Horace's Resurrection

In the closing years of the last decade, my father-in-law, Ted Sizer, whose struggle with cancer ended in 2009, worked on a book in which he tried to distill a life's work in education reform -- one most vividly documented in his famous trilogy of books Horace's Compromise (1984), Horace's School (1991) and Horace's Hope (1996) -- into a vision of high school for the twenty-first century. When he died, my mother-in-law, Nancy Sizer, the author of a number of books herself and with Ted, promised to finish the project and shepherd it into print. I'm happy to report that both of them achieved their goal, which takes the form of the newly published The New American High School, which was issued last week by the well-known education house Josey-Bass. (Nancy wrote the introduction, which includes a foreword from Ted's dear friend collaborator, Deborah Meier.)

The  New American High School, which begins, literally, with an overview of the place of high schools on our national landscape, touches on a number of key Sizerian themes, always having at the center of them the primacy of a student-centered approach to learning. Ted scrambled some of the categories when it came to contemporary debates on education: a skeptic of standardized testing, he was also an advocate for school choice (he helped found a charter school) and here argues for the importance of religion as a component of a high school curriculum. He evinced the empiricism of a John Dewey, but an empiricism of inner experience, attuned to the sensory dimensions of schooling in everyday life. He was an American original, and is deeply missed. Fortunately, his deeply appealing voice lingers.

Jim is on an extended-family canoe trip along the Connecticut River, which, along the stretch he'll be traveling, divides Vermont from New Hampshire. It's been a few years since he's been on this trip, and it's the first time his entire immediate family will be going. Along the way, the assembled campers will honor the memory of Ted Sizer, who, in his good long life, enjoyed canoeing this river before his death last fall. He remains vivid in the hearts of those who knew and loved him.

As of this writing, Jim is weighing whether to take his iPad along, or to really rough it with an organic paper book and a flashlight, all of which stand a good chance of getting wet and leaving him with the terror of facing nature without words set in type (get your own book, Smokey). His recent e-book reading has included Carl Hiaasen's latest novel, Star Island, which skewers celebrity culture from Hiassen's longtime environmentalist angle. This includes a fixture of novels, the former governor of Florida (literally) gone wild, Clinton Tyree. Alas, Hiassen's fiction, so long laugh-out loud hilarious, has become predictably formulaic, though Star Island is still good for a regular chuckle. In this regard, his descent has not been as sharp as late, once-great, Robert B. Parker, whose Spenser novels, among others, have were nevertheless good for decades of pleasure. Thank you, Mr. Parker, for another life well lived.)

Wow: It's really late summer now. The dread and anticipation of a looming school year seems like a pretty good synechdoche for the human condition. May you stay cool and dry.

Proposal

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet entertain company -- and an offer

The Maria Chronicles, #47

"Here we go," Jack Casey says, placing a tray with two cups of tea and a pair of scones on the wicker table on Maria's third-floor porch. It's an unaccountably warm day, and they've decided to sit outside. The buds on the trees are barely visible, and so there's still a view of the Hudson from Maria's apartment. This setup has the added advantage of having them sit side by side, rather than face each other. Maria moves her crutches to make it easier for Jack to sit down.

This is his first visit since Maria fell down a flight of stairs at school a month earlier. Jack was actually on the scene minutes after it happened, and has been a unseen powerful presence during her recuperation -- following her to the hospital, getting her car home, having food and flowers delivered. Maria has to admit it's been a shrewd approach, never asking what he can do, or giving her a chance to refuse. Well, maybe it's more accurate to say that Maria has declined to refuse. Her daughter Felicia thanked him on her behalf at the hospital, when she gave him the car keys. But Maria waited until yesterday to thank him by phone, which she realized she simply had to do. She also only thought it fair to invite him over as part of that expression of gratitude. He came bearing boxes of tea and scones that he picked up at the Tom's Bakery, around the corner.

