It would have been a great wager. One could have made a killing, say, back in 1981, by betting that the following year, 14 students from east L.A.’s troubled Garfield High would pass the AP Calculus test. Yet, as anybody who saw the film “Stand and Deliver” can tell you, that’s exactly what happened.
Yesterday, the mastermind behind that achievement, Jaime Escalante, died at the age of 79. Although I know nothing about the man outside of his story as told in “Stand and Deliver”, he has been an inspiration to me. I have often, during my career in music education, asked myself, “What would Jaime do?”
Now, I acknowledge that teaching music to middle and upper class kids in their own homes is not the same as walking into an inner city high school to teach math. Yet, the key to Escalante’s success–his high expectations of students–is something that any teacher of any subject can learn from and be inspired by.
Escalante’s battle was fought on several fronts. He dealt with an administration that had more or less given up on the student body. He sold the idea of college to families who only knew work. He defended his students against a suspicious bureaucracy in the Educational Testing Service. And one of my favorite aspects of Escalante–at least as portrayed by Edward James Olmos in “Stand And Deliver”–is that he is human. He is not a saint. Toward the end of the film, he muses to his wife, “I could be making more money [as a computer programmer]. I could be respected.” The night before the AP test, Olmos’s Escalante is cooking a meal for the students at their study session. One of them says, “You’re afraid we’re going to screw up royally tomorrow, aren’t you?” He replies, “Tomorrow is just another day. I’m afraid you’re going to screw up the rest of your lives.”
As a music teacher, I wish I could say that I’ve always been able to empathize with my students. There have been times when I’ve wanted to throw up my arms and say, “Mother of mercy, why don’t you just GET it yet?” But Escalante didn’t give up against long odds, and knowing that he didn’t helps me–and many other teachers–find solutions.
So, music teachers: honor the memory of Jaime Escalante. I know that times are still tough for us, economically and otherwise. Many of you reading this have probably had loyal, dedicated students have to quit for financial reasons; some of you may have experienced judgment by the families that employ you or indifference from the students themselves. There are times when our career can be trying, and no one says you have to be perfect. But in the face of these trials, we should all take a moment to ask ourselves this question. What would Jaime do?
Maestro's Musings 