Our Superintendent sent this to us this afternoon.
BLUEBERRY STORY
A Businessman Learns a Lesson
by Jamie Robert Vollmer
"If I ran my business the way you people operate your schools, I
wouldn't be in business very long!" I stood before an auditorium filled
with outraged teachers who were becoming angrier by the minute.. My
speech had entirely consumed their precious 90 minutes of in-service.
Their initial icy glares had turned to restless agitation. You could
cut the hostility with a knife.
I represented a group of business people dedicated to improving public
schools. I was an executive at an ice cream company that became famous
in the middle 1980s when People Magazine chose our blueberry as the
"Best Ice Cream in America." I was convinced of two things.
First, public schools needed to change; they were archaic selecting
and sorting mechanisms designed for the industrial age and out of step
with the needs of our emerging "knowledge society."
Second, educators were a major part of the problem: they resisted
change, hunkered down in their feathered nests, protected by tenure and
shielded by a bureaucratic monopoly.
They needed to look to business. We knew how to produce quality. Zero
defects! TQM! Continuous improvement! In retrospect, the speech was
perfectly balanced equal parts ignorance and arrogance.
As soon as I finished, a woman's hand shot up. She appeared polite,
pleasant - she was, in fact, a razor-edged, veteran, high school
English teacher who had been waiting to unload. She began quietly, "We
are told, sir, that you manage a company that makes good ice cream."
I smugly replied, "Best ice cream in America, Ma'am."
"How nice," she said. "Is it rich and smooth?"
"Sixteen percent butterfat," I crowed.
"Premium ingredients?" she inquired.
"Super-premium! Nothing but triple A." I was on a roll.
I never saw the next line coming. "Mr. Vollmer," she said, leaning
forward with a wicked eyebrow raised to the sky, "when you are standing
on your receiving dock and you see an inferior shipment of blueberries
arrive, what do you do?"
In the silence of that room, I could hear the trap snap. I was dead
meat, but I wasn't going to lie. "I send them back."
"That's right!" she barked, "and we can never send back our
blueberries. We take them big, small, rich, poor, gifted, exceptional,
abused, frightened confident, homeless, rude, and brilliant. We take
them all: GT, ADHD, ADD, SLD, EI, MMR, OHI, TBI, DD, Autistic, junior
rheumatoid arthritis, English as their second language, etc.
We take them all! Everyone!
And that, Mr. Vollmer, is why it's not a business. It's a school!"
In an explosion, all 290 teachers, principals, bus drivers, aides,
custodians and secretaries jumped to their feet and yelled, "Yeah!
Blueberries! Blueberries!"
And so began my long transformation.
Since then, I have visited hundreds of schools. I have learned that a
school is not a business.
Schools are unable to control the quality of their raw material, they
are dependent upon the vagaries of politics for a reliable revenue
stream, and they are constantly mauled by a howling horde of disparate,
competing customer groups that would send the best CEO screaming into the night.
None of this negates the need for change. We must change what, when and how we teach to give all children maximum opportunity to thrive in a
post-industrial society.
But educators cannot do this alone; these changes can occur only with
the understanding, trust, permission and active support of the
surrounding community.
For the most important thing I have learned is that schools reflect the
attitudes, beliefs and health of the communities they serve, and
therefore, education means more than changing our schools, it means
changing America
