Greg Lippman and Jennifer Andaluz together provided the brains, muscle and elbow grease to found Downtown College Prep, the subject of Joanne Jacobs’ “Our School: The Inspiring Story of Two Teachers, One Big Idea, and the School That Beat the Odds”. To get the ball rolling, they created a small summer institute that would establish and test the themes that would drive DCP. From page 25:

“To connect with potential students and parents and try out their ideas, Lippman and Andaluz organized Summer Bridge, a free skill-building program for underachieving middle schoolers. Lippman’s parents donated the money for the program; San Jose State provided classroom space. Middle school counselors in San Jose recommended students, mostly Hispanic, who were struggling in school.

Expecting the usual summer snooze, Bridge students found themselves sweating through reading and math skills in an academic boot camp with Lippman and Andaluz as their drill sergeants. But, once they got over the shock, students got hooked on the attention and the sense of purpose. Their parents wanted more. Bridge parents began meeting with Lippman and Andaluz to discuss a charter high school.”

They did that without a fat, taxpayer-driven bank account. Makes you wonder what a public school with a $27,000 per-pupil budget is capable of – and why were aren’t seeing it.

Chapter 1 of Joanne Jacobs’ “Our School: The Inspiring Story of Two Teachers, One Big Idea, and the School That Beat the Odds” introduces San Jose’s Downtown College Prep, a charter school serving mostly Mexican immigrant families. DCP takes underperformers and develops them to succeed at a 4-year college or university. From page 9:

“”At DCP [Downtown College Prep], low achievers aren’t told they’re doing well; they’re told they can do better, if they work hard. The school doesn’t boost self-esteem with empty praise. Instead, Lippman and his teachers encourage what is known as “efficacious thinking,” the belief that what a person does has an effect. If you study, you’ll do better on the test than if you goof off. Work hard in school, and you can get to college. You have control over your future. So, stop making excuses and get your act together. The complete lack of sugarcoating may seem harsh to outsiders, but students seem to appreciate the honesty.”

Kids are the best fraud detectors alive. Honesty shows love and sincere concern. It’s no wonder that students at DCP – or anywhere, for that matter – prefer respectful honesty as they develop.

From the introduction [p. 2] of Joanne Jacobs’ “Our School: The Inspiring Story of Two Teachers, One Big Idea, and the School That Beat the Odds” comes the following passage. It’s sober, honest commentary on the reality of failing schools.

“Parents who have money can exercise school choice, either by buying a home in an area with good public schools or by paying tuition.

But less-affluent parents are stuck with what they get. If the local school is led by a distant bureaucrat, staffed by inexperienced or burned-out teachers, whipsawed by education fads, and dominated by bullies, parents are told reforms are on the way: Just wait a few years, and then a few more.

If the school is just second-rate, parents are fed happy talk about how everyone’s special and those nasty test scores don’t indicate the real learning kids are doing. Why, they’re going to be lifelong learners! It doesn’t matter that they’ve learned nothing so far. They can look it up on the internet.

Nobody says: “Juan can’t read or write well enough to fill out a job application; he doesn’t have the math to qualify as an apprentice carpenter, electrician or plumber. He can go to community college, because they’ll take anybody with a pulse. But he’ll be stuck in remedial classes to learn what he was supposed to learn in elementary or middle school. The odds are he’ll get discouraged and quit.” That, they don’t say.

… and when someone does say it, the victimized cry foul. Not the truly victimized, either.

… and sites that offer, facilitate and aggregate online degrees and distance learning opportunities. At a certain point you just stop paying attention.

Throw into the mix that some programs are good, some are bad and some are even worse.

“An Online Degree by Distance Learning” – aptly named, I suppose – gives the quick and dirty version. Not a million choices, just the top three as determined by AODDL.

Do any of the programs interest me? Not especially, and my ‘top three’ list would likely be different, but I do appreciate the simplicity. The reality is that, as far as online-only outfits go, they’re all quite similar. If it’s accredited, you’re in business. There’s more variation in quality between brick-and-mortar institutions that offer online degrees.

Here’s a few recent news items about online programs:

• “Online Degrees Appealing Option for Soldiers.” I’ll admit that I hadn’t considered how well online study would fit for someone in active duty. It’s an interesting facet of the online ed debate that I haven’t seen covered.
• Scholarships for online special education programs. And aren’t there state/city systems offering bonuses for special ed teachers?
• Good Lord, there are courses offered via cell phone. I think the “it just isn’t convenient” excuse might be drying up.

