Moving Ahead With Distance Education in Montana

Story by Bracken Reed
Photos by John Reddy

Fairfield, Montana—It's not what you would expect.

It's late September. You turn off Highway 200 and head northwest on U.S. 89. The two-lane road runs through grain fields—barley cut to blonde stubble, and rolls of alfalfa left sitting in the fields like random, ice-age boulders. On this flat, treeless benchland you can see the town miles before you reach it: a clump of windbreak trees, a water tower. You can imagine its wide, dusty streets, the tidy, modest houses, the rail line passing below grain silos whose corrugated metal you can just make out, glinting in the sun on this blue-sky afternoon.

Ten miles out, you pass a day-care center run out of a manufactured home. Four small girls bounce wildly on a trampoline in the shade of a giant cottonwood, its bright yellow leaves falling around them. Small-town life. The stark beauty of autumn in the Big Sky grain country of north central Montana. A man in a cowboy hat passes in a white diesel pickup and lifts two fingers from the steering wheel in ritual salute, a gesture as natural as wind over wheat. This is all as you might expect it to be.

But rounding a curve, you crest a small rise, and suddenly the town is laid out before you. The Harvest Hills Golf Course sprawls to the left, as flat and false-green as a pool table. Ahead on the right, a scraggly game farm sits back from the road—a few camels, some tired-looking elk, a llama, possibly, lurking in the shadows of a muddy barn.

A golf course in a farm town with less than a thousand people? Camels? It's a strange sight. Before you can make sense of it all, you're into Fairfield proper where suddenly things look familiar again. Here are the false-front buildings, the wide streets, the Cozy Corner Cafe, the Servicemen's Club at the VFW Post 4109 ("public welcome"). Here, too, are the Busch Agricultural Resources, the Treasure State Seed Company, the Faith Bible Church, and a Sinclair station with a convenience store called, "The Store."

At the east end of the main street, next to the water tower, stands the brown brick schoolhouse. Elementary, junior high, and high school all run out of one campus—the modern version of the one-room schoolhouse. Behind the school the grain fields spread to the eastern horizon.

Changing With The Times

Fairfield is not the stereotypical isolated, rural outpost you might have imagined. Neither as unpredictable as a Montana camel, nor as typical as a Cozy Corner Cafe, it is, instead, a traditional farming town finding its way in the modern world. To survive, it has had to adapt and diversify.

Although it still relies heavily on the agricultural market for its malting barley, which is primarily bought by Anheuser Busch, Fairfield also has one foot in the world of high technology. One of its largest employers is Three Rivers Communications, which started as a small telephone cooperative but now provides cell phone, Internet, digital TV, and regular telephone service to a large area.

Beneath its farm-town surface, Fairfield is a fully connected community that is not afraid of change. It's not surprising, then, that Fairfield High School was one of the first schools in Montana to sign up for a new, statewide distance education program.

A Vision And A Plan

The story of how the Montana K-12 Online Distance Learning Initiative came into being, however, is another case of overturned expectations. While several states have created centralized, statewide distance learning programs, few of them are run entirely out of a university, with little or no involvement by the state department of education.

John Lundt, a professor in the School of Education at the University of Montana, in Missoula, is the primary architect of Montana K-12 Online. A self-described "educational futurist" and "political conservative," Lundt is the co-author of a book called Leaving School: Finding Education (Matanzas Press, 2004), which argues for radical changes to the current public education system. A one-time public school teacher and principal himself, Lundt is not afraid of controversy.

In person, he is an articulate and forceful speaker, with a passionate temperament that burns just under the surface. He has the slightly impatient air of someone who believes he has found important answers and is irritated that others cannot immediately see the wisdom of his plan. His conversation is peppered with potentially explosive comments, such as "No Child Left Behind reminds me very much of Lyndon Johnson's Great Society, in that it was built on a fallacy," and "Public education has been in pretty much of a free fall for the last 50 years."

Lundt is a polarizing figure within Montana's education system, with ideas for the future of public education that are compelling to some and appalling to others. Chief among those ideas is the use of online learning to meet the needs of cash-strapped schools and districts, while simultaneously addressing issues such as the need for highly qualified teachers, and the need to individualize instruction.

Among those who have found his ideas compelling are a small group of conservative legislators and political activists, most prominent among them, Republican State Senator Rick Laible from the Bitteroot Valley, just south of Missoula, and U of M law professor Rob Natelson, whose conservative political views are well known in the state.

According to Lundt, Senator Laible read his book, which also advocates homeschooling in some cases, and approached him with questions about creating a statewide distance education program. Around this same time, in June of 2003, the state was the recipient of $73 million as part of President Bush's federal economic stimulus package.

