November 27-December 3, 2003

cover story

A Special Education

PACS founder and principal Brien Gardiner hopes that new federal and state legislation doesn't prevent his students from getting the education they need.

One charter school's effort to beat the odds.

by Amy L. Webb

Photos by Michael T. Regan

Think, for a moment, what it would be like for a hearing-disabled child to watch her classmates dance. Small legs stomping awkwardly to a mysterious beat. Hands smacking together in near silence. Jumping, skipping, then somehow stopping together on cue. Boys leaning their palms against the wall, taking fast breaths. Smiling girls collapsing on the floor in fits of laughter.

Her day is not spent in absolute silence. She wears a hearing aid and can discern muffled tones. Words echo as if she is standing at the wrong end of a broad and winding tunnel. She sits at the front desk in the center row of her homeroom class, which will help her hear the teacher better. But she must also watch her teacher's lips move to learn that some words have silent Es at the end and 6 times 2 is always 12.

What if every one of that child's teachers wore a special microphone, which was connected to a transmitter? The volume level could be adjusted so that her teacher's voice would be right there, clear, guiding her through reading class. Even when her teacher turned away to the chalkboard, talking as she wrote math tables, the child could follow along.

And what if her gym teacher was outfitted with the same gear, a small black box clipped to her waist, the thin cord running up her sweatshirt with a tiny microphone pinned to her collar? Her classmates would line up for a square dance, boys on one side, girls on the other. The teacher would play a song called "Cotton Eye Joe," and on her command the class would do-si-do. The girl would move her arms and legs to a beat that, finally, she could understand.

The history mural designed and painted by PACS students is a work in progress. It's 108 feet long so far, and they've just started on the medieval period.

The Philadelphia Academy Charter School (PACS) in the Northeast is accomplishing what, for many schools, is impossible. Middle-school students who never learned how to read are plowing through books at their grade level. Austistic children are getting specialized therapy to help them function on their own. Soon, high-school students will be earning a year's worth of college credit -- even before they graduate.

And hearing-disabled children are starting to dance.

Throughout the city, only a quarter of the students at public schools regularly pass state standardized tests, and 46 percent of the 11th-grade students who take the exams can't even read. Charter schools -- which are publicly funded but privately managed -- don't fare much better. Students in the city's 46 charter schools have an average passing rate of only 30 percent and high teacher turnover.

PACS is one of only four charter schools that are beating the city's downward trend. More than 60 percent of the students at Philadelphia Academy Charter School pass their standardized tests. Of the PACS fifth-graders, 71 percent read at a proficient level or higher. If that sounds remarkable, consider this: 200 of the school's 654 students are in special education. And all of their test scores count.

Now, a bitter fight has emerged, pitting the public schools that stand to lose state money against the charter schools still in development. Teachers are pressuring the state Department of Education to convene a task force to take a hard look at Pennsylvania's charter law -- and to consider abolishing charter schools altogether. For PACS, the problem may be unsolvable. New federal and state guidelines say that regardless of disability, every student at PACS must be proficient or above in reading and math in the next 10 years. If it fails to comply, PACS could lose funding and even face closure.

"Nothing is certain," says Brien Gardiner, chief administrative officer and principal at PACS. "I plan on being here five years down the road. The teachers here plan on helping our students improve as time allows. But for some students with serious disabilities, all the time in the world isn't going to help."

A morning bell rings. Gardiner heads down the hall to a planning room to start the morning staff meeting, but two parents have gotten there first to pitch a fundraiser.

"We only have 50 people signed up for beef and beer night," one father says. "We need another 150 for it to be profitable."

Gardiner looks around at the 50 members of his staff, then back at the parents. "I didn't put my money in yet, so you'll have two more," he says. "I'd encourage everyone to go." Already, two staff members are searching their wallets for cash.

The secretary continues announcements about attendance records and report cards and Gardiner helps to explain a new computer system that should prevent mistakes in reporting PACS data to the state. Gardiner, who is dressed in the school uniform -- khaki slacks and a navy polo shirt embroidered with the PACS emblem -- smiles as he speaks, his voice soft but commanding.

