The most exciting moment of my professional career was when I first heard the late Ron Edmonds speak. As he shared his then ground-breaking research on effective schools, I heard empirical confirmation of my belief that schools are capable of preparing all students for equality of opportunity.

The work of Edmonds (1979), Brookover and Lezotte (1979), Rutter, Maughn, Mortimore, Ouston, and Smith (1979), and the other effective schooling researchers who followed in their footsteps provided all the positive proof needed to establish that schools do indeed make the critical difference in student learning, that nurture is more powerful than nature, and that school characteristics are better predictors of student performance than socioeconomic status. This was the most exciting piece of social research I could ever have imagined. To realize that educators had in their power the means to provide every child, regardless of social class, an equal opportunity to develop the academic skills necessary for lifelong success was all the vindication I needed for my decision to spend my life pursuing social justice through education.

That exhilaration was soon followed by years of frustration over the inability to clone effective schools. It appeared that the transformation of an ineffective school into an effective one required more than a focus on adopting a list of correlates. Fortunately, the findings of a new generation of researchers such as Sarason (1982), Schein (1992), Bryk and Driscoll (1988), Little (1982), and Rosenholtz (1989) helped illuminate the hidden ingredient of effectiveness—the mortar that binds the building blocks of effectiveness and the key factor that had apparently escaped the attention of the original effective school researchers. These researchers uncovered the power of organizational culture. They documented the reality that if educators work in environments that are true “communities of learners”—places that support professionalism, collaboration and inquiry—then improved student achievement would inevitably follow.

At first the implications of these findings seemed a bit peculiar to me. It isn't overstating this research to summarize it as saying that we could predict the direction of student performance in a school merely by observing the professional interactions of the school's staff. To me, this sounded counterintuitive. I assumed that if I wanted to know how good a school was, the most important thing would be to observe the work of the children. I wondered why the working conditions of the faculty should be so important. In trying to make sense of this finding, I sought a helpful analogy. Again, I found one in medicine.

I imagined being in a strange city and suffering from a mysterious affliction. I pondered how, if given the choice of being treated at one of two medical centers that I knew little about, I would make my choice. In my imaginary scenario, I was told that the doctors at the first medical center were nationally renowned for their expertise; however, because of their overpowering egos, they rarely collaborated or assisted one another other in any meaningful way. They tended to hoard their patients, rarely asked for second opinions, avoided referrals, and kept their innovative techniques to themselves as though they were closely guarded patents. The physicians at the other medical center didn't have prestigious international reputations; however, they worked in an atmosphere of intense collaboration. They regularly conferred on perplexing cases, assisted one another with procedures, and tutored each other on new techniques on an ongoing basis. Faced with choosing a venue for treatment, the decision would be easy for me. I'd go to the second medical center. It would seem to me that if I were receiving treatment from a staff that shared responsibility for my care, I would be placing myself in a far better position to receive the attention I needed than in a place where only one individual, regardless of how renowned, claimed to have all the answers.

Peter Senge (1990), in his landmark book The Fifth Discipline: The Art and Science of the Learning Organization, described the learning organization as a place where the culture supported

• Personal mastery
• Mental modeling
• Shared visions
• Team learning

Although all of these attributes contribute to a school's behavior as a learning organization, we will begin this discussion by looking at how action research can help a faculty develop the “discipline” of shared vision.

Collective Autonomy and Shared Vision

Carl Glickman (1993) has used the term collective autonomy to describe the way teachers behave in collegial school cultures. Although it sounds like an oxymoron, it captures the very essence of a professional educational environment.

As used by Glickman, the term collective refers to the commitment of a school's staff to develop and pursue a shared vision. All members of the school community enter into this commitment voluntarily. This is of no small consequence. Based upon my own research and experience with effective schools, I have come to believe that there is no place in the schoolhouse for someone electing to stand against the school's shared vision for student learning. I am not saying that holding a divergent vision from the prevailing one makes someone a less virtuous educator. On the contrary, the very process of having different schools pursuing different visions is what allows alternative perspectives on teaching and learning to be developed, demonstrated, and researched.

