The man favored to be the next Pinellas school superintendent is driven and involved, but some say he's unable to be part of a team.
By STEPHEN NOHLGREN, THOMAS C. TOBIN and TAMARA LUSH
Published March 21, 2004
BATON ROUGE, La. - Dirt covered the courtyard of Capitol High School last fall when Clayton Wilcox and Linda Lewis toured the campus and began planting seeds of change.
Once a training ground for Baton Rouge's black elite, Capitol High had slipped into disrepair and malaise. Lockers were dented, sidewalks were broken and test scores were atrocious.
Wilcox, the school superintendent for Baton Rouge, installed Lewis, a 52-year-old farmer's daughter, as principal and told her to shake things up.
"Whatever I asked for, he gave me," Lewis said last week. More teachers. Grass for the courtyard. And a free hand to retrain teachers, raise expectations and bruise egos if necessary.
Wherever Clayton Wilcox goes, urgency seems to follow.
As an administrator in the St. Johns school district, a tiny system by Florida standards, he relaxed on weekends by taking his young family to the playground - as long as it was the playground next to his office so he could work while the kids romped.
In Baton Rouge, one of the state's poorest, most heavily black districts, he fired principals, put 23 schools under his direct control and farmed out maintenance services to private contractors.
Now Wilcox, 48, is the odds-on favorite to lead the Pinellas County school district: a larger, richer arena, but one with plenty of pitfalls.
With the impending retirement of Howard Hinesley, any new Pinellas superintendent will have to confront budget shortfalls and school choice snarls. But Wilcox also must mesh a hands-on style with a Pinellas organization that hasn't experienced significant change in nearly four decades, the last time an outsider took over.
In Baton Rouge, Wilcox made all principals read a book on educational theory, then met with them monthly to talk about it. He visited schools frequently, stopping on occasion to read to students.
"Sometimes people get confused and say I drive a school bus," Wilcox said. "I've never driven a bus, but I've ridden on a few."
In Pinellas, "I'm going to have to be more analytical," he acknowledged, "more in tune in asking the good people around me to carry the ball."
His supporters call him innovative and dedicated to bringing every child up to speed. His critics call him high-handed, an example being the time he warned the teachers at one middle school they could all be fired if scores didn't improve.
"On balance, he has done a fine job. I hope he stays," said Baton Rouge board member Roger Moser. "It's also true it hasn't been totally placid water here."
Leaving Waterloo
For Gary S. Mathews, there was no forgetting the 38-year-old job candidate. It was 10 years ago, and Mathews was superintendent of the St. Johns School District in St. Augustine. The job-seeker was Clayton Wilcox, onetime science teacher and principal from Waterloo, Iowa.
Wilcox had an ice-breaking sense of humor and obvious smarts. But something else struck Mathews.
"I liked his aggressiveness," he said. It might not sit well with some in the district, "but I personally found it refreshing."
Wilcox became personnel director, then human resources director.
Co-workers said it wasn't unusual to see Wilcox in the office at all hours. On weekends, his wife and children frequented a playground that flanked the school board building, and Wilcox would go upstairs to work. He could watch his family from his office and join them on breaks.
A voracious reader and researcher, Wilcox "brought in ideas from the outside," said Jim Springfield, a former principal.
"He was dynamic, energetic and an extreme visionary," said Cathy Geiger, the district's director for staff development. "He was not just looking at the future, but the future future."
John Delaney, then chief of the St. Johns teachers union, is not surprised that Wilcox now wants to lead the nation's 22nd-largest school district.
"He wanted to be a superintendent and made no bones about it," Delaney said. Wilcox was well-dressed, spoke all the educational lingo and "knew who the power brokers were in St. Augustine, and he would play up to them."
Some teachers complained that Wilcox had treated them brusquely, Delaney said, but Wilcox handled all allegations of teacher misconduct fairly.
After five years, opportunity knocked again. Mathews was moving and wanted to bring Wilcox with him.
This time to Baton Rouge.
