Pablo Casals Elementary School:
New focus on test scores
A principal’s risk: ‘This year, everyone’s doing
it my way’
By Dan Weissmann
The new school year has brought sweeping changes at Pablo Casals
Elementary School in Humboldt Park. All of them show the influence of the school system's
new managers.
All children now wear uniforms, a practice favored by the School
Reform Board. The average class size is smaller, the result of a redistribution of federal
funds at both the city and school levels. And reading instruction has been overhauled to
reflect the board's back-to-basics approach and emphasis on standardized tests.
Boosting scores on reading and writing exams is the No. 1 goal in
Casals' school improvement plan. Goals 2 and 3 are creating teacher training and parent
programs that contribute to goal No. 1.
Under the new plan:
 Every
day, all students in kindergarten through 2nd grade get an hour of Direct Instruction
(DI), a scripted, phonics-based reading program that the school system's new chiefs are
pushing. (See CATALYST, September 1996.)
All
teachers in grades 6 through 8 must use basal readers at least some of the time. In the
past, upper-grade teachers have had their pick of materials.
The
first hour of every day, every classroom has a reading lesson. This was Casals' response
to Chief Executive Officer Paul Vallas' request that schools lengthen the school day to
give students more time on core subjects. Lengthening the day would have eaten up enormous
amounts of the school's discretionary money, so it opted instead to put reading in prime
time.
Some teachers have carved out additional time for reading aloud to
their students, for a "reading buddies" program that pairs older students with
younger students, and for 15 to 20 minutes of Drop Everything And Read (DEAR),
recreational reading for both teachers and students. Also, a computerized Accelerated
Reading Program lets some students earn extra credit for outside reading.
"I think our reading plan is fantastic," says Principal
Paul Mazurek. "Every year I'm excited, but I don't think I've been as excited as I am
this year—ever."
"I'm kind of putting myself on the line with this," he says
of the new program. "In the past, I might have said, 'We think Direct Instruction is
a good idea,' and maybe eight out of 10 teachers would have done it. The rest would have
said, 'No, I'd rather do something else.' But this year, everyone's doing it my way. Who
does that song? Frank Sinatra?"
Mazurek is quick to point out, though, that "his way"
doesn't mean his alone. For instance, the idea of adopting Direct Instruction came from a
rookie 2nd-grade teacher. And Mazurek amended the original draft of the reading plan after
some teachers complained that it seemed to require that only basal readers would be used.
Teacher Denyse Ffrench isn't enthusiastic about some parts of the new
plan, but she applauds Mazurek for making expectations clear. "John is a great
leader," she says. "He keeps things organized and keeps people on their toes.
... Even if you don't always agree with the methods, it's good to know what's expected of
you."
JUL 1 "It's
guaranteed—all of them are going to be reading."
Casals teacher Norma Quintana is looking forward to trying Direct
Instruction in her 2nd-grade class. "From what they told us at the training, it's
guaranteed—all of them are going to be reading. I'm like, 'Great!' " she says,
as she gets her room ready for the new school year. (For Casals and other schools on a
year-round schedule, tomorrow is the first day of school.)
"This is just a new way of teaching phonics, and I like it,"
she adds. "I'm surprised how much I like it."
Meanwhile, Casals' hallways and stairwells already have been outfitted
with dozens of banners trumpeting the school's uniform policy: white tops and blue bottoms
for all students, starting tomorrow, no exceptions. The banners accentuate the positive.
"Look Out! It's the Uniform Kids!" "White and blue ... Looks good on
YOU!" "Uniforms United!"
Last winter, School Reform Board President Gery Chico called on all
local school councils to consider requiring uniforms, and the board itself followed up
with a resolution to that effect. Casals Principal John Mazurek didn't favor uniforms, but
when he brought Chico's suggestion before the council, members quickly embraced it. 287
schools already had uniform policies, a trend that began with the creation of local school
councils in 1989; another 30 adopted them in response to the Reform Board's action last
spring, and board officials say they expect more will follow.
