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dedalus_1947In my 35 years as a teacher and administrator, I have never constructed a school’s Instructional Master Program. The “master program” is the generic term for the course of studies offered by a school as its instructional program. It delineates the teachers, courses, times, and room locations. It is the class schedule that tells students and teachers the who, what, and where of their school day. It is the heart and soul of an operational middle or high school. Most people think of a school as a place, a campus, or a collection of buildings. In reality, the physical setting of a school is only cosmetic; it merely enhances or detracts from the image of a school. The master program is the essential part. However, despite its importance, in all my years in education, I have never wanted to make one, nor had to, until now.
The master program, because of its arcane complexity, has always held a mystique for me. The mystery was heightened by the exclusivity of its developers, the specialists who constructed and maintained it. Only a small, self-selected, initiated, and trained order of counselors, and administrators handled the master program. For decades, it was the sole responsibility of the head counselor of a school, or the Assistant Principal in charge of Student Counseling Services (APSCS). These gifted specialists were the sorcerers who conjured up this intricate web of time, space, people, and movement. They were the oracles who determined what students should learn, who would teach them, and where the learning would occur. They predicted and manipulated the courses, grade levels, ability groups, and room assignments for teachers through the years. Great power and influence emanated from these individuals, and even greater responsibilities weighed upon them.
I recall a time when all new high school and middle school teachers received the same words of advice about the “holy trinity” of essential school personnel: the plant manager (head custodian), the school secretary (payroll clerk), and the head counselor. These three people controlled the key aspects of a teacher’s life: salary, classroom maintenance, and teaching assignments. Positive relations, clear communication, and immediate access to these three important people were the intangible factors that made life as a teacher comfortable, predictable, satisfying, and ultimately, successful. However, in this scholastic trinity, as in the Catholic version, there is one person greater than the rest, and that person is the head counselor. I was a product of this cultural indoctrination, and I always maintained a reverence and awe for head counselors and APSCS’s, well into my days as a principal. Over time, I learned the parts and mechanics of the master program, but the actual CREATION of one was still MAGIC to me.
I had the opportunity to work with three outstanding head counselors, during my first three assignments as principal; Gerry at Leif Erickson Middle School, Richard at Fire Mountain Middle School, and Kandy at Shangri-la Middle School (Telephone Game). Each head counselor had their own approach to their job, the counselors and office they managed, and the students and teachers they worked with. However, despite some apparent differences, they did share some common traits. For these three magicians, the master program was a student-centered construction, meant to serve the needs of students and teachers at the same time. They also had a puzzle-solving mind, and a wizard’s faith that by adding the right ingredients to the brew, with time, patience, and mixing, a solution for every problem would bubble to the surface. Over time, I came to the realization that each one imprinted their own unique personality and style on the master program they created.
I worked with Gerry for only 2 months, while serving as acting principal at Leif Erickson Middle School. He was a giant, Hagrid-sized head counselor, who loved kids and appreciated teachers. I wasn’t there long enough to see him conjure up a master program, but he had a child-centered approach to the instructional program, and worked at accommodating the needs and wishes of teachers and students. He knew the kids and the teachers, and advised me on how best to treat them, and lead them. He assumed the role of confidant and advisor during my stay at Erickson.
Richard at Fire Mountain Middle School was a wise and venerable, “sensei” (master) of a head counselor. He had been a part of the school for over 25 years. Originally, a vocational education teacher, he became a counselor, and eventually head counselor of Fire Mountain. He had a shop teacher approach to the master program; he made it concrete, visual, flexible, and manipulative. I could walk into Richard’s office and SEE the master program as a grid spread out on the wall, showing the teachers, the classrooms, the subjects, the periods, and the number of students. The information it contained was open, visible, and transparent.
At the end of each school year, Richard and his counselor-apprentice tore down the board and then conjured up a new one from scratch. How he did that was a mystery. I knew the ingredients he used, but not the process. He’d take the estimated number of new 6th grade students, mix it with the students who were promoting into the 7th and 8th grade, sprinkle in state and district requirements, season it with special consideration for certain teachers and programs, and then stir it around until it came out right. After a while, from behind closed doors, a new master program would emerge and be posted on the wall. In Merlin-like fashion, Richard would then enter my office and whisper in my ear the number of teachers we needed to hire, and in what subjects. It was easy; I listened and followed directions. It was a great way to learn how to be a principal. I stayed at Fire Mountain for four years, and during that time, Richard guided me through the labyrinth of leadership, the way he had done with countless principals before me.
