press: Paul White (People Magazine, May 16, 2005) |
In a One-Room School, a Tough Teacher Makes Miracles
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It took tragedy for Paul White to rethink everything he'd done in 25 years of
teaching. On Jan. 8,2002, he'd just dismissed his class at the Canoga Park, Calif., alternative school he founded for at-risk
kids when one of his students, 17-year-old Michael Urquidi, was shot in the chest in a gang- related drive-by shooting. The
boy stumbled back into the building and collapsed at his teacher's feet. "He died in my arms," says White, "as I told him,
'We love you.' "Love wasn't enough to help his students. "We needed to do more than just keep them from going wild in class,"
says White, 53.
"We had to turn them around." Now he's doing just that. Since the tragedy White has transformed the West Valley Leadership
Academy a single main classroom housed in a drab office building-into an educational success story. The tiny student body of
25 is drawn from what White calls "the worst of the worst" chronic truants, juvenile offenders and ex-gang members. But under
his supervision, the 14 to 18 year-olds-who are grouped together thrive.
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 More than 80 percent graduate, nearly one-third
higher than mainstream public schools in Los Angeles. Darline Robles, superintendent of L.A. County's Office of Education, says
teachers like White "are proving every day that even the most troubled kids can change their lives." In fact, for a school that
students would typically be forced to attend, there is now a growing waiting list of applicants, most referred by teachers and
probation officers. And while most alums do go on to some form of higher education or enter the workforce, White's goal isn't to
get kids into Harvard. Instead, it's to turn juvenile delinquents into solid citizens.
"It's not broken kids I'm trying to fix," he says. "It's kids who are acting out in 10 different ways because they're too afraid
to say, 'I'm lost."' For parents like Jennifer Patrick, that's more than enough. "He's a changed kid," she says of her son Jordan
Pedigo, 14. "Something good is going on in that classroom." That something is White's combination of personal attention students
can reach him by cell phone at any hour-and ramrod discipline. Kids must submit to random drug testing, and gang inspired baggy
clothing and posturing is banned. In the classroom older kids help younger ones. Lessons cover algebra and English as well as
lectures on integrity and how to perform in a job interview. Parents must attend a teacher conference every month, and to keep
his charges off the streets after school, White requires them to hold jobs or do community service and take college or vocational
courses. "Our emphasis," he says, "is to get kids to care about somebody besides themselves."
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| It’s working,
West Valley is spotless and graffiti free, and students, who
wear a uniform of sweat pants and T-shirts, never give lip.
“Drop a gum wrapper and he’ll take away other privileges
until the kid who dropped it confesses,” says Chuck Mills,
who runs a charity that provides equipment and solicits donations
for the school. “Paul holds these kids accountable.” |
 That’s
made all the difference for Ashley Jaramillo, 15, a ninth
grader who skipped school to take crystal meth until a teacher
confronted her. “He said, ‘You won’t amount
to anything,”’ she says.Instead, she applied
to West Valley (to get in, kids must be interviewed with
their parents and agree to abide by White’s rules).
Within three months her reading skills jumped from the 7th
to 10th grade level. Classmate Pedigo came after being arrested
for writing gang graffiti. “I defied everybody; there
were no consequences when I did anything bad,” he
says. “Here it’s different.”
The difference begins with having a teacher on 24 hour call. “They know they can count on me,” White explains. “I’m family.” That enthusiasm
for teaching came from his parents, educators in the Detroit
suburb of Farmington, Mich. After moving to California in
1974, White (who lives in nearby Ventura with wife and fellow
teacher Valerie, 49) taught in schools throughout the state.
In 2000, believing closer attention would help high-risk
kids, he persuaded officials to approve his tough-love one-room
school. White’s biggest challenge was trying to change
the students’ attitude outside the classroom. After
Urquidi’s murder, he realized he had to do more. “We
do everything together now,” he says. “No one
gets left behind.”
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| Some go further than
they ever dreamed. When Sarath Sok, 17, enrolled, he was part
of a violent Asian-American gang. A week after graduating, he
called a meeting of the gang’s members, took off his bandanna
and gang colors, and quit. “Mr. White,” he says,
“taught me courage.” |
People Magazine, May 16,2005
photos by: Coral Von Zumwalt
article by: Thomas Fields-Meyer. Ron Arias
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