It's only 7:40 a.m., but most of the staff arrived at school an hour ago. And most will still be here until 6 p.m. or later. By choice.

Gardiner closes the meeting and walks down Lily Lane -- a corridor covered with a nature mural painted with bright violets and greens -- en route to his office. Most hallways at PACS display student art, but all of the halls have street names, and every classroom has a numbered sign on its door. Along the way, Gardiner passes a near-perfect replica of a blue Postal Service mailbox. There are no detentions given for passing notes at PACS. Instead, students are encouraged to write to their classmates and teachers -- as long as they address the envelopes correctly.

Students are buzzing through the front office with letters from their parents. Two girls pop their heads in to say good morning and Gardiner flashes a warm smile. He is tall with salt-and-pepper hair and seems a little like Santa Claus, save for the long white beard. He knows the names of every PACS student and how they're progressing in their studies.

A girl's voice comes over the intercom to start the Pledge of Allegiance. Gardiner jumps to his feet and places his hand over his heart. Movement in the office has ceased; five students, two secretaries and a parent have all stopped in their tracks to recite the Pledge. After, the hallways are eerily quiet. PACS doesn't seem like a Philadelphia public school. Then again, that was the point.

In 1988, Gardiner was the principal at Louis H. Farrell, a K-8 school in the Northeast. He and Mary Joscelyne, who was the home and school president then, used to talk about creating a school unfettered by the bureaucratic constraints of the public schools. "There were so many things we wanted to do but couldn't because of all the rules," Joscelyne says.

That year, a Wisconsin teacher named Albert Shanker had a similar idea: to set up demonstration schools across the country that would function in tandem with the local school districts. Shanker had been president of the American Federation of Teachers -- the same union that is now the charter-school movement's harshest critic. Shanker's idea was to free forward-thinking teachers from the constraints of the school system and give them laboratories to test new curriculum and teaching strategies. These schools would each have a charter, which would act as a mission statement and contract. Charter schools were to offer something that public schools could not: very small classes, strict discipline and creative environments. Some schools could even specialize their charters in areas such as foreign languages, special-ed programs and intensive math and science instruction.

Charter schools began appearing around the country, but it wasn't until 1995 that enough teachers in Pennsylvania brought the idea to the legislature. Gardiner, Joscelyne and six other parents and teachers borrowed a van and drove to Harrisburg to testify at a hearing on whether to allow charter schools. Surrounded by politicians, union officials and educators, Gardiner and Joscelyne sat at heavy wood tables taking turns at the microphone. "We went because for many parents in Philadelphia, there was no choice," Joscelyne says. "Public schools were failing, and there was no alternative besides expensive private schools. We asked the legislature to let us make a difference."

Their testimony worked.

Two years later, Pennsylvania passed a law allowing charter schools – with certain provisions. Charters would only be given for three to five years, which means that schools would have to continuously reapply for their charters. Schools would have to admit any student in Philadelphia regardless of race, income or academic ability. They would also have to provide transportation. And charter schools would have to seek funding, because they would only receive state funding equal to or less than public schools.

It didn't take long for Gardiner to find support for the school he and Joscelyne had envisioned. In the spring of 1999, Gardiner held a meeting and invited any interested parents and teachers to come and hear his philosophy. About 100 people showed up and listened to Gardiner's ideas for a school day without scheduled recess, classrooms where experts in their fields could teach and a school designed to give specific attention to students with different special-education needs.

The next day, Gardiner and Joscelyne held a second meeting for parents who still had more questions. They used a friend's restaurant on Frankford Avenue. But Gardiner didn't expect anyone to attend -- parents the night before didn't seem very enthusiastic about the proposition of designing and building a new school with funds that didn't yet exist. Gardiner was so discouraged that he bet Joscelyne a sit-down dinner that no one would show.

