No Excuses University--Culture of Universal Achievement
Chapter 1: Five Whispered Words
I had watched hundreds of children walk through the gates of our campus each day in my six years as the principal of Los Peñasquitos Elementary School, but this one child was different. At the time I didn’t know exactly what led me to follow him to his classroom, but as I reflect back on that day I realize that it wasn’t just one thing; it might have been many. Maybe it was the tattered clothes that he was wearing. His white tank top t-shirt and cutoff jeans, covered in dirt stains, was the most unlikely first-day-of-school outfit that someone could imagine. Maybe it was the way his mother walked beside him as his younger sister held on to her dress and his baby brother was being transported on her back, as is the custom in their Mixteco culture. Or maybe it was the butcher’s bag that was dangling from his left hand, holding a sippy cup of milk and a small snack wrapped in aluminum foil. This bag that you and I throw away after so many visits to the grocery store was the only semblance of a lunch sack that this little boy had on his very first day of school. Whatever it was, I knew that I had to follow him, little Luis, to class to find out more.
We’ve seen it hundreds of times. Children are brought to the door of their first kindergarten classroom with much trepidation on the part of parents. Some of the children cry as they cling to their mothers, while others walk silently into the unknown as they take seats at their places on the carpet. Little Luis did neither. With a huge smile on his face, he said goodbye to his mother in his native language and eagerly responded to his teacher’s direction to take a seat on the orange square with his name on it. I stood there. I watched him. I could not leave. Here was a child of poverty who could not speak a word of English, yet his bright and eager eyes told a story of hope that could fill the pages of this book. It was as if he knew that he was beginning a journey that had the potential to change his life forever. That day, Luis was a reminder of my purpose as an educator, because on that day he reminded me of … me. Forty years ago, my life started under similar circumstances. And while I would never know the depths of poverty the way that young Luis would, I do remember the times that I clearly stood out as the exception rather than the rule.
I grew up about an hour and a half drive outside the city of San Diego in the small mountain town of Julian. This one-stop-sign community has grown since we moved there in 1976 (it now has two stop signs), but at the time it was called home by a little more than a thousand people. Because of the rural environment of the town, there weren’t many housing options for families who couldn’t afford to purchase a home. In fact, the only available apartment we could find at the time was on the second floor of the Julian Market. It wasn’t spacious, nor was it clean, but it did bring the perks that could only be found by a family who had nowhere to go but up. One of those perks was to spend each night cleaning the store in exchange for an extra $50 a month off the rent. Every night, my parents, brother, and I would go downstairs and do our best version of “whistle while you work.” My mom, Barbara, would sweep, my dad, Steve, would mop, and my brother, Dan, and I were taught to arrange the cans on the shelves just right so that the labels would always be facing out. Truth be told, it wasn’t long before our version of stocking turned into stacking and my parents soon realized that we weren’t exactly expediting the cleaning process. But because we were doing our best, and because there was no one to watch us while they worked, my parents insisted on having us participate.
In the afternoons as the sun went down, my brother and I would retreat next door to an empty parking lot to play with a group of kids that lived close by. This was the hangout where the rule “no shoes, no shirts” did not exist. During the weekday afternoons, we would ride bikes and walk the trails throughout the small town. Occasionally we would witness a drunk who was a bit out of hand or a fight between two locals whose lives, and wives, had crossed paths in all of the wrong ways the night before. As we observed the colorful characters within our community, we grew up finding normalcy amid what by many accounts would be seen as atypical to families who valued social and academic success. As I look back, I now know that unlike Luis, I was not growing up in a cycle of generational poverty. I was experiencing an example of situational poverty. I also understand why my parents were so motivated to move us out of these circumstances as fast as they could.
My father did so by working any job that he could in order to pay the bills in the short term. He would sit on the steps of the grocery store every morning and ask the construction foremen if they needed an extra helper for the day. When asked by a contractor if he knew how to _________ (fill in the blank), he would exclaim with confidence that he was highly skilled. Electrician or butcher, carpenter or logger, my father never pushed away work. His commitment to his family was just too great to exhibit any kind of pride that might stand in the way of putting dinner on the table.