In room 202, Paula Lucas sets up her new kindergarten, unpacking some
brand-new easels, paints, dolls and books. Last school year—which at year-round
Casals means last week—Lucas ran a federally funded computer lab for disadvantaged
students. But that computer lab is gone this year, and the dollars are going into reduced
class sizes instead.
The switch was prompted by a change in federal regulations that made it
easier to use Title I funds schoolwide, and a reduction in Title I money Casals and other
Chicago schools got this year. With fewer dollars and more flexibility, Casals decided to
rethink its Title I program rather than simply whittle away at the old one. As a result,
average class size is now about 26, rather than 35; Lucas' old computer lab is a 4th-grade
classroom, and several other classrooms have new computers.
JUL 2 The
storm that wasn't.
Expecting dozens of violations of the school's new uniform policy, Casals
office staff brace themselves. They anticipate having to call parents, hold kids in the
office until someone brings a uniform, send some kids home and, if need be, lend a few
uniform pieces.
But only 16 of the 527 kids now in session show up without uniforms;
within an hour, they're all back in class. "My gosh, it worked!" says Principal
Mazurek.
JUL 11 Farewell
to a privatized co-worker.
Prekindergarten teacher Chris Harte is on vacation, but she stops by the
school to say goodbye to a friend. Eddie Irizarri, a janitor, got his two-weeks notice in
late June; tomorrow will be his last day at Casals.
The Reform Board is firing the 900 workers with Irizarri's job title,
substitute custodian, and farming the work out to private contractors. But Irizarri is a
substitute in name only; he's been working full time at Casals for over three years.
To become an official full-time worker, he would have to take a
qualifying test; but the test hasn't been administered for four years. Of the 900
"subs" who are being cut, about 500 are full-timers who, like Irizarri, never
got a chance at a permanent job, according to Jarvis Williams, head of Local 46 of the
Service Employees International Union.
Irizarri himself has mixed feelings about the board's decision. There
are lots of problem janitors who should be axed, he says, but they won't necessarily be
the ones hit this time. "He's doing the right thing, but he's doing it the wrong
way," Irizarri says of CEO Vallas.
By the principal's account and his own, Irizarri is the most
conscientious of Casals' maintenance staff. The school's engineer is chronically absent,
and Irizarri often does the engineer's job as well as his own.
Irizarri lives across the street from the school and has sent his kids
there; two now are in high school, and one is still at Casals. He's lived in the
neighborhood 30 years. After school, he goes over to nearby Humboldt Park and coaches
baseball, trying to give local kids an alternative to gangs.
Irizarri has been invited to apply for a job with the private company
that will take over building maintenance at Casals, but the pay will be lower. "I
don't want to go with that privatization," he says. "I'm making almost $12 an
hour, and that'll be $7.50." (However, the private companies will provide benefits,
including health insurance, which Irizarri does not get from the board.)
"But I'd like to stay with the building. I love working with the
kids," he says. As far as volunteering at the park, he says, "I always will. My
dream is to have a pro ballplayer come in to the park and say, 'This is the guy who taught
me to play baseball.' "
AUG 16 The
principal takes a dunking.
Counselor Myrna Plotkin is one of several Casals staffers sitting in front
of the school selling tickets for today's school picnic: $2 for dinner; $1 for five
chances at games like the ring toss; and 75 cents for a chance to dunk Principal John
Mazurek into a tank of water—a popular attraction. Plotkin savors the chance to see
families outside the formal school setting. "It's nice," she says. "The
families see you eating and dripping, and they see us as just people, you know?"
Eddie Irizarri is here, but now he works for LBR, the private company
that has taken over Casals' janitorial work. Irizarri is too busy to talk, but his
supervisor from LBR, Dan Vargas, takes a moment to tell his own story. Vargas was in
charge of a massive weekend cleanup blitz that kicked off private custodial services at
Casals in late July. "I was here 34 hours in two days," Vargas recalls.
