It's 9:15, and the morning broadcast crew are counting down the last moments before they go on the air: “Five, four, three, two, one.” “Good morning. I'm Randy with your morning announcements.” Randy announces which classes will be in the computer lab during recess; whose turn it is to take care of Crystal, the school's rabbit; and that day's student conflict managers. “Now Mr. Tubbs has some announcements.”
The camera turns to Gary Tubbs, the principal of Beacon Hill Elementary School. “Good morning. Our behavior scale rating for yesterday was pretty good, but could use some improvement. We had some incidents of name-calling and teasing on the playground, and that's not acceptable in this school.” He points to a sentence written on the board behind him. “`Name-calling shows disrespect toward another person.' When you call someone names, you're deliberately trying to bother them. If you expect to be treated with respect, then you need to be respectful toward everyone.” Tubbs uses charts as teaching tools—a bar graph one week, a line graph the next, and so forth. “Now let's see if we can improve on this and have a `practically perfect' day.”
A good day is precisely what most of the children at Beacon Hill School will have, despite the challenges to this seemingly simple goal. The majority of the student population could be described as economically disadvantaged; 70 percent of the children qualify for free or reduced lunches. The school is ethnically diverse, with 70 percent of the population falling into ethnic minority categories, and dozens of students living with parents who speak limited English.
Add to these challenges the worries that all schools face: the dismantling of the traditional American family, with the confusion this can cause for children; the increasing violence that threatens children, whether as victims or as potential perpetrators; the growing list of skills that kids need to function in society, accompanied by the difficulty of teaching these skills. All in all, Beacon Hill could look like a typical urban school—whatever that means. But instead, the school looks more like a source of stability, not completely shielding students from reality but certainly preparing them to make the right choices in facing it. As a middle school teacher from a relatively affluent, mostly white suburb, I didn't know what to expect when I began my internship at Beacon Hill School in Seattle. What I found was a place where almost any child would thrive academically, emotionally, socially, and physically.
How the School Renewed Itself
The past five years have been witness to significant change at Beacon Hill School, first in the student population, then in the ways that the staff has adjusted to the needs of the students. When Gary Tubbs signed on as principal, he inherited some challenging dynamics. Previously, the school had served kindergarten and grades 4–6. Now it was to include kindergarten through 5th grade. Only a fraction of the 1st and 5th graders had been at Beacon Hill the previous year. Also, the Seattle School District's busing patterns had changed; Beacon Hill's primarily Asian and white population had been displaced by more African-American and Latino students. Out of a population of 250 students, only around 10 were white. They had been bused, on a mandatory basis, from another part of the district—which made for an “antagonistic” situation, as Tubbs recalls, “because their parents didn't want them here.” And teachers were accustomed to what Tubbs calls a more passive learning style. They were not prepared for the more active and verbal learning styles of some of the new students.
Tubbs also noticed an abundance of office referrals for discipline problems. Within the individual classrooms, teachers seemed to have things under control. On the playground, however, kids didn't know how to “play fair” by doing simple things such as taking turns, negotiating game rules, and so forth. Fights broke out regularly.
One of Tubbs' first moves was to invite the children who had the most trouble following rules to join a kickball league. It was a simple way to teach them how to follow rules and to resolve conflicts without violence. Although Tubbs and his staff felt strongly about holding kids accountable for following rules, they also wanted to “loosen up in a positive way, allowing kids to express themselves in a way that was natural and fun.” Teachers began to hold class meetings and start clubs.
In the past, students had been rewarded for good behavior through the Tiger Club, where every month those students demonstrating appropriate behavior were given a certificate and ice cream. But the staff felt that the Tiger Club was, in a way, reinforcing low self-esteem for those students who weren't recognized. “Sometimes the most troubled kids were in tears because they saw themselves as trying their best to be good, but they never made it into the Tiger Club. It just broke my heart every month,” recalls Tubbs. Instead, teachers set up a “token tree” to encourage good behavior. For good conduct, students would earn tokens to add to a dowel; when enough tokens had accumulated, the whole school would celebrate with ice cream at recess. Thus each student had a tangible means of making a positive contribution to the school.