Much like my father, my mother did everything in her power to support the family. I never knew it then, but her pride was also challenged in her daily life. No example is greater than the times that we would walk to the post office on Sundays in order to get free bread, milk, and cheese. At the time, my brother and I thought that we must have hit the dairy lottery. Later however, we found out that those free handouts were an example of government welfare that my family had no choice but to partake of. In hindsight, such participation on the part of my mom and dad never skewed our pride in them. Instead, it has helped us to develop an understanding of the source of my mother’s motivation to “break the cycle,” as she would say, of a status-quo life for each of us. And in spite of the fact that neither of my parents was college educated, they operated with an understanding of just how important it would be for us to be. Proof of this came in the form of our nightly bedtime routine.
Every evening, no matter the circumstances that transpired during the day, the family ritual in that little apartment remained the same. My mom would tuck my brother and me into bed, read us a story, pat us on the chest, and whisper the words “after high school comes college” in our ears. These same words that my mother shared with me as a young boy just so happened to be some of the first words that little Luis would hear from his teacher on the day that he entered his kindergarten classroom for the first time. Little did I know the impact they would make on me decades later and perhaps on Luis decades from today. What started as a whisper from the mouth of my mother has now become a rally cry for educators across this country as they promote college readiness through what is known as the No Excuses University endeavor. And while you now know its origin, it is up to you to define just how far this work of promoting college readiness will go. It is my hope that you will find the motivation for this cause in this book. May it inspire you to provide never-ending hope for our neediest children.
Chapter 2: Let’s Be the Research
December 20, 2003. I remember this night the same way I do the birthdates of my children. Shuffling in the dark, I woke up searching for something to write on in an effort to document the kind of inspiration that seems to come only in the middle of the night. As a relatively new principal, I had learned to always keep a notepad and pen on my nightstand for times just like these, but on this night I couldn’t find either. Not wanting to lose my thought, I turned on the lights in desperation, waking my wife and our brand-new baby. Immediately, I scribbled the words “Let’s BE the research!” on a 4x6 lined notepad. These words, which lacked the slightest significance to my wife at the time, would eventually launch an endeavor that is changing the lives of students across the country. But before you understand their meaning, you must first understand the inspiration behind them.
In September 2002, I found myself packed into the superintendent’s meeting room alongside two dozen elementary school principals from all over our district. Cabinet members greeted each of us with a hope that sprung eternal after a well-deserved summer break. In turn I, like so many of my colleagues, entered this first administrative meeting with an eagerness to welcome a new year the way a painter does a blank canvas.
As was always the case, the agenda for the morning was broken up into two distinct categories. First came the housekeeping items that brought an abundance of minutiae and ensured that our role as managers was secure. The second focus was based on the district’s yearly strategic plan. This portion of the agenda was intended to encourage us as leaders who actively sought ideas and strategies in the hope that we would create greater academic and social success for our students. I had been through meetings like these on a number of occasions, and, to be honest with you, they rarely inspired me as a leader. However, on this day I hoped that the message might be different. To my surprise, it was.
The members of the superintendent’s cabinet stood strategically around the room as one of our top district leaders shared the number one goal of our district. “This year, the number one initiative of our district is to promote college readiness for all!” he said excitedly.
I watched the faces of my colleagues as we all eagerly waited to hear more information. Silence. That was it. After a few brief seconds, sensing that I was not alone in my question, I stood up and asked, “What does that mean for elementary school?”
This fair question immediately received a fair response, which was, “We don’t know. We haven’t done the research. We’re going to learn a lot more this year.”
Accepting this answer as one that was more than reasonable, we concluded the meeting and went on our way.
After a year went by, I found myself in that same room, with that same group of elementary school principals. Again, the proclamation was made: “The number one goal of our district is to promote college readiness for all.”
Again, I asked the same question. “What does that mean for elementary school?”
