Suburban Paradox

I cannot count how many times I've breathed a sigh of relief when I turn onto Forest Hills boulevard and drive under the graceful stone arch of the pedestrian bridge linking the two properties where a century ago the worlds fist billionaire, John D Rockefeller, raised his family. After an exhausting day in a world where raging hormones combine with poverty, crime, ignorance, and filth; it is the archway that welcomes me home, back to the green peaceful suburb on top of the hill.

You can often find me wandering the leafy streets with my dog, Max.
A case study in paradox, Max is a timid Doberman who hides behind me when approached by strange dogs, and neighbors, even children. He is a large, muscular, elegant beast, with champion bloodlines. Rather than a guard dog snarl, he shows his teeth in and a goofy fido-grin, trips over his own feet when he plays, and prefers sleeping on the couch to going for walks.

Last week I dragged the reluctant Max from his hiding place under the dining room table, where he sought refuge upon recognizing the sound made by the leash as I lifted it off the hook by the back door. He trotted alongside me, stopping occasionally to sniff a tree trunk or mark a shrub. We strolled along the sidewalk, my thoughts drifting from my family, to my work, my future, the next project, the beautiful gardens, the lovely homes. It was Sunday morning, and the neighborhood was serene, so quiet that it hardly seemed like a city. The only sounds were occasional chirps and twitters that punctuated the cicadas buzz-whirr dronings, like little engines, from the tops of the eighty foot oak trees.

Without warning, we were startled by a terrible racket coming from screaming feathered throats, as three birds, beaks over tails, came tumbling out of the sky landing in a furious heap on the treelawn in front of us. Three birds fell to the ground...Only two arose. Left behind was the tiny brown body of a female English sparrow, her frenzied mate continuing his attack upon the blackbird who had been raiding their nest.
Max sniffed at the lifeless bird. My composure shaken, I yanked the leash hard, pulling him away.

The peace of my idyllic morning had been shattered by the harsh Darwinian reality of nature.

As we continued, the tumultuous event replayed itself repeatedly in my head. I couldn't help but relate the murderous scene to headlines I've read recently; home invasions, young mother's and children attacked and killed. How often we forget the cruelty of nature when we envision the world without man.

Several blocks later my thoughts were disrupted once again.
"Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!"
SLAP!
"Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!"
SLAP!
"Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!"
SLAP!
A shrill woman's voice shouted over a small child's steady cries.

I stood in front of the neat, white colonial with blue shutters, and listened. The voices were coming from an upstairs bedroom window left open to let in the cool morning air.

The yelling and crying continued for a couple of minutes. The same phrase repeated again and again, followed each time by a slap. Then it was silent.
Transfixed, I continued to stare at the house.
What should I do? I didn't see anything. I don't know who was involved. The woman's voice sounded foreign, but I couldn't be sure. Was she a parent or a babysitter? Was the child being slapped or was something else being hit? I couldn't tell.
After another minute or so I continued along the sidewalk, making a mental note of the address.

How deceiving the pretty facade of the suburb. The veil of calm and orderliness provided by affluence is a thin disguise to the troubled lives of the people who live behind the ivy covered walls, leaded glass windows, and manicured lawns.

That morning's events made recall a letter that was sent to me a few weeks ago by a thoughtful young friend. He included this essay written a few years ago by George Carlin.

Paradox of Time


The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness. We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things. We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less. These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete. Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent. Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you. Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak, and give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind. Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

"This is the true joy in life--the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."

George Bernard Shaw

(Part 6) Self Directed Learning: Reflection

Experiential learning is, by far, the most effective method, though under-utilized within the walls of academia.
To explain why I believe educators shy away from it in favor of lectures and worksheets. I will take a psycho-analytical approach:

Many people who choose teaching as a career do so because they are very comfortable with a highly structured environment; the schedules, the bells, and the rules. Experiential learning, especially when self-directed, asks teachers to step outside of a comfort zone and into a situation where they are not always in control of the outcome. That can be very scary for some folks.

I am not a person with control issues, in fact I have a sign in my office with a quote by poet Wistawa Szymborska that says:
"I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order."

I try to give my students as many experiential learning experiences as I can, but I am not always successful with a self-directed approach. Although I am comfortable relinquishing control of an outcome, quite often my students find self-direction very confusing. They like recipes, they like specifics, they like to be told exactly what to do.
It is easier for them.
Creativity requires thinking, it requires work.

My ambitious students will take a self-directed assignment and fly with it. My lazy students will more than likely give up and fail. It is extremely hard for those kids who were never expected to think for themselves, to be expected to make their own decisions.

It is up to me to open the door and give them permission to explore. Some of them will eventually find the courage to step outside, others may need a push, but sadly there will always be those who will flat-out refuse, never leaving an environment that tells them what to think and how to live.

(Part 5 ) Meet Strangers, Learn Something: Day 2

The Big Green Bus

Tuesday morning I set out early to begin my second day of meeting strangers and learning something.
A brief stop at Max Hayes to rummage through my store room turned up the old box I was looking for. It contained a badgemaker that I wanted to lend to Martha and Evelyn so they could make the lead poisoning awareness buttons that we discussed the day before.

Hopping back in my little Toyota, I made my way to Talkies, a coffee shop near the Westside Market. I bought an orange juice and a bagel, then found a comfortable seat next to the front window and began to write. Another fellow was hunched over a newspaper in the corner of the room, but his body language did not invite conversation. So I finished my letter in silence, and decided that if I was going to actually meet anyone, I needed to find a busier location.

As I began packing up, a big green school bus pulled up in front of the building. Besides the greenness of the vehicle, something else about the bus caught my eye.
Bunk beds in the windows. A bunch of college-aged kids were getting out and gathering in front of the Great Lakes Brewery. On the side of the bus were the words "Change The World".
Well, if this wasn't a "meet strangers, learn something" opportunity delivered right to me, I didn't know one.
So I walked up to the group, introduced myself, and asked,
"So what is your mission?"
One of the young women said,
"We are from Dartmouth College, the bus has been converted to run on vegetable oil, and we are traveling around the country to increase awareness of bio-fuels."
They had stopped in Cleveland to check out the Great Lakes Brewery delivery truck which also has been converted to run on vegetable oil.

Click here to read more about the Big Green Bus tour, and here to read about the Great Lakes Brewery's dedication to sustainability.

Suzi

It was about 10:00 when I got back in the Celica and headed toward North Collinwood. I had wanted to do a little wandering around the neighborhood, since I am considering the East 185th Street area as a possible location to pilot the Legacy Arts Incubator project.
The neighborhood, also known as "Old World Plaza" is home to an eclectic group of businesses, ranging from sausage shops to biker bars, interspersed with thrift stores, bakeries, and ethnic social clubs.
I walked a few blocks up the street and came across a little import shop with a faded hand painted sign above the door that read 'Patrias'. Another sign written in magic marker on copy paper said "Fresh bread today".
I couldn't resist.
Inside several elderly ladies were conversing in Croatian with the woman behind the counter. I amused myself looking at wine, candy, gifts, baked goods, and deli items, until the little group left. A poppyseed kuchen caught my eye, one of the favorite desserts from my childhood, and I took it to the register. The woman behind the counter was friendly, and asked if I was from the neighborhood. I said no, but I was considering starting a non-profit Arts Incubator on the street. She said, "Oh that's just what this neighborhood needs" and being listing al the people I should be talking to.
"You know," she said "there are an awful lot of empty store fronts to choose from."
"There is one building I am interested in," I replied "The old Europa Travel Agency."
"I own it!" she exclaimed.
We made arrangements to look at it together next week.
Now that is what I call serendipity.

David

I headed back down the block to the Arabica Coffee house, set up my laptop in the back corner and began to work. After about an hour, I decided to take a lunch break and ordered iced tea and a chicken salad sandwich. While I was eating a tall man walked in from the street, smiled and waved at me. He walked up to my table and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I had met David Lynch when he was running for mayor of Cleveland last summer. He had some ideas about the school system that I had taken issue with, and he took the time to listen. Now he is a Republican and I am a lifelong Democrat, but damn...he listened to me. I was impressed.
Now David Lynch cannot qualify as a stranger, but I wanted to include him in my story, since running into him proved to be one more happy coincidence in a series of coincidences that day.
David is now running for state senate, and was meeting with a hopeful supporter at a table across the room, but he stopped by and sat down with me for a few moments before he had to leave for his next meeting. I told him about my proposal, and his face lit right up.
"There is somebody I want you to meet" he said, and took out his pen and wrote down a woman's name and phone number.
"Call her."

Allyson and Becci

David said goodbye, but not before inviting me to a meeting of campaign supporters Sunday evening.
He certainly is relentless.

I picked the phone number up off the table, and tapped the numbers out on my cellphone. The woman who answered was named Allyson. She and another woman, Becci, were buying the old Fitzgerald building a few blocks north on E. 185th and turning it into an arts incubator.
I explained my project, with a little bit of trepidation. These woman are going to see me as their competition, I thought.
I could not have been more wrong.
She invited me to meet with them that evening at the Arabica (of course).

The two women waved at me when I walked in the door at 7:30.
Both of them were about my age, and we all happened to be the mothers of 14 year old boys. Allyson is a legal secretary, and Becci is a metallurgist.
Allyson and Becci totally understood what I was doing, as well as the Open Source economic development model and the concept of cluster creation to drive business success. They invited me to come out and look at the building and consider using the space for some of the initial CLAI pilot workshops. We made an appointment for Tuesday.

