Introit

Rules of Thumb: Guest Blogger William Wharton

This is my twelfth year running and my twenty-sixth working at a very small school in Boston’s Back Bay, one that enjoys a remarkable group of teachers and motivated students.  I like to think that I’ve figured a few things out, usually after a couple of significant blunders.  But as I think back I realize that though I’m a slow learner, eventually patterns of what works and what doesn’t come into focus and are understood.  I like to distill some of those lessons into economical rules of thumb— common sense reminders—that keep me on track.  Here are a few about leadership and our schools.

There is no such thing as an interruption. I learned this one quickly, thanks to my predecessor who used to tell everyone at the start of the year that her door was open and that teachers and students were welcome to bring any ideas or concerns to her, adding that she did not promise to agree with them, but she did promise to listen.  I repeat those lines at the start of every year. My office is an ornate 19^th-century oval dining room whose double doors (gorgeous curved mahogany) open onto a busy landing across from our library. Teachers, staff, or students drop in frequently with questions and comments ranging from the inconsequential to the momentous.  A teacher may present a problem with a proposal for a sensible solution; a student may float a far-fetched idea for a new program or sport.  But if I don’t drop what I’m doing and give my full attention, they will leave feeling that they have been rejected.  Even if all that I have to say is “Good idea, go for it,” it is important for all to know that they have been fully heard. The attention I give assures them of their franchise, of their responsibility for the community.  The rule of thumb helps keep me from treating a teacher, student, or parent as a distraction.

The leader sets the tone.  General Eisenhower realized that “optimism and pessimism are infectious and they spread more rapidly from the head downward than in any other direction.” Of his time on Gibraltar while planning the North African invasion in the fall of 1942 he wrote, “I did my best to meet everyone from general to private with a smile, a pat on the back, and a definite interest in his problem.”  I have seen in schools how the Head’s treatment of colleagues and students creates the atmosphere in which all live and work.  Students and adults smell suspicion and doubt; they can sense when they are trusted and liked.  The rule reminds me that the health of a community depends on the leadership’s confidence, even if occasionally misplaced, in everyone’s good will and effort. Besides, if the boss is having fun, everyone will have more fun.

The facts can clear a lot of fog. What social psychologists call the availability principle ensures that what stands out will be taken as typical: people fear flying, even though it’s safer than driving, because plane crashes are dramatic, or as the pros say, psychologically salient.  When teachers come to complain about an epidemic of tardiness or sloth or when students or parents tell of outrageous demands by a new teacher, it’s worth asking for specifics. Detailed, sympathetic questioning about the facts both conveys your care and attention to the matter and also clarifies the scope and nature of the issue. Two or three students who are slacking or frequently sauntering in late absorb can be dealt with more readily than an epidemic. Likewise, a couple of unexpectedly tough assignments are easier to raise with a new teacher than are charges of piling it on.  The rule can quickly reduce a crisis to a manageable problem.   

I’m not in as big a hurry as the teachers are.  I remember my outrage in my first year as a Latin teacher when the middle school head told me that in ten years it would not really matter whether my students got to chapter twenty-five in first year Latin. I know now that she was absolutely right.  Three times a year our entire faculty meets and over one or two days reviews together the grades and comments of each one of our 150 students. In the four to five minutes we spend on each child, a biology teacher or advisor will agonize to figure out what is keeping their charges from doing their best work.  They want to fix the problem now.  Such devotion almost justifies our tuition, but I often cut these conversations short. From outside the classroom trenches I’ve watched hundreds of students move through the school and beyond to successful, flourishing lives—including a few whom we asked to leave and who have come back to visit in their second year of medical school.  I can see that time and maturation often do more than many of the interventions we can devise (though we do devise plenty).  If teachers resist my suggestion that a student’s chief need is simply further growth of the frontal cortex—they are on to me—we’ll keep talking. It’s a healthy tension.