"They had to call the police," Joscelyne says, "to direct all the traffic. More than 600 people came and crammed themselves into that room, just to hear Brien's philosophy. He still owes me that dinner."

Shamir McZeal works on auditory processing skills with teacher Jenn Cosgrove.

PACS was intended for a maximum enrollment of 644 students from kindergarten through eighth grade. Weeks after the charter was signed, PACS had 500 students on a waiting list. Today, that list is 7,000 names long. The office gets between 30 and 40 phone calls every day from parents trying to get their kids into PACS. And while there's no official waiting list for teachers, dozens are trying to get jobs there. "Everyone wants to come to PACS," says Nancy Hughes, sixth-through-eighth-grade special-ed teacher. "I feel lucky that I get to work here. This is the dream school."

Gardiner left the Farrell school, and a handful of teachers and staff followed him. At PACS, 16.3 percent of the staff has more than 20 years' experience, compared with 1.9 percent at other Philadelphia charter schools, according to a 2002 report by Standard & Poor's School Evaluation Services. According to the state charter law, 75 percent of the teachers at charter schools must be certified, which means that they must have passed exams to earn teaching licenses and that they have received 180 hours of professional development education every five years. At PACS, 90 percent of the teachers are certified, and more than half of them have dual certificates to teach special ed.

PACS also has professionals on staff. One of the music teachers, Kathy Wagner, is a mezzo soprano with the Opera Company of Philadelphia. Her classes -- even the older grades -- are quiet and attentive. "Singing is normal to them," Wagner says. "There is no making fun." She conducts two musicals a year, and for the upcoming show, 120 students -- boys included -- auditioned.

Art teacher John Siniari, who is also a well-known painter, encourages students to try different techniques and develop portfolios. One of his mural projects, a timeline using lessons from students' history books, already stretches 108 feet.

PACS has a partnership with the China-based Shanghai Research Institute, and until last year had a Mandarin Chinese-speaking teacher on staff. Staff members have gone on teaching exchanges to Japan. The school also has a relationship with the Philadelphia World Affairs Council.

Even though teachers come from different backgrounds, they don't work independently -- everyone works as part of a team. "We evaluate students together, we develop classroom ideas together," says Anna Marie Siegmann, fifth-grade lead teacher. "Parents are involved, support staff is involved. This is more than a school, we have a community here and try to work together."

One of the ideas at PACS is to give students as much personalized attention as possible. Another is to create a feeling of ownership so that students respect school property and parents take an active involvement in their children's education. To that end, parents are asked to volunteer four hours a month to work in classrooms and assist teachers. They also work in the cafeteria, in the office and on the playground.

When Gardiner was working on the physical design of the school, he wanted lots of classrooms. Small classes mean better learning, he says. Gardiner also asked for extra features not found at public schools: The lights are 10 percent brighter than code, and the air temperature is 10 degrees cooler. The aim is to keep kids alert and interested in their classes.

But to build PACS, Gardiner had to come up with more than an innovative building design. He needed capital funding. Unlike public schools, which are built using a combination of the local property-tax base and state and federal funds, charter schools have to search out money. Gardiner secured a grant and a location off of Roosevelt Boulevard, down the street from the Kraft and Pepsi Co. factories. It cost $1.7 million, but the school went up in 73 days and was ready for the 1999-2000 school year.

Charter schools are also at a disadvantage when it comes to per-pupil funding and operating costs. Schools in the Philadelphia district get funding from federal, state and city sources for an annual total of between $6,500 and $8,500 per student. Charter schools only get state money for students -- PACS gets about $400 per student in non-special-ed classes, according to Pennsylvania Department of Education records -- so the rest has to come from private fundraising.

Students at PACS come from 52 different public schools and as far away as 58th and City Line Avenue, so the school started its own for-profit bus company, which other school districts now pay to use. Though it serves lunches below the price of public schools and provides discounts to economically disadvantaged families, the cafeteria also turns a profit.

