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A final point of strategy among principals is to fight the curse of student anonymity in big urban schools. Washington Prep's McKenna is one who believes in person-to-person contact, not only from faculty to student but among the pupils. "The academically advanced should, and at my school do, provide tutoring for the less able," he says. " 'Hey, brother, I love you.' That's a stronger philosophy, and there is nothing wimpy about it." He also believes in pressing the flesh in the schoolyard, and some of that flesh is mighty big. In the hallway between fifth and sixth periods, a young giant with a dazzling, ear-to-ear smile engulfs McKenna in a hug and announces he has just been declared academically eligible to play basketball. McKenna grins and admonishes him to keep up his grades. "You hear me, now," he says, shaking his finger at the youngster, who towers over him.
Educators wish that charismatic principals like these -- and their methods % of creating an environment for learning -- were the norm in embattled urban schools across America. But they are rare exceptions, unreachable for the majority of America's urban pupils. Says Winifred Green, president of the Southern Coalition for Educational Equality in Jackson, Miss.: "I would move to any city in the country and send my kids to public school if I could pick the school. They are not all even."
A few districts are trying to salvage pupils with alternative opportunities, either inside the schools or outside in other facilities. Two years ago Burke Principal Holland in Boston instituted a program called Lifeline for students who are repeating ninth or tenth grade. Three separate classrooms at Burke house some 45 repeaters, who study three core subjects -- English, math and science -- for longer than usual periods. They move only among those three rooms, switching classes at intervals different from the rest of the school. "It is a mechanism so that we don't put 19-year-olds in ninth-grade classrooms next to 14-year-olds," says Holland. When the repeaters catch up, they will be moved back into regular classes or sent to alternative programs like Jobs for Youth, which combine work with study.
Former Tennessee Governor Lamar Alexander, who has just been named president of the University of Tennessee system, promotes an in-school suspension system that he brought in as Governor as part of his "Better Schools Program" in 1982. Trouble makers booted out of regular classes are sent to designated rooms. There, they must continue to study under the guidance of a disciplinarian like the football coach, or someone else with a touch of intimidation, until they have shaped up for re-entry into regular classes. "This way, getting kicked out is not a free ride," he explains. Alexander, along with Secretary Bennett and others, also believes in allowing youngsters to select their schools. In Memphis, for example, students can pick any school in the city. "Once they have made a choice, you know they want to be there," he says.