And while you’re at it, check out Hubert Dreyfus’ “On the Internet,” a seminal treatise on the promises and pitfalls of mass education via the internet. The second edition comes out in a month – the first edition was one of the more provocative, important books I’ve read in the last 5 or 6 years.

For those who haven’t come across Bierce, he was a biting critic of literature and culture in 19th- and early 20th-century America. Bierce’s short stories are singularly engaging and, in my opinion, few in American literature have demonstrated such a command of language. Bierce was introduced to me by a well-traveled writer who said, “On his worst day, maybe coming off a week-long bender, Bierce was sharper than you or I will ever be.” He was probably right.

Bierce occupies some real estate on the shelf to the right of my desk. I decided to pull a sample of the education-related definitions in his Devil’s Dictionary.

ACADEME, n. An ancient school where morality and philosophy were taught.

ACADEMY, n. [from ACADEME] A modern school where football is taught.

BORE, n. A person who talks when you wish him to listen.

EDUCATION, n. That which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding.

GRAMMAR, n. A system of pitfalls thoughtfully prepared for the feet for the self-made man, along the path by which he advances to distinction.

HISTORIAN, n. A broad-gauge gossip.

HISTORY, n. An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools.

LEARNING, n. The kind of ignorance distinguishing the studious.

LECTURER, n. One with his hand in your pocket, his tongue in your ear and his faith in your patience.

ORATORY, n. A conspiracy between speech and action to cheat the understanding. A tyranny tempered by stenography.

PHILOSOPHY, n. A route of many roads leading from nowhere to nothing.

PLAGIARISM, n. A literary coincidence compounded of a discreditable priority and an honorable subsequence.

PLAGIARIZE, v. To take the thought or style of another writer whom one has never, never read.

I reference and sample Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary with regularity – it’s too witty to ignore. Though I use a hard copy, you can get a .txt file of the Dictionary via Project Gutenberg.

And, if you’re so inclined, peep The Ambrose Bierce Project and The Ambrose Bierce Appreciation Society.

From Fordham, a new book on a hot topic:

Today Fordham proudly releases David Whitman’s latest book, Sweating the Small Stuff: Inner-City Schools and the New Paternalism. (We don’t subscribe to the Bush Administration’s maxim that, “from a marketing point of view, you don’t introduce new products in August.” After all, it’s back-to-school time!)

The book is now available via Amazon, but if you want to dig in right away, read this Gadfly editorial by Checker Finn and Marci Kanstoroom or, even better, print out and read this Education Next excerpt. Here’s the heart of Whitman’s argument (who is, by the way, a freelance journalist and former senior writer at U.S. News & World Report):

Above all, these schools [American Indian Public Charter School, Amistad Academy, Cristo Rey, KIPP, SEED, and University Park Campus School] share a trait that has been largely ignored by education researchers: They are paternalistic institutions. By paternalistic I mean that each of the six schools is a highly prescriptive institution that teaches students not just how to think, but also how to act according to what are commonly termed traditional, middle-class values. These paternalistic schools go beyond just teaching values as abstractions: the schools tell students exactly how they are expected to behave, and their behavior is closely monitored, with real rewards for compliance and penalties for noncompliance. Unlike the often forbidding paternalistic institutions of the past, these schools are prescriptive yet warm; teachers and principals, who sometimes serve in loco parentis, are both authoritative and caring figures. Teachers laugh with and cajole students, in addition to frequently directing them to stay on task.

The new breed of paternalistic schools appears to be the single most effective way of closing the achievement gap. No other school model or policy reform in urban secondary schools seems to come close to having such a dramatic impact on the performance of inner-city students. Done right, paternalistic schooling provides a novel way to remake inner-city education in the years ahead.

The use of the term “paternalistic” is sure to spark debate (most of the schools’ leaders detest it), but don’t knock it till you read Whitman’s argument. As uncomfortable as it might be to discuss in public, what these schools are doing is providing a middle-class, achievement-oriented culture to children who come out of a culture of poverty. And for that, the schools should be applauded (and emulated). It might not be politically correct to use these terms, but they are accurate. And that should count for something.

