Chalkbeat

College during COVID-19: Here’s what Newark students want you to know

2020-08-07T15:36:26+00:00

For first-year students headed to college this fall, their first semester of higher education is fraught with uncertainty. The usual in-person rituals and rites of passage won’t exist as the threat of COVID-19 upends on-campus learning and activities across the nation.

This could be especially hard for first-generation college students or teens from disinvested communities where the first year of higher education can lay a foundation for future success or become a stumbling block. Now, the coronavirus pandemic has added to those first-year challenges by putting a financial strain on many families and disrupting campus life and classes.

“You had to find a new learning environment because you’re no longer going to a library, you’re no longer studying with friends, and now you’re transitioning to typing on a phone,” said Kamil Vickers, a Newark student who was in the middle of his freshman year when the pandemic shut down his campus. “So trying to get used to that experience was a very humbling experience.”

Chalkbeat Newark brought together college students and a longtime education advocate on Wednesday to share their thoughts at this uncertain moment. The group of five students – in different stages of their college careers – gave advice for how colleges can ease their transitions, shared tips for success, and discussed how their colleges have handled support of Black students in particular as conversations about race in America are at the forefront.

This virtual panel hosted by Chalkbeat Newark acted as a capstone to Chalkbeat’s Ready or Not series, which chronicled the success and struggles of first-year college students in Newark.

Here’s who joined the conversation:

Wilhelmina Holder, Newark parent advocate; co-director, High School Academic Support Program
Rasheed Adewole, a rising senior at Franklin and Marshall College in Pennsylvania; graduate of Marion P. Thomas Charter School
Melanie Gonzalez Castillo, an incoming freshman at Villanova University; graduate of Barringer High School
Devon Christopher Corry, an incoming freshman at Rutgers University-Newark; graduate of University High School
Zaniyyah Jacobs-Wright, an incoming sophomore at Rutgers University-Newark; graduate of Arts High School
Kamil Vickers, a rising sophomore at Villanova University; graduate of KIPP Newark Collegiate Academy

For more from these panelists, watch our conversation in full below.

Thank you to our event sponsor, Prudential Financial.

Her Newark high school helped get her to college. Can it keep her on track during the pandemic?

2020-05-27T14:43:20+00:00

Before the coronavirus swept in, Samani Ford had a trusted system for achieving her goals: dream, plan, and execute.

A freshman at Rutgers University-Newark, her dream is to become a genetic counselor and help people navigate the health issues her extended family has faced, including cancer and bipolar disorder. Her plan to accomplish that dream is to excel at Rutgers, then earn a master’s degree and maybe a doctorate.

By the start of her second semester in January, Ford was in full execution mode: She fine tuned a routine for making the 25-minute drive from her mother’s home in Irvington to campus, attending class and completing her assignments there, then returning home to eat and sleep.

But on March 10, the coronavirus forced Rutgers to cancel classes at its three campuses and send its 70,000 students home early for spring break. A week later, the university closed campuses for the rest of the school year.

The changes turned Ford’s life upside down. Now she was stuck in the basement of her crowded house trying to follow choppy video lectures. She found a job at a local grocery store, where she wore a mask and gloves hoping she wouldn’t carry the virus home. She communicated with friends and professors only through devices. Suddenly, she questioned whether she could maintain her hard-won momentum towards a degree — and her dreams.

“I was in a good position before the coronavirus happened,” she said. Then the pandemic scattered the pages of her college playbook, leaving her plans in disarray. “I kind of left everything in the wind.”

College freshmen such as Ford are especially vulnerable to the coronavirus’ disruptions. Even in normal times, the first year is a roller coaster when recent high schoolers must quickly forge a sense of belonging and self-confidence on campus in order to thrive, said Vincent Tinto, a professor emeritus at Syracuse University. “It lays the groundwork for subsequent success,” he said.

When freshmen stumble, the results can be disastrous. Nationwide, more than a quarter of first-year college students — and a third of black students — don’t return for their second year.

‘Everything has changed so fast.’

Even if students do persist past the first year, their odds of graduating remain alarmingly low. Nearly 40% of students at four-year colleges and universities fail to graduate within six years, leaving many saddled with debt and shut out of lucrative careers. Low-income students, including many in Newark, face the greatest risk of being dragged down — by financial hardships, family obligations, or K-12 schooling that did not prepare them. Students from families in the bottom income quartile are less than half as likely as students in the top quartile to obtain bachelor’s degrees within six years.

Those dismal college completion rates have put pressure on high schools to better equip students for college, and on higher-education institutions to guide their students to degrees. A small number of organizations have tried to attack the problem from both ends. One of them is KIPP, the national charter school network where Ford attended middle and high school. It has developed an elaborate system called “KIPP Through College” designed to steer students onto campuses then shepherd them across the graduation finish line.

The system is expensive and labor-intensive, and even with it many KIPP alumni leave college without degrees. Still, the approach is catching on with some districts, including Newark Public Schools. The district has sent some of its counselors to study KIPP’s college-advising methods, and the superintendent has promised to pair each student with a mentor who will stick with them through college.

If there was ever a moment when striving college students like Ford most needed the extra support — and when support systems like KIPP’s faced the ultimate test — it is now, as the coronavirus unleashes an avalanche of new obstacles on their path to a degree.

“I don’t like when things change,” Ford said this month. “And everything has changed so fast.”

Finding the right match

Samani Ford attended KIPP Rise Academy in Newark’s West Ward, where a beloved fifth-grade math teacher was forever intoning, Carpe diem, carpe diem. It wasn’t until Ford was in high school, at KIPP’s Newark Collegiate Academy, that she learned the meaning of that Latin aphorism: “Seize the day.”

“It always sat with me,” she said. “Like, do not take anything for granted.” She had the phrase tattooed above her heart.

A display inside the college counseling office at KIPP’s Newark Collegiate Academy high school.

Ford lived by those words. She founded and captained a high school dance team, the Pouncing Panthers, and worked after school at a children’s party venue, Pump It Up, using her earnings to help pay for her car and prom expenses. And she studied endlessly, pursuing her game plan to attend a college where she could conduct research on her path to becoming a genetic counselor.

When Ford needed to recharge, she would visit the office of Natasha Stone, the college placement counselor. A Newark native, Stone related to Ford’s relentless drive, but also recognized the anxiety that sometimes gripped Ford as she juggled work and dance, family drama and AP classes.

So when Ford stopped by, Stone would sometimes dim her office lights, ask Ford to breathe deeply, and remind her: “While life is throwing you a lot of curve balls you didn’t expect, you’re still crushing it.” Only then would they resume their search for Ford’s ideal “college match.”

Since launching inside a Houston middle school in 1994, KIPP has grown into the nation’s largest nonprofit charter school network, with more than 100,000 students ranging from preschool to 12th grade. Throughout, an overriding mission has fueled the schools: “to help students climb the mountain to and through college,” as CEO Richard Barth put it last year. And, indeed, researchers have found that KIPP students — 95% of whom are black or Hispanic — are far more likely than their peers to enroll in college.

Yet, compared with its success propelling students to college, KIPP has had more trouble getting them to graduate. While 80% of KIPP alumni have enrolled in college, only 40% have earned degrees, according to KIPP’s internal data, which is cumulative through 2018 and includes KIPP high school graduates as well as middle school graduates who attended non-KIPP high schools. In Newark, only a third of KIPP high school graduates who headed to college in 2011 had earned bachelor’s degrees six years later, according to an analysis by the Newark City of Learning Collaborative at Rutgers-Newark.

In one sense, this is a victory. KIPP alumni are significantly more likely than the average black or Hispanic adult to attain degrees. And in Newark, KIPP’s college-bound graduates are about twice as likely to earn degrees in six years as their peers in Newark’s non-selective public high schools. (The district enrolls larger shares of English learners and students with disabilities than KIPP.) But the gulf between college enrollment and completion still means that KIPP is falling short of its promise to thousands of students — and the students are falling short of their dreams.

A key way that KIPP has responded to that challenge is by refining its college-advising process. Counselors try to steer high schoolers to institutions where they have the greatest odds of success based on the institutions’ graduation rates and financial aid offerings and that also appeal to students’ preferences. “How you go about the college application process can be worth 5 to 10 points in college graduation rates,” Barth told Education Post.

Natasha Stone is a college counselor at Newark Collegiate Academy. Her goal is to help “match” students with colleges where they have the greatest odds of success.

One morning in her office at KIPP’s Newark high school, Stone pulled up a student’s file to illustrate the process in action.

The student was a senior with a 3.1 GPA and a score of 20 on the ACT, landing her near the middle of the pack among test-takers. With Stone’s help, she had compiled a “wish list” of colleges, then used KIPP’s college-match software to review each institution’s graduation rate for black and Hispanic students, the average amount that KIPP alumni at each school still owed after receiving financial aid, and the student’s odds of admission to each school based on her grades and test scores.

KIPP requires its students to apply to at least nine institutions, including a few competitive “reach” schools. The aim is to avoid “undermatching,” where high-achieving low-income students choose less-selective colleges that are often less likely to get students to graduate. This senior submitted 16 applications, including to less competitive institutions such as Centenary University but also more selective ones such as Spelman College. Once the acceptance and award letters began to arrive, she and Stone calculated how much loan debt each college would leave her with.

“Data gives us the information we need to counsel students,” Stone said. “Our students are very informed.”

In recent years, KIPP has been sharing its college-matching strategies with other districts. It started with the San Antonio Independent School District in 2015, and in 2018 KIPP announced four other partners: the Newark, New York City, and Miami-Dade County school districts and the Aspire charter school network. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, which contributes funding to Chalkbeat, provided a grant for the program.

‘Data gives us the information we need to counsel students.’

KIPP staffers began visiting the three participating Newark high schools — American History, Central, and University — during the 2018-19 school year. Last summer, Superintendent Roger León and several Newark counselors traveled to Houston to take part in training workshops during KIPP’s annual summit.

Kaycee Brock, the KIPP Through College program director who oversees the partnerships, said this school year’s goal is for the counselors to push students to apply to more colleges, including more selective institutions in order to prevent undermatching.

While the district school counselors may be able to borrow some KIPP advising strategies, they must do so with fewer resources than KIPP, whose KIPP Through College program had a $3.8 million budget in the 2018 fiscal year and where the average student-counselor ratio is 100 to 1, far lower than most districts. District-charter partnerships can also present political challenges in cities such as Newark, where the charter sector’s rapid expansion — and recent district efforts to rein it in — have bred distrust.

The Newark school district declined to make León or any counselors available for an interview. But Brock said the program has so far avoided any rivalry or controversy.

“I love that this is not making people choose sides,” she said in an interview last year. “It’s just having people work together and see the value in each other.”

KIPP New Jersey students revealed their college destinations at “Senior Signing Day” in June 2019.

By last spring, Ford had been admitted to 10 of the 11 institutions where she applied, including the University of Delaware and the elite Amherst College. But at her mother’s urging, she chose a school closer to home that would leave her with less debt: Rutgers-Newark.

That June, KIPP’s Newark Collegiate Academy celebrated the Class of 2019’s college choices during its annual “Senior Signing Day” celebration. One after another, the departing seniors took to the stage in a college auditorium to announce the institutions where they were headed: Rutgers, Montclair State, Duke, Notre Dame. As the graduates shouted out their destinations, the junior class roared like fervent fans at a concert.

Ford stayed home that day. She felt she had made the right college choice, yet the enormity of the decision weighed on her.

“It was a lot of pressure and a lot of emotions,” she recalled. “Like saying, ‘This is my future; this is where I’m going.’”

From ‘to’ to ‘through’

In mid-August, with classes just a few weeks away, Ford arrived at KIPP’s downtown Newark offices with her mother, younger sister, and newborn baby brother in tow. She was due to meet Ms. Gewirtz.

At KIPP, every college-bound 12th grader is matched with a “college persistence” counselor. The counselors keep in touch with their students the entire time they’re in college, checking in about grades, bills, and any other issues — academic, financial, or personal — that arise. In New Jersey, KIPP employs five counselors who each oversee more than 80 alumni.

Ford met with her “college persistence” counselor, Amanda Gewirtz, during the first week of classes last September.

Ford was matched with Amanda Gewirtz, a peppy former high school teacher who graduated from Rutgers-New Brunswick. Gewirtz scheduled the meeting that afternoon to help Ford navigate the maze of paperwork that new students must complete — financial aid forms, health records, course registration, and more. Without such guides, many incoming freshmen get tripped up and abandon college before they even start.

After following Gewirtz into a small conference room, Ford and her mother, Khalilah Miller, rattled off a long list of administrative tasks that needed doing.

“OK, boom. We’re going to do all those things,” Gewirtz said, taking notes in her laptop. “So productive.”

Gewirtz helped Ford and her mother, Khalilah Miller, complete a long list of tasks before the fall semester started.

They started with finances. KIPP would provide a small grant and book stipend, but Miller still had to take out loans for the nearly $9,000 in tuition that year not covered by financial aid. Next came academics. Gewirtz advised Ford to introduce herself to professors and join study groups. She also proposed setting a goal for the semester. Ford suggested “not procrastinating,” but Gewirtz pushed for something more concrete. So they made a plan for Ford to map out all her assignments for the semester and study a week in advance for every test.

“I love it, I’m on board with it, let’s do it,” Gewirtz said, giving Ford a high-five.

The meeting had been scheduled to last 20 minutes, but an hour passed and they were still working. Gewirtz had another student to see, so Ford moved into the lobby to finish filling out forms.

Miller sat on a nearby sofa cradling her infant son. With four children and two jobs — she teaches pre-kindergarten during the day and works with special-needs students into the evening — she was grateful that KIPP had guided her daughter through every step of the college-going process. “It took a load off of me as a parent,” she said.

‘If you don’t have that person to check in, we can just drown.’

Miller had set a strong example for Ford. She earned her associate’s degree after becoming a mother when she was 18. She later obtained a bachelor’s degree and is now working on her master’s. Yet as she watched Ford that afternoon complete the final steps to becoming a full-fledged college student, Miller sensed her daughter was destined for even greater heights.

“She’s surpassing me,” Miller said, “and that’s what a mom wants.”

A few weeks later, Ford started at Rutgers. At that point, most school districts would part ways with their former students, no longer providing formal assistance or even tracking their trajectories. In New Jersey, the state reports how many of each high school’s graduates enroll in college, but not how many earn degrees. Nationwide, about half of high school principals and nearly three-fourths of teachers say they don’t have access to data on their former students’ college outcomes. (The Newark school district uses a program called Naviance to track graduates’ outcomes.)

“I think there’s some sense from districts that there’s a handoff,” said Jenny Nagaoka, deputy director of the University of Chicago’s Consortium on School Research. “They’ve fulfilled their duty,” and now their graduates are in colleges’ care.

Another reason for the handoff is financial: K-12 schools can only use public dollars to support current students, not graduates. But major charter school networks such as KIPP have deep wells of privately raised money they can tap to provide persistence counselors and microgrants to their college-going alumni.

KIPP has also formed partnerships with nearly 100 colleges and universities. The partner institutions, including Rutgers-Newark, agree to work hand-in-glove with KIPP staffers to support KIPP alumni. In turn, KIPP counselors advise students to give the schools special consideration during their college search.

“It’s a way for KIPP to be able to hold institutions accountable in a way that individual families may not be able to,” said John Gunkel, Rutgers-Newark’s vice chancellor for academic programs and strategic partnerships, adding that Rutgers provides extensive support to all students, not just those from KIPP.

During a check-in meeting in January, Gewirtz told Ford: “You should be super proud of yourself.”

Ford powered through her first semester, improvising solutions whenever obstacles emerged. She didn’t have a laptop, so she found a computer lab. As a commuter, she felt disconnected from campus life, so she applied to become a resident assistant in a dorm the following year. She had help from Rutgers-Newark, which provided a writing tutor and a support group for her algebra class. And she had Gewirtz, who called or FaceTimed every few weeks to ask about classes, work, and life.

“Especially coming from urban areas, it’s not a lot of people that are going to push you,” Ford said. “We’re so used to doing everything on our own. If you don’t have that person to check in, we can just drown.”

In late January, just as the spring semester was starting, Ford and Gewirtz met on campus. Gewirtz was excited: Ford’s fall transcript showed A’s in African-American studies and sociology, a B in psychology, a C+ in writing, and a C in algebra, giving her a 3.1 GPA. But Ford was less enthusiastic.

“Plenty of freshmen get below 2.0’s because it’s such a transition,” Gewirtz told her. “So you should be super proud of yourself.”

“I am, but I’m not,” Ford replied. “I want to do better.”

She set a goal for the spring semester to earn a 3.5 GPA or higher, which Gewirtz eagerly endorsed. They high-fived and Ford headed to class. She was following her game plan, and it seemed to be working.

Then came the pandemic.

‘Bumps in the road’

The first few college campuses started closing in early March, like lights flickering before an outage. Then everything shut down.

KIPP’s corps of college persistence counselors sprang into action. In New Jersey, Gewirtz and her colleagues gathered information about the colleges their alumni attend: How long were campuses closed? Were any dorms still open? Were classes online? Then they surveyed students: Did they have internet access at home? What about food?

“Some were like, ‘I’m home, I have everything I need,’” Gewirtz said. “Others were freaking out.”

KIPP quickly established an emergency relief fund. Counselors used the money to buy laptops, tablets, and wireless hotspots for students who needed them to work from home and gift cards for students who needed help with groceries.

Once their immediate needs were met, students took stock of the abrupt shift to remote learning. To Gewirtz, they complained about technical glitches during online lessons and heavier workloads as instructors replaced lectures with written assignments. They described disrupted sleep schedules and dwindling motivation. First-year students in particular struggled with returning home after so recently setting off on their own.

“Poor things, they’re so thrown off,” Gewirtz said. “They’re right back where they started.”

Rutgers-Newark scrambled to assist students with the sudden transition to remote learning.

Rutgers-Newark also scrambled to assist students with the sudden transition. Soon after sending everyone home, the university ordered 200 laptops for students and faculty members who needed them, said Gunkel, the Rutgers-Newark vice chancellor. The administration discouraged live online lectures because they knew many students would have trouble joining from home, he added, including families who found that the free Wi-Fi some internet providers offered during the pandemic was too slow to support real-time videos.

Ford struggled with remote learning. It just wasn’t the same. Instead of lively class discussions about the readings, her literature professor now assigned written responses. A couple instructors had tried teaching over video but ran into technical difficulties and either abandoned live lessons or made them optional, Ford said. Now, it was up to students to review the notes and figure out the assignments themselves.

“I’m annoyed; I don’t like online classes,” she said this month. “It’s better when you’re face to face with somebody.”

Other changes followed. After the children’s party venue closed due to the coronavirus, Ford got a job at an Aldi grocery store sanitizing and stocking the shelves. Her home had become crowded after her aunt and five cousins moved in, joining Ford, her mother, and three siblings. Ford could retreat to her basement bedroom, but she had no desk, so she studied at the dining room table early in the mornings before the children awoke.

‘She’s just like, “You got to make the best of it.”’