When students are referred to the principal for serious disciplinary problems—fighting, racial slurs, or disrespect toward an adult, for instance—they are required to complete a narrative in which they answer questions: What happened? Why is this behavior unacceptable at school? What will you do the next time to avoid this problem? After proofreading for spelling and editing for clarity, the “practically perfect” final draft is signed by the principal and the student as well as the classroom teacher and the parent. In many cases, the principal detains students until family members can come in to discuss the incident. If the student cannot be appropriately supervised in the office area, he or she is seated in one of many locations throughout the building where other staff have agreed to counsel and supervise.
How effective have these efforts been? The school's strategic plan includes a specific goal for behavior improvement: “Decrease, then maintain, the number of Unacceptable Behavior Reports to fewer than 40 per year, in-school suspensions to fewer than 10 per year, and short-term suspensions to fewer than 5 per year.” During the 1989–90 school year, 244 Unacceptable Behavior Reports were issued. Each year since, that figure has stayed below 50. The number of students receiving more than 3 in-school suspensions has dropped from 22 the first year to fewer than 5 in subsequent years.
The Quest for Equity
The school's strategic plan also calls for proportionality in the number of Unacceptable Behavior Reports filed for African-American students. This goal was more elusive: the percentage of African-American children receiving Unacceptables was about twice the percentage of the total school population receiving them. During the 1989–90 school year, 66 percent of the African-American students received Unacceptable reports; within the student body at large, the comparable figure was 32 percent. The principal attributed some of this to teachers' lack of familiarity with African-American culture: what teachers perceived as behavior problems were often just expressions of a more active learning style, or frustration due to the lack of opportunities to feel valued and successful. Tubbs also saw that most of the students referred for special education and other services were African American.
He brought this to the attention of the teachers—and found them, at first, hesitant to discuss the issue openly. “That's such a sensitive issue,” Tubbs says. “It caused some conflict, but the conflict turned out to be good because it got some people to really take a look at what they were doing and how they were thinking.”
The situation improved when Tubbs hired a Family Support Specialist to serve as a liaison between homes and the school. Laura Brown acted as an advocate for students in situations that seemed discriminatory. With her diplomacy and straightforward style, she was able to help many teachers, who had never been exposed to other cultures beyond a superficial level, to change strategies. Teachers began to see each child as an individual. And they began to talk more freely about equity issues in staff meetings.
Thus, Beacon Hill has changed from a school overwhelmed by its shifting demographics to one where diversity is celebrated. Tubbs says the school has a way to go yet. For one thing, the staff makeup does not reflect the diversity of the school: today only 30 percent of the student population is white, but the staff is 70 percent white. Also, Tubbs sees incidents of unequal treatment, which he confronts—and this includes cases where he is at fault. At a staff meeting, he admitted to having inadvertently assigned all of the leadership jobs among the morning announcement crew to boys. But that's what it's about— recognizing your mistakes and correcting them without spending too much time on who's to blame.
The Importance of Family Involvement
Research shows a correlation between parent involvement in a child's education and the child's academic success. When Tubbs arrived at Beacon Hill School, parent involvement was extremely low: “Parents who came to pick up their kids stood outside and waited for them.” The principal believes that some of this hesitation on the part of parents was the result of the perception that they were being blamed for their children's academic weaknesses and inappropriate behavior. Thus he set about involving parents in ways where they could be seen as a help rather than a hindrance, so that teachers and parents would work together when problems arose.
Accordingly, a PTA was formed, with a goal of 50 members for the first year. The attendance at meetings was sporadic, yet the organization was a foot in the door for parents. In the meantime, the city funded the full-time Family Support Specialist, one of whose primary roles was to sell parents on the importance of school. Laura Brown and the principal also acted as advocates for parents.
At the beginning of the year, parents complete a form indicating how they will be involved in their children's education. Every family responded this year—following some prompting by the school's part-time Parent Volunteer Coordinator. The school has also adopted an open-door policy. Parents or community members can visit the school at any time; they are simply asked to check in with the secretary to receive a visitor's badge before heading back to the classrooms.
