November

It is November in Cleveland. Already.

A few short weeks ago the world was brilliant with the blazing hues of maple, ash, and oak trees, transforming the shady side-streets of quiet city neighborhoods into festive pathways of scarlet, gold, and orange. The sky was blue and the air was crisp. The excitement of a new school year and a fresh start held forth the promise that anything was possible.

And now it is November.

The dark nights come early, and the timid mornings begin late. I look up at the skeletal branches of trees, then down to the brown leaves blowing across the gray asphalt. Gray has become the predominate color of the city; gray streets, gray buildings, gray sky, gray moods. The first quarter report cards have been sent home, and students who couldn't make the grade have been sent packing. The honeymoon of a new beginning is over, reality made her entrance, and the long haul has begun.

It has been a mad rush kind of school year for me thus far. In typical CMSD style, my student rosters continue to change, with two new boys added to my eleventh period class just this week. I have a full schedule teaching 6 periods a day, with one brand new course; a digital photography class.

After serving more than twenty years in the district, I was not surprised by the fact I would be teaching a class for which the school has no textbooks or equipment. So, for this first year, each student must bring in their own camera, and I stay a jump or two ahead of the kids, designing the projects and curriculum as the class progresses. This elective course is an experimental pilot, and I feel pretty good about the outcomes so far. We've been able to schedule several speakers and a couple of field trips. The staff from the educational non-profit, Facing History and Ourselves, has been extremely helpful in working with us to connect art with social justice issues, history, and photo journalism. The theme we decided on for the school year is "Finding Our Voices; Telling Our Stories". The class is currently working on Life Magazine style photo-essays dealing with neighborhood landmarks and community. I would like to find a public space, or neighborhood gallery, to exhibit the work in the spring. If anyone has a suggestion, please, please, let me know.

Contributing to my manic schedule this year are a couple of new responsibilities. I applied for, and was admitted to, the district's new PAR (Peer Assistance and Review) program. Two young teachers, from other buildings in the district, have been assigned as my "mentees". For a semester I will serve as their advisor. My task is to help them with the challenges that face so many teachers when they are beginning their careers. I get to spend time in their classrooms, listening, observing, and answering questions. Together we will talk, set goals, plan, and try new strategies. I wish there was a program like this around when I was a rookie. All of my lessons were learned the hard way.

The PAR program is a collaborative effort between the district administration and the Teachers Union to address the issues of teacher quality, retention, and professional development. It is relatively new to Cleveland, and is only being implemented in a few other school districts nationwide. I will share my thoughts on the effectiveness of the program (with respect to confidentiality ) in future posts.

On First Days, Fresh Starts, and New Images

Even for those of us who have lasted long enough in the education trenches to bear the moniker of 'Seasoned Veteran', the first day back to school is still anticipated with a bit of trepidation, along with the excitement of a fresh start. Driving along the Shoreway early Thursday morning I wondered,

"Who will I meet this year?"

Over the past 28 years of 'first days', I have met thousands of young men and women.

As I taught them new concepts, they enriched my life. So many made me laugh, some tested my patience, a few even broke my heart. Most eventually graduated to go on to jobs or college. They became hard workers, good parents, and successful business people. A good number became artists, and an admirable number became teachers. I've sent quite a few of my students off to the armed forces. Some made careers in the military, others have returned from war physically and/or emotionally scarred.

I see my former pupils' names in the newspaper, or on the internet, in the business or society pages, occasionally in the obituaries, and more often than I care to admit, in the police blotter. I've seen their faces on the walls of the post office featured on the FBI's most wanted posters, found them listed in the sheriff's sex offenders updates, and on prison web pages. I've taught killers, gangsters, rapists, bank robbers and con-artists.

And I've also taught the victims.

This week I stood at the door to my classroom and smiled as I waited for the students to find their way to my classroom at the end of the long corridor. Freshly printed schedules in hand, their eyes scanned the walls for room numbers.

"Is this room 356?"

"Yes, you found it!"

Some of the students hurried in, too shy to make eye contact. The cool kids strolled in slowly, sizing up the seating arrangement. The gregarious ones started the conversation before they crossed the threshold.

"Finally, I get to take art! I loved my art teacher in 7th grade! We made these sculptures out of wire... it was so cool! Are we going to make sculpture in this class? I draw all the time when I'm bored. Do you want to see my drawings? I'll bring them in tomorrow."

This year, for the first time, the students are required to wear a uniform: solid blue or white collared shirts, black, blue, or khaki dress pants with belts and shirts tucked in. Before the start of homeroom, I had to send a couple of boys back downstairs for being out of uniform.

"Aw... Come on, let us stay. You can be the cool teacher and not follow the rules."

Laughing I retorted, "I don't need you to think I'm cool. I need to teach you your colors. Go on downstairs and learn what blue and white look like."

I've learned over the years you can pretty much get most kids to do what you ask if you smile, even kick them out of class without all of the usual drama. The two non-compliant juniors headed back downstairs, one of them turned around and mouthed a silent "Please?"

I waved good-bye.

Friday I had a full class, everyone in uniform.

The students this year seem a little different from last year, and a whole lot different from the kids who roamed the halls back in 1998, the year I transferred to Max Hayes from Garrett Morgan Cleveland School of Science.

Back in the 90's, Max Hayes was the School of Last Resort in the city of Cleveland. Principals from the regular neighborhood high schools would send their most incorrigible teenagers to the vocational school where, hopefully, they might find something else to do with their hands besides fighting, stealing, or groping.

When I taught at the School of Science a few blocks away, the security guards in that building had to be on special alert for the thugs from Max Hayes who regularly walked into the school to beat up the nerdy science students.

Well, it is ten years and three principals later. Students must now pass a rigorous screening process to be admitted , and sign an academic and behavioral contract to stay enrolled. Vocational classes have evolved into technical programs. The "shop rats" and "grease monkeys" were replaced with computer programers and engineering students.

Vo-ed has become STEM.

Finally, I will share with you a comment made by a fellow teacher who just transferred to Max Hayes this week after spending most of his career teaching English at Glenville High School on Cleveland's east side:

"I can't believe it! I went through the whole day without having to tell anyone to be quiet. Everyone was paying attention. There were no kids walking the halls in between classes. I think I must have died and gone to heaven."

Now, who says that the Cleveland schools are beyond help?

The dysfunction of the public school system did not happen overnight. The issues are complex — social, economic, and political. There is no silver bullet, no quick fix. The solution reminds me of an old joke that goes something like this:

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

If Max Hayes can reinvent itself, perhaps there is still hope for the rest of Cleveland.

Adding Color to Cleveland Walls

Last week I finally stopped by the Recreation Center at John F. Kennedy High School on Cleveland's southeast side, to view the mural being painted this summer by neighborhood teenagers.

The project is part of the Mural My Neighborhood program sponsored by the City of Cleveland's Parks and Recreation Department.

Each summer this program teams young Cleveland artists with professional muralists, community leaders, and business owners to create beautiful, uplifting murals in two different wards. The murals depict civic pride, vibrant city life, and visions of hope.

From the Mural My Neighborhood Brochure

For the past several years, Chris Lucciani, the director of Cleveland's Bereau of Cultural Arts has visited my Classes at Max Hayes to recruit students for this program. The kids need to apply for the a spot 0n the team, submit a portfolio of their artwork, and come in for an interview. If they complete the entire project, they will be rewarded with a stipend at the end of the program. This year I had 3 of my students participating.

Each Summer there are two mural sites, one on the East side of the city and the other on the West side. Depending on the location and the condition of the walls, the murals may be painted either directly at the site or on panels off-site, to be installed on the building when completed. The JFK Rec. Center had a wonderful smooth concrete wall, which made for a perfect painting surface. No scaffolds were required either, as the building was only one story.