Nevertheless, the ultimate success of any organization is predicated upon an agreement of all key players to pull in the same direction. People who want to sell athletic shoes may be outstanding salespersons, but they will find little professional fulfillment in a consumer electronics store. Likewise, if a school is committed to enhancing the literacy of its students, a staff member who feels that language proficiency shouldn't be a priority will in the long (and short) run be happier and more productive working elsewhere.

The term autonomy, as used by Glickman, refers to the means employed by the members of the school community to make the school's collective vision come to life. Once again, an analogy from medicine may help.

Two partners in a cardiology practice might hold precisely the same (collective) vision for their patients—long, vital, healthy, lives—yet they could well find themselves in significant disagreement regarding the best treatment protocol to accomplish this. This is not necessarily bad. In fact, it is considered quite appropriate in the medical context. If one doctor reasons that following one theory of cardiac care will better achieve the goal of long-lived healthy patients, she will follow that theory. Meanwhile, her partner, believing an alternative therapy has more promise, will use the alternative approach. Ultimately, the clinic's patients will be the beneficiaries of this diversity. When dedicated health care professionals attempt alternative treatments, collect data on the efficacy of those treatments, and share what they have learned, then the entire clinic “learns itself forward.” Ultimately, longitudinal data on patient progress will help these clinicians better understand which treatments are more effective for which patients. Most importantly, it will contribute to helping the larger enterprise (the medical profession) get closer to unraveling the riddle of heart disease.

Generating a Shared Vision

Vision is a term that has been overused and widely abused by school leaders. A cynical teacher might not be far off defining it this way: “Vision is a seven-word phrase placed on the top of district letterhead as the result of a $100,000 strategic planning initiative led by an outside consultant.” A phrase such as “Helping build competent students for the 21st century” may be what some educators call vision, but it is a far cry from what Peter Senge and the cognitive psychologists who have conducted research on visualization have in mind when they employ the term.

To be productive, a vision has to convey a vivid portrait of an outcome in enough detail so that anyone who reads it or hears it can close his or her eyes and see precisely the same thing. This is what an author accomplishes when writing a successful piece of fiction. Although the protagonist in a novel might not actually exist, every reader of the novel has a similar vision of not only the character's appearance, but the very nature of the character's personality. Visions drawn by a good novelist are so effective that readers are even able to predict (with high inter-rater reliability) how the characters will react in future chapters.

A good way for educators to understand the vision-building process is by looking at the way high-technology companies use visioning in the development of their innovative products. They begin by producing a prototype, a mock-up that resembles what the finished product should look like. With this model in mind, it then becomes possible for dozens (sometimes hundreds) of engineers, often working thousands of miles apart, to achieve the required breakthroughs, to fabricate the components, to put the various pieces together, and to finally develop a product that fits the original vision.

Shared school visions serve similar purposes. If all members of a school community are able to close their eyes and visualize students achieving the same outcomes, then it becomes possible for them to work (sometimes in idiosyncratic ways and in separate departments, classrooms, or grade levels) toward the realization of the components of that shared vision. Of course, in some ways it is easier for people in business to achieve their vision. A major difference between educators and high-technology companies is that a high-technology company's visions are built with metal, silicon, and plastic, while educators' visions are usually contained in words and stories. In the book Local Control and Accountability: How to Get It, Keep It, and Improve School Performance (Sagor, 1996), I describe a process that many school faculties have found helpful when creating a shared vision. The process begins with each member of the school community engaging in reflective writing in response to the prompt shown in Figure 13.1 (p. 169).

Figure 13.1. Reflective Writing Prompt for Creating a School Vision

Imagine it is five years from now. Our school has been successful beyond our highest expectations. It is the last week of May, and we are witnessing a student going through a significant “rite of passage,” the school's exit exhibition. This is a 20-minute oral presentation (accompanied by artifacts if/when necessary) given before a panel of at least six adults.  The student's assignment is to Describe/demonstrate the skills or knowledge that he or she has developed as a consequence of the educational experience at our school. Explain/demonstrate how those skills or knowledge were acquired.   In as much detail as possible and using as many concrete examples as you can, relate what you see the student doing and saying.