Now it is typical, on any given day, to see parents or other family members lingering at the back of a class, waiting to pick up a child, or perhaps just observing. Teachers seem comfortable with the presence of parents in the classroom, and more and more parents are offering assistance to the teachers. Parents or guardians who may have been sheepish about stepping into the school environment now know that their involvement is appropriate and expected. All but one child was represented in parent/teacher conferences this year.
How much difference does this make in terms of kids' behavior? “For maybe 60 percent of the kids, [the presence or absence of family involvement] wouldn't make any significant difference in student achievement,” says Tubbs. “But for a fraction of the kids, the parent/school connection makes a big difference.” Children know that there's communication between teacher and parents, that the school's expectations are going to be backed up at home, and vice versa.
An Ever-Evolving Child-Centeredness
For many educators the term child-centered implies that everything done in a school is done with the child's best interest at heart. For the staff at Beacon Hill, the term also refers to putting more power into the hands of the students. The morning announcement crew, for example, is in charge of that enterprise—running the equipment, training replacements, and so forth. Although the principal will praise or chide the crew for its work, the involvement of adults is otherwise low-key. This came about gradually. At first, the principal ran the show; but students now assume more responsibility.
The principal and staff share a child-centered approach to behavior problems at school. They insist on working through the incident so that the child will begin to take ownership of the problem—be it one of misplaced anger, disrespect, or whatever. The principal sometimes adds another question to the narratives that the children write when they're sent to the office: Who was affected by your decision to act the way you did? The expected outcome is the development of empathy and looking beyond “self.”
This child-centered approach now extends to handling playground conflicts as well. For the 1993–94 school year, 18 incoming 4th and 5th grade applicants were selected to receive 10 hours of peer mediation training during the summer. These conflict managers roam the playground, two per recess, wearing bright orange safety vests and carrying clipboards. Students can approach them for assistance, or the conflict managers may intervene if they notice a problem developing. They are trained to remain neutral, helping their peers to sort through the options available for resolving a given conflict. For major problems—anything involving physical aggression or racial slurs, for instance—or in situations where the disputants reach an impasse, the conflict managers refer the incident to an adult.
Since the introduction of conflict management strategies, incidents of physical aggression on the playground fell by as much as 50 percent. In a survey of the students at Beacon Hill, 31 of 54 respondents said that they had learned something from the conflict managers that had helped them solve a problem on their own at a later time. Thus, in turning to their peers for assistance with disputes, children are learning that they are capable of making the right decisions without always having to involve an adult. In fact, advocates of conflict resolution programs report that students involved in peer mediation models carry their newfound skills into many other situations, such as demonstrating better listening skills and more self-disciplined behavior at home.
In 1992, the school community developed a “Beacon Hill Pledge,” which is recited weekly during the morning announcements: I, ________, pledge to be a responsible citizen of Beacon Hill School. I will treat all people, including myself, with respect. I promise to work hard so I can be proud of my achievements. I know how to solve problems and make good decisions. I promise to do my best at all times and NEVER GIVE UP! I will strive to do right to make my future look bright!
Everyone who memorizes it—or the first two sentences, in the case of the kindergartners—earns a patch. The pledge provides a simple but powerful reminder of the kind of culture that the Beacon Hill community would like to foster.
In many ways, Gary Tubbs served as the catalyst in this school: he initiated the conversation and articulated the inquiry about the school's mission. But in each case the staff took up the vision and carried it further than anticipated. In the beginning stages, teachers often told him to slow down—teachers were feeling overwhelmed. “Then the tables turned,” says Tubbs, “with teachers stretching me.” Collaboration often begins with the leadership of one person—but ultimately it makes a leader and contributor out of everyone.
In a way, Zoa Shumway's 5th grade classroom says it all. On the back wall of her classroom, though, a wacky-looking montage catches the eye: 32 students have cut out life-size paper-dolls with photograph cut-outs of their own heads. Above each is a cartoonist's bubble in which that particular class member has written out his or her goal for the year. Clearly, students had established themselves as a community early on in the school year. Ultimately the Beacon Hill Community's work is best expressed in the big banner that hangs across one of the doorways: “Fifth Grade Geniuses,” it reads; and by self-fulfilling prophecy, a little faith, and a lot of work, every child in the school can discover the genius within.
