Retirement: Last Port of Call

[dedalus_1947]

It is time I stepped aside

for a less experienced

and less able man.

(Scott Elledge, author and English professor)

 

At the end of my first year at Shangri-la, the faculty, in a burst of euphoric optimism, voted to join the LEARN (Los Angeles Alliance for Restructuring Now) Initiative, a consortium of District schools united in a reform effort to improve schools and student achievement by empowering teachers, administrators, and parents. It involved four weeks of summer training in Palms Springs that was hot, tedious and boring. However, the experience had 2 side benefits; it allowed me to build a long-term, trusting relationship with Dorothy, the teacher union rep, and introduced me to 2 “trainers” (instructional advisors) who were more interested in personal wisdom and improving human relationships than studying data and management systems. I liked one in particular, who, at the end of our last week, told me of two books that had changed her views on careers and education. She recommended The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron, and Management of the Absurd: Paradoxes in Leadership, by Richard Farson. Cameron’s book offered a radically new approach to self-awareness and jobs. In her work with “blocked” painters and writers, Cameron helped them overcome their creative paralysis with Morning Pages - the simple practice of producing 3 pages of spontaneous, reflective writing every morning. I never thought of myself as artistic, or creative, but the practice helped me to survive my second year at Shangri-la.
 

 

My daily entries of Morning Pages stretch from September 22, 1996 to April 17, 1997 (when they suddenly stopped for 8 months). They chronicled my solitary struggles and the steady deterioration of my physical and psychological health as I battled the insubordination, defiance, and undermining efforts of three staff members. The conflict began as a tropical depression at the start of the year, gained intensity through the winter, and reached hurricane proportions in the spring. Principals are easy targets if one wishes to relentlessly criticize and attack them, because they are responsible for EVERY aspect of a school, and for EVERY action, error, oversight, and mistake by the people they supervise. Principals sin by commission (what they actually do), and omission (what they didn’t do); and they are only as successful as their clients (teachers, parents, and students) believe them to be. If principals become hesitant and fearful, they run the risk of pandering to their opponents, and judging themselves through the eyes of their critics. In doing so, they lose all confidence, becoming more and more isolated and suspicious of everyone; finally despairing, completely – as I did. At first, I arrogantly thought I could handle the growing problems by myself; refusing to believe that two or three unhappy, and determined, staff members could effect my removal from a school. I was confident that if I acted intelligently, professionally, and ethically, I was safe and secure. I never expected the opposite behaviors by my opponents: unauthorized and unsigned letters with outrageous lies about me, assistant principals, and teachers, being placed in faculty mailboxes; formal petitions with unverified parent signatures being mailed to District administrators and board members demanding my immediate removal for lack of leadership; and visits to elected officials and community leaders by spokesmen of a parent organization secretly directed by my disaffected coordinators to make unsubstantiated allegations of supervisory incompetence, intimidation, and racial discrimination. It was a gradual campaign of slander and innuendo, which grew and grew because the accusations were so outrageous and so incredible, that reasonable parents, teachers, and administrators began wondering if there weren’t SOME grounds for suspicion. In December I was ready to ask for help from the LEARN trainers and my administrative team (composed of assistant principals, trusted coordinators, the teacher’s union rep, my administrative assistant, and a counselor). I didn’t want them to assume my burden, but I realized that I desperately needed their help to generate ideas, implement strategies, and win others to our cause. The LEARN trainers recommended a battle plan of transparency, full disclosure, and Fabian battle tactics; which translated into systematically exposing the sneaky, underhanded, and unethical maneuvers employed by our opponents, and pouncing on their errors and misjudgments. In doing this we built leadership capacity and awareness in the faculty and among parents, and I documented every unethical and unprofessional misstep they took; following it up with a witnessed meeting and a conference memo. It was a smart strategy, but it took time, a long, long time of ceaseless conflict and guerrilla warfare - and I did not feel I was winning.
 

