By JESSIE L. BONNER
Associated Press Writer
GOODING, Idaho (AP) — A few minutes after the bell pulses into his classroom, Gus Spiropulos waits for the fifth graders to finish their noisy parade out the door before he reluctantly begins his calls to parents.
His approach is polite but pointed; there are only a few troublemakers. But he's careful not to stir resentment because parents in this tiny dairy community no longer have to send their children to Gooding Elementary School, or even Gooding Middle School. Starting this fall, they'll also be able to opt out of the traditional public high school here.
That choice is as Idaho lawmakers intended when they authorized charter schools a decade ago, part of a wave of states that embraced an alternative to the conventional classroom.
Since then, conventional public schools across the state have lost students to charter schools. Gooding is the poster child for the impact of charter schools on one of the poorest districts in the state.
"I'm not sure they totally understood what they were doing, the ramifications of putting a charter in a rural school district," Spiropulos said. "Now they know."
While charters have become ingrained in the educational fabric of states like Arizona, Michigan, Colorado and Florida, there are still Idaho lawmakers who consider them a threat to the traditional public school system.
Less than a year after North Valley Academy opened in Gooding, the traditional public school system has lost about 100 students — 10 percent of its total enrollment — and a portion of the tax money that supported those students.
On Feb. 10, voters had to pass a supplemental property tax levy to raise about $325,000 for the Gooding School District to ward off the elimination of music and athletic programs caused partly by the departure of the charter school kids and in part by the economic downturn. The levy gained many supporters, including Dr. Heather Williams, the district superintendent, and it passed 669 to 393, but it also worsened a rift that emerged in Gooding when the school buses started carrying two sets of kids.
The students headed to North Valley Academy wore sharp uniforms, khaki bottoms and polo or button down shirts in red, white and blue. Those bound for the regular public school were suddenly different.
"It segregated the community," said Holly Church, a 30-year-old teacher who lives in Gooding and works in the public schools in nearby Wendell. "People who had been friends for 40 years are now fighting. They're saying, 'my kid goes to the public school,' 'well my kid goes to the charter school.'"
Butch and Mary Stolzman will have grandchildren in both public school systems this fall. They voted for the levy in support of the regular public schools, but parents also seem to like the charter school.
"We haven't quite figured out which one is better," said Butch Stolzman, who owns a pellet mill in town.
More than 30 charter schools have been established in Idaho by teachers, parents and community members. For just about every one of the 11,000 students enrolled in a charter school, there is another kid on a waiting list.
They are public schools, funded with state money, but given more flexibility in how they operate. They draft charters with specific goals and their students are subject to standardized testing, just like they would be in regular schools.
They enroll students through a lottery system and attract a smaller percentage of minorities compared to traditional schools statewide. Several, like North Valley Academy, have adopted rigorous college-prep programs and students adhere to strict discipline codes.
Debra Infanger wanted students in Gooding County, where cows outnumber residents 12 to one, to have the same alternative being offered in school districts across the state. She founded North Valley Academy, which has about 162 pupils in kindergarten through eighth grade and will expand to include grades 9-12 this fall.
"I don't regret it at all," said Infanger, the retired owner of a glass repair business. "I don't like to see rural kids shorted just because we live in the country and don't like a lot of traffic."
All five of her children went to regular schools here, she tutored algebra and frosted cupcakes for bake sales.
"I don't want to hurt the traditional public schools. I just believe in choice," Infanger said. "I think having two schools in town just makes both of us work harder."
About 100 miles west of Gooding, lawmakers in the state capital have set the stage for a legislative battle over a plan to temporarily freeze approval of new charter schools for the next three years, beginning in July.
State Sen. Dick Sagness, a Democrat, wants to place a moratorium on the establishment of new charter schools until the economic turmoil subsides.
Charters received nearly $60 million last year in state money, while more than half of the 115 school districts in Idaho have gone to local taxpayers and are operating with supplemental levies, Sagness said.