Parents have far fewer data points about young people and the school than we do.  This is the home-front corollary to the rule above.  Parents have had, at most, a few children pass through adolescence; we’ve watched hundreds.  We have to orient parents to our school and to what they can expect in their years with us.  We have handbooks and back-to-school nights to get things rolling, but they don’t know what the coming years are going to feel like. I wrote a short manual for parents on raising Commonwealth students that spells out “the interesting, frustrating, delightful, and worrisome white-knuckle ride” they may face as their children grow into young adults. It gives a year-by-year account of hurdles their kids will face, and counsels a patient ear and regular communication with the advisor.  With the first set of grades we send a cover letter that prepares parents for our teachers’ sometimes frank comments and orients them to our grading, assuring them, among other things, that B’s and C’s are well within the normal range for 9^th graders in the early part of the year. Parents need some sense of the normal range of behavior and performance in order to understand their children.  The rule reminds us that we always have to communicate to keep parents’ expectations realistic.

Be honest about your mistakes.  I recently lifted everyone’s morale when I sent a desperate e-mail to teachers asking if anyone had seen Alexis’s Language and Ethics test, which I had lost.  (Language and Ethics is a short class I teach to all freshmen.) We didn’t find the test, and Alexis was gracious about having to re-take it (not to mention tickled that the Headmaster apologized to her).  The teachers felt terrific relief that I had broadcast my own fallibility.  They could let go of their own fear of blundering—at least some of it. I teach students that honest argument requires that we be open to the possibility that we’re wrong. Teachers—and parents—know that I’ve been persuaded to change decisions.  They know, therefore, that discussion at Commonwealth matters and that we learn from mistakes.  And given that this principle accords with Carol Dweck’s Mindset and Kathryn Schulz’s Being Wrong (both highly recommended), it’s proven a fashionable rule in school circles.

 There are more where these came from.  Perhaps the master of this blog could set up a bank of such adages, with glosses.  This brings me to the last rule for this piece. Borrowing what has worked for others can save a lot of time, money, and grief.  

William Wharton has been Headmaster of Commonwealth School in Boston since July 2000. Bill joined Commonwealth’s faculty in 1985 as a teacher of history, Latin, and Greek, and over his 25 years at Commonwealth his courses have included current events, ancient philosophy, and world religions. He also serves on the Board of College Year in Athens. You can reach him at bwharton@commschool.org.

 

Educators as School Marketers: Exploring the Potential Disconnection

Given the need for independent schools to attract and retain qualified students and families, it should come as no surprise that the last few years have likely prompted many conversations in which teachers have been asked to be more sensitive to and proactive in the marketing of their school to current and prospective families.  Unfortunately, many teachers are quite confused by such requests and simply fall back on “doing what I always do” in hopes that such actions fulfill the request.  Such reactions highlight a disconnection between the teacher’s role as instructor and the need to assume a more conscientious role of marketer.

I don’t blame teachers for feeling confused.  After all, I doubt many of them had any formal marketing training as part of their teacher preparation.  Certainly a course in school and community relations may be helpful, but as a marketer?

Probably not.

As an administrator at an independent school that has asked its teachers to be more conscientious of their marketing role, I have spent the past few years reflecting on this issue.  My reflections generally revolve around a few questions.

Why might teachers feel a disconnection between the role of classroom instructor and school promoter?

 

Is there a way to make the connection between classroom instructor and school promoter that makes logical sense to the teacher?

 

If not, why not?  If so, what strategies can a teacher use to make that connection?

This post shares my thoughts on these questions.

I believe that the reason some teachers feel a disconnection between the role of classroom instructor and school promoter (or marketer, evangelist, etc.) is a matter involving the evolution of what an educator is today.  Today’s educator is trying to operate effectively in a period which will likely be identified by the access to choice, desire for change, and ease of networking.  It is an era that continues to force us to reflect upon and leverage the power of relationships and communication.  Thus, what society now sees as successful, necessary, and desired is undergoing a change.  Most noticeably, this change involves a growing desire for deep and meaningful experiences and interactions which produce a desired sense of distinction and specialness.  I suggest this is a result of almost unlimited choice which demands that consumers reflect much more on, “Why?” one option is more attractive than another.  Herein lies the basic problem.  Before people had access to so many options, “Why?” was not nearly as important as answering, “What?”.  You needed a new shirt, you went to the mall and bought one from the stock available.  Now, you can get a new tie from any tie maker in the world over the Internet.  In order to choose one from another, “Why?” becomes a much greater factor.  

