Cairo Association of Teachers - Newsletter

CAT Tracks for November 2, 2008 PARADISE FOUND

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Cairo any more...

Milton Hershey is famous for the sweet confection that bears his name. But a boarding school for needy children may be his most lasting legacy.

By Michelle R. Davis

Mergitu Yadeto was refusing to get in the water. Standing with other sixth-grade girls clustered around a brook trout hatchery pen, she was supposed to jump into the 54-degree water, scoop up a couple of young trout in a net and dump them into a bucket.

Other girls hopped in, winced at the cold and bagged their fish, but Mergitu would only stand on the edge of the pen and use a long-handled net to scoop from there.

"I like to eat fish," she said, "not catch it."

The girls then clambered into a Milton Hershey School van and rode 10 minutes to the banks of Manada Creek, where the fish would be released. Nate McKelvie, a teacher with the Pennsylvania boarding school's environmental program, chauffeured the fish to the stream in his pickup.

On the creek bank, McKelvie placed a speckled trout from a tank in the truck bed into a plastic bucket, which Mergitu carried to the water's edge. She tentatively dipped her toe in the creek, then waded in and tipped her bucket, letting the young fish swim free. Minutes later, Mergitu and the other girls were splashing each other and wading upstream to cool off on the steamy June day.

Some of these students had never seen a stream before they arrived at the school. "I've had kids tell me they've never stepped on grass before," McKelvie said.

That's because many of the students attending the Milton Hershey School come from inner-city neighborhoods -- though some are from rural areas -- often from families with one or both parents missing, where money is scarce and life may be scarred by alcohol, drugs or violence. Mergitu's family -- her mother, her two brothers and her grandparents -- live in a Northeast D.C. neighborhood in a cramped rowhouse with broken glass on the front sidewalk and public housing across the street. Before attending the Milton Hershey School, Mergitu had never played an instrument, developed a passion for reading or ridden a bike.

The 5,000-acre campus of the Milton Hershey School is located in the town named for its founder, chocolate magnate Milton S. Hershey. The grounds are pristine: all green rolling hills and jewel-like gardens. The school and administrative buildings are spotless, and the student homes look like neatly landscaped suburban dwellings with swing sets and bird feeders outside. There's an AstroTurf football field, lots of computer labs and a recreation area with three swimming pools, a water slide and two sandy volleyball courts. A wealth of after-school activities are available, from motorcycle-building to horticulture, a rabbit-raising club, soccer, dance or cooking.

It's a residential school for 1,800 underprivileged students from preschool through high school, many of whom arrive with learning deficits and psychological issues. More than 70 percent of the students, who must be U.S.-born, come from families at or below the poverty line. The school doesn't take students with significant criminal records, and acceptance is based on a complex analysis of poverty levels, living conditions and geography. Priority is given to students who come from the three Pennsylvania counties surrounding the school, though 65 students from the Washington area attend. "Basically, we're looking for good kids in really difficult situations who deserve a shot at a normal life," said Connie McNamara, school communications director.

In addition to the obvious amenities, the school provides a host of lesser-seen services: complete medical and dental care, including braces and glasses; food and clothing; small class sizes; intense counseling services. Most students who graduate can earn up to $75,000 each in college scholarships through a combination of moderate academic success and good behavior.

All of it is free for the students. The school's $7.5 billion endowment ranks with some of the largest in the country, and the school is prohibited from accepting money from students' families.

It was the first day of sixth-grade drama class for Mergitu, her hair in a ponytail, wearing a royal blue shirt. Teacher Beth Troxell stood onstage in a middle school auditorium, the burnished wood glowing, and took roll, calling each of the 15 girls "darling" or "sweetie" or "love."

A serious student who rarely gets ruffled, Mergitu was focused as Troxell sketched the storyline of the musical "The Lion King." Troxell talked about the death of the main character's father and its impact on the play.

"He's just aching inside," Troxell said. "The loss of his father is so big."

Mergitu's own father died in 2000 after suffering complications from diabetes. Mergitu's mother, Shegitu Godo, was left to care for Mergitu and her younger brother Jabesso. Shegitu was pregnant with her third child, a boy named Obse.

Shegitu's husband, Shinka, had lived in the United States for several years when he returned to his home country of Ethiopia in 1995 to find a wife. In Addis Ababa, he spotted Shegitu, 15 years his junior, with her wide smile and tinkling laugh, and brought her to Washington. She didn't speak much English and spent her days caring for her children in their small rowhouse.

When her husband died, Shegitu worked at day-care centers, but she had difficulty being available for her children. Mergitu was struggling at Washington's Ludlow-Taylor Elementary School, where students teased her about her name, her wide eyes and her Ethiopian descent. Jabesso, too, faced bullying that sometimes turned physical. Then Shegitu heard about the Milton Hershey School. Mergitu was accepted in 2005, and Jabesso arrived the following year. Their younger brother, Obse, 8, is now in third grade at Ludlow-Taylor and doing well, but he's waiting for a spot at the Hershey School. Shegitu works as a nanny for $13 an hour, while her parents help care for Obse.

