"Believe You Can"
This Toronto school had a bad reputation. And it was just the challenge Chris Spence was looking for.

BY MARGO PFEIFF

On his first tour of Lawrence Heights Middle School (LHMS), Chris Spence was led past defaced bulletin boards in hallways scribbled with graffiti. Peering into the library, he saw kids with their feet on the tables, competing to see who could throw books the farthest out the window. It was June 1997 and Lawrence Heights was looking for a new vice principal. The 35-year-old spoke with some of the staff, like classroom assistant Claire Davis, who told of student rampages in which desks were overturned and chairs thrown about. Police had been called in to break up fights. Two boys had recently been suspended for "mooning" their female teacher in class. More than half the teachers transferred annually.

But Spence eagerly took the job; Lawrence Heights was exactly what he was looking for. To announce the new vice principal's appointment, an assembly was called; it was cut short when a fight erupted.

Just north of downtown Toronto, the Lawrence Heights area comprises mostly public-housing complexes. At LHMS, which offers Grades 6, 7 and 8, 87 percent of the students or their parents are immigrants from some 31 countries; 24 languages are spoken in the hallways. Drug dealers, gangs and the sound of gunfire weren't uncommon in the neighbourhood. Parents who could sent their children to schools elsewhere.

During his first year at LHMS, Spence spent most of his time on discipline rather than the issues he considered paramount: abysmal grades and low attendance. LHMS excelled at only one thing: sports. The school was renowned for its outstanding teams, especially basketball. Many boys dreamed of reaching the NBA.

Spence understood that dream well. Born in England, Spence emigrated with his family to Canada when he was seven. Football was Spence's dream, and he lived it when the B.C. Lions drafted the tall, stocky running back in 1985. But a torn Achilles tendon ended his career after just two seasons, and he realized that focusing only on sports had limited his education. He vowed to help other youngsters avoid that trap. Inspired, he earned a master's and then a doctorate in education.

When he graduated in 1991, he could have chosen any Toronto school, but he chose Oakdale, in a largely immigrant neighbourhood where violence was common. For many students, he was their first black teacher. "It's where I can make a difference," he told his colleagues. Six years later, driven by his desire to reach more children, he set his sights on taking the helm of a school.

Dress for Success

In May 1998, the end of Spence's first year as LHMS vice principal, the principal was transferred and Spence took over. He immediately called the teachers together. "We're going to make every student and teacher proud of Lawrence Heights," he told them, "but I need your ideas." He was greeted with enthusiasm. "How about letting my students paint murals on the walls and lockers during the summer?" art teacher Zelia Tavares suggested. "Great idea," Spence replied. "We'll let the kids choose the designs."

That summer, as youngsters transformed the school with multicultural murals and positive slogans, Spence laid plans. In early September he called an assembly. The restless crowd, topped in cornrows, blond curls and Muslim scarves, already admired Spence as a sports hero, but they were not prepared for his authoritarian tone. "You will sit and listen," he began in his no-nonsense voice. "The atmosphere at this school is not conducive to learning. There is too much fear and intimidation. For a start, I will not tolerate fighting." Extracurricular activities like sports, clubs and dances would become privileges -- and they would be withdrawn for bad behaviour.

"Why do we honour our basketball and football teams," he asked, pointing to the championship banners hanging above their heads, "but have not a word of praise for students who do well academically?" At the "new" LHMS, top students would receive medals at monthly assemblies, and Academic All Stars would be celebrated in a rally, "just as we cheer our athletes."

Spence bombarded the 290 students with the reality of their performance: scores below city and provincial averages in math, reading and writing; one of the worst reputations for violence; and hundreds of suspensions and more than 3,000 "lates" registered the previous year. "In the real world, lateness is a prime reason for being fired," he explained, "so most of you couldn't even hold a job." School would now be their job. "Each student will sign a contract vowing to be on time, do their homework and be respectful.

"This can be a great school," he continued. "Let's work together."

Spence put uniforms on the agenda for the year's first parent-teacher meeting. "Competition between children who can afford the latest fashions and those who can't is unhealthy," Spence said. "I'm suggesting white shirts and black bottoms of your choosing, and a school pin." The parents voted 96 percent in favour. Now he had to convince the children. "I've seen students beaten up because they can't afford high fashion," he told each grade. "Is that fair?" The students, too, voted "yes" to Dress for Success.

Over 70 percent of the area's families were single-parent homes; many children returned each day to empty houses. So Spence encouraged teachers to create appealing extracurricular activities. Soon the hallways echoed with Hindi music as sari-clad girls of Indian descent practised traditional dance, while others learned African drumming for the annual Cultural Showcases.

When Charmaine Marine, a former music specialist at LHMS, visited, Spence urged her to revive the choir she'd started during her tenure there. Marine agreed. Like Spence, she demanded perfection. "So you want to be a star?" she barked to more than 100 students at the first practice. "Then be on time or don't waste my time." They came on time, and even early, for 7:30 a.m. practices and for Saturday sessions.

Silence the Violence

Ending violence remained Spence's first mission. He designated separate stairways for Grades 6 and 7 to keep the older children from picking on younger ones. He singled out students who caused problems and spent time with them. "My door is always open," he told them. One of the most disruptive was 11-year-old Jimoy Rae, a verbally abusive, angry young man who continually fought with others.

Spence saw intelligence and potential in the young man. He visited Jimoy's home to meet his mother, Noele Taylor, who was raising Jimoy and four siblings alone. Spence encouraged Jimoy, took an interest in his schoolwork and placed him in a counselling and support group for troubled, at-risk youths. Soon Jimoy began waiting patiently outside Spence's office after school to talk. Within months he was regularly volunteering to help out in the office.

