First Person

Healthy school snapshot: Coal Creek Canyon K-8

Even the middle schoolers were dancing.

You know a school wellness initiative is working when you see a bunch of 12- to 14-year-olds – boys, no less – of various size and ability jumping around and dancing on a chilly morning in front of the entire student body.

Granted, the entire student body at Coal Creek Canyon K-8 in Jeffco is small, at 145 students. But the school has made health and wellness centerpieces of its culture.

I spent the first day of the school’s annual Health and Wellness Week in the pristine mountain community about a month ago, taken on a tour of the school’s many initiatives by parent advocate Jamie Fanselow, a petit blond whose own athletic career was limited by an injured disk. I now know I can expect to see Fanselow at any number of healthy schools events because that’s the sort of passionate and committed parent she is. (It doesn’t hurt that she’s very soft-spoken and non-confrontational…I imagine her approach works well with parents and teachers who are tired of being lectured).

But one person alone cannot a healthy school make. The health initiatives at Coal Creek Canyon began six years ago, thanks to a small group of parents. Today, the school is heralded by state leaders hoping to put a dent in this alarming childhood obesity epidemic.

Health and Wellness Week

To kick off Health and Wellness Week, the school had lots of events planned to engage students, staff and community. The students began their Monday outside, with a parent volunteer/personal trainer leading them in dance moves. A trainer was also enlisted to offer a free workshop to parents who wanted to get their exercise groove on. There would also be a guest speaker (a dad and ultra-runner) and a fundraising walk for juvenile diabetes.

Later in the morning, all the school’s students and some parents and staff ran or walked the 1/10-mile course around the school grounds as part of the school’s 3-year-old Recess Mileage Club. This year, students are attempting to symbolically summit some of Colorado’s 14ers. If they “summit” one, they get a colorful engraved carabiner.

Mileage club with 100 percent participation

Fanselow is in charge of the mileage club and says it’s the best way to get all students involved in physical activity – even those who don’t have the resources to be involved in organized sports. She noted that some of the mountain school’s students travel 45 minutes by bus.

“For kids growing up in single parent homes or in homes where both parents work, they may not be able to participate in soccer or skiing or some organized sports out there,” Fanselow says. “Anybody can get out there and run or walk a lap. You don’t need equipment, transportation or money. They’re all doing it and having a good time.”

The key to what’s happening at Coal Creek Canyon is that it’s not just a single special event. There’s something happening basically every day – whether it’s “salad day” in the school cafeteria or the Kale Cook Off in January or the media-free week in the spring. The school also just started some indoor gardens. Being at 8,500 feet, it wasn’t realistic to have an outdoor garden. More whole grains, fruits and veggies are also being served to kids at lunch.

“It’s not a single event and it’s over,” Fanselow says.

School staff  have embraced the new programs – even the facilities manager, the bus drivers and the principal’s secretary have been eager participants in the mileage club, for instance, Fanselow says. In fact, there’s 100 percent school participation in the club.

Other health initiatives

The health and wellness committee offers tips to parents in the school’s monthly newsletter, managed to get the PTSA to switch to iced tea and water served at events in lieu of sugary beverages, and provides suggestions for healthy school celebrations.

Health advocates at the school quickly learned not to ban cupcakes outright, but to take a measured approach.

“Health and wellness can be a sensitive topic for people – especially in the areas of food,” Fanselow says. “It’s important to value small steps, not wipe out cupcakes and get everyone running 100 miles. Do small things. Add good things rather than banning or taking away…We add veggie trays or fruit platters to our celebrations.”

Many of these initiatives are paid for through the health and wellness committee’s $1,200 annual budget, some of which comes from the Jeffco Healthy Schools grant, said Fanselow, who co-leads the committee.

Parent Andrea McAdoo likes what her kids are learning at school.

“This is something they will carry through their whole lives no matter what profession, no matter what they end up doing,” McAdoo says. “It’s about knowing how to be healthy and understanding how easy it is to integrate it into your life on a daily basis.”

Principal Scott Thompson, new to Coal Creek Canyon this year, is also enthusiastic – especially about the mileage club.

“It’s a great opportunity for kids to get out and show us what they’re made of,” he says. “If we get kids outside and doing a little exercise, they’re much better academically inside.”

Challenges remain

The challenge remains fitting in physical activity and an emphasis on healthy food when teachers and administrators are so overwhelmed with the basic task of teaching students and producing solid test scores, Fanselow says.

“I understand how teachers and administrators are really limited for time,” says Fanselow, a former teacher. “It feels like one more thing. We try to find ways to integrate (programs) without taking time away from school. Instead of standing in line, get the kids moving. This is an empty space of time. Or, at recess, especially middle schoolers, instead of standing against the wall, get them moving somehow.”