By all accounts, Mergitu and Jabesso have flourished at the Hershey School. Mergitu, now 12 and in seventh grade, plays the flute; Jabesso, now 10 and in fifth grade, rocks the trombone in the school jazz band. Mergitu is an outstanding student; Jabesso is a leader in his class, and both are avid readers who always carry a thick book. During her sixth-grade year, Mergitu won the coveted school Visionary Award for high character. Her teachers praise her academic success, and though she's quiet, she has made good friends, something she said she didn't have at Ludlow-Taylor. Mergitu wants to go to college and become a pharmacologist to help people with diabetes like her father. "I felt bad he died," she said, "and I want to help other people who have it."

Teachers say Jabesso, who wants to be an illustrator, a professional athlete or a comedian, can be a bit of a class clown. It's a sense of humor his sister says never surfaced at school in Washington. "At Taylor, he never talked or joked around," Mergitu said. "It feels a lot safer here, even though there are a lot of rules."

But many of the students aren't as lucky as the siblings, who have a stable parent and a secure home, said Beth Shaw, a licensed psychologist and the school's executive director of student support services. About 30 percent of the students have never been to a dentist's office and "literally have a mouthful of cavities and are in chronic pain" when they arrive; up to 45 percent of students have a parent who is or was in jail. Many have faced family violence and substance abuse. Oppositional behaviors, depression, anxiety and ADHD, as well as asthma, are common. In a typical year, 45 percent of students see a therapist at least once.

Days at the Milton Hershey School are ultra-structured, and the adjustment to routine is often tough. In Mergitu's student home, girls wake up at 5:45 a.m. to dress, eat breakfast and do the chores that are a significant part of each student's day. All the students, even the youngest, have chores that range from mopping floors and scrubbing bathrooms to vacuuming and washing dishes. Each job is inspected by a house parent, who notes how well it was completed. That score is factored into an overall rating (which includes behavior) used to determine whether students get privileges such as computer access, later bedtimes or television.

One morning before school, Mergitu and the 11 other girls in her student home plowed their way through a breakfast of eggs, bagels and cream cheese, bacon and fruit, then rushed off to do their chores. In the green-tiled communal bathroom, one housemate scrubbed the toilets while Mergitu wiped mirrors and mopped floors. Mergitu's housemother, Kathi Burnham, found trash behind a wastebasket and ran a finger along the top of the three bathroom stalls to check for dust. She noted some smudges still on the mirrors and asked Mergitu to redo them.

Middle school classes start at 8 a.m., and several days a week, there are mandatory after-school activities. Sometimes students don't return home until close to dinner. After dinner, there's homework, chores and early bedtimes -- 8 p.m. in Mergitu's student home if you haven't earned privileges. The school has no religious affiliation, but there is mandatory, non-denominational chapel on Sundays; the school also provides transportation to local religious services. The schedule intentionally leaves very little free time.

"Our students often come from situations where they have had little discipline and structure in their life," said Johnny O'Brien, the school's president. The structure "gives them a sense of security and consistency."

The routine can make for a difficult transition when students go home for breaks. A sixth-grade girl said she stays up all night during school vacation, watching gory slasher movies. Another said her summer break would be filled with custody-battle court visits. Because of issues such as these, the school has shortened summer vacation to six weeks, and students are enticed to stay at school during that time with free outings to Hershey Park, camps and field trips. Older students have the opportunity to earn money through summer jobs and internships. But being away from home -- even a troubled one -- can be hard on both families and children.

Inside the student home Jabesso shared with 10 other elementary school boys, his side of the bedroom was decorated with a Spider-Man poster but no pictures of his family. "I used to have my whole room filled with pictures, but it kept my family on my mind, so I sent them home," he said. "I'm thankful I have all this, but I'm sad because I have to stay away from my family for awhile."

The Yadeto children did spend last summer at home with their family. Jabesso and Obse attended a day camp together in the District, and Mergitu went to work with her mother.

On a steamy day during that break, the family drove to an Ethiopian service at the Takoma Park Seventh-day Adventist Church. The children shared a pew with their grandparents as they listened to Bible readings in Oromo -- a language Jabesso and Mergitu don't understand. The children's grandparents don't speak English, but their bond with the kids was clear. Mergitu jokingly elbowed her grandfather, trying to follow the words of a hymn. Jabesso held his grandmother's hand and rested his head on her shoulder.

Afterward, the family headed to a Silver Spring Ethiopian restaurant, where they scooped up spicy beef and vegetable wot, or stew, with injera, the spongy Ethiopian bread, from a communal plate. The ebullient Shegitu lost a bit of her sparkle when, through mouthfuls of food, Mergitu and Jabesso said they wanted to spend the following summer at school in camp, where the activities offered are a bit more exciting. "I used to call them at the student home all the time," Shegitu, 35, said sadly. "Now Mergitu tells me she doesn't have time to talk."

