The Seat Pleasant 59

The Legacy: For those promised college scholarships, the gift inspired pride and pain

A three-part series on the fate of 59 fifth-graders who were given an extraordinary gift: the promise of a college education paid for by two wealthy businessmen.

Video: Wondering what happened to the rest of the class? Meet all the students and find out who made it through high school, trade school and college with our interactive database. Watch video interviews with Jeffery Norris, Ponloeu Le, Tiffany Alston and other students to hear first-hand how the program impacted lives.

When he regained consciousness, Jeffery felt blood spilling down his chest. Shards of glass were stuck in his neck, his face and his hands. Over the next few months, he underwent two surgeries and skin grafts. The glass had come millimeters from severing his jugular vein. On the back of his head, where there should have been hair, was a patch of bare skin the size of a ping-pong ball. Scars would zig and zag across his neck.

As he recovered, Jeffery still faced the possibility of up to 25 years in prison for pleading guilty to drug and weapon charges. Instead, a judge, sympathetic because of the injuries he’d suffered from the accident, sentenced him to 18 months of supervised probation. Jeffery felt lucky. He knew he would have to stop dealing drugs.

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Meet the characters

William Smith
The adored class prankster whose life was defined by a burst of violence that left him in a wheelchair.

Darone Robinson
An indifferent student and enthusiastic brawler for many years. Pushed constantly by his mother.

Jeffery Norris
Witnessed his uncle being beaten to death with a baseball bat at 8 and swore he would never be a victim.

Suziann Reid
Immigrant from Jamaica who was a blazingly fast runner in high school.

Tracy Proctor
Tapped at 24 by Abe Pollin and Melvin Cohen to work with the fifth-graders.

Tiffany Alston
A strong student whose mother vowed to scrub floors so her daughter could become a lawyer.

David Carter
UPS driver who expresses regrets about dropping out of college and wants his three daughters to get degrees.

Rudolph Norris
Cousin to Jeffery Norris who, at 8, witnessed his stepfather being beaten to death with a baseball bat.

Hasani Chapman
Earned As in school and scored almost 1200 on his SATs, but dropped out of the University of Maryland.

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But what should he do? And whom could he talk to about his future?

At 21, Jeffery could think of only one person: Tracy Proctor.

In a drawer in his home office, Tracy Proctor keeps a sheet of paper titled “Class of 1995 Final Stats,” a list he once presented to Pollin and Cohen that laid out what he knew about each student they’d adopted at Seat Pleasant. Among its findings: at least 11 of the 59 graduated from four-year colleges; at least three of those 11 attained advanced degrees; at least 12 students completed trade school; six dropped out of high school; what happened to six more remains unknown.

Proctor understands that those numbers are vital to any assessment of the program. He knows that the Dreamers’ high school graduation rate of 83 percent far surpassed Prince George’s overall rate in 1995. He also knows that the vast majority did not finish college, a fact that is true of many Dreamers nationally, according to a summary of several studies by the “I Have a Dream” Foundation.

From New York to Portland to Houston, the Dreamers graduated from high school and enrolled in college in far higher numbers than other students. But they often struggled to finish college.

It was often difficult to predict who would make it and who wouldn’t. One kid who looked hopeless might end up graduating from college, as Darone Robinson did. Another kid who got A’s and scored nearly 1200 on his SAT might drop out, as was the case with Hasani Chapman, one of Darone’s classmates.

What Proctor learned, he says, is that Dreamers’ achievements cannot be defined by a diploma, an attitude that he says Pollin and Cohen eventually embraced. The doctor and the pharmacist are successes, for sure. But so are the UPS driver and the Prince George’s police officer. They may not have college degrees, Proctor says, but they have a sense of purpose and ambition.

Ultimately, Proctor argues, the program’s enduring value lies in the relationships he and his students cultivated over time. His mission, he says, was not to bemoan their failures, but to help his students find alternate paths to success. To say, as he did to Jeffery Norris and others, “Let’s try something different.”

“All we could do was give them the academic help that could make them successful. We could give them options,” he says. “You couldn’t force them.”

 
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