On Flypaper, Liam Julian says:

Much of the disagreement caused by the use of the term paternalism in David Whitman’s new book stems, I think, from a reticence to acknowledge reality. That’s unfortunate—education policy already suffers from a dearth of invested persons willing to call things what they are.

We can be even more honest than Whitman, and a little less academic.

Some of us – yes, even some younger than 100 – think of education as teaching kids how to live. It’s really that simple. We don’t have to call it paternalism, in loco parentis, or anything else. Teachers show kids how to live [to varying degrees, depending on the discipline]. There’s little more to it.

The most intriguing point here is the reluctance of school leaders to be honest. Julian continues:

Take, for instance, the reluctance of Eric Adler, who co-founded the SEED School, to have paternalism in any way attached to his institution. Whitman writes:

Eric Adler, cofounder of the SEED School in Washington, D.C., argues that calling a school paternalistic implies that its staff is asserting that it “knows better than others—like parents or the neighborhood”—which values schools should transmit. “I don’t think SEED asserts that we ‘know better,’ we just assert that we have more resources with which to teach.”

I get it. Adler has no reason to ascent to the labeling of his school as paternalistic and every reason to rebut it.

Julian’s got it – very, very few education leaders, from individual community leaders to those on the national scene, are comfortable and honest enough to tell it like it is. We need to say what we are, what we aren’t, and get on with things.

This mealymouth’n'milquetoast bit has to go. Grow up, get it together and spit it out. No apologies, no pandering, no ruses – school leaders are terrible at all of that anyway.

The other day I wrote a mildly tongue-in-cheek post about the Education Olympics in which I made a point quite seriously – American education needs a Herb Brooks.

In short, cut the crap.

The travel debate in Hillsborough County, Florida [St. Pete Times].

The travel expenses are in – board member Susan Valdes spent a lot, no doubt. But $50k over 4 years isn’t all that much if the travel/conferences were worthwhile. Her unfriendlier colleagues on the Board point to the gaudy number and never once address what she actually did with the funds.

There’s no evidence of impropriety, just frequent professional development. The horror!

And cue the gall from Jennifer Faliero:

Board Chairwoman Jennifer Faliero, who requested the four-year analysis of travel by elected officials, agreed. She led the call for a temporary halt on out-of-county travel at the last meeting.

She doesn’t think travel should continue during a time of budget cuts, but acknowledged that other board members don’t agree. She is pushing for oversight and budgeting that would equalize travel among officials.

“We didn’t have a policy, so you leave yourself open to all kinds of abuses,” said Faliero, whose own expenses totaled $13,000. “Even though you hope people will use common sense, that hasn’t happened here.”

Golly gee, it’s almost as if Ms. Faliero doesn’t want Ms. Valdes to win re-election!

Of course, everyone will remember that Ms. Faliero didn’t see it fit to live in the district she was actually representing [she moved back after public pressure]. If anyone is to criticize a board member about using common sense, it isn’t Faliero.

In the tradition of Ann Landers, I’ll issue a Confidential to Jennifer Faliero:

Grow up, you partisan hack. Or at least be politically savvy enough to conceal your motives more effectively.

Getting Real About Race in School [Eduwonkette].

This is old news, but it’s worth revisiting. Eduwonkette featured as a guest blogger Harvard’s Mica Pollack, author of Everyday Antiracism: Getting Real about Race in School.

And to think, I’ve only been committed to anti-racism on Tuesdays, Thursdays and every other Saturday!

Pollock’s guest post is another in a series of Eduwonkette’s reminders that you [or me, or anyone, I guess] should know Pollock’s name. May 21st’s summer reading list suggestion and May 30th’s “Cool People You Should Know” nod apparently weren’t enough. Perhaps a hidden tenet of “Everyday Antiracism” is that we need to be reminded of it every day.

But Pollock’s debate is what warrants attention here. After repeating the 4 bullet points that explain the core of “Everyday Antiracism” – I’d bother linking to them if they weren’t repeated in half of Pollock’s posts – some commenters engaged Pollock in rigorous, sensible debate.

And you know how it goes. When the going gets tough, some just get going. Not everyone thought Pollock’s Kool-Aid tasted sweet, so she huffed, puffed, took her ball and went home.