Days like this make me wonder if there are truly any real coincidences.

(Part 4) Talk to Strangers, Learn Something: Day 1

"Go out into the community, talk to strangers, meet new people, learn something, keep a record of your activities, and report back on Friday."

When we received our "mission" this Monday, I listened to my classmates discuss with one another what approaches they would take to complete the assignment, and their perceptions of what the professors' intention was.
Some people in the class were focusing on the quantity of people who they could introduce themselves to. I, on the other hand, was transfixed on the phrase "learn something".

Here is my list of the people I met, and what I learned from each of them:

Phillip

I met Phillip standing on the deck of the Inner Circle, a night club built inside the hulking old abandoned factory in East Cleveland that used to house the legendary Hough Bakery Company. The building is currently owned by LaMont Williams of "Hot Sauce Williams" fame, who uses just a small portion of it to produce and bottle his sauces, and another part of the space for the night club. Thousands and thousands of square feet remain vacant. Phillip was there with a group of people from REAL NEO to look at the site and investigate the possibilities of starting a small business and technology incubator. We trudged through old offices, climbed up dark staircases and picked our way through cavernous storage areas filled with the debris of defunct businesses.
Phillip is a big man with a kind face, and long red hair, pulled back into a pony tail. He looks to be in his thirties, although I am not always the best at guessing a persons age. I asked him if I could interview him for this assignment, and he was happy to stay and chat for a while.
He began by telling me that he was an Army brat, and when he was just 3 years old, had witnessed the assassination of his father, who was working on a classified data encryption project at General Electric.
At the G.E. company picnic, an unknown man called out his fathers name. When Phillips's dad stepped toward him, the stranger pulled out a gun and shot him. Then he disappeared.
We talked about the effect his fathers death had on the choices he made growing up, his work with computers, and his vision of what a potential tech business incubator would look like at this site. Not surprisingly, he had some very real concerns with crime, safety, and security.

Evelyn

I met Evelyn waiting for my friend Martha on the patio of the Arabica coffee house in University Circle. She had a gentle, waif-like beauty with her pale skin, large eyes, dark hair and tiny frame, that reminded me of the actress Winona Ryder.
We were there to talk about strategies that would increase the public's awareness of the lead hazard, how many people have been poisoned by lead, and how many children continue to get lead poisoned.
The statistics were staggering:
Lead remains a top environmental health hazard for US children. More than one in 25 American children have blood lead levels high enough to lower IQ or cause learning disabilities, violent behavior, attention-deficit disorder or hyperactivity.
Young children are at the highest risk for lead poisoning. Children absorb 40-50 percent of the lead that gets into their mouths. Adults only absorb 10 percent. Even small amounts of lead can produce high concentrations in the blood of young children because their bodies are small. Since children's brains are still developing, the effect of lead poisoning can be especially damaging.
We talked about setting up a table at the Ingenuity Festival in July, and creating a design to put on a button that would create public curiosity about the lead crisis.
Evelyn is an art historian who works at Case Western Reserve University, and is the mother of Claus, a busy, happy, little toddler.

Abby

Over the past couple of weeks since the school year ended, I have completed the first draft of a white paper for a new project called The Cleveland Legacy Arts Incubator. In brief summary, it is an urban neighborhood revitalization model, easily replicated, that will teach the legacy arts (ethnic artisan trades, crafts, and cooking) in combination with courses in starting a cottage industry, provide co-op retail space, sponsor master craftsmen from overseas for artist residencies, and create an exhibition gallery for fine artisan tradecrafts.
Monday evening I met with Abby Meir of COSE Art at the Cedar Fairmount Starbucks in Cleveland Heights to review the initiative and discuss possible collaboration and strategic next steps. She called me just as I walked into the shop, to tell me she was running a little late, and had just stepped off the rapid. I took a seat by the front window, and it wasn't long before I could see a little gal with a head full of dark bouncy curls hurrying up the hill. She came in the door with a big smile and an apology. I couldn't help but like her immediately.
We talked for more than an hour, and she gave me some very good pointers, as well as list of names of people who I should connect with.


The fist day of my 48 hour mission to "talk to strangers" came to a close, and as I reflected upon my experiences, I had to smile; each conversation had left me richer.

I'm Back (Part 3)

This afternoon, I am once again at the East 185th Street Arabica in Cleveland's North Collinwood neighborhood, sitting with a cup of ice tea and typing away on my lap-top.
I am working on my class assignment which I will be posting later today, but I needed to share the thought I just had with all of you.
Two weeks ago, I would have scoffed, if someone would have suggested I partake in such overt geekiness. I am more inclined to make fun of the solitary techi, light from the flat screen reflecting off his glasses, fingers pecking away at the keyboard.
Now here I am. There is something to be said for this public, yet semi-anonymous, space that is so conducive to getting work done.
In my student days I would escape my distractions by going to the library to study. This is like a much cooler library with soft music, caffeine, food, and instead of a shushing librarian, really pleasant staff.

I am now officially geeked.

I'm Back (Part 2)

I arrived at Civilization about half an hour early, as I had a letter to write and desperately needed that neurological kick-in-the-ass provided by a large serving of caffeine, straight up. My fix was handed to me in an awkwardly shaped, heavy, coffee cup, more suitable for spooning soup than sipping anything. A wobbly table provided the catalyst for catastrophe, dumping half the cup on my stenographers' notepad. Remembering that my blessings far outweigh my misfortunes, I sopped up the mess with a brown paper napkin, and keeping my smile, asked the girl behind the counter for a to-go cup.

A few minutes later, several members of my class arrived. We all kept an eye on the door, looking for a woman with toe-head blonde hair who matched the photograph we were given on Monday.

She bounded in with a grin, scanning the room for faces who were, in turn, looking for her. My vibrating back pocket kept me from immediately joining the group, but I was able to cut the conversation short, and soon the five of us were involved in a lively discussion about experiential learning, assessment, and our reflections on the assignment to date, which lasted more than an hour and a half.

With smug satisfaction, I listened to Professor Nagy explain John Dewey's philosophy that "all genuine education comes through experience". Deweys' thinking parallels my own teaching methods, which I believe are the antidote to the numbness inflicted upon young minds by lecture overload. It was so good to see a professional development course based upon real life experience and common sense as opposed to traditional pedagogy.
(Sorry 'bout that, friends, I'm starting to slip into edu-speak. Let me take a moment and slap myself....oww!....I'm better now.)

The field experience portion of the class was technically to have taken only two days, but I think I will extend my "talk to strangers" time frame through this evening. You see, I plan on attending the North East Ohio Blogger Meet-up at the Town Fryer, and I know from experience that we can be a pretty strange crowd. So if you are reading this on Wednesday afternoon...introduce yourself tonight at the Fryer, and I will be blogging about you tomorrow.

I'm Back!

My dear readers,

Thank you for your patience, and your concern.
I have been flying under the radar for more than a few months, attending to personal issues. Your emails have been heartening; it is good to be missed.

This week I was goaded into writing once again from a very unexpected source.
Here's the story:

Teachers in Ohio are required to take graduate courses in education in order to maintain our license. My license expires in 2007 and I needed six semester hours, so I signed up for a couple of classes at Notre Dame College.

My first class, "Self Directed Learning", was scheduled to begin at 8:30 AM yesterday and last until 4:30, continuing all week. I have taken these all day intensive classes before, and they have been just as exciting as they sound. I walked into the classroom armed with a magazine, prepared to be bored. I waited with about ten other teachers for the professor.

The door opened and the theme to "Mission Impossible filled the room.
A young woman, who was not the professor, wearing a trench coat, dark wig, sunglasses, and carrying a briefcase, entered. She opened the briefcase and took out a tape recorder...Silence.

Damn! Malfunction.
Barely flustered, she took out a letter from the professor and read it out loud. It was our class assignment, which I will summarize (roughly):

Go out into the community, talk to strangers, meet new people, learn something, keep a record of your activities, and report back on Friday. If we wanted to meet the professor, she would be at Civilization in Tremont on Wednesday between 10:00 and 12:00. Friday we will present our experiences to the class in any creative fashion of our own choice.

We then were free to go.

So many choices. So much freedom. Where should I start?
When I have a quandary I call my friends.
Martha is always busy with one community project or another, and her cause du jour is lead abatement. She would be meeting with a young woman in the afternoon to discuss setting up a lead poisoning information table at the Ingenuity Festival, but I could catch up with her before that at the old Hough Bakery Building in East Cleveland where a group of civic entrepreneurs would be gathering to look at the space, in the hopes of cleaning it up and launching a small business incubator. There would certainly be some new people I could talk to at this meeting.

One of the members of the group was my friend, Brewed Fresh Daily's George Nemeth. When I explained the class assignment to him, he responded,
"Blog about it."

Of course!
I am a consumate multi-tasker, always looking for a new way to kill several birds with one stone.
If I took George's suggestion, I could return to the blogosphere, have a unique format for my class presentation, and log my learning experience all simultaneously. Taking the idea one step further, if I did my work at a coffee house with wifi, who knows what new people (or old ones)I will run into, and what serendipitous adventures will be launched.

