"Let Them Lift Us Up"

A few minutes into third period on a recent morning, four pastors of different denominations have packed into child-size chairs in the computer lab at Hand Middle School in Columbia, S.C. They bow their heads and close their eyes, and with 25 computer monitors purring in the background, the Rev. Cole Weathers leads a brief invocation: "Almighty God, help us make a positive difference in the lives of children." Then the group gets down to business, divvying up the remaining $1,200 of the $1,600 that their churches have collected this year for the school. A pizza party is planned; new book bags are promised to some of Hand's poorest kids. Before they break, once again with a prayer, Hand principal Jeanne Stiglbauer slips in a final request: "Standardized testing is coming up, so please keep all our students and teachers--and their principal--in your thoughts."

Stiglbauer has a great talent for enlisting aid--from clergy, police, civic groups, parents, teachers, businesses and even higher powers. That talent has helped transform this once downtrodden school into one of the highest-achieving in South Carolina. "Often educators don't like to ask outsiders for help," explains Stiglbauer, who took over Hand six years ago. "But I say, 'Let them lift us up.'"

At a time when public engagement in many schools is downright dismal, Hand has captured the attention--and the donations--of its neighbors by turning into an old-fashioned community center. Hand keeps the hours of a convenience store: 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., open all but five weekdays a year. Senior citizens tutor teenagers, and preschoolers take computer classes here. Professors from the nearby University of South Carolina stop by to lecture students. The city council often meets in the school gymnasium. "Everybody comes here. It makes you think like, O.K., I can get into this too," says eighth-grader Frankie English, who logs close to 60 hours a week at Hand, thanks to after-school and summer programs, weekends at the computer lab and even dropping in for vaccinations.

Hand is located in downtown Columbia near the statehouse, and the school's environs include tranquil blocks of sweeping antebellum porches and weeping wisteria. About half of Hand's 960 students, many of them well off and white, hail from these streets. The other half, many poor and black, live literally on the other side of the railroad tracks, some in crumbling shanties that didn't have running water until five years ago.

On Stiglbauer's first day of school, the police had to arrest students in nine fights--all before the morning bell. Inside the school--where test scores had stagnated below the 50th percentile--students routinely told off teachers. In response, Stiglbauer hired a gruff former New York police detective as her disciplinarian in chief. Her staff hauled the parents of truants into family court. And once kids were in her grasp, Stiglbauer never let them go. She "invited" struggling students to intense early-morning, after-school and summer drill sessions. But the bonus classes became so popular that close to half of Hand's students now attend school virtually year-round--half of those by choice.