Source:Sagor, R. D. (1996). Local control and accountability: How to get it, keep it, and improve school performance (p. 20). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Copyright © 1996 by Corwin Press. Reprinted by permission of Corwin Press, Inc.

Once all stakeholders have had a chance to write and reflect on what they see as concrete manifestations of school success, the scenarios are shared, modified, combined, and massaged until a single compelling story emerges that captures the shared dreams of the school community.

Figure 13.2 (pp. 170–171) is an abbreviated version of one school's shared vision of a successful student and the educational programs that they built to assist him in becoming a success. This scenario emerged from schoolwide deliberations at Almeria Middle School in Fontana, California. Almeria is a public school serving a diverse and economically disadvantaged community. At Almeria the visioning process preceded a major multiyear school restructuring campaign. The faculty found that once they agreed on what they wanted to achieve, all of them, regardless of their individual assignment, were able to explain in detail how their work (the means) contributed to the school's collective vision (the ends).

Figure 13.2. Almeria Middle School Scenario—“The Raphael Story”

Combing his hair, Raphael looks in the mirror. A confident smile crosses his face. Today is an important day. . . .  He begins to mentally prepare for the big event. He remembers to go through all of the steps in the visualizationprocess and focuses on his routine for the day. . . . “Visual imagery really helps me. I am so glad they taught me that technique at Almeria. . . . Almeria! I loved going to school each day. . . . My teachers were so creative. None of that textbook ditto stuff. There was always something new: visual imagery, concept attainment, discovery, discussion, collaborative learning, and debate. . . .  “. . . Who would ever have guessed that one of the PALS (People Assisting Learner Success) would change my life forever? I still remember the first day I met my PAL, Draymond. . . . Draymond, like all the other PALS at Almeria, visited the school at least once a week to check up on me. He told me what it was like to work for a living, and he listened to my problems and tried to help. Draymond was always there to meet my emotional needs. . . .”  . . . Coming back to the present, Raphael looks through his school portfolio. He finds writing samples, computer disks, and even videotapes of culminating performances and presentations. He pulls out a narrative report card from 8th grade. . . .  “I was so nervous the first time I was evaluated. What would they have to say about me? My mom was at the meeting along with Draymond, my teachers, my counselor, my advisory teacher, and the resource teacher who helped me in the classroom. . . . Each had a notebook about me describing my academic, emotional, and social growth. I was really behind, but at the same time I knew with everyone's help I could improve. Together we came up with a plan. . . .  “. . . Come to think of it, they had a plan for my mom, too. She was invited to become a member of one of the school's problem-solving teams. The team was formed to address the problems of parents who had not yet completed the requirements for a high school diploma. . . .  “. . . There were so many connections between classrooms and teachers. . . . I learned so much when they all focused on the same culture and time period. . . . The teachers at Almeria worked so well together and were such good friends. They were always talking together and helping one another make things better for us. They even visited each other in the classroom, to observe lessons and share new ideas. . . .  “. . . I remember the poster on the wall of my 6th grade classroom: Inspired Learner, Resourceful Thinker, Effective Communicator, Responsible Citizen, and Productive Worker. Finally, I knew what was expected of me, and my teachers helped by giving the work we did a purpose, a direction. . . .  “I should have known that things were going to be different when I came to Almeria. . . . There were computers, a laser disk player, a video camera, and two different kinds of printers, all in my classroom! There was even virtual reality technology in the library that allowed us to actually interact with events in history and travel to all sections of the world.  “I'll never forget my multimedia project. It tied everything I learned during my three years at Almeria together and challenged me to take my learning one step further. . . . This production would have been impossible if I hadn't learned keyboarding and basic skills in 6th grade, word processing and HyperCard in 7th grade, and how to integrate technology in 8th grade. I learned more than just about computers; I learned how to use interactive multimedia. . . . I knew my project was good even before I presented it because it matched all of the standards for a ‘6’ on the rubric my teacher shared with us. . . .”  . . . With a copy of his college diploma, resume, and several letters of recommendation from former teachers and members of the community, Raphael walks through the door of the IBM Corporation. He announces himself to the receptionist. She is impressed by the young man's confidence and communication skills. As he moves on he is greeted by the personnel director. He extends his hand; she grasps it firmly, and says, “Hi, my name is Latesha. Welcome to IBM.”  All of our Raphaels may not have the opportunity to see what happens behind the scenes to make all of this possible. However, action plans have been developed and are being implemented to ensure the future success of Raphael and all Almerians.

