devised a program that would combine intensive academic instruction with moral teaching. These “Prospect schools” were designed to be funded from the local public schools via a contractual relationship rather than relying on Juvenile Justice funding like the residential Ebencorp programs. Sheila’s boss, Clyde, was very supportive and within five years, Sheila opened three Prospect schools in Florida and two in Chicago. Sheila then decided she would like to open and run the sixth Prospect school herself. This sixth school was to be not only a school for troubled youths but also a school for performing arts. When I first met Sheila, she was very excited about this venture.

In April 2002, although Sheila interviewed me, she made it clear she was in the process of handing over the responsibility for the Prospect schools to Stephen so she could become the principal of the Prospect School for Performing Arts. Stephen, Sheila explained, was transitioning from being the principal at one of the Chicago Prospect schools to becoming the boss of all Prospect principals. I spent several hours interviewing with Sheila in Florida and then flew to Chicago to meet Stephen.

During the interviews, I was impressed by both Sheila and Stephen. Both are well-educated, intelligent, dedicated people and I felt I could work effectively with them. Stephen and I were in agreement on the importance of academics and pushing students to achieve. Stephen, a mid-western black man, and I bonded over running. We planned to do a couple runs together next time he was in Florida and to run along Lake Michigan the next time I was in Chicago.

Shortly after I was hired, Stephen was scheduled to attend a meeting on Florida’s teacher certification program in Tallahassee. He asked me to attend in his place. Although I was overwhelmed by staffing issues at the time, I was honored he selected me. A few weeks later, when I wanted to make a change in how staff vacations were chosen, I e-mailed Stephen to ask his permission. His response was brief, “I hired you because I trust you to make these decisions.” I like Stephen!

The Buck Stops Here

As mother of Prospect schools, Sheila’s strength was that she was an education visionary. Her weakness was that she didn’t look at price tags. When Sheila began Prospect schools, she was given a lot of freedom to get them started. In those early, heady days little time or energy was spent controlling expenses. On paper, the business plan called for Prospect schools to run debt free and it was assumed the principals at each school were doing so. They weren’t.

Sheila’s move from boss of principals, to Prospect principal, coincided with Ebencorp’s desire for a renewed focus on fiscal responsibility and oversight. As Sheila started her new school she ran into the usual speed bumps - bad press, a reluctant school board, the need to rent space. Sheila had been there and done that. When she submitted the bill for renovating a former grocery story into her new school, Sheila hit a thick cinderblock wall. Soon after my arrival at Prospect, I began to hear rumors of tense, frequent, meetings involving Sheila, Stephen (the new boss of principals) and the big boss, Clyde. It leaked out that Clyde was refusing to fund the construction of Sheila’s dream school- especially the costly state-mandated firewalls. Suddenly, Sheila’s dream school was gone and so was Sheila. Sheila’s abrupt departure rattled my confidence in Ebencorp.

Ramon, Migdalia, Juanita, Herman and Me
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Stephen ’s first major assignment as The Boss of the principals had been to salvage Sheila’s school. That didn’t work. His second major assignment was to help us design realistic budgets that would permit us to pay back debt and run in the black. I inherited a school that was over $120K in the red. I was told I needed to pay Ebencorp the $120K (no timeline was provided, but the repayments are overdue) and I may not incur any future debt: I must run my school in the black. I have worked in the private sector and understand budgets, this will be a challenge.

Before school opens, Stephen calls a meeting of all the Prospect principals, and I meet my counterparts for the first time. The principals in Chicago are Migdalia and Juanita. Juanita is newly-hired to take over Stephen ’s school since he had been promoted to be our boss. Here in Florida, the two other principals are Ramon in Flagler county and Herman in Naples. Migdalia is a black woman with curly blond hair; she makes us laugh. Juanita is a Hispanic woman recently from Colombia; she can’t stop talking about herself. Ramon (who is also Hispanic) and I bond - another fellow runner. We make plans to visit each other’s schools. Herman is a young, large black man; he looks like the football player he used to be. He arrives over four hours late for our meeting although he lives the closest. When he arrives, he is sullen and acts annoyed to be here. He keeps to himself, not smiling at Migdalia’s jokes or rolling his eyes at Juanita’s pontification. He doesn’t make eye contact or small talk. We work on our budgets but Herman is struggling and Stephen is clearly not pleased. On break Ramon and I agree we will have to coach and assist our colleague, Herman.

We discuss our budgets and contracts. I learn the contract for Ramon’s school calls for 20 students, 40 for Migdalia and 60 for Juanita and Herman. My contract is for 200 students. It seems the Herald County School Board, my local school board, has a zero tolerance policy regarding student misbehavior. Herald County, with just over 40,000 students, contracts with four alternative schools to handle students with discipline problems: Prospect, ESAK, Avenue School and SBAA. Both Prospect and ESAK are run by Ebencorp but the Prospect Schools are a separate division at Ebencorp.

There’s a contract out…

I meet with Stephen to learn more about the contract with Herald County Public Schools: how was it negotiated? who negotiated it? how does it differ from the contracts from previous years and the contracts other Prospect schools have with their districts? Stephen admits this is all new to him; in the past Sheila did all the negotiating. Stephen does know that the contract spells out the number of students Prospect is expected to admit (200) and how much we’ll be paid (a flat fee, paid in ten monthly installments of just over a million dollars).

Here is where the math starts to work against me: a percentage of the “flat fee” can be kept by the public school to administer the contract, 10% is not unusual. Since most alternative schools are part of larger companies like Ebencorp, contracts allow for that parent company to take a percentage for their back office work; 15% is typical and in fact that is what Ebencorp takes.

I sit looking at my spreadsheet trying to balance my budget knowing that the neediest and most troubled children of Herald County, the children who are MOST at-risk of failing, will start off with 25% less than their public school peers.

A bad trade

A few weeks after our principal meeting, Stephen phones me to say his boss, Clyde, wants to share important news at a Sunday dinner at his home in Tampa. I explain to Stephen that it is my turn to fly to see my husband and I have reservations to be in New York this weekend. Stephen uncharacteristically presses saying Clyde is telling him everyone must attend. I explain that not only is it a matter of cost, but I am attending a wedding. Stephen says he understands and apologizes for the pressure but it is clear he is reluctant to tell Clyde I won’t be attending. I go to New York and Stephen somehow breaks the news to Clyde.

A follow-up meeting to the Clyde dinner is held a week and a half later at Ebencorp headquarters in Tampa. At that time Stephen drops a bombshell: he is resigning and Clyde has selected his replacement. Clyde wanted to announce this at the Sunday dinner, but since I didn’t attend, he postponed the announcement. Now with the team assembled in the conference room, Clyde introduces us to our new boss: Herman. The same Herman who was principal from Naples; the same Herman who was moody and struggled with the budget. This Herman has become The Boss. Trading Stephen and Sheila for Herman with no player to be named later? Coach, what are you thinking?

Corporate Culture

Ebencorp is the first private, non-profit company for which I have worked. I wonder whether the pay and benefits are so poor they can’t attract highly skilled people, or has the leadership created a toxic culture from which competent people flee? The President of Ebencorp, in response to complaints of unanswered email and phone calls, announces that the people in Headquarters are very busy and if you get a response to an email or phone call within a week, you’re doing well. But most of the Ebencorp employees I meet at headquarters are less competent, less educated and more emotionally unstable than people with whom I’ve worked in public schools or in the private sector.

