The Other Westinghouse

by Lynda Lopez

As I rode the 52^nd Kedzie/California bus southbound to the conference, I was calmly wondering about the workshops at the conference and what I would have the chance to learn. I didn’t gauge the ways in which my mind would be enlightened. We never know what to expect from new experiences and that’s often the best part about treading into new boundaries. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed my stop. I quickly pulled the string to get off on Franklin and Kedzie.

I entered the school, ready to start the day, and I was quickly assigned a task for my morning volunteering role. I was to patrol the hallways while students attended their workshops. It sounds like a mundane way to pass a morning at a conference, but it allowed me a chance to explore the school.

Westinghouse College Prep is not your ordinary CPS school. Opened in the fall of 2009 with over a $100 million spent on building it, the school looks gorgeous from the inside and out. As a selective enrollment school, it boasts a multitude of Advanced Placement (AP) courses, an Accelerated Math Program, and a College and Career Program. Despite the positive reputation surrounding the newly opened school, Westinghouse did not always have a positive connotation.

Less than a decade ago, Westinghouse Career Academy existed on the site of the new college prep. This other Westinghouse was known as one of the worst public high schools in the city. I am not going to claim to be an expert on the Westinghouse reputation, but during my time as a student in the Chicago Public Schools, teachers would often tell me stories about the violence among the students at Westinghouse and the destitute conditions of the building. I just so happened to be in close connection with a teacher who actually worked at Westinghouse Career Academy in the early 2000s and he kindly shared a private memoir he had written about Westinghouse.

As a new algebra teacher in the Chicago Public Schools, he was just starting to learn the reality behind teaching at Westinghouse. He describes the slew of insults he endured as a teacher at Westinghouse.

“Curley haired-ass.”

“You a stupid looking boy.”

“Don’t get no pussy.”  Oooh, that’s a tough one.

“What time is this class over with?”

“Fuck you looking at?”

“That ain’t fa [fair].”

“You ain’t a good teacher.”  That one hurts.

“That’s why I can’t stand your muthafuckin’ ass anyway, bitch!” 

“Kids say you ain’t that smart.”  That one got to me, my ego.

“Don’t talk to my favorite teacher like that.”  I like this one.

“All are quotes from last year.  Looking back a couple months later I can’t believe I was talked to like that.  I would never think about saying these things to any of my teachers, not to the worst, lamest, most pathetic excuse for a teacher.  Never.  But real kids actually said these things, and for the most part meant them.  Got to have tough skin.”

As I read his words, I felt stung. The insults had not been directed at me, but it still hurt to read the bullets this teacher had to dodge, a teacher I had to come to respect deeply.  His words uncovered the violent atmosphere that teaching can often foster. People often judge teachers so harshly, but we don’t realize that some try their hardest, but still can’t avoid the fire. He went on to describe the uncertainty he felt as he taught the students in his class.

“The kids got to me.  It’s a terrible, embarrassing thing to admit.  Many weren’t learning Algebra.  I had sleepless nights.  I was too soft on them, too vulnerable, too inexperienced.  I never yelled at the kids—which wasn’t a good thing—and therefore had a lot of pent up frustration.  It’s not the kids, it’s the damned administration! teachers would exclaim proudly.  Admitting the kids got to you was saying you were defeated.  You were beaten by a bunch of children?  It’s weak, and there was no room for weakness at Westinghouse.  That’s why no one else said it.  But I knew better.”

Despite his hard work, many of the students were not learning, but was he the only one to blame? By the end of his first year at the school, he had failed a third of his students. He goes on to describe how failure was not an unusual occurrence at Westinghouse and the turmoil he dealt with because of it.

“Far too much of my time last year was spent pondering, figuring, worrying about my student failure rate.  Come report card time it’s all I could think about.  I obsessed over it, spent more time trying to justify a passing grade for kids who spent no time worrying about or studying Algebra.  I can’t believe a third of my kids failed.  Unfortunately, for Westinghouse that’s not an incredibly high failure rate. I walked into the assistant principal’s office one afternoon and saw a bar graph showing a math teacher from the previous year who failed 80% of her students the first quarter.  Eighty percent.  That’s just wild.  It’s when I tell people back home that I failed a third of the students in my class that I feel most rotten about it.  I could have been justified in failing closer to half the kids, but made modifications, trimmed quiz and test scores, dropped homework assignments, took circumstances and excuses into account.  I felt like a prostitute working for free; I was just giving grades away.  I know the thought people back home have: Well… maybe he’s the reason those kids failed.  Maybe it is me.  It is me.  It’s me, it’s the principal, it’s the kids, it’s the parents, it’s the school, it’s the district, it’s socioeconomic status, it’s the government, it’s the president, it’s life.  It’s the reason my rating this year as a teacher dropped from “excellent” to “high-satisfactory.”

The last part in his memoir truly put his teaching in perspective for me. It helped me envision the lives of the students in a more realistic way and to start to understand the environment which they lived in.

“It’s sad that many of the students in my classes wanted to learn.  I believe that as much as anything.  It feels good to learn something, anything, and the confidence it builds is awesome.  But then reality has a way of ruining these kids.  Remember, over 91% are at or below the poverty line.  Reality’s all they know, way more than I can even try to comprehend.  Their basic skills are low.  They’ve become immune to teachers teaching them stuff that doesn’t relate to what they see on the streets or on TV.  Can we blame Max, who doesn’t want to study for tomorrow’s geography or fraction’s test when he can be outside making enough money to support his family for weeks?  Or to support the lifestyle he sees the Cash Money Millionaires live?  It seems like an easy decision.  Stay in school and learn for eight more years, then bust your hump at work for 40-60 hours a week after graduating from college.  Or make a few drug sales on the street for thousands of dollars in a few weeks.  Which route would you honestly choose if you were fatigued and hungry and poor?  We can’t answer that question honestly because we honestly don’t know.  And so their desire to learn is still there, it just becomes weaker as they become older.  The frustration eventually kills the desire.”

The teacher’s old words resonated in my mind as I walked through the halls of the new Westinghouse, a place which is now just a shadow in the place of the new college prep. A few years ago, Westinghouse Career Academy was demolished to make way for the $100 million dollar Westinghouse College Prep. In the fall of 2009, the new selective enrollment school opened its doors.

Even though the old Westinghouse is long buried in debris, we can still learn a great amount from the history of the school, teachers, and students. The atmosphere was toxic for the students and fostered violent words and actions. Rather than burying the past, though, we should uncover it and understand how we can continue to improve the state of the lives of students in order for them to be able to have better futures.

In the age of fervent educational reform, there is a need to look back in order to move forward. Westinghouse is a testament of what we can do better for all our schools throughout the city and the country.  

Together, we can change the face of violence in education.

COMMENTS