TEACHER  SENSEMAKING  IN  CROWDED  REFORM  ENVIRONMENTS     By     John  Loren  Lane                           A  DISSERTATION     Submitted  to   Michigan  State  University   in  partial  fulfillment  of  the  requirements   for  the  degrees  of     Educational  Policy  –  Doctor  of  Philosophy       Curriculum,  Instruction,  and  Teacher  Education  –  Doctor  of  Philosophy     2015                   ABSTRACT     TEACHER  SENSEMAKING  IN  CROWDED  REFORM  ENVIRONMENTS   By     John  Loren  Lane     This  study  examines  how  reforms  penetrated  schools,  how  principals  and  teachers   shaped  reforms  once  they  were  introduced,  and  how  teachers  ultimately  reconciled  myriad   reform  messages.       First,  this  research  argues  that  much  productive  knowledge  can  be  generated  from   establishing  a  typology  of  different  reforms  and  analyzing  how  local  actors  (e.g.,  principals   and  teachers)  respond  differently  to  different  types  of  reforms.  For  example,  in  this  study   mandated  reforms  were  typically  shaped  through  legislation  and  came  to  schools  through   traditional  bureaucratic  channels.  Thus,  principals  had  a  particularly  important  role  with   mandated  reforms,  as  they  served  as  conduits  for  reforms  and  their  responses  shaped   teachers’  experiences  and  to  a  large  extent  determined  what  a  mandated  reform  became.     Most  reforms  to  come  to  the  three  schools  in  the  study,  however,  were  not   mandated.  Of  these,  some  reforms  were  affiliated  (but  not  coterminous)  with  mandated   reforms;  some  were  supported  by  the  state  but  not  required;  and  some  were  generated  at   the  county  or  district  level  and  independent  of  both  mandated  reforms  and  state   sponsorship.  Unlike  mandated  reforms,  the  non-­‐mandated  reforms  came  to  schools   through  diverse  routes  and  often  shifted  the  organization  of  the  reform  activity.  These   reforms  typically  created  a  relationship  of  mutual  reliance  across  different  system  actors.     While  each  of  the  reforms  types  provided  for  teacher  learning  in  some  way,  the   characteristics  of  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  varied  considerably.  Mandated  reforms   provided  the  most  impoverished  opportunities  for  teachers  to  learn,  most  often  relying  on   reform  documents  to  which  teachers  paid  only  modest  attention.  Non-­‐mandated  reforms   were  split  between  behaviorist  and  situated  learning  opportunities.  Behaviorist  learning   opportunities  relied  on  training  teachers  in  large  batches  and  expected  teachers  to  take  a   passive  role  in  their  learning.  Teachers  were  often  assigned  to  participate  in  these  reforms   and  they  did  so  without  complaint.  At  the  trainings  themselves,  however,  potential  teacher   resistance  to  the  trainings  created  a  barrier  to  teacher  learning  and  reform  enactment.     Situated  learning  located  teacher  learning  in  local  contexts  and  required  teachers  to   construct  their  own  understanding  of  reforms  through  consideration  of  reform  ideas  with   their  own  experiences  and  situations.  Non-­‐mandated  reforms  that  relied  on  situated   learning  were  particularly  difficult  to  achieve.  They  required  one  or  more  reform   entrepreneurs  who  would  generate  enthusiasm  for  a  reform  and  then  use  their  social   connections  to  secure  the  teacher  commitment  necessary  for  a  reform  to  become   established.  Entrepreneurship  and  social  connections  were  not  enough.  The  teachers  also   needed  their  own  compelling  reasons  to  participate.     Finally,  this  study  considers  how  teachers  reconciled  messages  from  multiple   reforms.  Each  of  the  reforms  penetrated  schools  only  weakly  and  teacher  learning  about   and  knowledge  of  reforms  remained  limited  in  most  cases.  Consequently,  teachers   highlighted  congruence  across  reforms  and,  when  pressed,  decided  easily  between  reform   imperatives.  Consequently,  this  study  suggests  that  perceptions  of  congruence  and   highlights  the  difficulty  securing  substantive  teacher  learning  that  might  cause  teachers  to   re-­‐evaluate  their  practice  in  a  fragmented  system  that  relies  on  entrepreneurship,  social   connections,  and  teacher  discretion.                                                                                           To  my  wife,  Jennifer,  and  to  my  sons,  Zachary  and  Andrew     ACKNOWLEDGMENTS       So  many  people  to  thank,  so  little  space.  It  has  not  escaped  my  notice  that  my  name   stands  alone  on  this  dissertation  as  its  sole  author,  but  in  point  of  fact  this  dissertation   could  not  and  would  not  have  been  written  if  not  for  the  contributions  of  the  numerous   people  who  have  nurtured  me  and  fostered  my  development  over  the  years.  In  the  text  that   follows,  I  will  try  to  acknowledge  these  debts  as  best  as  I  can  knowing  that  I  will   undoubtedly  come  up  short.  Please  be  gracious.     First,  I  would  like  to  thank  those  who  have  provided  thoughtful  and  tireless   intellectual  guidance  over  the  past  five  years.  The  support  of  my  mentor  and  advisor,  Peter   Youngs,  defies  description.  He  has  supplied  a  wonderful  blend  of  pressure  and  support,   always  insisting  that  I  do  my  best  work  and  complementing  this  insistence  with  vociferous   encouragement  that  I  could  successfully  make  my  way  as  a  scholar  and  a  researcher.   Michael  Sedlak,  who  first  recruited  me  to  Michigan  State  University,  delivered  on  all  of  his   promises  and  then  some.  At  every  turn,  my  graduate  experience  was  improved  because  of   Michael’s  advocacy  for  me.  When  someone  believes  so  strongly  in  you,  it  is  hard  not  to   believe  in  yourself.  Kenneth  Frank  taught  me  how  to  engage  in  scholarly  conversations  and   how  to  be  both  tenacious  and  flexible—to  fight  for  your  ideas  but  to  be  open  to  correction   and  revision.  BetsAnn  Smith’s  insight  and  clarity  of  thought  have  helped  me  navigate  the   inevitable  complexities  and  uncertainties  of  field  research.  She  has  also  marked  my   thinking  about  educational  reform  for  the  better.  Amelia  Gotwals  brought  me  into  her   research  project  from  the  beginning  of  my  doctoral  studies  and  always  treated  the  other   graduate  students  and  me  as  serious,  emerging  scholars  and  researchers.  Your  contribution   v     to  my  development  is  more  significant  than  I  can  say.  Finally,  Gary  Sykes  and  Suzanne   Wilson  offered  me  weekly  encouragement  and  showed  a  genuine  interest  in  my  work.  You   taught  me  so  much  about  how  scholars  formulate  and  pursue  ideas  through  sustained   discussion  and  attention.     My  graduate  student  colleagues  have  been  there  for  every  step  of  the  journey  and   the  mutual  support  we  have  provided  one  another  is  an  instrumental  feature  of  my   graduate  school  journey.  The  list  of  colleagues  is  extensive  and  while  I  cannot  recognize   everyone  to  whom  I  have  an  intellectual  debt,  I  would  like  to  mention  a  few  of  my   colleagues  by  name.  I  am  indebted  to  Michael  Broda,  Alisha  Brown,  Kri  Burkander,  Dante   Cisterna,  Walter  Cook,  Ben  Creed,  Joseph  Harris,  Alan  Hastings,  Laura  Holden,  Justina  Judy,   Tara  Kintz,  Alyssa  Morley,  Andrew  Saultz,  Jeffrey  Snyder,  and  Rachel  White.  I  am  honored   to  know  you  all.       On  a  personal  note,  I  have  enormous  gratitude  for  my  family  that  has  been  so   supportive.  To  my  parents,  John  Dowell  Lane  and  Mary  Lane,  what  is  there  to  be  said?  I  did   not  understand  the  discouragement  that  you  must  have  felt  when  I  was  an  incorrigible   slacker  in  high  school,  but,  with  one  son  currently  enrolled  and  another  son  approaching   high  school,  I  do  now.  Thanks  for  raising  me  in  a  loving  home  and  for  your  unwavering   support.  To  my  in-­‐laws,  Robert  and  Janine  Berger,  whose  interest  in  and  support  for  my  30-­‐ something  graduate  school  adventure  made  the  entire  experience  both  possible  and  more   enjoyable.  I  would  also  like  to  extend  thanks  both  to  my  biological  extended  family  and  my   family  at  University  Reformed  Church,  from  whom  I  derived  an  enduring  source  of  renewal   and  support.           Finally,  I  would  like  to  thank  my  wife  and  sons.  To  my  wife,  Jennifer  Lane,  I  owe  the   vi     biggest  debt  of  all.  It  occurs  to  me  that  not  everyone  is  married  to  the  most  amazing  person   he  has  ever  met.  You  enrich  my  life  in  every  way.  You  left  your  family,  friends,  and  financial   security  because  we  felt  like  we  were  called  to  go  with  an  enthusiasm  and  steadfast   commitment  that  defies  understanding.  You  put  up  with  the  long  days  and  nights  while  I   was  away  collecting  data  for  this  dissertation  and  if  you  ever  got  tired  of  watching  me  work   from  the  couch,  you  never  said  a  thing.  I  love  you  more  than  I  can  express.  My  sons  Zachary   and  Andrew  also  left  family  and  friends  without  complaint.  Your  support  and  enthusiasm   for  life  is  a  constant  reminder  that  there  is  more  to  life  than  scholarship.  I  also  appreciate   that  you  are  both  far  better  students  than  I  ever  was.  You  make  your  dad  so  proud.                                           vii     TABLE  OF  CONTENTS     LIST  OF  TABLES                                                  xiii     LIST  OF  FIGURES                                                                    xv     CHAPTER  1:  Introduction                                                                            1     CHAPTER  2:  Review  of  Literature                                      8   Research  on  Policy  and  Practice                                      8   Policy  from  the  Ground  Up:  The  Dilemmas  of  the  Street  Level  Bureaucrat                                                              25   Delegated  Responsibility  and  the  U.S.  System  of  Educational  Governance                                                                30   Accountability  Policy:  The  Release  of  a  Nation  at  Risk                                                                                                                                          40   Policy  Messages                                      45   Conclusion:  Policy  and  Practice                                49     CHAPTER  3:  Framing  the  Research                                      50   Introduction  to  Research  Framework                              50   Conceptual  Model  of  Social  Research                              52   Ideas                                      52   Analytic  Frames                                                52   Evidence                                    53   Images/Grounded  Theory                                                          54   Representations  of  Social  Life                              54   Research  Supporting  the  Analytic  Frame                              55   Macro  Level:  State  Policy                                56   Macro  Level:  Districts                                59   Micro  Level:  Teachers  and  Classrooms                            62   Meso  Level:  Teacher  Learning  Communities  and  Teacher  Learning                                                            67   Teacher  Communities  and  Teacher  Learning                        73   Meso  Level:  Principal  Leadership                              74   Analytic  Framework                                    78   Constructing  an  Analytic  Frame                              78   Explaining  the  Analytic  Frame                              82   Conclusion                                      84   CHAPTER  4:  Methods                                                                86   Overview                                      86   The  Purpose  of  the  Research                                                        87   Research  Design                                  88   Assumptions  about  Human  Interaction,  Behavior,  and  the  Nature  of  Group  Life            88   Role  of  the  Researcher                                90   Context  of  the  Study                                  92   Sampling  Strategy                                  95   viii     Data  Collection           Overview           Observations           Hallways         Teacher  Meetings       Classrooms           Writing  fieldnotes         Jottings         Extended  Fieldnotes       Advantages  of  fieldnotes     Collecting  and  sharing  fieldnotes   Limitations  of  the  fieldnotes     Interviews           Initial  Interviews         Follow-­‐Up  Interviews       Descriptive  questions     Structural  questions       Contrast  questions       General  Interviewing  Principles     Data  Processing           Data  Analysis             Domain  Analysis         Semantic  relationships     Cover  terms  and  included  terms   Taxonomic  Analysis         Componential  Analysis       Thematic  Analysis           Writing  a  Comparative  Case  Study                                    97                            97                            98                            98                                                                                                                                98                            99                        100                        101                        102                                                103                        104                                                108                        109                                                          110                                                                                                  110                                                                                                    110                                                                                                  110                                                                                                                            111                                                                                                  113                                                                          114                                                                                                                            114                                                                                                  114                                                                          116                        117                                      120                        121                        122                      124     CHAPTER  5:  Instructional  Reforms  Come  to  the  Three  School                                                  125   Introduction                                  125   Instructional  Reforms:  Types  and  Characteristics                                                  126     State  Mandate  Policies                            126       New  educator  evaluation  systems                                  126       Common  Core  State  Standards                                                128   Voluntary  State-­‐Endorsed  and  Supported  Programs                    128   Formative  Assessment  for  Michigan  Educators                    128   ISD/District  Wide  Coverage  Programs                        130   Teach  Like  a  Champion                                        130   Classroom  Instruction  that  Works                                130   ISD/District  Select  Coverage  Programs                                                131   Close  and  Critical  Reading                                                  131     Universal  Design  for  Learning                                                131       Standards-­‐Based  Grading                          132     Summary                                132   Ways  that  Instructional  Reforms  Came  to  the  Schools                      134   ix       The  Traditional  Route       Nontraditional  Routes         State-­‐to-­‐teacher         State-­‐ISD-­‐district-­‐teacher       Principal  Control         Teacher  Outreach       Summary         Chapter  Summary                                                                             CHAPTER  6:  Reforms,  Principals,  and  Instructional  Leadership     Introduction                   Social  Organization                   Situations                     Perspectives                 Introduction  to  the  Three  Principals             Mrs.  Novak:  The  Nurturer               Mr.  Delancey:  The  Coach               Ms.  Shriver:  The  Instructional  Leader         Principals’  Normative  Statements               Overview  of  Principals’  Beliefs  and  Priorities         Analyzing  Principals’  Normative  Statements  about  Instruction     Qualitative  Differences  of  Normative  Statements         Principal  Beliefs  and  Perceptions  of  Teacher  Quality     Principals  Responses  to  Instructional  Reforms           Principals  and  Mandated  Reforms               Shaping                   Leveraging                   Influencing                    Principals  and  Non-­‐mandated  Reforms         Principals  Responses  to  FAME               Ignoring                 Commandeering             Leading               Summary:  Principals  Responses  to  Instructional  Reforms   A  Closer  Look  at  Principal  Reform  Entrepreneurship         Principal  Connection  Decisions               Assignment                     Assignment-­‐availability               Assignment-­‐perceived  department  strength           Assignment-­‐perceived  department  need         Assignment  Summary               Solicitation                   Voluntary  Call                 Summary:  Connecting  Teachers  to  Reform       Conclusion                   x                                                                                                                                                                                              134              134              135              136              138              142              143              143                147              147              148              148              149              150              150              151              153              156              157              158              159              167              169              169              170              176              179              183              184              184              185              185              188              189              190              191              191              192              194              194              195              196              197              198       CHAPTER  7:  Teacher  Learning                              200                       Introduction                                  200   Understanding  the  Teacher  Perspective                                              201     Middleton  Middle  School  and  the  Case  of  Mrs.  Herman                    202     Poe  Middle  School  and  the  case  of  Ms.  Dixon                      208     Teachers  at  Waller                              212     Summary  of  Teacher  Perspectives                          216   Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn                            219     Distinguishing  Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn                      220     Overview  of  Teachers  Opportunity  to  Learn                                                221   Situated  versus  Behaviorist  Learning                                                                          225   Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn  Summary                                                                                                  227   Inside  Behaviorist  Learning  Opportunities                                                                                                                              227     Classroom  Instruction  that  Works                                                    238       Teach  Like  a  Champion                            231   Summary  Chapter  7                                245     CHAPTER  8:  Situated  Teacher  Learning  and  Teacher  Sensemaking  of  Reforms                248   Introduction                                  248   Inside  Situated  Opportunities  to  Learn                          249     Team  Focus                                250     Collective  Sensemaking:  Developing  a  Group  Perspective                  252     Summary                                262     Reform  Types,  Connection  Mechanisms,  and  Opportunities  to  Learn                263   Opportunity  to  Learn  and  Teacher  Learning                        265     Situated  Opportunities  to  Learn  and  Teacher  Learning                      265   Behaviorist  Opportunities  to  Learn  and  Teacher  Learning                  273     Limited  Opportunities  to  Learn                            276       CCSS                                276   Educator  Evaluation  Systems                        278   Summary                                  281   Sensemaking  of  Multiple  Reforms                                  286   Making  Sense  of  Multiple  Reforms:  Highlight  Congruence                        286   Examining  incongruence                          290   Summary                                    291     CHAPTER  9:  Conclusion                              292   Introduction                                    292   Multiple  and  Diverse  Reforms                            293   Mandatory  Reforms                              294   Non-­‐Mandatory  Reforms                            296   Reform  Pathways                              297   Key  Features  of  the  System                              298   Interdependence                              299   Independence                              303   xi     Summary                                312   The  Consequences  of  Interdependence  and  Independence  on  Instructional  Reform              313   WORKS  CITED                                                                                                   xii                      319     LIST  OF  TABLES     Table  3.1.  Overview  of  the  Research  Framework             Table  4.1.  Overview  of  Middle  School  Sample                                                        96   Table  4.2.  Teacher  Sample  Overview                              97   Table  4.3.  Teacher  Meeting  Observation  Overview                          99   Table  4.4.  Teacher  Observation  Chart  (Videotaped  lessons  bolded)                          100   Table  4.5.  Interview  Summary                      51                                            109   Table  4.6.  Types  of  Structural  Questions                                111   Table  4.7.  Domain  Analyses.  (Adapted  from  Spradley,  1980)           Table  4.8.  Cultural  Domain         Table  4.9.  Complete  Cultural  Domain                          117                118                          119                        122   Table  5.1.  Instructional  Reforms:  Comparing  the  three  schools                    133   Table  5.2.  Comparison  of  the  Content  of  Instructional  Reforms                    134   Table  5.3.  Reform  Pathways  Summary   Table  4.10.  Paradigm  for  Types  of  Colleagues                          143   Table  6.1:  Summary  of  Principal  Normative  Statements                              158   Table  6.2.  Normative  Instructional  Statements  by  Category                    159   Table  6.3.  Principals’  Understanding  of  Specific  Elements  of  Instructional  Reforms              166   Table  6.4.  Characteristics  of  Multiple  Reforms                                          167   Table  6.5.  Mrs.  Novak’s  Perception  of  Teachers                              168   Table  6.6.  Ms.  Shriver’s  Perceptions  of  Teachers                        168   Table  6.7.  Mr.  Delancey’s  Perceptions  of  Teachers                      169   xiii     Table  6.8.  Ms.  Shriver’s  Perceptions  of  Teachers                        191   Table  6.9.  Connecting  Teachers  to  Reform                        191                      192   Table  6.11.  Assignment  through  Perceived  Department  Strength  (UDL)                193   Table  6.12.  Assignment  through  Perceived  Department  Need  (CCR)                  194   Table  6.13.  Assignment  Summary                195     Table  6.10.  Assignment  through  Availability  (CITW)           Table  6.14.  Connection  through  Solicitation  (SBG,  FAME)                                            196   Table  6.15.  Connection  through  Volunteer  Call  (SBG,  FAME)                                            197   Table  6.16  Summary  of  Teachers  Connections  to  Reform                                                                        198   Table  7.1.  Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn  at  Waller                          222   Table  7.2.  Opportunities  to  Learn  in  Situated  Contexts  at  Waller                    223   Table  7.3.  Overview  of  Types  of  Learning  Opportunities  by  Reform                  224   Table  8.1.  Overview  of  Learning  Team  Meeting  Focus                  252   Table  8.2:  Reform  types,  Connection  Mechanisms,  and  Opportunities  to  Learn                265   Table  8.3.  Teacher’s  knowledge  of  evaluation  rubrics                      281   Table  8.4.  Perceived  Congruence  among  Reforms                        290                                         xiv     LIST  OF  FIGURES     Figure  3.1.  A  Simple  Model  of  Social  Research  (Ragin,  1994)                        55   Figure  3.2.  Analytic  Frame                 Figure  4.1.  Data  Collection  and  Analysis             Figure  5.1.  Traditional  Trajectory  of  Instructional  Reforms                                                            85                        86                            135     xv     CHAPTER  1:  Introduction   Since  the  launch  of  A  Nation  at  Risk  in  1983,  educational  policymakers,  politicians,   and  the  American  public  have  come  to  embrace  a  remarkable  goal:  high  levels  of  academic   achievement  for  all  youth  (Cohen  &  Moffit,  2009;  Cremin,  1990).  The  report’s  authors   argued  that  if  the  United  States  was  to  regain  its  competitive  edge,  schools  needed  to  stem   the  rising  tide  of  mediocrity  and  do  a  much  better  job  preparing  students  for  the  rigors  of   the  emerging  global,  post-­‐industrial  economy.     In  many  ways,  public  schools  were  remarkably  successful,  even  at  the  time  of  the   report’s  release.  For  example,  school  attendance  and  achievement  had  increased  sharply  in   the  decades  leading  up  to  the  1980s  (Cohen  &  Neufeld,  1981;  Labaree,  2010);  yet  these   gains  were  often  won  at  the  price  of  relaxing  academic  expectations,  sorting  students  into   different  curricular  tracks,  and  appealing  to  student  interest  without  regard  to  educative   value  (Labaree,  1988;  Powell,  Farrar  &  Cohen,  1985;  Ravitch,  1983;  Sedlak  et  al.,  1986).   School’s  inability  to  achieve  unequivocal  success  left  many  feeling  worse  about  their  efforts   and  the  performance  of  America’s  schools  despite  modest  academic  improvements  (The   Nation’s  Report  Card,  2012),  a  common  phenomenon  among  reformers  and  students  of   public  policy  (Wildavsky,  1977).     To  make  matters  worse,  schools  were  also  floundering  in  the  particular  as  well  as   the  general.  Race  and  social  class  were  closely  associated  with  school  success.  White   students  did  far  better  in  school  and  achieved  at  far  higher  levels  than  racial  minority   students.  The  affluent  outperformed  the  impoverished.  The  promise  that  schools  would   negate  disadvantage  and  become  the  great  social  equalizer  remained  unfulfilled  (e.g.,   Bowles  &  Gintis,  1976;  Jencks  et  al.,  1972).   1   This  confluence  of  conditions—general  dissatisfaction  about  the  academic   performance  of  America’s  youth  combined  with  concern  over  the  particularly  dismal   performance  of  low-­‐income,  minority  students—provided  the  tinder  that  fueled  the  pyre  of   reform.  After  A  Nation  at  Risk  was  released,  most  states  quickly  responded  to  the  report’s   call  for  extended  length  of  the  school  day  and  the  school  year,  heightened  requirements  for   high  school  graduation,  and  strengthened  teacher  preparation.  Within  three  years,  over  40   states  had  increased  their  graduation  requirements,  44  states  required  students  to  pass   minimum-­‐competency  tests  for  a  high  school  diploma,  and  38  states  took  steps  to  improve   teacher  quality  through  compulsory  standardized  testing  for  teacher  certification  (Goertz,   1988).     In  his  analysis  of  A  Nation  at  Risk’s  impact,  Odden  (1991)  concluded  that  several  of  A   Nation  at  Risk  report’s  recommended  reforms  were  quickly  realized  for  four  reasons.  First,   there  was  an  underlying  consensus  that  the  educational  system  needed  fixing.   Furthermore,  the  proposed  solutions  did  not  require  a  significant  departure  from  current   practice.  Rather,  these  reforms  intensified  familiar  conceptions  of  schooling.  Odden  (1991)   wrote,  “the  impetus  was  to  teach…more  algebra,  and  less  general  mathematics,  not  a  new   form  of  mathematics”  (p.  309).  Third,  states  provided  direction  and  guidance  but  allowed   local  schools  to  plot  their  own  course  to  achieve  policy  aims.  Finally,  Odden  argued  that   local  practitioners  already  had  the  capabilities  needed  to  successfully  implement  the   reforms,  in  large  part  because  they  were  already  familiar  with  the  schooling  that  reforms   envisioned.       Not  all  states  limited  their  efforts  to  “first-­‐order”  changes,  responses  that  intensified   schooling  but  left  the  core  work  of  schools  undisturbed  (Cuban,  2013).  A  Nation  at  Risk   2   expanded  state  capacity  to  formulate  and  deploy  more  ambitious  policy  designed  to   penetrate  to  the  heart  of  instruction  (Cohen  &  Hill,  2001).  In  the  1980s  and  early  1990s,   some  states  released  curricular  frameworks  that  reimagined  how  teachers  and  students   would  interact  with  content,  standards  that  stated  learning  expectations,  and  assessments   that  would  measure  student  learning  against  these  standards.  This  work  intensified  in   several  states  with  the  Improving  America’s  Schools  Act  of  1994  (more  commonly  known   as  Goals  2000),  and  later  with  the  introduction  of  No  Child  Left  Behind  (NCLB)  in  2002.     Goals  2000,  a  reauthorization  of  the  Elementary  and  Secondary  Education  Act  of   1965,  called  for  states  to  develop  academic  standards  in  reading  and  mathematics  and   assessment  programs  to  gauge  student  proficiency  but  did  not  impose  sanctions  on  schools   or  districts  that  failed  to  promote  student  success  in  line  with  the  law’s  expectations.   The  No  Child  Left  Behind  Act  of  2002,  a  later  reauthorization  of  ESEA,  employed  a  detailed   accountability  plan  to  complement  academic  standards  and  proficiency  testing.  States  that   failed  to  comply  would  forgo  federal  Title  I  funds.       Whether  schools  improved  student  performance  amid  all  this  policy  activity   remains  unclear  (Fuller  et  al.,  2007),  but  it  is  apparent  that  despite  ambitions  from   policymakers,  educators,  the  general  public,  and  even  the  students  themselves  (Schneider   &  Stevenson,  1999),  academic  success  remained  uneven  and  disproportionately  awarded   to  those  who  were  white  and  affluent.  Schools  continued  to  provide  access  for  all  and   advanced  academic  achievement  only  for  the  select  few  (Cusick,  1992;  Labaree,  2010;   Powell,  Farrar,  &  Cohen,  1985).     The  intractable  problem  of  low  student  achievement  particularly  among  low-­‐ income  and  minority  students  did  not  dampen  enthusiasm  for  instructional  policy.  If   3   anything,  the  federal  government  has  extended  its  reach  into  local  schools.  Partially  in   response  to  the  failure  of  any  state  to  reach  the  target  of  universal  student  proficiency  by   2014,  the  U.S.  Department  of  Education  introduced  the  Race  to  the  Top  competition  in   2009  and  ESEA  waivers  in  2011.  The  federal  Race  to  the  Top  initiative  —  which  pitted   participating  states  against  one  another  in  competition  for  roughly  four  billion  dollars  of   federal  stimulus  money  —  based  awards  on  a  state’s  willingness  to  adopt  the  Common   Core  State  Standards,  base  educator  evaluations  at  least  partially  on  student  performance,   and  construct  longitudinal  data  systems.  ESEA  waivers  allowed  states  to  avoid  the   sanctions  associated  with  NCLB  in  exchange  for  state  plans  to  increase  graduation  rates,   intervene  in  high  schools  with  low  graduation  rates,  continue  to  focus  on  racial  and  socio-­‐ economic  achievement  gaps,  provide  aggressive  assistance  for  their  lowest  performing   schools,  and  develop  robust  teacher  assistance  and  evaluation  systems.     In  most  cases,  state  policy  activity  also  increased  in  the  waning  years  of  NCLB.   Many  states  made  changes  to  their  education  laws  to  satisfy  the  criteria  for  successful  Race   to  the  Top  applications.  These  changes  (specifically  to  educator  evaluation  systems)  are   now  being  enacted  in  states  throughout  the  nation,  even  in  states  that  did  not  receive  Race   to  the  Top  funding.  In  addition,  40  states  applied  for  and  received  ESEA  waivers  and  are  in   the  process  of  implementing  the  reforms  that  their  applications  detailed.  These  changes   often  complement  those  listed  in  the  Race  to  the  Top  scoring  rubrics,  but  several  extend   beyond  those  requirements.  For  example,  as  promised  in  waiver  applications,  many  states   are  becoming  more  aggressive  in  their  dealings  with  chronically  underperforming  schools.   As  a  result  of  federal  ESEA  waivers,  schools  in  many  states  find  themselves  in  danger  of   state  takeover.  Michigan,  for  example,  created  a  state-­‐run  Education  Achievement   4   Authority  (EAA)  specifically  for  the  purpose  of  dealing  with  the  state’s  chronically   underperforming  schools.    Finally,  most  states  have  adopted  the  Common  Core  State  Standards  (CCSS)  that   were  endorsed  but  not  mandated  by  the  federal  government.  The  CCSS,  developed  by  the   Chief  Council  of  State  School  Officers  (CCSSO)  and  National  Governor’s  Association,  have   been  adopted  by  45  states.  Supporters  of  the  CCSS  believe  that  the  standards  represent  a   step  forward  from  NCLB,  which  allowed  states  to  develop  their  own  standards  and   assessments,  many  of  which  critics  claimed  were  of  dubious  quality.  The  CCSS,  proponents   argue,  will  transform  teaching  and  learning,  as  they  call  for  high-­‐level  engagement  with   rigorous  academic  material  and  then  test  students  using  assessments  designed  to  elicit  and   measure  conceptual  thinking  and  understanding  (Rothman,  2011).  Two  consortia,  Smarter   Balanced  Assessment  Consortium  (23  member  states)  and  Partnership  for  Assessment  of   Readiness  for  College  and  Careers  (19  member  states)  have  formed  to  achieve  the  latter   purpose  and  produced  assessments  that  are  being  administered  during  the  2014-­‐15  school   year.     Today’s  educational  landscape  is  crowded  with  policies  aimed  at  improving   school  performance.  Current  plans  for  improving  schools  differ  from  the  calls  for   intensified  schooling  characteristic  of  the  recommendations  of  the  Nation  at  Risk  report  or   ambitious  reforms  with  nearly  total  state  autonomy  as  detailed  in  Goals  2000.  Policies  have   even  moved  past  the  singular  standards  and  accountability  scheme  detailed  in  NCLB.   Rather,  today’s  reform  environment  is  a  mixture  of  ambitious  expectations  for  student   achievement  and  accountability  for  results  enacted  in  a  multiplicity  of  policies.   These  policies  range  from  common  standards  for  ambitious  teaching  and   5   learning,  performance  assessments  to  gauge  student  achievement,  evaluation  systems  that   measure  teacher  impact  on  student  growth  as  well  as  their  pedagogical  practice,  and   accountability  plans  for  the  lowest  performing  schools.  It  is  unclear  how  all  this  policy   activity  will  affect  the  performance  of  schools.  Nor  do  we  know  how  these  myriad  policies   affect  the  work  of  teaching.  In  other  words,  what  teachers  make  of  this  crowded  policy   environment  is  under  studied.  The  purpose  of  this  research  is  to  understand  how  teachers   manage  the  mounting  and  perhaps  competing  demands  of  multiple  policies  simultaneously   and  what  effect,  if  any,  these  demands  have  on  classroom  practice.  The  research  was   conducted  during  the  2013-­‐14  school  year  in  Michigan,  a  state  then  on  the  verge  of   implementing  several  initiatives:  Common  Core  State  Standards,  a  new  teacher  evaluation   system  that  tied  teacher  evaluation  to  student  performance,  pressure  for  underperforming   schools  to  improve  or  face  state  takeover  by  the  Education  Achievement  Authority,  and  a   small  but  significant  program  to  improve  classroom  instruction  via  the  use  of  formative   assessment  strategies  and  tools.     The  latter  effort—which  provided  a  vision  of  reform  teaching  and  attempted  to   provide  the  types  of  teacher  learning  experiences  that  would  promote  it—was  a  particular   focus  of  this  research.  Specifically,  I  studied  learning  teams  from  three  middle  schools  that   were  involved  in  the  Formative  Assessment  for  Michigan  Educators  (FAME)  program.  As   will  be  explained  in  greater  detail  in  the  following  chapters,  the  FAME  program  was  a  state   generated  and  supported  but  locally  managed  and  maintained  program  that  encouraged   teacher  enactment  of  formative  assessment  practices  through  state  supplied  resources  (e.g.   initial  professional  development,  documents)  and  local  teacher  team  meetings  where   formative  assessment  components  were  highlighted.  These  three  schools  were  also  in  the   6   midst  of  implementing  the  CCSS,  educator  evaluation  systems,  and  other  instructional   reforms  of  the  districts’  or  schools’  own  choosing.  With  this  in  mind,  the  research   endeavored  to  answer  the  following  question:   1.   How  do  teachers  interpret  and  respond  to  multiple  and  potentially  contradictory   policies  (i.e.,  innovative  instructional  policies,  curricular  policies,   accountability/teacher  evaluation  policies)?   1A.  How  do  teachers,  both  individually  and  collectively,  make  sense  of  multiple  policies   and  reconcile  the  dilemmas,  if  any,  that  the  multiple  policies  present?   1B.  What  roles  do  multiple  contextual  factors  (e.g.  supportive  principal  leadership,   strong  collegial  norms)  play  in  teacher  “sensemaking”?   The  chapters  that  follow  establish  the  relevant  literature,  conceptual  frameworks,   method,  and  findings  of  this  inquiry.  Chapter  2  provides  a  brief  history  of  instructional   reform  since  1965.  Chapter  3  grounds  the  work  both  conceptually  and  in  existing  research.   Chapter  4  articulates  the  method.  The  findings  begin  with  Chapter  5,  which  establishes  a   typology  for  the  different  types  of  instructional  reforms  and  examines  the  diverse  routes   through  which  reforms  arrived  at  each  of  the  three  schools  in  the  study.  Chapters  6  and  7   investigate  the  role  of  principal  leadership  in  both  connecting  teachers  to  reforms  and   shaping  teacher  experiences  with  them.  Chapters  8  and  9  consider  teachers’  opportunities   to  learn  about  reforms  in  different  contexts  and  explains  how  teachers  make  sense  of  and   reconcile  the  messages  from  multiple  policies.  I  conclude  with  Chapter  10  in  which  I   consider  both  the  scholarly  and  practical  implications  of  this  research.       7   CHAPTER  2:  Review  of  Literature   The  purpose  of  this  chapter  is  to  describe  what  researchers  have  learned  about   educational  policy’s  promises  and  pitfalls  over  the  course  of  the  past  50  years  while  trying   to  improve  instruction  in  the  nation’s  classrooms.  This  review  provides  a  historical  context   for  my  study  of  how  teachers  responded  to  multiple  and  potentially  conflicting  policies  in   2013-­‐14.  This  chapter  also  sets  up  Chapter  3  which  establishes  the  analytic  framework   that,  in  turn,  guided  data  collection  and  analysis.  This  chapter,  then,  firmly  grounds  the   entire  dissertation  in  a  stream  of  scholarship  that  extends  over  five  decades  and  will  allow   for  the  findings  to  be  contextualized  in  a  larger  and  long-­‐established  body  of  literature.   Research  on  Policy  and  Practice   Research  on  the  impact  of  policy  began  in  earnest  shortly  after  Lyndon  Johnson’s   “Great  Society”  and  the  myriad  programs  that  flowed  from  this  unprecedented  level  of   federal  involvement  in  local  affairs.  A  “War  on  Poverty”  was  a  major  component  of   Johnson’s  vision,  and  hopeful  reformers  and  social  critics  felt  the  nation  was  on  the  brink  of   stamping  out  destitution  if  only  the  nation  had  the  appropriate  priorities  (e.g.,  Harrington,   1962).   Education  and  training  would  play  a  key  role  in  the  federal  effort  to  wipe  out  human   misery,  as  it  had  become  obvious  to  officials  that  the  truly  disadvantaged  were  those   without  the  requisite  skills  or  academic  preparation  to  compete  for  gainful  employment  in   the  new  economy  (Pressman  &  Wildavsky,  1973).  Of  these  new  legislative  endeavors  to   bolster  the  nation’s  workforce  particularly  for  the  disadvantaged,  none  would  affect  public   schools  more  than  the  Elementary  and  Secondary  Education  Act  (ESEA)  of  1965.  ESEA   introduced  direct  federal  aid  to  schools  for  the  first  time  in  the  nation’s  history,  culminating   8   nearly  a  century  of  political  wrangling  and  failure  (Ravitch,  1983).     Federal  attempts  to  subsidize  schools  had  long  been  ensnared  in  debates  about  race,   religion,  and  the  proper  role  of  the  federal  government  (Cohen  &  Moffitt,  2009;  Ravitch,   1983).  The  authors  of  ESEA  learned  from  past  failures  and  ultimately  produced  a  bill  rife   with  political  compromise  and  interest  group  concessions.     First,  ESEA  focused  on  poverty,  not  race.  This  priority  was  at  least  partially  due  to   good  timing.  The  Civil  Rights  Act  of  1964,  which  forbade  federal  support  of  programs  in   states  with  discriminatory  practices,  effectively  removed  a  key  roadblock  that  had   thwarted  previous  legislation  (Bailey  &  Mosher,  1968).  Issues  of  race  (e.g.,  desegregation)   were  relegated  to  the  former  act,  freeing  ESEA  from  racial  entrapments  that  had  stymied   federal  support  for  public  schools.  Since  nearly  every  district  served  low-­‐income  children   regardless  of  race,  payment  to  local  districts  based  on  how  many  poor  children  they  served   was  widely  appealing.   ESEA  also  avoided  religious  entanglements.  Four  years  prior  to  the  passage  of  ESEA,   President  Kennedy’s  bill  to  introduce  federal  aid  to  schools  was  defeated  primarily  because   the  bill  forbade  federal  aid  to  parochial  schools.  In  response  to  this  and  other  defeats,  the   authors  of  ESEA  crafted  sections  of  the  bill  to  garner  Catholic  support.  ESEA’s  Title  I  (aid  to   deprived  children),  Title  II  (library  resources,  textbooks,  and  instructional  material),  and   Title  III  (development  of  innovative  programs)  all  promised  funds  to  public  schools  and   private  schools  alike.     ESEA  addressed  the  third  objection  to  federal  involvement,  the  pervasive  fear  that   federal  aid  would  equate  to  federal  mandates.  The  federal  role  in  the  lives  of  local   communities  had  been  debated  elsewhere,  but  this  argument  was  particularly  relevant  to   9   schools,  which  had  for  so  long  provided  avenues  for  democratic  participation  and  were   bastions  of  local  self-­‐government  (Katznelson  &  Weir,  1985).  The  authors  of  ESEA   effectively  sidestepped  this  historically  thorny  issue  by  writing  in  a  weak  role  for  the   federal  government.  The  United  States  Office  of  Education  (USOE)  would  provide  resources   with  little  constraint.  The  federal  government  established  the  criteria  for  locally  developed   programs  but  left  oversight  completely  up  to  the  states.  The  law  required  only  that  states   submit  periodic  reports  attesting  to  the  compliance  of  local  schools.  Furthermore,  the   federal  criteria  were  vague  and  thus  provided  little  guidance  for  states  and  districts.  Local   districts  were  to  “meet  the  special  educational  needs  of  educationally  deprived  children  in   school  attendance  areas  having  high  concentrations  of  children  from  low-­‐income  families”   by  developing  programs  of  “sufficient  size,  scope,  and  quality  to  give  reasonable  promise  of   substantial  progress”  (Public  Law  89-­‐10,  section  205).  Furthermore,  districts  were   required  to  generate  evidence  that  detailed  “effective  procedures,  including  provision  for   appropriate  objective  measurements  of  educational  achievement”  (Public  Law  89-­‐10,   section  205)  and  to  make  these  reports  available  to  the  state.     Under  ESEA,  the  state  role  was  also  quite  weak.  True,  states  had  regulatory   responsibility  but  they  had  no  role  in  allocation  of  funds.  The  vast  majority  of  federal   dollars  were  formulaic,  non-­‐competitive  and  issued  at  the  county  rather  than  the  state   level.  States  did  have  oversight  of  district  proposals  for  funding,  but  most  state   departments  had  neither  the  capacity  to  effectively  regulate  district  programs  nor  the   political  clout  to  reject  applications.     In  sum,  ESEA  subtly  shifted  existing  arrangements  but  left  local  priorities  largely   unchallenged.  The  USOE  would  set  the  program  criteria,  the  states  would  review  the   10   proposals  of  local  districts,  but  the  districts  would  develop,  administer,  and  sustain   programs  of  their  own  devising.  With  this  in  mind,  Cohen  and  Moffitt  (2009)  observed  that   early  in  ESEA’s  history,  federal  money  was  “a  near  entitlement  for  states  and  localities…a   funding  stream,  not  a  program  that  offered  substantive  guidance  for  teaching  and  learning”   (p.  7).     The  federal  government  was  in  no  position  to  provide  such  guidance  even  if  it  were   so  inclined.  In  the  late  1960s,  the  United  States  Office  of  Education  (USOE)  was  politically   vulnerable,  severely  understaffed,  and  inexperienced  in  the  work  of  leading  major  reform   in  districts  throughout  the  country.  Of  the  USOE,  Bailey  and  Mosher  (1968)  wrote,  “there   was…no  machinery  for  developing  a  nationwide  educational  policy;  the  very  phrase   created  shivers”  (p.  73).  In  the  immediate  aftermath  of  ESEA’s  passage,  after  the  initial   excitement  of  the  bill’s  success  had  subsided,  the  arduous  work  of  implementing  the   legislation’s  ambitions  began  in  earnest.   Large-­‐scale  educational  policy  research,  then,  began  with  ESEA  in  the  foreground.   Early  research  focused  on  the  political  nature  of  policy  implementation  at  the  macro  level,   particularly  on  the  lack  of  skill  and  will  among  federal,  state,  and  local  agencies.  For   example,  Bailey  and  Mosher  (1968)  examined  the  myriad  challenges  that  emerged  once  the   implementation  of  ESEA’s  Title  I  commenced.  In  their  analysis,  they  echoed  the  same   sentiments  of  contemporary  researchers  in  other  fields  of  public  policy—when  the   challenges  were  carefully  considered,  implementation  to  any  degree  was  remarkable   (Pressman  &  Wildavsky,  1973).  They  outlined  these  challenges  faced  by  local,  state,  and   federal  agencies:     When,  as  in  the  case  of  ESEA,  a  law  unprecedented  in  scope  has  to  be  administered   11   through  State  and  local  instrumentalities,  on  an  impossible  time  schedule;  by  an   understaffed  agency  in  structural  turmoil,  beset  by  a  deluge  of  complaints  and   demands  for  clarification  of  the  legislation  at  hand,  as  well  as  cognate  legislation   already  on  the  books;  the  wonder  is  not  that  mistakes  are  made—the  wonder  is  that   the  law  is  implemented  at  all.  (p.  99)   Bailey  and  Mosher  also  detailed  the  dilemmas  the  USOE  faced.  Among  other  challenges,  the   USOE  had  to  determine  how  to  balance  providing  criteria  for  Title  I  programs  (as  was  their   charge  in  ESEA  legislation)  without  being  overly  prescriptive  and  thus  violating  another   section  of  the  law  that  forbade  them  from  “exercis[ing]  any  direction,  supervision,  or   control  over  the  curriculum  program  of  instruction…of  any  educational  institution  or   school  system”  (Public  Law  89-­‐10,  section  604).  USOE  also  had  to  encourage  fiscal   responsibility  and  experimentation,  as  one  of  the  legislation’s  driving  impulses  was  for   educational  innovation.       Perhaps  most  significantly,  USOE  had  to  find  a  way  to  evaluate  programs  while  still   honoring  traditional  political  arrangements  among  local,  state,  and  federal  actors.  While   modest  by  today’s  standards,  ESEA’s  requirement  that  “effective  procedures,  including   provision  for  appropriate  objective  measurements  of  educational  achievement…be  adopted   for  evaluating  at  least  annually  the  effectiveness  of  [Title  I]  programs  (Public  Law  89-­‐10,   section  205.5)”  was  a  revelation  in  1965.  Bailey  and  Mosher  (1968)  remarked,  “In  the  case   of  ESEA…the  legislative  mandate  for  formal  reports  and  evaluations  of  programs  was  loud   and  clear,  and  unprecedented  in  scope”  (p.  163).  Bailey  and  Mosher  determined  that  the   USOE  was  unaccustomed  to  evoking  information  from  local  districts  and  local  districts   were  woefully  unprepared  to  detail  their  internal  functioning  or  make  coherent  reports  to   12   the  federal  government.  Nor  could  the  USOE  coerce  LEAs  to  improve  their  capacity  and   provide  them  useful  information.  Consequently,  the  data  that  was  eventually  used  to   demonstrate  program  effectiveness  was  subjective,  unverifiable,  and  entirely  self-­‐serving   (Bailey  &  Mosher,  1968).     In  summarizing  the  administration  of  ESEA,  Bailey  and  Mosher  (1968)  wrote,   “Bargains  were  struck,  faces  were  saved,  ambiguities  were  purposefully  employed,  credits   were  tactfully  distributed,  desirables  were  conditioned  by  possibles”  (p.  207).     The  conflicting  responsibilities  specific  to  administration  also  caught  the  interest  of   other  early  researchers.  Three  works  are  illustrative  of  the  breadth  of  this  concern,  one   conceptual  and  two  empirical.  First,  Cohen  (1970)  argued  that  evaluation,  because  it  has   the  potential  to  upset  existing  power  arrangements,  is  primarily  political  rather  than   rational.  The  information  generated  in  the  evaluative  process  can  threaten  the  interests  of   those  who  supply  it.  Thus,  locals  have  little  interest  in  forwarding  information  that  may   ultimately  harm  them  (Cohen,  1970).     Three  factors  made  this  dilemma  particularly  acute  in  administration  of  Title  I.  The   first  of  these  concerns  the  policy  environment  in  which  ESEA  was  formulated  and   deployed;  Title  I’s  origins  were  decidedly  political.  The  legislation  would  not  have  been   possible  without  significant  concessions  from  vested  groups  that  had  delayed  federal   funding  for  decades.  Most  significantly,  section  205.5  of  Title  I  brokered  a  compromise   between  reform-­‐minded  members  of  Congress  (most  notably  Robert  Kennedy)  and  local   and  state  administrators  who  feared  that  evaluation  would  soon  be  used  to  document  their   schools’  shortcomings.  Thus,  even  those  who  enthusiastically  endorsed  the  passage  of   ESEA  had  mutually  exclusive,  competing  interests.   13   Nor  did  these  political  convictions  vanish  after  the  bill  was  passed.  The  success  or   failure  of  Title  I  to  improve  the  educational  experiences  of  poor  children  would  have  far-­‐ reaching  political  consequences  (Cohen,  1970).  Dozens  of  interested  groups  had  a  stake  in   the  performance  of  the  first  federal  endeavor  in  significant  school  pecuniary  support.   Information  about  the  programs  was  put  to  political  purposes  to  further  special-­‐interest   agendas.    Hence,  any  information  that  was  culled  was  highly  suspect  by  political  opponents.     Second,  the  construction  of  Title  I  undermined  the  very  evaluation  that  the   legislation  mandated.  As  noted  previously,  USOE  distributed  Title  I  (which  accounted  for   more  that  80%  of  total  ESEA  expenditures)  on  a  formulaic  basis.  LEAs  needed  only  to   submit  applications  to  their  state  office  and  await  the  inevitable  approval.  They  had  no   incentive  to  carefully  track  the  effects  of  their  programs  let  alone  to  pass  their  findings   along  to  central  authority.     Finally,  the  federal  arrangement  favored  local  control  that  was  not  specific  to  ESEA   or  Title  I  but  promoted  by  it,  which  made  quality  evaluation  nearly  impossible.  While  ESEA   initiated  a  remarkable  new  level  of  federal  environment  in  education,  the  tradition  of  local   control  remained  intact.  Programs  developed  locally  and  with  minimal  state  or  federal   guidance  were  difficult  to  characterize  let  alone  compare  to  other  programs  that  emerged   in  other  districts  or  states.  And,  again,  locals  were  under  no  compulsion  to  cooperate.   Under  this  arrangement,  virtually  no  good  information  was  forwarded.       Joseph  Murphy  (1971)  corroborated  each  of  these  points  when  he  looked  into  two   failed  attempts  of  the  USOE  to  improve  targeting  of  Title  I  funds  and  to  establish  parental   councils.  In  both  cases  the  USOE,  after  attempting  to  influence  the  behavior  of  SEAs  and   LEAs,  had  to  retreat  in  the  face  of  local  resistance.  For  students  of  the  federal  system  and   14   those  attending  to  the  developing  implementation  research  of  federal  policy,  this  was   hardly  surprising.  Political  arrangements  resulted  in  locally-­‐dominated  outcomes  and  there   was  little  either  states  or  the  federal  government  could  do  to  countervail  local  prerogatives.       Murphy  argued  that  all  other  characteristics  of  the  policy  landscape  were  auxiliary   to  the  lack  of  political  clout,  but  even  these  peripheral  conditions  (e.g.,  lack  of  groundswell   from  the  affected  population,  disinclination  of  the  USOE,  separation  in  physical  and   ideological  space  among  reformers,  USOE  administrators,  SEA  officials,  and  LEAs  leaders)   frustrated  successful  realization  of  centrally-­‐designed  policy.     Milbrey  McLaughlin  (1975)  reiterated  many  of  Bailey  and  Mosher’s  (1968)  findings,   Cohen’s  (1970)  observations,  and  Murphy’s  (1971)  research.  McLaughlin  found  that  “in   practice,  the  Title  I  evaluation  policy  reflects  local  interests  and  priorities  for  evaluation,   not  the  concerns  of  federal  reformers”  (p.  26).  She  also  concluded  that  USOE  officials  were   not  ardent  reformers,  their  charge  was  vague  and  contradictory,  and  they  had  existing   relationships  to  maintain  that  they  were  loath  to  ruin  in  pursuit  of  better  Title  I  evaluation.   Nor  did  they  have  pressure  from  Congress  to  violate  the  long-­‐standing  stance  that  deferred   to  local  control.  Ultimately,  the  USOE  efforts  to  evaluate  local  Title  I  programs  did  not  yield   information  that  would  lead  to  better  policy  formation,  better  implementation  of  Title  I,  or   better  information  upon  which  parents  might  put  pressure  on  local  schools  (McLaughlin,   1975).       Because  of  Title  I’s  requirement  for  the  evaluation  of  local  programs,  the  potential   for  policy  analysis  was  vast.  Yet  this  potential  was  unrealized.  Consequently,  researchers   learned  very  little  about  how  well  Title  I  “worked”  to  the  benefit  of  poor  students  nor  did   they  learn  much  about  practitioner  responses  or  how  Title  I  money  affected  classroom  life.   15   Researchers  learned  much  about  local  resistance  to  evaluation  and  local,  state,  and  federal   incapacity  to  carry  out  the  intent  of  ESEA  but  very  little  about  the  quality  of  the  programs   themselves,  what  burdens  and  dilemmas  they  created  for  practitioners,  or  how  institutions   shaped  policy  impulses.  Early  research  on  ESEA,  Odden  (1991)  wrote,  “showed  not  only   that  most  local  educators  did  not  want  to  implement  such  programs  (the  will  was  not   there),  but  also  that  they  did  not  know  how  to  implement  them  (the  capacity  was  not   there)”  (p.  1).       Researchers  in  the  early  1970s  thus  dashed  initial  hopes  that  policy  enactment   could  be  a  rational  process  once  the  political  wrangling  of  policy  formation  was  complete.   However,  after  this  first  wave  of  research,  little  was  known  about  how  policy  played  out  in   schools  and  what  role,  if  any,  policy  played  in  educational  innovation.    If  implementation   (as  the  activity  of  policy  enactment  would  come  to  be  called)  was  not  strictly  a  rational   process,  what  sort  of  process  was  it?  In  response  to  this  knowledge  gap,  many  researchers   began  to  focus  on  implementation  as  a  distinct  phenomenon  worthy  of  study.  In  the  early   1970s  when  interest  in  implementation  heightened,  social  science  researchers  were   unprepared  for  the  work  of  studying  implementation.  “Implementation”  was  simply  not  in   the  lexicon  of  most  researchers.  In  the  preface  to  the  first  edition  of  their  book   Implementation,  Pressman  and  Wildavsky  (1973)  wrote,  “implementation  in  recent  years   has  been  discussed  but  rarely  studied…[with  one  exception]  we  have  not  been  able  to   locate  any  thoroughgoing  analysis  of  implementation”  (p.  xxi).  A  cursory  search  through   the  ERIC  database  confirms  this  point.  “Implementation”  does  not  appear  as  a  key  word  in   any  peer-­‐reviewed  journal  articles  prior  to  1974  (there  would  be  602  such  articles  by   1980).     16   While  implementation  studies  were  intriguing,  the  concept  of  implementation  itself   was  so  new  that  researchers  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  defining  it,  conceptualizing  it,  and   describing  how  they  envisioned  implementation  related  to  policy  in  general  and  its  sub-­‐ dimensions  (e.g.,  goals,  programs,  evaluation).    Pressman  and  Wildavsky  (1973)  defined   implementation  as  the  “process  of  interaction  between  the  setting  of  goals  and  actions   geared  to  achieving  them”  (p.  xxiii)  and  “the  ability  to  forge  subsequent  links  in  the  causal   chain”  (p.  xxiii)  implied  in  the  theory  of  how  a  policy  works.  For  Pressman  and  Wildavsky   (1973),  then,  implementation  is  what  happens  when  actors  pursue  a  policy’s  goals.   Furthermore,  Pressman  and  Wildavsky  argued  that  policy  studies  should  attempt  to  bring   the  reciprocal  interaction  among  policy  formation,  implementation,  and  goals  into  sharper   relief.     Pressman  and  Wildavsky’s  aspirations  were  straightforward.  They  hoped  that   studying  implementation  could  promote  policy  success.  They  wrote,  “by  concentrating  on   the  implementation  of  programs,  as  well  as  their  initiation,  we  should  be  able  to  increase   the  probability  that  policy  promises  will  be  realized”  but  they  also  conceded  that  in   response  to  research,  “Fewer  promises  may  be  made  in  view  of  heightened  awareness  of   the  obstacles  to  [policy  goal]  fulfillment”  (Pressman  &  Wildavsky,  1973,  p.  6).  In  other   words,  research  would  quite  possibly  yield  as  much  information  about  the  wisdom  of   policy  goals  as  it  did  about  improving  policy  implementation.     Pressman  and  Wildavsky  were  not  hopeful  that  policy  could  be  successful,   particularly  when  many  actors  with  varying  and  conflicting  interests  are  involved,  as  was   most  often  the  case  in  the  policy  initiatives  of  The  Great  Society.  After  all,  in  the  book’s   subtitle  the  authors  refer  to  themselves  as  “two  sympathetic  observers  who  seek  to  build   17   morals  on  a  foundation  of  ruined  hopes.”  They  wrote:     Our  normal  expectation  should  be  that  new  programs  will  fail  to  get  off  the  ground   and  that,  at  best,  they  will  take  considerable  time  to  get  started.  The  cards  in  this   world  are  stacked  against  things  happening,  as  so  much  effort  is  required  to  make   them  move.  (p.  109)     What  made  implementation  more  frustrating,  Pressman  and  Wildavsky  argued,  is  that   actors  typically  agreed  about  the  goals  of  policy  but  not  the  means  for  achieving  them.   Pressman  and  Wildavsky  described  this  phenomenon  as  “the  complexity  of  joint  action”   and  concluded  that  goals  are  always  just  around  the  corner  but  means  are  constantly  in  the   here  and  now  where  there  are  myriad  possibilities  for  entanglements.  The  complexity  of   joint  action  exposes  conflicts  with  other  priorities,  preferences  for  other  programs,  limited   commitments,  role  ambiguities,  incommensurate  relationship  between  interest  and  clout,   and  the  like.     To  make  matters  worse,  implementation  includes  “multiple  decision  points”  that   further  complicate  complex  joint  action  and  make  policy  success  unlikely.  Pressman  and   Wildavsky  (1973)  concluded,  “the  probability  of  agreement  by  every  participant  on  each   decision  point  must  be  exceedingly  high  for  there  to  be  any  chance  at  all  that  a  program   will  be  brought  to  completion”  (p.  107).  Yet,  universal  agreement  could  hardly  be  expected.   Policy  inevitably  alters  both  the  relationships  and  interactions  among  people  and  the   relative  standing  of  targeted  groups.  Thus,  local  interests  are  often  pitted  against  one   another.  Policy,  for  all  of  its  good  intentions,  agitates  local  conflict.  Furthermore,  policy   evokes  high  intensity  beliefs  about  what  should  be  done,  and  when  negative  and  positive   sentiments  alike  begin  to  accumulate  about  a  proposed  course  of  action,  delays  can  be   18   momentous  and  can  eventually  spell  a  policy’s  doom.  The  high  intensity  commitment   needed  to  bring  policy  programs  to  completion  could  quickly  derail  efforts  when  beliefs   clashed  about  what  should  be  done,  as  they  almost  always  did.  Thus,  Pressman  and   Wildavsky  marveled  when  policy  programs  worked  at  all  given  the  considerable  odds.     While  ultimately  concluding  that  the  status  quo  was  a  terrifically  powerful  force,   Pressman  and  Wildavsky  did  concede  that  perhaps  policy  could  be  successful  despite  the   long  odds  against  it  if  programs  “adapt  themselves  to  their  environment  over  a  long  period   of  time…a  negative  act  by  a  participant  at  a  decision  point  need  not  signify  that  the   program  is  dead…accommodations  may  be  made,  bargains  entered  into,  resistances   weakened.  The  price  of  ultimate  agreement  is…modification”  (Pressman  &  Wildavsky,  p.   116).   The  Rand  “change  agent”  studies  in  the  1970s  were  built  on  the  premise  that   successful  policy  required  the  mutual  adaptation  that  Pressman  and  Wildavsky  suggested.     In  these  studies,  Berman  and  McLaughlin  moved  away  from  conceptions  of  implementation   as  compliance  or  goal  attainment  to  an  institutional  understanding  that  considered   implementation  in  terms  of  the  change  that  it  affected  in  both  the  institution  and  the   program  being  administered.  In  contrast  to  Pressman  and  Wildavsky  (1973)  who   conceived  of  implementation  as  the  evolving  relationship  between  goals  and  the  attempts   to  achieve  them,  Berman  and  McLaughlin  (1974)  defined  implementation  as  the  process   that  occurs  as  an  innovative  program  shapes  and  is  shaped  by  the  institutional   environment.     Berman  and  McLaughlin  constructed  a  useful  theoretical  foundation  for   implementation  studies  and  also  challenged  the  existing  research  on  educational   19   innovation.  To  the  latter  point,  they  took  exceptions  with  the  two  dominant  lines  of  existing   research—the  case  studies  of  successful  projects  and  far  more  rigorous  studies  that   attempted  to  detect  program  effects.  Berman  and  McLaughlin  claimed  that  the  former  type   of  study  rarely  documented  data  to  support  its  conclusions  and  considered  program   characteristics  in  exclusion  of  institutional  environments  (and  therefore  was  of  limited   generalizability).  Consequently,  the  sum  of  these  studies  provided  a  rosier  picture  of   programs  associated  with  Title  I  that  was  warranted  by  actual  program  performance.     Policy-­‐effects  studies,  on  the  other  hand,  generally  portrayed  a  bleak  picture  of  the   impact  of  Title  I  programs.  These  studies  typically  failed  to  detect  a  link  between  school   treatment  and  student  outcomes,  leading  many  researchers  to  conclude  that  Title  I   programs  and  others  like  them  simply  did  not  work.  Berman  and  McLaughlin  contended   that  this  conclusion  was  premature,  at  least,  and  quite  likely  overly  pessimistic.  While  they   did  not  dispute  these  findings,  per  se,  they  did  point  out  that  the  source  of  the  problem   remained  unclear.  It  was  possible,  for  example,  that  incremental  change  went  undetected,   that  the  success  of  “leading  edge”  programs  was  obscured  in  the  aggregate,  or  that  the   duration  of  typical  research  was  too  brief  to  capture  positive  program  effects  (Berman  &   McLaughlin,  1974).  Furthermore,  and  more  to  Berman  and  McLaughlin’s  point,  the  absence   of  effects  could  be  due  to  unspecified  or  mis-­‐specified  institutional  variables.  For  example,   they  wrote,  “it  is  possible  that  institutional  variables  are  not  identified  in  policy  or  project   evaluations  and  that  they  change  within  sites  as  the  institution  adapts  to  the  project”   (Berman  &  McLaughlin,  1974,  p.  5).     In  sum,  although  the  two  strands  of  research  varied  widely,  they  both  ignored   institutional  variables  critical  to  program  success.  Berman  and  McLaughlin  believed  that   20   contemporary  research  fundamentally  misunderstood  the  implementation  process  and   that  the  studies  left  the  field  without  any  meaningful  theoretical  approach  through  which  it   could  accumulate  knowledge  coherently.  In  other  words,  Berman  and  McLaughlin  felt  that   prior  to  their  change  agent  studies,  the  field  of  implementation  research  was  in  utter   disarray.     In  response,  Berman  and  McLaughlin  sought  innovative  programs  that  would  allow   them  to  study  implementation  as  they  conceived  of  it—the  process  of  mutual  adaptation  of   both  program  and  institution.  Title  I  programs  would  hardly  suffice  for  this  type  of   research.  ESEA’s  Title  I  was  not  implemented,  at  least  not  as  implementation  researchers   conceived  of  the  enterprise.  Pressman  and  Wildavsky  (1973)  believed  that  for   implementation  research  to  occur,  the  policy  itself  must  include  clear  policy  direction  and   goals,  neither  of  which  were  characteristic  of  Title  I’s  programs.  Title  I’s  goal  of  “meet[ing]   the  special  educational  needs  of  educationally  deprived  children  in  school  attendance  areas   having  high  concentrations  of  children  from  low-­‐income  families  (Public  Law  89-­‐10,   section  205.1)”  was  terribly  ambiguous  and  the  goal  was  not  subject  to  revision  based  on   practitioner  experience.  By  most  accounts,  LEAs  were  not  doing  much  to  pursue  any   explicit  goals  and  the  prospect  of  observing  goal-­‐oriented  action  in  Title  I  programs  was   even  more  remote.  In  brief,  most  programs  were  not  “forg[ing]  subsequent  links  in  the   causal  chain  so  as  to  obtain  the  desired  results”  (p.  xxiii)  as  Pressman  and  Wildavsky   believed  implementation  should.     For  Berman  and  McLaughlin,  early  Title  I  programs  lacked  the  mutual  adaptation   between  policy  programs  and  institutions  necessary  for  productive  implementation   research.  Since  Title  I  funding  was  but  a  short  step  from  general  aid,  the  incentive  to   21   innovate  was  almost  entirely  absent.  Furthermore,  programs  were  developed  locally  and   thus  adapted  to  local  preferences  and  commitments.  It  is  unlikely,  therefore,  that  LEAs   would  devise  programs  that  required  a  substantial  institutional  response  and  where  there   is  no  change  there  cannot  be  innovation.  Nor  can  there  be  implementation  research.     ESEA’s  Title  III,  which  awarded  grants  for  innovative  programs  on  a  competitive   basis,  provided  a  nice  alternative  and  would  serve  as  one  of  the  key  sources  of  innovative   programs  under  study  in  the  “change  agent”  research.  This  research,  conducted  over   several  years  in  the  mid-­‐1970s,  concluded  that  implementation—the  degree  to  which  the   local  institution  and  the  innovative  program  underwent  mutual  adaptation—dominated   outcomes.     This  overarching  conclusion  was  supported  by  several  related  findings.  Reflecting   on  the  change  agent  studies  over  a  decade  later,  McLaughlin  (1991)  recalled,  “federal   change  agent  policies  had  a  major  role  in  prompting  local  school  districts  to  undertake   projects  that  were  generally  congruous  with  federal  guidelines”  and  that  “adoption  was   only  the  beginning”  (p.  144).  Diffusion  scholars  at  the  time  (e.g.,  Rogers,  1962,  1995)   contended  that  the  decision  to  adopt  is  the  culminating  event  of  the  innovative  process  and   that  initial  adoption  relied  primarily  (but  not  exclusively)  on  the  qualities  of  the  innovation   itself.  As  McLaughlin  (1976)  argued,  however,  this  was  rarely  the  case  in  education;  new   educational  practices  “possess  none  of  the  features  traditionally  thought  to  encourage  local   decision  makers  to  adopt  a  given  innovation”  (p.  342).     First,  diffusion  of  innovation  scholars  suggested  that  an  innovation’s  ability  to  be   easily  communicated  to  others  was  a  key  determinate  of  successful  adoption.  Truly   innovative  endeavors  in  education,  however,  which  tried  to  fundamentally  alter  how   22   students  and  teachers  interact  around  content,  resist  easy  specification  that  can  be   seamlessly  translated  from  one  “user”  to  another.  McLaughlin  (1976)  commented,   “Advocates  can  only  offer  general  advice  and  communicate  the  philosophy  or  attitudes  that   underlie  innovation”  (p.  342).     Second,  whereas  traditional  diffusion  of  innovation  researchers  stressed  the   importance  of  “trialability”  the  effects  of  educational  innovations  can  rarely  be  assessed   piecemeal  or  with  divided  attention.  In  contrast,  educational  innovations  of  the  type   Berman  and  McLaughlin  were  studying  (e.g.  open  classrooms,  team  teaching)  required  a   deep  and  total  commitment.     Third,  educational  innovations  are  rarely  easy  to  use  as  innovation  scholars  insist   must  be  the  case  if  an  innovation  is  to  take  hold.  Rather,  educational  innovations  often   require  altering  existing  relationships  and  instructional  arrangements.  Such  changes  are   complicated  and  can  be  exceedingly  difficult.     Fourth,  in  addition  to  being  difficult  to  communicate,  adopted  only  in  whole,  and   remarkably  complex,  instructional  innovations  challenge  beliefs  about  proper  roles  of   students  and  teachers  that  are  deeply  held  and  highly  valued  (McLaughlin,  1976;  Cohen,   1988).  Thus,  educational  innovations  cannot  assume  congruence  with  existing  values  and   beliefs  typically  believed  essential  for  diffusion  of  innovation.     Finally,  practitioners  must  commit  to  instructional  innovation  uncertain  of  its   relative  advantage  over  extant  practices.  The  primary  reasons  that  an  innovation  is   adopted  is  that  it  promises  a  better  way  of  solving  an  enduring  challenge.  However,  when   educators  fully  commit  to  a  complex  instructional  innovation,  classroom  life  may  get  worse,   not  better.     23   Because  the  five  characteristics  typical  of  innovations  that  are  adopted  and  put  into   practice  (communicability,  “trialability”,  ease  of  use,  congruence  with  existing  values,   relative  advantage)  are  at  odds  with  educational  innovations,  context  in  educational   innovation  matters.  