Dream Makers

Before it became a Dream School, Davis rarely had parent volunteers. Now, at least four can be found on campus at all times. Lorraine Hanks, a parent of a seventh-grader, runs the campus snack bar every Monday.

At the same time, it's infuriating for the "usual suspect" parents who always show up at school functions to know that there are some parents who have never once appeared at school. And not surprisingly, these parents say, the children of missing-in-action parents are, more often than not, the kids disrupting classes.

"Some of these parents aren't even going to see their parole officer," says student adviser Vernon O'Gilvie. "How are they going to see the school?"

"I would venture to propose four events, two per semester," says Livingston, taking over at the large paper pad. "A talent show or concert. These events should be huge! It should be a given that everyone is there."

The parents murmur approvingly.

"I don't think there's a parent that won't come out to see their kid in a talent event," agrees Eva.

Livingston writes "community event, 4-6." Then he points the marker at the room. "OK, who's my committee? Are you the committee? I want names!"

There's a pause, during which you can feel frustration and resignation pass through the room like a shared heat flash. "It's always the same," someone murmurs. The usual suspects raise their hands.

Despite the cold, Livingston won't let any of the honor roll students wear their coats on the motorized trolley. It would cover their blazers, and he wants them to look sharp for the public. In one of his ongoing attempts to reward good grades, Livingston has taken $1,000 of his own money and hired the trolley to drive the honor roll members around town. For an entire Friday, they get to play hooky.

The kids, especially the girls, are freezing, but they're also smiling. As the trolley pulls away from Gloria R. Davis, the kids shriek with glee. Some of them were on the honor roll last year, and they certainly never got to do anything like this. Many have never been on a cable car, motorized or not.

Livingston promises the shivering students that they'll stop for lunch and eat hot clam chowder at Pier 39. He even lets them have control of the radio dial, which quickly gets tuned to commercial hip hop station KMEL.

As they motor down the Embarcadero, a few of the girls amuse themselves by screaming "Hi!" at people walking on the street. Each time, an unsuspecting working slob looks up, startled, then cracks a huge grin. It's hard not to smile at a trolley full of beaming 12- and 13-year-olds dressed for success.

First it's SBC Park, then a pass by the Transamerica Pyramid, and on to Lombard Street. Many of the kids have never seen the city's crookedest lane, and they beg the driver to actually navigate its curves. He ignores them.

At Pier 39, Livingston can't find a chowder stand that can accommodate 34 and buys the students burritos instead. After a breezy jog across the Golden Gate Bridge, the trolley heads back to the Bayview. As the familiar torn-up environs of Third Street come into view, Livingston talks of stressful, irritating realities.

He frowns and clings to the brass pole of the trolley.

"You know," he says, "you can say, 'Oh [Davis] looks better. It's quieter. The kids are more on task.' You can feel that, but you can't measure it."

"Hey!" the girls shout at somebody on the street, and Livingston corrects: "Hi."

The Dream Schools' success, Livingston frets, will be measured ultimately by the results of the STARs. It's the only grading system that's quantifiable, not "an opinion."

But that doesn't make the standardized tests a true measure of what has happened at Gloria R. Davis. "Everybody is looking at our school," he says, as the trolley full of happy honor students rolls home. "But they don't see this."