Throughout the upheaval, she kept in touch with Gewirtz. Unlike other college students whose ties to campus frayed as the shutdown dragged on, Ford had her counselor urging her to stay focused on her studies.

“Even when I was like, ‘I’m not feeling this,’ she’s just like, ‘You got to make the best of it,’” Ford said. “‘Even if you don’t necessarily feel like getting it done, you just have to.’”

KIPP’s alumni support is a lifeline for students like Ford — especially during the pandemic. But does the KIPP Through College system get more students to graduate?

The network’s internal data show that KIPP alumni earn college degrees at higher rates than their peers from similar socioeconomic backgrounds. And an independent study by the research firm Mathematica found that former KIPP middle school students are far more likely than their peers to enroll in college and somewhat more likely to stay enrolled for at least two years, though the persistence boost was not statistically significant. The study, which was funded by Arnold Ventures, a philanthropy that has given money to KIPP and Chalkbeat, could not isolate which aspect of KIPP’s approach caused the gains.

Even if research can’t definitively say whether KIPP’s college-support system pushes more students across the finish line, experts note that many of KIPP’s practices are backed by research. Those practices include strong college counseling in high school, guidance that steers students to more selective institutions, and intensive advising throughout college.

Still, many KIPP alumni — like other low-income and first-generation students across the country — encounter obstacles during college that KIPP alone would be hard-pressed to remove. In a 2016 survey, nearly 40% of KIPP alumni said they had skipped meals to save money for college expenses. Some colleges have invested heavily in support services for their neediest students; Rutgers-Newark, for instance, created an emergency financial-assistance fund and a food pantry for students. But the very existence of KIPP’s alumni-support program suggests that other colleges have been slow to give students the help they need, said Jenny Nagaoka of the Consortium on School Research.

“This idea that there’s a counselor following students from high school into college in some ways points to a big gap in what’s happening in higher ed,” she said. “If higher education changes, that could make those Bandaid approaches less necessary.”

Now, colleges must attend to all the new difficulties the coronavirus has created for students while also addressing their own existential crisis: How can they operate during a pandemic?

In a May 13 letter to the Rutgers University community, President Robert Barchi said that planning for the fall is ongoing, but “the most likely scenario” is a mix of in-person and remote learning. Meanwhile, the university has announced a hiring freeze and pay cuts for senior officials as it anticipates up to $200 million in lost revenue this quarter. And it is bracing for the loss of some students — both current and incoming — who decide a largely online semester is not worth the cost.

“Rutgers-Newark, and I think most institutions, really are assuming that we can’t count on any students enrolling again in the fall,” Gunkel said. “In some ways, we essentially have to act like we’re recruiting each of our enrolled students.”

Last week, Ford’s grades for the second semester were still being finalized, but she expected them to be lower than she’d hoped before the coronavirus came along. Yet even as some of her friends say they’ll take next semester off if it’s mostly remote, Ford intends to stay enrolled no matter what.

The pandemic has interrupted her carefully laid plans, but it hasn’t changed her dreams.

“I’m going to get there,” she said. “I might have some bumps in the road, but I’m going to get there.”

This story was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

‘It’s just not how I wanted to end my 1st year’: How college freshmen from Detroit coped with coronavirus

2020-05-13T21:08:03+00:00

One day soon, the weight of the coronavirus pandemic will hit Marqell McClendon.

The Detroit native will come to terms with the deaths of her uncle and great aunt. With the challenges of having to leave her college campus. With the disease that has devastated her community.

For weeks, though, McClendon kept her mind fixed solely on surviving a difficult shift to online classes. It’s a complicated transition that threatened to upend the momentum from her first semester, in which she did what seemed unthinkable a year ago: She made the dean’s list at Michigan State University.

“It hurts a little,” McClendon, a freshman, said as she contemplated her grades suffering as a result. “I’m trying the best that I can and my situation isn’t really my fault. But, it’s just not how I wanted to end my first year.”

Chalkbeat has been following McClendon and other first-year college students from Detroit this academic year, capturing their stumbles and successes to provide insight into what high school graduates from struggling communities need to succeed in college.

The abrupt, unsettling disruption to an already difficult first year has tested McClendon, as well as fellow college freshmen Kashia Perkins and Demetrius Robinson. None of them had ever taken an online class, so they were thrust into an unfamiliar learning environment with little preparation and with professors who were also feeling their way through this new reality.

Marqell McClendon, who just finished her freshman year at Michigan State, takes notes during an online lecture while completing her schoolwork from the bedroom of her Detroit home.

The global pandemic has also tested them in other ways. Robinson, a Central Michigan University student who dreams of taking over his family’s fitness business, has immersed himself in the details of COVID, lecturing his friends about taking precautions and being careful himself when he leaves home to cut his grandfather’s hair. He’s also had to mourn the loss of a family friend.

“I just wake up every day and do the things I know that I’m actually in control of.” - Marqell McClendon

Perkins, meanwhile, insulated herself by staying in her dorm on the MSU campus. The decision not to finish out the spring semester at home was a nod to her growing need for independence. But her insulation may also explain why she believes too much is being made of the seriousness of the virus.

As the virus spread through Detroit, shutting out the world around her was important for McClendon. She traded the solitude of her dorm room and favorite quiet spaces at Michigan State for the brick home she shares with her family on a quiet street on the city’s west side. Her bedroom and the home’s back porch are where she kept up with her studies. She tried not to think about the coronavirus, even though it has personally impacted her family.

Kashia Perkins, shown here in a fall 2019 file photo, remained on the Michigan State University campus to complete the spring semester after classes were moved online.

“It hit closer to home,” said McClendon, who last year was the valedictorian of her senior class at Cody High School in the Detroit school district. “What I’m actually doing … is not thinking about it at all. I just wake up every day and do the things I know that I’m actually in control of and I try not to worry about things too much.”

When we talked to McClendon several weeks ago, she said she hadn’t allowed herself time to mourn.

“I feel like I should try as hard as I can to focus on my schoolwork because I know that’s what everybody wants me to do instead of worrying. Eventually, I will mourn, because the semester is almost over.”

For McClendon and other Michigan State students, May 1 marked the end of finals.

‘I can’t do this online’

Despite the disparate ways they’ve coped with coronavirus, one thing unites the three: Their distaste for taking classes online and their worry that fall semester classes will also be conducted virtually.

“If this gets shut down until 2021, I don’t know if I’m going back to school. Because I can’t do this online,” said Robinson. “I would rather start school back when I can physically go back to the campus.”

Demetrius Robinson, seen here in a fall 2019 file photo, was worried that the fall semester at Central Michigan University would begin online. The university announced this week they will return to in-person classes.

The switch online has been difficult for students across the board. But it’s been especially hard for those from struggling communities like Detroit, where many children come from low-income families.

“Our students come from backgrounds where they were already facing certain barriers, already facing certain stressors when it came to persisting through college,” said Terran Davis, the alumni success coordinator at the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy, the charter school from which Perkins and Robinson graduated. “This added pressure of the virus has definitely amplified some of these stressors.”

He and David Williams, who helps lead the college-going efforts at the high school, said the suddenness of the switch has been a factor. Some students don’t have the technology at home. Some don’t have the quiet space there to study. Others struggle to get school work done in the midst of family dynamics.

“The transition ... has not been smooth,” Williams said.

Some experts are worried about the emotional well being of college students nationwide who are coping with the pandemic. A national survey of 2,000 college students, completed in April by the advocacy group Active Minds, found that 80% of the students said COVID has negatively impacted their mental health.

“There are (mental health) resources still available to them,” said Jerry Caldwell, director of the Charles Drew Science Scholars at Michigan State. “We let them know that we are here to reach out to us if they have needs.”

“Our students come from backgrounds where they were already facing certain barriers, already facing certain stressors when it came to persisting through college.” - Terran Davis

The program helps students pursuing science and medical-related majors – most of them from underrepresented communities – with intense academic advising, academic coaching, career advising, and a connection to a tight-knit community. In the midst of the pandemic, they have worked to provide weekly “Zoom with Drew” activities, such as an event where the students played Pictionary and another night when they played trivia games.

They’re also making sure students have access to important resources such as food pantries, and tutoring. For instance, the program connected McClendon with someone to help her with her difficult chemistry class.

Longing for face to face connections

Anyone who knows Robinson, an extrovert who thrives when he’s around others, will understand why he dislikes online classes. He made it his mission as a freshman to meet as many people as he could and have his name known on campus.

“I like the face to face classes. I like going to my professors’ office hours. I like going after class, walking up to my professors and saying, ‘Hey, I didn’t quite understand what happened in class,” Robinson said.

This is important for Robinson. He struggled through his first semester, largely because he said he didn’t take advantage of opportunities to talk to professors about what he needed to work on to improve his grades. When we caught up with him earlier this year, he said he was finally feeling like a college student.

“I’m getting that feeling like, ‘Man, I’m really here. I’m here to stay.’ I’m settling down,” Robinson said in February. He had also begun spending more time talking to his professors and noticed a “drastic change” in his performance.

But then, while he was on spring break not even a month later, and visiting a friend who attends an Ohio university, the world changed. In-person classes were canceled and students were told not to come back to the university. Robinson had only a week’s worth of clothes and none of his school textbooks (“You weren’t bringing that book on your spring break.”)

He was still able to connect with his professors, but it wasn’t as easy. And, he said, there were the typical technical glitches that have come with such an abrupt switch to online classes, like the time everyone in one of his classes got disconnected from the live lesson, but the professor kept teaching because he didn’t know there was a problem.

Eventually, Robinson was able to visit campus and pick up the things he needed. Then he made a final trip last week to empty out what was left in his room. Robinson got some welcome news Monday afternoon. Central Michigan announced it is returning to face-to-face classes in the fall.

“Time to say bye bye until next year,” he said as he prepared to leave his dorm room for the last time as a freshman.

Kashia Perkins and other Michigan State University students are awaiting a decision on whether classes will begin in-person or online for the fall semester. The university will make a decision by early July.

A campus safe haven

Perkins grew up in Detroit, and that’s where her family is, but home to her this year was her dorm room at Michigan State. And that’s where she opted to stay when the university president announced classes were moving online and students were encouraged to go home.

“I’m more of a visual learner.” - Kashia Perkins

“I’ve gotten so used to being on my own that I’d rather stay in my own space and do my work here,” Perkins said.

She was among about 800 students who remained on the campus. But while the setting was idyllic, the venue for classes wasn’t. She struggled to keep herself motivated to get up and get her classwork done. Her self discipline, she said, has been lacking. And she doesn’t feel like she’s learning as much as she would in a face-to-face class.

“I’m more of a visual learner,” Perkins said. “I would like to see you sit with me and do a problem together so I understand it.”

But it’s not just the switch to online classes that has been difficult. She misses the activities she was involved in. From the beginning, Perkins has been passionate about getting involved in clubs and organizations on campus, including a dance club that puts on regular performances.

The coronavirus has taken a toll on Perkins’ home town (at last count, the city had 1,213 COVID-related deaths and 9,897 people test positive). Still, Perkins — who plans to change her major from human biology to nursing — downplays the significance of the virus. She said it doesn’t worry her because she thinks government officials are making the pandemic seem worse than it is.

“People with weak immune systems … that’s really who it affects,” said Perkins, who cites statistics showing that most people who get it will survive.

“That’s why I feel like they’ve blown it out of proportion. They know people in this world will survive. They’re making it seem like if you get it, you’re going to die.”

Nationwide, 80,820 have died of COVID. In Michigan alone, there have been 4,674 deaths.

As she looks ahead to the fall semester, Perkins is hoping for a return to normal. She said she became too lazy this spring as she learned online, so she’s hoping the fall semester doesn’t begin virtually. (Michigan State officials plan to make a decision by early July)

“That’s not a good way to start off. I want to start the school year off strong so I can end the semester strong.”

‘Everything was just harder’

Throughout the fall semester, McClendon was aggressively seeking help with a difficult math class, including approaching strangers in her dorm and asking for assistance. The persistence paid off. She earned a 3.8 grade point average and a spot on the MSU dean’s list.

Earlier this year, she was already concerned about the increased rigor of this year’s classes, which include chemistry, another difficult math class, and physiology. She was determined to maintain that grade point average.

Marqell, shown in this file photo from fall 2019, saw her grades decline during the spring semester after making the dean’s list in the fall.

Then the pandemic came, and suddenly, “everything was just harder,” McClendon said. “It’s harder to learn because basically we’re teaching ourselves.”

She struggled to keep up with her classes and to stay organized, especially for those courses where her professors record their lectures and students can watch the lectures at their own pace.

“Every time I look up, I’ll have three assignments due that I knew nothing about because it’s not like you go to class and then your professors remind you that you have something due.”

There were more than a few missing assignments. She also missed entire classes. It prompted her to create a chart so she could more easily keep up.

Math became an even bigger problem than it was last semester, and this time, the resources she relied on — such as going to the math resource center on campus and getting hands-on help — weren’t so handy.

“I think my grades are declining right now,” she said several weeks ago.

The confirmation came this week. McClendon passed all her classes. But she earned far fewer credits, dropping her cumulative GPA to a 3.0, still not bad for a first-year freshman.

But that’s not enough for this determined student, who puts a lot of pressure on herself to do her best.

“Hopefully, we’re not doing online next semester so I can do better.”

This story is part of a partnership with Detroit Public Television. It was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

‘What we’re doing is not working.’ Why Detroit students struggle in college

2020-01-22T22:07:46+00:00

High school needs to be “harder.” Schools need to get rid of worksheets. And high school classes should be more like college classes.

These comments shed light on some of the struggles Detroit students face when they get to college. The insights come from a new Michigan Future report based on the experiences of 133 students who graduated from two charter schools and one traditional public high school in Detroit from 2014 to 2017.

The report could provide a road map for high schools that want to better prepare their students to succeed in higher education, as well as the colleges they’re attending.

“What we’re doing is not working,” said Lou Glazer, president of Michigan Future, a nonprofit organization focused on education and economic development. “We need to understand why it’s not working and then do something about it.”

The report comes at a critical time. More and more research shows that economic mobility is strongly tied to earning a college degree. And while getting to and through college is a challenge for many students, it’s particularly difficult for students of color and students from low-income families.

Chalkbeat has been exploring these challenges this academic year as we follow a group of Detroit and Newark high school students through their first year of college.

The nonprofit organization worked with the Berman Foundation to launch a scholarship program to provide a small amount of funding for textbooks for students who shared their college grades and completed surveys about their experiences.

Students said they needed additional support in four primary areas:

More rigorous coursework in high school to prepare for college-level work. Students said they weren’t just unprepared for the amount of work, but also “the intellectual challenge that they would be expected to participate in in college.” One had this message for school officials: “No more worksheets.”
Help developing successful academic habits. Students reported spending about 10 hours a week studying and preparing for college classes, when the research suggests they should spend 30 hours a week. That likely is because of their outside responsibilities, including work, according to the report.
Training in financial literacy, especially in understanding financial aid. For instance, students need help understanding how to set up bank accounts and credit cards and manage their finances responsibly.
Better cultural preparation, especially for non-white students matriculating to predominantly white institutions. Students report struggling to adapt in these environments.

The surveys revealed that just 18% of the students were on track to graduate in four years, while 48% were on track to graduate in five years.

Those numbers, author Sarah Szurpicki says in the report, are worrisome because taking too long to accumulate credit can increase the risk of students dropping out or losing scholarships.

Students considered on track for graduation in four years have at least a 2.0 grade point average and have accumulated an average of 15 credits a semester. Those on track for a five-year graduation have at least a 2.0 GPA and have earned an average of 12 credits a semester.

Glazer said that while some high schools in the city and some colleges have strong programs in place to help students succeed, none is doing everything it could.

He suggested that high schools could better prepare students if they were as focused on and held accountable for the college success of their graduates as they are for standardized test results.

What’s missing in most high schools, Glazer said, is a mission that all teaching and curriculum from freshman year onward is designed to prepare students to earn a college degree. Schools in other parts of the nation have been successful by focusing on teaching and curriculum that prepare students for college.

“It’s in their DNA,” Glazer said.

Catch up on Chalkbeat’s Ready or Not series here.

To read the full report from Michigan Future, read below.

Visiting days: How a Detroit high school extends its family feel by sticking with graduates through college

2020-01-16T23:01:23+00:00

If you graduate from the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy and go on to college, there is no escaping Katherine Grow. She’ll call, she’ll email, and she’ll show up on campus. And usually, during those campus visits, she’ll ask to see your phone.

The cell phones are a gateway to the college grades of the Detroit charter school’s graduates, and looking in is a key way that Grow monitors how those students are faring.

Grow is Jalen Rose’s alumni success coordinator, an unusual position that reckons head-on with a reality that many schools serving low-income students face: Too many students head off to college and never graduate. Some charter networks and private schools have launched initiatives to stay involved in students’ college lives and academic success, but it’s rare for standalone schools like Jalen Rose to employ someone just to work with graduates.

As the number of graduates has swelled to 450 since Jalen Rose opened in 2011, Grow’s challenge has gotten bigger, too. Every day, she calls, emails, or visits Jalen Rose alumni, inquiring about their grades, offering advice about personal challenges, and listening to their anxieties.

In the fall of 2019, Grow traveled more than 2,600 miles to visit Jalen Rose alumni at colleges and universities across Michigan.

Staff at the Jalen Rose school, which enrolls more than 400 students, pride themselves for creating a family atmosphere, and Grow often tears up as she greets the students on their college campuses, touched by how they’ve transformed into young adults pursuing their dream.

“That’s the piece that sustains me, that makes me get up, that makes me drive two hours to a campus,” Grow said. “We’re doing the work to create the change that needs to happen.”

A strategy to combat dismal statistics

For many Detroit teens, getting to college is just the beginning. An analysis done by the Detroit College Access Network found that of students who graduated from high school in 2015 and enrolled in college, 74% made it through a second year. But only 41% of them had accumulated 24 credit hours, which would put them on track for college graduation.

It isn’t just a Detroit problem. Nationally, just 60% of students overall who enroll at four-year institutions earn a bachelor’s degree within six years. The graduation rate is much lower for black students (40%) and low-income students (49%) — exactly the students that Jalen Rose serves — as well as for Hispanic students (55%).

This year, Chalkbeat is seeking to answer the question of how schools that educate students from low-income and disadvantaged communities can better prepare them for college, and what higher education institutions must do once they arrive to keep them on track.

The series, Ready or Not, follows several students through the challenging first year of college, when academic, financial, and social barriers can derail them.

Two of those students — Kashia Perkins and Demetrius Robinson — graduated from Jalen Rose and got visits from Grow in their first semester.

Perkins and Robinson were committing to college when they signed up to attend Jalen Rose, a school with an enrollment of just over 400 that’s oriented totally toward getting students not just to college but through it. Where many schools the same size might have a single college counselor, Jalen Rose has a four-person college team. Students talk about college starting in ninth grade, and at their graduation recite a pledge committing to another four years — at least — of schooling. And graduates know that not only will Grow be checking up on them, but they can rely on others at the school to provide guidance, or to just keep in touch.