 

In April, I was dreading going to school. Every day promised a new catastrophe, a new crisis, or another emotional scene of defiance and confrontation with one of the opposing staff members or their minions. I could only compare my feelings to the “battle fatigue” that bomber crews experienced during World War II after countless missions over flak infested skies where they were sitting ducks for enemy fighter pilots and anti-aircraft guns. Yet, even at that point, I hadn’t hit the depth of my despair. It was not until the first Friday of the month that I realized how broken I was. I was driving home when the aftermath of the week caught up with me. The week was the same as many others that year, with the usual emotional incidents: the same group of parents going (for the fourth time) to the Office of the Deputy Superintendent to demand my removal; the coordinator and her community rep again scheduling a meeting with the Cluster Leader to report my unfair treatment of them; and the parent officers of the advisory council demanding my presence at a special budget meeting to answer their questions. These highlights flashed through my mind, and when I arrived home, I just sat in the car, without moving, for about 30 minutes. I felt shell-shocked and depressed. I was comatose – just sitting there, gulping deep breaths, closing my eyes, and then opening them to stare off, vacantly, into space. I’d spent the day dealing with emotional personnel and angry administrative interactions that had drained me. I was paralyzed and unable to think or make decisions. I felt helpless and overwhelmed by these never-ending problems and the constant realization that they were being taken “over my head” and delivered directly to my superiors. Feelings of failure and inadequacy welled up like a giant, black wave, and then came crashing down over me. I only had one wish – I wanted to feel competent again. I wished I could once again act with confidence instead of reacting with doubts, fears, and uncertainty. That evening Kathy finally stepped in and, by telling me what she was observing in my actions and behaviors, put a mirror to my face and let me see for myself what I had become in the course of the year. I wasn’t sleeping through the night, awakening daily at 2:00 or 3:00 A.M. and not being able to return; I was experiencing gripping aches and pains in my back, neck and chest which were recurrent; I was coming down with constant colds and coughs; I had stopped jogging and exercising, replacing a healthy routine with daily cocktails at 6 o’clock, and drinking wine with dinner; I had developed an uncontrollable and annoying twitch in my upper eyelid; my handwriting had deteriorated so badly that my secretary (who had worked with me for 4 years) could no longer decipher it; and I was always so sad, that not even Prisa’s animated talk after a basketball game could cheer me. Kathy told me that she loved me, and would do anything to help, but if I could not recognize the symptoms for myself there was no hope. I was stunned, but not blind. I called Employee Assistance the next day, and scheduled a psychiatric assessment the following week. The psychiatrist confirmed what Kathy already knew and I suspected; I was clinically depressed, and had been for a long time. What surprised me most was my quick consent in accepting medication and therapy; a lifetime of stoic bravado, machismo, and hubris melted in seconds before my desire to be ME again – the intrepid, curious, and humorous assistant principal who found his job interesting and wanted to learn how to be a principal.
 

By May, the conflict had boiled to the point of direct confrontation. A handful of parents had finally gone to the School Cluster Leader demanding that I meet with them to answer their complaints, allegations, and demands. Suspecting an ambush, or, worse, an inquisition followed by public burning at the stake, I had dodged this frontal assault for weeks - believing myself vulnerable and defenseless. The Cluster Leader, however, sided with the parents and she directed me to appear at their meeting. That weekend, feeling alone, cornered, and defeated, it finally dawned on me that there might be people willing to help me, if I were humble enough to ask and let them. Nothing (except my pride) prevented me from inviting other school “stakeholders” (students, teachers, parents, and community members) from joining this meeting. On Sunday night, I called Dorothy and asked for her help. She gave me her unqualified support and, between the two of us, we divided up a telephone tree composed of team leaders, department chairs, staff members, and administrators; asking them to join us on the night of the “tribunal”. That evening, the original, hand-picked audience of 10 denouncing parents was outnumbered and outmatched by a crowd of 30 open-minded and supportive teachers, staff members, and parents. Every outrageous slander and lie directed at me, or my staff, was challenged, countered, and contradicted with the truth by other parents, teachers, and counselors. What had started as a trial for my job, ended as a vindication of my leadership. The tide had finally turned, and within weeks of this Armageddon encounter, the three staff members would resign, and eventually be released from their positions for the following year. There would still be some emotional skirmishes at parent meetings, and an embarrassing parent demonstration in front of school that was covered by television and newspapers, but the opposition was tiny, exposed, and irrelevant and it faded away over the course of the next two years.
 

