Building a relationship for learning Orange Middle banks on smaller classes to bring results Monday, March 19, 2007 • BY JOHN MOONEY • Star-Ledger Staff Orange Middle School is a sprawling red-brick building framed by towering Ionic columns raised early in the last century -- an appropriate setting, perhaps, to test an old idea in school reform. Like 49 other schools in New Jersey that have failed to meet federal No Child Left Behind benchmarks six years running, Orange Middle faced a mandatory restructuring last September. As district officials looked at the place, they saw 600 adolescents torn from cozy elementary schools struggling to adapt. In their new environment, they seemed utterly distracted by cliques, tougher classes and, of course, members of the opposite sex. Add to that the fact that nine in 10 came from low-income homes, and it was little surprise test scores lagged behind state norms. In fact, two dozen of the 50 schools statewide being forced to restructure this year are middle schools in impoverished urban areas. Given the choice on how to reinvent their school, officials in Orange chose to divide it into five units, essentially creating five schools where students and teachers could grow closer and stay focused. These "small learning communities" have names like Health Sciences, Prodigy Hall and Law&Order. Each is designed to help build an intimacy and structure that isn't always present in impoverished homes. After all, concentrating on school can be difficult for students whose parents or guardians are worrying about losing an apartment, keeping the heat on or holding on to a job. Last year, one in five students at Orange either transferred in or left during the course of the year. Orange's challenges with poverty are slightly different from places like Marquis de Lafayette School in Elizabeth, which has a huge bilingual population, or Newton Street in Newark, where one in five students is classified for special education. As is the case in other troubled New Jersey schools, all three have chosen dramatically different strategies for turning things around. In Orange, officials believe their strategy will help the district reach some of New Jersey's poorest children. "This is a way of building relationships," said Patrick Howell, a science teacher who heads the Health Sciences team. "Without that first, nothing else will work." STILL KIDS In a third-floor conference room known as the Attic, a half-dozen teachers from one of the new units gathers. It is one of their twice-weekly meetings. Part of the Visual Arts team, the teachers use the scheduled time to share notes about students, coordinate classes and plan projects. After covering the logistics for an upcoming party for students who have made it through the term, discussion shifts to a student who has been left back once and is struggling again. One teacher complains he won't do his work. Another says he refuses to listen. "That's what I can't accept, the lack of respect," says Maria Garcia, a social studies teacher. Patricia Wolf, a school tutor, says she hopes the boy can be reached before high school "when they are just a number." "They try to be so grown and street smart," she says plaintively, "but they're just little kids." And they are sometimes afraid. That much is clear when teachers and eighth-graders gather for weekly discussion groups central to the new strategy. A student survey in the fall listed school safety as the No. 1 concern. "You hear one thing, they tell another person, and then another," says eighth-grader Trecia Clerie. "Then all of a sudden somebody comes up to you, saying you said this or that, and they want to fight after school." Violence and crime are no strangers in this city of 32,000. As students stream from the middle and adjacent high school at the closing bell each afternoon, at least one police cruiser pulls up to the corner of Central and Lincoln avenues, lights blazing. Usually it's there just to keep watch. Police stepped up their presence last spring after a melee erupted on the corner -- it followed a fight in the high school -- and spread through the city. It is a tough corner of shops that often draws crowds even before dismissal. Principal Judith Kronin, who has been at the school since 2005, says she is taking a hard line against violence and is pleased the weekly discussion groups are giving students a chance to say what's on their minds. "This is something they're not used to, letting them speak," she says. "But I have a connection I would never have without this. They act differently to me. They walk right into my office; they're my kids." MEASURING SUCCESS In Room 112, a small toy basketball flies through the air. Doug Ryan, a math teacher, is quizzing his eighth-graders on x and y axes. To keep their attention, he calls on students by throwing them the orange ball. It's a gimmick meant to keep the expanded 80-minute periods lively. For all the focus on the smaller school units, math is still math. And at least on this day, the ball never gets dropped. Hoping to boost math scores, officials doubled the length of the classes this year. Last year, fewer than 19.5 percent of the eighth graders passed the state's math test, and coming up behind them, only 22.5 percent of the seventh graders did so. To meet the immediate demands of No Child Left Behind, those numbers need to rise at least eight to 10 points a year. Five years in the classroom after a career in marketing research have taught Ryan that the 20 percent passing rate can be deceiving. He said most of his 15 students arrived at middle school with skills below their grade level. He believes the school should be measured by how much they improve. Ryan draws a horizontal line on the blackboard, putting a "200" next to it for the passing score required on the state test. "But how many of the kids were just under that, between 190 and 199?" he said. "And how many started at 130?" "It looks like a failure, but it's really not," he says. Last week, middle school students across New Jersey began their annual state testing on several subjects, including their ability to write. To prepare them at Orange Middle School, teachers Rosa Lazzizera and Darrell Shoulars employ a strategy known by the acronym ROPE-W. Principal Judith Kronin, who has been at the school since 2005, says she is taking a hard line against violence and is pleased the weekly discussion groups are giving students a chance to say what's on their minds. "This is something they're not used to, letting them speak," she says. "But I have a connection I would never have without this. They act differently to me. They walk right into my office; they're my kids." MEASURING SUCCESS In Room 112, a small toy basketball flies through the air. Doug Ryan, a math teacher, is quizzing his eighth-graders on x and y axes. To keep their attention, he calls on students by throwing them the orange ball. It's a gimmick meant to keep the expanded 80-minute periods lively. For all the focus on the smaller school units, math is still math. And at least on this day, the ball never gets dropped. Hoping to boost math scores, officials doubled the length of the classes this year. Last year, fewer than 19.5 percent of the eighth graders passed the state's math test, and coming up behind them, only 22.5 percent of the seventh graders did so. To meet the immediate demands of No Child Left Behind, those numbers need to rise at least eight to 10 points a year. Five years in the classroom after a career in marketing research have taught Ryan that the 20 percent passing rate can be deceiving. He said most of his 15 students arrived at middle school with skills below their grade level. He believes the school should be measured by how much they improve. Ryan draws a horizontal line on the blackboard, putting a "200" next to it for the passing score required on the state test. "But how many of the kids were just under that, between 190 and 199?" he said. "And how many started at 130?" "It looks like a failure, but it's really not," he says. Last week, middle school students across New Jersey began their annual state testing on several subjects, including their ability to write. To prepare them at Orange Middle School, teachers Rosa Lazzizera and Darrell Shoulars employ a strategy known by the acronym ROPE-W. Tomorrow: Newton Street School in Newark may seem like an unlikely place for one of the grandest education experiments the state has seen. But there's too much at stake to keep the status quo. © 2007 The Star-Ledger. Used by NJ.com with permission.