"If they're in a district where the charter school resides, it's having an impact, opportunities are being reduced," Sagness said. "Tell me how that's fair, or reasonable."
At least one Republican senator vowed to oppose the bill when it was introduced to the Senate Education Committee last month. The legislation, which is likely to fail, has also drawn criticism from public schools chief Tom Luna.
"I think it would send a signal to the parents of Idaho that we are not going to respect their demands," said Luna, who supports a plan to raise the cap on the number of new charters allowed to open each year.
In neighboring Washington state, the Legislature's approval of charter schools in 2004 was swiftly overturned by voters in a referendum at the next election.
But nationwide, efforts to stymie the growth of charter schools have largely failed and there are now 4,600 of them in 40 states with 4.5 million students, said Jeanne Allen, president and founder of the Center for Education Reform, a school choice advocate based in Washington, D.C.
"Lots of people wanted to shut down the competition, but reason prevailed and traditional school leaders learned how to do better," Allen said. "Those who didn't have either continued to suffer or they have closed."
—
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
As development expands, graves go missing
One of several grave markers that have fallen over at the Harless-Bradshaw Cemetery on Brier Branch near Ashford, W.Va. is seen in a Saturday, March 7, 2009 photo. As small family cemeteries and unmarked graves get in the way of mining, timbering and development interests, advocates are asking state lawmakers this year to enact regulations that would require better tracking of the graves.(AP Photo/Bob Bird)
Associated Press Writer
CHARLESTON, W.Va. (AP) — Walter Young can't find his great-grandmother's grave. The coal company that had it moved doesn't know where the remains ended up.
"It always looked like a safe, good place nobody would bother," the 63-year-old retiree said of the cemetery along Pigeon Creek. "It was up on a hill."
But that hill was in West Virginia's southern coalfields, and over the years, it changed hands. The land around and under the cemetery passed from one coal company to another as mines grew up around it. Now, no one is sure where Young's great-grandmother was ultimately laid to rest.
The loss is a problem that resonates across West Virginia as small family cemeteries and unmarked graves get in the way of mining, timbering and development interests. Advocates are asking state lawmakers this year to enact regulations that would require better tracking of the graves and protect families who believed that their loved ones wouldn't be disturbed.
Young hadn't visited his great-grandmother's grave regularly since the 1970s, but wanted to check up on it when he realized the cemetery, near Delbarton in the southwestern corner of the state, was near a site being built to store coal waste.
When he called for permission to cross company property, he was dumbfounded by the response. The company that now operates the site didn't know where the grave had been relocated.
The graves get lost because sometimes, nearby mining makes it difficut for families to gain access to burial grounds.
One measure the Ohio Valley Coalition is pushing in the legislature would triple the no-disturbance buffer zone around cemeteries from 100 feet to 300 feet. Another would delete seemingly contradictory language in a law intended to protect human remains, grave artifacts and markers.
A third proposal would require coal companies to explain ahead of time how proposed surface mines would affect nearby cemeteries. And a fourth would allow West Virginia University's extension service to use Global Positioning System to map and plot small cemeteries near mountaintop removal mines.
Bill Raney, president of the West Virginia Coal Association, says coal operators follow the law and try to be sensitive when cemeteries get in the way, treating families with dignity. However, he can't say how often such disputes arise.
International Coal Group's Patriot Mining Co. is currently in court in northern West Virginia, seeking approval to relocate a cemetery where the last burial occurred more then 70 years ago. Patriot received permission last year to move a nearby cemetery.
Patriot estimates there is 7,000 tons of coal beneath the 22 graves it now wants to move. Because of buffer zone and blasting laws, Patriot technical services manager Tom Jones said 80,000 to 100,000 tons of coal would be lost if the cemetery isn't relocated.
Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition organizer Robin Blakeman doesn't know how much coal is beneath her family cemetery in Brier Branch Hollow. The Harless-Bradshaw Cemetery had been used by her family and the nearby community since the mid-1800s, and contains the grave of a Civil War cavalry corporal.