 

Looking back at my 10 years at Shangri-la MS (See Telephone Game), I would call them the most satisfying and successful professional period of my life. I fell in love with the school, and learned how to be a principal. I did not learn it from books on school management, from administrative training programs, or from a master principal – I finally learned from the people I worked with; by allowing them to help me and to influence me: assistant principals, teachers, clerks, deans, counselors (therapists), and students. They all gave me challenges, insights, and behaviors that I incorporated into my own attitudes and actions. The most important lesson was realizing that the job of principal was ABSURDLY IMPOSSIBLE. There was simply no way ONE person could assume and perform the overwhelming number of duties and responsibilities heaped upon them by parents, teachers, boards of education, superintendents, universities, state legislatures, governors, or presidents. There is no way ONE human being can do it all. Trying only leads to frustration, disillusion, or depression. The more a principal acts in the belief that they alone can perform this role in a controlling, linear fashion (“getting all their ducks in a row”), the more they will experience paradoxical consequences and unintended outcomes. I found that the more I tried to CONTROL people, choices, and events – the opposite results would occur. I became curious of this phenomenon at Fire Mountain, but it finally made sense after reading Farson’s book in Shangri-la. There I discovered that once I accepted the notion that the job was overwhelming and impossible, I was liberated to ask for help and advice, and to act in the best interest of children. I let go of the illusion of the all-controlling and all-responsible principal and focused on my IMMEDIATE (momentary) interactions with people. I concentrated on doing the RIGHT thing (being fair, honest, and caring), or not doing anything. CONTROL requires clear choices and decisive actions – even when the alternatives are bad (picking the best of the bad choices). FREEDOM from this illusion allows one the option of doing NOTHING, and letting other people, or other forces come into play. It recognizes that something, or someone greater is in control. This was illustrated for me when I stumbled into a prayer group at school. Even after my Night of Armageddon, I was never certain of the outcome of the conflict until the day I hurriedly unlocked the closed door to the Dean’s Office and discovered Magda, Antonia, Maricela, and Beatrice, four classified employees, sitting quietly in a circle. I was surprised and embarrassed. Magda just smiled and put me at ease by saying “we were praying”. I mumbled an apology for intruding, turned around, and closed the door behind me. As I paused outside, I was embraced by a sensation of such comfort and warmth, that I imagined myself being carried to bed, in the arms of my father, while pretending to be asleep in the car after a long ride home. Without another word of explanation, I KNEW what Magda and the other women were praying for; they were asking God to resolve the conflict and bring peace to Shangri-la. She knew and loved all the parties involved in this crisis and she was not picking sides; she was picking God, and beseeching him to take control. For the first time that year, I knew everything would work out fine. God was in charge, and I knew He would answer the prayers of these women. All I needed to do was concentrate on the essential interactions of my job and leave the grand strategy and future to God. Years later at a principal’s meeting, John McLaughlin (principal of Romer Middle School) reworded my description into two words: “Benign Neglect”. The job of a principal was to know what to ignore, delegate, and perform; because to do everything was impossible.
 

 

I even learned things from Caesar, one of the mutinous staff members. He had the bizarre habit of addressing each student as “SIR” or “MISS” and shaking their hands before transacting his business with them. The students thought it an odd and eccentric behavior, but I was intrigued. I had always toyed with the idea of trying to learn the names of every student in the school, but had been intimidated by the vast enrollment at Fire Mountain MS (over 2,000 students). Shangri-la was smaller in comparison, and its enrollment of 1100 offered me the possibility of getting close to this impossible dream. All I needed was a means to practice and the willingness to make mistakes and appear “silly” to middle school children. Slight adjustments to Caesar’s quirky habit gave me the perfect vehicle to greet, meet, and interact with students on a daily basis, AND learn their names. I could do it before school, during Nutrition and Lunch, and after school. The practice allowed me to look into their faces, and acknowledge each student I encountered every day. When I could not recall their names (and saw the fading of their smiles), I simply went to Plan B: asking them to help me remember by giving me a clue – the first letter of their name. I would usually guess the correct name after one or two tries; or finally give up and ask them to tell me. By that time the student would be laughing and appear to believe me when I would exclaim, “Of course! I knew that; now I remember!” This simple ritual calibrated my perspective each morning as I stood in front of school shaking hands and reciting names, by reminding me who was important and who made my job enjoyable. It also had unexpected, and beneficial side effects. Parents and neighbors called, or sent unsolicited emails and letters, saying how much they appreciated and were comforted by the sight of a principal, standing in front of school, shaking hands, and greeting every child by name every morning and afternoon. Students, parents, and teachers came to believe that I had mastered an IMPOSSIBLE task and memorized the names of every child at Shangri-la M.S. I had made the impossible seem possible.
 