That whole-school effort will be more important than ever. Grow, who’s also been a teacher, coach, and adviser over the course of seven years, is leaving the school for a job with a Detroit civic organization. It’s a bittersweet move for Grow and one that has school officials working to find a replacement while also making sure alumni get the help they need.

News of her exit, which came this week, “hit us hard,” said Melissa Hamann, the president and CEO of Promise Schools, the company that manages the school. Grow, known as Kat to everyone, will still be a resource for the students, given the strong relationships she’s already cultivated, Hamann said.

“She’s not going to walk away from them,” Hamann said.

Meanwhile, though, work the team does and the close-knit nature of the school will ensure alums can connect with someone who can help with any challenges, Hamann said. And a search is underway for a replacement. The goal is having someone new on board before the end of the school year, so they can begin to connect with the seniors who will soon be alums.

Back in November, Grow sat down with Robinson during a long day at Central Michigan University in Mt. Pleasant.

As she met with Jalen Rose graduates, she pointed out and asked questions about missing assignments and low test scores. She also asked direct questions about how the students are adjusting socially, offered guidance when roommate squabbles came up, and checked to make sure the students weren’t dealing with financial problems. If they are, or they have other problems they need help with, Grow works to connect them with the resources they need.

At the end of each meeting, she left each student with advice and an improvement plan.

Robinson walked away from his half-hour meeting feeling like he’d aced it. He had to explain away some missing assignments, telling Grow that he had problems getting notifications of the work due on his phone. He walked her through his decision to change his major from athletic training to kinesiology. And he showed her a four-year plan he’d developed with his campus adviser.

Grow saw Robinson’s promise — but also urged him to stay focused on his academic goals.

“It’s time to buckle down and get some things done so you can … finish strong,” she told him.

“Of course, Ms. Grow,” Robinson answered. “I always stay focused. I’ve been on top of my game.”

For Grow, the work is personal. She grew up far from Detroit, in a small city in central California. Like many of the students she works with at Jalen Rose, she grew up knowing she would be the first in her family to go to college. Yet there was no question in Grow’s mind that she would make it there: Her mother pushed her to achieve because, Grow said, “she always wanted better for us than she had for herself,” and she excelled academically.

Grow, who is white, also had advantages because her family is middle-class, even though her parents lack college degrees. The statistics are clear that students like her are more likely to complete college — an inequity, she said, that drives her work at Jalen Rose.

“I’ve had a lot of privilege and I want to make sure that everyone is afforded that same privilege,” Grow said.

A schoolwide focus on college

Demetrius Robinson signs a college pledge during a signing day ceremony for seniors at the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy, while his parents look on. Robinson is now a freshman at Central Michigan University.

Grow isn’t the only person committed to the college success of students at Jalen Rose. From the principal, Wendie Lewis, down to support staff, everyone at the school plays a role.

During the school’s senior pinning ceremony and college decision day event, students and their parents are asked to pledge to finish college, reading all together:

“I commit to attending class every day, giving my absolute best effort on all assignments and tasks given, seeking help when I need it, ensuring that I renew my FAFSA each year, staying in constant contact with JRLA, taking advantage of my resources and opportunities in college, having fun and enjoying my time in college, graduating with a degree, certificate and/or a license.”

The words that Robinson, Perkins, and their classmates recited that day in May would become part of a contract they signed — an illustration of how seriously this school takes college success.

“We do push college,” David Williams, director of college graduation for Promise Schools, the company that manages the school, said during the ceremony. “We know what college can do. We know what the research says. The more education you have, the more money you make, the better prepared you are to take care of yourself and your family.”

The school is the namesake of co-founder Jalen Rose, the former member of the University of Michigan’s famed Fab Five basketball team, a former NBA player, and current TV sports analyst.

Rose, a graduate of the now-closed Southwestern High School in Detroit, believes strongly that the most important years of young people’s lives are the four years they’re in high school and the four years they could be in college. It’s during that time, he said, that they start to become young adults, which can often come with exposure to sex, drugs, violence, gang culture, and social media.

“There’s so many things that overwhelm the mind of young people. So if you can decompress and find a way to be successful in those eight years, then it puts you on the trajectory to achieve your goals,” said Rose, who was interviewed before the start of an annual golf tournament he hosts that raises money for student scholarships. “You ask any adult where their dreams went awry … and it probably happened in that eight-year window.”

Retired NBA player Jalen Rose speaks at the 2019 graduation of Jalen Rose Leadership Academy, the school he started in Detroit.

Malika Velinor and Williams lead the college team that includes Grow. The team provides intense support to students to help them through the college application, preparation, and enrollment process. They connect students to mentors. They help them apply for scholarships. They teach them about the challenges they’ll face. And they teach them how they can overcome those challenges.

Grow, when she’s not connecting with alums, also works to build relationships — and strong partnerships — with colleges and universities. One such partnership with a program at Central Michigan, which provides support for first-generation students, allows Grow to receive regular updates on how the Jalen Rose alums who are part of that program are doing on campus.

Many schools – including every high school in the Detroit Public Schools Community District – have college advisors, who help students navigate the college enrollment process. Few, though, have someone like Grow, whose job is helping students be successful once they get to college.

Ashley Johnson, director of the Detroit College Access Network, an organization that coordinates efforts to ensure all students in the city have the opportunity to attend college, said that of the 51 high schools in and around Detroit that they work with, only two others have someone similar to Grow.

Johnson said the others include the Detroit Edison Public School Academy, one of the top-performing charter schools in the city, and Detroit Cristo Rey High School, a Catholic school.

For any school that strives to ensure that students get a college degree and are prepared for a career, “what we find is that getting kids into college isn’t enough,” Johnson said. “Right now, kids get into college and they don’t necessarily graduate.”

Connecting students to resources

When the school first opened, Rose talked often about the reality of opening a school in a city where many of the students entered high school far behind academically. That’s still an issue. Staff at the school work to catch students up, but there’s the realization that when they graduate and go to college, the students will have to work extra hard to stay on track.

The average SAT score for students last school year was 824, below the statewide average of 985. Few students at the school had scores that met the SAT’s standard for college readiness.

Ashley Johnson, executive director of the Detroit College Access Network, shared good news during a signing day and college decision day ceremony for the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy in May: The school had won $2,000 as part of a contest.

At the same time, the school’s most recent graduation rate was 92% for the Class of 2018. And about three quarters of the 87 students who graduated in the spring went on to some type of postsecondary education or the military.

Melissa Hamann, the president and CEO of Promise Schools, said that over the years, the college team has dedicated more of its resources to working with alumni. A key part of this effort has been surveying graduates who were unsuccessful in college “to unpack their high school and college journey to figure out what we and our college partners could be doing better.”

Academic preparation was an obvious issue, Hamann said. But so were issues such as time management and study skills.

“One of the things that has become apparent to us is colleges are admitting our students, but not all of them are really providing them supports for where they are academically once they’re on college campuses.”

So one thing Grow and her colleagues do is try to connect Jalen Rose students to resources at their colleges.

On a June morning, several dozen seniors from the Jalen Rose school hopped on a school bus and quietly rode the 11 miles to Henry Ford College, a community college in nearby Dearborn. This trip was the beginning of their college education.

The college team at the high school had arranged this visit to give the students an opportunity to do everything they needed before the fall semester began. They registered, took placement exams, signed up for classes with the help of advisors, and sat through an orientation. One student, a burgeoning musician, got a private tour of the school’s recording studios.

Part of what the college team does at Jalen Rose is connect students with people who can help their alumni succeed in college — people like Kalvin Harvell.

Harvell, a professor of sociology and coordinator of the Black Male and QUEENS Focus Group, a support network at the college, spoke to the visiting Jalen Rose students that day. He gave them frank advice about college, telling them at one point they need to treat their education as seriously as they do their “courting rituals.” He also told them to ignore naysayers who scoff at those who want to pursue an education, saying “we have to deconstruct these nonsense ideologies” about education.

Harvell, a Flint native who himself is a first-generation student, said that too often, the message some students get about education is negative. He had a different experience. In high school, he dreamed of becoming a “big-time rap star.” But his parents had different ideas. And they forced him to go to college.

“Some students don’t have that person that sees the potential in them … because with some of the parents, no one ever saw the potential in them.”

Colleges, he said, need to nurture students and provide the kind of services that will help them be successful. That’s why he’s taken such a strong interest in mentoring students at the community college.

“I can’t replicate my mom. She’s much smarter than me. But I want to replicate what she has done and push these young people in meaningful ways.”

On the road again

A week after Grow visited Central Michigan, she was on the road again — this time to Michigan State University, where she met with Perkins and other Jalen Rose alums.

Travel is a big part of Grow’s job. In October alone, she made visits to 11 colleges in the state. She’s on the road up to three days out of the work week, and will even travel outside of Michigan if necessary.

She and Perkins snagged a bench on the second floor of Bessey Hall for their meeting.

Katherine “Kat” Grow, the alumni success coordinator at the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy, chats with Kashia Perkins, an alum of the school now in her freshman year at Michigan State University.

At one point during the conversation, Perkins talked about the pressure of being a first-generation student. She has a cousin in college in Kentucky, but she would be the first in her immediate family to receive a college degree — something she wants to do to set a positive example for her younger siblings.

“All the weight is on me,” she told Grow, noting that if her younger sisters see her succeeding in college, they’ll want to do it themselves.

Grow responded that Perkins should try to see her stress as helpful.

"They're not going to let you fall behind. ... And that's good."

Kashia Perkins

“Sometimes the pressure is good, sometimes the pressure is bad. Use it as a motivator,” Grow advised.

They wrapped with a discussion about keeping up with classes. As she did with Robinson the week before, Grow reminded Perkins that the second half of the semester is usually packed with more intense material. But Perkins — and a peek into her grades — hadn’t given her any reason to worry.

“As long as you continue to do the things you’re doing and stay on track, you’ll be fine,” Grow said.

The scrutiny that comes with her visits is something the students sign up for when they attend the Jalen Rose academy. Perkins, who is studying human biology, told Chalkbeat last summer that not keeping in touch with Grow “is not really an option.”

Members of the college team, Perkins said, “really push you.”

“They’re not going to let you fall behind. They try to give you as many opportunities as they can. And that’s good.”

Robinson said the check-ins are important because they show him “someone actually cares about what you’re doing in school,” besides his parents and other family members. And it’s not just Grow. One of his high school coaches checks up on him. So does his high school adviser.

“It helps all of us stay on track, not just for them but for ourselves as well,” Robinson said.

This year, as the number of alumni kept growing, Grow had to be more strategic about providing assistance, prioritizing students who are college freshmen and older students who are struggling.

The school has 450 alums, about half of whom are still in college. This spring, the first group of Jalen Rose grads began graduating from college. Grow said she keeps an open-door policy with those who’ve dropped out of college, too, always willing to help if they need it.

Grow hopes the students see her as not an employee of their former school but as a relative coming to see them, because the school prides itself on being a family.

The school’s graduation ceremony in June — the end of one chapter and the beginning of another — had all the markings of family gathering. Teachers who had advised the seniors throughout their time at Jalen Rose gave emotional, and at times, tearful speeches before introducing them and awarding their degrees.

“You, my baby girls, are bright and capable,” teacher Pam Mandigo told her all-girl advisory. “You are strong. And you are worthy. And you, my baby girls, are on a journey to greatness.”

And Rose, the former NBA star who knows the graduates are entering a make-or-break time in their lives, told them they won’t be alone on their journey through college.

“There are going to be some tough times, some tough days. Don’t hesitate to reach out to us. We’re a family.”

This project was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect new information about Kat Grow, the alumni success coordinator at the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy, announcing her departure this week.

To and through: What research says about what works (and what doesn’t) to help students complete college

2020-01-15T18:18:26+00:00

Getting to college is just the beginning of the challenge for America’s students looking to earn a degree.

About 40 percent of students who enroll in college for the first time won’t have a degree six years later, the latest data show. And the disparities here are striking: While two-thirds of white students who start college finish a degree in that time, only about 40 percent of black students and 50 percent of Hispanic students do. Students from more affluent families are also much more likely to earn a degree than students from low-income families.

These differences reflect the many barriers low-income students of color face in making it through college.

Chalkbeat has been examining those challenges in our Ready or Not series, which has highlighted how students’ K-12 schools and their colleges often fall short in preparing and supporting students — and how some schools are trying to close those gaps.

Some research provides other reasons for optimism. Studies show that certain policies, particularly tuition grants paired with intensive, in-college support, can substantially raise low-income students’ chances of completing college.

“The interventions that seem to yield the best success provide unified supports — the kinds of systems of support that may provide students financial aid but that also attend to the other structural barriers that students face, or the guidance and help they need in terms of how to organize their courses and organize their time,” said Lindsay Page, a professor at the University of Pittsburgh.

We’ve combed through dozens of studies to try to pin down what else we know about what’s working — and what isn’t — to help students make it to and through college. Here’s a rundown.

What helps: More and better high school counseling

Students who had a particularly good high school counselor were 1.5 percentage points more likely to attend college and 1.4 points more likely to stay in college through their first year, according to a recent Massachusetts study. Counselor diversity matters too: students of color were about 2 points more likely to attend and persist in college if they had a counselor of color.

Simply hiring more counselors can also help. One study found that hiring an additional college counselor led to a large jump in four-year college enrollment.

Research on other college advising and support initiatives — like programs designed to increase students’ interest in college or offer support through the application process — is mixed. Some have demonstrated clearly positive results, but others have had limited or mixed effects. Recent studies on virtual counselors, who communicate with students by video, phone, and email, show they have little if any impact.

What helps: Grants for college — usually

It’s clear that students and their families think about finances when enrolling in college — and more financial aid through grants (as opposed to loans) generally means higher rates of college enrollment, persistence, and completion.

Our best estimate of how much of a difference this can make: Every $1,000 in grants translates into a 1.5 to 2 percentage point increase in degree completion, according to an overview of 43 studies.

“Students would experience worse outcomes without this investment,” the researchers concluded.

Specifically, studies have found students benefit from state financial aid programs in California, Florida, Texas, and West Virginia, as well as programs that promise to pay tuition for public school graduates in cities like Kalamazoo, Michigan; Buffalo, New York; and Pittsburgh

Here’s another way to show the impact of financial considerations: research has found that fluctuations in families’ housing values — a measure of wealth — affect where students go to and whether they complete college.

There are some exceptions. For example, neither a merit-aid program in Milwaukee nor a “free college” initiative in New York had any effect on college enrollment. A need-based private scholarship program in Wisconsin failed to improve college completion.

Simplicity seems to be a key design feature. A recent study tested what happened when low-income, high-achieving high schoolers in Michigan were sent a letter offering them a full-tuition scholarship to the University of Michigan.

Those students’ likelihood of enrolling at the school jumped by 15 points; without the letter some of them wouldn’t have attended college at all. What’s notable is that those students were already eligible for full-tuition aid — they just may not have realized it, or were intimidated by the complicated paperwork.

KIPP Memphis Collegiate High School senior Roy Webster announces that he will be attending college at Washington University in St. Louis during the school’s Decision Day 2019.

What helps: Intensive in-college support paired with financial aid

The Dell Scholars program provides low-income students with a generous scholarship, monitors their progress throughout college, and offers coaching for those who need it. Research found that participating students were 9 to 13 percentage points more likely to earn a bachelor’s degree — a very large effect.

This is one piece of evidence that programs are particularly successful when they combine tuition grants with extra support, like academic coaching or access to a social worker.

A recent study found that providing a coach increased the likelihood that Detroit community college students who had received financial aid would remain enrolled for a second semester by 8 percentage points.

Another successful example is ASAP at the City University of New York community colleges, a program that offers students financial aid as well as intensive advising and tutoring. The impact was substantial: 40 percent of students in the program earned a degree compared to 22 percent of students in a control group.

The model has been adopted by a number of Ohio community colleges — and again proved highly successful at increasing the likelihood students will graduate.

Less ambitious efforts are less likely to move the needle, research suggests. One comprehensive study at the University of Toronto found that exercises meant to help students improve goal setting and text messages with study tips did little to improve students’ grades or college persistence.

“More comprehensive, but expensive, programs that offer more intensive support to students for significantly altering study behavior may be necessary to make progress in helping incoming college students succeed,” the researchers concluded.

What helps: Going to better-resourced, more-selective colleges

Going to more selective institutions isn’t just a matter of prestige — it also seems to increase students’ chances of graduating. That’s especially notable because lower-income students are relatively unlikely to attend those schools.

There’s also evidence that students are more likely to get a degree if they enroll at a four-year, rather than a two-year college. (On the other hand, there’s also some research showing that if students are unprepared for a four-year college, attending one can hurt their chances of earning a degree.)

Much of this may be due to the fact that more selective, four-year universities tend to be significantly better resourced — and other research has found that higher spending means higher rates of college completion.

“Due to budgetary restrictions, less-selective public institutions often have large classes and provide little in the way of academic counseling, mentoring and other student supports,” explained David Deming, a Harvard researcher.

Without considering this, financial aid efforts can have unintended consequences. For instance, a Massachusetts program that awarded scholarships to in-state public colleges actually led to a decline in college completion rates. That’s because the program redirected students away from private and out-of-state schools where students were more likely to graduate.

Meanwhile, attending a for-profit college does not seem to hurt students’ chances of graduating, but doing so does appear to increase students’ debt loads and lower their average pay after graduating.

Kashia Perkins, a Michigan State University freshman, shown during her June graduation from the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy

What helps: Better schools and teachers before college

It seems obvious, but it’s worth saying: The quality of K-12 schools that students attend affects whether they will go to and do well in college.

Research has found that students with better teachers in grades 3-8 are more likely to attend college. Similarly, high school teachers directly affect students’ likelihood of planning to attend college. High schools that raise test scores also seem to improve students’ college grades and completion rates.

Other work has found that having high school teachers with higher expectations makes students more likely to finish college, and black students are more likely to attend college if they have a black teacher.

Higher K-12 education spending has been linked to better college outcomes, too. That’s shown up both in national research and in studies of Michigan, Texas, and Wisconsin schools. The Texas study found that an increase in $1,000 of education spending annually throughout a student’s K-12 education translated to a 4-point bump in college completion.

Students who had much smaller class sizes in early grades were 3 percentage points more likely to attend college and 2 points more likely complete college as a result, according to one Tennessee experiment.

These findings make sense, since a students’ academic preparation is a key predictor for whether they will enter and complete college.

The type of high school students go to may also matter: small schools in New York City and early college high schools boosted college attendance and persistence.

What might help: Going to certain charter schools in cities

Nationally, it’s not clear that charter schools have any advantage over district schools in college outcomes. But some research has found that so-called “no excuses” charter schools in cities do boost college enrollment, particularly attendance at four-year colleges. Attending a KIPP charter middle school, for instance, led to an increase in college enrollment of 13 points. Going to the original Noble charter high school in Chicago had a similar effect. “No-excuses” schools in Texas and Boston have also been shown to increase four-year college enrollment.