In the past five years, Blakeman has watched Ravencrest Contracting slowly encircle the wooded knoll where the cemetery is located. The former farm passed out of her family's hands more then 50 years ago.
On a recent Saturday, Blakeman planted Gladiolus bulbs near several of the stones. As she worked, the sound of heavy mining machinery and trucks drifted across the narrow valley.
"Sometimes in the midst of all this destruction, sometimes the only thing you can do is try and add a little bit of beauty," Blakeman said. "I'm also thinking these flowers will at least alert somebody to the fact that somebody cares."
—
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press.
Tucson man feels call to collect for needy
By ERNESTO PORTILLO JR.
Arizona Daily Star
TUCSON, Ariz. (AP) — When Peter Norback heard President Obama's call for community service, the Miles Neighborhood resident decided to start right outside his front door. He began soliciting and collecting food from his midtown Tucson neighbors.
"What a challenge to make hunger go away," Norback, 66, said recently during his weekly collection walk.
His hope is that the city's 180-plus neighborhoods take up the same effort.
"If every neighborhood did this, we could make hunger go away. It can be done," he said.
With a box affixed to his handheld cart, Norback spent about six hours walking most of his Midtown neighborhood which, at his count, includes about 250 houses, not counting apartments and granny flats. It was his sixth week and his most productive: 130 pounds and $23 for the Community Food Bank. The previous week he'd collected 78 pounds and $1.
He also likes that his neighbors have good taste in their donated food.
"It's always good quality. It's nothing you wouldn't eat yourself," he said.
Norback, a self-employed computer consultant, started his one-person campaign by visiting his neighbors, talking to them about his idea and enlisting their weekly contributions. Many were quick to say yes.
One of the first to say yes was Edward Altamirano, who works for the city in housing rehabilitation. He said in his job, which takes him inside people's homes, he sees the need for donated food.
"I see what their pantries look like. I see a lot of empty cupboards and refrigerators," he said, "especially among young families and the elderly."
Jack Parris of the Community Food Bank said a growing number of food-collection drives have sprung up in response to the declining economy and rising need for food.
In December the demand for food rose by 40 percent compared with the year before, said Parris. The demand stretched the food bank's resources, he added.
Last month the food bank began to limit families to one box per month. Previously a family could receive two boxes each month, Parris said.
Chantelle Bowers who lives in the Miles Neighborhood, said she understands the need for donated food.
"I've needed the food bank. Now we need to give back," she said after she gave Norback several cans.
Miles residents leave their donations outside their doors or close to the sidewalk. At each house Norback leaves a thank-you message or sorry-I-missed-you note if there is no food or no one is home. He carries a photo identification badge he created.
"This is new. He put some dollars in there," Norback said excitedly when he found several bills instead of cans.
With some neighbors he chatted for a moment. At one home he knocked but no one answered. But he knew why.
"That's another student," he said. "I think they sleep in on Sundays."
Norback doesn't have help yet but expects to get some soon to help him cover the triangular neighborhood.
As temperature rises, Norback said, he'll have to find a way to beat the heat while he and his neighbors beat hunger.
"I'm going to find a huge sombrero with a fan."
___
Information from: Arizona Daily Star, http://www.azstarnet.com
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press.
Arizona Daily Star
TUCSON, Ariz. (AP) — When Peter Norback heard President Obama's call for community service, the Miles Neighborhood resident decided to start right outside his front door. He began soliciting and collecting food from his midtown Tucson neighbors.
"What a challenge to make hunger go away," Norback, 66, said recently during his weekly collection walk.
His hope is that the city's 180-plus neighborhoods take up the same effort.
"If every neighborhood did this, we could make hunger go away. It can be done," he said.
With a box affixed to his handheld cart, Norback spent about six hours walking most of his Midtown neighborhood which, at his count, includes about 250 houses, not counting apartments and granny flats. It was his sixth week and his most productive: 130 pounds and $23 for the Community Food Bank. The previous week he'd collected 78 pounds and $1.
He also likes that his neighbors have good taste in their donated food.