 

In 2005, I was informed by my District Director that the Superintendent wished to assign me to Mash M.S., a school that was recovering from a State intervention, and a District take-over and reconstitution. The school was coming off of a four-year, transformational effort to revive its program of instruction and insure consistent student achievement. The Superintendent was now looking for a veteran principal to replace the “transforming” principal, stabilize the school, and assure that the more mundane District policies, guidelines, and practices were also in place. My first response was “What if I don’t accept?”

She gave me a bemused smile and replied “Would you rather take over Sherman High School?”

Suddenly, a nightmarish vision of trying to direct that large, comprehensive high school, which was caught in the throws of violent ethnic confrontation and conflict between Hispanic and Middle-eastern students, made Mash MS a much more appealing alternative. I gathered from my options that I did not really have a choice; so after an upbeat conversation with the exiting principal hearing the reasons why I should accept, and discussing the offer with Kathy, I called my director and said “yes”.
 

 

In my third year at Mash MS, I finally awoke one day, looking into the faces of the children I continued to greet, shake their hands, and learn their names, and realized that they were all mine. I recognized every one (or felt I did), but more importantly they all recognized me. I’d spent the first two years of my assignment being very objective, very aloof, and very professional. That was easy, because I was now “an old hand” at my job, and the teachers, staff, and students at this school were strangers. I’d finally become “the old man” assigned to a refitted Man-ó-War, on one last voyage; the grizzled old sea captain who had made the hazardous trip “around the horn” so often, he could do it in his sleep. Piloting a school was no longer difficult, because I’d learned not to provoke personal animosities, and to see that every problem has a finite number of steps towards a resolution. The consequences of my actions might be unpleasant, but the decisions were obvious, if one has faced the same situations semester after semester for 14 years. Mash MS was FILLED with dilemmas (see tag, MASH); but I didn’t panic or despair, because I was secure in my abilities to handle any issue, conflict, or controversy “by the numbers”, without investing feelings or emotions. This emotional detachment was heightened by my anger and resentment over my assignment to Mash M.S. I grieved the loss of Shangri-la; the friends I’d made, the people I’d worked with, the teachers I had hired, and the students I had left behind. I had not allowed one person at Mash into that private place of trust and confidence which had been occupied by so many people at Shangri-la. I refused to find them worthy – until Bluestone walked into my office one day in May, and slapped me out of my stupor by announcing “Tony, I’m here to help you; and I have the solution to your problems!”
 

 

Bluestone was a retired counselor who had worked at Mash MS all of her educational career in Los Angeles. I first met her in 1989, when I was assigned there as an Assistant Principal. She was an amazingly energetic, loving and passionate mother-sister-aunt-friend, and counselor, who could look right through a person and know if they were fake or authentic. She was devoted to the students at the school (especially the most at-risk and hardest to love), and acted as their personal advisor and advocate. However, she won my admiration and respect because she balanced her compassion with maturity, professionalism, and a hard-nose grasp of the realities of life. She knew what the future held in store for these kids if they did not make better choices, and she offered them faith and opportunities to succeed.  She remained at Mash long after I left, and we would reconnect by chance or when one of her kids needed assistance, and I could help. Our friendship intertwined again when I discovered that Marty, my friend and counselor at Shangri-la (see Last Graduation at Shangri-la) was also her good friend from their days as IMPACT coordinators. That is when I learned of the similarities they shared: they were musicians and artists, they loved their respective schools and students (especially the outcasts and misfits); and they were practical counselors who deserved support. Now that Bluestone had recovered from a long illness, she looked strong and healthy again. I couldn’t help but smile at her well-meaning intentions as she explained that Marty had told her that I was looking for people who really loved the school and its kids, the way he and Kandy loved the students at Shangri-la. So, she had come to offer her services as a counselor, coordinator, and change agent. I was on the verge of turning her down, after pretending to listen, and dismissing her with the platitude “Well, thanks for sharing Blue, I’ll get back to you on this”; when I stopped. What was I doing? My sense of the absurd, which had lain dormant these two years, flared up. I sensed that this offer, while crazy, was a nexus point, a crossroad of choices that had far-reaching ramifications. I could choose the safe and conventional route, dismiss Blue and continue leading Mash M.S. as I was, in a haze of bitterness and detachment, or I could take a leap of faith with a person who truly loved these students and this school. That is when I woke up and realized that they had become my kids too. There was really only one road to choose; the “wrong” one, because it would paradoxically achieve the “right” goal. I hired Bluestone on the spot, not worrying about the rationale, the obstacles, or the contractual difficulties that would follow. The very next week, POSITIVE things started to happen. An elemental force had been unleashed at Mash MS, an energy the school had lacked for 5 years was alive – and it came in the color blue.
 