Kandy at Shangri-la was a different type of head counselor-sorceress, and she was filled with paradoxes and contradictions. She was the first head counselor I worked with to carry the title, Assistant Principal, SCS. She was also the most reluctant administrator I ever encountered, who was, at the same time, the most capable. If Richard was Merlin, then Kandy was Eleanor of Aquitaine. She could do it all, and manage any kind of program: testing, counseling, Special Education, Gifted, Bilingual & ESL, articulation, child abuse, and the master program. What she did not directly oversee, she was involved in. By the time I left Shangri-la, after 10 years, I considered her my partner in the operation of the school. However, her style of developing, maintaining, and communicating the master program, was more occult and obscure than Richard’s.
I never figured out how she did it, and she did not use apprentices, or assistants, who could explain it to me. Although Kandy was always eager to show me the process and product, all I saw were weird charts, hieroglyphics, and signs. I always knew when Kandy was working on the master program, because she would periodically come into my office to share, or unburden herself about, a programming problem, a schedule conflict, or a personality dilemma. The issue was usually bizarre and incomprehensible to me, at first. Nevertheless, I’d learned over time that Kandy was supernaturally intuitive, and that if I gave her enough time, she would always solve her own problems. All I had to do was listen, giving her plenty of time to recite her dilemma, and asking an occasional question or two. I could always count on her experiencing a clarifying revelation during this ritual. It always worked. It was magic.
Ultimately, Kandy would develop a master program that fit the needs of students, teachers and the District. It was tight, neat, and exact. She took great pride in getting all the numbers right, having all the components fit, and making every effort to accommodate the preferences and desires of teachers and students. Kandy was also much more visionary in her approach to the master program, and she could be ruthless in achieving her mission, if it involved the students’ welfare and needs. At the end of the process, she would come into my office to tell me if we needed to displace or hire teachers, and in what subjects and grades.
The magic ended upon my arrival at MASH Middle School, in July of 2005. This place was different and more chaotic than any school I had previously encountered. It was a year-round school, where teachers and students, on three “Tracks”, rotated into school every eight or 9 weeks; two tracks on, and one track off. This was also the first school I knew in which teachers and staff did not call the instructional course of study “The Master Program”. Instead, everyone called it the “Matrix” and spoke of their class schedule as “lines”. Ironically, this matrix was the first printed master program I had seen in 10 years that was understandable. I used to tease Kandy for years, telling her that her master program was unintelligible to me. Here was a matrix that was clear and concise, unfortunately, it never worked. The MASH matrix was a handy and readable spreadsheet of teachers, classes, rooms, and periods, by track. However, this single-paged document was unreliable, did not reflect the needs and preferences of students and teachers, and was always out-of-date.
I found this out on the first day I walked in the door of my new office, after a two-week vacation. The soon to be retired head counselor informed me that she had overestimated the student enrollment, and the actual numbers would not support the matrix that she developed. We would have to close classes and displace teachers, unless I could find a way of paying for more. This bit of news, coupled with the earth-shaking revelation that the school had over-spent last year’s budget by half a million dollars, and the District would soon be deducting the shortfall, stunned me. It was a catastrophic beginning to a new assignment, and it was the first clue that something was amiss at MASH Middle School and in the development of its master program.
Luckily, we were able to weather this enrollment drought and budgetary crisis by consolidating staff and classes, and purchasing some positions from a one million dollar state grant, which we received in October. The District also “forgave”, or ignored the deficit from the previous year’s budget. With this stabilized situation, I started familiarizing myself with the new school, faculty, and my administrative staff. The most important member of my team would be the new head counselor.