This time, the answer was different, but far more disappointing. “We don’t quite know because we really couldn’t find the research,” said the cabinet member.
As the meeting wrapped up on that fall day, I left with a great sense of frustration over the lack of direction that was given to us as leaders. And while I found the mission of college readiness to be one that was noble, I didn’t exactly believe that what my district was stating was all that creative. This to me was a perfect example of setting a lofty goal without offering a means to achieve it. It’s safe to say that this likely was not my district leadership’s intention, but it did nonetheless cause great frustration for me and my colleagues alike. In fact, I found myself frustrated by this lack of direction for months. Which brings me back to that early morning in December.
The clock read 2 a.m. and I was the only one in my house who was not fast asleep. I stared at the ceiling for many minutes before finally writing down those four life-changing words: “Let’s BE the research!” Unlike the times where I processed a thought over and over again before writing it down, these words were immediate and demanded action. I remember thinking to myself, “Damen, get this on paper. Something big is about to happen!”
Whether it was my desire to share my inspiration or simply my need to explain why I had turned on the lights in the middle of the night, I made my wife sit up in our bed and listen to what I had to say. “Lara, Lara, you’ve got to listen to this. I’ve got a great…”
Before I could say more, she grabbed me by the cheeks, looked affectionately in my eyes, and said, “Damen, go back to sleep and leave me alone!”
I couldn’t blame her for wanting to go back to sleep, but I insisted that she needed to hear me out. “No, Lara, you don’t understand. I have a great idea and I have to process it with someone. Just listen.”
Sensing that her attention span was not capable of keeping up with my excitement, she convinced me to take my ideas into our small home office and get my thoughts on paper. For six hours I sat at my computer writing notes, listing bullet points, and laying out a plan that I believed had the ability to revolutionize public education. Soon after 8 a.m., my wife walked into our office, took a seat at a chair, and said, “I’m ready to listen.”
I won’t lie to you when I share that I looked at her with tears in my eyes and said, “There’s a lot to do and I need to work closely with my staff on this, but I think I just found a way to change the lives of thousands of pre-K to college students across this country.”
Before I could speak another word, my wife said, “I don’t know what you are going to tell me, but I can tell by the look in your eyes that you are telling me the truth.”
I indeed was that morning when I spoke with my wife and I certainly am today as I write for you. What began so randomly in the middle of the night has become a systematic endeavor that is changing the lives of thousands of students, educators, and families across this country. That endeavor acts not only as the title of this book, but more importantly as a renewed sense of hope for even our most challenged students.
The No Excuses University was founded in January 2004 with the support of the Los Peñasquitos Elementary School staff. After being told by many that the most successful initiatives were ones that required validation by academics who conducted research studies on efficacy, our staff boldly decided to go about our business in a unique way. We decided that instead of waiting for the results of studies that were not even being conducted, we would become the research. Such experimental reform is often regarded as careless by those who embrace the status quo, but for our staff it’s really all we’ve known for more than a decade. Unfortunately, I remember a time when this positive entrepreneurial spirit was all but non-existent at our school.
Chapter 3: Finding Possible in the Impossible
While performing at the Lincoln Center in New York City, Itzhak Perlman, world-renowned as one of the best violinists, encountered a challenge unlike anything the crowd had likely experienced before. It has been reported that after the first few bars of his solo, the audience heard a loud twang and snap that came from Perlman’s violin. The nightmare of a broken string came during the performance of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto, a piece that many had deemed impossible to play. Because Perlman suffers from the effects of polio, a disease he has battled since he was a child, he did not get up to replace his instrument, as is the custom during such a time. Instead, silence blanketed the crowd as he paused and then began to play with the three remaining strings. In spite of such a great challenge, he played the remainder of the arrangement flawlessly. Afterward he was asked how he was able to accomplish such a tremendous feat. Perlman simply replied, “You know, sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”
Just as Itzhak Perlman found success in what others deemed to be impossible, so too must educators as they work with a wide array of students. In 1995, I started my career at Los Peñasquitos Elementary School as a one-on-one special support teacher for a student who was struggling with his behavior. I didn’t know much about the school, known as “Los Pen” by those in the community, other than that it was the lowest performing in the Poway Unified School District, located 25 minutes outside the city of San Diego. Before accepting the job, I conducted some informal research and asked several teachers whom I knew around the district for their advice. There seemed to be a universal agreement that this was the place that, as one teacher told me, “Good careers go to die.”