I came late to the party [and the commenters raised all the issues I wanted to address, so I was content with just reading], but I’ll reprint my comment here:

The Seduction of Common Sense: How the Right Has Framed the Debate on America’s Schools

From the back cover:

“Timely, accessible, and thoroughly researched, The Seduction of Common Sense exposes the insidious nature of current educational reforms and offers promising directions for anti-oppressive change.”

Kevin K. Kumashiro is an associate professor of policy studies at the University of Illinois-Chicago, College of Education, and the founding director of the Center for Anti-Oppressive Education.

Series Foreword: William C. Ayers, University of Illinois-Chicago; Therese Quinn, The School of the Art Institute of Chicago

Foreword: Herbert Kohl

Spectacular Things Happen Along the Way

From the back cover:

What happens when a teacher resists the pressures of “teaching to the test” and creates a curriculum based on student needs, wants and desires? Brian Schultz did just that when he challenged his students from a housing project in Chicago to name a problem in their community that they wanted to solve. When the students unanimously focus on replacing their dilapidated school building, an unforgettable journey is put into motion. As his students examine the conditions of their blighted school and research the deeper causes of decay, they set off on a mission of remedy and repair. It is finally their own questions and activities that power their profound self-transformations. This moving story is a tribute to what determined teachers can achieve in the current stifling environment of high-stakes testing and standardization. Anyone who has faith in creativity, commitment, and the deep potential of inner-city children and youth will want to read this book.

Brian D. Schultz is an assistant professor of education and honors faculty at Northeastern Illinois University [NEIU] in Chicago. He also taught in the Chicago Public Schools and in 2005 received the Educator of the Year award from the Illinois Computing Educators.

Foreword: Carl A. Grant

Eduwonkette gives the Moneyball/education links in chronological order – my original entry is here.

I’m pleased that the issue is getting some attention. It’s a worthwhile discussion and there are important points on both sides.

The UFT’s Leo Casey responded to my post by telling us that teachers are not commodities. After waxing impotent on the romance of our national pastime, Casey advises that we gird ourselves before continuing:

“You will quickly find yourself waist deep in a big muddy [sic] of ad hominem arguments, which begin with an all-out Tabor assault on the distinguished New York Times sports columnist Murray Chass, the author of the column I cited as criticism of Beane’s statistical measures.”

Though Casey is talking about a post written by an Andrew Tabor, I’ll take responsibility and respond for Andy. He goes on:

“Chass is a baseball “traditionalist,” and for Tabor this means he is “obnoxiously wrong,” “grating,” “a crotchety, stubborn, pigheaded SOB,” …well you get the drift.”

At least Chass isn’t lonely in the “obnoxiously wrong” pen.

Murray Chass’ contributions to baseball journalism are rivaled by few; that’s why his 40+ years of insight earned him the Baseball Writers Association of America nod for the J.G. Taylor Spink award in 2003. He doesn’t have a plaque, but he’s got a permanent spot in the National Baseball Hall of Fame because he earned the respect of his colleagues. And, even though I find little of his current analysis compelling, I’d defend his place in the annals of baseball lore.

There’s no doubt that Chass is famous for rejecting many statistical measures of the game – he thinks that they have had, are having, and will continue to have a negative effect on how baseball is played and how fans regard baseball. His Wikipedia entry has a decent line describing his philosophy:

“Chass is a noted baseball traditionalist who laments the shift in baseball news coverage from daily beat-report biographies (the common purview of columnists like Chass) to more statistics-driven analysis (sometimes called sabermetrics), exemplified by Baseball Prospectus and used by both fantasy baseball leagues and, increasingly, Major League Baseball team management.”

He might be right. But, as I showed in his Feb. 27, 2007 Times piece, he is often crotchety, stubborn, pigheaded, etc. about his stance. It’s part of his charm; it’s the niche he’s chosen to carve. Some love him, some love to hate him, but he generates passion and discussion on both sides.

In a striking, but not uncommon, display of intellectual irresponsibility, Casey cherrypicked those words with the hope – or more likely, the certainty – that readers wouldn’t click through to see my original text. In describing Chass’ stance, I said:

“That’s fine, because Murray Chass is a traditionalist to a fault and I’m used to him being obnoxiously wrong about some things. He’s grating and charming at the same time and sportswriting would be less interesting without him. Every sector needs a crotchety, stubborn, pigheaded SOB here and there, and Chass is one of baseball’s.”

