Schools Cannot Do It Alone: Chapter 2

So, here’s what I’m going to do: As I read each chapter I’m going to summarize its main points and important quotes/ideas. I think once you start reading you’re going to want to hear the rest. As we go through the book, I hope it sparks discussion and, at the very least, makes you feel more understood and appreciated like it has for me. Furthermore, I firmly believe that the message of this book needs to be our central mission as we go forward at the local, state, and federal level as we take the lead in the direction of education and its reform.

You can read the rest of Scott’s proposal here.

PART ONE
FROM CRITIC TO ALLY

CHAPTER 2
THE BLUEBERRY STORY

During my first year on the road, not once was I asked to speak to an education audience. It was no surprise. The vast majority of Iowa’s educators were openly hostile toward me as its messenger. I was, therefore, amazed and very pleased when I received an invitation to speak to the district staff in a small town in western Iowa. “Finally,” I exclaimed, “someone on the inside is going to listen and adopt our agenda.” In retrospect it is clear that the superintendent had other plans.

In addition, this was their only in-service (professional development) program for three months, and instead of hearing something useful about curriculum, instruction, or technology, they were forced to waste their precious time listening to me: a bully in a suit from the city. They were livid.

“He’s here from Des Moines representing a business group that’s been studying our problems, and he’s come to tell us what we are doing wrong.”

At 8:15 a.m. sharp, the principal of the school stepped to the podium and said, “Good morning.” “This is Mr. Vollmer,” he said without looking at me. “He’s here from Des Moines representing a business group that’s been studying our problems, and he’s come to tell us what we are doing wrong.” He then turned, and left the stage. I swear, you could have cut the animosity with a knife.

“This is a talk about change,” I proclaimed.

“This is a talk about change,” I proclaimed.

This sentence was immediately followed by a pronounced rustling noise. Teachers began to rifle their files, pull out notebooks, and openly grade papers in front of me.

But they were not going to bully me! I decided to up the ante. My tone became more strident, my rhetoric more negative.

“The status quo is killing us. We are not getting the workers that we need, and we’re falling behind our competitors. There has been enough tinkering at the edges and enough excuses. You have to look to the world of business to solve your problems. Business leaders invented Total Quality Management. We understand continuous improvement. Just-in-time delivery! Zero defects! We know that to produce real quality it is necessary to introduce benchmarked standards and meaningful accountability attached to serious rewards and penalties. I have to tell you. I wouldn’t be in business very long if I ran my company the way you run your schools.”

After about fifteen minutes, no one was grading papers. All pens and pencils were down, and they were glaring at me through clenched teeth.

After about fifteen minutes, no one was grading papers. All pens and pencils were down, and they were glaring at me through clenched teeth.

Thirty minutes later, I concluded my talk.

As I turned to exit the stage, I saw the superintendent standing in the wings. He was waving me back and whispering “Q and A. Q and A.”

It was then that I remembered that I had promised to do a question and answer session after my talk. Slowly I turned, and walked back to the podium.

As soon as I got there, a woman’s hand shot up, right in the middle of the room. I looked at her. She appeared to be pleasant — a nice looking woman of a certain age. I thought, “She’ll be polite. I’ll start with her.” I found out later that she was a razor-tongued, high school English teacher with twenty seven years on the job who had been laying in the bushes for me for about an hour.

I thought, “She’ll be polite. I’ll start with her.” I found out later that she was a razor-tongued, high school English teacher with twenty seven years on the job who had been laying in the bushes for me for about an hour.

“Mr. Vollmer,” she said, “we’re told you make good ice cream.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “Best ice cream in America.”

“How nice,” she said. “Is it rich and smooth?”

“Seventeen percent butterfat. Low overrun, which means minimal air content. Smooth and creamy. You would love it.”

“I assume, sir, that you use nothing but Grade A ingredients. Your flavorings, nuts and berries…”

“…Our specification to our suppliers is triple A.” I never saw the next line coming.