Steve was a brand new Assistant Principal, SCS. He had been a track counselor at the school for two years, when he was encouraged to accept the position of APSCS by the retiring head counselor, who left in December. Although he was able to “shadow” and confer with the head counselor for 6 months, he had never created, or assisted in the creation or maintenance of a master program, and never managed large numbers of adults. Occasionally he verbalized some insecurity about his new position, but he was intelligent and capable, and I assumed that he would quickly learn and master the intricacies of his job. As time went on, it was hard not to compare him to the previous head counselors I had worked with, and search for similarities. I found none. He did not retain numbers, facts, or names; he attacked problems in a straight-on, linear fashion, never attempting out-of-box strategies; and he was disinclined to accommodate anyone, if it meant deviating from fixed plans, systems, or arrangements. Gerry, Richard, and Kandy were always with and around people, teachers, students, and staff, listening, talking, and helping, Steve was aloof. He was cold, rigid and Teutonic in his thinking and problem solving, and he did not like change. Steve was most comfortable when dealing with an emergency, or solving a custodial problem. The first test would come in the spring of 2006, when he would have to build a master program.
I first suspected something was wrong when Steve did not take the initiative in determining how many incoming 6th grade students we would receive from our feeder elementary schools. He trusted the data disk provided by the District. The head counselors I knew always wanted to know exactly, and they would not rest until they had arrived at a number they believed. A dependable master program rests on exact numbers to build classes, and hire or maintain teachers. Richard and Kandy would always have their own enrollment estimates when we met the District experts at the enrollment “road shows” in March. Invariably there would be disagreement over projected numbers, but Richard and Kandy would be insistent, and they were always right. Steve simply accepted the estimates given by the specialist at our road show meeting. He also did not change the already overstaffed matrix from the previous year. After conferring with the past head counselor, he simply rolled it over, with no alterations. I had never interfered in the development of a master program; I always left it to the APSCS, the person who was supposed to know. On paper, the matrix looked fine, but I couldn’t shake the nagging worry that it was built on a delusional hope that more students than expected would show up, or that my experience as a principal would always find some solution if they did not.
In July of 2006, on my second opening day at MASH Middle School (MASH Middle School
Once again, I was lucky. Unexpected resignations allowed us to consolidate staff and classes, and our million-dollar grant carried over, permitting us to purchase extra teaching positions. We all breathed easier, but I knew that school practice would have to change in the spring when a new master program was developed. I promised myself that we would not repeat the fiascoes of the last two years, even if it took my direct involvement in the process.
This year, when we received our enrollment estimates from the road show, I directed Steve to construct a matrix built on radically reduced enrollment numbers. I knew this charge would necessitate a complete reworking of the present master program, but I felt a shake up of procedure and practice was important. Next, I needed to air-out and evaluate his early matrix attempts, making sure that they addressed and accommodated student, teacher, and school needs, and district mandates. I did not feel confident doing this alone, so I elicited the assistance and participation of my administrative staff, coordinators, coaches, teachers, and my former head counselor. I had Steve present and defend his matrices in staff and faculty meetings, forcing him to look at them from different perspectives, and hearing different ideas and opinions. I even directed him to meet me at Shangri-la Middle School, so Kandy could review his work and provide solutions to roadblocks he was encountering, or creating for himself. That was an interesting evening, watching a master and a novice sizing up each other. It convinced me that Steve was clueless about what it took to create a master program. He could construct a grid of squares and lines, but he would never see it as a living puzzle, containing hundreds of interlocking pieces that can be formed and reformed into a variety of combinations.
The next step required a radical change in how teachers and their departments, viewed and acted upon the proposed matrix. In the past, the matrix for each track was posted in April, so that teachers could review it and select their own teaching lines. This process eliminated the direct involvement of the department chair and head counselor in deciding who taught what, and where. It was an unheard of practice. How can you guide the instructional program of a school if teachers can select their own tracks, teams, classes, levels, and conference periods, based only on seniority? This would work if I were simply a contractor, leasing room and material to journeymen teachers who came and went, but guiding an instructional program required direct leadership by a principal and head counselor. So, I made sure that the matrices we posted portrayed only the harshest of realities, based solely on the district’s enrollment estimates. I did not publicize or predict the number of teaching positions we could or would receive from the District, or purchase, to reduce class size, and maintain our present staff.