"They were happy. The principal was real happy. Now I'm in charge of four privatized
schools, and I supervise at nine non-privatized schools." Casals' entire janitorial
staff now works for LBR.
AUG 22 Kids
like worksheets— "it's weird."
To their surprise, teachers Julie Engel and Denyse Ffrench are finding that
the students in their 6th-grade "inclusion" class (which mixes special ed kids
with other students) seem to enjoy reading from textbooks and filling out worksheets.
Last year, their classroom was totally "student-centered": no
textbooks in reading, math or social studies, and no commercial workbooks. Engel and
Ffrench carefully put together their own materials, like a unit on economics in which
students made personal budgets. The kids "received" an income of $450 a week for
going to school—getting docked for being late or absent—and had to pay for some
given expenses, including rent, utilities and food.
"The best part was when we paid out ... and asked them, 'So, do you
feel rich, now that you've got $450?' " Ffrench recalls. "They said, 'No, I'm
flat broke! I have to pay the rent, and my insurance, and ...' They had really gotten
it."
This year, Ffrench and Engel are under orders to use textbooks in all
the major subjects. "A lot of the kids really like it," says Engel. "It's
weird."
"They love to just sit and read out of the social studies
book," she says. "It's weird. ... Maybe it gives them a sense of security. It's
predictable."
"There was the day we gave them a worksheet to do," Ffrench
recalls. "That was my first clue. They were all totally focused and quiet.
Completely. It made me think that maybe you can go too far in the other
direction—that maybe they don't need to be working in groups, directing their own
work, absolutely all the time."
Both Ffrench and Engel acknowledge that following a set curriculum has
advantages for them, too. "It's a lot more organized, a lot more structured,"
says Ffrench. "It's taken a lot of the work off of us. If the organization is already
there, it's easier for them and for us."
But the teachers don't simply march their kids through the books. When
Engel leads today's math lesson, for example, textbooks don't come out until the last
third of the hour. First, students play a math "game" in small groups, then they
make some entries in their math dictionaries, and then Engel reviews yesterday's lesson by
working a few problems on the board, deliberately making mistakes for her students to
correct.
Another new wrinkle in their teaching this year—again, at the
school administration's suggestion—is to pattern teaching on the IGAP, says Engel.
Thus, in addition to the stories children nurture over a period of weeks, they also write
weekly in-class essays, based on the IGAP writing test format.
AUG 23 DI:
So far so good.
In a staff meeting this morning, some teachers break into applause when
Principal Mazurek reads them a draft of a letter he'll send to parents next week. The
letter warns that parents whose children are chronically truant will risk a $500 fine
and/or cuts in public aid.
Mazurek himself doesn't have the power to fine parents or to cut their
aid checks, he explains later. But under Illinois law, it's long been a misdemeanor to
contribute to the truancy of a child—hence the possibility of a fine. The threat to
welfare checks comes from a state law enacted last year: Parents who receive public aid
can be referred to a social service agency for counseling if their children are truant; if
the truancy continues, the agency can withhold part of the family's public aid money.
Casals is trying to join the program.
In Chicago, 109 schools have signed with social service agencies. As of
mid-September, over 400 parents of truants have been referred, and none have lost public
aid money.
After the meeting, it's time for Direct Instruction in the primary
grades. The lessons are completely scripted, so they vary from one teacher to the next
only by tone of voice and pacing. Paula Lucas employs a playful, sing-song cadence:
"Say the whole thing about what we are doing," is her refrain. In another
kindergarten classroom, Chris Richter keeps her students attentive by making a game out of
the the simple actions the students are directed to take. "I'm gonna getcha,"
she says, with a wink. "Everybody touch your ... chair."
Richter is impressed with DI so far. "It's amazing what they've
picked up," she says. "This is week three for me, and they're speaking in
complete sentences. I've tried a lot of programs, and none of them have really worked, but
we'll see."
Richter's room is filled with leftovers from Casals' old federal Title I
program, which funded Richter's classes until this year. Scattered about are a small
copier, a TV set, two up-to-date computers, several of the older computers that were in
Lucas' lab last year and a poster-making machine, which Richter calls "the last
hurrah" from the old program. Casals bought it only a few months ago.