—Adapted from material provided by Almeria Middle School in Fontana, California.

After authoring the composite vision, the next step for a school faculty is to examine the vision and tease out the critical components that contribute to the whole. A school staff might ask themselves at this juncture:

Considering our vision, what are the critical elements (processes and outcomes) that we believe are necessary to the development of this student?

The faculty at Almeria answered this question by identifying a list of targets (some were student achievement targets and others were program targets) and then indexing them as footnotes in the scenario document. These targets are listed in Figure 13.3 (p. 173).

Figure 13.3. Priority Targets at Almeria Middle School

Program Targets Rich and diverse instructional strategies Expanded roles for parents and community Honest, ongoing evaluation of individual student progress in academic, social, and emotional areas Decision making and expanded roles for parents and stakeholders Professional collaboration Integrated curriculum Outcome-based accountability system Meaning-centered curriculum Technology education program   Achievement Targets Responsible citizen Resourceful thinker Effective communicator Self-assessment Productive worker Lifelong technology user Perseverance

Occasionally an entire faculty is of one mind regarding the best mechanism or strategies to achieve each element of their shared vision. However, that isn't always the case, nor should it be the norm. As in the example of the cardiology practice discussed earlier, valuable insights can often be garnered from the pursuit of alternative approaches. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but the testing of competing hypotheses is the mother of wisdom.

Breakthrough Technology

Once a school's faculty “owns” a shared vision, it is time to invite the faculty to be creative in making the breakthroughs necessary for achieving each of the components of the vision. Schools that have succeeded in becoming learning communities do this in the same manner that high-technology companies do.

When a computer software or hardware company decides it would be in its best interest to bring to market a product that is substantially different from those currently in the marketplace, it soon realizes that it probably lacks the expertise to produce the product. After all, if they knew how to make it, they probably would already be producing it. So how do high-technology companies organize to develop and produce products that far exceed the parameters of current knowledge? They do it by employing what is called “breakthrough technology.”

Breakthrough technology has three steps:

1. The company determines what breakthroughs will be needed and makes a list detailing those breakthroughs.
2. The company issues an invitation to all interested and capable parties who might be willing to join together and work on achieving the needed breakthroughs.
3. The company organizes to provide the support needed by the engineers to develop each of the breakthroughs.

These are the same three steps that schools employ when working to collaboratively realize a shared vision. The faculty begins work by meeting together and reviewing the current state of their knowledge, expertise, and thinking on the components that make up the vision. They do this by considering the following question:

Do we currently know what we need to know to achieve each component of our vision?

Study Groups

One of the more effective ways of producing answers to this question is through the use of study groups (Murphy, 1992). If members of a faculty believe that the professional literature contains important insights into methods or strategies for achieving key portions of their vision, they invite members of their learning community to form a study group to read, discuss, and debate the research and insights of others who have already dealt with similar issues. Occasionally, the work of a study group will unearth an insight or an approach that quickly becomes a consensus choice as the best strategy for meeting the needs of the school's students. When that occurs, the faculty will make a tentative decision to adopt that approach while committing to collect data on their work implementing the strategy and its effectiveness with student learning.

On other occasions, particularly when the issue at hand is perplexing, study groups often conclude that there may be several alternative strategies, each of which appears to have promise. Rather than seeing this as a problematic state of affairs, the existence of competing approaches can be seen as a wonderful opportunity for group learning. A successful high-technology corporation interested in making the breakthroughs necessary to bring an exciting and innovative project to market rarely puts all its eggs in one basket. In the competitive business world, it is far more likely that a company will commission several work groups, each with a different perspective and each attracted to different strategies for making the breakthrough. These work groups then simultaneously pursue the alternative approaches. Good companies realize that it isn't important which strategy or which work team ultimately surfaces the best answer; rather, what matters is that the company acquires the insights needed to bring the visionary product to market.