John Troxell, the artist working with the students on this project, has quite a legacy of murals; not only in the city of Cleveland, but nation-wide. His most recent public work is the 350 foot long Mill Run Trail mural, the city's largest. This was a project sponsored by Cleveland Public Art and can be viewed from Broadway Avenue in the Slavic Village neighborhood.

Here is a link to the Flickr photostream containing samples of more of John's artwork.

This final photo is a section of the JFK mural that, I understand, was completed by one of my most excellent art students at Max Hayes; Franchesca Brown. Great job kiddo!

Clean-up Crew

"Hey MB! If you're not busy this morning you should come out here. We're working at a school that I think you would love. It's built like an old stone castle, covered in ivy ."

It was the third time this summer my friend and fellow teacher, Fran Brewka, had invited me to come out and take pictures of the buildings where he and his crew of about a dozen Max Hayes High School students were working. I was busy the first two times he called, but since I had no plans that Thursday morning, I grabbed my camera and headed out to East 40th and Quincy.

Like an ancient fortress rising above the vinyl clad residences of the revitalized Central neighborhood, the old Central High School (renamed Carl Lewis Stokes) stands, a looming stone monument to Franklin Roosevelt's Federal Works Program. While the students continued to clear the tangled masses of vegetation threatening to devour the structure, Fran offered a tour.

"Wow! Look at the craftsmanship... the architectural detail, the granite, the marble, the brass."

I reached out to run my fingers along the polished stone panels covering the lobby walls.

"Can you imagine what a building like this would cost these days? And yet, when this was built, the country was in the midst of the Great Depression." How ironic, I mused, it seems that as the nation's economy improved, the quality of our construction deteriorated.

"C'mon upstairs to the tower, you can get some pretty cool shots from up there."

The windows were so scratched and dirty I could barely see through the ivy. An open widow in the next room provided entry for the aggressive vines, a stunning view of Cleveland's skyline, and a great shot of a group of students gathering up debris.

This is the second season for the summer maintenance program, which has tripled in size since the district agreed to hire the first crew of Max Hayes students last year.

Three teams, headed by three different teachers, meet early each morning at the high school where busses take them to the various job sites at school buildings across the district. No one is late.

Each team has their particular specialties, depending in large part on the instructor's expertise. They repair floors, paint, lay tile, landscape... the list goes on and on. With more than eighty school buildings operating in the Cleveland Municipal School District, there is work enough for a score of crews.

The speed, care, and professionalism of the students have garnered compliments from head custodians across the district, CMSD administrators, the community, and even Mayor Frank Jackson.

At one site, the major difference between the professionally laid tile and the work done by the Max Hays students was the obvious superiority of the student work. When the building custodian marveled at the quality of the student's craftsmenship, the kids learned one of life's most valuable lessons; pride in a job well done.

Even people in the community are beginning to notice.

At one over-grown East-side school, passers-by commented that they had assumed the school was closed down until the Max Hayes crew came out to clear away the jungle of weeds and debris.

Fran chuckled as he related a story about the folks in one West-side neighborhood who wandered over to watch the activity, while the students began cleaning up the long neglected landscape of an elementary school. Apparently, inspired by all the hard-working teen-agers, or not wanting their homes to look shabby by comparison, when the neighbors returned to their respective garages, out came the lawn mowers, rakes, and hedge cutters!

Education, when extended beyond the walls of the classroom, becomes a far richer, truly valuable experience.

Max Hayes building construction teacher Jim Mulgrew has watched students who stagnated in their academic classes find their spark working in the shop. Mathematics, reading, and problem solving take on a new relevancy when applied on a job site. Jim began the Max Hayes summer work program last year as a natural extension to the learning that was happening each day in his department.

The many benefits of the program are obvious. The district gets much needed maintenance at bargain basement prices. Students get valuable job training, real work experience for their resumes, and a paycheck. They also gain some of the more subtle life lessons of pride and self-esteem, building new friendships, and teamwork.

When schools give their teachers the opportunity to innovate, wonderful things will happen.

Max Hayes Blows Glass.

"I keep looking at your blog, and I see you haven't been writing."

"You know, I've been starting to go back into your archives to read some of your old stories, since there's nothing new."

"When are you going to post our pictures? You promised us you would put them online weeks ago."

Thank you my friends, students, and readers for gently nudging, reminding, and finally out and out nagging me. You make me feel wanted.
I've been neglecting this blog for more than a few weeks, and I beg your forgiveness, but honestly, I have been busy.

The school year is flying by, and the Max Hayes Art Club, especially, has been having a lot of fun this winter.
From paint to pastels to play-dough, my students experimented with new techniques for classic materials and also reacquainted themselves with a sticky medium from their not-so-distant childhoods.

But as much as the kids enjoyed working in the studio at school, the real highlight of the past month was our trip to The Glass Studio on Superior Avenue one cold afternoon in February.

For the second year in a row, glass artist Mike Zelenka invited interested art students to learn glass blowing at the studio where he works in Cleveland's Mid-Town neighborhood. For many years prior, Mike demonstrated the ancient craft to visitors at Hale Farm and Village. These days, he and his colleagues teach classes and create beautiful works of art at their facility behind the Tyler building at East 30th and Superior.

Mike became part of the Max Hayes family last year, when he took over the Phys. Ed. classes while the former instructor was on an extended leave of absence. An athlete a well as an artist, he also coaches the school's tennis team. Last year Mike raised money for the team with a silent auction of art glass which he and several other artists donated to the school.

The students watched in wide-eyed amazement as Mike dipped a long metal pipe into a pot of glowing molten glass, and proceeded to blow a bubble as thin as cellophane and fragile as soap, that shattered into a thousand pieces with the slightest touch.

The next red hot glob became a bowl as he showed the students how the glass responded to centrifugal force.

Blowing glass transcends the typical art lesson to become a fully integrated experience; combining physics and chemistry with creativity, visual problem solving, and aesthetics.

Each student in our small group was able to take a turn creating their own glass piece. Step by step, one at a time, Mike talked them through the process. By the end of our visit, five colorful paper weights were slowly cooling in the annealer.

People spend an awful lot of time in schools sitting through lectures, copying information, memorizing lists, and regurgitating facts... and after just a few short years, the majority of that information (or at least the stuff we don't need to use or think about) is forgotten, or sent to the brain's biological version of the cyber-trash bin and buried.

The learning that sticks with a person for a lifetime are often experiences outside the classroom, like those my students had at the Glass Studio this winter. It's kind of ironic, the things I volunteer to do on my own time will probably have a greater positive impact on my student's lives than the mandated curriculum I am hired to teach.

Experiential learning is by far the most effective learning method. The phrase is becoming my mantra.

Many thanks to the generous folks at the Superior Glass Studio for welcoming the Max Hayes Art Club, and a very heartfelt Thank You to Mike Zelenka for sharing his knowledge, skill, and passion.
The Cleveland arts community is the BEST!

Check the sidebar for a slide show of more pictures.

The 200 Day School Year: Reactions From the Teachers' Lounge

Last night I listened to Dick Feagler and his Friends on WVIZ discuss Governor Strickland's education plan for the state of Ohio, slated to be piloted in the Cleveland Municipal Schools. When Mr Feagler asked his panel's opinion of the proposed 200 day school year, all of his highly educated guests nodded in agreement. "Of course it is a GREAT idea!" "Some other countries have school years even longer than 200 days." "Another month of school makes sense. We need to prepare Ohio's children to compete in a global economy." "It's about time. After all, the current 180 day school calendar is outdated, being based on the needs of last century's agrarian society."

I noticed none of his guests were teachers.

The view from the people who work on the frontlines of education was substantially different.