Now, the school plans to charge teachers for the computer-generated
posters: $2 a foot for laminated banners, $1 for non-laminated.
Teachers get only $50 a year from the board to buy supplies. Richter
contrasts that with the lavish budgets of her federally funded program. "[We] were
very spoiled," she acknowledges. "You can see why other teachers might be
jealous."
When Richter first came to Casals, she got $40,000 to open a new
kindergarten. "You know how hard it is to spend $40,000 on pencils, crayons, little
things like that?" she asks. "I bought computers, TVs, the works."
At the time, Richter was newly arrived from Chicago's Catholic school
system—she had come for the better pay. "All my tricks went out the
window," Richter recalls. Kids in public schools are more unruly, she says, "but
they need love." And that makes the work satisfying. "They need love in the
Catholic schools too," Richter adds, "but they don't hug you."
"Now I know what the real world is like," she says. "My
ex-principal, her eyes would pop wide open after one day here."
SEP 3 Teaching
from basals means less reading.
Denyse Ffrench is going over the "words of the week" with her
6th-graders. Drawn from math, reading, science and social studies lessons, they include
"bar graph," "trait," "martyr" and "pandemonium."
The last two words are "literal" and
"inferential"—concepts they will need to know when they take standardized
tests next spring, she explains. "There are questions in the Iowa that won't be
literal," she says. "You won't be able to just look at the reading and find the
answer; you'll have to take the information that the author gave you and figure it out for
yourself."
Standardized tests have become ever-present in the class that Ffrench
co-teaches with Julie Engel. "We talk about it constantly," says Engel.
"It's always, 'On the Iowa this,' and 'On the IGAP that.' We're kind of nervous,
because we're being held accountable now. There's a lot of pressure on us. Our scores go
in the newspaper, and if our students don't pass the tests, they can get held back."
After the vocabulary lesson, Ffrench coaches students through a review
for tomorrow's test on the novel they've been reading for the last month. Then, the day
after tomorrow, it will be good-bye to novels for several months. Ffrench and Engel will
grit their teeth and start teaching with recently arrived basal readers.
These particular basals offer pieces of real books, but Engel still
isn't sold. "They call it a literature-based textbook. That means that they've got
one chapter out of a novel, and to me, that's like, ugh. I know the books they're coming
out of, and they're great novels. But maybe they'll read the chapter and want to read the
book. That's what I hope."
For students, basals mean less required reading than before. According
to the curriculum for 6th grade, students will only read one eight- to 10-page chapter
from the basal reader each week. When Ffrench and Engel teach novels, they typically
assign that much reading as homework every night.
For herself, Ffrench sees more work ahead, not less. She intends to
create IGAP-style and Iowa-style questions for each reading. "Basically, it's
teaching to the test. I'll try to get in as much critical-thinking stuff as I can, but
that's not really tested on the Iowa. And that's what we structured our whole classroom
around last year."
But she's suspending judgment. "Is this really testing reading, or
is it testing test-taking? I'm curious to find out myself," she says. This isn't the
kind of teaching she learned in college, but "not everything you learn in college
works with absolutely every type of child. So maybe this will work."
SEP 5 Stars
yesterday, dorks today.
For 7th-grade teacher Chris Beukema, the switch to a heavily
IGAP/Iowa-oriented curriculum is a little disconcerting. She and co-teacher Tony Gruba had
been held up as model teachers for the student-centered, "inclusion" classroom
they co-taught. "Last year, we were like the king and queen of the school," she
says, "and this year, we're like ..."
"Two dorks," Gruba chimes in.
"Yeah, this year, it's like, 'Oh, don't do that! That's what we're
trying to get away from!' I understand the point [of using basals and teaching toward the
tests] and why they want it," she says. "I know I could teach the same skills by
using novels, but maybe using the novels doesn't get the scores up."