Departments and teachers quickly realized that the line selections were insufficient for the number of people picking. Teachers bumped other teachers from their lines or tracks, based on seniority, or had no lines to choose when their turn arrived. The worst-case scenario called for the displacement of about 10 teachers. Teachers were left in a state of unease and uncertainty, and probably for the first time, looked to their department chairs, and their administrators to assume some leadership in this process and make things right. No one was happy with the selection process, except me. I saw an opportunity to assume some control over the creation of a viable master program for next year, but luck would have to play a role.
Once again, fate stepped in, and rescued us from this bleak staffing situation. The week after these department meetings, we received a million and a half dollar state grant for class size reduction. This grant, authorized by SB1133, would allow us to purchase 13 extra teaching positions, and avoid displacing any teachers. This meant that the matrix would have to be reworked and expanded to reflect a 25-to-1, student-teacher ratio. It also meant that teachers would have to be reassigned or moved to form a real master program. By the beginning of the week, Steve had developed new matrices that included a new inter-disciplinary 7th/8th grade team of four teachers on A Track, and 1 and a half additional teams in the 6th grade (six teachers) for all tracks. I had these grids enlarged and posted in my office, and then I took the revolutionary step of guiding the development of the master program myself. I relegated Steve to the role of participant, and invited my assistant principals, coaches, coordinators, and department chairs to assist in the development process. We met, talked, questioned, and moved the names of teachers to different positions and locations on the grids. We considered teacher preferences, strengths, qualifications, personalities, and the needs of the instructional program. It was exhilarating. After two days, the master program was finished and left to settle for a few more. I knew from previous experience that problems and conflicts were bound surface, and I wanted them resolved before we publicized the final schedule. I trusted the department chairs, coaches, and coordinators to be reasonable and accommodating, but always serving the needs of students and their instructional program. They did not fail me. For the first time in two years, I had confidence in my master program.
Steve is retiring in June, and I will be assigned a new APSCS for the opening of a new school year on July 2. I have no clue who that will be. There is no one on my current staff who can do the job. I will have to depend on my experience and faith that God takes care of educators who struggle to do their best for children and their parents. My “luck” over the last two years would certainly attest to that. Nevertheless, I feel much more confident now, than I did before. Memories of the actions and decisions made by the three head counselors who shared my burden of leadership comfort me. I know what Gerry, Richard, and Kandy would do. I learned from their advice and example. At this point in my career, I may now have to put it into practice for myself.
The master program, because of its arcane complexity, has always held a mystique for me. The mystery was heightened by the exclusivity of its developers, the specialists who constructed and maintained it. Only a small, self-selected, initiated, and trained order of counselors, and administrators handled the master program. For decades, it was the sole responsibility of the head counselor of a school, or the Assistant Principal in charge of Student Counseling Services (APSCS). These gifted specialists were the sorcerers who conjured up this intricate web of time, space, people, and movement. They were the oracles who determined what students should learn, who would teach them, and where the learning would occur. They predicted and manipulated the courses, grade levels, ability groups, and room assignments for teachers through the years. Great power and influence emanated from these individuals, and even greater responsibilities weighed upon them.
I recall a time when all new high school and middle school teachers received the same words of advice about the “holy trinity” of essential school personnel: the plant manager (head custodian), the school secretary (payroll clerk), and the head counselor. These three people controlled the key aspects of a teacher’s life: salary, classroom maintenance, and teaching assignments. Positive relations, clear communication, and immediate access to these three important people were the intangible factors that made life as a teacher comfortable, predictable, satisfying, and ultimately, successful. However, in this scholastic trinity, as in the Catholic version, there is one person greater than the rest, and that person is the head counselor. I was a product of this cultural indoctrination, and I always maintained a reverence and awe for head counselors and APSCS’s, well into my days as a principal. Over time, I learned the parts and mechanics of the master program, but the actual CREATION of one was still MAGIC to me.
