Abstract:

Bill Ferriter discusses his positive experience as a student at a neighborhood school--and how he realized that not all schools had such priveleges and resources. Who, he asks, did neighborhood schools fail?

Ferriter, B. (2005). Questioning the wisdom of neighborhood schools. Teacher Leaders Network diaries. Retrieved from the Teacher Leaders Network 8 Apr 2008. Link: http://www.teacherleaders.org/old_site/diaries04_05/other/BF13.html

Full Text:

Questioning the Wisdom of Neighborhood Schools

When I was growing up, I loved my neighborhood school. Northwoods Elementary in Western New York was a place where I felt safe, where my classmates were the same year after year, and where parents were actively involved as tutors and PTA volunteers. It was a place that neighbors could rally around and come together for events, building a sense of unity that spread across subdivisions and throughout our community.

The teachers at Northwoods were nothing short of outstanding. I remember being involved in creative activities designed by Mr. Nowak and Mr. Tribula. Mr. Earl, my band teacher, challenged me time and again. Our school was consistently recognized for academic success because of the commitment of our teachers to continual growth, to one another, and to their students.

There was a feeling of belonging at Northwoods, and no one—teachers, parents, or students—ever wanted to leave. I wouldn't have traded my time there for anything and I still drive by it when I'm home simply to remember. Every time, I smile and get chills—sometimes I cry because my memories are so powerful.

What I didn't know as a child was that not all schools were like mine. I didn't know there were schools on the other side of town where families struggled with poverty, and where those struggles bled into classrooms in the form of almost insurmountable personal and academic challenges for children.

As a child, I never knew that there were homeless children or families that couldn't provide basic supplies like books and calculators for their sons and daughters. No one came to my school cold or hungry. No one had moms and dads who couldn't help with homework because they were busy with their second (or third) jobs. I would never have guessed that there were children who had never been to a museum or who didn't visit the library every week.

I'm not sure anyone in my neighborhood knew how hard it was for teachers working in these "other schools." Their days were demanding. Not only did they bear responsibility for teaching basic skills like reading and mathematics, they struggled to help students facing a myriad of disadvantages in buildings that were crumbling and in communities that didn't have the social power or financial resources to support them. There were few Mr. Nowaks, Mr. Tribulas or Mr. Earls in these schools—those teachers left after a few years, looking for jobs in communities like mine.

The same challenges face teachers in many schools today. Students of poverty need significant amounts of individual time and attention in order to master skills. To do this job well takes long hours and incredible personal sacrifice. As one of my colleagues working in a high-needs school once wrote, "We constantly all stay late and go home exhausted from strategizing and planning for our students."

As a result, high-poverty schools struggle to attract and retain accomplished educators. Despite what we know about the impact that quality teachers have on student achievement, students of poverty are less likely to be taught by our best educators than students of wealth. Working in high-poverty schools often proves to be too demanding for all but the most committed members of the teaching profession.

This is one reason why school districts must move away from neighborhood schools and towards student assignment policies that help to maintain economic diversity in all of their buildings.

By balancing the economic diversity in school populations, communities demonstrate an honest commitment to the education of every child. They create the kinds of working conditions that help to recruit accomplished teachers to all schools. More importantly, they create the kinds of learning conditions that help poor students rise out of poverty.

Looking back, I'm challenged by my neighborhood school experience. Was I successful only because my parents were able to move into the right home in the right neighborhood with the right school?

Neighborhood schools worked for my family but who did it fail? Wouldn't every parent—if they could—have chosen to move into my neighborhood? Was it fair that our school was a school of excellence while others were places of little hope?

I don't know the answers to these haunting questions, but I do know that we have a responsibility to all children. Meeting that responsibility requires that students of poverty attend outstanding schools with accomplished teachers—just like I did.

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