So this morning I am sitting and typing at the Arabica on East 185th in North Collinwood, and have already met several fascinating people who I will be including in a post later this week, when I will write about all my new acquaintances.

I'm BACK!

Another Case of Injustice in Ohio

I just received an email that brought my attention to a 1988 murder case from Geauga County which captured my attention years ago. The crime scene was familiar territory. I grew up there. It was a part of my old stomping grounds.

Back in 2003 Scene Magazine published an article about the case that made me pause. The justice system was out of whack. Small town politicians were playing politics with people's lives. Evidence was hidden, lies were told, vanity trumped justice, and as a result two innocent men, Bob Gondor and Randy Resh, have spent 16 years of their lives in prison for a crime they had absolutely nothing to do with.

Wednesday January 25th the Supreme Court of the State of Ohio has agreed to hear oral arguments for the case.

We are told repeatedly to "believe in the system". We are told "The system works."
Who is telling us this? The folks who are running "the system".

Please go to the website. Read about this travesty of justice. Offer your support.
Then take a few minutes, and read about the other cases of innocent people who have been wrongfully convicted. It is scary. It is disturbing. It is happening. It is wrong.
The justice system doesn't work all the time, sometimes it breaks down, and when that happens it can't be ignored, it needs to be fixed.

I realize this is not consistent with the usual education topics I write about, but I decided, today this will be an exeception.

Can bloggers make a difference in the lives of these two men?
I have no idea.
All I can do is put the information out here and see where it goes.

I know we have an amazing network in North East Ohio. Bloggers here support each other, read each other, link to each other, and are widely read. We are just beginning to understand how to work our network. We are learning to how wield the power of information and instant communication. We are learning how the ripple of one stone cast into the pool can be amplified and ultimately effect change.
Can we help change the fate of these two innocent men? I guess we will see.

Hard Lessons on Life and Love

"I complained that the road was long until I met a man that had no shoes. I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet."

Arabic Proverb

Funny how trivial the daily nonsense in one's life becomes when you are called upon to help a friend whose life is truly turned upside-down. The bad hair day, the late delivery, the grating co-worker, and the traffic ticket would be most welcomed by the patient with a terminal diagnosis, the family evicted from their home, the single parent who loses a job, and the child whose father has been sentenced to prison.

This past month I have been busy learning about the things in life that matter the most as I tried to help a friend whose life was unraveling. Because I only write about my life and my thoughts, I shall not share the specifics.

What I will share is this:

You know all that stuff they say about love, all that feel good froth from greeting cards and love songs and self help books, about love conquering all, and love is all you need?
This month I discovered something rather amazing, even in my own little sphere of cynicism.
Damn it, they are right.

And that is all I can say about it.

"There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love."

Thornton Wilder

"I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited."

Sylvia Plath

Serial Killer Art and Grass Roots Innovation

BOSTON (Reuters) - An online auction of artwork by a serial sex killer triggered outrage in Massachusetts on Tuesday where lawmakers proposed to block criminals from profiting on what they called "murderabilia," setting off a debate on free speech rights of prisoners.

A colored pencil sketch of Jesus Christ kneeling in a desert by Alfred Gaynor, a serial killer serving four life sentences for sodomizing and choking to death four women, went on sale on Tuesday on a Web site operated by a prisoner advocacy group.

It was one of nearly 300 artworks offered for auction through December 18 on The Fortune Society's Web site. If sold, nearly all proceeds from the work entitled, "A Righteous Man's Reward," will go to Gaynor, the group said.

Protests from the families of Gaynor's victims about the possibility of a convicted murderer profiting from his criminal celebrity prompted state Rep. Peter Koutoujian, a Democrat, to submit a new variation of a "Son of Sam" law in the state legislature.

But the legislative proposal triggered its own debate over the prisoners' constitutional right of free speech...

... The Fortune Society said its online and studio art show draws work from a wide range of prisoners -- not just killers -- and most items sell for less than $100.
"It's a misconception that we're selling this art for thousands and thousands of dollars and that people are making all these profits," said Kristen Kidder, project manager of The Fortune Society's art show.

The paintings can be found at www.http://www.cmarket.com/catalog/landingPage.do?vhost-fortunes ociety.
11/16/05 09:05

I personally feel most threatened by those who will play on people's fears in order to get re-elected. To that end, they enact another piece of legislation which chips away our freedom of speech.
Yeah, you guessed it...I'm a liberal.

You can read this entire article here. I found it posted on a message board on the Experimental Behavior website.

I highly recommend this forum for anyone who suffers from the misconception that Cleveland lacks a creative, free thinking, community.
You folks are looking in the wrong places. Experimental Behavior will give you a glimpse into the edgey soul of Cleveland's creative community.

New ideas and innovation often come from the fringes of society, where things aren't always comfortable. They might seem unsettling, or even disturbing. In fact, sometimes the fringes can be down right scary. Necessity is still the mother of invention.

There is a new breed of emerging artists, inventors, and entrepreneurs who create because their survival depends on finding new solutions. They don't have PhD's, MFA's, or MBA's. They aren't coming from the cultural ivory towers of academia.
You can find them on the shop floor, or driving a taxi. They make music in their garages, and art on the dining room table. They write stories on laptops, and do research where ever they can find free wifi.

Clevelanders got used to looking for it's establishment to fund our salvation. Old money doesn't like new players unless they follow the the old rules. Cleveland's establishment gives some lip service to grass roots innovation, as long as that grass is growing on a lovely manicured suburban lawn, the kind that requires the right type of seed, carefully chosen by the caretaker, and depends upon continued grooming and maintenance for sustenance. But it is the grass that can be found growing between the cracks of the sidewalk, the tough, deep rooted species, that springs unbidden, without permission, that can and will survive, and eventually create a new landscape.

"We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are."

Anais Ninn

Close To Home

"I'm really not feeling well. Can I put my head down?"

"Sure, darlin'. Come and sit here, you can be by yourself." I motioned to a seat next to my desk.

As I sorted through papers, she raised her face from her forearm. A red imprint of her cable sweater was visable on her cheek. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and I moved my chair closer to her as she spoke.

"I was awake all night. My parents were fighting. My stepfather hits my mom when he gets drunk. I'm afraid to go to sleep. She might need me to call 911 or something. I really want to move out of there. Part of me can't wait. I'll be 18 in July. But, I don't want my mom to be left alone. My dad was an alchoholic too. He's in prison now. I don't know why she puts up with these men. I wonder why we don't just leave."

I only half wondered. This conversation was a little close to home.

I've lived with alchoholism in a household. It is shameful, painful, and eventually destroys the people who live alongside it.The families of alchoholics often feel like they have something wrong with them. They must deserve the life of embarrassment and dysfunction. It is hard to break away. Just like the drowning man will pull his rescuer under the water, the person who thought they would save the alchoholic can become a victim of the disease.

Disease. Damn it.
Why did the medical profession decide to call alchoholism a disease?
How do you save yourself, when the only way to do it is by walking away from a sick person? The guilt is unbearable. The scars are slow to heal.

The physical abuse issue is much harder for me to comprehend. I was hit once by a boyfriend in college. One time...that was all it took ...I was outta there. No apologies, no begging, no tears could bring me back. That kind of anger scared me way too much. It is very hard for me to even listen to the stories of some of these women sometimes. I find it way beyond my understanding.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class period, and as my student stood up to leave she said, "Maybe I'll be able to sleep when I get home."

I certainly hope she can.

"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat."


Mother Teresa

Parental Involvement and the Jerry Springer Culture.

I have been having an interesting discussion this week with a few readers about the poverty factor and how it relates to education in large uban districts like Cleveland. Rather than keep it in the comments section, I figured I would continue the conversation here.

There is a gap in understanding between the educated, working, self-sustaining general population and the reality of the demographics of those who live in poverty. We in the first group tend to feel more comfortable with the poor if we can put a noble or romantic face on them. The laid-off factory worker, the single mother, and the person who has lost everything due to tragedy or illness; these are the poor we like to help, these are good people who have been dealt a cruel blow by the world.

When we assume these people make up the vast majority of Clevelanders who live in poverty, no wonder we are confused when we see some of the poor who don't help themselves, and when given the opportunity, why they don't get involved, or why they do not bootstrap their way into a better position.

Sadly, however, the culture of poverty is not always so honorable. There are many people who are unemployed because they are unemployable. They are the addicts, the sociopaths, the lazy, and the stupid. These people have children, and their children are raised in environments of perpetual dysfunction. If you want to get a glimpse of this culture first hand, simply turn on Jerry Springer or Maury Povitch. This is not a manufactured cultural phenomenon for television. We, the teachers in urban public schools, encounter people like these guests on a regular basis when we make phone calls home, or set up a conference with the parents of students who are having problems in school with behavior, attendance, or learning.

The foul mouthed, abusive, drunk-at-9AM, mother. The father who promised to beat the shit out of his son if the school ever calls again. The kid who needed to bring a parent to school for a conference, and each time would show up with a different one of mom's boyfriends. The girl who did her homework at the tavern where her mother worked turning tricks. The uncle who gave his nephew marijuana to sell at school. The girl whose mother walked into an eighth grade classroom after her daughter was suspended for fighting to beat up the girl her child fought with.
Each of us has more stories than we can recall.

Yes, parental involvement is crucial to a student's education, as long as the parents are good, loving people. Sadly, there are many parents who we would rather not see involved, who are detrimental to to the child.