Specifically,  how  local  institutions  implement  innovation  dominates   outcomes.  In  other  words,  educational  innovations  are  not  self-­‐executing  and  therefore   program  and  institutional  adaptation  are  more  important  than  innovation  adoption.     The  institutional  receptivity  required  for  program  adoption,  while  necessary,  was   not  sufficient  (McLaughlin,  1976).  As  described  above,  innovative  programs  in  education   are  not  self-­‐executing;  rather,  educational  innovations  tend  to  be  highly  resistant  to  local   uptake.  For  this  reason,  the  implementation  strategy  that  accompanied  innovation  was   crucial  to  program  success.  McLaughlin  (1976)  wrote,  “Unless  implementation  strategies   were  chosen  that  allowed  institutional  support  to  be  engaged  and  mutual  adaptation  to   occur,  project  implementation  floundered”  (p.  343).       Three  implementation  strategies  proved  critical  to  successful  adaptation.  First,   successful  programs  afforded  teachers  time  to  develop  instructional  material  locally.   Whether  this  affordance  led  to  an  improved  pedagogical  project  is  debatable.  What  seemed   to  matter  is  that  through  the  process  of  material  development,  teachers  committed  more   fully  to  the  project,  learned  deeply  about  the  method  of  instruction  they  were  to  employ,   and  bonded  with  colleagues  over  the  common  work  of  instructional  improvement   (McLaughlin,  1976).  Successful  implementation  strategies  also  included  opportunities  for   ongoing  teacher  learning.  Beneficial  learning  opportunities  extended  beyond  the  typical   one-­‐stop  training  to  prior  program  implementation.  Schools  that  successfully  implemented   programs  allowed  for  teacher  collaboration,  observations  of  other  successful  programs,   24   and  training  that  was  sensitive  to  discoveries  made  during  the  implementation  process.   Finally,  successful  implementation  promoted  adaptive  planning  and  regular  meetings.  The   best-­‐laid  plans  of  program  designers  fell  woefully  short  of  the  requirements  for  mutual   adaptation.  Effective  plans  were  subject  to  scrutiny  and  change  as  experience  in  the  field   informed  it  (McLaughlin,  1976).     Variation  in  implementation  strategies  helped  explain  why  some  projects  were   successfully  implemented  while  others  were  not,  even  when  the  nature  of  project,  the   characteristics  of  the  target  group,  the  capacities  of  local  educators,  and  supporting   resources  appeared  similar  (Berman  &  McLaughlin,  1978;  McLaughlin,  1976).     Above  all,  the  change  agent  studies  concluded  that  “it  is  exceedingly  difficult  for   policy  to  change  practice”  and  that  “policy  can’t  mandate  what  matters”  (McLaughlin,   1991).  Local  capacity,  commitments,  and  choices  dominated  policy  outcomes.  Berman  and   McLaughlin’s  change  agent  research  revealed  a  new  dilemma  for  the  next  generation  of   researchers  and  policymakers:  no  matter  how  well  devised  or  supported,  federal  and  state   policy  depended  on  the  skill  and  will  of  local  practitioners.  Educational  reforms  defied  the   rules  of  typical  innovations  and  success  lay  almost  entirely  in  the  local  handling.     Policy  from  the  Ground  Up:  The  Dilemmas  of  the  Street-­‐level  Bureaucrat   At  the  conclusion  of  the  change  agent  studies  in  the  late  1970s  two  general  findings   emerged:  coordinating  federal,  state,  and  local  reform  efforts  was  remarkably  difficult  and   changing  practice,  even  when  these  difficulties  could  be  overcome,  was  more  difficult  still.   Local  factors  rather  than  federal  policy,  program  characteristics,  or  project  resources   accounted  for  this  variance  in  outcomes  and  ultimately  determined  a  program’s  fate.   Policymakers  depended  heavily  on  the  commitment  and  expertise  of  local  practitioners   25   and  it  was  unlikely  that  any  policy  could  alter  this  dependency  through  better  formulation   or  more  thoughtful  planning.     Prior  to  the  late-­‐1970s,  policy  research,  for  all  its  merits,  had  an  almost  exclusive   focus  on  macro-­‐level  phenomena.  Even  the  change  agent  studies,  which  argued   persuasively  of  the  power  of  the  bottom  over  the  top,  nevertheless  focused  on  the   importance  of  local  institutions,  not  the  behaviors  of  individual  actors.  The  first  wave  of   policy  research  detailed  the  considerable  difficulty  of  securing  agreement  within  a  federal   system  with  weak  central  authority  and  agencies  unprepared  for  the  work.  The  next  wave   of  research  argued  that  even  without  much  political  wrangling  among  different  levels  of   government,  policy  was  a  blunt  instrument  incapable  of  reliably  securing  successful   outcomes.     The  third  wave  of  policy  research  would  explore  how  individuals  working  at  the   level  of  service  provision  made  sense  of  and  managed  the  dilemmas  of  policy.  These  studies   argued  that  what  a  policy  turns  out  to  be  is  determined  in  practice  from  the  collective   action  of  service  deliverers,  whom  Lipsky  (1980)  termed  “street-­‐level  bureaucrats.”  Lipsky   (1980)  argued  that  “the  decisions  of  street-­‐level  bureaucrats,  the  routines  they  establish,   and  the  devices  they  invent  to  cope  with  uncertainties  and  work  pressures,  effectively   become  the  public  policies  they  carry  out”  (p.  xii).  For  this  reason,  policy  should  not  be   understood  through  a  description  of  legislative  or  higher-­‐level  administrator  intent  nor   could  implementation  be  understood  as  the  constant  negotiation  of  policy  and  goals  as   Pressman  and  Wildavsky  (1973)  understood  it  or  through  the  concept  of  mutual   adaptation  favored  by  Berman  and  McLaughlin  (1978).  Rather,  implementation  happens   when  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  attempt  to  reconcile  the  demands  of  policy,  limited   26   resources,  and  the  needs  of  clients  while  simultaneously  honoring  their  professional   commitments  and  attending  to  their  own  personal  well-­‐being.  According  to  Lipsky  (1980),   when  policy  works  at  all,  it  was  not  because  of  well-­‐formulated  policy  documents  or  clever   institutional  adaptation  but  rather  because  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  devise  solutions  that   satisfy  competing  demands.     Another  way  to  think  of  this  is  that  policymakers  rely  heavily  on  local  institutions   and  these  institutions,  in  turn,  rely  on  the  individuals  within  them.  The  responsibility  of   policy  has  effectively  been  passed  down  until  it  reached  the  smallest  unit—the  individual   practices  of  street-­‐level  bureaucrats.         The  world  of  the  street-­‐level  bureaucrat  has  several  defining  characteristics.  First,  it   is  the  street-­‐level  bureaucrat’s  job  to  administer  programs  to  the  people  targeted  by  policy   to  improve  the  plight  of  the  individual  or  to  serve  the  greater  good  of  the  populace,  or  both.   Thus,  the  street-­‐level  bureaucrat  is  a  conduit  of  public  power.  The  street-­‐level  bureaucrat   also  enjoys  a  high  degree  of  discretionary  power  in  which  to  administer  this  authority  and   this  discretion  is  not  easily  reduced.  Street-­‐level  bureaucrats  need  discretion  because  the   complex  contexts  in  which  they  work  defy  comprehensive  prescriptive  guidelines  for   behavior.  Rather,  non-­‐formulaic  responses  are  required  to  meet  clients  needs,  and   autonomy  helps  to  engender  trust  between  the  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  and  clients.       The  conditions  of  street-­‐level  bureaucrats’  work  also  make  discretion  a  necessity.   First,  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  work  with  limited  resources  in  the  midst  of  escalating   demands  for  service.  These  resources  can  take  various  forms,  and  street-­‐level  bureaucrats   always  seem  to  be  in  short  supply.  Partially  in  response  to  demands  for  services  and   partially  because  the  general  public  would  like  to  limit  budgetary  allocations  for  the  types   27   of  services  governments  provide,  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  are  chronically  overburdened   with  a  heavy  caseload.  Additionally,  many  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  are  unprepared  to  work   with  the  type  of  client  they  are  assigned,  as  the  least  experienced  street-­‐level  bureaucrats   are  often  assigned  to  the  most  difficult  clients  (e.g.,  city  beats,  classrooms),  compounding   the  problem  of  large  caseloads.       The  problems  that  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  face  lay  not  only  with  inadequate   resources  but  also  with  ambitious  expectations  about  what  they  will  be  able  to  achieve   with  clients.  Street-­‐level  bureaucrats  engage  in  the  work  of  human  improvement  (for  more   on  this,  see  Cohen,  1988).  Policymakers  expect  that  as  a  result  of  service,  clients  will  be  less   prone  to  drug  use,  more  upstanding  citizens,  more  capable  readers,  better  parents,  and  so   on.  Such  human  improvement,  when  it  happens  at  all,  requires  extensive  investment  of   time  and  effort  from  both  the  service  provider  and  the  client,  but,  as  described  above,  the   resources  required  for  the  undertaking  are  typically  scarce.  To  compound  matters,  street-­‐ level  bureaucrats  lack  a  technology  through  which  the  goals  of  human  improvement  can  be   consistently  achieved.  Curbing  criminal  recidivism  or  promoting  student  achievement,   while  typical  policy  goals,  are  uncertain  enterprises,  but  they  are  activities  street-­‐level   bureaucrats  are  routinely  expected  to  perform.  Street-­‐level  bureaucrats  thus  live  in   constant  uncertainty  of  how  their  actual  practices  connect  to  both  the  goals  of  policy  and   client  well  being  and  must  resign  themselves  to  an  existence  where  unmitigated  success  is   sporadic,  idiosyncratic,  and  somewhat  mysterious.     The  uncertainty  of  technology  has  several  consequences.  First,  when  there  is  debate   over  what  works,  a  variety  of  approaches  to  practice  must  be  permitted.  Specifically,  street-­‐ level  bureaucrats  are  able  to  adopt  practices  that  suit  them  best  and  this  makes  evaluation   28   of  their  activities  and  performance  difficult.  Furthermore,  without  a  reliable  way  to  achieve   agency  goals  for  client  improvement,  the  goals  themselves  are  subject  to  street-­‐level   bureaucrats  who,  of  necessity,  often  co-­‐opt  agency  goals  and  decide  for  themselves  what   constitutes  success.  Under  these  conditions,  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  are  prone  to  manage   dilemmas  and  provide  care  rather  than  solve  social  problems  and  achieve  social   engineering  goals.     In  fact,  providing  care  becomes  the  main  goal  of  public  service  and,  within  some   general  limits,  the  character  of  the  treatment  is  of  the  street-­‐level  bureaucrats’  own   choosing.  Street-­‐level  bureaucrats  tend  to  settle  for  modest  improvements  in  their  clients’   condition  and  use  moderate  and  sporadic  success  as  evidence  of  a  job  well  done  (Lipsky,   1980;  Lortie,  1975).  Thus,  the  ambitious  goals  of  reformers  that  typically  are  made   ambiguous  during  the  legislative  process  (see  Bailey  and  Mosher,  1968)  are  further  dulled   in  the  field  by  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  who  are  overwhelmed  by  client  needs  and  left   without  a  reliable  technology  to  satisfy  them.       Because  of  the  nature  of  the  work  of  individuals  in  public  service  (competing  and   unachievable  demands,  limited  resources,  uncertain  technology,  needy  and  often  unwilling   clients),  street-­‐levels  bureaucrats  are  given  a  wide  berth  in  how  they  treat  clients  and  what   constitutes  success.  Consequently,  inspection  or  correction  of  street-­‐level  bureaucrats’   work  is  rarely  easy  and  often  not  possible.  In  other  words,  the  provider-­‐client  relationship   resists  penetration  from  either  direct  supervisors  or  policymakers  who  wish  that  street-­‐ level  bureaucrats  behaved  differently,  were  more  effective  with  achieving  social   engineering  goals,  or  processed  clients  more  efficiently.  On  the  contrary,  the  street-­‐level   bureaucrats’  job  is  characterized  by  uncertainty,  independence,  and,  most  of  all,  discretion.   29   Unfortunately,  street-­‐level  bureaucrats  often  use  the  discretion  needed  to  negotiate   hierarchical  demands  and  client  care  to  further  their  own  interests  and  to  insulate   themselves  from  accountability  for  the  outcomes  of  the  very  clients  they  are  charged  with   helping.  As  should  by  now  be  expected,  this  tendency  presents  a  formidable  challenge,  as  it   is  difficult  to  discern  when  a  street-­‐level  bureaucrat  is  using  his  or  her  discretion  to  further   the  goals  of  the  organization,  improve  client  care,  or  serve  his  or  her  own  needs  at  the   expense  of  the  institution  and  the  client  alike.       Delegated  Responsibility  and  the  U.S.  System  of  Educational  Governance   Scholarly  writing  on  the  conditions  under  which  the  street-­‐level  bureaucrat  works   revealed  the  difficulties  facing  reformers  and  the  policies  they  endorsed.  The  sum  of   implementation  research  to  this  point  (to  which  Lipsky’s  work  contributes)  introduced  a   perplexing  question.  How  could  a  system  characterized  by  unprecedented  levels  of  policy   activity  at  both  the  state  and  federal  level  be  so  utterly  dependent  on  local  schools  and  the   decisions  of  practitioners  who,  with  some  restrictions,  seemed  to  do  as  they  pleased  and   whose  behavior  ultimately  shaped  what  a  policy  became?  Furthermore,  why  did  it  appear   that  massive  amounts  of  centralized  planning  had  not  led  to  more  centralized  authority  and   influence?     In  the  early-­‐1980s,  David  Cohen  began  to  unravel  this  mystery.  Cohen  (1982)   argued  that  public  responsibility  for  educational  provisions  developed  in  a  political  context   that  intentionally  frustrated  public  power.  Consequently,  the  central  sources  of  power  were   in  no  position—either  politically  or  functionally—to  make  good  on  the  new  commitments   of  policy.  Therefore,  the  federal  government  delegated  many  of  the  new  responsibilities  to   state  and  local  agencies  capable  of  handling  the  work.  This  arrangement  comprised  Cohen’s   30   major  argument  that  massive  expansion  of  public  demands  for  education  and  consequent   educational  policymaking  did  not  lead  to  a  disproportionate  amount  of  power  settling  at   the  federal  level.  Rather,  because  the  federal  and  state  governments  lacked  both  political   leverage  and  capacity,  they  delegated  to  local  institutions  (Cohen,  1982).       Heightened  policy  activity  also  encouraged  the  creation  of  subunits  throughout   layers  of  government.  A  subunit  was  charged  with  handling  the  administration  of  each  new   policy  and,  thus,  subunits  proliferated  with  most  every  new  policy  endeavor.  This  created  a   tremendous  redundancy  among  subunits  at  various  governmental  levels  and  very  little  or   no  coordination  among  programs  within  any  one  level.  The  consequence  for  local   institutions  was  profound.  Cohen  (1982)  wrote:     The  lack  of  higher  level  coordination  of  state  and  federal  policy  implies  one   condition  of  local  education:  local  schools  must  somehow  fashion  relations  and   priorities  among  the  many  policies  directed  at  them  by  other  agencies,  and  between   those  policies  and  local  practice  and  preferences.  (p.  487)   Not  only,  then,  were  local  schools  expected  to  absorb  the  ambitions  of  policy  and  construct   practices  locally  in  response,  they  also  had  to  find  a  way  to  satisfy  the  myriad  demands  of   several  policies,  none  of  which  were  designed  with  the  crowded  policy  arena  in  mind.   Delegation  became  the  ultimate  means  through  which  policy  activity  could  accelerate.   However,  delegation  left  all  the  critical  details  about  what  a  policy  would  actually  become   in  the  hands  of  local  practitioners.  Thus,  the  challenge  of  central  direction,  difficult  even   under  the  best  circumstances  (for  example,  see  Scott,  1999;  Hayek,  1945),  was  particularly   acute  in  a  federal  system  that  demanded  solutions  for  social  problems  but  forbid  the  use  of   central  public  authority  needed  to  make  much  headway.  In  sum,  delegation,  while   31   necessary  politically,  leads  to  poorly  coordinated  activities  at  higher  levels  of  organization   and  great  redundancy  of  federal,  state,  and  local  efforts.  It  also  saps  the  power  from  the   center  and  plants  it  firmly  in  the  periphery.       Delegation  also  exacts  a  price  at  the  local  level.  The  burden  of  coordinating  multiple   policies  and  addressing  multiple  social  pathologies  assigned  to  schools  is  not  easily  borne.   It  is  not  that  schools  were  overly  regulated  (at  least  at  the  time  of  Cohen’s  writing),  but  the   multitude  of  interests  and  expectations  that  accumulated  as  a  result  of  delegation   constrained  what  schools  did,  nonetheless.  Cohen  (1982)  noted,  “Reductions  in  slack  will   probably  reduce  opportunities  for  innovation.  In  a  more  dense  and  active  organizational   world,  there  is  less  room  for  teachers  and  principals  to  make  little  experiments…at  just  the   time  that  [they]  are  being  presented  with  more  problems  in  their  work”  (p.  497).       Cohen  provided  a  conceptual  explanation  for  how  the  federal  government  could   increase  the  size  and  scope  of  its  involvement  in  education  without  a  concomitant  influence   on  local  practices.  Federal  policymaking  fueled  local  power  rather  than  threatening  it,   while  simultaneously  constraining  what  schools  did.  With  this  in  mind,  two  questions   become  salient.  First,  how  can  federal  policy  be  designed  to  accommodate  the  reliance  of   federal  ambition  on  local  practices?  Second,  how  does  federal  policy  affect  the  efforts  of   local  schools  to  coordinate  various  policy  demands?       At  the  time  of  Cohen’s  writing,  Richard  Elmore  was  pursuing  the  former  question.   Elmore  suggested  that  perhaps  things  were  not  as  bleak  as  they  appeared.  In  his  view,   perhaps  providing  policymakers  an  alternative  perspective  would  help  to  set  things  right.   After  surveying  the  contemporary  implementation  literature,  Elmore  (1979-­‐80)  found  that   research  was  long  on  descriptions  of  implementation  failure  but  short  on  prescriptions  for   32   how  implementation  might  be  improved.  Elmore  suggested  that  part  of  the  problem  was   how  researchers  and  policymakers  approached  the  challenge.  The  typical  approach  was  to   forward  map  policy.  Elmore  contended  that  forward  mapping  is  based  on  the  faulty   assumption  of  central  control  and  rational  action  even  though  confidence  in  these   assumptions  had  thoroughly  eroded  during  the  first  several  years  of  implementation   research.  Elmore  (1979-­‐80)  wrote  that  forward  mapping  “begins  with  an  objective,  it   elaborates  an  increasingly  specific  set  of  steps  for  achieving  that  objective,  and  it  states  an   outcome  against  which  success  or  failure  can  be  measured”  (p.  603).       Forward  Mapping  encourages  a  regulatory  view  of  implementation  in  which  each   level  of  the  hierarchy  attempts  to  control  the  behavior  of  the  level  just  below  it  with   rewards  and  sanctions.  The  problem,  as  Elmore  (1983)  noted,  “is  that  while  we  can   demonstrate  that  greater  hierarchical  control  produces  greater  compliance,  we  cannot   assure  that  greater  compliance  produces  better  results”  (p.  346).  Elmore  agreed  with   McLaughlin’s  observation  that  policy  cannot  mandate  what  matters,  but  added  that   policymakers  continued  to  believe  that  they  could,  and  this  misunderstanding  forbade   productive  policymaking  efforts.       For  this  and  other  reasons,  Elmore  concluded  that  forward  mapping  is   fundamentally  at  odds  with  the  realities  of  policy  arenas  in  the  American  political  system.   Policymakers  are  only  tangentially  involved  in  the  important  work  that  they  attempt  to   influence  and  their  capacity  to  plan  the  specifics  of  desirable  practice  that  they  can  then   dictate  to  those  below  is  modest.    In  addition,  persevering  with  forward  mapping  has  real   costs.  First,  central  organizations  must  grow  in  size  and  complexity  in  order  to  increase   their  regulatory  capacity.  Furthermore,  intensified  regulation  may  create  hard  feelings   33   among  the  different  levels  of  the  system  when  it  cuts  across  well-­‐established  boundaries  of   responsibility.  Finally,  regulation  consumes  resources  that  could  otherwise  be  focused  on   areas  critical  to  policy  success  and  all  involved  may  focus  more  on  regulation  than   performance.  As  Elmore  (1983)  explained:     At  some  point,  the  investment  in  regulatory  machinery  becomes  greater  than  the   investment  in  service  delivery,  and,  at  that  point,  the  emphasis  shifts  from   producing  an  effect  to  maintaining  a  complex  surveillance  and  enforcement  system.   (p.  352)   In  sum,  the  overregulation  suggested  by  forward  mapping  policy  thwarts  local  expertise   and  discretion  and  orients  practitioners  to  the  letter  of  the  policy  rather  than  its  spirit.     Forward  mapping  persisted  despite  its  well-­‐recognized  theoretical  or  practical   limitations.  This  persistence  resulted  from  the  lack  of  a  viable  alternative  that  articulated   how  better  to  understand  the  realities  of  policy  implementation  or  how  a  policy  system   with  power  and  expertise  situated  on  the  periphery  could  effectively  execute  collective   public  action.  Elmore  (1979-­‐80)  felt  that  adopting  the  practice  of  backward  mapping  was   the  key  to  conceptual  and  practical  progress  in  the  policy  realm.  According  to  Elmore,   backward  mapping  “begins  not  with  a  statement  of  intent,  but  with  a  statement  of  the   specific  behavior  at  the  lowest  level  of  the  implementation  process  that  generates  the  need   for  policy”  (p.  604).  In  other  words,  when  drafting  policy,  reformers  must  identify  a  policy’s   most  critical  point—typically  that  of  service  delivery.  For  most  educational  policy,  this   would  require  considering  the  life  of  the  classroom.  As  Elmore  (1979-­‐80)  explained  it:   Having  established  a  relatively  precise  target  at  the  lowest  level  of  the  system,  the   analysis  backs  up  through  the  structure  of  implementing  agencies,  asking  at  each   34   level  two  questions:  What  is  the  ability  of  this  unit  to  affect  the  behavior  that  is  the   target  of  the  policy?  And  what  resources  does  this  unit  require  in  order  to  have  that   effect?  (p.  604)   This  passage  reveals  backward  mapping’s  main  assumption:  policymaking  in  a  federal   system  in  which  power  and  expertise  abide  at  the  lowest  organizational  and  political  level   can  be  effective  if  the  policy  intentionally  establishes  the  conditions  necessary  for  desirable   local  practitioner  behavior  and  then  carefully  considers  how  each  level  of  government  can   support  the  conditions  that  would  make  such  behavior  possible.       Whereas  forward  mapping  relies  on  the  traditional  notions  of  command  and  control,   backward  mapping  harnesses  the  delegated  discretion  of  practitioners.  Elmore  believed   that  the  latter  approach  afforded  several  distinct  advantages.  Backward  mapping  deals  with   the  policy  environment  as  it  actually  is  and  provides  clear  direction  for  policymakers  trying   to  affect  classroom  practice.  Furthermore,  backward  mapping  does  not  require  an  all-­‐ knowing  central  authority  that  dictates  how  the  periphery  is  to  behave  and  then  exhausts   valuable  resources  ensuring  that  local  behavior  aligns  with  centrally-­‐devised  plans.  On  the   contrary,  backward  mapping  allows  for  policymakers  to  enable  local  practice  without   knowing  exactly  what  these  practices  might  be.  The  whole  point  of  backward  mapping  is   that  it  is  responsive  to  the  prevailing  policy  environment  in  which  expertise  and   responsibility  both  reside  locally.  The  center,  far  removed  from  the  most  influential   activities,  cannot  dictate  the  specifics  of  practice.  However,  through  careful  consideration   about  what  the  practitioners  nearest  to  the  problem  might  need  and  how  each  level  of   government  can  support  the  efforts  of  level  below  it  (as  opposed  to  controlling  its   behavior),  policy  has  a  reasonable  chance  of  being  successful.  Elmore  (1983)  concluded:     35   The  skillful  use  of  delegated  control  is  central  to  making  implementation  work  in   bottom-­‐heavy,  loosely  coupled  systems.  When  it  becomes  necessary  to  rely  mainly   on  hierarchical  control,  regulation,  and  compliance  to  achieve  results,  the  game  is   essentially  lost.  (p.  358)   While  the  question  of  how  to  better  formulate  and  implement  policy  in  a  loosely-­‐ coupled,  widely  decentralized  system  provoked  considerable  research  activity  in  the  past   few  decades,  the  second  question  Cohen  raised  about  how  local  schools  coordinate   multiple  policies  and  craft  them  into  coherent  practice  has  received  only  passing   consideration.     A  few  exceptions  that  emerged  around  the  time  of  Cohen’s  (1982)  and  Elmore’s   (1979-­‐80;  1983)  writing  are  worthy  of  note.  One  example  is  Hill’s  (1979)  report  about   potential  interference  among  federal  policies.  Hill  detailed  his  conclusions  at  the  outset  of   the  report:   The  [federal]  programs  make  many  competing  demands  on  local  funds  and   administrative  capacity.  Every  program  requires  special  arrangements  for  planning   and  service  delivery.  No  program  provides  resources  to  support  its  integration  with   other  programs;  consequently,  school  districts  must  choose  between  letting  the   programs  operate  independently  or  using  local  resources  to  integrate  and  adjust   different  program  activities.  (p.  11)     In  the  remainder  of  the  report,  Hill  provided  the  specifics.  He  determined  that   federal  programs  can  interfere  with  one  another  in  four  ways.  First,  federal  policies   compete  for  the  attention  of  school  district  administrators.  LEAs  increased  in  size  and   responsibility  as  Cohen  (1982)  suggested  as  a  result  of  the  profusion  of  federal  policies,  but   36   this  growth  led  to  the  development  of  separate,  nearly  autonomous  departments,  where   administrators  for  various  programs  “operate  with  minimal  guidance  from  the   superintendent,  and  in  virtual  ignorance  of  one  another”  (Hill,  1979,  p.  13).   Because  many  federal  policies  target  specific  students  for  services,  Hill  concluded   that  when  any  given  student  was  targeted  by  multiple  polices,  administration  of  services   was  difficult  to  coordinate.  Hill  speculated  that  two  specific  difficulties  emerged  when   policies  overlapped  in  this  way.  First,  most  administrators  were  not  familiar  with  the   funding  structures  articulated  in  each  policy  and  thus  could  not  bring  potential  resources   to  bear.  Additionally,  the  rules  of  each  program  often  forbid  the  simultaneous  orchestration   of  services  according  with  each  policy’s  intent.     According  to  Hill,  federal  policies  also  interfere  with  one  another  when  some   programs  are  federally  funded  while  others  are  unfunded  mandates  that  nevertheless   impose  considerable  costs  on  LEAs.  In  such  cases,  LEAs  were  often  using  federal  funds  for   some  programs  to  subsidize  others.     Finally,  federal  programs  may  compete  with  one  another  for  local  funds.  As  Hill   wrote,  “many  federal  programs  are  deliberately  designed  to  affect  the  patterns  of   expenditure  of  state  and  local  funds”  (p.  20).  Most  programs  (e.g.,  Title  I  of  ESEA)  forbid   LEAs  from  diminishing  local  contributions  once  receiving  federal  money.  Other  programs   provided  matching  grants  that  allowed  the  LEA  some  flexibility  in  determining  how  much   of  its  own  resources  to  commit.  In  either  case,  federal  policies  assume  that  local  and  federal   programs  can  be  concurrently  sustained.  However,  districts  vary  in  their  capability  to   maintain  local  institutional  services  (Hill,  1979)  and,  even  when  local  circumstances  are   favorable,  federal  programs  will  compete  with  each  other  for  scarce  resources.  As  a   37   possible  consequence,  “only  one  or  two  federal  programs  can  operate  as  intended  at  the   local  level”  (Hill,  1979,  p.  22).   Hill  conceded  that  his  report  was  “based  on  fragmentary  evidence”  and,  because  it   focused  on  how  federal  programs  interacted  with  other  federal  programs,  he  could  not   speak  to  how  federal  programs  might  interfere  with  extant  LEA  practices.  Furthermore,  he   framed  his  analysis  in  terms  of  the  administrative  and  financial  burdens  federal  policy   imposed  rather  than  on  the  dilemmas  that  policies  created  for  administrators  and   practitioners.   Around  the  same  time  that  Hill  wrote  his  report,  two  other  researchers  were   investigating  how  the  construction  of  federal  policy  led  to  fragmentary  educational   programs.  Ginsburg  and  Turnbull  (1981)  argued  that  the  supplemental  intent  and   categorical  funding  structure  of  most  federal  programs  prohibited  cohesive  local  programs   that  comprehensively  addressed  students’  needs,  undermined  local  investment  and   commitment,  and  encouraged  data  collection  for  compliance  rather  than  performance.   Ginsburg  and  Turnbull  (1981)  suggested  that  coherence  would  be  achieved  if  only  the   federal  government  slackened  its  restrictions  on  categorical  funding  and  instead  required   schools  to  develop  “school-­‐wide”  programs  that  detailed  how  they  would  use   comprehensive  (that  is,  non-­‐categorical)  federal  grants.  If  nothing  else,  Ginsburg  and   Turnbull  hoped  these  plans  would  force  local  educators  to  consider  how  best  to  take   disparate  federal  programs  and  meld  them  into  a  solitary  plan  for  addressing  students’   needs.       Cohen  (1982)  and  Derthick  (1970)  also  noted  some  of  the  difficulties  inherent  in   creating  the  “school-­‐wide”  programs  that  Ginsburg  and  Turnbull  envisioned  given  the   38   categorical  funding  structure  of  disparate  programs.  Derthick  (1970),  for  example,  argued   that  federal,  state,  and  local  administrators  employed  vertical  allegiances  for  the  purpose  of   administering  a  particular  program  or  policy.  These  policy  allies  then  secured  the   prosperity  of  their  particular  program,  most  often  to  the  neglect  of  other  programs   pressing  for  recognition  and  inclusion  in  a  crowded  policy  environment.  Pursuing  this   same  line  of  inquiry,  McLaughlin  (1982)  wanted  to  understand  why  in  some  cases  Title  I   programs  were  integral  in  the  general  education  program,  while  in  others  they  remained   isolated  on  the  fringe.  She  ultimately  concluded  that  state  educational  agencies  (SEAs)   determined  integration  of  federal  programs,  specifically  whether  policy  networks  were   vertically  or  horizontally  oriented.  In  vertically-­‐oriented  networks,  administrators  were   free  to  implement  the  program  in  their  charge  without  consideration  for  its  integration.   Such  networks  “create  a  special-­‐project  mode  of  implementation  that  impedes   coordination  of  federal  funded  activities  with  regular  education  programs”  (McLaughlin,   1982,  p.  569).     Conversely,  horizontally-­‐oriented  SEAs  were  able  to  integrate  federal  policies  with   extant  practices.  McLaughlin  (1982)  argued  that  SEAs  who  worked  in  “full  partnership  in   federal  education  programs”  (p.  569)  and  which  “define  their  priorities  and  allegiances  in   terms  of  state  goals  and  objectives”  (p.  569)  rather  than  compliance  with  mandates  or   single-­‐minded  determination  to  implement  isolated  policies  were  better  situated  to   integrate  multiple  policies.  But  horizontal  organization  is  not  without  its  costs.  In  the   interest  of  integrating  policies,  no  single  policy  can  be  implemented  with  fidelity.   McLaughlin,  then,  returned  to  an  earlier  argument  that  policy  implementation  is  about   adaptation,  not  adoption.  She  would  expect  that  any  policy  would,  and  indeed  should,  be   39   altered  when  practitioners  operationalize  policy  ideas  in  their  particular  institutional   settings.  The  same  adaptation  process  is  necessary  when  combining  several  policies  into  a   single  coherent  instructional  program.     In  his  report,  Hill  (1979)  noted  that  his  analysis  was  “exploratory,  and  meant  to   initiate,  rather  than  to  conclude,  a  line  of  analysis”  (p.  4).  Yet  his,  and  the  other  related   research  about  policy  coordination  described  in  this  section,  generated  very  few   subsequent  investigations.  For  example,  Hill’s  work  is  cited  by  only  10  authors;   McLaughlin’s,  13;  Ginsburg  and  Turnbull’s,  5.  Perhaps  the  dearth  of  interest  can  be   explained  by  the  dramatic  shift  set  to  occur  in  1983  with  the  release  of  the  A  Nation  at  Risk   report.  It  is  to  this  report  and  the  policy  research  it  generated  that  we  now  turn  our   interest.     Accountability  Policy:  The  Release  of  a  Nation  at  Risk   In  the  midst  of  policy  research  that  concluded  that  policy  depended  on  local-­‐level   experience,  capability,  and  will  and  that  policy  was  therefore  a  blunt  instrument  (Green,   1983),  a  series  of  unrelated  reports  emerged  which  were  of  like  mind  on  the  state  of  affairs   in  American  education.  The  most  impactful  of  these  studies,  A  Nation  at  Risk,  caught  media   attention,  stirred  public  concern  and,  ultimately,  generated  a  climate  of  accountability  in   education  that  has  persisted  for  the  past  30  years.  In  language  typical  of  the  authors’   approach,  the  report  claimed,  “If  an  unfriendly  power  had  attempted  to  impose  on  America   the  mediocre  educational  performance  that  exists  today,  we  might  well  have  viewed  it  as   an  act  of  war”  (p.  7).  According  to  the  report,  the  nation’s  schools  were  languishing  in   mediocre  achievement,  a  malaise  that  must  be  corrected  if  the  nation  was  to  return  to   global  pre-­‐eminence.     40   The  report  went  on  to  claim  that  in  1983,  “the  average  graduate  of  our  schools  and   colleges…is  not  as  well  educated  as  the  average  graduate  of  25  or  30  years  ago,  when  a   much  smaller  proportion  of  our  population  completed  high  school”  (p.  11).  In  other  words,   watered-­‐down  academic  expectations  and  unspectacular  achievement  levels  seemed  to  be   the  price  the  nation  had  paid  for  universal  access  to  high  schools  and  nearly  universal   graduation  rates.    Many  students,  the  authors  of  the  report  argued,  were  getting  diplomas   from  high  school  but  little  else.    The  authors’  call  for  more  rigorous  content,  heightened   standards  and  expectations,  extended  school  year  and  school  day,  improved  teacher  pool,   and  better  leadership  and  fiscal  support  suggested  that  schools  could  achieve  the  report’s   lofty  goals  by  tweaking  a  few  superficial  characteristics.     The  A  Nation  at  Risk  report  helped  initiate  research  that  expanded  understanding   about  the  role  of  policy  in  improving  schools  in  two  ways.  First,  research  either  inspired  or   directly  supported  by  A  Nation  at  Risk  brought  the  dilemmas  of  classrooms,  particularly  in   the  nation’s  high  schools,  into  sharper  focus.  Researchers  in  the  1980s  described  the   American  high  school  as  both  remarkable  and  horrific,  very  good  at  accommodating   students  and  garnering  their  attendance  and  good  behavior  and  issuing  diplomas  as  a   reward,  but  frightfully  bad  at  instilling  advanced  academic  content.  For  the  most  part,  these   works  explained  classroom  realities  through  examining  the  existing  institutional  context  in   which  education  occurred.     For  example,  Cusick  (1983)  argued  that  schools  earned  their  legitimacy  in  their   commitment  to  equal  opportunity  for  everyone,  even  those  who  are  violent,  disruptive,  or   who  otherwise  would  rather  not  be  in  school.  Cusick  found  that  this  condition  created   three  phenomena.  First,  in  order  to  keep  students  in  school,  schools  expanded  their   41   curricular  offerings  and  teachers  lowered  their  academic  expectations  in  exchange  for   student  attendance  and  cooperation.  Second,  students  faced  an  expanded  curriculum  with   very  little  institutional  guidance.  Schools  were  still  reeling  from  revisionist  and  critical   theorists’  critiques  that  painted  them  as  racist,  hegemonic  institutions  (e.g.,  Illich,  1971;   Katz,  1971;  Silberman,  1970).  However,  instead  of  funneling  students  to  higher-­‐tracked   classes,    the  un-­‐tracked  school  failed  to  give  poor,  minority  students  the  help  they  needed   to  make  sense  of  the  choices  available  to  them  and  consequently  curricular  tracks  tended   to  separate  students  along  racial  and  class  lines  just  as  they  had  when  school  personnel   took  an  active  role  in  assigning  students  to  classes.  Finally,  in  an  effort  to  find  something   that  teachers  were  willing  to  teach  and  students  willing  to  learn,  the  curriculum  became   highly  idiosyncratic.  In  fact,  in  many  high  schools,  it  was  impossible  to  say  precisely  what   was  taught  and  learned.     Other  researchers  reached  similar  conclusions.  Powell,  Farrar,  and  Cohen  (1985)   argued  that  the  American  high  school  resembled  a  shopping  mall  in  that  it  “provides   variety,  something  for  everybody,  does  not  force  anybody  to  choose;  it  pushes  nobody   beyond  his  or  her  preferences.  Those  who  want  to  buy  can  do  so.  Those  who  are  not  sure   can  browse  or  bide  their  time  and  still  pass  through”  (p.  53).    The  distinguishing  features  of   the  “Shopping  Mall  High  School”,  they  said,  were  wide  curricular  offerings  that  were  both   diffuse  and  vertically  organized,  unfettered  student  choice,  and  institutional  neutrality.     Theodore  R.  Sizer,  another  researcher  who  explored  the  dilemmas  of  public  high   schools  in  the  1980s,  focused  on  the  concessions  that  educators  had  to  make  as  they  go   about  performing  their  duties.  This  so-­‐called  “Horace’s  compromise”  meant  simply  that   teachers  had  to  settle  for  approximations  of  the  job  because  organizational  constraints,   42   namely  the  overwhelming  course  load  and  student-­‐teacher  ratio,  made  performing  the  job   as  idealized  impossible.  Sizer  believed  that  if  the  organization  of  schools  were  changed,   better  schools  would  follow  suit.  In  addition  to  reporting  many  of  the  phenomena  listed   above,  Sizer  (1985)  advocated  for  schools  that  granted  necessary  discretion  to  teachers   and  students,  held  students  accountable  for  mastery  of  academic  content,  provided   appropriate  incentives,  focused  on  higher-­‐order  thinking  skills,  and  employed  a  simple  and   flexible  structure.  However,  Sizer  warned  that  “Americans  must  come  to  terms  with  the   limits  of  compulsion”  (p.  87).  He  believed  that  once  students  mastered  the  literacy,   numeracy,  and  civic  dispositions  needed  for  a  healthy  democracy,  students  should  be  free   to  leave  school  if  they  so  chose.  Sizer  wrote,  “the  state  has  no  right  whatsoever  to  compel  a   citizen  to  attend  school  once  those  minima  are  demonstrably  reached  nor  the  right  to   compel  her  or  him  to  learn  anything  else.  Encouragement,  yes.  Opportunity,  yes.  Mandate,   no”  (p.  87).  The  implication  was  clear—we  cannot  achieve  the  schools  we  want  without   much  greater  student  commitment.  Many  students  would  have  to  be  reconciled  to  the  goals   of  schooling,  and  if  they  failed  in  this,  they  would  be  jettisoned.     Michael  Sedlak  and  colleagues  also  suggested  that  bringing  academic  learning  in  line   with  educational  attainment  would  change  school  composition,  although  these  authors   were  not  nearly  so  positive  about  the  effort.  Like  other  researchers,  Sedlak  and  colleagues   (1986)  posited  that  "the  system's  ability  to  accommodate  the  aspirations  of  virtually  all   constituencies,  from  the  highly  to  the  lowly  motivated  and  engaged,  appears  to   demonstrate  a  healthy  functional  relationship  to  the  larger  society  and  to  mask  the  overall   prevalence  of  low  academic  standards"  (p.  179).  Indeed,  schools  had  low  standards  for   many  reasons,  the  most  important  of  which  was  that  low  standards  allowed  virtually  all   43   adolescents  to  remain  in  school  and  find  success  there  in  terms  of  credential  accumulation.   The  authors  cautioned  that  a  sudden  elevation  of  standards,  as  advocated  in  A  Nation  at   Risk,  would  unduly  punish  "the  disadvantaged  and  low-­‐achieving  students,  [for  whom]   many  of  the  reforms  will  have  a  detrimental  impact.  Exit  testing,  increasing  surveillance,   monitoring  behavior  and  attendance,  and  expanding  administrative  authority  over   teachers  and  the  curriculum  will  force  many  adolescents  out  of  high  school"  (p.  180).   Sedlak  and  colleagues  suggested  that  raising  standards  would  be  a  pyrrhic  victory,  and  one   that  left  poor,  minority  children  incurring  the  most  cost.  While  the  students  from  privileged   backgrounds  quickly  acclimated  to  new  expectations  and  translated  the  new  conditions  to   accelerate  their  advantage,  the  disadvantaged  would  find  the  new  requirements  more  than   they  were  willing  or  able  to  bear.     These  research  projects  detailed  a  previously  overlooked  challenge  to  policy   implementation  to  which  Lipsky  (1980)  had  alluded,  but  not  thoroughly  explored— students  were  not  pressing  for  the  types  of  educational  experiences  that  reformers  valued,   and  as  a  result,  teachers  bargained  away  high  academic  expectations  in  exchange  for   student  cooperation.  Combined  with  the  circumstances  described  previously,  lack  of   consistent  student  demand  for  innovative  practices  and  academically-­‐rigorous  experiences   inhibited  reform  attempts  and  frustrated  policy  that  was  so  designed.     Despite  its  detractors,  A  Nation  at  Risk  allowed  for  researchers  to  better  understand   the  micro-­‐level  dilemmas  of  policy  implementation  as  states  responded  to,  and  often  went   beyond  the  report’s  recommendations,  and  put  pressure  on  local  schools  to  improve   instruction.     44   California’s  effort  to  re-­‐envision  mathematics  instruction  in  the  mid-­‐1980s   generated  a  large  amount  of  research  and  provides  a  nice  example  of  the  challenges  of   trying  to  improve  classroom  instruction  through  policy.  In  order  for  classrooms  to  be   improved,  or  so  this  research  argued,  teachers  must  be  improved.  Researchers  had  known   that  local  capacity  mattered  for  some  time  (e.g.,  Berman  &  McLaughlin,  1976)  but  never   before  had  the  challenges  inherent  in  this  endeavor  been  fully  explored.  New  policies,   particularly  in  California,  provided  the  opportunity  to  study  what  happens  when  teachers   become  both  the  agent  and  subject  of  reform  (Cohen  &  Ball,  1990).  Through  a  series  of     articles,  researchers  at  Michigan  State  University  concluded  that  teachers  may  embrace   certain  reform  practices  and  ignore  others  (Ball,  1990),  bend  policy  vehicles  to  current   practices  (Wilson,  1990),  cling  to  prior  instructional  allegiances  (Jennings-­‐Wiemers,  1990),   or  mistakenly  believe  that  they  have  changed  their  practice  to  achieve  reformer  ideals   (Cohen,  1990).     This  research  suggested  that  teachers  often  misunderstood  policy  or  their  own   practice,  or  both.  Therefore,  researchers  became  interested  in  how  teachers  came  to  know   and  understand  the  policies  they  were  supposed  to  implement  and  began  investigating   teacher  “sense-­‐making,”  a  process  plagued  with  challenges  of  its  own.     Policy  Messages   Research  on  sense-­‐making  suggests  that  interpreting  policy  impulses  is  a  dynamic,   social  process  rooted  in  interactions  and  negotiations  among  peers  and  situated  in   particular  contexts  (Coburn,  2001).  Sense-­‐making  requires  teachers  to  interpret  policy   inputs,  decide  which  of  the  inputs  to  accommodate  and  which  to  ignore,  and,  ultimately,  to   translate  policy  directives  into  classroom  practice.  However,  sense-­‐making  is  conservative   45   process.  While  organizationally-­‐defined  roles  play  the  major  role  in  determining  who   teachers  talk  to  about  policy  demands  (Spillane,  Kim,  &  Frank,  2012),  teachers  often  divide   themselves  within  these  groups  and  seek  out  those  with  similar  world  views  and   instructional  practices  (Coburn,  2001).  Consequently,  teachers’  informal  yet  influential   interactions  about  policy  are  most  often  with  supportive,  like-­‐minded  peers  and  thus  these   interactions  are  unlikely  to  challenge  a  teacher’s  current  practice.  In  contrast,   conversations  with  diverse  colleagues  tend  to  focus  on  the  requirements  of  the  external   system  (Homans,  1950;  Meyer  &  Rowan,  1977)  rather  than  on  the  pressing  challenges  of   improving  teaching  and  learning  (Coburn,  2001).     Helping  teachers  make  better  sense  of  policy  is  difficult.  One  reason  is  lack  of  a   common  technical  language  through  which  policy  intent  can  be  reliably  conveyed.  When   Philip  Jackson  looked  inside  classrooms  in  1968,  he  was  critical  of  teachers’  simplistic,   atheoretical  language  that  shunned  complex  ideas  and  focused  on  the  immediate  practical   difficulties  of  classroom  life.  Michael  Huberman  (1983)  would  later  call  this  focus  on   practical  solutions  “craft  knowledge”  but  the  final  verdict  remains  the  same—different   levels  of  the  educational  establishment  have  no  way  to  meaningfully  translate  policy  ideas.   Thus,  policy  messages  become  increasingly  distorted  as  they  move  from  one  organizational   level  to  the  next  (Spillane,  2004).  This  distortion  is  instantiated  in  reformers’  efforts  to   affect  classroom  practice  via  academic  standards.  Standards  are  constructed  in  highly   specialized  contexts  not  accessible  to  practitioners.  Reform  ideas  are  cloaked  in  language   and  the  intent  of  the  standards’  writers  is  lost  in  the  hands  of  those  not  privy  to  the  original   contexts  of  standards’  formulation.  Thus,  standards  lose  their  intended  meaning  once  they   leave  the  reformers’  workshop,  and  a  lack  of  a  common  language  inhibits  the  spread  of   46   reform  ideas  (Hill,  2001).  Furthermore,  the  myriad  sources  teachers  look  to  for  help  are   equally  confused  and  thus  offer  teachers  confusing  and  contradictory  guidance  (Hill,  2001).     Problems  with  sense-­‐making  extend  beyond  the  challenges  of  language.  A   significant  part  of  the  challenge  is  cognitive.  Spillane  and  Zeuli  (1999)  described  the   process  of  enacting  reform  practices  as  one  that  “involves  much  more  than  getting  teachers   to  notice  and  read  reform  proposals.  Attention  to  policy  proposals  is  more  complex;  it   entails  constructing  new  understandings  and  grappling  with  their  meaning  for  existing   practice”  (p.  20).  For  many  teachers  this  means  changing  epistemological  understandings   (what  it  means  to  know  and  do  a  particular  subject)  as  well  as  more  traditional  teaching   behaviors.  However,  such  transformation  is  not  easily  done.  The  teachers  that  Spillane  and   Zeuli  (1999)  observed,  who  were  enthusiastic  about  instructional  reform  and  the  new   conceptions  of  teaching  it  endorsed,  were  nevertheless  rarely  able  to  enact  instruction  that   reformers  envisioned  in  either  their  discourse  with  students  or  their  observable  classroom   practices.                     This  new  line  of  research  suggested  that  the  link  between  policy  and  practice   depended  on  teachers’  preexisting  knowledge,  dispositions,  and  practices  as  much  as  it  did   on  policy  formulation,  instruments,  and  incentives,  if  not  more.  As  Spillane,  Reiser,  and   Reimer  (2002)  summarized,  “What  a  policy  means  for  implementing  agents  is  constituted   in  the  interaction  of  their  existing  cognitive  structures  (including  knowledge,  beliefs,  and   attitudes),  their  situation,  and  policy  signals”  (p.  388).  Policy  messages  are  not  simply   received  and  either  enacted  or  not,  even  when  practitioners  have  ample  opportunity  for   learning.  Practitioners  receive  policy  messages  and  frame  them  with  their  current   knowledge,  attitudes,  experiences,  practices,  and  contexts.   47     Finally,  even  if  policy  messages  can  be  translated  faithfully  and  well  understood,   teachers  may  not  be  willing  or  able  to  change  classroom  practice.  First,  since  policy  is   rarely  constructed  with  classroom  realities  in  mind  (Kennedy,  2005),  how  teachers  are  to   incorporate  the  new  policy  with  existing  demands  is  usually  overlooked.  As  Kennedy   (2005)  described  it,  teachers  must  manage  a  myriad  of  intentions  and,  as  these  intentions   will  conflict,  quite  often  must  choose  among  them.    In  other  words,  it  is  not  simply  that   teachers  do  not  know  how  the  new  policy  wants  them  to  respond  or  that  they  are   unsympathetic  to  new  policy  goals  and  thus  reluctant  to  change  their  practice.    Rather,   teachers  simply  do  not  know  how  to  manage  new  impulses  while  simultaneously  honoring   other  commitments  that  seem  equally  important  or  essential  to  the  functioning  of  the   classroom.       Second,  the  new  knowledge  that  policy  provides  may  not  be  deployed  on  the  aspects   of  classroom  life  targeted  by  reformers.  Teacher  goals  extend  beyond  the  goals  valued  by   reformers  and  these  goals  often  conflict,  forcing  teachers  to  chose  among  them.  Of  course,   then,  teachers  can  and  often  do  use  knowledge  to  improve  aspects  of  classroom  life  of  little   or  no  interest  to  reformers  (Kennedy,  2005).  Teachers  also  accumulate  knowledge   primarily  to  solve  practical  classroom  challenges  (e.g.,  maintaining  lesson  momentum,   fostering  student  good  will)  in  line  with  their  underlying  values  rather  than  seeking   information  to  enact  theoretically-­‐informed  reform  teaching  (Jackson,  1968;  Lortie,  1975;   Huberman,  1983;  Kennedy,  2005).  Finally,  teachers  are  likely  to  suspend  judgment  on  new   information  until  it  has  been  proven  to  work  in  real  classrooms,  but  this  process  of  trial-­‐ and-­‐error  often  robs  an  idea  of  its  innovative  vigor,  and  a  tempered  version  of  the  new   practice  usually  results  (Lortie,  1975;  Cuban,  1993).       48   Conclusion:  Policy  and  Practice   Research  in  the  past  several  decades  has  illuminated  the  complexities  of   implementing  instructional  reforms.  Research  has  moved  further  from  rational  choice   theory  that  views  implementation  as  a  rather  straightforward  process  of  policy  aims,  agent   preferences,  utility  maximization,  and  incentives.  This  is  not  to  say  that  these  elements  are   unimportant;  however,  the  conception  of  policy  implementation  as  a  rational  process  is   simply  not  sufficient  to  explain  the  complexities  of  implementation.    Policy  implementation   also  depends  on  consistency  of  aims  and  instruments,  opportunity  for  extensive  learning   and  grappling  with  new  ideas  and  expectations  for  practice,  all  of  which  is  filtered  through   one’s  pre-­‐existing  capabilities,  attitudes,  beliefs,  values  and  contexts.   While  much  is  known  about  the  challenges  of  policy  implementation,  we  know  little   about  how  competing  instructional  reforms  affect  schools.  The  line  of  inquiry  into  how   policies  might  conflict  and  create  dilemmas  for  schools  has  been  pursued  at  various  times   since  the  1980s.  With  federal  and  state  policy  activity  at  an  all-­‐time  high,  it  is  time  to  revisit   this  topic.                     49   CHAPTER  THREE:  Framing  the  Research   Introduction  to  Research  Framework   The  previous  chapter  situated  this  research  on  the  sensemaking  of  multiple   instructional  reforms  in  the  context  of  research  on  implementation  of  reform  spanning  the   last  50  years.    Bringing  evidence  from  data  collection  into  dialogue  with  ideas  from   previous  research  was  one  of  my  main  goals  (Ragin,  1994).  In  this  chapter,  I  provide  a   conceptual  overview  of  this  research  and  explain  how  the  different  sections  of  the   dissertation  map  onto  this  structure.  I  then  focus  on  different  levels  likely  to  impact   instructional  reform  and  detail  the  literature  at  each  of  these  levels.  Finally,  I  explain  how  I   constructed  one  particular  element  of  the  research—the  analytic  frame—which  is  the   culminating  focus  of  this  chapter.   First,  I  will  outline  the  organizational  logic  of  the  dissertation.    Specifically,  I   describe  the  interrelationship  among  the  dissertation’s  major  components  —literature   review,  analytic  framework,  data  collection,  data  analysis,  and  findings—as  organized  by   the  four  building  blocks  of  social  research:  ideas,  analytic  frames,  images,  and  data  (Ragin,   1994).  The  intentional  interaction  among  these  components  culminates  in  a  representation   of  social  life  (Becker,  2007).     During  the  course  of  the  research,  I  used  deductive  and  inductive  processes  when   appropriate.  I  used  deductive  reasoning  (the  imposition  of  pre-­‐existing  theories  about  the   social  world  onto  novel  social  situations)  to  construct  the  analytic  frame  that  informed   initial  data  collection.  Inductive  reasoning  (the  creation  of  new  ideas  or  concepts  from  the   data)  allowed  me  to  generate  hypotheses  (Spradley,  1979)  during  data  collection  and   analysis.  Ultimately,  these  hypotheses  either  became  unsupported  artifacts  that  I   50   eliminated  or  themes  around  which  the  findings  section  of  this  dissertation  is  organized.   An  overview  of  how  the  building  blocks  of  social  inquiry  (ideas,  frames,  images,  and   evidence)  are  mapped  onto  the  structure  of  the  dissertation  and  the  types  of  reasoning   involved  is  included  in  Table  3.1.    A  more  thorough  explanation  of  the  four  elements  of   social  inquiry  is  provided  in  the  following  section.     Table  3.1.  Overview  of  the  Research  Framework   Chapter  of  the   Dissertation   Section  of  the  Dissertation   Chapter  2   Review  of  Literature     Framing  the  Research     Methods:  Data  Collection   Chapter  3   Chapter  4   Chapter  4   Chapters  5-­‐8   Methods:  Data  Analysis     Findings   Component  of  Social   Research  (Ragin,  1994)     Ideas/Social  Theory   Type  of  Reasoning  Required   Analytic  frame   Mostly  Deductive   Evidence/Data   Equal  Parts  deductive  and   inductive   Mostly  Inductive   Constructing  Images— Grounded  Theory   Representation  of  social   life   Mostly  Deductive   Retroductive     In  the  second  part  of  the  chapter,  I  provide  an  overview  of  relevant  literature   organized  by  the  different  levels  likely  to  be  important  in  the  implementation  of   instructional  reform.  These  levels  include:  the  macro-­‐level  (state-­‐level  policymaking;   district  support);  meso-­‐level  (principal  leadership;  teacher  learning  communities  and   teachers’  opportunities  to  learn);  and  micro-­‐level  (classrooms).     Finally,  I  explain  how  the  literature  cited  in  the  second  section  helped  build  an   analytic  frame  to  guide  the  research.  In  this  section,  I  draw  heavily  on  the  work  of   McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  and  Barr  and  Dreeben  (1983)  to  construct  a  framework   that  sees  the  work  of  implementation  as  a  set  of  embedded  structures  that  provide  key   resources  and  serve  as  connective  links  with  one  another.         51   Conceptual  Model  of  Social  Research     This  research  is  organized  on  the  premise  that  the  main  purpose  of  social  research   consists  of  bringing  ideas  from  previous  research  into  dialog  with  evidence  from  field   research  to  create  a  representation  of  social  life  (Ragin,  1994).    This  section  provides  an   explanation  of  the  different  components  of  social  research  (Ragin,  1994)  the  make  this   interaction  intentional.  The  correspondence  between  the  components  of  social  research   and  the  sections  of  the  dissertation  is  included  above  in  Table  1.     Ideas   Ideas  are  research-­‐generated  knowledge  about  how  the  social  world  works.   Researchers  come  to  new  research  with  varying  levels  of  dependence  on  existing  ideas,  or   social  theory,  but,  as  Miles  and  Huberman  (1994)  pointed  out,  “any  researcher,  no  matter   how  unstructured  or  inductive,  comes  to  fieldwork  with  some  orienting  ideas”  (p.  17).  I   began  this  research  with  strong  theoretical  interests  and  these  ideas  shaped  the  questions   that  I  asked  and  helped  me  focus  data  collection.  The  research-­‐generated  ideas  that  framed   this  research  are  synthesized  in  the  forthcoming  analytic  framework.   Analytic  Frames   An  analytic  frame  can  best  be  understood  as  the  expression  of  the  social  theory  one   has  selected  to  use  to  shape  the  inquiry.  Thus,  ideas  and  the  analytic  frame  that  derives   from  them  are  closely  linked.  An  analytic  frame  “defines  a  category  of  phenomena…and   provides  conceptual  tools  for  differentiating  phenomena”  (Ragin,  1994,  p.  61).  In  other   words,  the  analytic  frame  expresses  theoretical  ideas  about  how  the  social  world  under   study  works  and  details  in  simplified  yet  useful  terms  how  the  relevant  concepts  within  the   frame  work  individually  and  together.       52   The  process  of  moving  from  ideas  to  analytic  frames  is  primarily  deductive.  The  role   of  the  analytic  frame  and  its  importance  in  the  research  will  vary  by  purpose.  In  this  case,   carefully  constructing  an  analytic  frame  provided  three  advantages.  First,  the  analytic   frame  gave  purpose  to  early  data  collection  specifically  helping  me  organize  a  preliminary   data  collection  plan  and  develop  instruments.  The  analytic  frame  also  ensured  that  I   entered  an  ongoing  stream  of  scholarly  inquiry.  Finally,  the  analytic  frame  provided  a   necessary  contrast  between  the  ideas  of  theory  and  the  reality  of  the  evidence  I  collected.   To  this  point,  Ragin  (1994)  wrote,  “It  is  easy  to  miss  what  is  absent  without  some  sort  of   analytic  frame  to  guide  the  analysis.  Without  this  guidance,  the  tendency  is  to  focus  only  on   what  is  present”  (p.  65).  The  specifics  of  the  analytic  frame  are  outlined  later  in  this  chapter   and  the  impact  of  the  analytic  frame  on  initial  data  collection  is  discussed  in  Chapter  4  on   methods.   Evidence   Evidence  is  simply  the  data  I  collected  to  answer  my  research  questions.  As  noted,   initial  data  collection  was  strongly  influenced  by  previous  research  and  my  analytic  frame.   Gradually,  collection  became  far  more  inductive,  as  emerging  themes  informed  further   interviews  and  observations.  However,  my  strong  theoretical  interests  and  the  initial   influence  of  the  analytic  frame  persisted  throughout  the  data  collection  phase.  A  full   description  of  the  data  collection  plan  and  execution  is  included  in  the  next  chapter.       Images/Grounded  Theory   53   Images  are  the  themes  that  emerge  from  the  data  through  the  process  of  inductive   data  analysis.  Typically,  researchers  use  images  to  describe  the  themes  that  emerge  from   the  data  and  how  these  themes  are  interrelated.  Thus,  images  are  “idealizations  of  real   cases….abstractions  that  have  grounding  in  a  body  of  evidence,”(Ragin,  1994,  p.  70).     Abstracting  themes  allowed  me  to  consider  images  in  terms  of  the  analytic  frame  that   began  the  research.  In  sum,  I  used  images  to  elaborate  or  challenge  the  analytic  frames   (Ragin,  1994).   Representations  of  Social  Life   Ragin  (1994)  argued  that  the  purpose  of  social  research  is  to  bring  ideas  as   articulated  through  analytic  frames  and  evidence  as  understood  through  images  into  a   mutually  challenging  and  refining  dialogue.  This  mutually  refining  dialogue  is  often  called   retroduction  (e.g.,  Ragin,  1994).  Retroduction  culminates  in  a  representation  of  “something   that  someone  tells  us  about  some  aspect  of  social  life  (Becker,  2007,  p.  5)…a  report  about   society…an  artifact  consisting  of  statements  of  fact,  based  on  evidence  acceptable  to  some   audience,  and  interpretations  of  those  facts  similarly  acceptable  to  some  audience”  (Becker,   2007,  p.  14).  Representations  of  society  come  in  many  forms  (e.g.,  documentary  films,   newspaper  articles,  visual  art),  but  social  science  is  unique  in  that  social  scientists  expect   valid  representations  to  address  socially  relevant  phenomena,  engage  pre-­‐existing  theory,   incorporate  deliberately  and  carefully  collected  evidence,  and  to  depend  on  systematic   analysis  and  synthesis  of  this  evidence  (Ragin,  1994).    A  simplified  model  of  the  process  of   social  research  (borrowed  from  Ragin,  1994)  is  included  in  Figure  1.  In  each  of  the  chapters   that  follow,  I  address  the  relevant  components  of  the  model  with  the  specific  details  of  this   research  project.     54   Figure  3.1.  A  Simple  Model  of  Social  Research  (Ragin,  1994)               IDEAS/SOCIAL  THEORY              Mostly  deductive                 ANALYTIC  FRAME            V               RE      REPRESENTATIONS                       • OF                                                              Retroduction                            SOCIAL  LIFE   D                   GROUNDED  THEORY         Mostly  inductive       EVIDENCE/DATA             Research  Supporting  the  Analytic  Frame   With  the  overall  structure  of  the  research  in  mind,  the  rest  of  this  chapter  is   dedicated  to  justifying  and  then  describing  the  analytic  frame  that  helped  guide  this   dissertation.  Ultimately,  this  frame  includes  five  key  contextual  influences  on  teachers’     instructional  practice  along  three  levels  of  the  educational  system:  the  macro-­‐level  (state   policy,  district),  the  meso-­‐level  (principals,  teacher  teams)  and  the  micro-­‐level   (classrooms).   Most  policy  research  is  concerned  with  the  macro-­‐micro  connection,  how  policy   55   affects  the  micro  contexts  of  the  classroom,  or,  rather,  how  policy  all  too  often  fails  to   effectively  influence  how  teachers  and  students  interact  around  content.  Cohen  and  Hill   (2001)  noted  that  “When  researchers  have  tried  to  explain  problems  of  implementation,   they  have  typically  pointed  to  complex  causal  links  between  state  or  federal  agencies  on   the  one  hand  and  street-­‐level  implementers  on  the  other”  (p.  6).  My  study  shared  the  goal   of  understanding  the  macro-­‐micro  relationship  between  policy  and  practice,  but  focused   primarily  on  meso-­‐level  structures  that  mediated  reforms  as  their  messages  neared  the   classroom.  After  a  brief  treatment  of  state-­‐level  formation  and  district-­‐level  mediation  of   instructional  reform,  I  turn  immediately  to  research  on  how  classroom  life  affects  reform.  I   then  work  from  the  classroom  out  to  the  mediating  structures  (principal  instructional   leadership,  teacher  learning  communities)  upon  which  the  findings  of  this  research  are   focused.   Macro  Level:  State  Policy   Early  research  on  the  effects  of  public  policy  was  decidedly  pessimistic.  Researchers   concluded  that  federal  and  state  agencies  lacked  the  inclination  or  the  political  power  to   provide  active  guidance  to  local  schools  (Murphy,  1971),  practitioners  bent  policy   instruments  to  their  own  purposes  and  thus  defined  policy  in  practice  (Lipsky,  1980;   Weatherly  &  Lipsky,  1977),  highly  variant  local  response  dominated  outcomes  (Berman  &   McLaughlin,  1978),  and,  in  sum,  policy  depended  on  the  skill,  will,  and  inclination  of  local   practitioners.  In  other  words,  policy  could  not  mandate  what  mattered  (McLaughlin,  1991).     This  wave  of  research  led  one  to  the  conclusion  that  policy  was  indeed  an  ineffective   instrument  and  that  excellence  was  achieved  exclusively  at  the  local  level  (e.g.,  Green,   1983).  Amidst  the  growing  despair  about  the  potential  of  policy  to  affect  what  matters   56   most,  Cohen  and  Hill  (2001)  contended  that  policy,  done  properly,  could  positively   influence  teacher  practice.  These  authors  argued  that  policy  could  work,  provided  that   “teachers  had  significant  opportunities  to  learn  how  to  improve….teaching…We  found  that   where  teachers  had  opportunities  to  learn  about  student  materials  or  assessments,   students  posted  higher  scores  [on  standardized  achievement  tests]”  (pp.  2,  4).  Cohen,  in   particular,  was  following  through  on  a  line  of  research  he  and  others  had  begun  over  a   decade  earlier.  In  the  mid-­‐1980s,  California  became  one  of  the  few  states  that  went  beyond   the  recommendations  of  the  A  Nation  at  Risk  report.  The  state  developed  several  new   frameworks  for  its  core  academic  disciplines  that  had  plans  for  changing  teacher  practice.   For  example,  the  state’s  mathematics  framework  sought  to  reshape  mathematics  teaching   and  learning  from  traditional  instruction  focused  on  procedural  correctness  to  instruction   that  encouraged  complex  conceptual  understanding  through  presentation  of  concrete   mathematical  problems,  physical  manipulation  of  math  tools  designed  to  aid  learning,  and   student  interaction  about  their  math  reasoning  and  experiences.     Researchers  followed  the  developments  in  California  with  great  interest  and,   ultimately,  generated  a  prodigious  amount  of  research  about  the  promises  and  perils  of   policy.  In  one  of  the  final  research  endeavors,  Cohen  and  Hill  (2001)  highlighted  the   circumstances  under  which  policy  could  be  effective.  They  were,  however,  quick  to  note   that  despite  potential  for  policy  to  influence  teacher  instructional  practice  as  intended,  the   effects  of  policy  were  uneven  and  teachers  who  changed  their  practice  in  response  to  the   policy  were  in  the  minority.     Cohen  and  Hill  focused  on  the  minority  of  teachers  who  reported  reform-­‐based   practices  and  then  probed  the  conditions  that  seemed  to  support  this  teaching.  From   57   previous  research  (e.g.,  Cohen,  1990),  Cohen  noted  that  teachers  were  both  the  agents  and   objects  of  reform.  Therefore,  ambitious  policy  that  sought  to  influence  teacher  practice   needed  to  provide  ample  opportunity  for  teachers  to  learn  about  such  teaching  in  the   context  of  authentic  student  work.  Coherence  among  policy  instruments  (e.g.  reform   documents,  textbooks,  aligned  assessments)  mattered  a  great  deal,  but  the  most  powerful   resource  that  policies  could  provide,  Cohen  and  Hill  argued,  was  sustained  opportunity  for   teacher  learning.  In  fact,  when  it  came  to  reforming  instructional  practices,  teachers’   opportunity  to  learn  mattered  more  than  principal  leadership,  collegial  influence,  or  the   character  of  the  policy  itself.  Cohen  and  Hill  (2001)  concluded,  “Professional  learning   formed  the  crucial  connective  tissue  between  the  elements  of  California’s  instructional   policy”  (p.  179).   Despite  these  auspicious  findings,  Cohen  and  Hill  lamented  that  “most  teachers  in   California  adopted  only  a  few  fragments  of  elements  of  the  state  reforms,  adding  nothing   that  would  disturb  their  solidly  conventional  practice”  (p.  154).  The  policy’s  fractured   impact  had  several  contributing  sources.  First,  traditions  of  decentralized  governance  and   local  discretion  in  the  provision  of  education  weakened  the  state’s  ability  to  create  greater   coherence  and  uniformity.  Under  this  traditional  arrangement,  teachers  had  considerable   autonomy  and  they  used  this  discretion  to  select  professional  development  experiences   from  a  panoply  of  options,  most  of  which  did  not  align  with  the  state’s  vision  for   mathematics  instruction.  Thus,  professional  development  providers  had  incentive  to   respond  to  teacher  interests  rather  than  state  interests  (Cohen  &  Hill,  2001).  Consequently,   only  those  teachers  who  intentionally  sought  out  professional  development  that  aligned   with  the  state  frameworks  received  the  kind  of  professional  learning  opportunities  capable   58   of  enabling  reform  practices.   In  sum,  Cohen  and  Hill  argued  that  ambitious  educational  reform  could  work  if  it   provided  coherence  among  policy  instruments  and  sustained  opportunity  for  teacher   learning  about  the  policy  and  its  implications  for  their  instruction.  However,  because  of  the   decentralized  nature  of  educational  authority,  weak  incentive  structure  for  universal   participation  in  state-­‐endorsed  professional  development  opportunities,  and  difficulty  of   policy  to  learn  from  its  mistakes  and  respond  accordingly,  the  ability  for  policy  to  affect   universal  change  in  teacher  practice  was  considerably  limited.   Macro  Level:  Districts   School  districts  are  often  overlooked  in  educational  reform.  However,  some   research  helps  illuminate  the  potential  for  districts  to  provide  apt  instructional  leadership   and  clarifies  how  districts  factor  into  policy  formation  and  implementation.  In  this  section,  I   consider  two  papers  that  bring  the  district  role  in  the  policy  process  into  sharper  focus.     The  first  article  describes  the  behavior  of  the  modal  school  district  in  the  early   1980s.  Conducting  research  before  the  release  of  A  Nation  at  Risk,  Floden  et  al.  (1988)   concluded  that  “districts  do  not  leave  teachers  to  their  own  devices,  but  neither  do  they   make  systematic  use  of  the  tools  available  to  adopt  patterns  of  content  decision  making”  (p.   98).  This  conclusion  left  Floden  and  his  colleagues  at  odds  with  the  conceptual  dichotomy   between  autonomy  and  control  typically  used  to  explain  a  district’s  treatment  of  its   teaching  force.    Districts  relied  neither  on  traditions  of  autonomy  (infusing  teachers  with   the  capacity  to  make  informed  professional  decisions  and  then  providing  teachers   considerable  discretion)  nor  did  they  rely  on  control  (using  organizational  power  to   reward  and  sanction)  that  tightly  circumscribed  teacher  behavior  and  oriented  them  to   59   central  directives.       Floden  et  al.  (1988)  proposed  a  framework  for  understanding  district  instructional   leadership  that  included  four  domains:  consistency  of  policies;  prescriptiveness  about  what   should  be  taught;  authority,  the  appeal  to  law,  rule,  or  legitimacy;  and  power,  the  use  of   organizational  rewards  and  sanctions.     The  results  regarding  the  consistency  among  districts’  mathematics  policy  were   mixed.  