For more than 20 years now, I’ve been an education reporter. Most of the time, I’ve loved it. I go into more schools than the milk delivery guy. I regularly visit 20 different counties and school districts, more than a hundred schools every year. The rich ones, the poor ones, the new ones, the crumbling ones. I’ve attended the groundbreakings and dedication ceremonies for just about every new school that’s opened in the past twenty years, and that’s always fun.
During this time, I’ve met hundreds of principals. Most of them understand my role. If their school has great test scores, or wins a big award, I should cover it. But if their school is vandalized, or a teacher gets in trouble, I should cover that too. Early on, a few principals hit me with this painful accusation: “You only come here when it’s something bad.” Sadly, too often they were right. I pledged to visit them when something good was going on too, to give them positive coverage. That is still my goal.
As you might expect, being an education reporter, I get plenty of parental complaints. They used to arrive by letter, a few still come by phone, and now they’re most often by e-mail or Facebook. Many of the complaints are about bus drivers, quite a few are about teachers, and others are about principals. I look into each one. Most are the result of poor communication, and when the two sides actually talk, the problem resolves itself. However, some of them are valid complaints. If I do my job well, the problem either gets solved, or becomes a story in which the public is informed about an issue that could affect them.
Certainly there are poor performing principals, just as there are poor performers in every occupation you can name, including news reporters. Still, I sympathize with principals, particularly those in public schools who feel like they’re wearing huge targets on their backs.
The best principals are the ones who understand what I believe to be the three most important parts of their job. I often tell them they should spend 40 percent of their time on academics, 40 percent on discipline and 40 percent on public/parent relations. Yes, that adds up to 120 percent, but any principal will tell you they have to put in that extra time. Especially the high school principals; the money is good, absolutely. But who among us wants to unlock the door at 6 a.m., be responsible for the safety of 1,500 or more teenagers in this post-Columbine, Facebook-frenzied world, and attend every athletic event, PTA meeting, dance and fundraiser? Folks, they earn their money.
Most of them know they’re the face of their school, and the good ones know how to set the right tone for their particular campus. One of my favorites is at a rural high school. Walking down the hall with him one day, he spotted a 9th grader out of dress code. “Boy, you get that shirt tail in, or I’ll whup your (butt),” he said in a stern tone of voice. He could tell I was a bit startled by his colorful choice of words. “Aw, that’s nothing,” he said. “I grew up with that boy’s daddy. That’s the only language he understands. And he knows I’m not really gonna whup his (butt). I’d let his daddy handle that.”
Such is the life of a high school principal. Middle school principals deal with raging hormones. Elementary principals get a lot of hugs, but have to wave off clingy parents. Above all, my experience has taught me this: I’d rather report on principals than be one.
(From David Carroll’s ChattanoogaRadioTV.com)
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Having spent the majority of my 42 years in education as a principal, I believe David's opinion is right on target. In retirement, I appreciate you even more.
Tom McCullough