It's turned out to be a pleasant visit. Jack has been alternately tactful, teasing, and curious. Maria realizes that in her desire to assert her independence, she's been so guarded with her children, as well as her best friend Janice, that she's been unable to unburden herself with a source of pain much greater than her ankle: the prospect of losing her job. Though she didn't intend to, she found herself explaining the situation to Jack. Maria recounted the visit of her department chair, Jen Abruzzi, five days earlier, and described the confluence of a teacher returning from leave, declining enrollments, and budget cuts that have imperiled Maria's future. Jack listened intently, nodding throughout. When she was done, he said, "I want to process this for a minute. Can I make us some tea?" And so he did, and so he's back.

"Well, Maria," he now says as he reaches for his mug, "you can't make them keep you. But you could certainly sue the school for a pretty penny."

"Sue them? Over what?"

"Your fall, of course. That's one dangerous staircase, even without that errant potato chip bag you slipped on."

"Jack! I would never!"

"Well, don't be so sure. For one thing, it's not entirely under your control. I can assure you that your health insurance company will be going after the school and that the school has a policy for just this kind of contingency. But you may also be able to net something for yourself. Do you have an attorney?"

"No I do not. And I won't be needing one, either."

"Can you really afford not to, Maria? Especially given this job situation?"

This is where Maria would like to say, "Fuck you, Jack." Instead she says, "I don't think I want to continue this line of discussion." She picks up her own tea, which allows her to cover her mouth.

Jack puts his own mug down and gets up, suddenly restless. He takes a few steps toward the balcony and turns around to face her.

"That's fair enough. I won't press that point. But I do have a proposal for you, Maria."

Oh no, Maria thinks.

"No, not that kind of proposal," he says, laughing as he reads her face. "Really, Maria. Give me a little credit here. No, what I'm talking about is strictly professional. You remember what I was telling you awhile back about my work with some folks down in the mayor's office?"

Maria nods. Jack is apparently deeply involved in the charter schools movement, trying to launch progressive schools using a Ted Sizer approach to challenge the Knowledge-Is-Power model.

"Well, after a couple years of planning, it looks like we're going to get our first charter going this fall. It'll be downtown. We're just getting going on the recruiting end, and I think you'd be a perfect addition. I'm thinking department chair."

"So you're working for the city after all?"

"No, no. Not for pay, anyway. But this is my life now. I've got some connections and the wherewithal to start things, and while I have no official paid role, I do think it's fair to say that I'm a part of this undertaking."

"Which is to say you're helping to underwrite it."

"Well, yes."

"That's great, Jack. But I don't think it would be right for me." Maria put her hand on her knees and looks down. This whole conversation is leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

"Look, Maria. I've long since figured out that you know my story -- the rough outlines of it anyway -- and I know you don't approve of it. That's fine. I'm not going to try to talk you out of your disapproval. But that's not because I feel I can't, but because I don't think there's anything I have to apologize for. Not to you, anyway."

Maria looks up. "Jack, I don't want --"

He holds his hand up to stop her. "Listen to me for a second. I'm not going to tell you that I'm proud of what I did in my years on Wall Street. I'm not. But I didn't do anything illegal, either, regardless of what you may have heard or read. My life since I left, my life since my wife died, has been about the degree to which you can really start over, to what degree you can put your past -- the part you don't like, anyway -- behind you. It's been a fascinating, ongoing experiment. And I'll be honest: I've regarded you as part of that experiment. Not in a clinical way, though it's required some discipline on my part. More as a process of discovery. About myself no less than you."

Maria is looking down again, not sure what to say, or how she feels.

"Anyway, the job is really something you should think about, because you wouldn't be working for me. I'd help you get it, of course, but that's it. I know it isn't ideal, and I wouldn't be bringing it up except for the fact that you're suddenly in this difficult situation with your current job. I wouldn't expect you to say yes right away, or at all. But don't say no now. Think about it and see how things play out at school. You're going back next week?"

"Yes. I probably could have gone back last week, but I wasn't ready to be limping around on crutches and living with the day-to-day ambiguity."

"I don't blame you." Jack looks at his watch. "Well, look, I better get going. Thanks for having me, Maria. I know this hasn't been easy for you. And I know I haven't been easy for you. Weirdly enough, that's kinda why I've kept at it."

"Well you've played your cards pretty well," she says, smiling.

"I am a pretty good card player," he says, picking up the tray and leaving her behind. "The real trick is what you do with your winnings. That's a game I'm still trying to figure out."

