Last weekend I was in Colorado looking at schools (actually I was in Colorado skiing), but as we drove into Crested Butte it was impossible not to notice that they are putting the finishing touches on their new community school.
The building is beautifully designed, appearing as if it is three structures linked into one continuum of education, from kindergarten through 12th grade.
By far the largest structure in town, the building presents an impressive gateway to the community. The Butte, latticed with unbelievable ski runs, towers over everything else but this school makes an equally bold statement about community values, culture and priorities. Even the structure of the academic program, kindergarten through high school, in one building speaks volumes.
A number of years ago I was working on a school district master plan in a rural Virginia community. Part of the conversation involved busing, bus routes and school bell schedules.
You would be amazed to find how involved transportation planning is in a school district's planning and budget. In this case I assumed that their system followed the tradition grade models, with buses boarded in circles timed in stages; once for elementary students, once for middle school students and a third for the high school students. They looked at me like I was from Mars; the buses ran once for all students and, they explained, to this simpleton from Mars, that the older students watched over the younger students. They made sure that they got on and off at the right place at the right time. With this decision about how to organize their bus schedule, this school system was exercising one of the most important elements of a master plan -- needs-based flexibility.
Our school systems reflect our communities. They reflect our culture and values even if we do not realize it. When we plan school systems, our focus is far deeper than a superficial survey of new buildings or old buildings. It is more essentially a measure of how we project ourselves onto our schools and our schools onto us.
In the early '70s we designed and built schools around a social construct of "Open Planning"; no walls, no obstacles, just a community of learning. Around this time Reston, in Fairfax County Virginia, was emerging as a new modern planned community, incorporating town lakes, walking paths, community centers and other public spaces -- all new and planned around this planned community culture.
Terraset Elementary school was constructed in the late '70s as an open plan, solar heated, earth bermed school. The school design won numerous architectural awards and was visited by foreign delegation from as far away as Saudi Arabia. The image of Reston was beautifully projected onto the design of this new school, and its subsequent sister Terra Center, linking them into one community mosaic.
This achievement is not limited to new social experiments. In the District of Columbia they went through a school building boom in the late 1930s that resulted in a school model consisting of two multi-story wings flanking an administration/multipurpose/cafeteria core.
This "E" shaped plan was impressive in execution. Three stories of brick and granite, the two wings had separate side entrances ensconced in stone thresholds with the words "Boys" and "Girls" carved on opposite ends of the building designating the order of their approach to discipline and education.
During the same time monumental edifices were being constructed in Detroit named after people and ideas that mattered. Edwin Denby High, named after a former secretary of the Navy, has waves and battleships carved into the impressive brick facades. And Pershing High School, named after the famous five-star World War II general has tanks and helmet clad soldiers.
As I said above; this observation is not a commentary on the superficial. In no way am I suggesting that a community, considering some work on the local elementary school, get together to vote on their favorite color so that they can paint the outside to reflect their values.
This is an observation that suggests, whether we like it or not, that our schools already reflect our communities. Are they open and inviting, true community centers, or are they closed and reserved for that 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. slot of time reserved for education?
If we look at what we value and revere most in our communities, we can often see the influence of our schools. With their theaters, galleries, libraries, laboratories and athletic facilities, can we see how our schools solidify the legacy and values of our communities? And when we look at the challenges still to be faced -- disadvantaged youth, inner city poverty, neglect -- do we offer the classrooms, clinics, counselors and resources in our schools for a way up and way out?
Take this discussion to its most personal level. When we look in the mirror, if we do not like what we see we are challenged to make a change.
Grow a beard, lose a pound, or wash away the gray. When we look at our schools, if we don't like what we see we should challenge our communities to make a change. Partner our theaters with local artists, link our gyms to our Parks and Recreations, or offer our resources to Adult education.
Many or our new facilities are designed with multiple concurrent uses in mind. The community theater can go on while the regional basketball tournament and English as a Second Language classes take place.
But too often we assume that our existing schools are set in stone, literally and physically. That is not true; underutilized facilities are wonderful opportunities for new shared uses. Community theater partnerships might be as easy as a face lift and joint use agreements. And consider the benefits; our students have access to that "beyond the classroom" experience.
Next time you look at your community school, take a hard look. If it is not within your community means to "shed a few years" perhaps you can teach that old dog a new trick or two.