“It’s the lowest-performing school in the district and it always will be,” said one person.
“That’s the place where all of the poor, second-language students and drug-addicted parents live,” said another.
No matter how hard I tried to encourage a nice word to be said about this place, there was none to be found. Still, I accepted the position with the idea that I could always leave if I chose to do so. As I think back, it’s amazing I lasted more than a day.
Dominic was a third-grade student who battled OCD (obsessivecompulsive disorder) as well as a mild form of Tourette’s syndrome. Told that he was a good boy at his core, I introduced myself to him one early morning. My job was clearly defined as “Dominic’s special teacher,” which in layman’s terms meant that I was responsible for keeping him out of trouble and on task. While many felt that Dominic made the choice to disobey the rules, the fact was that his lack of ability to process simple directions made it difficult for him to manage in the classroom without help. I soon found that Dominic had no “get to know you” phase; he immediately showed a side of himself that explained why he required individual attention in the first place. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he would throw chairs and desks and he would yell at me. If he were really angry, he would hold his scissors in his hand and threaten to stab me with them. However, almost immediately after tirades like these, this third grader’s conscience and tender heart would shine through. He would look me in the eyes, say he was sorry, and then on many occasions he would wrap his arms around me and hug me. As the year progressed, I found that Dominic would hug me more and try to stab me less. His academic and social success became a reason for celebration for the school, his parents, and me. As I watched him mature over the next several years, this young man, who would grow up to attend Purdue University, taught me something that would stick with me for the rest of my career: The potential of an individual student is limited only by the desire for an adult to draw upon it. I would soon find out, however, that this lesson was not one learned, or at least believed, by a number of staff members at Los Pen.
After finishing my work with Dominic, I was offered a position as a fourth-grade teacher some three doors down from the third-grade classroom that I worked in. Because I was a late hire, I only had two days to get my classroom ready for the school year. New key in hand, I opened the door to what would become my very first home as a teacher. A flip of the light switch allowed fluorescent attention on what was by all accounts a gloomy setting. The desks were stacked at the back of the room and the chairs were scattered in a pile without rhyme, reason, or unified color, for that matter. In fact, the chairs of this fourth-grade classroom appeared to be a size more appropriate for our first-grade friends across the hall. The textbooks were ragged and ripped, and the teacher’s desk was wobbly no matter how you arranged it. Cushy teacher’s chair? As my Italian grandfather would say, “Forgettaboutit!”
As I look back on that day, I realize that the lack of equitable supplies found in my room had little to do with bad luck and everything to do with the fact that my colleagues had taken the best of the best and given me the leftovers. Even though I had been the victim of this pervasive form of hazing that takes place in schools across the country, my attitude remained steadfast and spirited. One reason for this had to do with the voices that I heard across the hall from me.
I had been told for several months that the staff at Los Pen was one that could sometimes be challenging to work with. And while I did spend many months working as a long-term substitute, I hadn’t been given the opportunity to truly work collaboratively with my colleagues in a way that would allow me to create an opinion of my own. As I heard the voices of two teachers in the room next to me, I immediately decided that the negative publicity must have been unjustified. I heard two colleagues who were actively engaged in lesson planning that was the model of collaboration. So inspired was I, that I reached into a bag of items I had bought at a local teacher supply store, pulled out my brand-new red lesson plan book, and confidently trotted to the room next door. I introduced myself, saying, “Hi, my name is Damen and I’m the new fourth-grade teacher. I see that you are planning and I’d like to join you.”