Beukema finds herself in a sometimes losing battle with cynicism.
"I understand now that funding and money and politics are what it's all about,"
she says. "I finally got it. And it makes it easier to come to work in the morning.
Now I know: I'm not here to make them feel good about themselves. I'm not here to help
them enjoy learning. I'm here to raise their test scores.
"I mean, I'm not going to stop encouraging my students to be good
people. That's part of me, it's what I bring." She pauses for melodramatic effect and
widens her eyes: "But my life depends on the Iowa!"
"Kids get rewarded for being good test-takers, not critical
thinkers," she says. "I don't think that's best for kids. It would be OK if the
Iowa was a good profile of where you are academically. But all it measures is how good a
test-taker you were and how well you did on that day. We had kids in our room last year
whose scores dropped by a year and a half. How can you lose a year and a half of learning?
It's impossible."
Principal Mazurek says he knows that some teachers are unhappy with the
new focus on test scores and back-to-basics methods. He respects other approaches, he
says, but the important thing this year is to get everybody pulling in the same direction.
And that direction comes from above. "Everything that Bill Clinton has asked for,
that Mayor Daley has asked for, that Paul Vallas asked for, we've done," says
Mazurek.
Even if teachers don't like everything about the plan, he says, they're
executing it, which means that it will be possible to evaluate its effectiveness. "If
what we've done here works, you should be able to take it and replicate it anywhere in the
city," he says. "And if it doesn't, I don't know what will. We've taken a
well-researched, well-thought-out program; we've provided adequate funding; and we've
supported it by staff development."
Mazurek made an important concession to his staff, too: He will support
the new program for at least two years, which means breaking his habit of pulling in every
new program that appeals to him.
He's already started to hold up his end of the bargain, he says proudly.
"A week or so ago, a guy came to the school, and he wanted to teach architecture as a
way of teaching math and history, and—this is the first time I've ever done it—I
politely referred him to another school. It was a good idea, but we had so many of
them."
"It's true," agrees Casals curriculum chief Barbara Cautchon.
Before, she says, "Anybody would come in and say, 'Hey, I got something.' And we'd
see a note in our mailbox: Can you fit this in? We tended to be stretched too thin. The
programs were good by themselves, but it disrupted your flow."
This morning, Mazurek continues, he sent an arts group back to re-tool a
proposal to teach geometry through art. "I said, 'If you can offer me a program that
teaches language arts through art, I'll be a lot more interested.' Now, they want a copy
of our curriculum, so that they can fit their programs to our plans, and not
vice-versa."
SEP 6 New
policies rub some parents the wrong way.
About 20 parents have come to this year's first meeting of the Community
Corps. Run by staff from DePaul University, the program teaches parents some academic
skill-building exercises they can do at home with their kids. Members of the group also
use their new skills volunteering in classrooms.
They have a special guest today: Principal Mazurek, who has come to
clear up some misunderstandings. Some parents are asking why they're being told not to
come into classrooms between 9 and 10. Doesn't the school want parents around?
Mazurek says that, yes, they are wanted in the school but that the first
hour is reserved for special reading programs like Direct Instruction. He doesn't want
classes interrupted during that time. He offers to show individual parents what's going
on, if they want to sit quietly and observe one day. And if they want to find a way to
help during that hour, even better.
After the meeting, PTA President Sylvia Perez airs a few complaints. For
one, she didn't like Mazurek's recent letter warning parents that they could face fines or
a loss of public aid if their children are truant. "That's like a threat to us,"
she says.
Later that morning, 4th-grade teacher Jennifer Redus looks over her
students' poor scores on today's social studies test. "I'm going to have to teach
latitude and longitude again," she says. "They're going to be repeated in later
grades, and it's going to be on the standardized tests in the spring.
"If I had my druthers, I'd spend the time on things that are
important for life. Is this a life-skill that everybody's going to need—compared to
reading a map scale? That's a pretty complex skill, and it's something they'll have to do
over and over again." She'll teach both, but the standardized-test focus requires her
to give first priority to longitude because it's on the test.