Districts  did  not  typically  have  a  well-­‐articulated,  coherent  policy  agenda  that  would   guide  teachers’  work,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  teachers  did  not  perceive  that  the  districts’   piece  meal  policy  created  conflicts  in  practices.  Apparently,  in  the  face  of  uncertainty  from   the  district  teachers  crafted  their  own  coherence.     Lack  of  coordination  among  policies  made  district  prescriptions  about  what  should   be  taught  more  difficult.  Roughly  half  the  districts  did  not  indicate  which  sections  of  the   textbook  should  be  covered  and  which  of  these  covered  concepts  should  receive  particular   attention.     Furthermore,  districts  were  also  reluctant  to  rely  on  organizational  power  to  control   teachers’  work.  Only  a  small  fraction  of  teachers  surveyed  believed  that  rewards  or   sanctions  were  imminent  for  those  who  complied  with  or  resisted  district  directives,   respectively.     Floden  et  al.  found  that  districts  were  far  more  likely  to  appeal  to  authority  (i.e.,   legitimacy)  than  they  were  to  use  organizational  power.  Most  teachers  felt  that  their   districts  used  a  variety  of  methods  (e.g.,  appeal  to  law,  consistency  with  social  norms,   agreement  with  expert  knowledge,  support  from  charismatic  individuals)  to  secure  their   voluntary  commitment.  Still,  since  rewards  and  sanctions  were  not  forthcoming  for   60   teachers  who  deviated  from  the  district  plan  (even  when  these  plans  were  ill-­‐formed),   many  teachers  felt  no  compulsion  to  do  as  the  district  wished.     In  sum,  Floden  et  al.  (1988)  concluded,  “many  districts  take  some  steps  to  gain   teachers’  support  for  their  policies  but…much  more  could  be  done  both  to  add  additional   authority  to  individual  policies  and  to  coordinate  policies  so  that  they  combine  to  provide  a   clear  and  authoritative  message  about  the  content  decisions  teachers  should  make”  (p.   119).       As  noted,  Floden  and  colleagues  conducted  their  survey  research  before  1983,  and,   if  Cohen  (1982)  was  correct  in  his  conclusion  that  increased  policy  activity  at  the  state  level   create  opportunity  for  increased  activity  along  the  different  educational  levels,  the  modal   district  should  have  taken  a  more  active  role  in  the  affairs  of  local  schools  following  the   release  of  A  Nation  at  Risk.     Spillane  (1996)  determined  that  this  was  indeed  the  case,  at  least  in  the  two   districts  he  studied.  He  conducted  case-­‐study  research  in  two  Michigan  districts  and   detailed  their  response  to  state  reading  policy  in  the  late-­‐1980s  and  early-­‐1990s.  He   discovered  that  how  state  policy  was  received  at  the  district  level  was  important  to   understanding  policy  effects  in  schools  and  classrooms.     Part  of  the  ambiguity  surrounding  the  role  of  local  school  districts  in  the  policy   process  concerns  their  uncertain  role  and  responsibilities.  Spillane  (1996)  found  that   district  administrators  saw  themselves  as  policymakers,  not  policy  implementers.  Districts   shaped  policy  rather  than  transmitted  it.  Furthermore,  pre-­‐existing  loyalties  and   commitments  determined  the  district’s  response.  In  the  first  district,  Parkwood,  a  core   group  of  administrators  used  the  state  policy  to  further  their  agenda  for  more  literature-­‐ 61   based  reading  instruction.  To  this  end,  district  administrators  orchestrated  opportunities   for  teachers  to  learn,  revised  curriculum  guides,  and  purchased  instructional  material  not   directly  endorsed  by  the  state.  In  other  words,  administrators  in  Parkwood  shaped  state   policy  and,  in  effect,  amplified  its  message.     In  the  second  district,  Hamilton,  rather  than  amplifying  the  state’s  intended   instructional  reform,  district  administrators  buffered  local  schools  from  the  state’s  new   vision  of  reading  instruction.  Hamilton  administrators  actually  intensified  their  existing   policies  favoring  phonics-­‐based  instruction  and  basal  reading  through  the  use  of  exams   that  tested  traditional,  basic  reading  skills.  Furthermore,  Hamilton  renewed  its   commitment  to  the  previously  adopted  textbook  series  and  initiated  an  elaborate  teacher   monitoring  system  that  required  basic  reading  instructional  practices.     Spillane  (1996)  offers  additional  context  to  Cohen  and  Hill’s  (2001)  conclusion  that   policy  success  depends  on  teacher  learning—namely  that  teacher  learning  depends,  at  least   in  part,  on  the  policy’s  reception  at  the  district  office.  Consequently,  teachers  received  more   guidance  because  of  district  involvement,  and  the  guidance  they  received  was  not  always   consistent  with  state  priorities.  State  policy,  then,  has  the  potential  to  create  great  variation   in  practice  as  it  is  shaped  by  district  officials  to  whom  local  practitioners  are  most   accountable.   Micro  Level:  Teachers  and  Classrooms   In  many  ways,  Cohen  and  Hill’s  (2001)  conclusions  about  mathematics  reform  in   California  re-­‐enforced  a  finding  from  the  previous  generation  of  implementation   research—policy  cannot  mandate  what  matters  and  is  therefore  at  the  mercy  of  local  will   and  competence  (Berman  &  McLaughlin,  1974;  McLaughlin,  1991).  Many  of  those  willing  to   62   engage  in  reform-­‐oriented  professional  development  were  able  to  change  their  practice,   but  these  teachers  remained  in  the  minority.  Most  teachers  clung  to  their  conventional   practice.     Sociological  work  about  the  conservatism  that  dominated  classroom  affairs  was  by   this  time  well-­‐developed,  though  it  did  not  explicitly  address  how  policy  can  conflict  with   the  demands  of  classroom  life.  These  researchers  concluded  that  teachers  practice  under   considerable  conservative  forces  including  the  characteristics  and  experiences  of  the   typical  teacher,  a  lengthy  exposure  to  conservative  instruction,  teacher  dependence  on   psychic  rewards,  and  the  dilemmas  of  teaching  (Jackson,  1968;  Lortie,  1975).   Lortie  (1975)  noted  that  most  teachers  enter  the  profession  with  positive   sentiments  toward  the  existing  state  of  teaching  practice  and  that  these  sentiments  are  not   easily  swayed.  Most  teachers  had  positive  school  experiences  as  students  and  therefore   counter-­‐identifiers  (those  who  enter  the  profession  with  the  intent  to  deviate  drastically   from  traditional  practice)  are  rare.     The  extensive  exposure  that  teachers  have  to  traditional  instruction  is  another   driving  force  behind  the  inertia  of  conservatism.  This  period,  which  Lortie  (1975)  termed   the  Apprenticeship  of  Observation,  is  particularly  influential  in  regard  to  the  beliefs  and   behavior  of  aspiring  teachers  and  confounds  attempts  at  reform  teaching  in  many  ways.   First,  the  Apprentice  of  Observation  offers  students  a  simplistic  view  of  teaching  that  denies   students  access  to  the  complexities  of  teacher  thought.    As  Lortie  wrote,  “Students  do  not   receive  invitations  to  watch  the  teacher’s  performance  from  the  wings;  they  are  not  privy   to  the  teacher’s  private  intentions  and  personal  reflections  on  classroom  events”  (p.  62).     The  version  of  teaching  that  develops  in  the  minds  of  future  teachers  is  therefore  one  that   63   is  traditional,  simplistic,  and  easily  mastered.  The  Apprenticeship  of  Observation  also   provides  exposure  to  only  certain  types  of  teaching.  Teacher  candidates  are  unlikely  to   have  much  exposure  to  the  reform  teaching  admired  by  progressive  reformers.  In  fact,  the   Apprenticeship  of  Observation  offers  overwhelming  exposure  to  pedagogy  that  is   traditional,  conservative,  and  primarily  concerned  with  transmission  of  information   (Cuban,  1993).     Finally,  the  Apprenticeship  of  Observation  undermines  efforts  to  promote  reform   teaching  because  this  apprenticeship,  which  highlights  teaching’s  simplistic  and  traditional   nature,  has  particularly  powerful  effects  on  the  minds  and  behaviors  of  future  teachers.    In   her  research  on  the  complexities  of  teacher  life,  Kennedy  (2005)  contended  that  teacher   practice  is  largely  determined  by  the  experiences  that  current  teachers  had  while  students.     She  argued,  “Underlying  teachers’  accumulated  principles  of  practice  is  a  set  of  standing   beliefs  and  values  that  they  may  have  held  since  childhood,  or  at  least  have  held  for  many   years”  (Kennedy,  p.  35).  Furthermore,  teachers  do  not  contrast  their  simplistic  view  of   teaching  that  they  accumulate  during  the  Apprenticeship  of  Observation  against  more   sophisticated  conceptions  they  develop  years  later  as  practitioners  (Lortie,  1975).     Lortie  (1975)  and  Kennedy  (2005)  help  explain  why  teaching  is  so  difficult  to   change.  When  compared  against  the  overwhelming  socialization  during  the  Apprenticeship   of  Observation,  policy  outlining  the  merits  of  reform  teaching  is  unlikely  to  be  sufficient.   The  Apprenticeship  of  Observation  is  a  self-­‐perpetuating  mechanism  of  conservatism  that   cannot  be  overcome  by  a  handful  of  courses  or  field  experiences  designed  to  reorient   candidates  to  reform  ideology.  This  is  particularly  true  since  the  typical  teacher  candidate,   through  exposure,  experience  or  ideological  orientation,  is  not  predisposed  to  provide  the   64   type  of  teaching  to  future  students  that  reformers  value.  In  sum,  then,  the  Apprenticeship  of   Observation  shapes  teachers’  dispositions  and  conceptions  of  teaching  and  then  sets   teachers  on  a  career  path  in  which  they  accumulate  teaching  strategies  and  tools  consistent   with  their  beliefs  (Kennedy,  2005).       The  rewards  of  teaching  also  invite  conservatism.    Lortie  (1975)  referred  to  the   rewards  that  teachers  value  as  psychic  rewards,  those  rewards  that  they  experience  when   positive  things  happen  in  the  classroom.  Unlike  many  professionals,  teachers  cannot  rely   on  extrinsic  (e.g.,  higher  pay  for  exemplary  service)  or  ancillary  rewards  (e.g.,  working   conditions  or  fringe  benefits),  but  rather  must  depend  on  intrinsic,  or  psychic,  rewards  in   which  they  devise  their  own  criterion  for  quality  job  performance.    This  criterion  almost   always  concerns  student  performance  as  teachers  set  goals  of  what  they  expect  students  to   know  and  be  able  to  do.  Teachers  then  feel  good  about  themselves  and  their  students  when   students  successfully  meet  or  exceed  these  expectations.    Teachers  begin  to  rely  on  this   cycle  of  goal  setting  and  attainment,  and  this  reliance  is  inevitably  complicated  by  Cohen’s   observation  that  any  effort  to  improve  the  human  condition  is  rife  with  uncertainty  (Cohen,   1988).  In  order  to  accommodate  uncertainty  and  ensure  success,  teachers  lower  their   academic  expectations  and  often  employ  the  most  traditional  instructional  methods  to   achieve  results  (Lortie,  1975;  Cohen,  1988).        The  final  factor  of  conservatism  can  best  be  described  as  the  dilemmas  of  teaching.     As  Kennedy  argued,  teachers  have  intentions  for  their  classrooms  and  their  students  that   are  invariably  much  broader  than  the  intentions  that  reformers  envision  (Kennedy,  2005).   It  should  come  as  no  surprise  that  these  multiple  intentions  can  be  incompatible  and   contradictory.  Thus,  teacher  life  is  rife  with  dilemmas  that  surround  the  pursuit  of  often   65   mutually  exclusive  intentions.    For  example,  teachers  may  prize  deep  student  learning  on   the  one  hand  while  also  valuing  lesson  efficiency  on  the  other.  Upon  extensive  classroom   observation,  Kennedy  (2005)  concluded  that  while  teachers  value  student  engagement  in   intellectually  demanding  activities,  lessons  so  constructed  require  teachers  to  relinquish   control  and  deal  with  unwanted  uncertainty.  Consequently,  teachers  are  apt  to  pursue   student  engagement  and  progressive  techniques  only  so  long  as  doing  so  does  not  interfere   with  lesson  momentum  and  efficiency.       The  four  factors  that  encourage  conservatism  described  here  are  hardly  exhaustive.   Indeed,  teacher  candidate  characteristics,  the  Apprenticeship  of  Observation,  dependence  on   psychic  rewards,  and  dilemmas  of  teaching  are  only  a  few  of  many  phenomena  that  drive   teachings’  conservative  tendencies,  but  they  do  help  explain  why  the  nature  of  teachers  and   teaching  so  often  frustrate  the  designs  of  reformers  trying  to  improve  classroom   instruction.     At  first  glance,  Cohen  and  Hill’s  (2001)  account  seems  irreconcilable  with  Lortie   (1975)  and  Kennedy  (2005).  However,  it  is  important  to  remember  that  Cohen  and  Hill   (2001)  argued  that  ambitious  policy  could  be  effective  only  when  teachers  were  provided   extensive  opportunity  to  learn  how  to  improve  their  practice,  which  they  seldom  were.   More  typically,  fragmented  governance  and  traditional  arrangement  limited  coherent,   consistent  opportunities  for  all  teachers  to  learn.  Additionally,  policymakers  had  no   compulsory  or  incentive  structure  in  place  to  promote  needed  learning  experiences,  much   less  ensure  them.  Ostensibly,  then,  most  teachers  were  able  to  persist  in  the  isolated,   autonomous  practice  to  which  they  had  become  accustomed  even  in  the  midst  of  a   promising  and  ambitious  policy.   66   Meso  Level:  Teacher  Learning  Communities  and  Teacher  Learning   A  contemporary  group  of  researchers  embraced  Lortie’s  characterization  of   teaching  and  the  work  of  teachers  as  isolated,  uncertain,  and  idiosyncratic,  but  rather  than   focusing  on  the  experiences  of  teachers,  these  researchers  adopted  an  organizational   perspective  to  explain  the  status  of  American  public  schools.     Primarily,  these  “institutionalist”  researchers  wanted  to  track  the  relationship   between  the  institutional  environment  and  the  organizational  structures  of  schools.   Institutionalists  typically  argued  that  environmental  pressures  bifurcate  school   organization  into  formal  and  informal  structures  (Meyer  &  Rowan,  1977;  Weick,  1976).  In   the  face  of  multiple,  competing  demands  and  an  uncertain  technology  through  which   results  can  be  achieved,  schools  become  “loosely  coupled”  organizations  where  the   functions  and  activities  at  one  level  of  the  education  system  are  only  weakly  affected  by   activity  at  other  levels.  The  formal  structure  of  schooling  embodies  environmental  values   and  expectations  and  satisfies  the  environment’s  “socially  constructed”  expectations  for   performance  (Meyer  &  Rowan,  1977,  p.  349),  while  the  informal  structure—comprised  of   the  actual  work  of  the  organization—manages  the  dilemmas  inherent  in  environmental   expectations  free  from  external  scrutiny.  Thus,  the  informal  system  is  buffered  from   environmental  or  formal  system  influence  (Meyer  &  Rowan,  1977;  Weick,  1976).     In  the  world  that  institutionalists  depicted,  instructional  reform  would  be   exceptionally  difficult.  Loose-­‐coupling,  which  provides  organizational  stability  for  the   uncertain  and  dilemma-­‐riddled  work  of  teaching,  also  prevents  the  formal  system  from   guiding  collective  action  toward  communal  goals.  However,  new  research  emerging  in  the   early-­‐2000s  argued  that,  while  schools  were  firmly  rooted  in  institutional  environments  to   67   which  they  were  beholden,  local  practitioner  interactions  in  the  informal  “organic”  system   allowed  for  local  adaptation,  problem  solving,  and  collective  effort  (Bidwell,  2001).   Bidwell  believed  that  researchers  must  account  for  informal  structures  when   considering  school  production.  He  wrote,  “[Researchers]  must  consider  the  problem-­‐ solving  capacities  of  faculty  networks,  the  ways  in  which  these  networks  sustain  and   enforce  local  norms  and  standards  of  teaching  practice,  and  the  consequences  of  these   network  specific  processes  for  the  ways  in  which  instruction  is  conducted”  (p.  110).   While  Bidwell  expected  “collegially  focal  subgroups  to  be  strongly  bounded  and  for   their  local  cultures  of  practice  to  resist  change”  (p.  112),  he  did  allow  for  the  possibility  that   schools  with  influential  “boundary  spanning”  teachers  could  innovate  and  successfully   enact  reform.  In  any  event,  he  challenged  the  notion  that  teachers  were  strictly   independent,  isolated  practitioners.  Rather,  they  were  affected,  at  least  to  some  degree,  by   the  internal  functioning  of  the  informal  group.     Other  work  in  the  same  year  examined  the  qualities  of  faculty  networks  and  their   role  in  instructional  reform.  Conducting  research  in  secondary  schools,  McLaughlin  and   Talbert  (2001)  argued  that  teacher  teams  created  key  contexts  for  teachers’  work  and   could  potentially  influence  how  teachers  responded  to  shifting  student  demographics.     In  most  cases,  teachers  continued  to  teach  as  they  always  had,  and  then  blamed   students  for  their  failure  to  learn  course  material.  Other  teachers  lowered  their  standards   in  response  to  their  new  student  clientele.  Only  a  small  minority  of  teachers  innovated.   These  teachers  held  firm  on  traditional  expectations  for  academic  proficiency  but  changed   their  practice,  engaging  students  in  course  content  and  building  on  students’  strengths  and   interests.     68   The  bulk  of  McLaughlin  and  Talbert’s  work  focused  on  explaining  why,  in  the  face  of   greater  student  diversity  and  academic  need,  some  teachers  clung  to  past  practice,  or   lowered  their  expectations  while  others  innovated.  Ultimately,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert   argued  that  teachers’  behavior  stems  from  their  beliefs  about  students  and  that  these   beliefs  are  shaped  in  their  professional  communities.  The  variation  in  these  communities   helps  explain  teachers’  different  responses  to  diverse  students.   In  accord  with  Lortie’s  (1975)  contention,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  determined  that   many  teachers  were  isolated,  private,  and  unaffected  by  colleagues.  In  these  circumstances,   teachers  were  highly  unlikely  to  adopt  new  practices  designed  to  suit  diverse  students.   Typically,  teachers  in  this  environment  adhered  to  prior  conceptions  of  practice.   Innovation  in  this  context  required  herculean  individual  teacher  effort.     Other  school  climates  imposed  strong  communal  norms  on  teacher  behavior.   However,  these  strong  teacher  communities  were  typically  conservative  rather  than   innovative.  Traditional  communities  established  norms  of  teacher-­‐centered  practice  and   student-­‐centered  difficulties.  In  contrast,  teacher  learning  communities  used  frequent   collegial  collaboration  to  springboard  innovative  changes  to  their  practice.  Both  traditional   community  and  teacher  learning  communities  assume  a  collective  stance  in  defining  beliefs   about  content,  students,  and  instruction.  They  differ  primarily  in  where  the  teams  placed   the  locus  of  control  for  student  success.  In  traditional  communities  (like  weak   communities),  teachers  placed  the  burden  of  success  and  failure  squarely  on  students.  In   contrast,  in  strong  professional  communities  teachers  assumed  the  responsibility  for   ensuring  student  success  with  rigorous  academic  content.  Thus,  strong  learning   69   communities  blended  collective  expectations  for  teaching  and  a  collective  responsibility  for   student  learning.     McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  described  professional  communities  as  “the  ultimate   makers  of  educational  policy  for  their  students,”  (p.  138).  Professional  communities  frame   practice,  either  by  leaving  teachers  to  their  own  devices  in  schools  with  weak  professional   communities;  pressuring  colleagues  to  cling  to  traditional  conceptions  of  subjects  and   students  in  strong,  but  traditional  communities;  or  releasing  collective  teacher  energy  and   expertise  on  new  challenges  and  solutions,  as  was  typical  in  professional  learning   communities.  How  teachers  frame  the  enterprise  of  teaching  and  the  purpose  of   collaboration  mattered.     Further  research  around  the  same  time  confirmed  the  dual  importance  of   institutional  environment  and  collegial  interaction,  but  argued  that  teacher  interactions   varied  significantly  within  teams  as  well  as  between  them.  Coburn  (2001),  for  example,   conducted  research  in  elementary  schools  and  found  that  teachers  made  sense  of  policy   impulses  collectively  from  myriad  environmental  sources  and  acted  accordingly.  Teachers   couched  policy  messages  in  their  pre-­‐existing  instructional  practices,  worldviews,  and   shared  understandings;  they  then  engaged  in  sensemaking,  a  process  comprised  of   constructing  understandings,  gatekeeping,  and  operationalizing  policy.     Despite  a  common  process  of  sensemaking,  teachers  often  made  different  meaning   of  the  same  policy  messages.  This  variation  can  be  partially  attributed  to  a  few  factors  that   affected  the  sensemaking  process.  First,  organizational  arrangements  mattered  but  did  not   dictate  individual  teacher’s  experiences  (see  also  Spillane,  Kim,  &  Frank,  2012).  Teachers   were  formally  grouped  into  grade-­‐level  teams,  but  influential  informal  networks  soon   70   developed  within  these  teams.  Formal  teacher  networks  (i.e.,  those  determined  by  the   organization)  brought  a  diverse  group  of  teachers  together  to  discuss  policy  demands.  In   contrast,  informal  groups  were  comprised  of  like-­‐minded  teachers.  Consequently,  “informal   settings,  because  of  their  pedagogical  homogeneity,  were  more  supportive,  but  also  more   conservative”  (Coburn,  2001,  p.  157).     In  the  formal  setting,  Coburn  found  that  teachers  had  difficulty  bridging  the   differences  in  their  worldviews  and,  thus,  formal  group  meetings  featured  “out-­‐facing”   conversations  focusing  on  how  the  teachers  could  satisfy  environmental  demands.  In   heterogeneous,  formal  groups,  conversations  that  challenged  teachers’  instructional  beliefs   or  practices  were  rare.     Conversely,  Coburn  also  determined  that  informal  teacher  groups  had  “in-­‐facing”   conversations  in  which  teachers  talked  about  matters  salient  to  their  classroom  practice.   Consequently,  informal  groups  appear  to  have  greater  potential  to  change  teacher  practice.   As  noted,  however,  these  groups  tended  to  be  formed  by  homogeneous  colleagues.   Therefore,  conversations  that  challenged  existing  teacher  practice  were  also  rare  in   informal  teacher  groups.     Despite  the  typically  conservative  sensemaking  process,  informal  networks  had  the   potential  to  create  vastly  different  teacher  experiences  within  the  formal  group.  If  teachers   within  formal  groups  self-­‐selected  into  innovative  informal  groups,  their  sensemaking  was   likely  to  have  ambitious  rather  than  conservative  implications.  In  other  words,  Coburn’s   work  helps  explain  how  differences  within  formal  groups  can  account  for  differences  in   teacher  practice.     71   In  addition  to  helping  teachers  make  sense  of  and  act  upon  policy  messages,  social   networks  are  also  influential  in  the  diffusion  of  instructional  innovation  (Frank,  Zhao,  &   Borman,  2004).  Like  Bidwell  (2001)  and  Coburn  (2001),  Frank,  Zhao,  and  Borman  (2004)   assumed  that  teachers  are  employed  in  complex  organizations  that  shape  their  work.  They   argued  “the  organization  establishes  the  context  for  sharing  resources  and  social  pressure   that  is  targeted  toward  the  implementation  of  an  innovation”  (p.  162).     Frank,  Zhao,  and  Borman  found  that  in  addition  to  teacher  perception  of  the   potential  of  computers  and  ample  resources  for  implementation,  teacher  social  interactions   played  a  key  role  in  determining  the  diffusion  of  an  instructional  innovation.  Specifically,   teachers  who  had  access  to  expert  colleagues  and  who  perceived  social  pressure  to  use   computers  increased  their  technology  use  for  instructional  purposes.     The  reliance  on  social  connections  for  innovation  has  several  implications  and  helps   us  understand  how  teacher  social  interactions  shape  school  performance.  First,  expert   colleagues  are  an  important,  but  potentially  scarce  resource  and  teachers  may  find   themselves  either  beneficiaries  or  victims  of  circumstance  (Frank,  Zhao,  &  Borman,  2004).   Furthermore,  members  of  any  social  group  will  vary  in  the  amount  of  resources  they  can   secure  from  their  social  connections  (Coleman,  1988),  and  those  with  the  greatest  need  of   instructional  improvement  may  also  be  those  who  lack  the  social  connections  that  would   help  facilitate  a  change  in  practice.    Third,  social  interactions  can  be  a  conserving  as  well  as   an  innovating  force  (Coburn,  2001;  Little,  1990;  Portes,  1998).  Finally,  even  in  the  most   socially  well-­‐connected  and  thriving  school,  social  resources  can  be  exhausted  by  a  handful   of  simultaneous  initiatives.  For  schools  with  little  or  no  social  resources  or  expertise  to   72   leverage,  the  situation  can  be  much  more  dire.  Schools  in  greatest  need  of  instructional   change  are  precisely  those  least  equipped  to  innovate.     Understanding  the  inner-­‐workings  of  teacher  social  interactions  helps  explain  how   teachers  bridge  the  formal  and  informal  structures  of  organizations.  Furthermore,  focusing   on  teacher  groups  reveals  how  teacher  interactions  shape  organizational  performance,   how  teacher  teams  influence  their  colleagues’  sensemaking  and  response  to  policy   messages  and  innovative  practices,  and  how  variation  within  teams  provides  teachers   different  opportunities  and  explains  uneven  implementation  even  among  teachers  in  the   same  formal  teacher  group.   Teacher  communities  and  teacher  learning.  Since  Berman  and  McLaughlin’s  (1978)   findings  that  local  skill  and  will  were  the  primary  determinants  of  an  instructional  reform’s   success,  researchers  and  reformers  alike  have  been  interested  in  how  to  cultivate  the   capability  of  teachers.  In  other  words,  reforms  would  take  a  considerable  learning  and,   therefore,  teachers  became  both  the  target  and  the  instrument  of  reform  (Cohen  &  Moffit,   2009).     One  particularly  popular  response  to  the  need  for  teacher  learning  was  to  call  for   the  work  of  improvement  to  occur  in  situated  small  communities  of  same  grade-­‐level  or   content-­‐area  teachers.  However,  such  an  arrangement  would  be  difficult  to  attain  as  typical   school  organization  did  not  encourage  joint  teacher  work,  at  least  in  elementary  schools   (Bird  &  Little,  1986).    Reformers  and  researchers  were  virtually  unanimous  on  the  point  as   the  very  complexity  of  the  reforms  forbid  the  reliance  on  the  “training  paradigm”  (Little,   1993)  most  often  relied  upon  to  infuse  capacity  in  the  teaching  ranks  (e.g.,  Ball  &  Cohen,   1999;  Little,  1984,  1993;  Spillane,  2002).   73   For  example,  Spillane  (2002)  drew  a  sharp  distinction  between  the  “behaviorist”   tradition  where  “transmission  is  the  instructional  mode,  and  to  promote  effective  and   efficient  transmission,  complex  tasks  are  decomposed  into  hierarchies  of  component   subskills”  (p.  380)  and  “situated”  experiences  where  “knowing  is  the  ability  of  individuals   to  participate  in  the  practices  of  communities”  (p.  380)  and  where  “learning  involves   developing  practices  and  abilities  valued  in  specific  communities  and  situations”  (p.  380).     Furthermore,  Little  (1999)  argued  “subsidized  teacher  inquiry  permit[s]  learning  that  is   closely  tied  to  the  classroom  and  responsive  to  the  histories  and  contexts  that  teachers   bring  to  the  discussion”  (p.  238).   Despite  the  promise  of  joint  teacher  effort  in  the  work  of  reform,  challenges  have   proved  formidable.  Teacher  learning  in  situated  contexts  requires  extensive  resources  that   must  be  secured  at  both  the  organizational  and  individual  teacher  level  (Little,  1984;   Spillane,  2002)  and  as  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  suggested,  close  teacher-­‐to-­‐teacher   associate  is  not  uniformly  positive.  Still,  teachers  can  and  do  learn  from  their  interactions   with  peers  and  these  interactions  could  lead  to  more  careful  consideration  of  practice  and   understanding  of  teaching  (Horn  &  Little,  2010;  Little,  2002)  and  teacher  communities   continued  to  be  a  locus  of  improvement  of  both  scholarly  and  practical  interest.   Meso  Level:  Principal  Leadership   The  role  of  the  school  principal  in  instructional  innovation  has  been  the  subject  of   much  debate.  For  example,  neo-­‐institutional  theory  would  suggest  that  principal-­‐led   innovation  is  unlikely.  Bidwell  (2001)  argued  that  principals  are  under  constant  pressure   from  the  central  office  to  uphold  institutional  legitimacy  and  are  therefore  unable  to   promote  significant  departures  from  conservative  practices.  Furthermore,  he  believed  that   74   principals  are  likely  to  lack  the  power,  influence,  and  legitimacy  from  teachers  that  would   enable  them  to  lead  instructional  reform,  even  if  they  were  so  inclined.  According  to   Bidwell,  because  of  its  independent  nature,  teachers’  work  requires  little  administrative   coordination  and,  as  a  consequence,  principals  have  little  to  report  to  the  central  office.  In   this  depiction,  the  school  principal  becomes  “a  major  locus  of  loose  coupling”  whose  main   job  responsibility  is  to  manage  teacher  unrest  and  prevent  unwanted  inspection  of  the  core   work  of  the  school.     Earlier  qualitative  work  supports  this  conception  of  the  principalship.  It  depicts   principals  as  being  preoccupied  with  school  image  and  community  relations  and  the   smooth  operation  of  the  school’s  administrative  components,  but  relatively  uninvolved  and   ineffectual  concerning  curriculum  and  instruction  (Cusick,  1983;  Lightfoot,  1983;  Metz,   1978;  Wolcott,  1973).   Not  all  researchers  have  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  however.  In  the  past  decade  and   a  half,  research  has  uncovered  ways  that  principals  can  play  a  key  part  in  facilitating  or   inhibiting  instructional  reform.  For  example,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  argued  that,   just  as  teacher  communities  influence  what  teachers  do  in  the  classroom,  these   communities,  in  turn,  can  be  influenced  by  principal  leadership.  They  wrote:     Principals  set  conditions  for  teacher  community  by  the  ways  in  which  they   manage  school  resources,  relate  to  teachers  and  students,  support  or  inhibit   social  interaction  and  leadership  in  the  faculty,  respond  to  the  broader  policy   context,  and  bring  resources  into  the  school.  (p.  98)   Still,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  were  not  optimistic  about  the  prospect  of  administrators   altering  the  professional  culture  once  it  was  well  established.  They  concluded,  “teacher   75   communities,  strong  and  weak,  are  robust  in  their  resistance  to  attacks  on  shared  values   and  knowledge  built  from  experience”  (p.  100).  In  brief,  principals  are  subject  to  prevailing   school  norms.  Principals  who  ignore  prevailing  norms  do  so  at  their  peril.  Principals  who   disregard  established  norms  for  practice  are  vulnerable  to  marginalization,  ostracism,  and   ridicule  (McLaughlin  &  Talbert,  2001).     This  is  not  to  suggest  that  principals  are  completely  impotent  in  the  face  of   established  norms.  Principals’  behavior  can,  over  time,  garner  them  support  necessary  for   leading  instructional  reform.    By  showing  respect  for  teachers,  regard  for  others,   competence,  and  integrity,  principals  can  generate  trust  and  build  influence  (Bryk  &   Schneider,  2002).  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  only  pointed  out  that  teacher  communities  are   well  insulated  against  reorientation  and  that  principal  influence  cannot  be  assumed.  But   leadership  matters,  and  in  the  case  of  instructional  reform,  it  typically  matters  a  great  deal.       Spillane  (2006)  argued  that  school  leadership  is  not  a  zero-­‐sum  game,  and  schools   where  leadership  is  distributed  among  formal  and  informal  leaders  are  better  able  to   respond  to  reform  efforts.  In  complex  organizations,  informal  leaders  are  bound  to  emerge   (Homans,  1950)  and  capable  principals  capitalize  on  this  phenomenon  to  strengthen  their   schools’  capacity  to  take  collective  action.  Principals  can  foster  or  smother  teacher   leadership  endeavors  by  creating  routines  that  call  for  the  exertion  of  informal  leadership   or  by  ignoring  opportunities  to  secure  teacher  commitment.       In  addition  to  manipulating  the  formal  and  informal  structures  of  the  school  to   develop  leadership  capacity,  principals  are  also  able  to  shape  the  policy  messages  that   teachers  receive.  Coburn  (2001,  2005)  found  that  principals  shaped  the  teacher  “sense-­‐ making”  process  that  ultimately  determined  how  teachers  responded  to  reading  reform   76   policy.  Principals  privileged  some  policy  ideas  and  eschewed  others;  that  is,  they  “bridged”   or  “buffered”  and  thus  served  as  a  gatekeeper  of  reform  messages.  Coburn  concluded  that   principal  treatment  had  profound  impact  for  classroom  practice.  She  wrote:   The  principal’s  construction  authorized  teachers  to  use  the  reading  series  in   a  wide  range  of  ways…There  was  enormous  diversity  in  the  way  teachers   came  to  use  the  reading  series,  including  several  teachers  in  each  grade  level   who  chose  not  to  use  the  reading  series  at  all.  (Coburn,  2001,  p.  161)   However,  Coburn  did  note  that  such  leadership  was  only  possible  after  “current  levels  of   collegiality  and  collaboration….were  fostered  over  many  years”  (p.160)  over  which  time  “a   culture  of  collegiality  outside  of  formal  settings”  (p.  160)  slowly  emerged.       In  addition  to  facilitating  teacher  social  interaction,  building  trust  among  the   instructional  staff,  providing  opportunities  for  informal  and  formal  instructional   leadership,  and  bridging  or  buffering  policy  messages,  principals  can  also  shape  the   opportunities  that  teachers  have  to  learn  (Youngs  &  King,  2002).  Conducting  case-­‐study   research  in  four  elementary  schools,  Youngs  and  King  (2002)  determined  that  principals   can  build  capacity  for  instructional  reform  “by  establishing  high  levels  of  trust,  creating   structures  that  promote  teacher  learning  and  either…connecting  their  faculties  to  external   expertise…or  helping  teachers  generate  reforms  internally”  (p.  665).       Finally,  Goddard  et  al.  (2010)  used  survey  research  to  examine  the  link  between   principal  leadership  and  teachers’  collective  instructional  norms.  They  found  that  teacher   perception  of  principal  support  was  positively  and  significantly  associated  with  self-­‐ reported  use  of  reform  teaching  practices  (Goddard  et  al.,  2010).  This  research  suggests   77   that  principals  can  have  an  indirect,  yet  powerful,  effect  on  student  learning  via   encouraging  teacher  use  of  reform  strategies  and  helping  to  establish  collective  norms.     Research  in  the  past  decade  has  contested  the  image  of  the  impotent  principal   incapable  of  leading  ambitious  instructional  reform.  Researchers  have  concluded  that   principals  can  foster  trust  necessary  for  ambitious  reform  (Bryk  &  Schneider,  2002),   distribute  leadership  to  secure  teacher  commitment  for  reform  efforts  (Spillane,  2006),   bridge  or  buffer  policy  messages  (Coburn,  2001;  Coburn,  2005),  promote  the  teacher   learning  necessary  for  successful  reform  (Youngs  &  King,  2002),  and  directly  support   reform  teaching  practices  (Goddard,  et  al.,  2010).     Analytic  Framework   Constructing  an  Analytic  Frame   My  study  addressed  questions  about  how  contextual  factors  (e.g.,  supportive   principal  leadership,  collegial  interaction)  influence  teachers’  sensemaking  of  and   reconciliation  of  reform  messages  in  crowded  policy  environments.   The  analytic  framework  constructed  for  the  purpose  of  answering  this  question   accounted  for  two  competing  and  perhaps  contradictory  notions.  First,  as  I  will  explain  in   greater  detail  in  the  following  section,  I  assume  that  individuals  in  similar  contexts  act  in   similar  ways.  This  research  requires  that  assumption.    If  teaching  sensemaking  is  entirely   idiosyncratic,  the  research  can  detect  no  patterns  nor  reveal  social  phenomena  that  help   teachers  understand  their  world  and  act  accordingly.  The  second,  perhaps  contradictory,   idea  comes  from  the  implementation  literature:  local  response  to  policy  initiatives  is  widely   variant  (e.g.,  Berman  &  McLaughlin,  1976).     78   The  purpose  of  this  analytic  frame  is  to  account  for  these  two  seemingly   irreconcilable  ideas.  In  short,  the  framework  must  explain  how  classroom  instruction  is   “produced”  while  also  explaining  why  local  variation—which  dominates  outcomes—is  so   prevalent.  For  this  purpose  I  rely  heavily  on  the  prior  work  of  Barr  and  Dreeben  (1983),   McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001),  and  Kennedy  (2005).    Note  that  the  analytic  frame   provides  a  broad,  general  explanation  for  instructional  practice,  but  in  this  dissertation  I   focus  strictly  on  the  “meso-­‐level”  structures  (i.e.,  principal  leadership,  collegial   communities).  This  focus  is  intentional,  but  the  results  should  be  contextualized  in  the   larger  analytic  frame  that  makes  it  clear  that  these  structures  are  part  of  a  larger  system  of   phenomena.   Barr  and  Dreeben  (1983)  argued  that  the  productive  work  of  schooling  occurs  at   several  different  levels  of  the  educational  enterprise  and  that  in  order  to  understand  what   teachers  do  in  classrooms,  one  needs  to  account  for  the  effects  of  the  resources  and   constraints  provided  to  or  imposed  upon  classrooms.  According  to  Barr  and  Dreeben,  “each   level  of  a  school  system  has  its  own  core  productive  agenda…We  see…a  set  of  nested   hierarchical  layers,  each  having  a  conditional  and  contributory  relation  to  events  and   outcomes  occurring  at  the  adjacent  one”  (p.  7).    Barr  and  Dreeben,  then,  contended  that   production  at  one  level  creates  resources  for  the  next,  and  in  order  to  understand   instruction  one  must  examine  how  resources  are  translated  among  contexts.  They   concluded,  “While  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  instruction  occurs  inside   classrooms,  the  resources  consumed  in  the  course  of  instruction  do  not  necessarily   originate  there.  A  proper  examination  of  instruction  requires  considering  how  events   79   happening  in  various  parts  of  the  school  system  make  it  possible  for  instruction  to   transpire  where  it  does”  (p.  62).     Finally,  because  they  were  convinced  that  schools  produce  instruction  but  students   produce  the  actual  learning,  Barr  and  Dreeben  believed  that  research  should  focus  on  how   schools  provide  opportunities  for  learning  (i.e.,  how  they  produce  instruction)  rather  than   focusing  on  the  student  learning  itself,  an  idea  that  I  embrace  in  my  analytic  frame.     Like  Barr  and  Dreeben,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  contended  that  the  contexts   of  instruction  matter  and  that  the  additive  assumption  of  traditional  regression  was   misleading  if  one  is  seeking  to  understand  school  production.  In  accordance  with   McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001),  I  assume  that  school  contexts  are  embedded  rather  than   nested.  In  contrast  to  conceptions  of  nested  structures  that  promote  a  relationship  among   levels,  that  is  “hierarchical  in  structure  and  additive  in…effect  on  educational  processes,”   (McLaughlin  and  Talbert,  2001,  pp.  144-­‐145),  embedded  structure  assumes  that  outputs   from  each  context  “are  not  transmitted  directly  and  evenly  by  higher-­‐level  organization   units  to  lower-­‐level  units”  (McLaughlin  &  Talbert,  2001,  p.  145).  In  other  words,  rather   than  transmitting  the  pressures  or  resources  from  the  level  above,  each  level  actively   shapes  policy  inputs  from  above  and  decides  what  to  pass  along.  Thus,  each  level  can   bridge  or  buffer  pressures  and  resources  from  the  level  directly  above  it  to  the  one  directly   below  it.  Among  other  things,  this  helps  explain  why  policy  messages  become  increasingly   distorted  as  they  approach  the  classroom  (Hill,  2001;  Spillane,  2004),  why  it  is  so  difficult   for  policy  to  influence  the  instructional  core  (Cuban,  1993;  Elmore,  2002),  and  why  local   variation  in  policy  implementation  is  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception  (Berman  &   McLaughlin,  1976).  This  “multiple  context  framework”  allows  the  researcher  to  consider   80   how  multiple  contexts  affect  teachers’  work  and  to  determine  how  different  contextual   combinations  shape  teacher  learning  and  teacher  sensemaking  differently.  In  summarizing   their  analytic  frame,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  wrote:   The  notion  of  embedded  contexts  cautions  against  assumptions  of  additivity   implicit  in  much  of  the  school-­‐effects  research.  Attention  to  context  means   more  than  measuring  conditions  and  assessing  their  average  effects  on   teaching  and  learning;  it  means  looking  at  effects  of  coincident  conditions.  In   this  sense,  the  significance  of  a  particular  condition,  or  a  context  effect  on   teachers’  work,  is  embedded  in  other  context  conditions.  (pp.  145-­‐146)   Thus,  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  preserve  Barr  and  Dreeben’s  (1983)  two  tenets  that   production  of  one  level  of  schooling  provides  resources  for  the  next  and  that  resources  are   mediated  rather  than  additive,  but  the  former  authors  maintained  that  the  contexts  were   embedded  rather  than  hierarchical.  For  the  purpose  of  conceptual  clarity,  I  will  use   “contexts”  rather  than  “levels.”   Despite  the  conceptual  contributions  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  and  Barr  and   Dreeben  (1983)  provide,  however,  both  sets  of  authors  obscured  the  importance  of   classroom  circumstances  in  production  of  instructional  practices.  While  McLaughlin  and   Talbert  recognized  the  importance  of  students  and  subjects,  they  ultimately  focused  their   investigation  on  teacher  teams.  Barr  and  Dreeben  contended  that  resources  at  hierarchical   levels  determined  how  teachers  grouped  students  for  instruction,  and  that  how  these   groups  were  formed  determined  the  quality  of  learning  opportunities  available  to  students.   However,  neither  account  probed  deeply  into  the  dilemmas  of  classroom  life  or  how  these   81   dilemmas  influence  what  teachers  do.  For  this  consideration,  I  will  use  Inside  Teaching   (Kennedy,  2005).   Kennedy  described  how  classroom  life  undermines  the  practices  that  reformers   value.  Reformers,  Kennedy  argued,  typically  press  teachers  to  provide  more  rigorous   content,  more  intellectual  engagement,  or  universal  access  to  knowledge.  Teachers,  who   are  often  sympathetic  to  these  goals,  have  myriad  other  intentions  that  cannot  be   simultaneously  achieved  and  often  thwart  the  demands  of  reform.  My  analytic  frame   assumes,  as  Kennedy  argued,  that  classroom  contexts  matter.  Teachers’  beliefs,   preparedness,  and  competence  matter.  Students’  aptitude,  willingness  to  participate,  and   classroom  dispositions  matter.  Subjects  also  influence  teacher  practices  as  do  the   circumstances  of  teaching.  Each  of  these  classrooms  factors  will  be  explained  more  fully  in   the  next  section  in  the  context  of  the  entire  framework.   Explaining  the  Analytic  Frame   While  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  (2001)  and  how  they  thought   about  classroom  practice,  my  analytic  frame  differs  from  theirs  in  key  ways.  First,  it  allows   for  the  possibility  that  the  interaction  between  collegial  communities  and  classroom   practices  is  not  uni-­‐dimensional.  It  is  equally  likely  that  classroom  practices  will  affect   collegial  communities  as  well  as  being  affected  by  them.  This  analytic  frame  also  articulates   classroom  contextual  factors  more  fully  than  does  McLaughlin  and  Talbert’s  analytic  frame.   McLaughlin  and  Talbert  did  not  ignore  the  importance  of  within-­‐class  contexts  that  shape   teaching  but  their  analytic  frame  obscures  the  importance  of  the  four  within-­‐class  contexts   I  have  articulated  in  my  analytic  frame  (Figure  2.).  By  placing  classroom  practice  at  the   82   center  of  the  frame,  I  have  conceptualized  how  classroom  instruction  is  embedded  in  larger   contexts  and  how  it  is  influenced  within  classrooms.     Each  of  the  classroom  characteristics  (students,  teachers,  subjects,  circumstances)   warrants  further  explanation.  First,  students  affect  teaching  practices.  Teachers  are  likely   to  align  their  goals  with  perceived  student  aptitude  (Lortie,  1975)  or  with  perceived   student  willingness  to  engage  in  academic  activities  (Cusick,  1983;  Powell,  Farrar,  &  Cohen,   1985;  Sizer,  1985).  In  response  to  these  considerations,  teachers  often  “bargain”  with   students  by  offering  them  relaxed  academic  expectations  in  return  for  cooperation  and   good  behavior  (Sedlak  et  al.,  1986).       The  teachers  themselves  also  determine  teaching  practices,  as  teachers  vary  in  their   preparedness  and  interest  in  providing  innovative  instruction.  Teacher  behavior  is   influenced  by  their  beliefs  about  students,  subjects,  and  what  constitutes  good  practice,  but   these  beliefs  develop  over  time  and  teachers  accrue  practices  in  line  with  their  beliefs   (Huberman,  1983;  Kennedy,  2005).     Furthermore,  subjects  may  shape  attempts  to  reform  teaching  practice.  It  is  possible   that  some  reform  teaching  strategies  (e.g.,  providing  students  timely  feedback  to  help  them   guide  their  learning)  are  more  conducive  to  some  subjects  than  others.  Finally,  the   circumstances  of  teaching  matter.  Teaching  practices  may  depend  on  how  many  students   are  absent,  when  the  fire  drill  is  scheduled,  unplanned  disruptions,  or  the  time  of  day  and   the  teacher’s  and  students’  consequent  energy  level.       In  sum,  my  analytic  frame  (Figure  2)  accounts  for  both  similarities  and  differences   in  school  phenomena.  I  have  embraced  the  idea  that  phenomena  are  influenced  by  outside   forces  that  become  more  salient  the  closer  they  get  to  the  classroom  and  that  instruction   83   also  depends  on  students,  teacher  characteristics,  subjects,  and  the  circumstances  of   teaching.  Furthermore,  I  have  rejected  the  additive  production-­‐function  model  in  favor  of   an  analytic  frame  that  argues  that  contexts  (rather  than  levels)  are  interactive  and  inner   contexts  mediate  those  outside  them.   Conclusion     In  this  chapter,  I  had  several  objectives.  I  outlined  the  overall  logic  of  the  research  as   articulated  by  Ragin’s  (1994)  Simple  Model  of  Social  Research  (see  Figure  3.1).  I  then  used   this  model  to  organize  the  ideas  from  previous  research  and  explain  how  these  ideas   contributed  to  the  construction  of  the  analytic  framework.  The  analytic  frame  allows  for   consideration  of  the  dissertation’s  focus  (i.e.,  mediation  and  sensemaking  of  reform  at  the   level  of  principal  leadership  and  collegial  learning  teams)  in  the  larger  embedded  context   that  other  researchers  often  investigate.  In  the  next  chapter,  I  explain  how  the  analytic   frame  provided  guidance  for  data  collection  and  analysis.  In  it,  I  describe  the  methods  I   used  to  pull  evidence  from  the  social  settings  I  studied  and  explicate  how  I  analyzed  these   data  to  construct  the  findings  that  I  will  present  in  chapters  5-­‐8.                     84   Figure  3.2.  Analytic  Frame     Larger  Institutional  and  Cultural  Environments       State-­‐Level  Policy  Environment       District  Characteristics       Site-­‐Level  Characteristics:  Principal  Leadership       Collegial  Communities  and  Teachers’  Opportunities  to  Learn     Students                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Subjects                                                         Instructional  Practice         Teachers                                                                                                                                                                                                  Circumstance                                                               85   CHAPTER  4:  Methods   Introduction   Recall  from  the  previous  chapter  that  I  am  using  Ragin’s  (1994)  model  of  social   research  to  frame  the  dissertation.  In  the  last  chapter,  I  built  an  analytic  frame  from  the   ideas  and  social  theories  generated  from  previous  research.  In  this  chapter,  I  describe  the   evidence/data  I  collected  and  explain  the  processes  through  which  I  used  this  data  to   describe  and  explain  how  teachers  make  sense  of  multiple  reforms.  Thus,  in  this  chapter  I   am  focusing  on  the  bottom  portion  of  Ragin’s  model,  as  represented  in  figure  4.1  below.     Figure  4.1.  Data  Collection  and  Analysis                 THEORY         mostly  inductive       EVIDENCE/DATA             Overview     Howard  Becker  (1958)  once  observed  that  “faced  with  such  a  quantity  of  ‘rich’  but   varied  data,  the  researcher  faces  the  problem  of  how  to  analyze  it  systematically  and   present…conclusions  so  as  to  convince  other  scientists  of  their  validity”  and  that   “qualitative  analysis  generally  has  not  done  well  with  the  problem,  and  the  full  weight  of   evidence  for  conclusions  and  the  processes  by  which  they  were  reached  are  usually  not   presented,  so  that  the  reader  finds  it  difficult  to  make  his  own  assessment  of  them  and   must  rely  on  his  faith  in  the  researcher”  (p.  653).  The  purpose  of  this  methods  chapter  is  to   86   countermand  this  tendency  and  convince  the  reader  of  the  systematic  collection,  analysis,   and  synthesis  of  data  in  order  to  enhance  the  reader’s  confidence  in  the  veracity  of  the   findings  (Metz,  1983).     The  Purpose  of  the  Research   The  purpose  of  this  research  is  to  provide  an  account  that  describes  and  explains   the  social  world  that  surrounds  teacher  sensemaking  of  multiple  reforms.  I  wanted  to   understand  the  culture—the  web  of  meaning  people  have  constructed  in  their  mutual  lives   together  (Geertz,  1973)—and  how  this  web  of  meaning  affected  what  people  knew  and  did,   and  the  things  they  made  and  used  (Spradley,  1980).  In  other  words,  this  research  was   intended  to  generate  theory.     By  theory  I  mean  the  relation  among  general  categories  of  cultural  meaning,  or   cultural  domains,  that  help  interpret  and  make  sense  of  data  (Becker,  1998).       For  clarity,  my  goal  was  to  use  the  existing  ideas  about  the  phenomenon  under  study   generated  by  decades  of  implementation  research  to  construct  an  analytic  framework  that   would  help  uncover  categories  of  cultural  meaning  and  the  interrelationships  among  these   categories.  So  doing  would  allow  me  to  describe  and  explain  the  particulars  of  what  people   said  and  did  and  capture  the  more  general  patterns  of  meaning  and  action.       Once  the  analytic  frame  helped  me  get  underway,  I  used  inductive  methods  to  pull   theory  from  the  social  world  and  then  to  explain  the  logic  of  that  world  (Glaser  &  Strauss,   1967).  Thus,  the  patterns  of  meaning  can  be  generalized  to  the  relationships  among  the   cultural  categories  in  the  cases  observed  and  not  to  some  larger  population  of  schools,   teachers,  or  students.  With  that  said,  the  interrelationship  among  categories  of  meaning   and  the  qualities  of  the  categories  themselves  would  likely  help  explain  the  cultural   87   meaning  systems  in  a  larger  variety  of  schools  than  simply  the  three  observed  in  this   research.     Research  Design     While  there  is  some  dispute  about  the  term  (e.g.,  Ragin,  1992),  the  design  for  this   research  can  most  aptly  be  described  as  an  embedded  case  study  (Yin,  1994).  This  means   that  I  collected  data  from  several  “cases,”  “sites,”  or  distinct  groups  of  people  who  were   embarking  on  endeavors  similar  enough  to  be  productively  compared  (Strauss  &  Corbin,   1998).    Furthermore,  each  case  was  embedded  with  several  actors  who  helped  illuminate   the  social  phenomena  in  similar,  but  slightly  different,  circumstances.       This  research  can  also  be  described  as  a  case  study  because  I  had  some  sense  of  the   major  categories  of  meaning  (e.g.,  principal  leadership,  teacher  collegiality)  and  the   phenomenon  of  interest  (e.g.,  teacher  learning  and  sensemaking  in  multiple-­‐reform   contexts)  before  the  research  began.  I  used  the  analytic  framework  described  in  the   previous  chapter  to  guide  the  research,  direct  site  and  informant  selection,  and  to  help   construct  early  instruments  for  data  collection.  In  other  words,  this  research  differed  from   ethnography  in  that  ethnographers  typically  search  for  both  general  categories  of  meaning   and  interesting  phenomena  in  the  course  of  their  data  collection  (Marshall  &  Rossman,   1999;  Metz,  2000).   Assumptions  about  Human  Interaction,  Behavior,  and  the  Nature  of  Group  Life   I  make  several  assumptions  about  the  nature  of  human  interactions  and  human   behavior.  I  base  these  assumptions  primarily  on  Blumer’s  (1969)  work  on  symbolic   interaction  which,  in  turn,  rested  on  the  work  of  pragmatists  John  Dewey  (1915)  and   George  Herbert  Mead  (1938).  Namely,  I  conducted  the  research  under  the  assumption  that   88   people  make  meaning  in  interaction  with  one  another  in  specific  environments  and   construct  lines  of  action  in  response  to  situations  as  they  have  interpreted  them.   Symbolic  interaction  assumes  that  meaning  is  socially  created,  that  people  respond   to  meanings  of  the  objects  they  encounter  (objects  being  any  person  or  thing  of  which  one   has  reason  to  take  note),  and  that  people  craft  lines  of  action  in  response  both  to  how  they   have  interpreted  their  situation  and  how  they  think  others  in  their  social  world  are  likely  to   have  interpreted  it.       In  any  situation,  we  do  not  do  just  as  we  please.  We  note  the  important  aspects  of   the  situation  (e.g.,  physical  objects,  observed  actions  of  others)  and  the  meanings  that  we   and  others  have  made  of  these  same  objects.  That  is,  we  define  our  situations  as  best  we   can  through  interpreting  the  meaning  of  the  objects  present  in  our  situation.    Once  this   initial  meaning  is  made  (and  indeed  as  it  evolves  through  the  course  of  the  situation),  we   counsel  ourselves  about  the  best  course  of  action  given  the  likely  actions  of  others  and  we   act  accordingly.  Over  time,  we  develop  routine  ways  to  act  in  routine  situations,  but  our   actions  are  always  crafted  as  part  of  an  active  process.  They  are  never  automatic.  As   Blumer  (1969)  wrote,  “established  patterns  of  group  life  exist  and  persist  only  through  the   continued  use  of  the  same  schemes  of  interpretation;  and  such  schemes  of  interpretation   are  maintained  only  through  their  continued  confirmation  by  the  defining  acts  of  others”   (p.  67).       Social  organization  can  influence  (but  not  determine)  human  action.  In  schools,  for   example,  middle  school  students  are  organized  into  subject-­‐specific  classes  of  50  minutes   or  so  each  day,  five  times  a  day,  for  five  days  a  week.  This  organization  directs  students  to   89   many  routine  situations.  Over  time,  students  develop  perspectives  from  which  they   organize  their  behavior.  As  Becker  et  al.  (1961)  wrote:   Perspective  refers  to  a  coordinated  set  of  ideas  and  actions  a  person  uses  in  dealing   with  some  problematic  situation,  to  refer  to  a  person’s  ordinary  way  of  thinking  and   feeling  about  and  acting  in  such  a  situation.  These  thoughts  and  actions  are   coordinated  in  the  sense  that  the  actions  flow  reasonably,  from  the  actor’s  point  of   view,  from  the  ideas  contained  in  the  perspective.  (p.  34)   People’s  behavior  makes  sense  if  you  can  understand  their  situation  and  the   underlying  meaning  system  they  have  created  to  help  them  craft  their  actions.  Culture   exists  to  the  extent  that  the  meanings  extend  beyond  the  individual  and  some  generalized   or  group  perspectives  can  be  revealed.  For  the  most  part,  people  working  in  routine   situations  will  craft  joint  actions  that  allow  for  peaceful  group  functioning.  The  general   patterns  of  behavior  that  emerge  in  response  to  similar  situations  make  theory  building   possible.  In  other  words,  socially  objective  and  verifiable  facts  emerge  from  the  study  of  the   subjectively  constructed  meanings  consequent  of  social  interaction.  As  Berger  and   Luckmann  (1966)  wrote,  "Society  does  indeed  possess  objective  facticity.  And  society  is   indeed  built  up  by  activity  that  expresses  subjective  meaning"  (p.  18).  In  sum,  the  basic   representation  of  symbolic  interaction  is  as  follows:     social  organization  !  routine  situations  !  perspectives  !individual  and  social  acts   Role  of  the  Researcher   It  was  important  that  I  adopt  a  role  as  a  researcher  that  was  congruent  with  the   purpose  of  the  research  (understanding,  describing,  and  explaining  the  cultural  web  of   90   meaning)  and  the  assumptions  that  I  make  about  the  nature  of  human  interaction  and   activity.     The  role  that  I  assumed  during  this  research  project  can  most  accurately  be   described  as  that  of  the  participant  observer.  Since  there  is  some  ambiguity  about  the   nature  of  this  role,  the  purpose  of  this  section  is  to  both  define  the  role  and  describe  the   logic  that  governs  its  employment.  Becker  (1958)  described  the  participant  observer  role   in  this  way:     The  participant  observer  gathers  data  by  participating  in  the  daily  life  of  the  group   he  studies.  He  watches  the  people  he  is  studying  to  see  what  situations  they   ordinarily  meet  and  how  they  behave  in  them.  He  enters  into  conversation  with   some  or  all  of  the  participants  in  these  situations  and  discovers  their  interpretations   of  the  events  he  has  observed.  (p.  652)   Since  my  primary  objective  was  to  generate  theory  using  symbolic  interaction  to   help  describe  and  explain  the  social  world  of  teachers  and  administrators,  the  participant   observer  role  made  sense.  I  needed  to  experience  the  routine  situations  from  which   teachers  and  administrators  formed  their  perspectives  and  generated  action  and  to   observe  others  as  they  were  thus  engaged.  During  the  course  of  the  research,  I  regularly   graded  papers,  helped  teachers  organize  classroom  materials,  attended  professional   development  sessions  and  staff  meetings  and  sat  among  the  teachers  and  participated  in   activities,  walked  the  halls,  ate  lunch  with  the  teachers,  played  basketball  with  students,  sat   among  students  during  class,  and  the  like.  In  sum,  I  observed  people  in  the  routines  of  their   daily  life  while  at  school  and  participated  in  many  of  the  activities  they  did.   91     In  Spradley’s  (1980,  pp.  58-­‐62)  description  of  the  various  levels  of  participation  in   the  participant  observer  role,  my  role  can  most  accurately  be  described  as  the  “moderate   participant.”  In  this  role  the  researcher  “seeks  to  maintain  a  balance  between  being  an   insider  and  an  outsider,  between  participation  and  observation”  (p.  60).  As  will  be  more   evident  in  the  pages  that  follow,  I  never  intended  to  abandon  the  observer  role  and  acquit   myself  as  a  full  participant.     Context  of  the  Study   Michigan  provided  a  suitable  context  for  studying  how  teachers  make  sense  of   crowded  policy  environments,  how  embedded  contexts  affect  teacher  sensemaking,  and   how  instructional  reforms  are  defeated  on  their  way  to  the  classroom.     First,  at  the  time  of  the  study,  Michigan  was  on  the  verge  of  launching  a  new   educator  evaluation  system.  In  2011,  Michigan  State  Assembly  Bill  4627  was  enacted  into   law.  The  law,  written  in  response  to  the  federal  Race  to  the  Top  competition,  significantly   altered  how  teachers  in  the  state  would  be  evaluated  and  how  personnel  decisions  would   be  made.         The  new  evaluation  system  dictated  that  decisions  about  teacher  retention  be  based   on  a  system  of  teacher  performance,  replacing  a  system  in  which  most  important  decisions   about  teachers  were  based  on  teacher  seniority.    New  legislation  forbid  this  prior   arrangement.  The  language  of  the  law  demanded  that  “individual  performance  shall  be  the   majority  factor  in  making  [personnel]  decisions”  (Public  Act  451.  380.1248,  2011)  and  that   individual  performance  be  determined  by  evidence  of  student  growth,  a  teacher’s   demonstrated  pedagogical  skill,  content  knowledge,  classroom  management,  and   disciplinary  and  attendance  record.     92     Although  individual  performance  constituted  the  majority  of  a  teacher’s  evaluation   under  the  new  system,  the  law  also  allowed  for  other  contributions  to  be  factored  in  a   teacher’s  overall  evaluation.    Specifically,  any  accomplishments  that  strengthened  school-­‐ wide  improvement  efforts  or  relevant  training  that  could  be  applied  to  the  classroom  in   meaningful  ways  could  count  in  a  teacher’s  favor.   Despite  these  latter  considerations,  however,  by  the  2015-­‐16  school  year,  the  bulk   of  the  new  evaluation  system’s  weight  would  rest  on  how  a  teacher’s  average  student   achievement  relates  to  the  mean  student  achievement  of  the  average  teacher,  or  a  teacher’s   “value-­‐added.”  According  to  the  law,  at  least  half  of  a  teacher’s  overall  evaluation  must  be   based  on  a  teacher’s  “value-­‐added”  score  by  this  time  (with  the  other  half  being  based  on   observations  of  teacher  performance).  If  using  a  combination  of  these  measures  results  in  a   rating  of  “ineffective”  for  three  consecutive  years,  that  teacher  must  be  terminated.     As  suggested  in  the  previous  paragraph,  the  teacher  evaluation  system  in  general   and  the  “value-­‐added”  component  in  particular  were  ramping  up  during  the  time  of  the   study.  After  a  pilot  year  in  2012-­‐2013,  the  evaluation  system  was  implemented  throughout   the  state  in  the  2013-­‐2014  school  year  (the  year  when  I  collected  data  for  this  study).    The   value-­‐added  component  was  scheduled  to  increase  in  its  importance  as  the  system   matured.  For  example,  value-­‐added  measures  were  only  expected  to  constitute  25%  of  a   teacher’s  evaluation  in  2013-­‐14.  This  number  increased  to  40%  by  2014-­‐15  and  was  then   to  increase  to  50%  in  2015-­‐16.       Michigan  also  was  in  the  process  of  implementing  the  Common  Core  State  Standards   (CCSS)  at  the  time  of  the  study.  The  supporters  of  the  CCSS  believed  that  the  standards   represented  a  step  forward  from  No  Child  Left  Behind,  which  allowed  states  to  develop   93   their  own  standards  and  assessments,  many  of  which  critics  claimed  were  of  dubious   quality.  The  CCSS,  proponents  argued,  would  transform  teaching  and  learning,  as  they   called  for  high-­‐level  engagement  with  rigorous  academic  material  and  then  testing  students   using  assessments  designed  to  elicit  and  measure  conceptual  thinking  and  understanding   (Rothman,  2011).     Finally,  at  the  time  of  the  study  the  Michigan  Department  of  Education  was   sponsoring  a  small,  voluntary  instructional  reform  designed  to  help  teachers  enact   formative  assessment  tools  and  strategies  in  their  classrooms.  In  2008-­‐09,  the  Michigan   Department  of  Education  launched  the  Formative  Assessment  for  Michigan  Educators   (FAME)  project.  The  project  was  designed  to  encourage  formative  assessment  practices  in   the  classroom  of  participating  teachers.     The  project  began  and  remained  relatively  small.  In  the  2013-­‐14  school  year,  FAME   included  roughly  100  school-­‐based  teams  and  500  teachers  across  the  state.  Coaches  and   learning  team  members  were  selected  on  a  voluntary  basis,  and  before  joining  a  learning   team,  prospective  learning  team  members  were  informed  of  their  responsibility  to  attend   regular  meetings,  implement  formative  assessment  tools  and  strategies  in  their  classrooms,   commit  to  staying  with  the  program  for  at  least  three  years,  and  participate  in  research  on   the  project  conducted  by  a  team  from  Michigan  State  University.     The  concept  behind  the  FAME  project  model  was  straightforward—offer  initial   training  for  all  learning  team  members  with  additional  training  for  coaches,  make  reform   documents  and  online  resources  readily  available,  and  provide  enough  local  flexibility  to   allow  for  productive  adaptation.     94   The  meaning  of  the  formative  assessment  process  itself  was  contested  both  in   scholarly  communities  and  in  practice,  but  the  MDE  promoted  a  version  of  formative   assessment  that  extended  far  beyond  the  benchmark  testing  for  which  formative   assessment  was  sometimes  confused.  Rather,  the  MDE  believed  that  formative  assessment   should  fundamentally  alter  the  instructional  triangle—how  students  and  teachers   interacted  around  content  (Cohen,  McLaughlin,  &  Talbert,  1993).  Formative  assessment   was  a  process  through  which  teachers  and  students  interacted  about  content  in  the  context   of  clear  instructional  goals  for  and  iterative  reflection  on  current  levels  of  understanding.   Essentially,  formative  assessment  required  that  teachers  mediate  student  thinking  and  help   propel  student  learning  as  a  consequence  of  this  mediation.  Heritage  and  Heritage  (2013)   referred  to  formative  assessment  as  “edge  work”  in  which  both  students  and  teachers   worked  on  the  boundaries  of  current  understanding—students  as  they  sought  to   understand  new  concepts  and  teachers  as  they  attempted  to  keep  up  with  evolving  student   understanding  and  to  devise  ways  to  effectively  intervene.   Sampling  Strategy   During  the  course  of  the  study,  I  collected  data  at  three  middle  schools  in  three   different  school  districts  in  Michigan—Willard  Waller  Middle  School,  Edgar  Allan  Poe   Middle  School,  and  Middleton  Middle  School.  The  three  schools  selected  for  study  were   involved  in  the  FAME  project  and  the  teachers  studied  were  restricted  to  those  on  the   FAME  team  at  each  school.  Despite  this  restriction,  I  wanted  to  collect  and  analyze  data  that   captured  the  variation  in  the  larger  case  of  all  FAME  schools  as  well  as  possible  (Becker,   1998).  To  this  end,  I  sampled  learning  teams  according  to  theoretical  interest  rather  than   representativeness  to  a  larger  population  (Glaser  &  Strauss,  1967).  The  three  schools   95   varied  considerably  in  geographic  location,  ethnic  makeup,  and  urbanicity.  Teachers  within   teams  were  likewise  various.  Each  of  the  three  learning  teams  was  comprised  of  middle   school  teachers  from  various  academic  disciplines:  mathematics,  English/language  arts   (E/LA),  Spanish,  science,  history,  and  electives.  Teachers  varied  in  their  rationale  for   joining  a  learning  team  and  their  demonstrated  commitment  to  the  program.  Finally,   learning  team  coaches  of  the  three  learning  teams  also  varied  in  their  positions  in  the   school.  A  summary  of  each  school’s  characteristics  is  included  in  Table  4.1.   Table  4.1.  Overview  of  Middle  School  Sample   School   Willard  Waller   Middle  School     Edgar  Allan  Poe   Middle  School     Middleton  Middle   school         Urbanicity   Urban   School  Size   1200   Learning  Team  Coach   Administrator   Race  Composition   Mostly  non  white   Rural     750   Teacher/Instructional  Coach   Mostly  white   Semi-­‐rural   500   Teacher   Mostly  white   This  sampling  scheme  was  designed  to  capture  variation  of  the  embedded  contexts   of  teachers’  work  that  might  explain  how  such  contexts  (described  in  the  analytic  frame)   affect  teacher  sensemaking,  but  it  was  not  without  tradeoffs.  As  McLaughlin  and  Talbert   (2001)  noted:   An  embedded  sampling  design  is  never  able  to  capture  all  important  context   variables  or  their  combinations.  However,  it  offers  perspective  on  the   embeddedness  of  teachers’  work  in  multiple  settings  and  contexts—a   perspective  that  is  lost  in  both  large  random  samples  of  schools  and  in-­‐depth   case  studies.  (p.  150)   The  sample  of  schools  and  teachers  allowed  me  to  investigate  the  “embeddedness  of   teachers’  work  in  multiple  settings”  that  McLaughlin  and  Talbert  wrote  about.  Below  I   provide  an  overview  of  the  teacher  sample.  Please  note  that  these  teachers  are  those  that  I   96   interviewed  at  least  once  and  that,  for  reasons  of  my  own  capacity  and  some  teacher   reluctance,  I  was  not  able  to  actively  collect  individual  data  from  all  teachers  on  the   learning  team  at  each  school.  For  these  teachers,  I  only  captured  their  participation  while  at   learning  team  meetings.     Table  4.2.  Teacher  Sample  Overview   Teacher   Mrs.  Quincy   Mrs.  Herman   Ms.  Carroll   Mr.  St.  Johns   Ms.  Turner   Ms.  Dixon   Mrs.  Reid   Ms.  Cunningham   Mrs.  Monahan     Mrs.  Curtis   Mrs.  Jackson   Mrs.  Hall   Ms.  Stickle     Mr.  Bridges   Mr.  Trotter   School   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Edgar  Allan  Poe   Edgar  Allan  Poe   Edgar  Allan  Poe   Edgar  Allan  Poe   Willard  Waller   Willard  Waller   Willard  Waller   Willard  Waller   Willard  Waller   Willard  Waller   Subject   Mathematics   Reading   English   Science   History   Math   E/LA   E/LA   E/LA   Spanish   E/LA   Science   Science   Science   Science     Data  Collection   Overview   Teachers  involved  in  the  study  had  several  potential  levels  of  participation.  First,  teachers   could  agree  to  being  videotaped  during  learning  team  meetings  and  not  otherwise   participate  in  the  study.  Securing  this  initial  agreement  was  a  prerequisite  consideration   for  a  team’s  participation  in  the  study.  Next,  individual  teachers  could  make  themselves   available  for  one-­‐on-­‐one  interviews.  The  number  of  interviews  varied  depending  on  a   teacher’s  interest  and  availability.  