Good leaders change organizations; great leaders change people. People are at the heart of any organization, particularly a school, and it is only through changing people—nurturing and challenging them, helping them grow and develop, creating a culture in which they all learn—that an organization can flourish. Leadership is about relationships.

Leaders increase a group's productivity by helping everyone in the group become more effective. Whatever the task or goal, a great leader helps everyone improve. A leader begins by setting the vision but doesn't stop there. A leader listens, understands, motivates, reinforces, and makes the tough decisions. A leader passes out praise when things go well and takes responsibility and picks up the pieces when things fall apart. Leadership is about relationships.

Leaders don't lead by issuing mandates. Leaders communicate well and often, and they listen to others. Listening doesn't mean abdicating responsibility or failing to play a leadership role. Listening means incorporating others' ideas and talents and energies into forging a vision. Sometimes leadership is obvious, but that is not always so. As Dwight D. Eisenhower observed, “Leadership is the art of getting someone else to do something you want done because he wants to do it.” Good leaders bring out the best in others. Leadership is about relationships.

Academicians often distinguish between leadership and management. Leadership, they say, is creating the vision, dealing with those outside the organization, and inspiring others. Management is executing the vision, dealing with employees, and maintaining standards. Perhaps some leaders don't manage, but that is not my experience. The strong leaders I've known were strong because they could lead and manage. Yes, leaders do create the vision, deal with external parties, and inspire. But leaders also execute the strategies that make the vision a reality, deal with the employees, and follow through to ensure that the right things are done in the right way. Leadership is about relationships.

Leading Nonpublic Schools

The heads of charter, parochial, and private schools deal with the same tensions as their public school peers. Their titles may be different. Instead of being the principal, they may be called the president, director, executive director, headmaster, headmistress, or head of school. But the issues they face are the same. Measurement issues are no less relevant in nonpublic schools. One difference is that there is less of a hierarchy to which nonpublic school leaders must respond, but this doesn't mean that governance is easier. Nonpublic schools will typically have boards of directors of between 12 and 25 members.  Leaders of nonpublic schools also live with an additional dose of reality. There is no higher degree of accountability than that which comes from parents deciding each year whether to continue enrollment at a particular school. When parents vote with their feet like this, their actions represent a powerful evaluation of the school. Further, when tuition is charged, the money spent often results in even higher expectations on the part of families. Of course, most nonpublic schools, charters excepted, are able to select their students and can operate with far more flexibility than their public counterparts. Perhaps the biggest difference is that most nonpublic school leaders have the additional responsibilities of marketing and fund-raising.

Lessons Learned the Hard Way

In more than a quarter-century of running schools and trying to be a leader, I've learned some painful and powerful lessons. Four of them in particular stick with me (and, believe me, I haven't mastered these lessons yet).

1. Be inclusive: All of us are smarter than any of us.
2. Be clear: Is it your decision, my decision, or our decision?
3. Be fair to yourself and others: Know the difference between excellence and perfection.
4. Be someone who makes a difference: Why do you want to lead a school?

Lesson 1: Be Inclusive

Warren—tall and thin and always frowning—came into my office, unannounced. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him because I knew that I would quickly be on the defensive. Warren did that to me just about every time we talked. He was the parent of two of my students, a 2nd and a 4th grader, and he always brought me criticisms and complaints. In my few months as principal, Warren had become my nemesis.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked. Honestly, I didn't have a minute. I was busy. And even if I did have a minute, the last thing I wanted to do was spend it talking to Warren.

“Of course!” I replied, and I offered him a seat anyway.

Leadership happens at many levels and comes from many individuals. If you've forgotten that, you're no longer a part of that leadership. ~Ben

It was my first year as a principal, and I already knew that I didn't like having Warren as my chief critic. My inner-suburb school of 400 students was, according to the district's terminology, “underachieving.” That meant the majority of our students were doing poorly on standardized tests. Many students came from families that qualified for free or reduced-price lunch, but I knew that wasn't an excuse. My eyes were wide open when I took the job. I understood the challenges that awaited me and was, in fact, eager to face them. The day Warren came into my office, many issues were already clear to me: Students were not learning; parents were not involved; and faculty members were doing what they had done for years, even though it wasn't effective.