Simple biology does not in any way insure capability.

The Silent Culture of Cleveland Drop-outs.

Fellow NEO blogger, Jeff Hess, at Have Coffee Will Write responded to my last post concerning the lack of Cleveland parents at Monday night's CEO search meeting, surmising:

"...Maybe they are just tired of trying to walk around in size 8 shoes with size 9 feet."

Jeff, I have to disagree.

My gut reaction is that exhaustion due to poverty is not the reason many city residents don't attend school events.

The apparent apathy of many Clevelanders who live in the city toward civic issues and the schools, has been on my mind for quite some time.

It bothered me when I first began teaching in Cleveland back in 1988, and very few parents would show up for school open houses or parent/teacher conferences. The abysmal turnout of Cleveland voters at the polls and the mere smattering of parents, and the people living in the city neighborhoods, who attended school district functions and civic forums, prompted me to begin asking questions and drawing some of my own conclusions.

The common responses I receive from folks (students, parents, and former students) when I ask why they didn't participate in an event or vote in an election are:

"I wouldn't make a difference"

"I don't know anything about that stuff."

"Nobody really wants to listen to me."

"Let the people who understand those things make the decisions."

"I never heard about it."

"Why bother? The Big Shots already made their minds up."

" I don't get it. What do all those issues mean?"

"I don't watch the news. It's boring."

"Where do you find out about these things? You must read a lot."

These conversations lead me to believe this inner-city demographic of Clevelanders, who have been labeled apathetic because they do not participate in the civic process, are not absent because don't care or because they are working too hard. They aren't getting involved for a completely different reason.

Many Clevelanders are not comfortable in the civic realm due to a lack of education.

The district has been hemorrhaging drop-outs since the busing mandate was enacted in the '70s. In the mid 1990's only 25% of Cleveland students graduated from high school. At the last census, fifty thousand Cleveland families were headed by parents without high school diplomas. What has evolved over the past thirty years in Cleveland is a generation of Clevelanders who have disengaged from education. The children of these people are the students I teach. I have talked on the phone to parents who are very uncomfortable inside a school, and try to avoid coming in, if at all possible. There are even those who have never again stepped into school since they flunked out, dropped out, got kicked out, or became involved with the criminal justice system. Some parent's status as ex-offenders makes them feel insecure and unwelcome, even though nobody at the school may even be aware of their history.

A culture has silently developed in Cleveland, of citizens who somehow became disconnected from both the educational and the civic process.

Many people don't know they even have a voice, others are afraid to use it for fear of sounding stupid, and still others assume the lack of education makes their opinions irrelevant. The power to make decisions is the sole realm of the wealthy and the educated...Why bother?

How do we begin to engage this lost generation of Clevelanders? Can we?

Or do we simply write them off, and hope their children will be different?

When more than 50% of Cleveland's 70,000 students are currently still dropping out of school, the future of the city does not look too bright.

Search for a CEO: CMSD Style

The room was nearly empty at 6:30 when I arrived at the community meeting. The Jergens Manufacturing Company located in the Collinwood Yards is very easy to spot from the Shoreway, but apparently a little tricky to find if one is not familiar with the neighborhood. Eventually the search comittee, CMSD administrators, and several Board of Education members came in and introduced themselves, along with two other teachers, a woman who was filming the event, and a journalist.

Where were the community members who were supposed to be giving their input?

The meeting finally began, about twenty minutes late with not quite twenty people in the room, when the facilitator, who was coming from Chicago, arrived. Only one of the people present was a parent, and even she was a school employee.

The first question that was asked of the group was "What does the district need?". The immediate answer, of course was "Money!". Nothing like stating the obvious.

I raised my hand and asked , "Where are the community members? Where is the neighborhood? Where are the voters? Why aren't they here?"

"Well, we publicized the event. We sent flyers home with the kids. Apparently people just aren't interested."

"Hmmm..." I said. "Maybe it would be a good idea to find out why. Why don't Clevelanders come to these forums? Is because they don't know about them, or do they feel their voices won't be heard? Do they feel their opinions don't really matter, and the meetings are just a formality? The disconnect between the school district and the community is a glaring issue, evidenced by lack of voter turn out and the failure of the past two levys. Addressing this problem should be a priority for the new CEO."

Newly re-appointed board member Shirley Hawk spoke, "Adelphia cable has money for a public access cable channel dedicated to the Cleveland schools. I want to know why it is no longer being used. In the past they broadcast school board meetings and good news about the schools."

CMSD administrator Julian Bond replied that the monies for communication were drastically reduced over the past two years with the massive district budget cuts. The sudden absence of good news from the district and lack of communication with the residents seemed to coincide with the decline in Barbara Byrd Bennett's popularity. Since good news doesn't sell, the major media news stories focused on the district's problems and scandels.
A lot of the ensuing discussion focused on the community's access to technology, why the district hasn't taken advantage of it, and what needs to be addressed in the future.

The lone parent sat silent for most of the meeting, but when she finally spoke up, she vented her frustrations. Her complaints focused on teachers and administrators who didn't seem to care about kids or parents. The employees who came across as selfishly only interested in collecting a paycheck and doing as little as possible to earn it. A recent newcomer to Cleveland from Savannah, she complained about the black hole of the district voice mail system, and the general public's inability to find anyone who could answer a question in a reasonable period of time. She predicted the exodus of more children from the Cleveland schools into parochial and charter schools for precisely that reason.

The meeting concluded at 8:00.
My hope is that this was not simply a sham forum to appease a mandate for public input, that someone will pay attention to the concerns that were expressed. Wouldn't it be nice if a new mayor and a new district CEO would usher in a new era of communication?

Nothing Stops A Bullet Like A Job

My friend Margaret Bernstein from the Cleveland Plain Dealer sent this notice to me today and asked me to pass it along.

Nationally recognized gang expert Father Greg Boyle, SJ will deliver a talk on gang activity and preventing youths from joining gangs on Friday, December 16 at 7:30 pm at Gesu Catholic Church. Gesu is located at 2450 Miramar Blvd. in University Heights. The telephone number is 216-932-0617.

Father Boyle, a Jesuit priest, is founder and executive director of Jobs for a Future/Homeboy Industries, a Los Angeles employment referral center and economic development program. The progam provides at-risk and gang-involved youths training, work experience, and an opportunity to work side by side with rival gang members. The slogan of Jobs for a Future is "Nothing stops a bullet like a job."

Father Boyle, who is the subject of Celeste Fremon's book G-Dog and the Homeboys, serves on the National Youth Gang Center Advisory Board.

This looks like a great presentation. I plan on being there.

Frank Jackson v.s. the Cleveland Board of Education

Today's Plain Dealer ran a story about mayor-elect Frank Jackson's first public attempt at school reform. He will be asking the school board to resign and then reapply for their positions. He would like to have a school board who has a real life connection with the schools, people who have a personal stake in them. He wants the new board members to be public school graduates and have kids who are in or went to the Cleveland schools.

Practical grassroots reform. Makes sense to me.

I find it rather disturbing that a number of the current board members would refuse to resign and reapply. The voters have communicated their lack of confidence loudly and clearly, voting down two levys, withdrawing support from the CEO, and ousting the mayor. The message reflected the perception of disconnection with the political and educational hierarchy. They want a board who they can relate to, someone who knows the problems of the schools first hand, people who are intimately familiar with the district, the streets, and the neighborhoods, not merely occasional visitors. People who are not afraid to send their own children to the city schools.

The people on the board who refuse to resign have none of these qualifications.

Which makes me wonder...

Why are they holding on?
What is their stake?
What are they getting out of this appointment?
What's in it for them?

"Forgiveness is the answer to the child's dream of a miracle, by which what was broken is made whole again, what is soiled is again made clean."

Dag Hammarskjold



"In search of my mother's garden, I found my own."

Alice Walker

A November Remembered

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of my mother's death.

A decade ago, I drove through the snow, to the hospital in Chardon, with my oldest son, Ben, after receiving a phone call from my sister that Mom was in intensive care... possible stroke... no need to rush.
We arrived, just as the doctors put the paddles away, and gave up on the attempts to revive her.

Behind the steering wheel that evening, heading home to Cleveland Heights, my tears were angry.
How dare she die? We still had issues to resolve. I needed to know things.
I was afraid she was still disappointed. I wanted to talk about the hurt feelings, the guilt, the rejection, the forgiveness, the love , the understanding, the new relationship that was finally evolving. We had not finished healing the hurts accumulated during my rebellious twenties and stubborn thirties.
Now, those conversations would never take place.

Mom had spent years ignoring her doctor's advice. She refused to spend money on the medication he perscribed to treat her high blood pressure because she "felt fine". An undiagnosed pulmonary aneurysm developed, and finally burst, that Friday afternoon.

The relationships we have with our parents are the most profound of any we develop in our lives. When I was a teenager, I couldn't imagine two people more different than my mother and me. As I've gotten older, I've begun to notice at least a few similarities. The altruism, forever champion of the underdog, the over-analyzation of situations, people, and motives, the accidental green thumb, the interest in philosophy and theology, the ability to recognize potential, and our chosen careers in education. Both of us became Cleveland teachers.
She taught kindergarten at Harvey Rice Elementary School. Being a different temperment, I chose to teach high school.