Judy Martz, the Republican governor at the time, at first declined to spend the portion of this federal windfall that was not expressly designated for tax cuts and emergency forest fire relief. Eventually she was swayed by public opinion and parceled out the remaining funds. At a news conference in November of that year, Martz asked that a $250,000 grant be directed toward expanding distance-learning programs in the state. She was reported as saying, "I think these dollars would be best served in a program for our K-12 students. The money can be used for instruction where it's most needed, for rural and isolated students."

How this grant came to be awarded to the University of Montana is a matter of some controversy. According to Claudette Morton, executive director of the Montana Small Schools Alliance, "several of us in public education were quite taken aback. We were quite surprised, in fact, that it was the U of M that would get the pilot because of their 'outstanding program,' because we all said, 'Gee, we hadn't heard much about the program.'"

Some people were uneasy about the deal being struck outside of a competitive grant process that would take into account an applicant's proven track record in online learning. Several universities, not including the U of M, had been the recipients of federal Preparing Tomorrow's Teachers to Use Technology (PT3) grants, and had already done significant work in online learning, for instance.

According to Morton, a longtime proponent of distance education in Montana, this only scratches the surface of the many successful distance education programs that already existed in the state prior to the grant. These projects range from small schools or districts that share expert teachers via Web or video technology, to the Advanced Placement courses that Montana's Office of Public Instruction provides to approximately 80 schools. Such programs are the result of years of hard work by many organizations, schools, districts, and OPI employees, says Morton. For her, and many others in the state, the grant was an opportunity for the governor's office and the legislature to finally recognize and support these efforts. "It seems a shame that the governor's office chose not to build on the work of these ongoing programs," she says.

For many in the state, awarding the $250,000 grant to a single institution was also a point of contention. As Michael Hall, instructional technology coordinator for OPI and a major contributor to the development of the state's distance education standards observes, "In Montana the focus has always been on local control. Typically, it has been districts that have taken on the issue of distance learning and made it work."

That the grant would fund a program to be overseen by a university professor with outspoken views on the failure of public education was even more troubling to some.

Lance Melton, executive director of the Montana School Boards Association (MTSBA), puts it plainly. "I take issue," he says, "with the fact that our [former] governor dedicated sorely needed public funds to the direct control of an individual whose goal is to destroy public education as we know it."

But Lundt says, "I have a reputation for getting things done, and that is what they needed with this rather than having it get lost in the quagmire of committee and compromise." Yet, as it turned out, holding meetings and reaching a compromise were some of the first things Lundt had to do. With the help of Senator Laible, Lundt was able to address the concerns of those in public education, at least in the short term.

Among those concerns were that some of the grant money might be used to provide services to homeschooled students, that uncertified teachers might be hired, and that courses might be developed without oversight from either the OPI or the Montana State Board of Public Education to ensure that they met Montana Student Content Standards.

According to Lundt, these concerns were misplaced. "It was never my intent to use uncertified teachers" he says, "and serving homeschool students through their home district was always part of the plan. All courses are aligned with state standards and have the exact same content as the courses presented in schools."

For Lundt, the controversy is less about the specifics of the K-12 Online program and more about the fear of change and a public school establishment that does not want competition. "Many [public school employees] are afraid that any change will upset the system that they work in, and they are right in that respect," he says. "It will force them to change the way they do business, and there is nothing more frightening to people than change."

While Lundt's comments back up his own admission that he is "not much of a politician," and "doesn't have those tactful diplomatic skills," he has also lived up to his reputation as a hard-driving administrator who gets things done.

Within two months of officially being awarded the grant, the Montana K-12 Online program had already chosen its software program, called Blackboard, and completed a statewide assessment of the need for online classes. By spring 2004, planners had selected which courses would be offered, based on that needs assessment, and had started recruiting teachers. Before the school year was out they had also selected which schools would be participating, based on need, and most students had already signed up for fall classes.

The process, says Lundt, was thorough and devoid of politics. "We looked at the courses that would give us the greatest amount of enrollment," he says, "based on the greatest need as expressed in the survey, and then we picked the top 13 courses, which is the number we had determined we could afford [to offer]."

Teacher hires were similarly handled. "We advertised, and we also received nominations from administrators around the state," says Lundt. "We went through an elaborate hiring process: We did online interviews, phone interviews, talked to their references, and hired 13 excellent people."

That summer, the teachers were given three full weeks of face-to-face training in the use of the Blackboard system and the elements of effective online teaching. By this fall, less than a year after the grant was first awarded, students were participating in online classes. Among that first crop of students were several from Fairfield High School.

Feeling The Squeeze

When former Governor Martz first awarded the pilot grant for Montana K-12 Online, she mentioned the specific needs of rural and isolated areas, as well as the need for highly qualified teachers as required by the No Child Left Behind Act. What she did not mention was the woeful condition of educational funding in the state. Both Lundt and Morton agree that the OPI simply did not have the people or resources to support a statewide distance education program.