"It's always good quality. It's nothing you wouldn't eat yourself," he said.
Norback, a self-employed computer consultant, started his one-person campaign by visiting his neighbors, talking to them about his idea and enlisting their weekly contributions. Many were quick to say yes.
One of the first to say yes was Edward Altamirano, who works for the city in housing rehabilitation. He said in his job, which takes him inside people's homes, he sees the need for donated food.
"I see what their pantries look like. I see a lot of empty cupboards and refrigerators," he said, "especially among young families and the elderly."
Jack Parris of the Community Food Bank said a growing number of food-collection drives have sprung up in response to the declining economy and rising need for food.
In December the demand for food rose by 40 percent compared with the year before, said Parris. The demand stretched the food bank's resources, he added.
Last month the food bank began to limit families to one box per month. Previously a family could receive two boxes each month, Parris said.
Chantelle Bowers who lives in the Miles Neighborhood, said she understands the need for donated food.
"I've needed the food bank. Now we need to give back," she said after she gave Norback several cans.
Miles residents leave their donations outside their doors or close to the sidewalk. At each house Norback leaves a thank-you message or sorry-I-missed-you note if there is no food or no one is home. He carries a photo identification badge he created.
"This is new. He put some dollars in there," Norback said excitedly when he found several bills instead of cans.
With some neighbors he chatted for a moment. At one home he knocked but no one answered. But he knew why.
"That's another student," he said. "I think they sleep in on Sundays."
Norback doesn't have help yet but expects to get some soon to help him cover the triangular neighborhood.
As temperature rises, Norback said, he'll have to find a way to beat the heat while he and his neighbors beat hunger.
"I'm going to find a huge sombrero with a fan."
___
Information from: Arizona Daily Star, http://www.azstarnet.com
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press.
Man finishes drug rehab, gets married same day
By ELI SEGALL
Associated Press Writer
NEWARK, N.J. (AP) — It was a little past 11 a.m., and Billy Daniels was getting worried. A friend was supposed to drive him to Essex County Superior Court, but the man hadn't shown.
This was a big day for Daniels — the biggest in years — and he couldn't be late to court. Until a few years ago, he snorted heroin everyday. But today would be different — today was the start of a new life.
In only a few hours, Daniels would graduate from a state-run drug rehabilitation program. A few minutes after that, he would be married.
For the past five years, Daniels, 47, was enrolled in the county's drug court program. To beat his heroin addiction, his urine was tested twice a week, he had a 7 p.m. curfew, and he attended Narcotics Anonymous.
He also attended a job training program in Jersey City, where he met Sandy Roman, herself a recovering drug addict in the program.
Daniels' story begins in Newark, where he and his four siblings were raised. As a teen he moved to Tulsa, Okla., and at 23 married an 18-year-old. Two days after the wedding, he returned to Newark, bringing his wife and their infant daughter with him.
From the mid-1980s to 2003, Daniels said he snorted heroin three or four times a day, buying little $10 baggies of the drug. He said he snorted it in the hallways of housing projects, and sometimes, on the streets of Newark in broad daylight.
"When you wake up in the morning, you feel kind of sick, can't do nothing," he said. "And then, when you get that bag, that energy takes over you."
His new wife has a similar history. She was arrested for possession of crack cocaine in Camden about six years ago, and child services removed four of her children from her apartment.
Neither of them work. The left side of Daniels' face is paralyzed from Bell's Palsy, a nerve condition, and Roman says she has no cartilage in her knees. They both collect Social Security benefits, totaling roughly $1,000 a month.
After yet another run-in with the law in 2003, Daniels was sentenced to drug court, a strict, state-run rehabilitation program.
Daniels entered the program in February 2004 and, like most participants, had to spend five years there.
Graduation day came in February. Judge Ramona Santiago awarded him a certificate, and a few minutes later married Daniels and Roman.
Daniels' friend never came to drive them to court, so the couple and his mom walked a block to catch the bus.