As I sat with a small group of colleagues eating lunch in the teachers' lounge the day after the governor's State of the State address, one of them asked, "So did you hear Strickland wants to add another 20 days to the school year?"

One of the guys, who had two kids in college smiled and said,"Another month of work will equal an additional month of pay, right?"

"That's great," commented a young teacher with only a few years in the district, "but where is the money coming from? The school board is already talking about the possibility of hundreds of teacher lay-offs."

"Maybe they don't intend to increase our salaries, just extend the calendar."

Another teacher asked "How about all of the new teachers with bachelors' degrees who need to get their masters' degree to keep their license? Without the summer semester, when will they have time to take classes?"

"And when will we be able to take all the coursework we need to meet the No Child Left Behind mandate to stay "Highly Qualified'? You know businesses pay their employees tuition to upgrade their qualifications. We teachers have always had to foot the bill ourselves, but at least we had the time to do it. Now it looks like we won't get the compensation or the time."

I added, "I'm assuming all of the folks on the Governor's committee who came up with this recommendation work in air conditioned offices in July and August."

The rest of the group laughed. "I'll bet they never had to spend a single day sweltering in a 95 degree office, let alone shut up for hours in close quarters with 30 sweaty, complaining kids, in a room with one door and windows that don't open. Do they even realize that most schools in Cleveland have no air conditioning (except for maybe the administrators' offices) and our classroom windows are nailed shut for security reasons?"

"The district doesn't even provide us with fans. Teachers who need a fan have to bring in their own. On hot days I need at least three in my classroom just to feel some circulation."

"You get a few students in the class whose families don't have washing machines in their homes...Phew! Some of the kids can get pretty ripe on a hot day. A lot of the kids from poor families don't wash their school clothes on a regular basis. I feel embarrassed for them."

"And sorry for the rest of us!"

"It figures...the suburbs have new buildings with air conditioning, but they want to pilot the 200 day calendar in the decrepit schools of Cleveland. The politicians want a 21st century education implemented in 20th century facilities, and there's no money to fund it. "

"But if we complain, we are perceived as lazy, greedy and incompetent."

"The headlines, of course, will read, 'Cleveland Teachers Union Against School Reform'. "

"Sometimes it seems like we are being set-up to look like the bad guys. Is this just a political ploy to make it appear as if the state is trying to do something about education, or is it a back-door attempt at union-busting?"

Sadly, I shook my head and sighed, "It's probably both."

Potty Talk

This may very well be the most unconventional topic I've ever blogged, but hey, inspiration rarely follows convention, now does it?

However, the story does begin at the high school:

It was the last day of classes before winter break, and the mood throughout Max Hayes was festive. There was a little extra spring in my step as I made my way past the knot of students gathered next to the door of the building construction shop on the third floor. I smiled at my colleagues, Jim and Bill, and they waved me inside.

"What are you doing after school?"

It was agreed that a celebratory drink would be in order, but the question of where to imbibe remained open to suggestion.

"How about the Barking Spider?" Bill suggested. None of the West side teachers would be joining us that afternoon, so we were free to venture outside the typical staff comfort zone of the Near West Detroit Shoreway neighborhood. University Circle is on the other side of the river, and on the way home for us Eastsiders.

"Boy, I haven't been there for a couple of years. I'll meet you guys at about 2:45."

The Barking Spider Tavern has been a popular Cleveland watering hole since 1986. Cold pitchers of draft beer and free entertainment make it a favorite of the Case Western Reserve University crowd who are, for the most part, a rather brainy clientele. It is just this combination of alcohol, intellect, and creativity, that brings me to the subject of my post. Add a magic marker to that trifecta, and what you get are the most intriguing restrooms I have ever needed to spend time in.

Graffiti covers every surface. The legacy of thousands of women scribbled, stamped, and smeared on the doors, walls, and ceiling. Proclamations of love, political diatribes, cartoon drawings, poetry, jokes, famous quotations, and angry rants demand the attention of the occupant.

That Friday afternoon I found myself alone in the ladies room, and being in no hurry, I began to read. With no one to hear me I laughed out loud. Written in green, an elitist insult : "Your pants are easier to get into than community college!"

Remembering the camera in my purse, I began to photograph the layers of text.

Although the walls apparently get scrubbed, permanent marker stains the paint, leaving the ghost images of ancient tags and soliloquies until, before long, new patrons add their thoughts to the walls, doors, and fixtures.

What began as vandalism has, over time, been allowed to become art, although I'm not sure if proprietor, Martin Juredine, shares my philosophical perspective.

"You call this Art?" Certainly some conservatives would scream, "That's just wrong!"

And I reply "Look again...think."

I teach Art as concept, ideas, expression, and most importantly; art as visual communication. What has evolved over time here in the restrooms of the Barking Spider Tavern is an amalgamation of thoughts and feelings. Text and drawings, ranging from raunchy inebriated scrawls to pithy remarks and profundities, record the anonymous ruminations of the countless women who ventured into the ladies room over the years. Like bacteria in a petri dish, creative expression grows in this lavatory. The visitor who pauses to read will get a provocative glimpse of the feminine spirit in it's myriad manifestations.

In my opinion, the experience rivals the conceptual works in many gallery installations I've viewed.

When I returned, my colleagues, too polite to ask what took me so long, did give the camera in my hand a second glance. I wasn't surprised.

I do admit it is just a little strange to be taking photos in a restroom.

"Mom, I have the best gift for you...ever!"

All I Want for Christmas is You from Hugh Bickley on Vimeo.

A week before Christmas my 16 year old, Brian, began dropping hints.

"You're gonna love your present from me this year."

"What? No last minute shopping?", was my sarcastic response.

"It's not a material gift."

'Then it would be a spiritual gift?" I said, with just a slight smirk.

"You'll see."

Christmas morning, Brian asked me to bring down my laptop.

"This", he announced "is from me and the rest of my friends who have no jobs."

He was right. I really DID love it

(BTW - Brian, AKA Young B, is the kid in the grey hooded jacket)

Another Soldier Story

My students call it the "ghetto security system" although I prefer the term "old school" to "ghetto". Regardless of the moniker, the cowbells wired to the top of my classroom door are pretty effective at alerting us whenever anyone enters or leaves the art room. A hand on the door knob is enough to set them clanging.

"You've got a visitor! Should I get the door?"

I looked up from the paintbrushes I was cleaning and dropped them into the sink. Nearly tripping over a chair, I raced to the front of the room where a young soldier had just stepped inside.

"Oh my god! You're back! Look at you!"

"Is that your daughter?" a tenth grade boy asked as I stepped back from the warm hug.

"Some things never change." I laughed "This is Tabitha, and she has been my daughter since she was a freshman at Max Hayes. She adopted me."

For four years Tabitha was a fixture in the art studio. Her blond hair drew attention in an urban school where the majority of her classmates had darker complexions, and students often assumed, because of my 'currently blond' hair, that we were certainly related. Growing tired of their questions, Tabitha began calling me "Mom".

Eyeing the beige and green fatigues, I asked, "I heard you were going to join the Marines. What happened ? Was I misinformed?"

"The Marines promised money for college, but it seems they have no idea how much college costs these days. The Army had a better education program. I'll be starting nursing school soon."

"I'm so proud of you. You look so much better than the last time I saw you at your sister's commencement."

"I am better."

After graduating in 2006, Tabitha followed the same path as many of her classmates, as she tried to figure out what to do with her life. Unable to afford college, she had spent the last couple of years working, first at a pizza shop and then at a used car lot. When I saw her in the auditorium at her younger sister Samantha's graduation, she looked tired and miserable, and left immediately after the ceremony with hardly more than a wave in my direction. A very different young woman in front of me now. She was animated, confident, and happy.