I  interviewed  14  teachers  an  average  of  four  times  over   the  course  of  the  year.  The  typical  interview  lasted  between  45-­‐60  minutes.  Finally,   teachers  could  allow  me  to  observe  them  teaching  in  their  classrooms.  Observations  were   of  two  types—video  recording  and  fieldnotes.   97   Observations   The  purpose  of  the  observations  was  to  capture  meaningful  encounters  among   students,  teachers,  and  administrators;  note  the  different  roles  that  people  assumed  under   different  institutional  circumstances;  and  to  detail  the  practices—those  “recurrent   categories  of  talk  and  action[that]  the  participants  regard[ed]  as  unremarkable  and  as   normal  and  undramatic  features  of  ongoing  life”  (Lofland  &  Lofland,  1995,  p.  103)—that   result  from  institutional  living.  I  conducted  observations  of  meaningful  encounters,  roles,   and  practices  in  three  broad  areas:  hallways,  teacher  meetings,  and  classrooms.   Hallways.  As  is  common  in  the  participant  observation  approach,  not  all  of  my   observations  were  focused  or  intentional.  I  spent  a  good  amount  of  time  wandering  the   halls  or  sitting  in  the  office  and  striking  up  conversations  with  teachers,  administrators,   and  students.  After  these  brief  and  serendipitous  encounters,  I  would  typically  go  off  and   write  about  what  had  happened  and  any  insights  I  had  gleaned  during  the  conversation.   These  informal  encounters  proved  a  great  supplement  to  the  more  formal  observations  of   teachers’  classrooms,  learning  team  meetings,  staff  meetings,  and  other  professional   development  opportunities.   Teacher  meetings.  Teacher  meetings  included  FAME  learning  team  meetings,  staff   meetings,  and  other  professional  development  sessions  in  which  teachers  participated.   While  I  attended  and  videotaped  each  of  the  learning  team  meetings  (see  Table  4.3  below)   at  the  three  schools  in  the  study,  my  data  collection  at  the  other  teacher  meetings  was   much  less  intense.  In  total,  I  attended  only  a  single  staff  meeting,  the  all-­‐day  FAME  Launch   into  Learning  event,  two  professional  development  sessions  (Waller  and  Poe),  and  one   department  meeting  (Waller  only).    I  compensated  for  this  relatively  light  collection  by   98   interviewing  teachers  at  length  about  their  professional  development  experiences  aside   from  their  participation  in  the  FAME  program.  All  FAME  related  teacher  meetings  (i.e.,   learning  team  meetings  and  the  FAME  launch)  were  videotaped  in  their  entirety.  I  wrote   extended  fieldnotes  for  the  few  professional  development  trainings  and  staff  meeting  I   attended.     Table  4.3.  Teacher  Meeting  Observation  Overview   School   Learning  Team   Meetings*   Professional   Staff  Meetings   FAME  “Launch”   Development   Professional   Trainings     Development   Willard  Waller   5   1   1   1   Edgar  Allan  Poe   3   1   0   1   Middleton   4   0   0   1   *  The  disparity  in  observed  learning  team  meetings  is  due  to  the  variance  in  the  number  of  times  each  team   met.  All  learning  team  meetings  at  each  of  the  three  sites  was  observed  and  videotaped     Classrooms.    Although  I  will  be  restricting  the  findings  to  the  consideration  of  the   meso-­‐level    (i.e.,  principal  leadership,  teacher  learning  teams),  I  collected  a  considerable   amount  of  data  at  the  classroom  level.  Over  the  course  of  the  2013-­‐14  school  year  I  visited   and  either  videotaped  or  recorded  fieldnotes  for  122  class  periods  and  14  teachers.  Table   4.4  provides  an  overview  of  the  classroom  observations  I  conducted.   The  original  research  design  called  only  for  video  recording  teachers,  but  when   some  of  the  teachers  were  hesitant  about  being  video  recorded  I  asked  if  I  could  observe   them  and  record  written  notes  (fieldnotes)  about  what  I  saw.  Each  of  the  14  teachers  who  I   asked  to  observe  consented  to  have  me  in  their  classrooms.  Only  one  of  these  14  teachers,   Mrs.  Turner,  requested  that  I  not  return  after  I  sent  her  the  fieldnotes  I  recorded  during  my   observation.  Of  the  122  full  class  sessions  that  I  observed,  I  recorded  fieldnotes  for  97  of   these  sessions.  On  the  other  25  visits,  I  video  recorded  the  teacher.  The  decision  to  combine   99   the  fieldnote  and  video  recorded  observations  afforded  me  several  advantages  that  will  be   discussed  at  length  in  the  pages  to  come.   Table  4.4.  Teacher  Observation  Chart  (Videotaped  lessons  bolded)   Teacher   Mrs.  Quincy   Mrs.  Herman   Ms.  Carroll   Mr.  St.  Johns   Ms.  Turner   Ms.  Dixon   Mrs.  Reid   Ms.   Cunningham   Mrs.   Monahan     Mrs.  Curtis   School   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Poe   Poe   Poe   Subject   Math   Reading   English   Science   History   Math   English   English   V1   3.5A   2.19   3.4A   2.20   2.19   2.24   3.31   3.17   V2   3.5B   2.19   3.4B   3.5A     2.24   4.14   3.17   V3   4.02   2.19   4.03   3.5B     2.24   4.16   3.26   V4   4.30   3.3   4.29   3.24     2.25*   4.21   3.26   V5   5.01   3.3   4.30A   4.02     2.26   4.28   3.31   V6     3.3   4.30B   4.30     2.26   5.01   4.14   V7     4.02   6.02   5.1     2.26   5.12   4.16   V8     6.02   6.03       5.12   5.13   4.28   V9     6.03   6.04       6.05*   5.15   5.05   V10     6.04   6.04       6.06*     5.20   Total   5   10   10   7   1   10   9   10   Poe   English   3.27   3.31   4.21   4.28   5.14   5.14B   5.15   5.15   5.19   6.09   10   Waller   Spanish   11.20   2.06   2.06   2.06   2.13   2.14   3.13   3.14   3.14   10   Mrs.  Jackson   Mrs.  Hall   Waller   Waller   English   Science   2.07   12.05   2.13   2.07   2.14   3.19   3.13   4.17   3.14   4.24   3.19   5.06   3.20   5.21   5.21   5.23   5.22   5.28   10   10   Ms.  Stickle     Waller     Science   11.1 9   2.07   12.0 4   3.19   3.21A   4.24   4.25A   4.25B   5.06   5.27   5.28   5.29   10   Mr.  Bridges   Waller   Science   2.14   3.19   3.20B   4.24   5.21   5.21   5.22   5.23   5.27   10   Total           3.21 B   3.20 A                   122     Writing  Fieldnotes    Writing  fieldnotes  was  a  more  demanding  endeavor  than  videotaping  and,  as  such,  I   will  briefly  explain  the  logic  behind  the  fieldnotes  before  describing  the  logistics  that   surrounded  my  writing  them.     Observations  of  administrators,  teachers,  and  students  conducting  their  routine   activities  and  composition  of  fieldnotes  based  on  these  observations  were  one  of  my   primary  methods  of  collecting  and  analyzing  data.  Culture  is  public  (Geertz,  1973)  and  will   become  manifest  as  people  go  about  their  lives  in  interaction  with  one  another  (Blumer,   1969).  For  this  reason  Geertz  (1973)  wrote,  “Behavior  must  be  attended  to,  and  with  some   exactness,  because  it  is  through  the  flow  of  behavior—or,  more  precisely,  social  action— that  cultural  forms  find  articulation”  (p.  17).    Through  writing  fieldnotes,  I  attended  to   behavior  as  Geertz  suggested  the  researcher  must.     100   Writing  fieldnotes  is  a  diverse  activity  that  can  differ  in  purpose  and  process.    In  this   section,  I  describe  the  process  of  writing  extended  fieldnotes  from  the  jottings  I  recorded  in   the  moment  and  the  “headnotes”  (Sanjek,  1990)  I  made  while  observing  the  various   activities  at  each  of  the  schools.     Jottings.  My  in-­‐the-­‐moment  writing  was  never  comprehensive.  Rather,  when   conducting  informal  classroom  visits,  sitting  in  the  front  office,  walking  the  halls,  or   watching  a  meeting,  I  often  hastily  wrote  brief  notes,  or  jottings,  that  I  could  rely  upon  later   to  write  an  elaborated  account  of  the  day’s  events.     Jottings  were  a  necessary  and  integral  part  of  the  research.  While  in  the  field  I  often   had  little  chance  for  in-­‐the-­‐moment  writing,  yet  I  wanted  to  capture  what  people  said  and   did  in  concrete  detail  for  later  analysis.  Events  in  the  field  often  happened  too  quickly  or   withdrawing  from  the  field  to  write  more  extensively  would  have  interfered  with   observations.  Thus,  jottings  were  an  attractive  compromise  that  I  employed  often.   Even  under  these  constraints,  I  honored  a  few  key  principles  when  writing  jottings   as  best  I  could.  First,  I  used  jottings  to  record  sensory  details  that  would  likely  trigger   memories  that  I  could  record  more  fully  when  I  had  more  time  to  write.  I  also  focused  on   the  specifics  of  what  people  said  and  did  and  avoided  recording  generalized  patterns  of   meaning.  The  goal  of  the  jottings  was  to  record  concrete  details  of  social  interactions,  not  to   interpret.     Although  I  avoided  recording  generalizations  or  ascribing  meaning  to  events  in  in-­‐ the-­‐moment  writing,  the  process  was  not  free  of  analysis  or  speculation  about  an   interaction’s  importance.    Inscription  is  its  own  type  of  analysis  (Geertz,  1973)  and  by   writing  anything  I  was  making  certain  judgments  about  what  was  potentially  significant   101   about  a  social  scene.  Theoretical  interests  informed  the  types  of  interactions  I  was   interested  in  and  several  moments  of  intuition  emerged  when  writing  the  jottings.  I  tried  to   be  sensitive  to  these  feelings  of  importance  and  I  often  wrote  these  speculations  as  asides,   but  not  at  the  expense  of  recording  the  salient  concrete  details.     Extended  fieldnotes.  At  the  end  of  field  visit,  I  combined  the  jottings  I  made  during   the  observation  with  my  headnotes  to  write  extended  fieldnotes.  This  section  describes   how  I  achieved  these  elaborations.  While  it  is  true  that  fieldnotes  are  not  “collections  or   samples  decided  in  advance  to  set  criteria”  (Emerson,  Fretz,  and  Shaw,  2011,  p.  14),  I   nevertheless  adhered  to  several  guiding  principles  when  writing  fieldnotes.     The  first  principle  required  that  I  attend  to  writing  extended  fieldnotes  as  quickly  as   possible.  This  commitment  to  timely  writing  was  one  that  I  seldom  breached  despite  the   many  temptations  to  put  off  writing  until  later.  I  committed  to  immediacy  for  two  reasons.   The  first  reason  was  personal.  I  reasoned  that  I  would  dread  the  prospect  of  writing   extended  fieldnotes  if  jottings  began  to  accumulate.  The  second  reason  was  more   important  to  the  quality  of  the  research.  As  Emerson,  Fretz,  and  Shaw  (2011)  explained,   “notes  composed  several  days  after  observation  tend  to  be  summarized  and  stripped  of   rich,  nuanced  detail”  (p.  49).  In  the  field,  this  meant  that  I  would  look  for  a  quiet  place  to  sit   and,  whenever  possible,  write  (with  the  help  of  the  jotting)  immediately  after  an   observation.       When  elaborating  jottings  into  full  fieldnotes,  I  tried  to  recall  and  record  events  as   quickly  and  accurately  as  I  could  using  vivid  language  and  active  verbs  without  concern  for   proper  grammar,  usage,  word  choice,  or  the  quality  of  the  prose.     102     Next,  I  wrote  extended  fieldnotes  using  active  voice.  I  drew  on  narrative   conventions  to  add  context  and  coherence  to  the  observations  that,  in  this  way,  extended   the  jottings  written  hastily  in  the  moment.  Extending  jottings  with  active  voice  and   concrete  details  allowed  me  to  capture  the  specific  interactions  among  teachers  and   students  that  were  vital  to  my  research.  Active  voice  is  a  syntactical  construction  in  which   sentences  include  a  subject,  action  verb,  and,  typically,  a  direct  or  indirect  object.   Committing  to  active  voice  was  not  strictly  a  stylistic  choice,  but  also  a  substantive  one.  As   Becker  (1986)  explained:     We  seldom  think  that  things  just  happen  all  by  themselves,  as  passive  verbs  suggest,   because  in  our  daily  lives  people  do  things  and  make  them  happen.  Sentences  that   name  active  agents  make  our  representations  of  social  life  more  understandable  and   believable…Almost  every  version  of  social  theory  insists  that  we  act  to  produce   social  life…but…syntax  often  betrays  [these]  theories.  (Becker,  1986,  pp.  79-­‐80)     Since  understanding  interactions  is  the  key  to  unlocking  constructed  social  meanings   (Blumer,  1969),  it  was  essential  that  I  first  captured  what  people  said  and  did  and  to  whom   accurately.  This  would  not  have  been  possible  using  passive  voice,  which  obscures  action.     Advantages  of  fieldnotes.  In  this  research,  writing  fieldnotes  began  as  a  way  to  get   administrators,  teachers,  and  students  to  become  more  accustomed  to  my  presence  and  to   get  a  better  sense  of  what  I  was  interested  in.  I  hoped  that  by  achieving  these  two  goals,   teachers  would  eventually  let  me  videotape  their  classrooms,  and  when  they  did,  my   presence  would  not  be  a  major  distraction.  This  approach  was  successful,  and  I  ultimately   videotaped  seven  teachers  after  first  conducting  several  observations  and  writing   103   fieldnotes  that  corresponded  with  what  I  saw.  However,  fieldnotes  became  a  major  part  of   the  research  in  their  own  right  and  exposed  many  of  the  limitations  of  videotaping.   First,  conducting  observations  and  writing  fieldnotes  (for  the  sake  of  simplicity  I  will   call  these  fieldnote  observations)  helped  me  capture  typical  routines.  For  example,   teachers  were  more  likely  to  try  something  innovative  or  ambitious  on  the  days  I   videotaped  (although  this  was  less  true  of  the  teachers  I  taped  after  conducting  several   observations).    In  contrast,  during  fieldnote  observations  I  was  able  to  observe  a  teacher’s   typical  instructional  sequence.     Fieldnote  observations  also  allowed  me  to  observe  the  mundane  activities  of  school   life.  For  example,  during  fieldnote  observations  teachers  talked  at  length  about  upcoming   fieldtrips,  a  class’s  behavior  for  the  substitute  the  previous  day,  or  upcoming  school  events.     Collecting  and  sharing  fieldnotes.  While  much  of  what  follows  concerns  the   interactions  I  had  with  teachers  surrounding  their  teaching,  it  captures  my  approach  to  the   research  more  broadly  and  describes  how  I  established  the  validity  of  the  fieldnotes  I   wrote.  I  also  shared  fieldnotes  from  the  meetings  I  observed  (but  did  not  videotape)  with   any  teacher  or  administrator  who  was  present.  However,  neither  teachers  nor   administrators  ever  commented  on  the  meeting  fieldnotes  I  sent  them.     As  noted,  when  many  teachers  were  reluctant  to  be  videotaped  at  the  beginning  of   the  research  I  asked  teachers  to  let  me  observe  in  their  classrooms.  I  told  them  that,  given   their  permission,  I  would  be  coming  into  classrooms  to  observe  and  record.  I  would  come   in  with  a  notebook  and  nothing  else.  Finally,  I  would  share  with  teachers  what  I  had   written.  All  14  teachers  who  I  asked  to  observe  obliged  and  only  one  teacher  (Mrs.  Turner)   requested  that  I  not  return.     104   I  was  very  careful  at  the  beginning  to  arrange  fieldnote  observations  ahead  of  time,   but  as  the  year  went  on  teachers  seemed  much  less  concerned  and  most  teachers  (with  the   exception  of  Mrs.  Dixon,  Mrs.  Monahan,  and  Mrs.  Quincy)  welcomed  me  anytime.       I  also  shared  my  extended  fieldnotes  with  the  teachers  first  as  a  way  of  building   trust  (or  at  least  being  transparent  about  my  intentions).  Fieldnotes,  while  strictly   descriptive,  often  did  not  portray  teacher’s  classrooms  favorably.  Via  email,  I  sent  teachers   the  notes  within  2-­‐3  days  and  each  time  I  included  a  note  in  which  I  encouraged  teachers  to   treat  the  fieldnotes  as  a  work  in  progress  and  to  challenge  the  fieldnotes  if  they  were   errant.  Some  teachers  (Mrs.  Quincy,  Mr.  St.  Johns,  Ms.  Dixon,  Mrs.  Reid,  Ms.  Cunningham)   likely  never  read  the  notes,  or  if  they  did,  said  nothing  to  me  about  them.  However,  most   teachers  did  respond  to  the  notes  either  verbally  or  in  writing.     Teachers’  verbal  responses  to  the  notes  were  exclusively  favorable.  Several  teachers   (Mrs.  Herman,  Ms.  Carroll,  Ms.  Turner,  Mrs.  Monahan,  Mrs.  Curtis,  Mrs.  Jackson,  Mrs.  Hall,   Ms.  Stickle,  Mr.  Bridges)  mentioned  how  they  found  the  fieldnotes  entertaining  to  read  and   appreciated  the  way  the  notes  captured  classroom  life,  particularly  the  fieldnotes’   emphasis  on  the  student  experience.  Many  of  these  same  teachers  expressed  to  me  that  the   fieldnotes  were  also  of  great  benefit  to  them,  particularly  as  they  helped  them  reflect  on   their  teaching.       While  verbal  exchanges  with  teachers  about  their  notes  were  entirely  positive,  on   three  occasions  (once  each  for  Mrs.  Herman,  Mrs.  Jackson,  and  Mrs.  Monahan)  teachers   either  provided  helpful  feedback  or  commented  on  the  notes  in  such  a  way  that  made  me   concerned  that  the  notes  were  making  some  teachers  feel  bad  about  their  teaching.     105     In  one  of  the  three  cases  when  my  notes  elicited  a  written  response  from  a  teacher,   Mrs.  Jackson  provided  me  with  additional  information  to  help  me  understand  the  contexts   of  her  classroom  and  make  better  sense  of  the  interactions  between  her  and  her  students.  I   have  included  three  sections  of  the  extended  fieldnote  that  I  wrote  and  sent  to  Mrs.  Jackson   and  her  subsequent  email  that  provided  me  with  more  information.  What  I  wrote:   With  one  notable  exception,  students  begin  reading  when  Mrs.  Jackson   instructs  them  to  do  so.  One  student  in  the  back  has  a  desk  full  of  binders  and   assorted  paper  but  no  book.  He  is  sitting  with  his  arms  crossed,  leaning  back  with   the  hood  of  his  sweatshirt  pulled  over  his  head  and  looking  straight  ahead.     Later  I  wrote:   Most  students  begin  writing  immediately.  The  student  who  had  his  arms   folded  and  his  hood  on  and  was  not  reading  earlier  is  a  notable  exception.  Mrs.   Jackson  seems  to  notice  this,  too.  She  approaches  the  young  man  and  sits  in  the   vacant  desk  directly  in  front  of  his.  She  talks  to  the  student  in  a  very  quiet  whisper.   The  talk  appears  to  be  of  a  personal  (rather  than  academic)  nature.   Finally  I  wrote:     The  student  who  did  not  read  during  silent  reading  time  and  did  not  write   during  the  5-­‐minute  writing  time  is  also  not  sharing  his  ideas  for  writing.  Mrs.   Jackson  approaches  him  yet  again,  but  seems  reluctant  to  confront  him  directly.  The   student  makes  it  clear  that  he  does  not  want  to  share  his  ideas  nor  does  he  intend  to.   “Can  you  just  listen,  then?”  Mrs.  Jackson  asks,  evidently  hoping  that  the  young  man   will  be  willing  to  attend  to  his  classmates’  ideas  as  they  share.     106   Once  Mrs.  Jackson  leaves,  the  young  man  stretches,  leans  back,  and  yawns.  It   is  difficult  to  tell  whether  he  actually  listens  to  any  other  student  as  he  or  she  shares   their  options  for  writing.     A  few  days  later,  I  received  the  following  email  from  Mrs.  Jackson:   John,     Just  some  quick  notations  on  the  notes.  2nd  hour,  the  student  you  noted  that  refused   to  write,  or  read,  or  really  do  anything,  (with  his  hood  up)  he  is  SEVERELY   AUTSITIC.  He  does  well  responding  one  on  one  to  me  verbally,  but  ANY  attention   (helping  or  otherwise)  sets  him  into  a  frenzy.  I  am  often  walking  on  eggshells   around  him.  The  students  are  VERY  good  with  him.  I  have  weekly  conversations   with  mom  (who  is  also  a  teacher  in  the  district)  and  she  works  with  him  one  on  one   at  home,  he  completes  all  work  with  her,  and  then  gets  it  back  to  me.  This  system  is   working  for  him  for  the  time  being.     Mrs.  Jackson   I  quickly  replied  by  thanking  Mrs.  Jackson  for  her  diligence  and  adding  the   information  to  the  fieldnote  (being  sure  to  separate  it  as  information  learned  later).     In  neither  this  nor  the  other  two  cases  did  the  teachers’  written  feedback  to  the   fieldnotes  jeopardize  or  in  any  way  impair  the  working  relationship  between  the  teachers   and  myself.  In  fact,  in  all  three  cases  the  teachers  expressed  their  approval  of  the  notes  and   their  gratitude  for  having  access  to  another,  non-­‐evaluative  perspective  on  their  teaching.     I  never  heard  directly  from  the  one  teacher  (Mrs.  Turner)  in  my  sample  who  did  not   want  me  to  return.  I  heard  only  through  Mrs.  Herman  that  Mrs.  Turner  was  uncomfortable   with  my  presence.  I  would  still  see  Mrs.  Turner  in  the  hallway  from  time  to  time  and  we   107   would  talk  cordially,  if  briefly.  If  she  had  any  lingering  animosity  toward  me,  she  hid  it  well   and  I  was  unaware  of  it.       Finally,  while  the  fieldnotes  may  be  altered  slightly  for  stylistic  and  grammatical   reasons,  they  appear  in  the  findings  sections  almost  exactly  as  the  teachers  saw  them.   However,  the  later  analysis  and  the  meaning  I  constructed  from  the  classroom  events   would  be  new  to  them.     Limitations  of  the  fieldnotes.  Fieldnotes,  then,  provided  me  with  a  unique  data   source.  However,  fieldnotes  have  limitations.  First,  although  I  did  the  best  I  could  to  record   concrete  details,  fieldnotes  do  not  provide  a  verbatim  or  comprehensive  account  of   classroom  life.  Undoubtedly,  I  missed  interesting  events  when  I  was  scribbling  notes  in  my   notebook  rather  than  looking  up  and  observing.  There  were  also  times  when  the  speed  of   classroom  interactions  overwhelmed  my  capability  of  writing  them  down  or  remembering   them  all  when  I  later  sat  down  to  write  the  extended  notes.     Furthermore,  one  might  suspect  that  teachers,  upon  reading  the  fieldnotes,  altered   their  practice  to  make  a  more  favorable  impression  on  me  or  that  they  used  the  fieldnotes   to  reflect  on,  and  immediately  improve,  their  classroom  instruction.  If  anything,  however,   the  fieldnote  record  that  I  constructed  over  several  months  in  each  teacher’s  class  captures   the  routine  consistency  of  teaching  that  persists  over  time.  If  I  redacted  the  date  from  each   of  the  notes  and  scrambled  them,  one  would  be  hard-­‐pressed  to  reconstruct  them  in  the   proper  order.  In  other  words,  I  do  not  believe  that  teachers  altered  their  practice  in  any   measurable  way  in  response  to  having  access  to  my  notes.         108   Interviews   I  relied  heavily  on  Spradley’s  (1979;  1980)  ideas  for  the  construction  of  interviews   and  for  the  collection  and  analysis  of  interview  data.  I  interviewed  all  of  the  13  teachers   who  I  observed  more  than  once  or  videotaped  plus  one  other  teacher  (Mr.  Trotter)  who   declined  to  be  observed  or  taped  but  who  wanted  to  participate  in  the  interviews.  In  total,  I   interviewed  each  of  the  three  principals  (Ms.  Shriver,  Mr.  Delancey,  Mrs.  Novak)  at  least   twice.  Finally,  I  interviewed  students  over  the  course  of  two  days  in  the  late  spring.  In  total   I  interviewed  eight  groups  of  4-­‐5  students  each.  With  the  exception  of  the  student   interviews,  I  adhered  to  the  development  sequence  for  interview  constructed  as  outlined  in   Spradley  (1979).    It  is  important  to  note,  that  collection  and  analysis  of  interview  data   occurred  simultaneously,  but  for  the  sake  of  clarity  I  separate  them  here  for  the  reader’s   consideration.  Greater  consideration  for  some  of  the  terms  introduced  in  this  section  (e.g.,   cultural  domains)  will  be  discussed  at  greater  length  in  the  data  analysis  section.  All   interviews  were  audio  recorded  in  their  entirety.  A  summary  of  the  interviews  I  conducted   is  included  below  in  Table  4.5.     Table  4.5.  Interview  Summary   Informant  Name   Mrs.  Jackson   Mrs.  Curtis   Ms.  Shriver   Mr.  Trotter   Mr.  Bridges   Mrs.  Hall   Ms.  Stickle     Ms.  Dixon   Mrs.  Reid   Ms.  Cunningham   Mrs.  Monahan     Mr.  Delancey   Mrs.  Quincy   Mrs.  Herman   Ms.  Carroll   Mr.  St.  Johns   Mrs.  Novak   Students     Total  Interviews   School   Waller   Waller   Waller   Waller   Waller   Waller   Waller   Poe   Poe   Poe   Poe   Poe   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Waller   Interview  1     11.21   10.10   10.10   12.05   10.10   10.10   11.07   12.03   3.31   3.17   3.31   3.26   6.10   2.19   3.04   4.03   4.03   6.12   Interview  2   2.07   11.19   01.23   02.14   02.13   12.05   2.14   6.06   5.05   5.05   5.19   5.13     5.01   6.03   5.01   6.03   6.12   Interview  3   5.22   2.07   4.21     05.06   5.27   5.28       5.15   6.09   5.19     6.02   6.04   6.10     6.12   109   Interview  4   5.23   5.22   5.21     5.21   6.05   5.29       5.30   6.09       6.03A   6.10       6.13   Interview  5   5.27   5.23       5.22   6.12   6.05         6.09       6.03B   6.11       6.13   Interview  6   5.28   5.27       6.05     6.12                       6.13   Total   6   6   4   2   6   5   6   2   2   4   5   3   1   5   5   3   2   8   75     Initial  Interviews   Initial  interviews  were  semi-­‐structured  and  intended  to  establish  rapport  with   informants.  These  interviews  featured  descriptive  questions  that  asked  informants  about   their  experiences  in  education,  how  they  joined  a  FAME  learning  team,  their  impressions  of   the  FAME  project,  what  they  hoped  to  gain  by  participation  on  a  FAME  team,  and  any   challenges  they  anticipated  in  the  coming  year.     Follow-­‐Up  Interviews   As  is  typical  of  the  ethnographic  interview  approach,  follow-­‐up  interviews  probed   into  the  various  themes  that  emerged  from  initial  data  collection  and  were  universally   asked  of  all  informants.  Other  questions  were  based  on  particular  interviews  or   observations  and  were  thus  informant-­‐specific.  These  latter  question  types  emerged  from   earlier  interviews,  comments  the  informant  made  at  a  learning  team  meeting,  or  through   conversations  that  surrounded  viewing  the  informant’s  classroom  teaching.  In  any  case,   interview  questions  stemmed  directly  from  prior  interviews,  classroom  observations,  and   learning  team  meetings.     Descriptive  questions.  Descriptive  questions  ask  informants  about  the  “setting[s]  in   which  [they]  carry  out  routine  activities”  (Spradley,  1979,  p.  85).  Many  of  my  initial   interview  questions  were  descriptive.  For  example,  I  asked  informants  to  tell  me  about   their  background  in  education,  their  current  role,  and  about  the  challenges  they  faced.   While  interviews  gradually  became  concentrated  on  structural  and  contrast  questions,  all   interviews  were  sprinkled  with  periodic  descriptive  questions.   Structural  questions.  Structural  questions  require  informants  to  comment  on  their   cultural  knowledge  and  the  contents  of  the  cultural  domains  (e.g.,  categories  of  meaning)   110   that  populate  their  lives.  In  Spradley’s  (1979)  words,  “structural  questions  all  function  to   explore  the  organization  of  an  informant’s  cultural  knowledge”  (p.  131).  Cultural  domains   are  the  categories  in  which  people  organize  their  social  life  and  are  critical  to   understanding  the  social  phenomenon  under  study.       Structural  questions  are  of  five  varieties:  verification,  cover  term,  included  term,   substitution  frame,  and  card  sorting  questions.  A  brief  description  and  example  of  each  of   the  types  of  structural  questions  is  included  in  table  4.6.     Table  4.6.  Types  of  Structural  Questions   Type  of   Structural   Question    Verification   Purpose  of  Question  Type   Example   Confirms  or  disconfirms  hypothesis   about  a  cultural  domain.     Cover  Term     Determines  the  possible  existence  of  a   cover  term  that  might  contain  two  or   more  included  terms.   Establishes  the  existence  of  terms  that   belong  to  the  “category  of  knowledge   named  by  the  cover  term”  (Spradley,   1979,  p.  100).   Explores  other  included  or  cover  terms   in  a  cultural  domain  by  omitting  a  key   word  and  asking  informants  to   complete  the  cloze  sentence  with  an   appropriate  term.     Do  teachers  try  to  engage  students  in   course  material?  Is  student  engagement   something  that  you  think  about  often?     Are  there  different  ways  that  teachers   try  to  engage  students  in  course   material?     What  are  some  ways  that  teachers  try  to   engage  students  in  classroom  activities?     Included  Term   Substitution   Frame   Card-­‐sorting     Establishes  the  boundary  of  a  cultural   domain  through  asking  the  informant  to   organize  cards  with  included  terms   under  the  appropriate  cover  term.           Original  statement:     Building  relationships  with  students  is  a   way  to  encourage  student  engagement.   Substitution  Frame:   Complete  the  following  sentence  by   substituting  an  appropriate  term  that  is   not  about  building  relationships:   _____________________________  is  a  way  to   encourage  student  engagement.       Interviewer  writes  one  potential   included  term  on  each  of  several    3x5   cards,  presents  these  cards  to  the   informant,  and  asks,  “Which  of  these   strategies  do  you  use  to  help  students   engage  in  classroom  activities?”         Contrast  questions.  Once  I  had  some  sense  of  the  cultural  landscape  (i.e.,  I  knew   something  about  the  meaning  systems  that  informants  used  to  make  sense  of  their  lives   111   and  organize  their  experience),  I  was  ready  to  ask  contrast  questions.  Unlike  structural   questions,  which  I  used  to  exhaust  the  contents  (e.g.,  included  terms)  of  a  cultural  domain,   contrast  questions  allowed  me  to  understand  how  the  included  terms  within  a  domain   were  similar  and  how  they  differed.    Asking  informants  to  contrast  two  or  more  included   terms  from  the  same  domain  is  what  Spradley  (1979)  termed  restricted  contrast  questions   and  these  questions,  he  wrote,  are  “goldmines  of  cultural  meaning”  (p.  158).       Over  the  course  of  the  research,  I  used  restricted  contrast  questions  of  several   different  sorts.  First,  I  asked  questions  that  verified  that  a  contrast  existed,  and  if  it  did,  I   followed  up  with  a  variety  of  different  types  of  restricted  contrast  questions.  For  these   questions,  I  often  used  3x5  cards  with  included  terms  from  previously  discussed  cultural   domains.  For  example,  I  would  show  informants  two  included  terms  from  a  particular   domain  and  ask  about  any  differences  between  the  two  terms  that  were  meaningful  to   them.  At  other  times,  I  would  hand  informants  a  stack  of  terms  from  a  cultural  domain  and   ask  them  to  sort  the  cards  along  any  dimensions  of  contrast  that  were  meaningful  to  them.  I   would  then  follow  up  by  asking  them  why  they  sorted  the  cards  the  way  they  did.  In  a   similar  way,  I  sometimes  asked  the  informant  to  rank  the  cards  along  some  dimension  of   contrast  that  I  had  in  mind  (e.g.,  ranking  the  influences  on  their  instructional  practice).   Finally,  I  sometimes  handed  informants  the  stack  of  included  terms  and  asked  if  the   informants  could  arrange  the  cards  spatially  into  a  system  and  then  asked  them  to  walk  me   through  the  logic  of  the  system  they  had  created.  In  sum,  the  restricted  contrast  questions   that  I  asked  in  dozens  of  interviews  were  exceptionally  informative  and  many  of  the   findings  are  based  on  the  information  I  gleaned  from  these  questions.       112   General  Interviewing  Principles   During  data  collection,  I  honored  several  interviewing  principles.  First,  I  adhered  to   the  concurrent  principle  which  states  “that  it  is  best  to  alternate  the  various  types  of   questions  in  each  interview”  so  that  descriptive,  structural,  and  contrast  questions  are   “thoroughly  mixed  together  in  an  almost  random  fashion”  (Spradley,  1979,  p.  121).     I  also  built  the  explanation  principle  into  the  interviews.    The  explanation  principle   has  a  two-­‐fold  purpose.  First,  this  principle  allowed  me  to  repeatedly  express  my  research   goals—namely  to  understand  how  teachers  made  sense  of  multiple  instructional  reforms— with  the  intent  of  reminding  informants  that  I  really  did  want  to  know  about  what  they   might  find  commonplace  or  uninteresting  in  their  work-­‐a-­‐day  lives.     Providing  explanations  also  helped  me  provide  informants  reminders  of  past   discussions  with  the  hope  that  these  recollections  would  lead  to  greater  informant  clarity   and  insight,  and,  consequently,  to  expanded  cultural  domains.     With  similar  goals  in  mind,  I  followed  the  repetition  principle.  That  is,  I  returned  to   familiar  cultural  domains  time  and  again  both  within  and  across  interviews.  The  logic  of  the   repetition  principle  is  straightforward:  many  cultural  domains  are  extensive  and  require   repeated  attention.  In  addition  to  allowing  me  to  exhaust  cultural  domains,  repetition,  like   ample  explanation,  sent  the  message  to  informants  that  I  really  did  care  about  the  details  of   their  social  worlds.   The  fourth  principle,  the  context  principle,  required  that  I  describe  the  setting  in   which  a  cultural  domain  might  be  relevant  before  asking  a  question.  Spradley  (1979)   writes,  “adding  contextual  information  expands  a  structural  question.  It  aids  greatly  in   113   recall  and  will  avoid  the  problem  of  making  an  informant  feel  he  is  being  tested  with  a   series  of  short  questions”  (p.  125).   Finally,  I  found  the  cultural  framework  principle  useful.  With  this  principle  in  mind,  I   varied  my  questions  between  the  personal  and  the  cultural.  For  example,  I  might  ask  an   informant  a  personal  question  like  “What  are  some  ways  that  you  try  to  engage  your   students  in  academic  learning?”  and  later  in  the  interview,  I  might  ask  the  same  question  in   cultural  terms  “What  are  some  ways  that  you  have  heard  about  that  teachers  try  to  engage   students  in  academic  learning?”  Spradley  (1979)  states  the  rationale  of  the  cultural   framework  principle  simply:  “sometimes  an  informant  needs  to  be  reminded  that  they   know  about  the  experience  of  others”  (p.  126).     Data  Processing   All  videotaped  learning  team  meetings;  student,  teacher,  and  administrator   audiotaped  interviews;  and  classroom  videotapes  were  transcribed  in  their  entirety.  In   addition  to  the  transcripts,  I  added  descriptive  detail  to  all  learning  team  meetings  and   classroom  videotapes.  These  details  included  physical  movements  and  other  visual   artifacts  (e.g.,  gestures,  facial  expressions).     Data  Analysis   Domain  Analysis   In  Chapter  3,  I  detailed  the  process  of  using  deductive  analysis  to  create  an  analytic   frame  to  guide  the  beginning  of  the  research.  Briefly,  this  process  required  reading  widely,   identifying  relevant  theory  from  previous  research,  and  then  bringing  these  theoretical   ideas  to  bear  on  the  data  by  translating  these  ideas  into  a  frame  around  which  I  could   organize  the  research  and  develop  a  plan  of  action.  Constructing  an  analytic  frame  before   114   the  research  started  informed  where  I  would  observe,  who  I  would  talk  to,  and  what  I   would  ask.       As  helpful  as  this  process  was,  my  main  intent  was  to  build  theory,  and  for  this  I   needed  to  induce  patterns  from  the  data  in  a  systematic  way.  That  is,  using  inductive   reasoning  allows  the  researcher  to  be  receptive  to  new  ideas  that  emerge  from  the  data.   While  the  inductive  method  appeals  to  a  wide  variety  of  researchers,  it  is  of  particular   importance  to  ethnographers,  whose  sole  purpose  is  to  understand  how  people  “make   constant  use  of…complex  meaning  systems  to  organize  their  behavior,  to  understand   themselves  and  others,  and  to  makes  sense  out  of  the  world  in  which  they  live”  (Spradley,   1980,  p.  5).     Inductive  analysis  helps  researchers  uncover  and  understand  cultural  meaning  and   behavior  not  anticipated  or  understood  by  their  theoretical  framework  and  thus  likely  to   be  missed  if  one  relies  on  deductive  reasoning  alone.  And  since  theoretical  understanding   is  both  incomplete  and  inexact,  this  is  sure  to  be  the  case  (Ragin,  1994).  This  is  not  to   suggest  that  deductive  analysis  is  an  inferior  process,  but,  simply,  an  incomplete  one.     In  this  section  I  detail  domain  analysis,  a  method  that  originated  in  ethnography   (Spradley,  1979;  1980),  but  also  one  that  can  be  used  by  qualitative  researchers  more   generally.    While  there  is  no  way  to  “substitute  [for  one’s]  own  intuition  and  ingenuity”   (Spradley,  1980,  p.  92)  when  conducting  inductive  inquiry,  domain  analysis  is  one  method   that  prevents  researchers  from  having  to  rely  solely  on  gut  feelings  or  having  to  wait  for   meaningful  patterns  to  pop  up  from  the  data  as  a  consequence  of  mysterious  processes.   Rather,  while  no  definitive  method  of  ethnographic  inquiry  exists  (Van  Maanen,  2010),   115   researchers  have  devised  ways  to  make  inductive  inquiry  more  methodical.  Creating   cultural  domains  via  domain  analysis  is  one  such  way  (Spradley,  1979;  1980).     Domain  analysis  is  the  foundation  of  greater  cultural  understanding,  but  is  only  the   first  step  in  a  lengthy  process  that  involves  identifying  cultural  domains,  selecting  the   domains  most  salient  to  one’s  interests,  and  determining  how  these  domains  combine  to   create  a  cultural  system  of  knowledge.  Spradley  (1979)  writes:   An  informant’s  cultural  knowledge  is  more  than  random  bits  of  information;  this   knowledge  is  organized  into  categories,  all  of  which  are  systematically  related  to  the   entire  culture.  Our  goal  is  to  employ  methods  of  analysis  that  lead  to  discovering   this  organization  of  cultural  knowledge.  (p.  93)     Domains  are  categories  of  cultural  knowledge  which,  taken  together,  form  an  “intricately   patterned  system”  (Spradley,  1979,  p.  97)  of  social  meaning.  Domain  analysis  is  the   inductive  process  of  discovering  categories  of  cultural  knowledge,  and,  as  will  be  described   later,  using  these  categories  is  the  foundation  upon  which  ethnographers  build  a  more   complete  understanding  of  the  social  world.   For  the  sake  of  simplicity,  we  shall  substitute  the  phrase  “categories  of  cultural   knowledge”  with  the  term  cultural  domains.  Each  cultural  domain  consists  of  three   components:  semantic  relationships,  cover  terms,  and  included  terms.     Semantic  relationships.  While  the  sheer  number  of  cultural  domains  people  create  to   organize  their  worlds  are  nearly  endless,  the  types  of  domains  are  not.  Spradley  identified   only  nine,  which  are  described  in  detail  in  Table  7.   Spradley  (1979;  1980)  calls  these  nine  terms  semantic  relationships.  Once  one   becomes  aware  of  these  semantic  relationships—which  again  Spradley  insists  are  limited   116   in  variety—he  or  she  begins  to  see  them  virtually  everywhere.  People  routinely  talk  about   how  they  do  something,  why  they  do  it,  or  in  what  order.  At  other  times  they  may  talk   about  the  consequences  of  theirs  or  other’s  actions  or  where  actions  takes  place.  Likewise,   they  are  likely  to  describe  an  object’s  characteristics  or  what  the  object  is  used  for.     Cover  terms  and  included  terms.  Finding  the  appropriate  semantic  relationship  to   link  included  terms  with  cover  terms  is  the  essence  of  inductive  domain  analysis.  Simply,   cover  terms  combine  with  semantic  relationships  to  name  the  topic  of  the  cultural  domain.   For  example,  cultural  domains  can  include  “parts  of  a  hand”  or  “types  of  cars.”  Included   terms  list  all  of  the  things  that  logically  fall  under  the  name  of  the  cultural  domain.     Table  4.7.  Domain  Analyses.  (Adapted  from  Spradley,  1980)     RELATIONSHIP     1. Strict  Inclusion     2. Spatial   3. Cause-­‐effect     4. Rationale     5. Location  for  Action     6. Function               FORM     X  is  a  kind  of  Y     X  is  a  place  in  Y     X  is  a  result  of  Y     X  is  a  reason  for  doing  Y     X  is  a  place  for  doing  Y     X  is  used  for  Y                    7.      Means-­‐end         8. Sequence     9. Attribution         X  is  a  way  to  do  Y     X  is  a  step  (stage)  in  Y     X  is  an  attribute   (characteristic)  of  Y   117   EXAMPLE     Making  in-­‐the-­‐moment  instructional   decisions  (is  a  type  of)  challenge  teachers   face  when  trying  to  teach  formatively     A  classroom  (is  a  place  in)  a  school     Lack  of  sufficient  trust  (is  a  consequence  of)   unfamiliarity  among  learning  team  members     Building  up  one’s  repertoire  of  instructional   strategies  (is  a  reason  for)  joining  a  learning   team     Learning  team  meetings  are  (a  place  where)   teacher  sense-­‐making  occurs.     Trade  books  (are  used  for)  spreading  ideas   about  teaching     Having  students  lead  conversations  with   their  peers  (is  a  way  to)  get  students  to  think   deeply  about  content     Allowing  students  to  retake  the  quiz  or   complete  the  learning  task  (is  a  step  in)  the   process  of  improving  student  performance     Collecting  data  to  guide  instruction  (is  a   characteristic  of)  formative  assessment   practice     Consider  for  example  the  statement  “a  thumb  is  a  part  of  a  hand”  or  “a  Corvette  is  a   kind  of  car.”  Each  statement  contains  a  cover  term  (hand,  car)  and  an  included  term   (thumb,  corvette)  that  are  linked  together  through  a  semantic  relationship  (“is  a  part  of”,   “is  a  kind  of”).  Granted,  cultural  domains  in  social  science  research  are  typically  more   complex  than  these  rather  simple  examples,  but  not  greatly  so.  For  example,  during  this   research,  teachers  often  talked  about  the  difficulty  of  eliciting  student  understanding.  Thus,   I  quickly  created  a  cultural  domain  like  the  following  in  Table  4.8.   Table  4.8.  Cultural  Domain   Included  Term   Semantic  Relationship   Cover  Term         Eliciting  student  understanding   Is  a  kind  of     Challenge  with  trying  to  teach   formatively     Through  the  year,  I  created  a  cultural  domain  that  listed  several  types  of  challenges   teachers  faced  when  they  tried  to  enact  formative  assessment  practices.  Thus,  cultural   domains  contain  one  cover  term,  one  semantic  relationship,  but  a  potentially  vast  number   of  included  terms.  It  is  the  researcher’s  job  to  exhaust  a  cultural  domain  by  discovering  as   many  included  terms  as  possible.  Consider,  for  example,  a  more  complete  cultural  domain   for  “types  of  challenges  teachers  face  when  trying  to  teach  formatively”  found  in  Table  4.9.             118   Table  4.9.  Complete  Cultural  Domain   Included  Term     Eliciting  student  understanding     Making  in  the  moment   instructional  decisions       Time  and/or  schedule     constraints     Providing  Effective  Feedback   Semantic  Relationship             Is  a  kind  of     Cover  Term             Challenge  with  trying  to  teach   formatively     In  the  field,  cultural  domains  often  occur  in  bunches  and  are  connected  to  one   another.  Researchers  can  build  connections  among  cultural  domains  through  the  process  of   taxonomic  analysis  to  be  discussed  in  the  next  section.     Taken  together,  included  terms,  semantic  relationships,  and  cover  terms  comprise  a   cultural  domain.  Finding  these  domains  in  one’s  data  is  the  process  of  inductive  domain   analysis.  The  types  of  cultural  categories  are  small  in  number,  though  they  contain  infinite   cultural  domains  within  each  of  the  9  types  (see  Table  4.7).  Think,  for  example,  how  quickly   you  could  come  up  with  “ways  to  do  things”  or  “characteristics  of  things”  that  you   encounter  daily.     Analysis  of  cultural  domains  was  instrumental  in  helping  me  understand  the  data   and  prepare  for  further  data  collection.  However,  I  did  not  abandon  my  theoretical   interests  in  pursuit  of  disconnected  and  diffuse  new  cultural  domains.  Rather,  through  the   data  collection  and  analysis,  I  maintained  a  balance  between  inductive  and  deductive   analysis.  The  forthcoming  section  on  taxonomic  analysis  provides  details  of  how  I   narrowed  my  inductive  inquiry  with  these  theoretical  interests  in  mind.         119   Taxonomic  Analysis   I  used  domain  analyses  as  the  primary  means  through  which  to  analyze  and  make   sense  of  the  interview  and  observational  data  I  collected.  This  approach  proved  quite   fruitful.  In  fact,  I  soon  created  more  cultural  domains  than  I  had  time  or  interest  in   pursuing.  This  is  not  surprising.  Spradley  (1979)  wrote  simply,  “some  aspects  of  the  culture   will  have  to  be  studied  more  exhaustively  than  others”  (p.  132)  because  “an  exhaustive   ethnography,  even  for  a  rather  limited  cultural  scene,  would  take  years  of  intensive   research”  (p.  132).  Thus,  narrowing  the  focus  of  one’s  inquiry  is  a  significant  but  necessary   challenge  facing  all  field  researchers.  Nor  is  narrowing  of  focus  exclusive  to  ethnographic   inquiry.  Ragin  (1994)  writes  of  general  social  inquiry,  “As  more  is  learned  about  the   subject,  either  through  data  collection  or  data  analysis,  the  research  becomes  more  focused   and  fewer  avenues  are  kept  open”  (p.  20).  This  section  details  how  I  narrowed  my  focus  to   a  few  salient  cultural  domains  and  ultimately  how  I  used  taxonomic  analysis  (Spradley,   1979,  1980)  to  organize  these  domains.   There  are  several  ways  to  narrow  one’s  focus.  Researchers  can  listen  to  informants’   suggestions,  pursue  their  own  theoretical  or  personal  interests,  or  attend  to  domains  that   they  believe  are  of  particular  importance.  Because  I  had  strong  theoretical  interests  upon   entering  the  field,  the  second  of  these  narrowing  rationales  seemed  most  sensible.  While   this  rationale  provided  a  guiding  principle  for  narrowing  my  inquiry,  this  rationale,  by   itself,  provides  no  explicit  procedure  for  achieving  this  end.     After  I  used  my  theoretical  interests  to  narrow  the  cultural  domains  under   consideration,  serious  taxonomic  analysis  began.    Spradley  (1979)  wrote,  “A  taxonomy   differs  from  a  domain  in  only  one  respect:  it  shows  the  relationship  among  all  the   120   [included]  terms  in  a  domain.”  A  taxonomy  is  an  outline  that  details  how  the  cultural   domains  one  has  analyzed  all  fit  together.  I  began  with  a  cultural  domain  for  which  I  had   gathered  a  great  deal  of  data  both  through  interviews  and  observations.  Thus,  I  started   with  the  types  of  challenges  teachers  faced  as  they  tried  to  teach  formatively.   I  then  used  substitution  frames  (Spradley,  1979)  to  accumulate  as  many  included   terms  as  the  data  warranted.  Below  is  the  substitution  frame  for  challenges  facing  teachers   who  try  to  teach  formatively.     1.   Domain:  Types  of  challenges  with  teaching  formatively   2.   Semantic  Relationship:  Accessing  student  thinking  (is  a  type  of)  challenge  with   teaching  formatively     3.   Underlying  semantic  relationship:    X  is  a  type  of  Y   4.   Substitution  frame:  ______________(is  a  kind)  of___________________   With  each  new  interview  or  observation,  I  added  new  included  terms  or  added  new  data   under  pre-­‐existing  included  terms.  About  midway  through  the  data  collection,  I  began   constructing  taxonomies  to  help  me  make  sense  of  what  I  was  learning  and  to  point  to   holes  in  the  data  that  I  could  fill  with  further  data  collection.     Componential  Analysis     I  conducted  componential  analysis  in  order  to  understand  the  similarities  and   differences  among  the  included  terms  in  a  cultural  domain  and  among  the  cultural  domains   themselves.  Once  I  had  outlined  the  basic  cultural  scene  using  taxonomic  analysis,  I  had  a   general  map  that  included  a  great  number  of  cultural  domains  and  their  included  terms.   However,  I  need  componential  analysis  to  flesh  out  the  characteristics  of  the  included   terms  and  the  cultural  domains.  I  used  restricted  contrast  questions  (see  section  on   interviewing)  that  asked  the  informant  about  the  differences  between  included  terms  from   121   the  same  cultural  domain  (hence  the  restricted  contrast).  For  example,  when  I  was  working   with  Mrs.  Jackson,  I  handed  her  a  stack  of  3x5  cards  and  asked  her  to  separate  her   colleagues  into  two  or  more  piles  along  any  dimension  of  contrast  that  was  important  to   her.  She  identified  6  types  of  teachers  (see  Table  9  left  column).  Thus,  the  activity  allowed   me  to  determine  that  Mrs.  Jackson  had  six  included  terms  in  her  cultural  domain  types  of   teachers  but  I  was  still  unsure  about  how  friendly,  not  professionally  close  colleagues   differed  from  grade  level,  different  subject  colleagues.  I  wrote  each  type  of  colleague  on  a   separate  3x5  card  and  I  presented  Mrs.  Jackson  any  two  of  the  cards  and  asked  her  to  list  as   many  differences  or  similarities  as  she  could  think  of.  She  came  up  with  four  differences   (see  columns  2-­‐5  in  Table  9).  And  I  was  then  able  to  ask  follow-­‐up  questions  to  complete   the  paradigm  for  the  cultural  domain  types  of  colleagues.  By  the  conclusion  of  the  research,   I  had  hundreds  of  domains  like  the  one  included  in  Table  4.8.     Table  4.10.  Paradigm  for  Types  of  Colleagues   Type  of  Colleagues   Friendly  but  not  professionally   close     Administrators   Grade  Level  Teachers,   Different  Subject   Colleagues  with  expertise  but   no  routine  organizational   contact   Same  Subject  (PLC)  teachers   Same  grade  and  subject  (Leo)   Different   Subjects  or   Grades   Taught   Yes   Discuss   Curriculum   Discuss   Instruction   Discuss   Student   Behavior   No   No   No   NA   No   No   No   No   No   Yes   Yes   Yes   No   Yes   Yes   No   No   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   No   Yes     Thematic  Analysis   Once  I  had  created  hundreds  of  cultural  domains  (domain  analysis),  mapped  the   cultural  scene  through  outlining  how  the  cultural  domains  fit  together  (taxonomic   analysis),  and  determined  the  characteristics  of  the  included  terms  that  populated  the   122   cultural  domains  (componential  analysis),  I  was  ready  to  conduct  a  thematic  analysis.   Themes  are  connective  tissue  of  meaning  that  bind  the  cultural  domains  together  and  help   one  make  sense  of  the  cultural  scene.  Spradley  (1980)  describes  themes  as  “any  principle   recurrent  in  a  number  of  domains,  tacit  or  explicit,  and  serving  as  a  relationship  among   subsystems  of  cultural  meaning”  (p.  141).  Ultimately,  by  identifying  few  important  themes   the  researcher  should  be  able  to  tie  the  cultural  parts  (i.e.,  cultural  domains,  included   terms)  together  into  a  more  coherent  whole.  In  other  words,  the  researcher  should  be  able   to  use  themes  to  help  make  sense  of  the  many  seemingly  disparate  parts  that  he  or  she  has   studied.     While  the  method  for  inducing  themes  from  the  data  is  not  well  worked  out,  I  did   employ  several  strategies  to  help  me  to  this  end.  First,  I  immersed  myself  in  the  social   worlds  I  was  studying  and  later  in  the  data  I  had  collected  that  captured  this  world.  There   was  no  substitute  for  hours  of  walking  around  the  school;  talking  to  people;  observing   social  interactions;  interviewing  informants;  writing  fieldnotes;  listening  to  and   transcribing  interviews;  analyzing  interviews,  fieldnotes,  and  videos;  and  writing  memos   about  possible  connections  and  larger  meanings.  Next,  I  reworked  taxonomies  I  had   created  to  see  if  another  organization  scheme  was  possible.  If  so,  I  wrote  memos  about   what  made  the  change  possible.  If  changing  the  taxonomy  (i.e.,  the  relationship  among   cultural  domains)  was  not  possible,  I  tried  to  articulate  what  meaning  prevented  this   change  from  being  sensible.  This  often  led  to  overarching  meaning  that  impacted  the   cultural  scene.  Finally,  I  reviewed  the  paradigms  I  had  created  during  the  componential   analyses  to  see  if  there  were  any  consistent  dimensions  of  contrast  prevalent  across  cultural   domains.     123   Writing  a  Comparative  Case  Study   In  the  chapters  that  follow,  I  take  the  final  step  in  the  research  process.  I  write  a   comparative  case  study  that  describes  and  explains  the  how  the  embedded  contexts   influenced  teacher  sensemaking  of  multiple  policies.                                         124   CHAPTER  5:  Instructional  Reforms  Come  to  the  Three  Schools   Introduction   One  of  the  principles  of  symbolic  interactionism  is  that  people  take  account  of   objects  in  the  environment,  interpret  what  these  objects  mean,  and  construct  lines  of  action   in  accordance  with  the  way  that  they  understand  their  situation.  This  chapter  examines   how  instructional  reforms  entered  into  the  three  schools  in  the  study  and  thus  became   objects  in  school  environments  that  teachers  were  then  required  to  interpret  and  enact.     Previous  research  more  or  less  assumes  that  instructional  reforms  travel  through   traditional  channels  that  extend  from  federal  government  or  state  departments  to  the   district  to  the  principal  and  ultimately  to  teachers  and  classrooms.  Furthermore,  most   research  assumes  that  teachers  take  some  account  of  instructional  reforms  and  that   differences  in  enactment  are  due  to  differences  in  interpreting  the  meaning  of  reform,  the   teachers’  own  values  and  beliefs,  and  the  teachers’  prior  instructional  practices.  The   accounting,  in  other  words,  is  taken  for  granted.  This  chapter  and  the  chapters  that  follow   challenge  this  assumption.  Ultimately,  I  will  argue  that  the  accounting  that  serves  as  the   necessary  foundation  of  sensemaking  cannot  be  taken  for  granted  and  that  many   instructional  reforms  have  difficulty  pressing  in  on  teachers  and  being  noticed  by  them,   effectively  making  sensemaking  a  moot  point.   As  described  in  previous  chapters,  Michigan  was  a  promising  state  in  which  to   explore  the  challenges  of  making  sense  of  and  responding  to  multiple  reforms.  At  the  time   of  the  study,  Michigan  schools—at  least  to  the  interested  observer—were  active  with   several  reforms  meant  to  influence  the  quality  of  classroom  instruction.  However,  reforms   differed  both  in  kind  and  in  the  pathways  through  which  they  entered  schools.  This   125   diversity  of  type  and  route  led  to  differences  in  reform  activity  across  the  schools  in  this   study.   This  chapter  provides  an  account  of  the  types  of  reforms  and  how  the  different   potential  reform  routes  help  explain  observed  differences  across  schools.  Please  note  that  I   define  instructional  reforms  as  any  program  or  policy  intended  to  change  what  teachers   teach  or  how  they  teach,  or  both.   Instructional  Reforms:  Types  and  Characteristics   This  section  focuses  on  the  types  and  characteristics  of  the  different  instructional   reforms  and  the  routes  through  which  they  penetrated  school  walls.  Notably,  not  all  of  the   instructional  reforms  that  came  to  the  three  schools  were  a  result  of  official  state  policy.  In   fact,  most  of  the  instructional  reforms  that  emerged  as  important  in  this  study  were  not   centered  around  formal  legislation.  For  analytic  purposes,  I  constructed  four  types  of   instructional  reforms  based  on  their  salient  characteristics  as  they  emerged  from  the  data:   mandated  state  policies;  voluntary  state-­‐endorsed  and  supported  programs;  ISD/district   wide  coverage  programs;  and  ISD/district  select  coverage  programs.  In  what  follows,  I   detail  the  characteristics  of  each  type  of  instructional  reform.   State  Mandated  Policies   State  mandated  policies  were  those  that  were  state-­‐required  through  formal   legislation.    At  the  time  of  the  study,  there  were  two  mandated  state  policies  that  affected   each  of  the  three  schools—educator  evaluation  systems  and  the  Common  Core  State   Standards.   New  educator  evaluation  systems.  As  explained  in  the  previous  chapter,  Michigan   was  implementing  a  new  law  that  would  significantly  alter  how  teachers  were  evaluated.     126   The  law  required  that  teacher  evaluation  be  based  on  an  amalgam  of  how  well  teachers   performed  against  either  a  district-­‐created  or  state-­‐endorsed  qualitative  rubric  of  teacher   performance  and  how  well  teachers  promoted  student  achievement.     At  the  time  of  the  study,  the  state  allowed  districts  to  measure  and  determine   teacher  influence  on  student  performance  locally  and  the  state  also  allowed  districts  to  use   a  qualitative  evaluation  framework  from  an  approved  list  or  to  develop  their  own.  Two  of   the  three  districts  in  the  study  (Poe,  Middleton)  developed  their  own  evaluation   instrument.  Waller’s  district  used  a  teacher  performance  rubric  (the  Framework  for   Teaching)  from  the  state-­‐approved  list.     Despite  the  varying  instruments  used  by  the  three  schools  in  this  study,  these   documents  sent  teachers  similar  messages  about  desirable  classroom  instruction  and   professional  behavior.  For  example,  the  rubric  for  evaluating  teaching  at  Middleton   included  four  domains:  Planning  and  Preparation,  Classroom  Environment,  Instructional   Pedagogy,  and  Professional  Responsibility.  These  four  domains  closely  mirrored  the   Framework  for  Teaching  used  at  Waller  which  also  included  four  domains:  Planning  and   Preparation,  Classroom  Environment,  Instruction,  and  Professional  Responsibilities.   Although  the  evaluation  rubric  used  at  Poe  differed  in  structure  from  the  other  two  (Poe’s   rubric  was  not  broken  into  domains  as  the  rubrics  were  at  the  other  two  schools),  many  of   the  specifics  were  similar.  For  example,  all  three  rubrics  included  consideration  for  clearly   articulating  academic  goals;  demonstrating  mastery  of  academic  content;  providing   instruction  that  actively  engaged  students  in  learning  activities;  establishing  procedures   that  make  effective  use  of  instructional  time;  and  varying  assessments  by  purpose  and   using  assessment  results  to  modify  instruction.     127   Common  Core  State  Standards.  The  Common  Core  State  Standards  (CCSS)  were  first   adopted  by  the  Michigan  Board  of  Education  in  2010.  The  CCSS  were  designed  to  give  K-­‐12   teachers  clear  guidance  of  what  to  teach  each  year  in  mathematics  and  language  arts,   although  the  CCSS  also  contain  some  implications  for  cross-­‐curricular  reading  and  writing   of  relevance  to  a  wider  range  of  teachers.     To  accompany  the  standards,  Michigan  signed  on  with  the  Smarter  Balance   Assessment  Consortium  (SBAC),  one  of  two  large  consortia  designing  large-­‐scale   assessments  for  the  CCSS.  However,  during  the  year  of  the  study  (2013-­‐14)  the  SBAC   assessments  were  not  yet  available.       The  CCSS  included  messages  about  both  what  skills  teachers  should  teach  and  also   how  they  were  to  engage  students  in  learning.  In  short,  the  CCSS  envisioned  a  very  active   student  role  in  the  learning  of  the  standards.  The  standards  were  full  of  active  words  to   describe  what  students  should  be  doing.    Among  other  active  verbs,  for  example,  the  CCSS   required  students  to  cite,  determine,  explain,  present,  analyze,  and  compare  in  language   arts  and  to  interpret,  understand,  represent,  and  display  in  mathematics.     Voluntary  State-­‐Endorsed  and  Supported  Programs     Voluntary  state-­‐endorsed  and  supported  programs  aimed  at  improving  instruction   were  those  that  were  offered,  but  not  required,  by  the  state.  The  schools  in  this  study  were   involved  in  only  a  single  voluntary,  state-­‐endorsed  and  supported  program—Formative   Assessment  for  Michigan  Educators  (FAME).   Formative  Assessment  for  Michigan  Educators.  The  FAME  program  was  a  small   statewide  effort  undertaken  to  encourage  the  enactment  of  the  formative  assessment   process.  The  FAME  program  designers  wanted  the  program  to  be  a  combination  of  state-­‐ 128   level  guidance  and  support  and  local  commitment  and  effort.  To  this  end,  the  state   provided  initial  teacher  team  trainings,  documents  that  delineated  the  important  elements   of  the  formative  assessment  process  including  a  myriad  of  online  resources  (e.g.,  webinars   in  which  critical  elements  of  formative  assessment  were  discussed),  and  links  to  research   demonstrating  the  impact  of  formative  assessment  on  student  achievement.  In  turn,   locally-­‐constructed,  volunteer  teams  of  teachers  committed  to  meeting  regularly  to  discuss   formative  assessment  topics  and  remaining  with  the  team  for  three  years.     The  FAME  program  endorsed  the  version  of  formative  assessment  as  defined  by  the   Council  of  Chief  State  School  Officers  (see  Popham,  2008):     Formative  assessment  is  a  process  used  by  teachers  and  students  during  instruction   that  provides  feedback  to  adjust  ongoing  teaching  and  learning  to  improve  students’   achievement  of  intended  instructional  outcomes.  (p.  6)   Specifically,  the  Michigan  Department  of  Education  (MDE)  organized  the  formative   assessment  process  into  eight  components:  planning,  learning  target  use,  student  evidence,   formative  assessment  strategies,  formative  assessment  tools,  student  and  teacher  analysis,   formative  feedback,  and  instructional  decisions.  Furthermore,  designers  of  the  program   stressed  strategies  that  teachers  could  use  to  engage  students  in  the  formative  assessment   process.  These  strategies  included:  activating  prior  knowledge,  goal  setting,  feedback  use,   self-­‐assessment,  and  peer  assessment.  Finally,  the  FAME  project  detailed  a  variety  of   instructional  behaviors  teachers  could  enact,  particularly  strategies  for  gathering  evidence   of  student  learning.       129   ISD/District  Wide  Coverage  Programs     ISD/district  wide  coverage  programs  were  provided  by  an  intermediate  school   district  (ISD)  or  local  school  district  and  were  designed  to  provide  for  wide  coverage  of   teachers  in  a  region  or  district.  During  the  year  of  the  study,  Poe  and  Waller  were  involved   with  an  ISD/district  wide  coverage  program.   Teach  Like  a  Champion.  In  Poe’s  district,  the  Intermediate  School  District  (ISD)   partnered  with  local  school  districts  to  provide  the  Teach  Like  a  Champion  (TLC)  program   designed  to  assist  teachers  with  the  implementation  of  the  CCSS.  TLC  was  a  three-­‐year   program.  In  the  first  year,  program  administrators  familiarized  participating  teachers  with   the  standards  at  the  teachers’  particular  grade  levels  and  then  had  teachers  map  these   standards  onto  a  course  of  study  that  the  teachers  at  these  sessions  were  responsible  for   teaching.  In  the  second  year  of  program  (the  year  observed  during  the  study),  teachers   were  tasked  with  creating  benchmark  tests  that  would  coincide  with  the  course  of  study   they  had  created  the  year  before.  Teachers  spent  most  of  the  time  in  the  professional   development  activity  creating  test  items  and  constructing  and  formatting  benchmark   exams.  In  the  year  following  the  study,  administrators  of  the  program  expected  that   teachers  would  implement  the  benchmark  exams  and  then  develop  lessons  that  they  could   use  in  response  to  assessed  student  need.     Interestingly,  during  the  year  of  the  study  none  of  the  three  schools  offered  teachers   an  opportunity  to  learn  about  the  new  educator  evaluation  system  or  the  frameworks  that   would  be  used  to  evaluate  their  teaching.   Classroom  Instruction  that  Works.  The  Classroom  Instruction  that  Works  (CITW)   program  in  Waller’s  district  was  based  on  the  work  of  Marzano,  Pickering,  and  Pollock   130   (2001).  The  program  focused  on  enactment  of  strategies  to  engage  students  and  improve   student  achievement.  Only  Waller  was  involved  with  this  program.     As  the  name  suggests,  CITW  provided  teachers  with  a  set  of  nine  strategies  designed   to  improve  student  academic  achievement.    These  nine  strategies  included:  identifying   similarities  and  differences;  summarizing  and  note  taking;  reinforcing  effort  and  providing   recognition;  homework  and  practice;  nonlinguistic  representations;  cooperative  learning;   setting  objectives  and  providing  feedback;  generating  and  testing  hypotheses;  and  cues,   questions,  and  advance  organizers  (Marzano,  Pickering,  &  Pollock,  2001).     ISD/District  Select  Coverage  Programs       ISD/district  select  coverage  programs  were  those  that  offered  by  ISDs  or  district  but   were  not  intended  for  wide  coverage  of  teachers  in  a  region  or  district.  During  the  study   several  ISD/district  select  coverage  programs  emerged.     Close  and  Critical  Reading.  The  Close  and  Critical  Reading  (CCR)  program   emphasized  reading  skills  and  strategies  outlined  in  the  History/Social  Studies  and  the   Science  and  Technical  Subjects  section  of  the  CCSS  for  grades  6-­‐8.  Only  the  science  teachers   at  Waller  participated  in  this  reform.   Universal  Design  for  Learning.  The  Universal  Design  for  Learning  (UDL)  program   involved  teachers  in  planning  for  and  enacting  lessons  intended  to  ensure  wide  access  to   rigorous  academic  content,  particularly  for  learners  with  special  needs.       UDL  administrators  encouraged  teachers  to  design  learning  expectations  that  were   informed  by  concepts  and  skills  necessary  in  an  academic  discipline  and  to  make  these   goals  clear  to  students.  Furthermore,  UDL  focused  on  the  importance  of  teachers  using  a   variety  of  instructional  methods  and  materials  to  provide  access  to  rigorous  academic   131   content.  Finally,  UDL  stressed  that  teachers  accurately  assess  student  understanding  in   order  to  make  instructional  decisions  that  would  accelerate  student  learning.  Only  Waller   was  involved  with  this  program.   Standards-­‐Based  Grading.  Two  of  the  schools  in  the  study  were  involved  with  the   Standards-­‐based  Grading  (SBG)  program.  Standards-­‐based  grading  emphasized  the   importance  of  frequent  assessment  and  feedback,  but  also  stressed  the  importance  of   infrequent  scoring  of  student  work  for  the  purpose  of  assigning  a  final  grade.  Specifically,   the  focus  of  standards-­‐based  grading  is  on  the  ultimate  understanding  of  individual   academic  concepts  that  students  achieve  after  extended  opportunities  to  learn,  in  contrast   to  the  more  traditional  method  through  which  grades  are  calculated  as  the  average  student   achievement  over  time.  Both  Waller  and  Middleton  were  involved  with  this  program.   Summary     As  defined  in  the  introduction  to  this  chapter,  instructional  reforms  are  any  policies   or  programs  that  attempt  to  influence  what  teachers  teach  or  how  they  teach.  Thus  defined,   instructional  reforms  extend  beyond  mandated  state  policy.  Indeed,  in  the  schools  in  this   study  there  were  four  types  of  instructional  reforms:  state  mandated  policies,  voluntary   state-­‐endorsed  programs,  ISD/district  wide  coverage  programs,  and  ISD/district  select   coverage  programs.  The  three  schools  in  the  study  varied  in  type  and  total  amount  of   instructional  reforms  they  engaged.  Only  one  of  the  three  schools—Waller—had  each  of   the  four  types  of  instructional  reforms.  Waller  also  had  more  instructional  reforms  (7)  than   either  of  the  other  two  schools.  In  sum,  there  were  two  mandated  instructional  policies,   one  state-­‐endorsed  program,  two  ISD/district  wide  coverage  programs,  and  three   ISD/district  select  coverage  programs  across  the  three  schools  in  this  study.  It  should  be   132   noted  that  the  schools  were  sampled  on  their  participation  in  the  FAME  program  and  while   representativeness  was  not  the  primary  concern  in  the  sampling  design  it  is  nevertheless   important  to  point  out  that  many  schools  like  Middleton,  Poe,  and  Waller  would  have  had   no  connection  to  voluntary  state-­‐endorsed  programs.  A  summary  of  the  instructional   reforms  at  the  three  schools  is  included  in  Table  5.1.     While  each  of  the  reforms  had  distinct  ambitions  and  foci,  there  was  a  general   congruence  among  many  of  the  instructional  reforms.  In  other  words,  an  examination  of   the  reform  documents  does  not  reveal  cross-­‐purposes  among  instructional  reforms  or   incompatible  visions  of  teaching  and  learning.  A  summary  of  this  congruence  is  included  in   Table  5.2.     Table  5.1.  Instructional  Reforms:  Comparing  the  three  schools   School   Middleton   Poe   Waller   State  Mandated   Policies   2   2   2   Voluntary  State   Endorsed   Programs   1   1   1   ISD/District   Wide  Coverage   Programs   0   1   1                       133   ISD/District   Select  Coverage   Programs   1   0   3   Total   Instructional   Reforms   4   4   7   Table  5.2.  Comparison  of  the  Content  of  Instructional  Reforms   Instructional   Reform   Common  Core   State  Standards   Rubrics  to   evaluate   teaching   FAME   Teach  Like  a   Champion   Classroom   Instruction  that   Works     Close  and   Critical  Reading   UDL   Standards-­‐ Based  Grading   Total  Number   of  Reforms   Clear   objectives   about  what  is   to  be  taught   and  learned   Descriptive   feedback  to   promote   student   learning   Frequently   checking  for   student   understanding   Multiple   opportunities   for  students  to   demonstrate   understanding   Yes   NSA   NSA   NSA   Instructional   decision   making   sensitive  to   demonstrated   student   understanding   NSA     Yes     Yes     Yes     Yes     Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   NSA   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   NSA   NSA   NSA   NSA   Yes     Yes     8     Yes     NSA     5   Yes     Yes     6   Yes     Yes     6   Yes     NSA     4   *NSA  =  Not  Specifically  Addressed   Ways  that  Instructional  Reforms  Came  to  the  Schools   The  previous  section  provided  evidence  that  instructional  reforms  varied  by  type,   schools  differed  in  the  number  of  instructional  reforms  that  penetrated  them,  and  the   reforms  themselves  sent  teachers  compatible  messages  about  instruction.  This  section   provides  evidence  that  instructional  reforms  reached  schools  in  diverse  ways  and  that  this   potential  for  diverse  paths  led  to  the  variance  in  the  total  number  of  instructional  reforms   across  schools.   The  Traditional  Route   Most  reform  research  considers  instructional  reforms  that  originate  at  the  state  or   federal  level  and  make  their  way  to  schools  through  traditional  channels.  The  typical  path   of  instructional  reforms  follows  the  linear  trajectory  depicted  in  Figure  5.1.   134   Indeed,  instructional  reforms  came  to  each  of  the  three  schools  in  this  study  through   the  traditional  path.  However,  this  traditional  path  was  only  employed  for  the  two   mandatory  instructional  reforms—Common  Core  State  Standards  and  the  new  educator   evaluation  system.  