They entered the courthouse, rode the elevators to the seventh floor, and by 2 p.m., Daniels had graduated from drug court. Roman watched him graduate, then left the courtroom.
She re-emerged within minutes, arms linked with Daniels' probation officer, Dujuan Jones. As they walked down the aisle, a court clerk sang "At Last," by Etta James.
—
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press
Associated Press Writer
NEWARK, N.J. (AP) — It was a little past 11 a.m., and Billy Daniels was getting worried. A friend was supposed to drive him to Essex County Superior Court, but the man hadn't shown.
This was a big day for Daniels — the biggest in years — and he couldn't be late to court. Until a few years ago, he snorted heroin everyday. But today would be different — today was the start of a new life.
In only a few hours, Daniels would graduate from a state-run drug rehabilitation program. A few minutes after that, he would be married.
For the past five years, Daniels, 47, was enrolled in the county's drug court program. To beat his heroin addiction, his urine was tested twice a week, he had a 7 p.m. curfew, and he attended Narcotics Anonymous.
He also attended a job training program in Jersey City, where he met Sandy Roman, herself a recovering drug addict in the program.
Daniels' story begins in Newark, where he and his four siblings were raised. As a teen he moved to Tulsa, Okla., and at 23 married an 18-year-old. Two days after the wedding, he returned to Newark, bringing his wife and their infant daughter with him.
From the mid-1980s to 2003, Daniels said he snorted heroin three or four times a day, buying little $10 baggies of the drug. He said he snorted it in the hallways of housing projects, and sometimes, on the streets of Newark in broad daylight.
"When you wake up in the morning, you feel kind of sick, can't do nothing," he said. "And then, when you get that bag, that energy takes over you."
His new wife has a similar history. She was arrested for possession of crack cocaine in Camden about six years ago, and child services removed four of her children from her apartment.
Neither of them work. The left side of Daniels' face is paralyzed from Bell's Palsy, a nerve condition, and Roman says she has no cartilage in her knees. They both collect Social Security benefits, totaling roughly $1,000 a month.
After yet another run-in with the law in 2003, Daniels was sentenced to drug court, a strict, state-run rehabilitation program.
Daniels entered the program in February 2004 and, like most participants, had to spend five years there.
Graduation day came in February. Judge Ramona Santiago awarded him a certificate, and a few minutes later married Daniels and Roman.
Daniels' friend never came to drive them to court, so the couple and his mom walked a block to catch the bus.
They entered the courthouse, rode the elevators to the seventh floor, and by 2 p.m., Daniels had graduated from drug court. Roman watched him graduate, then left the courtroom.
She re-emerged within minutes, arms linked with Daniels' probation officer, Dujuan Jones. As they walked down the aisle, a court clerk sang "At Last," by Etta James.
—
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press
Iowan brings brass instruments back to life
By DAVE DEWITTE
The Gazette
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa (AP) — When Aaron Barnard opens a box at Barnard Instrument Repair Inc., he seldom knows exactly what he'll find.
Barnard, 33, handles some jobs that other instrument technicians won't touch at his tiny repair studio in the New Bohemia Arts and Entertainment District in Cedar Rapids.
They often include bodywork, gently hammering out dents in vintage saxophones.
Sometimes, the damaged instrument is a basket case.
"I've restored four saxophones that have been run over," Barnard said.
A full mechanical restoration of a vintage professional-quality saxophone can take a week, and cost $800 to $1,000. Some repair tabs run higher, but Barnard finds many professional saxophone players feel passionately about their instruments.
Vintage professional-quality saxophones made in the United States and France from the 1930s through the 1950s command high prices because of their hand craftsmanship and superior tone. A Selmer Paris sax made in France during the 1950s could fetch upward of $15,000, Barnard said.
"Even the untrained ear can tell the difference," Barnard said.
On a recent Saturday night, so late that Barnard usually has his cell phone turned off, he received a call. It was Ray Blue, an acclaimed saxophonist who had been performing in eastern Iowa. Blue's robe had caught on his tenor sax while it was resting in an instrument stand, knocking it into his soprano sax. Both were damaged, and Blue had to know when they could be fixed.