One of the first Ebencorp employees I meet is Leighton, a black man in his late forties, who is the HR liaison for Prospect Schools. When I was in high school there were teachers who imagined they were “in touch” with the kids. To show how they could relate, they’d say stuff like: “let’s rap.” Leighton is a “let’s rap” kind of guy. When asked a question, Leighton knots his hands behind his head, leans back, placing his feet (ankles crossed) on his desk, and in a “let’s rap” tone asks “Whaddaya think we should do?” He says this even when you have clearly told him what you think should be done. Some days I believe Leighton’s behavior is designed to be so annoying no one will trouble him with queries.

Let’s Rap Leighton is the tip of the iceberg. Next I meet Virginia, an exceedingly emotional accountant for whom everything is overdue and in a state of crisis. (Combine the Tasmanian Devil with Alice’s White Rabbit singing ”I’m late.”) She communicates in shrieks. Her boss, Gloria, another bean counter, stops just short of evangelizing at work. I overhear Gloria telling a principal he must fire an employee to balance his budget. He is upset and asks, “How can I fire someone with two small children right before the holidays.” Gloria-bean-counter replies “God will help you find the words.” I also meet Fred, the business manager for The Boss of principals. Fred is a bitter man. He keeps applying to be The Boss of the principals, but first Stephen then Herman are hired instead. Fred is too angry to form an alliance with anyone. Fred, the two bean counters and Clyde are all white. Herman, aka The Boss, and Leighton are black. In Florida’s highly charged politics of race, this makes everything so much more complicated.

Are you the Boss of me?

It is rather like having two bosses. Herman (The Boss) is my official boss, but my public school liaison, Henry must also be kept happy. Since Henry signs our contract as a representative of the public schools, he is a key stakeholder. Often the goals and desires of The Boss and Henry are in conflict.

Henry asks why I don’t have textbooks for every student; The Boss asks why I’m spending money on school supplies.

Henry quotes state laws regarding class size maximums and teacher certification mandates; The Boss asks why I need to hire more teachers and pay them so much.

Henry wants the students returned to public school smarter than when they left; The Boss wants me to focus on discipline and create more of a boot camp atmosphere

Chapter Five: Hey Bus Driver

Chapter 5: Hey Bus Driver

Principals are not usually responsible for school busses. In most public schools there is an entire transportation department devoted to maintaining vehicles, recruiting, training and hiring bus drivers, and arranging for substitute drivers. But I am responsible for a fleet of busses and the people who drive them. This is way out of my comfort zone. Once I changed the oil on my motorcycle, but that was more than two decades ago and I was dually inspired by Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and the desire to impress a cute boy. I am so doomed. Did you know bus drivers have to pass a flex test and their license must have a “P” endorsement? Me neither, and that’s just one example of my low bus IQ.

Meet the Drivers or: You’re either on the bus or off the bus

During the summer, Shasta schedules several bus driver meetings and training sessions. These meetings always begin with breakfast. My vegetarian nose wrinkles as my six drivers sit outside my office and dig into Styrofoam trays steaming with buttered grits, sausages, bacon, grilled ham, eggs, toast, biscuits with sausage gravy and deep fried potatoes cubed with cheese and bacon on top. Salt is added to everything and grease oozes from fissures in the Styrofoam. Lynne, my business manager warns me this is a bus driver tradition and during the school year, after the morning bus runs, the drivers will gather here daily chowing down on their Southern breakfasts. I tend to understand people better than machinery, but my team of drivers has “issues”, to put it mildly. When I start the year, my budget spreadsheet lists six drivers: Cherill, Jed, Wanda, Nina, Quentin and Ellie.

Cherill is the daughter of Mel, my predecessor. She was hired as a bus driver but didn’t have a license so he made her a teacher. (Oh, and she has never been to college.) But she’s still on the driver’s roster for some reason.

Jed is a morbidly obese man who can’t pass the physical for bus driver and skipped the mandatory training. One of the busses has a modified driver’s seat; it has been reattached far from the steering wheel to accommodate his girth.

Wanda is also very overweight and has many health issues and her mother has health issues and Wanda called in sick all the time last year.

Nina is a close friend of Shasta’s, my transportation coordinator. She is a thin, petite woman who acts as though she only drives a bus as a favor to Shasta.

Quentin is the only black driver. This strikes me as odd since the public school bus drivers in Herald County are disproportionately black. I can only guess that since Mel, who is white, hired people he knew, he mostly knows white folks. Quentin has a dry sense of humor but gets rattled by the antics of our students, especially the girls.

Ellie is a very opinionated grandmother. On more than one occasion I catch her photocopying and then stuffing into faculty mailboxes some vitriolic diatribes. The title of one missive, which I assume is aimed at Florida’s growing immigrant population, is: “Go Back to Mexico.”

Cherill and Jed have to be fired immediately. Not passing the physical and not having a license make this an easy decision. Wanda should probably be off the bus too, but it doesn’t feel ethical to do that and it’s probably illegal too.

I can’t seem to attract new, competent drivers. There is a major equity issue between the pay we offer our drivers and the pay offered by the public school; Prospect pays three dollar less per hour and doesn’t offer any benefits. I change my budget and raise the pay for bus drivers from $8.00 an hour to $11.00 an hour (effective after 90 days) and put an advertisement in the paper looking for new drivers. At the end of June, I hire my first new driver, Beverly.

A few days after I hire her, Beverly phones me to complain about the fact that she will have to pay $35 for a DOT physical. She is also upset when she learns she will have to take a two-day driving course but not be paid for the time. We talk, she confronts me: “If you don’t mind me asking, just what are you doing for the bus drivers?” I tell her I am paying their salaries. She quits. She is a friend of Rosie, one of my teachers. She tells Rosie she quit because she does not like Shasta’s attitude.

I hire another new driver, Audra. She doesn’t object to paying for her physical, attending training or dealing with difficult students. And so I start the school year with a team of five drivers. But will they have busses to drive?

There are five busses parked on my south campus. My liaison, and new friend in the public schools, Dr. Henry Sevier, offers to have his transportation department examine my busses free of charge to assess their condition.

The word from the transportation department is not good. Three of the five busses are deemed too unsafe to carry children and the repairs required to make them safe far exceed the value of the busses. The two mini busses could be salvageable with some repairs. I phone for help from Ebencorp, the parent company for Prospect Schools. I receive vague promises that someone is negotiating with another county to buy four used 65-seat busses. The call does not inspire confidence. I worry my busses will be lost in the flood of other more pressing projects. And to top it all off, there is the matter of Tappy Gonzales.

Tappy Gonzales was married to Stephanie, my orientation leader. Well, legally they still are married, but they’re separated. Tappy Gonzales is a mechanic and Mel, my predecessor, not following the rules regarding outside contractors and apparently unconcerned about nepotism, used Tappy Gonzales as our bus mechanic. The results include questionable business deals, work in lieu of parts, padded bills and a missing bus.

Shortly after arriving at Prospect, I began to receive e-mails and phone calls from Tappy Gonzales. Tappy Gonzales wants to be paid $600. He contends he took apart a bus to provide an estimate for the cost of repairing it. He refers to this bus as the “blue bus.” Where is this blue bus? Is the bus blue or is it a Bluebird brand bus? Is there any paperwork authorizing Tappy Gonzales to work on this bus? Business Manager Lynne and I go through the receipts and I ask staff what they recall. While there are some receipts, we find nothing referring to work on the “blue bus.” Someone remembers that Tappy did some work for Mel and hadn’t been properly compensated so Mel told Tappy to add $100 to every bill until they were even. Someone else remembers the blue bus deal - Tappy said it was not worth it to repair the bus so he and Mel agreed he could keep the blue bus for parts in lieu of payment for his time evaluating the bus. I am spending too many hours investigating the black hole of the blue bus. I write Mr. Gonzales and thank him for his work in the past and indicate I do not believe he is owed any money by my school.