"I've been in the Army for seven months. I love it. I completed my training as a petroleum specialist, but I decided what I really wanted to do was nursing. Right now I'm stationed in Virginia. They let me come home for Christmas because in February I'm being deployed."

"Deployed?" With that single word, my heart sank.

"I'll be going to Iraq for one month, and then on to Afghanistan for twelve months." Accurately reading my furrowed brow, she added "Don't worry. I'll be fine. Actually I'm excited about going, it will be an adventure."

I cannot keep track of how many of my students are now fighting overseas. Like Tabitha, many will come by to visit with me before they go to war, but very few ever come back to talk about it when they return. As often as they promise to write or call, I've never received a letter or even an email, but admittedly I did not take the initiative to write either. I think about these young men and women all the time, wondering where their lives have taken them. About eight years ago one of my boys, who had joined the Marines, came back to see me after returning from a violent episode he experienced while on a stint in Lebanon. He recounted his tour of duty for more than an hour in my office, with tears running down his face. It was quite heart wrenching.

I've often said that one of the best things about teaching high school are the relationships you build with your students. When those relationships become friendships that sustain into adulthood, a teacher feels truly blessed. I am grateful to have made some very dear friends over the course of my career.

Tabitha and I met for lunch at Stone Mad a couple of days before Christmas. We talked about everything from families to boyfriends, gossiped about classmates and faculty, and even discussed philosophy and religion. We lingered, laughing and chatting until the dinning room was empty, and the wait staff were anxious. Before we parted we exchanged e-mails, phone numbers and addresses. This time I will make certain I write the first letter...After all she is my daughter.

The Max Hayes Art Club, and a Case for Experiential Learning

I have always believed the axiom "Experience is the best teacher" which, I suppose, is one of the reasons why, even as a student, I was drawn to the classes where you worked with your hands. I always enjoyed my science labs immensely (yes, I used to teach science years ago) and the art studio just felt like home. Field trips also made quite an impact. New sights, different faces, and the possibility of adventure brought a sense of excitement to a week day that typically plodded along to the drone of lectures accented by school bells.

When I first became a teacher in the Cleveland schools, a district constantly strapped for cash, we were subtly discouraged from taking students out of the classroom on field trips. The cost of transportation coupled with the cost of having a substitute cover the remaining classes made any excursion prohibitive. Scheduling a field trip was also very tricky, since there are so many mandatory tests given throughout the year, some of them lasting as long as a week. Faced with these constraints, many Cleveland teachers, including myself, put field trips on the back burner, except perhaps for a visit to the Art Museum once every couple of years.

The award of a four-year Young Audiences ICARE grant 0f approximately $120,000 in 2002, allowed me to break free of the status quo mind set of "it can't be done."

Oh my! How quickly I discovered, money certainly can change things.

When the grant period concluded in 2006, I wanted to continue offering my students some of the same quality arts experiences, but once again, funds and scheduling remained obstacles.

The solution?

After school programing solved the scheduling problems. The Max Hayes Art Club meets Thursdays after school from 2:30 until 4:00. It is run as a drop-in studio with a Zen approach to membership, meaning: Whoever shows up is who is supposed to be there.

On studio days, the kids are given materials to work with that I don't typically use in class, due to cost and/or limited quantities. So far this year we have finger painted, worked with oil pastels, charcoal, and painted Christmas ornaments.

Funding for art supplies remains a constant issue. This year we were given a $50 donation from money raised by the kind efforts of Convivium 33 Gallery owner, Alenka Banco. I look for discount and sale items whenever I'm shopping, and am happy to pick up the tab for a few items here and there that I know the students will enjoy using.

The best part of the Art Club experience though has been the field trips.

Field trips are scheduled on random days, as the opportunities become available. This semester we have trekked to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Spaces Art Gallery (several times) Convivium 33 Gallery, Streets of Manhattan Glass Studio, and the W 69th Street studio of sculptor Melissa Daubert. The only cost to the district is the price of a bus ticket on the RTA.

In January we will be heading out to The Glass Studio to learn glass blowing with Mike Zelenka, a glass artist who also works at Max Hayes as a tennis coach and substitute teacher. I'll be sure to post those photos next month.

On a more philisophical note:

If a young person's art's education is limited to whatever the teacher can offer in the confines of a classroom, that education is sorely inadequate. I feel so strongly about the value these kinds of experiences have to offer, I volunteer my time and money to make them possible for the kids at Max Hayes.

Unfortunately, the attitude of too many folks in Cleveland seems to be that arts education is a frill. It gets a lot of lip-service but very little funding. Administrators are loathe to fund subject areas that are not a part of state mandated testing.

Field trips are also treated as non-essential activities. Rather than being regarded as important learning experiences, they are given "reward" status, offered only to the "good" students.

Occasionally I'm asked what type of school I would like to see if I could design one from scratch. I haven't thought about most of of details, but I do know I would start with experiential learning as the core. It's missing from most of today's public educational programs, and well, you can see what kind of shape they are in.

I guess you might say I would take the "Magic School Bus" approach to learning. In the words of Miss Frizzle, we need to "Go out, take chances, make mistakes, and get dirty!”

Summer Project: 1965 Volkswagen Beetle - Part 10

Finally! After nearly 3 months in limbo, the Barney the Blue Beetle is back on the blog.

Tempted as I am to smugly scoff as The Optimist's ambitious September completion date became distant memory, I find that I must rise to his defense instead. It seems the little Bug fell victim to the national economic crisis. Here's the story:

New fenders were ordered from an after market dealer in California way back in August. The dealer paid a trucking company to ship the parts, and then right before the truck was ready to hit the road, the shipping company went out of business. Weeks became months, lawyers and accountants worked out the details, and eventually when the snow began to fly, the fenders found their way to Cleveland.

Tom popped the engine into the Beetle and drove it to a friend's body shop to have it painted. When I stopped by to check out the shiny new coat of Sea Blue, I was surprised to see the fenders were still not on the car, they were sitting behind the driver's seat.

I followed along behind as Tom drove the fender-less little car down St. Claire Avenue back to his shop in Euclid. Thank goodness we didn't cross paths with any of the city's finest, as it seems we'd forgotten the license plates on the dinning room table back at home.

No job is ever simple. Well at least that's my experience - it could have something to do with the blond hair. It took me two trips to Home Depot to get the right size washers to fit the bolts.

Fenders at last!

Next task - Bumpers!

To be continued...

Preparing for the Day of the Dead

The invitation in the mail read" Mambo Muerto!

"According to legend ... when the best benefit party of the year collides with
November 1, Day of the Dead, El Dia de los Muertos, the undying spirit of art
will rise to join the fun, and a spicy Latino celebration of the soul will ensue

... it's ¡Mambo Muerto! Shake the skeletons out of your closet and join us for SPACES' Annual Benefit & Silent Auction!"

SPACES gallery has been a supportive partner of the visual arts program at Max Hayes High School for several years, inviting our students to special viewings of gallery exhibitions and providing opportunities for the kids to meet and occasionally work with resident artists.

When I received an e-mail request for volunteers to help create decorations for their annual benefit, I immediately extended the invitation to the Art Club.

(click here for a Wikipedia link to "Day of the Dead")

I have never had such an enthusiastic group of artists in all of my years of teaching in the Cleveland schools. For many of these kids, late afternoons at home can be very boring, and so they relish the chance to socialize with their friends just as much as they enjoy the opportunity to create. The adventure of visiting a new place, combined with the promise of earning community service hours, provided plenty of incentive for six of the members to brave the rain, and walk the twenty blocks that separate the gallery from the school.

Danny and Jeff were the first to arrive, much to the delight of the SPACES staff. They were quickly put to work tracing a giant skeleton onto foam core board, and carefully cutting out the bones with Exacto knives.

