The blackboard jungle revisited

National Review, May 5, 1989 by Geoffrey Morris

JERSEY CITY, New Jersey, is a bluecollar, crime-ridden area across the Hudson River from New York City. Some 86 per cent of the students in its public schools are minoritiesspeaking thirty different languages in all-and close to a third of them are supported by welfare. In 1987, the district had a dropout rate close to 20 per cent, while only 26 per cent passed the state's proficiency exam for entry into ninth grade. The curriculum is left over from the early Seventies, and that's not because the administrators favor traditional ways of teaching. The aging buildings are splattered with graffiti, the hallways and classrooms sadly neglected. Drugs and fighting are common on school grounds, and the quality of education is among the worst in the country.

By May 1988, the situation had become so appalling that the state decided it had no choice but to take the school district over (a decision that was immediately challenged in the courts, which have not yet reached a final verdict). The state report issued at the time, after extensive investigation, concluded that "the Jersey City Board of Education has demonstrated that it is incapable of efficiently governing the school district." Other observers agreed. As rum ors floated around concerning the takeover, the Jersey Journal reported, "If the state had any remaining doubts about the need for intervening in the Jersey City public-school system, they should have been erased by last week's meeting of the board . . . The meeting itself was as orderly as a stampede. And made about as much sense."

Part of the problem had to do with local politics. The state report says: "The examples of patronage, inconsistent criteria for selection, and the acceptance of poor performance . . . demonstrate the board's willingness to participate in the continued widespread political intrusion into the district's operation." Former Mayor Gerald McAnn laid off teachers who failed to support his political re-election campaign. And his successor, Mayor Anthony Cucci, currently running for reelection, doesn't seem to have changed matters much. The political patronage has been so widespread that those filling district positions of responsibility had no idea of their actual duties. Positions were created to be filled by cronies. Routine hiring, evaluating, and recordkeeping were not only bypassed, but not even expected.

These problems, however, are not at all unique to Jersey City. Paterson, just half an hour's drive away, gained nationwide attention through one of its high-school principals, Joe Clark. Clark has been made famous by his bullhorn, flame-treated Willie Mays bat, and aura of controversy, portrayed in the recent Warner Brothers movie Lean on Me.

Paterson is demographically similar to Jersey City. Ninety per cent of its 25,000 students are black or Hispanic. Close to 30 per cent of the students are supported by welfare. Only 33 per cent passed the state's proficiency exam. And the Paterson district has not been state-certified since 1975.

The movie glorifies the Clark story a bit, but is on the whole accurate. Clark was hired in 1982 as principal of the three-thousandstudent Eastside High School for his hardnosed, do-it-you rself reputation as a teacher. Ironically, the initial mandate came from the mayor, worried that the state of the district's schools, which was becoming a serious campaign issue, might impede his re-election.

In the movie, Clark conducts his first meeting with the faculty like a drill sergeant on the first day of boot camp, bullying them with ringing rhetoric and strong advice, saying he will change this "cauldron of violence" into a solid educational atmosphere. The faculty cringe at his harsh style, iron hand, and, most important, his dreaded message-that they have failed to do their jobs.

His speech is full of robust enthusiasm and energy as well as one-liners and cliches: "Discipline is not the enemy of enthusiasm"; if you fail, "don't blame the white man, don't blame your parents, blame yourself." And he is a firm believer in the American dream: "If you can conceive it, you can believe it, and you can achieve it," Clark harangues his student body.

He feels strongly that welfare is the blame of underclass existence. "The welfare system sends [the students] this message: Don't work and we'll give you a diploma to get you a job you don't deserve."

IN FILM (as in reatity) Clark sweeps away graffiti, the drug dealers, and the impression that no one cares. He transforms Eastside High into bright corridors adorned with flowers, cheery sayings, clean lockers, and happy faces. He roams the halls, greeted with love from the students, each of whom he knows by name. He shows genuine concern toward the boy who cannot grasp an algebra problem or the girl whose mother kicked her out of the house.

When Clark arrived as principal seven years ago, he expelled three hundred "hooligans and thugs." He imposed "stay to the right-in a single file" rules, no littering, no one in the hall without a pass, and mandatory homework. In 1988, close to 61 per cent of the students passed the basicskills exam in reading and 48 per cent in math, up from 39 and 45 per cent in 1986, although the overall performance on state exams has not markedly improved. The dropout rate, meanwhile, has risen to 21 per cent, due in large part to his strict rules and homework requirements. He has also made enemies of much of the faculty -over a hundred have resigned in disgust at his tactics.