Bus Principal

I become aware of a power struggle that is compromising my transportation department. Shasta holds the title of Transportation Coordinator, but Ernie, my counselor, makes himself the de facto boss of the bus drivers when it suits him. Since he doesn’t have official responsibility, when anything goes wrong and he is unwilling or unable to handle it, he doesn’t. Shasta wants the authority, but she is reluctant to take it. Last year Mel, my predecessor, regularly overruled Shasta’s decisions in favor of Ernie’s. Shasta lets Ernie remove misbehaving children from the bus and address her drivers during her weekly transportation meetings.

But Shasta is unfailingly optimistic, bouncing around with genuine enthusiasm and cheer; she really loves her job. I meet with Shasta to empower her – to remind her that she, not Ernie, is the Coordinator of Transportation.

Shasta feels her new power and is pleased with her first mission even though it will be tough: shortening the bus routes. The bus routes are currently over three hours long. One route starts at 4:30 a.m. The students are on the bus so long they have to go to the bathroom before arriving at school. Bus drivers routinely have to stop at convenience stores where the children don’t limit themselves to going to the bathroom, they also buy or steal cigarettes, candy, gum and soda. Shasta and I set up a meeting with Chad, a routing expert from the public school, to determine the fewest number of routes we can run and still keep the length under two hours.

Chad is wonderful. He goes out of his way to help us even when there is no gain to him and no one pressuring him to do so. Chad spends hours with Shasta. Together Chad and Shasta determine that the answer is five, so five routes are drawn in marker on a laminated 8’x12’ map. I authorize Shasta to hire more drivers. She tells me the disparity between what Prospect pays drivers and what the public school pays is only part of the problem, the drivers want benefits. I promise to bring this up in the next Ebencorp budget meeting in Tampa. Then I go meet with Henry, my public school liaison, who delivers great news: he thinks he can arrange for us to lease public school busses for $1 per bus per year. I sleep a little better knowing this.

Chapter Four: Send In the Clowns

Chapter 4: Send in the Clowns . . . they’re already here
Or
Good Help is Hard to Find


Summertime… but the living isn’t easy. I have started my new job. The students are off for the summer, but my staff and I are at school. I feel the incredible pressure of the ticking clock, I have a 16 page “to do” list and only two months before school begins in the first week of August to accomplish all my “pre-opening” goals. Step one is staffing. In the beginning there are nine members of my so-called teaching staff:

• Stephanie and Cherill haven’t been to college.
• Gus and Tracy, (who strangely is also known as Paul), have taken some classes but are not college graduates.
• Stone’s BA degree in Divinity and Rusty’s MA in social work may make them eligible to be certified teachers, but they haven’t applied for certification.
• Rosie, Dede and Clint are certified teachers, except Clint let his certification lapse and needs to reapply and Dede’s is at risk of not getting renewed.

In addition, Rosie and Dede are certified to teach elementary school but have been teaching middle school. Cherill is listed as a bus driver on the budget worksheet I was given. I re-categorize her as driver and deal with her as such. Stephanie expresses enthusiasm about the new orientation program I am developing. It permits incoming students to spend at least one week and often more, in a separate Orientation classroom learning the rules and procedures of our school. I make Stephanie the Orientation Leader.

Hello-Goodbye TracyPaul

TracyPaul is a middle aged black woman who scowls and mutters whenever she sees me. When I ask one of the staff about her two names, I am told, by way of an explanation, that she is gay. The morning in May when I first meet her, TracyPaul arrives over 45 minutes late. More surprising is when she prepares to leave at 2:00. The school day ends at 4:00. “I have another job,” TracyPaul tells me, another full-time job as a supervisor for a recreation center. Mel, my predecessor, permitted her to leave two hours early every day with no impact on her pay. TracyPaul and I need to talk. TracyPaul tells me she speaks for the whole staff: “When we got you as principal we feel we just got the shit end of the stick.” Surely she means “short.” I tell TracyPaul I expect her at 8:00 sharp tomorrow and she may not depart until 4:00. Any questions? No? good. TracyPaul leaves at 4:00. She does not return at 8:00 am, she doesn’t return ever. I send her a certified letter of termination for job abandonment.

Hello-Goodbye Gus

Gus is a muscular, thick, young white man with a sunburn. He laughs easily and considers himself the unofficial spokesman for the faculty. He calls a protest meeting on my third day at school. He demands shorter working days and a four-day work week. Gus and I meet one-on-one. Gus is not a certified teacher; he hasn’t completed his college degree. He boldly admits he is not a good teacher.

“Then why should I keep you on my teaching staff Gus?”

“Because I’m a redneck and I know how things work ‘round here. You need me more’n I need you. I work construction full-time; I don’t need this job.”

Gus does not go quietly into the night. He lasts nearly three weeks then he disappears at noon on a Monday. Rumor mill says he went to his construction job. We speak on Tuesday: leaving at noon is not okay Gus. But again he goes to lunch and doesn’t return. On Wednesday, following the second incident, I escalate from discussion to “If you don’t return after lunch today you will be removed from the payroll.” Gus very loudly and very close to my face shouts, “Are you saying you’re firing me? Go ahead and say it so I can get my unemployment.” He leaves again at noon. When he comes in Thursday, I give him a letter saying he is off the payroll for job abandonment. Gus tears up the letter, throws it in the trash, kicks the can and walks to the parking lot where he shouts to his peers and anyone else within hearing range, that I will regret his departure.

Somehow I doubt it.


Hello-Goodbye Clint

Clint, a middle-aged white man, is scattered and disorganized. Every unfinished project or half-baked proposal piled on my desk is covered with Clint’s fingerprints. I am working to clean up the remains of several messes Clint started and neglected: an anti-drug grant, a promotional fund raising pamphlet, boxes of cheap toys for a school store, a dilapidated greenhouse full of pots of weeds. Clint’s peers don’t like him much. They tell me he won’t shut up in meetings, is a know it all and not a team player. They share gossip with me about Clint’s extramarital affair with a woman he met in France; his long distance Parisian phone calls from the school phone, (charged to the school), her phone calls and postcards at work (to keep his secret from his wife who apparently already knows).

But when I first visited Prospect, I had the opportunity to observe Clint in his classroom, and he is a good teacher! He has classroom management skills and instructs lessons. He cares about his students and knows how to teach. I am confident I can limit Clint’s pontification in meetings, stop his international calls and not assign him responsibility for special projects. Clint’s passion for teaching and his knowledge of effective behavior modification techniques make him a keeper. But Clint has a problem: he has his own travel business where he arranges tours of Europe. Given his organizational skills I am not surprised when he tells me tales of losing tickets, missing flights and irate clients. But to run his business, he needs summers off. I am unable to approve this because his job description, like those for all the teaching and counseling staff, is for a twelve-month position. I tell him I will work on changing this, but I can’t promise I will be successful. Clint says he understands, then resigns two days before school opens. He has been hired by the Avenue School, another Alternative School in town. Before he leaves I overhear Clint referring to me as “The Witch.”

Hello-Goodbye Dede

Dede is a thirty-something white female who gives blondes a bad name. Last April, she and her spouse-to-be flew to Nevada for a Vegas wedding. Dede complains to me about how her new husband has burdened her with all the responsibility for his nine-year old son (from a former marriage) and she doesn’t know the first thing about being a mother and she resents having to oversee the morning routine, arrange childcare, take calls from his summer camp program and on and on.

Dede tells me she doesn’t want to teach any of the students she taught last year. They know too much about her personal life since she just had to share all the details about her love life, her wedding and her honeymoon with her students.