I had the opportunity to work with three outstanding head counselors, during my first three assignments as principal; Gerry at Leif Erickson Middle School, Richard at Fire Mountain Middle School, and Kandy at Shangri-la Middle School (Telephone Game). Each head counselor had their own approach to their job, the counselors and office they managed, and the students and teachers they worked with. However, despite some apparent differences, they did share some common traits. For these three magicians, the master program was a student-centered construction, meant to serve the needs of students and teachers at the same time. They also had a puzzle-solving mind, and a wizard’s faith that by adding the right ingredients to the brew, with time, patience, and mixing, a solution for every problem would bubble to the surface. Over time, I came to the realization that each one imprinted their own unique personality and style on the master program they created.
I worked with Gerry for only 2 months, while serving as acting principal at Leif Erickson Middle School. He was a giant, Hagrid-sized head counselor, who loved kids and appreciated teachers. I wasn’t there long enough to see him conjure up a master program, but he had a child-centered approach to the instructional program, and worked at accommodating the needs and wishes of teachers and students. He knew the kids and the teachers, and advised me on how best to treat them, and lead them. He assumed the role of confidant and advisor during my stay at Erickson.
Richard at Fire Mountain Middle School was a wise and venerable, “sensei” (master) of a head counselor. He had been a part of the school for over 25 years. Originally, a vocational education teacher, he became a counselor, and eventually head counselor of Fire Mountain. He had a shop teacher approach to the master program; he made it concrete, visual, flexible, and manipulative. I could walk into Richard’s office and SEE the master program as a grid spread out on the wall, showing the teachers, the classrooms, the subjects, the periods, and the number of students. The information it contained was open, visible, and transparent.
At the end of each school year, Richard and his counselor-apprentice tore down the board and then conjured up a new one from scratch. How he did that was a mystery. I knew the ingredients he used, but not the process. He’d take the estimated number of new 6th grade students, mix it with the students who were promoting into the 7th and 8th grade, sprinkle in state and district requirements, season it with special consideration for certain teachers and programs, and then stir it around until it came out right. After a while, from behind closed doors, a new master program would emerge and be posted on the wall. In Merlin-like fashion, Richard would then enter my office and whisper in my ear the number of teachers we needed to hire, and in what subjects. It was easy; I listened and followed directions. It was a great way to learn how to be a principal. I stayed at Fire Mountain for four years, and during that time, Richard guided me through the labyrinth of leadership, the way he had done with countless principals before me.
Kandy at Shangri-la was a different type of head counselor-sorceress, and she was filled with paradoxes and contradictions. She was the first head counselor I worked with to carry the title, Assistant Principal, SCS. She was also the most reluctant administrator I ever encountered, who was, at the same time, the most capable. If Richard was Merlin, then Kandy was Eleanor of Aquitaine. She could do it all, and manage any kind of program: testing, counseling, Special Education, Gifted, Bilingual & ESL, articulation, child abuse, and the master program. What she did not directly oversee, she was involved in. By the time I left Shangri-la, after 10 years, I considered her my partner in the operation of the school. However, her style of developing, maintaining, and communicating the master program, was more occult and obscure than Richard’s.
I never figured out how she did it, and she did not use apprentices, or assistants, who could explain it to me. Although Kandy was always eager to show me the process and product, all I saw were weird charts, hieroglyphics, and signs. I always knew when Kandy was working on the master program, because she would periodically come into my office to share, or unburden herself about, a programming problem, a schedule conflict, or a personality dilemma. The issue was usually bizarre and incomprehensible to me, at first. Nevertheless, I’d learned over time that Kandy was supernaturally intuitive, and that if I gave her enough time, she would always solve her own problems. All I had to do was listen, giving her plenty of time to recite her dilemma, and asking an occasional question or two. I could always count on her experiencing a clarifying revelation during this ritual. It always worked. It was magic.
Ultimately, Kandy would develop a master program that fit the needs of students, teachers and the District. It was tight, neat, and exact. She took great pride in getting all the numbers right, having all the components fit, and making every effort to accommodate the preferences and desires of teachers and students. Kandy was also much more visionary in her approach to the master program, and she could be ruthless in achieving her mission, if it involved the students’ welfare and needs. At the end of the process, she would come into my office to tell me if we needed to displace or hire teachers, and in what subjects and grades.
