Leigh, who facilitates the large committee discussions in San Francisco, says that regardless of how individual schools fare under the formula, it's hard to argue with the basic concept of the Weighted Student Formula. "I wouldn't say the concerns [about small schools losing some money] were paranoia. Those schools did stand to have their resources scaled back in certain versions of this, but -- from the other perspective -- those schools were getting disproportionately high resources all along."
There are some differences between the preliminary steps toward a Weighted Student Formula here and in Washington, D.C. Here, the minutes of panel meetings about the funding formula are posted on the school district's Web site, and round-tables like the one described above -- where parents can voice their own concerns -- tend to begin with a chat about the formula. Still, the meetings remain closed, as Marybeth Wallace of Coleman Advocates for Children and Youth found out when she tried, but was not allowed, to attend. "All I wanted to do was observe," she says. "I'm still pissed off about it."
Anthony Pidgeon
Elois Brooks, the school district's new chief of staff.
Anthony Pidgeon
Myong Leigh is Ackerman's Weighted Student Formula guru.
Anthony Pidgeon
Myong Leigh is Ackerman's Weighted Student Formula guru.
Anthony Pidgeon
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Asked about the closed meetings, Ackerman shrugs. "There's only so many people you can have in the room and still get the work done," she says. "Even the Senate and House use subcommittees."
Although she works well into the evening almost every day, Arlene Ackerman has been telling anyone who asks how much her time in San Francisco has refreshed and energized her. It's not hard to see why: She has begun to reform a central office that, during Rojas' tenure, operated under a constant cloud of suspicion, and, since Rojas left in 1998, has been deluged by a rain of audits that have confirmed the suspicions. Daily newspaper reports on Ackerman have almost glowed, painting her as a reforming "shero," to use her term. Pick up the Chronicle or the old Hearst Examiner on any given day, and you would see that she was slashing the central office payroll by $3 million, largely by sending employees with teaching credentials back to the classroom while promising further cuts; raising teachers' salaries; and launching an audit of the schools' much-maligned facilities departments.
"I believe she's making decisions with a sound basis," says Wallace, the activist peeved about being shut out of Weighted Student Formula meetings. "In the past, it always felt like there was an underlying, back-room reason for every decision. It looks like she's going to be more fair about these."
"Compared to before," S.F. school board member Jill Wynns says, "this is like a dream."
On Dec. 12, however, Ackerman dropped the first hint that school district life might not always be so dreamy. When contract negotiations between the district and the administrators' union stalled over the union's refusal to trade three-year principal contracts for one-year deals, she bypassed union leadership, sending a memo to all 230 principals disclosing details of the negotiations. In essence, the memo said the district was offering a significant pay raise in trade for a shortening of contracts (a move Ackerman believes will increase accountability), but union leadership was refusing even to consider the exchange. The letter prompted the leaders of the administrators' union to file an unfair labor practice complaint. While the negotiations were, legally, at an impasse, which could, technically, make Ackerman's memo to the principals legal, the union's leadership seemed puzzled by her actions.
"I think "amazed' is the word," says United Administrators President James Dierke. "The whole idea of collective bargaining is that you bargain in good faith. This is an insult, and it's not a good way to do business."
Later that day, at a pre-holidays school board meeting, sitting below a stage occupied by 40 bobbing youngsters decked in red bow ties, tuxedo vests, and Santa caps who were running through a medley of "Jingle Bells," "Silver Bells," and "Feliz Navidad," Ackerman chatted urgently with Hartman, her assistant. Eighty principals in yellow union visors looked on from the audience. After the kids finished their medley, they filed off, and all 80 principals rose. Dierke and a few others stepped forward to a podium and denounced Ackerman's negotiating tactics. And then they weaved through the auditorium chairs toward the stage, where they each walked right by Ackerman, in single file, totally silent.
The process took almost five minutes, and she sat stoically the entire time, her hands holding her chin, never moving.
A few days later, the superintendent wasn't about to apologize, and she didn't seem overly perturbed about the apparent downturn of goodwill in the stagnant negotiations. "We were at an impasse, and I felt like this was the best way for us to move forward," Ackerman said, sitting back, her grin evaporating. "Was I surprised at their reaction? I'm just going to say, "Yes. I was,' and leave it at that."
And she did.