Danny, a native of Mexico, entertained the group with stories of his own family's traditions as they celebrate the Day of the Dead. Later on he confided how cool it was that everyone seemed so interested in his ancestral customs. Usually he gets teased about his Mexican heritage.

Sarah, Cora, Deseraee, and Gabriel sloshed into the gallery about ten minutes after the first two boys. They were given several choices of tasks from "glitterizing" cardboard skulls, painting borders on table cloths, or hollowing out sugar skulls, to creating tissue paper carnations. They began with the flowers, then moved on to the glitter and paint. Before we knew it, the time had come to hurry back out to the bus stop. They were all invited to come back Wednesday and help build the traditional Dias del Muerto Fiesta altar.

"Can we?" Eager faces looked at me hopefully.

"Of course" I'd never dream of spoiling this kind of fun.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature is not such a good sport as I am. When we walked out the door the rain had turned to sleet.

Reflection among the Graves

I remember exploring an old country church cemetery in Hiram Township near my grandmother’s house, when I was a little girl. I was fascinated by the inscriptions on the headstones, and with the diligence of an archeologist, I examined the time worn markers, carefully deciphering the birth and death dates. I would work the equations in my head so that I could figure out the ages of the persons whose graves I tread upon. I would always feel so sad to discover the burial plot of a very young person or a child, imagining the grief of the family.
Even now, cemeteries still have an allure, and it is not unusual for me to stop and take a look around if I am driving by one, and I have a little time on my hands.
One of my favorites is the historic Lakeview Cemetery, which straddles the border of Cleveland and Cleveland Heights. It is the final resting place of many of the city’s most famous citizens, from President James Garfield and billionaire John D Rockefeller, to law man Elliot Ness and inventor Charles Brush.

In Lakeview Cemetery there are thousands of graves, each one representing the final page of a life story. Some graves are nearly anonymous, with a simple inscription of Mother, Father, or Infant. Others give the visitor a bit more; a name, birth and death dates, and occasionally, a verse from the Bible. My favorites are the elaborately carved monuments. Stained by acid rains and the polluted atmosphere of a city where fortunes were accrued in the steel mills and factories, figures of angels, saints and the deceased stare eternally at the landscape.
.

I can’t help but wonder about the people who sleep forever below the grass. Where they happy or miserable? Did their lives end with an illness, accident, or could they have been murdered? Who did they leave behind? Were they loved or lonely?
I can walk for miles here along the roads and pathways. Wandering between the headstones, I become cognizant of my own time on earth, and begin to contemplate the impact I’ve made so far.

Finger Painting: We go back to the Basics

"I want this group to be able to do things you don't normally do in your regular art classes."

I stood in the center of about ten students gathered in the art studio for the first organizational meeting of the Max Hayes Art Club.

"We can visit galleries and meet professional artists in their studios, we can experiment with different mediums, I have tons of ideas. How about you guys? What would you like to do?"

A short silence ensued while eyes scoured the room for inspiration.

"I want to finger-paint."

Smirking at the silliness, I shook my head. "C'mon now. Be serious."

My comment unleashed a torrent of teen-aged voices. "I want to finger-paint too!", "I never got a chance in kindergarten.", "It would be the most fun thing EVER!", "I love finger-painting!", "Pleeease, please, please, let us finger-paint!"

Wow! I hadn't seen so much adolescent enthusiasm for an activity that didn't involve food in a long, long time. It would be wrong to quash this kind of passion. So, setting aside my personal dislike for this kiddie-kraft, I capitulated.

"Okay then... next Thursday we will finger-paint."

My excited little group began to gather in the art room before the last class of the day was even over. A few stopped in to tell me they would be late, since other commitments needed their attention first, but to PLEASE make sure and save them some paint.

About ten years ago, I gratefully accepted a big box of art supplies from a friend who was retiring from teaching elementary school. In it were all kinds of craft items and paper tablets along with several dusty jars of finger paint. After sitting in my closet for a decade I hoped they had not dried out.

A table in the back of the room was cleared to make room for large paper, and I spooned out dishes of the colorful gel, slightly shrunken, but still usable.

Eager hands could hardly wait. It was time to get messy.

There is something both primal and decadent about finger paint. A lifetime of hand washing caused some reluctance to stick my own paws in the paint, but I forced myself to make the plunge. Although I smeared and scribbled a little with my fingers, I still could not cross that uncomfortable mental barrier of "ickyness", and after a few minutes, retreated to the sink.

The kids, however, happily experimented with color mixing and technique. Given complete creative freedom, images began to emerge. Landscapes, rainbows, monsters, and Halloween characters soon covered the tables.

As four o'clock neared, the inevitable question was raised;

"When are we going to do this again?"

Overheard

Overheard at a party last night:

Republican 1: I've voted Republican for the past 30 years, but this time I'm voting for Obama.

Republican 2: But he's BLACK!

Republican 1: I lost $40,000 this week. How much did you lose?

Republican 2: $38,000.

Republican 1: Think about it.

Marian Wright Edelman at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History

The auditorium was filling up quickly. "Darn!" I thought, "Too late to get an aisle seat..No, I think I see a few empty rows down near the stage." I hurried to throw my purse and jacket across two cushioned chairs, and once having staked my claim, flopped down to wait for the speaker to take the podium.

I'd been invited to the evening's reception by my friend, Susan Miller, to hear a presentation by Marian Wright Edelman, founder and president of the Children's Defense Fund and award winning author. Ms Edelman came to Cleveland this week to promote her latest book, The Sea is So Wide and My Boat is so Small - Charting a Course for the next Generation, and celebrate the opening of the Cleveland Museum of Natural History's new provocative exhibit, "Race-Are We so Different?", sponsored in part by the nonprofit organization, Facing History and Ourselves

Finally, after the representatives the event sponsors greeted the audience, the third speaker introduced Ms Edelman and called her to the stage. To my surprise, a little woman with elegantly coiffed salt and pepper hair who had been sitting quietly in front of me, stood up and walked to the microphone.

In a low voice of quiet authority, she began to read from her book. Her words grabbed the audience by our collective conscience:

"A poor black boy born in 2001 has a one in three chance of going to prison in his lifetime; a Latino boy a one in six chance; a black girl a one in seventeen chance; a white boy a one in seventeen chance; a Latina girl a one in forty-five chance; and a white girl a one in one hundred and eleven chance."
"Child poverty and neglect, racial disparities in systems that serve children, and the Cradle to Prison Pipeline are not acts of God. They are America's immoral political and economic choices that can and must be changed with strong political, corporate, and community leadership."

The audience of more than 400 people gasped, although I was not surprised. I have been familiar with many of these statistics for several years. I cannot count the number of times I have looked over my classroom full of inner-city students and sadly wondered, "What will eventually become of them? Which of these young faces will end up behind razor-wire? Will it really be ten out of the thirty? How do we put a stop to this insanity?"

Every point she made so eloquently were themes I'd also written about over the years. It was very encouraging to hear the message repeated in a public forum large enough to have an impact. She has done the research, assembled the facts, and reached conclusions one could only arrive at if one has been not only a careful observer, but has fully experienced life in it's many facets. A smile, borne of recognizing a kindred thinker, spread across my face.

Each chapter of her book was addressed to a different audience. To the educators she wrote:

"If we want to assess the status of America's future competitiveness, national
security, and democratic health, one need only stop at the school doors through
which millions of ill-prepared students pour every day.
What do we do?
Educators need to remember what their mission is: educating children. Those
who use public schools as political patronage and job security rather than as
child learning and development sites need to be confronted and ousted. Old
interests and ways of doing business need to give way so that children's futures
can be protected. While there are many wonderful teachers and schools all over
the country, there are very few whole school systems where all children are
achieving well."