 
 My third year at Mash MS was an eye-popping and joyous experience, and it finally allowed me the chance to witness people coalescing and creating a rebirth of enthusiasm, accountability, and effort. My administrative team gelled with the addition of two new assistant principals from high schools. The Special Education Office became a hub of friendly and constructive interactions between the psychologist, coordinators, and A.P.’s The Dean’s and Counseling Offices started collaborating in their work, and student referrals, suspensions, and transfers dropped. Most importantly, the teachers, who had been stunned by the abysmal student scores on the California Standards Test and the school’s Academic Performance Index (see API Blues), were able to re-focus their instructional efforts and take advantage of the Class Size Reduction program which called for a 25-to-1, student-to-teacher ratio in academic classrooms. Not only did the teachers grasp the urgency for improvement, but they insisted on closer accountability for student progress and lobbied for subject matter testing by academic classes. I could not account for this wave of positive feelings and attitude, and found myself “knocking on wood” whenever I blurted out what a sweet year we were having. This is not to say that there weren’t emergencies, problems, and headaches (we had a rash of Child Abuse allegations, a student rape, and the trauma of reconfiguring the students, teachers, and staff into a traditional, single track format, after 17 years on a year-round schedule) – but none of them paralyzed the school. It was a great year, and I let myself savor and enjoy it, right up to the last handshake of the last student at graduation.

 

Before our summer vacation, Kathy and I went to our first STRS (State Teacher’s Retirement System) counseling session in June. Prior to that meeting we had tipped-toed around the topic of my retirement; not really certain if it was financially feasible. Although more and more of my generation of principals and A.P.’s were retiring – I’d always suspected they were economically better prepared than I for that inevitability. So I was glad that Kathy came along to evaluate the information we received together. To our surprise, the calculations for retirement at 61 years of age, with 32 years of service (increasing to 33 with illness days added) were optimal. Kathy was with me when we realized that I could retire on June 30, 2009. If I chose, this would be my farewell tour, my last year as principal. All I needed to do was pull the trigger.

 

I felt the first real loosening of the ties that bound me to my career as I looked out on the playing fields of Pierpont Elementary, and the sea beyond it, from the second story window of our beach house in Ventura. There was no envy, but some curiosity about its principals remained. I no longer cared about the facilities; they were just quaint buildings in a scenic vacation town. I did still wonder how the principals who had worked there described their jobs. Was it challenging for them, stressful, satisfying, or fun? My career odyssey had never been fun. For me, being a principal had been WORK – and work is hard. Work is painful to learn, painful to perfect, and painful to appreciate. My satisfaction came from knowing that I could finally perform the work well. I enjoyed it most, when I shared the experience with teachers, counselors, coordinators, deans, and co-administrators who seemed to have FUN doing what they loved. They are the artists I love to watch and appreciate. I experienced some of my greatest joys at Shangri-la, but I could now see the wisdom of my transfer. Over 10 years, my relationships with many teachers, administrators, and staff members had subtly shifted in their favor (or against them), so that my objectivity became difficult. They were friends as well as employees, and that emotional connection tended to prejudice my actions. My assignment to Mash MS freed me from that professional conflict and allowed me to be totally and completely on their side. I also felt good about my work at Mash. I enjoyed working with the A.P.’s, coordinators, psychologist, counselors, and teachers as we tackled serious problems and solved silly dilemmas. However, gazing out at the glistening sea and its far horizon, I couldn’t help feeling that there was something MORE out there. I had plotted a career route towards being a good principal, and I think that destination was reached at Shangri-la and Mash Middle Schools. Now it was time for something NEW – and possibly, something DIFFERENT. I guess that was when I decided to retire and move on; to find out what it is.