Building Strategy

     During the past spring break, my wife, son, and I traveled to West Texas to hike in Big Bend and the Davis Mountains. We spent some time in Alpine, a wonderful small town where the residents have bumper stickers that read "Austin may be weird, but Alpine is far out." One of the main attractions in Alpine is Kokernot Field, a baseball stadium built in 1947 for the then-outrageous cost of $1.25 million. Texas Monthly has called it "the Yankee Stadium of Texas"; and Sports Illustrated, "the best little ballpark in Texas (or anywhere else)." Rancher Herbert Lee Kokernot, Jr. was so determined to build the most impressive park that he used to check the number of light bulbs at other parks to make sure his had the most. There remain some beautiful touches in the wrought iron and outfield fences. The ranch's brand is everywhere, often quite intricately.
     To be sure, it was a build-it-and-they-will-come endeavor. For a while it worked. One time in the 1950s 6000 people showed up for a game, and several current and future professionals played there. But after the last semi-pro game of 1961, the park was used on and off by Sul Ross State University, whose program went dormant for a long stretch, and the local school district. 2009 marked the first pro game played there in 48 years. The park is now the home of the Alpine Cowboys of the Pecos League, which compresses 70 games into a 72-day season, for which players earn $50 per week. I also was totally underwhelmed by the park. Perhaps I expected too much. But the main thing I noticed was how run-down the entire place seemed. I wondered if it were used at all anymore or if it were regularly maintained. That said, I could see what a jewel it must have been in its heyday. You can also imagine what Kokernot's hopes and dreams and vision were. Perhaps he had a strategic plan...
     I say that somewhat tongue-in-cheek, as I'm unclear when strategic planning--with a final, elaborate document--became in vogue. But I'm quite serious when I say I found myself thinking of many school's strategic plans and how they often become focused on building ever-grander facilities. On some level this makes sense. Impressive facilities do attract families. They give boards and donors a sense of accomplishment. They can galvanize a community. They can provide direction and even inspire. It's certainly fun to dream and engage in master campus planning projects.
     However, I wonder how much truly strategic thought goes into these plans and the emphasis on building projects. In other words, do we consider what should be happening in those building? I sense that it does--but in somewhat misguided fashion. As symbolized by the buildings themselves metaphorically, it's a matter of bigger, faster, stronger...but not necessarily different. The plans seldom reveal truly dramatic or meaningful curricular or pedagogical change. Plus millions of dollars are invested into buildings based largely on current realities, despite the rapidity of change in the larger culture and cries for schools to become more nimble and innovative. To put the issue more starkly: we're creating plans intended to look out x number of years along with constructing magnificent buildings that should last decades at a time when a fairly-recently unimagined future races towards us faster and faster. Meanwhile our costs keep rising.
     I'm not saying that schools shouldn't have great facilities. They should be places which symbolize our values and stir our imaginations, sparking amazing work. I'm urging that we be more thoughtful in what that work should be. That raises a certain irony. Most schools acknowledge that we should be doing more to help kids become more innovative and creative (actually, I should say remain--or at least not beat it out of them). Towards that end, many have begun incorporating bits of design thinking into their programs. One of the main features of that mindset is how constraints can lead to more creative thinking. Yet we construct facilities which remove as many restraints as possible.
     To me that's not good building strategy. I fear that if we don't have much deeper conversations about what happens in those buildings, many of our schools may end up like Kokernot Field.
   

Burning Out Kids' Engines

     In a recent conversation I heard about a ninth grader taking AP courses. Just a few years ago, I'd heard about more juniors taking them. Only recently had I heard about sophomores.
     What's the hurry?
      I don't know; in fact, I can't even come up with a single compelling argument. The issue is not my problems with the AP program in general. It's something much more basic, Why do we think this is good for young people?
      It's part of a disturbing trend of adults pushing things onto kids at younger and younger ages. The college counseling process starts earlier. Middle school kids take SAT prep courses. They have all sorts of intense "enrichment" programs. Club sports begin earlier and earlier. Someone told me the other day about a select baseball team on which the kids had fancy uniforms, high-grade equipment, and their own walk-up music when coming to bat. They were kindergarteners.
     We're directing young people's energies in the wrong way and at the wrong rate. Think about a car with its engine being revved too high for an extensive period. It breaks down sooner, even burning out.
     In many newer cars, if the engine is revved too high for too long, the onboard computer shuts it down. So are we more careful with our cars than with our kids?