After some pleasantries were exchanged, one of the teachers looked up from her chair and said, “Thanks for your offer, but we don’t really team here; we partner.”
Because it didn’t take long for me to translate the meaning of her message, I smiled and began to walk out of the room. Before I could take my first step out the door, the other teacher said, “By the way, your partner is right next door to you. Her name is Sandra.”
A slight chuckle echoed into the hallway as I left. Even though this should have been a clear signal not to forge a partnership with Sandra, against my better judgment I opened the green accordion door that separated our two rooms.
Sandra (whose name has been changed to protect the guilty) was a teaching veteran of 20-plus years. It must be said that in the years since I entered the field of education, I have met many exceptional educators with 20, 30, or even 40 years of experience. In addition, I have been inspired not only by their knowledge of the curriculum but also in their ability to change and seek the best new methods of teaching possible. That said, Sandra was not one of them. In fact, one of the first things that I noticed about her was that she had stacks of worksheets lined up throughout the room. With some of them dating back to the early 1970s, the worksheets clearly did not represent cutting-edge pedagogy. After seeing this, I glanced at a lesson plan book that lay lifeless on her desk. Instead of stating the days of the week or specific dates on the calendar, Sandra’s book was clearly labeled “Day 1, Day 2 … Day 180.” Knowing that this likely meant that her routine was set in stone, the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up as a signal for me to shut the door and go about my own business. Again however, against my better judgment, I looked her in the eyes and timidly said, “Hi, I’m Damen and … I guess … I’m your new teaching partner.”
In an instant I watched what started as a blank stare on her face turn to frustration. Immediately she scowled and said, “Partner? Partner? I don’t have a partner.”
I tried to explain that our colleagues had sent me over to speak to her, but it was too late; I had struck a nerve. She continued, “I’ve been working here for 20 years without a partner and I’m not going to start now. I’m happy to share any ideas and you are more than welcome to copy some of my worksheets, but I’m not going to partner with you.”
After her declaration, she shut the accordion door and, I can only assume, went back to her work. Rejected by someone whom even others did not wish to work with, I stood stunned. While it was many years ago, I vividly remember sitting in a pea-soup green, kindergarten-size chair in the middle of the room, saying to myself, “Damen, what the hell did you get yourself into?”
Even though I would take great joy in teaching the wonderful students who made up my very first class, I must say that I survived that year on will alone. Unfortunately, by the end of my second year, I had turned into someone whom I grew to despise.
For years I had heard excuses from educators about why some students could not learn. Whether it was because their kids were poor, spoke a different language, or had parents who just didn’t care, I made it a point to turn my back on colleagues who displayed such negative attitudes. Little did I know that I would begin to take that same path. After teaching for two years, I soon discovered how hard it was to teach students with challenges, especially those who lived in poverty. After months of fighting inner frustrations, I remember being in the staff lounge and sharing with a colleague about one of my students. “What the heck am I supposed to do when this kid’s parents don’t even read with him at home!” I exclaimed.
In an effort to comfort me, my colleague said, “Welcome to the club.”
As he said it, he took a certain sense of joy in the statement that made me uncomfortable. Later, I walked through the hallways asking myself, “Is this really a club that you want to be in?”
The answer to this was clearly “no,” and I had decided then and there that I would rather give up a profession that I was passionate about than become another example of status-quo teaching. I had decided that I would pursue another line of work at the end of the year. Fortunately for me, I never had to make that choice because, in many ways, a different choice was made for me.
Jeff King was assigned as the new principal of Los Peñasquitos Elementary School at the end of my second year. I didn’t know much about him, and had only heard that he was someone who was passionate about changing the reputation and results of Los Pen. So, convinced about his potential as a leader by the reputation that preceded him, I decided I needed to stick around and see what kind of changes would be made for the better. To this day, it is one of the best professional decisions I have ever made.
