In my 40 years as an education reporter, I have been helped by more people than I can name here, but I owe my career to one man, Samuel Halperin. Sam knows this, because I’ve told him on more than one occasion, but now I’d like to express my admiration for this remarkable man, not so much for helping me but for all that he has contributed to building a fairer and more just society.

As his friends know, Sam is very ill. He’s resting comfortably at home with his family, looking back on a life well lived. He and Marlene raised two terrific children, Deena and Elan, and are the proud grandparents of five grandchildren. In this space last week I wrote about ‘Seizing the Day,’ and I can think of no one who exemplifies what I wrote about more than Sam.

Some of you know Sam{{1}} as the lead author of “The Forgotten Half,” a ground-breaking examination of widely accepted educational policies that were trying to put all young people into the college-bound track–and doing lots of damage to about half of our kids.

Others may know Sam from his days as President of the Institute for Educational Leadership or founder of the American Youth Policy Forum.

Older hands know that Sam was Deputy Assistant Secretary at the old HEW, the Department of Health, Education and Welfare and Assistant U.S. Commissioner for Legislation at the old U.S. Office of Education.{{2}}

The thread that runs through his resumé is service to others and fairness to all. Sam is both a ‘small d’ democrat and a ‘Capital D’ Democrat. For me, the best proof is in a program he created and ran at IEL called “Education Staff Seminars’ or ESS. Recognizing that, in a hectic Congress, staffers were most often the key to passing effective legislation, Sam dreamed up a way to educate them about education. He did this by taking them out of Washington, their comfort zone, and immersing them in some new and foreign world. So, for example, Sam might take 20-30 House and Senate staffers, an equal mix of Republicans and Democrats, to a Native American reservation for three days. When they got on the plane, all they had in common was that they worked for a member of Congress who served on an Education Committee or Subcommittee. After three days of nearly 24-7 immersion, including meals and bus rides, however, these men and women understood much more about education and about each other. And while Sam most likely held strong views about various programs he would take ESS to visit, that was never his agenda. He wanted full and free discussion, and let the best ideas win.{{3}}

What Sam did for me is a variation on a theme, because he has mentored hundreds, probably thousands, of young men and women over his long career. I met Sam in the early 70’s when I was writing my doctoral dissertation; my subject was the legislation that created the Teacher Corps and a few other federal programs, and I interviewed Sam at least twice. While other interviewees clearly spun the story to favor their world view, I remember Sam’s telling me that I had to speak with this man or that woman to get the full story.

By 1974 I was job-hunting, and IEL hired me for a job that I think Sam may have created for me. The position, something like ‘Communications Coordinator,’ came with the vaguest of job descriptions. I clearly recall Sam’s urging me to figure out what I felt I HAD to do. “When you know, tell me,” he said, “and I will do my best to help you be successful.”

IEL was basically a ‘think tank,’ an environment that I am neither temperamentally nor intellectually suited for, and before long I told Sam that I was feeling restless.

“So do something,” he said. “Start a forum, like the Ford Hall Forum in Boston,” he advised. He meant rent an auditorium, recruit a famous speaker, publicize the event and fill the hall. He gave me a budget, $10,000.

While that sounded like an OK idea, I had heard about a new organization, National Public Radio, so new that the people who worked there found themselves explaining, ‘Well, it’s like public television, but there aren’t any pictures.”

When I knocked on the door at NPR and said that I had $10,000 to spend, I was ushered right in and invited to make a program. At that time about all NPR had in the way of programs was ‘All Things Considered” in the evening, a weekly folk music program called “Voices in the Wind” and a catch-all series called “Options,” where it stuck everything else.

With NPR’s blessing, I invited a couple of experts to come to the studio to talk about education. For some bizarre reason, I chose ‘school finance’ as my subject. The two guests droned on and on, but NPR was thrilled. As I remember, the producer turned it into TWO 1-hour programs, “School Finance: Where the Money Comes From” and “Whence it Goes.” (If I owned the rights to those programs now, I would market them as a safe alternative to Ambien.)

After we made a few more programs for the “Options” series, NPR wanted to turn it into a semi-separate series, “Options in Education,” but to do that, I would need money, more than $10,000 for sure.

I went to Sam and told him that I had finally found what I HAD to do. I said I thought a weekly radio series about education could have a positive impact. As he had promised he would, he went to bat for me. He told IEL’s major supporter, the Ford Foundation, that he wanted to green light his newest staffer’s idea, a weekly program about education on National Public Radio. He couldn’t promise thousands and thousands of listeners because NPR had no audience figures, but he persuaded Harold “Doc” Howe and Ed Meade that it was a worthwhile venture.