What does this have to do with educators?  

Well, for as long as any living educator can remember, teachers have worked (and have been taught) in a model of education that does not sync well with the growing market for distinction, the market that needs a clearer answer to, “Why?”.  It is a mode of operation that follows a set way of thinking about, preparing for, and delivering one’s class.  I will refer to this model as the factory model and its related mode of thinking as the factory mode. Therefore, this model of education, and the related mode of thinking that accompanies it, has become part of the professional genetic code of educators.  It is part of the educator’s DNA.  This mode of thinking, while useful in clarifying, “What?”, but falls short of clearly answering, “Why?”.

The factory model leaves little room for, and certainly doesn’t place much value in, expanding the nature of a class  beyond the curriculum - no matter how artfully it is delivered.  The teacher’s role in factory mode is limited, teach your course and make sure students are ready for the next course.  There is nothing inherently wrong with that role.  As matter of fact, effectively delivering content is an essential part of teaching.  However, when we ask teachers to expand the nature of an effective class, we then move from content and curriculum to experience and relationships, two areas the factory model cannot and does not address.  There needs to be a heightened awareness of the other pieces of the educator’s DNA to provide the balance and approach to delivering a great class that includes relationships and deep, meaningful experiences.  In other words, the environment created by deep and meaningful experiences helps students and parents answer the question, “Why do I choose this school?”.

These suggestions may seem easy to understand.  I would agree that they are easy to understand, but often circumstances make them hard to employ.  Especially when circumstances prompt a strong response from the factory mode that is deeply embedded in the educator’s DNA.

When things are going well, we naturally are inclined to avoid disruption.  The message most teachers hear is “keep doing a great job in class” or “keep up the good work” which, as open to interpretation as it may seem, for many teachers translates as “keep being a good factory worker.”  

However, in recent years the economic reality many schools face has caused them to rethink operations and work like never before to retain and attract families.  These have been years of uncertainty and pressure to perform at the highest levels, often asking every member of the school to act as “adjunct marketers and school ambassadors.”  Stated a different way, schools need teachers to be more than good factory workers.  In essence, we are asking teachers to ignore a strong and significant piece to their professional DNA (the factory worker) and become more of the artist, evangelist, innovator, and magnetic creative.  We are asking teachers to transform their classes from solely places of learning into places of learning that serve to engage students and families in making deep and lasting connections with the school.  We need teachers to embrace their “intellectual celebrity” and become linchpins for our schools.

Certainly, the switch away from factory mode is not easy.  So, a set of guidelines or examples to help teachers understand exactly what is involved in this new approach is helpful.  For some teachers, this requires an acceptance of a dual perception of their work and a commitment to an approach to their work that is conducive to the creation of deep and meaningful experiences.

The Perception of the Work

Many teachers talk about their responsibilities, but rarely do they speak of their cause.  I believe this is directly associated with the factory mode.  Responsibilities are external.  They are dictated to us as part of the job.  They represent a contractual agreement between school and employee.  Typically, responsibilities are specific and measurable.  There is a place for responsibilities, but that place is part of a market agreement between school and employee.  With responsibilities, there is an expectation of immediate reciprocity.  You fulfill your responsibility and you get something in return (a paycheck).

Your cause, though, is personal.  You chose it.  It defines you as a person, not as a worker.  The only contract you have with your cause is with yourself.  Any agreement involving your cause is social.  There is no immediate expectation for reciprocity.  You give of yourself for your cause because you recognize the value in sharing your talents for the betterment of others.  You may not even get a “Thank you”, at least not right away.  That’s “ok” because you do not engage in your cause for the rewards.  You engage in your cause for your contribution.

