Bright lines

Inside the rocky rollout of Denver Public Schools’ new school closure policy

PHOTO: Eric Gorski
Parents pick up their children at Amesse Elementary, one of two schools that will be restarted.

The bright-line school closure policy, adopted by the ambitious school board of one of the most reform-minded school districts in the country, was supposed to make the emotional and mysterious process of shuttering low-performing schools more fact-based and transparent.

Why, then, was a recent board meeting punctuated with shouts of “Lies!” and “Shame!”? Why did it abruptly end after parents and other school supporters stormed out?

One answer could be that everyone from the board members to the angry grandmas admonishing them, from the district’s top brass to the advocates watching from the sidelines, agrees that the rollout this fall of Denver Public Schools’ school closure policy was rocky.

A compressed timeline, confusion about how the policy would work and accusations the district had meddled with the numbers to get the outcome it desired were part of what made it flawed, they said. That DPS denied any meddling did little to temper the vitriol.

Another answer could be that shuttering struggling schools — and even the gentler step of “restarting” them by keeping the buildings open but replacing the program, leadership and staff — is an unpopular endeavor no matter how objective the criteria.

“It’s hell on earth,” said Paul Hill, founder of the Center on Reinventing Public Education, a research organization based in Washington state. “No school board goes into this thinking it’s not going to be. They often do it because they think they have to.”

DPS is currently among the only, if not the only, district in the country using strict criteria to close schools, Hill said. And Denver’s seven-member board has given no indication it intends to change course. In December, all seven members unanimously voted to permanently close one elementary school, Gilpin Montessori, and restart two others, Amesse and Greenlee.

The drastic measures are one way for Denver Public Schools to reach its aggressive goal that by 2020, 80 percent of its 92,000 students will attend a high-performing school. Currently, about 38,000 students — or 40 percent of kids — are still in schools DPS considers lower-performing.

But Superintendent Tom Boasberg insists the school closure policy, known officially as the School Performance Compact, is not the leading strategy to try to achieve that goal. The policy, he said, takes a back seat to initiatives such as better coaching for teachers and improved reading instruction for young students.

Instead, Boasberg described the policy as “a little bit of a safety mechanism” to be used when “these strategies don’t work and where over a period of time, kids are showing such low growth that we need to have a more significant intervention.”

But can such an extreme intervention be successful without faith in the process?

•  •  •

To be recommended for restart or closure, a school must:

• Rank in the bottom 5 percent of all DPS schools based on multiple years of school ratings and;
• Fail to show an adequate amount of growth on the most recent state tests and;
• Score fewer than 25 out of 40 points on a school quality review.

Schools that meet all three criteria and have sustainable enrollment are candidates for restart.
Schools that don’t have sustainable enrollment are candidates for closure.

Of note: New schools or schools in the midst of a major intervention, such as replacing the principal and staff, are exempt from the policy. This year, 39 schools were exempt, including some persistent low-performers. Fewer will be exempt next year.

The basic premise of the policy is the same now as when it was first unveiled publicly at a school board retreat in September 2015: to establish clear criteria for when to close or restart schools that, despite extra money and attention, remained among the worst-performing.

By that point, school closures were nothing new for DPS. Over the previous decade, it had phased out, consolidated or shuttered 48 schools, according to a district list. But officials admitted the reasons for doing so weren’t consistent, which bred suspicion in the community.

“We were trying to move beyond the era when who you know could influence (whether a) school was given more time or not,” said board vice president Barbara O’Brien. “We were trying to make it very clear and not play favorites based on what parent knew what person.”

The board unanimously adopted the policy in December of that year with the goal of using it for the first time in the fall of 2016. In the intervening months, DPS staff came up with the exact criteria (see box), taking into account a school’s historical academic performance, its most recent student growth scores and how it fared in an independent school quality review.

For the third — and most subjective — criterion, the district enlisted consultants and a group of 16 advocates, educators and community members to come up with a “cut score,” or the number of points a school would have to earn to be safe from closure.

The district also held meetings to explain the policy at 19 low-performing schools that could be affected. But one problem, observers said, was that the discussions felt hypothetical; they didn’t elicit the kind of your-school-could-be-closed panic that leads to packed rooms.

“There were meetings at schools and information shared with community members, but when you’re not in the experience, it doesn’t feel real yet,” said board member Rachele Espiritu.

“I don’t know if people want to learn about this in the abstract,” added member Mike Johnson.