I don’t remember the budget number, but I vividly remember Sam’s advice–more of a demand. He made me promise to come to him when I screwed up. “You will mess up,” he said, “because everybody messes up. Whatever you do, don’t cover it up. Come to me, and I will help you dig out of the hole.” (Remember, this was the year after Watergate.)

That’s the best professional advice I’ve ever gotten, from the best boss I have ever had. When I screwed up, he helped me clean up the mess, just as he had promised he would.

I ended up staying at NPR for 8 years and more than 400 programs, and “Options in Education” became one of NPR’s most-listened to programs. I learned pretty quickly to get out of the studio and then out of Washington, DC, and into schools, colleges, pre-schools, juvenile detention facilities and anywhere else where young people were learning.

In 1982 I got the itch to try television, and Sam supported my decision to give up “Options in Education” and devote my time to fundraising for a PBS series that we called “Your Children, Our Children.” In 1985 I joined what was then known as The MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour, where I have been working ever since.

When I established my own non-profit company, Learning Matters, in 1995, Sam was the first person I asked to serve on the Board of Directors. That made him my boss again, and more than once he and other Directors reined in some of my more questionable enthusiasms and kept me from taking the young organization off the track, or off the rails completely.

Sam mentored me–and so many others like me–because he believes in people. However, he was never a soft touch. He always set high standards for himself and everyone around him, and, when he caught you not doing your best, he told you so, directly and forcefully. Even his anger, however, was founded in love and generosity. He believed then and believes now that the only moral course of action for every human being is to use whatever gifts he or she may have been given in the service of others.

Thank you, Sam. I love you.

If you would like to let Sam know your feelings, write to him at his daughter’s email address, deenabarlev@gmail.com, or post your thoughts here. Thank you.

—-
[[1]]1. He’s actually Dr. Halperin. Sam earned his bachelor’s degree, his master’s degree, and his doctorate in political science from Washington University in St. Louis.[[1]]
[[2]]2. Sam’s contributions have not gone unnoticed. He received HEW’s Superior Service Award, HEW’s Distinguished Service Award (twice) the National Association of State Boards of Education Distinguished Service Award (also twice), the Distinguished Service Award of the National Association of Service and Conservation Corps, the Distinguished Lifetime Achievement Award from Jobs for the Future, the President’s Medal of the George Washington University, the Harry S. Truman Award of the American Association of Community Colleges, and the Lewis Hine Award for Service to Children and Youth from the National Child Labor Committee.[[2]]
[[3]]3.Today’s polarized Washington needs programs like ESS more than ever. Unfortunately, they don’t exist.[[3]]

Two related stories:

The first: On a beach in Costa Rica a week or so ago, I struck up a conversation with another vacationer, a guy in his early 40’s who was walking with his daughters, who looked to be about the same age as my granddaughters. Just beach talk, until–after his daughters went into the water–he asked me what I did for a living. When I told him I reported about education, he had a curious response: Is that what you’ve always wanted to do, he wanted to know?   Yes, I answered, and because I was once a teacher, education was a natural choice of a beat to cover. You’re lucky, he said, and then proceeded to tell me about his work as some sort of mortgage banker. His firm invested in homes where the mortgages were ‘underwater’ and tried to restructure with the current owners. When that did not work (which was most of the time), his company paid the owners $20,000 or so to walk away from the debt and their home. He said it was a $6 billion business, and that his company owned ‘more homes than you can imagine.’

He went on. This isn’t what I want to be doing, he said. If I could, I would be remodeling old homes and reselling them, one at a time, with a good buddy of mine.  That’s been my dream job forever, he said, but I have to make money. He gestured toward his daughters.  School, later college, all that stuff, he sighed.

I’m 40, he said, so it’s probably too late for me to change. Because it wasn’t my place to contradict him or encourage him to follow his passion, I said nothing.  Basically, I chalked it up to one of those conversations between strangers, where they feel free to say stuff they don’t or can’t talk about with friends and family.

The second story is about Vivian Connell, who taught high school English, ESL, and Japanese, for two decades. She is about the same age as the man on the beach, and, like him, she was dissatisfied at work. And so a few years ago she followed her intuition/heart/gut and made a huge change.  By all reports an effective teacher, she came to believe that her chosen profession was being denigrated by powerful forces bent on destroying public schools.  And so, determined to put her energy into fighting the negativity, she went to UNC Law, where she graduated with honors and was admitted to the bar.  She declined a clerkship opportunity in order to spend 2013-14 advocating for public education.

