A broad coalition of education reformers, politicians and business leaders has embraced charters as the solution to the decay of urban school systems. But the debate over whether charters are actually better than traditional public schools obscures a more fundamental debate: Are they, in fact, public schools?
"It's meant to be a public school," says Gary K. Hart, the retired state senator who authored California's charter school law. "Public schools are open to everyone. Having a bunch of special categories for preference to get into a charter school is not in keeping with the spirit of the law."
March is always a stressful time at Fountain Day preschool in West Hollywood. Fountain Day is one of the nicer preschools in the area, and its kids go on to top elementary schools, such as Campbell Hall, Wonderland and Larchmont Charter. Last spring, private elementary schools sent out their acceptance letters on March 25, and the weeks leading up to the big day were filled with anxiety.
"I have more panicked parents now than I've ever had," Andrew Rakos, the preschool's admissions director, told the Weekly. "It's so much more complicated and convoluted than parents have ever imagined. Doctors, lawyers, executives, actors and actresses — it leaves them all on their knees."
At the pickup hour, a group of parents compared notes on their options for the fall. Some were applying to private schools. Some were planning to move to better districts. And some were looking at charters.
Margaret Jarry was looking for a place for her son, Henry.
"I'm trying to bribe an old boyfriend to get into a charter school," she told the Weekly. What did she mean by "bribe"?
"Bribe," she said.
Jarry had applied to Larchmont Charter. The lottery had taken place a couple weeks before. A friend made up a "vision board" — a collage of positive images that was supposed to help manifest her hopes for her son. But it didn't work. She drew a high number and was told not to expect to get an offer.
So she called her ex. His wife had helped found the school. Maybe he could get Henry in.
"I can do nothing," he told her.
He said they could lose their charter if they played favorites with admissions. The only thing he could suggest was that she look into becoming a founding parent. It wouldn't help for kindergarten, he said, but maybe Henry could get in for first or second grade.
"You get involved now, then in a couple years your priority goes up," Jarry recalled. "That, to me, was the weirdest concept I've ever heard of."
She decided not to follow up on it. Several months later, she moved to Beverly Hills.
The parents who attended the Larchmont orientation in March were thinking farther ahead. Their kids were as young as 2 years old — three years away from kindergarten — but they were eager to start volunteering.
Dolores Patton, the principal, did most of the talking. She explained the school's "constructivist" philosophy. She mentioned the chef-made lunches. When asked, she disclosed the school's test scores. (Last year, the school posted an elite-level API score of 931, on a scale of 1,000.)
She also told Larchmont's story: A group of parents had teamed up to create a better option for their kids. Some mortgaged their homes to raise money. On opening day, one parent ran out to buy toilet paper.
"Those founding parents had a kind of energy that we are looking to find in a new generation of founding parents," Patton explained.
At the end of the presentation, most of the parents were ready to sign up. But that's where it got difficult.
The school couldn't offer founding-parent slots to everyone who wanted them, because they're limited to 10 percent of each class. They also couldn't do a separate lottery among founding parents. State law allows one — and only one — lottery per year.
So how could they choose?
The answer is that they would not choose. Acceptance would be on a "first come, first served" basis. On a random morning in May, the school would send out an email announcing that it was accepting applications.
The first 12 parents through the door would become founding parents.
Hands immediately shot up. What if the email went to the spam filter? Could the school send a test email first? Could they give their husband's email as a backup?
They started gaming out their chances. Those who lived close by had an edge.
"Best case, I think I could get there in 10 minutes," said Joy Blaser, the mother of a 3-year-old girl. Those who lived farther away imagined blowing through red lights in a frantic drive across town.
"I think it's the craziest thing I've ever heard," Shana Stein said. "It seems like it's encouraging high-speed accidents."
Stein had heard about the school through a friend.
"Basically, almost our only chance of getting in is to be a founding parent," she said. "If you're a Caucasian family that is not on free lunch, you need to be either a founding parent or a teacher."
This charter school episode is ridiculous. What's equally ridiculous is what's taking place in Pasadena at a very small private school called Friends Western School. The stewards are in a league of their own. Have a look at this account: http://www.mendolo.com/2012/09/14/and-then-the-wheels-came-off-the-school-bus/
And this open board resignation letter: http://pdfcast.org/pdf/friends-western-school-board-resign
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