A short track record
Money flows freely at two riverboat casinos docked permanently on the Mississippi River, a stone's throw from Louisiana's capital complex. City schools, however, are anything but flush.
Nearly three-fifths of East Baton Rouge Parish is white. (Louisiana calls its counties "parishes.") But white parents, many of whom are Catholic, send children in droves to parochial and private schools. Three-quarters of the 46,500 public school students are black, and many are poor.
Low achievement scores support a widespread perception that public schools are inferior, so enrollment keeps dropping. For three straight years, the School Board has hacked $10-million from its budget. Meanwhile, state legislators keep raising standards for acceptable performance.
This was the challenge in 2001, when Gary Mathews left and Clayton Wilcox took over as superintendent of East Baton Rouge Parish schools, which encompasses the city of Baton Rouge and a few outlying communities.
Until last August, desegregation consumed much of the school system's energy. Then Baton Rouge gave up busing in exchange for resources.
Needy schools got more prekindergarten programs, more teachers and extended tutorial time before and after the school day. Principals received about $30,000 a year in discretionary cash to compensate for the fundraising edge that suburban PTAs traditionally generate.
Prescott Middle School has the lowest achievement scores in the parish. It is surrounded by small, dusty frame houses built on blocks. Trash covers vacant lots on side streets.
Wilcox made A.C. Turner principal and gave him eight new teachers and 80 extra Dell computers for a student body of 575.
"Wilcox said the School Board would support us 100 percent, go in and see what needs to be done," Turner said.
He and Wilcox told Prescott teachers to work longer hours, lecture less and engage children in more interactive ways. The first year, test scores improved 50 percent, though they flattened out last year and still remain below the state minimum.
Cedarcrest-Southmoor Elementary, evenly split by race, is one of five Louisiana schools experimenting with incentive pay for teachers. Under a program designed by the Milken Foundation, the school can split an extra $80,000 among 40 teachers if both the school and individual teachers meet performance targets.
Incentive pay is rarely popular with teachers unions, particularly in a system that struggles with annual deficits.
"Some things you just have to do in a tough environment," Wilcox said. "You have to continue to invest in your people. Staff development is your lifeblood."
With less than three years experience as superintendent, Wilcox has a short track record. Two years ago, 18 of Baton Rouge's 92 schools were placed on Louisiana's school improvement list, a pleasant way of saying test scores were unacceptable.
Last year, 97 percent of students improved their scores, Wilcox said, but Louisiana raised its passing grade even higher. Now 58 Baton Rouge schools have flunked the standard, which makes them vulnerable to state takeover.
Working with a grant from the California-based Stupski Foundation, Wilcox recently put 23 of the lowest performing schools under direct control of the district office. Principals must seek approval for everything from purchasing to hiring choices. The schools will focus on basic reading and math. Student skills will be assessed every six weeks and Stupski will chip in more than $500,000 a year for teacher training and other help.
"We are going to have every child reading on grade level. Every kid will pass the exit exam," said Linda Lewis, the new Capitol High principal. "I was one of those kids who was least likely to succeed. I would start school six weeks late because I had to pick cotton. We have to have high expectations. We can't just say, "Poor Johnnie is black, he can't do it.' "
Political fallout
Not everyone is happy with Clayton Wilcox. Capitol High alum and School Board member Alfred Williams says the superintendent is not doing enough to close the achievement gap between white and black students.
Yes, Wilcox put more resources into inner-city schools, but "those are not our dollars, those are mostly state and federal dollars," said Williams, a lawyer. "If we don't address the achievement gap, we are setting up our community for failure."
Along with two other African-American members of the board, Williams has frequently clashed with Wilcox, whom Williams termed dishonest. According to Williams, Wilcox promised to consult with him before changing principals in Williams' heavily black district.
"I know an elected official is not going to choose employees," Williams said, "but let me know so I can deal with the political fallout."
A few months later, Wilcox fired the principal of Capitol Middle School, which had slipped from "exemplary academic growth" to "academic warning" on the state scale. The firing occurred on a Friday, and Wilcox informed all the board members by e-mail on Monday. Over the weekend, however, Williams got an earful from the principal's friends at church.
