It’s an urban high school with over 4000 students.  Most are good kids, some aren’t, and very few have gotten a solid education in math, my subject.  Less than half pass the state math test. 

What have you done besides teaching?

•   • Helped edit a math textbook. 
•   • Researched education policy at a think tank. 
•   • Performed magic at children’s birthday parties.

What are you going to write about?

Mainly teaching experiences, education policy, and other random topics.  I’ll try be smart, entertaining, and occasionally accurate.

Why did you become a teacher?

Wendy Kopp made me do it.

Are you really qualified to write about policy?

Next question. 

What should I do if you write something stupid?

Tell me, I’d like to hear your opinion.

At Teacher Magazine, Jessica Shyu asks her readers to weigh in on what makes teachers stay.  Good question.  After that, we should figure out what makes them leave.  Then we need to know why people decide to join or not join the profession in the first place.

Of course, we already have plenty of theories, conjectures, and conventional wisdom about these questions.  We do not, however, have nearly enough useful research.  It’s time to stop asking for anecdotes and start asking for data.

For example, which of the following would be more attractive to chemistry majors with at least a 3.2 GPA:  A $3000 raise for teachers or a career ladder program that uses the same money to provide opportunities for advancement and promotion.  I don’t know the answer, but a simple study could tell us.  A more clever study could tell us the approximate dollar value of a career ladder program to any subset of students we’re interested in.  And it could do the same for other policies that affect whether or not people want to teach.   

Researchers have already done surveys and analyzed the labor market, but these inquiries have been limited, and many are now outdated.  With a current and comprehensive study, we could reshape teacher recruitment and retention to improve teacher quality.  JPMorgan and McKinsey have the data.  It’s time for schools to have it too.

Texas Governor Rick Perry named the new chairman of the State Board of Education yesterday.  Perry chose Don McLeroy, a staunch conservative dentist known for his strong views on curriculum:  yes to abstinence, no to evolution.

I could tell you more about McLeroy, but you should take a look at his surprisingly candid website.  In case you’re short on time, or in case a wise bureaucrat gently suggests that McLeroy take down the site, I’ll describe a few highlights.

In an essay on standards and state tests, McLeroy dismisses state authority in education, the same authority he will now oversee.  “Not only has the rise of the State led to mediocrity in our schools, it has provided a base for monopolistic education ideas, views, and fads to gain a dogmatic hold over our entire State.  It has stifled diversity, a trait that is so necessary in all fields of endeavor.”

In a barely-coherent polemic on evolution, McLeroy lists 117 arguments against Darwin’s theory.  Don’t ask me what he means by #115, “[Evolution] moves to fast to see; moves to slow to see.”

In “The Gift of Midievil Christendom to the World,” McLeroy argues that “Freedom… is never found in the ancient world… It is never found in the rest of the modern world.  Freedom is unique to the areas of the world that have been touched by Christianity.”

As Chairman, McLeroy will have several important duties.  In coming years, the nation’s second most populous state will create new curriculum standards in English, reading, writing, and science.  McLeroy will appoint committees and chairs while setting the agenda for each board meeting.  His role may be especially important due to the split composition of the board:  seven firm social conservatives and eight moderate republicans and democrats.

More on school names from Jay Mathews at the Washington Post, this time focusing on North Virginia.  Evidently, presidents and well-known people “tend to be controversial, whereas few people have bad things to say about rivers, lakes, forests, or freedom.”  And don’t forget sea creatures.

Mathews thinks it would be better to name schools after people.  He quotes the Manhattan Institute:  “Teachers at Lincoln Elementary, for example, can reference the school name to spark discussions of the evils of slavery and the benefits of preserving our union.”

Teachers could spark the same discussion by displaying a five dollar bill or penny, not to mention dozens of other great ways to excite students about a lesson on the civil war.  In other words:  anything names can do, we can do better.

Researchers have discovered a new culprit for low academic achievement: school names. The Salt Lake Tribune reports, “in Florida, five schools are named after George Washington although 11 honor manatees, also known as sea cows.”

God forbid that schools be named after animals known as sea cows. Let’s hope that no manatees read the Salt Lake Tribune this morning – probably a safe bet, but who knows what will happen if the story gets picked up on the Atlantic coast.

The article describes a study that found that schools are less likely than ever to be named after civic heroes and more likely to be named after natural features. The authors think this trend may be linked to poor civic education.

Does the name of a school really affect the education of its students? I don’t know, and I don’t think there is any research on the question. But if there is a connection, wouldn’t Manatee Elementary do a better job educating its students about biology and sea life than Jefferson Elementary?