The  remainder  of  this  chapter  will  be  dedicated  to  describing  the   nontraditional  routes  through  which  instructional  reforms  came  to  schools.     Figure  5.1.  Traditional  Trajectory  of  Instructional  Reforms   State/Federal  Policymaking     "   District  Shaping/Policymaking   "   Principal  Bridging,  Buffering,  and  Framing   "   Teacher  Individual  and  Collective  Sensemaking   "   Classroom  Enactment   Nontraditional  Routes   Most  instructional  reforms  penetrated  schools  through  nontraditional  and  diverse   pathways.  These  pathways  included:  state-­‐to-­‐teacher,  state-­‐ISD-­‐district-­‐teacher,  principal   control,  and  teacher  outreach.   State-­‐to-­‐teacher.  In  one  case,  a  state  administrator  connected  to  the  FAME  program   contacted  a  teacher  directly  to  see  if  the  teacher  would  be  willing  to  construct  and  coach  a   learning  team.  This  happened  to  Ms.  Dixon  at  Poe  Middle  School  when  a  former  Poe  District   counselor  who  had  since  moved  on  to  an  administrative  position  at  the  Department  of   135   Education  called  a  teacher  at  Poe  to  encourage  her  to  participate  in  the  FAME  program.  Ms.   Dixon  recalled:     [The  district  administrator]  contacted  our  building  and  contacted  a  teacher  who  is   no  longer  here,  and  that  teacher  was  talking  to  me  and  another  6th-­‐grade  teacher   [saying]  ‘why  don't  you  guys  join  this  group  and  stuff?  We  need  more  people.’  And  I   really  didn't  know  too  much  about  it,  but  I  was  like,  ‘sure,  you  know,  I'll  try  it.’  And  I   didn't  know  anything  about  formative  assessment  or  what  that  word  meant,  or   anything  like  that…[but]  we  joined  the  group.       As  is  evident  from  Table  5.3  presented  near  the  end  of  this  chapter,  the  state-­‐to-­‐ teacher  connection  was  rarely  a  pathway  through  which  reforms  reached  schools.   Nevertheless,  it  points  to  the  diverse  routes  that  are  possible,  particularly  for  instructional   reforms  that  originate  centrally  but  are  voluntary.     State-­‐ISD-­‐district-­‐teacher.  Instructional  reforms  could  also  come  to  schools  through   the  district’s  direct  contact  with  a  teacher.    District-­‐to-­‐teacher  contact  occurred  for  two   separate  instructional  reforms  (FAME,  Teach  Like  a  Champion)  at  separate  sites   (Middleton,  Poe).  However,  the  nature  of  the  contact  in  the  two  instances  where   qualitatively  different.     One  instance  of  the  state-­‐ISD-­‐district-­‐teacher  route  occurred  at  Poe  and  began  with   the  state’s  general  call  for  participation  in  the  FAME  program  through  an  email  sent  by  a   state  administrator  to  all  immediate  school  districts  (ISD)  in  the  state  soliciting  their   participation  in  the  program.  An  ISD  administrator  noticed  this  call  and  contacted  the   superintendent  of  Middleton  School  District  to  see  if  he  knew  of  any  teachers  who  would  be   willing  to  participate.  The  superintendent  then  contacted  Mrs.  Herman,  a  teacher  and   136   instructional  coach  at  Middleton  whom  the  superintendent  knew  to  have  an  interest  in   instructional  reform.  Like  Ms.  Dixon  at  Poe  Middle  School,  Mrs.  Herman  knew  very  little   about  formative  assessment  or  the  FAME  program  but  she  agreed  to  participate  anyway,  as   she  explained:   [The  superintendent]  showed  [the  FAME  announcement]  to  me  and  another   teacher…We  were  both  interested,  so  we  both  applied  to  be  formative  assessment   coaches.  We  didn't  know  anything  about  the  project,  except  what  was  in  the  flyer;   we  didn't  know  [the  state  administrator  working  with  the  FAME  project]  then.  We   hadn't  talked  to  anybody  about  it.  We  just  thought,  ‘this  sounds  cool.’     The  pathway  in  this  case  originated  with  the  state  and  weaved  through  the  ISD   before  coming  to  the  superintendent  and  finally  to  the  teachers.  In  this  instance  the   Middleton  principal,  Mrs.  Novak,  was  cut  out  entirely  and  the  instructional  reform— FAME—penetrated  the  school  without  her  foreknowledge  or  consent.       In  one  other  instance  an  instructional  reform  reached  directly  from  the  district  to   the  teachers.  As  in  the  prior  case  at  Middleton,  Mr.  Delancey,  the  principal  at  Poe,  had  a   modest  role  in  the  instructional  reform.  The  district-­‐to-­‐teacher  contact  in  Poe  for  Teach  like   a  Champion  was  much  different  than  the  district-­‐teacher  contact  in  Middleton  surrounding   the  school’s  participation  in  the  FAME  program.  At  Poe,  district  officials  simply  asked  for   Mr.  Delancey’s  permission  to  contact  the  teachers  and  release  them  for  a  few  days  during   the  year  to  participate  in  the  program.  Mr.  Delancey  obliged  and  that  was  the  extent  of  his   participation  in  the  program.  All  other  considerations  were  worked  out  between  the   district  and  the  teachers.     137   Principal  Control.  At  one  of  the  three  schools  in  the  study,  Waller,  the  principal   played  a  gate-­‐keeping  role  that  prevented  reforms  from  coming  to  teachers  through  other   channels.  Ms.  Shriver,  Waller’s  principal,  was  an  active  instructional  leader  who  ushered  in   several  instructional  reforms  and,  consequently,  Waller  had  nearly  twice  as  many  reforms   as  either  of  the  other  two  schools  (see  Table  5.1)  during  the  year  of  the  study.  This  can  be   explained  by  the  role  that  Ms.  Shriver  played  in  accommodating  one  district  instructional   reform  program  and  reaching  out  to  several  others.       First,  Ms.  Shriver  accommodated  instructional  reforms  that  the  district  promoted.     For  example,  when  the  district  created  a  series  of  professional  development  opportunities   to  promote  the  instructional  ideas  of  Classroom  Instruction  that  Works  (CITW),  Ms.  Shriver   willingly  sent  her  teachers  to  participate.  Unlike  Mr.  Delancey  and  the  Teach  Like  a   Champion  (TLC)  program  in  Poe  Middle  School’s  district,  Ms.  Shriver  knew  the  reform   ideas  well,  kept  in  touch  with  teachers  about  the  going-­‐on  through  periodic  attendance  at   professional  development  sessions,  and  followed  up  on  sessions  through  informal   conversations  with  teachers  and  classroom  observations.   It  is  also  important  to  note  that  the  increased  participation  in  instructional  reforms   at  Waller  cannot  be  attributed  to  district  pressure.  Ms.  Shriver  insisted  that  she  was  not   required  to  participate  in  any  of  the  non-­‐mandated  reforms  (CITW,  UDL,  FAME,  CCR,  SBG)   in  which  Waller  participated,  even  when  the  reform  (e.g.,  CITW)  was  directly  supported  by   the  district  and  intended  for  broad  coverage.  In  fact,  several  of  the  district’s  principals  had   declined  the  district’s  invitation  to  participate  in  CITW  and  sent  none  of  their  teachers.   However,  because  Ms.  Shriver  agreed  with  the  program’s  reform  ideas  she  readily  obliged   the  district’s  request  and  sent  as  many  of  her  teachers  as  she  could.     138   Ms.  Shriver  also  accommodated  FAME,  a  reform  not  directly  supported  by  the   district.  As  at  Poe  and  Middleton,  Waller’s  district  had  no  role  in  shaping  the  school’s   participation  in  the  FAME  program.  However,  unlike  Mrs.  Novak  or  Mr.  Delancey,  Ms.   Shriver  had  an  important  role  in  bringing  the  program  to  the  school  and  (as  will  be   explained  in  the  following  chapters)  shaping  the  program  once  it  arrived.       Four  years  prior  to  the  study,  a  district  official  forwarded  the  district  principals  in   Waller’s  school  district  an  email  from  the  Michigan  Department  of  Education  (MDE)   soliciting  participation  in  the  new  FAME  program.  Ms.  Shriver  recalled:     So  [the  district  administrator]  sent  out  [an  email]  to  the  entire  staff  in  the  district   and  said,  ‘Hey,  who  wants  to  join  this?’  So  I…filled  out  an  application,  not  really   understanding  the  scope  of  the  project,  but  formative  assessment  was  something   that  I  was  interested  in…There  are  decisions  that  teachers  make  every  day  in  the   classroom  and  the  paper  pencil  tests  only  tell  us  after  things  have  happened.  So  let's   look  into  this.     Ms.  Shriver’s  application  was  accepted  and  she  formed  her  own  FAME  learning  team   through  soliciting  individual  teachers  and  issuing  a  call  for  volunteers.  She  continued  to   lead  the  FAME  learning  team  during  the  year  of  the  study  and  she  also  became  one  of  the   state’s  most  recognized  advocates  of  the  program.   In  other  cases,  Ms.  Shriver  reached  out  to  instructional  reforms.  In  sum,  Ms.  Shriver   reached  out  to  three  reforms  (all  of  which  were  ISD/district  select  coverage  programs):   Close  and  Critical  Reading  (CCR),  Standards-­‐Based  Grading  (SBC),  and  Universal  Design  for   Learning  (UDL).     139   First,  Ms.  Shriver  involved  her  teachers  in  CCR  because  of  the  need  she  perceived   that  social  studies  and  science  teachers  had  in  teaching  the  informational  reading   expectations  of  the  Common  Core  State  Standards  (CCSS).  CCR  included  a  set  of  strategies   that  teachers  could  employ  to  help  students  improve  their  understanding  of  expository   text.     In  Ms.  Shriver’s  work  with  the  school’s  leadership  team  surrounding  the  CCSS,  the   group  noticed  that  the  standards  had  rigorous  expectations  for  the  content  area  reading.   Ms.  Shriver  explained,  “We  started  looking  at  those  and  we  were  like  ‘[CCSS]  is  really  asking   a  lot  more  of  our  kids  to  really  look  at  text  differently.  So  what  is  out  there  to  really  support   that?’”   Ms.  Shriver  looked  for  a  program  that  might  address  this  perceived  need  and  she   found  that  the  Intermediate  School  District  (ISD)  offered  training  in  CCR.  Ms.  Shriver  then   sent  some  members  of  the  leadership  team  to  attend  the  training.  After  these  members   completed  the  training,  she  arranged  for  a  consultant  to  come  to  Waller  and  train  social   studies  and  science  teachers  during  department  meeting  time.     Ms.  Shriver  reached  out  to  other  instructional  reforms  not  because  of  perceived   need  as  exposed  by  new  mandatory  instructional  policies  but  rather  because  she  was   dissatisfied  by  current  teacher  practices  in  a  specific  domain.     For  example,  when  Ms.  Shriver  read  the  book  Classroom  Grading  that  Works   (Marzano,  2007),  she  became  convinced  that  the  modal  grading  practice  at  Waller  was  out   of  line  with  what  both  she  and  the  book  considered  to  be  best  grading  practices.  Ms.  Shriver   then  had  several  conversations  with  two  members  of  the  FAME  team—Mrs.  Hall  and  Ms.   McCarthy—about  current  grading  practices  at  the  school  and  how  they  conflicted  with   140   reform  ideas.  Ms.  Shriver  suggested  that  the  three  attempt  to  learn  more  about  alternative,   more  reform-­‐oriented  methods  of  student  grading.  Specifically,  Ms.  Shriver  suggested   Standards-­‐Based  Grading  (SBG)  and  both  Mrs.  Hall  and  Ms.  McCarthy  were  interested  in   finding  out  more  about  SBG  and  being  trained  in  it.     However,  trainings  were  hard  to  find.  The  nearest  training  was  in  Kentucky  and  that   was  too  expensive.  Ultimately,  when  a  school  in  another  part  of  the  state  became   recognized  because  of  its  work  with  Standards-­‐Based  Grading,  Ms.  Shriver  and  the  two   teachers  attended  the  school,  looked  in  classrooms,  and  talked  with  administrators  and   teachers.  After  the  visit,  Ms.  Shriver  set  up  a  sub-­‐committee  on  the  leadership  team   (headed  by  Mrs.  Hall  and  Ms.  McCarthy)  to  explore  the  ideas  of  standards-­‐based  grading   further  and  discuss  it  with  the  staff.     Finally,  as  was  the  case  with  Universal  Design  for  Learning  (UDL),  Ms.  Shriver   reached  out  to  instructional  reforms  simply  because  she  became  interested  in  the  ideas   embedded  in  the  reform.  Ms.  Shriver  became  aware  of  the  UDL  program  when  she  attended   a  separate  and  unrelated  training  at  the  ISD.  She  encountered  two  teachers  she  knew  from   a  previous  position  who  extolled  the  virtues  of  the  UDL  program  and  when  she  returned  to   the  school  site,  she  called  the  ISD  to  inquire  about  signing  some  of  her  teachers  up  for  the   program.  The  program  providers  asked  that  Ms.  Shriver  send  one  (and  only  one)   department  and  so  Ms.  Shriver  consulted  with  the  science  department  and  when  they   consented  to  participate,  she  sent  the  department  to  the  initial  training.     In  sum,  instructional  reforms  could  come  to  schools  through  principal  control  as   they  did  at  Waller.  Ms.  Shriver  controlled  the  flow  of  instructional  reform  through   accommodating  those  that  the  district  or  state  provided  (e.g.,  FAME,  CITW)  or  she  could   141   reach  out  to  reforms  because  of  perceived  teacher  need  (e.g.,  SBG,  CCR)  or  because  of   general  enthusiasm  for  the  reform  (e.g.,  UDL).     Teacher  Outreach.  The  final  route  through  which  instructional  reforms  penetrated   schools  in  this  study  occurred  when  a  teacher  reached  out  to  a  particular  reform  and   brought  it  back  to  other  teachers  in  a  school.  This  occurred  only  once  during  the  study,   when  Mr.  St.  Johns  at  Middleton  reached  out  to  Standards-­‐Based  Grading  (SBG)  and   involved  several  Middleton  teachers  who  showed  interest  in  learning  about  SBG’s   principles.     Mr.  St.  Johns  became  interested  in  SBG  when  he  heard  teacher  colleagues  talking  at  a   FAME  learning  team  meeting  about  how  SBG  principles  aligned  well  with  those  of   formative  assessment.  Mr.  St.  Johns  left  the  meeting  wanting  to  know  more  about  SBG  and   he  subsequently  sought  out  and  attended  a  regional  SBG  conference.  He  also  encouraged   some  of  his  Middleton  colleagues  to  attend.  He  recalled:     I  went  to  a  conference…so  I  could  learn  specifically  [about  Standards-­‐Based   Grading].  I  wanted  to  teach  standards-­‐based  grading.  I  knew  they  were  doing  it   there  and  I  took  some  colleagues  with  me.  That  is  the  way  I  want  to  do  it  [because]  I   have  to  do  things  to  better  myself  to  make  me  better.   Mrs.  Herman,  Middleton’s  instructional  coach,  concurred  with  this  account.  She  added  that   after  the  conference,  Mr.  St.  Johns  led  several  Middleton  teachers  to  a  state-­‐sponsored   event  that  highlighted  the  enactment  of  the  principles  of  SBG  at  a  district  in  the  state.    She   said:   I  went...[and]  the  whole  district  is  standards-­‐based  grading.  So  twice  a  year  MDE   works  with  them  to  put  on  a  big  [professional  development],  so  you  go  to  the   142   school…and  then  you  have  time  observing  in  classrooms,  and  then  you  have  time  in   breakout  sessions  to  talk  with  the  teachers  that  you  observed…[We]  really  get  to  the   nitty-­‐gritty  of  what  this  looks  like  in  my  grade  book…Most  of  our  staff  has  been   there.   Of  Mr.  St.  Johns’  role  in  bringing  SBG  to  Middleton,  Mrs.  Herman  said,  “Mr.  St.  Johns   is  about  as  much  of  an  initiator  as  we  have”  and  that  because  of  Mr.  St.  Johns’  interest  and   subsequent  efforts,  many  of  the  Middleton  teachers  were  involved  in  enacting  the   principles  of  SBG.     Summary   In  contrast  to  previous  research,  which  primarily  considers  the  traditional  routes   through  which  reforms  come  to  schools,  evidence  presented  here  suggests  that  reforms  can   penetrate  schools  through  multiple  pathways.  Only  the  two  mandated  reforms  (CCSS,   educator  evaluation  systems)  arrived  through  the  traditional  route.  The  other,  more   numerous,  non-­‐mandated  reforms  arrived  through  myriad  channels  including:  district-­‐ teacher;  state-­‐teacher;  principal  control;  and  teacher  outreach.  A  summary  of  the  routes   reforms  took  to  the  schools  is  included  in  Table  5.3.     Table  5.3.  Reform  Pathways  Summary   School   Traditional   Route   Middleton   Poe   Waller   2  (MR)   2  (MR)   2  (MR)   District     State     ê   Teacher   1   1   0   Principal   Control   Teacher   Outreach   0   0   5   1   0   0   ê   Teacher   0   1   0   Total   Instructional   Reforms   4   4   7     Chapter  Summary   This  chapter  considered  the  types  of  reforms  the  schools  in  this  study  engaged,  the   multiple  pathways  through  which  the  instructional  reforms  came  to  the  schools,  and  the   143   surface  congruence  among  these  reforms.  These  findings  stand  in  contrast  to  most  reform   research  (e.g.,  Coburn,  2001;  Cohen  &  Hill,  2001)  which  examines  single  reforms  that  are   specific  to  academic  discipline  in  early  elementary  school  contexts,  come  to  schools  via   traditional  channels,  and  are  more  or  less  mandatory.  In  contrast,  this  research  reports  that   reforms  came  in  bunches,  were  general  to  many  disciplines  (with  the  exception  of  CCSS),   came  to  schools  through  a  variety  of  paths,  and  were  mostly  noncompulsory.     The  diversity  of  reforms—both  in  kind  and  in  route—suggests  that  the  work  of   instructional  reform  is  likely  much  more  various  than  previous  researchers  suspected  and   our  understanding  of  principal  leadership,  teachers,  and  instructional  reform  is  much   narrower  than  it  could  be.  Considering  the  diversity  of  reforms  is  likely  to  afford  new   perspectives  on  the  work  of  trying  to  improve  classroom  instruction.     In  order  to  analyze  the  diversity,  I  categorized  the  reforms  into  of  four  types— mandated  state  policy;  voluntary  state-­‐endorsed  and  supported  programs;  ISD/district   wide  coverage  programs;  and  ISD/district  select  coverage  programs.  Furthermore,  I   demonstrated  that  reforms  came  to  schools  in  diverse  ways:  the  traditional  route,  state-­‐to-­‐ teacher,  state-­‐ISD-­‐district-­‐teacher,  principal  control,  and  teacher  outreach.   In  all  but  the  traditional  route,  reforms  required  entrepreneurship.  “Reform   entrepreneurs”  could  come  at  any  level  of  the  system—state,  ISD,  or  district  administrator;   principal;  or  teacher.  However,  actors  at  different  levels  were  important  in  different  ways   and  the  relationship  among  these  actors  was  one  of  mutual  reliance.  State  and  district   administrators  relied  on  principal  consent  and  principals,  in  turn,  relied  on  state  and   district  administrators  to  generate  reform  activities  to  which  they  could  connect.  Teachers   were  oriented  toward  the  specific  challenges  of  their  classrooms  and  unlikely  to  seek  out  or   144   generate  reforms,  but,  as  will  be  detailed  in  the  coming  chapters,  both  state  and  district   administrators  and  principals  relied  on  teachers’  willingness  to  participate.  This  was   particularly  true  for  reforms  that  expected  teachers  to  learn  through  close  collaboration   with  a  small  group  of  peers  (e.g.,  FAME,  UDL,  SBG).    Despite  the  mutual  reliance  among   actors,  principals  were  particularly  powerful  potential  reform  entrepreneurs.  When  the   principal  bridged  to  reforms  and  cultivated  teacher  participation,  as  was  the  case  at  Waller,   reforms  proliferated.    Other  pathways  of  the  non-­‐mandated  reforms  appeared  to  be   idiosyncratic  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  a  school  being  bereft  of  all  but  mandatory   reforms  when  the  principal  played  a  passive  or  resistant  role.     Reforms  also  relied  on  social  networks.  When  entrepreneurs  generated  reform   activity,  they  used  their  connections  to  get  others  involved.  For  example,  when  the  state   administrator  was  trying  to  generate  support  for  FAME,  she  called  Ms.  Dixon  at  Poe  and   encouraged  her  to  participate.  Furthermore,  Ms.  Shriver  became  excited  about  UDL  when   she  talked  about  former  associates  who  spoke  highly  of  the  program.  She  then  sought  out   both  further  information  about  the  program  from  a  contact  at  the  ISD  and  solicited   participation  among  teachers  at  Waller.   Reforms  that  located  teacher  learning  in  large  training  sessions  (e.g.,  CCR,  CITW,   TLC)  diminished,  but  did  not  eliminate,  the  importance  of  reform  entrepreneurship  and  the   use  of  social  networks.  For  instance,  the  TLC  program  required  ISD  and  district   administrators  to  generate  a  reform  program  and  then  reach  out  to  local  principals  and   secure  their  consent.  Likewise,  the  CITW  trainings  at  Waller  required  district  officials  to   construct  the  program  and  make  it  available  to  principals  who  could  then  choose  whether   or  not  they  wanted  their  teachers  to  participate.   145   In  every  case,  then,  non-­‐mandated  reforms  involved  at  least  one  policy   entrepreneur  (i.e.,  one  person  who  demonstrated  initiative  in  generating  and/or  securing   others’  participation  in  reform)  who  used  his  or  her  social  networks  to  generate  the  active   interest  or  participation  of  others.  The  social  networks  and  the  relational  trust  embedded   therein  were  particularly  important  for  reforms  that  situated  teacher  learning  in  small   communities  because  these  reforms  required  a  more  intense  participation  and  participants   frequently  had  to  commit  to  reforms  without  knowing  much  about  them.  Without   entrepreneurship  and  activation  of  social  networks,  reforms  seemed  unlikely  to  generate   the  necessary  momentum  to  penetrate  schools.     Mandated  reforms  (CCSS,  the  new  educator  evaluation  system)  were  of  a  different   type.  They  came  to  schools  via  the  traditional  bureaucratic  channels  and  only  required   reform  entrepreneurship  at  the  state  or  federal  level.  Because  they  were  mandated,  these   reforms  did  not  demand  actors  to  generate  interest  in  or  support  for  the  reforms,  but  they   did  demand  a  response.  Consequently,  these  reforms  were  shaped  and  reshaped  as  they   approached  and  entered  the  schools.  As  we  shall  see  in  the  following  chapter,  mandated   reforms  placed  an  even  greater  responsibility  on  the  principal  who  became  remarkably   important  in  determining  what  mandated  reforms  became  when  they  arrived  at  the  school.                 146   CHAPTER  6:  Reforms,  Principals  and  Instructional  Leadership   Introduction   The  previous  chapter  built  the  case  that  instructional  reforms  differed  in  kind,   instructional  reforms  penetrated  schools  through  diverse  pathways,  and  that  the  different   routes  instructional  reforms  could  take  helps  explain  the  differences  in  total  reforms   observed  at  the  three  schools.  It  also  argued  that  voluntary  reforms  were  the  most   numerous  and  that  these  reforms  typically  did  not  arrive  at  schools  through  the  traditional   bureaucratic  route.  These  reforms  required  the  emergence  of  reform  entrepreneurs  who   used  their  social  networks  to  build  support  for  a  reform  and  secure  the  participation  of   others.  The  need  for  entrepreneurship  and  social  networks  was  particularly  important  for   those  reforms  that  organized  teacher  learning  into  small  communities  of  learners  as   several  of  the  ISD/district  select  coverage  programs  did.  In  contrast,  mandated  reforms   required  entrepreneurship  only  at  the  level  of  policy  formation,  although  they  also   demanded  activity  from  other  actors  in  the  system.     This  chapter  focuses  on  the  role  of  the  school  principal  as  either  a  potential   entrepreneur  of  reform  or  an  important  actor  in  the  system  whose  activity  was  required  by   a  mandated  policy.  This  chapter  answers  questions  about  how  principals  built  support  for   voluntary  reforms  and  how  they  shaped  mandatory  reforms.  It  also  examines  differences   among  principals’  backgrounds,  priorities,  and  knowledge  that  help  account  for  their   different  responses  to  reform.  In  sum,  I  will  provide  evidence  that  the  principals  at  the   three  schools  played  a  significant  role  in  the  disparity  of  instructional  reforms  across   schools  and  the  opportunities  teachers  had  to  learn  about  them.  I  conclude  with  a  closer   examination  of  a  single  case—Waller  Middle  School—to  explain  how  one  principal  who   147   embraced  the  role  of  reform  entrepreneur  nevertheless  provided  teachers  with  unequal   opportunities  to  learn  within  her  school.   Social  Organization   Principals  at  each  of  the  three  schools  were  charged  with  similar  responsibilities.   For  example,  principals  needed  to  ensure  that  the  school  functioned  smoothly,  broadly   defined.  In  practice  this  meant  that  principals  attended  to  district  office  demands  for   completion  of  a  school  site  plan  and  other  necessary  paperwork,  evaluated  teachers  on  a   schedule  with  the  evaluation  tools  decided  upon  for  this  purpose  at  the  district  level,  dealt   with  unruly  students  who  had  been  referred  to  the  office  from  one  of  the  classroom   teachers,  monitored  the  hallways  and  ushered  students  into  class,  met  with  parents,   attended  district  office  administrator  meetings,  and  the  like.  Despite  these  myriad   responsibilities,  there  were  few  instances  when  the  principal  had  to  deal  with  a  particular   responsibility  at  a  specified  and  inflexible  time.  For  the  most  part,  the  three  principals  in   the  study  seemed  to  have  very  few  pressing  organizational  demands  that  placed  them  in   routine  situations  over  which  they  had  little  control.  In  fact,  schools’  organizational  routine   actually  freed  principals  from  immediate  demands  most  of  the  time.  When  the  bell  rang   and  class  started,  principals  typically  found  themselves  alone  when  virtually  everyone  else   in  the  school  (students  and  teachers  alike)  was  occupied  on  well-­‐specified  tasks  with   others.     Situations   Because  organizational  demands  and  routines  dictated  the  situations  in  which   principals  found  themselves  only  broadly,  the  situations  that  principals  faced  were  mostly   of  their  own  choosing  and  were  much  more  varied  than  the  situations  in  which  either   148   teachers  or  students  found  themselves.  This  observation  leads  to  the  following  questions   about  principals  and  instructional  leadership:  With  the  great  flexibility  afforded  to   principals,  how  did  they  structure  their  work?  What  accounts  for  how  the  principals   structured  the  work  in  the  way  they  did?     Because  the  analysis  to  follow  is  restricted  to  the  principals’  role  in  instructional   reform  as  either  reform  entrepreneurs  of  voluntary  reforms  or  shapers  of  mandatory   reforms,  I  can  narrow  the  inquiry  to  examining  how  the  three  principals  structured  their   work  of  promoting  reform  teaching  given  the  great  organizational  freedom  afforded  them.   Perspectives   Recall  from  the  methods  section  that  symbolic  interactionism  assumes  that  people   form  perspectives  and  craft  lines  of  action  in  accordance  with  how  they  have  defined  their   situation.  I  will  argue  that  because  the  situations  in  which  principals  found  themselves   were  largely  of  their  own  choosing,  principals’  perspectives  were  as  likely  to  dictate  their   situations  as  situations  were  to  dictate  their  perspectives.  In  other  words,  there  were  few   situational  imperatives  that  dictated  principal  action.    Principals  were  much  more  able  to   construct  their  own  jobs  than  were  other  people  at  the  school  and  they  seemed  to  construct   their  jobs  in  line  with  their  long  term  perspectives  as  influenced  by  their  personal   backgrounds,  values,  and  priorities.  Long-­‐term  perspectives  shaped  the  principals’  routines   and  ultimately  determined  how  they  envisioned  and  carried  out  the  role  of  instructional   leader.           149   Introduction  to  the  Three  Principals     This  section  builds  the  case  that  the  principals  in  the  study  varied  in  their   backgrounds,  beliefs,  and  commitments.  In  short,  three  principals  can  be  characterized  as   the  nurturer,  the  coach,  and  the  instructional  leader.     Mrs.  Novak:  The  Nurturer   Mrs.  Novak  had  been  a  Middleton  resident  nearly  all  her  life.  She  was  enrolled  in  the   district  as  a  K-­‐12  student  and  after  graduation  she  attended  a  nearby  state  university.  Upon   graduating  with  her  bachelor’s  degree,  Mrs.  Novak  moved  to  the  east  coast  to  attend  a  large   state  university  where  she  earned  a  master’s  degree  in  gifted  and  talented  education.  She   then  returned  to  Middleton  in  1986  and  began  teaching  middle  school  in  Middleton  School   District.  During  this  time,  Mrs.  Novak  completed  a  second  master’s  degree  in  educational   administration  at  the  same  local  university  where  she  earned  her  bachelor’s  degree  several   years  previously.  After  teaching  in  the  district  for  nearly  20  years,  in  2005  Mrs.  Novak   assumed  the  principalship  at  Middleton  and  she  held  the  position  for  eight  years  leading  up   to  the  study.     Since  becoming  principal,  Mrs.  Novak  stressed  the  importance  of  fostering  students’   emotional  and  social  development.  She  believed  that  students  “grow  by  leaps  and  bounds   from  fifth  to  ninth  grade  emotionally”  and  she  saw  her  job  and  the  job  of  the  staff  as  one   “try[ing]  to  help  [students]  through  puberty  and  socialization…in  the  unique  problems  that   span  the  years.  That  is  my  number  one  priority.”     Mrs.  Novak  understood  that  her  focus  on  the  social  and  emotional  wellbeing  ran   counter  to  many  instructional  reforms  that  stressed  student  achievement  and  academic   growth.  However,  Mrs.  Novak  was  unapologetic  for  her  priorities.  Her  focus  was  based  on   150   the  belief  that  “it  is  hard  for  some  kids  to  learn  when  there  are  other  things  socially  and   emotionally  going  on.”  Mrs.  Novak  believed  that  the  social  and  emotional  demands  were   particularly  acute  during  the  middle  school  years,  as  students  transitioned  from  childhood   to  adolescence.  Mrs.  Novak  elaborated,  “Even  the  smart  kids  have  to  go  through   socialization.  No  kid  can  escape  what  is  going  on  during  these  years.”  Mrs.  Novak  felt  that   all  students—regardless  of  socio-­‐economic  background  and  home  circumstances— struggled  with  social  and  emotional  issues  during  adolescence.   Mrs.  Novak’s  beliefs  had  consequences  for  how  she  perceived  her  responsibilities  as   an  instructional  leader.  Specifically,  Mrs.  Novak’s  philosophy  of  education  led  her  to  de-­‐ emphasize  academics  considerably.  She  explained,  “I  taught  7th  grade.  It  is  not  about   learning.  It  took  me  till  about  December  [of  my  first  year  of  teaching]  when  I  figured  this  is   not  about  geography.  This  is  about  how  to  teach  them  to  be  decent  people.”   As  will  become  apparent  throughout  this  chapter,  Mrs.  Novak’s  focus  on  the  social   and  emotional  development  of  students  shaped  her  responses  to  reform  and  her  work  with   teachers.     Mr.  Delancey:  The  Coach   The  year  of  the  study  was  Mr.  Delancey’s  first  year  as  principal  of  Poe  Middle  School.   Mr.  Delancey  started  his  career  working  with  troubled  youth  in  detention  centers  and   residential  treatment  programs.  Mr.  Delancey  believed  that  his  passion  for  troubled  youth   could  be  accredited  to  his  background.  He  explained,  “I  grew  up  as  a  foster  kid,  so  it  was   important  for  me  to  work  with  kids  that  had  struggling  backgrounds.”  In  addition  to  this   work,  Mr.  Delancey  also  coached  football  for  a  decade.     151     After  working  as  a  counselor  at  the  detention  center  for  a  few  years,  Mr.  Delancey   decided  to  go  back  to  school  and  get  a  degree  in  teaching  (he  had  only  a  social  work  degree   at  the  time).  Once  he  got  his  degree,  he  had  no  trouble  finding  employment.  He  recalled,   “[When  I]  graduated  from  St.  Paul’s  College  with  a  teaching  certificate  in  special  education,   K-­‐12,  right  away  I  was  hired  by  a  school  where  I  had  been  coaching  football,  an  inner-­‐city   school  in  Centerville.”  Mr.  Delancey  taught  at  the  school  for  two  years  and  then  he  and  his   wife  moved  to  Porterville  because  his  wife  got  a  job  as  a  counselor  at  a  nearby  Catholic   school.  And  Mr.  Delancey  secured  a  job  at  Poe  High  School  as  a  special  education  teacher.   He  also  coached  football,  girls’  basketball,  and  girls’  track.       Mr.  Delancey  became  principal  at  Poe  Middle  School  suddenly.  With  six  weeks  to  go   in  the  school  year  before  the  study  began,  Mr.  Delancey  was  called  to  fill  in  as  the  assistant   principal  because  the  former  principal  decided  to  take  a  job  at  the  local  energy  company.  At   the  end  of  the  year,  the  interim  principal  (the  former  assistant  principal)  decided  that  he,   too,  did  not  want  the  job  and  he  found  a  job  as  a  band  director  in  a  nearby  town.  Mr.   Delancey  applied  for  the  principalship,  went  through  the  interview  process,  and  was  hired.   Looking  back,  Mr.  Delancey  said,  “It  was  a  pretty  quick  jump.”     Porterville  is  a  small,  close-­‐knit  community  and  Mr.  Delancey  believed,  “I'm   definitely  an  outsider.  I  did  move  my  family  into  Porterville  and  we  live  in  Porterville,  but   we  are  definitely  outsiders.”  To  make  matters  even  more  challenging,  Mr.  Delancey’s  wife   worked  at  the  Catholic  school  in  town  and  there  was  “big  friction  between  the  Catholic   school  and  the  public  school.”  Mr.  Delancey’s  experiences  were  atypical  for  Porterville.  He   explained,  “I’ve  worked  in  a  different  industry.  I’ve  worked  for  different  districts.  Most  of   152   the  time  the  people  [who]  come  here  and  work  here  have  lived  here  and  married   somebody  they  grew  up  with  here…[I  am]  definitely  an  outsider.”     In  his  first  year  as  principal,  Mr.  Delancey  reported,  “I  have  tried  not  to  change   anything.  I  came  in  and  kept  the  same  handbook  for  the  staff  and  the  students.”  Mr.   Delancey  attributed  this  approach  to  his  personality.  And  he  noted  that  his  approach  was   much  different  than  the  previous  principal.  Mr.  Delancey  said:   I'm  much  more  collaborative,  I'm  not  a  micromanager…I  think  the  other  principal   was  very  intelligent  and  he  knew  curriculum  and  the  ins  and  outs  of  every  part  of   the  school  that  you'd  want  to  know,  but  I  think  he  also  controlled  more  than  what  a   principal—in  my  mind—should.     Mr.  Delancey  did  acknowledge  that  this  more  relaxed  style  and  collaborative   approach  presented  its  own  challenges.  First,  Mr.  Delancey  said,  “[teachers]  want  to  be  told   what  to  do.”  However,  Mr.  Delancey  insisted  that  he  “wants  to  coach  [teachers]  through   things.”  This  was  Mr.  Delancey’s  style  and  the  style  that  he  appreciated  when  he  was  a   teacher.  He  said,  “I'm  the  kind  of  a  principal  I  would  want  my  principal  to  be.  When  I  ran   my  classroom…I  didn't  want  somebody  micromanaging  me  and  looking  over  my  back…I   want  to  give  the  teachers  power.“  Mr.  Delancey  believed  that  this  was  a  sensible  approach   because  “[teachers]  know  the  curriculum  best,  and  I  believe  that  they  are  professional.  I   believe  they  are  the  ones  that  are  truly  going  to  make  change  happen.  I'm  not  going  to   make  change  happen  in  this  office  all  by  myself.”   Ms.  Shriver:  The  Instructional  Leader   Ms.  Shriver,  principal  at  Waller  Middle  School,  was  in  her  20th  year  in  education.   Prior  to  coming  to  Waller,  where  she  had  been  principal  for  eight  years,  Ms.  Shriver  was  an   153   elementary  and  middle  school  teacher,  assistant  principal,  and  principal  in  a  nearby   district.     Since  assuming  the  principal  position  at  Waller,  Ms.  Shriver  spent  the  bulk  of  her   time  and  energy  attempting  to  improve  the  quality  of  classroom  instruction  and  to  this  end   she  ushered  in  and  supported  several  concurrent  instructional  reforms.  She  also  attempted   to  use  existing  formal  and  informal  structures  to  help  support  the  reforms.  For  example,   teachers  on  staff  met  monthly  with  their  departments  to  discuss  salient  issues  for  their   individual  and  joint  work.  Ms.  Shriver  encouraged  teachers  to  accomplish  more  than   housekeeping  tasks  during  this  time.  She  thought  of  and  referred  to  the  time  that  teachers   spent  together  as  professional  learning  community  (PLC)  time  and  she  expected  teachers   to  discuss  important  issues  of  curriculum  and  instruction.  Consequently,  she  regularly   talked  with  department  leaders  about  meeting  content,  reviewed  PLC  agendas,  and  she  and   the  assistant  principal  personally  attended  meetings  to  ensure  a  tight  focus  on  teaching  and   learning.       Ms.  Shriver  believed  that  the  department  PLC  work  helped  teachers  negotiate   multiple  instructional  reforms.  For  example,  Ms.  Shriver  expected  teachers  to  develop   common  plans  for  curricular  coverage  of  the  standards  and  discuss  how  they  would   promote  formative  assessment  teaching  (even  though  they  did  not  recognize  the  term   “formative  assessment”  as  such  because  they  did  not  participate  in  the  program).     Specifically,  she  tasked  teachers  in  each  PLC  to  create  a  curriculum  of  “essential   content”  that  all  teachers  would  commit  to  teaching  and  to  make  a  plan  for  how  teachers   would  elicit  evidence  of  student  understanding  of  this  essential  content  and  make   instructional  decisions  based  on  student  understanding  when  necessary.    Ms.  Shriver   154   argued  that  this  process  of  goal  setting,  checking  for  understanding,  and  making   instructional  decisions  was  the  cornerstone  of  formative  assessment  practice.     Ms.  Shriver  also  used  her  informal  conversations  with  teachers  to  promote  reform   ideas  and  to  highlight  the  congruence  of  several  reforms.  During  the  year  of  the  study,  the   language  arts,  mathematics,  science,  and  social  studies  teachers  on  staff  were  attending   Classroom  Instruction  that  Works,  a  series  of  workshops  that  highlighted  nine  effective   instructional  strategies  that  teachers  of  various  subject  matters  could  employ.  In  talking   with  teachers  about  their  experiences  at  the  workshops,  Ms.  Shriver  incorporated  the   language  of  formative  assessment  into  her  conversations.  She  explained:   So  the  way  we  talk  about  things,  you  know,  we  try  to  bring  in  some  of  the  language   from  formative  assessment  as  well  [into  discussions  about  the  ideas  in  Classroom   Instruction  that  Works],  if  that  helps.  When  I  talk  to  staff,  “Well,  what's  your  learning   target?”...“How  are  you  going  to  check  for  understanding  throughout  the  lesson?”  So   I  think  the  language  of  FAME  is  not  just  from  the  [learning  team]  teachers.  I  talk  that   language  with  staff  too.  It's  all  over.  It's  all  over  our  building.     In  many  instances,  these  informal  conversations  were  based  on  Ms.  Shriver’s  observations   during  her  frequent  informal  “walk-­‐through”  visits  in  which  she  would  “pop  in  and  sit  for   five  or  ten  minutes.”  The  conversations  that  stemmed  from  these  walkthroughs  allowed   Ms.  Shriver  to  both  help  teachers  make  connections  among  multiple  reforms  and  they   allowed  her  to  provide  teachers  specific  feedback  about  their  instruction.     Ms.  Shriver  also  wanted  these  conversations  to  remain  focused,  but  informal  and,   consequently,  she  did  not  use  a  formal  tool  for  evaluation  or  feedback.  With  this  constraint   155   in  mind,  taking  time  to  talk  with  teachers  about  their  practice  in  a  follow-­‐up  conversation   was  an  appealing  option.  As  Ms.  Shriver  said:   I’m  trying  to  find  ways  [to  provide  informal  feedback],  because  teachers  want  to   know.  “What  did  you  think?”  “How  did  it  go?”  So  giving  them  feedback  about  it.   Whether  it  be  a  question  I  asked  them  or  “Hey,  I  talked  to  the  kids;  they  knew  what   the  target  was”…I  think  that  is  one  way  that  I  try  to  help  facilitate  [teacher   instructional  improvement].  It  is  not  just  the  two  full  observations  in  our  evaluation   cycle.   In  sum,  Ms.  Shriver  saw  her  primary  responsibility  as  improving  the  overall   instructional  quality  at  Waller,  and  to  this  end,  she  brought  a  variety  of  instructional   reforms  to  the  school.  Once  these  reforms  arrived,  Ms.  Shriver  shaped  the  meaning  of  the   reforms  through  influencing  the  structure  of  teacher  collaborative  time  and  through  her   direct  contact  with  teachers  in  which  she  talked  with  them  about  the  principles  of  the   reforms  and  her  observations  of  their  instruction.     Principals’  Normative  Statements     The  three  principals  in  this  study  differed  considerably  in  their  beliefs,  priorities,   and  behavior  surrounding  instructional  reforms.  Mrs.  Novak  wanted  to  nurture  students’   social  and  emotional  development  and  she  wanted  her  teachers  to  share  this  focus.  She   paid  very  little  attention  to  her  responsibilities  as  an  instructional  leader.  Mr.  Delancey  was   new  to  the  school  and  still  trying  to  establish  himself  as  a  legitimate  leader.  Ultimately,  he   wanted  to  give  teachers  general  guidance  and  have  them  assume  responsibility  for   flourishing  while  he  balanced  involvement  in  teachers’  classrooms  with  respecting   teachers’  professional  identities.  Ms.  Shriver,  in  contrast,  was  a  very  active  and  involved   156   instructional  leader.  Instructional  reforms  did  not  come  to  Waller  except  through  her   careful  screening  and  she  played  a  central  role  in  the  reforms  once  they  arrived.  She  saw   her  job  as  one  of  improving  instructional  quality  at  the  school  and  helping  teachers  both   enact  reform  practices  and  see  connections  among  the  multiple  reforms.     Before  considering  the  actions  that  principals  took  in  regards  to  a  variety  of   instructional  reforms,  it  is  important  to  consider  the  link  between  principals’  beliefs  and   their  actions.  So  doing  will  help  us  better  understand  the  differences  observed  among   principals  as  both  potential  reform  entrepreneurs  ushering  in  and  generating  support  for   voluntary  reforms  and  as  gatekeepers  shaping  mandatory  reforms  that  demanded  that   they  play  a  key  role.  Thus,  this  section  has  two  goals.  First,  it  will  establish  each  principal’s   perspective  as  expressed  through  his  or  her  beliefs  about  what  principals  and  teachers   should  be  doing  and  what  schools  should  be  like.  Second,  it  will  determine  to  the  extent   possible  how  well  principal’s  beliefs  about  instruction  aligned  with  reform  ideals.       Overview  of  Principals’  Beliefs  and  Priorities     The  principals  varied  considerably  in  their  beliefs  and  commitments  as  determined   by  the  normative  statements  they  made  during  interviews  about  what  principals  should  do,   how  teachers  should  teach,  and  what  ideal  classrooms  should  be  like.  Mrs.  Novak  talked   predominately  about  the  importance  of  fostering  students’  social  and  emotional   development.  She  occasionally  blended  talk  of  social  and  emotional  development  with   academic  development  but  rarely  talked  exclusively  about  the  importance  of  promoting   academics.  She  never  talked  about  creating  organizational  structures  to  improve  school   functioning,  nor  did  she  talk  about  the  importance  of  maintaining  order  and  enforcing   discipline.     157   Mr.  Delancey  balanced  his  talk  with  normative  statements  about  creating   organizational  structures,  promoting  academic  achievement,  and  maintaining  order   through  enforcing  standards  of  behavior.  He  never  talked  about  nurturing  social  and   emotional  development  nor  did  his  statements  blend  social,  academic,  and  behavioral   priorities.     Of  the  three  principals,  Ms.  Shriver’s  normative  statements  during  interviews  were   the  most  singularly  focused.  She  talked  exclusively  about  the  importance  of  improving   instructional  quality  at  the  school  and,  by  extension,  promoting  student  achievement.  An   overview  of  the  normative  statements  principals  made  during  interviews  is  provided  in   Table  6.1.     Table  6.1:  Summary  of  Principal  Normative  Statements   Principal     Mrs.  Novak   Mr.  Delancey   Mrs.  Shriver   Nurturing   Social  and   Emotional   Development   Creating   School   Organization   Structures   16   0   0   0   9   0   Sharpening   Instructional   Prowess  and   Improving   Academic   Achievement   4   56   67   Disciplining   Children  and   Enforcing   Standards  for   Behavior   Blending  the   Social,   Academic,   and   Behavioral   0   13   0   6   0   0   Total   26   78   67     Analyzing  Principals’  Normative  Statements  about  Instruction   The  statements  that  principals  made  about  the  importance  of  academics  and   instructional  quality  can  be  further  separated  into  two  categories—characteristics  of   instructional  leadership  and  characteristics  of  instructional  quality.  The  instructional   leadership  category  contains  those  normative  statements  that  principals  made  about  what   their  role  as  instructional  leaders  should  be.  Mr.  Delancey  made  the  most  of  these  types  of   statements  (41),  more  than  doubling  the  statements  of  Ms.  Shriver.  Mrs.  Novak  made  no   normative  statements  about  her  role  as  an  instructional  leader  during  our  interviews.     158   The  characteristics  of  the  instructional  quality  category  include  those  statements   that  principals  made  about  what  instruction  should  be  like.  These  statements  typically   described  how  teachers  should  teach  and  what  student  academic  activity  should  entail.  Ms.   Shriver  made  the  most  normative  statements  about  the  characteristics  of  instructional   quality,  doubling  Mr.  Delancey’s  normative  statements  about  instruction.  Mrs.  Novak  made   only  four  normative  statements  about  instruction  over  the  course  of  the  interviews.  An   overview  of  each  principal’s  normative  instructional  statements  by  category  is  included  in   Table  6.2.     Table  6.2.  Normative  Instructional  Statements  by  Category   Principal   Mrs.  Novak   Mr.  Delancey   Ms.  Shriver   Total  Normative   Instructional   Statements   4   65   67   Characteristics  of   Instructional   Leadership   0   41   19   Characteristics  of   Instructional  Quality   4   24   48     Qualitative  Differences  of  Normative  Statements   While  the  quantity  of  normative  statements  reveals  each  principal’s  beliefs  and   priorities,  strict  attention  to  the  total  amount  of  each  type  of  statement  does  not  provide   much  detail  about  how  well  principals  understood  instructional  reforms  or  what  precisely   they  made  of  their  role  as  instructional  leaders.     As  explained  above,  Mrs.  Novak  spoke  only  rarely  about  the  characteristics  of  the   reform  classroom  and  she  never  spoke  of  her  role  in  providing  instructional  leadership  that   might  help  promote  these  types  of  classrooms  at  Middleton.  Of  the  reform  classroom,  Mrs.   Novak’s  statements  were  vague  and  did  not  reveal  a  thorough  understanding  of  the   reforms.  For  example,  when  asked  what  types  of  instructional  practices  she  would  like  to   see  in  Middleton’s  classrooms,  Mrs.  Novak  responded:   159   The  biggest  thing  that  I  wish  all  [teachers]  did  was  [use]  some  random  way  to  call  on   kids...Just  a  random  [way].  I  don't  care  if  it  is  Popsicle  sticks  or  a  deck  of  cards  with   the  kids’  names  on  them,  but  that  avoids  [teachers]  teaching  to  the  top  [students]   and  it  avoids  them  [allowing]  some  kids  from  just  being  able  to  put  their  heads   down  and  not  engage.     In  another  instance,  Mrs.  Novak’s  comments  suggest  that  current  reforms  merely  recycled   ideas  from  the  past.  She  said  “I  love  to  see  the  learning  targets  posted  and  referred  to,  not   just  posted…Madeline  Hunter  knew  that  years  ago…We  just  called  it  something  different   now  but  she  had  it  right  back  then.”   Even  when  pressed  both  within  and  across  interviews,  Ms.  Novak  did  not  elaborate   on  the  qualities  of  instruction  that  she  would  like  to  observe  and  she  did  not  express   reform  ideas  in  precise  terms.  Nor  did  she  describe  instruction  as  complex  set  of   interactions  among  teachers,  students,  and  content.  For  Mrs.  Novak,  reforms  were  pressing   teachers  to  add  a  few  vague  and  general-­‐purpose  features  to  their  existing  instruction.     Mr.  Delancey  had  a  much  more  developed  sense  of  the  role  he  wanted  to  have  in   teacher’s  classrooms  but,  like  Mrs.  Novak,  he  did  not  have  a  well  developed  understanding   of  reforms.  When  speaking  of  his  role  as  instructional  leader,  Mr.  Delancey  talked  of  the   importance  of  balancing  respect  for  teachers’  professionalism  with  involvement  in  their   classrooms.  Above  all,  Mr.  Delancey  did  not  want  to  overly  manage  teachers  or  tell  them   explicitly  what  to  do.  Rather,  he  wanted  to  have  discussions  with  teachers  about  their   teaching  without  appearing  domineering.  He  felt  he  could  achieve  this  balance  by  providing   teachers  with  carefully  worded  feedback  about  their  teaching  that  would  offer  teachers   160   insights  into  their  practice  but  would  still  respect  their  professional  standing.    Several   times  he  mentioned  the  importance  of  feedback,  as  is  captured  in  the  following  passage:   What  I'm  working  on  as  a  principal  is  making  sure  that  I'm  giving  feedback   appropriately…I  don't  [want  to]  give  [teachers]  feedback  that  shuts  them  off  using   teacher  language  instead  of  ‘have  you  ever  thought  about  this?’  which  right  away   shuts  people  off.  I  have  to  figure  out  how  to  raise  that  area  of  growth  without  it   looking  like  I'm  questioning  their  intelligence  or  their  teaching.     While  Mr.  Delancey  did  not  want  to  “micro-­‐manage”  teachers  and  their  instructional   approach,  he  did  expect  that  they  would  heed  his  carefully  worded  feedback.  He  insisted:     If  I'm  in  your  room  five  times  and  I've  told  you  five  times  in  a  row  to  have  a  student   friendly  objective  on  the  board  and  you  didn't  do  it  then  it's  on  you,  but  if  I  come   into  your  room  and  you  change  that,  then  it’s  positive.  It’s  all  about  how  you  take  the   feedback.   In  alignment  with  the  stated  intention  of  writing  effective  and  non-­‐offensive   feedback,  Mr.  Delancey  could  often  be  observed  in  his  office  wordsmithing  the  feedback  he   planned  to  give  teachers  about  their  instruction.     In  addition  to  involvement  in  teachers’  classrooms,  Mr.  Delancey  also  talked   frequently  about  school  governance  and  the  organization  of  joint  teacher  work.  For   example,  he  wanted  teachers  to  assume  control  of  the  school  improvement  team.  One  of  the   functions  of  the  team  of  6-­‐7  volunteer  teachers  was  to  set  a  course  for  professional   development  for  the  staff.  Mr.  Delancey  felt  that  previous  administrators  had  had  a   controlling  influence  on  team  decisions  and  he  wanted  to  alter  that  tradition  during  his   principalship.  Mr.  Delancey  also  wanted  to  reorganize  joint  teacher  work.  Specifically,  he   161   wanted  teachers  to  work  together  on  cross-­‐curricular  teams  as  opposed  to  the  disciplinary   teams  that  the  teachers  at  Poe  had  engaged  in  in  the  past.       Despite  having  a  much  stronger  role  in  teachers’  classrooms  and  in  influencing   decision-­‐making  structures  and  the  structure  of  teacher  joint  work  than  Mrs.  Novak  did,   Mr.  Delancey,  like  Mrs.  Novak,  had  only  a  vague  sense  of  the  types  of  instruction  envisioned   by  the  reforms  at  Poe.       First,  Mr.  Delancey  wanted  teachers  to  conduct  cross-­‐curricular  writing  assignments   (which  in  part  explains  why  he  wanted  to  reorganize  teachers’  work  in  this  way).  He  also   wanted  teachers  to  employ  general  strategies  that  would  promote  student  engagement  and   the  interaction  between  teachers  and  students.  For  example,  Mr.  Delancey  wanted  teachers   to  employ  a  particular  strategy  for  checking  for  student  understanding:      Have  you  ever  heard  of  thumbs  up?  It's  like,  ‘oh  hey  did  you  guys  get  that?’   Everyone  gives  the  thumbs-­‐up.  Just  tell  your  partner  what  I  just  said.’  Kind  of  makes   them  think  about,  articulate  what  the  teacher  just  said,  just  involving  the  students   more  instead  of  talking  at  them  for  20  minutes  or  half  an  hour,  and  then  having   them  do  an  assignment...There  are  a  variety  of  strategies  that  teachers  don't   necessarily  use  here.     Furthermore,  Mr.  Delancey  wanted  teachers  to  use  “thinking  maps”  that  he  believed  would   help  students  engage  with  and  organize  academic  content.  As  he  understood  them,  the   thinking  maps  could  be  used,  “in  each  curriculum,  so  they  are  not  just  maps  or  graphic   organizers,  you  can  use  in  English,  you  can  use  them  in  math  and  science,  but  they  do  go   across  the  curriculum.”  In  the  year  following  the  study,  Mr.  Delancey  planned  to  hire  a   consultant  to  come  to  Poe  and  train  the  teachers  on  how  to  use  the  thinking  maps.  He  then   162   planned  to  “hold  teachers  accountable”  for  using  the  thinking  maps  during  his  visits  to   teachers’  classrooms.     Mr.  Delancey’s  articulation  of  the  principles  of  reforms  was  less  developed  than  the   role  he  wanted  to  have  as  an  instructional  leader.  Like  Mrs.  Novak,  Mr.  Delancey  had  an   anemic  view  of  the  teaching  and  learning  articulated  in  reforms.  He,  too,  felt  that  teachers   should  improve  their  instruction  through  the  employment  of  general-­‐purpose  tools  and   strategies  that  helped  students  organize  and  engage  in  academic  content.  He  did  not,   however,  share  the  understanding  that  reform  teaching  and  learning  would  require  deep   engagement  with  academic  content,  clear  expectations  of  what  knowledge  and  skills   students  were  expected  to  master,  robust  interactions  between  teachers  and  students   around  content,  and  timely  and  actionable  feedback.     In  contrast  to  Mrs.  Novak  and  Mr.  Delancey,  Ms.  Shriver  had  both  a  well-­‐developed   conception  of  her  role  as  an  instructional  leader  and  a  thorough  understanding  of  the   instructional  reforms  at  Waller.       Ms.  Shriver  had  several  self-­‐perceived  responsibilities  as  an  instructional  leader.  She   believed  one  of  the  primary  objectives  was  to  build  instructional  capacity  in  the  teachers   on  staff  and  she  attempted  to  accomplish  this  capacity  building  through  involvement  in  a   variety  of  instruction  related  activities.  More  specifically,  Ms.  Shriver  felt  that  it  was   important  for  her  to  ask  teachers  questions  in  the  context  of  their  own  instructional   practice  that  encouraged  them  to  reflect  upon  the  principles  of  the  various  reforms  at   Waller.     Thus,  Ms.  Shriver  believed  that  principals  should  seek  to  engage  teachers  in  a   variety  of  instructional  situations  where  they  would  either  be  discussing  or  enacting   163   reform  instruction.  For  example,  Ms.  Shriver  talked  of  the  importance  of  attending   department  PLC  meetings  and  asking  insightful  questions  when  appropriate.  Furthermore,   Ms.  Shriver  felt  that  she  should  carefully  plan  staff  meetings  to  focus  on  improving   instruction.  As  compared  with  PLC  meetings,  Ms.  Shriver  noted,  “With  [staff  meetings]  I  am   more  deliberate…  I  can  set  the  agenda  and  we  can  have  a  focus  and  create  questions  to  get   [teachers]  to  think  differently,  or  to  bring  student  work  and  ask  questions  about  student   work.”   In  addition  to  shaping  teacher  meeting  time,  Ms.  Shriver  also  wanted  to  observe   teachers  in  their  classrooms  as  they  were  providing  instruction  and  then  meet  with  them   briefly  to  discuss  what  she  observed.  She  explained:     When  I  conference  with  individual  teachers  I  can  ask  lots  of  questions.  I  get  that   feedback  right  away  from  that  teacher,  ‘like  this  is  kind  of  what  I  was  hoping,  or   what  I  thought  might  happen.’…Conferencing  with  individual  teachers  can  be  really   individualized.  I  think  I  probe  their  thinking  and  push  their  thinking.     Ms.  Shriver  also  believed  that  principals  should  connect  teachers  with  valuable   resources  and  she  believed  that  the  most  valuable  resource  at  Waller  was  expertise  among   the  teachers  on  staff.  She  reported  that  she  often  told  teachers,  “We  have  people  that  are   really  good  at  that.  You  don't  have  to  reinvent  the  wheel.  Go  talk  to  this  person.”       Ms.  Shriver  hoped  that  her  presence  in  a  variety  of  context-­‐specific  situations,  her   insightful  questions  and  conversations  with  teachers  about  instruction  both  during  their   collective  work  and  during  their  classroom  instruction,  and  her  intentional  connections   among  teachers  on  staff  would  help  improve  instruction  at  Waller.  Importantly,  Ms.  Shriver   wanted  all  of  these  activities  to  focus  the  instructional  reforms  active  at  Waller  during  the   164   time  of  the  study  and  she  saw  it  as  one  of  her  main  responsibilities  to  help  teachers   understand  the  various  reforms  and  to  make  connections  among  them.     Ms.  Shriver  believed  that  carefully  crafting  multiple  initiatives  could  create  a  type  of   instructional  mosaic,  that  when  one  stood  back,  revealed  a  coherent  and  improved  picture   of  teaching  and  learning.  Ms.  Shriver  felt  her  job  was  to  help  teachers  “see  connections”  and   congruence  among  instructional  reforms  while  retaining  a  focus  on  students  and  student   learning.  For  example,  Ms.  Shriver  insisted  that  rather  than  competing  ideas  for  how   student  learning  should  be  assessed,  formative  assessment  practices  and  end-­‐of-­‐the-­‐year,   high-­‐stakes  accountability  tests  were  part  of  a  “balanced  assessment  system”  that  worked   together  to  promote  student  learning.  Furthermore,  Ms.  Shriver  routinely  had   conversations  with  teachers  in  which  she  argued  that  elements  of  Classroom  Instruction   that  Works  could  be  used  with  formative  assessment  practices  from  the  FAME  team  which   could,  in  turn,  be  combined  with  notions  of  good  teaching  embedded  in  the  Danielson   Framework  for  Teaching.     Ms.  Shriver  believed  that  the  instructional  amalgam  that  resulted  created  a  more   robust  curricular  and  instructional  climate.  And  she  felt  that  keeping  the  focus  on  student   learning  and  universal  commitment  to  professional  improvement  helped  alleviate  conflicts   that  might  arise.  Ms.  Shriver  explained:   I  think  we've  tried  to  make  it  something  that  is  not  just  one  more  thing  to  do,  but  it's   the  students  at  the  center,  how  do  we  get  better?  And  the  Classroom  Instruction  [that   Works]  and  [the  other  reforms]  are  going  to  give  us  more  instructional  strategies   because  the  same  thing  doesn't  work  for  all  kids.  So  how  do  we  engage  more   students  in  learning?  That  is  one  of  the  components  in  Danielson  [Framework  for   165   Teaching].  Classroom  instruction  that  Works  is  going  to  have  some  of  those   strategies…It's  about  kids  being  able  [and]  everyone  having  a  part,  talking  and   having  a  part  in  the  learning.  I  think  it's  just  helping  [teachers]  get  better   and…helping  them  see  how  these  [multiple  reforms]  we're  doing  help  improve  their   practice.     In  sum,  the  three  principals  in  the  study  varied  considerably  in  their  beliefs  about   what  principals  should  do  and  their  knowledge  about  their  role  as  instructional  leaders  and   the  instructional  reforms  themselves.  A  summary  of  principal’s  knowledge  about  the   specifics  of  multiple  reforms  is  included  in  Table  6.3.  The  next  section  considers  the   consequences  of  these  differences  in  beliefs,  priorities,  and  knowledge.     Table  6.3.  Principals’  Understanding  of  Specific  Elements  of  Instructional  Reforms   Principal   Clear   objectives   about  what  is   to  be  taught   and  learned   Descriptive   Feedback  to   promote   student   learning   Frequently   checking  for   student   understanding   Multiple   opportunities   for  students  to   demonstrate   understanding   Ms.  Novak   Mr.  Delancey   Ms.  Shriver   Yes   Yes   Yes   No   No   Yes   Yes   Yes   Yes   No   No   Yes   Instructional   decision   sensitive  to   demonstrated   student   understanding   No   No   Yes     Of  the  three  principals  in  the  study,  then,  Ms.  Shriver  was  best  prepared  to  shape   mandatory  reforms  in  ways  congruent  with  reformers’  intent  and  to  provide  reform   entrepreneurship  for  voluntary  reforms.  First,  Ms.  Shriver  believed  her  primary   responsibility  was  to  develop  instructional  capacity  in  her  teaching  staff  and  she  believed   that  instructional  reforms  could  serve  as  the  foundation  for  this  improvement.  She  also  had   a  much  more  thorough  sense  of  each  of  the  instructional  ideas  pressed  by  reformers  than   either  Mrs.  Novak  or  Mr.  Delancey  and  she  had  a  developed  sense  of  how  these   instructional  reformers  might  work  together  to  improve  teaching  and  learning  at  her   166   school  as  evidenced  by  her  frequent  reference  to  the  specifics  of  reform  teaching  during   interviews.  She  also  had  the  legitimate  standing  among  teachers  necessary  to  influence   teachers’  work  with  mandatory  reforms  and  the  social  resources  necessary  to  generate   teacher  commitment  to  voluntary  reforms.     Ms.  Shriver’s  normative  statements  about  instruction  demonstrated  that  she   understood  the  reforms  well  and  agreed  with  the  messages  that  they  sent  about  quality   teaching.  Her  statements  also  revealed  that  she  believed  that  reforms,  for  the  most  part,   agreed  with  each  other.  On  some  occasions  Ms.  Shriver  would  mention  congruence  among   reforms  without  being  prompted.  At  other  times,  Ms.  Shriver  would  reinforce  her  beliefs  of   general  agreement  among  reforms  when  prompted.  At  still  other  times  (but  not  often)  Ms.   Shriver’s  comments  indicated  that  she  sensed  some  conflict  among  the  reforms.  Each  of   these  cases  centered  around  the  tension  between  messages  for  curricular  coverage  and  the   needs  of  students.  When  it  came  to  ideas  about  how  teaching  should  be  conducted,   however,  Ms.  Shriver’s  statements  never  suggested  that  she  believed  the  reforms  were   incompatible.  A  summary  of  the  statements  Ms.  Shriver  made  in  relating  reforms  to  one   another  is  contained  in  Table  6.4.     Table  6.4.  Characteristics  of  Multiple  Reforms   Congruence  (informant   offered)   16   Congruence  (Researcher   Prompted)   8   Conflict   3     Principal  Beliefs  and  Perceptions  of  Teacher  Quality   Principals’  perceptions  of  teacher  quality  provide  further  evidence  of  their  beliefs   and  values.  For  example,  Mrs.  Novak  believed  that  teachers  should  be  supportive  of   students’  social  and  emotional  growth,  and  when  given  the  opportunity,  she  separated   167   teachers  along  her  perceptions  of  the  personal  care  and  nurturing  they  provided  students.   In  contrast,  Ms.  Shriver  used  willingness  to  innovate  and  instructional  skill  as  dimensions   along  which  to  separate  the  teachers  on  her  staff.  Mr.  Delancey,  however,  represents  a  bit   of  a  puzzle.  As  noted,  he  had  the  most  varied  priorities  as  a  principal  and  his  perceptions  of   the  teachers  on  staff  reflected  his  multiple  priorities  and  concerns.  Generally,  he  perceived   that  teacher  quality  was  closely  associated  with  the  ability  to  discipline  students  effectively   and  manage  classrooms.  An  overview  summary  of  each  principal’s  perceptions  of  the   teachers  on  his  or  her  staff  is  included  in  Tables  6.5-­‐6.7.  These  perceptions  will  be   important  later  in  the  chapter  when  we  consider  how  the  only  principal  who  acted  as  a   reform  entrepreneur,  Ms.  Shriver,  generated  support  for  voluntary  reforms.  Focal  teachers   from  the  study  are  bolded.     Table  6.5.  Mrs.  Novak’s  Perception  of  Teachers   Nurturing   Mr.  Stark     Mr.  Kennedy     Ms.  Gladwell     Mrs.  Hollins     Mrs.  Kotch     Mr.  Yarborough       Ms.  Nelso     Mrs.  Herman     Mr.  St.  Johns     Ms.  Voleck     Mixed   Ms.  Lane   Mrs.  Roberts     Mr.  Boyd     Mr.  Bryant   Ms.  James     Mrs.  Patrick     Mrs.  Quincy           Non  Nurturing   Mr.  Varner   Ms.  Carroll                     Table  6.6.  Ms.  Shriver’s  Perceptions  of  Teachers   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan     Ms.  Harris     Ms.  Purvis     Mrs.  Franzen     Mrs.  McReady   Ms.  Marshall     Mr.  Trotter     Mrs.  McCarthy     Mr.  Bridges     Mr.  Hanson     Mrs.  Hall     Receptive   Mr.  Reed     Mrs.  Curtis   Ms.  Evans     Mr.  Cooper     Ms.  Bell     Mrs.  Edgar     Ms.  Wheeler   Mr.  Rogers     Ms.  Reynolds     Mrs.  Claiborne   Mrs.  Jackson   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle     Mr.  Kennedy     Mr.  Givens     Ms.  Zimmerman     Ms.  Dozier   Mr.  Murdock     Mr.  Collins     Ms.  Cook             168   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum     Mr.  Charles   Ms.  Berger   Mr.  Scott                   Table  6.7.  Mr.  Delancey’s  Perceptions  of  Teachers   Top   teachers   who  excel  at   discipline   and   connections   with   students   Soft-­‐spoken,   but   respected   teachers   Abrasive   but   generally   well  liked   by  students   Group  in  the   Teachers   middle   unpopular   with   colleagues;   also  have  a   reputation   for  being   harsh   “Clueless”   group  of   relaxed   teachers   who  are   not  strict,   for  better   or  worse   Teachers   who  struggle   with  making   connections   with   students  and   discipline   Mrs.  Wood     Ms.  Price   Ms.  Friese     Mr.  Camburn     Ms.  Dixon   Mr.  Jones   Ms.  Davies     Ms.  Polumbo   Mr.  Givens   Mrs.  Mays   Ms.  Portez     Ms.  Ready   Mrs.  Smith     Mrs.  Bell     Ms.  Wright   Ms.   Monahan       Mrs.  Reid         Mr.  Brown   Mr.  Duke     Ms.   Cunningham     Mr.  Gee   Ms.    Spencer   Mrs.  Farley             Ms.  Winger       Ms.  Firestone       Ms.  Katz               Principals  Responses  to  Instructional  Reforms   The  previous  sections  of  this  chapter  provided  evidence  the  three  principals  in  the   study  varied  considerably  in  their  backgrounds,  beliefs,  priorities,  and  knowledge  of   reforms.  The  following  section  demonstrates  that  differences  along  these  dimensions   reflected  the  actions  that  principals  took  in  response  to  different  reforms  as  characterized   in  Chapter  5.  Ultimately,  I  will  combine  this  understanding  of  contexts  with  actions  to   explain  unequal  opportunities  for  teachers  to  engage  in  and  learn  about  instructional   reforms  across  the  three  schools.       Principals  and  Mandated  Reforms   During  the  year  of  the  study  each  of  the  schools  was  implementing  two  mandatory   reforms—The  Common  Core  State  Standards  and  a  new  educator  evaluation  system.  This   section  will  focus  on  how  principals’  beliefs,  priorities,  and  knowledge  influenced  how  they   responded  to  the  latter  of  these  two  reforms—the  educator  evaluation  system.   169   The  new  educator  evaluation  system  included  expectations  and  responsibilities  for   administrators  that  were  written  directly  into  the  policy,  in  essence  forcing  administrators   to  respond  to  the  reform  in  some  way.  However,  despite  specifying  a  role  for  the  principal,   each  of  the  principals  responded  to  the  policy  in  ways  that  reflected  each  principal’s  beliefs   and  priorities.  These  responses  can  be  characterized  as  shaping,  leveraging,  and   influencing.     Shaping.  For  the  most  part,  Mrs.  Novak  ignored  her  responsibilities  as  an   instructional  leader  and  had  very  little  to  do  with  instructional  reforms.  However,  as  was   the  case  with  the  educator  evaluation  policy,  sometimes  she  could  not  avoid  these   responsibilities  altogether.  Under  the  new  policy,  principals  were  required  to  observe   teachers  on  multiple  occasions  and  measure  their  work  against  a  state-­‐sanctioned  rubric   that  was  either  from  an  approved  developer  or  was  created  locally  and  later  approved  by   the  state.  Districts  were  also  responsible  for  incorporating  teachers’  influence  on  student   growth.     Since  officials  at  Middleton  School  District  decided  to  develop  the  evaluation  rubric   locally,  Mrs.  Novak’s  responsibilities  to  implement  the  new  policy  were  compounded.  In  the   year  prior  to  the  study,  Middleton  had  decided  to  develop  and  pilot  its  own  new  evaluation   rubric  in  anticipation  of  new  educator  evaluation  policies.  The  district  lacked  the  staff  to   develop  its  rubric  without  assistance  from  school  personnel,  so  it  employed  its  elementary,   middle,  and  high  school  principals  to  work  alongside  the  superintendent  to  create  its   observation  rubric.     Participation  on  the  district  team  afforded  Mrs.  Novak  the  opportunity  to  assert  her   beliefs  and  priorities  while  helping  the  district  craft  its  observation  rubric.  For  her  first  six   170   years  as  a  principal,  Mrs.  Novak  and  the  other  two  principals  in  the  district  had  been  using   an  evaluation  tool  that  required  quite  a  bit  of  narrative  description  to  accompany  the  final   evaluation.  Mrs.  Novak  remembered  that  the  previous  evaluation  tool  was  “all  narrative   and  [individual  evaluations]  were  excruciating  to  write.  It  wasn't  hard  to  go  in  and  do  the   observation.  But  then  to  come  back  to  your  desk  and  have  to  write  about  it…they  were   laborious  as  all  get  out.  I  would  go  in  and  do  an  hour  observation,  and  it  would  take  me  four   hours  to  compile  it.”   Mrs.  Novak  also  believed  the  prior  evaluation  tool  did  not  allow  for  her  to  evaluate   teachers  on  elements  of  the  job  that  were  important  to  her.  Mrs.  Novak  recalled,  “it  was   very  secondary  oriented,  it  wasn't  very  elementary  friendly,  but  [favored]  knowledge  of   subject  matter.  When  I  think  ‘knowledge  of  child  development’  would  be  almost  more   important  or  equally  important,  but  that  wasn’t  even  on  there.”     In  contrast,  rubrics  created  by  approved  developers  did  provide  wider   consideration  of  teaching  that  extended  to  broader  areas  of  student  development,  but  these   still  would  have  presented  a  challenge  for  Mrs.  Novak  had  the  district  decided  not  to   develop  its  own  evaluation  instrument.  According  to  Mrs.  Novak,  these  rubrics  (like  the   evaluation  tool  used  in  Middleton  previously)  were  cumbersome  and  labor-­‐intensive.  Mrs.   Novak  believed  “If  we  did  [the  Danielson  Framework  for  Teaching  Evaluation  Instrument],   we  would  be  buried  up  to  our  ears”  in  observation  and  evaluation  requirements.  The   district  team  worked  on  a  streamlined  instrument  that  Mrs.  Novak  characterized  as  a   “hybrid”  of  two  commercially  available  evaluation  rubrics.  Mrs.  Novak  said,  “Now  it  is  like  a   checklist,  and  it  is  easy  to  do.  We  have  a  program  on  our  iPad.  I  can  come  downstairs  [to  my   office],  do  some  summary  notes,  and  click  send,  and  it's  done.”   171   In  sum,  Mrs.  Novak’s  involvement  on  the  district  team  to  create  an  evaluation  tool   allowed  her  to  have  input  in  shaping  the  instrument’s  construction  in  ways  that  she  valued.   