Wilcox said he never promised to give Williams advance warning. "There was no dishonesty here, maybe a misunderstanding," Wilcox said. "I've got to tell all the board the same thing and at the same time. Otherwise, I look like I'm playing favorites."
A decision to save up to $5-million by privatizing the janitorial and maintenance staff also upset several black board members. Blue collar workers who had worked in the schools 20 years or more lost their jobs.
"Clayton operates on the premise that he wants everything his way. He has to be out in front, the shining star," said Jacqueline Mims, who recently retired as board president. "I don't think he functions well as a member of the team unless the team agrees with him."
Lawyer Darryl Robertson has a different perspective. He came on the board "gravely concerned" about Wilcox, who had a run-in with Robertson's aunt, a black middle school counselor.
"After working with him for some time, looking at his hiring practice, which I thought was abundantly fair, and talking to some of the principals in my school district, and seeing how he dealt with things on an educational level, that pretty much solidified my support," Robertson said.
Years of inequities have led many African-American residents to mistrust school administrators, he said. It doesn't help that the 12-member board, elected by geographic district, has only four black members.
"But those who have come in contact with him and worked with him, a large majority of those people tend to like him," Robertson said. As evidence, he noted that Wilcox stumped heavily for a recent 1 cent tax revenue issue, which passed overwhelmingly in the black community.
God on his best day
In the small world of consultants who recruit school superintendents, there's a joke going around: Boards are so finicky they only want God on his best day.
Consultant Bill Attea told the joke last week to cut the tension as the Pinellas County School Board debated on Wilcox. Board members Linda Lerner and Mary Russell had serious misgivings.
Lerner found repetition and "a lot of rhetoric" as Wilcox answered questions. Russell thought he generalized and didn't listen well enough.
"I want someone to take us to the next level," Lerner said before the board agreed 5-2 to visit Baton Rouge before making a final decision April 27. "Could he? I'm really not sure."
Lerner's reservations hit home.
"I heard one board member thinks I'm too slick," Wilcox said. "If I came there, I would have to work very hard to make sure that particular board member saw me as an authentic person. At the same time, I would have to be me. I can't morph into something else."
For starters, Wilcox said he would like to try one of the Milken Foundation's incentive-pay pilots in Pinellas. He wants to visit schools frequently and hold open community meetings, like he does in Baton Rouge, where anyone can ask him questions.
"All it takes is a night of your time," he said.
At the same time, he acknowledged that differences of scale will alter his style.
"Here, on lots of things, I roll up my sleeves and spend a day working on a problem directly," he said. In Pinellas, "there probably won't be as many opportunities to do that."
School Board chairwoman Jane Gallucci agreed Wilcox would have to scale back his hands-on approach, much as Hinesley did in the late 1990s. Hinesley, she said, once met with teachers at every school once every three years, until the board suggested he stop.
With principals attending the meetings, teachers really didn't give honest input, the board suggested. Gallucci knew - she was a school counselor before joining the board.
Moving into a brighter limelight already has rattled Wilcox. While many voices praised him, others, like Baton Rouge board member Williams, stood before reporters and called him intimidating and domineering. Even local admirers such as NAACP president Alvin Washington advised him to temper his approach.
"I don't think you will ever find an example where he was rude to folks," Washington said. "But if he has something in his mind to do, he'll do it. When you are dealing with a whole lot of people who are affected, he's got to find a way to make them feel like they are on a team."
Wilcox professed surprise and a dollop of self-reflection.
"I really didn't know that people felt they were perhaps not on the team, because the people around me are passionately on the team," he said. "Sometimes, when you get caught up in the rush and excitement of the day, you don't see everyone."
Washington has faith that Wilcox can adjust his style as quickly as he absorbs the latest educational theory.
"One thing (is) going to happen in this process," Washington said. "He's going to emerge a better superintendent. Either for your system or ours."