“Mr. Vollmer,” she said, leaning forward, “when you are in your factory, standing on the receiving dock, and you see a shipment of blueberries arrive, and those blueberries do not meet your triple A standards, what do you do?”

“Mr. Vollmer,” she said, leaning forward, “when you are in your factory, standing on the receiving dock, and you see a shipment of blueberries arrive, and those blueberries do not meet your triple A standards, what do you do?”

In the silence of that room, you could hear the trap snap. I was dead meat. I was  one minute away from being eviscerated, but I wasn’t going to lie.

“I send them back.”

Wham!

She pointed her finger at my face and said, “That’s right! You send them back. We can never send back the blueberries our suppliers send us. We take them big, small, rich, poor, hungry, abused, confident, curious, homeless, frightened, rude, creative, violent, and brilliant. We take them of every race, religion, and ethnic background. We take them with head lice, ADHD, and advanced asthma. We take them with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, English as their second language, and who knows how much lead in their veins. We take them all, Mr. Vollmer! Every one! And that’s why it’s not a business. It’s school!”

We can never send back the blueberries our suppliers send us. We take them big, small, rich, poor, hungry, abused, confident, curious, homeless, frightened, . . .We take them all, Mr. Vollmer! Every one! And that’s why it’s not a business. It’s school!”

Before I could respond, all 290 of them jumped to their feet in an explosion of clapping and whistling and yelling.

My world would never be quite the same.

My friends in business have argued since that she painted with a broad brush. Sure she did — she had ninety seconds. I have, however, visited hundreds of schools since that day and her analogy remains apt. Unlike most businesses, public schools have no control over the quality of their “raw materials.” And, sadly, more damaged blueberries arrive every day.

. . .her analogy remains apt. . . And, sadly, more damaged blueberries arrive every day.

The business model has other flaws. I hear all sorts of righteous comments from businesspeople that our schools need to serve the customer, but no one can even agree on who the customers are. And none of these parties can agree on what they want as a finished product except in the broadest terms. Politicians and bureaucrats are left to define and endlessly redefine what children should know and when they should know it; they do this while being manipulated by a howling horde of organized, aggressive, well-funded special interest groups. Many of these groups have agendas that are directly at odds with the best interests of kids, and all of them know exactly how our schools should operate. I never saw anything like the lobbying brawl that surrounds our public schools.

Finally, there is the bizarre method of funding. Public schools are entirely dependent upon the mood of the general public as reflected in the vagaries of local, state, and federal politics. Superintendents and their boards often take months to craft reasoned and reasonable proposals for needed funds only to watch in horror on election night as they are defeated by a “citizens” antitax group animated by a grudge against the football coach.

There is no doubt that we can successfully graft certain business practices onto the unique culture of public schools. And we should. Aspects of the Quality Movement have much to offer, especially those that promote learning communities, feedback loops, long-term commitments to excellence, and quality professional development. But the more I learned about the system, the more certain I became that the blueberry lady was right.

I had the referent power of the entire political and business establishment at my back. That woman could have fumed in silence. Instead, she grit her teeth and pushed back. She hit the wall of negativity head on. She challenged my simplistic, self-serving arguments armed with nothing more than the knowledge born of her daily experience — in other words, the truth — and, in doing so, she forced me to rethink my views.

I may have been a jerk, my business prescription may have been simplistic, but I had no reason to doubt my diagnosis: the people were the problem.   Within weeks, I would be forced to rethink that, too.

As I reflected on my visit over the next few days, however, I began to regroup. My core belief was that our schools were not delivering the required results, and something needed to change. This belief had not been challenged. In fact, nothing the teacher said suggested that she and the others had any incentive to work hard to change the status quo. She just resented an outsider pushing reforms based on false assumptions. I may have been a jerk, my business prescription may have been simplistic, but I had no reason to doubt my diagnosis: the people were the problem.

Within weeks, I would be forced to rethink that, too.