I met Vivian this February in Raleigh, North Carolina, where she was one of six teachers on a panel I moderated.  I met with my panel before our session and explained how we would proceed: no opening remarks, all Q&A, and no off-topic speeches.  Vivian immediately piped up. I tend to get carried away, she said, because I feel passionately about what North Carolina and the Obama Administration are doing to public education. If that happens, I said, I will interrupt.  Will you do it nicely, she asked with a smile?

Well, as she warned me, she did get carried away a couple of times. As promised, I cut her off (nicely, I think). But when you listen to what she does say, you will understand her strength of character, passion and commitment.  If I didn’t say it then, I certainly thought to myself how lucky public education was that Vivian took the leap. Yes, a school lost a terrific teacher, and that’s sad, but the public interest is better served by Vivian’s being an education lawyer.

That wonderful and profoundly moving panel was in February. A month later, Vivian went to her doctor to find out why one leg was giving her trouble.  She wrote about it on her blog:

On March 12th, 2014, I learned that I have ALS, better known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, and that over the next 2-10 years – most likely 3-5 years – my motor neurons will gradually stop working and I will lose the use of my limbs, then become unable to breathe and swallow, and then cease to be.

I learned this horrible news the afternoon of my morning conversation on the beach. Vivian writes about this tragedy with dispassionate honesty on her blog, and I insist–if a writer can do that–that you go to her blog now.   Please come back later and finish reading this piece.

I wish I could talk again to that man on the beach. If I could, I would tell him about Vivian, and I would ask him to watch Steve Jobs’ graduation speech at Stanford in 2005, perhaps the most significant graduation speech ever delivered.  He had received a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer 11 years earlier, in 1994, an event that changed his life in every way possible, and he spoke movingly about death and life.

Here are parts of Mr. Jobs’ remarkable speech {{1}}: “You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.”

And: “Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

Finally: “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

Vivian Connell doesn’t ask for pity or sympathy, just that we do the right thing. It’s unlikely that I will see that man on the beach again, but I hope that he decides to follow his heart and intuition, as Steve Jobs did, and as Vivian did….and as I hope you are doing, and are encouraging your children and your students to do.

—

[[1]]1. The full text: http://www.businessinsider.com/the-full-text-of-steve-jobs-stanford-commencement-speech-2011-10#ixzz2yQ23XhOC[[1]]

The Times has learned that Whom has passed away after a long, lingering illness. Few details have emerged, although speculation is that the cause of death was indifference. Whom, of Latin origin, leaves no immediate survivors. A sole sibling, Whomever, passed away many years earlier. One distant cousin, Who, survives, but the bitter rivals rarely appeared together.

When robust, Whom was known for maintaining a high profile. He (or she–gender indeterminate) regularly insisted on jumping to the head of the line, as in “Whom may I say is calling?” and “To Whom it may concern.” Whom was particularly proud of surviving a frontal assault by Johnny Carson’s quiz show “Who Do You Trust?” that aired on ABC from 1957-1963. “I beat that upstart,” Whom would boast, although some observers suspect that the lingering effects of the 6-year struggle sealed Whom’s fate.

In recent years Whom regularly lost to Who in competition for jobs and prestige. The final blow, Whom’s supporters say, was when Twitter chose Who over Whom to fill the prestigious slot, “Who to Follow.”

Whom reportedly drowned his (or her) disappointment at a bar near Twitter headquarters in San Francisco. “I was born for that job. It was made for me,” Whom told the bartender before passing out.

Whom’s passing has drawn scant attention. Only one word, As, issued a public statement. “I understand Whom’s feelings of rejection. I was the subordinating conjunction of choice until that damn Winston campaign came along. ‘…..like a cigarette should.’ Awful English, but it blew me away, and, frankly, I have been depressed ever since.”

No national observance is planned; however, small groups have been springing up at some private colleges and in a few churches, most of them Episcopalian. These ad hoc organizations, determined to bring Whom back, are uniting under the name, “In Whom We Trust.” Contributions may be made on the group’s website, InWhomWeTrust.org.

Why are so many teachers leaving our classrooms? We know that somewhere between 40% and 50% will not make it into their 6th year, and nowadays the annual turnover rate is about 15%. Of course, the high departure rate is explained in part by the aging of the baby boomers, but we are also losing a lot of experienced teachers who, if all were going well, would be helping our children learn for many more years.

The situation seems to be worse in North Carolina, where some counties in that state are experiencing a 35% turnover rate. What’s happening in North Carolina {{1}} is worthy of your attention, because it could be the canary in the mine.