Jeff was bold, fearless, and sometimes brash, but he was just what the doctor ordered for a school that had been failing for decades. From the first moment that Jeff spoke to our staff, until the day that he left Los Pen some five years later and I replaced him as the principal, he never wavered from his expectations of us as professionals. With Jeff, there was but one goal: Every student, without exception and without excuse, will be proficient or advanced in reading, writing, and math. It was that simple. What started as an edict from Jeff’s lips to our ears became a motivational mantra that still exists today. This unlikely goal, from a school where four in ten students live in poverty, stands today not because it sounds good or is inspirational. It still exists today because it works!
Los Peñasquitos Elementary School is made up of 650 students representing 35 different languages. Forty-two percent of our kids live in poverty, most residing within the largest Section 8 subsidized housing complex in Northern San Diego County. Crime levels and drug use are the highest in our district. There’s no doubt that such demographics have acted as a tailor-made excuse for our school’s poor performance over the years. With challenges like these, poor performance was not only acceptable within our district; it was expected. Because of this, many might suggest that setting a goal with academics at the forefront was an exercise in futility. Our fundamental belief in all students, however, would drastically change those perceptions and foster results that would make Los Pen a showcase for schools across the nation to follow.
Between 1997 and 2012, our school went from being the laughing stock of our community to the darling of Title I schools in the state of California. The staff at Los Pen worked diligently to promote academic success for every student, no matter the circumstance. As a result of their commitment, our school was ranked within the top 10 percent of all schools in the state of California nine times between 2001 and 2012. In addition, Los Pen was ranked number one out of 100 similar schools in our state for four consecutive years. While schools similar to ours were challenged to find academic results that closed the achievement gap between subgroups, each of Los Pen’s five subgroups met levels of academic success that exceeded the norm. The focus of research studies, books, magazine articles, and news reports, Los Peñasquitos Elementary has created a momentum for change that is affecting the lives of thousands of students across the United States. But what others find surprising about this success is that it is grounded not on a plethora of programs and mandates that stifle a teacher’s ability to use good judgment, but rather on six exceptional systems that both unify a staff and encourage an entrepreneurial spirit. These six systems are the heart and soul of the No Excuses University movement.
Chapter 4: No Excuses University
We are living in an age of “educational hoarders.” From teacher to administrator, we have been conditioned to add, include, and incorporate but never encouraged to remove or simplify. This has created chaos in our classrooms and in our own minds. Our students sense this chaos and respond negatively through their behavior and learning, which is destined to produce frustrating results. The sad thing is that most educators take the knee-jerk reaction of blaming the students, when in reality it’s our own fault. I have found, almost without exception, that the best schools are not the ones that consistently add; they are the ones that take away and refine their approach to teaching and learning.
Recently I made a big move from California to Texas. The amount of junk that we had accumulated in every closet and storage space throughout our home was embarrassing but not uncommon for anyone who’s lived in a house for a decade with four kids. Long before my departure date, I set aside a weekend to conquer the beast that was my garage. Being the systematic guy that I am, I pulled out my cars and removed everything off of the storage shelves along the walls. (Right about now, many of you might be asking, “How bad can this guy’s garage be if he had storage shelves and could park his cars in there?” If that’s you, then all the more reason why you’d better be paying attention to this story!) Nonetheless, I continued to create three groups on the floor of the garage.
The first group represented items that I knew I needed access to on a continuous basis before the move. After sorting through them, I then restocked those items on the shelves that were easiest to access without climbing too high or bending over. The second pile was made up of things that were old dust collectors that we never used and that no one in their right mind would want. It was not only easy to decide to throw these things away; it was liberating! The final batch was maybe the most important of all. These were things that I carefully arranged on the floor and asked for my wife’s permission before I took them to the local Goodwill. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose husband has given away an obscure 15-year-old knick-knack!
My wife, who now stays at home with our kids, used to work for many years as a first-grade teacher. Before our first daughter was born, she was sure to pack up every teacher-related item that she used throughout her career. From lesson plans to art ideas to sentence strips and math units, nothing got past her. The result, 17 file boxes that sat in the middle of my garage waiting for her approval to be sent off. You can imagine the conversation that ensued. It went something like this:
“You’re not throwing those boxes away, are you?” she said.