First Person

I’m a Florida teacher in the era of school shootings. This is the terrifying reality of my classroom during a lockdown drill.

Outside of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. (Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images)

“Remember,” I tell the children, looking them in the eyes in the darkened classroom. “Remember to keep the scissors open. They’ll stab better that way.”

My students, the target demographic for many a Disney Channel sitcom, laugh nervously at me as they try to go back to their conversations. I stare at the talkative tweens huddling in a corner and sigh.

“Seriously, class,” I say in the tone that teachers use to make goosebumps rise. As they turn back to me with nervous laughter, I hold up that much-maligned classroom tool, the metal scissor that’s completely ineffective at cutting paper. “If a gunman breaks in, I’ll be in the opposite corner with the utility knife.” Said tool is in my hand, and more often used to cut cardboard for projects. All the blood it’s hitherto tasted has been accidental. “If I distract him and you can’t get out, we have to rush him.” I don’t mention that my classroom is basically an inescapable choke point. It is the barrel. We are the fish.

They lapse into silence, sitting between the wires under the corner computer tables. I return to my corner, sidestepping a pile of marbles I’ve poured out as a first line of defense, staring at the classroom door. It’s been two hours of this interminable lockdown. This can’t be a drill, but no information will be forthcoming until it’s all over.

I wonder if I really believe these actions would do anything, or am I just perpetrating upon my students and myself the 21st century version of those old “Duck and Cover” posters.

We wait.

The lockdown eventually ends. I file it away in the back of my head like the others. Scissors are handed back with apathy, as if we were just cutting out paper continents for a plate tectonics lab. The tool and marbles go back into the engineering closet. And then, this Wednesday, the unreal urge to arm myself in my classroom comes back. A live feed on the television shows students streaming out of Marjory Stoneman Douglas, a high school just a short drive away. I wonder whether the teachers in its classrooms have passed out scissors.


The weapons. It’s not a subject we teachers enjoy bringing up. You’d have an easier time starting a discussion on religion or politics in the teacher’s lounge then asking how we all prepare for the darkness of the lockdown. Do you try to make everyone cower, maybe rely on prayer? Perhaps you always try to convince yourself it’s a drill. Maybe you just assume that, if a gun comes through the door, your ticket is well and truly up. Whatever token preparation you make, if at all, once belonged only to the secret corners of your own soul.

In the aftermath of Parkland, teachers across the nation are starting to speak. The experience of being isolated, uninformed, and responsible for the lives of dozens of children is now universal to our profession, whether because of actual emergencies or planned drills. You don’t usually learn which is which until at least an hour and sometimes not until afterwards. In both cases, the struggle to control the dread and keep wearing the mask of bravery for your students is the same.

And you need a weapon.

I’ve heard of everything from broken chair legs lying around that never seem to be thrown away to metal baseball bats provided by administration. One teacher from another district dealt with it by always keeping a screwdriver on her desk. “For construction projects,” she told students. She taught English.

There’s always talk, half-jokingly (and less than that, lately) from people who want teachers armed. I have a friend in a position that far outranks my own whose resignation letter is ready for the day teachers are allowed to carry guns in the classroom.

I mean, we’ve all known teachers who’ve had their cell phones stolen by students …


Years earlier, I am in the same corner. I am more naïve, the most soul-shaking of American massacres still yet to come. The corner is a mess of cardboard boxes gathered for class projects, and one of them is big enough for several students to crawl inside.

One girl is crying, her friend hugging her as she shakes. She’s a sensitive girl; a religious disagreement between her friends having once brought her to tears. “How can they be so cruel to each other?” She asked me after one had said that Catholics didn’t count as Christians.

I frown. It’s really my fault. An offhand comment on how the kids needed to quiet down because I’m not ready to die pushed her too far. Seriously rolling mortality around in her head, she wanted nothing more than to call her family. None of them are allowed to touch their cell phones, however, and the reasoning makes sense to me. The last thing we need is a mob of terrified parents pouring onto campus if someone’s looking to pad their body count.

She has to go to the bathroom, and there are no good options.

I sit with her, trying to comfort her, wondering what the occasion is. Is there a shooter? Maybe a rumor has circulated online. Possibly there’s just a fleeing criminal with a gun at large and headed into our area. Keeping watch with a room full of potential hostages, I wonder if I can risk letting her crawl through the inner building corridors until she reaches a teacher’s bathroom. We wait together.

It seemed different when I was a teen. In those brighter pre-Columbine times, the idea of a school shooting was unreal to me, just the plot of that one Richard Bachman book that never seemed to show up in used book stores. I hadn’t known back then that Bachman (really Stephen King) had it pulled from circulation after it’d been found in a real school shooter’s locker.

