It was Christmas Break, 1958. One-half century ago. Earlier that year Connie Frances had launched her career with the pop hit “Who’s Sorry Now?” and the United States had launched its first successful satellite. Connie’s tearful voice was still tugging at many a fourteen-year-old boy’s heart, including mine. America was recovering from the indignity of Sputnik.
And I was changing school s again.
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Dad wasn’t able to care for four small children after my mother left when I was not yet five years old, but he was determined to keep us close. So throughout my elementary school years, we lived in a host of foster homes as Dad moved from job to job — and as some of the homes proved less than desirable.
In my tenth to twelfth years, a series of happy events promised to end the constant moving. Dad took us back in, he was somehow able to purchase a small farm in then-rural Ontario, California, and — happiest of all — he wooed and married Lora Lee. Never married before, Lora took up at age thirty-three the mothering of four pre-adolescents. As you can imagine, there’s a whole collection of stories there!
Fortune frowned on us again, however. Dad was laid off and had to take a job 400 miles away. Driving to be with him for a week while we four kids were at church camp in the summer of 1958, Lora (now Mom) was in a horrific accident that almost took her life, ended Dad’s dream of a family farm, and threatened the Marks kids’ fledgling security. We were soon back in foster homes far from Ontario while Mom convalesced at Stanford Medical Center.
The fall of 1958 was hopeful. Henry Aaron led my beloved Milwaukee Braves back to the World Series, I was succeeding in challenging freshman classes, and the foster family was supportive. Then came Christmas Break and the word from Dad that we would have to accept yet another move. Mom was leaving the hospital and the house Dad could obtain in which to reunite us was not in the high rent neighborhood of my high school. I was changing schools again.
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My childhood was not happy but it was blessed. Its heroes were real and numerous. Dad, Mom, big brother Dave, several remarkable foster parents, a church worker or two — these still reside in my heart, replaying good memories and repeating their wise and comforting words.
In high school and college years, several teachers would join my Hall of Personal Heroes. None had greater impact than Paul Sakamoto.
When I arrived at Sunnyvale High School in January of 1959 with little enthusiasm and an abundance of self-doubt, I had no idea, of course, that Paul Sakamoto had lived three years of his childhood in a Japanese American relocation center or that he had become the first Asian American admitted to a fraternity in the 100-year history of San Jose State University. But I did know very shortly that science was my new favorite subject. I loved “Sakamoto’s” dry wit and the constant banter among the students and him. His passion for all things zoological and botanical rubbed off quickly when he took small groups of students on improvisational field trips to collect specimens. (My leaf collection would exceed 300 varieties, all scientifically classified.)
After my high school days, Paul would become Dr. Sakamoto and eventually the first Asian American to be appointed superintendent of a California high school district. But I will best remember the day he asked me if I knew how to bowl.
I’m pretty sure I hadn’t gotten notes of permission from Mom or Dad for any of the field trips with Paul. I’m not certain I even told them that he was taking me bowling that day after school. As a teacher today, I would not entertain the idea of taking a student alone to a “non-educational” activity, nor to any activity without all the proper paperwork! But in my personal development as a confident young person, the day I learned to bowl was a signature day.
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During the past two decades I have walked Pacifica High School’s hallways and stood in its quad thousands of times. Especially when these are filled with students, I find myself for brief moments a kid back at Sunnyvale High School; then, returning to the present, I am struck by two impressions. The first is how much things have changed in the past half century. The second is how little things have changed in the past half century.
From an old guy’s perspective the changes are readily seen and heard and can be troubling: the choice of words, the tattoos and piercings and manner of presenting oneself, the lyrics and pulse of contemporary music, the yearned-for-and-soon-replaced electronic playthings, the new gadgets of communication that seem effectively to end meaningful communication. The fear is that lack of substance lies beneath the noise and changing styles. Remember reading this old guy’s assessment of today’s youth? “I see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on the frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth is reckless beyond words. When I was a boy, we were taught to be discrete and respectful of elders, but the present youth are exceedingly arrogant and impatient of restraint.”