“I want to see our school's standardized test scores,” Warren said. “I don't want to see individual student scores, but the superintendent tells me you're here to turn things around, and I want to know what the problem is. Why do we need you?”

Warren's children did well in school, so he had no data to suggest other children weren't doing just as well. In addition, a finalist for my position was a teacher at the school, someone Warren liked. Naturally, Warren was suspicious of me and questioned why I was given the job. Naturally, I was suspicious of him, too.

A true leader not only leads the way and gives you direction. He or she must walk side by side with you to encourage, support, listen, and learn from others. ~Estella

Warren's request was a tricky one. Schoolwide and grade-level test averages were not made public in those days. Parents knew how well their children performed on tests, teachers knew how well the grade in which they taught fared, and principals knew how grades and schools compared to one another, but that was it. The data were hierarchically bound; the information simply wasn't shared. As a result, I had a problem. I knew that I could stand behind district policy and not share the information, but doing so would alienate Warren. (It would also leave unanswered his question of why I had been hired.) On the other hand, I knew that I could ignore the policy by bringing Warren into my confidence and letting him see how our grades compared to national standards. Doing so might make Warren my ally (and answer his question of why I had been hired), but there was a risk involved with sharing the data. The two choices were pretty simple and clear.

I blew it.

I didn't share the information with Warren. As I anticipated, this refusal did not help our relationship or our level of trust. I could live with that. What I didn't expect, and this is why I blew it, was that he took my reluctance to share information and to treat him like an ally to mean that I wasn't on his side—the side of improving kids' education. Because of this, Warren became my biggest adversary when I began to make changes at the school, when I tried to get teachers to look differently at curriculum and instruction, and when I tried to increase teachers' interactions with their students' parents. He assumed, without any data to suggest otherwise, that I was trying to change things just to show that I was in charge. Or maybe he felt that I was trying to change things because I thought these poor kids and parents needed a white guy to show them the way. When I took the job, I realized race might be an issue because the student body was all black and I was white.

A few of my teachers complained to Warren about some of the things that I was doing (initiating weekly faculty meetings, meeting monthly with teachers about their students), and he was outraged. He led a group of parents to oppose me. The situation became very contentious and resulted in the superintendent mediating a meeting with a dozen parents and me. They had a list of concerns about me, and I responded, point by point. The superintendent shared some of the district's standardized test data, illustrating just how much my school needed to improve. That meeting was a turning point because it allowed me not only to explain what I was trying to do, but also to share my rationale about why it needed to be done.

This story ends reasonably well. By the end of my second year, well after the parent meeting, Warren had become my supporter. The more he knew of the challenges that I faced and the more he understood that we shared the same goals, the more he trusted my motives. By the end of my third year, with his help and the efforts of some talented and hardworking teachers, our students' standardized test scores improved significantly. Our scores on the reading, language, and math tests were above grade level in 14 of 15 measures for grades 1–5. Warren and I became friends of sorts, as I came to respect him for his high standards and commitment to everyone's children, not just his own. I've heard that he says similar positive things about me. My first years were not easy times, however, and I was a big part of the problem.

To this day, I frequently look back on that interaction with Warren with regret. Had I responded differently when he asked to see our grade-level average scores, how much more quickly would our school have turned around? How many sleepless nights would I have avoided, and how many difficult meetings would never have taken place? In retrospect, I realize that I missed an opportunity to create an ally by letting Warren see that I was part of the solution. Instead, I persisted in trying to solve a problem that he didn't know existed.