Chass is obnoxiously wrong about some things, which implies that he’s quite right about others. Casey omitted “charming” and my comment that sportswriting would be lesser without his contributions. Casey did this because it was convenient for him to do so. He shamelessly betrayed my clear intent to bolster a poor argument he couldn’t otherwise support.

I truly believe that we need Chasses in every sector [and I'll probably be one eventually]. We all need Andy Rooneys, Jonathan Kozols and the like. Sometimes they seem irrational and crazy; other times they give us sober, sound commentary that snaps us back to reality when we need it most.

And, like Chass, I’m a traditionalist. I don’t equate traditionalism or conservatism with “bad,” and Casey’s implication that I do is inexcusable and unsupportable. Traditionalism can, however, be a problem when it causes one to be willfully blind to potential progress – or resisting exploration that might result in that progress.

I also take umbrage with Casey’s characterization of my comments re: Chass as cheap ad hominem tactics. They aren’t. An ad hominem strategy is one that discounts an argument by pointing to personal attributes, characteristics, beliefs, etc. that are unrelated to that argument. Saying that Chass’ thoughts on baseball mean less because he’s a rotten father [hypothetical] would qualify as ad hominem. Suggesting that Chass’ points are invalid because he’s dumb, fat [both hypothetical] or looks funny [always debatable] are ad hominems.

Citing Chass’ body of professional work – statements made by him about his refusal to investigate in good faith the merits of an argument he summarily struck down – is anything but ad hominem. I exposed a deficiency in his reasoning – the reasoning that Leo Casey championed in what he thought was a refutation of Kevin Carey’s argument. Laying bare the flaws in Casey’s or Chass’ dialectic might make them feel bad, but they aren’t ad hominem attacks. He goes on:

“And that’s only the half of it. It seems that the fact I cited Murray Chass is grounds for another wave of ad hominems aimed in my direction: this proves that I am “witless” and “engaging in disingenuous propaganda.” “Very UFT of you,” he writes about me, as I were supposed to take this as the supreme insult.”

Casey’s use of Chass was a poor way to support his argument, as I showed in my original post. In his response, Casey willfully and knowledgeably twisted information for the benefit of his argument.

I said “Very UFT of you,” and referenced “disingenuous propaganda,” because Casey has, in addition to the offenses detailed above, persistently engaged in irresponsible, all-around intellectual slovenliness:

• Accused Disney of engaging in a conspiracy to erase the record of his past award [debunked here];
• Accused unjustly a rival organization of using Nazi symbolism – involving historically-common workers’ rights imagery, no less;
• Asked for “open, lively debate” in education, while censoring comments by his own union’s members on Edwize, deleting/denying trackbacks from critical posts, etc.

Casey accuses me of setting up straw men, then reduces my position to suggesting that teachers are no better than slaves, simply, “commodities, property to be bought and sold on a marketplace, waiting to be exploited.” Then he references the landmark labor case Flood v. Kuhn, saying that Flood “spoke eloquently on this very subject [workers as commodities].” Teachers can change jobs while MLB players were subject to the reserve clause; LAUSD can’t trade a teacher against his will to NYC Schools; etc.

Once again, ignorance trumps fact and does a disservice to both sides of the argument.

Mercifully, his last paragraph:

“Tabor’s suggestion that reducing teachers to commodities has anything to do with improving education is a perspective only possible from outside of actual classrooms and schools. Ever since Socrates, teachers have known that at its core, education is a matter of human relationship and human dialogue, between ourselves and our students. It is about the development — not the exploitation — of human potential.”

Casey exploits another fallacy [and seizes upon only the most heinous definition of exploit]: the emotional appeal. How dare I – or anyone else – criticize the development of mankind? Or suppress human relationships and dialogue? [I'm such a heartless guy that I argued here and elsewhere that we need to respect the dignity of the profession.]

If I were Casey’s superior at the UFT [or a corresponding superior at the AFT], I’d be embarrassed. I would be ashamed that a man previously lauded for teaching – one who is surrounded by educators and works on their behalf – presents arguments like a petty, particularly unremarkable 8th grader. I’d suspend his work on the Edwize blog and enroll him in community college classes in both Composition and Reasoning/Argumentation. It’s a start.