As much as I emulated my mother, I was also very cognizant of her not-so-admirable traits, which I strove to reject:
The passive/aggressive martyrdom, the use of the "silent treatment" as punishment, and holding on to perceived hurts and sleights.

Yesterday, I stopped at Lakeveiw cemetery on my way home from work. The gray sky and the lonely sound of an unusually warm November wind, moved me to park my car and wander among the headstones.

My mother is not buried there. Her grave is in Shadyside; a small, country cemetery in Auburn township. My father, disconcertingly, had my name and those of my siblings engraved on the back of her tombstone.

Ambling along the paths, I recognized the names of famous historic Clevelanders, surrounded by the markers of the long forgotten.

There is nothing like a symbolic reminder of death to help one recall the essence of life. The memory of my mother and the anniversary of her sudden death, already a decade past, is a welcome prod to push myself, and make the most of the time I have to live.

Milking the Cash Cow

Max S. Hayes High School in Cleveland's rapidly gentrifying Detroit-Shoreway neighborhood was slated for a 27 million dollar "make-over", paid for by the capital improvement tax money which Clevelanders approved several years ago.

For two years, big teams of consultants and architects, from Middough Consulting and Braun & Steidl Architects, roamed the halls, meeting with administrators, instructors, and advisory groups. Drawings were submitted, and resubmitted. The consultants came back and told us that what we wanted to have redone couldn't happen... there was not enough money.
The too-small gym would have to remain too small, and wish list items were eliminated.
Finally, the remodeling schedule was announced. We were advised to get ready to start packing up our classrooms on the third floor, because the construction crews would be starting on the top. I began to clean out my store room.
At the end of May we were told the remodeling was being put on hold. The start of the 2005-06 school year would be back-to-school as usual.

Yesterday, our principal announced to department heads that the school was not going to be remodeled. He was told it would be cheaper to build a new school than to remodel this one. There is no new location picked out. The consultants suggested it could even be built in our current parking lot.
Incredulous as to why it took these companies two years to figure out how much money the remodeling would cost, as compared to a new building, I began having visions of a big cash cow named "Max".
I asked about plans for the new building.
The principal blinked and said, in all innocence "I think they are just going to use the plans they already have for this building."

I'm guessing the dear man has not had much experience with building contractors.

Does somebody besides me sense some chicanery going on here?

I remember that a capital improvements oversight committee was convened as a watch dog group for this money. Does anyone know what happened to them? Who was on that committee? Do they ever really meet? Are they even paying attention?
Are the records of the consultant fees public? How much money will be left for a building and a new site after the architects and consultants are paid off again?

Do I see some very creative project management going on here, or is it just business as usual in Cleveland?

Cleveland - A Third World City?

Web-surfing last night, I was searching the internet for information about another art teacher in an urban vocational school.
What I found made me shake my head, partly amazed, wanting not to believe.

I discovered a 2001 post from a vocational school in Rwanda.
If you would substitute the word "Rwanda" with "Cleveland", and change the 59% drop-out rate to Cleveland's 2001 71% drop-out rate, the story would be about this city. Even the pictures of the students and teachers in the classrooms could have been taken here.

The first part of the excerpt caught my eye:

"One of the pressing needs for these children and youth is to ensure access to a relevant, basic education. 59% of street-based children in Rwanda have dropped out of school"

Reading the rest of it made my jaw drop. I could have written it.

"There is a very big difference because the children who live in the streets have ingrained habits which discourage them from concentrating for longer periods or sitting still in a classroom. Children who attend primary schools and who are able to go home in the evenings are able to learn from family members and are encouraged, but for street children it is very difficult.
It is difficult for many of the street children to concentrate on their work as they arrive already tired to the class. When the children come to the classroom they fall asleep as they were unable to sleep the night before or were up most of the night sniffing glue. Also many of them are traumatized from the violence in the streets. Sometimes there are discussions during the class when children explain that the night before they were hit by security guards or others in the streets"

Here is the link.

For God's sakes, our urban schools in Cleveland and East Cleveland look like Rwanda's!

When is this region going to wake-up and do something that will have a real impact?
Maybe it's time to take a good close look at the school reform policy du jour that the educational leadership will parade around at election time, and demand something better...Demand something real...Demand to get involved. The lip service we've received is only an insult.
We need to do more than change a label to effect reform.

A Drop-Out Drops In.

"Hey, I saw Ryan this weekend."

"Really? Where?"

"At the store in Lakewood where he works."

"How's he doing?"

"Okay I guess, he dropped out of school."

Damn, I thought, not another one. "Well, if you run into him again, tell him to stop in and see me."

Two weeks later Ryan walked through the door of my classroom and flopped himself down in the big old high-backed chair behind my desk.
"Everything is still the same." he said softly as he looked around the room and smiled.

The last time I'd seen Ryan was a little over a year ago when we stood in the hallway and he told me he was leaving Max Hayes High School.
He was failing all of his classes, yet ironically, he was one of the smartest kids in the school. He hadn't failed to learn, he just didn't come to class. He hadn't been sick, he was bored out of his mind. The school had an attendance policy mandating a failing grade for any student who had ten or more absences during a semester, and Ryan had exceeded his limit.

Several years ago , when Ryan was a ninth grader in my art class, I could see right away that he was different. He was a talented artist as well as a bright kid. He would complete drawing excuses and unit projects with time to spare. So, I would introduce him to new mediums, or have him work on a contest entry, while the rest of the class caught up to him. That summer I was able to secure an internship for him at the David Davis Studio in Cleveland. There he worked with resident sculptor Mike Spencer, completing a monumental work of art, as well as creating a couple small stainless pieces of his own.

The following year he began cutting early morning and late afternoon classes. His excuse? He was bored. He would finish his assignments, and fall asleep while the teacher worked with the rest of the class. He figured he could do all the work for a week in one class period. Why should he sit through five? When I checked with his teachers they all agreed. He did 'A' work but was failing due to attendance.

The next year he was still repeating most of his classes, even though he knew the content, so mid-year, Ryan decided to transfer to his neighborhood high school, John Marshall. There the situation was not much different. Teachers spent the majority of class time working with the students who needed the most help. He disengaged, and once again his attendance became sporadic. He was failing his classes. He would have to pay to make up the classes in night school. Due to budget cuts, tuition-free summer school was only free to seniors. Ryan couldn't afford the tuition, and couldn't bear the thought of sitting through the same classes yet again, so he just quit. He dropped out of school in the spring and got two jobs.

Now, at 17, he is working as a roofer during the day, and at a game store in the evening. I couldn't help but wonder what his chances will be to succeed without a high school diploma. We talked about the GED program, and he promised to look into it. We also talked about re-enrolling in Max Hayes night school program once he earns enough money to pay the tuition.

I couldn't help but feel bad. We failed again. One more young Clevelander without a high school diploma. We had failed to give this young man an education. We couldn't keep his attention. The professional educators, with our degrees in human behavior and psychology, couldn't educate a good, bright, talented kid. He wasn't a behavior problem, he didn't need special education, he didn't attract attention, and he fell through the cracks. We have thousands of these young adults in Cleveland. Each one of them represents almost a quarter of a million dollars of lost income over the next forty years.

My mantra - Education equals Economic Development. While the school district grapples with improving test scores and trying to improve graduation rates, we have a city full of drop-outs. Cleveland had the lowest graduation rate in the country back in 1998, only 28%. It has steadily improved to a pathetic 50%, but those who never received their diplomas still live here. They make up Cleveland's workforce. Why are we shocked to read that Cleveland is one of the poorest cities in the country? Why are we surprised that they don't vote? They are the electorate. What are Cleveland's civic leaders doing to address that problem? Where will we find jobs for the undereducated?

These people used to find employment in the region's factories. Now the industry uses new technologies that require new skills. They can't find workers.
(Read more on that here) We have a solution...!

One proven strategy to keep students in school is through the arts. The arts keep bright, creative, kids engaged. A group of civic-minded folks from Greater Cleveland understood this, and began a non-profit organization called the Human Fund whose first benefit will be dedicated to raising money for the All-City arts program in the Cleveland schools. A silent auction of student work will be held at the gala event on October 22nd at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I will be submitting several landscape paintings by Ryan to the student exhibit. Check out their web site, attend the benefit if you can, bid on a work of art or donate to the cause. You may just be able to help one more kid stay in school.

Baggage

I knew her first as the head of long, mousey brown, hair piled over folded arms. The days that she showed up in class, she sat in the back of the room and buried her face on a bunched up jacket plopped down on the table. As the rest of the class was getting their latest projects out to work on, she would sit, with her head resting upon her arm, eyes closed.

"C'mon darlin', I can't give you a grade if you don't have anything to turn in. You're here, you might as well give it a shot."

Malinda would roll her eyes, and slowly walk to the file cabinet to get her portfolio. She was taking the art requirement her freshman year, and had pretty decent drawing skills, but her absenteeism was taking a toll on her progress. My cajoling was usually met with a reluctant compliance. Any attempts to talk with her were met with one-word answers. She was quiet, an easy student to overlook in a class filled mostly with excitable ninth grade boys.

Malinda had one friend in class, Sara, a slightly built, tom-boyish, chatty, tenth grader. Never lacking in self-confidence or something to talk about, Sarah was popular. Even though she had many friends, I noticed her taking time out with the loners, the "geeks", and the "underdogs". If anyone was ever so ingnorant as to pick on one the the special needs students in Sara's presence, they would find themselves dealing with a 5 foot tall, ninety pound avenger. Justice in a ponytail, Sara's fist could fly as fast as her words.