Good leaders need to be good followers. ~Duane

Even worse, although I changed schools and a variety of different issues came into play, this kind of mistake is one that I've made again and again. Simply put, on too many occasions I've failed to realize that the group is always stronger than the individual, that a principal cannot be successful without the support of parents and teachers. My progression has been slower than I'd like, and I'm sure that I'm not there yet. However, I now understand the importance of taking the time and expending the effort to get everyone (or almost everyone!) to agree on the problem and to work to be part of the solution. I've learned that it's not enough for me to diagnose the problem and create the strategies, even if my diagnosis is correct and my strategies are promising. After all, how willing are people to change their behaviors and do things differently if they don't accept the fact that there is a problem or a goal that needs addressing in the first place? I've learned that it is far better to involve others at the beginning, to allow them to work with me in identifying and then pursuing a common goal. That process takes longer and is often messier, but it increases the likelihood that the goal will be achieved.

Lesson 2: Be Clear

This lesson is simple, yet it is a difficult one to achieve. Leaders, especially principals, get into trouble when they're not clear to others or to themselves about who gets to make what decisions. It's easy for principals to assume that everyone belongs to one big happy family, that everyone has input on all decisions, and that consensus rules the day. We all like to think that everyone shares the same perceptions and values, so everyone will choose the same decision (the decision that we'd choose, of course!). We are often tempted to leave things a bit fuzzy, to not make clear who gets to decide, and to let others believe that the decision is theirs. Teachers come to think that the opportunity to provide input is the same as getting to decide. When this happens, the seeds for conflict are planted.

Yes, there are times when principals need to make the difficult decision and assert their positional power, even though it may make others, mostly teachers, unhappy. That is part of an administrator's territory. Teachers may not be pleased with either the decision or the process, but they generally understand that this is the administrator's job. They may groan or be unhappy, but they go along with the decision. “No way would I want your job” is a comment I often hear after making a tough decision (even from those who disagree with my position).

True leaders are respected, not circumvented. ~Laurie

However, making this same decision after allowing, or even encouraging, teachers to think that the decision belongs to them creates major difficulties. Teachers who believe that a decision is theirs to make only to learn later that, guess what, it's really not theirs after all will be unhappy. No, make that very unhappy. And who can blame them? Whether or not teachers are displeased with the decision, they will feel used and compromised.

The principal, of course, didn't intend to do that at all. She respects her teachers. She was trying to reach consensus and thought that by giving the teachers input into the decision, they would feel empowered. Her assumption was that the teachers would make the same decision that she would make and that they would all arrive at the same decision point without her having to exert any hierarchical power.

Conflict arises when teachers feel that they have been given the license to make a decision but then come to a different conclusion than the principal expects or finds acceptable. The principal backs away from giving the teachers the decision; they find the rug pulled out from under them. What began as an inclusive effort by the principal backfires. Teachers are unhappy and, even worse, no longer trust the principal.

I've come to refer to this as the “your decision, my decision, our decision” dilemma. Within a school, decisions fall in each of these areas. From the principal's perspective, “your decision” refers to those questions that are decided by teachers; “my decision” refers to those decided by the principal, alone; “our decision” refers to those that are reached collaboratively, with the principal and teachers working together. Most of the time, it's very clear who should make which decision. But most of the time is not all of the time. There are also some gray areas in which decisions aren't as clear. In these cases, teachers could make the decision, but so could the principal, or perhaps the decision could be made collaboratively. Again, what often happens is that in an effort to flatten the hierarchy and promote the “we're all on the same team” philosophy, principals are not clear ahead of time about who will decide which issues.

As tricky as this “your decision, my decision, our decision” dilemma can be, it can almost always be avoided when principals make clear who is responsible for the decision. To promote this understanding, I've found it effective to use the “your decision, my decision, our decision” terminology with my faculty. When I do so, I use it to explain an issue and to share how I have to guard against my tendency not to be as clear as I should. I'll sometimes tell a committee, “This is a ‘your decision.’ Whatever you decide will be fine with me.” Or perhaps I'll say, “I want to hear your thoughts, but be aware that this is a ‘my decision’ issue. I am accountable for it and have to make the decision. Although I really do want your input, know in advance that it's ultimately my call.”