I guess the real way to fix American education is to name schools like this: “Roosevelt Amino Acids a² + b² i-before-e Hyperbole High School”

Last February, I told my geometry class about their upcoming state test.  I chose my words carefully, trying to build enthusiasm for several weeks of preparation.  I explained my new Saturday tutorial program and daily review problems.  Luisa interrupted me.

“The TAKS test doesn’t even matter this year.”

The rest of the class chattered in agreement.  The TAKS test would matter next year, when they were in eleventh grade.  That test would determine if they graduated.  But the tenth grade test wouldn’t even determined if they passed geometry. 

We spent weeks preparing for TAKS.  But after the test, Luisa told me she hadn’t really tried.  Other students said they started guessing half way through.  It didn’t matter, not to them.  But it mattered a great deal to their school and their teacher.  We would be judged by their scores.

I thought of Luisa when I heard about New York’s pilot program to pay students for achievement.  Among other incentives, the program would pay high school students $600 for passing standardized tests.  The idea is to align their short term interests with their long term interests, while alleviating poverty and making test data more meaningful.  I’m not convinced.

Maybe $600 could make Luisa care, but I think she wanted to pass all along.  We all have a natural desire for knowledge and success.  Luisa was no exception.  I saw it in her eyes when she learned how to find the volume of a cylinder.  But she had failed TAKS four times and expected to fail again.  Financial incentives only motivate if we believe we can achieve them.  I have great financial incentive to play in the NFL, but I’m not practicing my spiral. 

Maybe $600 could make Luisa care, but I could have made her care too.  I could have convinced her success was possible, inspired her to work harder.  I could have shown her the value of striving for excellence, even against long odds.  I think the fact that we’re offering $600 means we didn’t do our jobs.

Maybe $600 could have made Luisa care, but at what cost?  (Besides $600, of course.)  What would we teach her about the purpose of education?  How would we change the way she sees school?

As Edwize somewhat sarcastically says, it’s a very cool experiment.  I’m  really curious, but I’m even more wary. 

Every day, internet users send over 170 billion emails.  For comparison, the U.S. Postal Service delivers 213 billion pieces of mail – in a year.  Could a similar transformation take place in education?  A year ago, 700,000 public school students took online classes, enough to form the third largest school district in the country.  Most did it to supplement traditional “brick-and-mortar” schooling.  To get a better idea what it’s all about, test drive some sample lessons. 

Bill Tucker explores a myriad of issues related to virtual schools in a new Education Sector report, highlighting their innovations in personalized learning, teacher quality and support, and funding.  He makes a number of interesting points.  For example, virtual schools are recruiting retirees and stay-at-home parents who wouldn’t otherwise be teaching at all.  The report makes reccomendations about how to best foster virtual schools and virtual innovation.

From a teacher’s perspective, I see tremendous potential for engaging students, especially as these programs get bigger and better.  My students love computer games, myspace, and text messages.  I wonder if virtual schools can leverage those interests into meaningful learning opportunities.

There has been much discussion of standards in the last week, fueled by the release of two major reports.  The National Center for Education Statistics raised some interesting questions about the rigor of state standards and variation between the states.  Their report compelled Secretary Spellings to argue against national standards on the editorial pages of the Washington Post.

There is some ambiguity in the use of the word “standards” in this debate.  In terms of curriculum,  standards are a specific description of what students should know and be able to do by the end of a course or grade level.  This is what we often mean by “national standards.”  In terms of assessment, standards are the level of performance to which students are held accountable — the difficulty of the test.  This is what we mean by “high standards” (which, incidentally, is also the reason women say they won’t go out with me).  It’s the difference between what a student should learn and how well they need to learn it to pass the test. 

The distinction is subtle but important.  When i started teaching, I immediately noticed a significant gap between my state’s curriculum standards and what was expected on the state test, and I often wished they were more aligned.  There was more depth and more breadth in the curriculum standards.  Of course, even these did not account for everything I wanted to teach my students, like mental toughness or the importance of going to college. 

In policy discussions, we should be aware of the two types of standards and be clear about which we are refering to.  It is crucial that students in all states be held to high assessment standards, which is why the NCES report is troubling (though in my view mitigated by flawed methodology).  But this does not necessarily mean that all states must have equivalent curriculum standards.  In theory, states can exercise discretion in what students learn and when they learn it while also ensuring that all students benefit from a rigorous and complete curriculum.  The question is how to make sure it happens.