Back then my high school had plenty of bomb threats, but they were a joke. We’d all march out around the flagpole, sitting laughably close to the school, and enjoy the break. Inevitably, we’d all learn that the threat had been called in by a student in the grip of “senioritis,” a seemingly incurable disease that removes the victim’s desire to work. We’d sit and chat and smile and never for a second consider that any of us could be in physical danger. The only threat we faced while waiting was boredom.


Today, in our new era of mass shootings, the school districts do what they can, trying to plan comprehensively for a situation too insane to grasp. Law enforcement officials lecture the faculty yearly, giving well-rehearsed speeches on procedures while including a litany of horrors meant to teach by example.

At this level, we can only react to the horrors of the world. The power to alter things is given to legislators and representatives who’ve been entrusted with the responsibility to govern wisely while listening to the will of the people. It’s they who can change the facts on the ground, enact new laws, and examine existing regulations. They can work toward a world where a lockdown is no longer needed for a preteen to grapple with gut-churning fear.

We’re still waiting.

K.T. Katzmann is a teacher in Broward County, Florida. This piece first appeared on The Trace, a nonprofit news site focused on gun violence.

First Person

What we’ve learned from leading schools in Denver’s Luminary network — and how we’ve used our financial freedom

PHOTO: Nicholas Garcia
Cole Arts and Science Academy Principal Jennifer Jackson sits with students at a school meeting in November 2015.

First Person is a standing feature where guest contributors write about pressing issues in public education. Want to contribute? More details here

Three years ago, we were among a group of Denver principals who began meeting to tackle an important question: How could we use Colorado’s innovation schools law to take our schools to the next level?

As leaders of innovation schools, we already had the ability to make our own choices around the curriculum, length of school day, and staffing at our campuses. But some of us concluded that by joining forces as an independent network, we could do even more. From those early meetings, the Luminary Learning Network, Denver’s first school innovation zone, was born.

Now, our day-to-day operations are managed by an independent nonprofit, but we’re still ultimately answerable to Denver Public Schools and its board. This arrangement allows us to operate with many of the freedoms of charter schools while remaining within the DPS fold.

Our four-school network is now in its second year trying this new structure. Already, we have learned some valuable lessons.

One is that having more control over our school budget dollars is a powerful way to target our greatest needs. At Cole Arts & Science Academy, we recognized that we could serve our scholars more effectively and thoughtfully if we had more tools for dealing with children experiencing trauma. The budget flexibility provided by the Luminary Learning Network meant we were able to provide staff members with more than 40 hours of specially targeted professional development.

In post-training surveys, 98 percent of our staff members reported the training was effective, and many said it has helped them better manage behavioral issues in the classroom. Since the training, the number of student behavior incidents leading to office referrals has decreased from 545 incidents in 2016 to 54 in 2017.

At Denver Green School, we’ve hired a full-time school psychologist to help meet our students’ social-emotional learning goals. She has proved to be an invaluable resource for our school – a piece we were missing before without even realizing how important it could be. With a full-time person on board, we have been able to employ proactive moves like group and individual counseling, none of which we could do before with only a part-time social worker or school psychologist.

Both of us have also found that having our own executive coaches has helped us grow as school leaders. Having a coach who knows you and your school well allows you to be more open, honest, and vulnerable. This leads to greater professional growth and more effective leadership.

Another lesson: scale matters. As a network, we have developed our own school review process – non-punitive site visits where each school community receives honest, targeted feedback from a team of respected peers. Our teachers participate in a single cross-school teacher council to share common challenges and explore solutions. And because we’re a network of just four schools, both the teacher council and the school reviews are small-scale, educator-driven, and uniquely useful to our schools and our students. (We discuss this more in a recently published case study.)

Finally, the ability to opt out of some district services has freed us from many meetings that used to take us out of our buildings frequently. Having more time to visit classrooms and walk the halls helps us keep our fingers on the pulse of our schools, to support teachers, and to increase student achievement.

We’ve also had to make trade-offs. As part of the district, we still pay for some things (like sports programs) our specific schools don’t use. And since we’re building a new structure, it’s not always clear how all of the pieces fit together best.

But 18 months into the Luminary Learning Network experiment, we are convinced we have devised a strategy that can make a real difference for students, educators, and school leaders.

Watch our results. We are confident that over the next couple of years, they will prove our case.

Jennifer Jackson is the principal of Cole Arts & Science Academy, which serves students from early childhood to grade five with a focus on the arts, science, and literacy. Frank Coyne is a lead partner at Denver Green School, which serves students from early childhood to grade eight with a focus on sustainability.