Celebration of Vito Perrone

With sadness, with share the news that Vito Perrone, longtime friend and supporter of the Coalition of Essential Schools, passed away earlier this week. As a teacher educator and mentor to many professionals, Vito formed many vital connections among educators and schools that are at the center of the CES network.

CES Executive Board Member Linda Nathan shared “A Celebration of Vito Perrone,” which describes the impact that her relationship with Vito had on her, the educators and students with whom she has worked, and the schools that they attend.

I first met Vito in 1985. He was in Boston to give a talk at Harvard, and, as part of his itinerary, he wanted to visit a school. We showed him around Fenway High School, where I was co-director, and he sat in on our bi-weekly Social Issues meeting.

The discussion was heated that day. There was lots of complaining about why the students didn’t do homework. Vito listened intently. Then, quietly, he asked, “Why do you give homework?”

We sat there for a moment, stunned by the question. Then a burst of loud objections. “Homework is like eating your vegetables,” said one teacher. “It’s good for you.”

Vito persisted: “But if no one is doing it, how is it helping anyone?”

“Students have to do homework,” we cried. “That’s what school is about. Teachers teach. Students do homework.”

Vito’s simple question had thrown us for a loop. We had been stuck on the surface, asking why the kids don’t do the homework. Vito’s quiet “Why?” exposed deep layers of discussion and debate that we had never delved into. What purpose does homework serve? How is that purpose connected with your curriculum? How is your curriculum connected to the way you think about students and teaching and learning? How is that thinking reflected in your mission?

And because Vito was Vito, he didn’t just lob in that question and then leave. He promised to return and help us think through these hard issues. It was the beginning of a rigorous and stimulating process for our school: to define who we were and who we wanted to become.

For at least fifteen years Vito was our coach, our cheerleader, and sometimes our strongest defender. As co-chair of Fenway’s Board, he helped us think through whether we wanted to be a charter school or a pilot school within the Boston Public Schools system. We chose the latter.

Every year we had our pre-Thanksgiving retreat at Harvard with Vito presiding. He always opened the meeting. He would frame the issues and situate our work in the broader context of education reform.

Those retreats were often grueling. We would raise troubling issues with no obvious solutions. Teachers were upset and angry. Nothing, it seemed, had been accomplished.

I called Vito after one of these retreats. It was the night before Thanksgiving. “It was a disaster,” I told him. “I feel like such a failure.”

He listened, patiently, as he always did. “You raised good questions,” he reminded me. “In fact,” he said, “the questions were even more complex than last year’s.”

“But Vito, why do I feel so bad?”

He reminded me again that the “work” wasn’t mine alone. I was not responsible, he said, for making everyone feel good in one day. I was responsible for guiding, listening, and probing—and helping frame better and better questions so that we could, as a group, find better and better answers.

I remember when Vito suggested that we have an exchange program between Fenway and Central Park East Secondary School in New York. I had never heard of the school. Soon I had CPESS teachers staying in my house, and I was farming out 7th and 8th graders from New York to various families in Boston. This was an important moment in Fenway’s development. Over the years we shared ideas on curriculum, on how to design advisories, and on graduation by portfolio. And Deborah Meier entered our lives.

Then Vito gently suggested that we might want to visit Ann Cook’s Urban Academy to see how they organized curriculum. We had just begun experimenting with Project Week at Fenway. Again, Vito’s little suggestion turned us on our heads. We wondered why we didn’t have Project Year instead of just Project Week.

When Vito suggested that I join him in Chicago for a conference called the North Dakota Study Group, it didn’t even occur to me to ask what it was. I just said, “I’d love to!” My two oldest children were quite young at the time. Vito became known as “the man who takes Mommy to Chicago.”

What an amazing experience that was. I had read about Lillian Weber. But to meet her and hear her talk—and to hear Pat Carini speak—when I got home I couldn’t stop talking about it. How did Vito manage to pull so many wonderful and thoughtful people together in one place? I thought he had done it all for me. Before that trip to Chicago I was being sucked into the black hole of the Boston Public Schools. I came away from that meeting totally energized and committed to sticking it out in Boston. Because of that one meeting, I felt change was within reach, and that I had comrades all across the country willing to help, to strategize, and to share solutions.

Vito showed us that no school is an island. We had to reach out and collaborate with like-minded colleagues. When Fenway was almost forced to close in the late 80s it was Vito, among others, who helped us develop strategies to remain vibrant and grow stronger.