“No, I’m going to give them away.” I sheepishly responded.
“But what about when I go back to teaching?”
I treaded very lightly as I said, “Honey, if I were a principal looking for a new teacher and you were still using the same ideas and materials that you did 15 or 20 years ago, you probably wouldn’t be someone that I’d hire.”
As someone who is also quite practical as well as supportive of the idea of giving students the very best instruction possible, she agreed and said a phrase that I rarely hear: “You’re right.”
After speaking with her, I took the remaining items that we decided were not giveaways and carefully placed them on the storage shelves. The result? A ton of open space on the shelves, and a huge sigh of relief on my part. Leonardo da Vinci once said, “Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication,” and I could not agree more. And the thing is, as an educator, I don’t think I’m alone in that sentiment.
New ideas and programs are packed onto our classroom shelves and funneled into our daily agendas on a yearly, if not monthly, basis. From state mandates that districts must comply with, to top-down decisions that add uniformity to every classroom on every campus. These new ideas are often wonderfully supportive to the academic and social success of students, which I love, but the fact that they are add-ons and never seem to take the place of other initiatives is what we at the No Excuses University despise. And before I share with you exactly what the No Excuses University is, I want to start with an understanding of what it is not.
The No Excuses University, or NEU, is not complicated. I have found that many educators, academics, and politicians seem to be on a mission to make the idea of school-wide success appear so complicated that it creates an urgency that leaves schools running to pay top dollar for a quick fix. In fact, some consultants and educational service companies are the worst offenders, where profits take precedent over the academic gains of students. When my brother Dan and I officially created the No Excuses University, we did so with three very important expectations of ourselves. First was to offer the best possible staff development in our field while at the same time treating educators like professionals. Second, we wanted to present ideas and strategies that could immediately be put in place on any campus the very next day. Third, we never want to require our clients to buy “something else” from us at a later date in order to be successful. No yearly subscriptions. No next level learning kits that cost thousands. And no regurgitated productions of materials that are basically the same message in a repackaged form. Does this upset the establishment who thinks our model makes terrible business sense? Who cares. Our bottom line is really pretty simple: How many lives will we change before we die?
No Excuses University is not a mass-produced message intended to be thrown at educators as if they were koi fish in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Our desire is to create a coalition of like-minded individuals who seek to promote college readiness for all. Through this work, it is our hope to create the next greatest generation of citizens tomorrow by offering a quality education to our students today.
Finally, the No Excuses University is not another program. Sure, we embrace programs that can help support the achievement of our students, but we do not foolishly buy into them as if they are the savior of school reform. As you’ll read, programs might produce results in the short term, but the only way for long-term, consistent, school-wide success is through the development of exceptional systems.
From our organization’s commitment to the very best professional development, to our passion for creating a collaborative coalition through the No Excuses University Network of Schools, to our fight to remove our profession’s dependence on programs and replace them with exceptional systems, No Excuses University seeks to be different. We choose to dream big for our students and simplify the solutions for our practitioners. Since 2006, this spirit has led us to connect with some of the greatest educators in the world and experience amazing transformations alongside staffs that have generated terrific results together.
Chapter 5: Culture of Universal Achievement
While working with a dozen members of a leadership team from a school in California, I came across an incident that was so powerful that it not only shaped the view of the team, but also serendipitously created an analogy that I have now shared with thousands of teachers across the country.
Just as I was offering the details of an agenda that would include topics that ranged from collaboration to small group reading instruction, one particular member of the leadership team, Amanda, begged for me to tackle a pressing issue that was on the mind of the team. As I paused, I listened to her concern that there were many staff members who were “not on board” and all of the efforts completed by the leadership team that day would mean nothing if these naysayers did not get on the “ship.” Listening, I found out the following:
Her use of the word “many” equated to about three people on the staff who were not on board.
She had a concern that these negative influences would pollute the positive people on the staff.