If I were paying dues to the UFT, I’d be outraged – and I wouldn’t put up with it anymore.

For some brief commentary [that has some merit] on using value-added metrics to evaluate teaching, see Ed Muir’s short response on the AFT’s NCLBlog or Steve Koss’s [less compelling to me, but still worth reading] piece at NYC Public School Parents.

For knee-jerk, partisan pouting based on fallacies – unburdened by even 30 seconds of Google research – by all means, continue to read Edwize.

Learn Me Good, John Pearson

211 pages, 2006; ISBN-13: 978-1-4116-6589-7

Jack Woodson isn’t your typical elementary school teacher. First, he’s a man; second, he’s not an idealist fresh out of college; and third, he “has forty children, and all of them have different mothers.”

But that’s education blogger John Pearson’s identity in Learn Me Good, an irreverent, anecdotal look at life as a first-year elementary teacher.

Jack Woodson was the unfortunate victim of job cuts at Heat Pumps Unlimited. Faced with finding a new job that made use of his engineering credentials, Woodson decides to take a hard right turn into the world of third grade mathematics. What he discovered, endured and laughed about during that first year in the trenches is the basis for Learn Me Good.

Woodson would want you to know that in those trenches he’s a Lieutenant commanding a platoon of rag-tag 8 and 9 year olds, all of whom are armed to the teeth with four-function math skills. Oh, and he’s got the weirdest case of trenchfoot anyone has ever seen. Who knew that graham cracker crumb residue could manifest itself into an infection? At least it’s a sweet-smelling infection…

Such is the style and tone of Woodson’s e-mails to former colleague Fred Bommerson, greeted throughout the book as F-Bomm, Fredster, and Big Poppa Heat Pump, to name a few. In e-mail after e-mail, Woodson describes classroom scenarios that cause him to shake his head, drop his jaw, laugh out loud and everything in between.

The supporting cast of characters in Learn Me Good give Woodson plenty of opportunity to reflect on the quirks of teaching in an elementary school. There are adult oddballs like the district employee who checks Woodson’s students for vision problems – but not before selling the third-graders on the coolness of glasses by proclaiming, “I think glasses are SEXY!” Though Woodson takes the surprise in stride, he can’t help but tell Fred that it was awkward and nothing short of “airing a commercial for Bacardi rum in the middle of an episode of Sesame Street.”

But Woodson doesn’t just pluck the low-hanging comical fruits. He humanizes – or is it humorizes? – students like Esteban, an energetic kid who enthusiastically yells answer after answer without stopping to think whether they’re right [he also has a penchant for filling in test bubbles randomly]. And even the terrors such as the “clinically insane” Chandra, whom Woodson affectionately nicknames “Lucifer,” are regarded no worse than “bad data points” when they clearly have earned the status of a public school urban legend.

It’s not all humor and pop culture references, though. Pearson exposes his energy, command of pedagogy, and curriculum on nearly every page. He doesn’t sweat the small stuff. His blood pressure is largely stable. He isn’t political, doesn’t wail out diatribes on No Child Left Behind and isn’t out to reform the American education system.

Woodson wants to understand the quiet ones, the Spanish speakers and the hyperactive-but-harmless. He just wants to teach and love his kids the best he can and he’s going to do it with a smile.

Purists of the written word may lament the e-mail structure of the book. Pearson avoids a novel-like progression and goes with a unique schema that, while fresh and surprisingly effective, lends itself to reading in short bursts instead of chapter sessions. A particular omission in that structure is the lack of replies from Fred Bommerson; though the character of Woodson sums up Fred’s reactions in the beginning of his e-mails, a few notes directly from Fred might break up the series of familiar blueprints.

Learn Me Good has a place on shelves in all levels of the edusphere from the boiler room to the penthouse in the Ivory Tower. Policy wonks will find that it cures frequent heartburn related to frustration, albeit temporarily; parents will be refreshed as they read candid reactions from a teacher who they’d want to befriend in real life; teachers with this book on their desk will find that its good-natured but relevant anecdotes will invigorate even the most atrophied smiling muscles.

But there’s a caveat to those teachers: be prepared for the longing you’ll feel en route to the teachers’ lounge when you think, “Why can’t I have a Jack Woodson at my school?”

John Pearson’s Learn Me Good is available for purchase at www.amazon.com.