Later, Vito was instrumental in helping Larry Myatt and me to found Boston’s Center for Collaborative Education and secure initial funding. Of course, he was a founding board member. Vito is not the type to start something and then walk away.

During one of our heated school conversations around 1990 Vito asked if I had considered taking time to reflect on and write about my work. I looked at him blankly. I didn’t have time to do the work, let alone think about it. He suggested that I apply for Harvard’s doctoral program. It would give me a chance, he said, to develop a more critical eye towards educational research, as well as a “time-out” to think about my own practice.

I don’t think he realized how much time he was going to have to spend persuading me that I could actually write a dissertation. He guided my research which focused on teacher understanding of portfolio assessment practices. When I wanted to give up, he was there to encourage me.

Vito was my adviser at Harvard. As he coached me with my writing, I began to see the flaws in my own work with student writers. At times, Vito actually edited my writing line by line. I asked him about that. He replied, “How will you learn what sounds better, or what makes an argument clear, if I don’t show you?” He never saw it as a weakness that I was still a developing writer. Vito’s coaching made me to think about how we “correct” student work and what we think of as “helpful.” In being Vito’s student, I became a better teacher. I always say that Vito taught me how to write. He also made me promise to keep writing—a nearly impossible task, as you know. Nevertheless, I’m still writing today because of Vito. It is no coincidence that my book, The Hardest Questions Aren’t on the Test, is dedicated to Vito.

In 1997 I was given the chance to start a school from scratch—the Boston Arts Academy. Vito was one of the first people I called. Was I ready to leave Fenway? Was Fenway ready for me to leave? As always, Vito listened and listened. He knew Fenway was in great shape. He knew, probably even before I did, that I was ready for a new challenge, and that my heart had always been in the arts. He encouraged me.

Many of the founding Boston Arts Academy faculty had been students of Vito’s or had known Vito from their work at Fenway. During our first months, Vito invited us to participate in a seminar with Pat Carini, a dozen other educators, and him. Learning and practicing the descriptive review process was a wonderful way to begin our school.

We continued the Fenway tradition of the pre-Thanksgiving retreat by having lunch with Vito. I wanted my young teachers to know him. As always, Vito listened and probed. How would we build our school culture? What was essential to all of us? To the parents? To the students? What were the generative questions for our humanities curriculum? For science? For theater? (I am sure that I learned the word “generative” from Vito. I think he invented it!) During that first year I called Vito often, to talk through a particularly difficult faculty meeting, to wonder aloud whether I had what it took to build a school.

My children have had the pleasure of growing up knowing Vito and Carmel. And many of my teachers and colleagues have known and worked with him. I now teach a course at Harvard, where Vito taught for many years,  called “Building a Democratic School: Pilots, Charters and Alternatives to Traditional Schools.” One of the core readings is Vito’s book, A Letter to Teachers.  Vito’s words, Vito’s kindness, Vito’s patience and persistence continue to inspire me. I only hope that I can keep doing the kind of work, in the kind of schools, that Vito would be proud of. I can only hope that I will be even half the mentor to younger colleagues that Vito was to me.

His death on August 24, 2011 fills me with enormous sadness. The world has lost a great man, a man with boundless energy and limitless beliefs in the goodness of people. I hope to carry Vito’s generous spirit as well as his tenacious ability to fight for what is right for kids with me always.

Linda Nathan, August 26, 2011

Vito Perrone’s obituary can be found at http://www.stantonfuneralhome.com/fh/obituaries/obituary.cfm?o_id=1245529&fh_id=12259. From the obituary, we share the following information:

His funeral will be held from the Stanton Funeral Home 786 Mt. Auburn St. (RT16) Watertown on Saturday Sept. 3, 2011 at 9 A.M. A Funeral Mass will be celebrated in the Sacred Heart Church, Watertown, MA, at 10 A.M.

Relatives and friends respectfully invited to attend. Visiting hours in the Stanton Funeral Home on Friday Sept. 2, 2011 from 4-8 P.M. Interment Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge.

In lieu of flowers, contributions in Vito’s memory may be made to the Aphasia Community Group of Boston, c/o Jerome H. Kaplan, M.A., CCC-SLP, Sargent College, Boston University, 635 Commonwealth Ave., Boston, MA 02215.