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MERIDIAN, Idaho—When science teacher Larry Ford got the phone call about a job opening at Meridian Academy alternative high school, "right away the red flags went up," he recalls. He pictured "kids with chains, motorcycles, Hell's Angels." The Hollywood-inspired images of knife-wielding hoodlums troubled the bookish teacher, whose last job was in Scottsdale, an affluent Arizona suburb where "Mama is a brain surgeon, Daddy's a corporate lawyer" and Junior is headed to Stanford or Harvard. "I am not streetwise," Ford confesses, recalling the trepidation he felt at confronting a classroom full of at-risk students. "I thought, 'Those kids'll eat me up.'" A single day at the academy vanquished Ford's misconceptions. The students he found at Meridian were familiar to him—not from movies and TV, but from big, traditional high schools. They are the "church-mouse quiet" kids who sit at the rear of packed classrooms, unnoticed. Sometimes they sleep at their desk. Often they're absent. They fall farther and farther behind while their teachers, unaware of their troubles, are "going 100 miles an hour" through the mandated curriculum. "I was looking at those little faces," Ford says, "and I recognized them immediately. I thought, 'I know you. You're the kids that weren't getting the attention.' All of a sudden, I realized these were good kids—these were good kids. It was the exact opposite of that image I had in my mind." Ford's term for such a student is "the invisible child." Over and over, Meridian Academy students tell about feeling overlooked, anonymous, and unimportant at the big high schools, which typically serve hundreds or even thousands of youths. "Lost in the shuffle" is how they often describe their experience. To these kids, the 150-student alternative school is a last chance, a final opportunity to earn a diploma. Their school is set among industrial parks and horse pastures in this fast-growing farming-town-turned-bedroom-community near Boise. Meridian Academy offers a chance at success for youths who've dropped out or nearly dropped out, who lag far behind their classmates in credits and grades, who have children or babies on the way, who have drug or drinking problems, who act out or break the law, and youths who've left home to live on their own. "Every student has a different reason why they're here," says history teacher Bob Taylor, a founding staff member at the eight-year-old school. "Lack of intelligence, however, is not a reason—not ever." In a decade of dealing with at-risk youth, Taylor has never found an incapable learner. What he has found in abundance are what he calls "discouraged learners." Among the discouraged learners attending Meridian Academy are: • Amanda, an 18-year-old married mother whose year-old baby, Hailey, stays in Meridian's onsite day-care center while Amanda attends classes. After dropping out to have her baby, Amanda decided to return to school for her diploma. "I don't want to be a stupid mom," Amanda told a group of visiting educators recently. "I don't want my daughter to come home and ask me a question, and I don't know the answer." She says the "one- on-one" at Meridian has made biggest difference in her school life. "It's the best school I've gone to," she says. "Everybody is really focused on goals, not just getting by. And they're really understanding with teen moms." • Sean (a pseudonym), whose dad died after accidentally shooting himself while the boy, then 11, was in the next room. "It was a really grueling sight for an 11-year-old to see—for anybody to see," Sean says. After getting heavily involved in drugs and finally dropping out of school ("I absolutely, positively hated Middleton High School"), Sean found his way to Meridian. "All the teachers really care about you. I've heard five times I've been talked about in staff meetings." Now a 4.0 student, Sean aspires to a career as a police officer. • Anna, a 16-year-old who is repeating her freshman year after failing at the big high school. "There were too many kids there," she says. "I sat in the back and raised my hand, but I never got any help. I went home crying every day. Here, everyone is very accepting. I know now that I'm going to graduate." She wants to attend college and become a counselor at an alternative school—a goal that would have been unthinkable before Meridian. "I always had really bad grades, and I thought no college would accept me. Now I have all As." Students and faculty agree that the school's small size is its biggest strength. With only 15 kids in the average class, teachers greet each student as he or she comes through the door. When problems at home or in school are evident in a student's face or demeanor, the teacher pulls the child aside and offers help. For example, one recent Tuesday a boy came to school angry and agitated. His first-period teacher directed him to the counselor, who mediated a two-hour discussion between the student and his parents about a family problem that had upset the boy. Later that day, Taylor—one of two teachers assigned to afternoon parking-lot duty, where they bid farewell to students each day—gently consoled a girl who was crying and threatening to drop out over an incident involving some other students. Telling her "how bad the staff would feel " if she didn't come back, Taylor advised her to seek out the school counselor and confer with the principal to solve the problem in a more positive way. "I just wanted to let her know we were there and we cared," Taylor said afterward. The Number One reason students give for liking Meridian Academy is just that: Teachers care. "All the teachers were glad to have me," says John, who came to Meridian after dropping out of the local high school midway through his sophomore year. "They make you feel like you're important—you, as a person. It blew my mind. I loved it from the first day. Everybody is really welcoming." Greeting students at the classroom door "every single day" is a schoolwide strategy the staff uses to connect with students, Taylor says. Engaging each student in class each day is another way teachers make kids feel visible and valuable. First names are used exclusively at Meridian, where the signs outside the modular classrooms read Room 5—Bob, or Room 