Is A Fortress The Solution?

By RON STODGHILL II

In a couple of years my father, Dr. Ronald Stodghill, is planning to retire after 16 years as superintendent of Wellston Public Schools, a small, predominantly black district of 725 students just west of St. Louis. It is the poorest city in St. Louis County, a place where unemployment reaches 60%, and 90% of the district's students live without their father. At the elementary school last April hung a picture of a 9-year-old killed when a bullet punctured the front door of her home. The middle-school administrator estimates that two-thirds of her students were exposed to drugs in the womb.

For years my father subscribed to the philosophy espoused by many of America's politicians and school administrators: cash trumps culture. When he took over in 1984, he believed that with the help of a new and committed board, a few bright teachers and modern technology, he could rescue Wellston's school district, which had lost its state accreditation nearly two decades earlier. To that end, he spent lots of time lobbying state legislators and private foundations for money, which he plowed directly into his staff and into developing programs to extend the district's embrace of its children, such as after-school tutorials and weekend study at the neighboring University of Missouri-St. Louis.

At first blush, his strategy seems to have paid off. The district is accredited again. The hallways are clean and orderly, and a gleaming new Macintosh computer sits atop one of every three desks. Teachers can say their classes are manageable (17 kids per teacher) and that spending, at about $8,000 per pupil, rivals that of some of Wellston's more affluent neighboring districts. But my father has become convinced that all these efforts are never going to be enough. He believes what students in Wellston need is nothing less than a "fortress," a boarding "academy" that can insulate them from their own community. He's got it all mapped out: during the day about 200 students would attend Wellston's schools, but in the evening they would be tutored in reading, writing and math before going on to learn about etiquette, how to stay out of fights and how to manage their time. The voluntary program would be available only to students ages 8 to 14, because "that is the age when youngsters start to crystallize their values," says my father. Though he is a Democrat, his idea sounds a little like the one uttered years ago by Republican Newt Gingrich. Gingrich proposed bringing back state-run orphanages to rescue at-risk children from unfit mothers. My dad admits the similarity between his idea and Newt's and doesn't apologize for it. "If it takes a fortress to develop youngsters into positive, confident, thinking young men and women, then why not?" he asks. It's a compelling idea, but there are problems with it. What parents would want to give up the care of their child? Quite a few, says my father. "I think many parents here would be relieved, frankly," he says. "No matter how much a parent loves a child, I think she realizes that she's not doing what she needs to be doing for her child," either because she's working several minimum-wage jobs, or she is hooked on drugs, or because she's involved in unstable relationships. The other problem with my dad's idea is money. His plan calls for converting a 51,000-sq.-ft. abandoned high school into a dormitory that would house students and faculty. The renovation alone would cost $10 million, while the school's annual operating budget would reach about $2 million. A few years ago, my dad went so far as to circulate this idea among national legislators and educators. Many found it intriguing but said it was too expensive. My dad doesn't mention it much anymore. It's unfortunate, but I think he's given up hope and started to think mostly about his retirement. I've heard it said that public-school systems are where all good ideas go to die. That's not always true. In fact, some are born in public school and die there too.