I've found that teachers view this type of explicit communication as comforting. It allows them to know their role and thus reduces the likelihood that they will waste time or be overly disappointed if a decision is not to their liking. Administratively, this model helps me, too, because it forces me to plan ahead and think about what kind and degree of involvement is important. Then I can solicit input as needed. I avoid falling into the trap of soliciting input because I want to get everyone on board, even though I already know what decision I want to make.

Lesson 3: Be Fair to Yourself and Others

The speaker paused, and the room filled with principals fell silent. Adam, a high school principal, had hit a nerve deep within each of us, and we were lost in reverie and reflection. The topic was “How I manage stress in my life,” and Adam was one of four principals on a panel at the principals' conference. I was also a speaker. We were to share our wisdom with the 25 or 30 other principals. The first three panelists offered the typical nostrums, myself included. One spoke of getting up early to run several times each week, another talked about making time for her family, and I talked about being sure that I have time to read and write. The audience, unusually polite for a group of educators, was quiet and attentive despite the lack of any information that would actually help manage stress. And then it was Adam's turn to speak.

Good leaders are always in the quest of improving and are not scared of other people knowing more than they do. ~Nelly

“I try to understand the difference between excellence and perfection,” he said.

After pausing for a moment, he went on, “At my school, we have a problem with getting the students to put the lunchroom trays back where they belong after they finish eating. This is a big issue for me, and—” He was interrupted by a few chuckles and some eye-rolling. He indignantly slammed his hand on the table. “It is a big deal!” he exclaimed, reacting to the audience and raising his voice. The group grew quiet.

“You see,” he continued, a bit defiantly, “my students are affluent and mainly white. The cafeteria staff are all black and predominately female. It's important that our students learn the responsibility that they have to others, and cleaning up after themselves is an important part of that. I can get 90 to 95 percent of the students to put their food trays away each day, and that is excellent. But I want perfection. I want every student, 100 percent of the students, to put the trays away. It's only right!”

He hesitated and took a deep breath. “But I've learned that in seeking to get 100 percent of the food trays put away, I not only turn the school into a prison and drive everyone crazy, I create an unbelievable amount of stress for myself. So I try to be realistic. I try to understand the difference between excellence and perfection.” He paused while our thoughts drifted to our own schools. His point was about far more than cafeteria trays. He was really talking about the need that each of us has to be realistic about what is possible, to set goals that are ambitious but achievable, and to recognize and be pleased when the glass is nine-tenths full instead of seeing it as one-tenth empty.

I love it when folks in leadership roles make themselves vulnerable and show their human side. ~Anne

Alas, I am much better at talking and writing about balancing excellence and perfection than actually doing it. I can find numerous occasions when I've not been satisfied with excellence (accepting “good” wasn't even an option) and wanted perfection. Worse, I've not only wanted perfection, I've wanted it more quickly. Of course, with this kind of mind-set, there is no perfection. Even if perfection is realized, expectations increase. It becomes easy to take a major accomplishment and make it a routine expectation. This is true in every line of work and on virtually every issue; people who run schools do not have a monopoly on this problem. Yet schools are hotbeds in the search for excellence. After all, however well our students do, they can always do better! Even if we're not looking for better, we can always look for more. Each year we add programs, curriculum, and responsibilities. We celebrate our successes by setting higher and more ambitious goals for the following year, not by relishing our achievements. Then we wonder why the stress level in schools is so high.

“Excellence versus perfection” has become a common phrase among members of my administrative team and faculty. Saying these three words is a shorthand way of reminding ourselves to step back and question our assumptions and our goals. When, after all, is “good” good enough?

This issue has always been present in schools, but it is even more pronounced in our era of high-stakes testing and public accountability. In some areas, we shouldn't be satisfied with “good,” whereas in others, “average” is just fine, thank you. All of us, but especially school leaders, need to step back and be sure that when we seek perfection and are not willing to settle for excellence, we do so consciously and wisely. Stress flows downhill. Unless we are careful, our own ever-increasing expectations can have a pernicious effect on us and everyone around us.