Both Leadership and Followership

            I suspect that at some point just about every American child has been urged, “Be a leader, not a follower.” Schools promise to produce leaders; some even have incorporated it as part of their missions. Current leadership espouses distributed leadership. The idea is that everyone can be a leader in some form or fashion. How it manifests itself depends on context.

            I embrace such thinking for several reasons. It chips away at traditional notions of leadership, many of which emphasize particular personality traits and hierarchy over other qualities. It’s more respectful of diverse individualism and nurtures greater motivation and commitment. Progress can come faster as more people paddle together. So I fully agree that we should be helping people learn how to lead better. My concern is with what we incorrectly put at the other end of the spectrum.

            Follower is a pejorative. I understand why, given the way we often use it and the subsequent connotation. Certainly we don’t want someone to be simply a follower. However, I have a simply contention, albeit one that may initially seem counter intuitive. Just as we strive to teach leadership, we should be teaching wise followership. Who and how one follows factors heavily into one’s leadership, both as it initially forms and its evolution.

            I’ve pondered this notion for a long time, and I’ve touched upon it briefly in various posts. Always present in my thinking to some degree, it’s come to the forefront recently as I’ve read a preview copy of Stephen Valentine and Reshan Richard’s book coming this July, Blending Leadership: Six Simple Beliefs for Leading Online and Off. (It’s a wonderful book with excellent insights about leadership in general, and I recommend people purchase a copy as soon as it comes out.)Two passages rekindled my thoughts on this topic. They write, “Our beliefs emerged from many places: from our own practice and observation; from the Ahmads who entered our lives with curiosity and playfulness, pushing us to turn over our perspectives; from our own leading and teaching, from our own leadership anthropology; from continual conversations with each other and with people at conferences and with authors we have only read. As we have tried things or tried them on and looked around or listened or succeeded or failed, belief statements cohered” (27). Shortly after, they point out that school leaders “not only follow thought leaders, but also engage actively with them, building off their work, their thinking, as if it were a platform” (36).

            In so many ways, we become who we follow, consciously and unconsciously. It can be as large as adopting philosophies and practices to imitating physical mannerisms and verbal tics. It’s how we learn, beginning the moment we become aware of ourselves and others as unique beings, becoming stronger as we develop a sense of the person we wish to become. The danger comes when we lost that sense of self and begin to follow blindly, unthinkingly. Instead, it must be reflective, critical, challenging. It must hoist one out of any echo chamber.*

            Essentially, it’s about learning. About oneself and about others and about the endless interactions between all those pieces.  About possibilities. And the greatest possibilities are realized when we both lead and follow well.

__________

*There are, of course, many ways one can practice good followership. Ideally, I would share some here. However, I think that would become too long a tangent from the principal arc of the post. Perhaps the next post…

What Do We Mean By Learning?

What do we mean by learning? I should be more specific. I’ll add a qualifier to the question. What should we mean by learning? I’m not referring to just any learning, particularly not the kind which is really little more than data processing, which is what rote study measured by recall is. I mean learning which is deep and lasting. Nutritious, if you will.

In thinking about this, I came up with a long list of qualities. Reflecting on them, primarily in an effort to synthesize, I kept coming back to the idea of process. I’ve reduced it to three stages:

·         Real learning begins with a question. Pointed or open-ended, incisive or roundabout, spontaneous or reflective, the guiding question signals the hunger. This is particularly true when it’s of a personal nature, the relevance packed in the person’s wonder.

·         Real learning is open to possibilities. The question leads to a variety of answers. They may be random and eclectic. They may affirm or challenge norms and preconceptions. They may prompt new connections.

·         Real learning enchants. As if cast under a spell, someone becomes lost in deep exploration, enthralled while creating meaning. The magic of wonder sparks even more questions.