In order to suppress the factory mode and embrace the marketer inside, teachers need to accept their responsibilities, but adjust their approach to their class as their cause.  Perceiving one’s class as their cause (instead of their responsibility) begins to place the emphasis of the work on the receiver (student) and not on the giver (teacher).  

In other words, if you view your class as your responsibility, you are doing YOUR job, fulfilling YOUR obligation, serving YOUR need to collect a salary.  Again, there is nothing wrong with being paid a fair wage for doing a good job.  However, viewing your class as your cause places the emphasis on the receiver.  Your class is serving THEIR needs.  You are responding to THEIR issues.  Your role is to demonstrate that your class is worthy of THEIR following and participation.

Your cause is student centered.  Your responsibilities are yours alone.

Accepting the cause perception, and the social agreement from which it operates, is not a denial of the factory mode of thinking and the responsibilities that accompany it.  After all, the market agreement that brought a teacher into the classroom must be honored and there does need to be some markers set up for the teacher to measure content delivered progress.  Finding the balance between the two, or applying the correct approach to any given situation, is the key.

The “Open House Culture” in Your Class

Once you begin to perceive your class as your cause, you are in the right mindset to build an inviting and engaging culture in your class, one conducive to deep and meaningful experiences.  To do so, I suggest borrowing the characteristics of one of the more enchanting events at schools, the Open House.

Open house is your school at its best.  Your doors are open and you welcome new prospective families to tour and learn more about your school.  Ultimately, successful open house events prompt the attendees to take the next step in the admissions process with the eventual desired outcome being a new enrolled student.  Your class’ “Open House Culture” operates similarly.  In an “Open House Culture”, you are presenting your class (your cause) at its best.  An effective “Open House Culture” prompts students to “take the next steps” towards becoming an active contributor to your cause (your class).

Borrowing from the numerous Open House experiences I have had, I suggest their are five qualities of effective open houses and also provide the ingredients for an “Open House Culture”.  These qualities are: friendly, trustworthy, reliable, responsive, and interactive.

The Director of Admissions at my school frequently reminds us all that every interaction with parents and students is an opportunity to either improve retention or motivate that family to recommend a friend.  Having a cause mindset and nurturing an “Open House Culture” in your class are powerful foundations upon which you can clearly address the dual role of educator and marketer in your school.

Final note:  If you and I share some of the same reading preferences, you probably noticed the influence of a couple of different people in this post.  Over the past few years, I have found the writing of Seth Godin and Guy Kawasaki among the most influential.  Kawasaki’s Enchantment has become my “go to” guide for winning the hearts and minds of people.  Godin’s Linchpin, Tribes, and practically every title from his work with the Domino Project are invaluable reminders and prompts for us to embrace our ability to do great work.

Troy Roddy is the Head of Middle School at Wakefield School in The Plains, VA.  In addition, he frequently shares his thoughts and reflections about leadership and education on his blog, The Art of Education.  Dr. Roddy is the author of two eBooks, Paying Attention: Thoughts on Communication in Schools and Foundations: Examining Vision, Beliefs, Mission, and Philosophy.  Troy invites all independent school educators to join his LinkedIn group, the American Society of Independent School Educators.

 

 

 

 

The Long Career

"The long career is dead." So goes the feature "Generation Flux" in the February 2012 issue of Fast Company magazine.

Data on jobs do show that the average tenure of an employee in his/her current company averages 4.4 years, down markedly from thirty or forty years ago. There is much churn, especially among those in their late 20s and early 30s, with many in the latter age group staying at a job for only one to two years at best. Given the how the trends seem to be aligning, we might expect the 4.4 years to decrease a bit more.

One wonders what the data show for jobs in independent schools. There are plenty of schools, for example, where the average tenure is around 18 to 21 years, a remarkable average when you consider the 4.4 years cited in the aforementioned paragraph. Likewise, there are plenty of schools where the average tenure is much shorter, somewhere around 8 or 9 years. Even though we might question why a given school has an average of "only" 8 or 9 years, as opposed to almost 20, we ought to pause for a moment and consider that those "short-tenured" institutions still buck the trend, more or less doubling the average of 4.4 years.