What’s less clear is to what extent those increases in enrollment translate into higher college completion rates, since there hasn’t been much firm research on this question. The KIPP study, for instance, found that their students were 9 percentage points more likely to stay in college for two years, though that difference was not statistically significant.

Another form of school choice — vouchers for private school — has a mixed track record when it comes to college outcomes. Some programs seem to boost students’ college chances, while others make no difference.

What might not help: Nudging students toward college

It was an idea that took the education world by storm: perhaps low-cost “nudges,” like packets of information about applying to college or text message reminders to fill out financial aid forms, could improve college access and ultimately increase completion rates.

Initially, the research seemed promising. But as it’s been brought to scale, the results have been disappointing. For instance, packets of information sent out by the College Board had no impact on whether or where students went to college; ditto for an effort to remind students to complete financial aid applications.

“It’s a good lesson in thinking about the limitations of these kinds of interventions,” Page, the University of Pittsburgh professor, previously told Chalkbeat, referring to the College Board study.

Some hold out hope for these nudges, if designed differently. Another recent study conducted by Page found that a personalized set of text messages around financial aid — based on students’ progress through the forms — led to a 3 percentage point increase in college enrollment. It’s too soon to say whether that will translate into greater college persistence and completion.

There is also evidence that requiring high school students to take a college entrance exam (for free) can effectively nudge a small number of them to attend college who otherwise wouldn’t.

Yamin Reddick in a summer math class at Rutgers University-Newark. He had to pass his summer classes in order to begin as a freshman this fall.

What does not help: traditional remedial courses

Imagine a new college student who comes up just a few points short on the test necessary to avoid remedial classes. Another student just clears the bar, and so goes straight into regular classes. Which one does better?

Turns out, it’s the latter student: an overview of research found that remedial courses actually reduced students’ chances of earning a degree by 1.5 percentage points. Plus, common placement tests aren’t actually good predictors of who will do well in college courses.

That’s a big deal because remedial coursework is very common. Between one third and half of college students will take one or more classes designed to catch them up.

“By requiring students to take remedial coursework before they can take college-level courses and complete their degree, institutions immediately place remediated students at a disadvantage, said Judith Scott-Clatyon of Columbia.

An important caveat: remediation may be beneficial for students who are particularly low performing.

Many colleges have responded by creating alternatives to traditional remediation, including, considering factors other than test scores in remedial placement, conducting remediation during high school, integrating remediation with credit-bearing courses, streamlining and accelerating remedial courses, and accepting alternatives to traditional requirements like substituting statistics for algebra. Research suggests that these alternatives are promising.

One approach that hasn’t proven particularly successful, though, is replacing traditional remedial courses with computer-based instruction.

‘Do everything’: Journalist Paul Tough on how colleges can get more low-income students to graduate — and why many still do not

2019-12-16T20:00:02+00:00

All those college pennants in American classrooms and the focus on “college readiness” point to one fact: Despite the rising costs, a college degree retains a rare power to lift young people out of poverty.

And yet, many low-income students never make it to college — particularly the elite institutions that give poor students a supercharged economic boost.

In his new book, “The Years That Matter Most: How College Makes or Breaks Us,” journalist Paul Tough offers some reasons why. Among them: standardized tests like the SAT that give privileged students a leg up in admissions, selective colleges that turn away high-achieving poor students in favor of applicants who can pay more tuition, and wealthy universities that can afford to enroll more poor students but don’t.

But what about the low-income students who do make it to college but face 50-50 odds of graduating?

Chalkbeat has profiled some of those students in a series called “Ready or Not.” So we asked Tough, who spent several years visiting college campuses and talking to scores of students, how colleges could get more low-income and first-generation students to graduate.

He began by describing a college administrator in Texas who perfected the “kitchen-sink approach — throw every possibly intervention at students.”

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

In your book you describe the work of David Laude, a chemistry professor whom the University of Texas in Austin appointed as its first-ever “graduation-rate champion.” In just a few years, he helped move the university’s four-year graduation rate from 51% to 70%. What were some of the strategies he used?

One of the weird things about writing about Laude was that there wasn’t a huge theory behind what he was doing.

His approach was a combination of practical interventions, things like summer programs for first-generation students before freshman year. Targeted freshman learning communities that gave students practical help negotiating college life as well as a sense of belonging that made them feel more of a connection with the University of Texas. Paid internships for students in sophomore, junior, and senior years. He also invested in advisors and mentors and mental-health counselors.

Laude described his strategy to me as a “kitchen-sink” approach — throw every possible intervention at students. Which in some ways makes it hard to write about, because it’s just: Do everything.

Paul Tough is the author of “How Children Succeed” and “Whatever It Takes.” His latest book is “The Years That Matter Most: How College Makes or Breaks Us.”

But in fact there was something very astute about that approach. The reality for students in that situation, for first-generation students — especially those who didn’t have the kind of opportunities or preparation that more affluent students did in high school — is that when they get to college, they’re just bombarded by implicit and explicit messages that make them think that they don’t belong and can’t succeed.

When you’re a student in that situation, it often just feels like everything is falling apart. You might have academic problems. You have financial problems. Sometimes you have social, emotional, or psychological problems. But to the student, it all just feels like one big problem. And the solution is not always clear.

Maybe you need a tutor. Maybe you need a $500 grant to get you through a particular weekend. Maybe you need therapy. Maybe you just need a friend — a peer mentor or a counselor. The only reliable way to help students in that situation is to provide them with lots of potential handholds, lots of different lifelines to grab onto when they feel like they’re slipping. That’s what I think was so effective about what UT did.

To what extent do you think that efforts to improve college outcomes need to involve K-12 schools?

That’s part of the answer, but I think it’s also important for people in higher education to understand that it is possible to make big improvements in students’ success rates in college without anything changing in K-12 education.

The number that stands out for me the most in David Laude’s graduation rate project was that the quartile of incoming freshmen at UT who had the lowest SAT and ACT scores, they experienced some of the biggest graduation-rate gains. Their four-year graduation rate went up from 39% graduating on time to 63% graduating on time during the five years that Laude was working on that project.

That means a lot. Nothing changed for those students in terms of their “college readiness.” But because of those kitchen-sink interventions, they graduated at much higher rates.

More colleges are embracing technology to guide admissions and even counseling, as you write about. They’re also bringing technology into the classroom with online courses that can customize learning. What do you think is the proper role of technology in improving college outcomes for students?

I’m mostly pretty skeptical about high-tech efforts to improve student outcomes. Not because I don’t think that technology can be useful, but because I think there is a tendency for colleges to use technology as a way of reducing the human element in their interactions with their students.

And the one thing that I think is clear from UT and from many other successful interventions is that what matters most in keeping college students engaged and enrolled — especially first-generation students — is the human connection. That’s the one common fact in all of David Laude’s interventions. They were all about putting people together in places where they could talk, communicate, and connect — whether that was peer-to-peer or with adult counselors, mentors, or tutors. And that just doesn’t work as well through online portals.

That said, I do think there can be a role for well thought-through supplements to human intervention. For instance, what Georgia State does with its data-driven advising program, I think that makes a lot of sense.

Using data to help inform advisors and counselors when a student needs help and enable those counselors to get to that student sooner rather than later, that’s really smart. It’s just that the help then needs to be delivered in a human way rather than a high-tech way.

We’ve been writing about the experiences of first-year college students in Detroit and Newark. Here in Newark, more students are attending and graduating college yet only about four in ten will earn any type of college degree within six years of enrolling. What are some of the main obstacles that keep students who do enroll in colleges — two-year or four-year — from earning degrees?

There are lots of obstacles. The first category is financial — the simple fact that attending those institutions often creates real financial burdens for families that don’t have a lot of resources.

Sometimes other family members need the support of college students. Bills come due. People get sick. Trying to go to college and pay a big tuition bill with chaotic family finances is really difficult. So that is one straightforward obstacle.

But beyond those financial pressures, our educational institutions — including K-12 systems as well as colleges — have not yet figured out a way to make the transition to college particularly smooth for many students. We’re mostly not doing a good job of making students feel more at home and more connected on a campus and in an institution that’s unfamiliar to them.

The final obstacle is the practical stuff: giving students the right academic preparation in high school. Making sure they’re taking the right classes, getting the right prerequisites, getting the right kind of scores and the right kind of knowledge in high school that will enable them to move onto college successfully.

You have spent six years looking at this research and visiting colleges all across the country. If you could wave a magic wand and make the higher education system more fair and live up to its promise for all students, what are the changes you would start with?

First, it is clear to me that private institutions, especially the most selective ones, could be admitting a lot more low-income students than they are. I don’t think it’s truly a high priority for a lot of those institutions to have a socioeconomically diverse undergraduate student body, and I think it should be.

But beyond that, the much bigger change would be for us, the public, to again invest in public higher education the way we did a generation or so ago, so that students have a good, cheap, reliable public alternative to those selective private institutions.

This would radically change the economics of going to college. It would mean you could go to college and get a degree if you had modest family income without incurring a lot of debt — which is exactly what middle-class students were regularly able to do in the past.

That, in turn, would lower the pressure around college on students, families, and institutions. Going to college wouldn’t be seen as this huge high-risk endeavor where you might bankrupt yourself and harm your family’s finances for years to come. If you chose the wrong major in the first year, it wouldn’t be a huge disaster. If you needed to transfer from one institution to another, it wouldn’t be catastrophic.

Until we go back to having a real public higher education system that is generously funded by the public, I think it’s going to be hard to solve a lot of these other problems. But that’s a change that we could definitely choose to make.

As more colleges experiment with online remediation, some students flourish while many others fall behind

2019-12-16T03:47:19+00:00

On the first day of her first college math class, JaniQua Guiste chose a seat near the front of a computer lab at Rutgers University-Newark. Right at 10 a.m., the instructor looked up from her computer.

“Good morning, students,” she said that sunny morning this September. “How are you today?”

Guiste hadn’t been surprised to test into Math 104, or “Intermediate Algebra,” a remedial class that begins with whole numbers and fractions before moving into linear equations and rational expressions. It was material she might have mastered in 11th-grade Algebra 2 at her Newark high school had the teacher not quit the second week, leaving the class with a rotating cast of substitutes.

“In math, I knew I wasn’t going to be prepared,” said Guiste, a native of the U.S. Virgin Islands who moved to Newark in 2017 after Hurricane Irma leveled her family’s home.

Now her math instructor was telling students to log onto their computers and register for ALEKS, an online program that would play the role of co-teacher. A few minutes later, a student in her 30s asked if they would use a workbook along with ALEKS.

“We don’t have a workbook,” the instructor replied. “Everything is online.”

That comment would shape the semester for Guiste and thousands of other students in remedial courses across the country, where more than 40% of public colleges have turned to online and other self-paced programs to help their most struggling students get up to speed in math.

Unlike lecture courses, online programs allow students to plug away at their own speed on problems matched to their individual learning needs — a format that works well for some students. But there are also pitfalls to that approach.

Students who arrive with the biggest gaps in their learning can easily fall behind in computer-based courses — especially students “who don’t have great study skills and aren’t super self-directed,” said Maggie Fay, a researcher who has studied such classes. And even in supervised courses like Guiste’s, the instructors can struggle to catch students who veer off track.

“The theory of action on online remediation sounds very promising,” said Fay, who is a research associate at the Community College Research Center at Teachers College, Columbia University. But most of the independent research has “not shown super strong outcomes.”

Turning to tech

The rise of computer-based remediation is one response to a longstanding crisis in higher education: Many of the students who enter college furthest behind never catch up.

This year, Chalkbeat reporters in Newark and Detroit are examining whether students from struggling schools are prepared for college — and whether colleges are prepared for them. Catch up on the Ready or Not series here.

Those students are typically placed in remedial classes, which cover material often taught in high school or earlier. Remediation allows community colleges and less-selective four-year institutions to serve under-prepared students who might otherwise be shut out of higher education.

But what was intended as an on-ramp to college often becomes a parking lot: About half of remedial course-takers at community colleges and roughly 40% at four-year institutions never complete the courses, according to a 2016 federal study, which found that black, Hispanic, and low-income students were overrepresented in remediation. Stymied by the courses, many students leave college with debt and dashed hopes instead of degrees.

Those dismal outcomes have sparked a national reform movement, with colleges and entire states taking steps to send fewer students to remediation or allow them to skip it entirely. At the same time, many have overhauled the way they deliver remediation to students who need it — in many cases, with the help of technology.

ALEKS’s online math program

Today, more than 40% of four-year public colleges now offer self-paced remedial math classes that often rely heavily on computers, according to a recent report by the Center for the Analysis of Postsecondary Readiness. A new effort backed by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation aims to bring the “adaptive learning” technology that powers many of those classes to 200 more colleges in the coming years.

Adaptive learning programs like ALEKS make an alluring promise: college, but “personalized.” Instead of survey courses in anonymous lecture halls, students get customized online lessons with material adapted to their needs.

“When I’m teaching a lecture, I’m teaching you something whether you already know it or not,” said Robert Puhak, who directs college algebra and basic math at Rutgers-Newark and oversees the ALEKS classes. “This is just going after the things you don’t know.”

Theory of action

In Guiste, Rutgers-Newark had found an ideal student for its computer-based math class.

She prefers working online over copying notes off a whiteboard. She isn’t afraid to flag down the instructor when a problem baffles her. She’s meticulous about completing her assignments, which she lists on a weekly calendar in her dorm room. And she likes learning from ALEKS.

“It breaks down every step,” she said. “It has a problem, then it has an answer to the problem — like a whole explanation.”

Adaptive programs allow students to skip topics they already know and focus on those they don’t. At Rutgers-Newark, students work through practice problems individually as an instructor stands by to answer questions and teach brief lessons when needed. To advance to a new topic, students must answer several questions correctly.

"The whole purpose is that it's going to teach you things you don't know."

To do all that, ALEKS must first determine what students know. So during that first session of Math 104 in September, the students took an online “Knowledge Check” that assessed their grasp of the 341 topics covered in the first portion of the class. ALEKS returned the results immediately: One student in the back row who raced through the quiz understood 151 of the topics; two seats over, his classmate knew only 69.

The instructor told the class not to stress: “The whole purpose is that it’s going to teach you things you don’t know.”

A commuter campus situated in the heart of the city, Rutgers-Newark proudly educates a wide array of students — including about 15% who hail from Newark. That commitment to diversity also means that many students arrive needing some remediation.

Rutgers University-Newark

That has not always gone well. A 2003 report by external evaluators said Rutgers-Newark had “a very weak developmental program.” (Some researchers and college administrators refer to “developmental” rather than remedial education, which they believe has negative connotations.)

Since then, Rutgers-Newark has ramped up student supports such as tutoring, advising, and financial aid, while condensing remedial math into a single semester (a move shown to boost completion rates) and hiring full-time faculty members to teach remedial classes instead of part-time instructors. And in 2015, the campus began using ALEKS for remedial math.

The promise of personalized learning has captivated many colleges. In 2018, nearly 2 million college students used ALEKS, one of several online programs on the market.

Yet the limited research on computer-based remediation has found mixed outcomes for “hybrid” courses like those at Rutgers-Newark, where students use online programs in computer labs under the guidance of instructors.

In Tennessee, students at four-year colleges who took remedial math on computers were more likely to pass the course than students in lecture classes but less likely to pass their first college-level math class, according to a new study. And in Kentucky, community college students who took computer-based remediation were less likely to pass the course and less likely to earn degrees than students in traditional classes, according to a recent peer-reviewed study.

“We have seen a lot of colleges move quickly towards adopting these computer-based instructional models” for remediation, said Angela Boatman, a higher-education professor at Boston College who conducted the Tennessee study. The limited rigorous research to date, she added, raises the possibility that “this is not the solution that colleges had hoped it would be.”

Still, some colleges have seen improvements after turning to tech. McGraw-Hill Education, the publisher that owns ALEKS, points to several case studies suggesting positive outcomes at institutions that use its program.

For instance, Arizona State University and a Milwaukee community college both found that students who used ALEKS were more likely to pass basic math courses than students in traditional classes. The studies were conducted by people at those institutions or researchers connected to McGraw-Hill; neither looked at students’ later outcomes.

“They’re seeing these improvements they just haven’t been able to see in the classic models,” said Scott Virkler, chief product and operations officer at McGraw-Hill Higher Education. ALEKS, he added, “works exceptionally well for remediation.”

‘They were really lost’

Essex County College had hoped online remediation would deliver the miracle it needed.

A community college adjacent to Rutgers-Newark, Essex is a top destination for Newark residents seeking better lives — some fresh out of high school, others returning to the classroom after long absences. Nearly 43% of graduates from Newark’s non-selective high schools enroll at Essex, compared to about 3% at Rutgers-Newark, according to a recent study.

Like most two-year colleges, Essex accepts anyone who applies. The vast majority of incoming students must take at least one remedial class, but few make it out. In math, less than 7% of students who start in the lowest level of remediation ultimately pass a college-level math course.

“Developmental math is a swamp where a lot of people never escape,” said Douglas Walcerz, a former vice president at Essex.

Essex County College

Walcerz was convinced that the format of remedial math was fatally flawed. No instructor could give a lesson that met the needs of students whose math skills ranged from an 11th-grade to a fourth-grade level, he said.

So in 2013, Walcerz brought in ALEKS. Using federal funds and a $100,000 grant from the Gates Foundation, Essex piloted a new remedial math course where students met in computer labs three days a week to work online with guidance from instructors. Two days a week, they took a mandatory study-skills class where they set weekly goals for topics to complete in ALEKS.

When students took a diagnostic exam at the beginning of the course that fall, the results confirmed Walcerz’s suspicion about the huge variation among students: The least prepared knew less than 5% of the course topics, while the most prepared knew more than 70%.

"Developmental math is a swamp where a lot of people never escape."

ALEKS enabled a small number of students to zip ahead, finishing the class early or completing two courses in one semester. But others were left in the dust. Pass rates plummeted in the classes that used ALEKS the first year, which Walcerz later called “disastrous.” However, the ALEKS students who did pass were slightly more likely to make it through college-level math than their peers who took regular remedial classes, said Walcerz, now a dean at Brazosport College in Texas.

The results were also disappointing at other colleges and universities that received Gates funding to experiment with adaptive-learning programs. A 2016 Gates-commissioned study that reviewed data from 14 institutions found the technology did not generally improve course completion, and only led to modest learning gains at three institutions. “The ultimate goal — better student outcomes at lower cost — remains elusive,” the report concluded. (Chalkbeat receives some funding from Gates.)

In 2016, Essex abandoned ALEKS.

Brooke Orosz, an assistant professor of math and physics at Essex, said it had been hard for instructors to keep tabs on a room full of students each practicing different topics online. And without group work, students had few opportunities to learn from their peers. That placed a heavy burden on students to learn the material themselves using ALEKS and to seek help when they got stuck.

“It seemed like a third of the class was doing great with it and the other two-thirds didn’t really know what to do,” she said. “They were really lost.”