Dede is high maintenance.

Dede whines that her permanent certification is at risk of not being renewed because her in-service classes weren’t reported to the state certification office. I remind her this is her responsibility. No, she informs me, one of the “special projects” Clint developed was to be “Curriculum Specialist.” I talk to Dede about how we can overcome her problem, but she wants to vent and blame Clint. All summer Dede is focused on her elusive in-service credits. She requests permission to attend every in-service possible to substitute for her missing credits. I approve them all. One day, when no in-services are scheduled, I ask Dede to brainstorm songs, plays and art projects related to the theme of Florida history. I suggest she may want to go to the public library or talk to her peers for ideas. After eight hours of work I meet with Dede. When I ask to see her list, I get nothing. Dede what did you accomplish today? “Why I cleaned out and organized the supply closet.”

On Monday there is an in-service on Grant Writing. I decide to attend my first in-service. Dede is registered as well. But Dede never shows. On Tuesday I ask her why. Her stepson was ill and she stayed home with him. But you didn’t call me. She shrugs as though I am making a new and bizarre policy. On Thursday, payday, Dede loudly enters my office demanding to know why she wasn’t paid for Monday. I remind her of her absence from Grant Writing. “Well,” she explains, “I was working at home.” She goes on to say that while caring for her sick stepson, she was also organizing all the paperwork needed to file her in-service credits to keep her certification current. Dede launches into a lengthy diatribe about how none of this is her fault, it is all Clint’s fault, and now she needs a college course to renew her certification and the classes she wants meet at 11:00 am. I calmly reply that since her work hours are 8:00-4:00 that won’t work, I suggest an evening or weekend course. She insists those won’t work for her because of her new parenting responsibilities. Then, clearly outraged, she shouts at me “Are you telling me I have to take a class when it’s convenient with YOU?”

We run our first parent orientation at night. Everyone stays an hour or so late for this event. The following day Dede informs me she will be leaving early to “use” the hour she worked at orientation. I explain when you are a salaried employee it doesn’t work that way, but if she ever needs to leave early - medical appointment, sick child etc. I will be reasonable. Dede is angry, she feels she earned a “free” hour.

I am making the two hour drive home from another mandatory meeting at Ebencorp Headquarters in Tampa, (Ebencorp is the private company that runs Prospect Schools), when my cell phone rings. Lynne, my business manager, provides the play-by-play of the opera of three teachers: Dede and Stone teamed up on Rusty and said nasty things to him. Rusty is crying.

Back at school I meet with Dede about the incident. “I didn’t tell Rusty to his face that he is worthless and besides he is worthless, so I shouldn’t be in trouble.” I give Dede a written warning. Dede begins to cry and says she needs the rest of the morning off. I remind her we have another parent orientation this afternoon at 1:00. Dede arrives at 12:30 as we are setting up chairs and putting out refreshments. She tells me she must speak with me immediately. Dede resigns. School opens tomorrow.

And All the Rest

So, my veteran teachers, as I start my first school year, are Rosie, Rusty and Stone. Rosie and Rusty both have Master’s Degrees, Rusty’s is in Social Work, Rosie’s is in Counseling. They both want to be out of the classroom and would like positions as counselors. Stone (a true southerner, his full name is Stonewall, as in Jackson) wants to be a Baptist minister but he doesn’t have a flock. I am guessing his sermons are of the “You’re all goin’ to hell” variety. He hates teaching, he tells me, and furthermore he applied for my job before I was selected and he knows he could do it better.

Support (and unsupportive) Staff

In addition to the teaching faculty, I have five support staff: two counselors, a cafeteria manager, a transportation coordinator and a business manager who also functions as my secretary, receptionist and right hand woman.

Ernie and Stan are the counselors responsible for de-escalating troubled students and getting them back into class. All our students are troubled, so this is a little like doing triage in the Civil War – figure out who is least injured, stop the bleeding and get them back with their unit. Ernie is white and huge: both tall and wide. He has this innocent Miss Piggy moon face, blue eyes and a charming smile. He is full of stories, and I’m never sure what percent of them are true

The history of Ernie according to Ernie

Ernie grew up poor in the slums of Baltimore, the youngest of a tribe of brothers with an Irish, alcoholic, abusive father and a submissive Native American mother. Ernie stole food from the A&P to ward off starvation, taking milk and donuts from outside the store before it opened. He rarely went to school because his father beat him so badly he was embarrassed by the bruises and ashamed he didn’t have clean clothes. As a child he was sent to prison before age twelve and when he got out he called an aunt in Washington DC from a pay phone and she agreed to raise him. He didn’t learn to read until he met a preacher and found Jesus Christ, then he learned to read that very weekend and shortly thereafter he earned his GED. Ernie has a son in prison in Texas, an ex-wife in Gainesville, Florida and a gifted son in high school who just started living with him (the one who made him late today).

At least this is what Ernie says.

I have reason to be cynical about the authenticity of Ernie’s personal history; I learn his GED is a forgery. It is obvious he doesn’t read or write well, but when he talks, which he does quite often, his charisma shines though his grammatically jumbled sentences. Ernie wants to talk to me every day; he practices the humble servant routine telling me how much he supports me, but warns others are plotting my demise.

Counselor woes like dominoes

Before I have a chance to know him, Stan, the counselor who works with Ernie, resigns. Mel, my predecessor, allowed Stan to arrive at work 60-90 minutes late daily to get his children off to school, and to take off midday for golf games. When Stan learns I will not sanction such an arrangement, he tells me he intends to pursue a career in hand therapy. He is a pleasant man who apparently has never once been on time for work and never volunteers for a project; he makes himself scarce when there is work to be done. I select Rusty, currently a teacher, to fill the position of counselor. My choice angers both Rosie and Stone. Rosie, with her newly earned Master’s degree in counseling is desperate to get out of the classroom and Stone, the flockless Baptist Minister, wants any job except teacher. Of the three candidates, Rusty, with his Master’s Degree in Social Work and his almost magical rapport with students, is my choice for counselor.

Rusty: strange visitor from another planet

The students love Rusty; a sixty-something, wiry, black-Hispanic man whose real name in Lazarus. First impression: you expect him to ask for spare change. His clothes are faded, stained and ragged. He is missing teeth and those he has are yellow, crooked, badly broken or chipped. He is not in good health; he has cataracts and can’t read printed material unless it’s touching his nose. He has problems with his heart, stomach and bladder.

Rusty was hired by Mel, my predecessor. Initially I think Rusty is another of Mel’s mistakes, but the students love Rusty. They call him Grandpa and although they joke with him about being an old man, if a new student is rude to Rusty, the veteran students are quick to defend him.

Rusty never seems aware of what he looks like to others. But some days, seemingly for no reason at all, he dresses to the nines with a dress shirt, nice tie, jacket or sweater. On those days everyone compliments him on how nice he looks and he is very pleased. Rusty is never late for work and often stays an hour or two after the children leave. Rusty spends many hours every night calling students who were absent, students who had a bad day, a good day, an unusual day. He talks, they listen; they talk, he listens.

My only complaint about Rusty is that he SHOUTS. And when Rusty shouts, it’s so loud the words are distorted. I’m not a fan of shouting at students -increased volume should be used rarely and strategically. It takes me a while to realize Rusty isn’t shouting at the children in anger; Rusty has a speech impediment and is somewhat deaf. After a while I learn to decipher the words imbedded in his earsplitting, unusual language.