That strain on family connections is often a reason students leave the school, which has a 10 percent dropout rate. "It's difficult for parents and sponsors to let go of their child," O'Brien said. "Sometimes there's a stigma in the community about sending your child away. It takes courage for parents, grandparents or other sponsors to, in a sense, give up the rearing of a child to another place."

Milton Hershey left his mark all over the town that bears his name. From the iconic towers of the Hershey chocolate factory to the roller coasters at Hershey Park, nearly everything has the stamp of chocolate on it. On the corner of Cocoa and Chocolate avenues, even the street lamps are shaped like Hershey's Kisses. But some locals still don't know much about Milton Hershey's educational legacy.

Hershey and his wife, Catherine, who never had children, founded the school in 1909. Hershey left most of his fortune to the school, which still owns a controlling interest in the chocolate company. Originally established for white orphan boys, who spent much of their time doing heavy farm work, over time the school opened its doors to minorities and girls and to those who had parents but unstable home lives. The student body is now 52 percent female and 54 percent minority.

"We intentionally kept our story under wraps," O'Brien said. But as the school's centennial celebration approaches next year, O'Brien wants to help more children. In the past four years, enrollment has increased by nearly 50 percent, and officials have a goal of attracting 200 additional students. "Our moral requirement is to serve as many children as we can," O'Brien said.

O'Brien, who is retired from a successful career advising CEOs of major companies, was tapped to lead the school after a tumultuous era in the 1990s. During that time, the school's leadership relaxed the low-income requirements and began accepting more middle-class students, moving toward a traditional prep school model. Some alumni were outraged and saw the change as a deviation from Hershey's legacy.

O'Brien, a 1961 school graduate, was one of those leading the criticism. "A lot of boarding schools address the needs of the middle class, but very few are aimed at the neediest and most alone kids," he said. "It felt like the entire intent of Mr. Hershey's mission was being left behind."

Tanned, blue-eyed and balding, with a hearty businessman's handshake, O'Brien is what some around the school affectionately refer to as a "lifer." He arrived at Milton Hershey in 1947 at age 3, along with an older brother, Frankie, who was 5. During a domestic violence incident, their alcoholic father shot and killed their mother while she held Johnny in her arms. O'Brien's father was sentenced to life in prison for first-degree murder.

"I don't remember much, other than it was traumatic and loud," O'Brien said. Back then, there was little in the way of psychological support at the school, and Frankie struggled with mental health issues until his death in 1995. But O'Brien thrived at the school, excelling academically and becoming the star quarterback. He was in the barn milking a cow 14 years after his arrival when Princeton University recruiters offered him a full athletic scholarship.

In college, he took classes in sociology and criminology and reconnected with his father, still imprisoned. Until he was in high school, O'Brien said, he didn't even know his father was still alive.

"I forgave him," O'Brien said. "It just seemed like the right thing to do." He hired a lawyer who got his father paroled after 27 years in prison.

That O'Brien's success is linked to his family's tragedy is not lost on him. "My situation turned out to be so much better here than it ever could have been at home," he said.

Returning to the school as president felt like fate. At his inauguration in 2003, O'Brien said, his eyes filled with tears as the band played "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again."

Jabesso, who shares his sister's long-lashed doe eyes and chocolate skin, was on his way to class in early June. At 7:50 a.m., he and his housemates headed out the door, his housefather patting each boy on the back as they exited.

The boys set out along a paved path for the five-minute walk. Tall trees provided shade, birds were chirping, and the boys were momentarily captivated by a swarm of ants streaming across the path.

Jabesso's energetic fourth-grade teacher, Sandra Daylor, originally from Puerto Rico, took her 15 students through long division. They listened to announcements, had a snack and read a bit of "Charlotte's Web."

The Hershey School spends $74,000 annually per pupil for education and boarding. Average class size is about 15 students, and the school has 195 teachers, 18 of them nationally board-certified. For the first time last year, the students took the Pennsylvania state assessment tests -- required of public schools but not of private. The results were mixed, but school officials consider the testing an important gauge to measure future progress against state standards. "It's tough teaching here," Daylor said. "It's emotional and physical. Most of the kids come here with baggage, and it's a challenge." Last year, 78 percent of the graduating class went on to a four-year college or university.

Daylor is a former public school teacher who came to the school after a troubled student in her class died. Many of the teachers and staff seem to have personal reasons for being here: the IT professional turned math teacher who sought a higher purpose after her daughter's death; the English teacher who called himself an "ADHD poster child"; the activities coordinator who is a school alum. But the thrills and fears of watching children struggle, fail and succeed can often feel like a trip on the brand-new Fahrenheit roller coaster at Hershey Park.

"The school offers so much to students," Daylor said. "All they need to do is to grab on to it."

Mergitu and Jabesso are holding on to everything the school offers. "I get to do things that I've never done before. You can learn a lot from the other kids," Jabesso said. "It's pretty good to be here."

Michelle R. Davis, a freelance writer in Silver Spring, can be reached at michrdavis@hotmail.com.