WASC Sting Averted

I've had to remove myself from my dating scene in order to complete work on our school accreditation, cryptically known as "WASC." Western Association of Schools and Colleges is the organ's proper name. This organization verifies and upholds the quality of diploma-granting schools. To a school as small as mine, a pair of WASC reviewers was dispatched.

Going through an accreditation is like planning a wedding. Backward design, or setting the end-goal first, that joyous day of affirmation, then allows you to align the months' preparations leading toward the big event. Our school sought a three-year validation of our programs. That's because the last time we were visited, we did not receive the highest seal, the six-year clear term. Oh well. What could we do but use the interim to refine our practices?

No one can say it's been easy, moving continuation school aggressively into standards-based instruction. Data is king nowadays. We've had to retool our teaching in order to generate more of it. Now the data pops up like crabgrass. The data has to be collected and interpreted to drive classroom practices. I accept that data now features in my life, just as a colonoscopy does: each beneficial and each to be endured with grace.

But let's get real. The part that interests me in this whole self-study process is the people. A WASC visit typically runs for three days. Day 1 is a Sunday reception for parents, students, and staff. Days 2 and 3 are classroom visits, interviews, and conclusion-writing. I almost think Day 1's gathering was the most profound of the three, because students and parents testified as to the effect the school has had upon them.

One mother stood to explain how very stressful it is as a parent to keep hearing that your child is failing, your child will not graduate on time, your child is off track at the big school. She told us that now she receives heartening phone calls from our school, telling her about credits earned, improved attendance, her daughter's involvement in extra-curriculars. Another mother echoed this by reminding us all that at the big school, her son was relegated to a sort of permanent underclass of non-achievement. Now to her great delight,he stays after school to volunteer on committees, he's applied for a scholarship, he's certain to graduate by June. Yet another speaker was a lovely girl who has just completed her credits and graduated. She recalled how all her teachers knew her name by the first week. And that daily, as she got off the bus, there were always three or four adults there to say good morning and encourage everyone to have a good day. When she said, "No one gives up on us here. My English teacher sat with me to do my FAFSA because I had no one to help me," I couldn't help but well up. To me, that's the job. But maybe to a student it really is crossing a little Rubicon with adult guidance.

We will not really know the full outcome of this visit until June. Our sense and of course our hope run positive. The pair of reviewers were keen observers of our process. They understood that our students are among the most fragile. But all of our community is held accountable. Back to creative aspirations on a shoestring and other California realities.

NOT THE ORECK STORE TOO?

This week during my drive to work, I noticed the forlorn vacant Oreck Vacuum shop on South Lake Avenue. When did that close? I glanced into its empty storefront, one of how many in the stretch from San Pasqual to California Boulevard? Eight?

I know most of us don't have particular affection for vacuum stores, but the departure of Oreck leaves me a little sad. Some years ago when I was part of a two-income lifestyle, I bought myself a snappy little Oreck upright. Lightweight, smart, accompanied by the perks of an Oreck iron and an Oreck mini-vac, my new vacuum convinced me I would now houseclean like Samantha from BEWITCHED. I pampered my Oreck and I took it to the mother store for annual tune-ups. The clerk would show off my vacuum's prowess on their thick green plush and I felt a certain consumer's pride rise in my chest. But I haven't taken my Oreck in for its tune-up for about 18 months. And now there is no specialty shop devoted to the pride of Mr. Oreck. My reasons for shopping on South Lake are disappearing faster than you can say Pete's Grandburger or Smith and Hawken.

However, if you travel to the east side of town, there is another distinguished vacuum repair shop, Tanner's Valley. I know it sounds indulgent, but I have a second vacuum cleaner. It's a Cadillac to me. This one is a big red Sanitaire, circa 1990 maybe. It's the type professional janitors admire: heavy, serious, with a cord long enough to traverse three rooms. I love the Sanitaire because it belonged to my mom. She had to wait a long time in her life to acquire some of the nicer things, and I count this king of vacuums among them. The Sanitaire I take to Tanner's Valley for its tune-ups because it is an old-timey shop with a love of old-timey machines--Hoovers, Singer sewing machines, Mieles, and come to think of it, I just saw a little clique of Orecks standing around together among the other repaired vacuums awaiting their owners. When I took the Sanitaire in for its checkup last week, the lady who clerks told me the parts themselves are very valuable to scavengers, and not to sell it at a garage sale for $20! Now it's entirely possible I have paid more for tune-ups over the years than the initial purchase price. But the Sanitaire seems eternal so far, and I think my mom would be proud of me for maintaining it.

I may go to pick up the Sanitaire today. It should be standing at attention with its fellows, handwritten tag on its neck. After the lady apprises me of its needs and remedies, I will lug it out to the Honda curbside and take it back home. Next month when I get paid again, I am going to bring the Oreck here. Some things in life just need to be maintained, and that goes for machines and memories.


Tanner's Valley Vacuum Center
2610 E. Colorado Blvd.
Pasadena 91107
626.793.7839