Last week I wrote about the best teachers I’ve known in nearly 40 years of reporting {{2}}. This week, your opportunity to hear directly from teachers who won’t be teaching next year, and why. I had the chance to speak with 6 North Carolina teachers recently, and I invite you to hear their stories.

A word about the video: The first 2:15 is some sort of PSA. I do the talking for the next 4 minutes or so, setting the stage for an audience of 1300. I asked everyone in the audience who either had been or was now a teacher to stand, and about 1000 people rose. Then I asked those who were no longer in classrooms to sit down. That left about 300-350 men and women still on their feet. You have to take my word for this because the camera is focused on a small part of the crowd (no wide shot, unfortunately). Then I said something like “If you would leave teaching if you could, if you got a better job or if your spouse suddenly got a big raise, or if you could find some other viable exit strategy from the classroom, please sit down.” Here the camera’s tight focus is kind of interesting, because you can see, even feel, people weighing what I said, shifting from one leg to the other while deciding whether to sit or stand. Eventually, about 100 more people sat down, leaving 200+ men and women still on their feet. We gave them a huge round of applause, and then the 6 men and women on the stage told their stories. Skip to 6:30 or so for their stories, which bring the dry data to life. I think you will feel what your rational self knows: this is not good for our children or our country.

Money is one issue in North Carolina. Teacher pay dropped 16% between 2002 and 2012 in inflation-adjusted dollars to $45,947, well below the national average of $55,418. Once near the national midpoint, North Carolina is now either 46th or 48th.

But that’s not the key factor. Respect is an issue, as is the human need to feel that one’s work has significance. Panelist Vivian Connell, who left her job in the Chapel Hill-Carrboro system out of frustration with constant testing and other mandates, explained, “I was tired of not having a voice. No one listens to teachers.”

Many have written about this, including Daniel Pink (who also spoke at the meeting in Raleigh). Richard Ingersoll of Penn, who is the nation’s leading authority on teacher retention/departure, is himself a former public school teacher. He told The Atlantic why he left. “One of the big reasons I quit was sort of intangible,” Ingersoll says. “But it’s very real: It’s just a lack of respect,” he says. “Teachers in schools do not call the shots. They have very little say. They’re told what to do; it’s a very disempowered line of work.”

All 6 of my panelists spoke movingly about the system’s ‘obsession’ with test scores and what all the testing and test-prep is doing to the profession. Sharon Boxley moved from North Carolina to Maryland (where she is making close to $15,000 more) and is still teaching. Her comment about test-prep produced an audible gasp. “I am still in the classroom,” she said, “and I miss teaching.”

It ought to be obvious that the profession cannot afford to lose its lifeblood. As I have said before, we need to make it harder to become a teacher but easier to be one. We seem to be doing the exact opposite.

—-
[[1]]1. Former New York Times Education Editor Edward Fiske and Duke Professor Helen Ladd have written this analysis of the North Carolina situation. (.pdf)[[1]]

[[2]]2. Three of whom, as it happened, were from North Carolina![[2]]

In 40 years of reporting about education for PBS and NPR, I figure that I have watched somewhere between 5,000 and 10,000 teachers at work. I have seen{{1}} an awful lot of really good teaching.

Every once in a while someone asks me, “Who’s the very best teacher you’ve ever met?”  In fact, a retired AT&T executive-turned-teacher asked me that just a few nights ago over dinner, which prompts this Valentine to great teachers everywhere.

I shouldn’t even try to create a list because I know I will leave out dozens {{2}}.  But, throwing caution to the winds, here goes.  On my list, and in no particular order are:

The late Ted Sizer. He taught adults and children, and his influence is still being felt  and ;

Two wonderful teachers, Nancy Welsh and Gary Wieland, at a Department of Defense elementary school on Fort Bragg, North Carolina;

Janis Huira, a teacher in Los Angeles who created SOS, “Society of Students”;

Doug Wood, an inspiring teacher in South Carolina who was light years ahead of everyone when it came to embracing technology; alas, he is no longer in the classroom;

Maria Eby, a first grade teacher in Raleigh, NC. You can watch her at work;

A good friend from graduate school, Larry Aaronson, who devoted his life to teaching young people, most of them working class, how to survive and excel, at a public alternative school in Cambridge.  Among his students were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck;

Kady Amundson, a Teach for America corps member from New Orleans now in her fifth year on the job. You can watch her at work in “Rebirth,” on Netflix;

Bob Gibson, a teacher at Community College of Denver;

John Holt, the writer and teacher (and rebel);

Esther Wojcicki, a high school journalism teacher in Palo Alto whose students work their tails off for her because she trusts them to aspire to the highest standards of journalism; {{3}}

Anthony Cody, a teacher in Oakland who now works with classroom teachers and blogs frequently about the excesses of the ‘Education Deform’ movement.