Finally, her concerns evolved to include not only the people on site who were not on board, but district decision-makers who hindered progress by cutting the budgets and raising class sizes.
As she wrapped up her concerns, she took what was meant to be an uplifting off-site leadership summit on a local university campus and turned it into a downer of a retreat. As the wheels began to spin in my head, I took advantage of a prop that sat outside the conference room that we were in. There in the center of a commons area was a magnificent granite ball resting above a spring of water that flowed underneath. I decided that this half art/half fountain hallmark would help begin our day anew.
As I led the team outside the door, many wondered about the impromptu field trip that we were going on. When we arrived at the granite ball, I could tell that their wheels were already beginning to turn. As I stood on one end of the ball, I asked Amanda to stand on the other side as the rest of the team observed. I asked her to spin the granite ball as fast as she could in an effort to get the momentum headed in my direction. While the water that flowed underneath allowed Amanda to create some movement, it also made it very difficult for her to produce the friction necessary to hold on. She clearly was no match for the ball.
After asking her to step aside, I requested that four team members take her place and try to do the same thing. In an instant they began to get the ball rolling. Each revolution created more speed and motivation for the small group. I then asked two more members to join in the fun. The result: a granite ball that was both in direct alignment with me and also spinning at a speed that was tough to halt.
With the ball spinning at a tremendous rate because of this group of six, or critical mass, I asked another member to stand on the opposite side. I offered the following direction to the team member: “You represent the budget. I want you to stop this momentum.” As hard as the person tried, she could not. I asked another member to stand on the opposite side and said, “You represent an increase in class size. I want you to stop the momentum.” He could not budge the ball. Finally, I asked Amanda to stand in the same opposing side and said, “You represent the people who are not on board. I want you to try as hard as you can to stop the granite ball.” In spite of Amanda’s best efforts, she too could not stop the ball. I yelled at her, “Come on, don’t give up. Get your legs into it. Press as hard as you can!” She did so, but to no avail. As I watched her struggle, I also watched water flying up in her face. It was in her hair and on her clothes and was making the mascara on her eyes begin to run down her face. It was at that moment that Amanda did something incredible. Not only did she step away from the granite ball, but she went to the other side and joined with the critical mass as they continued their momentum in the opposite direction.
Why did Amanda step aside? For two reasons. First, just like a naysayer, she was uncomfortable being on the other end of the critical mass. Second, she recognized that it was easier to join in the fun than to fight against the movement of the mass. Amanda’s experience exemplifies the power of a group of people who press forward in spite of the discouraging words and actions of others. Wherever I go I have found that while there are always a few naysayers who are not on board, there are far more good-natured and passionate educators who can make up the critical mass if they choose to bond together.
Unfortunately, the concerns that Amanda offered are being experienced today on hundreds of campuses throughout the country. And it’s not difficult to understand how this happens. Many of today’s veteran principals, teachers, and classified staff members have become frustrated by the negativity of others. This all too often leads to a negative attitude on their own part that extinguishes the fire that they entered the profession with. When this happens, you are left with, at best, a staff that is apathetic toward the future. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to be sucked into a toxic environment like that and behave in a manner that is embarrassing for me to even reflect upon. But through that reflection I know one thing for sure: Success is far more enjoyable than failure. Anyone who has had even a taste of what it’s like to work with colleagues who inspire you, as they believe in each student, would never choose any other way to live. That kind of spirit exemplifies a culture of universal achievement and has to be the foundation for every school. So what is a culture of universal achievement?
A culture of universal achievement takes place when the critical mass of the staff believes that each student is capable of meeting academic standards in reading, writing, and math AND that the school has the power to make that opportunity a reality.
These words set the foundation of our exceptional system staircase and are at the heart of the No Excuses University endeavor. While our reading, writing, and math focus may be elementary in nature, they can easily be substituted by the most important areas of focus that you find appropriate at your level. What cannot change is the concept of whose responsibility it is to create this culture of universal achievement in the first place.