Lesson 4: Be Someone Who Makes a Difference

With a few years under my belt as principal at my first school, this was the question put to me: “Why do you want to be a principal?” I gulped and felt the perspiration rolling down my forehead. It was 4:30 p.m. on a Thursday, and I was standing in a room in front of 30 to 40 parents and a few faculty members. You see, I had applied for a new job, to head New City School, and I was a finalist for the position. As part of the selection process, I was answering questions at a parent meeting held after school. There were scores of unknown faces in front of me, people wanting to know more about me, parents who were going to pass judgment on whether they thought that I should lead their children's school. It felt a bit like a press conference, minus the flashes from cameras. I was definitely on the spot.

Good leaders realize which decisions need to be top-down and which need to be hashed out by the group. ~Lucie

“I want to be a principal,” I responded, “because I want to be able to make a difference in kids' lives.” I paused, warming up to the question, and then responded with vigor.

“I have been a teacher, and I loved it,” I said. “I wasn't a perfect teacher, but it was really gratifying to see my students' smiling faces and watch them learn to do things that they didn't think were possible. I went home each evening feeling tired but also feeling that my efforts were worthwhile.” There were some smiles in the audience, and the faculty members who were present nodded in appreciation and empathy.

“But after a number of years, even though I still was far from being a perfect teacher, I became antsy. To be candid, I grew frustrated. I worked for four principals who were good and caring people but who didn't seem to understand how schools should function and be organized.” At this, I noticed some quizzical looks from people in the audience.

“By that,” I continued, “I mean that these principals were disciplinarians and schedulers. The schools ran well, but the principals didn't give any real attention to me or to my teaching. Curriculum and instruction simply weren't priorities of theirs. As long as I wasn't causing a problem, as long as there were no student behavior issues or complaints from parents, as long as my kids did well on standardized tests, they left me alone. No attempt was made to help me learn from senior, more experienced, and better teachers; nothing was done to enable me to work with or help new teachers. This hands-off attitude applied to the other teachers as well, and that is a shame.”

Staff need to see that the leader not only directs the work, but also shares in the responsibility for getting it done. ~Rich

I was on a roll, talking about an issue that made me passionate. I gestured toward the teachers who were standing in the audience. “However good they are,” I said, “they can be better, and the job of a principal is to help that happen.” One of the teachers caught my eye, smiled, and gave me a thumbs-up signal. I remember being elated when I saw that.

At this point, a man in the audience raised his hand. When I called upon him, he asked, “Do you want to be a superintendent?”

“No,” I replied. “Although a superintendent influences far more students, his or her influence on any one student is significantly less. Conversely, teachers have the most influence, but it's with far fewer kids. A principal has the best of both worlds. I thought this was the case before I first became a principal, and now, having run a school for three years, I'm even more convinced that this role is one in which I can make a difference. At least that is the way it seems to me.”

The question-and-answer session lasted for nearly 90 minutes. I don't remember what else was asked of me, but I must have answered reasonably well because I was offered the job. (I accepted and still work there today.) My answer to this question has remained with me, and I have thought of it many times over the years. Being a principal is not an easy job, but it is a job in which one can make a difference in children's lives and, by extension, in the world. I still go home tired, and I still feel frustrations at both the things I cannot control and those things that I can control but don't. But I go to work each morning feeling good about my role.

This story is unlike the other lessons that I offer in this chapter. In the other examples, I learned from my mistakes. (OK, I tried to learn from my mistakes.) I didn't commit an error in this example, but it's an important story for me because it reminds me of why I still run a school after all these years. Like any school leader, I've had my bad days and I've had my successes. I've worked a bit in higher education, teaching classes in school administration as well as directing and teaching in a program for nonprofit management. I enjoyed all of it, but there is something special about leading a school, about making a difference in the lives of students and teachers. When I get tired and frustrated and discouraged—and, believe me, I do get tired and frustrated and discouraged—I think back to that parent “press conference” so many years ago. That memory reminds me of why I do what I do and why I enjoy it so. This lesson may be the most powerful lesson of all.