Rusty and I both worked for New York State’s Division for Youth (DFY). He in New York City, me in upstate NY. Rusty was a trainer for performing restraints. He also has a BA in Theology and an MSW from Fordham. I am told he was once a priest in New York. Despite his health problems, Rusty is full of energy, enthusiasm and rarely depressed. Every day I have a higher opinion of Rusty, his work ethic, his counseling skills and his ability to relate to our very difficult students. Rusty’s background, behavior and attitude make me feel confident about my decision to make Rusty a counselor.

Cafeteria Lady

At first I worry about Ruth since she is one of Mel’s relatives and makes frequent announcements about their family gatherings: “Rosie, at the barbeque yesterday Mel asked how you’re doing and he sends his love.” Moreover Ruth isn’t pleased when I cut her hours although she readily agrees that the cafeteria work can be accomplished in five hours. Mel used to “find things for her to do” so she could work an eight hour day. But Ruth, who is sixty-something, clearly appreciates my desire to have employees arrive on time as well as my efforts to schedule and include her in regular staff meetings. Most days Ruth arrives early and stations herself by the front door of my portable and in a stage whisper, informs her tardy coworkers they are late.

Lynne and Shasta keep hope alive

Lynne, my business manager, and Shasta, my transportation coordinator, are both white women who were born and raised in Florida. Neither went to college, but Lynne received a better education than Shasta. From the mouth of Shasta come unconjugated verbs, double negatives and colloquialisms; Shasta says she “didn’t do nothing but mind she’s a-fixin’ to do something.” Shasta is obese but has surgery scheduled to shrink her stomach and shorten her intestine. Shasta is thirty-something with one young son; Lynne is forty-something with two grown children. Although both Lynne and Shasta loved Mel and hated to see him leave (he was Lynne’s therapist and he is Shasta’s brother-in-law), they are starting to accept my presence, adopt my ideas and support the changes I am implementing. They even speak kindly about me to others when they don’t know I can hear!

I could not survive without my business manager, Lynne. She is much more than her title implies. Lynne can do several things at once – she inputs all student data in the Herald County public school database, answers phones, talks to parents dropping off or picking up children and she reads email – forwarding urgent items directly to me. When I need help with a grant or other project, Lynne gets me the information before I finish explaining my needs. After talking to an angry, abusive parent (and we have many), feeling frustrated and defeated, I turn to Lynne. Lynne has become my confidante, sounding board, trusted advisor and friend. Lynne is a buffer between me and the poison dart throwers. She knows to whom she should say, “Kathleen is in a meeting” and when to say it. She keeps all our conversations confidential, even when I am unprofessionally venting about staff members with whom she is friendly. Lynne absorbs my angst and reminds me I am not insane. Without Lynne, insane is what I would quickly become. I do worry about our relationship though. As her boss I may have to correct or discipline her; between friends it can get strange fast.

Shasta, Coordinator of Transportation, Health and Safety, and I have fewer opportunities to talk, but her value to Prospect School is enormous. Her days are long and filled with transportation challenges including supervising drivers, keeping the busses in running order, adhering to the maintenance schedule, dealing with parents angry about bus issues and punishing children who misbehave on the bus. As my health and safety coordinator Shasta is also busy dispensing medication, separating the ill from the hypochondriacs then phoning home for the former and counseling the latter. Shasta’s secret wish is to go to college. I keep urging her to do so. She made some inquiries, took some tests and was frustrated to learn she would need to take a pre-English and pre-math class before she could enroll in a college level class.

Shasta is a humble superhero - she never talks about her feats of wonder. Shasta drives over an hour into The Forest on Sunday mornings to pick up a student who asked to attend her church. She gives her home phone number to students in abusive homes; she has permitted runaway students to spend the night at her house. On more than one occasion Shasta has brought food to homes with empty cupboards. Shasta has volunteered to transport children when doing so meant giving up her evenings or days off. Whatever I ask, Shasta says yes. I am careful not to ask too much, especially when I hear her marriage is dissolving and her son is struggling in school.

Diminishing Expectations

I need to hire some teachers! I put advertisements on Monster and Teach-in-Florida.com. After I read an applicant’s resume, I do a phone screening to determine whether I want to schedule a face-to-face interview. Most of my phone screenings are done in my apartment at night since I have had my hands full with Dedes, Clints and TracyPauls during the day. I develop standard questions to ask each candidate. When I ask, “what book would you read to a classroom of at-risk middle school students?” most applicants don’t have a clue as to what would be a good book. One says “that’s a trick question” another “congratulations, that is the first time I heard that question.” This is not a game show, I am not trying to stump anyone but I am amazed that so many people who want to teach young adolescents can’t name an appropriate book.

I talk with a man who thinks Thoreau’s Walden would be a good book to read to at-risk middle schoolers. Why do you want this job? He wants to reunite with his estranged daughter who lives in Lakeboro. After the Thoreau call, I speak with a man who lives in southern Florida and may want to commute to Lakeboro and stay here Monday through Friday. He is anxious to teach in Lakeboro because his passion is slaughterhouses and there is a slaughterhouse on the outskirts of Lakeboro. I speak with a woman who thinks The Three Pigs would be a perfect story to read aloud to my middle schoolers. She describes lessons in science on pigs, having the students draw pictures of pigs, add and subtract pigs and sing songs about pigs.

I interview a husband/wife team from Texas. Both are experienced, certified teachers who have worked with low income, disruptive kids and they want to relocate to Florida. They are enthusiastic and call me several times with questions about housing, schools, etc. We set up face-to-face interviews. They call the morning of the interviews. They decide they aren’t ready to leave Texas. Maybe next year.

I call a reference on a woman, Mandi, who seems like she might be an okay teacher. When I speak to her former boss, he tells me he wouldn’t hire Mandi to teach his dog.

Late into the night I conduct phone-screening interviews, doing west coast people after 9:00 when it is still light in the Pacific Time zone. I have a promising lead in New Mexico and a less promising possibility in California. I talk with a retired couple from Leesburg, Florida. They are positive and gung-ho on the phone but when they see my campus they suddenly remember a job opportunity in North Carolina. I talk to a teacher from New Jersey who keeps referring to his students as Mulattos.

When I conduct face-to-face interviews I try to get another teacher to join me. When that isn’t possible, Lynne, my trusty business manager, eavesdrops and post interview gives me her opinion. I’ve only known Lynne for a few weeks, but I trust her instincts.

Ivan really wants to teach at my school. He has been a “business man” in Sausalito, CA for several years but recently “came into some money” and now he wants to teach. He once taught in the southwest. I have the impression peyote was involved. He is enthusiastic but doesn’t seem to know much about education or children. Gertie is from upstate NY and bonds with me about working for DFY (the Division for Youth). She is a teacher in a prison. She brings me an armful of documents including her most recent appraisal that is not particularly complimentary - she lost keys and didn’t have control in the classroom. Gertie is jittery during the interview and lingering cigarette fumes waft from her. She keeps talking and talking, interrupting herself and losing her topic sentences under mounds of ill-chosen words. Lynne, my business manager, walks by my office rolling her eyes.

I do not hire Ivan or Gertie. Later I learn that Rocky, the principal of Ebencorp’s alternative high school in town, ESAK (Ebencorp School for At-risk Kids), interviewed and hired Gertie after I interviewed and rejected her. Several weeks later, he had to fire her when she left her purse, with car keys and cigarettes unattended in her classroom. Rocky tells me candidly that he fired her because “she was nuts.”

I interview Neeley from Key West and LaRon from Palm Beach. Neeley is working as a reporter for a newspaper; previously he taught troubled students in Connecticut. He is 23 years old. His former supervisor tells me he remembers Neeley as an affable young man but that when Neeley worked for him, right out of college, he didn’t always know how to set limits with the students. He feels certain Neeley has grown and matured and learned from this experience.