Ultimately,  the  tool  the  team  developed  was  parsimonious,  easy  to  administer  and   complete,  and  it  preserved  elements  of  teacher  performance  that  Mrs.  Novak  valued.     However,  while  Mrs.  Novak  was  satisfied  with  the  tool  that  the  district  developed,   she  did  not  use  it  to  improve  teaching  and  learning  at  Middleton.  Despite  the  simplified   evaluation  tool,  a  relatively  small  teaching  staff  to  evaluate,  and  the  new  policy’s  stipulation   that  principals  observe  teachers  multiple  times  each  year,  Mrs.  Novak  fell  behind  late  in  the   year  and  ultimately  abandoned  her  plan  to  observe  teachers  once  in  the  fall  and  then  to   conduct  her  formal  evaluation  in  the  spring.  In  an  interview  in  early  spring,  Mrs.  Novak   explained,  “The  observation  that  I  did  in  the  fall.  It  was  late  fall.  I  didn't  attach  any  numbers   from  the  rubric  because  I  just  observed.  Now  when  I  go  and  actually  do  the   evaluation…that  will  have  a  score.”       Yet,  Mrs.  Novak  never  returned  to  teachers’  classrooms  for  a  second  time.  Thus,  she   did  not  execute  her  role  as  evaluator  in  terms  of  frequency  and  content  of  observations,  an   inaction  that  raised  considerable  concern  among  teachers.  Specifically,  Middleton  teachers   realized  that  Mrs.  Novak’s  behavior  did  not  compare  favorably  with  other  administrators  in   the  district.  Ms.  Carroll  explained:   This  year  [Mrs.  Novak]  did  [observations]  in  the  fall,  but  another  principal  [in  the   district]  did  three,  and  he  sat  down  with  you  and  he  talked  with  you  after  every   single  one…My  brother  is  an  administrator,  and  he  said,  ‘I  think  you  need  to  go  in   with  your  evaluation  and  say,  ‘what  do  I  do  to  improve?’  That  is  crap  that  she  never   met  with  you.”  It's  not  like  I  could  have  done  anything  anyway.  It  was  April.   172   Ms.  Carroll’s  concern  stemmed,  in  large  part,  from  the  fact  that  evaluation  scores   had  real  consequences  for  teachers’  livelihood  in  Middleton.  The  district  was  steadily  losing   students  and  had  consequently  been  forced  to  lay  off  teachers  for  several  consecutive   years.  And,  according  to  many  of  the  teachers  on  staff,  there  were  no  incompetent  teachers   left.  As  Mrs.  Herman,  Middleton’s  instructional  coach  explained,  the  evaluation  scored  had:     Super  big,  consequences.  I  hear  people  [from  other  districts]  talking…saying  these   are  designed  to  weed  out  the  incompetent  teachers.  We  don't  have  any  teachers   anymore  who  are  scoring  below  “qualified.”  We  have  very  few  who  are  scoring   below  highly  qualified.  We  are  letting  go  highly  qualified  teachers.  Whenever  we   have  to  make  cuts,  it  comes  down  to  a  [single]  point  on  an  evaluation.  Our   elementary  principal,  and  our  high  school  principal,  evaluate  their  staff  three  times   a  year.  [Mrs.  Novak]  evaluates  our  staff  once  a  year.  So  in  the  middle  school  your  job   rides  on  one  45-­‐minute  evaluation  and  that  is  not  right.   Other  teachers  who  had  scored  well  in  the  past  were  less  concerned  about  the   evaluation  but  were  puzzled  about  how  Mrs.  Novak  was  conducting  observations  for   evaluative  purposes.  Reflecting  on  Mrs.  Novak’s  first  visit  and  observation,  Mr.  St.  Johns,  an   8th  grade  science  teacher,  recalled,  “At  the  time,    it  wasn't  told  to  us  that  it  was  a  formal   evaluation,  [Mrs.  Novak]  was  going  to  come  in  two  more  times.  Whatever.  So  that  [first   visit]  turned  into  a  big  evaluation  I  think.”   Mrs.  Novak  said  that  she  would  “ding”  teachers  on  the  elements  of  the  rubric  she   had  helped  influence  when  she  worked  on  the  district  team  that  met  for  the  purpose  of   constructing  an  evaluation  tool.  Specifically,  Mrs.  Novak  would  accentuate  the  areas  of  the   rubric  that  allowed  for  her  to  score  teachers  on  how  well  they  provided  care  for  social  and   173   emotional  development  and  in  some  cases  (e.g.,  Ms.  Carroll)  the  few  points  lost  in  this  one   area  was  enough  to  separate  her  from  other  teachers  and  put  her  job  in  jeopardy.     None  of  the  teachers  interviewed  at  Middleton  were  sensitive  to  the  Mrs.  Novak’s   manipulation  of  the  observation  rubric  to  accentuate  her  beliefs  and  preferences.  However,   they  did  notice  that  observations  had  not  impacted  their  teaching  as  the  educator   evaluation  policy  suggested  it  would.  No  teacher  interviewed  at  Middleton  indicated  a   change  in  the  frequency  or  quality  of  principal  observation  and  feedback  as  a  result  of  the   new  educator  evaluation  policy.     The  way  Mrs.  Novak  handled  the  “value-­‐added”  component  of  the  evaluation   provides  another  example  of  how  her  response  to  the  mandated  policy  reflected  her   personal  beliefs  and  priorities.     During  the  year  of  the  study,  25%  of  the  teachers’  evaluation  score  was  supposed  to   be  based  on  how  well  teachers  influenced  student  achievement.  However,  evaluating   teachers  in  this  way  conflicted  with  Mrs.  Novak’s  beliefs  about  the  importance  of  social  and   emotional  development.  She  reflected,  “Do  [students]  grow  [academically]  as  fast  as  I   would  like  them  to?  No.  But  that  is  developmental.  That  isn't  the  teacher’s  fault,  necessarily.   Some  kids  just  don't  have  the  intellect,  or  the  skills.”  Mrs.  Novak  particularly  faulted  state   educational  policy,  which  she  felt  viewed  schools  as  producers  of  academic  achievement.   The  state’s  focus,  Mrs.  Novak  argued,  encouraged  schools  to  be  insensitive  to  diverse   student  needs.     In  response  to  the  incongruence  between  her  beliefs  and  this  element  of  the  new   educator  evaluation  policy,  Mrs.  Novak  did  not  hold  teachers  accountable  for  influencing   student  achievement  in  ways  congruent  with  the  spirit  of  the  new  policy.  She  explained   174   that  she  gave  every  teacher  full  points  on  the  portion  of  the  evaluation  that  required   teachers  to  promote  academic  growth  even  if  a  teacher’s  student  achievement  gains  were   modest.  Mrs.  Novak  said  that  until  the  state  provided  more  definite  guidelines  “if  a  teacher   can  show  me  on  a  spread  sheet  or  hand  printed  data  that  this  is  where  [students]  were  and   this  is  where  they  are  now  then  [teachers]  get  their  20  points.  It  is  all  or  nothing.  I  have   never  given  anybody  nothing.”  Mrs.  Novak  also  believed  that  obtaining  modest  growth   should  not  be  a  difficult  goal  for  teachers.  She  explained  “I  think  a  child,  even  with  the   worst  behavioral  issues  that  I  have  seen,  or  the  most  emotionally  impaired  that  I  have  seen,   hell  they  can  get  one  more  right  even  through  osmosis.  Even  if  they  just  sit  in  the  class.”   Finally,  Mrs.  Novak  did  not  force  teachers  to  use  a  particular  test,  allowing  them  to  use   “whatever  they  want”  to  demonstrate  student  growth.     Mrs.  Novak  shaped  both  the  observational  and  the  student  growth  component  of  the   new  educator  evaluation  policy  to  promote  her  own  beliefs  and  priorities  about  what  good   teachers  should  do.  As  a  co-­‐constructor  of  the  new  evaluation  tool  she  imposed  her  beliefs   both  in  the  design  and  the  content  of  the  evaluation  rubric,  making  it  easier  to  administer   and  ensuring  that  it  contained  elements  of  social  and  emotional  development,  respectively.   Furthermore,  she  virtually  ignored  the  state’s  requirement  that  she  become  more  active  in   teachers’  classrooms  and  visit  them  multiple  times  during  the  school  year.  She  visited  each   classroom  only  once  and  hurriedly  conducted  the  final  evaluations  at  the  end  of  the  year.   Neither  she  nor  the  teachers  noted  that  principal-­‐teacher  interaction  around  instruction   increased  during  the  year  of  the  study.    Finally,  because  Mrs.  Novak  believed  that  teachers   should  nurture  student’s  social  and  emotional  development,  she  effectively  ignored  the   175   policy’s  requirements  that  teachers  be  evaluated  on  their  ability  to  promote  student   learning.     Leveraging.  Mr.  Delancey  faced  unique  challenges.  At  the  time  of  the  study,  he  was  a   new  administrator  and  had  no  chance  to  build  rapport  or  relational  trust  with  the  staff   before  new  educator  evaluation  policy  was  instituted  across  the  state.  To  make  matters   worse,  teachers  at  Poe  Middle  School  had  enjoyed  a  long  tradition  of  being  able  to  close   their  classroom  doors  and  do  as  they  pleased.     Both  Mr.  Delancey  and  the  teachers  believed  that  the  previous  principal  had  made   unilateral  decisions  about  administrative  and  disciplinary  matters  but  had  not  engaged   teachers  in  matters  of  teaching  and  learning.  Mr.  Delancey  wanted  his  principalship  to  be   different,  and  although  he  had  an  underdeveloped  concept  of  reformed  teaching,  he   nevertheless  had  aspirations  to  engage  teachers  in  their  classroom  and  help  them  with   their  instruction.     One  of  Mr.  Delancey’s  main  objectives  was  to  improve  student  achievement  at  the   school  and  he  did  not  believe  this  was  possible  if  the  staff  was  fractured  internally  and   teachers’  classrooms  were  resistant  to  outside  intervention.  He  explained,  “We  can't   achieve  raising  the  test  scores  and  creating  a  culture  where  student  learning  is  happening  if   we  don't  care  about  each  other  and  we  don't  work  together.  If  we  are  all  just  doing  what  we   want  to  do  in  our  own  classroom.  So  I  have  to  build  more  of  a  community.”  Mr.  Delancey   wanted  to  interact  with  teachers  about  their  teaching  and  to  redefine  his  role  in  the  eyes  of   his  staff.  He  argued:     The  principal  is  an  instructional  leader.  That  is  what  I'm  trying  to  change.  Right  now   I'm  viewed,  and  the  previous  guy  was  viewed  as,  ‘you  take  care  of  the  discipline.’  I'm   176   trying  to  create  leaders  in  the  building  and  say,  ‘no  we  take  care  of  discipline  as  a   whole.’  The  principal  has  got  to  be  in  the  classroom  to  lead  us  as  instructors.   One  way  that  Mr.  Delancey  could  gain  access  to  classrooms  in  a  context  with  no   institutional  tradition  for  such  work  and  where  he  had  little  legitimacy  was  through   borrowing  from  the  strength  of  state.  In  other  words,  Mr.  Delancey  frequently  referenced   state  law  when  teachers  questioned  him  about  why  he  was  coming  into  their  classrooms  so   frequently.  Despite  this  borrowing  of  strength,  however,  Mr.  Delancey  (as  explained   earlier)  was  still  careful  with  the  feedback  he  offered  teachers.  His  emphasis  on  carefully   worded  feedback  makes  more  sense  if  one  understands  the  situation  from  Mr.  Delancey’s   point  of  view.     Mr.  Delancey  reported  that  he  visited  classrooms  “pretty  often”  and  that  by  the  end   of  the  year  “everybody  will  have  at  least  four  or  five  walk-­‐throughs  and  observations.”   Regardless  of  his  appeals  to  state  mandate  and  his  commitment  to  sensitively  written   feedback,  Mr.  Delancey  admitted  that  he  met  with  some  resistance  at  first.  He  had  to   convince  teachers  that  he  was  not  there  to  pick  at  their  practice  or  to  “crucify”  them.   Rather,  Mr.  Delancey  insisted  that  providing  feedback  was  “no  different  than  coaching  the   team.  You  have  to  help  the  team  become  better  than  when  they  started.”     Still,  one  of  the  main  purposes  of  feedback  was  to  critique  teacher  practice,  however   well  intentioned  and  carefully  worded  the  feedback  was.  Mr.  Delancey  said,  “I  have  to   figure  out  how  to  raise  that  area  of  growth  without  it  looking  like  I'm  questioning  their   intelligence  or  their  teaching,  [but  saying]…’you  have  an  area  of  growth  here,  but  you're  not   an  incompetent  person.’”     177     Throughout  the  year,  Mr.  Delancey  was  working  out  which  elements  of  instruction   were  under  the  teacher’s  discretion  and  what  types  of  practices  were  non-­‐negotiable.  In   other  words,  Mr.  Delancey  had  to  work  out  when  to  invoke  state  power  to  enforce  his   instructional  preferences  and  when  to  honor  the  existing  practices  of  the  teachers.  He   insisted,  “I'm  not  going  to  tell  them  ‘you  have  to  do  this’  or  ‘you  have  to  do  that,’  unless  it's  a   state  mandate…That's  their  choice  of  how  they  implement  the  formative  assessment  as   long  as  they  are  doing  it  in  a  correct  manner.  I'm  not  going  to  criticize  that.”         Mr.  Delancey  also  recognized  that  wielding  state  power  indiscriminately  could  be   counter-­‐productive.  He  explained:   I  think  the  change  in  the  unions  and  the  change  of  the  power  of  the  union  is   definitely  changing  what  a  principal  could  and  could  not  do—you  can  still  do  it,  but   your  popularity  will  go  down.  You  can  do  it,  before  it  wouldn't  just  be  your   popularity  would  go  down,  but  your  job  would  be  at  stake.  Now,  I  think  you  can  do   it,  but  your  popularity  will  go  down.  You  have  to  figure  out  those  relationship   gouges  that  happen  with  those  requirements,  but  you  also  have  to  figure  out  how  to   get  them  to  buy  in.     Despite  this  caution,  Mr.  Delancey’s  activity  in  classrooms  often  extended  beyond  the   activity  required  by  the  new  policy  as  he  acknowledged,  “[the  frequency  of  my  classroom   visits  is]  not  required  by  law.  I  just  have  to  observe  them  so  many  times,  but  I  felt  it  was   really  necessary  at  least  my  first  couple  of  years  to  get  into  each  classroom  one  hour.  That   gives  me  the  opportunity  to  view  their  whole  lesson,  gives  me  the  opportunity  to  see  how   they  open  a  lesson  and  close  a  lesson.  What  they  do  in  the  middle,  that  sort  of  thing.”   178     In  sum,  Mr.  Delancey  borrowed  state  power  to  establish  himself  as  a  legitimate   presence  in  teachers’  classroom.  In  selective  ways,  his  activity,  once  established,  extended   beyond  state  mandates.  However,  Mr.  Delancey  still  had  to  be  careful  that  borrowing  state   power  did  not  become  counter-­‐productive  through  overuse  and  abuse.  One  of  his  major   challenges  surrounded  the  effective  use  of  state  mandates  to  increase  his  legitimacy  in   teachers’  classrooms  and  influence  over  their  teaching.   Influencing.  Like  Mrs.  Novak,  Ms.  Shriver  was  involved  with  the  new  educator   evaluation  system  at  both  the  district  and  the  site  level.  Unlike  Poe’s  district,  however,   Waller’s  district  adopted  one  of  the  publisher-­‐produced,  state-­‐approved  evaluation  tools   and,  thus,  the  principals  had  no  role  in  shaping  the  tool’s  construction.  Principals  did  have   an  important  role  in  enacting  the  evaluation  tool  and  Waller’s  district  was  the  only  district   in  the  study  to  intentionally  coordinate  the  efforts  of  site  principals  in  evaluating  teachers   and  maintaining  some  consistency  across  sites.  There  were  many  challenges  to  consistent   scoring.  Ms.  Shriver  understood  that  differences  in  principals’  knowledge  would  influence   how  principals  evaluated  teachers  according  to  the  Framework  for  Teaching  and  this  would   be  a  problem  for  the  district  because  it  wanted  to  standardized  scoring  and  compare   teachers  across  schools.  Ms.  Shriver  explained:   We  talk  about  [the  specifics  of  the  rubric]  all  the  time,  but  no  matter  what  we  think   about  the  rubrics  they're  still  somewhat  subjective.  Like  how  my  lense  of  formative   assessment  is  much  different  than  other  people's  lenses.  I  think  Paul  [a  former  Waller   teacher  who  was  teaching  at  the  high  school  during  the  year  of  the  study]  was  feeling   kind  of  forced  to  have  more  evidence  of  the  formative  assessment  process.  I  said  [to   Paul],  "Ok,  but  remember  that  conferencing  with  kids  and  observations  are  pieces  of   179   student  evidence….It's  not  always  a  paper  that  a  kid  does."  And  [Paul]  goes,  "Well,   that's  what  I'm  told  I  need."  I  want  to  punch  people  in  the  throat  [for  not   understanding  the  reform].  And  every  time  I  try  to  talk  about  it  or  invite  [other   administrators  to  Waller],  it’s  "Oh.  no.  no.  no.  We  don't...no.no.  no."  And  I’m  like,  "Ok."     In  part  to  overcome  the  disparities  in  understanding  the  reform,  the  district’s   curriculum  director  gathered  principals  together  to  familiarize  them  with  the  Framework   for  Teaching  and  to  get  administrators  to  discuss  and  come  to  a  mutual  understanding  of     Framework.  Then  later  in  the  year  she  led  groups  of  principals  in  observations  of  teachers’   classrooms  at  the  schools  throughout  the  district.  At  first,  Ms.  Shriver  recalled,  the  team   would  observe  in  a  teacher’s  class,  but  in  the  group’s  meeting  immediately  following  Ms.   Shriver  would  be  the  only  one  who  would  offer  insights  or  ask  questions  about  what  she   observed.  Of  one  such  visit  at  the  high  school,  Ms.  Shriver  explained:     We  went  to  classrooms  at  the  high  school  [but  at  the  meeting  afterward]  nobody   really  said  much.  I  asked  some  questions  and…it  was  radio  silence.  Nobody  wanted  to   respond.  But,  I'm  like,  "Well,  I  was  wondering..."  Because  I  walked  into  an  11th  grade   English  class  [and]  they  had  just  finished  ACT  prep  for  the  first  20  minutes  of  class   and  then  the  teacher  said,  "Well,  we  just  finished  reading  Canterbury  Tales  so  we're   going  to  watch  the  movie  The  Knight's  Tale.  I  thought,  "Are  you  freaking  kidding  me?"     Ms.  Shriver’s  outspoken  character  and  eagerness  to  provide  instructional  leadership   occasionally  ran  her  afoul  of  her  principal  colleagues  and  she  admitted  “I  am  not  well  liked   sometimes.”  Even  so,  Ms.  Shriver  persisted  in  engaging  in  difficult  conversations—which,   after  all,  required  that  principals  critique  the  quality  of  instruction  at  a  peer’s  school—and   she  felt  that  the  group  was  improving  in  its  willingness  to  discuss  the  ideals  embedded  in   180   the  Framework  for  Teaching  with  the  realities  of  the  district’s  classrooms.    Some  of  this   improvement  was  the  direct  result  of  Ms.  Shriver’s  influence.  She  directed  the  team  to   particular  classrooms  and  then  helped  principals  make  sense  of  what  they  saw  there.  For   instance,  Ms.  Shriver  suggested  the  group  meet  at  one  of  the  district’s  elementary  schools   where  her  mentee  was  principal.  She  then  worked  with  her  mentee  to  set  the  schedule  for   observations  so  the  group  could  see  the  correspondence  between  the  language  of  the   Framework  for  Teaching  and  the  practices  of  one  of  the  teachers  on  staff  who  Ms.  Shriver   believed  to  be  exemplary.  Ms.  Shriver  knew  that  she  was  intentionally  shaping  other   principals  experiences  and,  by  extension,  their  perceptions  of  the  educator  evaluation  tool.   She  explained  that  by  the  end  of  the  year:     I  think  there  were  some,  "Oh...that's  what  that  should  look  like"  [moments]   happening.  Like  we  were  just  at  an  elementary  school  where  Tanya  [  the  former  AP  at   Waller]  is  now  principal  and  they  saw  [practices  from  the  Framework]  in  action…We   went  into  Meghan’s  classroom  and  they  actually  saw  things  happening.  So  they  saw   the  connections  that  were  made  and  so…that  discussion  afterwards  [I  would  say]   "Well,  that's  what  this  looks  like."  And  "That  1st  grade  teacher  when  she  was  talking   and  introducing  the  first  graders  writing  'how  to'  stories...she  showed  them  examples.   Those  were  exemplars."  So  just  trying  to  help  people  kind  of  see  that  that's  what  that   looks  like.  Not  just  make  an  assumption.     Ms.  Shriver  had  the  knowledge,  interest,  enthusiasm,  and  position  to  shape  how  the   district  enacted  the  new  educator  evaluation  system.  This  knowledge,  interest,  enthusiasm,   and  position  also  influenced  how  Ms.  Shriver  enacted  the  educator  evaluation  system  at   Waller.  These  qualities  helped  Ms.  Shriver  manage  her  conversations  with  teachers  about   181   the  multiple  reforms  being  enacted  at  Waller  and  they  influenced  the  organization  of   evaluation  itself  into  a  process  congruent  with  the  reform  ideals.   First,  and  in  contrast  to  Mrs.  Novak  and  Mr.  Delancey,  Mrs.  Shriver  used  the  new   educator  evaluation  system  to  organize  the  many  instructional  reforms  at  the  school.  She   routinely  talked  with  teachers  both  individually  and  collectively  about  how  the   instructional  messages  in  the  Framework  for  Teaching  were  related  to  the  ideas  about   instruction  represented  in  the  other  instructional  reforms  in  the  context  of  the  teachers’   actual  classroom  practices.     Ms.  Shriver  also  adopted  a  formative  approach  to  evaluation  that  she  believed   helped  circumvent  some  of  the  issues  that  might  otherwise  emerge.  Where  Ms.  Shriver   believed  that  other  administrators  in  the  district  waited  until  the  end  of  the  year  to  provide   teachers  summative  feedback  on  their  performance  as  measured  on  the  Framework  for   Teaching,  Ms.  Shriver  employed  an  approach  similar  to  the  one  she  hoped  teachers  would   take  with  students.  When  describing  the  types  of  conversations  Ms.  Shriver  had  regarding   evaluation,  Ms.  Shriver  recalled  that  she  would  ask  teachers  early  in  the  year,  “For  [the   purpose  of]  feedback…where  do  you  think  you  are  at?...Let's  collect  evidence  and  let's  move   forward…Let's  look  at  this  domain  or  this  component.”  This  formative  approach  to  teacher   evaluation  afforded  Ms.  Shriver  and  the  teachers  opportunities  to  discuss  explicit  areas  of   instruction,  identify  areas  for  growth,  and  to  plot  progress  within  these  areas  as  the  year   progressed.       This  is  not  to  suggest  that  the  dual  role  was  entirely  devoid  of  dilemmas.  Ms.  Shriver   did  face  challenges  in  her  role  as  supporter,  colleague,  confidant,  and  evaluator.  This  was   particularly  true  when  a  discrepancy  developed  between  a  teacher’s  self-­‐assessment  of   182   competency  and  needs  for  improvement  and  Ms.  Shriver’s  own  assessment  of  the  teacher’s   progress.  Ms.  Shriver  described  the  dilemma  as  follows:   This  is  the  hard  coach/evaluator  that  I  struggle  with,  because  I  want  to  support   [teachers  as  an  instructional  leader]  and  I  want  to  support  them  as  their  coach,  but  I   think  there  are  certain  people  that  oversell  [the  proficiency  of  their  practice  or  the   improvement  they  have  made].  That  they  think  they  are  doing  things  and  they  are   doing  some  things,  but  it's  not  necessarily  getting  kids  to  think  deeper.   The  situation  above,  however,  was  atypical.  Overall,  Ms.  Shriver  felt  that  she  had  built  a   great  deal  of  trust  with  a  staff  who  had  mutual  commitment  to  improving  practice.  And   through  her  classroom  observations,  feedback,  and  conversations  about  what  she  saw,  Ms.   Shriver  organized  this  improvement  by  considering  teachers’  instructional  practice  against   the  observation  protocol  and  connecting  other  reform  ideas  to  this  framework.  In  sum,  she   organized  instructional  improvement  around  the  Danielson  Framework  for  Teaching  her   district  had  been  using  for  several  years  and  was  now  more  formally  associated  with   teacher  evaluation  in  response  to  state  mandates.     Principals  and  Non-­‐mandated  Reforms   As  exemplified  by  the  new  educator  evaluation  system,  principals  had  an  influential   role  to  play  in  how  the  mandatory  reforms  were  enacted.  In  sum,  principals  enacted   mandated  reforms  in  ways  that  reflected  their  beliefs,  knowledge,  and  available  social   resources.    Ultimately,  the  principals’  enactment  of  mandated  reforms  impacted  teachers’   opportunity  to  learn  about  reforms  and  improve  their  instructional  practice.     Most  of  the  reforms  that  emerged  in  this  study,  however,  were  not  mandatory.  As   argued  in  the  previous  chapter,  non-­‐mandated  reforms  required  entrepreneurship  and   183   social  resources  and  the  principal  seemed  to  be  in  favorable  position  to  usher  in  and   support  reforms  once  they  arrived.  The  following  section  compares  how  the  three   principals  interacted  with  a  single  non-­‐mandated  reform—the  FAME  program—noting  that   principals’  responses  to  FAME  were  similar  to  how  they  acted  toward  other  non-­‐mandated   reforms.  The  chapter  concludes  with  a  closer  look  at  how  the  only  reform  entrepreneur  of   the  three  principals—Ms.  Shriver—built  support  for  the  reforms  she  brought  to  her  school.   Principals  Responses  to  FAME     As  noted,  most  reforms  were  not  mandated  and  had  no  specified  role  for  the   principal.  Like  the  mandated  educator  evaluation  policy,  principals  responded  to  these   reforms  in  ways  that  reflected  their  personal  beliefs  and  priorities,  but  they  were  under  no   obligation  to  shape  non-­‐mandated  reforms.  For  example,  in  the  case  of  the  FAME  program,   the  principals’  responses  can  be  categorized  as  ignoring,  commandeering,  and  supporting.   Ignoring.  One  way  to  respond  to  a  state-­‐endorsed  and  supported  program  was   simply  to  ignore  it.  For  example,  when  the  superintendent  of  Middleton  School  District   bypassed  Mrs.  Novak  and  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Herman  (the  school’s  literacy  coach)  to   solicit  the  middle  school’s  participation  in  the  FAME  project,  Mrs.  Novak  subsequently  had   nothing  to  do  with  the  program.  She  did  not  attend  meetings,  assist  with  logistical   challenges  of  arranging  and  preparing  for  meetings,  or  talk  with  teachers  about  their   experiences  on  the  team  and  how  these  experiences  were  affecting  their  work  in   classrooms.  In  fact,  while  Mrs.  Novak  was  well  aware  that  Mrs.  Herman  led  the  FAME   learning  team,  she  did  not  know  which  of  her  19  teachers  were  learning  team  members.   Ms.  Carroll,  one  of  the  teachers  who  Mrs.  Novak  often  maligned,  detailed  an  incident  in   184   which  she  met  with  Mrs.  Novak,  a  district  administrator,  and  a  union  representative  to   discuss  Ms.  Carroll’s  substandard  evaluation.  During  this  meeting,  Ms.  Carroll  recalled:   I  had  a  union  rep  with  me  and  some  comments  were  made  [by  Mrs.  Novak]  like   “Why  don't  you  become  a  member  of  the  formative  assessment  team?”  And  the   [other]  administrator  was  looking  down  and  then  the  union  rep  was  like  [mouth   agape]  and  I  said  “I  have  been  on  that  team  for  three  years  now.”     Other  events  corroborated  Ms.  Carroll’s  account.  On  several  occasions  while   conducting  the  data  collection  Mrs.  Novak  asked  me  to  remind  her  which  teachers  were   participating  in  the  research,  suggesting  that  even  though  she  knew  I  was  focusing  on  the   FAME  learning  team,  she  could  never  remember  which  teachers  were  involved.     Commandeering.  Another  way  to  respond  to  a  state-­‐endorsed  voluntary  program   was  to  attend  meetings  and  commandeer  the  meetings’  purpose  to  align  it  with  one’s  own   priorities.  For  example,  during  learning  team  meetings  at  Poe  Middle  School,  Mr.  Delancey   arrived  unannounced  and  talked  with  the  four  learning  team  members  at  length  about  his   plans  for  distributing  leadership  through  changed  decision  making  structures.  Once  Mr.   Delancey  left  the  meetings,  the  group  typically  had  difficulty  getting  back  to  the  task  of   learning  about  formative  assessment  and  planning  for  enactment.  Ms.  Cunningham,  a   second-­‐year  teacher  in  her  first  year  on  the  FAME  team  commented,  “we  have  an  agenda,   but…sometimes  it  gets  quite  off  task.  We  only  spend  an  hour  or  so  in  really  valuable   time...FAME  for  me  is  kind  of  missing  that  step  of  actually  having  collaboration.  I  feel  like  a   lot  is  talk  and  off  topic.”     Leading.  The  final  way  principals  responded  to  a  voluntary  state-­‐endorsed  and   supported  program  was  to  actively  support  and  lead  it  as  Ms.  Shriver  did.  Recall  from  the   185   previous  chapter  that  all  non-­‐mandatory  instructional  reforms  that  came  to  Waller  came   through  the  principal,  Ms.  Shriver.  FAME  was  no  different.  Nearly  five  years  prior  to  the   study,  a  district  administrator  forwarded  Ms.  Shriver  a  “list-­‐serve”  email  from  the  Michigan   Department  of  Education.  The  email  was  looking  for  people  from  throughout  the  state  to   volunteer  as  either  coaches  or  participants  for  the  FAME  project.  Ms.  Shriver  promptly   completed  an  application  without  “really  understanding  the  scope  of  the  project”  and  was   just  as  promptly  selected  for  participation.  She  hoped  that  the  FAME  project  would  allow   her  to  explore  an  emerging  interest  in  the  “decisions  that  teachers  make  every  day  in  the   classroom”  that  helped  them  promote  student  learning  rather  than  waiting  to  administer   “paper-­‐pencil  tests  [that]  only  tell  us  [about  what  students  know]  after  things  have   happened.”  After  attending  an  initial  two-­‐day  training  in  the  summer,  Ms.  Shriver  was   ready  to  construct  her  learning  team.     Ms.  Shriver  started  to  build  the  learning  team  by  emailing  her  entire  staff  to  see  who   might  be  interested  in  participating.  Interest  was  tepid.  Only  three  teachers  responded   with  interest  in  being  on  a  learning  team:  Ms.  Stickle,  Mr.  Bridges,  and  another  teacher  who   had  since  left  the  school.  In  addition,  another  teacher  from  a  district  elementary  school  who   had  considered  leading  her  own  learning  team  but  ultimately  decided  that  the  commitment   to  coach  was  too  great,  agreed  to  join  Ms.  Shriver’s  new  learning  team,  as  did  her  second-­‐ grade  teaching  partner.  So  the  first  year  the  team  consisted  of  six  members,  including  Ms.   Shriver.       Ms.  Shriver  found  leading  a  learning  team  challenging.  Although  she  had  extensive   experience  leading  staff  meetings  and  “following  protocols”  and  leading  teacher  learning   through  carefully  crafted  activities  and  promoting  teacher-­‐teacher  interaction,  facilitating   186   teacher  learning  on  the  FAME  learning  team  presented  a  new  challenge.  Rather  than   assuming  the  role  of  expert  or  boss,  Ms.  Shriver  was  careful  to  craft  an  identity  for  the  rest   of  the  team  in  which  she  is  not  “their  principal  and  their  evaluator”  but  rather  their   colleague  on  a  joint  endeavor  “to  get  better  at  what  we  do.”     As  the  years  passed  the  team  grew  and  Ms.  Shriver  continued  to  encourage   membership  from  the  staff  through  the  time  of  the  study.  She  believed  that  participating  on   a  learning  team,  “helps  build  capacity  in  people”  that  would  ease  the  loss  that  the  school   would  experience  if  Ms.  Shriver  moved  on  to  a  different  position  either  in  the  district  or   elsewhere.   Ms.  Shriver  believed  that  team  membership  was  attractive  because  FAME  meetings   gave  teachers  a  venue  for  collaboration  and  professional  renewal.  In  her  words,  the  FAME   learning  team  was  “a  supportive  team  to  kind  of  ask  questions,  give  ideas,  learn  from  one   another.  I  like  to  think  that  because  of  the  culture  we've  created,  and  the  building  as  a   whole  and  in  our  learning  team  that  people  want  to  join,  to  say,  ‘hey,  what's  that  about?  I   want  to  do  something  with  that.’”   Despite  her  view  of  herself  as  a  colleague  and  co-­‐investigator,  Ms.  Shriver  took  an   active  role  in  providing  instructional  leadership  that  was  unique  to  her  position  as   principal.  First,  she  set  the  meeting  times  and  carefully  crafted  the  agenda.  She  also  culled   resources  from  various  sources  including  practitioner-­‐oriented  articles  about  best   formative  assessment  instruction  and  provided  teachers  tools  that  they  could  use  to  enact   formative  assessment  practices.  Third,  Ms.  Shriver  set  the  meeting  agendas  and  made  sure   the  activities  would  closely  align  with  the  ideas  pressed  by  formative  assessment.  Once  in   the  meetings,  Ms.  Shriver  carefully  guided  conversations  that  focused  teachers  on  blending   187   the  ideas  of  the  instructional  reform  and  the  realities  of  their  own  teaching  contexts.  She   quickly  terminated  teacher  asides  and  brought  the  teachers  back  to  formative  assessment   whenever  the  group  wandered  off  into  other  topics.  Finally,  Ms.  Shriver  talked  with   members  of  the  team  frequently  outside  of  meetings  about  their  attempts  to  enact   formative  assessment.  These  conversations  occurred  about  general  practices  of  formative   assessment  and  were  likely  to  take  place  in  hallways,  the  lunchroom,  or  the  main  office.  Ms.   Shriver  also  held  more  formal  conversations  with  teachers  in  their  classrooms  as  she   referenced  the  ideas  of  the  formative  instruction  with  her  observations  about  the  teachers’   instruction.     Summary:  Principals  Responses  to  Instructional  Reforms       The  previous  chapter  documented  the  various  routes  through  which  an   instructional  reform  could  arrive  at  a  school  and  how  principals  influenced  the  total   number  of  reforms  that  were  active  at  a  school.  This  chapter  analyzed  how  principals’   responses  to  mandatory  reforms  (e.g.,  the  educator  evaluation  system)  resulted  in  widely   divergent  experiences  across  the  three  schools.  Principals’  beliefs,  knowledge,  and   priorities  heavily  influenced  how  they  responded  to  mandatory  reforms,  and,  in  turn,  these   responses  shaped  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  about  the  reforms  and  how  the  reforms   might  help  teachers  improve  their  instruction.     The  previous  chapter  also  argued  that  most  reforms  were  not  mandated  and  that   these  reforms  needed  entrepreneurs  who  would  build  support  for  the  reform  through  their   social  networks.  Principals  had  a  great  potential  to  act  as  reform  entrepreneurs,  yet  only   one  of  the  principals  in  this  study  enacted  her  role  in  this  way.  Mrs.  Novak  had  no   inclination  to  serve  as  an  entrepreneur  for  reform  and  for  the  most  part  she  ignored   188   reforms  when  they  came  to  Middleton  via  another  route.  Mr.  Delancey  was  more  interested   in  providing  instructional  leadership,  but  he  was  constrained  by  his  lack  of  reform   knowledge  and  his  limited  social  standing  among  the  teaching  staff  at  Poe.     Ms.  Shriver  alone  valued  reforms,  knew  them  well,  and  had  the  social  standing   among  teachers  necessary  to  support  non-­‐mandatory  reforms.  She  led  the  FAME  team  as   the  team’s  coach.  She  attended  professional  development  workshops  for  UDL  and  SBG  and   situated  these  reforms  in  teachers’  work.  Ms.  Shriver  was  less  involved  in  CITW  and  CCR,   but  she  still  arranged  for  her  teachers  to  participate  and,  in  the  case  of  CITW,  she  knew  the   reform  well  and  talked  with  teachers  regularly  about  how  the  reform  practices  discussed  at   CITW  workshops  fit  with  other  reforms,  namely  the  Framework  for  Teaching.       The  next  section  examines  how  Ms.  Shriver,  in  her  role  as  reform  entrepreneur,   utilized  her  social  network  to  generate  support  for  reform  and  the  consequence  that  this   utilization  had  for  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  at  Waller.     A  Closer  Look  at  Principal  Reform  Entrepreneurship     Non-­‐mandated  reforms  had  two  characteristics  that  could  place  a  reform   entrepreneur  at  cross-­‐purposes.  On  the  one  hand,  entrepreneurs  needed  to  generate   support  for  a  reform.  On  the  other  hand,  the  reforms  themselves  had  limited  capacity  and   could  not  accommodate  all  teachers.  This  dilemma  was  particularly  acute  for  those  reforms   that  attempted  to  situate  teacher  learning  into  small,  intimate  groups  (e.g.  FAME,  UDL,   SBG).  At  Waller,  where  the  principal  held  tight  control  over  instructional  reforms,  this   meant  that  Ms.  Shriver  had  to  devise  ways  to  connect  teachers  to  the  instructional  reforms,   but  she  also  had  to  limit  this  connection.  This  section  provides  a  closer  look  at  how  Ms.   189   Shriver  made  these  “connection  decisions”  and  the  consequences  these  decisions  had  for   teacher  opportunities  to  learn  about  reforms.       First,  we  return  to  the  Ms.  Shriver’s  perceptions  of  the  teachers  at  Waller.  This   perceptions  chart  will  be  used  throughout  this  section  as  we  consider  teachers’   opportunity  to  learn  within  a  school.  The  chart  is  reproduced  in  Table  6.8.  As  a  reminder,   focal  teachers  in  the  study  are  bolded.     Table  6.8.  Ms.  Shriver’s  Perceptions  of  Teachers   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan     Ms.  Harris     Ms.  Purvis     Mrs.  Franzen     Mrs.  McReady   Ms.  Marshall     Mr.  Trotter     Mrs.  McCarthy     Mr.  Bridges     Mr.  Hanson   Mrs.  Hall   Receptive   Mr.  Reed     Mrs.  Curtis   Ms.  Evans     Mr.  Cooper     Ms.  Bell     Mrs.  Edgar     Ms.  Wheeler   Mr.  Rogers     Ms.  Reynolds     Mrs.  Claiborne   Mrs.  Jackson     Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle     Mr.  Kennedy     Mr.  Givens     Ms.  Zimmerman     Ms.  Dozier   Mr.  Murdock     Mr.  Collins     Ms.  Cook           Entrenched   Mr.  Lum     Mr.  Charles   Ms.  Berger   Mr.  Scott                     Principal  Connection  Decisions   As  noted  above,  Ms.  Shriver  had  to  connect  teachers  to  reforms  in  some  way   because  the  reforms  themselves  did  not  have  unlimited  capacity  to  accommodate  all   teachers.  These  connection  decisions  were  of  three  types—assignment,  solicitation,  and   voluntary  call—and  they  varied  by  reform.  An  overview  of  how  Ms.  Shriver  connected   teachers  at  Waller  to  reform  is  included  in  Table  6.9.  In  total,  Ms.  Shriver’s  connection   decisions  resulted  in  64  connections  between  teachers  and  instructional  reforms.           190   Table  6.9.  Connecting  Teachers  to  Reform   Instructional   Reform   Educator  Evaluation   System   Common  Core  State   Standards   Formative  Assessment   for  Michigan  Educators   Classroom  Instruction   That  Works   Close  and  Critical   Reading   Universal  Design  for   Learning   Standards-­‐Based   Grading   Reform   Type   Mandated   Policy   Mandated   Policy   State   Supported   Wide   Coverage   Select   Coverage   Select   Coverage   Select   Coverage   Mandated   Participation     X     X     Principal   Assignment     Principal   Solicitation     Volunteer   Call                   X         X         X           X   X                   X   X     Assignment   For  three  of  the  reforms  (CITW,  UDL,  CCR),  Ms.  Shriver  assigned  teachers  to   participate.  Interestingly,  when  Ms.  Shriver  used  assignment  she  did  so  by  department.  In   other  words,  she  did  not  assign  teachers  to  reform  individually.  Furthermore,  assignment   was  of  three  types:  availability,  perceived  department  strength,  and  perceived  department   need.     Assignment—availability.  As  was  the  case  with  CITW,  Ms.  Shriver  sent  as  many  of   her  teachers  as  she  could  and,  because  availability  was  broad,  many  of  Waller’s  teachers   were  able  to  attend.  Consequently,  all  science,  social  studies,  language  arts,  and  math   teachers  were  able  to  participate.  Twenty-­‐six  of  64  (41%)  of  the  connections  between   teachers  and  instructional  reforms  were  a  result  of  assignment  by  availability.  The   differences  in  participation  across  the  first  three  columns  of  teachers  were  modest.  Ninety-­‐ one  percent  of  innovative-­‐seeking  teachers,  82%  of  receptive  teachers,  and  75%  of   medium-­‐entrenched  teachers  participated  in  the  CITW  reform.  By  comparison,  only  25%  of   the  entrenched  teachers  were  involved  in  CITW,  but  it  should  be  noted  that  three  of  these   191   teachers  (Mr.  Lum,  Mr.  Charles,  and  Ms.  Berger)  were  world  language  teachers  whose   department  Ms.  Shriver  did  not  assign  to  the  reform.  A  chart  of  the  teachers  affected  by   assignment  by  availability  is  included  in  Table  6.10.     Table  6.10.  Assignment  through  Availability  (CITW)   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (1)   Ms.  Harris  (1)   Ms.  Purvis  (1)   Mrs.  Franzen  (1)   Mrs.  McReady  (1)   Ms.  Marshall  (1)   Mr.  Trotter  (1)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (1)   Mr.  Bridges  (1)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (1)     10  (91%)     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (1)   Mrs.  Curtis  (0)   Ms.  Evans  (1)   Mr.  Cooper  (1)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (1)   Ms.  Wheeler  (1)   Mr.  Rogers  (1)   Ms.  Reynolds  (1)   Mrs.  Claiborne(1)   Mrs.  Jackson  (1)     9  (82%)   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (1)   Mr.  Kennedy  (1)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (1)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (1)   Mr.  Collins  (1)   Ms.  Cook  (1)           6  (75%)   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (1)                   1  (25%)   Assignment  by  Availability:  26  of  64  (41%)     Assignment—perceived  department  strength.  Ms.  Shriver  still  assigned  teachers  to   reform  by  department  even  when  the  reform  had  a  more  limited  availability.  For  example,   in  the  case  of  Universal  Design  for  Learning  (UDL),  the  professional  development  providers   at  the  ISD  requested  that  Ms.  Shriver  send  a  single  department.  Ms.  Shriver  explained  that   she  assigned  her  science  department  because  she  believed  they  were  the  strongest   department  at  the  school  and  would  get  the  most  out  of  their  participation.  In  the  case  of   UDL,  then,  Ms.  Shriver  assigned  teachers  to  participate  by  perceived  department  strength.     Ms.  Shriver’s  assignment  came  after  she  first  carefully  cultivated  the  participation  of   two  science  teachers,  Mr.  Bridges  and  Mr.  Murdock,  who  agreed  to  attend  the  UDL   workshops  the  year  prior  to  the  study.  When  both  teachers  spoke  highly  of  the  program   and  the  work  they  did  related  to  UDL  while  working  together  at  Waller,  Ms.  Shriver   192   consulted  the  approval  of  the  rest  of  the  science  department,  and  with  their  consent   assigned  the  entire  department  to  attend.     The  department  was  sharply  divided  between  those  teachers  whom  Ms.  Shriver  felt   were  exemplary  (Mr.  Trotter,  Mr.  Bridges,  Mrs.  Hall)  and  those  she  believed  were  mostly   set  in  their  traditional  instructional  ways  (Ms.  Stickle,  Mr.  Murdock,  Mr.  Collins  and  Ms.   Cook).  Only  Mr.  Rogers  fell  in  the  middle  of  these  two  categories.  Assignment  through   perceived  department  strength  accounts  for  far  fewer  connections  between  teachers  and   instructional  reformers  than  assignment  by  availability.  Only  8  of  64  connections  (13%)   were  a  result  of  Ms.  Shriver’s  assignment  by  perceived  department  strength.  Also,  as  a   consequence  of  the  sharp  division  (at  least  in  Ms.  Shriver’s  mind)  within  the  science   department,  both  innovative-­‐seeking  and  medium-­‐entrenched  teachers  were  well   represented  (27%,  50%  respectively).  Receptive  teachers  (9%)  and  Entrenched  teachers   (0%)  had  virtually  no  representation  in  assignment  by  perceived  department  strength.  A   summary  of  this  information  is  included  in  Table  6.11.   Table  6.11.  Assignment  through  Perceived  Department  Strength  (UDL)   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (0)   Ms.  Harris  (0)   Ms.  Purvis  (0)   Mrs.  Franzen  (0)   Mrs.  McReady  (0)   Ms.  Marshall  (0)   Mr.  Trotter  (1)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (0)   Mr.  Bridges  (1)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (1)     3  (27%)     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (0)   Mrs.  Curtis  (0)   Ms.  Evans  (0)   Mr.  Cooper  (0)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (0)   Ms.  Wheeler  (0)   Mr.  Rogers  (1)   Ms.  Reynolds  (0)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (0)   Mrs.  Jackson  (0)     1  (9%)   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (1)   Mr.  Kennedy  (0)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (0)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (1)   Mr.  Collins  (1)   Ms.  Cook  (1)           4  (50%)   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (0)                   1  (0%)   Assignment  by  Perceived  Department  Strength:  8  of  64  (13%)     193   Assignment—perceived  department  need.  Assignment  by  perceived  department  need   was  yet  a  third  way  that  Ms.  Shriver  assigned  teachers  to  reform.  As  explained  previously,   Ms.  Shriver  and  a  select  group  of  teachers  on  the  leadership  team  became  interested  in   Close  and  Critical  Reading  (CCR)  when  the  group  became  alarmed  that  many  of  the   teachers  on  staff  were  unprepared  to  support  the  CCSS  standards  for  reading  informational   text.  Ms.  Shriver  reached  out  to  CCR  providers  and  assigned  her  social  studies  and  science   teachers  to  attend  the  training.  Ms.  Shriver’s  decision  to  assign  teachers  to  CCR  because  of   perceived  department  need  resulted  in  14  of  the  64  connections  (22%)  between  teachers   and  policy.  Differences  among  the  four  categories  of  teachers  (as  Ms.  Shriver  perceived   them)  were  modest.  A  summary  of  assignment  through  perceived  department  need  is   provided  in  Table  6.12.     Table  6.12.  Assignment  through  Perceived  Department  Need  (CCR)   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (0)   Ms.  Harris  (0)   Ms.  Purvis  (0)   Mrs.  Franzen  (1)   Mrs.  McReady  (0)   Ms.  Marshall  (1)   Mr.  Trotter  (1)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (0)   Mr.  Bridges  (1)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (1)     5  (45%)     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (0)   Mrs.  Curtis  (0)   Ms.  Evans  (0)   Mr.  Cooper  (1)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (1)   Ms.  Wheeler  (0)   Mr.  Rogers  (1)   Ms.  Reynolds  (1)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (0)   Mrs.  Jackson  (0)     4  (36%)   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (1)   Mr.  Kennedy  (0)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (0)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (1)   Mr.  Collins  (1)   Ms.  Cook  (1)           4  (50%)   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (1)                   1  (25%)   Assignment  by  Perceived  Department  Need:  14  of  64  (22%)     Assignment  Summary   Most  of  teachers  at  Waller  were  connected  to  reforms  because  of  Ms.  Shriver’s  assignment   decisions.  In  total,  48  of  64  connections  (75%)  were  made  through  assignment.  As  a   reminder,  Ms.  Shriver  assigned  departments,  not  individuals,  to  three  reforms  (CITW,  UDL,   194   CCR)  based  on  availability,  perceived  strength,  or  perceived  need,  respectively.  Connecting   teachers  in  this  way  created  unequal  opportunities  to  learn  by  department  and  some  of   these  inequalities  are  evidenced  when  considering  Ms.  Shriver’s  perceptions  of  the   teachers  on  her  staff.  A  summary  of  Ms.  Shriver’s  connection  decisions  through  assignment   is  included  in  Table  6.13.   Table  6.13.  Assignment  Summary   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (1)   Ms.  Harris  (1)   Ms.  Purvis  (1)   Mrs.  Franzen  (2)   Mrs.  McReady  (1)   Ms.  Marshall  (2)   Mr.  Trotter  (3)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (1)   Mr.  Bridges  (3)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (3)     18     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (1)   Mrs.  Curtis  (0)   Ms.  Evans  (1)   Mr.  Cooper  (2)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (2)   Ms.  Wheeler  (1)   Mr.  Rogers  (3)   Ms.  Reynolds  (2)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (1)   Mrs.  Jackson  (1)     14   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (3)   Mr.  Kennedy  (1)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (1)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (3)   Mr.  Collins  (3)   Ms.  Cook  (3)           14   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (2)                   2   Assignment  by  Perceived  Department  Need:  48  of  64  (75%)     Solicitation   Assignment  was  not  the  only  way  that  Ms.  Shriver  connected  teachers  to   instructional  reforms.  For  two  of  the  reforms  at  Waller  (SBG,  FAME)  Ms.  Shriver  used  a   combination  of  solicitation  and  voluntary  call  to  connect  teachers  to  reform.  When  Ms.   Shriver  solicited  participation,  she  asked  individual  teachers  to  participate.  And,  as   evidenced  in  Table  6.14,  when  she  asked  teachers  to  participate,  she  approached  those   teachers  whom  she  felt  were  the  most  innovative  and  willing  to  change  their  instructional   practices.  Of  the  nine  connections  Ms.  Shriver  instigated  between  teachers  and  reforms   through  solicitation,  eight  came  from  the  category  of  teachers  Ms.  Shriver  perceived  to  be   the  most  innovative.  Ms.  Shriver  approached  more  than  half  (55%)  of  the  teachers  in  the   195   innovative-­‐seeking  group  to  participate  in  either  SBG  or  FAME.  In  contrast,  she  did  not   approach  any  teachers  whom  she  perceived  to  be  medium-­‐entrenched  or  entrenched.   Table  6.14.  Connection  through  Solicitation  (SBG,  FAME)   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (0)   Ms.  Harris  (0)   Ms.  Purvis  (1)   Mrs.  Franzen  (1)   Mrs.  McReady  (0)   Ms.  Marshall  (1)   Mr.  Trotter  (2)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (2)   Mr.  Bridges  (0)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (1)     8  (55%)     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (0)   Mrs.  Curtis  (1)   Ms.  Evans  (0)   Mr.  Cooper  (0)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (0)   Ms.  Wheeler  (0)   Mr.  Rogers  (0)   Ms.  Reynolds  (0)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (0)   Mrs.  Jackson  (0)     1  (9%)   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (0)   Mr.  Kennedy  (0)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (0)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (0)   Mr.  Collins  (0)   Ms.  Cook  (0)           0  (0%)   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (0)                   0  (0%)   Total  Solicitation:  9  of  64  (14%)     Voluntary  Call     In  order  to  avoid  appearances  of  favoritism,  Ms.  Shriver  issued  a  voluntary  call   whenever  she  solicited  the  participation  of  individual  teachers.  A  voluntary  call  was  an   email  or  an  announcement  at  a  staff  meeting  informing  teachers  of  a  reform  and   encouraging  all  interested  teachers  to  attend  and  participate.  Responding  to  a  voluntary   call  was  not  a  popular  means  of  connecting  teachers  to  reforms.  In  sum,  only  7  of  the  64   (11%)  connections  between  teachers  and  reform  resulted  from  a  voluntary  call.   Furthermore,  although  to  a  lesser  extent  than  solicitation,  a  volunteer  call  was  more  likely   to  connect  a  teacher  held  in  Ms.  Shriver’s  high  esteem  than  those  she  felt  were  entrenched.   Table  6.15  provides  a  summary  of  the  connections  teachers  made  to  reform  via  volunteer   call.         196   Table  6.15  Connection  through  Volunteer  Call  (SBG,  FAME)   Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (0)   Ms.  Harris  (0)   Ms.  Purvis  (0)   Mrs.  Franzen  (0)   Mrs.  McReady  (0)   Ms.  Marshall  (0)   Mr.  Trotter  (0)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (0)   Mr.  Bridges  (2)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (1)     3  (18%)     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (0)   Mrs.  Curtis  (0)   Ms.  Evans  (0)   Mr.  Cooper  (0)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (0)   Ms.  Wheeler  (1)   Mr.  Rogers  (0)   Ms.  Reynolds  (0)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (0)   Mrs.  Jackson  (1)     2  (18%)   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (2)   Mr.  Kennedy  (0)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (0)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (0)   Mr.  Collins  (0)   Ms.  Cook  (0)           2  (13%)   Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (0)                   0  (0%)   Total  Solicitation:  7  of  64  (11%)     Summary:  Connecting  Teachers  to  Reform   In  her  role  as  reform  entrepreneur,  Ms.  Shriver  had  to  simultaneously  use  her  social   network  to  build  support  for  reform  and,  because  of  reforms’  limited  capacity,  restrict   teachers’  involvement.  Thus,  she  had  to  make  connection  decisions  that  provided  some   teachers  opportunities  to  engage  with  and  learn  about  reforms  but  inhibited  the   participation  and  opportunities  to  learn  for  others.  These  connection  decisions  were  of   three  types—assignment,  solicitation,  and  volunteer  call.  Because  of  the  way  she  handled   these  decisions,  the  teachers  who  she  perceived  to  be  the  most  able  and  willing  to   experiment  with  their  practice  ended  up  having  the  most  extensive  opportunities  to  learn   about  reform  practices.  While  not  enough  to  achieve  statistical  significance,  the  chart  does   highlight  the  general  pattern  that  seems  to  favor  the  teachers  whom  Ms.  Shriver  believed   were  the  most  innovative.  Those  teachers  whom  Ms.  Shriver  felt  were  the  most  traditional   and  entrenched  in  their  instructional  approach  had  the  most  impoverished  opportunities   to  learn  about  and  participate  in  reform.  A  summary  of  teachers’  connections  to  reform  at   197   Waller  (with  an  average  number  of  instructional  reform  participation  by  category)  is   provided  in  Table  6.16.   Table  6.16.  Summary  of  Teachers  Connections  to  Reform     Innovating   Mrs.  Hannigan  (1)   Ms.  Harris  (1)   Ms.  Purvis  (2)   Mrs.  Franzen  (3)   Mrs.  McReady  (1)   Ms.  Marshall  (3)   Mr.  Trotter  (5)   Mrs.  McCarthy  (3)   Mr.  Bridges  (3)   Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Hall  (5)     2.45     Receptive   Mr.  Reed  (1)   Mrs.  Curtis  (1)   Ms.  Evans  (1)   Mr.  Cooper  (2)   Ms.  Bell  (0)   Mrs.  Edgar  (2)   Ms.  Wheeler  (2)   Mr.  Rogers  (1)   Ms.  Reynolds  (2)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (1)   Mrs.  Jackson  (2)     1.36   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Ms.  Stickle  (5)   Mr.  Kennedy  (1)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (1)   Ms.  Dozier  (0)   Mr.  Murdock  (3)   Mr.  Collins  (3)   Ms.  Cook  (3)           2     Entrenched   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (1)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (2)                   .75     Conclusion     Principals  in  this  study  were  central  in  connecting  to  reforms  and  shaping  the   reforms  once  they  arrived  at  the  schools.  Principal  support  for  reforms  was  not  an   idiosyncratic  phenomenon,  but  rather  principal  actions  were  deeply  rooted  in  their   personal  and  professional  backgrounds,  beliefs  about  their  role  as  instructional  leaders,   and  knowledge  about  reforms.  The  three  principals  in  the  study  varied  considerably  along   each  of  these  dimensions,  as  did  the  consequent  actions  in  response  to  reforms.  At  Waller,   Ms.  Shriver’s  deep  engagement  provided  some  teachers  extensive  opportunities  to  learn   about  reform.  At  the  other  two  schools,  teachers  had  far  fewer  substantive  opportunities.   At  Middleton,  Ms.  Novak  was  indifferent  to  reforms  and  had  virtually  no  role  in   instructional  leadership.  She  did  not  engage  teachers  in  matters  of  teaching  and  learning   unless  this  interaction  was  required  by  state  law.  Even  so,  she  shaped  state  mandated  tools   198   to  accommodate  her  priorities  and  then  implemented  the  reform  in  a  way  that  aligned  with   her  values  and  beliefs.       Mr.  Delancey  had  more  ambitions  as  an  instructional  leader,  but  his  lack  of   institutional  position,  the  prevailing  school  culture,  and  his  own  lack  of  understanding  of   instructional  reforms  inhibited  his  ability  to  engage  teachers  deeply  about  their  instruction   or  connect  them  to  instructional  reforms.       Only  Ms.  Shriver  was  able  to  usher  in  instructional  reforms  and  sustain  them  once   they  arrived.  However,  unlike  previous  research  tends  to  assume,  Ms.  Shriver’s   instructional  leadership  was  not  uniform  and  consistent  across  all  teachers  at  Waller.  Some   teachers  had  more  substantial  opportunities  to  learn  than  others.  This  inequality  was  a   consequence  of  the  connection  decisions  that  Ms.  Shriver  made  as  she  was  faced  with   decisions  about  how  to  manage  the  limited  capacity  of  the  reforms.  All  told,  she  connected   teachers  to  reforms  via  assignment,  solicitation,  and  volunteer  call—the  result  of  which  left   teachers  whom  she  esteemed  as  innovative  with  more  opportunities  to  connect  with  and   learn  about  reforms  than  teachers  she  perceived  as  being  entrenched  in  their  traditional,   teacher-­‐centered  practices.     In  sum,  only  a  small  percentage  of  the  teachers  had  the  opportunity  to  learn  about   instructional  reforms  as  a  result  of  principal  responses  to  reform.  At  Poe  and  Middleton,   the  principal  played  a  modest  role  in  promoting  reform  teaching.  At  Waller,  these   opportunities  were  more  plentiful,  but  favored  teachers  who  the  principal  perceived  as   exemplary.  The  following  chapter  looks  at  alternative  sources  for  teacher  learning  and  how   these  contributed  to  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  about  reforms.     199   CHAPTER  7:  Teacher  Learning   Introduction     This  research  set  out  to  answer  questions  about  how  teachers  made  sense  of   multiple  instructional  reforms.  To  this  end,  the  previous  two  chapters  provided  evidence   that  reforms  varied  by  type  and  pathways  through  which  they  penetrated  schools.  Some   reforms  were  mandatory  and  demanded  a  local  response  but  most  reforms  were  not  and   these  latter  reforms  required  at  least  one  reform  entrepreneur  to  use  his  or  her  social   connections  to  build  support  for  reform.  Chapter  5  also  argued  that  non-­‐mandatory   reforms  established  a  mutual  dependence  among  state  and  district  administrators,   principals,  and  teachers.  State  and  district  administrators  generated  reform  activity  but   typically  relied  on  principals  or  teachers  to  express  interest  and  commitment.    In  turn,   principals  relied  on  state  and  district  administrators  to  create  reforms  and  provide  reform   opportunities  and  they  relied  on  teachers  to  demonstrate  a  willingness  to  participate.     Chapter  6  contended  that  principals  were  particularly  well  situated  to  be  reform   entrepreneurs,  but  principal  reform  entrepreneurship  depended  on  favorable  beliefs,   knowledge,  priorities,  and  social  standing  among  teachers  that  could  not  be  assumed.  Only   Ms.  Shriver  had  the  inclination,  knowledge,  and  social  resources  to  serve  in  this  capacity   and  her  entrepreneurship  explains  the  differences  in  the  number  of  reforms  observed   across  schools  and  the  different  experiences  teachers  had  with  both  mandatory  and   voluntary  reforms  within  a  single  school.     This  chapter  considers  the  perspectives  teachers  developed  regarding  reforms  and   the  experiences  they  had  with  those  reforms  through  opportunities  to  learn  that  organized   learning  by  placing  teachers  into  large  training  sessions.  First,  I  will  distinguish  between   200   behaviorist  and  situated  opportunities  to  learn.  Through  consideration  of  two  cases,  I   explore  the  potential  for  teachers  to  serve  as  entrepreneurs  of  reforms  that  situated   teacher  learning  locally  and  I  establish  the  importance  of  social  networks  in  this  endeavor.   In  this  same  context,  I  demonstrate  that  teachers  perspectives  in  committing  to  reforms   with  situated  opportunities  to  learn  is  much  more  varied  than  their  perspectives  regarding   behaviorist  opportunities.  Finally,  I  examine  the  instances  of  behaviorist  opportunities  in   detail  and  highlight  the  potential  and  limitations  for  behavior  learning  to  promote  reform   practices.     Understanding  the  Teacher  Perspective   In  keeping  with  the  symbolic  interactionist  perspective,  it  is  important  to   understand  how  teachers  viewed  their  situations  and  how  they  developed  perspectives   from  which  they  generated  action  regarding  multiple  reforms.  For  this  purpose,  it  is   necessary  to  point  out  all  of  the  non-­‐mandatory  reforms  to  emerge  in  this  study  were   embedded  in  programs  that  afforded  teachers  some  opportunities  to  learn.  It  will  be   helpful  to  examine  the  learning  opportunities  that  surrounded  these  reforms  and  to   distinguish  between  those  reforms  that  provided  opportunities  that  required  teachers  to   attend  trainings  and  those  that  situated  teachers’  work  in  small  learning  communities,   persisted  over  time,  and  encouraged  teachers  to  consider  reform  ideals  in  the  specific   contexts  of  their  own  situations.       Reforms  that  relied  on  the  behaviorist  tradition  were  those  that  provided  for   teacher  learning  via  trainings  (e.g.,  CITW,  TLC,  CCR).  As  will  be  described  later  in  the   chapter,  teachers  sometimes  resented  the  way  they  were  treated  and  teacher  commitment   to  learning  varied  at  these  behaviorist  trainings,  but  no  teacher  expressed  resentment  in   201   being  assigned  to  attend.  When  teachers  were  assigned  to  participate  in  the  behaviorist   training  sessions,  they  went.  Typically,  they  attended  during  school  time  or  they  earned   credit  toward  their  annual  professional  development  growth  requirement,  or  both,  and  this   seemed  reason  enough  to  encourage  teachers  to  attend  trainings  without  complaint.     Reforms  that  provided  for  situated  teacher  learning  placed  teachers  in  small   learning  communities  (e.g.,  FAME,  UDL,  SBG)  required  much  greater  teacher  commitment   and  responsibility  for  learning.  Because  of  the  increased  responsibilities  on  teachers  to   carry  the  learning,  teachers  were  not  assigned  to  participate  in  reforms  with  situated   learning  except  under  special  circumstances  (e.g.,  UDL  at  Waller).  Thus,  reforms  with   situated  teacher  learning  were  especially  reliant  on  a  reform  entrepreneur  with  social   connections  necessary  to  secure  teacher  participation.  As  examined  in  the  previous   chapter,  this  entrepreneurship  could  come  from  the  principal.  However,  two  of  the  three   principals  lacked  the  necessary  beliefs,  priorities,  knowledge,  and  social  connections  to   sustain  a  situated  reform.  Indeed,  in  these  two  cases  it  fell  to  a  teacher  to  become  a  reform   entrepreneur  and  to  use  her  social  connections  to  solicit  the  participation  of  others.  The   next  two  sections  examine  each  case.     Middleton  Middle  School  and  the  Case  of  Mrs.  Herman   Mrs.  Herman  was  a  reading  teacher  and  instructional  coach  at  Middleton  Middle   School.  She  taught  full  time  for  10  years  before  assuming  the  position  of  literacy  coach  and   interventionist,  a  position  that  she  had  held  for  just  over  a  decade.  Her  position  was   originally  funded  by  a  state  grant  which  had  since  expired,  but  Mrs.  Novak  kept  Mrs.   Herman  in  the  position  of  part-­‐time  instructional  coach  and  part-­‐time  teacher.  In  her  role,   Mrs.  Herman  provided  the  only  instructional  leadership  that  most  teachers  at  Middleton   202   would  receive.  Since  Mrs.  Novak  abdicated  her  instructional  leadership  responsibilities,  the   faculty  often  referred  to  Mrs.  Herman  as  the  Middleton’s  “real  principal.”   Mrs.  Herman’s  dual  role  was  one  she  had  crafted  over  time  and  at  the  time  of  the   study  Mrs.  Herman  executed  her  self-­‐imposed  duties  with  no  noticeable  oversight  from  site   or  district  administration.  This  arrangement  had  persisted  since  the  beginning,  as  Mrs.   Herman  explained:   I  don't  know  what  they  were  thinking  when  they  posted  the  job  for  the  literacy   coach,  but…I  had  my  own  ideas  about  what  a  literacy  coach  should  do  and  should  be   so  my  principal  at  the  time,  he  didn't  really  know  anything.  So  I  just  said,  “Here  are   the  things  I  think  I  should  do”  and  he  said,  “Okay,  do  them.’”     For  the  most  part  Mrs.  Herman  enjoyed  the  wide  latitude  of  her  position  that   allowed  her  to  craft  her  duties  around  her  strengths  and  interests.  She  also  believed  that   she  tended  to  “take  on  too  many  responsibilities”  because  she  had  “a  hard  time  saying  no.”     She  had  good  reason  to  be  ambitious  and  to  overcommit.  She  was  enthusiastic  for  reform   and  she  had  come  to  believe  in  the  past  several  years  that  if  she  did  not  do  something,  there   was  a  good  chance  it  would  not  get  done.     Although  the  other  teachers  appreciated  Mrs.  Herman  and  generally  acknowledged   that  she  helped  the  school  function  as  it  should,  much  of  the  work  that  she  did  remained   invisible  to  them.  Just  the  paperwork  burden  alone  that  required  ensuring  that  state  exams   were  distributed,  administered,  and  re-­‐packaged  correctly  and  that  teachers  organized  and   presented  their  data  that  demonstrated  their  impact  on  student  growth  (as  was  required   by  the  new  educator  evaluation  system)  was  considerable.  Mrs.  Herman  had  additional   responsibilities  providing  mentoring  and  in-­‐class  coaching  for  several  of  the  teachers  on   203   staff.  Although  Mrs.  Herman  was  the  teacher  of  record  for  only  three  classes  each  day,  she   either  team  taught  or  modeled  lessons  frequently,  so  she  was  often  teaching  four,  five,  or   six  periods  in  a  day.  Finally,  she  was  the  coach  of  Middleton’s  FAME  team  and  she  had   become  one  of  the  program’s  regional  leads,  a  position  in  which  she  trained  teachers   throughout  the  state  in  the  program’s  beginning  of  the  year  launch.  These  myriad   responsibilities  often  kept  Mrs.  Herman  at  Middleton  until  late  in  the  evening.  Still,  she   feared,  “I  feel  like  people  are  walking  by  [my  office]  and  saying  ‘she  does  nothing  all  day  but   sit  at  the  computer.’  They  have  no  idea  what  kind  of  stuff  has  to  get  done,  but  it  wouldn't  be   getting  done.”   It  was  true  that  other  teachers  did  not  know  the  extent  of  Mrs.  Herman’s   responsibilities,  but  no  one  assumed  that  she  was  sitting  around  all  day  doing  nothing.  In   fact,  the  superintendent,  Mrs.  Novak,  and  the  teachers  widely  respected  Mrs.  Herman  for   her  impressive  work  ethic  and  indomitable  commitment  to  instructional  improvement.   Thus,  Mrs.  Herman  possessed  those  characteristics  necessary  of  reform  entrepreneurs.  She   was  well  respected  and  well  connected  and  she  had  a  knowledge  of  and  passion  for   instructional  reform.     Mrs.  Herman  brought  these  qualities  to  bear  on  her  work  with  the  FAME  program.   She  recalled  that  the  superintendent,  with  whom  she  worked  closely  at  the  time,  contacted   Mrs.  Herman  about  starting  a  FAME  team  at  Middleton  after  he  received  a  phone  call  from   an  administrator  at  the  Michigan  Department  of  Education  soliciting  local  participation  in   the  program.  Mrs.  Herman  knew  nothing  about  formative  assessment  or  FAME  but  she   thought  the  project  sounded  worthwhile  and  decided  to  submit  an  application  to  the  state   which  was  promptly  accepted.   204     Once  Mrs.  Herman  was  selected  as  a  coach,  she  faced  the  immediate  challenge  of   forming  a  team  and  convincing  teachers  to  commit  to  participating  on  a  team  that  Mrs.   Herman  still  knew  little  about.  Even  so,  Mrs.  Herman  was  able  to  put  a  small  team  together.   That  first  year  the  team  had  only  a  few  members,  but  Mrs.  Herman  continued  to  solicit   participation  from  other  teachers  and  those  teachers  who  were  on  the  team  that  first  year   reported  the  benefits  of  their  participation.       For  instance,  Ms.  Carroll  joined  the  team  after  that  first  year  primarily  because  she   “respect[ed]  Mrs.  Herman  a  ton.”  Specifically,  Ms.  Carroll  looked  to  Mrs.  Herman  for   curricular  and  instructional  guidance.  Ms.  Carroll  viewed  Mrs.  Herman  as  an  expert  teacher   who  was  “great  with  kids  and  great  about  following  the  research  and  what  is  the  biggest   bang  for  your  buck  with  what  you  are  teaching.”     At  the  time  of  the  study,  Ms.  Carroll  was  very  concerned  about  her  evaluation  score   (she  had  been  laid  off  briefly  the  year  before  because  of  a  poor  evaluation)  and  she  was   searching  diligently  for  ways  to  improve  her  practice.  In  Mrs.  Herman,  Ms.  Carroll  found  an   invaluable  colleague.    Ms.  Carroll  reported  that  Mrs.  Herman  had  “always  been  super   supportive.  That  class  that  we  teach  together  is  like  on-­‐the-­‐job  training  for  me.  Like  I  am   hungry  to  learn  more  about  what  to  do  with  middle  school  kids.”  Mrs.  Herman  also  helped   Ms.  Carroll  organize  and  make  sense  of  the  curriculum,  which  in  the  past  had   “overwhelmed”  Ms.  Carroll  “because  there  are  so  many  pieces.”     For  Ms.  Carroll,  joining  the  FAME  team  made  sense  because  she  wanted  as  much   access  to  Mrs.  Herman  as  she  could  get.  She  felt  that  her  job  was  at  stake  and  she  reasoned   that  keeping  close  proximity  to  and  learning  as  much  as  she  could  from  Mrs.  Herman  was   her  best  option.     205   Other  members  of  the  Middleton  staff  joined  the  FAME  learning  team  for  other   reasons.  For  example,  Mr.  St.  Johns’  commitment  to  the  FAME  learning  team  stemmed  from   his  work  with  Mrs.  Herman  on  earlier  projects.  The  school  received  a  state  grant  a  decade   before  this  study  (the  same  grant  that  allowed  Mrs.  Herman  to  assume  part-­‐time  coaching   duties)  that  required  that  the  school  provide  time  for  teachers  to  work  collaboratively.  It   was  is  this  endeavor  that  Mr.  St.  Johns  first  worked  with  Mrs.  Herman  closely.  He  recalled   that  his  prior  teaching  was  “stagnant”    and  he  credited  the  collaborative  work  on  teams  led   by  Ms.  Herman  with  helping  him  out  of  his  instructional  rut  and  isolation.  Mr.  St.  Johns   recalled:   We  got  a  very  substantial  amount  of  money  to  do  some  really  cool  things  with  team   meetings  and  all  the  stuff  that  we  have  done  in  our  school  and  we  are  still  clinging   onto  that.  And  that  has  really  helped  to  develop  a  lot  of  our  middle  school  people.  As   a  matter  of  fact,  most  all  of  them  are  still  here  as  far  as  that  goes.  That  is  basically   how  things  have  changed  and  developed.   The  tradition  of  teacher  collaboration  initiated  by  the  grant  and  supported  through   Mrs.  Herman’s  efforts  transitioned  into  work  in  the  FAME  program.  Through  a  long-­‐ established  connection  to  Mrs.  Herman  and  a  changing  perspective,  Mr.  St.  Johns  had   “got[ten]  involved  in  standards-­‐based  grading  and  got[ten]  involved  with  formative   assessment…It  has  kind  of  changed  the  way  that  I've  looked  at  it  and  gave  me  an  extra  kick   in  the  boots.”     For  yet  another  teacher,  Mrs.  Herman’s  influence  was  indirect  and  came  through  Mr.   St.  Johns,  who  was  well  respected  for  his  instructional  skill  and  his  way  with  students.   When  he  endorsed  a  reform,  other  teachers  took  note.  This  was  particularly  true  because   206   Mr.  St.  Johns  was  discerning  and  difficult  to  convince  as  he  said  of  himself,  “I’ve  been  a   teacher  that  has  not  always  jumped  on  the  bandwagon  as  far  as  the  new  things  that  come   through.  