Early one morning, before the first period bell, Sara appeared at my door.

"Ms. Matthews, I need to tell you something."

"What's wrong?" Dark circles beneath her eyes told me she had been up most of the night.

"You know that girl, Malinda, I sit next to in your class?"

I nodded my head.

"She told me last night that she was being raped by her father and her brother. She said it's been going on since she was eleven. Her mom knows about it, but lets them do it. She said her mother blames her for what they do."

Whoa! Every moment of annoyance I ever felt toward the child I had assumed was lazy, morphed into guilt combined with horror. "We have to report this."

"I'll go down to the office, I'm the one she told. I heard the story."

"Is Malinda here today?"

"I haven't seen her yet."

"Do you think she would go with you to talk to someone? Is she ready? Does she want to get out of there? Did she say?" A million questions raced around my head. A million and one regrets. Never again would I assume anything about a sleepy student.
Knowing everyone carries baggage is one thing; knowing the contents can make you a participant in the burden.

"She needs to get out." Sara was resolute. "I told her I was going to tell the school. She didn't say anything."

With that, Sara turned around and headed down the stairs to the office.

Sara had breached the levy.
Malinda's life, previously a solitary, silent, scream, became a flurry of police detectives, social workers, and prosecutors.

Her family was tried and convicted. Her testimony in court assured prison time for her father. A minor without a home, Malinda became a ward of the county. Over the next couple of years she lived like a teen-aged refugee, bouncing from one foster home to another.

Now that she had found her voice, she began to talk.. and talk.. and talk.
The healing effect of communicating was evident as she began to share her frustrations and fears. I gave her a sketch/journal, perhaps it could be therapeutic.
Sara and Malinda had become fast friends. They made certain to keep me informed during the court proceedings, and kept me updated on the idiosyncrasies of the various foster homes Malinda was placed in. One typical day the girls came in to my room together, this time they both looked sad. Malinda was transferring to a new school in the suburbs. A family in Strongsville was taking her in.

____________________

Last week Sara appeared at my door, all smiles. It was two years since she had graduated, but she was a periodic visitor, so although I was happy to see her, I was not surprised. "Somebody wants to see you. Come out to the hall."
Curiously, I peeked my head around the corner.

"Malinda!"

"I thought you might not remember me."

"Oh honey, how could I forget you? How have you been? What are you doing?"

Malinda had just moved back to the near westside, had her own apartment, and was going to college. She looked so grown-up. A far cry from the sullen child I needed to keep waking up six years ago.

"I have to go to court in a few weeks. My father is going up for a probationary hearing. I'll be testifying against him."

"Good for you darlin'. Good for you."

A Lesson on the Hood

"Let's say you had $1,000, and you needed to double it as quickly as possible. What would you do with the money?"
The question came up in a casual conversartion with a couple of boys who stayed behind to work in the art studio, rather than go to an afternoon dance fundraiser in the gym.

"Hmmm...I would buy an old car and fix it up a little. There's not much difference between an old one thousand dollar car and an old two thousand dollar car." The seventeen year old thought for a moment and added, "I would have to make sure it didn't need expensive parts. The labor is where I would make the money, I work fast."

"If I had a thousand dollars, I would flip it." His classmate jumped on the challenge.

"What do you mean by 'flip it'?" I asked.

"You know, on the street...Buy low sell high."

"What are you buying and selling?"

"Whatever makes money the fastest. You have to sell a lot of weed to make that thousand. Crack is faster."

I raised my eyebrows, and the expression on my face must have asked "Why are you telling this to me?" because he explained, "My brother is in the business, not me...I'm going to graduate."

"In any investment stategy there are going to be risks. What do you see as the risks here?"

The kid from the auto shop answered first. "You might not see all the problems an old car has when you first buy it, and it may cost more money to fix it than you first thought."

The second young man's eyes narrowed, "When you sell rocks, your customers are crackheads. They're crazy...that's a risk. Then there's always the police. Cops and crackheads, they'll both kill you. If you start doing the crack, that will kill you too. There is some nasty dirty stuff out there. Bin Laden will 'F' you up. You have to know names. You get ripped off if you're not street smart."

I had to smile. "Street smart?"

The role revesal brought an immediate authority to his tone. "Street smart means you have survival skills. Someone can be educated in school, but not know how to take care of himself. There are things you can never learn in a classroom, you only learn them in the street. Only if you're out there."

"Like what?"

"Like hoods and territories. How deep the streets are. Names and tags."

My brow, again furrowed, brought forth further explaination.

"Street gangs. You won't survive in the hoods unless you understand how things are organized on the street. Some streets are weak and some are deep. You need to know who is selling and where. If you pay attention and keep your eyes open you will see things. You have to listen, the street has it's own language. There are signs. You can learn." My student-turned-teacher smiled condescendingly.

"Can learning about the street make me a better teacher?"

"Of course, you can't fix something or make it better if you don't know how it works. How can you teach kids if you don't know where they're coming from? It's just common sense."

"So what do your street smarts tell you about making a good investment?"

"Now that I think about it, the car is the better choice. It might take longer, but the risks won't kill you."

There was a long pause, then he asked,
"You have to pay taxes on that car don't you?"

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.

M. Scott Peck

The Teacha Fashionista

"Oh my God! That is heinous!"

I shook my head as Susan grinned and held up a sweatshirt bedecked with sequined turkeys and pilgrims. The racks at Kaufmans held shirts, sweaters, jackets and vests seasonal decorated with appliques ranging from autumn leaves and conucopias, to ghosts and jack-o-lanterns, to candy canes and reindeer. Each one tackier than the next, and every one over-priced.

"Who wears this stuff?" she laughed.

"You will." I smirked. "I'm buying you that one for your birthday."

"Then, you're getting this one for Christmas."
Susan pushed aside several garments to reveal a Santa in swimtrunks and sunglasses stitched to a sweater. "You know, they make these things especially for teachers. You are the target customers...Look! She pulled out a knit vest decorated with apples.

My jaw dropped. She was right. Her statement evoked the images of my colleagues gathered in the teachers lounge in holiday attire. ANY holiday, EVERY holiday. Ties and T-shirts, jumpers and jewelry. Even shoes. Teachers take to theme-dressing like bloggers to snarking...Both are distracting and keep us from being taken seriously.

I recall a former co-worker whose attire rivaled that of the "Mimi" character on the Drew Carey show. Her September wardrobe featured pencil earrings, chalkboard brooches, and "A,B,C" "1,2,3" tights. October was resplendent with witches and scarecrows. In December, I can remember being amazed by a headband with antlers and a necklace of flashing Christmas lights. I would walk away from conversations and not be able to recall what we discussed because, I couldn't keep my eyes off of her outfits.

Every now and again I hear talk from administrators and board members about instituting teacher dress codes, and the occasional comment about having a uniform for faculty members. They should keep in mind the effect that would have on stores that deal in seasonal attire. Without the teachers, they would loose their customer base and I'm certain those places would go out of business.

It's Back! Max S. Hayes Adult Evening Class: Welding for Artists

"I always wanted to learn how to do that."

Two years ago I came up with an idea to offer an evening class to artists (or anyone else) who always wanted to learn how to weld, but didn't want to make a career out of it. I had a number of artist/sculptor friends who were envious of my access to the shops and the technical expertise.
I asked Ron Herman, the welding instructor for the adult job-training program, if it was do-able. He said, sure, he'd like to teach the class, but I would have to get it okayed by the administration.
Several months of badgering got us the 'go-ahead', and that winter the first class of ten artists donned leather coats, gloves, and helmets, and learned to create new objects with metal and fire. The class consisted of men and women from three counties, all art professionals, working in museums, colleges, schools, and public art. They became friends, sharing their phone numbers and portfolios.

Changes in the administration created confusion the next semester, and I threw up my hands in disgust.

"Why do I bother? I set up a great program, and the know-it-alls come in and screw it up. I don't get paid extra to do their jobs or make them look good. I guess since innovation isn't in my contract I'm not gonna do anything extra. Who needs the aggravation? I give up."

This summer I met Jacqueline Comeaux, the new Director of Adult Education at CMSD. She said she had heard about the 'Welding For Artists' class that I'd initiated, and she would like to give it another shot. Her enthusiasm and vision won me over.

So, ladies and gentlemen, once again we'd like to offer you the chance to learn a hot new skill:

Welding for Artists

This is a class for adult artists interested in expanding their repertoire of sculptural skills to include welding technology. Learn the basics of oxyacetylene welding, cutting, MIG, and TIG, with an emphasis on safety.

This class is also ideal for any adult welders interested in learning advanced welding techniques.

Course begins: October 17, 2005 - November 2, 2005
Class schedule: Mondays & Wednesdays 6:00 - 8:00 pm
Tuition: $300 (Includes use of tools and supplies.)