12—Larry. Friday afternoons, teachers and students meet for "family group" —one teacher to 10 or 12 students—where problems are aired, support is given, and bonds are forged. After collecting their diplomas at the yearly commencement ceremony, graduating seniors get an embrace from each of their teachers in the "hug line." The family feeling that flows from this culture of caring helps fill the biggest gap in many at-risk students' lives: a stable and nurturing home life. The lack of family structure, in fact, is the "common denominator" for Meridian students, according to Principal Marilyn Reynolds. "I like the family environment," says Ethan, who has kicked a drug habit to become an honor student at Meridian. "The boss over here (he points to Reynolds)—she's like our mom." Teaching Strategies The basic curriculum at Meridian Academy is nearly identical to the curriculum of other local schools. Textbooks are the same. Nothing is watered down. But that's about where the similarities between Meridian and regular high schools stop. Drop in on any class, any time, and you'll observe students discussing a magazine article, rehearsing a play, building a science exhibit, cooking a meal. You'll see students working in groups, tutoring each other, conferring one-on-one with teachers, compiling portfolios of their best work. What you won't see are teachers lecturing at the front of the room while students listen passively. "I have students get involved with what they're learning—build it or make it or do it—instead of reading it out of a book and answering the questions at the back," says PE and health teacher Audra Urie. "They all have different learning styles, and I teach to all of them—the verbal learners, the hands-on learners, the auditory learners, the visual learners. I want my kids to be physical and talk and communicate." Caring for "simulator babies" around the clock was one recent activity for Urie's health and adult-living classes. In the "Baby Think It Over" program, students sample parenthood with computerized dolls that act like real babies, right down to the 2 a.m. feeding. Both boys and girls tote car seats, diaper bags, and blanketed "babies" around school and at home, keeping diaries about their experience and engaging in class discussions about issues such as child abuse and neglect. In Greenbelt Guides, a class developed by Taylor, Meridian Academy students teach lessons in botany, biology, ecology, and geology to local fourth-graders. The older students lead the younger ones on an exploration of the 90-acre Boise River greenbelt, which includes a wildlife preserve and 15 miles of paved paths. The 16 lessons unlock the secrets of local flora and fauna such as willow, cottonwood, blue heron, and beaver. They recreate the geologic history of nearby Boise Range. They reveal the principles of the food chain. They discuss human impact, both positive and negative, on the land and on the water. They weave local lore and history throughout the curriculum. Community collaborators on the class include the Boise Historical Museum, the Basque Center, and the Idaho Department of Fish and Game. Science Circus is another Meridian program that brings together Meridian students with elementary kids for mutual enrichment. In this project, funded by a $15,000 grant from US West, the high schoolers once again serve as mentors and teachers when they research, build, and write science demonstrations for younger students. They prepare packets for elementary teachers and suggest follow-up activities to extend the lessons, which travel to area elementary schools. The one place where Meridian's curriculum veers from the mainstream is the added requirement for a career awareness class called Work Orientation—a place where students can begin linking their learning to life beyond the campus. The class, which offers a job shadowing experience and guest speakers from the community, focuses on topics such as interview skills and resume-writing strategies, and helps students assess their job-related abilities and interests. One policy cuts across all subject areas: no homework. A big reason at-risk kids so often fall behind in regular schools, according to Meridian staff, is that they rarely complete their homework. Many come from homes of poor or modest means, and they need to hold after-school jobs. Some have babies or toddlers who need their attention. Others attend trade school or vocational classes at night. And many come from homes that are chaotic, violent, or abusive. Concentrating on the French Revolution or the conjugation of Spanish verbs in the midst of family turmoil is tough for even the most well-intentioned student. To compensate for the lack of homework, class time is extended to an hour and seven minutes. Friday afternoons are dedicated to finishing or making up work. Kids who've completed all their assignments can leave early—a powerful incentive for students to stay on top of their schoolwork. Three Saturdays each quarter, teachers are available to help students catch up on missed work. Teacher expectations for Meridian students are not just high—they're huge. Students must achieve at least a 70 percent record in each class, or keep working until they do. While nearly a quarter of Meridian students who start each fall leave by spring, the 75-percent retention rate is remarkable for a population that had been 100 percent on track for dropping out, Reynolds notes. Says Taylor: "I guarantee you, when you set high expectations, the kids will rise to meet them." Discipline At Meridian Academy, the teachers' caring attitude attends to students' hearts. Hands-on, student-centered teaching attends to students' minds. A third key element of the Meridian mix—clear, consistent discipline—attends to students' behavior. For kids whose home lives typically lack order and structure, and whose school careers often are blotted by tardiness, truancy, and other troubles, unequivocal discipline is mandatory, says Meridian's principal. "These kids have proven that they don't do well without a lot of structure," Reynolds says. "Part of love is discipline. Good parents administer discipline; there are clear expectations, and the consequences are administered fairly. That's what we do here. I think that's partly why we become the family."
