April 12, 2001

As you might expect, you can find bad schools in ghettos and better schools in better parts of town. But you might not expect that these are exceptions to the rule, the rule being:

You never can tell.

A year ago, a teacher asked me to address her class. I knew the neighborhood was rough, but I was shocked to find an institution that looked as inviting as San Quentin High.

The parking lot was surrounded by a chain-link fence and patrolled by a security guard. The office lay behind another fence. Inside, I was badged and handed off to an escort. She shepherded me through a gate in a third fence and down the empty hallways.

Finally, we entered what seemed to be a typical inner-city class. Too many kids, one teacher.

All cramming for the annual high school Japan Bowl competition.

From outward appearances, it's impossible to tell which schools will inspire and which will depress. All are unique. But there is one constant. Every time I visit a classroom, a student asks, "Are you going to write about us?"

Every time, I reply, "No. You aren't news."

This is true, if callous. But I now realize that it doesn't address the issue behind the question. All of them -- kindergartners and seniors, overachievers and slackers -- want to see their names in print. They all want to be recognized.

Soda vs. pens

Clearly, my no-tech chalk talk was bound to bomb. But the executive grabbed the lid of my coffin, slammed it down and began hammering away. To each kid, he gave a bag of chips and a can of soda.

I had brought Union-Tribune pens.

The booty, the kids insist, isn't important. "Career Day" appearances are quickly followed by a packet of letters.

"Thank you for coming to our school . . . "

"Thanks for coming to teach us . . . "

"I would like to thank you . . . "

Beyond these polite expressions, a surprising number of letters include pleas for more information, more attention.

"Mr. Rowe if you can tell me how old would I have to be to work for the Union-Tribune? You can return a letter at . . . "

"I was wondering, what was your favorite thing you wrote about? . . . P.S. Write back PLEASE."

"Will you please write me individually back? Thanks."

There are kids who have heard enough, of course, although they let me down with tact. Wrote one middle schooler, "I learned that being a newspaper writer isn't for me. Sorry.

"P.S. Thanks for the pen."

Not news

This newspaper published stories on arts education; inexpensive prom gowns; baseball tournaments and track meets; a speech by Sandra McBrayer, 1994's Teacher of the Year; the retirement of three superintendents; an outdoor survival camp for students; high school debutantes -- all on one day, April 1.

A week earlier, we reported the regional Japan Bowl results. San Quentin High didn't place.

Like so many students, these kids don't see themselves in the media. They aren't news.

Should they be? I'm starting to wonder.