Johnny Brinson, a veteran teacher in Washington, DC.  All first graders learned to read with comprehension;

The fiery Diana Porter of Woodward High School in Cincinnati;

Fred D’Ignazio, who spent years teaching teachers who were afraid of technology how to embrace it (and to let go of their need to control everything);

A wonderful preschool teacher in France, a long drink of water who brought learning to life for the 3- and 4-year-olds in his program in a poor section of Paris;  and;

A teacher and a librarian in South Orange, NJ, whose names I am withholding because you will meet them on our air in the near future.

I could go on.

Oddly enough, however, my all-time favorite teacher is a man whose surname I no longer know, and whose school location I am not even sure of. In my view, George embodies the best in the business, not necessarily because of how he taught, but more because of what he stood for and how he stood his ground when the going got tough.  Here’s the story, as I remember it.

I met George at a public high school in Maine or New Hampshire in the late 70’s, when I was still at NPR. At the principal’s recommendation, I sat in on George’s ethics class, which I remember being lively and interesting.  Afterwards we had a cup of coffee at my request, because I wanted to hear his story. The Ethics class, he told me, was an elective, one of a bunch of courses that seniors could choose from for their final semester of high school. He had taught it for the first time one year ago.

George did not know that the principal had already told me the basics of the story. So I just said to George, ‘Tell me about the class.’   I set the bar high because it’s an ethics class, he said. I tell the students that I accept only A or B work. Anything else, they get a grade of ‘Incomplete.’  I make it crystal clear to them that they cannot flunk the class– or even pass with a D or a C.

He told me that he did this because he wanted them to approach their lives and careers that way.

How do the kids react, I asked?  They blow it off, of course, he told me, but I make them sign a letter of agreement up front. If they won’t sign, they can’t take the course.  And, he added, he cleared this approach with the principal, who agreed to support him.

Midway through the semester not even half of the kids were doing A or B work, and so he reminded them of the contract they’d signed.  He told me he could see their eyes roll.

And with a few weeks left, many were still well under the A/B bar.  And that’s when it got really interesting, he said. The guidance counselor spotted all those ‘Incomplete’ grades on the interim reports and called those students to his office. He told them their diplomas were in jeopardy because no one with an Incomplete on his/her report card was allowed to graduate.

Panic ensued, he told me.  The students came clamoring to his classroom. “Please just flunk me,” some kids begged.  They told him that they had enough credits to graduate, so an F wouldn’t hurt.  Remember the contract, he responded.  No grade of F, D or C allowed.  Go back and do the work, he advised.

Now, remember that George had obtained the principal’s approval in advance, probably because he anticipated some problems.  But he couldn’t have imagined what happened next. One student with an Incomplete went home and complained to his father, who just happened to be the Chair of the School Board. That gentleman made an appointment to see George.

He came in, George recalled, a mix of bluster and unctuousness.  I’m so proud of my son, George remembers him saying. My boy has been accepted at Colgate, he was voted “Most Likely to Succeed,” he’s interning this summer at the local bank, and he’s spending all his time working on his speech for graduation–he was chosen to be Class Speaker. He’s on track to graduate, so why don’t you just give him a D?  Or even an F, if that would make you feel better.

This is an ethics class, George says he told the father.  And are you certain that’s the ethical lesson you want me to teach your son: that contracts don’t matter, that his word doesn’t matter, and that all that really matters is ‘who you know’?

Chastened, the father went home.  The son did the work.

And, for me, George and his principal became models for the profession.  High standards and expectations; clear rules; choices for students; academic performance as the constant with time the variable; intellectual courage and foresight on George’s part; and solid leadership from the principal.  What’s not to admire?

If any of this this triggers memories of your favorite teachers, please consider honoring them by sharing your stories.    Thanks.

—-
[[1]]1. I have also been the beneficiary of great teaching, notably my high school English teachers, William Sullivan and Rowland MacKinley, at the Taft School in Watertown, Connecticut, Donald Gray at Indiana University, and David K. Cohen at the Harvard Graduate School of Education.[[1]]

[[2]]2. Ever since I began this list, I have been waking up in the middle of the night with new names to add to my list. I am publishing this now so I can get a good night’s sleep![[2]]

[[3]]3. Full Disclosure: Esther is now the Board Chair of Learning Matters, but she was on my list of ‘The Best’ long before we asked her to serve.[[3]]