One Thousand Stories

As an educator, I value research and scholarship. I believe that the science of learning, organizational change and leadership does guide school improvement. Yet, I have always been a bit wary, even suspicious, of those who don't get their hands dirty leading schools. Equally, I am fascinated by stories of triumph, tragedy, survival, and struggle told by those who choose to engage in the messiness that are our unpredictable lives leading schools.  

I am writing to share how I came to believe in the importance of sharing the stories of our lives in schools, and to encourage the telling of stories and sharing of wisdom by those in the arena of our schools…and as a challenge to myself to continue to tell and learn from stories we live in our schools.

Now, it is true that I have learned much from critics, commentators, and researchers - those thinkers outside the arena of our learning communities. More than a few times, I have annoyed my teams by referring to research or theoretical writing to support - or argue against - directions we planned to take. I am constantly sharing books and articles by authors who have influenced my thinking and that I have encouraged my teachers and teacher leaders to explore. Some have accused me of being a walking annotated bibliography. A treasured autographed copy of Eleanor Duckworth’s The Having of Wonderful Ideas has traveled with me to three continents and I’ve shared her essay, The Virtues of Not Knowing countless times. Lessons from Tom Guskey on thinking, learning, and assessment, and from Jim Cummins on language acquisition continue to ground my work. But I’m constantly drawn back to the words of a self-proclaimed doer when I consider where I have learned the most about meeting the challenges of school leadership.    

In 1910 Theodore Roosevelt gave a speech that has come to be known as The Man in the Arena, though at the time it was actually entitled, Citizenship in a Republic.  Roosevelt, two years after passing the Presidency of the United States to William Taft, was calling out those sitting on the sidelines for not doing the messy work that impacts lives. Roosevelt noted that,

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

I have come to appreciate and value the learning from the stories told by those of us most closely engaged in the work in schools. In telling and reflecting upon the stories that we as educators have lived in the “arena,” we provide each other with windows into experiences that serve to shed the light needed to reflect upon our own practice, our own impact, our own lives. While I think I had known this emotionally for years, the name of a bottle of wine and the card that accompanied it, prompted me to tell some of my stories in the arena of schools and to encourage others to tell theirs. Let me explain.  

In July of 2021, I stepped down after six years as a superintendent. While people congratulated me on my “retirement,” I was quick to note that this was a pause and not a finish. At age 63, I had one or more “adventures” ahead of me, though I was not sure what those adventures would be. I had been in this position before. Each time I was not sure what would come next and each time after fits and starts - or more accurately starts and fits - an adventure bumped into me and invited me along for the journey. 

Send offs during the time of Covid are necessarily subdued, and mine was no different.  A gathering at the home of a colleague was finally possible due to the low number of infections and vaccination status among the leadership team as we approached my last day. By the time of the gathering in late June, all in attendance had been vaccinated and were anxious for the opportunity to be together. After 16 months of meetings, mostly on Google Meet or Zoom, it was a treat to gather. Being together without an agenda and just to enjoy each other’s company was a wonderful gift. Just a chance to share memories, laughs, and to let go of our shared worries for even the briefest of times was all I, and I think we all, desired. I wished for no gifts, just the gift of their presence, with a pot luck of treats to which we all contributed- though as I recall, I was not allowed to bring anything.

The leadership team mostly agreed to my wishes, but not entirely. Having come to this job after four years at the American Overseas School of Rome, my fondness for wine, particularly Italian wine, was well known. Each person in attendance brought a bottle of wine and a card - about twenty-five bottles in all.  While I wanted to open the cards right away, I was given strict instructions to only read each card when I opened the accompanying bottle of wine. Though I did not fully understand the reasoning, I accepted the terms and the wine. Soon every bottle and card was loaded in the car to bring home.

Over the next weeks and months, one by one I opened the bottles and read the cards that I had received at the gathering. Each card shared a memory or expressed gratitude for our time together, leaving me to wonder who they were talking about. Despite my strong suspicion that I could not be that person, I did drink the wine. With a few small family gatherings and dinners with friends, I thought the final bottle was opened in early September.  

But it was December when I found one special bottle that had attempted to hide and avoid consumption. A few bottles clearly had been chosen for their names, as the accompanying cards detailed. There was a wine called “Pessimist” where a Principal had written above that “Not a,” to indicate the challenges we had worked through together. Another, from an Assistant Principal was called, “Born of Fire,” to indicate the trials one can face in the day of the life of a community with so many moving parts, each with needs, wants, desires and each just a bit unpredictable.  While many bottles were not to be forgotten for their taste, one bottle’s name stood out and kept finding its way back to thoughts - 1,000 Stories. As the card noted, “Oh the tales we could tell!”  She went on to exclaim that we should tell all the stories that we can, maybe all 1,000.

Now, there are some stories, some storms that I have experienced, that must and will remain untold. I will not write about the call I received from an Assistant Principal when leaving a zoo while on vacation with my family alerting me about an anonymous envelope sent to our school with photographs that kicked off weeks of investigation with significant and life changing implications for quite a few people. Nor will I recount a meeting that I thought was for one purpose, but where other details were shared that consumed time, resources, energy and worry over the course of the following four years, that while distressing at times, did lead to a number of good things. Also, I will not comment upon the arrest of a parent that led to bouts of obsessive hand washing by staff, myself included, and much time spent with staff to move forward from the trauma. Similarly I will not discuss a surprise package I received on the first day of a new leadership position which welcomed me into a drama not of my making, but which I needed to devote much thought to working past in the years that followed, never quite getting to the end of the story, but making the best of a complex web. Then there are those stories no one other than a fellow Principal or Superintendent would believe, and others that are so sensitive that even a hint might violate a trust. Clearly, you will not hear about those stories from me.

Still there are stories we all should share about those unexpected, unanticipated moments and their hold on our heart and our thoughts. Stories about the challenges we faced in the arena and how we responded, when we failed and when we succeeded.  Stories that when we close our eyes we are transported back to the time of each tale.  In thinking about stories to tell, I see an image of an inspirational quote that I came upon during a classroom visit some years ago. Graced with a picture of a regal and wise Maya Angelou, who appeared to be deep in reflection, the words were written, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”  

While I am still in the arena, I am working on writing these stories that I can tell, reflections really, forged through more than a few years of time spent in the company of educators, students, parents, and all in our learning community.  I encourage others in the arena of schools to share their stories as those who, “actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions” and who if fails, “at least fails while daring greatly.” We have much to teach ourselves and future generations in the telling.


Read more about The Complexities of Head of School Leadership, Shaping Lives and Building Legacy, The 200 Percent Dilemma, The Headship Paradox, Leadership at the Intersection of Complexity and Vision, The Joys of Leading a School, Managing Workload and Wellbeing, and The Manager-Leader Conundrum.