The old guy quoted is real old, probably the Greek poet Hesiod, writing about 700 BC. I think I was taken in by this quote in an article many years ago when I thought at first it was describing the youth of the 1960’s!
More significant as I watch and listen on the Pacifica campus, then, is my second impression: how little things have changed. Beneath the clamor and bluster and trying-out-one’s wings — and beneath the lack of clamor and bluster and trying-out-one’s-wings of those who usually get less attention — are important needs and desires common to each succeeding generation of youth: to be accepted by many and to find a few true friends; to be recognized as unique; to discover a voice that others will listen to, perhaps one that will make a difference in the world.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” the glib paradox has it. To most teachers and parents, this reflection on the need to listen to young people beneath the surface is probably not very profound stuff. It certainly represents only the beginning of the educator’s task. But it’s an important beginning.
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If the halls of Pacifica High School sometimes seem daunting to me because of the social change of the past 50 years, you might imagine my feelings about the changes in American education over the half century. In no particular order — some observers say these things are cyclical — my generation has variously debated, endured, or campaigned for (depending on one’s perspective) back-to-basics, multiculturalism, Christian schools, bi-lingual education, increased standardized testing, charter schools, classical education, character education, home schools, more homework, less homework, longer school hours, No Child Left Behind, more school days, merit pay for teachers, smaller class size, standards-based instruction, year-round schools … did I miss a dozen or so?
The universities training teachers have struggled to interpret the research and to negotiate a balance between the findings and the social-political climate of the time and region. Newly-trained teachers often arrive at their first assignment to discover that the vocabulary and strategies being employed are firmly rooted in a previous era. Or, alternately, seasoned teachers are asked to invest many hours being trained in the then-current vocabulary and strategies.
Contributing to the constant and rapid change in recent decades have been the increased empowering of all the stakeholders’ voices, the multiple layers of bureaucracy, and the strain on financial resources. The voices that compete for a hearing are many — the state, the county, the district, the local administration, the teachers, the coaches and support personnel, the parents, the students, and the various college systems. Dialogue and consensus are admirable pursuits, but the actual practice of education in any school at any time is based more on who is able to control the moment than what one might read in, for example, an accreditation document.
In recent years, the array of bureaucracies and the paperwork incumbent upon it have been made yet more complex by the increased activity of the federal government in education. And, of course, America’s current economic woes are beginning to take their toll on staffing and programs.
Some say that complex problems want simple solutions. I believe that this is generally true, and that, in fact, simple solutions are often the most profound; though one must not mistake simplistic or easy for simple. In the spirit of simplicity, I want to suggest three priorities that those committed to quality education cannot afford to relinquish: three transcendent concerns that teachers, administrators, parents, district leaders, and our culture at large must find ways to support, for the sake of our youth.
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I complete my forty-four year adventure with a plea that we, the community of public education, commit ourselves to three simple priorities: the essential curriculum, the preeminent craft, and dynamic collaboration.
THE ESSENTIAL CURRICULUM. The sometimes-contentious debate that occurred in the seventies and eighties over character education now seems to me (and many others, I suspect) misguided, or quaint at best. “Should we be teaching character?” is a patently pointless question. We — parents, teachers, coaches, leaders of youth in every capacity — we are always teaching character. The follow-up question is equally pointless: “How shall we teach character?” We shall teach it as fathers have always taught their sons, mothers their daughters, masters their apprentices, and mentors their pupils. We shall teach it by example — in the care we give to preparing our lessons, in the patience and passion we demonstrate in presenting them, in the respect we show both to those over us and to those under us, in every kind word and in every unguarded word.
As important as all areas of the curriculum may be, in the big picture they are secondary to character, the growth of the complete person. With regard to that essential curriculum, there is really only one question that we leaders of youth can — and should — answer: “What kind of attitudes and behaviors am I modeling?”