Just  because  I've  been  around  enough  to  know  that  the  cycle  comes  right  back  to   the  same  thing  again,  unless  I  find  it  very  valid.”  When  Mr.  St.  Johns  reported  to  other   teachers  that  he  enjoyed  the  work  on  the  FAME  learning  team,  Mrs.  Quincy  decided  to  join.   She  remembered  that  Mrs.  Herman  made  a  general  call  for  participation  at  a  staff  meeting   but  that  Mrs.  Quincy  did  not  decide  to  join  until  the  program  received  a  personal   endorsement.  She  explained  that  when  Mr.  St.  Johns  spoke  highly  of  his  involvement  “it   surprised  me  because  it  seemed  like  an  extra  thing.  [Mr.  St.  Johns  and  I]  would  confide  in   each  other,  our  problems  with  the  building  and  stuff  like  that.  So  when  he  was  taking  this   seriously  it  made  me  think  what  it  would  do  for  me,  and  I  was  interested.”       Mrs.  Herman  built  the  FAME  team  both  through  her  enthusiasm  for  reform  and  her   personal  connections  and  she  felt  that  her  commitment  to  the  program  was  worth  the   effort.  She  believed  that  if  educators  were  to  focus  more  exclusively  on  formative   assessment,  classrooms  would  be  markedly  changed  for  the  better.  Mrs.  Herman  explained   that  when  teachers  began  to  use  formative  assessment,  their  “whole  philosophy  about   education  starts  to  change.”  Specifically,  she  had  seen  “traditionally  hard-­‐core”  teachers   change  their  practice  to  be  far  more  focused  on  “what  kids  know  and  what  kids  are   learning.”  The  improvement  that  she  observed  in  the  beliefs  and  practices  of  members  of   the  team  was  enough  to  sustain  her  excitement  for  and  commitment  to  the  FAME  program.   However,  despite  her  enthusiasm  and  her  social  connections,  teachers  seemed  to  need   reasons  to  participate  that  extended  beyond  their  sense  of  social  obligation.  Nevertheless,   as  a  consequence  of  Mrs.  Herman’s  efforts  and  teachers’  interest,  7  of  the  19  teachers  at   207   Middleton  were  involved  in  FAME,  the  highest  percentage  of  teachers  of  any  of  the  three   schools  in  the  study.     Poe  Middle  School  and  the  case  of  Ms.  Dixon   Ms.  Dixon  was  in  her  13th  year  as  a  6th  grade  social  studies  and  math  teacher  at  Poe   Middle  School  and  in  her  first  year  as  coach  of  the  school’s  formative  assessment  learning   team.  Before  assuming  the  role  of  coach,  Ms.  Dixon  participated  on  the  FAME  project  as  a   learning  team  member  for  five  years.  Poe  had  a  strong  connection  to  the  FAME  program.   FAME’s  main  proponent,  an  administrator  at  the  MDE,  once  worked  at  Poe.  Soon  after   FAME’s  inception  she  contacted  a  teacher  (who  had  since  left  Poe)  and  that  teacher,  in  turn,   contacted  Ms.  Dixon  and  Mrs.  Reid  to  determine  their  interest  in  joining  the  team.  Ms.   Dixon  recalled  that  this  teacher  told  her  “we  need  more  people”  and  although  she  “really   didn't  know  too  much  about  it”  she  decided  that  she  would  give  the  reform  program  a  try.       Since  this  first  year,  “the  group  has  changed  members,  many  times  over”  thus   forbidding  the  team  from  establishing  consistency.  Ms.  Dixon  believed  that  because  many   teachers  did  not  see  the  value  in  either  formative  assessment  practice  or  team   membership,  they  dropped  out.  Nevertheless,  Ms.  Dixon  remained  a  firm  believer,  so  when   the  need  arose  she  recalled,  “I  agreed  to  step  up  and  be  the  coach”  even  though  she  never   aspired  to  the  role:   I  feel  too  strongly  about  this  group,  and  what  we  were  doing  was  good  and  right  for   the  kids,  and  it  pushed  me  to  make  me  do  more  formative  assessment  in  my   classroom  because  it's  just  like  a  reminder  of  I'm  part  of  this  team,  you  know.  I  need   to  be  doing  this.  I  need  to  be  doing  more  with  this.  I  need  to  educate  myself  more   and  try  more  things  in  the  classroom  and  [team  membership]  pushes  me  to  do  that.   208   Where  if  I  wasn't  in  that  group,  I  would  probably  with  all  of  the  hectic  busy-­‐ness  and   stuff  it  would  be  one  of  the  things  that  got  pushed  to  the  side.   Had  Ms.  Dixon  not  taken  responsibility  to  coach  the  learning  team,  she  believed  the  team   “absolutely  would  have  disbanded”  thus  bringing  an  end  of  the  FAME  program  at  Poe.  As  it   was,  Poe  had  a  four-­‐member  team  that  Ms.  Dixon  had  taken  great  pains  to  construct.     Although  Ms.  Dixon  was  committed  to  the  FAME  program,  she  was  not  well   connected  at  Poe.  By  both  her  own  and  the  principal’s  account,  Ms.  Dixon  was  not  well  liked   by  many  staff  members  and  she  had  only  a  single  close  colleague,  Mrs.  Reid.    Ms.  Dixon  and   Mrs.  Reid  had  taught  6th  grade  together  for  several  years  and  both  had  been  on  the  FAME   team  since  the  beginning.  In  that  time,  the  two  developed  a  good  working  relationship  and   Mrs.  Reid  agreed  to  continue  her  work  on  the  team  when  Ms.  Dixon  became  the  team’s   coach  despite  Mrs.  Reid’s  profession  that  she  did  so  because  of  her  feelings  of  loyalty  to  Ms.   Dixon  rather  than  a  strong  commitment  to  FAME.     The  rest  of  the  team  consisted  of  teachers  with  whom  Ms.  Dixon’s  professional   bonds  were  not  strong.  Despite  only  meager  relational  strength,  Ms.  Dixon  used  her  modest   social  resources  and  standing  as  a  senior  teacher  to  garner  teachers’  commitment  to  team   membership.  For  example,  Ms.  Cunningham  was  a  teacher  in  her  second  year  at  Poe  and   her  first  year  on  the  learning  team.  Ms.  Dixon  recalled  that  she  and  Mrs.  Reid  “peer   pressured  [Ms.  Cunningham]  into  joining”  an  account  that  both  Mrs.  Reid  and  Ms.   Cunningham  corroborated.   Ms.  Cunningham  recalled  that  her  participation  in  the  Teach  Like  a  Champion  (TLC)   reform  program  ultimately  led  to  her  participation  on  the  FAME  team.  Ms.  Dixon  and  Mrs.   Reid  suggested  that  Ms.  Cunningham  join  the  team  because  the  work  on  the  two  initiatives   209   was  similar.  Ms.  Cunningham  explained,  “this  year  when  [Ms.  Dixon  and  Mrs.  Reid]  were   looking  for  new  people  to  join  the  formative  assessment  team,  they  said,  ‘Hey,  you  are   already  on  TLC  and  it  has  so  much  formative  assessment  on  there.  We  think  it  would  be  a   really  good  idea  for  you  to  also  join  the  formative  assessment  group,  so  the  two  would   mesh  a  little  bit  more.’”  Because  she  did  not  feel  that  she  was  in  position  to  refuse  the   entreaties  of  a  senior  teacher  and  because  she  felt  like  FAME  would  help  her  improve  her   teaching,  Ms.  Cunningham  agreed  to  join  the  learning  team.     Another  teacher—Mr.  Brooks  who  taught  7th  and  8th  grade  science—joined  the   team  when  Ms.  Dixon  approached  him  and  said,  “Come  on,  you  can  do  this.  You  have  an   intern.  You  have  this  extra  time  on  your  hands.  Why  don't  you  try  this  out?”  Despite  not   having  a  strong  professional  bond  or  close  working  relationship  with  Ms.  Dixon,  Mr.  Brooks   agreed.  Early  in  the  year,  Ms.  Dixon  said  of  Mr.  Brooks,  “There  isn't  much  camaraderie.  I   haven't  worked  much  with  him…  He  has  taught  here  as  long  as  I  have,  but  he's  a  7th  and   8th  grade  teacher  and  he  teaches  science.  We  don't  have  much  interaction  with  each  other.”   Mr.  Brooks’  commitment  soon  wavered  and  he  discontinued  his  participation  before  it   began.  He  did  not  attend  the  initial,  state-­‐provided  FAME  launch  event  and  he  did  not   attend  a  single  learning  team  meeting.    By  the  middle  of  the  year,  Ms.  Dixon  had  given  up   hope  that  he  would  eventually  participate.     The  fourth  and  final  member  of  the  team,  Mrs.  Monahan,  was  in  her  fourth  year  of   teaching  at  Poe.  She  first  joined  the  learning  team  the  year  before  the  study  and,  like  Ms.   Cunningham,  Mrs.  Monahan  became  involved  through  her  work  in  the  TLC  program.  Unlike   Ms.  Cunningham,  Mrs.  Monahan  did  not  feel  pressured  to  join  the  team.  Rather,  she  joined   210   because  she  had  an  enthusiasm  about  reform  and  she  liked  to  talk  about  teaching  with   other  teachers.  She  said:   The  reason  that  I  stayed  with  the  team  this  year  is  because  I  really  like  the   collaboration  process.  I  really  like  to  throw  ideas  out  and  get  response  back.  I  like  to   hear  their  ideas,  and  I  just  like  that  whole  process.  I  feel  that  it  is  great  to  hear  how   they  have  taken  formative  assessment.  Again,  just  the  ideas  part….To  share  with   them  like  a  unit  and  to  say  ‘these  were  the  struggles’  and  ‘this  is  what  we  did.’  Again,   the  feedback  that  is  what  I  really  like.     Ms.  Monahan  also  valued  learning  about  formative  assessment  because  she  felt  that  so   doing  would  allow  her  to  “stay  in  the  loop”  with  other  reforms  including  the  CCSS.  She   explained,  “I  just  believe  that  whatever  can  keep  me  up-­‐to-­‐date  to  make  sure  I'm  doing   what  I  need  to  do  with  my  students  and  I  want  to  be  a  part  of  it.”     In  sum,  Ms.  Dixon  cobbled  Poe’s  FAME  team  together  with  loosely  connected   teachers  out  of  necessity.  Three  members  had  long-­‐term  standing  on  the  team  while  two   others,  Mr.  Brooks  and  Ms.  Cunningham,  were  new.  Ms.  Dixon  did  not  have  strong   professional  ties  with  either.  Mr.  Brooks  soon  dropped  out  and  Ms.  Cunningham  remained   on  the  team  primarily  because  she  felt  social  pressure  to  do  so.  Mrs.  Reid  had  no  strong   feelings  of  commitment  to  formative  assessment  or  to  FAME,  yet  she  remained  on  the  team   because  of  the  loyalty  she  felt  to  Ms.  Dixon,  her  only  close  colleague  on  staff.  Mrs.  Monahan   was  the  sole  member  of  the  team  other  than  Ms.  Dixon  who  was  strongly  committed  to   formative  assessment.  Mrs.  Monahan  joined  and  remained  on  the  team  because  she  was   supportive  of  formative  assessment,  was  looking  for  ways  to  improve  her  practice,  and   211   enjoyed  collaborating  with  other  teachers.  Since  Poe  was  bereft  of  other  opportunities  for   teachers  to  work  in  close  collaboration,  participation  in  FAME  was  particularly  appealing.     Although  Ms.  Dixon  knew  the  situation  was  not  ideal,  she  assumed  the  team  would   have  disbanded  altogether  had  she  not  offered  to  coach  and  had  she  not  actively  recruited   new  members.  Still,  this  method  of  forming  a  team  and  the  team’s  consequent  composition   exacted  a  toll  on  her.  She  explained:     I  probably  feel  more  comfortable  with  it  if  I  knew  [the  other  learning  team   members]  really  well,  because  I  wouldn't  feel  like  they  were  judging  me  or  going  to   other  people  and  saying,  ‘oh,  Ms.  Dixon  has  taken  over  this  group  and  she  has  no   idea.’…  Even  though  we  teach  middle  school.  A  lot  of  people  act  like  they  are  still  in   middle  school.     Ms.  Dixon  also  believed  that  the  team  would  have  benefitted  from  consistency  under  more   ideal  conditions:  “I  think  if  we  would  have  had  more  of  the  same  people  still  be  there,  it   would  have  been  more  comfortable  instead  of  these  new  people  that  I  just  don't  quite  know   how  they're  going  to  take  formative  assessment.  I'm  not  sure  if  they  buy  into  it  or  not,  or  if   they  see  it  as  important.  And  then  judging  whether  I'm  doing  a  good  job  or  not.”   Teachers  at  Waller   Much  was  said  in  the  last  chapter  about  how  Waller’s  principal,  Ms.  Shriver,   connected  teachers  to  reform  and  how  she  often  solicited  teachers  or  issued  a  general  call   to  secure  participation  with  instructional  reforms.  At  Waller,  Ms.  Shriver  was  the  reform   entrepreneur  who  ushered  in  and  sustained  reforms.  Little  was  said  in  the  previous   chapter  about  the  Waller  teachers  and  their  perspectives.  A  closer  look  at  these   212   perspectives,  however,  reveals  that  teachers  at  Waller  were  just  as  various  in  their  reasons   for  joining  the  FAME  program  as  the  teachers  at  Middleton  and  Poe.     For  instance,  Mrs.  Curtis  was  in  her  fourth  year  teaching  at  Waller  and  the  school’s   only  Spanish  teacher.  Mrs.  Curtis  felt  socially  isolated  from  her  peers  and  often  referred  to   herself  as  a  “loner.”  To  ease  this  isolation  Mrs.  Curtis  expressed  interest  in  the  FAME   program  and  Ms.  Shriver,  capitalizing  on  this  opportunity,  invited  Mrs.  Curtis  to  participate   in  FAME.  Mrs.  Curtis  quickly  obliged  the  request  and  during  the  year  of  the  study  she  was  in   her  second  year  on  the  FAME  learning  team.    Mrs.  Curtis  persisted  on  the  team  because  she   enjoyed  hearing  her  colleagues  “share  ideas”  and  describe  what  they  did  in  their   classrooms.     Mr.  Bridges  reasons  for  joining  and  continuing  participation  on  the  team  were  quite   different.  Mr.  Bridges  was  in  his  16th  year  teaching  at  Waller  and  in  that  time  he  had  built   an  extensive  network  with  teachers  inside  and  outside  the  school  and  he  prided  himself  on   staying  current  on  both  the  political  challenges  facing  schools  and  the  instructional   innovations  that  might  improve  them.  During  the  study  he  was  also  in  the  second  year  of   his  position  as  union  president.     Although  Mr.  Bridges  was  often  consumed  with  union  business  and  the  demands  of   regular  classroom  teaching,  he  made  time  for  participating  on  the  school’s  FAME  team.  He   was  one  of  the  team’s  founding  members,  and  like  Ms.  Shriver  and  Ms.  Stickle,  Mr.  Bridges   had  been  on  the  team  for  four  years.  When  Ms.  Shriver  was  looking  to  start  a  FAME  team,   she  asked  around,  and  Mr.  Bridges  responded,  “If  you  don't  get  anybody  to  sign  up.  I'll   gladly  do  it."  Mr.  Bridges  enjoyed  his  participation  on  the  team,  mostly  because  he   213   considered  himself  someone  who  was  not  set  in  his  ways  and  was  always  willing  to  try  new   ideas  in  the  classroom.       Mr.  Trotter  was  also  a  long-­‐time  teacher  at  Waller  and  he  was  also  one  of  the  most   respected  teachers  on  staff.  While  he  did  not  have  the  extensive  networks  that  Mr.  Bridges   did  and  did  not  have  the  pressure  that  accompanied  the  union  presidency,  Mr.  Trotter  did   feel  that  recent  policies  (particularly  for  educator  evaluation)  were  pressing  teachers  to   stay  current  with  instructional  innovations.  Mr.  Trotter  felt  that  participation  on  the  FAME   team  allowed  him  to  incorporate  the  best  of  outside  pressures  with  his  own  desire  to   improve  his  teaching.  In  his  recent  experience,  formative  and  summative  assessment  had   become    “keywords”  that  were  “being  thrown  around  often.”  For  this  reason,  Mr.  Trotter   decided  to  investigate  what  these  concepts  meant  and  what  implications,  if  any,  they  had   for  his  classroom  teaching.  In  Mr.  Trotter’s  words,  formative  and  summative  assessment   became  “something  I'm  going  to  have  to  look  at  and  something  I'm  going  to  have  to   embrace  and  become  knowledgeable  about.”  Because  of  this  underlying  curiosity,  Mr.   Trotter  joined  the  FAME  learning  team  when  Ms.  Shriver  sent  an  open  invitation  email  to   the  entire  staff  extending  the  offer  of  participation.  He  was  in  his  second  year  on  the  FAME   team  at  the  time  of  the  study.     Mrs.  Jackson  was  in  her  second  year  of  teaching  and  her  first  year  on  the  FAME   learning  team.  Of  all  the  teachers  on  the  Waller  team,  Mrs.  Jackson’s  reasons  for  joining  the   team  were  the  most  utilitarian.  When  asked  why  she  joined  the  team,  Mrs.  Jackson   responded,  “Complete  and  total  honesty?  I  knew  nothing  about  [FAME].  I  needed  more   school  involvement  on  my  evaluation.”  Mrs.  Jackson  often  mentioned  improving  her   evaluation  score  as  the  main  motivator  for  joining  the  team  and  she  confessed,  “My   214   involvement  in  the  team  is  minimal  but  for  technicality  purposes  I  am  on  the  team.”  Mrs.   Jackson  attended  the  first  few  meetings  during  the  year,  but  her  commitment  wavered  as   the  year  progressed  and  she  began  coaching  the  girls’  soccer  team  at  the  high  school  and   the  practice  and  game  times  conflicted  with  the  FAME  team’s  meeting  schedule.       Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Jackson  “liked  the  idea  of  formative  assessment”  and  believed   that  it  was    “really,  really  helpful  in  the  classroom.”    She  also  noted  that  improving  her  use   of  formative  assessment  was  “intriguing”  and  she  believed  that  her  use  of  formative   assessment  improved  as  a  result  of  her  participation  on  the  team  despite  her  less  that   wholehearted  participation.     Mrs.  Hall  was  widely  considered  the  best  teacher  on  Waller’s  staff.  She  worked  very   closely  with  Ms.  Shriver  on  several  of  the  school’s  reforms  (e.g.,  FAME,  SBG,  CCR,  UDL)  and   was  the  leader  of  the  school  improvement  team.  Other  teachers  recognized  Mrs.  Hall’s   effort  and  expertise  and  it  was  widely  known  that  she  had  received  the  highest  evaluation   score  of  any  teacher  at  Waller  the  previous  year  when  the  district  was  piloting  the   Framework  for  Teaching  and  NWEA  (the  test  that  would  be  used  to  determine  teacher   value  added).    Her  fellow  teachers  would  often  joke  with  Mrs.  Hall  about  her  high  standing   at  department  and  staff  meetings  but  no  one  questioned,  either  publically  or  in  private   interviews,  Mrs.  Hall’s  legitimate  standing  as  the  school’s  top  teacher.     Mrs.  Hall  admitted  that  she  liked  “being  involved  in  a  lot  of  things”  and  when  it  came   to  her  attention  on  her  very  first  day  at  Waller  during  a  professional  development  session   that  she  had  an  incomplete  understanding  of  formative  assessment,  she  looked  for  ways  to   improve  her  understanding.  At  the  time,  Mrs.  Hall  believed  that  formative  assessment  was   an  assessment  “for  me  to  know”  but  not  directly  for  reporting  back  to  students.  When  the   215   presenter  asked  for  participants  to  discuss  the  meaning  of  formative  assessment  in  small   groups,  her  incomplete  understanding  came  to  her  attention.  She  recalled,  “I  remember   when  [my  colleagues]  were  sharing  out.  I  discovered  it  wasn’t  just  for  me  to  know,  but  for   students  to  know,  too…so  it  made  me  interested.”  When  Ms.  Shriver  issued  a  general  call   for  participants  on  the  FAME  learning  team,  Mrs.  Hall  volunteered.     Mrs.  Hall  appreciated  the  opportunities  to  learn  that  being  on  the  FAME  team   afforded  her,  as  she  was  doubtful  that  she  would  have  learned  about  formative  assessment   from  other  potential  sources.  She  noted,  “I  don’t  think  I  would  be  at  where  I  am  now  if  it   weren’t  for  the  team.”       No  one  participated  in  more  instructional  reforms  that  Ms.  Stickle.  She  was  involved   in  FAME,  UDL,  CCR,  CITW,  and  SBG.  Like  Mr.  Bridges,  Ms.  Stickle  had  been  on  the  FAME   team  since  the  beginning.  When  she  heard  about  the  program  she  thought  that  it  would  “be   a  really  good  thing”  and,  when  Ms.  Shriver  issued  the  general  call  to  participate,  Ms.  Stickle   answered.  Her  experience  on  the  team  had  been  very  positive.  She  even  tried  to  start  an  all-­‐ math  FAME  team  when  she  was  the  department  chair  (before  coming  over  to  teach   science)  but  she  could  not  generate  enough  interest  or  commitment  among  her  colleagues,   many  of  whom  she  believed  were  set  in  their  instructional  ways  and  skeptical  about  the   implications  that  formative  assessment  might  have  for  their  teaching  and  how  they  ran  a   classroom.     Summary  of  Teacher  Perspectives     Teachers’  perspectives  concerning  their  participation  with  reforms  that  organized   teacher  learning  into  teacher  trainings  can  be  stated  simply.  Teachers  went  when  they   were  assigned  to  go  and  did  not  challenge  district  or  site  administrative  authority  to  send   216   them.  Teachers  understood  that  leaving  their  classrooms  for  a  day  or  two  to  attend  a   training  was  a  normal  and  therefore  unremarkable  feature  of  teacher  life.     Teachers’  perspectives  regarding  participation  in  reforms  with  situated  learning   that  devolved  teacher  learning  to  local,  small  groups  of  teacher  teams  differed  sharply.  As  a   general  rule,  teachers  did  not  believe  that  administrators  had  the  authority  to  command   their  attendance  and  participation  in  small  collegial  teams  and,  in  any  event,  no  principal  in   the  study  tried  to  compel  teachers  to  participate.  These  reforms  were  particularly  reliant   on  a  reform  entrepreneur  (e.g.,  Ms.  Shriver,  Mrs.  Herman,  Ms.  Dixon)  who  used  her  social   networks  to  secure  support  for  the  reform  locally.  Ultimately,  these  entrepreneurs  were   constrained  by  the  robustness  of  their  own  social  networks  but  even  when  the   entrepreneurs  were  well  situated  socially,  they  remained  vulnerable  to  teachers’  consent.     For  the  most  part,  teachers  needed  a  reason  to  participate  that  extended  beyond  any   binding  social  contract.  Only  Mrs.  Reid  and  Ms.  Cunningham  at  Poe  seemed  to  join  the  team   strictly  because  of  social  allegiance  or  social  pressure.  Ms.  Reid  and  the  team’s  coach,  Ms.   Dixon,  were  each  other’s  only  close  colleagues  and  Mrs.  Reid  often  mentioned  that  her   feelings  of  loyalty  to  Ms.  Dixon  were  the  only  reasons  she  remained  on  the  team.  Ms.   Cunningham  felt  obligated  to  participated  when  Ms.  Dixon  and  Mrs.  Reid  applied  social   pressure  and  Ms.  Cunningham  did  not  feel  that  she  was  in  position  to  refuse.     In  most  cases,  then,  social  connections  were  necessary  but  not  sufficient.  Teachers   also  had  to  find  some  personal  use  in  their  participation.    For  instance,  both  Ms.  Carroll  at   Middleton  and  Mrs.  Jackson  at  Waller  joined  and  continued  on  the  team  to  improve  their   evaluation  scores.  Mrs.  Monahan  and  Mrs.  Curtis  enjoyed  collaboration  with  other  teachers   and  wanted  to  break  out  of  their  isolated  situations.  Likewise,  Mr.  St.  Johns  had  a  close   217   association  to  the  team’s  coach,  Mrs.  Herman,  but  the  usefulness  of  working  closely  with   teachers  that  he  discovered  over  the  years  had  convinced  him  of  the  potential  value  of   being  on  the  FAME  team.  He  shared  the  benefits  with  Mrs.  Quincy  who  knew  that  Mr.  St.   Johns  was  fastidious  in  such  matters  and  she  followed  his  lead  and  joined  the  team.     Other  teachers,  like  Mr.  Bridges,  Mr.  Trotter,  Mrs.  Hall,  and  Ms.  Stickle  at  Waller,   were  more  reform  oriented  and  they  derived  a  benefit  from  being  involved  in  several  of   their  school’s  reforms.  Mr.  Bridges  was  the  union  president  who  felt  the  obligation  to  be  a   “connected  educator”  who  innovated  in  his  classroom  and  then  shared  these  innovations   with  his  social  contacts  within  and  outside  the  school.  Mr.  Trotter  felt  that  joining  a  FAME   team  was  a  useful  way  to  manage  the  mounting  external  pressures  that  he  felt  and  cultivate   his  own  internal  desire  to  continuously  improve.  Mrs.  Hall  did  not  like  the  feeling  of  not   being  knowledgeable  about  a  reform  and  she  wanted  to  learn  more.  Ms.  Stickle  was   exceptionally  dedicated  to  the  many  reforms  at  Waller  and  she  wanted  to  participate   whenever  she  could.       The  perspectives  that  teachers  brought  with  them  to  behaviorist  and  situated   opportunities  to  learn  were  therefore  quite  different.  Teacher  perspectives  on  behaviorist   opportunities  to  learn  were  uniform  and  easily  summarized—teachers  went  when  they   were  assigned  and  did  not  question  the  authority  of  administrators  to  assign  their   participation.  Perspectives  of  situated  opportunities  to  learn  were  more  complex.  These   opportunities  required  more  extensive  teacher  commitment  because  they  located  teacher   learning  in  small  participatory  groups.  Therefore,  administrators  or  other  entrepreneurs   did  not  assign  participation.  Rather,  entrepreneurs  relied  on  their  social  networks  to  build   support  for  reforms  that  situated  teacher  learning  locally.  They  also  relied  on  teacher   218   willingness,  as  entrepreneurship  and  social  resources  were  necessary,  but  insufficient,  for   teacher  participation.  Teachers  needed  their  own  compelling  and  often  idiosyncratic   reasons  to  participate  that  extended  beyond  feelings  of  social  obligation.   Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn   The  remainder  of  this  chapter  and  the  next  take  a  closer  look  at  the  teachers’   opportunities  to  learn  about  instructional  reforms  and  explore  the  relationship  between   teacher  opportunity  to  learn  and  actual  teacher  learning.  I  divide  these  opportunities  into   those  where  teachers  were  “trained”  and  assumed  a  passive  role  in  learning  about  reform   (i.e.,  behaviorist  opportunities)  and  those  where  teachers  worked  closely  with  a  small   group  of  colleagues  actively  investigating,  discussing,  and  debating  reform  ideas  in  the   context  of  their  own  situated  instructional  practices  (i.e.,  situated  opportunities).     Each  of  the  reforms  made  some  provision  for  teacher  learning.  This  finding  supports   Cohen  and  Barnes’  (1993)  contention  that  all  instructional  reforms  provide  some  way  for   teachers  to  learn  even  if  these  affordances  are  limited  to  documents,  guidelines,  tools  for   implementation,  and  the  like.  Each  reform  in  the  schools  at  the  time  of  the  study  was   enveloped  in  some  opportunity  for  teachers  to  learn  about  the  ideas  upon  which  the   reforms  focused.     In  the  last  chapter  I  argued  that  teachers  had  unequal  opportunity  to  learn  both   across  and  within  schools.  I  treated  all  opportunities  to  learn  as  if  they  were  more  or  less   the  same.  However,  as  partially  explained  in  the  first  half  of  this  chapter,  this  was  not  the   case.  In  this  section,  I  treat  formal  professional  development  as  a  vital  part  of  teachers’   opportunity  to  learn.  I  also  tease  out  the  characteristic  differences  between  behaviorist  and   situated  learning  opportunities.     219   Distinguishing  Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn   For  the  past  few  decades,  researchers  have  argued  that  if  reform-­‐oriented  teaching   practice  is  to  be  enacted  on  a  widespread  basis,  teachers  must  be  provided  substantive   opportunities  to  learn  (e.g.,  Ball  &  Cohen,  1999;  Cohen  &  Hill,  2001;  Cohen,  McLaughlin,  &   Talbert,  1993;  Little,  1990,  1993;  Shulman  &  Sherin,  2007;  Spillane,  2002;  Thompson  &   Zeuli,  1999).  For  example,  Little  (1993)  claimed  that  schools  would  have  to  exit  the   “training  paradigm”  and  provide  teachers  with  profession  learning  opportunities  that   featured  active  teacher  engagement  with  reform  ideas  and  intense  discussions  with  small   groups  of  colleagues  grounded  in  the  contexts  of  teachers’  work.  Spillane  (2002)  called  this   work  “situated,”  which  he  distinguished  from  the  “behaviorist”  work  typically  featured  in   teacher  professional  development.  According  to  Spillane  (2002),  in  the  behaviorist   tradition,  “Transmission  is  the  instructional  mode,  and  to  promote  effective  and  efficient   transmission,  complex  tasks  are  decomposed  into  hierarchies  of  component  subskills  that   must  be  mastered  in  sequence  from  simple  to  complex”  (p  380).  The  teachers’  role  in   learning  in  the  behaviorist  tradition  is  a  passive  one  in  which  trainers  present  a  series  of   skills  or  strategies  the  teachers  are  expected  to  learn  and  later  enact  in  their  classrooms.   Transmission  of  skills  from  expert  to  novice  is  the  foundation  of  this  approach.     In  contrast,  the  situated  perspective  “views  knowledge  as  distributed  in  the  social,   material,  and  cultural  artifacts  of  the  environment.  Knowing  is  the  ability  of  individuals  to   participate  in  the  practices  of  the  community…Learning  involves  developing  practices  and   abilities  valued  in  specific  communities  and  situations”  (Spillane,  2002,  p.  380).  Learning   from  the  situated  perspective  requires  extensive  opportunities  for  teachers  to  engage  with   and  make  meaning  of  reform  ideas  at  the  same  time  they  are  working  with  colleagues  to   220   discuss  how  these  ideas  fit  with  the  realities  and  complexities  of  practice.  Learning  is   “stretched”  over  several  artifacts  including  reform  messages,  colleagues,  instructional   materials,  curriculum,  classroom  contexts,    and  students.     A  wealth  of  scholars  (see  above)  have  argued  that  teachers  must  have  opportunities   to  learn  in  situated  contexts  if  they  are  to  be  expected  to  enact  reform  practices  consistent   with  reformers’  visions.  However,  more  recent  research  suggests  that  situated  learning   opportunities  are  rare  despite  heightened  teacher  accountability  for  enacting  reform   practices  and  eliciting  robust  student  achievement  gains  (Hill,  2009;  Hill,  Beisiegel,  &  Jacob,   2013).     The  following  section  considers  the  frequency  and  characteristics  of  formal   opportunities  for  teachers  to  learn.  Specifically,  it  will  address  the  following  question:  What   opportunities  did  teachers  at  Middleton,  Poe,  and  Waller  have  for  professional   development  and  how  can  these  opportunities  be  characterized?     Overview  of  Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn     As  research  suggests,  in  this  study  most  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  occurred  in   behaviorist  contexts.  Even  at  Waller,  where  Ms.  Shriver  actively  (albeit  unequally)   connected  teachers  to  reforms,  most  of  the  learning  opportunities  associated  with  these   reforms  were  behaviorist.  Reforms  with  situated  learning  at  Waller  were  more  numerous,   but  because  of  the  superior  capacity  of  behaviorist  learning  opportunities  to  accommodate   many  teachers  at  once,  most  teachers  learned  about  reforms  in  behaviorist  contexts.  An   overview  of  the  opportunities  to  learn  by  type  at  Waller  is  included  in  Table  7.1.         221   Table  7.1.  Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn  at  Waller   Reform   Characteristic   Connection  Decision   Classroom  Instruction   that  Works   Close  and  Critical   Reading   Universal  Design  for   Learning   FAME   Behaviorist   Assignment:  Availability   Behaviorist   Standards-­‐Based   Grading   Situated   Assignment:  Perceived   Department  Need   Assignment:  Perceived   Department  Strength   Voluntary   Call/Solicitation     Voluntary   Call/Solicitation     Situated   Situated   Number  of   Teachers  Involved     26     14     8     7       7       When  one  considers  only  situated  learning,  the  unequal  opportunities    to  learn  at   Waller  are  compounded.  Only  38%  of  the  total  opportunities  to  learn  (24  of  64  connections   between  teachers  and  instructional  reforms)  occurred  in  situated  contexts.  Furthermore,   fewer  than  half  of  the  teachers  (44%)  participated  in  any  professional  development  that   was  rooted  in  situated  contexts.  And,  as  may  be  expected,  these  opportunities  were  uneven   across  the  categories  Ms.  Shriver  constructed  when  asked  how  she  perceived  her  staff.   While  nearly  two-­‐thirds  (64%)  of  the  innovation-­‐seeking  teachers  participated  in  situated   learning,  none  of  the  teachers  Ms.  Shriver  perceived  as  being  entrenched  had  any  learning   opportunities  in  situated  contexts.  The  middle  two  categories  had  modest  situated   opportunities  with  greater  opportunities  for  medium  entrenched  teachers  (50%)  than  for   receptive  teachers  (36%).  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  Ms.  Shriver  assigned   some  teachers  to  reforms,  and  four  medium-­‐entrenched  teachers—Ms.  Stickle,  Mr.   Murdock,  Mr.  Collins,  and  Ms.  Cook—were  science  teachers  who  participated  in  situated   learning  because  of  this  assignment.     This  situation  provides  for  some  refinement  about  what  was  said  earlier  about   assignment  and  situated  opportunities—namely  that  administrators  did  not  assign   222   teachers  to  situated  learning  as  they  did  to  behaviorist  learning.  Recall  from  Chapter  6  that   Ms.  Shriver  first  solicited  the  participation  of  two  Waller  science  teachers,  Mr.  Bridges  and   Murdock,  to  attend  the  UDL  workshops.  After  the  first  successful  experience  Ms.  Shriver   wanted  to  connect  more  teachers  to  UDL  but  the  program  administrators  insisted  that  Ms.   Shriver  send  an  entire  department.  This  request  forbid  solicitation  of  particular  teachers   without  concern  for  their  department  affiliation  and  she  could  not  issue  a  volunteer  call  as   she  otherwise  might  have.  Instead  she  had  Mr.  Bridges  and  Mr.  Murdock  talk  to  their   department,  share  their  enthusiasm,  and  gauge  the  department’s  interest.  When  the   department  expressed  its  willingness  to  participate,  Ms.  Shriver  registered  each  of  the   science  teachers.  In  sum,  then,  the  connection  mechanism  can  be  accurately  described  as   solicited-­‐assignment.  With  this  in  mind,  a  summary  of  the  situated  opportunities  to  learn  at   Waller  is  included  in  Table  7.2.     Table  7.2.  Opportunities  to  Learn  in  Situated  Contexts  at  Waller   Innovative-­‐Seeking   Receptive   Medium-­‐Entrenched   Entrenched   Mrs.  Hannigan  (0)   Mr.  Reed  (0)   Ms.  Stickle  (3)   Mr.  Lum  (0)   Ms.  Harris  (0)   Mrs.  Curtis  (1)   Mr.  Kennedy  (0)   Mr.  Charles  (0)   Ms.  Purvis  (1)   Ms.  Evans  (0)   Mr.  Givens  (0)   Ms.  Berger  (0)   Mrs.  Franzen  (1)   Mr.  Cooper  (0)   Ms.  Zimmerman  (0)   Mr.  Scott  (0)   Mrs.  McReady  (0)   Ms.  Bell    (0)   Ms.  Dozier    (0)     Ms.  Marshall  (1)   Mrs.  Edgar  (0)     Mr.  Murdock  (1)     Mr.  Trotter  (3)   Ms.  Wheeler  (1)   Mr.  Collins  (1)     Mrs.  McCarthy  (2)   Mr.  Rogers  (1)   Ms.  Cook  (1)     Mr.  Bridges  (3)   Ms.  Reynolds  (0)       Mr.  Hanson  (0)   Mrs.  Claiborne  (0)       Mrs.  Hall  (3)   Mrs.  Jackson  (1)       14   4   6   0   64%   36%   50%   0%   Total  Percent  Involved  In  Situated  Learning:  15  of  34  teachers  (44%)       Of  course,  Waller  was  not  the  only  school  where  teachers  were  engaged  in  learning   about  instructional  reforms.  However,  the  formal  learning  opportunities  at  Poe  and   Middleton  were  even  more  meager.  Middleton  had  a  small  teaching  staff  (19)  and  its   learning  team  was  as  large  as  Waller’s  (7)  providing  for  at  least  one  situated  opportunity  to   223   learn  for  a  larger  percentage  of  the  staff.  However,  Middleton  was  engaged  in  learning   about  only  two  instructional  reforms—FAME  and  SBG—at  the  time  of  the  study  and  the   four  teachers  who  participated  in  SBG  were  also  on  the  FAME  team.  Thus,  only  36%  of   teachers  at  Middleton  had  formal  opportunities  to  learn  about  reforms  but  all  of  these   occurred  in  situated  contexts.  Twelve  Middleton  teachers  (63%)  did  not  connect  to  reforms   in  any  way  and  did  not  participate  in  any  situated  or  behaviorist  learning  about  reforms.     At  Poe,  8  of  the  26  teachers  on  staff  (31%  of  teachers)  participated  in  Teach  Like  a   Champion  (TLC)  a  behaviorist  learning  opportunity  where  teachers  went  to  learn  how  to   create  classroom  assessments  that  aligned  with  the  CCSS.  Each  of  the  teachers  on  the  FAME   team  also  participated  in  TLC,  so  the  overall  percentage  of  Poe  teachers  who  participated  in   learning  about  reforms  of  any  kind  (31%)  was  quite  low.  Additionally,  only  the  four  Poe   teachers  on  the  school’s  FAME  team  participated  in  learning  that  had  situated  intent,   although  because  the  principal,  Mr.  Delancey,  commandeered  learning  team  time  for  his   own  purposes  it  is  more  accurate  to  say  that  the  learning  was  situated  in  intent  but  not  in   practice.    As  will  be  detailed  when  we  take  a  closer  look  at  the  evidence  concerning  Poe’s   learning  team  meetings,  in  practice  none  of  the  teachers  at  Poe  participated  in  situated   learning  of  any  kind.  An  overview  of  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  at  the  three  schools  is   included  in  Table  7.3.   Table  7.3.  Overview  of  Types  of  Learning  Opportunities  by  Reform   Reform   School   Approach   Classroom  Instruction  that  Works   Waller   Close  and  Critical  Reading   Waller   Teach  Like  a  Champion   Poe   Percentage  of  Learning  Opportunities  that  were  Behaviorist   Universal  Design  for  Learning   Waller   FAME   Poe,  Waller,  Middleton   Standards-­‐Based  Grading   Middleton,  Waller   Percentage  of  Learning  Opportunities  that  were  Situated     224   Behaviorist   Behaviorist   Behaviorist   Situated   Situated   Situated   Number  of   Teachers  Involved   26   14   8   56%   8   18    11   44%   Situated  Versus  Behaviorist  Learning   The  distinction  between  behaviorist  and  situated  learning  opportunities  is  not   merely  a  theoretical  one  employed  by  researchers  and  reformers,  but  rather  a  distinction   observed  by  most  teachers.     When  reflecting  about  their  opportunities  to  learn  during  the  year  of  the  study,   teachers  were  able  to  articulate  a  qualitative  difference  between  those  opportunities  that   situated  their  work  in  the  complexities  of  practice  with  a  select  group  of  close  colleagues   and  those  that  efficiently  processed  them  in  large  batches.  When  asked  about  how  SBG  and   FAME  (two  reforms  with  situated  learning  at  Waller)  differed  from  CITW,  Mrs.  Jackson,  an   8th  grade  language  arts  teacher  at  Waller,  reflected:   SBG  and  FAME  are  very  much  based  around  the  model  of  a  professional  learning   community,  around  teachers  working  with  one  another  to  see  what  is  working  in   our  classes.  CITW  is  like  a  college  [seminar]  where  they  are  just  lecturing  at  you.  [In   SBG  and  FAME]  teachers  are  working  with  teachers.  [CITW]  is  more  us  just  being   told  what  we  should  be  doing.   In  a  separate  interview,  Ms.  Stickle,  a  7th  grade  science  teacher  at  Waller  who  was   actively  involved  in  five  non-­‐mandatory  reforms,  referred  to  CITW  as  a  series  of  “one-­‐hit   wonder”  workshops  and  questioned  the  effectiveness  of  the  professional  development.  She   said:     When  [CITW]  is  six  spread  out  [sessions]  over  the  course  of  the  school  year,  you   have  to  revisit  it…One-­‐hit  wonder  workshops  are  ‘like  cool,  that's  nice.’  And  then   you  basically  shelf  it  and  you  don't  use  it  again.     225     When  asked  about  the  differences  among  the  reforms,  Ms.  Stickle  quickly   distinguished  between  situated  (e.g.,  UDL)  and  behaviorist  (e.g.,  CITW)  opportunities  to   learn.  She  said,  “UDL  was  more  active  [than  CITW]  because  you  could  approach  it  in   whatever  fashion  you  chose.  [CITW]  traveled  so  quickly  through  so  much  content.  It  was   like  a  snapshot  of  each  thing.  They  chatted  at  you  for  eight  hours.”     Teachers  not  only  recognized  the  difference  between  behaviorist  and  situated   learning  opportunities.  They  sometimes  voiced  a  clear  preference  for  the  latter.  For   instance,  Ms.  Stickle  made  it  clear  why  she  favored  situated  professional  development:   I  would  have  rather  been  in  my  classroom  [than  going  to  CITW].  Or  having  the  kind   of  dialogue  that  we  have  through  FAME  than  a  person  standing  in  front  of  120   people  all  over  the  county  preaching  what  we  should  do.  It  doesn't  work  when  they   are  preaching  at  you  about  it.  It  is  too  much  of  a  time  constraint…Plus,  we  are  not   allowed  to  speak  to  each  other.       Despite  this  general  preference,  situated  learning  was  not  always  considered   superior  to  behaviorist  learning.  Recall  that  at  Poe,  Mr.  Delancey  arrived  at  FAME  learning   team  meetings  unannounced  and  talked  at  length  with  the  small,  four-­‐member  learning   team  about  his  priorities  for  restructuring  the  organization  of  teacher  work  and  the  politics   that  surrounded  his  principalship.  While  at  least  two  members  of  the  Poe  learning  team   (Ms.  Dixon  and  Mrs.  Reid)  indulged  these  diversions  into  school  politics  and  seemed  to   enjoy  aligning  themselves  with  the  principal  and  his  purposes,  Ms.  Cunningham,  a  language   arts  and  history  teacher  in  her  first  year  on  the  team,  grew  frustrated  with  the  team’s  lack   of  direction  and  focus  on  formative  assessment.  She  appreciated  the  strict  adherence  to  the   226   agenda  and  the  opportunities  to  accomplish  tangible  activities  afforded  at  TLC,  the   behaviorist  professional  development  teachers  participated  in.  She  said:   FAME  sometimes…gets  quite  off  task.  We  only  spend  an  hour  or  so  in  really  valuable   time.  While  we  bring  and  share  what  we've  done,  we  kind  of  talk  about  it…but  I  feel   like  we  don't  do  anything  with  that  information…It  would  be  great  if  we  did   something  or  could  create  something  that  we  could  take  back  and  use…which  I  feel   like  TLC  does  a  little  bit  more,  we're  actually  creating  and  collaborating  and  looking   at  results...FAME  for  me  is  kind  of  missing  that  step  of  actually  having  a   collaboration,  creating  and  working  with  something….  A  lot  is  talk  and  off  topic.     Teachers’  Opportunity  to  Learn  Summary   Even  for  the  focal  teachers  in  this  study  who  were  selected  because  of  their   participation  in  the  FAME  program,  opportunity  to  learn  was  modest.  Most  of  the   opportunities  that  these  teachers  had  were  behaviorist,  and  teachers  were  able  to  draw  a   sharp  contrast  between  the  two  types  of  learning  that  scholars  sometimes  use  for  analytic   purposes.  Particularly  at  Waller,  teachers  preferred  the  learning  that  was  situated  in  their   practice  and  gave  them  the  chance  for  sustained  interaction  with  a  small  group  of   colleagues.  Because  they  depended  on  local  contexts,  however,  situated  opportunities  to   learn  were  also  more  variable,  and  at  Poe  the  situated  opportunity  was  commandeered  for   other  purposes  and  at  least  one  teacher  preferred  the  behaviorist  learning  opportunities  as   a  result.     Inside  Behaviorist  Learning  Opportunities   The  previous  section  provided  evidence  that  teachers  at  the  three  schools  had  both   situated  and  behaviorist  opportunities  to  learn,  that  situated  opportunities  were  relatively   227   rare,  and  that  the  teachers  themselves  often  made  the  distinction  between  behaviorist  and   situated  learning  (although  they  did  not  use  these  terms).  The  section  before  that   established  that  teachers  did  not  typically  resist  attending  behaviorist  trainings  when  they   were  assigned.  This  section  explores  teachers’  experiences  as  participants  in  behaviorist-­‐ oriented  opportunities  to  learn.  As  will  be  demonstrated,  teachers  did  resist  these  trainings   in  practice  even  if  they  consented  to  attend.     Professional  development  that  adopted  the  behaviorist  perspective  accommodated   teachers  in  batches  and  presented  them  with  information  that  they  were  expected  to  use  to   improve  their  knowledge  of  reforms  and  their  enactment  of  reform  teaching  practices.   Teachers  alternated  between  sitting  passively  receiving  information  and  completing   assigned  tasks.  I  will  now  explore  two  behaviorist  experiences  in  greater  detail—CITW  at   Waller  and  TLC  at  Poe.     Classroom  Instruction  that  Works     The  CITW  program  had  many  of  the  characteristic  features  of  the  behaviorist   approach  to  teacher  learning.  The  program  was  organized,  arranged,  and  administered  by   ISD  personnel,  its  capacity  for  accommodating  teachers  was  considerable,  and  discrete   elements  of  program  content  were  “chunked”  into  six  separate  full-­‐day  sessions  scattered   throughout  the  year.  Furthermore,  the  intent  of  these  sessions  was  to  provide  information   to  teachers  about  the  importance  of  best  practices  and  for  the  administrators  to  detail  each   of  the  nine  strategies  and  several  accompanying  tools  they  could  then  take  back  to  their   classrooms  to  improve  teaching  and  learning.     228   Despite  its  seemingly  benign  and  potentially  useful  purpose,  in  practice  many   teachers  at  Waller  resented  the  CITW  program  and  over  the  course  of  the  year,  an   adversarial  relationship  developed  between  the  CITW  trainers  and  the  teachers  at  Waller.       Mrs.  Hall,  a  highly  respected  teacher,  explained  that  trainings  got  off  to  a  poor  start   when  trainers  imposed  rules  on  teachers  that  many  felt  were  unfair.  She  insisted  that   teachers  resented  being  treated  in  this  way  and  began  to  resist  the  training.  In  response,   she  contended,  the  trainers  began  making  unsubstantiated  accusations.  She  recalled:     [At  CITW  sessions]  we  were  treated  like  we  were  students  and  not  professional   adults.  We  were  not  allowed  to  have  our  electronic  devices  out…People  were   accused  of  things.  [Trainers]  didn't  talk  to  [teachers]  about  what  they   thought…[was]  happening.  They  just  made  accusations.  Some  more  extreme   accusations  like  urinating  on  books  and  throwing  them  in  toilets.  And  then  it  went   further  and  it  was  investigated  by  the  district.  It  was  really  awful.     Ms.  Shriver,  Waller’s  principal,  had  intended  that  teachers  would  return  to  school   and  have  substantive  conversations  about  CITW  with  their  department  colleagues  during   Professional  Learning  Community  time.  However,  these  conversations  focused  almost   exclusively  on  the  shortcomings  of  the  training.  Mrs.  Hall  admitted,  “The  conversation  that   we  have  at  the  PLC  is  really  not  about  Classroom  Instruction  that  Works,”  but  rather  the   department  members  “ranting  and  venting”  about  the  way  teachers  were  treated.   Mrs.  Hall’s  experience  with  CITW  was  particularly  contentious.  She  was  dismissed   from  the  CITW  workshop  after  trainers  confronted  her  about  a  side  conversation  she  was   having  with  colleague.  According  to  Mrs.  Hall,  she  and  the  colleague  were  talking  about  one   229   of  the  reform  strategies  that  had  been  previously  introduced  at  the  training.  Nevertheless,   the  trainers  expelled  Mrs.  Hall  from  the  session  and  told  her  not  to  return.     Other  Waller  teachers  had  more  success  in  remaining  in  the  program,  but  they  also   noticed  a  lack  of  administrator  regard  for  teachers’  professional  status.  Ms.  Stickle,  a  7th   grade  science  teacher,  said:     The  instructors  were  very  crass  about  how  they  didn't  want  you  to  speak.  They   didn't  want  you  to  answer  a  phone…When  I  go  to  an  in-­‐service,  I  have  my  laptop  out   and…I'm  jotting  down  a  few  things  I  want  to  try…They  didn't  even  allow  laptops   because  you  could  be  talking  to  the  outside  world  and  not  be  focused….I  would   never  recommend  anyone  to  attend  the  way  that  this  one  was  taught;  it  was  a   disaster.   CITW  trainers  faced  an  overwhelming  participant-­‐to-­‐trainer  ratio.  This  ratio,  and   the  intent  of  the  program  to  impart  strategies  and  tools  teachers  could  use  created  a   particular  irony—trainers  were  not  using  the  strategies  and  tools  with  teachers  that  the   administrators  of  CITW  claimed  were  so  important  for  good  teaching  and  learning.  They   sat  teachers  down  and  talked  at  them  about  each  strategy  and  how  to  employ  it.  This  irony   was  not  lost  on  the  teachers.  Mrs.  Hall’s  comment  on  the  quality  of  instruction  at  the  CITW   sessions  is  typical,  “[CITW  trainers]  were  not  using  ‘classroom  instruction  that  works.’   They  were  not  interested  in  having  any  conversations  and  just  wanted  to  point  fingers  at   us.  It  was  just  bad.”   Teachers  in  other  departments  found  the  CITW  sessions  more  useful,  if  not   completely  satisfactory.  Mrs.  Jackson,  an  8th  grade  language  arts  teacher,  observed:     230   Right  when  I  came  back  from  CITW  I  gave  [students]  a  star  partner,  moon  partner,   raindrop  and  sun…that  was  one  of  the  quick  things  that  I  got  from  CITW.  Now  it's   kind  of  ironic  that  a  lot  of  the  things  I  use  from  CITW  could  have  been  given  to  me  in   15  minutes  rather  than  6  1/2  hours,  but  nevertheless  it  still  works,  and  it  is  still   helpful.   Teach  Like  a  Champion   Teach  Like  a  Champion  (TLC)  also  employed  a  behaviorist  approach  to  teacher   professional  development.  The  TLC  program  was  a  three-­‐year  project  in  which  English   Language  Arts  and  mathematics  teachers  from  throughout  the  region  devised  plans  for   implementing  the  Common  Core  State  Standards  (CCSS).  In  the  first  year  of  the  project,   teachers  deconstructed  each  of  the  standards  at  their  grade  level.  This  work  required  them   to  determine  each  standard’s  depth  of  knowledge  (DOK)  expectation  and,  if  the  DOK   extended  beyond  recall,  required  them  to  build  a  scaffold  of  progressively  ambitious   learning  targets  (starting  at  DOK  1,  recall)  that  would  prepare  students  for  the  type  of   thinking  and  foundational  skills  that  the  particular  standard  required.  The  team  of  60   teachers  spent  monthly,  full-­‐day  meetings  engaged  in  this  work  and  it  took  the  better  part   of  the  year  to  complete.  In  the  final  two  meetings,  the  teachers  rushed  to  complete  a  scope   and  sequence  that  they  were  trying  to  implement  during  the  year  of  the  study.  The  teachers   were  now  constructing  quarterly  assessments  that  aligned  to  the  CCSS.     The  following  section  examines  a  single,  yet  typical  TLC  session  in  depth  to  highlight   many  of  the  features  common  to  the  behaviorist  experience.     Three  Poe  teachers—Ms.  Cunningham,  Mrs.  Monahan,  and  Mrs.  Reid—attended  this   day’s  TLC  professional  development  session.  Teachers  would  work  today  reviewing  and   231   revising  the  versions  of  the  language  assessments  they  created  in  an  earlier  session.  Deb,   the  highly  energetic  and  consistently  positive  facilitator  hired  by  the  ISD  to  conduct  the   trainings,  stood  at  the  front  of  the  room  to  one  side  of  the  SmartBoard  as  the  session  was   set  to  begin.  Most  of  the  roughly  60  teachers  at  the  workshop  were  sitting  at  the  round   tables  in  front  of  her.  At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Reid  was  sitting  with  other  members  of  her   “vertical”  (i.e.,  cross  grade  level)  team.  Ms.  Cunningham  and  Mrs.  Monahan  were  scattered   throughout  the  room,  sitting  with  their  own  teams.  Many  teachers  were  talking  casually.   Momentarily,  Deb  began.       “Hey,  good  morning!”  Deb  announced.  She  explained  that  today’s  task  would  place   teachers  in  vertical  teams  which  would  structure  teacher  work  with  others  who  taught   either  the  grade  below  them  or  the  grade  above  them,  or  both.  She  asked  teachers  to  make   sure  that  they  are  sitting  with  their  vertical  teams  for  the  purpose  of  completing  this   activity.  Deb  then  began  to  review  the  agenda.  “These  are  our  learning  team  targets,”  Deb   announced,  referring  to  the  screen  that  was  now  projecting  the  following:   Our  Learning  Team  Targets   • Review  assessments  (as  if  you  were  Chris)   • Suggest  test  corrections  and  review/build  plausible  distractor  options   • Identify  any  editing  layout  and  design  notes  to  be  addressed  by  the  central   Teach  Like  a  Champion  editor   To  this  first  point,  Deb  explained  that  teachers  would  be  taking  the  assessment  they  were   assigned  as  if  they  were  Chris,  a  fictitious  student.  Deb  next  turned  her  attention  to  the   “TLC  Assessment  Blueprint  Template”  that  teachers  were  supposed  to  complete  for  each   test  item.  For  example,  a  completed  sample  entry  of  the  template  looked  like  this:   232   Item   #   1     CCS  standard   Standard   Item   DOK   DOK   7.1C   2   1   “I  can”  statement   Assessed   I  can  identify  simple   sentences   Rationale  for  Distractors   A.  simple   B.  compound   C.  complex   D.  compound-­‐complex   “Many  of  these  have  not  been  filled  in,”  Deb  said.     “Oh,  I  hate  those!”  Mrs.  Reid  said  just  loud  enough  for  the  other  teachers  at  her  table   to  hear.       Meanwhile,  Deb  briefly  encouraged  teachers  to  complete  the  template  as  they   worked  and  then  she  continued  to  the  next  slide,  which  read:   • Review  and  apply  suggestions  from  vertical  teams   • Finalize  9W1  and  9W2  assessments  and  blueprints  and  submit  electronically   Deb  explained  that  this  slide  described  the  work  that  teachers  would  do  after  they   reviewed  each  test  item  in  their  vertical  team.  Next,  Deb  told  the  group  that  she  would  like   to  have  the  first  and  second  quarter  language  tests  finalized  before  the  group  left  for  the   day.  Deb  continued  to  the  next  slide  and  reviewed  the  criteria  that  vertical  teams  were  to   consider  as  they  read  through  each  test  item.  The  slide  read:   1. Does  the  DOK  of  the  item  match  the  DOK  of  standard?   2. What  standards  are  we  assessing?   3. What  reteaching  is  built  in  through  plausible  distractors?     After  briefly  reviewing  each  of  these  criteria,  Deb  reminded  the  teachers  that,  in   addition  to  the  content,  the  formatting  of  each  question  was  important.  Deb  told  teachers  to   be  sure  that  each  item  had  the  correct  line  spacing.  She  soon  returned  to  the  importance  of   distractors  and  began  projecting  a  teacher-­‐generated  test  item  to  make  her  point.  It  read:       233   Identify  the  collective  noun  in  the  following  sentence.   A  pack  of  wolves  chased  the  deer.     A. pack   B. chased   C. deer   After  giving  teachers  a  moment  to  consider  the  test  item,  Deb  led  teachers  through   the  thinking  required  to  answer  the  question  correctly.  If  students  missed  the  item,  Deb   asked,  “What  does  that  mean  they  need  to  know  now?”  Deb  sat  next  to  the  document   reader  that  she  was  using  to  project  the  item  on  the  screen  and,  when  no  one  responded,   she  pointed  to  pack  and  she  wrote  “correct”  next  to  it.  The  other  two  choices  were   “distractors”  that  Deb  explained  were  critical  for  understanding  student  thinking.       Deb  suggested  that  if  the  student  answered  that  “chased”  was  the  collective  noun  in   the  sentence,  they  were  mistaking  collective  nouns  and  verbs  and  if  they  answered  “deer”   they  had  confused  “plural  nouns”  with  collective  nouns.  Deb  concluded  by  saying  that  to   create  effective  items,  teachers  must  ensure  that  “distractors”  were  informative.          “Agreed?”  Deb  asked.  She  had  the  habit  of  saying  this.  Whenever  she  received   modest  assent  from  the  teachers  (which  was  the  most  she  ever  received),  she  continued  on.       Deb  moved  the  group  through  several  items  in  this  way.  However,  some  items  were   less  straightforward.  For  example,  one  item  required  students  to  pick  the  response  that   defined  the  term  “context  clues.”  Choice  A  said,  “Reference  material  found  online.”  Deb  read   the  choice  and  said  aloud  to  the  group,  “Why  would  they  be  confused  by  this?”  The  group   seemed  unsure.  In  any  event,  no  one  offered  a  reason.  Deb  suggested  that  the  student  might   234   have  been  thinking  that  context  clues  could  be  found  in  reference  material  online  and  this   could  be  the  source  of  the  confusion.  She  then  tried  to  explain  what  erroneous  student   thinking  could  be  behind  other  errant  answer  choices.     “What  if  it’s  just  a  wrong  answer  because  a  kid  is  stabbing  in  the  dark?”  Mrs.  Reid   said  only  loud  enough  for  others  at  her  table  to  hear.     “How  can  you  infer  that  that’s  the  reason  that  they  got  the  answer  wrong?”  another   teacher  at  the  table  asked  the  others.  Both  comments  were  met  with  general  assent  from   the  other  teachers  at  the  table.       Meanwhile,  Deb  had  finished  reviewing  some  of  the  notable  test  items  that  teachers   wrote  during  the  past  several  sessions.  She  then  clicked  to  a  slide  that  read:   Our  Learning  Targets—taking  the  test  as  if  we  were  Chris   Deb  instructed  teachers  to  begin  working  with  their  vertical  team  to  work  their  way   through  the  test  as  if  they  were  students.     This  first  section  of  this  extended  fieldnote  reveals  several  characteristics  of  the   behaviorist  experience.  Most  notably,  teachers  were  cast  in  a  passive  role  while  the   facilitator  led  the  group  through  a  series  of  test  items.  Seating  was  assigned  (teachers  were   instructed  to  sit  with  members  of  their  vertical  team)  and  the  organization  and  substance   of  teacher  work  was  predetermined  and  not  of  teachers’  own  choosing.       During  this  time  the  facilitator  assumed  virtually  all  the  cognitive  burden  and  there   was  little  space  for  teacher  input  or  dissent.  The  facilitator  expected  teachers  to  voice   agreement  when  she  cued  them  and  was  not  dissuaded  when  very  few  of  the  teachers   embraced  this  role  expectation.  Rather,  teacher  dissent  was  forced  under  the  surface  of  the   proceedings  but  did  emerge  among  teachers  who  questioned  the  conclusions  the  facilitator   235   made  about  the  content  being  presented.  Nevertheless  the  teachers  kept  their  comments   contained  at  their  table  group.  The  teachers  seemed  content  to  let  the  facilitator  present   content  so  they  could  move  on  to  the  next  activity.  In  many  ways,  then,  teachers  assumed   the  role  of  school  children.     The  fieldnote  continues  as  teachers  set  about  the  work  of  completing  the  activity   assigned  to  them—taking  the  exams  they  constructed  as  if  they  were  a  student.   Teachers  each  took  a  test  from  the  middle  of  the  table  and  began  reading  it  silently.   The  first  section  of  the  test  had  the  following  directions:  “Read  each  sentence  carefully.  In   the  space  provided,  write  r  if  the  sentence  is  redundant  and  w  if  the  sentence  is  wordy.”   Although  Deb  had  instructed  teachers  to  take  the  test  “as  if  they  were  Chris”  the   teachers  soon  began  to  talk  about  the  items  like  they  were  teachers.  Perhaps  this  was   because  the  teachers  themselves  found  the  items  challenging.  For  example,  one  of  the   teachers  at  the  table  said,  “I  think  this  first  one  sounds  like  a  good  sentence.”  The  sentence   in  question  read,  “During  the  basketball  game,  Sam  shot  four  amazing  baskets  that  made   the  crowd  go  wild  with  enthusiasm.”  The  teachers  then  talked  briefly  about  the  merits  of   the  sentence,  and  then  debated  about  whether  (if  it  has  to  be  marked  one)  this  sentence   was  wordy  or  redundant.  The  teachers  concluded  that  this  sentence  was  probably  wordy,   but  that  they  were  not  sure.     “It’s  easier  to  pick  out  wordy  [sentences]  than  redundant  [sentences],”  one  of  the   teachers  observed.  The  others  nodded  their  heads  in  agreement  without  further  discussion.     The  next  test  section  required  test  takers  to  determine  whether  a  given  group  of   words  was  a  phrase  or  a  clause.     “What’s  clause?”  Mrs.  Reid  asked.   236   “A  clause  has  a  noun  and  a  verb,”  the  teacher  to  Mrs.  Reid’s  left  said.   “Oh,”  Mrs.  Reid  responded.  She  looked  as  if  she  might  still  be  unsure  about  how  to   label  the  sentences  but  said  nothing  further.     “I  have  a  question,”  another  teacher  said,  “Are  questions  clauses?”   The  teacher  who  answered  Mrs.  Reid’s  question  about  clauses  replied  that  if  a   question  had  a  noun  and  a  verb,  it  would  be  considered  a  clause.  The  teachers  then  worked   through  the  rest  of  the  items  in  silence.     When  each  teacher  had  completed  this  section,  they  began  discussing  the  responses.   There  was  less  confusion  about  the  correct  answers  this  time,  although  Mrs.  Reid  did   comment,  “I  didn’t  even  know  what  a  clause  was!”  She  attributed  this  to  the  fact  that  6th   grade  (the  grade  she  taught)  did  not  cover  clauses  and  phrases.   “Are  we  assessing  only  the  standards  or  are  we  assessing  the  learning  targets,  too?”   Mrs.  Reid  asked  to  no  one  in  particular  when  the  group  had  decided  on  the  last  item  in  the   test  section.     The  “standards”  were  those  benchmarks  explicitly  stated  in  the  Common  Core  State   Standards.  The  “learning  targets”  were  the  product  of  the  TLC  teachers’  work  from  the  first   year—they  had  deconstructed  standards  into  several  skills  and  competencies  that  students   would  need  in  order  to  reach  the  standard.  Mrs.  Reid’s  question  was  followed  by  some   discussion  about  whether  they  were  only  supposed  to  be  assessing  the  standards  or  if  they   were  to  include  items  that  captured  student  mastery  of  the  learning  targets.   In  the  end,  one  of  the  teachers  commented,  “There’s  not  a  clear  answer—definitely.”   The  others  provided  general  assent,  and  the  group  moved  on.   237   As  the  teachers  moved  through  the  assessment,  they  were  supposed  to  be  making   comments  about  the  test.  They  were  to  use  red  pens  for  content  and  blue  pens  for  editing.   They  would  then  submit  these  comments  to  the  event  organizers,  who  would,  in  turn,  make   the  changes  on  the  computer.     When  one  of  the  teachers  began  to  use  the  wrong  pen,  Mrs.  Reid  said,  “Red  for   content,  blue  for  editing.”     The  teacher  looked  at  Mrs.  Reid  sharply.     Mrs.  Reid  added  quickly,  “I’m  just  stressing  her  lunacy,  sorry.”  Mrs.  Reid  was   referring  to  Deb.  The  teachers  talked  for  a  few  minutes  about  how  tedious  this  work  was   and  then  about  how  much  money  consultants  made.     One  of  the  teachers  interrupted  this  conversation,  as,  for  the  past  several  minutes,   teachers  had  abandoned  their  assigned  work.     “Are  we  all  done  with  the  first  page?”  She  asked.  “We’re  just  going  to  move  on  so  we   can  look  at  the  next  one.”     The  teachers  turned  the  page  and  seemed  about  to  refocus  on  the  task  when  Deb   interrupted  in  a  high-­‐pitched  voice,  “Yoo-­‐hoo!”  She  did  not  have  all  the  teachers’  attention,   but  she  continued  anyway,  “Are  we  done  with  the  first  assessment?  Are  we  ready  to  move   on?”   Most  table  groups  indicated  that  they  needed  more  time.  When  Deb  asked  teachers   how  much  more  time  they  needed,  one  group  suggested  it  needed  10  minutes.  Mrs.  Reid   said,  “We  need  a  lot  more  than  10  minutes!”  to  the  others  at  her  table,  who  said  nothing.   Deb  then  released  the  table  groups  to  complete  the  work.  Instead  of  starting  again,   however,  Mrs.  Reid’s  group  became  distracted  when  one  teacher  asked  what  the  purpose  of   238   the  test  was  going  to  be.  She  wondered  whether  the  assessments  were  strictly  going  to  be   used  for  teachers  to  know  about  student  learning  so  they  could  intervene  effectively  or   whether  these  tests  were  going  to  be  used  to  compare  teachers,  schools,  and  districts.  The   teacher  who  introduced  the  topic  said,  “Whether  they’re  doing  this  in  Cedar  County,  I  don’t   really  care  about.”     The  conversation  at  the  table  then  shifted  to  a  discussion  about  the  utility  and   limitations  of  the  test.  For  example,  teachers  began  debating  whether  a  student  who  could   identify  a  productive  writing  strategy  from  a  list  of  choices  would  be  able  to  devise  this   strategy  and  execute  it  well  when  actually  writing.  Teachers  also  talked  about  the  limits  of   the  “on-­‐demand”  approach  to  measuring  student  academic  proficiency.     Noticing  the  animated  discussion,  Deb  walked  over  to  the  table  and  stood  over  the   shoulder  of  the  two  teachers.  She  then  asked  what  was  going  on.   “We’re  just  having  some  issues  about  philosophy,”  Mrs.  Reid  explained,  “and  some   issues  about  practicality.”     Deb  began  to  explain  the  importance  of  writing  test  questions  that  elicited  student   understanding.  While  she  was  talking,  the  teacher  with  her  back  to  Deb  looked  intently  to   the  teachers  across  the  table  and  mouthed,  “I  hate  her.  I  hate  her  so  much.”     Deb  soon  concluded  her  explanation  without  addressing  the  teachers’  concern  that   test  items  did  not  translate  to  proficiency  in  writing.  She  walked  back  up  to  the  front  of  the   room  by  the  projector  screen.     “Let  me  draw  your  conversations  to  a  final  close,”  Deb  said  to  the  entire  group,   holding  up  one  hand  to  signal  for  teachers’  quiet  attention.  Some  (but  not  many)  teachers   reciprocated  the  gesture  to  indicate  that  they  understood.  Momentarily,  most  of  the   239   teachers  quieted  down  and  Deb  continued.  She  asked  teachers  what  challenges  they   encountered  as  they  worked  their  way  through  the  test.  This  was  followed  by  several   seconds  of  silence.     “The  tests  were  hard!”  A  male  teacher  near  the  front  eventually  called  out.     There  was  some  laughter  and  statements  of  general  agreement  among  teachers.   Another  teacher  said  that  she  was  unfamiliar  with  the  standards  at  the  other  grade   levels  and  this  made  the  activity  difficult.  Again,  there  was  a  murmur  of  consent  from   others  in  the  room.     Yet  another  teacher  said  that  she  realized  how  important  directions  were  and  “how   terrible  some  of  my  directions  are!”  The  teacher  laughed  at  this,  as  did  many  of  the  other   teachers  in  the  room.     Still  another  teacher  said  that  the  challenge  was  more  personal.  At  her  table,  the   “vertical”  team  scrutinized  the  test  that  this  teacher  and  her  grade  level  team  had  written.   The  teacher  said  that  while  it  was  easy  to  say  that  one  wanted  feedback,  it  was  another   thing  to  really  mean  it.  “And  feedback  stings,”  the  teacher  said,  “And  I  don’t  want  to  revise.”     “Kids  feel  that  way  all  the  time,”  Deb  said.  She  then  told  the  group  that  students  are   very  sensitive  to  teacher  criticism.   “Some  don’t,”  Mrs.  Reid  whispered  although  no  one  heard  her.  Many  of  the  teachers   were  now  engaged  in  spontaneous  side  discussions.     “Yoo-­‐hoo!”  Deb  called,  again  with  the  same  high-­‐pitched  tone.     “Oh,  I  hate  that,”  Mrs.  Reid  said  in  a  whisper  and  with  a  disgusted  look  on  her  face.     The  preceding  section  of  the  fieldnote  marked  a  shift  from  facilitator  presentation  to   an  facilitator-­‐directed  activity  common  to  the  behaviorist  experience.  It  also  highlights   240   some  the  features  and  limitations  of  these  activities.  First,  teacher  engagement  in  the   activity  could  be  shaped  but  not  controlled  entirely.  Deb  wanted  the  teachers  to  assume  the   role  of  a  student  taking  the  test  and  to  work  through  the  test  accordingly.  In  practice,   teachers  quickly  abandoned  this  perspective  and  talked  about  items  like  the  teachers  they   were.     Second,  teachers  may  resent  and  therefore  resist  the  task  but  they  will  not   completely  neglect  the  work.  Teachers  found  the  task  of  reviewing  the  tests  in  vertical   teams  tedious  and  dull  and  only  exerted  modest  effort  in  completing  the  work.  Nor  was  the   focal  group’s  attention  to  the  task  atypical.  A  quick  glance  around  the  room  would  reveal   teachers  talking  casually,  leaving  the  room  to  use  the  restroom  or  get  a  cup  of  coffee,  or   checking  their  cell  phones.  Like  the  focal  group,  however,  other  teachers  did  not  abandon   the  task  entirely.  Rather,  most  teacher  groups  balanced  attention  to  the  task  with  their  own   priorities  and  worked  at  a  moderate  pace  with  divided  attention.       Because  teachers  resisted  the  work,  Deb  had  to  monitor  the  room  to  encourage   teacher  focus  on  completing  the  task.  At  the  same  time,  this  meant  that  she  tried  to   extinguish  other,  potentially  more  substantive,  teacher  concerns.  When  Deb  came  by  to   check  on  the  focal  teachers,  she  did  so  because  they  appeared  to  be  off  task.  However,  this   is  a  superficial  interpretation  of  what  the  teachers  were  doing.  They  had  larger  concerns   about  the  test  that  extended  beyond  whether  the  items  appropriately  assessed  standards,   had  useful  distractors,  and  correct  formatting.  They  had  concerns  about  the  potential  of   using  tests  results  that  differed  from  the  purpose  stated  at  the  workshop.  They  had   questions  about  how  well  multiple-­‐choice  test  items  translated  to  actual  proficiency.  They   sensed  that  their  districts  had  wavering  commitments.  Yet  in  her  monitoring,  Deb  was  not   241   interested  in  any  of  these  concerns.  She  framed  teacher  questions  in  the  purpose  of  the  task   and  her  responses  flowed  from  this  framing.  In  the  final  section  of  the  fieldnote,  Deb   reorients  the  group  to  the  next  task,  but  has  an  even  greater  challenge  getting  teachers  to   respond  to  her  directives.     Deb  next  announced  that  groups  would  be  configured  back  to  grade-­‐level  teams.  In   this  activity,  grade-­‐level  teams  were  supposed  to  consider  the  feedback  that  both  Deb  and   the  vertical  team  had  provided  about  the  tests  that  the  team  had  written.  Deb  said,  “I  want   you  to  apply  the  thinking  by  me  and  your  vertical  team  to  improve  the  assessment.”     One  teacher  raised  a  hand  and  Deb  called  on  her  to  speak.  The  teacher  was  confused   about  which  color  pen  was  supposed  to  be  used  for  content  and  which  color  for  editing.   Several  teachers  called  out  answers  to  this  question.  Deb  then  told  teachers  to  find  the   members  of  their  grade  level  team  and  to  sit  at  the  appropriate  table  (tables  were  labeled).     Mrs.  Reid  was  already  sitting  at  the  6th  grade  table  and  did  not  need  to  move.  Ms.   Cunningham  came  over  from  another  table  and  joined  Ms.  Reid’s  group,  as  did  four  other   6th  grade  teachers.  They  were  now  expected  to  complete  the  work  that  Deb  had  assigned.     Of  the  six  teachers  at  Mrs.  Reid’s  table,  only  three  were  engaged  in  the  activity.  They   were  looking  over  the  comments  Deb  or  the  vertical  team  made.  Most  (if  not  all)  of  the   comments  were  in  blue,  indicating  the  need  to  make  formatting  and  editing  rather  than   content  changes.  These  teachers  were  having  some  trouble  understanding  what  Deb  or   their  colleagues  meant  by  some  of  the  comments.     In  a  few  moments,  Deb  came  by.  Mrs.  Reid  (who  to  this  point  had  not  been  engaged   in  the  activity)  told  her,  “I  have  a  question  that’s  been  bugging  me  all  morning.  Are  we   assessing  the  standard  only  or  are  we  also  assessing  the  learning  targets?”   242   “It  depends  on  the  standard,”  Deb  explained.  She  told  the  small  group  that  they   would  make  their  decision  based  on  the  standard.  First,  Deb  said  that  the  depth  of   knowledge  was  important.  If  the  standard  was  at  a  DOK  of  2  or  higher,  she  explained,   teachers  must  build  in  test  items  that  assessed  students  in  foundational,  lower-­‐level  skills.     “We  have  never  discussed  whether  these  will  be  assigned  a  grade,”  One  of  the   teachers  said  when  Deb  was  finished.   “Our  intention  is  to  know  what  students  don’t  understand,”  Deb  said.  