*Returning students receive $100 discount when using own equipment

Max S. Hayes Adult Training Center4600 Detroit Avenue - Cleveland, Ohio 44102
For more Information Call:
(216) 634-2157

Register in Person:September 27th & 28th 3:30 - 7:00 pm
October 4th & 5th 3:30 - 7:00 pm
October 11th & 12th 3:30 - 7:00 pm
October 17th, 18th & 19th 3:30 - 7:00 pm

Tuition payment is due at time of registration.
Payment plans are available

Making a Case for Technical Education

Today I recieved this comment on Monday's post:

catfood said...
I'm a bit torn on this point, MB. I believe that students need skills that will get them jobs. But I'm also a liberal arts snob, and I believe that everyone needs general, primary knowledge of the world--including arts, sciences, and social sciences. So when someone says we need a better workforce coming out of our public schools, part of me goes eeeewwww... why don't we aim for a better/smarter populace and let the jobs take care of themselves?

I'm not sure that's been tried.

I guess he got me going.
I am posting my response.


My dear catfood,

We need both; the liberal arts and career/technical training. We can't neglect one for the other. There is no one-size-fits-all education style. The college prep track just doesn't work for everybody. It is presumptuous to assume everyone should want or need that type of education.
Who is going to build, maintain, and make all your stuff unless we train people to do it?
Oh...that's right...the Chinese.

Friday afternoon I listened to economic futurist and author Watts Wacker speak at Tri-C Corporate College. He cautioned us (Americans) to wake up and pay attention to China. The Chinese have certainly been paying attention to us, and they have learned a lot. China learned how to make stuff.
First they made it cheap, then they made it well, and now they are investing in automation for manufacturing and training workers to use it. They are taking our jobs. They are eating our lunches. (And by the way, today 400 million Chinese speak English.)

The jobs here aren't taking care of themselves.
The manufacturing industry in the United States is desperate for skilled workers. Thousands of high tech manufacturing jobs in Ohio are going unfilled. Non-automated factories are closing their doors because they can't compete globally, and they won't invest in the new technology because they can't find the people to run it. Young people aren't encouraged to go into manufacturing.
Training programs have few students.

The drop-out rate in our district is about 50%, somewhat improved from the 65% of two years ago, and the unthinkable 75% a few years before that. Although school administrators rejoice at the increased numbers of graduates, very little attention is paid to what happened to those who never finished high school.
50,000 families in Cleveland are headed by dropouts. We cannot attract companies to this city because such a large percentage of our workforce is uneducated and unskilled.

Cleveland's economy was built on manufacturing. It was the industrialists who built the universities as well as the arts and cultural institutions in this city.

We still have the infrastructure.
We can easily revitalize the manufacturing industry here by providing skilled workers trained in automation and robotics. With a skilled manufacturing workforce, existing companies will be able to invest in technology, increase production, and compete with offshore manufacturers.
A skilled workforce will also enable the city to lure big manufacturers here without tax abatements.

Today's manufacturing jobs are high paying. Higher paying jobs will allow Clevelanders to support the arts, send their children to college, play (not work) in casinos, and not have to shop at Wal-Mart.
(And maybe take a course in Chinese.)

Making Change: Election '05

The invitation was last minute.

"MaryBeth, we would like to invite you to attend a discussion this evening with the mayoral candidates at the Key Club, and could you bring several students?"

Sure. I hustled around to recruit a few interested upperclassmen. Lots of the kids said they would like to go, but most of them had jobs after school. 5:00-8:00 PM are the prime working hours for high school students. I got four "maybe's".
I sat close to the door in the club meeting room to keep watch. None of my kids showed up. Too bad.
A few of the students had expressed an interest in politics. It would have been a good experience for them.

Listening to the candidates answer questions about personal thoughts and feelings, as opposed to promoting or defending their stand on the issues, presented a very different view of the personalities running for mayor. I found myself sizing them up in the same way that I look at a class full of new students.

Seated in front of me were seven leaders, seven different dispositions, seven different attitudes, seven different competencies, and seven different personal styles. While some came across as friendly and engaging, others appeared aloof, one was even angry and combative. It was easy to see who was self-absorbed, who had creative vision, who truly listened to what others were saying, who had tunnel vision, who was laid back, who was obsessive, and who needed their medication adjusted. It was interesting to see how they related with one another. Who smiled or exchanged words, and who ignored whom.

Missing from the group last night was Frank Jackson, a man I would have liked to have seen interact with this group and respond to these personal types of questions. Of all the candidates, he always came across as the most guarded in public. Seeing how he stands a decent chance of becoming my next boss, it would have been nice to be able to scrutinize him along with the others.

Educated Workforce = Economic Development

I stood in the campaign headquarters of Cleveland mayoral candidate David Lynch this past Friday, before a press conference he was holding to discuss his platform on education. I don't live in Cleveland, I can't vote for Cleveland issues, but I work here, I teach kids here, and am very much affected by the politics of the city. Cleveland's next mayor will be my boss.
I respect David for making education a primary topic in his candidacy.

For too long the city schools have been like the crazy relative the family doesn't like to talk about.
The problems seem so huge...insurmountable...embarrassing...our politicians would much rather talk about the exciting, do-able, project oriented topics. Lakefront development, convention centers, casinos, new shopping centers, arts and cultural attractions.
Creating new spaces and places is much more exciting than figuring out why 50 percent of Cleveland's students drop out of school, and how we can employ this huge demographic without high school diplomas.

Instead of fiddling with the numbers to change the city's status as the poverty leader, then rejoicing that another city has taken the lead, someone needs to take the bull by the horns and figure out how to create a workforce in this city that is educated enough to attract companies.
Tax exemptions didn't lure Toyota to Toronto, skilled workers did. Do companies want to locate in a city where 50,000 families are headed by someone who dropped out of high school?

Education reform and building a skilled workforce need to be this city's top priorities. The candidates need to concentrate on the following issues:
1. Lead abatement. The city of Cleveland has one of the highest concentrations of children with lead poisoning in any urban area. Lead poisoning leads to mental retardation. About 38% of the CMSD student population are identified as special needs. Anyone see a correlation here?
2. Improved discipline and learning in the classroom. New school funding strategies are essential to accomplish these goals.
3. Job training and adult education programs that will address the needs of the current population of city residents who are lacking the skills needed to pull themselves out of poverty.

Without education there can be no economic development. An uneducated population cannot sustain itself. When city leaders finally realize this and make educating Cleveland a primary focus, only then will we see jobs return to the city.

Payback

"Oooo...Somebody was HATIN'!"

The students were crowded around the window, looking across the street.
Parked in the driveway, just outside the garage of one of the expensive townhouses on Tillman Avenue overlooking the lake, was a black Hummer. With Krylon yellow spray paint on the passenger side, a message was scrawled in big angry letters, "FUCK YR MONEY".
The painter attacked the back of the vehicle, and the driver's side as well, with spattered lines and swirls of yellow.

"Who do you think did that? Someone from school?"

"Naw. That's a relationship pay-back."

"He made somebody pretty mad."

"It's kinda funny, actually."

"Somehow, I just can't feel sorry for the guy."


...Somehow, I can't either.

Don't be Boring

"Geeze, that kid is as smart as he looks." I muttered.

The heat and humidity were starting to get to me, eroding my patience for the goofy antics of teenaged boys.

My intern, from Cleveland State, looked across the room to where the lanky kid with the towel draped on top of his head plopped himself down on the table's edge, making faces at his classmate, who had nearly busted him upside his dome during the new teacher's lecture on shading geometric forms.

"Sit in the chair please!"
My voice reflected the testy attitude that accompanied the emerging half-headache.

"So what started the problem?" he asked.

"Nothing...Stupidity...Nothing."

The bewildered look on his face begged a better explaination.

"Our friend was trying to be funny. He gave a two-finger smack to the back of Vonne's head. No reason. Just out of the blue. He was bored. It nearly became a fight over nothing."

"So, how did you deal with it?"

I had solved the problem in the hallway, out of sight and earshot of my intern and the rest of the class. He was eager to hear a first-hand accounting of my classroom management skills in action.

"I had them look me in the eye, stand up straight, explain the problem, then go back in and sit down on different sides of the room. No big deal."

I sometimes forget how tricky and psychological all this stuff looks to the novice. New teachers tend to overreact to some things, and not respond quickly enough to others. Behavior management in the classroom is now so second nature to me, I really have to think hard about what it is I do exactly to make things run smoothly. Knowing what bores kids and figuring out how to keep wandering minds on track, I discovered, is much more important than knowing how to break up a skirmish. These are the things best learned through experience, however.

More difficult for me is this student teacher mentoring. Critiquing without discouraging is really tricky. I'm not very good at taking critisism, so I am very cautious when I have to point out other people's shortcomings.
Perhaps I should talk about the absolute necessity of using humor in a lecture...It's better than saying "Don't be boring."

Where've You Been?

"Hey! How are you?" The seventeen year old's face peeked around the corner of the doorway with a grin that began on his lips, and shone through his eyes.

"Great. Where've you been? I thought you might have left. I haven't seen you around."

Tossing a sketchbook on my desk, and ignoring my question he said, "Look at these."

Ten pages of sketches...Street characters, names, designs, tags...All done in that hybrid urban style of hip-hop/Latino artwork, part graffiti, born on the street, carefully studied, practiced and refined.

"These are wonderful. You were busy drawing this summer I see."

"Yeah, I couldn't do much else. I spent a lot of time in the hospital."

"Hospital?"

"The doctors think I might have stomach cancer. They say I have strange bile. They keep shoving these cameras in me. I have to get one shoved down my throat today after school. I haven't eaten all day..I'm starving."

"Damn."