          I hesitated in trying to capture real learning in stages because it can lead to a dangerous misconception: that is linear. While it is to a degree, notice that the final sentence in the third bullet item loops right back to the first. In a way it’s a virtuous cycle. But I also think the structure is more complex than that. Perhaps an atom would be a better metaphor. Think about all the interdependent pieces whizzing around…and all the energy contained within, waiting to be harnessed.

           That’s what we should mean by real learning. I think deep down we do. Plenty of people articulate such thoughts.

            So in some ways, my opening question, particularly with the qualifier, may not be that tough. So here’s a tougher, or at least less pleasant one. Do our actions match our words?

Headship, Leadership--Then and Now

            For some reason, the other day I found myself searching for my copy of John McPhee’s The Headmaster, which recounts Frank Boyden’s remarkable sixty-six year tenure as head of Deerfield Academy. Under his leadership Deerfield grew from near-extinction to its status as one of America’s leading boarding schools. The book is one many school leaders cite as being particularly influential and inspiring; I recall a few heads saying it spurred their decision to lead a school.

            I’m not sure at all what prompted me to look for the book. I haven’t read it in over twenty years, and I don’t recall the last time I even saw it other than on the shelves of used bookstores. Perhaps I was inspired by seeing another title; after all, often my mind makes sudden associations I can’t explain. I wasn’t seeking any particular guidance. Maybe I sense some connection to one of the multiple thoughts that bounce around my brain until they cohere into some pattern.

            I couldn’t find it. I also discovered that the Dallas Public Library doesn’t have it. Then the pattern emerged. The “missing” book became a symbol, albeit one born of coincidence.

            While I recall none of the particulars, the blurb on Amazon confirmed my general memory: “McPhee portrays a remarkable man ‘at the near end of a skein of magnanimous despots who...created enduring schools through their own individual energies, maintained them under their own absolute rule, and left them forever imprinted with their own personalities.’" Yes, the headmaster, with all the connotations of syllables I underlined. Some quick research found various articles that all created the picture of a man who controlled every aspect of school life as much as he could. He was Deerfield; Deerfield was him. And he was widely admired and loved. All in line with my hazy recollection of the book and representative of the era.

            I wonder about how the Boyden-style of school leadership would work in 2016. I don’t say that with any disrespect or belittlement.  His accomplishments and legacy speak for themselves. Instead, it’s a commentary on how independent school headship and current thinking on leadership in general has changed.

            One of the pieces I skimmed about Boyden used an example of his total involvement how he planned all the details of school dances. Given how school heads now have to direct their time and energy, I can’t imagine any of us thinking up playlists. We’re much more CEO that lead teacher (the origin of the term headmaster), focused more on the business aspects of running the institution than anything else. For example, this year I’ve been heavily immersed in governance and marketing issues. When it comes to curriculum and pedagogy, I strive to clarify a philosophy and approach and vision. I don’t get into the nuts and bolts of curriculum or specific lessons except when necessary. One truth I’ve come to accept is that the further up the ladder one climbs, the less direct control one has.

            This axiom ties to the ways leadership theory has changed. For so long, perhaps even before the industrial revolution, institutions have been set up per hierarchies, pyramids, org charts, matrices, departments…anything that makes it clear how the power flowed in a command-and-control system. It’s very evident in most schools. Now we hear about flattening the organization, distributed leadership, servant leadership, managing up, busting siloes. Evaluation programs are about finding strengths and promoting growth so everyone has a chance to lead in their own fashion. All this fits with current research about real motivation coming when people feel mastery, autonomy, and purpose. It’s part of the reason, beyond gender issues, most of us prefer the term head of school over headmaster or headmistress.

            While I have my preferences, rather than deem one way better or worse, I’m reminded how much of leadership is contextual. The best leaders are those with certain qualities, to be sure. Just as crucial to their success is being the right person in the right place at the right time for the right purpose. I don’t think I could—or would want—to lead a school the way Boydon did. But it was what was expected, and it obviously worked. I don’t think it would now. I wonder what Boydon would think. With my limited knowledge, I don’t know if he could adapt. I suspect he certainly would try, for he possessed two of the most essential leadership qualities that transcend time and place: he cared about his people and was driven by a larger purpose.