Lundt points to a recent lawsuit brought against the state, in which school boards hired a consultant to examine the funding of public education in Montana. The outcome of this study was a call for a $350 million infusion of funds into the system. Lundt is far from alone in his observation that that infusion "isn't going to happen," although the Montana Supreme Court has ruled in favor of those who brought the suit, which included both the MTSBA and the MREA.

While this ruling may eventually bring some relief, it's clear that Montana's public education system is in the middle of a severe financial crisis. And no one has been hit harder than rural schools.

Fairfield High School Principal Les Meyer is all too familiar with the scenario. In the past school year, the Fairfield district lost both a math teacher and a principal, neither of whom have been replaced due to budgetary constraints. In fact, Meyer is now the principal for grades 6-12, while the district superintendent, Mark Anderson, covers grades K-5.

At the same time, the high school saw an increase in enrollment. With a total of about 175 in grades 9-12, the district, which also absorbs junior and senior high students from the feeder schools in two nearby communities, has been stretched to the breaking point. "We were looking at larger classes," says Meyer, "and in some cases, it was even a matter of, where are these students going to go?"

When the school heard about the Montana K-12 Online program, they jumped at the opportunity to participate. "It really helped relieve some of the pressure of the schedule," says Meyer. "I don't know what we would have done without it."

A Learning Curve

The 13 courses eventually offered to students range from an advanced U.S. History class to an elementary science class to geometry, Spanish, French, and U.S. government. Each class accepts a maximum of 20 students, and most are either at or just below maximum capacity.

At Fairfield, nine juniors and seniors are currently taking an online creative writing class, which the school would otherwise have been unable to offer. The course had a few snags at first, says Fairfield's academic counselor, Cindy Luoma.

"The main problem for us is that they didn't start the class until September fifteenth," she says, "while we started school in the middle of August. That meant that we had to figure out something for them to do for a few weeks."

Principal Meyer, a former English teacher, stepped in ably, teaching the class face-to-face for the first several weeks, but the transition from that format to an online format was a bit shaky for some students. Brian, a senior who also serves as the school's assistant computer technician, admits that he preferred the face-to-face approach, even though he is extremely comfortable with computers and the Internet.

"It was just a lot different," he says. "It was hard to get used to the online format at first. I didn't really understand what was expected of us."

Despite some reservations, Brian and his fellow creative writing students all expressed a willingness to take more online classes. As another student, Vince, put it, "The flexibility is great. You can do your work during the study hour or you can do it at home, if you've got other things going on. I would definitely take another online class."

Turf Wars

Whether those online classes will continue to be offered through the University of Montana is difficult to say. Legislators will determine the fate of the program in their January 2005 session, and some people are still unhappy with a university-run program. Melton says the university has no state constitutional authority to operate such a program. Only local, elected trustees may have supervision and control over K-12 public education, he says.

In fact, the Montana School Boards Association has already been working with the Montana Rural Education Association to create a competing proposal. Their program would use both VisionNet (a consortium of telephone cooperatives that provides a statewide videoconferencing network) and Blackboard courseware to provide distance education courses to all participating districts.

The program, called the Montana Schools E-Learning Consortium, focuses on local control, with each district paying a flat fee of $4,000 to join. The program's backers estimate the need for approximately $200,000 to cover start-up costs, but according to the MTSBA's Melton, "It's already in full swing, with 36 participating districts, representing 52,000 students" signed up to participate in fall 2005. (The Montana Schools E-Learning Consortium Web site is at www.mtsba.org/dlprogram.)

As Lundt puts it, "There's a turf war going on in Montana" over the future of distance learning in the state. Lundt finds the current struggles less important than the continuation of online learning, no matter who is running it.

"There are more reports on the failure of public education than would fit in this room," he says, from his university office. "There is certainly a need for change."

Whether the Montana K-12 Online pilot program receives continued funding or not, it's clear that Lundt will continue to work toward realizing his vision of change, and online learning will continue to be a central part of that vision.

When asked what the future might hold for Montana's public schools, Lundt says, "I think that the local school will survive simply as a community learning opportunity, and it will always be here in some form. But it will not be in the form of a factory model that we have been so used to in the twentieth century. It will be more like it was prior to that time, in which learning had a variety of options. School was one of them, but it was not the only one."

Looking Ahead

As the Fairfield creative writing students gather for a photograph in the bright glare of the afternoon sun, it's impossible to look at their fresh faces and polite, shy demeanor and not think of the future that lies ahead for them.

"Nobody ever wants to stay in farming, if that's what you're asking," the counselor, Luoma, had said earlier in the day, when asked about the average student's plans.

As they stand in a field of barley stubble in the middle of the Fairfield Bench, the beauty of Big Sky country stretching into the distance in every direction, you wonder. They may not want to farm, they may want to wade out into the depths of the larger world, but it's hard to believe that some of them won't long for home. Whatever the future holds for online public education in Montana, whatever the future holds for these teenagers standing in a field on a glorious autumn day, there's one thing we can probably all count on: It won't be what we expected.