Another issue, said Jeani Frickey Saito, the executive director of Stand for Children Colorado, a pro-reform advocacy group that works with families, is that parents and district staff often have different understandings of the purpose of such community meetings.

“The disconnect is one party thought they were having a conversation and the other party thought they were there to get information,” she said. “For the parents who attended those meetings — and there were very few — they didn’t feel like that was a conversation.”

Add on top of that the district’s tendency to use jargon, she said, and even the savviest parents can have a hard time comprehending the ins, outs and consequences of such policies.

Meghan Carrier, the parent engagement organizer for another Denver-based advocacy group, Together Colorado, echoed Frickey Saito.

“A lot of our parents didn’t quite understand,” Carrier said. “If your full-time job isn’t to be watching education, it’s convoluted.”

•  •  •

The policy became more real this past fall.

After a statewide delay in getting scores from the standardized English and math tests Colorado students took in the spring of 2016, DPS released in late October its latest round of color-coded school ratings, which rely heavily on those scores.

From there, everything happened in rapid succession. Right away, the district revealed that four persistently low-performing schools could face closure based on their results.

In November, those schools were visited by teams of DPS staffers and employees of SchoolWorks, a Massachusetts-based education consulting company the district hired to conduct the quality reviews. By early December, the reviews were finalized.

A few days later, DPS announced to the public — and the schools — the recommendation to close of three of the four schools that hadn’t scored the requisite number of points. (The fourth school, despite having the lowest scores on the first two criteria, did well enough to stave off closure.) The school board voted on the recommendation Dec. 15, just a week later.

“The timeline was quick,” Carrier said. “That was a lot of the pain the community felt.”

Pleas for more time dominated the Dec. 15 board meeting.

Amesse Elementary third-grade teacher Germaine Padberg’s comment was typical. “We need the chance to demonstrate we have the right team,” she implored board members.

But though board members agreed the timing wasn’t ideal, they said they felt an obligation to make a decision by yet another deadline: the Jan. 5 start of the school choice process for next year. That way, they said, parents could make an informed choice about whether to keep their kids at a school designated for closure or restart, or send them elsewhere.

Parents at Gilpin Montessori — a northeast Denver elementary with a beleaguered past, dwindling enrollment and fierce defenders who blame the district for both — took issue with the vote. After scrutinizing Gilpin’s quality review, they requested records that ended up showing its score had been changed from passing to failing before its review was finalized. Emails between district staff about what might occupy the centrally located Gilpin building in the future made parents question whether the district had changed the score on purpose.

Their discovery sent board members and staff scrambling to answer questions about what happened and who knew about it. Community groups, neighbors and the city council president got involved. And on Jan. 19, a group of supporters marched from Gilpin to yet another school board meeting to wave their evidence and pressure the board to reverse the closure.

“Shame!” they shouted when district staff said score changes were a routine part of SchoolWorks’ process and that DPS played no role. “Don’t perpetuate lies!” they yelled when board members rejected the theory that there had been foul play.

Board member Lisa Flores later said she was “discouraged and disheartened” by the parents’ singular focus on the school quality review, a feeling echoed by other board members and district leaders. Because it’s the final criteria, Boasberg said, “it’s inevitably the step that receives the most scrutiny and generates most the controversy.”

Van Schoales, CEO of the reform advocacy group A Plus Colorado, said he questions whether the review should serve that purpose.

“I applaud the district for doing qualitative school reviews,” he said. “But the way the system is set up, after you’ve fallen into the school closure list, then I have concerns about using the school visit to either bring the guillotine down on you or get you out of that process. … Everything rests on whether you have 25 points or not, which is kind of nutty.”

When it became clear the board wasn’t going to raise Gilpin’s score or reverse its closure decision, the crowd abruptly left the meeting, chanting, “Vote them out!”

“It was too late,” Gilpin parent Paul Davidson wrote afterward in an email to Chalkbeat. “The decision had already been made … after a single week of consideration. The (policy) feels like it was implemented without any possibility for review.”

Some board members disagree.

“What parents don’t see is that we’ve all been in committee meetings where we’re wrestling with these things,” board vice president O’Brien said. “By the time we get to a board meeting, we’ve spent seven or 10 hours just on this one topic. So we’ve all indicated how we’re going to vote and we’re ready to go forward. It’s not as if we weren’t listening.”

•  •  •

But to the parents, advocates and observers who watched it unfold, that’s exactly how it felt.

“The outreach was pitiful,” said Denver city council president Albus Brooks, who represents the Gilpin neighborhood and was pulled into the situation by the parents.

Added Carrier of the advocacy group Together Colorado: “Folks felt like they weren’t heard.”

Board members have acknowledged that, even as they’ve stood by the policy.

“The process, as you have aptly described, was flawed,” board member Happy Haynes told the crowd at the January board meeting, “particularly in respect to sharing that process with all of you and what it meant and what the steps were.”

“We need to do a better job of letting folks know what actions they can take and what opportunities they have earlier rather than later,” board member Espiritu said in an interview.

That’s because once a school is on that precipice, bright-line policies like the one DPS adopted don’t easily lend themselves to community input or board member debate.

“The ultimate decision of whether to restart a school is not something that we ask the school’s community: do you agree or disagree?” superintendent Boasberg said. If a school meets the criteria, the district will recommend closing or restarting it, he said. Board members ultimately have discretion, but several have said they believe in the policy and want to abide by it.

While some parents and advocates question the premise that closing schools leads to better outcomes for kids, others say the policy is better than what existed before.

“In the years where there was not objective criteria, the allegations were, ‘It was subjective, backroom deals, a black box,’” Frickey Saito of Stand for Children said. “Now there are objective criteria and the allegation is, ‘There’s no heart in the decision.’ … Neither process is perfect, but we’d rather have the more transparent and somewhat objective guidelines.”

Schoales, of A Plus Colorado, agrees. The problem, he said, is that no process is 100-percent objective. In this case, even the choice of the criteria could be seen as subjective. And if those criteria are be problematic, “that begins to raise questions around the whole process,” he said.

To improve on that process, DPS staff has met with school principals, district committees and advocacy groups to gather feedback on what went well and what didn’t. Staff is scheduled Feb. 13 to present recommended improvements.

Some board members said they’d be open to re-examining the school quality review criterion — and especially the cutoff score — in light of the fact that several schools, such as Gilpin, were on the edge of earning either passing or failing scores.

Others said the district needs to do a better job explaining how enrollment projections play into the decision to either close or restart a school. And they said DPS should provide more information to the board and the public about the extra money it has spent — and the strategies the school has tried — to improve over the years. For instance, the district says it spent $1.4 million at Gilpin in the past several years to help the school, with few results.

“This is critically important — to lay out that history,” board member Johnson said at a meeting this week at which the board briefly discussed the policy. “Have we tried what we think should have worked?”

But the biggest challenge will likely be repairing community relations and getting parents back on board. That’s especially important as DPS moves to the next phase in the process: choosing the school models that will replace the two schools being restarted.

The district began soliciting ideas this week. Applications from potential restart providers, both charter and district-run, are due in early April. The board is set to vote in June, and the new schools will take up residence in the Greenlee and Amesse buildings in fall 2018.

Hearing what current parents at those schools want in a new school is critical, officials said. But the meetings DPS has held thus far at Greenlee and Amesse have been sparsely attended. Carrier said Together Colorado is trying to mobilize Amesse families but many of them are still mourning the board’s decision. It’s been hard to find parents who want to engage, she said.

Board members said they understand that. And they emphasized that it’s up to the district, not parents or advocacy groups, to figure out a way to bring them in.

Board member Espiritu, whose district includes Gilpin and Amesse, put it this way: “The district has work to do to regain trust.”

on the clock

After another low rating, Denver’s Manual High could face state intervention

PHOTO: Melanie Asmar/Chalkbeat
Denver's Manual High School

Denver’s storied but academically struggling Manual High School faces the possibility of state intervention next school year after earning five consecutive low ratings from the Colorado Department of Education. It is the only one of Denver’s more than 200 schools facing that risk.

Manual’s situation is noteworthy because Denver Public Schools generally has taken aggressive action toward low-performing schools before the law allows the state to step in. The district hasn’t shied away from replacing or closing struggling schools, which has earned it criticism from those who think the tactics are too harsh.

In fact, the district closed and reopened Manual more than a decade ago because of lagging test scores and declining enrollment. The controversial decision still evokes painful memories in the community. Since then, the school has cycled through leaders and repeated overhauls of its academic program.

Manual is not the first Denver school to earn five low ratings, which are based largely on annual test scores. But the other schools were either closed by the district or able to turn around their performance to avoid sanctions. District officials are confident Manual will turn it around, too.

The school has one more chance. If it earns a higher rating next year, the state will put on hold the threat of intervention, which could include conversion to a charter school or even closure. Two years of higher ratings would put Manual in the clear.

But the northeast Denver high school faces hurdles on its road to improvement, including that it doesn’t have a permanent leader. Its last principal – a charismatic Denver native and the architect of the school’s latest rebirth – resigned suddenly in March. An investigation found Nick Dawkins violated the district’s policy against harassment, discrimination, and retaliation.

The school has an interim principal and is searching for a permanent one. A search in the spring netted three candidates, but the top prospect turned down the job.

“Our focus is on making sure Manual is a great school for its students,” Superintendent Tom Boasberg said. “We’re excited and confident about Manual moving forward.”

Manual is one of the district’s oldest high schools, and its alumni include several prominent Denverites, including the city’s current mayor. Last year, it served just over 300 students, 90 percent of whom were from low-income families and 96 percent of whom were students of color.

In preliminary school ratings recently released by the Colorado Department of Education, Manual earned the second-lowest: “priority improvement,” which is coded with the color orange. The ratings are based on state tests students took in the spring.

Alumna Lainie Hodges said she’s not surprised Manual did poorly by that measure. The students went through what she called “a year of constant trauma” that started with the deaths of a fellow student and a recent graduate, and continued with a headline-grabbing controversy over whether fans of an opposing high school football team had displayed a Confederate flag during a game against Manual.

Then, a month before students were scheduled to take the state-required PSAT and SAT tests, Manual’s popular principal resigned.

“That they didn’t show up and test well, I’m not surprised at all,” said Hodges, who graduated from Manual in 1997 and until earlier this year was the board chair of the Friends of Manual High School booster group. “Is it a measure of their talent and ability? Absolutely not.”

Recent graduate Elijah Beauford said he’s not surprised by the test scores, either. He said he himself struggled with tests as a student. But he excelled at the work he did in class and at home, encouraged by teachers with whom he said he had a “genuine connection.”

Many of those teachers were people of color, as was Dawkins, the former principal. Beauford, who transferred to Manual in his junior year from a school in Aurora, said he hadn’t ever attended a school where most of the staff, and the students sitting in the honors classes, looked like him.

“Seeing people who look like me in high-ranking positions of power, it’s subconsciously and consciously empowering,” said Beauford, who graduated in 2017.

That environment helped Beauford thrive. His confidence grew, his GPA shot up, and he went from a student who struggled with reading to one who consistently won first prize at high school speech competitions around the city. Beauford, who goes by the name Young Activist, has continued to give speeches and become involved with local education advocacy groups.

“I personally believe that the school doesn’t make the students, the students make the school,” Beauford said. People say Manual has a bad reputation, he said, but the reality is that “there’s a lot of good kids there who are in bad situations but still coming to school each and every day.”

There are two big caveats to Manual’s low state rating. The first is that districts can appeal the ratings of individual schools. State officials have until December to decide.

The second caveat is that Manual’s quandary is partly Denver Public Schools’ own making. The district has its own school rating system that it considers more rigorous. In cases where Denver rates a school lower than the state, the district asks the state to use the district’s rating instead. In three of the past five years, the state lowered Manual’s rating at the district’s request.

Crucially, in 2017, the district asked the state to lower Manual’s rating from yellow to orange. Yellow would have gotten Manual off the state “accountability clock.” (The clock refers to the amount of time low-performing schools and districts have to improve before the State Board of Education can order them take action.) But an orange rating kept it on.

There was also a year when Denver rated Manual higher than the state – and the state refused to raise its rating. That also had the effect of keeping Manual on the clock.

In an interview, Boasberg was quick to point out that Manual wouldn’t be on the clock had the district not requested the state lower Manual’s ratings. However, he was also gracious about the state’s role in ensuring all Colorado schools are meeting certain standards.

“We and (the Colorado Department of Education) have exactly the same objective, which is to ensure every student at Manual gets a great education,” Boasberg said. “We have collaborated, and we continue to collaborate, closely with CDE.”

Boasberg said his confidence about Manual’s future stems from its recently revised “innovation plan,” which describes the steps the school will take to boost student performance. Manual was one of Colorado’s first “innovation schools,” which means it has permission to waive certain state and district rules, as well as parts of the teachers union contract. The idea behind innovation schools is that increased flexibility will lead to better student outcomes.

Manual’s plan, which was submitted by Dawkins, includes more time for teacher training and more opportunities for students to take college-level courses. Manual is one of 20 state-designated “early college high schools,” meaning students can earn an associate degree or up to 60 college credits by the time they graduate high school.

But a new state law aimed at reining in the cost of early colleges limits the time students can take to complete their associate degree or earn their 60 credits. As a result, Denver Public Schools is redesigning its six early college high schools, including Manual.

Manual also has a unique career education program called the Med School at Manual geared toward students interested in careers in health care. The program offers classes in topics such as human anatomy and sports medicine, as well as job shadows, field trips, and internships.

Denver Public Schools has pumped an additional $3 million into Manual since 2015 in an attempt to help improve the school’s performance. The district refers to that money as “tiered support funding,” and Manual received it because of its low school ratings.

If the school’s state rating holds steady at orange this year, and it doesn’t improve next year, its leaders will find themselves before the State Board of Education in the spring of 2020.

Hodges said she hopes state officials, when deciding which action to take, consider Manual’s rich history, its recent trauma, and district decisions that she thinks hurt the school. She said she hopes state officials see Manual as worth fighting for.

“Because we do,” she said.

Welcome Back

‘They deserve the best:’ A Denver principal talks about restarting a school in her home city

PHOTO: Courtesy John H. Amesse Elementary
Students at John Amesse Elementary smile for the camera. The school is being "restarted" this year and is now known as John H. Amesse Elementary.

Today is the first official day of school in Denver. But students at John H. Amesse Elementary in the far northeast part of the city got a head start when they returned to class last week.

Angelina Walker.
The school is undergoing a “restart” this year in an attempt to improve chronically low student test scores. John H. Amesse has a new principal, a new plan, and new flexibility over how it spends its money and time. (Hence, the early start; research has shown more time in school can boost scores for students from low-income families.) The school also has a slightly new name: It now includes the middle initial H.

We sat down with new principal Angelina Walker to talk about her passion for working in the city where she grew up and her vision for John H. Amesse, where nearly all students come from low-income families. Walker spent a year preparing for her new role. While an interim principal handled the day-to-day operations last year, Walker learned, planned, and strategized for this one as part of a turnaround strategy Denver Public Schools calls “year zero.”

“I’ve always wanted to be an educator,” she told Chalkbeat. “I knew from when I was 2 years old that I was going to be teacher. And I knew I wanted to be a teacher that opened a school. So it’s kind of just really serendipitous, but also I feel pretty privileged and blessed.”

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What drew you to teaching, even when you were 2?

They talk about callings. I can’t describe it. I just knew. I don’t have educators in my family, so I’m not sure where it came from. But any game I ever played, anything like that, was teaching.

Did you go to school when you were very little?

I did. I’m a Denver native. I grew up in the northeast, far northeast area. When I was real little, I grew up in Park Hill, off of 35th and Elm, and I went to a little day care-slash-school a block away called Watch-Care Academy. It was a predominantly African-American school.

You said that when you applied to become a principal in Denver Public Schools, you asked to lead a school in the northeast because you wanted to serve the community where you grew up. Tell me a bit about what this community means to you.

My community means a lot to me. When I grew up – and this was back in ‘80s and ‘90s, and into the 2000’s for high school – the image that was out there, whether true or not, was that the public education system, at least in the northeast, was not that great, was unsafe.

There was a lot of gang violence, a lot of issues with our community. And out of everybody that I lived with or grew up with, I’m one of the very few that graduated high school. I have a lot of people I grew up with who are creating a life for themselves where they are, so I applaud them. But I have also seen some of the inequities in terms of society.

The importance my family placed on education really impacted and shaped the direction that I went. I mean, it did help that I loved education and I loved teaching. But being able to provide a schooling environment in my neighborhood that challenges what anybody says about our community is of utmost importance to me. Us writing our own narratives, instead of people writing our narratives for us, is very important to me.

I got into education because I wanted to be a teacher. Not necessarily to help, but just to educate, to teach. I became a principal to challenge systemic inequities. My community, they deserve the best. And so they deserve the best leader.

What have some of the challenges been at John Amesse?

Some of challenges that, generally, I have seen are lack of resources. With this turnaround, it’s really refreshing because I have gotten some resources to give kids what they deserve.

We are building a STEAM lab. (STEAM stands for science, technology, engineering, art, and math.) We have a lot of social and emotional supports. Right now, we have a psychologist, a social worker, and a social work intern. We have three members on our special education team, a full-time nurse, and the Center for Family Opportunity.

There’s a narrative out there about John Amesse that it was “a mess.” I think that the last couple of years, it’s really changed around. So really reclaiming that narrative is important.

I do think that we’ll continue – and then accelerate even more – with what the previous principal, Charmaine, did in terms of starting to look at our instruction based off of our data. So just bringing in some of those systems and tightening those up some, and having teachers own that.

We also want to maintain the culture that’s been built here. John Amesse has a wonderful, amazing culture. It’s just beautiful to walk around the school when the kids are here.

What are some of the things that make it special?

The involvement with the community has always been something that I value and I will strive hard to continue. Just celebrating kids. (In previous years, the school) did little things that we’re continuing, like celebrating attendance or shouting-out kids.

We plan on continuing a lot of the traditions – white linen lunches, and different things for kids – and adding on to them awards assemblies and things like that.

What’s a white linen lunch?

A white linen lunch is for students that have a certain percentage for their attendance. Basically, they get their lunch served to them on white linen cloths. They love it. There’s little decorations and then they get a little dessert at the end.

Can you think of an example of a really impactful conversation with a student or with a family that informed your work during your ‘year zero’?

There were a couple. I had a – we called them pop-up sessions – with a group of kids. We were in the new STEAM lab, but it was just that big, open space.

The question I put out there was, ‘If you could imagine this space to be anything you wanted it to be, what would you make it as and why?’ Then they had to create, from cut-out magazines, these pictures showing what they wanted in the space.

At first, I thought they wanted a makerspace type of area, and that’s where we were heading originally. And it basically came out that they wanted a space where they could build and explode and do different things like that – and they wanted a space where literacy was involved. Literacy, including drama and the arts.

Taking all their suggestions, I started researching and the STEAM lab is what popped out from everything they wanted. They didn’t want to do the traditional makerspace. They really wanted to have science, but then art and drama, and so that’s hopefully what our space will reflect.

The other conversation that I really remember is, I had a conversation with a parent, and the mom started crying. She was just saying that she’s really excited for the direction of the school, she feels there’s going to be solid leadership, all the typical things.

But then she really went into that she never felt that her child had been heard before. And so being able to provide that space for them to provide that feedback (through the pop-up sessions and other design opportunities) was important for this parent, in particular.

Is there an overall vision for John H. Amesse?

Our vision is really to support change-makers in our community. It’s really to get students to actualize their power and utilize that power to support the development of their community.

It’s really a grassroots kind of approach – and, with that being said, also giving them the tools they need and the access they need to navigate systems they maybe traditionally haven’t had access to. It’s just as important to be able to navigate things like PARCC (the state literacy and math tests) – those gatekeepers – so those are not barriers for them.

Can you tell me a little bit about the name change?

We didn’t want the trauma that ‘restart’ causes to have that same impact here. We did feel a name change was necessary, just to start reclaiming that narrative. Instead of being a school that’s “a mess,” putting that H in there broke up that saying.

We’re presenting ourselves in a different light. But we didn’t want to change it a whole lot because we really didn’t want to traumatize the community.

As part of the restart, John H. Amesse is now part of a school network called the Montbello Children’s Network with nearby McGlone Academy, a K-8 school that has shown a lot of academic growth. How do the schools work together?

Last year, it really started with me doing some leadership learning from McGlone and from Principal Sara Goodall, in particular. Now it’s evolved into that I have a network of school leaders I can rely on to support me with everything from professional development creation to just a general I-need-to-talk-to-someone kind of thing.

We do a lot of cross-collaboration professional development as staff. For example, this week my ECE teachers are going to McGlone and doing a network-wide training there.

Sara and I have a really close relationship, as well. This year, we’ll be meeting a couple times a week for a few hours. But we text each other, call each other all the time.

I think John H. Amesse has one of the best mascots of all Denver elementary schools, a multi-colored roadrunner. Is it going to stay?

It’s definitely staying.

Parents overwhelmingly said they didn’t want to change the mascot. We said we would honor that. Because of branding purposes with the network, we did have to change the look of the roadrunner. But we wanted to make sure the roadrunner was still there.

We also wanted to incorporate the school colors that were (previously) chosen. Going back to that whole trauma of the restart, the colors have remained the same. Their uniform shirts will be those colorful colors. They can still wear their old uniforms, and if they’re passing them on to siblings and things like that. We wanted to honor the voice of the community with that choice.

Is there anything else I haven’t asked that you want to add about what’s coming up this year, or what this restart will mean and how it will feel for families?

I really hope that it starts to feel like we’re starting to come back together as a Montbello community. And that it’s a safe place, but also a place where kids are going to be challenged academically, as well as supported socially and emotionally. And that our community feels that their voice is heard, and that they are getting the education they deserve.