Barnard wasn't able to help Blue in time for a church performance scheduled for the following Sunday morning — Blue had a third sax that served the purpose — but he was happy to perform emergency surgery on the other two so Blue could complete his bookings.
Barnard's studio has drawers and shelves full of tools, including tools more typically used by gunsmiths, machinists, jewelers and auto body shops. He works alone in his shop, usually listening to recorded jazz or blues, for hours at a time.
Barnard planned to pursue a music degree in college when he was growing up, but "I've always had fun tearing things apart, seeing how they work, and putting them back together." He was steered to the Red Wing (Minnesota) Technical College.
After completing the one-year program, Barnard performed an internship with Randy James at Tenor Madness, an instrument repair shop in Cedar Falls.
Barnard started his own business in 2002 in the basement of his Cedar Rapids home. He moved in 2007 into the Kouba Building on Third Street SE, sharing a studio with Sue Millar of Millar Woodwind Repair.
The building known for its rooftop solar array was severely damaged by last June's flood. After replacing his equipment, Barnard worked from his home for a while, and from a shop in Waterloo.
He moved last November into the nearby Cherry Building, 329 10th Ave. SE, which is home to many other creative businesses, craftsmen and artists.
___
Information from: The Gazette, http://www.gazetteonline.com/
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press.
The Gazette
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa (AP) — When Aaron Barnard opens a box at Barnard Instrument Repair Inc., he seldom knows exactly what he'll find.
Barnard, 33, handles some jobs that other instrument technicians won't touch at his tiny repair studio in the New Bohemia Arts and Entertainment District in Cedar Rapids.
They often include bodywork, gently hammering out dents in vintage saxophones.
Sometimes, the damaged instrument is a basket case.
"I've restored four saxophones that have been run over," Barnard said.
A full mechanical restoration of a vintage professional-quality saxophone can take a week, and cost $800 to $1,000. Some repair tabs run higher, but Barnard finds many professional saxophone players feel passionately about their instruments.
Vintage professional-quality saxophones made in the United States and France from the 1930s through the 1950s command high prices because of their hand craftsmanship and superior tone. A Selmer Paris sax made in France during the 1950s could fetch upward of $15,000, Barnard said.
"Even the untrained ear can tell the difference," Barnard said.
On a recent Saturday night, so late that Barnard usually has his cell phone turned off, he received a call. It was Ray Blue, an acclaimed saxophonist who had been performing in eastern Iowa. Blue's robe had caught on his tenor sax while it was resting in an instrument stand, knocking it into his soprano sax. Both were damaged, and Blue had to know when they could be fixed.
Barnard wasn't able to help Blue in time for a church performance scheduled for the following Sunday morning — Blue had a third sax that served the purpose — but he was happy to perform emergency surgery on the other two so Blue could complete his bookings.
Barnard's studio has drawers and shelves full of tools, including tools more typically used by gunsmiths, machinists, jewelers and auto body shops. He works alone in his shop, usually listening to recorded jazz or blues, for hours at a time.
Barnard planned to pursue a music degree in college when he was growing up, but "I've always had fun tearing things apart, seeing how they work, and putting them back together." He was steered to the Red Wing (Minnesota) Technical College.
After completing the one-year program, Barnard performed an internship with Randy James at Tenor Madness, an instrument repair shop in Cedar Falls.
Barnard started his own business in 2002 in the basement of his Cedar Rapids home. He moved in 2007 into the Kouba Building on Third Street SE, sharing a studio with Sue Millar of Millar Woodwind Repair.
The building known for its rooftop solar array was severely damaged by last June's flood. After replacing his equipment, Barnard worked from his home for a while, and from a shop in Waterloo.
He moved last November into the nearby Cherry Building, 329 10th Ave. SE, which is home to many other creative businesses, craftsmen and artists.
___
Information from: The Gazette, http://www.gazetteonline.com/
Copyright 2009 The Associated Press.
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