Pilot Projects

When schools take this perspective, the process in itself helps them develop as efficacious learning communities. It isn't really important whether it turns out that, for example, whole language or phonics or a multifaceted approach is the best way to teach reading. What is important is that, as a community, the school figured out what would best serve their students.

The way that collegial schools manage disagreements over pedagogy or competing perspectives on policy is by framing their disputes as opportunities and then commissioning pilot projects with the understanding that all pilots will be obligated to share what's been learned. Obviously, this process works best in environments in which everyone is open to and desires to learn from one another.

Two Learning Communities

Tomas Rivera Elementary School in Riverside, California, and the West Linn School District in West Linn, Oregon, offer two examples of educational settings in which collegial work has been institutionalized. In the first case, the power of personality was the driving force. In the second case, a powerful idea propelled the district's transformation into a learning community.

By Force of Personality

Tomas Rivera Elementary School is a most exciting place to teach and a very productive place to learn. How did this relatively new school (it opened its doors in the fall of 1995) become such a positive place so quickly? Few knowledgeable sources would hesitate to say that Principal Susan Baltagi was the spark that ignited success at Rivera. It's not that the 40 other professional staff members at Rivera are not each powerful personalities in their own right or that every aspect of the school's program has Susan's imprint on it; but her forceful personality helps keep everyone on track. The pivotal role she plays in this culture of excellence is her unshakable commitment to quality. This commitment was first evidenced in the way she assembled a cadre of teachers who were ready, willing, and able to create a learning organization.

In her previous principalship, Susan became enamored with what she called “action-based research.” She encouraged the teachers at her school to conduct inquiries into those areas of practice that they valued, and she found ways to encourage the sharing of this work both inside the building and around the district. Copies of the thick, spiral-bound compendium of their work still can be found in various corners of this 60,000-student district.

When Rivera was first scheduled to open and Susan was named its planning principal, she determined that action-based research would become a central tenet of work at the school. She negotiated with the human resource department on the precise wording of the job announcement used for recruiting the teachers. It was important to Susan that an interest in conducting disciplined inquiry on teaching be a prerequisite for being selected to teach at Rivera. She was determined to make action-based research a job expectation. If an applicant missed this expectation in the job announcement, the interview left nothing to chance. Not only did Susan ask applicants about their interest in this type of work, but she let them know that everyone at Rivera would be conducting collaborative action research. Consequently, those not interested in doing research on their teaching and their students' learning simply took themselves out of the running.

In April of 1995, the spring before the school opened, the new staff were released from a day of teaching at their current schools to attend an orientation on action-based research. At this point, many educators both in the district office and on the newly assembled staff still didn't quite know what to make of Susan's emphasis on what still seemed like a somewhat esoteric practice. Nevertheless, the new faculty assembled to discuss issues of validity, reliability, and triangulation at a time when most teachers were simply focused on closing down the school year. For her part, Susan was very matter-of-fact about the whole endeavor. She apologized for having a meeting at a bad time of year, but again asserted her belief that everyone would find some aspect of teaching and learning at Rivera that would merit an investment of their intellectual energy. Susan made it clear that she wasn't interested in imposing any particular research agenda on the teachers. As long as their inquiries pertained to matters important to the development of Rivera's children, an individual teacher's research focus had her enthusiastic support. Figure 13.4 lists the projects Rivera teachers conducted during their inaugural year.

Figure 13.4. Tomas Rivera Elementary School Action-Based Research Projects, 1995–96

The effectiveness of various spelling strategies The transfer of skills acquired in the communication lab The development of independent learners The development of lifelong fitness skills The development of social skills and impact on academic achievement The effectiveness of various approaches to reading on performance and attitude Impact of visual arts study on problem solving across the curriculum

I had the privilege of working with the Rivera faculty throughout that first year and experiencing the feelings of efficacy, collegiality, and teamwork that developed as the year progressed and the work continued.

In late August, before the school opened, the teachers selected the initial focus for their research and organized themselves into research teams. The enthusiasm—and stress—related to the tasks ahead, particularly the many issues involved with the opening of a new school, were palpable. Furthermore, there was more than a small amount of concern about what this expectation regarding action-based research was all about. As the stress of opening the school engulfed the faculty, it was only the sheer force of Susan's positive and assertive cheerleading that kept the faculty on track with their research (although privately many teachers were still wondering where this was all leading).