Today, the college is planning a number of research-backed reforms that don’t rely on technology. Those include using multiple measures instead of a single test to determine if students need remediation, embedding tutors in some remedial classes, and piloting a college-level “co-requisite” course covering statistics and related algebra so students can skip a semester of remedial algebra.

“We really believe that if we could help students get through developmental math,” said Jill Stein, the dean who oversees math and other subjects, “it would have a huge impact on retention and graduation.”

The human component

At first, Math 104 was a breeze for Guiste.

She had attended a summer “boot camp” at Rutgers-Newark that gave low-income, less academically prepared students a crash course in surviving college. During the program, she took a math class where she learned concepts also covered in the first weeks of Math 104.

But as the fall semester wore on, the material grew more challenging and the pace more grueling. The class included weekly quizzes on top of the ALEKS practice problems. To keep up, Guiste tried to master six topics per day — a goal that required correctly answering dozens of practice problems, often late at night in her dorm room.

In class, she mostly learned alone. Unlike during the summer, she and her classmates didn’t get to work through problems together at the whiteboard. The instructor gave brief lessons, but Guiste often found them confusing — especially when the topics differed from the ones in Guiste’s customized ALEKS course.

She could usually figure out how to solve problems by poring over the examples that ALEKS gave. But because cost constraints had kept Rutgers-Newark from purchasing a textbook or instructional videos to supplement ALEKS, Guiste often turned to Google and YouTube when a concept stumped her.

“What’s the point of being in the class with a teacher if you’re going to teach yourself with ALEKS?” she said one dreary afternoon in October.

In class one morning that month, it was clear that Guiste wasn’t the only student teaching herself.

"What's the point of being in the class with a teacher if you're going to teach yourself with ALEKS?"

The students were scheduled to take a quiz on linear equations — their seventh quiz in six weeks. The following week would bring more quizzes and an exam, plus all the ALEKS questions for the first portion of class would be due. Yet when class started at 10 a.m., only seven of 23 students were present in the computer lab.

The instructor wrote a practice problem on the board — ¾ x – ⅔ = ⅙ — then briskly narrated the steps to solve it. But hardly anyone watched. Instead, students stared intently at their computers, some with their hoods up or headphones on to drown out distractions. They worked on a practice quiz or problems in ALEKS. A couple students raised their hands to request help with their ALEKS problems. Sitting in the front row, Guiste asked when they could start the quiz.

Around 10:30, it began. One student who wasn’t in the room tried accessing the quiz remotely.

“Someone’s trying to trick me,” the instructor said. (The instructor allowed Chalkbeat to observe her class multiple times on the condition that she not be named.)

About 30 minutes later, most students had completed the quiz’s eight problems. Circulating through the room, the instructor saw that one young man had answered three problems incorrectly.

“What happened? We just did this on the board. You weren’t listening?” she asked him. “I came in late,” said the student, Jake Lakatos.

That quiz was an exception for Lakatos. He had earned perfect scores on most of the other quizzes, which covered material he recalled learning at his high school in a middle-class township south of Newark. For him, the format of the class was ideal.

“I listen in if there is something I need help with,” he said about the instructor’s lessons. “But most of the time, I’m just kind of tuned out and going ahead on the computer.”

Jillian Rock

But that approach fell short for students such as Jillian Rock, who asked about workbooks on the first day of class. A writer and visual artist, she had taken classes at other colleges before enrolling at Rutgers-Newark and placing into remedial math.

As Rock progressed slowly through ALEKS, relearning concepts she hadn’t used in years, she bumped up against the faster pace of the course. One day, she had to pause her online work on fractions to take a class quiz on geometry. Meanwhile, she missed learning from peers and her professor as she had in previous math classes.

“There’s no human component to this,” she said, “and I think that’s where I struggle.”

Eventually she dropped the course. She planned to retake it later — in a lecture format.

Teaching with ALEKS

Instructors are expected to play a pivotal role in hybrid classes like Guiste’s, harnessing the software to track students’ progress and swoop in strategically.

“ALEKS does not replace the teacher,” said Virkler of McGraw-Hill Higher Education. “The teacher is the most important thing — that doesn’t change.”

"ALEKS does not replace the teacher"

Programs like ALEKS can provide instructors with a powerful tool. With a few clicks, they can see how long a student was logged into the program, what problems they got wrong, and how many attempts it took to get the right answers. Armed with that data, instructors know “where to spend your time and energy and where each student is having their unique set of challenges,” Virkler said.

But successfully making use of the data requires time and training that are often in short supply.

Jonathan Guhl-Miller, a part-time instructor at Rutgers-Newark who teaches Math 104 and other classes, said ALEKS’s trove of data is only useful if instructors can sort through it all.

“It does require an enormous amount of paying attention to the extra tools” to monitor each person’s progress in a class of 20 or more students, he said.

Data analysis is just one of many skills required to teach alongside a computer. Instructors must keep everyone on track even as students work at their own pace. And they must intervene seamlessly, pivoting from private coaching one minute to a whole-class lesson the next.

“It’s a new type of challenge,” said Puhak, the Rutgers-Newark math director who oversees ALEKS classes. “You have to be savvy as to who knows what — and more so — where does each individual need help and then how can you best do that.”

Puhak said he hopes to offer instructors more training in teaching strategies, which college faculty across the country often never receive. He’s inspired by seeing what computer-centered remedial classes look like when led by expert educators — like Wahab Ashraf.

Wahab Ashraf

Ashraf, who graduated from Rutgers-Newark and also teaches honors biology at a Newark high school, has taught Math 104 for several years. During one of his evening classes last month, he seemed to fuse the interactive, supportive structure of high school with the more independent approach of college.

“Hello, hello, hello,” he said as students took their seats in the computer lab. “Hello, professor,” several replied.

Like Guiste’s class the previous month, Ashraf’s students were preparing for a quiz the next day. But Ashraf’s review looked completely different. He asked students to pair up and solve a series of practice problems. While they worked, he scanned their calculations and pointed out mistakes or asked a student from one pair to explain a concept to a different duo.

In the third row, a young man walked his partner through the steps for using an equation to find the area of a rectangle. She followed his guidance and got the right answer.

Only after Ashraf called students to the board to show how they solved the problems did he allow independent work on computers.

“ALEKS just gives them notes — it maps out the steps, but sometimes they can’t see how ALEKS goes from one step to the next,” Ashraf said, adding that is why group work and the instructor’s lessons are invaluable. “It’s a huge benefit to just have someone there to help guide their learning.”

Making classes like Ashraf’s into the norm could be a challenge. Guhl-Miller said that while he does give some lectures in Math 104, that is complicated by the fact that students are “working on different topics at different times” in ALEKS. He also offers extra assistance to anyone who needs it during or after class, he added. But ultimately, he said, students must take responsibility for their own learning.

“This is the college level; we are not looking over their shoulder all the time,” he said. “If they don’t realize they need help and they won’t accept my help, then they’re going to struggle and fail.”

Preparing for what’s next

By one measure, Rutgers-Newark’s remedial math program is working for most students. On average 75% of students pass Math 104 and Math 105, which enrolls students who score slightly higher on the placement test but still require remediation.

But experts say the real test of remediation is whether it prepares students to succeed in college-level classes — and on that front, Rutgers-Newark has a mixed record. In the 2017-18 school year, up to 90% of students who completed remedial math passed Math 106, a liberal arts course that does not involve algebra, according to administrators. But just 50-57% of remedial math completers made it through Math 109, college-level algebra for business and science.

“We have to keep evaluating what we’re doing and adapting our techniques, our models, to better serve students,” Puhak said.

JaniQua Guiste

Other colleges that rely on computer-based remediation should do the same, said Nikki Edgecombe, principal investigator for the Center for the Analysis of Postsecondary Readiness.

Despite evidence of “weak outcomes” for some students in online courses, colleges, philanthropies, and tech companies are unlikely to abandon an approach they’ve invested heavily in, she added. So instead, researchers and practitioners should find improvements.

“We need to figure that out,” Edgecombe said. “Because otherwise, it’s a space where we’re going to exacerbate inequity.”

For her part, Guiste is determined to finish Math 104 and tackle the more advanced algebra she’ll need to earn a degree and, one day, become a dentist.

"We need to figure that out. Because otherwise, it's a space where we're going to exacerbate inequity."

So around 4 p.m. one afternoon in early December, with the final exam less than two weeks away, she found a quiet lounge in her dorm and pulled up ALEKS on her laptop. She realized that between class and her campus job as an office assistant, she had never eaten lunch. Yet she kept working.

She took a practice quiz in ALEKS, then read and reread its explanation of a problem she got wrong on graphing a line. It still didn’t make sense, so she resolved to ask a friend in higher-level math for help.

Thinking back that afternoon on her long slog through Math 104, she decided the hard work had been worth it: “I feel like all of it is going to prepare us for what’s next.” But first, she needed to pass.

“I just really hope and pray,” she said.

This project was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

I’m in college because my high school offered many opportunities — including to learn how to ask for help

2019-11-25T21:22:34+00:00

A year ago, I was waiting to find out whether I would get into my first-choice college. Now, I am finishing my first semester there and getting ready to head home to Brooklyn for winter break.

Everybody’s journey is going to be different, but the main advice I have for all the seniors going through their college application process this year is to take full advantage of all the help available both within and outside your school to prove to your family and friends that you are taking opportunities seriously.

As the first member of my family to attend college, I had an amazing journey from my birthplace in Colombia to Lehigh University in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, by way of Brooklyn public schools. I worked hard every step of the way and ended up at my first-choice college this fall because so many other people supported and motivated me.

When I was 6 years old, my parents immigrated here, toiling at cleaning jobs to build a better life for me and my two older brothers. My father, who is retired now, told me how he hoped I would go to college because he never had the chance to pursue his dream of a career in medicine. But I started third grade at a new school in East New York speaking hardly any English, even though I had already been in the country for some time. There, I had teachers who excited me about learning and helped me become more and more comfortable with the language.

I chose to travel to Brooklyn Preparatory High School starting in ninth grade because representatives of the school had come to my middle school and said they would help students get to college. So I applied to the school even though it was an hour from home, in Williamsburg.

When I got there, I found many programs in place to help students become prepared for and apply to college. I took advantage of the wide array of Advanced Placement courses, studying Spanish, U.S. history, European history, calculus, chemistry, and environmental science. In my first semester taking AP courses as a sophomore, I also took a class just about the study skills I would need to succeed.

My school also offered free SAT prep and helped me find out about a program called SEO, which offered additional Saturday and summer sessions on the SAT from Princeton Review teachers. I ended up taking the SAT three times and kept improving my scores.

Events held at my school during Career Exploration month helped me learn about different professions and shaped my thinking about what I wanted to study after high school. I got excited about studying business.

And Brooklyn Prep’s director of college counseling, Briana Avery, helped me navigate all of the stressful forms and deadlines that were part of applying for college. That included applying for financial aid — which I needed a lot of — and writing my personal essay. I also went on tours of both CUNY and SUNY campuses, and another program paid for me to travel to campuses outside of New York City.

That was how I found out about Lehigh, where I was impressed right away by everyone who made me feel so welcome. That sense of caring combined with the school’s academic rigor and being only a two-hour drive away from my family in Brownsville made Lehigh my first choice, and I applied early decision on Ms. Avery’s recommendation.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but a lot of the resources I experienced were new because of New York City’s recent initiative to get more students to college. At least some of the AP courses I took were added because of the AP for All program. The free SAT prep I received was also new, as was my ability to take the test during the school day. Ms. Avery was part of a program called Collegebound Initiative that more schools are joining with College Access for All funding. Even the career exploration program was part of a citywide initiative.

At my school, there were some kids who didn’t seem to care about going to college, but at least in my grade, it felt like lots of students did. As the years went on, it felt like my classmates were becoming role models for the younger students in our high school. That seems to be the trend in New York City: Last week, the city announced that more students than ever are graduating and going to college.

Getting to college is a major accomplishment, but I know that getting through the next four years will be another challenge. My adjustment hasn’t been easy. The courses are definitely challenging and Bethlehem is a lot calmer than the fast-paced hustle and bustle I’m used to in Brooklyn.

But my best friend from high school also enrolled here, and Lehigh does a good job of supporting students like me who are the first in their family to attend college. In fact, a program I joined just for first-generation and low-income students, LUSSI, has already protected me from setbacks. I was struggling in calculus and physics, and the program director helped me realize that I wasn’t as passionate about engineering, one of the subjects I set out to study, as I thought. Now I’m studying finance. If I hadn’t been part of the program, I might have been stuck.

Ms. Avery is pretty focused on this year’s seniors at Brooklyn Prep, but I spoke to her a little while after the school year started when she called to check in on how I’m doing. It’s because of her and my high school that I am in college now — and because of them that I know how to take advantage of the resources around me when I need help.

Josue Quintero graduated from Brooklyn Preparatory High School in 2019.

About our First Person series:

First Person is where Chalkbeat features personal essays by educators, students, parents, and others trying to improve public education. Read our submission guidelines here.

‘I just have to work hard for it.’ As Detroit students settle into their first semester of college, these programs provide needed support

2019-11-15T18:47:56+00:00

She’s scheduled office visits with her professor. She’s asked the teaching assistants for help. She’s dropped into the math learning centers.

But still, despite excelling in her other classes, Marqell McClendon has struggled in the low-level math class she’s taking during her first semester at Michigan State University.

“Sometimes when I’m in class and I’m learning, some things start to feel familiar from high school and I’m kind of like, ‘I learned this already but I don’t really understand it.’ And I don’t know why I don’t understand it because it looks familiar.”

So she’s finding help any way she can — watching educational videos online and, when the work seems impossible, approaching strangers in her dorm and asking them for help.

It’s an unfamiliar scene for McClendon, the valedictorian of her graduating class at Detroit’s Cody High School who’s used to students coming to her for help. Now, the tables are turned. She describes it as “bittersweet.”

Marqell is among a group of recent Detroit high school graduates Chalkbeat is following through their first year of college, for a series highlighting the complex dynamics that make it difficult for students from disadvantaged communities like Detroit to complete college.

The challenges students face — academic, financial, social — are why so many colleges have turned to programs that help ease the transition, from summer bridge programs that provide academic and social support during the summer between high school graduation and the beginning of college to similar programs that operate during the academic year.

The programs differ in structure, content, and length, but all reflect hope on the part of the colleges that giving first-generation students and underrepresented students extra support will pay off in terms of increased graduation rates.

Nationally, only 60% of students who enroll at four-year institutions earn a bachelor’s degree within six years. That is the average for all students — the six-year college graduation rate is much lower for black students (40%), Hispanic students (55%), and low-income students (49%).

Meanwhile, one study found that a third of students whose parents had no college experience dropped out after three years of school, compared to 26% of those whose parents had some college education and 14% of those whose parents had bachelor’s degrees. First-generation students are often at a disadvantage because their parents struggle to help them navigate college life.

Closer to home, nearly half of graduates from Detroit’s main district who make it to college must take remedial courses. For charter schools in the city, it ranges from 32% to 75%. Taking remedial classes comes with another set of challenges. It can be discouraging, particularly for students used to excelling in high school. But it can also be costly, given the students often are paying for classes that don’t count toward college graduation.

At MSU, McClendon is taking advantage of one such program that is geared toward students studying in the university’s College of Natural Science. Called the Charles Drew Science Scholars, it arms students – most of them from underrepresented communities – with intense academic advising, academic coaching, career advising, and a connection to a tight-knit community. At last count, 72% of the Drew students graduate from college in six years.

For McClendon, the Drew program has given her something she wouldn’t have gotten on her own: a small community of peers and adults she can turn to for help.

“They can actually cater to our individual needs,” McClendon said.

She may need it to get through her math class, which she must pass to get into the upper-level math she needs for her biomedical laboratory science major.

The first big test came when she took her midterm exam in mid-October. Walking out of the room that day, she wasn’t sure whether any of the work she’d put in would pay off in the final score.

***

Michigan State University freshman, Kashia Perkins, left, catches up with her “big sister” and MSU student, Kai Brown, on Wednesday, Oct. 23, 2019 on the MSU campus.

It was mid-afternoon on a drizzly Wednesday afternoon in Mount Pleasant, and inside Ronan Hall, the students in the first-year experience seminar class were peppering a couple of guest speakers with questions about loans and credit. But when the conversation turned too heavily toward credit cards, Marceil Davis interrupted.

“By and large, these are first-generation college students,” Davis, the teacher of the class, said from his seat in the back of the room, where he’d been observing while the guests spoke. “One of the worst things we can do, on top of loan debt, is to add credit card debt.”

It’s an important piece of advice, given that more than a third of college students report having credit card debt of $1,000 or more, according to a survey released earlier this year.

But in this class at Central Michigan University, the students are getting guidance from people like Davis, an academic advisor with a program at the university that is aimed at ensuring students like the ones in this class – either first-generation students or those from low-income families – can successfully navigate their freshman year.

“We’re Pathways,” Davis told the students. “We’re a little more up in your business. The reason we do this is to set you up for success.”

The Pathways to Academic Success program is funded by a state grant. Multiple other Michigan colleges run similar programs through the grant. At CMU, the program helps about 150 freshmen each year.

Demetrius Robinson, a recent graduate of the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy in Detroit, is one of them. He said being part of the program provides distinct advantages for students.

“You get that experience that a lot of other students miss out on,” said Robinson, whom everyone calls Meech. “They don’t have the academic support, the academic advisers that we have or the resources we have available to us. I can come in here any given day and go… to the Pathways office and sit and get any kind of help I need.”

Mary Henley, the director of Pathways to Academic Success, poses for a photograph inside her office on Wednesday, Oct. 30, 2019, at Central Michigan University in Mount Pleasant.

Mary Henley, director of the Pathways program, said it has four goals: helping students increase their grade point averages, advance their academic standing each year, increase their acceptance into their major, and graduate.

“Those sound like very simple goals,” Henley said. “But we get students on campus, they get through high school and they do really well and they come to college and it’s a culture shock. We are there to help students like Meech navigate. He was a superstar in high school and you come to college and all of a sudden you’re starting over.”

Robinson, an extrovert, is already making a name for himself. He cuts hair and helps students with fitness training, something he’s been doing for years thanks to his family’s fitness business. He’s become involved in campus organizations, and recently became certified as a campus volunteer through Pathways, which will allow him to lead or assist with campus tours for prospective students, as well as participate in panel discussions for those touring the campus.

But like any first-year student, Robinson has faced challenges. He can cite times when he’s struggled to meet his professors’ expectations.

“I do what’s asked, but when I get my papers back, sometimes it’s like, ‘Dang, I thought I did everything,’” he said. “I’ve come to this realization that … I’m putting out my best work … but it isn’t enough.”

He’s dealt with it by talking to his instructors. He’s found them receptive to providing feedback. They’ve told him how he can improve his grades. Now, he said, he has a road map to finishing the semester with strong grades. He hopes to end up with mostly As and Bs, but said a C is possible.

Central Michigan University freshmen, from left, Demetrius Robinson Jr., 18, Nic’Quan Webb, 18, and Keegen Williams, 18, complete worksheets during their first year experience class on Wednesday, Oct. 30, 2019 in Mount Pleasant.