LaRon hasn’t taught but he would like to and he is eligible for certification. Both Neeley and LaRon are due to start two days before the students arrive. They pass background checks although LaRon has had quite a few traffic infractions. Two days before school starts, Neeley arrives with holes in his clothes; LaRon doesn’t arrive at all.

Why isn’t the vetting process working better? Why am I spending precious time conducting face-to-face interviews with people I should have eliminated based on phone interviews?

Can the Scientist become a Teacher?

Tammie is a scientist. She is a twenty-something white woman with a degree in biology and some experience with tutoring. She tells me she is a single parent, wants to teach children, and her ex-husband is a professor at the University of Florida. We talk about hands-on science experiments and I hire her despite her lack of teaching credentials. I believe her enthusiasm and knowledge about science will be an asset for my students. I feel like it’s cool to have a real scientist on my team.

Hello-Goodbye MaryEllen

MaryEllen wants to be a teacher. She just completed her degree and has applied for certification. She has done some teaching with inmates in the prison. She is a single parent, loves kids and is very enthusiastic about teaching. She thinks a good book to read to middle schoolers is The Outsiders. Her background check comes back clean. She is hired and handed keys to her classroom. She comes in early and stays late. The day before school opens, as Dede is resigning, I get a call from Horace, the Director of Personnel in the Herald County Schools Personnel Office. Although the initial background check on MaryEllen came back clean, apparently there is an outstanding warrant for her arrest. Horace knows nothing more; he suggests I contact the Sheriff. I run the orientation meeting with a sick stomach. MaryEllen - a criminal?! I call the Sheriff after the orientation. The warrant is for Sexual Misconduct Felony. The warrant has been out there for two years. I know from the background check that MaryEllen has been at the same address and same job for over two years, why didn’t they find her? The Sheriff tells me they didn’t know where she was. Now they do and they are on their way to arrest her. They don’t want me to tip her off. So I hold my afternoon staff meeting as usual. A knock on the door, I speak with the Sheriff and ask MaryEllen to step outside and join us. Out of sight of the other teachers she is handcuffed and taken to the squad car. She is frightened and sobbing, she seems genuinely confused as to why this is happening and is desperately worried about her three-year-old daughter. Standing under the portico on the sidewalk outside the classrooms, watching one of my teachers led away in handcuffs is not how I hoped to begin the school year.

MaryEllen’s attorney calls me with “the rest of the story.” Over two years ago, when MaryEllen was working at the prison, one of the inmates accused her of molesting him. Her attorney tells me he is sure he can get the whole thing dropped. But my contract with the school says if a teacher has ever been arrested for a felony I cannot hire her: it doesn’t say “convicted”, it says “arrested.”


Hello Noreen . . . but perhaps goodbye?

Noreen is a math teacher. A certified, experienced math teacher! She taught for several years in Indiana and has wonderful, creative lessons and ideas. We discuss a string art project for geometry, m&m math and a classroom currency. She is bubbly and spunky. I feel like I just hit the jackpot.

Just before school opens Noreen makes a confession to counselor Ernie and he dutifully informs me; Noreen has a criminal record. She stole money when she was teaching in Indiana. It was a misdemeanor but she is still on probation. It was money the school collected for a fundraiser. I read and reread my contract. Can I hire her? There is some gray area here.

I try to call Noreen’s former principal but he is in the military in Afghanistan. I contact her probation officer. She doesn’t know Noreen well since she recently moved here from Indiana. She advises me not to let Noreen handle any money.

Horace, the personnel director for the public schools, calls to tell me under no circumstances can Noreen teach. He’s fairly brusque. I feel sick. Noreen is my best teacher, my only real teacher who wants to teach. Henry, my friendly public school liaison calls me to reiterate Horace’s message. It is her status of “on probation.” She would never be permitted to teach in the public schools here so.... I read section 10, page 3 of my contract again and again. My eyes are not focusing and the words start to blur.

My eyes are worse when I am tired and stressed; I am in denial about needing reading glasses.

Must I learn all my lessons the hard way? I promise myself to never again hire a prospective teacher until a thorough background check is completed, and I will read between the lines in the formal application. In my desperation to staff my school I cut corners and now I am paying the price. I will not make this mistake again.

I call the judge who adjudicated Noreen in Indiana. Noreen impressed everyone there with her mea culpa post crime and her hard work to make restitution but he warns me that many of her former coworkers felt very deceived by Noreen. I am working to gather information to make a case for Horace and Henry to keep Noreen. They are willing to meet with me on the third day of school. I give Noreen the first two days of school off (without a clean background check she can’t be in the classroom). On the third day of school I meet with Henry, Horace and Horace’s boss, Raylin. I make my case and after much deliberation, they decide Noreen can stay! I am ecstatic. I phone Noreen enroute home and she is thrilled. Noreen buys me a plant to thank me for my support.

I team Tammie (the scientist), Noreen (the teacher with a felony conviction) and Neeley (the very young Key West journalist cum English teacher with the holes in his t-shirts). They call themselves the dream team.

Here is what I’m optimistic about: Tammie, Noreen and Neeley.
Here is what I worry about: Tammie, Noreen and Neeley.

A Liaison and a Mentor

Henry is not my boss, yet in many ways I am accountable to him. Henry is the Director of Student Services for Herald County Public Schools. He is in charge of Special Education, Home Schooling and Alternative Education. Part of his job is to hammer out the contract with private corporations such as Ebencorp to provide alternative schooling to Herald County’s most troubled students.

Henry is demanding but he provides suggestions and support. An atmosphere of mutual respect quickly develops. Henry, like me, is a runner. He has run many marathons and shares tips with me as I train for my first. His office walls are covered with photos of his five children and awards from his many races. Henry is well educated and values education. Henry’s job is to manage the Prospect contract and in this capacity, he represents the interests of the Herald County public school system – a system that has chosen to contract out services for their most difficult children in order to save money. I understand the potential conflict of interests, but Henry regularly expresses his joy at working with me and draws complimentary parallels between me and Mel, my predecessor. He frequently compliments me on the academically rigorous program I am developing. Intoxicated by Henry’s compliments, I tend to minimize our differences and avoid disagreements. Henry does insist that every mandate in our twenty-six-page contract be met, this includes regular meetings I must attend. One such meeting is the monthly meeting for all principals in Herald County including those in public, charter and contract schools.

In the beginning I grumble about attending these two to three hour monthly meetings. With my volatile staff, anything that takes me off campus jeopardizes the smooth running of my school. But I quickly come to appreciate the value of the Herald County principal meetings. Unlike the Ebencorp meetings, the agendas here are robust and fast-paced. There is a sense that we are all busy professionals and wasting our time would demonstrate an unacceptable lack of respect. At every meeting I learn about new initiatives and programs in the pipeline that impact me, my faculty and my students. I learn the nuances of the Federal Law known as “No Child Left Behind” and precautions to be taken when the national alert level is raised. Although I am not an employee of the public schools, I am treated as a peer by the other principals. The opportunity to mingle with principals discussing mutual challenges and students, proves to be a valuable benefit. Best of all, it is at my first principal meeting that I am introduced to middle school principal Rex Stewart.

