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CAT Tracks for August 14, 2002
"FOOD" FOR THOUGHT... |
DO NOT READ the following story...just print it out and take it with you to school tomorrow. When you get bored...try to wait at least a half an hour...take this out and read it! Guaranteed to put you in a better mood...for a short while. THEN...and this is the fun part...which can be "revisited" at any and all future such meetings...think up an appropriate "zinger" and wait excitedly for YOUR big moment...
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 training. 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 its blueberry flavor 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! Total Quality Management! 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 with
attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, junior rheumatoid arthritis,
and English as their second language. We take them all. Every one. And
that, Mr. Vollmer, is why it's not a business. It's 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.
And here is the best part...even if you don't get your opportunity...didn't the time pass much more quickly? And THEY thought that look of excited anticipation in your eyes was due to the power of their presentation. Well, what they don't know...