The Battle Over Size

What does education on a human scale look like? It means that on the first day of school in 2003, Charles Osewalt, the newly minted principal of the newly minted Morris Academy of Collaborative Studies, stood next to the metal detectors at the entrance of the neo-Gothic building collecting phone numbers from the 100 or so MACS student and their parents. He told them he'd be in touch. "Me. Personally. Calling them to tell them about their child's progress. And to answer any concerns they might have about what was going on during the day." Osewalt, a former English teacher at another sprawling New York City high school, had worked for a time with a nonprofit educational consulting firm called New Visions for Public Schools, then was given the autonomy to run his own school. For him that meant knowing every kid and knowing where to find every kid's parents.

Osewalt credits his religious faith with giving him strength for what he sees as his mission: teaching poor kids. His task is formidable. Most of his students entered the school reading and doing math at a sixth-grade level. Almost a quarter of MACS students come from homes where English isn't spoken. A third have a special education designation or emotional problems. Many come from unsettled, sometimes chaotic households. Some are living in temporary housing or shelters. A handful are continually exposed to drugs and violence.

Osewalt hand-picked his staff. Studies show—not surprisingly—that teachers matter. But what makes a good teacher is hard to quantify. A teacher who has tons of experience and lots of credentials won't necessarily get better results in the classroom. The old Morris High School was proof of that. Instead, researchers had found that good teachers were people who tended to do well in college themselves and who had strong communication skills. So Osewalt staffed his school with newbies who were "passionate, committed, intelligent," he says. "And above all, flexible. Flexible like water."

They needed to be. Students have to pass five statewide tests and participate in a twice-yearly "roundtable" where each kid delivers an oral presentation to teachers, parents, administrators and members of the community. To give MACS kids a fighting chance, the teachers had to make themselves available at all hours—not only for regular classroom instruction and after school review but for weekend enrichment sessions and evening homework help by phone. "In my old school," says senior Arlin Paredes, 17, "if I failed a class, oh well." She shrugs. "But this school, I get plenty of help. And I've needed it." The teachers had to be nimble, too. Not long ago, when the 10th graders were examining themes in Sandra Cisneros's novel "The House on Mango Street," a read-aloud turned into a brawl: a student stumbled over a simple word and another student mocked him. "We stopped talking about themes in fiction," says English teacher Laura Ardizzone, a Harvard-educated Teach for America recruit, "and started talking about persistence, resilience and how it is better to try and fail than to give up."

Osewalt invested some of the money from the Gates Foundation to provide each of his teachers with laptops on which they keep careful files on the attendance, grades and daily participation of each student. He hired instructional coaches to help his inexperienced teachers solve thorny problems—pedagogical or social—that were slowing the students down. Twice a week teachers attend 45-minute brainstorming sessions, complete with written agendas, aimed at making sure none of the children are falling behind. Which is why, when junior Tiffany Lewin started missing school, two teachers, a teaching coach and a dean, quickly met to discuss her absence. Because the school is so small, Lewin's English teacher, Laura Geary, taught her last year as well and has a solid impression of her potential. "Tiffany can do the work, but her frequent absences are holding her back," explained Geary. "Is she on target to pass the semester?" asked the teaching coach, Keely Ball, who was leading the meeting. Geary checked her laptop. "She's just on the edge. More regular attendance would help her keep up." A few suggestions were bandied about, and in the end another teacher volunteered to call the Lewin family in for a conference to see how to get Tiffany to show up for school.

In the five years since MACS was inaugurated, the school has in many respects thrived. Attendance hovers around 80 percent. Last spring 80 out of the 100 original class members received diplomas—and throughout the city, the small high school graduation rate is about 20 percent higher than that of large high schools.

Success comes at a cost: the burnout rate for staffers at small high schools is staggering. Osewalt is staying put—but being personally responsible for 400 adolescents means he routinely works 15-hour days. Three of the five new principals at Morris have already moved on. And test scores? MACS students bested the city average, but at small high schools across the city and across the nation measures of student achievement have flatlined, and some schools have even seen dips in math scores. As the economy falters and foundation money for small high schools becomes more scarce, some cash-strapped communities say high schools on a human scale may become a luxury their communities can't afford. For his part, schools chancellor Klein says New York won't turn back. He's opening more small high schools and launching plans to begin breaking large, troubled middle schools into small ones. Osewalt says he's happy to share what he's learned. In order for poor kids to thrive in school, it's crucial to weave a strong safety net around them. In many cases, its all they've got.