Penciling

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet grapple with a gift

The Maria Chronicles, # 29

Maria, sitting in bed with her laptop beside her, has just finished reading Theodore R. Sizer's 2004 book The Red Pencil, which she found in her mailbox last week inscribed by Jack Casey -- the man whom she has been calling "Cuff Man" -- with a simple message "To Maria, as promised. Jack." In fact, Jack had made no such promise; he had merely asked her if she had read the book during a brief encounter at the library two weeks earlier, and then said he owed her a copy after sitting with her and Jen eight days ago. The book appeared the next day. Maria reacted as if it were radioactive, leaving it untouched over the weekend. She finally concluded that she had to take the book out, and began reading it a few days before. It was while she was doing so that her colleague Penny Perez noted that Sizer had just passed away. Somehow, this had never come up when Maria had discussed his work with Jack and Jen. this made Maria sad, but also allowed her to concentrate on what the book was actually saying. Now that she was done, she flipped back over the pages, not quite ready to part with it.

In the preface to The Red Pencil, Sizer describes his old high school Latin teacher, who terrorized him with a sea of red ink with which Sizer's translations were graded. In noting that the routines he had endured 60 years ago had not changed much, Sizer pithily described the reality of Maria's own daily life, as well is that of her students:

Most of it is not only recognizable; it is still fully accepted and honored today as a representation of what we call secondary school: a class of 20 or so adolescents gathered by age into grades to learn together a subject both for its content and the skills embedded in that content taught by a single teacher who is responsible for delivering that material, assigning homework, and assessing each student's performance in a uniform manner, all this proceeding in sequential blocks of time of 40 to 60 minutes each in a specialized school building primarily made up of a succession of identical rooms that are used for six hours for fewer than half the days in a year . . . This is what school is.

Maria is struck by the way the italicized words distill the American education experience to its essence. That distillation is not particularly flattering. It begs the question as to what the American education experience actually should be. This is, of course, a question Sizer dedicated his career to answering. But Maria particularly likes the concise formulation on page 63: "Clarify what the student is expected to show (that is, know and use) in order to receive (say) a high school diploma. Insist, assist, and cajole every young person to work toward this target as attentively as possible." Regardless of whether American schools generally ever could or would do this, it's something that Maria knows she needs to work harder at -- reverse engineering her curriculum so that she has a clear idea of what she wants her students to know how to do and a pedagogy that helps them get there. It sounds disarmingly simple, and yet is exhaustingly complicated. Sizer seemed to know this, and yet insisted on it, just like a good teacher would. Maria closes the book and stares at the cover, so rich in color. She wishes she could have met Ted Sizer, and remembers that Jack said he once had, or, at any rate, had once seen him speak.

Jack. What is she going to do about him? There's something presumptuous about the man -- starting a conversation with her in the library, acting as if he knew her in the cafeteria, sending along this book. She's not sure she likes him. Even if she does, she got the distinct impression at lunch last week that Jen likes him at least as much as she does. The only thing Maria feels less inclined to do than start a new relationship is to compete with another woman for man, especially a woman she's come to regard as a friend. The whole thing turns her stomach. It's so, well, high school.

But Maria is embarrassed that she hasn't acknowledged the gift, and her refusal thus far to do so will only make matters more awkward when she runs into him again, as she inevitably will. Sure, he's a substitute teacher, but she knows he's been around a lot, and will likely remain so. She wonders if he has a school email address. She decides to dash off an email to jcasey, in the manner of faculty addresses at the school. If, in the event that he doesn't have one, at least she can say that she tried and thus have an excuse for not having made more of an effort. Maria begins typing and tries not to think too hard.

Jack,

Many thanks for sending along The Red Pencil, which I liked very much. It was a gracious gesture. Perhaps we can talk about it some time. Best, Maria.

Maria is re-reading the blurbs on the back cover of the book when her laptop pings. She clicks open the envelope and an email from jcasey:

Hey Maria. Glad you liked the Sizer book. Let's talk about it. Shall we say lunch in the cafeteria on Thursday? Same time as last time? I'll be there. Jack.

"Oh shit," Maria says out loud.