Rex is my first real mentor. When I worked at Verizon there were formal programs to find mentors and mentorees. These relationships always felt to be artificial as people were assigned somewhat randomly. In this mentoring situation, I select Rex. Rex is the principal at King Middle School, the middle school nearest my campus. He is responsible for the education of over 1200 middle school students and he supervises 80 full-time teachers. Rex has worked for over thirty years in the Herald County Public School System, 18 years as a principal. His district boundaries include some of the poorest neighborhoods in Herald County. When I first meet Rex I am impressed by his caring and concern not only for his students but also for my students. I am in awe of Rex’s knowledge, enthusiasm and experience. When I rave to Henry, my public school liaison, about Rex, Henry suggests I ask Rex to mentor me. I do and he agrees. In addition to frequent phone calls, we schedule monthly breakfast meetings. I learn more at those pre-dawn meals than I have in any graduate course. I become a much better principal under Rex’s tutelage.

We have to stop meeting like this…

As June and July race toward August and opening day, I feel trapped in a wild, chaotic vortex. For my sanity, and to present a calm image to my team, I try to impose a sense of predictability and order on our summer days. I schedule staff meetings. At 8:00 every morning I stand before a wall of disgruntled faces for our fifteen-minute daily meeting. My team hates these morning meetings - mostly because the meeting means you have to arrive on time. This is not part of the Prospect culture. Maybe it’s a Florida thing. A friend sent me an email entitled “You know you’re in Florida when…” and one item says: “you don’t have to wear a watch because it doesn’t matter what time it is.” Then again maybe it’s just my team. They believe coming in at 8:25 is close enough to 8:00. I explain, cajole, plead, then end up doing formal discipline for tardiness.

After a few weeks of this, my team starts to arrive by 8:00. But they still grumble. They grumble less on Fridays. I always bring in treats on Fridays -chocolate donuts are quite popular.

My morning meeting audience consists of veteran teachers Rosie and Stone, my two counselors, Ernie and now Rusty, my new hires: Tammie, Noreen and Neeley, along with my support staff: Lynne the business manager, Stephanie the orientation leader, Ruth the cafeteria manager and Shasta the coordinator of transportation, safety and health. The folks who were here last year never miss a chance to tell me how they used to do things and how much better things were before I showed up. My predecessor, Mel, was their hero. He was their friend, counselor, relative and neighbor. He was laid back and didn’t set high expectations for his staff (or students) and he was never demanding. He accepted tardiness, early departures and extra days off. Clearly I am not Mel.

I talk to my team about my goals for the school. I want them to share my dreams. I describe a school where our students achieve academically and get excited about learning. I want our team to create a community of learners, a school that is a safe, warm, nurturing place. I want to implement a formal curriculum to help students with anger control and moral reasoning. I describe multi-grade classrooms, meaningful homework assignments, family literacy projects including a daily newspaper for every student to bring home, extended school days, teaming teachers to work together in “houses”, monthly parent events and activity periods. But the school I describe is not the sort of school Prospect has ever been. Especially considering former principal Mel was a counselor, not an educator.

My team does not share my goals. At worst, their objective is simply to work less for more pay. At best some of them believe my focus on academics is foolhardy; they feel these students need counseling, punishment and sports.

In desperation I break out a team bonding game I learned from an HR director in telecommunications. At first it seems to work. As people select and show cards describing themselves, productive discussions ensue. Slowly it occurs to me that my employees are bonding with each other, but not with me. I am still, in former teacher Clint’s words, “a witch.” This is new territory for me. In my previous jobs, my employees regularly rated me an excellent boss and I am usually fairly persuasive. I dig deep to harness all my charm and charisma but I don’t make a dent in the hostility emanating from my faculty. I worry the negativity from the “veteran” employees will taint my new hires. It has been hard enough to find, screen and hire new teachers I really don’t want to bring them aboard to join a dysfunctional, dour team.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe it would be so difficult to find just a few good teachers. But somewhere between the screamers, schemers and quitters a few champions did arrive or in some cases, evolve. These heroes, through small acts of kindness and generosity, fought the tide of apathy, cynicism and hopelessness that surrounded and threatened to drown my students. These dollops of cream floated vulnerably in a pot of curdled milk. I tried to nurture them while containing or removing the soured bits.

During my 18 months as principal, I hired more than thirty teachers. Some lasted a week, some a month, some a year. Only two outlasted me. But I am getting ahead of myself. School in Florida starts in August and before school can start, we have to get the students here.

Chapter Three: Destination Prospect

Chapter 3: Destination Prospect

They hated me before they met me.

Before my smiling face ever appeared in the Prospect School main office, the staff was already predisposed to dislike me. This was not the welcome I anticipated or desired, but I summoned the strength to meet the challenge. After all, I’d had experience taking over teams still nostalgic for their former leader; I understood opposition to change and I’d herded teams through mergers and reorganization and layoffs. At team meetings I’d been known to read aloud from Where’s My Cheese and use Myers Briggs personality inventories to help smooth transitions. Before I became principal of Prospect School I’d had nearly two decades of work experience.

Married at age 20 to a fellow University of Michigan graduate, we moved first to New York City where I taught seventh grade, third grade and second grade before relocating to Albuquerque where I taught first grade. A pregnancy, and moves to Rock Springs, Wyoming and San Francisco followed in rapid succession. Our son was born in the city by the bay. In awe we marveled at the power of his curiosity to influence the joy and speed of his learning and so we decided not to send him to school.

Fast forward ten years: we’re in upstate New York, I’ve earned my MA in education, my little homeschooler has started taking college classes permitting (necessitating!) me to return to the workforce – part-time at first, teaching math and history to elementary and middle school children, then full-time as a principal of a high school in a maximum secure prison for juvenile male felons.

Working with the teachers, guards and “troubled boys” was challenging, inspiring, and fulfilling. At first I was viewed with suspicion and anger since I wanted to make changes and unlike some of my pessimistic predecessors, I believed these felons could learn something besides crime. My enthusiasm was contagious and I quickly had buy-in from my teaching staff and the guards. We found the boys absorbed academic instruction at a fantastic rate. They were in small classes with dedicated, talented teachers who, rather than dumbing down the lessons, accelerated the pace to bring these boys up to speed. At night the guards, who were more like counselors, supported the education program by helping with homework and refusing to allow any leisure activities, including TV, until all schoolwork was complete. Boys who had never passed a test in their lives were suddenly passing the challenging New York Regents examinations.

But my work at the prison was also depressing, frustrating and involved a long, often snowy, commute. The Parole Board consistently paroled boys who were not ready to be released, blaming “intake pressure”, sending them home on a bus with a few dollars in their pockets. They sent them back to the city, back to the dysfunction, back to gangs and to crime, and more than once, back to take over the family business: a crack house. They were often rearrested. Then George Pataki was elected governor and he decided it was cheaper to transfer our older juveniles to adult prison. I watched despondently as some of the boys with the best chances of true rehabilitation were sent off to prison. Some of these transferred boys sent me letters from prison telling me they no longer had the option of attending school. On more than one occasion I read medical reports on some of my former students detailing their prison rapes. I begged the director, the head warden, to stop sending these boys to be incarcerated with men. He reminded me he served at the “pleasure” of the governor.

After two years, I left the prison and took a job at Verizon, first as a supervisor in a call center, then as a manager in Verizon’s Training and Education department. I loved the training position, it felt like the perfect job and I believed I could happily stay forever. Meanwhile my husband, who had also worked at Verizon, left to join a start-up phone company and was brimming with enthusiasm. Before long, this new company wanted me and the promised position held the possibility of no more out-of-town corporate travel, and no more trips separating me from my husband. In retrospect, there is some irony in the fact that I left Verizon to avoid living apart from my husband, but leave I did and regret it I did, although not at first.

At the start-up telecom, I took over a team of people half my age who were still mourning the demotion of their former boss. I worked quickly to help them accept the inevitability of change, to bond as a team and to make their hard work more visible and recognized by other departments. It was an exciting time of innovation and teamwork.