That his professors have been willing to help is surprising to Robinson.

“These professors actually do care and they do try to help you. Not just me. They help all students in the class.”

Henley, the Pathways program director, understands the challenges her students are dealing with. She was one of them decades ago, when she arrived on the CMU campus as a freshman in 1979. She struggled not only as a black student coming from Flint to a predominantly white institution, but also as a first-generation student.

“I’m able to offer students who are coming here the way that I did a smoother path,” Henley said.

***

Lately, Kashia Perkins has been mulling a decision that could dramatically alter her future.

When she arrived as a freshman at Michigan State University in August, she was on a path toward a degree in human biology.

Now, she’s not so certain.

Her biggest concern? Whether an undergraduate degree will be enough to land her a good job.

“I definitely would need to go to medical school. I wasn’t sure if medical school was for me.”

Perkins raised the prospect of switching to MSU’s nursing program with Kai Brown on a recent afternoon. Brown, who like Perkins is from Detroit, is herself majoring in human biology and is planning to go to medical school to become a surgeon. She urged her younger classmate to think hard before making a big switch.

“I’ve been in that space where I considered nursing and not medical school as my route,” Brown said. “You have time to decide if that’s your idea of what you want to do with your life.”

The two became connected through a university program called Big Sister Little Sister, which pairs incoming freshmen with older students who can help guide them through their first year. Brown, who graduated from Detroit’s elite Cass Technical High School, is a senior at MSU.

For Kashia, it’s a reversal of roles. She’s used to being the big sister. The one setting the example. The one her younger siblings look up to.

Now, she’s the one looking up.

“I thought it would be nice to have somebody who has college experience who could mentor me,” Perkins said.

Brown wishes it was something she’d done as a freshman at MSU. She lived in the same building that held most of her classes, so she recalls feeling isolated — from the university as a whole, but also from the African-American community.

She and Perkins were only recently paired, so they’re still getting to know each other. Brown is mentoring two other freshmen. All three little sisters are majoring in science.

“It’s important to have a mentor, especially in college, and especially for someone who may be a first-generation student,” Brown said. “It’s not always easy trying to lead your own way. So, sometimes, you might need someone to lift you up when you need it.”

Perkins is involved in several other activities, including a dance team. She said being involved helps with time management, because the frequent responsibilities force her to keep track of the school work she needs to get done.

Like McClendon, her toughest class at MSU is a low-level math class. But Perkins reports doing well academically overall. She’s also enjoying being on her own for the first time.

“It’s helping me become more independent,” Perkins said.

And two weeks after that initial conversation with Brown about her major, things were starting to firm up for Kashia. She’s now decided to stick with the human biology major for now.

“This is what I’ve always wanted to do,” Perkins said. “I just have to work hard for it.”

***

Kashia Perkins, a freshman at Michigan State University, poses for a photograph on Wednesday, Oct. 23, 2019.

The Drew Scholars program at MSU began 40 years ago as part of an effort to increase the number of underrepresented students going into science fields. The program takes in about 75 students annually, with the main criteria being strong high school grade point averages and strong performance on the SAT and/or ACT, with particular attention paid to math scores.

Well over 90% of the students involved in the program return for their second year at MSU, officials say. While similar programs also report positive results, it’s hard to make sweeping statements about the effectiveness of such efforts at colleges and universities because they all take different approaches.

Jerry Caldwell, the director of the program, said math is emphasized because all of the degree programs in the College of Natural Science require at least a semester of calculus. Drew students are required to live in Rather Hall during their freshman year, with nearly all living on the same floor as the program offices.

The residential piece is a crucial part of Drew Scholars, Caldwell said. The goal, he said, is for students to become part of a community and to feel connected to students with similar academic interests.

“This is a place where students can get lost,” Caldwell said, referring to the large campus that enrolls nearly 40,000 students. “It’s very important that they have a connection to something or somebody. We’re here to help them navigate that environment.”

McClendon already has benefited from a key part of the program: a requirement that students meet with an academic adviser three times each semester during their first year. During her first session, McClendon confirmed her suspicions that it would take her five years, not four, to earn her degree.

“It made me realize it’s a lot of work I have to put in,” McClendon said. “But it kind of got me mentally prepared for what I should expect.”

Students also must take a seminar class during their freshman and sophomore years, taught by Caldwell. Among the key principles of the first-year class: professionalism, connecting with faculty, time management, the teaching and learning process, community connections, and health and wellness.

Students are assigned an older student as a mentor, and there are a number of activities that bring alums of the program as well as professionals to campus to share their experiences. That’s how McClendon connected with a woman, a physicist, she hopes can be a professional mentor.

“It’s important to get those connections early because I may run into someone that can actually give me, like, a glimpse of what I think I want to do in the future,” McClendon said.

Central Michigan University Academic Advisor, Marceil Davis, talks to students during the first year experience class he teaches.

She learned how beneficial the program could be by listening to Antoine Douglas, who the last two years was a college adviser at Cody and is now working toward a master’s degree at MSU. Douglas helped her get into the program, and on the day she moved into Rather in August, he looked back at how it influenced him, a first-generation student who came to college knowing little.

“I was that kid that moved in that day, six years ago, and I was like, ‘What the heck?’” Douglas recalled. “The Drew program got me together. It shows you how to be successful. I can sing their praises all the time, because they got me through.”

With experience from the program to draw upon, McClendon is learning to advocate for herself. That’s how she ended up approaching strangers for help with that difficult math class. One night in particular, she was at a point where she thought she was in danger of failing. She figured, “I don’t have anything to lose.”

So she walked up to a young man who was studying in the common area of her dorm. And she asked him to help.

“He actually sat there for about an hour and a half and he helped me do my math homework and he helped me study for a quiz,” McClendon said. “He even told me that if I ever need help, I can just come knock on his door. It’s just nice that you can just run into people that are so willing to help you.”

Later, when she took her midterm exam, McClendon earned a B. But that’s still not good enough for someone who in high school was used to earning all A’s.

“That mindset kind of makes things better for me. It just makes me work a little bit harder.”

This story is part of a partnership with Detroit Public Television. It was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

I graduated from Detroit’s most prestigious high school. I still struggled when I got to college.

2019-11-14T17:18:15+00:00

My first year of college was a rough ride.

I had applied to Northwestern University pretty late in the game, but even though I attended Detroit’s most prestigious high school, I was sure I wouldn’t get in. After all, the acceptance rate was just 12%. But I saw no harm in trying, especially because my school had given me free application vouchers. Then I was accepted, and after a visit, some phone calls, and some very hefty scholarships, to my surprise I found that I was headed to one of the country’s most selective universities.

That turn of events was surprising enough. But nothing could have prepared me for what would happen once I got on campus.

You see, I’ve always been told I was smart. People in my neighborhood knew me as “the girl with the book,” and my friends told me I was weird because I liked to learn. I was always the teacher’s pet, and all of my teachers promised me I’d do great things in life. So walking into Northwestern, I was pretty confident that I’d do a great job, and have a good time in the process.

And for the first few weeks of school, that’s what seemed to be happening. I enjoyed my classes: an African American studies course, an introductory Spanish course, a writing and reporting class, and a sociology class focusing on cities. My first small assignments, long lectures, and short quizzes weren’t easy, but I found the work manageable. I began joining clubs and making friends.

But then, at just week five. I had my first round of midterms.

Exams may be scary for all college students, but I’m positive that nothing compares to the fear, anxiety, and overall disappointment I felt realizing that I hadn’t been prepared by my high school to be there. While I thought I understood most of the readings, study guide questions showed me I had not. Every time I thought I had studied the vocabulary and verb tenses enough, I would fail the small quizzes I gave to myself. And writing my first college essay? Let’s just say that without my school’s writing center, it would not have happened. It was frustrating, but even more than that — it was paralyzing.

All of a sudden I felt stupid. While others could still party and have a good time, I locked myself in my room, crying, trying to study, and mostly praying. All the information thrown at me confused me, and I didn’t have the first clue how to study. In my high school, I never really had to try. I gained no study skills, and rarely had to think critically. But at Northwestern, critical thinking was the only way to pass. I had to understand the readings enough to take them a step further and prove some sort of argument. I needed to be able to think through all the material and answer questions we may have never discussed. It was more than preparing for one exam at the end of my junior year — I had to actually learn and be able to use that knowledge now.

So, I studied. Or at least tried to. I was basically mindlessly doing quizlets, constantly rereading my textbooks and essays, and depending on our writing coaches for all my essay needs. I struggled to keep up with the pace and I constantly wanted to quit.

It wasn’t fair to me that I was struggling while everyone around me thrived because of the ways they had been set up for success.

Some of my classmates shared with me that they had had similar assignments when they were in high school. Then I would think about how easily I succeeded in high school, and wish that I had been given the opportunity to go to a school that challenged me to actually learn — not just to memorize what would be needed to pass the next test.

I also thought back to how hard it was for my college counselor to help me submit my applications, much less support me in my transition to college. In Detroit as in any cities, college counselors often play other roles that make them hard to access for actual college concerns. My own counselor had so many students that I actually ended up basically writing my own letter of recommendation.

And I thought about how no one had taken the time to have the tough conversation with me and my classmates about what we would find when we got to college. College is different. It’s nothing like high school, and it’s nothing like being in Detroit. Someone could have prepared me for the culture, and overall, shock of being in a new place that wasn’t created for people like me, but that never happened.

After my disappointing midterm grades, I realized that I would have to figure out a strategy on my own. I had to teach myself how to study, learn my own learning style, and consistently focus on reading in between the lines to succeed. I ended my quarter on a strong note, but only because of my hard work and the access to outside help that I had.

Still, I couldn’t help but think — what about those who don’t have what I do? Those who went to high schools with fewer resources than mine. Those who don’t have parents to call that can help them edit essays. Those who have to provide for their families and can’t focus solely on school. The ones who attend colleges where they don’t have access to dedicated counselors. Or those who might not have the skills to reach out for what they need, or who might have learned that asking for help wouldn’t yield any.

Michigan is facing a federal lawsuit filed by advocates who say the state has deprived Detroit children of their right to literacy. I learned to read, but my experience making the transition to college revealed to me that Detroit students will always have to work twice as hard just to be average. I went to the best high school in the city and didn’t know that until it was almost too late.

Imani Harris is a student at Northwestern University. In 2019, she was a summer intern in Chalkbeat’s Detroit bureau. A version of this piece originally appeared on the Detroit Students Blog.

About our First Person series:

First Person is where Chalkbeat features personal essays by educators, students, parents, and others trying to improve public education. Read our submission guidelines here.

How Gov. Whitmer hopes to get more Michigan students to complete college

2019-10-08T18:50:15+00:00

Fewer than half of Michigan residents have any type of education degree or certificate beyond high school. It’s a number Gov. Gretchen Whitmer is hoping to increase and a major reason the state is joining a national organization focused on improving college completion.

Whitmer’s office announced Michigan is joining Complete College America, which works to ensure everyone has a path to postsecondary success.

The announcement comes eight months after Whitmer, during her first State of the State address, called for increasing the percentage of Michigan residents with a postsecondary education credential from 43.7% to 60% by 2030.

It also comes just weeks after Chalkbeat Detroit (through a partnership with Detroit Public Television) launched the first installment of a yearlong series, called Ready or Not, that is following four Detroit high school graduates through their first year of college. The goal is to capture the challenges they face that can upend even the most driven student’s college dreams.

We introduced readers Sept. 18 to Marqell McClendon, Kashia Perkins, Demetrius Robinson, and Joe Thomas. We also introduced readers to some dire statistics: Nationwide, nearly 30% of the first-time students who enter college don’t continue past their first year. Only 60% percent graduate in six years, and the proportion is lower for black students and students from low-income families.

A thread:
Today, @Chalkbeat_DET launched the first installment of a year-long effort in which I’ll be following four Detroit high school graduates through the tough first year of college. Read my first piece here:https://t.co/AMV4TWhcFn
— Lori Higgins (@LoriAHiggins) September 18, 2019

In Detroit, nearly half of graduates from Detroit’s main district who make it to college must take remedial courses. For charter schools in the city, the number ranges from 32% to 75%.

While the national organization that Michigan is working with is focused on college completion, Whitmer’s goal of a postsecondary credential doesn’t just include four-year college degrees. It can also include credentials like an associate degree at a community college or a skilled trade certificate.

Whitmer said announcing the goal earlier this year was one of her first acts as governor because “every Michigander deserves a path to a good-paying job that they can support themselves and their families on.”

“When we break down barriers, especially for low-income students, first generation college-going students, and students of color, we can grow our economy, close the skills gap, and ensure every family can thrive here in Michigan.”

Catch up on the Ready or Not series here.

Watch: These Detroit teens have big dreams and a big goal: To graduate from college

2019-09-20T04:29:11+00:00

Earlier this week we introduced you to Demetrius Robinson, Kashia Perkins, Joseph Thomas, and Marqell McClendon and the beginning of their journey as college students.

Now you can tune into a video produced by Detroit Public Television that takes a close look at several of the students and the challenges they’ll face in their first year.

Chalkbeat Detroit is partnering with Detroit Public Television to spend the year following the four students. As we reported earlier this week, the first year of college for any student is difficult. Nationwide, nearly 30% of the first-time students who enter college don’t continue past their first year. Only 60% graduate in six years, and the proportion is lower for black and low-income students, like many of those who graduate from Detroit high schools.

Watch the DPTV video below. You can find all of our coverage here.

A Newark student dreams of completing college. But first he must survive summer ‘boot camp.’

2019-09-18T17:33:22+00:00

One balmy morning this July, Yamin Reddick sat down in front of a computer in a windowless college classroom and braced himself for the day ahead. At 8:30 a.m., another eight-hour round of classes would commence, followed by homework late into the night. Then a few hours of sleep, wake up, and repeat.

That grueling schedule had become Reddick’s life ever since he earned a diploma from Newark’s Central High School in June and, days later, started a six-week summer program at Rutgers University-Newark. Known around campus as “academic boot camp,” it’s designed to prepare disadvantaged high school graduates for the rigors of college.

At Central, where Reddick managed to get decent grades even as he traveled the country for speech and debate tournaments between after-school shifts at the local Wendy’s, he told anyone who would listen that he was headed to Rutgers-Newark. Just a mile from his home, it’s the public university where his mother once enrolled but dropped out after giving birth to Reddick and his twin sister.

Reddick intended to pick up where his mother had left off. He could already envision the “Black Excellence” student group he would found at Rutgers-Newark before launching a career in community organizing and politics — just like his hero, Cory Booker. If he were elected, he’d get the lead out of the city’s water and make sure every student attends an excellent school. He believed his own success would set straight all the people he’d seen scoff at Newark. And he wasn’t afraid to voice his grand ambitions: “I want to become part of Newark’s history.”

But before he could rise to become Newark’s next great leader, he had to earn a college degree. And before he could start on the path to a degree this fall, he needed to pass his summer classes. Otherwise, his college career at Rutgers could end before it even began.

“Our final exam is exactly one week from today,” his summer math instructor, Jose Garcia, told Reddick and his classmates that morning.

Reddick logged onto the course’s online learning program. He has always struggled with math, and his scores on a placement test landed him here — a remedial class covering fundamentals like fractions, geometry, and equations.

Reddick got to work. Babyfaced and exuberant, he can seem younger than his 19 years. But now he was stern-faced, writing out problems with pen and paper — unlike high school, no calculators allowed — as he raced to complete coursework that was due in just a few days.

He answered a string of division problems correctly. “Excellent progress — keep it up” flashed on screen. But then a section on multiplying positive and negative fractions broke his streak. He rubbed his eyes. Then came questions involving percents and decimals. He asked for help.

“Mr. Garcia, it says I got this wrong,” Reddick said. Over his white T-shirt hung a red Rutgers lanyard bearing his student ID, on loan for the summer.

Garcia helped him find the solution. But a few minutes later, class was over. Many of his classmates had completed their problems. Reddick still had 113 left to go.

College, to say nothing of the degree he believes will unlock the life he dreams of, still seemed a long way off.

The promise

A decade ago, when Reddick was still in grade school, he was standing outside his apartment one day when a black SUV drove by. A tiny Reddick waved. The SUV’s rear window lowered and a smiling man waved back. It was Newark’s new mayor, Cory Booker.

When he took office in 2006, Booker promised to revitalize the aging city, where nearly one in three children lived in poverty. And he would transform its troubled school system, which about half of students passed through without earning diplomas. He subscribed to a doctrine of education change that would find disciples from Wall Street to the White House, which held that if traditional schools were thoroughly overhauled and new charter schools opened, poor students would graduate high school, earn college degrees, and escape poverty.

The superintendent Booker helped recruit, Cami Anderson, laid it out in 2013: “The first thing is to define success. And that’s pretty simple. Every kid of school age in Newark is in a school that puts him or her on the path to graduate from college.”

The goal of getting all students to college was rooted in the reality that higher education — despite its rising costs — remains this country’s main engine of upward mobility. Yet only 60% of students who enroll at four-year institutions earn a degree within six years. The rate is even lower for black, Hispanic, and low-income students.

In Newark, more students are entering and completing college today than when Booker first became mayor, according to an analysis by researchers at the Newark City of Learning Collaborative and Rutgers University-Newark. Yet even with those gains, less than half of Newark graduates who head straight from high school to four-year colleges earn degrees within six years. At the district’s traditional, non-selective high schools — like the one Reddick attended — just 16% of graduates who immediately enroll in college earn bachelor’s degrees six years later.

Booker is now running for U.S. president, while many of the children who grew up during his mayoralty are entering college. Newark has a new mayor, Ras Baraka, a former high school principal who has made it a goal to get more Newark residents to attain degrees. The school system’s new superintendent, Roger León, has signed on, recently promising to pair all high school graduates with mentors to shepherd them through college.

Newark needs you. Everywhere needs you.

One of the leaders of this citywide effort to boost college completion is Rutgers-Newark, long touted as one of the most diverse national universities in the country. About two-thirds of its black, Hispanic, and low-income students graduate in six years — well above the national averages for those groups. Unlike other colleges that enroll similar student populations, there is virtually no graduation gap between its black and Hispanic and its white and Asian students, or its poor and non-poor students.

The summer program Reddick is part of is one component of the university’s Educational Opportunity Fund program, a longstanding statewide effort to help low-income students complete college. It’s one of the many ways that Rutgers-Newark tries to get students who face the longest odds of graduating to cross the finish line.

“I tell them: I can’t afford for them to fail,” said Sherri-Ann Butterfield, Rutgers-Newark’s executive vice chancellor. “As a country I can’t, as an institution, as a city. Newark needs you. Everywhere needs you.”

A Newark education

The path to a college degree begins long before students ever step foot on campus.

Reddick’s journey — which, in some ways, is also the story of education in Newark over the past two decades — began at Camden Street School. Housed in a red-brick building around the corner from Reddick’s apartment in the city’s impoverished Central Ward, the school educated three generations of Reddick’s family: his grandparents, his mother and her twin brother, and Yamin and his twin.