As chief disciplinarian, Reynolds' tasks include signing forms from the state verifying that students are enrolled and therefore can qualify for a driver's license (in Idaho, dropouts lose their licenses). She writes notes to probation officers vouching for young violators' regular attendance and good citizenship in school. And she handles referrals from teachers—lots of them. Just after spring break, she shuffles through a backlog of warnings and referrals, most of them fairly mild in nature. "Oh, my gosh," Reynolds exclaims as she looks through the stack of green slips. "Calvin (a pseudonym) has a discipline referral for using the F-word." "I want to hear about this, young man," she says when Calvin is seated in her office. "How did that happen?" "Honestly, I can't tell you how that word came out," he says, sounding genuinely mystified. She looks through Calvin's file, going over his past offenses—kissing another student on campus, throwing a hair tie during an assembly, rough-housing, being late, slipping off-task in computer lab. He agrees to watch his language and actions more closelythe future. The parade of errant students to the principal's office continues. Several students are in a precarious spot. With two discipline referrals for the semester, they are just one referral from being sent back to their home high school—a terrifying fate for many Meridian kids. "To even hint that you might send them back to that other environment, they just go nuts," says Ford. "It's just like saying, 'We're going to cast you off into hell.' They've experienced terrible failure there. Who among us wants to go back and be a loser again?" As difficult as it is to send kids away, Reynolds is comforted by knowing that all students are well versed in the Student Behavior Policy—a terse, two-page document which they must read and sign when they are admitted and each semester thereafter. Because students sit on the policy committee and have a hand in shaping it, they regard it with a sense of ownership. When they don't like the policy, they have an avenue for protest. Most importantly, Reynolds says, they know that discipline at Meridian is even-handed, never arbitrary. "Sometimes I'm in tears, and they're in tears," she says. "But they hug me and they understand, because it is consistent, and they know the rules." After three referrals (or two from the same teacher), students are sent to Student Court. In this most unusual court, teachers, counselors, and principal serve simultaneously as witnesses, jurors, advocates, prosecutors, and judges. They present evidence of the student's misdeeds, but only after describing the student's positive traits, abilities, and accomplishments. The student and his or her parents get a full voice in the proceedings—a chance to explain circumstances that led to the rule violations and to make assurances for better performance in the future. In the end, the student and parents leave the room, and staff members vote to keep or dismiss the youth. "It was done with love," says Debra Woods, a mother whose tardiness-prone son Donald recently avoided going back to his old school when the Student Court voted to give him another chance to get to class on time. Straight-A student Ashley (a pseudonym) wound up in Student Court recently after missing 14 days of school—many of them without the required note from a doctor's office or courthouse explaining the absence. One by one, the staff talked about Ashley's outstanding scholarship and their puzzlement over her absences. "I see in you a wonderful, bright, articulate student who can do anything," said English teacher Tina Roehr. "When a teacher gets a student like that, she says, 'Thank you, God.' I want you to graduate more than anything in the world. I want to know what we can do to keep you." Tearfully, Ashley admitted to suffering from family- and school-related stress and frequent bouts of depression. She said she would seek a doctor's prescription for an anti depressant medication that had helped her battle depression in the past. She asked them not to send her back to her old school, which she disliked because "it was big and impersonal." "It was like I was a number instead of a student," she said. After she left the room with her dad, staff members quickly cast their votes on pink slips, which they folded and passed to Reynolds. "You bunch of wimps," she said, jokingly. The staff had voted to give Ashley one more chance to stay at Meridian Academy. As part of the contract she would sign, she would agree to check in with the school counselor weekly and to stay on her medication. Body Language When administrators from other Boise-area schools visit Meridian Academy, they often are floored by the change they see in students who once were sullen or surly. "They can't believe the demeanor of the kids," Reynolds says. "Their body language has changed. Their whole persona is different. There's a different aura around them." It's the aura of success, says Larry Ford. "Physically, you can read their body language when they come in," he says. "Their shoulders are rolled. They will not look me in the eye. Their heads are down, and they mumble. They're belligerent. They've been beat up and picked on by teachers, adults at home, other students. You'll hear 'em say, 'I'm a loser. I'm dumb. I'm stupid.'" He tells a story of an 18-year-old boy standing at his desk after class, crying. When Ford asked him what was wrong, the boy held up an assignment that had just been returned. It was marked with a B. He said: "I've always gotten Ds or Fs. This is the first B I've ever had." Says Ford: "They start to experience success. It only takes a few weeks, and you notice they raise their head up. Next, they start looking you in the eye, and their shoulders are back. Pretty soon, they start thinking about vocational school or technical school or college—the last thing they ever thought about in their lives."
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Date of Last Update: 9/28/01 
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To get at least a 3.0 for my GPA