Shortly after winter break, at a time when the research groups had surfaced a great deal of data for analysis, a significant thing happened. Tom Barrett, an evaluation specialist whom Susan had persuaded to become the district office liaison to Rivera (all schools in Riverside have assigned district liaisons), spent a day at the school to work with the teacher researchers. Several groups of teachers approached Tom with queries on how they might organize and make sense of their data. Tom rolled up his sleeves and provided an impromptu workshop on using database and spreadsheet software to display, organize, and analyze classroom data. He pledged to continue to be available for technical assistance as needed.

The importance of this timely assistance from a “critical friend” can't be overstated. The message it conveyed to these busy teacher researchers was that they weren't alone in their work. In fact, Tom, Susan, and Debbie Mestas, Susan's assistant, modeled “servant leadership” (Sergiovanni, 1992) at its best throughout the project. The behavior of these leaders made it clear that helping Rivera's teachers succeed with the research process was their top priority. Furthermore, Rivera's “outside” critical friends demonstrated that being on-call consultants to teachers was, perhaps, the most fulfilling aspect of their jobs.

In Project LEARN's research with schools that were implementing collaborative action research, we have seen this pattern repeated over and over again. When the push for action research is initiated by administrators, the success and longevity of the effort is directly related to the support (tangible and emotional) that teachers receive from their leaders. When teachers feel that their research efforts are recognized and appreciated by building administrators, they are more than willing to go the extra mile. Conversely, it is a safe bet that teachers will avoid committing to tasks (such as action research) that appear tangential when and if that work seems neither valued nor appreciated by their supervisors. That first winter at Rivera demonstrated clearly that when the going got rough, the support became abundant!

The crowning moment of Rivera's opening year came on April 29, 1996, when the school hosted the first Tomas Rivera Educational Research Conference. The conference took place on a staff development day. The program consisted of each research team presenting their work to their colleagues and several dozen guests from the district, neighboring districts, and local universities. If anyone remained skeptical regarding the purpose, importance, or interest in action-based research, that skepticism was put to rest by 3:00 p.m. that afternoon. As the faculty took off to celebrate their success at a local tavern, they weren't just celebrating the relief that comes from accomplishing something new and overcoming their fears; they were toasting the birth of a learning community.

As spring and summer progressed, more frosting was added to their cake. One of the teachers was selected as the district's “beginning teacher of the year,” the school was asked to share its staff development model with other schools in the district, and its unique approach to class-size reduction was adopted as a district model. Although the staff accepted each of those external validations with great appreciation, nothing satisfied them as much as being part of the team they had created. Furthermore, the success of their students on the mandated statewide achievement test, which resulted from their teamwork, stood as powerful testimony to their collective efficacy.

By Force of an Idea

When Dea Cox accepted the superintendency at the West Linn (Oregon) School District (later renamed the West Linn-Wilsonville School District) in 1978, there wasn't much in the academic program that set this historic district apart from its neighbors. Stability, tradition, a senior staff, and aging buildings were the West Linn School District's major claims to fame. Dea came to the district with a well-deserved reputation as an innovator. In the past he had led a number of nationally recognized innovative curriculum projects and had transformed one poor rural district into a virtual magnet for federal discretionary funds; he was now returning to the Pacific Northwest from a stint as an intern at Harvard University. It would have been logical for folks at West Linn to expect Dea to ride into town with a host of high-profile programs to revitalize this sleepy and contented district.

Although that might have been a logical prediction, considering Dea's past, it turned out to be off target. Dea returned from Harvard with a radical idea. His current thinking contrasted both with his past leadership approach and with the tenor of the times. He now believed that it wasn't programs that produced educational excellence; it was personnel that made the difference between a good and a great district. Following that simple premise, the organizing idea for Dea's tenure at West Linn was called the “people strategy.” Specifically, the people strategy was a commitment to create an outstanding school district by attracting, nurturing, and supporting good people as they strove to do their best work.