In independent schools, the notion of "the long career" is something to be lauded, generally speaking, yet there are certain tensions that come with that moniker. Let's consider both.

First, some advantages:

• institutional memory benefits greatly from those educators who remain with a given school for a long time. Whether a long-time humanities teacher or the well-tenured middle school math teacher, the institution benefits from a coherent vision over the long haul, as opposed to a constantly-changing vision that comes from frequent turnover. Memory is a powerful driver in schools.
• mission benefits when an administrative team with several "long careers" looks to marry tradition with modernity, keeping the school's mission alive and healthy.
• program benefits from a cogent vision over the long term, whether in the form of a corpus of long career teachers in a specific division or in long career division leadership.

Second, some potential disadvantages:

• stagnation can occur in a long career teacher's/administrator's professional life, when that person become comfortable in the machinery of status quo. If the school's culture is supportive of status quo, the long career person will suffer.
• school culture, related to the bullet point above, can become inflexible when there are many long career individuals who promote the status quo above all else.
• program can suffer from inflexibility; in schools, we tend to see this manifested in teachers who continue to teach the exact same classes using the same materials in year 20 that they generated and used in years 1 and 2.

There are more examples, to be sure, in either the "advantages" column or "disadvantages" column. What I'd like to underscore is that both columns can appear identical (e.g., "program" above appears in both), because school is about balance. We want that long career person, but sometimes the long career person is someone who might hold the organization back from advancing in ways it needs to.

The other area in which 'the long career' makes good sense for us in independent schools is for heads of school: a head is someone with a 'long career,' even though his/her career has taken any number of twists and turns along the way. Yet, through it all, his/her focus has been on education and its inherent value.

Any other thoughts out there on 'the long career'?

A Very Important Conversation

One of the blogs that I read regularly is published by a group that purports to be at the forefront of leadership when it comes to non-profit governance. In the most recent post, the writer, who takes pride in strategy work in particular, tells the following, in talking about a recent meeting she attended on non-profit leadership:

"We broke into working sessions to create actionable goals and strategies in these important areas: Advancing Diversity and Inclusion; Developing Cross-Sector Talent Pipelines; Equipping Leaders to Face Tough Challenges; Scaling Social Innovations; Catalyzing Public and Private Investments in Leadership."

Wow. How did this group get to those areas, in advance of the meeting? B-R-O-A-D in scope. Some fluff (sound bold and important...but what does it all mean?). Strategies...plural? I'll back up..."actionable goals and strategies" (plural)? Oh my. This sounds like a classically-bad strategic planning process. Way too much going on here, some of it potentially strategic, and plenty (I'll wager) that should be part of some group's normal work flow.

All this in one meeting?

With the aforementioned titles, this work sounds terribly important (and it is, actually). However, it also sounds as if this "meeting" had some serious flaws. Could one truly expect a group of folks to show up on one afternoon, split into groups, and do serious strategic planning--to the point of creating plural goals and strategies? Really?

What's decidely more awkward, from my perspective, is that the writer goes on to identify this meeting as "the start of a very important conversation."

Wait a moment...I thought you said that you created actionable goals and strategies. All 200 of you who were invited (and, of course, I'm sure you knew each other so well by that time). You did that, yet it was supposed to be "the start of a very important conversation"?

Is this episode meant to be upheld as a model for strategy work?

To Keep Things Whole: Dear Jay Mathews

Jay Mathews is an education columnist for The Washington Post. Before that he wrote for Newsweek. He started the annual rankings of the nation’s high schools. If you read this blog regularly, you know how I feel about such things. You will understand why his December 28, 2011, post—“Revealing private school secrets”—struck a nerve. The following is my response:

via www.tokeepthingswhole.blogspot.com

Great post from friend Mark Crotty, HOS at St John's Episcopal School in Dallas. Thanks, Mark, for your courage and leadership in writing this piece!