Reddick with his mother, Linda Williams.

The school felt like home to Reddick. His grandfather would drop by to chat with the security guards and check on Reddick and his sister. His kindergarten teacher, who had taught his mother years before, took Reddick to sing at her church on the weekends.

“They all knew my family,” Reddick said. “They had me on the push to always do what I had to do, to always be that scholarly student.”

Then, in 2011, when Reddick was in fourth grade, Cami Anderson came to town. Under orders from Booker, then-Gov. Chris Christie, and Mark Zuckerberg — the Facebook CEO who had committed $100 million to improving education in Newark — the new superintendent embarked on a sweeping overhaul. It involved the closure of several low-performing and under-enrolled schools and the restructuring of others, including Camden Street. Before long, the school’s principal and many teachers had been replaced.

“Everything kind of fell apart. The school wasn’t what it was anymore,” Reddick recalled. “I just felt like somebody robbed us.”

The disruptions continued. Reddick left Camden Street after fifth grade and bounced from a new district school to a charter school, a type of school that proliferated under Booker. During eighth and ninth grade, his family moved to South Carolina, back to Newark, then to Elizabeth, N.J., with Reddick landing in a new school at each stop. In Elizabeth, he attended a diverse arts high school, where he learned to play guitar and sang Taylor Swift songs with friends of different races — a first after years of segregated, all-black schools.

“It felt like ‘High School Musical,’” he said.

But then his family uprooted again, returning to Newark where his mother worked as a clerk in the county welfare office. As he entered his sophomore year, Reddick enrolled at Central — the high school down the street from his apartment where Mayor Baraka had once been principal and Reddick’s mother was an alum.

The school’s academic record wasn’t great, but Reddick believed he would be comfortable there, safely removed from the bullying he had occasionally endured over the years on account of his sexuality — he identifies as gay — and his outsize personality. “Some people,” he said, “when they look at me, their first impression is: I’m doing too much.”

At orientation, he heard about the speech team, a variation of debate where students perform humorous pieces, dramatic readings, poetry, and more. A natural performer, Reddick decided to join. For the next three years, he practiced until 6:30 or 7 most school nights, and competitions filled his weekends.

The team traveled to tournaments at Harvard and the University of Pennsylvania. At the University of Kentucky, they marveled at the sophisticated-looking students striding across the lush campus and thought, “That’s going to be us.”

Yet they could not escape the sense that something different, often something lesser, was expected of them because of who they were: black students from a high-poverty school in Newark competing against many affluent white and Asian teenagers, whose schools (unlike Central) offered whole classes on speech and debate.

Reddick responded by perfecting his craft. “You got to come prepared,” he said. Central’s coach, Dennis Philbert, often had his students play against expectations, reading European works in German and Russian accents. But in his senior year, Reddick decided to put racism and the harsh policing of black people in the spotlight.

He drew on his childhood memory of police officers storming his apartment, guns drawn, in pursuit of one of his family members. And, more recently, the time when an officer aggressively questioned him as he hurried home from school in the rain. He began performing a piece about Trayvon Martin and a poem called “The War on Black Boys.”

“I wanted to make a statement,” he said.

Back at Central, Reddick made himself into a leader. He joined a group that gave policy recommendations to Superintendent León, and got elected as Central’s student body president. Sometimes, he would stand in the hall and tell his peers to get to class. “You would really think Yamin worked for the school,” said Reddick’s friend and speech teammate, Zawadi Kabazimya.

Meanwhile, he put in hours at a fast-food restaurant and a supermarket, and helped care for his four younger siblings. With his mother working full-time and his father not closely involved with the family, Reddick dropped off his siblings at school and tried to set an example for them.

“I want them to know that if you know what you want in life, if you have a mission, you attack it while you can,” he said. “You do it now — don’t wait until later.”

Like at Camden Street, Reddick found a second family at Central. His classmates encouraged him, and the staff cared for him. Yet there was no denying that academic achievement was low at the school, where most students are poor and about 30% have disabilities. In Reddick’s junior year, nearly two-thirds of students were chronically absent and just 2% passed the state’s math tests. Only a third of Central graduates enrolled in college that year.

The real thing comes now.

Reddick maintained a 2.5 GPA, which ranked him 60th out 152 students in his senior class. The school offers few college-level courses, but it allows students to take classes at a local community college. Reddick passed several classes there and aced a speech class. But he failed the college-level writing and Algebra courses.

Still, Reddick had reason to celebrate when he graduated this June. He had worked diligently in and out of class, and made a name for himself — his principal called him a “superstar.” He had learned resilience from his mother, Linda Williams, who survived homelessness and domestic violence, and now pushed her children to excel in school. “Because of your race and where you’re from, people are going to think less of you,” she said. “You have to show them who you are.”

As Williams watched her son walk across the stage that day, she was overcome with pride. But she could not help but think of the next challenge that stood before him: college.

“The real thing comes now,” she recalled thinking. “We got to attack these years.”

Make-or-break summer

On a Saturday morning just over a week after graduation, Reddick found himself sitting in an immense room on Rutgers-Newark’s campus alongside more than 100 other recent graduates. All were hoping to be the first in their immediate families to earn a four-year college degree.

It was orientation day — not for college, but for the program that promised to help get them through college.

Reddick on Rutgers-Newark’s campus.

The Educational Opportunity Fund, or EOF, program was established in 1968 in response to deadly unrest in Newark the previous year, when black residents raged against the political oppression and police brutality they had long endured. The statewide program was designed to steer “educationally and economically disadvantaged” students to colleges, such as Rutgers-Newark, which at that time was 95% white in a majority-black city.

But the campus was slow to enact the program. So, in 1969, members of the university’s Black Organization of Students barricaded themselves inside a classroom building that they dubbed “Liberation Hall” and demanded that the school recruit more black students and faculty members. After a three-day standoff, officials agreed to implement EOF in earnest. A half-century later, about 45% of Rutgers-Newark students are black or Latinx, earning it the top spot on U.S. News & World Report’s ranking of the most diverse national universities for much of the past two decades. (It’s now tied for second place.)

Leading Reddick’s EOF orientation that day in late June was Dean Deborah Walker McCall. She has a commanding presence tempered by a warm smile; she calls herself the program’s “mama bear” and the students her children. A native Newarker, she had taken advantage of EOF’s services years ago as a student in Rutgers’ College of Nursing even though she wasn’t technically part of the program. “I’ve always been team EOF,” she said.

Years later, she returned to direct Rutgers-Newark’s EOF program out of a deep belief in its premise: that when given the proper support, students from poor families and under-performing schools can do just as well in college as their more privileged peers. “Watching students who were told they can’t demonstrate that they can” had convinced her of that, she said.

Today, Reddick and his peers at Rutgers-Newark are among some 13,500 students at more than 40 New Jersey colleges and universities who participate in EOF programs. To be admitted, students must come from families with incomes that are no more than double the federal poverty threshold and have grades or test scores below the participating institutions’ normal cutoffs. Using state funds, the institutions provide EOF students with counseling and mentoring, small grants to help cover expenses like books and housing, and academic preparation in the form of intensive summer classes before they officially start college.

But all that extra support cannot erase the difficulties faced by many EOF students, who tend to lag behind their peers academically when they enter college. At Rutgers-Newark, just half of EOF students graduate in six years, according to 2017-18 data provided by officials.

At the orientation, Reddick listened closely as the dean laid out the summer program’s requirements. Students would attend class from 8:30 a.m. to 5:20 p.m. Monday through Thursday, with tutoring on Fridays. If they did not earn at least a combined C average in their classes, they risked not being admitted to the university that fall.

“You’re going to be stretched and pulled in ways you’ve never been before,” Walker McCall said she told the students.

As Reddick left that afternoon, his new Rutgers ID and summer schedule in hand, he was struck by how the deans and counselors had addressed the students. In high school, the staff had dealt delicately with the students, who were, after all, still teenagers finding their way in the world. Reddick still felt that way, yet the adults here seemed to view him differently — as an adult himself, fully in charge of his actions and his fate.

“This is going to be on me,” he thought. “I’m responsible for everything.”

That evening, Reddick’s mother and grandparents hosted a surprise party for him. Surrounded by balloons in Rutgers’ red and black, his extended family feasted on shrimp and ribs and toasted his accomplishments. His grandfather, Louis Williams, served cake that he baked for the occasion.

After all that excitement, Reddick overslept the next morning. He missed the second day of orientation.

The next day, classes began. Just as they were starting, Dean Walker McCall pulled Reddick into an empty room. Where had he been on Sunday? And why hadn’t he called anyone? Everything got blurry, but Reddick recalled hearing next: “We might have to let you go.”

He began crying. It hadn’t sunk in until that moment that if he didn’t meet the requirements, he could lose his spot in the program — and at Rutgers. He called his mother, who quickly arrived to meet with the dean. Walker McCall agreed to let Reddick continue. But the message Reddick left with was clear: “You’re an adult now,” he said. “If you don’t show up, you don’t get the job.”

After that inauspicious start, nothing really got easier. Reddick and his peers shuffled from math to English to geology class each day. They also took a course that taught them study strategies and how to interact with professors — critical skills that many new college students must learn on their own. In between, they got 80 minutes for lunch. Most used that time to study or meet with counselors.

You’re going to be stretched and pulled in ways you’ve never been before.

Reddick had never before been assigned so much work or held to such high standards. In math, he struggled to do basic computations without a calculator and to master topics he didn’t recall being taught in high school. In English, the online sources he cited in his papers were scrutinized, errors in his grammar and logic highlighted.

At home, he stayed up late working on a laptop the program loaned him. If it got too hot inside, he’d sit on the front stoop, accepting the clamor of traffic as the price of a cool breeze. A couple times, he broke down.

“He was burned out,” said Williams. “He was drowned.”

And he wasn’t alone. Many incoming EOF students are daunted — not only by the workload, but also by the holes in their learning that the summer program exposes. The instructors try to fill what gaps they can. But they also expect, even want, students to struggle in the summer when they’re surrounded by caring adults and peers from similar backgrounds. It’s a little like a failure vaccine that builds up students’ immunity through exposure.

As Reddick’s summer English instructor, Crystal Coble Hamai, put it: “Without the boot camp, if he had just come in in the fall and that was his experience in the first five weeks of school, then he might have said, ‘You know what, I don’t know if college is for me. I can’t do this.’”

‘It wasn’t going to be easy’

In early August, the Rutgers-Newark EOF students piled into two chartered buses. They wore nice clothes — dresses and button-down shirts, the occasional tie. Reddick had on a three-piece suit. Thirty minutes later, they disembarked at a Hilton hotel in Springfield township and entered the grand ballroom. They had come to celebrate the end of boot camp.

It was lunchtime, and the students filled their plates with heaps of cheesy pasta, baked chicken, and steamed vegetables. Then Dean Walker McCall addressed the students. She wore a headscarf around her long hair and a black blouse with sparkling embroidery.

Dean Deborah Walker McCall.

“I cannot tell you how proud I am of each and every one of you,” she began. She admitted that she had worried about some of the students. But they had dug deep and pulled through.

“We told you it wasn’t going to be easy,” she said. “Did we lie?” The students roared back: “No!”

She reminded them that she had also promised they would form a new network of friends and allies, repeating her saying that EOF stands for “extension of family.” That prediction had also been borne out.

The students had bonded over their shared work and anxieties. They had let off steam during weekly social events at the campus athletic center, where they learned to dance bachata and played pick-up basketball alongside their instructors. And that was by design, a way to combat feelings of isolation and being adrift that can besiege first-year students — particularly poor students, who are more likely to live and work off campus.

Now, she told the students that, in just a few weeks, they would officially start as Rutgers freshmen. They were already intimately familiar with the campus, and had taken classes that mirrored ones they would take this fall. So while their number was small, just 109 students, they were poised to become campus leaders and guides for the non-EOF freshmen. “They’re going to be lost like you were at the beginning of the summer,” she explained.

Finally, she had them peer even further into the future. “I personally can’t wait until four years when we’re in, perhaps the Prudential Center, screaming and hollering and congratulating you on your graduation,” she said. As if rehearsing for that promised day, Reddick and the other students screamed and hollered and cheered.

The event celebrated students’ hard work during the summer regardless of how well they performed in class. But the next day, it was time for them to learn their final grades.

Reddick was sent to Dean Walker McCall’s office to receive his. He’d already gotten a preview in English. For the final, Reddick had written a five-page research paper titled, “The Miseducation of Our Urban Youth.” “Growing up in a metropolitan area, I attended public school, and I witness first hand some of the disparities that plague the urban area,” he wrote. He got back a C.

Now the dean informed him that, in addition to a C in English, he had earned an A in his study skills class. But he had ended geology with a D and math with an F, according to Reddick. (Walker McCall declined to discuss individual students’ grades.) His average was a D — not the C required to pass. He would not be admitted to Rutgers.

Stunned, Reddick handed over his student ID. He held back his tears during the meeting. But that night, he awoke at 3 a.m. and began to sob. “I failed, I failed, I failed,” he repeated to himself. And it wasn’t just himself he had betrayed. “I failed the world.”

The starting line

Statistically speaking, the deck had been stacked against Reddick all along, as it is with so many other aspiring college students like him.

Many low-income students of color attend segregated, underfunded K-12 schools that struggle to prepare them for higher education, then are funneled into colleges with the lowest graduation rates. Almost by design, many of those students fail to earn degrees. Yet when that happens, it isn’t the unfair system that takes the blame — it’s the students.

“I am a person who really seeks a great future.”

When Reddick got the awful verdict that day, at first he wondered if he had been mistaken for another student. He felt as if he had worked 10 times harder that summer than he ever had before. Now he was told that wasn’t enough.

Then he thought about his mother, his siblings, his former classmates and teachers at Central. He had promised them he would achieve great things at Rutgers, then use his education to uplift Newark, the hardscrabble city he cherishes.

“People are waiting to see what I’m going to bring to the table, how full the plate is going to be when they receive it,” he said. Now that dream had vanished, leaving him with a vast emptiness inside. “I have nothing now.”

The decision not to admit some students even after they endured such a demanding summer program certainly appears harsh. But it reflects a clear-eyed acceptance of the fact that some students leave high school far behind the college starting line. “You
can’t undo that or fix that in six weeks,” explained Walker McCall. Far worse than rejecting a student who truly is unprepared for college would be admitting him, she said.

“The last thing we want to see is someone come here, fail semester after semester, run out of funds, and end up having to pay off loans and debt that they are not financially equipped to do because they don’t have a degree that’s going to get them a good-paying job,” she explained.

People are waiting to see what I’m going to bring to the table.

Yet, with Reddick, Walker McCall ultimately decided that he actually did have what it takes to succeed at Rutgers — not just raw intelligence and ambition, but also a willingness to learn from his struggles. There had been some EOF students who failed to meet the summer program’s minimum requirements and did not seem to learn from the experience. The dean would not admit them. But Reddick had owned up to his shortcomings and drawn lessons from them.

“At the end of the day, he demonstrated growth in the six weeks and maturity and I think came to some realizations,” she said.

So a few days after her meeting with Reddick, Walker McCall asked him to return to her office along with his mother. After the dean spoke privately with Reddick’s mother, she shared the news with him: She was giving him a second chance. He would be allowed to start at Rutgers this fall, but on academic probation. There would be mandatory tutoring, a supplemental math class, a reduced course load — and higher stakes than ever. A GPA below 2.0 in his first semester could mean the end of the road at Rutgers.

“The God I serve is so good to me!” Reddick exclaimed after the meeting. He vowed to watch online math tutorials before classes began in a few weeks. He would skip campus parties that fall. He would earn all A’s.

At Rutgers-Newark and its EOF program, Reddick had found a university that saw the tough circumstances some students face not simply as obstacles to surmount; they were also wells of strength to be tapped. And, unlike at some institutions, its leaders said they would not leave students to sink or swim. Instead, they promised to do all in their power to steer students to graduation. “I’m clear that once they’re here, they’re our responsibility to get out,” said Sherri-Ann Butterfield, the executive vice chancellor.

Whether Reddick and the university would achieve their shared goal of getting him to graduation would only start to become clear in the months ahead. For now, all Reddick could do was commit completely to this fresh start.

“My goal is to knock this out with a straight A-plus,” he said that August afternoon. “To prove to myself that I am capable of passing. To prove to them that my word is my word and I am a person who really seeks a great future.”

This project was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

‘I can do it’: How four Detroit students hope to make it through the formidable first year of college

2019-09-18T17:30:41+00:00

Joseph Thomas was alone in his dorm room.

Perhaps that’s why his mind was racing. Why he couldn’t stop thinking about the future. He kept going over all the steps he needed to take over the next four years at Davenport University in Grand Rapids, Michigan, to achieve his dreams: a successful football season, a professional sports career, a practical backup plan.

And suddenly, while standing next to his desk, he had to take a deep breath.

“I told myself, I got to take it one step at a time,” the Detroit native said. “I have four more years.”

Four years.

That’s the goal. But here’s the reality: The first year of college for any student is difficult. Nationwide, nearly 30% of the first-time students who enter college don’t continue past their first year. Only 60% percent graduate in six years, and the proportion is lower for black and low-income students like Thomas.

And for Thomas and his classmates in Detroit, where years of tumult have taken their toll on local schools, the path to a college degree can be even steeper: Nearly half of graduates from Detroit’s main district who make it to college must take remedial courses. For charter schools in the city, it ranges from 32% to 75%.

Detroit graduates must navigate patchy academic preparation, culture shock, and often their own shaken confidence if they are to stay enrolled and on track to earn a degree that is their best chance to jump into the middle class as adults.

This year, Chalkbeat reporters in Detroit and Newark are examining whether students from struggling schools are prepared for college — and whether colleges are prepared for them. Catch up on the Ready or Not series here.

Local officials recognize the challenge. Some of the city’s publicly funded, privately managed charter schools — which enroll a little more than 32,000 Detroit students — have specific college-transition initiatives of their own. And Nikolai Vitti, superintendent of the city’s main district, has made bolstering college readiness a top priority, in his first year installing college counselors in every high school.

Joseph Thomas, a freshman at Davenport University in Grand Rapids, is a spring graduate of Cody High School in Detroit.

“Students that we know are smart, we know they’re talented, but they’re just not given the right exposure and experience to ensure that talent is actualized when they go to college,” he told Chalkbeat. “That’s our responsibility. That defines why we have to get better as a system. It’s unconscionable that students would leave our system and not be ready.”

But future improvements won’t affect Thomas and his fellow graduates in the Class of 2019, who spent the summer preparing for their first semester of college. They’ve started the uncertain journey already.

Marqell McClendon, a freshman at Michigan State University, is a spring graduate of Cody High School in Detroit.

Marqell McClendon, the valedictorian of Thomas’ class at Cody High School, got into two of Michigan’s top public universities and while she’s pretty confident she’ll do well in most of her classes, math is another story. At Michigan State University, the school she chose, she’s taking a remedial class in math, her toughest subject, because she scored poorly on a placement exam.

It’s unconscionable that students would leave our system and not be ready.