Ms Edelman reprimanded schools who implement zero-tolerance discipline policies for non-violent behavior, calling them feeder systems for the prison industry. She also spent some time chiding individual educators who don't love (or even like) children, advising them to get out of teaching. Worst of all, she warned, are those who seek to line their own pockets at the expense of innocent children. She brilliantly coined the term "affluenza" to describe the apathetic culture of the 'haves' and their deliberate avoidance of the 'have-nots'.

Every person in the audience received a copy of her new book, and of course mine is already digested, highlighted, and annotated.

I think I have discovered a new favorite author.

Afternoon at the Zoo

It was one of those weekends that happen every now and again, where you say “We should do something…but what?”
On such occasions I like to play tourist, grab the camera, and explore Cleveland by the guide book. There are so many interesting things to do in this city.
“How about the zoo?” Tom offered.
“Wow, I haven’t been there for a long time. When was the last time you went to the zoo?” I asked.
He rubbed the goatee on his chin and thoughtfully answered, “I think it’s been about thirty years.”

It was a perfect zoo day. A mid-morning drizzle insured light attendance for this early autumn Sunday. The sky was a little overcast, and the cooler temperatures meant the animals would be a bit more active than they are on hot, sunny afternoons. Cleveland Metro Parks Zoo is truly a beautiful place to wander. The landscaping is lovely, and the exhibits are well planned, and quite informative.
Young parents pushed strollers and herded children along the pathways, stopping at each pen to roar, squeal, or whistle relentlessly, trying to get the creature to pay attention. Usually the animals ignored the obnoxious humans, some hiding in the corners of their enclaves, noses to the wall.
Zoos always make me a little sad.

I know, I know… many of the animals are endangered, and their chances for survival and procreation in the wild are shaky in this day and age of climate change, environmental poisoning, and the encroachment of man. But to see these noble beasts confined to such tight quarters, pacing back and forth, like frustrated claustrophobics; it tore at my sympathetic soul.

The silverback gorillas were the most heart-breaking of all. Their faces, so close to human, looked almost annoyed as they stared through the thick partition at the visitors who pressed their noses to the super strong Plexiglas. Innocent prisoners, on display for our entertainment, they sit hour after hour on concrete ledges designed to simulate the rocky terrain of a mountain habitat.

I wondered if they ever dream of freedom.

Shop Talk

"When you're making chips, you're making money."

That's the mantra of the machine shop, and Cleveland area component manufacturers have been filling up the chip bins.

Surprised? Cleveland has been bleeding manufacturing jobs for years, high labor rates in the states, and free trade legislation have decimated the industry, right?

Well...yes....but...

The first rule of entreprenuership: misfortune for some means opportunity for others.

As component manufacturing began moving offshore to take advantage of the incredibly low labor rates, many local business owners threw up their hands and closed up their shops, saying, "We just can't compete."

The remaining die-hard companies asked the question, "How do we become more efficient?"

By taking advantage of new technology and automation, smart manufacturers were able to not only decrease labor costs, but dramatically increase production. Not only were they able to keep work here, but some jobs were even brought BACK from overseas factories. With less local competition, many of these businesses find themselves in the enviable position of needing to expand their operations.

Alas, every silver lining has a cloud. Automation requires highly skilled technicians, adept at math and computer programming. Employers who invested in education for their workers were able to survive. The problem now is some of these folks would like to retire, but there aren't enough young people to take their places. Companies are poaching technicians from each other.

I understand there may be a whole lot of folks in the banking and finance industry who will be back in the job market soon. I'm thinking they should look to the manufacturing sector for retraining. We could really use them.

Artist Market at St Josaphat Hall

This morning I stopped by St Josaphat Hall on East 33rd street to preview the first annual Sparx in the City Artist Market, sponsored by Convivium 33 Gallery owner, Alenka Banco.

Artists do indeed accumulate wonderful things, and this eclectic sale showcases the treasured hoards of a number of creative Clevelanders who are willing to part with their collections of tchotchkes, antiques, and furniture at bargain prices.

Make sure you schedule a stop at the Artist Market this weekend as you check out the rest of the galleries and artist studios during the Sparx Gallery Hop.

THE ARTISTS' MARKET
September 20-21, 2008(Sparx in the City Weekend) from 10am-5pm
Artists have the coolest junk/stuff!
Convivium33 Gallery at Josaphat Arts Hall has invited artists to sell their wears/wares during Cleveland's Sparx in the City Weekend.
On Saturday, September 20 and Sunday, September 21, 2008.
The naive at Josaphat's will become the Artists' Market.
Doors open at 10am with early admittance at 8:30am to dealers/public for a $5.00 donation.
(100% of admittance fee will go to to support the Art Department at: Max S. Hayes High School/Cleveland Metropolitan School District)
No admittance fee during regular hours from 10am-5pm.
So...whether you are looking for art, clothing, furniture, etc. it should be fun!
Cool Junk, Cool Neighborhood- The Quarter!
For additional information: vendor Please email convivium33@josaphatartshall.comor alenkabanco@sbcglobal.net

Teaching Conceptual Art

"Anyone here an artist?" I ask. A few hands go up.

"Anyone here who would rather be taking a different class?"A few hands go up again.

"Who thinks the class could be cool, but are not sure if you'll be any good at it?" Almost all the hands go up."

"Now that's encouraging." I smile.

Most high school visual art programs are elective courses, offering a traditional arts foundation curriculum. The kids who sign up for the classes have an interest in drawing, painting, sculpture, printing, or photography.

Because Max Hayes is an industrial trades school, many of the students I teach come into my class with no desire to become artists, and even less desire to make art. You see, all students must have 1 fine arts credit to graduate in the state of Ohio, and I am the only arts teacher in the building - no music, dance, or drama here. In order to make art relevant to the kids studying auto tech, construction, or machining, I've learned to take a very different approach to the arts curriculum. I focus on art as concept, and the artist as communicator and visual problem solver.

This year, I began my course with a poem by the artist who created Cleveland's "Free Stamp", Claes Oldenburg. The poem, titled simply "Statement" , is a long reflection on the idea of art as concept.
It begins:

"I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other
than sit on its ass in a museum.

I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art given the chance of having a starting point of zero.

I am for an art that embroils itself with the everyday crap and still comes out on top.

I am or an art that imitates the human, that is comic, if necessary, or violent, or
whatever is necessary.

I am for an art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself.

I am for an artist who vanishes, turning up in a white cap painting signs or hallways.

I am for an art that comes out of a chimney like black hair and scatters in the sky..."

After looking at more prints of Oldenburg's sculptures, depicting everyday objects treated as icons and transformed into monuments, I asked the students to come up with a few "I am for art..." sentences of their own. Here are some examples:

"I am for art that fools a mosquito into the light, but is betrayed and hits the earth like a comet."

"I am for art that makes a fat lady seem small when she smiles."

"I am for art that has no thought nor expression, free of emotion, yet little discretion."

"I am for artists who sit in the dark and paint."

"I am for the art of monsters in my closet and secrets hidden under the bed."

"I am for art that grinds through life on a skate board, and I ain't talkin' lupe fiasco."

"I am for art that tickles my skin."

"I am for art that claims my life story through powerful words of my poetry."

"I am for the art of love between 2 teens whose love is doubted by parents."

"I am for art that is 'hood."

"I am for art that helps old ladies cross the street."

"I am for art that doesn't exist."

"I am for art that makes you think"

Hm-mm...I'm thinking, they "get it".

I'm forever fascinated by the number of kids who are eager to share their poetry with me. Once they know I'm interested, the old spiral bound notebooks and scraps of lined paper filled with verse are retrieved from closets and under beds and timidly placed in my hands in between classes. Teenage love songs, family tragedies, neighborhood violence, and tales of adolescent angst, I read them all without criticism. One young machinist even asked if he could bring his guitar to school and play for us, while the class illustrated their statements on long strips of donated, factory remnant, poster-board.

