Learning in a war zone - inner-city Chicago school

Christian Century, Oct 23, 1996 by Katherine A. Gilbert

WE MUST DEMAND excellence at every level of education. We must insist that our students learn the old basics and the new basics they have to know for the next century." Bill Clinton's words echoed through Chicago's United Center as he accepted the Democratic Party's presidential nomination.

A few miles south of the United Center is a school whose students badly need the basics, old and new, and whose lives reveal the range of social and political problems that can easily overwhelm any plan for educational reform. Hoover Elementary,School is located in Englewood on the South Side, a neighborhood that, according to the 1990 census, is 99 percent black with a median household income of $13,243. Forty-three percent of Englewood's residents live below the federal poverty line, and 47 percent of those over 18 have not obtained high school diplomas.

At Hoover, eight-year-old Stevie wasn't able to get his homework done last night. He quietly explains to his play, third-grade teacher that he couldn't finish his assignment because "they shot the door off my apartment." He does not specify who "they" are. His teacher knows that some Englewood children sleep in bathtubs, using them as shields against stray bullets.

The metal fence surrounding Hoover looks like an ineffectual attempt to lock danger out and children in. There are no swings, jungle gyms or athletic equipment on the blacktop that constitutes the school's grounds. The landscape of the men's prison in downtown Chicago, with its trees, flowers and benches, is more pleasing. Elevated train tracks run past one side of Hoover. On the other is what looks like a junkyard strewn with blowing trash. Once all the teachers and children are in school, the doors are locked and the gate to the parking lot is chained shut. The children remain indoors all day, without recess or playtime. Not only is there no place to play, but it is simply not safe to allow the children to leave the building.

Inside, Hoover seems at first like any other elementary school. The walls are brightly decorated with children's artwork, the halls swept clean of debris. It takes a few minutes to notice the signs of neglect: missing tiles on the classroom floors, windows that look as if they are coated with foggy plastic--light comes through, but one cannot see outside. Early in the morning the loudspeakers announce that the third-floor bathrooms are in disrepair. Squirming children cram into long lines for the second-floor bathrooms.

While the children rush through a 20-minute lunch break, I make a trip to the teachers' restroom with Susan Ross, a second-year teacher. She chooses the one adjacent to the teachers' lounge; the frequent presence of staff reduces the likelihood of encountering cockroaches and mice, which can be found even in the classrooms. Rats occasionally peer through the school's heating vents.

Some children "make gang signs with their hands. They learn them from the older kids," Ross tells me. Nine-year-old Nicky, suspected to be a drug runner for his uncle, has announced to her that dealing is what he's going to do for the rest of his life. Nicky is only one of many students whose parents are difficult to locate. "According to school records, Nicky is in the state's custody," Ross explains, "but whenever we try to contact him . . ." she pauses. "I guess there is a mother who lives somewhere . . ."

By coincidence Nicky's mother arrives later in the afternoon to speak with Ross. The mother is visibly drunk and seems to have difficulty maintaining her balance. No one seems to know who takes care of Nicky. Ross points out that though he can't read, he's been passed on to third grade.

Over the loudspeaker teachers are frequently reminded to keep their windows closed and to make sure children are released at 2:30 P.M. for safety reasons. Several months before, the school office announced that there were some gang problems in the area, and Ross was startled when in the middle of her math lesson she heard what sounded like machine-gun fire. Less than half a block away, in view of Ross's open window, a gang fight erupted. She was frightened, but the children reacted calmly to the outbreak of violence, followed by ambulance and police sirens. They showed no signs of hysteria or fear--they seemed numbed.

Ross once lent nine-year-old Jimmy a book for the weekend, to be returned on Monday. On Thursday Ross asked him why he had not yet returned it. He explained that his mother had gone out to celebrate her 25th birthday on Monday and hadn't "come home from the party yet." In the meantime he was sleeping at his neighbor's apartment and washing his school uniform in the kitchen sink.

Ross suspects that both of Jimmy's parents are involved in gangs. Earlier last year Jimmy's father showed up at her classroom door and demanded to see his son. "I hear he's being bad," he said, and took off his belt. Just released from jail, he had come to give Jimmy a beating--a homecoming of sorts. When Ross asked him to leave, he grabbed the child and dragged him into the bathroom. A short time later he pushed the beaten and crying boy back into the room, telling Ross, "He won't give you any more trouble."