In Philadelphia, state money follows the student. So if a third-grade girl opts out of a district school and attends a charter school instead, the money moves with her. For school administrators and the local teachers union, this is a problem. "Kids are gravitating away from public schools," says Barbara Goodman, communications director for the Philadelphia Federation of Teachers. "If you lose kids out of public schools, you're not reducing the cost at those schools but moving the money away. Charters are draining money right and left."

Goodman says that the majority of charter schools is squandering state money on untested teaching methods. "Unfortunately, Philadelphia charter schools are not models of ideal schools as they were intended to be," Goodman says. "It is distressing to see kids being experimented on when at this time there is a whole body of proven techniques. Their test scores will continue to sink without some kind of intervention. That hurts the kids, and ultimately impacts all of the schools in the city."

To be sure, not all charter schools are failing. The Green Woods Charter School in Mt. Airy and the Laboratory Charter School of Communications and Languages in Northern Liberties, both K-8 schools, met the rigorous state and federal standards this year. The Multi-Cultural Academy Charter School in North Philadelphia, grades nine through 12, also met the standards.

For the charter schools that didn't pass muster this year, test scores are significant now because of new federal regulations. President George W. Bush signed into law the No Child Left Behind Act in January 2002. Among the new education restrictions, NCLB says that schools with declining test scores for two consecutive years must offer students the option to transfer to a better public school and provide transportation. By 2006, a "highly qualified" teacher must be in charge of all classrooms. And every child, regardless of race, ethnicity, disability, family income level or native language, must be proficient or above in reading and math by 2014.

Pennsylvania lawmakers enacted a similar piece of legislation -- Act 46 -- well ahead of NCLB. As of April 1998, students must meet the same guidelines on standardized tests. In addition, schools must achieve attendance of 95 percent or higher. Last year, 216 out of 262 Philadelphia public schools and 29 out of 46 charter schools failed to meet the standard.

When schools don't make the grade, the state and federal government intervene. For example, the state can mandate entirely new curriculums and replace members of school administration. It can also opt to privatize a school or void its charter.

One charter school has already succumbed to penalties. This year, the Center of Economics and Law Charter School in West Philadelphia was closed because it neither kept the required number of teachers on staff nor provided school districts with student achievement materials.

The state also threatened to close the West Philadelphia-based Renaissance Advantage Charter School, which was founded by State Sen. Anthony Hardy Williams, because it repeatedly had poor test scores and too few certified teachers. And officials are looking into the West Philadelphia Sister Clara Muhammad School, which is run by Muslim cleric Imam Shamsud-din Ali. The school and Ali are subjects of a federal contract corruption probe surrounding Mayor John F. Street's administration.

In addition to the legislation, the state Department of Education took control of Philadelphia schools. In December 2001, Street entered into an agreement with the department and eradicated the school board, replacing it with the School Reform Commission. The commission includes three state appointees and two members appointed by the city. In July 2002, the Commission appointed Paul G. Vallas as chief executive officer of the school system.

"The district is doing so many good things under Vallas," Goodman says. "Philadelphia schools never had set teaching guidelines or curriculum before. He's saved the district money, given teachers hope and brought many schools into compliance."

Music teacher and professional opera singer Kathy Wagner uses flash cards to help a first-grade class understand rhythm and beat.

Even so, the NCLB and state regulations pose real problems for PACS. The reason is simple: The 200 special-ed students must take standardized tests -- and all but 1 percent of that group must achieve a passing score.

"I absolutely do not think [special-ed students] should take standardized tests if it is established that they are not on grade level because of a disability," says special-ed teacher Pam Friedman. "I've had kids crying on my shoulder because they look at the test and it's like French to them. It's unfortunate that standardized testing is the primary method used to evaluate a school, especially when a school is doing so much to help that group of kids."

Before he founded PACS, Gardiner had spent 25 years working in special ed. "It was important to me to give everyone an equal chance at succeeding in school," Gardiner says. "Public schools aren't as sophisticated as we are in terms of special ed."