"Of course!" And so after many months of practice he finally had an audience.

I am for an art that gives the soul a voice.

An advocate of experiential learning, I like to take advantage of Cleveland's vibrant arts community and bring working artists into the school, take my students out to explore urban galleries, view public art in our neighborhood, and visit local artists in their studios. Last week, I took a group of kids to the Rock Hall for a presentation on Woodstock and album cover art, stopping by Claes Oldenburg's Free Stamp along the way. Next week we are going to SPACES gallery to view the "Bilingual" show and meet Cleveland painter Michelangelo Lovelace.

Our school is fortunate to be located on an RTA main route, so close to downtown. We can go all kinds of places for the price of a bus ticket.

I believe my students need to experience art beyond the walls of my classroom. If what they learn about art while they are in high school is confined to a few school projects, they will have a very limited education indeed.

Summer Project: 1965 VW Beetle - Part 9

Take a look at these before and after pictures. Two months ago, Barney was nothing but a dangerous rust-bucket with gaping holes in the floor and a body slowly succumbing to the inevitable corrosion that results from driving the salted streets of the snowy Mid-west.

The Optimist was certain the Beetle would be on the road by the end of August...make that September...well, October for sure. Hey, I still think this bad-boy has come a long way in a short time, considering it has been a project delegated to spare-moment status.

The doors are finally on, and Tom has been sanding and smoothing the surface this week, getting ready for the first coat of primer.

Of course, the fenders still haven't arrived yet, the dealer has them back-ordered, but the bug is masked off and ready to be painted.

Hurry up... and wait. That's our mantra.

To be continued...

Bad Behavior

The red truck suddenly swerved into my lane, as I sat patiently waiting for the line of oncoming traffic to pass so I could make my left hand turn.

My eyes opened wide at the imminent impact. But before I gasped, I could see the driver laughing at my startled expression and he quickly returned to his side of the street.

"Damn!"

I looked in my rear-view mirror, and saw the man craning his neck to look back at me, alone in the cab, shoulders shaking with laughter and a sadistic grin stretched across his face.

"That is one sick human being." I thought as I made my turn and continued toward home

Over the course of my career, I've worked with many young people who suffered with emotional and behavioral disorders, as well as severe mental illnesses. These kids struggle daily with the chemical imbalances that play havoc on their brains. Fortunately, we live in a day and age of medical miracles, and many of these students find balance with the proper medication.

Teachers who work in schools having significant populations of children who are diagnosed with these types of disorders, become quite adept at determining which behaviors are merely symptoms of their condition and, while disruptive, can be tolerated with sympathy, and which manifestations call for removal of the student. Wisdom as well as discernment come with experience. Over the years, I notice I've become a far more patient teacher than I was as a rookie, especially when it comes to kids who can't focus, or have energy levels that range from extremely low, to obnoxiously high. I've learned to roll, in a manner of speaking. When I make a conscious effort not to get upset, I find I am a much happier person.

Last week a colleague shared an experience he had that morning as he walked into the school office, and a student deliberately stuck out his foot in an attempt to make the teacher trip.

"My immediate reaction was anger," he confided, " but when I looked at the boys face, I could tell there was something wrong with the young man mentally, and suddenly my anger became compassion. I could only feel sorry for him, because at some point, he must have seen a comedy where a person was tripped, and all he could think of was that tripping somebody is funny. "

This man is a new, second career teacher, and I smiled, thinking how lucky we are to have added such a talented, thoughtful, and kind member to our faculty.

Tolerance should have it's limits though. Where I personally draw the line is with the true sociopaths. These are people who have absolutely no regard for the feelings of others - the bullies. I meet a few of them every year in my classroom; just plain mean kids who find entertainment in the misery and humiliation of their chosen victims. They are usually not students who have been diagnosed with special needs. In fact, most of these kids (girls as well as boys) are normal, even bright. The seemingly innate cruelty baffles me. I often find myself wondering how these personalities develop. Do they also suffer from some chemical quirkiness, or are their attitudes a reflection of their home lives?

Unfortunately, school house bullies grow up to become adult sociopaths. Sometimes, a few years down the road I will read their names in the crime section of the metro pages. However, most of the time they refine their bullying and quietly become our neighbors, have families, and get jobs.

And sometimes they buy red trucks and terrorize women stopped at traffic lights.

Summer Project - 1965 VW Beetle: Part 8

Finally! Another update for you Beetle maniacs.

The day Tom drove the little blue bug home, I called the car a "Flintstone mobile" since there were holes in the floor-pan so huge one could literally drop their feet through and skid on the road, just like Fred and Barney did in Bedrock when they put on the "brakes". Of course, that was the day I named the Volkswagen "Barney".

Well, now take a look at that nice solid bottom. It's been coated and re-coated, and coated a few more times with Rustoleum. Winters here in the rust belt can be rough on sheet metal.

Speaking of paint. The underside of the Beetle body is sporting a fresh new coat of Sea Blue. The color is much prettier than I could imagine when I first saw the faded blue bug sitting in that weedy back lot in a couple months ago. Every inch of this car will be repainted. After all this effort to restore the little guy, we want him to last.

Hooray!

The last bolt gets tightened, and the body is back on the chassis. To our great relief, it fits. Even The Optimist was a little nervous about things lining up just right after removing the old heater channels, but it looks like the braces he welded in did the trick. Barney's got his wheels back.

I had to leave right after this momentous event, but I hear the doors are reattached, the steering is working and the fenders have been ordered. It looks like Barney's next photo shoot will be of a car instead of a carcass.

Sparx in the City Artist Market to benefit Max Hayes Art Deparment

Many thanks to Alenka Banco for her generous effort to support arts education at Max S. Hayes High School.

Tour the Cleveland art scene during the Sparx in the City gallery hop next weekend. Whether you ride Lolly the Trolly or make your own agenda, please come check out the gorgeous Convivium 33 Gallery and do a bit of treasure hunting at the St. Josaphat Hall Artists' Market.

THE ARTISTS' MARKET

September 20-21, 2008
(Sparx in the City Weekend) from 10am-5pm

Artists have the coolest junk/stuff!

Convivium33 Gallery at Josaphat Arts Hall has invited artists to sell their wears/wares during Cleveland's Sparx in the City Weekend.

On Saturday, September 20 and Sunday, September 21, 2008.

The naive at Josaphat's will become the Artists' Market.

Doors open at 10am with early admittance at 8:30am to dealers/public for a $5.00 donation.

(100% of admittance fee will go to to support the Art Department at: Max S. Hayes High School/Cleveland Metropolitan School District)

No admittance fee during regular hours from 10am-5pm.

So...whether you are looking for art, clothing, furniture, etc. it should be fun!

Cool Junk, Cool Neighborhood- The Quarter!

For additional information: vendor Please email convivium33@josaphatartshall.com
or alenkabanco@sbcglobal.net

We must be Hatched or go Bad

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.

C.S. Lewis

Can Cleveland's leadership break from the status quo shell of "the way business is done in this town" and truly embrace the visionary, or has the culture of greed, corruption, and fear irreparably corroded this place?

As I wander the decaying neighborhoods of my city, I sadly watch the carrion lurking to profit from poverty's misery, but recently I have also begun to see emerging signs of new life. Yes, the grass has been burned, but the community roots are sending up new shoots. It is my hope that a fresh breed of civic leaders might also spring from these places. Young leaders who will combine vision and innovation with compassion, common sense, and the courage to break out of the shell that has constrained this city for too long.

Max Hayes Cruise-In

My post today is an unabashed promotion for Max Hayes High School's Fall "Cruise-In".