Some days this job is really hard.

City Kids at the City Club

This past Tuesday I was invited to bring three students from Max Hayes to a luncheon at the Cleveland City Club sponsored by the Cleveland Excellence Round Table. The featured guest speaker was Rebecca Ryan from Next Generation Consulting, who has just recently concluded a project in Akron focused on attracting and retaining young creative talent. The room was filled with leaders from Cleveland's civic and business comunities. We were the only high school invited.

Senior students, Tabatha Knight, Joella Blount, and Quadre Nichols are all bright young minds with leadership abilities. I felt this luncheon would be a valuable opportunity for them to experience a social setting outside their normal sphere. Mingling with civic leaders would help them see the possibilities they have to make a difference in their world. These are the kind of experiences that can influence the choices they make as they plan their futures. The gap between those with political influence, and the average citizen is not as impossible to bridge as it might first appear.

I've had a problem over the past several years with the media's discussion of brain drain, and brain gain.
Cleveland is busily trying to attract new bright young people, the new
creative class, to our freshly gentrified neighborhoods, while we neglect
our own children. I believe we need to grow our future, not lure it here.

Tabatha, an outspoken sixteen year old, with a mind as sharp as her tongue, listened to the discussion during lunch which focused on economic development strategies that would bring business and educated young people to the city. I could see her becoming uneasy. She leaned over the table and whispered to me.

"I'm going to make a comment."

"Good for you. Go ahead."

She raised her hand, and stared at the people around the room.

"Everyone here is talking about businesses and colleges in Cleveland, and how they are going to save the city, but not one person has mentioned the schools...the middle schools, elementary schools, and high schools, in Cleveland. Nobody is talking about them. They are terrible. They are run down, we have no books, we are losing our teachers. We need education. How can you plan to change the city and forget the schools?"

A few of the civic leaders in attendance responded by blaming the state system of school funding for the problems of the city schools.

"None of them has the answer." she whispered to me again.

Maybe the solutions will one day come from the people who have experienced the problems.
Nobody else really seems to understand.

"What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

First Day of School "05-06"

"Did you miss me?"

"Miss you? Summer went by so fast, I hardly had time to miss you. But geeze... Come here... Stand next to me... Did you grow six inches in three months? I almost didn't recognize you walking down the hallway."

Devone's wide grin grew even wider. "I was wearing shorts the whole summer. I grew out of all my jeans. I needed to get new pants last week to come to school."

I unlocked the door to my classroom, and we walked into the room I'd been preparing since last Thursday. The furniture was dusted, new bulletin board displays were up, and books were placed back on the bookshelves.
Some things were still the same though. The windows still had the same bullet holes, broken Plexiglas was patched with the same duct tape, the same tiles were still missing from the floor and the ceiling, the speakers for the PA system were still broken, and the message "Stan sucks d--k" was still legible, scrawled in permanent marker repeatedly on several of the old oak tables and chairs.

The rest of the class slowly wandered into the room.

"You rearrainged the tables."

"Yeah. How do you like it?"

"It's okay...I don't like it when things change."

"It's easier for me to see what everybody is doing this way. You'll get used to it."

Of the twenty-nine students on my roster, only sixteen were in class. No surprise. For some reason I've never understood, a large percentage of Cleveland kids will not come to school before Labor Day, no matter when school officially starts.

Rather than review the syllabus, like teachers in suburban districts would on the first day of classes, I talked about the new programs we would be participating in this year; the extra curricular glass blowing classes, this year's new artist residencies, the new sculpture at the Soapbox Derby Park, and the Max Hayes/CIA video documentary project. Class rules, expectations, and the supply list will be covered when I have a majority of the class in attendance.

I hardly started talking when heads began flopping down on the table. Teenagers used to staying up until the wee hours of the morning and sleeping until mid-afternoon all summer, were having difficulty keeping their eyes open for an 8:00 AM class. When the bell rang to signal the end of the class period, fifteen students got up to leave. One freshly-shorn head remained, eyes closed, face squished against Formica. I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Bell rang. Time to go."

His eyes popped open. The boy stood up, and looked around in temporary confusion.

"Do you know where your second period class is?"

He pulled the crumpled schedule from his pocket, stared for a moment and hurried out the door. I set my hand down on the table where he had been sitting. An audible little shriek escaped from my mouth.

"Oh shit!"

I ran to the sink, pumped a palmful of antibacterial soap, and began to scrub. I grabbed a spray bottle of disinfectant and a paper towel and walked across the room to clean up a six inch puddle of drool from the table top while the next group of students walked through the door.

"Did you miss me?"

"Miss you? Summer went by so fast, I hardly had time to miss you."

Children First

Didja ever wonder, while walking through a school building on a hot muggy day, why the only air conditioned rooms in the building are the ones where adults spend the day...usually only one or two of them at a given time, and the rooms where thirty -forty children are crammed into tiny uncomfortable desks get no air conditioning, and often the windows don't open either. Why is it too expensive to air condition classrooms, but not administrative offices, or libraries, or community centers,or or city hall, or state and federal government buildings? What happened to "Children First"? Oh I remember, kids don't vote.

Tipping Point

You have to be tough to walk the halls of a public school in the city of Cleveland.

Overwhelming for the sheltered, sensitive, suburban adult; the masses of teenagers who pour out of classrooms at the sound of a bell, can offend every sense.
From the acrid stench of hormonal armpits and post-lunch methane emissions, to physical bumping and jostling from the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd moving to the next class, the easily offended are immediately repulsed. The F-bomb, often accompanied by a "mother" is used as adjective, verb, noun, and pronoun; in friendly greetings and menacing threats.

Those of us who choose to work with adolescents, develop a coat of emotional armor out of necessity. Our thick skin helps us to survive the highly charged atmosphere. The veteran of the urban classroom often appears unflappable. But every once in a while a chink appears in the protective coat, and something gets to you.

A number of years ago, I was teaching at a 6-12th grade magnet school. One afternoon, during class change, the halls were typically flooded with students. A social studies teacher stood by her classroom door laughing with a colleague, when she was rudely shoved by a skinny 11 year old sixth grader.

"Get the f-ck out of my way, you f-cking, fat, white, b-tch."

Her jovial face filled with rage, and spinning around, she pinned the nasty child up against the ceramic block wall and hissed.

"Don't you ever...ever...ever...call me FAT!"

She backed away, and the terrified boy hurried off to his next class, having learned a very important lesson.

There are some things you never say to a woman.

Where Do We Go From Here?

"There must be changes in the direction of the school system, and we need input. We need suggestions."
Cleveland School Board member, Louise Dempsey spoke earnestly yesterday, as we stood talking an a small group after a luncheon downtown.

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas."

"I knew you would!" She smiled.

"First," I said, "communication needs to be made a priority. The district administration is inaccessible. It is daunting for school employees to get their questions answered, let alone someone from the general public."

The smile became a laugh. "Your right. You can't even get people there to pick up their phones."

"And when your call goes to the voicemail system, the mailboxes are always full." I added. "E-mails don't get answered either in a lot of cases. Is it any wonder Clevelanders have so little confidence in this administration? They are inaccessible. The public feels alienated."

Earlier, at lunch, Scott Rourke from One Cleveland spoke about the need for connectivity amongst various institutions, businesses, and organizations in Cleveland. Technology can facilitate the exchange of information, but real solutions and innovation can only come about when people are engaged in face to face conversation.

It is encouraging to see the young business leaders of Cleveland espousing this new philosophy of social networking, rejecting the "silo" mentality the city has been locked into for decades. Educators should take a cue from the business community. We need to change if we are going to survive, and the first step must be open communication...The walls need to come down.

The community feels disconnected from the school district. They see schools as places to send their children, not places where they feel welcomed. The hierarchy is intimidating, and the public doesn't trust what they can't get close to.
The administration tells the media things are changing for the better, but to the regular citizens in the neighborhoods, everything looks the same...Or worse.

Cleveland needs to find new ways to engage the community in the process of educating children. A good place to begin the process would be to start answering the phone.

Byrd-Bennett Resigns

Barbara Byrd-Bennett, the superintendent of the Cleveland Municipal School District, announced her plan to resign the position today. She will be staying on only until a replacement is hired.

I always liked her, felt that she truly had the best interests of the students and teachers at heart, and am sorry to see her leave. I do feel she had few other options following the election Tuesday. Clevelander's vote of no confidence demanded a change in leadership, and she is graciously giving up the helm.

This places an even greater emphasis on education in the upcoming mayoral election. The candidates must include strategies for finding a new superintendent and administrative team, as well as the educational reform models that will be implemented.

To the Citizens of Cleveland,

I understand.

You voted your wallets. $200/year makes a huge dent in the budget when you are struggling to pay the utilities, when the prices for everything from gasoline to cereal are on the rise. There is no economic savior on Cleveland's horizon either. Companies are moving out. Big employers are closing their doors.
As the old saying goes, "You can't squeeze blood from a turnip."

I understand.

Some voters were angry. They felt purposely neglected, so they responded...with a vengeance.

So I ask: Now what?
What do you want the schools to do?

You have a voice. You used it yesterday. You said "no".
Now keep talking. Tell us why.
Vent, rant, fume,...Then take a breath and begin the conversation.
"Now what?"
What are Clevelanders going to do about educating the children of this city? If you aren't willing to be a part of the solution, there will be no solution.