By Jay Mathews
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, February 2, 2006; A01
News of the latest state test results blew softly through the remodeled halls of Maury Elementary School in June like a welcome breeze. Reports were that fifth-graders at Maury, the lowest-scoring school in Alexandria, had done much better on the writing test.
It was good to hear, but it would take more than a favorable rumor to boost the reputation of the little red-brick school on Russell Road and remove its "needs improvement" label, imposed by the federal No Child Left Behind law.
No school in the Washington area has felt more severely the weight of the 2002 law that not only tracks how well children do on state testing but also demands that schools improve their performance every year. In 2004, Maury students passed the state reading test at the lowest rate in Alexandria: 38 percent of third-graders and 59 percent of fifth-graders passed.
That triggered a provision of the law that allows parents to transfer their children to a better-performing school. Maury's enrollment dropped from 166 to 131. Middle-class parents were the first to leave, pushing the school's percentage of low-income children above 80 percent.
Maury was one of about 425 -- 12 percent -- of Virginia, Maryland and District schools on the "needs improvement" list and was a crucial test of the No Child Left Behind law. Some educators say the law, with its sanctions and labels, will force low-income, persistently low-performing schools such as Maury to improve. Others say it will drag them down and scare away families.
Stories like Maury's, said Frederick M. Hess, director of educational policy studies at the American Enterprise Institute, "are the crucible. They become models of what can or cannot be done."
For months after those first faint signs of an improvement in June, the staff and parents at Maury, as well as city school officials, waited to see whether the efforts of a new principal and a regiment of committed teachers and volunteer tutors had been enough. Had Maury made "adequate yearly progress," or "AYP," the most frequently uttered initials in any conversation about No Child Left Behind?
And if there was success, would there be enough momentum to keep Maury off future lists of low-performing schools?
Monte E. Dawson, Alexandria schools' executive director for testing and evaluation, was the man in charge of Maury's battle to convince state education officials that Maury should come off the list. He described the process as a matter of judgment. It would, he said, be rather like sampling a new and supposedly improved wine.
"You are swirling the wine around," Dawson said. "The judge might say, 'I like the bouquet, but it tastes like dreck.' "
The answer would be far from simple. Before Maury could escape its failing designation, it would have to survive a sometimes bewildering statistical exercise, comparing its old scores with its new ones and past achievements of its poorest students with their new attainments.
Down to the state Department of Education in Richmond went dozens of pages of statistics, including the passing rates of Hispanic fifth-graders on math tests, the passing rates of disabled students on science tests and comparisons of Maury's results with state averages. Even the number of student fights had to be tallied.
Finally, school officials offered written arguments, like legal briefs, that beyond the bare numbers, Maury's improvements merited taking it off the federal bad list.
For several years, Maury had been known as troubled. Located in an affluent neighborhood near the George Washington Memorial Masonic Temple, the school draws most of its students from housing complexes farther away. Like most low-income children, they have, on average, lower test scores and need more help to improve.
In 2003, with the federal law taking effect, Alexandria Superintendent Rebecca L. Perry tried to shake up the school: She required all teachers to reapply for their jobs and gave each one who made the grade a $3,000 bonus. In 2004, she moved an unusually successful and energetic principal, Lucretia Jackson, into Maury and provided funds for new carpets, new tile walls, a new media center and more classroom space.
When Jackson arrived at Maury in the summer of 2004, she organized open houses for parents and put a sign out front that read, "Wanted: More Children to Love and Educate." She brought in volunteer tutors, made sure that no Maury class had more than 20 students and added hour-long after-school lessons three afternoons a week.
She patted backs, asked teachers what they needed and kept a close eye on test results.
A new round of Virginia Standards of Learning tests were given in the spring of 2005. Those were the scores being examined by the state.
"There are many factors and calculations that have to be made to help with the final determination of AYP," said Julie Grimes, spokeswoman for the Virginia Department of Education.
During a recent interview in his office, Dawson leafed through copies of the materials he sent to Richmond and noted both the high and the low spots. Perhaps the best news was Maury's jump in English scores among third- and fifth-graders. The percentage of children passing the test shot up from just over 50 percent to 92 percent.
Dawson said he knew that information had been greeted with whoops of joy at Maury, but he tried to remain cool and objective, not unlike certain "Star Trek" characters. "Not to sound like Data or Mr. Spock," he said, "but I am not supposed to be emotionally involved."
Other Maury results also looked good. The third-grade passing rate in history went from 61 percent to 89 percent, and the third-grade passing rate in science from 66 percent to 78 percent. Fifth-grade history went from 81 percent to 86 percent, and fifth-grade math from 61 percent to 88 percent.
A disappointment was the drop from 60 percent to 58 percent in the fifth-grade passing rate in science. This year, Jackson has added a full-time science teacher and a lab and is working to integrate science into language arts and math classes.
Dawson prepared a detailed chart that showed the average Maury scores on each test, 2005's compared with 2004's. He even used one of his favorite computer tools -- the Data Disaggregator -- to clarify each gain, no matter how slim. His analysis of the fifth-grade writing test showed that 22 of the 24 students tested had passed, albeit three of them by a hair. But the other 19 improved nicely.
The memo Dawson prepared, "Justification for the AYP Determination," was a defense of the progress of just 43 students, the sum total of the school's remaining third- and fifth-graders, the only grades tested last spring.
Dawson sent the data and supporting memos to Richmond, and in mid-November, like a high school senior looking up his SAT score, he used his password to log on to the state's Web site.
Just as he had hoped, Maury had made Adequate Yearly Progress. The word spread quickly.
Mary Jo Smet, who has a third-grader at Maury, credits many people for the gains. "We have a wonderful principal . . . and the hardest-working teachers in the city," she said. "I think the parents who are there have made a commitment to make it work. It is a confluence of energy and effort."
Jackson said her staff of 50 was "ecstatic."
"Making AYP is a validation of all that we know our students are doing," she said.
But, she added, the work was only beginning. This spring, for the first time, Virginia schools will be giving the SOL tests to all grades from third through eighth, and Maury must continue to improve or once again be labeled a needs-improvement school.
Jackson has continued the after-school classes. Her teachers are attending meetings and workshops. There will be more tutoring in the lower grades and more attention to creating a vibrant school climate, including this year's introduction of blue and khaki uniforms for all students.
Jackson noted that enrollment is up 20 percent, to 157, a sign that the loss of students that came with being on the federal needs-improvement list has been reversed.
"I'm overjoyed, because I know how extremely hard my staff worked," Jackson said.
