A Man of Principle

Pannell believes he is a good principal but knows he does not yet have a successful school.

Even with all its disadvantages, Malcolm X has had its moments of success: In 1996, its 3rd and 6th graders had the highest and second-highest increases in test scores of any elementary school in the city. Then the city changed the test.

For all his commitment to the children and all his cleverness in working the bureaucracy, Pannell has not been able to raise the test scores in any consistent way. Many, if not most, educators believe that a good principal is the single most vital component in creating a successful school. Pannell believes he is a good principal but knows he does not yet have a successful school. He spends at least three-quarters of his time on disciplinary cases and administrative work and perhaps one-quarter on instruction. Unless he can reverse that ratio, he says, he does not know how his children will make progress.

'Good morning, Malcolm X!" "Good mor-ning, Mis-ter Pan-nell," answer 800 singsongvoices. "GOOD MORNING, MALCOLM X!" Pannell's voice booms twice as loud from the speakers. "GOOD MOR-NING, MIS-TER PAN-NELL!" comes the response, rising nearly to a scream.

"Now THAT sounds like my students!" Pannell exults. "You look good! You look ready! Did you have a good summer?...Did you study?...Did you read?...Did you play?...Are you READY for school?"

Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes, come the shouted answers. The cafeteria, packed with students and parents, buzzes with whispers and muffled giggles.

Pannell's right arm shoots up, his fingers thrust into a V. It is his sign for silence. A hush falls quickly as his opening-day welcome turns from jubilant to cold sober. His face hardens. His eyes narrow behind his lightly tinted glasses. His slender frame, in crisp blue suit, white shirt, and bright-red alphabet tie, towers over the audience from the stage.

"We have 859 students. You are the largest elementary school in the District," he says. Parents and students will notice that certain teachers have "moved along" to other jobs, but he is excited to have "new things...new classes...new agendas...and new teachers."

"Let's understand something, my young boys and girls, my young students, my young geniuses-in-the-making: Boys, if you do not have your uniforms, you don't go to school. Girls, the same for you....And only students with Malcolm X colors will be allowed on our playground."

His tone turns harsher: "This past Friday, we had graffiti." Somebody tagged the school building again. The brick walls have been sandblasted so many times that they cannot easily be cleaned anymore. "You saw who did it, and you still wouldn't tell," he says, scolding them collectively for failing to turn in the vandals. "Whose school is this?"

"Our school," some kids answer.

"And if somebody does something to it, who suffers? You do!"

Pannell furrows his brow and sternly reminds the scores of parents of the new policy that will stop "social promotions." To the students, he says, "Those of you who don't carry your notebooks home; those who don't carry your books home; those of you who don't carry homework—you need to TRANSFER. Tell your parents right now!"

He issues more warnings to parents: Children who are late for free breakfast do not get fed. Children two minutes late for class are late, and those who are chronically late or absent will fail. Parents will be held responsible for truancy and will be prosecuted and fined $100.

And to the children: "You are not here to misbehave. And if you do, you will be gone. I am going to make it clear. Misbehavior will not be tolerated. Misbehavior will not be tolerated. In this school we demonstrate what? Malcolm what?"

"Malcolm X-cellence," many kids shout.

"Malcolm what?"

"Malcolm X-cellence!"

"I can't hear you!"

"MALCOLM X-CELLENCE!"

His final warning is about weapons in school, a simple admonition that any violator will be automatically expelled. "Because Malcolm X is a school of what?" he asks. He repeats with the students, "Malcolm X is a school of love."

No sooner has Pannell finished preaching his gospel than clusters of students, parents, and grandparents converge on him as he leaves the cafeteria. The girls wear their black plaid Malcolm X jumpers, the boys white shirts, black or red ties, black pants. First, a little girl hugs Pannell. Another joins her, and then another, and then a little boy, and soon a huddle of 1st and 2nd graders are clamoring and smothering him with hugs as he laughs, welcomes them back, and says they'd better get moving to class.

A mother approaches hesitantly and tells Pannell she could not find a white shirt at Kmart for her 1st grade son. "I'm sorry, darlin', then he can't stay here. He has to go home," Pannell says with a pained expression. He bends down to give the little boy a hug but shakes his head sadly at the mother. "I sent you the letter, darlin'." The one explaining the uniform policy.

"Base to One. Base to One." Pannell's hand-held, two-way radio crackles as one of his secretaries reports "overload in the office." Fourteen mothers and grandmothers are crammed into a waiting room with 19 children they want to transfer into Malcolm X.

All this happens to John Pannell between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. on a single December day: A young mother breaks down in tears in his office after he tells her that her 7-year-old son is, in all likelihood, mentally retarded.

"I have many opportunities where I would not have to kill myself, but this is what I have chosen to do."

John Pannell,
principal

A grandfather brings his lawyer with him for a lengthy conference, determined to make his case that it would be best for his 3rd grade grandson if he were left back.

An 8-year-old boy has a seizure, leaving him temporarily blinded and panicking. The school nurse calls his mother, but she says she can't come pick him up. Pannell grabs the phone and nearly shouts, "You have to come here or have someone pick him up, or I have to call the police!"

A malfunction shuts down the school's only elevator, and he has to radio the building staff to fix it.

A 6th grader is brought to the principal's office for misbehaving, and after sitting silently and sullenly, he bursts into tears and tells Pannell he cannot control his anger because the other kids are teasing him about the fact that his mother is a prostitute.

A new janitor leaves a dangerous wet spot outside a bathroom. "Do you want to work here?" Pannell asks him. The janitor nods yes. "Then don't let this happen again, or you walk."

A baby-faced 1st grader is brought to the principal's office because he has passed a note to a girl in his class. "I love you we are going to have sex and its going to fill good," it reads. Pannell investigates and learns that the note was actually written by two of the boy's older sisters, supposedly as a joke. He decides to visit all the parents tonight.

On this troubling yet typical day at Malcolm X, Pannell's right foot is in a cast because an angry 1st grader turned over a desk and broke his big toe. On this day, Pannell will run late for various appointments because he has taken a little extra time to deal with each of the day's problems.

To the young mother of the retarded child, Pannell outlined the measures the school would take to give him therapy and special education and then counseled her: "Please don't pressure this boy. Give him continual praise....You have to know your baby is doing the best that your baby can."

To the angry son of the prostitute, Pannell talked gently about how the boy could not change his mother's behavior and then reviewed with him: "What did I tell you about controlling your anger? Deep breath. Count to 10. Freeze. Hold your head stiff. It's easy, man. It's easy, man." But he warned him, "I'm going to be frank with you. If it happens again, I'm going to put you on the street for 10 days."

To the grandfather who wanted his 3rd grader left back, Pannell made an extended pitch. And by the end of the discussion, Pannell convinced him that the child could pass, particularly since the grandfather agreed to become a volunteer reading assistant in his classroom.

The grandfather's lawyer, Theresa Watson, who has witnessed only a few of the goings-on around Pannell's office, asks how he puts up with all the stresses of his work. He laughs and says he is not sure. "I have many opportunities other than this," he says, referring to this job, which pays him $70,000 a year. "I have many opportunities where I would not have to kill myself, but this is what I have chosen to do."