| ||||
|
|
||||
 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
Talking, touching, toughnessBoston school an urban oasis for students
BOSTON, Massachusetts (CNN) -- Not too long ago, at the place everyone calls "The Burke" -- Jeremiah Burke High School, in Boston's inner city -- just about everything had fallen apart. Encircled by crime-ridden streets, Burke seethed with violence. Gangs armed with knives and guns roamed the filthy halls of a school that had fallen so low it lost its accreditation. Then Steve Leonard showed up. Growing up within three blocks of the Burke, in Boston's Dorchester neighborhood, the stocky Leonard, who may have the sweetest smile of any school principal in the country, was determined to resurrect the school against all odds. That he has, in the six years since taking over, made the school a safe zone for more than 800 students is a testament to the power of simplicity in dealing with young people -- the power of common sense.
In order to restore the "three R's" at Burke, Leonard introduced the three T's -- talking, touching and toughness. Everywhere in Burke's now mostly immaculate hallways you see adults talking to kids, and adults throwing an arm around kids. All this within the disciplined, highly structured school day Leonard imposed, amid a zero-tolerance policy for serious misbehavior. Importantly, Leonard explained, he was given authority to sweep away burned-out teachers and bring in his own staff. He charged each one of them with one responsibility -- keep an eagle eye on all students and always be as available as possible. There's been no serious violence at the Burke for years. Students and faculty say the secret is nothing more profound than creating an environment of stability, where no one's allowed to slip through the cracks. Leonard believes the sort of teasing that apparently foreshadowed and helped ignite several school shootings would not be tolerated at his school -- it would have been ferreted out. He and his staff are watching. Leonard said, of his students: "The only way they can get away from us is don't come to school. And most of the time when they don't come to school -- we go find 'em." The students feel it and they like it. Far from chafing under all the attention, they seem to thrive on it. Most Burke students, having grown up on rough streets -- many from single-parent homes, now see school as a sanctuary. Ironically, given the inner city's reputation for trouble and violence, many Burke students seem almost to feel sorry for supposedly protected suburban youngsters. They believe many school shootings have happened in relatively crime-free suburban communities because kids there aren't supervised enough.
Krystena Bradshaw said shootings happen when young people feel no one cares. "They need attention, and that's what they're doing this for -- for attention." Jeffrey Wilson agreed, adding "I feel that I can go to somebody and talk to them, if I'm about to have a conflict. We just seem to talk about it more here." Other students felt that many suburban young people are too removed from the reality of violence. Rhyshonda Singletary remembered growing up "hearing gunshots outside my window a lot. And you see people fighting, you see people arguing, you see a lot of violence when you live in the inner city." Both Kathleen Marc and Nikia Watson said growing up in the city strengthened them to deal with life as it comes. The difficult reality of inner city life sometimes enabled them to let things roll off their back. Both felt that suburban students, raised in more affluence and comfort, ironically took it harder when things didn't go their way. They could then turn to violence, particularly if the only violence they'd ever experienced was in a video game. Kareem Feagin is an example of a young man turned around by Steve Leonard's up close and personal approach to running a high school. After several members of his family wound up in jail, Feagin, feeling lost and ready to give up, nearly dropped out a couple of years ago. But the school's safety net caught him -- its web of adults was willing to listen.
"I was able to go to school, have conversations with the principal, the senior class representatives, and just different people, with teachers, to help me out." Feagin is now bound for college, hoping to attend the Tuskegee Institute. The harmony at Burke leaps the racial divide. While most students are African-American, Danny Anzalone is white, from South Boston. He's learned a lot attending the Burke -- that color doesn't matter, most basically, he said -- and that talking it out is always better than toughing it out. Steve Leonard said his very first thought when he got to the Burke six years ago was that somebody should be in jail for letting the school fall so far. He still has plenty of challenges -- a Burke student died in a shooting incident this year on Boston's mean streets. Leonard's way of dealing with that was to call everyone together to a school assembly and let everyone talk. It's his way and it works. Derrick Sudeall, the assistant principal, noticed a kid walking the hall who looked a bit downcast. Sudeall wasn't sure who the kid was and that bothered him. After speaking with him he discovered that the boy was new and had transferred from a school in another, supposedly "better" part of town, to escape bullying. Sudeall said he'd keep a close eye on the new arrival, which is the Burke way. With so many of the nation's schools overcrowded and many kids still falling through the cracks, the Burke way may be a better way. It might be a model for students who are struggling with school violence and dealing with the difficulties of just growing up. RELATED STORY: Again, a school shooting stuns California community RELATED SITE: Jeremiah Burke High School | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||