Kashia Perkins and Demetrius Robinson, graduates of Jalen Rose Leadership Academy, spent part of the summer in programs meant to ease their transition to college. Perkins is also at Michigan State, where she’s giving herself pep talks as she wrestles with the fear of falling behind, while Robinson started at Central Michigan University, where he’s certain he can avoid a feeling that undermines so many students like him: that he doesn’t really belong on campus.

The four students all received enough scholarship and grant money to cover their college costs. But as the lead-up to the first day of class made clear, there’s much more to college than paying the bills.

Demetrius Robinson, Jr., a freshman at Central Michigan University, is a graduate of the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy in Detroit

‘Do you want this degree or not?’

More than a month before the beginning of the academic year at Michigan State, Kashia Perkins was already sitting in a college class, trying to keep up with a teaching style that was more fast-paced than what she was used to in high school.

“She was just fast,” Perkins said of the math instructor. “I would just have to make sure I was keeping up with the pace … and make sure I slow her down and ask a question if I need to.”

She spent the month of July taking math and biology classes while living in a dorm, part of a “bridge program” designed to get incoming freshmen studying in the college of engineering acclimated to the rigors of college classes.

Kashia Perkins, a Michigan State University freshman, shown during her June graduation from the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy

Bridge programs have become increasingly common as colleges seek to recruit more students from underserved communities such as Detroit. Michigan State, for instance, has a number of them. The goals vary from program to program, but in general they seek to ease the transition to college and provide guidance and resources for freshmen if they run into trouble.

She also joined Detroit M.A.D.E. (Mastering Academics Demonstrating Excellence), a program that provides support to incoming freshmen from the city of Detroit specifically.

That she’s even at one of the state’s most selective universities at all is a dramatic shift considering Perkins’ first two years of high school.

She wasn’t serious about school, wasn’t paying attention in class, and she preferred hanging out with her friends. Her grades were suffering.

Then came a visit from her grandmother. Perkins thought she was there for a friendly chat. She wasn’t.

I just need to go in with the mindset that I can do it. And I will.

Her grandmother, in fact, was there to make a point. And she made it painfully clear Perkins needed to change her ways, telling her to “stop messing up,” and “get your act together.”

The message was effective. It set Perkins on a different path. She now calls it a turning point. But really, it was a return to normal. Her mother, Kymberly Burton, said Perkins was a go-getter from the beginning, and always on the honor roll until those early high school years.

She said she tried to instill in her daughter the importance of doing well in school, “because I didn’t want her to become a statistic,” Burton said. “I never doubted her.”

A key part of the turnaround for Perkins was when she enrolled at the Jalen Rose academy, where there’s a robust college-going culture. The high school has a team of adults whose sole job is to prepare students to enter and be successful in college, including an alumni success adviser who has a role that doesn’t exist in most schools: She works with students after they’ve graduated and enrolled in college, visiting them and helping with everything from financial aid to academic concerns.

Kashia Perkins, a freshman at Michigan State University, relaxes in her dorm room after a day of volunteering on campus.

School officials have invested in this college success effort because they were concerned that too many graduates were going on to college, but not lasting.

David Williams heads up this team and often reflects on his own background as someone who dropped out of high school in the 10th grade in Detroit. After later earning a general education equivalency diploma, he enrolled in college — because, he said, he wanted to be able to provide for his son — and now has a doctorate in educational leadership.

“I think one of the reasons I dropped out is … we didn’t see a lot of college successes,” Williams said. “We didn’t see a lot of people graduating from college. And the people who did, they would leave.”

Perkins finally got serious at Jalen Rose, and in June she graduated with a 4.1 grade point average during her time at the school. At Michigan State, she’s planning to major in human biology. She wants to become a pediatrician. It’s not surprising, given she said the toughest part of being away from home is being away from her sister, who is a toddler.

It’s also not that far from her childhood dream of becoming a lawyer, which she said was fueled by her dislike for how children in foster homes are treated and her belief that she could “be the person who stands up for them.”

Even as a pediatrician, she said, she can look out for children.

“I just always want to make sure kids feel good, they feel comfortable, safe, and stuff like that,” Perkins said. “It just always bothers me when kids are pushed aside or mistreated.”

And she doesn’t plan to fall into the trap that befell her during her first two years of high school.

“I’m at school to handle my business,” Perkins said. “I’ve matured since then. I just need to go in with the mindset that I can do it. And I will.”

A key strategy: Be careful about who she hangs out with. She’s heading to MSU with a group of friends with a similar mindset who she said will push her and check her if she gets off track.

Despite her confidence, Perkins said her biggest fear “is falling behind and not being able to catch up.” Overcoming that fear can be as simple as a solo pep talk.

“I just tell myself, ‘Do you want this degree or not?’”

‘I was trying really hard not to cry’

The crowd roared with applause as Marqell McClendon stepped toward the podium, ready to deliver her valedictorian’s address during Cody High’s graduation in June.

Just a few minutes before, during an introduction that was both emotional and hilarious, one of her favorite teachers had roasted her, outing her mastery of forging her mother’s signature on a field trip form. But the teacher, Jennifer Weaver, also provided a touching tribute, choking up as she contemplated losing her “right-hand” person.

“Marqell is the type of student that every teacher wants,” Weaver said. “She’s the one you trust to help you with things. She’s the one you want to represent your class in front of administration.”

Marqell McClendon, valedictorian of the Cody High School graduating class this year, reacts as a teacher introduces her during the June graduation ceremony.

Then, it was McClendon’s turn. A top student and dedicated debater who had been admitted to the state’s most selective public universities, she had prepared a speech in which she remarked on the transition that had marked her senior year, when three schools on the Cody campus merged into one. She also urged her fellow graduates to persevere beyond obstacles, telling them, “obstacles and difficulty are nothing to be ashamed of,” and urging them to remember three things if they ever feel stuck: Distance yourself from drama, don’t allow pride to get in the way of asking for help, and never quit. But even as she stuck to her prepared speech, Weaver’s words simultaneously had her wanting to fight back tears and feeling proud of her accomplishments.

It also had her thinking about the weight of that day, and how graduation “being the beginning of a new journey for me was emotional because I honestly don’t know what’s in store for me next.”

And she wasn’t ready to bask in the euphoria of graduation because, she said, “I know I’ll be right back at school in two months.”

That was in June. In late August, McClendon moved into her dorm, ready to begin studying biomedical science at Michigan State. Her goal: She wants to help impoverished countries solve medical crises.

“We in the U.S., we have way more resources than we actually use and there are more people, or more countries out there that could use that too. One of the first things I would do is travel and try to figure out those problems and then come back and find ways we can fix them.”

On move-in day, freshman Marqell McClendon chats with her former college advisor at Cody High School, Antoine Douglas, in the lounge of her dorm at Michigan State University

For now, McClendon’s most immediate challenge is her fall course load, which includes remedial math. It was something she predicted would happen in May during an interview with Chalkbeat, when she said she hadn’t felt challenged in high school and even went without a permanent English teacher for several years.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” she said. “I know it’s something I have to do, and I’d rather take those classes in order to help me than starting way above my ability.”

On her first day at MSU, she was unpacking all of her items from home, with help from her mother, sister and aunt, when a familiar face stopped by her room.

It was Antoine Douglas, who the last two years was the college adviser at Cody High in Detroit — placed there through a Michigan State program. It was a job that required him to help Cody students navigate the college preparation and application process, and McClendon was among those who benefitted.

But now Douglas, who is working on his master’s degree in business, is on campus full-time and is a residence hall director.

A lot of people in today’s society, a lot of teenagers, aren’t making it this far.

So when he stopped by her room on that first day, it was a reminder to McClendon that she has someone in her corner who lives close by and has many campus connections. It was Douglas, after all, who helped get her into the Charles Drew Science Scholars program at Michigan State, which provides support to students enrolled in majors through the College of Natural Sciences.

“He does like to check on us and make sure that we’re doing good,” McClendon said. “It was nice to see him and if I do need any help throughout the week or throughout the year even, I know he’ll be close.”

That kind of connection is important for first-year students, who can struggle with being on their own for the first time and not having their parents or teachers to lean on. For urban students from Detroit, it can be a culture shock.

The district is working to make that an easier transition. Vitti two years ago allocated enough money to ensure that every high school in the district has at least one person dedicated to helping prepare students for success. The district has expanded dual enrollment options for students that allow them to take high school and college classes simultaneously. And, he said, the district is putting more resources and time into improving performance on the SAT, which is important because a good score can qualify students for scholarship money through a program called the Detroit Promise.

That scholarship program is among the ways McClendon is paying for college. When she moved into her dorm Aug. 24, she dealt with a range of emotions — from the tears that began the day as she said goodbye to her close cousins to later, when her emotions were in check as she arrived at Rather Hall on the Michigan State campus — her mother, aunt, and sister in tow. She registered, got her key, loaded up three big bins with her stuff, then opened the door to her room.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” she said with relief.

‘I’m going to do everything full force’

At 17, Demetrius Robinson already sounds like a savvy salesman for the family fitness business he dreams of taking over when he graduates from Central Michigan University.

This business, he told his peers during a presentation at Jalen Rose in May, will be bigger than any of the centers that are popular now.

Why? “You’ll have to come to us. We’re going to meet all your needs. We’re going to make sure you’re taken care of.”

And then, drawing laughs from his classmates, he added, “We’re going to make sure you get that summer body.”

Brimming with confidence, Robinson has devised a plan with his brother. Cameren Robinson, who works in advertising and marketing in New York, will handle the business side. Robinson, who plans to major in athletic training, will lead the physical side of the company. And their parents, LaSandra and Demetrius Robinson, Sr.? “All they have to do is sit back and watch the business boom,” Robinson said.

In a state where nearly 40% of black male students don’t even graduate from high school on time, McClendon said he’s determined to be different, saying, “I’m going to do everything full force, how I planned it and the way it’s supposed to be done.”

“A lot of people in today’s society, a lot of teenagers, aren’t making it this far. So, it’s really an accomplishment for me. I’m really keeping my neighborhood, everyone around me, proud because they’re seeing I haven’t fallen into that trap that society has put young black males and females into. I’m proud of myself.”

Already, Robinson is making a name for himself on campus. When he visited for orientation in August, he showed an ease on campus, flashing his big smile, shaking hands and meeting new people. And he’s quickly established himself as a person to go to for haircuts and help with fitness training. It’s part of his plan to be as involved in college as he was in high school, where he played several sports and was in other organizations.

Like McClendon and Perkins, he’s also getting special help from his college, as part of a program meant to ease the transition for first generation college students and those from low-income families. He said learning has always come easy, but he plans to seek out tutors and late night study sessions if he begins to struggle. And, he said, he has to keep one thing in check: His habit of procrastinating. Too often, he said, he’ll wait until the last minute to meet deadlines. He said he’s always been able to turn in quality assignments. But that was high school. The stakes are now much higher.

Demetrius Robinson, Jr., participates in a pinning ceremony in May for students graduating from the Jalen Rose Leadership Academy.

As much as Robinson credits his parents for inspiring him, it’s clear that he and his brother have also inspired their parents, both of whom graduated high school and did brief stints in community college. His father, for instance, is back in school himself at Henry Ford College, working toward a physical therapy assistant degree. He eventually wants to become a doctor.

It started when his oldest graduated from college.

“Seeing him walk across the stage, I’m like, ‘Oh, I got to do something to keep inspiring them to keep moving forward.’”

You can do the work. You just need the opportunity.

One of the things Jalen Rose students learn about during the college preparation process is what they describe as the “imposter phenomenon” — that feeling of not belonging that students from urban areas like Detroit often feel when they go to college.

It’s a reality for many first-year students who arrive on campus and feel others who were exposed to far more opportunities are “better” than them, said Williams, the dean of college at Jalen Rose.

“Our job is to let students know that it’s an opportunity gap, it’s not an achievement gap,” Williams said. “You’re not less than. You can do the work. You just need the opportunity. But once you get to school, you might not be on the same level as the student sitting next to you, so it’s now your responsibility to work that much harder.”

‘I have to do it on my own’

Joseph Thomas has been feeling the pressure. He’s the first in his immediate family to go to college, an opportunity he says he wouldn’t have without football. He feels an enormous responsibility to be a role model to his younger siblings.

That pressure can be overwhelming. “But it’s what keeps me going,” Thomas, 18, said.

Joseph Thomas, a freshman at Davenport University in Grand Rapids, participates in a college decision day event at Cody High School in May.

He has family members who’ve spent time in prison, and he wants to show those younger than him that there’s a better way. It’s an important thing for Thomas, who’s tried hard and sacrificed so much to stay out of trouble. There were the parties he didn’t go to. Or the ones he simply made an appearance at. There were the times he turned down hanging out with a big group.

Seeing his family members imprisoned, he said, “made me think about how my little brothers and sisters would feel if they see me locked up. I just didn’t want to put that on them.”

He also wants his younger relatives to know that it’s possible to overcome obstacles.

Thomas was an honor roll athlete, always placing his school work on the same level of importance as playing football. When he participated in a college decision day event at Cody in May, in fact, he wore a black shirt with the words “More Than An Athlete,” written in green letters. At Cody, he participated in dual enrollment classes, taking courses taught by college instructors.

”I always went to class,” he said. “I never talked back to the teacher. I just knew what I was supposed to do.”

But not everything was easy for Thomas. When he was around 11, he says, he and his siblings bounced from home to home because of problems in their own home. He learned then how to be independent. He also learned, at an early age, that if he wanted something he had to get it for himself.

Joseph Thomas does a dance while walking across the stage during the graduation ceremony for Cody High School in May.

That’s how he came to play organized football. He wanted to play on a community team, but knew his parents couldn’t afford the equipment. So this savvy teen made the coach, who had a painting business on the side, an offer:

I’ll help you paint houses, he told him, to cover the cost of the equipment.

His ultimate goal is to play professional football. But he’s already preparing for what he calls his “fallback plan.” At Davenport — a growing university with multiple campuses across the state and a new initiative helping prepare students to teach in urban systems like the Detroit school district — he’s planning to major in industrial production management, which would prepare him for jobs overseeing operations at manufacturing companies.

He said he knows he will have to make academics a priority while playing football. “I can’t play football if I don’t do this work. I see myself as a student-athlete, not just an athlete. I already know school comes first,” he said.

So here he was now, more than four years after picking up that paintbrush, moving into his dorm room and preparing to start classes and his first college football season. He did it alone.

“Growing up, I’ve never really had that close support system that was with me every step of the way,” Joseph said. “But at the end of the day, I realize it’s your life and you have to make the best of the moments God blesses you to have and I just walk through every door that opens for me with my head high.”

This story is part of a partnership with Detroit Public Television. Watch a special segment about it during the “One Detroit” program at 7:30 p.m. Thursday. It was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.

Ready or Not: What happens when students from cities with struggling schools head to college?

2019-09-18T17:30:27+00:00

When Yamin Reddick and Marqell McClendon graduated from high school this spring, they began an increasingly common journey — but one with an uncertain destination.

For all the talk about whether college is worth its potentially crushing costs, graduating from college remains one of the only vehicles that reliably propels Americans out of poverty. College graduates earn more and are less likely to live in poverty than Americans with just a high school diploma. And while 45% of children who are born into poor families and don’t finish college stay poor as adults, just 16% of poor children who get degrees remain poor.

Lured by the promise of a better life, more and more students are pursuing degrees. Each fall, about two-thirds of high school graduates and GED-getters head off to college. Like the country’s population, today’s college-going students are more racially and ethnically diverse than in the past, and include more low-income students among their ranks.

Institutions are great at enrolling students — they’re not great at graduating them.

But attending college is one thing; graduating is another. Nationally, only 60% of students who enroll at four-year institutions earn a bachelor’s degree within six years. That is the average for all students — the six-year college graduation rate is much lower for black students (40%), Hispanic students (55%), and low-income students (49%).

And for students in long-struggling cities such as Newark and Detroit, the statistics can be even bleaker.

In Newark, for example, just 44% of students who head straight to four-year colleges after high school earn a bachelor’s degree within six years, according to researchers who analyzed a sample of district, county, charter, and private high schools there. Among traditional, non-selective high schools such as the one Reddick attended, just 16% of graduates who immediately enroll in college earn bachelor’s degrees six years later.

In a new series, Ready or Not, two Chalkbeat journalists have set out to understand what those statistics mean for students like Reddick and McClendon — accomplished, driven young adults facing especially long odds in their quest for a college degree.

In Newark, Patrick Wall will be chronicling Reddick’s efforts to succeed at Rutgers University-Newark, which has won accolades for its support for low-income students. Lori Higgins is telling the stories of four Detroit graduates who have dispersed across Michigan to three public and private universities in their own quests for college degrees.

Our goal is to shine a light on the complex dynamics that are causing a “college completion crisis,” as a report by the Education Trust, an advocacy group focused on educational disparities, calls it.

Those dynamics include:

Segregated and under-funded K-12 school systems that struggle to prepare low-income students of color for college.
Structural racism that leaves a higher share of black and Hispanic families in poverty, forcing many of those young people to work more hours in college and live off campus, all while shouldering a higher share of higher-education costs, relative to income, than their affluent peers.
Elite colleges, which spend the most to educate their students and achieve stellar graduation rates, yet admit very few poor students.
And non-elite institutions — less selective four-year colleges, for-profit schools, and two-year colleges — which enroll the most poor students and students of color, and generally have far lower graduation rates.

“Institutions are great at enrolling students — they’re not great at graduating them,” said Wil Del Pilar, vice president of higher education policy and practice at the Education Trust. “When we create access, but we don’t ensure completion, we’re guaranteeing a promise unfulfilled.”

Nowhere are these dynamics more pressing than in Detroit and Newark. The local school districts are undergoing rapid changes after recently returning to local control after years of state management. And both cities have robust sectors of privately managed, publicly funded charter schools that are trying to boost their students’ odds of success. But even for the most ambitious students, years of bureaucratic tumult, poor academic preparation, and challenges in their own lives make success in higher education a difficult prospect.

Over the coming months, Lori and Patrick will share snapshots from local students’ first year of college, pull together data that illuminates disparities that begin long before students get to college, and profile efforts to improve the college transition.

We’ll also be involving our readers in an ongoing conversation about college readiness and completion — and sharing some snippets from behind the scenes of our Ready or Not reporting. Sign up below to join the conversation.

We’re talking about the future of our country, not just the future of a couple of kids.

The obstacles standing between the students and a college degree are daunting. But each of these students is armed with formidable intelligence and tenacity. And, in varying ways, their colleges and former high schools are trying to find ways to help get them to graduation.

Whether they succeed will determine the trajectory of these students’ lives. And, on a grander scale, whether more students like them can make it through college will show whether the country is ready to head in a more equitable direction — or not.

“We’re talking about the future of our country, not just the future of a couple of kids,” said Vincent Tinto, a professor emeritus at Syracuse University and an expert on higher education. “We’re talking about generating a future citizenship that’s diverse and representative, that becomes a powerful force in our society.”

This project was produced with support from the Education Writers Association Reporting Fellowship program.