Saturday, September 20, 2008 the parking lot at Max S. Hayes Career and Technical School will be host to customs, classics, hot-rods and specialty cars from the Greater Cleveland area.

The Spring Classic Car show was such a success, and so much fun, the participants couldn't wait to come back. So this month the cars and the crowds return to Max Hayes.

If you have a cool ride, cruise on in and join the party. This one is free! No registration required.

Click on the YouTube link below to check out a video of the Spring 2008 event.

YouTube - 2008 Max Hayes Career Opportunities Showcase Ground Tour

Max Hayes is located at 4600 Detroit Avenue. For more information call (216) 631-1528

Back to School 2008

Although the official start of school was August 28th, the wacky schedules of the first couple days which accommodate orientation assemblies and extended homerooms, along with the relatively high percentage of Cleveland families who will not send their children to school until after Labor Day, my classes don't begin to get rolling until the first week of September.

The first drawing exercise I give my students each year is a diagnostic tool used by art therapists. I ask my students to draw a picture, or pictures, of where they live and who they live with. I use the drawings to assess their skill level, of course, but I can also learn some very helpful things about their backgrounds, developmental levels, and emotional relationships.

The teen years for many students are traumatic, and as the shooting incident at Willoughby demonstrated yesterday, some kids can become so distraught they become a danger to themselves and other people. The more we as adults can do to become aware of individuals who may be going through an emotional crisis, or the early stages of a serious mental illness, the safer we all will be.

Perhaps best strategy for security in schools has always been the relationships we build with our students.

And those relationships begin on day one.

Grease, Sugar, and the Gorilla Girl

The voicemail was clear and succinct, "Summer's almost over. I need festival food."

There was an urgency in Susan's tone that demanded an immediate call back.

"I need elephant ears. I need a funnel cake. I need food on a stick!" After weeks of strict dieting and a systemic cleanse, my best friend looked fabulous, but was craving grease and sugar like a junkie.

"The Geauga County Fair is this week," I offered "Can you wait until Saturday?"

Tom, Susan, and I made the 45 minute drive to Burton, giddily throwing the GPS wench into a tech tizzy, by asking for directions then purposely taking alternative routes. You see, we were in MY old stomping grounds, Geauga, the sixteen townships which made up the 'hood of my youth. I grew up in Auburn, located in the southern part of the county, and like most rural kids back in the early '70s, participated in 4-H. The 4-H exhibits are still a major component of the Great Geauga County Fair, with horse shows, livestock auctions, sheep shearing, and milking demonstrations drawing large crowds of fascinated suburbanites

"Gabora the Gorilla Girl! Watch her change before your eyes from a beautiful girl into a terrifying gorilla! Guaranteed Alive! Only $2.00!"

How could anyone resist?

Well, Tom could. He stood beside the tent grinning and shaking his head while Susan and I, seduced by the campiness, forked over our money and entered the dark tent where we waited with about twenty other affectionados of midway marvels.

Soon a puffy faced barker appeared, beginning his shpiel with "Please put away your cameras." Not only did I ignore the directive, but I snapped his picture. Soon a bored redhead appeared inside a stage-crafted cage, while the puffy-faced man told the story of her capture from the dark continent. As the lights dimmed further a projector aimed on the transparent screen she stood behind began to metamorphose the fair maiden into a hairy beast. A sudden bang, a puff of smoke, and a flash of red light was followed by a man in a gorilla suit cavorting about the stage, while the puffy-faced barker shouted "Run for your lives! Gabora has escaped! Please exit at the rear of the tent."

"Oh look Sue!" I pointed "Myrna the Mermaid. The tiny girl who lives in a goldfish bowl. And it's only a dollar."

"I've seen that one before." Susan laughed "You get what you pay for. It's a sea monkey."

The Great Geauga County Fair has something for everyone. From apple pies to giant zucchini, hot air balloons and demolition derbies, square dancers and tractors. You can buy a new lawn mower, listen to the Geauga Fair Band play old show tunes, or pet an alpaca. Most important of all for our happy little troop, you can eat just about anything ever concocted that can be served on a stick, raise your blood sugar, or elevate your cholesterol.

I can't think of a better way to end the summer.

Check out the sidebar for more Fair photos.

Safety and Security in Cleveland Schools

This week I began the nineteenth year of my commute along the Shoreway to Cleveland's near west side.

This is a neighborhood which was considered "tough" twenty years ago by the exurbanites, whose families fled the city during the turbulent sixties and de-seg seventies. A decade later the area was dubbed "interesting" by the hipsters, who were soon followed by developers, greedily buying up the cheap property to build chic new condos for the ever-so-trendy, new urbanism-embracing, young professionals. New theaters, art galleries, and restaurants have been springing up from the Cuyahoga River to West Boulevard. Today the Ohio City/Detroit-Shoreway neighborhoods are no longer on the Realtor's list of bargain basement give-aways.

Do I feel safer? Of course not. This is a city. Safety should never be taken for granted in the city.

Last week a reader posed an interesting question on my post regarding the Cleveland Municipal School District's status falling from Continuous Improvement to Academic Watch.

Journalist Wendy Hoke asked:

"Just wondering how X-ray machines and metal detectors at every entry are going to "make our environment welcoming" to parents and students. Sanders talked about the disconnect between community and schools during his state of the schools address last Friday. Security is important, but if you create a prison-like atmosphere, aren't you reinforcing negative behaviors by establishing a culture in which kids are perceived as potential threats? I'd be very interested to know what you and other CMSD teachers think about this."

I had to think about that one for a quick minute. What is the culture of Max Hayes, and will (or did) metal detectors change this culture?

Max Hayes is such a unique environment, it is hard to compare it to any other high school I've ever been in. The building looks like a factory from the street and smells like one in the hallways. Kids dressed in work boots, goggles, tool belts, and coveralls jostle amongst their colleagues in polo shirts and khakis. Banter is chummy for the most part, and the relatively small student body of 550 students makes it easy for students and staff to get to know one another. The culture at Max Hayes feels an awful lot like family.

The metal detectors and Tenable guards came into the building last winter. During the first week students and faculty complained about the hassle, but eventually the screening became part of the routine for the kids, and the staff were no longer required to go through security. As the Tenable guards got to know the kids, the security checks became less intimidating. The chronically late students couldn't get into school without being chided for tardiness, and friendly chatter soon replaced stern directives.

I have spent some time as a visitor in a prison, and so I will adamently say from personal experience, "No!" The metal detectors in the schools do not create a prison-like atmosphere. The culture of prison is suspicious, unsympathetic, and often harsh...and that's just in the visitation room. The security screening in school is quite different, more akin to an airport.

The more important question is this: Are students and teachers safer with metal detectors in the buildings? I'm not sure. They most certainly will deter a random act of violence by a stranger, (these have happened in the schools) but would they prevent a student from taking out revenge on teachers and classmates?

I asked my classes.

The student's response was a unanimous "No. If somebody wanted to get a gun into the building there are plenty of ways to get around security."

The next phase of Dr Sanders security plan is the one I believe will have a real impact on building safety, especially as it applies to potentially dangerous situations that might develop within the school. The proposed addition of more school psychologists, social workers, and new professional development sessions for school personnel regarding troubled students, would have the greastest effect toward the prevention of tragedies like last October's shooting at Success Tech. Developing a culture of awareness, caring, and kindness is an essential step in the process of identifying problems and getting students the help they need.

At Max Hayes we are doing that pretty well already.

Peter Drucker on Teachers

"Teaching is the only major occupation of man for which we have not developed tools that make an average person capable of competence and performance. In teaching we rely on the "naturals", the ones who somehow know how to teach."

Peter Drucker

This photograph is of a sandstone relief decorating the west side of the Cleveland Board of Education building on East Sixth Street.