Charter schools have the ability to use new software, change textbooks and even hire outside consultants if they need to without going through red tape. PACS is working with a group in New Jersey that studies how the brain understands aural lessons -- Gardiner is hopeful that the program will help his students. The school also uses new learning software called Fast Forward, which is an intensive program to help students concentrate on and process information. "We have a high success rate so far," says Jenn Cosgrove, who teaches Fast Forward to fifth- and sixth-graders. "Students enter our program nowhere near their chronological grade level. We work 100 minutes every day for eight weeks. Now 90 percent are reading. It takes a lot of individual attention, but it's amazing to see how confidence and self-esteem go up and how well students start to do in their other classes. We have an ideal environment for students to work on skills they may not have gotten at public schools."

There are seven self-contained classrooms devoted to special ed, divided into different needs. The school employs one full-time psychologist, five part-time resource teachers and a small set of occupational therapists and part-time family counselors. At a regular public school, an autistic student may work with a special-ed generalist for part of the day. But at PACS, an autism specialist works in tandem with homeroom, music, art and gym teachers to design the best learning environment for that student. Many of the teachers have degrees in special education, which kindergarten teacher and early childhood development specialist Susan Varra says only helps all of the students.

"If a teacher is also certified in special ed, she will know how to tailor curriculum to individual students," Varra says. "Every student is getting extra attention that way. And that teacher can also decode what may be a learning difficulty early on because she'll have the background to know what to identify."

Back on Bumblebee Boulevard, speech department team leader Karen Spock is racing to finish preparations for the "Who Wants to be a Botanist" special ed tournament. "I'm working with the homeroom teachers who are teaching the botany unit right now," Spock says. "We adapt that unit for our speech students so they learn the same lesson and get speech help. There is no such thing as a closed door in this building. Everyone is constantly asking what else they can do, what else they can do to help a kid learn."

For all of the progress Gardiner and the teachers have made, PACS still faces problems. Because of state regulations, PACS was put on a warning list. "We filed the attendance record incorrectly," Gardiner says. "We told the Department of Education about it and it's been taken care of. But the kind of paperwork we have to file is really intense. I hope we don't make another mistake, but it's bound to happen at some point."

Gardiner must also see that his students reach above-proficiency level on standardized tests by 2014. PACS just had its charter renewed for five years and is building an addition onto the school. This fall, PACS will house its first ninth-grade class, and a new grade will be added every year. The high-school curriculum is being developed with La Salle University and other colleges so that by the time seniors graduate, they will have earned a year's worth of college credit.

Still, PACS must continually show significant improvement in test scores to stay open. "This puts pressure on us to push test scores," Gardiner says. "Until a medical breakthrough, there are kids that aren't going to get good test scores. For half of our special-ed kids, achieving an acceptable score at their grade level is unrealistic. I always say that I have no problem with demanding that a special-needs child score at grade level as long as the medical community has a cure for heart disease and cancer over the next 10 years."

The challenge now is how to negotiate the needs of some students with the requirements of an entire school. "Penalties in funding are certain down the road," Gardiner says. "The federal and state legislation is asking a lot of students who have medical problems. It will eventually affect our funding. We have time to make sure that doesn't happen -- and if we can't do it, no one can."

As Gardiner walks back to his office, he stops to check on the progress of a Thanksgiving bulletin board. One of the homeroom teachers has crafted a realistic-looking turkey out of brown construction paper and a foil pan and is stapling it to the board. Around the turkey are students' essays explaining what they are thankful for this year. One girl writes, "I am grateful to go to school and learn." Another says, "I am thankful for me getting into a great school."

More essays line bulletin boards along Sunflower Street. A fifth-grade boy writes, "I go to a great school named Philadelphia Academy Charter School, PACS for short. I have a great class with a great teacher. I learn great things from her. She tries to make everything fun."

As they pass, a group of third-grade students smiles at Gardiner. One boy stops, looks up at Gardiner and says simply, "I'm having a good day, Mr. Gardiner!" Then he turns into his classroom, ready to learn, willing to work.