THE PREEMINENT CRAFT. The strategies by which teachers present their curricula make up much of their teacher training in university and are the focus of many professional development workshops. With the current emphasis on standards-based instruction and standardized testing, the tendency has been for strategies, as well as curricular content, to become more prescriptive, at least in the academic disciplines. There are good arguments to be made for this direction, but it carries with it an inherent danger of stifling one of the greatest forces in education, what I am calling the preeminent craft.
Most young people choose the teaching profession because (in addition to liking children or teens), they have a passion for certain subject areas. Furthermore, most teachers have (or are discovering) specific gifting that allows them to teach their special passions in highly individualized ways.
My experience on both sides of the desk and my observation of other students and teachers confirm that never do students learn so much nor do they get so infected with the wonder of learning as when a good teacher oversees student projects in areas of her passion. Our ongoing teacher training must make room for and encourage the preeminent craft: each teacher’s passion and gifting.
DYNAMIC COLLABORATION. I believe that the most dynamic force for teacher growth is collaboration that meets the teacher at his level of individual need as both a person and a professional. This priority impressed itself on me in my earliest Christian school days and remains what I regard the single greatest strength of the private schools with which I was associated.
I love that the district and Garden Grove schools have provided generous time slots for collaboration. We now need to be willing to try bold approaches in our use of the time: for example, some sessions without pre-set agenda; small group sharing and other meaningful team-building and affirming activities; individualized goals with true accountability at some significant level; one-on-one and small group development of lessons and projects; exploration of ways to allow different groups of stakeholders to interact. This calls for brainstorming, support, and commitment by district personnel, administrators, department chairs, and teachers.
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Nothing I have written above should be interpreted as a criticism of the Garden Grove Unified School District. I have only praise for this remarkable district and the people at Pacifica, Rancho, and Garden Grove High School who have encouraged and mentored me. I am grateful for my twenty years here.
This district is a leader in seeking solutions to the complex issues of education in a changing, multi-cultural society; it has indeed received national recognition for that. It has been financially responsible when other districts have faltered in tough times. It provides teachers with a constant and diverse selection of outstanding professional development opportunities. The people in the building on Stanford Avenue are warm and helpful.
My years as a public school teacher have been as blessed with men and women of character as were my childhood, my youth, and my two-plus decades in Christian education. The irrepressible and energetic Don Wise, my first public school boss, searched for and found me another position in the district when, still not credentialed, I was blue-lined at Pacifica with its then-declining enrollment. I will be ever in his debt for this kind deed, without which I would not be writing this article. Mike Sullivan, who taught English for forty years in the same classroom, modeled for me the good humor and equanimity needed to survive without losing passion for words written and read. Bev Cox and I wrestled for two years with thousands of those tricky words, with each other, and with the insufferably-complex WASC document as we headed up Pacifica’s 2002 accreditation process. She is the only person I know who truly believed in the process and as a result I learned much about public education’s big picture.
And then there’s the incomparable Pacifica English department! When I arrived in 1989, the majority of the department was middle-aged men. They knew their English, they could handle a classroom, and they cared about each other. Today only I remain of that group. Soon the entire department will have been replaced and, as new cells replace the old without changing the dynamic life of the whole body, the English department thrives. The friendships I have made, the ideas I have garnered, the support I have constantly felt, will be chief among the permanent treasures with which I leave public education.
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As I write these words, there are fewer than seventy school days remaining in the 2008-09 school year and in my teaching career. After sitting on one side of the desk or the other in at least thirty-three of them, Kindergarten through graduate school, it’s time to stop changing schools!
I plan to write down more stories so my grandchildren know what remarkable people their great-grandparents were. To go visit Paul Sakamoto at his nursery. To subscribe to some science magazines and rekindle my interest in more of the universe. To listen to more of that great late-fifties pop music.
Who’s sorry now? Not I.