When Taylor heard Spence's voice on the phone one afternoon, she was filled with fear. Then she heard the principal tell her he had just watched Jimoy walk away from a fight saying, "I don't have time for that anymore." She was flooded with relief. "I've never had a call from school with good news," she said, her voice trembling. At the end of Grade 7, Jimoy Rae stood proudly at the front of the assembled school to receive a medal for the student with the best academic improvement for the year.

Spence acted swiftly at the first sign of a confrontation. He immediately suspended the students involved from sports and extracurricular activities. But most effective were the Friday assemblies called Name and Shame but nicknamed by students the Good, Bad and Ugly. They started on a positive note. "Give yourselves a hand," Spence would say after announcing the week's achievements. But then he would single out anyone involved in brawls or encounters with the law. Fights became rare.

Spence also rewarded good behaviour. School dances became monthly events. Fund-raising and improved grades brought free trips to Raptors and Argos games or to the hottest concerts in town.

King of Mottoes
"Good morning, Lawrence Heights," Spence broadcast over the PA system each morning, and at day's end he signed off with a positive slogan. The principal became affectionately known as the King of Mottoes, and the youngsters picked them up like rap mantras. "The more you learn, the more you earn" was a favourite. "Believe you can achieve," the school's catchphrase, was emblazoned across lockers.

Spence and Vice Principal Tracy Hayhurst stood in the hallway amid a flow of black-and-white uniforms between classes. Spence ate his lunch surrounded by students in the cafeteria and seemed to know everyone by name. "In most schools you need binoculars to find the principal," Greater Toronto School Board community advisor Lawrence George commented during a visit.

As distrust between teachers and students dissolved, students reported misbehaviour: Once, an intruder bent on theft was apprehended after a student noticed his street clothes. The atmosphere became lively and relaxed: Boys greeted Spence with high fives; girls linked arms with him to chat about his baby daughter.

By Christmas 1999, suspensions and lates had plummeted, but there was little improvement in report-card marks. Over the holidays Spence devised a plan, and in January he called the parents together.

"We'd like to monitor students with a monthly report," he told them. Teachers would judge performance and note whether homework was done. Falling back in any subject, missing a day of school, arriving late for class or dressing sloppily would mean an instant suspension from extracurricular activities until the next report. The parents were in favour and had only one suggestion: "Can you make it every two weeks?" Taken aback by their fervour, Spence agreed.

Moans and complaints echoed throughout the gym when progress reports were introduced during assembly. Spence held up LHMS's interscholastic math scores. "We beat this school by 40 points in basketball, and they beat us by the same score in math," he told them. "Who's going to be whose boss?" Spence paused. "I'm not asking you to be straight-A students. I'm trying to make it possible for you to get into the high school or university of your choice." The students voted "yes" to progress reports.

Every second Friday, when progress reports were posted for all to see, the hallways were the scene of crying and whoops of joy. Students had to pass Spence and Hayhurst as they headed home. "What happened here?" Spence would sometimes ask. Then parents had to be faced, as their signatures were required on the reports. The bulletin board outside the office became a barometer of the school's progress.

"If you get a No, you can't go" became the new slogan, and the fallout hit quickly. When Marine arrived one Saturday to take her choir to a TV performance, only 14 students were on the bus. "What's going on?" she demanded of those standing alongside. "We got No's," they sobbed. They never did again.

A week before the Grade 8 boys' district basketball championship game, the two top players received No's. LHMS lost. "You let our school down, man," heartbroken students told the suspended players. Neither received a No again.

"Words Aren't Enough"
When school resumed in September 1999, Spence's second year, the principal received a call. Karlene Thompson explained that her son Donohue Grant, 13, was constantly in trouble. He attended another school but didn't like it and was now charged with assault. "I don't know what to do," said Thompson.

In Donohue, Spence and teacher Tim Skinner found a troubled but very bright young man and a gifted athlete. Both accompanied him to court, vowing on the stand to remain involved in his education and care. Spence gave Donohue a Grade 7 crash course to make up for time lost during previous suspensions and sometimes took him home for dinner with his family. Donohue blossomed with the attention.

One winter day Spence arrived at school to find Donohue helping the custodian shovel snow. Soon the young man began counselling children and helping coach basketball. When his mother noticed him doing more studying than shooting baskets and commented on it, he said, "There's plenty of time for ball. I've got to get a career." Donohue, found innocent of the assault charges, stood up before the entire school at the end of the year to receive the annual leadership award for helping others. The following day he and his mother appeared at Spence's office. "Words alone aren't enough to thank you," Thompson said as Donohue handed Spence a plaque. "A Certificate of Appreciation," he read through a mist of tears. "Thanks for everything."

A Model School
To prepare for provincial reading, writing and math exams in April 2000, students voted to suspend all extracurricular activities. The result? Lawrence Heights rated above not only the Toronto average but the provincial average as well. Last fall LHMS became the only school that year to receive the Canada Award for Excellence from the National Quality Institute, which honours an organization's commitment to excellence and superior standards.

In just three years Spence has created what would be a model school in any part of Canada. At the end of the 1999-2000 school year, there had been only a handful of fights and lates had dropped to 400. There's a waiting list to teach at LHMS. Says Denise Earle, Parent Council chairman and mother of three LHMS children, parents have noticed a big change in their children. "They have more control of their feelings," she says. "They are more respectful."

"What we're doing is not rocket science," Spence says with a shrug. "We're just creating a positive learning environment that puts the emphasis back on academics." Sports can be a valuable tool, he believes. "But you still need another career. And that starts in the classroom."

PHOTOS: © RICHARD PIERRE