Twenty years later, the West Linn-Wilsonville School District is a living testament to that powerful idea. During a period when adoption of programs was the name of the game, when district public relations releases from most neighboring districts featured a listing of the “nationally recognized” programs being adopted and implemented, West Linn was publicly celebrating professionalism. The district's staff development program was vast and well financed. It encompassed the ideas of all the educational circuit riders of the time. Sessions sponsored by the district included references to Hunter, Gardner, and Glasser, but attendees were always cautioned that these ideas were not gospel, and teacher evaluation would not be based on a faithful demonstration of the beliefs of Madeline Hunter, Lee Canter, Rudolf Dreikurs, or anyone else. Rather, in West Linn, teacher evaluation was to be based on evidence of teacher learning.

Teachers were granted an entitlement, paid by the district, to purchase as many as 24 graduate credits annually. Dea publicly expressed his hope that many teachers would use this grant to obtain master's degrees or even doctorates. When a community member would challenge him on the expense (paying for the classes and also giving teachers a bump on the salary schedule), he responded that the more West Linn's teachers knew and the better educated they were, the greater the benefit to the district's students.

Tenure began to be called by its nickname—“the million dollar decision.” It was so named for the amount of money the board of education was encumbering for the future salary and benefits of a permanent teacher. For this reason, the district wrote a policy stating that the granting of tenure was reserved only for those who had used their first three years in the district to demonstrate (through what is now called a teaching portfolio) “excellence as a teacher and as a collaborative professional.” Each spring the community, the teachers union, and the school board feted the newly tenured teachers at a catered reception. The event was held to express the appreciation of the community for the fact that these great educators would be spending the rest of their careers assisting with the “raising of the community's children.”

Over the next 20 years, consistent adherence to the intent of the people strategy by Dea, his successor, Superintendent Roger Woehl, several dozen board members, and an evolving administrative team has enabled these values to become deeply ingrained in the district. It is now hard to find anyone who can even remember the district before the people strategy was in place. District schools are regularly visited by educators from throughout the country who are attracted by the innovative work of the teachers. What they hear surprises them. They notice that many of the best programs—the very ones with the regional and national reputations—are not implemented across the district, but only in those schools where the faculty and community have deemed them appropriate.

What is most remarkable is that this doesn't reflect a laissez-faire attitude by the district, and it doesn't place the schools in competition with each other. Unlike a magnet school strategy, where competition for students drives reform, each school and each classroom in West Linn-Wilsonville is a laboratory where ideas are tested, grown, and adopted if and when they fit the context, and then the results are shared. The district's 400 teachers are spread across 11 schools and are all members of an extended learning community. Assistant Superintendent Jane Stickney likens school improvement in West Linn-Wilsonville to an “ongoing conversation” with all members of the community invited to join in, if and when they feel it appropriate.

Each spring, the district hosts its annual Celebration of Inquiry. More than 600 people attend the event, including all the district's certificated staff. Attendees participate in an educational conference with more than 75 separate breakout sessions, as well as keynote speeches, catered meals, and exhibitors. They may earn academic credit supplied from a local university. Participants may well think they were attending a high-powered conference sponsored by a professional association. In fact, they are! The major difference, however, between this and other “national” conferences is that all the sessions are presented by members of the West Linn-Wilsonville School District professional staff, and the research findings being shared are the result of research done in local schools and local classrooms.

Teachers learning from the research of teachers: this is what has become the norm at Tomas Rivera and at West Linn-Wilsonville. The end result of what was created in one venue by the force of personality—Susan Baltagi's commitment—and at the other through the force of an idea—the people strategy—is the same, a deeply rooted learning community. Each year when I attend the end-of-year programs in California and Oregon, what strikes me is the total absence of one-upmanship and defensiveness. In these cauldrons of competing educational ideas, competition among the professionals is nonexistent. In fact, in these communities of learners, competition among ideas has become a never-ending source of renewable energy.

With all of the autonomy in programs and processes, what binds the educators in these two very different places is a collective passion to find out what is best for their students. Furthermore, with each step they take in that direction, the teachers in these schools are reinforced in their belief that they can and will prevail. Sometimes I even think I hear the teachers chanting, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . .”