Paying for pre-K

To fund pre-K, advocates in Indiana pitch tax credit scholarships, ‘pay for success,’ tax hikes

PHOTO: Scott Elliott / Chalkbeat
Preschoolers at Shepherd Community Center.

Early childhood education advocates are suggesting new ways for the state to fund prekindergarten — by bringing in investments from local communities and corporations.

In a new report released Tuesday by the Indiana University Public Policy Institute and Early Learning Indiana, advocates recommended the state look into tax credit scholarships, social impact bonds, food and beverage tax revenues, or local referendums to pay for expanded pre-K access.

“I don’t think it should be shouldered just by the government or by the private sector alone,” said Madeleine Baker, CEO of the Early Childhood Alliance in Fort Wayne, who co-chaired the report’s advisory board. “I think there needs to be partnership across the board. Everybody has to have skin in the game.”

Tuesday’s report kicks off a renewed campaign to expand early childhood education in Indiana, which is shaping up to be a budget battle in the upcoming legislative session that starts in January.

It could be fairly easy for the state to launch tax credit scholarships for pre-K programs, since Indiana already spends $14.5 million on the school choice strategy. Businesses and individuals receive a 50 percent tax credit on donations to scholarship funds for students from low- and middle-income families to cover the cost of private school tuition in grades K-12.

With social impact bonds — often called “Pay for Success” models — private investors contract with the government to provide money up-front for early childhood initiatives, which is paid back if the programs are successful. Illinois, along with Idaho and Utah, uses the strategy.

Passing a local property tax increase or an option income tax is an increasingly popular option for funding early childhood education with long-term revenue. But raising taxes is a tough sell in Indiana, and likely more so in the state’s rural areas.

An effort to pass a local referendum for early childhood education in Indiana has failed before. In Columbus, voters refused to back a referendum in 2012 that would have supported a public-private partnership widely pointed to as a success.

The other new ideas for funding streams — tax credit scholarships and social impact bonds — also come with trade-offs, said Bruce Atchison, principal of early learning for the Education Commission of the States.

“If you have a big corporation that’s going to put half a million dollars into that, that’s great,” Atchison said. “But when the corporation moves from the state or has a downturn in profits, it might not be so willing. So the long-term sustainability of the social impact bond piece becomes a concern.”

While the report did not include a big-picture estimate for how much more money the state should spend on pre-K, it did put a price tag on the cost of not investing in early childhood.

Employers in Indiana lose $1.8 billion each year from workers taking time off or leaving their jobs because of child care issues, the report said. Those absences are equivalent to losing 31,000 full-time employees and result in costs to businesses for paying for parents’ time off, hiring and training new workers, and paying for overtime or temporary workers.

The report also said the state loses $1.1 billion in economic activity each year from people reducing their spending if they lose out on wages because of child care issues.

It’s a popular argument in support of pre-K: Early childhood education benefits the workforce, both this generation and the next. Advocates say increasing high-quality pre-K seats helps parents stay or get back into the workforce while preparing young children with essential skills.

“Economic development speaks to Republicans,” said former Indianapolis mayor Greg Ballard, a Republican himself who championed pre-K and co-chaired the advisory board. “I’m hoping they look at these figures and say, hey, maybe that’s something we should be looking at.”

He added that he hopes the ideas for public-private partnerships — which he used to launch Indianapolis’ pre-K program — will also speak to the Republican lawmakers who dominate the legislature.

“I don’t think there’s yet a general understand that this should be done for many reasons, not the least of which is economic development,” Ballard said. “It’s just not in our psyche yet that this is part of who we are as Hoosiers.”

The state’s pre-K program, known as On My Way Pre-K, is in the fourth year of its five-year pilot. At a cost of $22 million per year, it is available in 20 counties and pays for roughly 4,000 4-year-olds from low-income families to attend the high-quality pre-K provider of their choice.

If the state is to continue funding the pre-K program, advocates’ best shot for securing money is in the upcoming session, when lawmakers craft the state’s two-year budget.

Expanding pre-K is likely to have the support of Republican Gov. Eric Holcomb, who pushed in 2017 for an earlier expansion of the program to more rural areas of the state.

The issue has already won the support of Republican state schools chief Jennifer McCormick, who said earlier this month that too many Hoosier children enter kindergarten unprepared.

Advocates cite research showing the long-term returns on investment of pre-K and a study showing the success of pre-K in Oklahoma. They even point to research showing where Tennessee’s pre-K program fell short as an example of how important it is to maintain high quality standards for pre-K.

A recent report also showed that universal preschool in Washington, D.C., helped more mothers return to the workforce.

But funding is still likely to be a sticking point: How much money will lawmakers be willing to invest in pre-K?

“In a budget year, everyone has a request for something,” said Tim Brown, general counsel and director of policy for the Indy Chamber, in an interview last month with Chalkbeat.

Advocates say they are still struggling to convince people that pre-K is a worthwhile investment that amounts to more than daycare.

Indianapolis Mayor Joe Hogsett, a Democrat, said he believes pre-K has already proved its worth. Researchers have been studying the early outcomes of the state’s pilot program, which is showing both academic gains for children, and an increase in work and education opportunities for parents.

“I think the results of those programs are self-evident, that they do make a critical difference to get our young people off to a great start in life,” Hogsett told Chalkbeat recently. “So I hope that those results will speak volumes as the legislature crafts its next biennial budget.”

We'll come to you

They started as an experiment in rural areas. Now, mobile preschools are rolling into metro Denver.

PHOTO: Pat Sudmeier
Children attend preschool in Gus the Bus in Garfield County.

In several of Colorado’s rural communities, some children have long attended preschool in specially equipped mobile classrooms with names like Gus the Bus, Magic Bus and El Busesito.

The rolling preschools, which travel to apartment complexes or mobile home parks a couple times per week, are seen as an innovative way to reach children who can’t access traditional bricks-and-mortar preschools.

Now, they’re coming to the Front Range.

Last spring, a mobile preschool rolled into the northern Denver suburbs, and the city itself could eventually get one, too. Officials at Mile High United Way are exploring the concept and Denver school district leaders say they hope to join the project if it moves forward.

“It’s no surprise there is a lack of both affordable and accessible high-quality early childhood education in our community,” said Karla Maraccini, vice president of community impact and strategy at Mile High United Way. “One of the solutions we’re exploring is mobile preschool.”

Such programs aren’t widespread in Colorado or the nation, but the meet-them-where-they-are approach has plenty of precedents. Think bookmobiles or mobile blood drives. Advocates say mobile preschools represent a valuable school readiness initiative for young children cut off from traditional early education experiences.

“Mobile can be used in so many ways. I think of the food trucks, how that’s been kind of a revolution,” said Logan Hood, who manages the Preschool on Wheels program in Garfield County in western Colorado. “When you come to that person’s community and you’re willing to open your doors … it’s lasting.”

Rany Elissa and Alexa Garrido, the husband-wife team that recently launched the mobile preschool program in Federal Heights north of Denver, said they plan to acquire another bus and expand their program to nearby Thornton in 2019. They’re also looking at Denver, possibly in Park Hill or a neighborhood in northwest Denver, and have had discussions with Mile High United Way on the topic.

The pair, which separately run a company that provides tutoring and other services to K-12 students across the state, said seeing the academic struggles of older students convinced them they needed to start earlier. That’s why they spent more than $200,000 to gut a 19-passenger bus and remake it into a preschool space with a bathroom, running water, heat and air-conditioning.

The colorfully painted bus spends most weekdays at the Denver Cascade Mobile Home Park, where eight children attend morning preschool and another eight attend in the afternoon. The children, all English language learners, attend the year-round program four days a week.

Many participating families walk to the bus each day, shut out of local building-based preschools that are full, or that they can’t afford or can’t reach, Garrido said.

Large swaths of Adams County, where Federal Heights is located, are considered child care deserts because the number of young children far exceeds the number of child care and preschool slots, according to a 2017 report from the Center For American Progress.

Parts of Denver have that designation as well and additional city data show fewer than a quarter of 3- and 4-year-olds attend preschool in certain areas, including parts of north Denver, far northeast Denver, and a few neighborhoods along the city’s eastern border with Jefferson County.

Elissa and Garrido’s program, Right On Mobile Education, is one of four mobile programs licensed by the state, which means it meets basic health and safety standards.

The Magic Bus preschool program in Eagle County, which launched in 2007, serves 82 children for four hours a week with a bus and a motor home. The Preschool on Wheels program, a project of the Aspen Community Foundation in neighboring Garfield County, serves 80 children for six hours a week with two buses — Gus the Bus and the Sunshine Bus. Families there pay $5 a month to participate. El Busesito, or the Little Bus, which operates in both Garfield and Eagle, serves 96 children for five hours a week with three buses.

While Colorado’s mobile preschool operators emphasize the pains they take to ensure quality — using reputable curriculums, incorporating social-emotional learning and employing credentialed bilingual teachers — the programs don’t get a quality rating from the state the way building-based preschools do.

State officials, who only began licensing mobile preschools in 2016, said too many factors in the rating system don’t match up with the mobile preschool model. They said that the rating system, called Colorado Shines, might eventually cover mobile preschools.

Generally, mobile preschool classes run for a shorter time than building-based classes, but leaders say they still help kids make big learning gains.

At that age, “their brains are like little sponges,” said Deb Dutmar, manager of the Magic Bus program for the Vail Valley Foundation. “Even that concentrated time with them singing songs, doing circle time, having a snack, reading a book, having play time … just those two days a week, it’s amazing how they grow.”

But mobile programs, which include parent workshops and home visits, aren’t cheap. Plus, they usually don’t qualify for government dollars that support traditional preschools, and families pay nothing or only a tiny fee to participate. In other words, they require lots of grants and donations to stay afloat.

The Magic Bus program costs $280,000 and Preschool on Wheels costs $350,000 a year. Hood, manager of the Preschool On Wheels program, said she spends lots of time fund-raising and, when she fields calls from other communities, emphasizes the need to find sustainable funding.

Both Hood and Dutmar say they routinely get calls from all over the country — Hawaii, Maryland, Louisiana, California and elsewhere — from people wanting to hear more about mobile preschools.

It’s important to consider community needs in developing such programs, Hood said, “It’s not saying, ‘This is cute. Let’s do this.’”

Beyond finances, mobile preschools present logistical challenges, too.

One mobile preschool program in Oakland, California, thought to be the first in an urban setting during its pilot phase in 2015, was discontinued a year later.

Elise Darwish, who was an administrator at the charter school network operating the bus when the program launched but not when it ended, said she believes the amount of regulation and red tape involved in running the program led to its demise.

Ensuring basic sanitation can be a stumbling block, too. Since Dutmar has one Magic Bus without a bathroom, it must be parked near a public restroom. Especially in the winter, bundling up wiggly children just for a bathroom break eats up a lot of time, she said. The good news is the foundation just finished its fund-raising campaign for a second Magic Bus motor home, which will arrive bathroom-equipped next summer.

Elissa and Garrido faced their own share of logistical headaches when they decided to launch their mobile program. They quickly realized that most city zoning rules don’t easily accommodate mobile preschools.

“No one knew what to do with us,” Elissa said. “We were not a food truck. We were not selling anything.”

Eventually, they found a passionate advocate in the mayor of Federal Heights and successfully navigated the city’s zoning ordinances. By next summer, they hope to add a second bus that will offer preschool at the Woodland Hills mobile home park in Thornton.

Denver, they hope, won’t be far behind.

the youngest learners

Most of Indiana is a licensed child care ‘desert’ for infants and toddlers, new report says

PHOTO: Christina Veiga / Chalkbeat

Most of Indiana has a severe shortage of licensed child care for infants and toddlers, meaning the state’s youngest children potentially lack options for early learning during a critical time in their development, according to a report released Wednesday by the Center for American Progress.

In Indiana, the capacity of licensed child care centers and homes only covers 12 percent of the state’s 245,000 infants and toddlers, the report said. Or, to put it another way, there are more than eight infants and toddlers for every licensed child care spot.

The shortages are more pronounced in rural and lower-income areas, according to the report from the left-leaning, Washington, D.C.-based public policy research and advocacy organization.

“It’s the most important time for these kids in terms of their development and in terms of their ability to set themselves up for quality learning environments later on in preschool and elementary school,” said study co-author Rasheed Malik, senior policy analyst for early childhood policy.

One of the most severe shortages outlined in the report is in Adams County, southeast of Fort Wayne along the Ohio state line, where licensed child care providers have only 18 spots for the county’s 2,058 infants and toddlers.

Not every infant and toddler needs child care, and not every family will choose a licensed option. But these “child care deserts,” as the report calls them, can limit families’ access to early childhood programs where children’s interactions with caregivers “have long-term effects that lay the groundwork for healthy socio-emotional regulation, learning ability, and resilience,” the report said.

For working families, the shortage can also make it difficult to find child care while parents are at their jobs.

The report, which uses state data on licensed child care providers, doesn’t include small, unlicensed in-home providers, arrangements with family members, or church preschools.

Still, Malik said even though the report doesn’t capture the full scope of child care in Indiana, it’s a measure for the market that shows a need for more child care options for young children.

Numbers from the Indiana Early Learning Advisory Committee also illustrate a shortage in high-quality programs for the youngest children: While an estimated 160,000 children ages 0 to 2 need care, only 16,000 infants and toddlers are in high-quality programs.

Infant and toddler care can be much harder to find and more expensive than early childhood options for 3- or 4-year-olds, costing about $10,000 to more than $11,000 per year, according to the committee’s estimates.

The high costs of providing care for infants and toddlers is likely what fuels the shortage of options, Malik said. In contrast, he said, options for 3- and 4-year-olds are on the rise because of increasing state and local investments in prekindergarten.

Among the Center for American Progress report’s recommendations is greater public investment in child care for infants and toddlers.

“These are our most precious resource, and research has told us every dollar spent there is well rewarded for society,” Malik said.