The magic ended upon my arrival at MASH Middle School, in July of 2005. This place was different and more chaotic than any school I had previously encountered. It was a year-round school, where teachers and students, on three “Tracks”, rotated into school every eight or 9 weeks; two tracks on, and one track off. This was also the first school I knew in which teachers and staff did not call the instructional course of study “The Master Program”. Instead, everyone called it the “Matrix” and spoke of their class schedule as “lines”. Ironically, this matrix was the first printed master program I had seen in 10 years that was understandable. I used to tease Kandy for years, telling her that her master program was unintelligible to me. Here was a matrix that was clear and concise, unfortunately, it never worked. The MASH matrix was a handy and readable spreadsheet of teachers, classes, rooms, and periods, by track. However, this single-paged document was unreliable, did not reflect the needs and preferences of students and teachers, and was always out-of-date.
I found this out on the first day I walked in the door of my new office, after a two-week vacation. The soon to be retired head counselor informed me that she had overestimated the student enrollment, and the actual numbers would not support the matrix that she developed. We would have to close classes and displace teachers, unless I could find a way of paying for more. This bit of news, coupled with the earth-shaking revelation that the school had over-spent last year’s budget by half a million dollars, and the District would soon be deducting the shortfall, stunned me. It was a catastrophic beginning to a new assignment, and it was the first clue that something was amiss at MASH Middle School and in the development of its master program.
Luckily, we were able to weather this enrollment drought and budgetary crisis by consolidating staff and classes, and purchasing some positions from a one million dollar state grant, which we received in October. The District also “forgave”, or ignored the deficit from the previous year’s budget. With this stabilized situation, I started familiarizing myself with the new school, faculty, and my administrative staff. The most important member of my team would be the new head counselor.
Steve was a brand new Assistant Principal, SCS. He had been a track counselor at the school for two years, when he was encouraged to accept the position of APSCS by the retiring head counselor, who left in December. Although he was able to “shadow” and confer with the head counselor for 6 months, he had never created, or assisted in the creation or maintenance of a master program, and never managed large numbers of adults. Occasionally he verbalized some insecurity about his new position, but he was intelligent and capable, and I assumed that he would quickly learn and master the intricacies of his job. As time went on, it was hard not to compare him to the previous head counselors I had worked with, and search for similarities. I found none. He did not retain numbers, facts, or names; he attacked problems in a straight-on, linear fashion, never attempting out-of-box strategies; and he was disinclined to accommodate anyone, if it meant deviating from fixed plans, systems, or arrangements. Gerry, Richard, and Kandy were always with and around people, teachers, students, and staff, listening, talking, and helping, Steve was aloof. He was cold, rigid and Teutonic in his thinking and problem solving, and he did not like change. Steve was most comfortable when dealing with an emergency, or solving a custodial problem. The first test would come in the spring of 2006, when he would have to build a master program.
I first suspected something was wrong when Steve did not take the initiative in determining how many incoming 6th grade students we would receive from our feeder elementary schools. He trusted the data disk provided by the District. The head counselors I knew always wanted to know exactly, and they would not rest until they had arrived at a number they believed. A dependable master program rests on exact numbers to build classes, and hire or maintain teachers. Richard and Kandy would always have their own enrollment estimates when we met the District experts at the enrollment “road shows” in March. Invariably there would be disagreement over projected numbers, but Richard and Kandy would be insistent, and they were always right. Steve simply accepted the estimates given by the specialist at our road show meeting. He also did not change the already overstaffed matrix from the previous year. After conferring with the past head counselor, he simply rolled it over, with no alterations. I had never interfered in the development of a master program; I always left it to the APSCS, the person who was supposed to know. On paper, the matrix looked fine, but I couldn’t shake the nagging worry that it was built on a delusional hope that more students than expected would show up, or that my experience as a principal would always find some solution if they did not.
In July of 2006, on my second opening day at MASH Middle School (
Once again, I was lucky. Unexpected resignations allowed us to consolidate staff and classes, and our million-dollar grant carried over, permitting us to purchase extra teaching positions. We all breathed easier, but I knew that school practice would have to change in the spring when a new master program was developed. I promised myself that we would not repeat the fiascoes of the last two years, even if it took my direct involvement in the process.