SEP 10 Poor
attendance at LSC training.
Casals hosts an LSC training session for several neighborhood schools, but
only three members of the Casals LSC, all parents, show up. (Principal Mazurek is in the
Smoky Mountains this week, taking his first vacation in two years.)
Jorge Morales leads an English-language group on one side of the Casals
community room, while Norberto Paredes leads a training in Spanish on the other. This is
lesson No. 2 of 6: collaboration for effective management. "There has to be a
relationship of trust and collaboration for real effectiveness to take place," he
says.
It seems to be an apt topic for Casals. Early in the discussion, Casals'
newly elected LSC chair, Beatrice Rodriguez, says that she's not happy with her
relationship with the Casals staff on the council. "I feel intimidated at times. I
feel like they undermine my intelligence. I don't like feeling put down because maybe I
don't have the same educational level that they do. I'm an individual just like they are,
and I deserve to be treated with respect."
With the two other Casals LSC members in the Spanish-language group, her
complaint gets no discussion.
Later, Rodriguez says she ran for the council "because there were
things that I didn't like at the school. For one, we need more security. Also, I grew up
in Florida, and we have excellent schools there. I was shocked by how far behind they are
here."
She gives the training a positive review. "I look forward to these
classes. I'm getting to know my responsibilities and rights that I have. For instance, I
didn't know that, by law, we're supposed to have a PPAC [professional personnel advisory
committee]. I don't know if we have one, but I'm going to find out." (Casals does
have one.)
She goes through a few pros and cons. "I love the uniforms. I don't
like year-round, because kids don't get a summer vacation. I don't like the fact that we
have no security personnel in the school. I've seen guys who are known gang-bangers
walking in and out of the school, and nobody stops them. And as a parent, I've been
questioned when I come to the school."
Later, at the end of the school day, 6th-grade teacher Barbara Phips
puts in a good word for basal readers. Phips has been teaching in Casals' West Humboldt
Park neighborhood since before some of her fellow teachers were born. "If students
are already reading for pleasure, novels are great," she says. "But if reading
is a chore for them, or they lack basic skills, then basals are better."
Unlike novels, the textbook "has the skills in it that students
need," she says. Students need "survival skills" like using reference books
and practicing alphabetizing. "The basals are designed to cover those basics,"
says Phips. Besides, her class's basal reader includes a whole novel, she adds.
Some Casals teachers were happy to create their own skills materials to
supplement novels, but not everyone would do it, says Assistant Principal Maria Guerrero.
"Some teachers develop wonderful units; they could be published," she says.
"And the teachers who are most against the basals are the ones who do a wonderful job
with the novels."
SEP 12 Scrubbing
scuffmarks
Eddie Irizarri still doesn't have time to talk—he's vigorously erasing
scuff marks from hallway floors. His boss is in the building and already has complained
that Irizarri's section isn't clean enough.
Meanwhile, a parent volunteer ribs him for working so hard. "Some
husband you'd make," she says. "You'd drive me crazy."
"At least the house would be clean, though," he responds.
Irizarri is getting $7.50 an hour, but he won't see the promised fringe
benefits for another two months. LBR's company policy is that workers don't qualify for
benefits until they've worked for the company for at least 90 days.
SEP 16 No
LSC quorum.
Beatrice Rodriguez brings up her concerns about security at today's local
school council meeting, and comes away with good news and bad news.
The good news: Members present come up with a proposal they all
like— instead of hiring full-time guards, the school can give parents small stipends
to organize themselves as school monitors. As parents, they know who belongs in the school
and who doesn't, she says. "And we're here anyway."
The bad news: There's no quorum—five parent members, one teacher
and one community representative are absent—and no parents show up to observe.
Rodriguez says later that she still feels that staff on the council don't give her
concerns enough weight. Further, parents she talks to the next day aren't happy with the
parent-monitor idea. Rodriguez advises them to show up at the next council meeting and
promises to pressure school officials to publicize the meeting.
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