Then the telecom bubble burst, the company never developed the expected training department in which I’d hoped to secure a position. Overnight my skills in education, business, training and organization were suddenly not as valuable as the ability to troubleshoot channel failures on a T-1. I was crushed. At the prison and at Verizon I was accustomed to receiving accolades from bosses and upper management as I made positive and measurable changes. Now suddenly I was marginalized and pressured to leave. I tried to read technical manuals and texts to get up to speed on telecom technology, but the learning curve was too long in a start-up that needed results THIS quarter. In the pre-dawn darkness I soon found I could run 6 miles at a good pace while simultaneously crying - - hard.

Telecom industry layoffs closed the door to any hope of returning to Verizon, so I began to surf Monster.com. I found an advertisement for a principal position at Prospect School, an “alternative” school for “at-risk” children in Central Florida. Given my background, this seemed like a reasonable fit. Also my family has a great love of Disney world so the possibility of moving 75 minutes away from Mickey & Co. was quite intriguing! I sent my resume to Prospect’s parent company, Ebencorp, a private, non-profit corporation headquartered in Tampa, Florida. I was chosen for a phone interview followed by a site visit.

Once there was a prep school on this campus

Prospect’s campus was so dilapidated, I almost decided against the job before the interview started. Truly it could double as the set for Hogan’s Heroes. As you pull in the rutted, potholed driveway, on your left are six portables: “south campus.” These single-wide aging trailers are arranged in two rows with a walkway down the center. Between the portables is some trampled grass, mostly dirt and a lot of anthills. Each portable has a front and rear entrance with wooden steps. In the public schools the portables are usually newer and the perimeters are flanked by foundation shrubs or skirting. Prospect has neither. You can look under the portables and see garbage, dirt, bugs, feral cats, pencils, wadded up schoolwork and from time to time a runaway student.

As you move north from south campus, you pass the baseball diamond and rounding the curve you see a dilapidated greenhouse followed by three portables in a row behind cyclone fencing. The first portable is Prospect’s main office, the next two are elementary classrooms. They look much like the portables on south campus except since they have been around longer, there is more debris underneath them. Students rarely hide under the north campus portables. Continuing along the road you come to the bus circle. There is a large tree in the middle with Spanish moss drooping from the branches. To your right is a small cinderblock building with a front and back cafeteria, the back cafeteria is a former storeroom with no windows. There is an old kitchen between these rooms but there is no cooking or cleaning equipment, just a food warmer, a refrigerator and a chiller. Behind these rooms is the orientation classroom, also windowless. Next to this building is a tennis court, which has seen better days, and a basketball court. The nets on both courts need repair. Next to the basketball court are two more portables; the first is a combination library (with no books), nurse’s sick room (with no nurse) and transportation office. The second is the counseling/discipline office. Across from these portables is the main cinderblock building.

The main building has 16 classrooms, eight in front, and eight in back. Prospect occupies a total of six classrooms, three in the front and three in the back, all on the east end of the building. The remaining ten classrooms belong to Haven High, the public alternative high school with whom Prospect shares a campus. There are two student restrooms and two staff restrooms. Haven High also has a main office with five private offices and a lounge. There is a custodial break room and two offices for custodians. There is no interior hallway; all classrooms have two doors, a few feet apart, which open onto a covered breezeway. The pale yellow paint is peeling on the cinderblock buildings and Prospect students have added to the decay with graffiti. If you walk south and west from the cinderblock building you’ll come to a parking lot (Haven High students only) and then to a beach volleyball court and a football field.

The steps to Prospect’s main office, nestled between one of the elementary portables and the former greenhouse, are a little rickety and the corrugated metal roof above the door slants hard to the right. I’m told this is intentional (the roof not the steps) to direct the rain away from the steps. There are no windows on the front of the office; you have to open the door to see the campus. The portable is about fifteen feet wide by twenty-five feet long. There are no interior walls, so filing cabinets and bookcases are used to divide the portable into three spaces. The front half is the reception area complete with a desk and a large conference table. The back half is divided into two sections: one space for the principal and one for the business manager/secretary/receptionist. Some of the bookcases are six feet high but the filing cabinets are shorter, about four feet. This furniture provides only the illusion of privacy; every conversation, except one in an extreme whisper, can be heard by everyone in this portable. This portable also has a bathroom (complete with ants and palmetto bugs) and a storage closet. Like a child who has made a fort from a table and blankets, the principal sits at a desk surrounded by tall furniture, talking to parents, students and staff and maintaining the pretence of being in a real office.

When I arrive, Dr. Sheila Harvey, my interviewer, determines the lack of privacy in the main office necessitates a move to the custodian’s break room. We sit at a table next to a vending machine, frequently stopping our conversation when custodians and bus drivers stop by to buy a soda. Despite the interruptions, my face-to-face interview with Dr. Sheila Harvey makes me forget the rotting wood, peeling paint and the barracks atmosphere. Sheila and I bond over our shared passion for helping the toughest, most “hopeless” children. We talk for hours about curriculum, programs, extended school days, anger replacement training, teacher training – I feel I would be really fortunate to be able to work for and with this incredible woman.

On the flight home with my husband, the opportunity costs for this decision coalesce. On one hand I have a chance to find joy in my work again, on the other hand if I am working in Florida while my husband’s job remains in New York, we would only see each other on weekends. On one hand if I remain in my current position I’ll be miserable and the writing on the wall says I‘ll soon be fired, on the other hand I’ll take a substantial pay cut to become Prospect principal. My husband and I are not wishy-washy and make decisions easily. By the time our plane lands in New York we know I’ll accept the job if and when it is formally offered. It is, I do.

All in the family

So there I am on my first day at Prospect finding out I was loathed before I arrived. It is like a twist on killing the messenger: no one really believed I was responsible for the departure of Mel, my predecessor, or that I played any role in his exit. But the people at Ebencorp Headquarters in Tampa who forced Mel to resign were too far away and too anonymous to effectively hate. The staff could never gain any satisfaction from carrying out acts of revenge on these real foes of Mel. Since Mel’s “enemies” selected me to be the replacement principal, by association I became the enemy.

Staff loyalty to Mel was deeper than one would expect. I soon learned why: Mel was related to some staff members (he was their father, brother-in-law, cousin), he was the therapist for others and a friend to the rest. Mel never hired a stranger to work at Prospect. The fact that the skills, education and talents of Mel’s friends, family and patients frequently didn’t match their Prospect positions never troubled him. Mel felt justified in bending, breaking or ignoring rules as long as he was true to his own principles. Mel-morality dictated that to give an unemployed friend a paying job was more important than following a bunch of bureaucratic hiring procedures. Mel’s personal moral code was imprinted everywhere at Prospect from repairing busses (he didn’t), implementing grants (he didn’t believe he was required to follow any of the guidelines), assigning grades (based on hunches, not assignments or test scores) to promoting students (see grading system) and approving employee time off (tell Mel a tale of woe, get extra days off).

In my first year at Prospect, Mel’s disregard for rules, the problematic precedents he set and the paperwork he neglected, would create hours of headaches for me. But worse than all that was the way his absence in and of itself made the staff feel every time they looked at me.

As I stood before them on that first day, in the ramshackled trailer that was my office, they saw: an educated northerner with a “Yankee” accent, a female boss determined to follow rules and make changes, and simply “not Mel.” To make matters worse, I had the distinct misfortune of having to enforce one rule immediately: with the school year ending two days after I began, it fell to me to “remind” the faculty they were all working under twelve month contracts and didn’t have the summer off. Of course, Mel had already told them they did. We were not off to a good start.