This year, when we received our enrollment estimates from the road show, I directed Steve to construct a matrix built on radically reduced enrollment numbers. I knew this charge would necessitate a complete reworking of the present master program, but I felt a shake up of procedure and practice was important. Next, I needed to air-out and evaluate his early matrix attempts, making sure that they addressed and accommodated student, teacher, and school needs, and district mandates. I did not feel confident doing this alone, so I elicited the assistance and participation of my administrative staff, coordinators, coaches, teachers, and my former head counselor. I had Steve present and defend his matrices in staff and faculty meetings, forcing him to look at them from different perspectives, and hearing different ideas and opinions. I even directed him to meet me at Shangri-la Middle School, so Kandy could review his work and provide solutions to roadblocks he was encountering, or creating for himself. That was an interesting evening, watching a master and a novice sizing up each other. It convinced me that Steve was clueless about what it took to create a master program. He could construct a grid of squares and lines, but he would never see it as a living puzzle, containing hundreds of interlocking pieces that can be formed and reformed into a variety of combinations.
The next step required a radical change in how teachers and their departments, viewed and acted upon the proposed matrix. In the past, the matrix for each track was posted in April, so that teachers could review it and select their own teaching lines. This process eliminated the direct involvement of the department chair and head counselor in deciding who taught what, and where. It was an unheard of practice. How can you guide the instructional program of a school if teachers can select their own tracks, teams, classes, levels, and conference periods, based only on seniority? This would work if I were simply a contractor, leasing room and material to journeymen teachers who came and went, but guiding an instructional program required direct leadership by a principal and head counselor. So, I made sure that the matrices we posted portrayed only the harshest of realities, based solely on the district’s enrollment estimates. I did not publicize or predict the number of teaching positions we could or would receive from the District, or purchase, to reduce class size, and maintain our present staff.
Departments and teachers quickly realized that the line selections were insufficient for the number of people picking. Teachers bumped other teachers from their lines or tracks, based on seniority, or had no lines to choose when their turn arrived. The worst-case scenario called for the displacement of about 10 teachers. Teachers were left in a state of unease and uncertainty, and probably for the first time, looked to their department chairs, and their administrators to assume some leadership in this process and make things right. No one was happy with the selection process, except me. I saw an opportunity to assume some control over the creation of a viable master program for next year, but luck would have to play a role.
Once again, fate stepped in, and rescued us from this bleak staffing situation. The week after these department meetings, we received a million and a half dollar state grant for class size reduction. This grant, authorized by SB1133, would allow us to purchase 13 extra teaching positions, and avoid displacing any teachers. This meant that the matrix would have to be reworked and expanded to reflect a 25-to-1, student-teacher ratio. It also meant that teachers would have to be reassigned or moved to form a real master program. By the beginning of the week, Steve had developed new matrices that included a new inter-disciplinary 7th/8th grade team of four teachers on A Track, and 1 and a half additional teams in the 6th grade (six teachers) for all tracks. I had these grids enlarged and posted in my office, and then I took the revolutionary step of guiding the development of the master program myself. I relegated Steve to the role of participant, and invited my assistant principals, coaches, coordinators, and department chairs to assist in the development process. We met, talked, questioned, and moved the names of teachers to different positions and locations on the grids. We considered teacher preferences, strengths, qualifications, personalities, and the needs of the instructional program. It was exhilarating. After two days, the master program was finished and left to settle for a few more. I knew from previous experience that problems and conflicts were bound surface, and I wanted them resolved before we publicized the final schedule. I trusted the department chairs, coaches, and coordinators to be reasonable and accommodating, but always serving the needs of students and their instructional program. They did not fail me. For the first time in two years, I had confidence in my master program.
Steve is retiring in June, and I will be assigned a new APSCS for the opening of a new school year on July 2. I have no clue who that will be. There is no one on my current staff who can do the job. I will have to depend on my experience and faith that God takes care of educators who struggle to do their best for children and their parents. My “luck” over the last two years would certainly attest to that. Nevertheless, I feel much more confident now, than I did before. Memories of the actions and decisions made by the three head counselors who shared my burden of leadership comfort me. I know what Gerry, Richard, and Kandy would do. I learned from their advice and example. At this point in my career, I may now have to put it into practice for myself.