Then,  she  said,   “Remember,  our  mission  is  to  be  data  informed.”  She  then  said  that  the  goal  with   administering  these  tests  is  to  determine  what  must  be  retaught.  “I’ve  already  said  it  1,000   times,”  Deb  said  of  the  tests’  purpose,  “But  that’s  cool.  You  only  hear  what  you’re  ready  to   hear  and  now  you’re  ready.”     Deb  left  to  monitor  other  groups’  activity.  “She  puts  up  like  75  things  up  there,”  Mrs.   Reid  said  with  disgust  in  her  voice,  “I’m  sorry,  but  you  lose  me  after  one.”     “It’s  not  meant  to  be  a  mark  to  pass  or  fail,”  another  member  of  the  group  said,  “It’s   meant  to  be  a  teaching  tool.  That  makes  total  sense.”   “Our  district  is  ready  to  pull  out,”  another  teacher  added.  She  meant  that  the  district   might  no  longer  participate  in  the  TLC  professional  development  after  this  year.     To  this  point,  the  teachers  had  made  very  little  progress  on  the  assigned  task  of   reading  through  and  responding  to  comments.  They  now  began  to  focus  on  working   through  the  test  with  one  clean  copy  of  the  exam  (on  which  they  would  make  the  final   suggestions  for  changes  in  light  of  the  comments).       “I  want  to  get  out  of  [teaching]  language  arts  like  a  ‘Champion,’”  Mrs.  Reid  said  to  the   other  members  soon  after  the  group  got  settled  and  began  to  focus.     243     Before  the  group  made  much  more  progress,  Mrs.  Monahan,  an  8th  grade  language   arts  teacher  from  Poe,  came  over  to  the  table  and,  still  standing,  she  and  Mrs.  Reid  began  to   talk.  At  this  point,  Ms.  Cunningham  and  two  other  teachers  were  engaged  in  the  work,  one   teacher  was  texting  on  her  phone,  and  Mrs.  Reid  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Monahan  about  the   pending  changes  at  Poe  Middle  School.  After  about  a  10-­‐minute  conversation,  Mrs.   Monahan  returned  to  her  group,  prompting  Mrs.  Reid  to  turn  to  her  group  and  say,  “Sorry,   I’m  a  bad  group  member.”       Mrs.  Reid  did  not,  however,  resume  working.  Rather,  the  teacher  who  had  been   texting  began  talking  to  Mrs.  Reid  about  a  program  that  teachers  were  using  at  her   daughter’s  school  called  “Inventive  Spelling.”  The  two  spent  the  next  few  minutes   discussing  the  relative  merits  of  this  program.       One  of  the  three  teachers  who  was  working  on  the  task,  turned  to  Mrs.  Reid  and  the   woman  who  was  texting  and  said,  “Ms.  Cunningham  thinks  our  second  test  is  a  disaster.”       “Maybe  that’s  because  Deb  rushed  us,”  Mrs.  Reid  suggested.       “Yoo-­‐hoo,”  Deb  called  in  the  high-­‐pitched  voice,  “If  I  may,  it  is  time  for  lunch.”       “How  many  of  you  think  this  was  incredibly  helpful?”  Deb  asked.  Two  or  three   teachers  raised  their  hands.  Deb  then  summarized  the  tasks  that  groups  would  be  working   on  after  lunch.  The  work  would  be  similar  to  what  the  group  had  already  done.  Deb  then   dismissed  the  teachers  and  told  them  to  be  back  and  ready  in  45  minutes.  Teachers  slowly   began  filtering  out  of  the  room.     This  fieldnote  suggests  several  limitations  of  the  behaviorist  approach  to  teacher   learning.  In  this  approach,  teachers  are  grouped  in  large  batches,  assume  a  passive  role  (at   least  at  first)  where  the  trainer  disseminates  information  that  will  be  used  for  completion   244   of  a  task  over  which  teachers  have  little  say.  During  the  completion  of  the  task,  teacher-­‐ teacher  interaction  is  circumscribed  to  task-­‐related  duties  and  the  trainer  assumes  the  role   of  regulator  of  teacher  behavior.  Consequently,  resistance  emerges  and  teachers   progressively  attend  to  their  own  priorities,  most  of  which  will  be  peripheral  or  in   opposition  to  the  requirements  of  the  task.    Because  the  regulatory  capacity  of  the  trainer  is   limited,  teacher  resistance  may  overwhelm  the  trainers’  ability  to  control  it  and  the  activity   devolves  entirely.  A  minority  of  teachers  does  most  of  the  work  and  when  the  time  comes,   the  teachers  are  dismissed  to  go  their  separate  ways.   Summary  Chapter  7     This  chapter  examined  the  perspectives  teachers  formed  in  regard  to  their   opportunities  to  learn  and  began  the  investigation  of  the  qualities  of  these  opportunities.   The  first  half  of  the  chapter  focused  on  the  distinction  between  behaviorist  and  situated   learning  and  made  the  argument  that  teachers’  perspectives  regarding  these  two  types  of   learning  opportunities  differed  sharply.  Typically,  teachers  were  assigned  to  attend   behaviorist  trainings  and  they  offered  no  overt  resistance  to  attending.  Behaviorist   trainings,  therefore,  required  that  reform  activity  be  generated  at  the  district,  county,  or   state  level  but  did  not  demand  a  considerable  local  commitment.       In  contrast,  situated  opportunities  required  entrepreneurship,  viable  social   networks,  and  teacher  commitment.  Entrepreneurship  could  come  from  the  principal,  as  it   did  at  Waller  and  is  detailed  in  Chapter  6.  It  could  also  come  from  the  teachers,  as  it  did  at   both  Middleton  and  Poe.  Regardless  of  the  source,  individual  commitment  and  enthusiasm   was  not  enough.  Entrepreneurs  had  to  have  social  networks  through  which  they  could   support  the  reform.  When  these  networks  were  strong,  as  they  were  for  both  Ms.  Shriver   245   and  Mrs.  Herman,  learning  teams  included  many  members  and  enjoyed  other  benefits  that   will  be  described  in  the  next  chapter.  When  the  network  was  weak,  as  it  was  for  Ms.  Dixon   at  Poe,  the  team  was  small  and  the  persistence  of  the  team  was  tenuous.     Both  entrepreneurship  and  social  networks  were  necessary,  but  they  were  not   sufficient  in  most  cases.  With  few  exceptions  (Mrs.  Reid  and  Ms.  Cunningham)  teachers  had   personal  (and  often  idiosyncratic)  reasons  for  committing  to  situated  opportunities  to   learn.  Thus,  situated  learning  required  entrepreneurship,  social  networks,  and  teachers   who  found  personal  value  in  participating  that  extended  beyond  feelings  of  social   obligation.       The  second  section  of  the  chapter  used  the  distinction  between  behaviorist  and   situated  learning  to  provide  an  overview  of  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn  at  Waller,   Middleton,  and  Poe.  This  overview  supports  the  contention  that  situated  learning   opportunities  are  more  difficult  to  secure  than  behaviorist  opportunities.    Even  though  the   schools  were  selected  for  this  study  because  of  their  involvement  in  the  FAME  program  and   opportunities  for  situated  learning  are  likely  overrepresented,  most  of  the  learning  that   teachers  engaged  in  was  behaviorist.  Most  of  the  teachers  at  the  three  schools  had  no   involvement  with  situated  learning  opportunities  and  those  that  did  usually  had   participation  only  in  the  FAME  program.  Behaviorist  learning  continued  to  be  the  primary   vehicle  through  which  schools  secured  teacher  learning  about  reforms.     The  final  part  of  the  chapter  illustrated  the  basic  features  of  the  behaviorist   experience.  It  made  the  argument  that  teachers  were  often  resistant  in  their  behavior   during  these  sessions  even  though  they  did  not  resist  attending  the  trainings  themselves.   This  resistance  stemmed  from  the  treatment  typical  of  behaviorist  trainings.  Namely,   246   teachers  were  treated  as  school  children.  Teachers  assumed  a  passive  role  of  information   processers,  completed  predetermined  tasks  not  of  their  choosing,  and  were  sometimes   disciplined  for  perceived  misconducted.  Teachers  resisted  the  trainings  through   inattention  to  the  task  and  using  the  time  at  the  trainings  to  pursue  their  own,  unrelated   priorities.  In  sum,  behaviorist  opportunities  could  secure  attendance  but  not  commitment   and  teachers  often  left  these  sessions  having  learned  very  little,  a  point  that  I  will  return  to   in  the  next  chapter.                                     247   CHAPTER  8:  Situated  Teacher  Learning  and  Teacher  Sensemaking  of  Reforms   Introduction   This  research  set  out  to  understand  how  teachers  made  sense  of  the  multiple   reforms  they  encountered.  To  begin  the  inquiry,  it  was  important  to  understand  how   teachers  came  into  contact  with  reforms  and  how  reform  ideas  pressed  in  upon  teachers   once  a  connection  was  established.   The  first  two  findings  chapters  considered  the  types  of  instructional  reforms,  the   multiple  and  varied  routes  through  which  reforms  arrived  at  the  schools,  the  principals’   impact  on  reform  and  how  principals  affected  teachers’  connections  to  policy  both  across   and  within  schools.  The  first  findings  chapter  suggested  that  non-­‐mandatory  reforms   (particularly  those  which  arranged  teacher  learning  in  situated  contexts)  required  reform   activity  throughout  the  system.  Therefore,  these  reforms  created  a  web  of  mutual  reliance   and  that  these  reforms  required  an  entrepreneur  to  generate  support  for  a  reform  through   his  or  her  social  connections.  The  latter  of  these  two  chapters  explored  the  potential  for   principals  to  serve  as  entrepreneurs  and  noted  that,  while  principals  were  potentially  well   suited  to  be  effective  reform  entrepreneurs,  they  often  lacked  the  necessary  knowledge,   beliefs,  and  priorities  or  the  social  connections  to  make  a  reform  work.     The  last  chapter  considered  the  teachers’  perspectives  more  closely  and  contributed   to  the  findings  of  the  previous  two  chapters.  Namely,  in  addition  to  entrepreneurship  and   social  connections,  teachers  needed  to  have  their  own  reasons  for  participating  in  reforms   that  featured  situated  learning.  In  contrast,  teachers  were  routinely  assigned  to  reforms   with  behaviorist  experiences  and  did  not  challenge  administrative  assignment  to  attend   these  trainings.  The  chapter  also  demonstrated  that  behaviorist  experiences  were  more   248   common  than  situated  experiences  and  that  many  teachers  were  scarcely  involved  in   learning  about  reforms  in  either  behaviorist  or  situated  experiences.  In  other  words,   reforms  were  not  pressing  in  on  many  teachers  as  expressed  through  opportunities  to   learn.  Finally,  the  last  chapter  illustrated  that  behaviorist  learning  opportunities  were   significantly  limited  in  their  ability  to  carry  reform  messages  and  that  teacher  resistance   did  surface  at  the  level  of  actual  participation  in  the  trainings.     This  chapter  has  three  purposes.  First,  it  will  examine  teachers’  situated   opportunities  to  learn  and  contrast  these  experiences  against  the  behaviorist  opportunities   described  in  the  previous  chapter.  It  will  also  detail  what  teachers  learned  from  situated   and  behaviorist  learning  opportunities  and  will  also  consider  the  utility  of  teacher  learning   primarily  from  reform  documents  as  was  common  for  the  two  mandatory  reforms  in  the   study.  I  will  conclude  the  chapter  with  an  examination  of  how  teachers  made  sense  of  and   reconciled  multiple  and  potentially  contradictory  instructional  reforms.     Inside  Situated  Opportunities  to  Learn   As  demonstrated  in  the  previous  chapter,  behaviorist  opportunities  to  learn  left   much  to  be  desired.  Typically,  these  opportunities  to  learn  cast  teachers  in  a  passive  role,   insulted  teachers’  professionalism,  and  misrepresented  the  ideas  of  instructional  reforms.   In  contrast,  reforms  with  situated  learning  which  depended  on  teachers’  active  inquiry  into   reform  ideas  in  light  of  the  complexities  of  practice  and  located  learning  at  or  near  the   school  site  had  promise  to  be  more  robust  learning  experiences  for  teachers.  But  were   they?  This  section  considers  the  single  non-­‐mandated  instructional  reform—FAME—that   was  common  to  each  of  the  three  schools  in  the  study  and  seeks  to  answer  the  following   questions:  What  were  the  defining  characteristics  of  the  formal  opportunities  for  teachers   249   to  learn  about  formative  assessment  at  each  of  the  schools  in  the  study?  What  differences   existed  across  schools  in  the  qualities  of  these  learning  opportunities  and  to  what  can  we   accredit  these  differences?   Team  Focus   Of  course,  sensemaking  could  only  occur  if  learning  teams  focused  on  the  reform   ideas,  and,  despite  ample  time  for  each  of  the  teams  to  meet  over  the  course  of  the  year,  the   teams  varied  greatly  in  their  meeting  focus.  For  example,  at  Poe  Ms.  Dixon  was  unable  to   sustain  the  team’s  attention  on  formative  assessment  and  she  herself  was  often   preoccupied  with  other  pressing  issues  (e.g.,  the  school  schedule  and  governance   structure).  At  other  times,  the  principal,  Mr.  Delancey,  would  come  in  and  commandeer  the   formative  assessment  meeting  and  its  purpose.  As  a  consequence  of  the  team’s  divided   priorities  and  Mr.  Delancey’s  intrusions,  the  team  spent  only  a  minority  of  the  meeting  time   talking  about  formative  assessment.  Furthermore,  the  commitment  to  formative   assessment  eroded  as  the  year  progressed.  By  the  team’s  fourth  and  final  learning  team   meeting  of  the  year,  the  group  talked  about  formative  topics  less  than  a  third  of  the  time.     Not  all  of  this  lack  of  focus  can  be  attributed  to  Mr.  Delancey.  The  group  had  trouble   getting  on  or  staying  on  formative  assessment  topics  as  the  following  excerpt  reveals.     Ms.  Dixon:  We're  going  to  share  formative  assessments  that  we've  been  using  and       then  if  we  have  any  time—   Mrs.  Reid:  Is  this  all  of  them?  (She  is  referring  to  the  envelope  that  she  has  been  stuffing       for  administrative  purposes  during  the  meeting.  The  envelope  contains  the  form       that  indicates  the  she  intends  to  return  to  Poe  the  following  year).   Ms.  Dixon  (continuing  her  sentence):  Left...yeah.  I  put  them  all  together  (speaking  of     250     the  envelops).       Mrs.  Reid  (smiling):  Can  I  see  who's  returning  next  year?     Ms.  Dixon:  No.     Mrs.  Reid:  As  if  I  need  to  look.  (Mrs.  Reid  gets  up  with  envelope  and  leaves)     Ms.  Dixon:  Ted's  coming  back.     Mrs.  Monahan:  How  old  is  he?  He  has  to  be  in  his  forties,  right?     Ms.  Dixon:  I  would  say  mid  forties,  but  I  have  no  idea  how  old  he  is.     Mrs.  Monahan:  He  has  young  kids.       Ms.  Cunningham:  Yeah.   Ms.  Dixon:  He  didn't  start  teaching...like,  right  away.  Like  I  didn't  start  teaching  right       away  either.  But,  um,  by  the  way  he  was  talking  he  wasn't  sure  if  he  was  going  to       be  a  teacher  and  he  was  like  actually  looking  into  being  a  prison  guard  for  a       while.  He  was  thinking  about  doing  that.       Ms.  Cunningham:  I  think  he  started  being  a  prison  guard  and  then  he  switched.       Ms.  Dixon:  Was  it?  Was  that  what  it  was?     Ms.  Cunningham:  I  think  so.   Ms.  Dixon:  Because  living  in  Cedarville,  when  Cedarville  opened  that  new  prison  then           all  of  his  buddies  getting  good  high  paying  jobs  and  stuff,  so  I  can  understand       when  you’re  young  and  you're  like,  "Oh,  yeah.  I  didn't  go  to  college..."  Well,       although  I  think  now  to  be  a  guard  you  have  to  do  a  little  bit  of  college.     This  comment  is  followed  by  several  seconds  of  silence.   In  contrast  to  Poe,  Waller’s  learning  team—led  by  the  school  principal,  Ms.   Shriver—was  strongly  focused  on  formative  assessment  topics.  The  team  spent  almost  all   251   of  it’s  time  learning  about  or  discussing  implementation  of  formative  assessment  practices.   The  team  typically  adhered  to  an  agenda  that  Ms.  Shriver  constructed  for  each  meeting  that   allowed  for  ample  time  for  team  members  to  discuss  enactment  of  formative  assessment   practices  and  to  focus  on  new  components  of  formative  assessment  practices  and  prepare   for  further  enactment  of  new  practices.         Although  less  focused  than  at  Waller,  Middleton’s  learning  team  meetings  were   more  like  Waller’s  than  they  were  like  Poe’s.  Middleton  meetings,  led  by  Mrs.  Herman,  were   mostly  focused  and  the  team  spent  76%  of  its  time  focused  on  formative  assessment  topics.   An  overview  of  team  focus  is  included  in  Table  8.1.     Table  8.1.  Overview  of  Learning  Team  Meeting  Focus   School   Poe   Waller   Middleton   Percentage  of  Time  Dedicated  to   Formative  Assessment   33%   89%   76%   Percentage  of  Time  Dedicated  to  Other   Topics  and  Concerns   67%   11%   24%   Total   100%   100%   100%     Collective  Sensemaking:  Developing  a  Group  Perspective   One  of  the  great  potential  benefits  of  situated  learning  is  that  it  may  afford  teachers   the  opportunity  to  make  sense  of  a  given  reform  and  to  work  out  what  the  reform   messages  mean  for  their  instructional  practice  (e.g.,  Coburn,  2001;  Spillane,  2004).  This   section  examines  the  opportunities  teachers  had  to  make  sense  of  reforms  during  FAME   learning  team  meetings.     Each  of  the  three  learning  teams  worked  out  the  meaning  of  formative  assessment   in  their  group  conversations.  For  instance,  the  following  abridged  episode  from  Middleton’s   learning  team  exemplifies  how  the  meaning  of  learning  targets  (a  main  component  of  the   formative  process)  was  shaped  through  group  interaction.  As  the  conversation  begins,  the   252   learning  team  coach,  Mrs.  Herman,  has  asked  the  members  to  share  how  they  have  enacted   learning  targets  since  the  last  meeting.     Mr.  St.  Johns:    I  linked  a  lot  of  my  Next  Generation  [Science  Standards]  stuff  to  some     attempts  at  the  learning  targets.  You  know,  it's  funny,  that  little  thing  I  did   was  hanging  up  [learning  targets].  Kids  are  really  keying  up  on  that.  If  I  don't   have  them  up  right  away,  they  are  "Hey,  you  don't  have  new  ones  up."   Mrs.  Herman:    That’s  good.  So  when  we  think  about  that  point  [about]  targets  not     being  wallpaper  objectives  where  they  are  not  for  your  kids  but  [rather]  they   are  looking  at  them  and  using  them.   Mr.  St.  Johns:  And  we  use  a  lot  of  reflection,  whether  we  are  there  yet  or  not.  What     we  need  to  do  to  get  there  and  stuff.     Mrs.  Van  Fleet:  Exactly.  Even  if  it's  not  a  GLEC  (grade  level  content  expectation),     I  like  it.   Mrs.  Herman:  Ok.  Somebody  else?   Mrs.  Miles:  My  goal  was  just  to  start  with  the  learning  targets,  and  putting  them     up  as  wallpaper.  I'm  not  going  to  lie.  I'm  just  starting  the  process….I  know   what  I  need  to  do  to  get  the  kids  more  actively  involved  in  them.  I  feel  like   I've  at  least  started  the  process  since  the  beginning  of  the  year.   Mrs.  Herman:    Baby  steps  for  sure.   Mrs.  Van  Fleet:  Mine  are  posted  up  but  they  are  more  wallpaper  except  that  the  kids     have  individual  copies  and  I  always  address  it  at  the  beginning  of  the  unit   with  pretests  and  then  they  assess  where  they  are  and  do  the  target  and  then   I  try  to  hit  it  three  times.  So  mid  time  I'll  hand  them  back  out,  "What  do  you   253   think?  Where  are  you  at?"  And  then  with  the  post-­‐test.  I  think  I  really  need  to   modify  the  form.  I  really  like  Mrs.  Quincy's  but  I  haven't  figured  out  how  to   modify  that  in  yet.  (To  Mrs.  Quincy)  Kids  like  yours...so…   Mrs.  Miles  (To  Mrs.  Quincy):  How  do  you  do  yours?   Mrs.  Quincy:  I  just  put  them  on  a  sheet  of  paper—the  targets  for  the  unit—and  then     they  self-­‐assess,  with  4  being  mastery,  and  then  3-­‐2-­‐1.  And  then  we  do  a   beginning,  in  the  middle,  and  the  end  the  way  Mrs.  Van  Fleet  described  it.   Mrs.  Van  Fleet:  I  like  the  way  you  have  them  posted  in  your  room…It’s  very  clear.  It’s     not  wallpaper.  It  is  not  overloaded  with  stuff.  I  can  see  it  from  the  hallway   when  I'm  looking  toward  your  room  and  you  can  see  what  they  are  talking   about  and  I  look  at  mine  and  think  it's  too  many  words,  it's  too  small.  I'm  not   happy  with  it.   Mrs.  Miles:  I  think  the  subject  depends,  too.  For  English  I  know  on  some  of  them,   how  can  I  make  it  any  shorter?   Ms.  Van  Fleet:  I  know.  I  know.  And  I  have  that  issue  too  with  social  studies.  It's  like     "How  do  I  change  all  these?"  And  when  a  target  is  30  words  long  you  know   [like]  a  GLEC,  how  do  I  make  it  different?     Mrs.  Miles:  And  you  don't  want  the  kids  to  feel  threatened  when  they  are  doing  it.     Just  tell  me  how  you  feel  about  what  you  know  and  don't  know.  And  that's   great  because  it  helps  me  teach  you.  Your  grade  is  not  based  on  what  you  put   right  here.  Just  to  help  me  know  where  you  are  at.   Ms.  Carroll:  What  were  you  saying,  Mrs.  Miles?   Mrs.  Miles:  [Mrs.  Van  Fleet]  should  look  at  the  Common  Core  flipbook…You  might  be     254   able  to  get  some  ideas  from  that  even  though  it's  English.  But  it's  just...I  like  a   lot  of  the  wording…It  might  give  you  some  ideas  about  how  to  shorten  what   you  have  down.   Mrs.  Quincy:  My  GLECs,  I  actually  do  Common  Core,  but  are...I  actually,  take  pieces     out  of  each  one,  I  don't  expect  to  get  the  whole  standard  in  one  learning   target.  It  wouldn't  work.     Mrs.  Van  Fleet:  That's  a  thought,  too.     Mrs.  Miles:  Oh,  yeah.  I  mean  my  research  learning  per  standard...I  mean  I  have     Probably…well  on  the  board  right  now  there's  probably  almost  10  targets   just  for  that.   Ms.  Carroll:  And  you  took  the  standards  then  and  broke  them  down  and     chunked  them  into  something  smaller?   Mrs.  Miles:    Yes.   This  excerpt  contains  several  normative  statements  that  helped  the  group   collectively  define  the  characteristics  of  learning  targets.  First,  learning  targets  should  not   be  “wallpaper”  objectives  that  escape  student  notice,  but  should  rather  be  something  that   teachers  encourage  students  to  think  about  during  the  course  of  their  learning  to  guide   student  effort.  For  this  purpose,  learning  targets  should  be  clearly  displayed  and  teachers   should  arrange  some  activities  that  require  students  to  engage  with  the  learning  target  and   think  about  their  own  progress  in  relation  to  it.     Furthermore,  learning  targets  can  be  “linked”  to  other  instructional  reforms.  Mr.  St.   Johns,  Mrs.  Van  Fleet,  Mrs.  Miles,  Ms.  Carroll,  and  Mrs.  Quincy  all  mentioned  that  they  used   learning  targets  with  the  content  standards  for  their  subject  area  and  grade  level.  Mrs.   255   Quincy  and  Mrs.  Miles  went  further  to  suggest  that  the  content  standards  needed  to  be   translated  into  student  friendly  language  and  “chunked”  in  digestible  pieces  for  student   consumption.         Dozens  of  episodes  at  Middleton  learning  team  meetings  were  of  this  character— group  members  constructing  meaning  of  formative  assessment  through  interaction.  Group   sensemaking  also  happened  when  confusion  or  concern  arose  around  how  reform   practices  would  be  enacted  or  what  these  practices’  impact  on  students  would  be.  In  the   same  learning  team  meeting,  for  example,  the  group  discussed  the  appropriate  amount  of   learning  targets  students  should  be  presented  with  at  one  time  and  the  potential  danger  of   breaking  content  standards  down  to  the  point  that  students  lost  a  sense  of  the  overall   purpose  of  the  unit.     Mrs.  Miles:  Is  there  a  number  of  targets  that  you  feel  shouldn't  go  over?  Or  give  to     them  at  one  time?  I'm  just  curious.   Mrs.  Johnson:  It  seems  like  we  talked  about  that  last  time,  because  I  remember…     that  my  thinking  was  to  make  it  very  simple  and  break  it  down  a  lot.  And   then  I  went  away  from  the  meeting  thinking  I  need  to  condense  them.     Ms.  Carroll  (agreeing):  So  [that]  it  is  not  so  overwhelming.   Mrs.  Johnson:  I'm  sure  science  is  different  than  math.  So  they  can  explain  an  overall     concept  and  how  they  all  go  together  as  opposed  to  one  little  thing,  one  little   thing,  one  little  thing.     Mrs.  Van  Fleet:  And  the  strands  that  were  in  social  studies...like  if  I  have  [standards]     4.4.1  through  4.7  is  like  the  supporting  things  I  use  to  teach  that  strand.  And  I   thought  that  I  had  to  target  all  of  those.  Kids  look  at  it  and  are  like,  "No,  this  is   256   too  much."  But  then  if  I'm  doing  4.4  it  covers  all  of  that.  It's  all  in  there.  So   how  do  I  break  that  down  so  it’s  smaller  and  I  don't  stay  at  4.4  for  four   months  trying  to  teach  little  sections  at  a  time?     Mrs.  Herman:  There  are  so  many  differences  just  by  content  area.  One  of  the  things     that  [a  book  she  has  ordered  for  the  group]  recommends  is  that  you  have  one   learning  target  per  lesson.  Which  means  Mrs.  Miles  would  say,  “Today,  this  is   the  one  learning  target  that  we  are  really  focusing  on.  Even  though  in  our   research  [unit]  we're  getting  to  all  ten  of  these.”  So  kids  see  the  big  picture   but  [each]  day  she's  pointing  out  the  smaller  picture.   Mrs.  Johnson:  That  is  what  they  did  at  Clear  Lake  [at  the  Standards  Based  Grading     school  visit]  when  we  went  there.  Everyday  they  had  this  thing  that  they   started  with  and  it  always  started  with  a  learning  target  for  the  day.       In  this  excerpt,  teachers  collectively  recognized  a  problem  (students  and  teachers   can  get  bogged  down  in  isolated  learning  targets  and  lose  sight  of  the  larger  concepts)  and   discuss  how  it  affects  their  work.  The  learning  team  coach  cites  a  source  that  might  help   them  solve  the  dilemma.  Namely,  teachers  can  focus  students  on  a  new  learning  target  each   day  at  the  same  time  reminding  them  of  the  “bigger  picture”  so  neither  the  teacher  nor  the   students  lose  sight  of  the  larger  concepts.  A  second  teacher  confirms  the  merit  of  this   suggestion,  again  bridging  to  another  instructional  reform  at  Middleton—Standards  Based   Grading.       Learning  team  meetings  at  Waller  also  included  dozens  of  examples  of  teachers   collectively  making  sense  of  formative  assessment  through  conversations.  Each  of  the   meetings  featured  a  strategy  (e.g.,  learning  targets,  eliciting  student  understanding,   257   feedback)  and  teachers  worked  out  what  each  of  these  practices  meant  in  their  interaction   with  one  another.  In  contrast  to  Middleton,  the  Waller  team  was  more  likely  to  discuss  the   principles  of  formative  assessment  and  its  underlying  logic.  In  the  following  vignette,  three   of  members  of  the  Waller  FAME  team  discussed  what  constituted  formative  practice.  Ms.   Shriver  (the  school  principal  and  learning  team  coach)  and  Mr.  Bridges  assumed  the  role  of   expert,  while  Mrs.  Jackson  (a  second-­‐year  teacher  in  her  first  year  on  the  learning  team)   asked  questions  about  the  meaning  of  formative  assessment.   Ms.  Shriver:     There  are  some  [informal  assessments]  that  are  going  to  be  a  little   quicker,  but  again,  you  know,  what  is  the  purpose?  Is  it  attached  to  the   learning  target?  You  know,  you  might  have  a  whole  class  period  where  you're   having  kids  compare  their  work  to  exemplars  where  they're  looking  at  the   proficient  exemplar  and  you  have  maybe  some  novice  exemplars.  "Ok,  well,  I   know  I'm  here.  I  am  not  sure  how  I  can  get  here."  And  then  maybe  they  meet   with  you,  or  they  conference,  or  they  peer  conference.  So,  you  know,  it's  a   layered  approach.     Mrs.  Jackson:    So  any  approach  can  be  used  as  a  formative  assessment?   Ms.  Shriver:       Yeah.  I  think  so.  I  think  it's  how  you  use  it  and  how  the  kids  use  it.  Just   because  we  give  exit  cards  doesn't  mean  that  it's  formative  assessment.   Mr.  Bridges:     If  you  don't  use  it  in  your  instruction.   Ms.  Shriver:     You  don't  use  it  and  the  kids  don't  use  it.  It's  just,  "I'm  checking  to  see   if  they  can  recall  two  facts  about  the  American  Revolution."  Ok.  Well,  that's  a   check  for  understanding,  but  that's  not  a  formative  assessment  in  our  kind  of   258   work  with  formative  assessment.  It's  a  check  for  understanding.  Definitely.   Those  are  really  interim  benchmark  assessments.     This  interaction  reveals  many  of  the  underlying  principles  of  formative  assessment   as  the  Waller  learning  team  had  made  sense  of  it.  First,  formative  assessment  was  a   “layered  approach”  that  required  students  to  reflect  on  the  quality  of  their  learning  in   reference  to  the  learning  target.  Teachers  should  then  arrange  to  meet  with  students  to   conference  with  them  about  their  work.  For  members  of  the  Waller  learning  team,  then,   formative  assessment  was  a  series  of  complex  processes  involving  standards  for  learning,   student  reflection  on  academic  progress,  and  teacher  and  student  interaction.  Thus,   artifacts  were  not  inherently  formative.  They  must  be  used  in  a  formative  manner.     These  are  but  a  small  sampling  of  the  dozens  of  similar  conversations  that  learning   team  members  at  both  Waller  and  Middleton  had  and  how,  through  extended  interactions,   these  teachers  collectively  constructed  meanings  of  what  formative  assessment  was  and   what  it  meant  for  their  classrooms.       Poe’s  learning  team  meetings  differed  sharply  from  those  at  either  Waller  or   Middleton.  Interactions  about  formative  assessment  were  greatly  restricted,  primarily   because  the  team  lacked  focus.  However,  lack  of  focus  was  not  the  groups’  only  roadblock   to  sensemaking.  The  structure  of  even  the  more  focused  sections  of  each  meeting   encouraged  a  certain  type  of  interaction  that  both  misrepresented  the  instructional  reform   and  circumscribed  teachers’  interactions  surrounding  it.     Namely,  Ms.  Dixon,  the  team’s  coach,  encouraged  team  members  to  bring  in   “formative  assessments”  that  they  had  used  to  check  for  student  understanding.  Each   teacher  would  present  at  length  about  a  formative  assessment  tool  they  had  used  and   259   describe  how  they  had  enacted  its  use.  The  other  team  members  would  then  ask  a  question   or  two  about  the  specifics  of  the  tool  their  colleague  had  presented  and  the  group  would   move  on  to  the  next  presenter.  Thus,  interaction  among  group  members  about  matters   salient  to  formative  assessment  was  rare.  The  following  excerpt  is  an  exception  albeit  a   limited  one.     Mrs.  Monahan:  I  needed  to  make  sure  that  [students]  knew  what  a  community  was.     The  parts  of  the  community.  You  know,  just  different  things  like  that.  And  we   talked  about  a  community  garden  and  things  like  that.   Mrs.  Reid  (suppressing  a  yawn):  So  does  that  count  as...   Mrs.  Monahan:  Kind  of  like  a  graphing  formative  assessment.   Mrs.  Reid:  Is  it  like  the  old  KWL  chart?  Like  you're  trying  to  access  their  background     knowledge.  Is  that  the  kind  of  formative  assessment  that  would  be?   Mrs.  Monahan:  Yeah.  Kind  of.  I'm  checking  for  understanding.   Ms.  Cunningham:  Is  a  KWL  a  formative  assessment?   Mrs.  Monahan:  It  is.   Mrs.  Reid:  Yeah.   Ms.  Dixon  nods  her  head  in  the  affirmative   What  made  a  tool  formative  was  never  explained  other  than  that  a  formative   assessment  could  presumably  be  used  to  check  for  student  understanding.  Nor  did  the   topic  of  formative  assessment  come  up  very  often.  Again,  team  members  simply  presented   the  tools  they  had  used  to  check  for  understanding  since  the  team  last  met.     Even  in  this  very  limited  focus  that  misrepresented  the  principles  of  formative   assessment,  the  tools  that  learning  team  members  presented  were  often  so  specific  to  the   260   discipline  that  the  teachers  taught  that  they  were  of  very  little  use  to  the  rest  of  the  group.   For  instance,  Ms.  Dixon  presented  for  about  10  minutes  on  how  she  had  used  a  sheet  of   paper  to  have  students  cut  out  shapes  that  they  could  then  fold  to  construct  three-­‐ dimensional  shapes.  Ms.  Dixon  had  hoped  that  the  shapes  would  help  students  think  about   surface  area  and  volume  and  this  tool  likely  would  have  been  familiar  to  most  math   teachers.  However,  none  of  the  other  team  members  taught  math  and  they  became   confused  about  how  Ms.  Dixon  had  used  the  squares  and  for  what  purpose.  The  team   engaged  in  a  lively  discussion  about  the  math  involved  and  how  the  shapes  could  be   constructed.  During  this  time  Ms.  Dixon  tried  to  clarify  the  purpose,  logistics,  and   mathematical  reasoning  involved.  At  the  end  of  Ms.  Dixon’s  explanation,  Mrs.  Reid   concluded,  “No  wonder  [students]  can’t  do  it.  That’s  confusing.”  At  which  point,  the  group   moved  on  to  the  next  presenter.     At  another  time,  Mrs.  Monahan  presented  on  how  she  had  used  a  plot  chart  to  get   students  to  think  about  narrative  structure  but  she  had  to  stop  halfway  through  to  draw  a   plot  chart  for  Ms.  Dixon  who  did  not  know  what  a  plot  chart  was.  Mrs.  Monahan  quickly   drew  the  chart  and  continued  on  until  the  group  got  sidetracked  when  members  began   talking  about  a  particularly  troubled  student  with  whom  they  were  familiar.   The  group  did  not  couch  these  tools  in  discussions  about  the  larger  strategies  and   principles  of  the  formative  assessment  process  as  reformers  would  have  hoped.  The  Poe   learning  team  came  to  understand  formative  assessment  as  a  collection  of  tools  that  one   could  accumulate  to  make  student  learning  more  visible.  Formative  assessment  for  these   teachers  was  not  an  interconnected  process  that  involved  both  teachers  and  students  in   261   setting  goals,  eliciting  student  understanding,  providing  actionable  feedback,  and  making   instructional  decisions.     Summary   Situated  learning  opportunities  as  exemplified  by  participation  in  the  FAME   program  varied  considerably  across  the  three  teams.  Two  of  the  teams—Waller  and   Middleton—were  able  to  focus  on  formative  assessment  topics  and  their  patterns  of   interaction  promoted  active  sensemaking  by  each  of  the  members.  Furthermore,  in  large   part  due  to  both  Mrs.  Herman  and  Ms.  Shriver’s  expertise  the  interaction  led  to  collective   understanding  that  aligned  well  with  reformers’  intent.  In  contrast,  the  Poe  learning  team   struggled  to  stay  focused  on  formative  assessment.  Meetings  were  often  commandeered  by   the  school’s  principal  and  the  teachers  themselves  had  difficulty  staying  on  task  when  left   on  their  own.  When  the  team  did  manage  to  focus  on  formative  assessment,  the  task  of   sharing  “formative  assessments”  fundamentally  misrepresented  the  reform  as  a  collection   of  tools  teachers  could  use  to  check  for  understanding.  Additionally,  even  in  this  highly   circumscribed  and  errant  endeavor,  teachers’  tools  were  most  often  so  specific  to  their   discipline  as  to  be  of  very  little  use  to  the  rest  of  the  group.   Middleton’s  and  Waller’s  efforts,  while  more  promising,  also  highlight  some   complications.  First,  situated  learning  relied  on  local  expertise.  Both  the  Middleton  and   Waller  coaches  were  also  “regional  leads”  and  experts  in  the  formative  assessment  process.   They  were  thus  able  to  shape  sensemaking  in  ways  that  agreed  with  reformer’s  intent.   Sensemaking  would  have  likely  looked  much  different  had  it  not  been  for  these  two   coaches  (neither  school  would  likely  have  had  a  team  at  all)  and  the  meetings  quite   262   possibly  could  have  resembled  the  meetings  at  Poe.  In  situated  contexts,  errant  ideas  can   take  root  if  there  is  no  expertise  to  gainsay  them.     Situated  learning  was  also  difficult  to  manage  even  with  an  expert  leading  the  way.   FAME  was  an  incredibly  complicated  reform  and  reformers  expected  teachers  to  come  to   understand  that  formative  assessment  was  an  intricate  process  involving  the  orchestration   of  components  (e.g.,  learning  targets,  student  evidence,  instructional  decisions),  strategies   (e.g.,  activating  prior  knowledge,  self-­‐assessment,  peer-­‐assessment),  and  tools  (e.g.,  concept   maps,  exit  tickets,  4-­‐corners)  that  teachers  would  somehow  manage  in  order  to  establish   the  “assessment  loop”  where  both  teachers  and  students  were  in  constant  interaction   about  what  is  to  be  learned,  how  well  the  student  was  progressing  toward  this  learning   objective,  and  how  the  student  could  take  action  to  move  closer  to  mastery.     The  complexity  presented  a  daunting  task  even  for  expert  coaches.  At  Middleton,  for   example,  Mrs.  Herman  was  successful  at  having  teachers  make  sense  of  individual   components,  but  the  group  rarely,  if  ever,  talked  about  formative  assessment  as  a   comprehensive  process  for  teaching  and  learning.  At  Waller,  the  team  was  more  successful   at  uncovering  and  discussing  the  principles  of  formative  assessment  and  what  it  meant  to   teach  formatively.  Even  so,  conversations  did  not  encompass  the  totality  of  the  formative   assessment  process.  This  suggests  that  the  complexity  of  a  reform  can  extend  beyond  even   favorable  situated  opportunities  to  learn  about  it.     Reform  Types,  Connection  Mechanisms,  and  Opportunities  to  Learn   Before  venturing  into  the  connection  between  opportunity  to  learn  and  actual   learning,  it  is  appropriate  to  summarize  several  of  the  findings  regarding  the  patterns  that   emerged  in  the  study  regarding  reform  types,  connection  decisions,  and  characteristics  of   263   learning  opportunities.  Recall  from  the  previous  discussion  that  I  created  four  reform   typologies  (mandated,  state  supported,  ISD/district  broad  coverage,  and  ISD/district  select   coverage),  three  ways  to  connect  teachers  to  voluntary  reforms  (assignment,  solicitation,   and  voluntary  call)  to  which  I  am  now  adding  a  forth  (involuntary  enrollment),  and  three   learning  types  (reform  documents,  situated,  behaviorist).     First,  teachers  were  connected  differently  to  different  types  of  reform.  Those   reforms  with  broad  coverage  (i.e.,  mandated  reforms,  ISD/district  broad  coverage   programs)  connected  teachers  to  reform  through  involuntary  enrollment  or  assignment.   For  reforms  that  had  more  modest  ambitions  for  coverage  (i.e.,  state  supported  programs,   ISD/district  select  coverage  programs)  teachers  were  either  solicited  to  participate  or  they   responded  to  a  voluntary  call.     Learning  opportunities  also  varied  by  reform  type.  With  one  exception  (UDL)   teachers  were  not  assigned  to  participate  in  reforms  that  employed  situated  learning.  For   these  reforms,  entrepreneurs  (Ms.  Shriver,  Mrs.  Herman,  Ms.  Dixon)  solicited  participation   or  issued  a  voluntary  call,  or  both.  By  extension,  then,  reforms  intended  to  affect  a  wide   range  of  teachers—whether  the  reforms  were  mandated  or  ISD/district  broad  coverage   programs—were  not  accompanied  by  situated  opportunities  to  learn.  When  districts   wanted  to  accommodate  many  teachers  in  broad  coverage  programs,  they  used  more   efficient  behaviorist  trainings  to  do  so.  State  mandated  reforms  relied  mostly  on   dissemination  of  reform  documents.  A  summary  of  these  patterns  is  provided  in  Table  8.2.             264   Table  8.2:  Reform  types,  Connection  Mechanisms,  and  Opportunities  to  Learn   Reform     CCSS   Educator  Evaluation   FAME   CITW   TLC   CCR   UDL   SBG   Reform  Type     Mandated     Mandated     Voluntary:  State  Supported     Voluntary:  Broad  Coverage   Voluntary:  Broad  Coverage   Voluntary:  Select  Coverage   Voluntary:  Select  Coverage   Voluntary:  Select  Coverage   Connection  Decision   Involuntary  Enrollment   Involuntary  Enrollment   Solicitation/Voluntary  Call   Assignment   Assignment   Assignment   Assignment   Solicitation/Voluntary  Call   Learning  Type   Reform  Documents   Reform  Documents   Situated   Behaviorist   Behaviorist   Behaviorist   Situated     Situated     Opportunity  to  Learn  and  Teacher  Learning     So  far  I  have  described  how  behaviorist  and  situated  learning  opportunities  differed   fundamentally  from  one  another  and  that  situated  learning  opportunities  were  themselves   variable  across  the  three  sites.  This  section  answers  questions  about  what  teachers  made  of   these  opportunities  and  the  impact  opportunities  to  learn  had  on  how  well  teachers  knew   and  could  talk  about  reforms.   Situated  Opportunities  to  Learn  and  Teacher  Learning     FAME.  The  FAME  program  at  each  of  the  three  sites  provides  evidence  about  what   teachers  learned  from  behaviorist  and  situated  opportunities.  Notably,  FAME  was   primarily,  but  not  exclusively,  situated.  In  fact,  the  teams’  first  exposure  to  the  program  was   behaviorist.  At  the  beginning  of  the  year  each  of  the  teachers  attended  a  regional  FAME   learning  team  launch  in  which  one  trainer  led  a  group  of  100  teachers  or  more  through  the   design  of  the  FAME  program  and  an  overview  of  the  entire  formative  assessment  process.       Teams  were  then  to  build  on  the  learning  from  the  FAME  launch  in  their  situated   contexts  during  the  remainder  of  the  year.  The  meeting  structure  and  topics  among  the   teams  varied.  At  Middleton,  Mrs.  Herman  structured  the  learning  team  meetings  so  as  to   balance  the  group’s  focus  between  the  formative  assessment  booklet  provided  by  the  state   (The  Formative  Assessment  Process)  and  the  trade  book  Embedded  Formative  Assessment   265   (Wiliam,  2011).  Over  the  course  of  the  year,  the  team  read  three  chapters  of  Wiliam’s  book   that  covered  the  following  formative  topics:  clarifying  success  criteria,  eliciting   achievement  evidence,  and  providing  actionable  feedback.  As  the  team  members  discussed   the  ideas  in  each  of  these  chapters  in  light  of  their  own  attempts  at  enactment,  Mrs.   Herman  also  highlighted  sections  of  the  state-­‐developed  TFAP  that  corresponded  with  the   ideas  in  Embedded  Formative  Assessment.       Two  patterns  emerged.  First,  learning  team  members’  learning  was  significantly   influenced  by  the  topics  discussed  at  learning  team  meetings.  Near  the  end  of  the  year,   team  members  learned  and  could  thoughtfully  talk  about  at  least  some  of  the  topics  the   team  covered.  When  asked  how  he  would  explain  formative  assessment  to  an  interested   colleague,  Mr.  St.  Johns  said:   [I  would  say  that  formative  assessment  is]  more  of  a  communication  situation   where  everybody  is  understanding  what  you  are  trying  to  learn.  Students,  teachers,   administration,  everybody  is  on  the  same  page  of  what  learning  is  and  there  are  no   surprises.  Here  is  your  goal.  We  are  working  towards  this  goal.  What  are  the  tools   and  methods  we  are  going  to  get  to  that  goal,  and  constant  re-­‐evaluation  of  are  we   hitting  that  goal?  That  is  the  way  I  see  it.   On  several  occasions,  Mr.  St.  Johns  reiterated  his  understanding  of  formative   assessment  as  clearly  articulated  and  understood  learning  targets,  but  he  did  not   demonstrate  that  his  understanding  extended  to  eliciting  student  understanding  or   providing  actionable  feedback—two  of  the  other  topics  the  team  had  addressed.       Mrs.  Quincy  was  similar.  Her  understanding  of  formative  assessment  was  also   restricted  to  setting  learning  targets  and  making  them  clear  to  students.  Like  Mr.  St.  Johns,   266   despite  multiple  opportunities  to  demonstrate  her  understanding  of  formative  assessment,   she  never  mentioned  the  importance  of  eliciting  student  understanding  or  providing   feedback.       The  third  focal  member  of  the  team,  Ms.  Carroll,  expressed  a  more  sophisticated   understanding.  Her  interviews  were  replete  with  mention  of  the  importance  and  difficulty   of  providing  students  informative  feedback.  She  was  also  able  to  talk  at  length  about  the   utility  of  learning  targets  and  the  many  tools  she  was  using  to  elicit  student  understanding.     Ms.  Carroll,  then,  demonstrated  learning  in  each  of  the  major  components  the  learning   covered  over  the  course  of  the  year.     Interestingly,  none  of  the  team  members  mentioned  the  importance  of  formative   topics  not  addressed  during  learning  team  meetings  even  though  the  topics  were  covered   at  the  FAME  launch  and  the  team  members  had  access  to  these  ideas  through  the  resources   Mrs.  Herman  or  state  administrators  made  available  (e.g.,  Embedded  Formative  Assessment,   TFAP).  These  topics  included  activating  students  as  resources  for  one  another  and   empowering  student  ownership  over  learning  (both  from  Embedded  Formative  Assessment)   and  student  and  teacher  analysis  and  instructional  decisions  (both  from  TFAP).    In  other   words,  learning  team  members  learned  at  least  some  of  what  the  team  covered  but  only   one  of  the  three  teachers  learned  extensively  about  each  topic.  Furthermore,  learning  team   members  did  not  extend  their  learning  to  other  formative  topics  not  covered  at  meetings   despite  having  access  to  other  resources  that  might  have  helped  them  do  so.     The  second  pattern  to  emerge  from  learning  team  meetings  was  that  teachers  talked   about  components  of  formative  assessment  that  echoed  the  discussions  at  learning  team   meetings.  For  example,  when  asked  about  what  she  liked  about  formative  assessment,  Ms.   267   Carroll  said,  “The  learning  targets  are  awesome.  It  seems  like  that  would  fit  nicely  with   standards-­‐based  grading,  where  the  kids  would  just  know  ‘this  is  what  I  am  being  assessed   on.’  Put  it  in  student  friendly  language  and  know  what  they  need  to  do.  [Be]  more  upfront   before  you  start  the  unit.  I  love  learning  targets.”  Recall  that  the  Middleton  learning  team   talked  about  learning  targets  at  length  and  through  their  interactions  had  established   collectively  that  learning  targets  should  be  more  than  just  “wallpaper”  and  that  they  should   be  carefully  worded  to  provide  greater  access  to  students.  These  same  sentiments  are   detailed  in  Ms.  Carroll’s  quote  from  this  interview  nearly  four  months  later  albeit  in  lesser   detail  than  that  collective  definition  and  purpose  the  group  had  constructed.       The  general  patterns  of  teacher  learning  held  at  Waller  but  there  was  one  important   difference  between  the  two  teams.  Namely,  the  Waller  team  was  able  to  cover  each  of  the   components  of  the  formative  assessment  process  during  the  year.  Like  Middleton,  the   teachers’  knowledge  of  formative  assessment  reflected  the  focus  of  the  group.  Teachers   were  able  to  demonstrate  at  least  partial  understanding  and  the  meaning  the  teachers   made  echoed  the  conversations  at  learning  team  meetings.  And,  also  like  at  Middleton,   none  of  the  teachers  reported  that  they  spent  time  studying  the  TFAP  booklet  made   available  by  the  state  or  using  any  of  the  state  electronic  resources.       Among  members  of  the  Waller  team  there  was  some  variation.  Teacher   understanding  of  formative  assessment  correlated  with  both  the  number  of  years  teachers   had  been  on  the  team  and  the  degree  to  which  they  attended  team  meetings  during  the   year  of  the  study.  For  instance,  a  first-­‐year  learning  team  member,  Mrs.  Jackson,  reported   that  she  only  joined  the  learning  team  to  boost  her  evaluation  score  and  she  described  her   participation  on  the  team  as  “minimal.”  She  stopped  attending  meetings  in  the  second  half   268   of  the  year  to  coach  the  girls’  soccer  team.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  she  described  formative   assessment  as  “continuously  checking”  in  with  students  “along  the  way”  to  the  summative   assessment.  She  did  not  express  understanding  of  formative  assessment  as  a  process;  nor   did  she  mention  topics  that  the  group  covered  later  in  the  year  (e.g.,  providing  actionable   feedback)  during  the  meetings  she  missed.   Mrs.  Curtis,  who  was  also  in  her  first  year  on  the  team,  provides  another  example.   She  was  unable  to  attend  most  of  the  learning  team  meetings  because  of  a  professional   conflict  and  consequently  she  had  the  most  limited  understanding  of  any  of  learning  team   member.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  Mrs.  Curtis  reflected  in  regards  to  formative  assessment,  “I   just  feel  unsure  about  everything,  like  if  I'm  even  using  it  correctly.  I  feel  like  it  is  a   mystery.”  Even  so,  she  demonstrated  some  understanding  that  formative  assessment   required  checking  for  understanding  and  some  student  self-­‐reflection  (one  of  the  topics   covered  at  a  learning  team  meeting  Mrs.  Curtis  did  attend).  Of  her  efforts  to  enact  formative   assessment,  Mrs.  Curtis  said,  “I  gave  a  handout…this  morning…It  said,  ‘We  have  been   working  on  this.  How  do  you  feel  about  it?’  Tell  me.  Show  me.  So  they  had  to  provide  the   information.”     In  contrast,  those  teachers  who  had  more  years  on  the  team  and  attended  more   regularly  were  more  familiar  with  the  components  of  formative  assessment  and  had  a   much  deeper  understanding  of  formative  assessment  as  a  process.  Ms.  Stickle,  who  was  in   her  fourth  year  on  the  team  and  attended  all  learning  team  meetings,  said  that  formative   assessment  was  a  “culture  more  than  a  thing  that  you  do”  and  that  formative  assessment  is   ongoing  and  “happens  in  different  formats  to  check  for  understanding  all  of  the  time.  It   could  be  your  summative  assessment  when  you  realize  this  is  where  the  kids  are  at  right   269   now.  Then  you  have  to  go  back  and  reassess.  It  changes  with  each  hour.  Certain  groups   need  different  formats.  It  could  be  peers  to  peers  and  watching  the  students  assess  each   other.  It  could  be  the  feedback  that  I  am  giving,  to  try  to  move  a  student  forward.”  This   quote  reveals  that  Ms.  Stickle  thought  of  formative  assessment  as  more  than  an  isolated   activity,  that  it  included  but  was  not  restricted  to  checking  for  student  understanding,  that   teachers  needed  to  respond  to  student  understanding  in  some  way,  and  that  it  could   involve  peers  working  to  assess  one  another.       The  Waller  case  highlights  two  things  about  teacher  learning  that  Middleton’s  case   did  not.  First,  commitment  to  the  learning  teams  mattered.  Active  and  engaged   participation  was  important.  Involvement  in  reform  was  not  bivariate  as  the  past  chapter,   for  the  purposes  of  analysis,  assumed.  Attendance  at  team  meetings  was  consequential   because  it  signaled  a  greater  commitment  to  learning  about  and  enacting  formative   assessment  and  because  teachers  did  not  supplement  learning  from  the  other  sources  (e.g.,   The  TFAP  booklet)  that  they  had  available  to  them.  The  second  lesson  of  the  Waller  case  is   that  robust  teacher  understanding  of  reform  can  develop  over  time  through  sustained  and   situated  opportunities  to  learn  and  suggests  that  the  complexities  of  reform  can  be   understood  under  the  right  circumstances.       Poe’s  case  is  also  instructive.  As  noted  above,  Poe’s  learning  team  meetings  were   crowded  with  peripheral  concerns  and  the  team  spent  very  little  time  actually  discussing   formative  assessment.  Furthermore,  during  this  time,  the  group  talked  about  their  use  of   “formative  assessments”  or  tools  that  they  used  to  gauge  student  understanding.  Even  the   focused  portions  of  the  meetings  were  structured  this  way  and  the  group  did  not  work  its   way  through  discussion  of  the  formative  topics  as  the  other  two  groups  did.  This  lack  of   270   focus  and  change  in  meeting  structure  allows  us  to  consider  how  this  format  affected   teacher  learning.  Like  at  both  Middleton  and  Waller,  teacher  understanding  of  formative   assessment  at  Poe  reflected  the  content  of  the  learning  team  meetings.  In  short,  the  Poe   learning  team  members  described  formative  assessment  as  a  collection  of  formative   assessments.     For  example,  Mrs.  Monahan  believed  that  formative  assessment  was  “a  great   checking  point  to  see  where  students  are  currently….checkpoints  to  see  where  your   students  are,  prior  to  getting  to  the  point  of  the  assessment,  so  you  as  the  teacher  get  a   clear  idea  where  they  are  and  if  there's  anything  you  need  to  backtrack  on,  before  you  go   further…It  is  a  way  for  a  teacher  to  not  feel  like  they  went  through  a  whole  unit  and  the   result  in  the  assessment  and  then  find  out  that  your  kids  do  not  get  it.”     While  she  did  not  call  them  “checkpoints,”  another  member  of  the  Poe  team,  Ms.   Cunningham,  also  believed  that  “formative  assessments”  were  tools  to  check  for  student   understanding  (rather  than  a  process).  She  said,  “I  have  to  plan  and  see  where  [the   formative  assessment]  is  going  to  fit  the  best  and  where  it's  going  to  give  the  best  feedback   at  the  right  time  for  it  to  be  the  most  useful  and  helpful.”   Mrs.  Monahan  and  Ms.  Cunningham’s  description  of  formative  assessment  provides   evidence  that  even  though  Poe’s  team  meeting  structure  and  content  restricted  the   meaning  of  formative  assessment  to  mean  formative  tools  teachers  could  use,  the  teachers   understood  that  the  tools  were  nevertheless  used  to  achieve  some  larger  purpose.  In  other   words  the  “formative  assessments”  were  part  of  a  larger  context  of  teaching  and  this  larger   context  was  important.  The  “feedback”  that  teachers  received  administering  assessments   before  the  summative  assessment  might  allow  teachers  to  “backtrack”  if  need  be.  This  all   271   indicates  that  teachers  contextualized  reform  in  terms  of  their  existing  grammars  of   practice.  They  “filled  in”  reforms  with  existing  practices  to  help  the  reform  practices  take   root.     Even  in  situated  contexts,  most  teachers  developed  partial  or  erroneous   understandings  of  formative  assessment.    Additionally,  when  asked  about  the  challenges  of   teaching  formatively,  teachers  did  not  indicate  that  they  believed  that  lack  of  knowledge   was  a  major  obstacle.  Incomplete  or  errant  understandings  of  the  reform  did  not  seem  to   provoke  much  teacher  concern.  The  Poe  teachers  had  the  most  impoverished  opportunity   to  learn.  They  spent  hardly  any  time  on  formative  assessment  topics  and  the  activities  they   did  participate  in  distorted  the  reform.  Thus,  teachers  interpreted  formative  assessment  as   a  relatively  simple  collection  of  assessments  and  they  did  not  show  any  concern  that  their   understanding  of  reform  was  somehow  in  need  of  improvement.     At  Waller  and  Middleton,  Ms.  Shriver  and  Mrs.  Herman,  respectively,  had  a  clear  and   thorough  understanding  of  the  formative  assessment  process,  but  only  Ms.  Shriver  was   able  to  address  each  of  these  components  in  the  situated  contexts  of  learning  team   meetings.  Furthermore,  other  potential  sources  of  knowledge  (e.g.,  trade  books,  state   resources,  and  initial  orientation  to  formative  assessment)  did  not  compensate  for  this   limitation.  Thus,  in  situated  contexts  teachers  learning—even  when  their  understanding   was  accurate  and  in  line  with  reformers  intentions—was  fragmented  and  partial.  Teachers   rarely  emerged  from  FAME  learning  team  meetings  with  a  comprehensive  understanding   of  the  formative  assessment  process.       272   Behaviorist  Opportunities  to  Learn  and  Teacher  Learning   Behaviorist  learning  had  its  own  limitations,  but  teachers  could  and  did  learn  about   reforms  in  behaviorist  contexts.  For  example,  teachers  at  Poe  who  participated  in  the   affiliated  reform,  TLC  had  at  least  the  potential  to  learn  something  about  the  CCSS  even  if   substantive  learning  was  hardly  guaranteed.     As  described  at  length,  TLC  left  a  lot  to  be  desired.  Teachers  were  treated  like  school   children  and  began  to  actively  resist  the  facilitator’s  plans  for  productive  teacher  work.   However,  Ms.  Cunningham  was  part  of  the  minority  of  teachers  who  took  the  work   seriously.  She  appeared  to  be  paying  close  attention  whenever  Deb  (the  facilitator)  was   talking  about  Common  Core  or  describing  the  work  that  would  be  related  to  it.  She  also   engaged  in  the  tasks  and  did  much  of  the  work  for  her  group.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  she  had   a  fairly  nuanced  understanding  of  what  the  reformers  supporting  the  CCSS  had  in  mind.   She  explained:   There  is  absolutely  no  reason  that  these  kids  couldn't  do  the  standards.  They  could   all  be  capable.  But  I  think  they  haven't  seen  things  that  are  asking  them  to  do  quite   as  much,  and  I've  heard  many  times  this  year,  ‘this  is  really  hard.  I've  never  been   challenged  like  this  before.’  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  kids  can  do  the  work,  but  it's   the  difference  in  motivation  and  rigor  that  the  kids  aren't  used  to,  and  I  think  we   need  to  teach  not  only  the  standards  and  how  to  get  there,  but  [also  that  students]   have  to  put  in  some  effort.  These  aren't  just  things  that  [students]  can  sit  back  and   absorb.     This  passage  reveals  that  Ms.  Cunningham  did,  in  fact,  learn  about  the  CCSS  through  the   imperfect  exposure  at  a  series  of  behaviorist  training  sessions.  She  shared  Deb’s  optimism   273   for  the  CCSS  and  her  understanding  of  the  Common  Core  reflected  the  messages  that  she   heard  while  at  TLC  workshops.  Namely,  the  CCSS  were  not  “just  things  that  [students]  can   sit  back  and  absorb.”  Rather,  the  Standards  were  much  more  rigorous  and  reformers   expected  students  to  capably  take  on  a  new  role  and  meet  a  myriad  of  academic  challenges.     Mrs.  Monahan,  another  Poe  teacher,  took  the  TLC  sessions  less  seriously.  She  was   much  more  likely  to  engage  in  side  conversations  during  Deb’s  presentations  and  she  often   neglected  tasks  when  they  were  assigned,  instead  talking  to  colleagues  about  unrelated   topics.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  Ms.  Monahan  expressed  an  impoverished  understanding  of   the  CCSS:   With  the  Common  Core  Standards  the  way  that  it  directs  my  instruction  is  that   starting  next  year,  we  are  to  follow  Common  Core  and  implement  it…and  have  that   drive  our  instruction  as  far  as  what  we  are  teaching,  not  necessarily  when  we  are   teaching  it…Basically,  [the  CCSS]  are  an  overall  plan,  our  layout  for  the  year.  The   common  core,  the  standards  are  directing  what  I  teach…  It  is  not  telling  me  the   materials  to  use,  but  it  is  telling  me  what  I  need  to  teach  with  the  materials  that  I   choose  to  use  for  my  teaching.   Teacher  learning  from  these  sessions  reflected  the  attention  and  commitment  individual   teachers  had  to  the  workshops.     The  CITW  training  at  Waller  provides  another  nice  example  of  teacher  learning  from   behaviorist  experiences.  It,  too,  suggests  that  teachers  could  benefit  from  behaviorist   professional  development  but  that  behaviorist  learning  also  was  limited  in  its  reach.     CITW  was  presented  as  a  series  of  tools  and  strategies  that  teachers  could  use  to   improve  student  achievement.  While  some  teachers  openly  resisted  the  trainings  and   274     refused  to  implement  any  of  its  strategies  as  a  matter  of  protest,  others  did  learn  something   from  the  trainings.  For  instance,  although  she  felt  the  trainings  were  longer  than  they   needed  to  be,  Mrs.  Jackson  was  able  to  detail  some  of  the  strategies  that  she  learned  at  the   CITW  trainings  and  reported  that  she  used  these  strategies  in  her  teaching  from  time  to   time.  Mrs.  Jackson  said  that  the  program  facilitators,  “gave  us  a  lot  of  tools  for  cooperative   learning  and  how  to  pair  up  cooperative  learning  groups.  They  gave  us  tools  for  graphic   organizers,  for  behavior  management,  for  student  involvement  and  how  to  engage  students   in  a  classroom  setting.  So,  it  encompassed  the  entire  bell-­‐to-­‐bell  learning.”   Another  Waller  teacher,  Ms.  Stickle,  could  not  recall  many  of  the  CITW  strategies   from  memory,  but  she  was  quick  to  display  the  binder  she  received  at  the  training  and   remarked  that  she  used  a  strategy  learned  at  the  training  in  her  teaching  on  occasion.       While  behaviorist  opportunities  did  not  allow  for  the  complex  interactions  of   situated  learning,  some  teachers  did  learn  from  them  and  change  their  teaching  practice,   even  if  these  reported  changes  were  modest.  Just  as  in  situated  opportunities,  teacher   commitment  to  behaviorist  opportunities  mattered.  The  standardized  messages  and   activities  characteristic  of  the  behaviorist  experience  did  not  shape  teacher  understanding   in  a  uniform  way  and  reported  changes  to  instruction  as  a  consequence  of  the  behaviorist   learning  opportunities  was  therefore  variable.  In  some  cases  teachers  limited  their   attention  to  the  trainings  and  their  understanding  of  the  reform  messages  were  meager.  In   other  cases,  teachers  reported  having  retained  some  of  the  learning  and  made  some   changes  to  their  teaching.         275   Limited  Opportunities  to  Learn   While  both  situated  and  behaviorist  opportunities  to  learn  had  their  notable   shortcomings,  both  were  superior  to  opportunities  to  learn  that  were  restricted  to  the   dissemination  of  reform  documents.  Although  it  may  be  surprising,  many  teachers  did  not   have  any  formal  opportunities  to  learn  about  instructional  reforms  that  were  (or  were  soon   to  be)  mandatory  and  they  were  expected  to  learn  about  reforms  by  consulting  these   documents.  This  section  investigates  the  consequences  of  this  approach.     CCSS.  The  principal  at  Waller,  Ms.  Shriver,  did  not  prioritize  the  CCSS  and   Middleton’s  principal,  Ms.  Novak,  provided  no  instructional  leadership  at  all  for  the  CCSS  or   otherwise.  Ms.  Shriver  believed  that  the  school  had  already  implemented  the  Common  Core   and  that  there  was  no  more  work  to  be  done.  She  explained,  “[The  CCSS]  is  embedded   within  our  district-­‐approved  curriculum.  It's  been  a  while  since  we've  done  the  roll  out  of  it   with  the  staff…  We've  been  working  with  [the  CCSS]  for  a  while.”     In  part  because  of  Ms.  Shriver’s  stance  toward  the  CCSS,  teachers  at  Waller  had  very   little  formal  opportunities  to  learn  about  them.  For  example,  the  following  interview   section  captures  how  little  Mrs.  Jackson,  a  language  arts  teacher  at  Waller,    knew  about  the   CCSS:     Mrs.  Jackson:  To  be  honest  ...I  really  don't  feel  like  I  know  enough  about  Common     Core  State  Standards  to  be  able  to  talk  about  it.   Interviewer:  Have  you  forgone  any  opportunities  to  learn  about  Common  Core?     Mrs.  Jackson:  No.  We  have  had  a  lot  of  booklets  given  to  us,  but  none  of  it  really     makes  complete  and  total  sense.  I  know  the  standards  that  I  have  to  teach.  I   could  tell  you  what  I  have  to  teach  for  literature,  and  things  like  that…I  feel   276   like  [the  CCSS]  is  just  a  revamped  version  across  the  country  of  our  old  [State   of  Michigan  content  standards].  So  it  is  just  telling  us  what  to  teach,  not  how   to  teach  it…But  I  don't  know  enough  about  the  history  or  the  background,   where  it's  going,  where  it  came  from,  to  speak  on  it.     This  passage  highlights  several  points  of  interest.    First,  encouraging  teacher   learning  through  issuance  of  reform  documents  is  mostly  futile.  Even  when  the  documents   had  some  real  import  for  teachers,  only  the  most  affected  teachers  seemed  to  care  much   about  the  documents  or  what  they  indicated  for  teacher  practice.  Second,  teachers  tended   to  interpret  new  reforms  in  terms  of  their  previous  experiences  and  reforms  of  the  past.   Mrs.  Jackson  felt  that  the  CCSS  was  just  a  “revamped”  version  of  the  Michigan  State   Standards  for  reading  and  language  arts.  Third  (and  related  to  the  second  point),  the  CCSS   provided  teachers  curricular  but  not  instructional  guidance.  Thus,  teachers  who   understood  the  CCSS  in  this  limited  way  were  satisfied  if  they  understood  what  they  had  to   teach  without  considering  the  complexities  of  how  they  would  teach  the  new  content  or   what  the  students  new  role  would  be.  Later  in  the  same  interview  Mrs.  Jackson  reiterated   that  she  knew  virtually  nothing  about  the  Common  Core,  and  she  also  doubted  that  anyone   but  reformers  knew  about  it.  That  is,  the  knowledge  that  she  lacked  was  simply  not  out   there:   Mrs.  Jackson:  Across  the  state  I  don't  think  anybody  really  understands  [The     CCSS].  We  all  know  we  have  to  implement  it,  and  we  know  what  it  says.  But  if   there's  any  bigger  broad-­‐spectrum...  I  just  don't  understand  it…Do  I  need   [training]?  I  don't  know.  I  know  how  to  identify  the  standards  that  my  kids   need  to  know.     277   Mrs.  Quincy  at  Middleton  also  believed  that  she  was  implementing  the  CCSS  despite   admitting  that  her  knowledge  and  opportunity  to  learn  about  it  was  limited.    Her  use  of  the   CCSS  closely  resembled  Mrs.  Jackson’s.  In  other  words,  she  looked  for  the  CCSS  to  provide   input  about  important  content,  but  she  did  not  detail  the  new  role  planned  for  students.   However,  she  did  demonstrate  a  slightly  improved  understanding  of  the  intent  of  the  CCSS,   namely  that  mathematics  content  was  supposed  to  be  more  focused  and  demanding.  She   said:   I  try  to  pick  the  most  important  things  that  [students]  need  to  be  able  to  be   successful  in  high  school  out  of  it.  Most  of  our  students  aren't  anywhere  close  to   being  at  grade  level.  So  it  is  really  challenging  in  that  respect  to  get  through  8th  grade   content.  So  we  try  to  make  it…  as  simple  as  we  can  for  them.  That  kind  of  defeats  the   purpose  of  Common  Core,  because  when  it  was  rolled  out  it  was  touting  the  more  in-­‐ depth  than  the  other  curriculum  that  you  may  have  had.  Instead  of  having  to  teach   so  much,  you  teach  less,  but  you  have  more  thinking.  And  I  actually  find  that  that  is   not  the  case.   Like  Mrs.  Jackson,  Mrs.  Quincy  compared  the  CCSS  to  the  familiar  Michigan  State   standards  for  mathematics.  Yet,  she  did  not  embrace  the  ambitions  of  the  CCSS  even  though   she  had  some  vague  understanding  that  they  were  supposed  to  be  different  in  some  key   ways  from  the  Michigan  State  standards.  However,  due  at  least  in  part  to  her  limited   opportunity  to  learn  and  limited  understanding  she  interpreted  and  operationalized  the   CCSS  in  ways  that  were  familiar  with  her  prior  knowledge,  experiences,  and  practices.     The  educator  evaluation  system.  Only  language  arts  and  mathematics  teachers  in  the   study  felt  they  were  directly  affected  by  the  CCSS  (although  science  teachers  at  Waller   278   acknowledged  that  they  had  responsibilities  to  teach  reading  skills  for  expository  text).  In   contrast,  every  teacher  in  the  study  was  operating  under  the  new  educator  evaluation   system  and  every  teacher  understood  the  basics  of  how  the  new  system  worked—teachers   would  be  evaluated  based  on  how  well  they  performed  against  a  rubric  for  gauging  teacher   effectiveness  and  how  well  they  were  able  to  elicit  student  achievement.  However,  teachers   varied  in  how  well  they  knew  of  the  observational  rubrics  that  their  districts  were  using.       There  were  some  patterns  in  this  variation.  All  the  Middleton  teachers,  for  example,   knew  the  observational  framework  well.  This  attention  to  the  framework  is  due  to  two   circumstances.  First,  the  Middleton  framework  was  greatly  simplified  and  easily   memorized.  Second,  and  more  importantly,  Middleton  teachers  were  very  concerned  that   Mrs.  Novak,  the  principal,  would  evaluate  the  teachers  unfairly  and  that  any  of  the  teachers   might  lose  his  or  her  job.  Each  of  the  Middleton  teachers  in  the  study  knew  the  observation   framework  well  enough  should  the  need  arise  for  them  to  contest  their  scores  and   potentially  save  their  jobs.       Attention  to  the  observation  frameworks  at  the  other  two  sites  was  more   idiosyncratic.  Some  teachers  knew  the  frameworks  well  and  referred  to  them  often.  Ms.   Cunningham  at  Poe  and  Mrs.  Jackson  at  Waller  were  both  probationary  teachers  and  were   new  to  any  sort  of  evaluation.  Both  kept  their  district’s  observational  rubric  nearby  so  they   could  refer  to  it  regularly  and  each  could  detail  its  contents  without  needing  to  consult  it.   Mr.  Bridges  was  the  union  president  and  needed  to  know  the  evaluation  framework  when   disputes  between  teachers  and  administrators  began  to  emerge  in  the  districts  as  he  was   sure  was  bound  to  happen.     279     Ms.  Stickle  and  Mrs.  Hall  were  both  moderately  familiar  with  the  observational   protocol,  but  neither  could  speak  about  the  Framework  for  Teaching  in  detail.  Mrs.  Hall’s   reasoning  for  this  lack  of  intimate  familiarity  was  indicative  of  Ms.  Stickle’s  understanding   as  well.  Mrs.  Hall  believed  that  from  what  she  knew  about  the  Framework  for  Teaching,  the   rubric  represented  good  instructional  practices.  Consequently,  she  resolved  herself  to   continuing  to  strive  to  teach  well,  but  she  did  not  use  the  frameworks  to  guide  her.  When   asked  what  she  would  say  to  teachers  who  were  concerned  about  their  observational  score,   Mrs.  Hall  commented  that  she  would  advise  them  to,  “Just  do  what  you  do.  If  you're  that   concerned  about  it.  Make  it  a  practice  and  fix  it.  My  evaluation  or  my  observation,  I  don't  do   a  dog  and  pony  show.  Come  into  my  classroom  whenever  you  want,  because  this  is  what  I   do.  I  don't  adjust  my  plans  for  it.”     Mrs.  Curtis  and  Mrs.  Monahan  knew  their  respective  observational  rubrics  only   modestly  well.  Both  reported  having  good  observations  in  the  past  and  very  little  principal   involvement  in  their  classrooms.  Furthermore,  both  felt  they  had  more  pressing  issues  and   calls  for  their  attention.       Mrs.  Reid  stands  alone  in  that  she  paid  virtually  no  attention  to  her  district’s   evaluation  rubric.  She  made  a  personal  habit  of  distancing  herself  from  administrative  and   collegial  influence  (with  the  exception  of  her  close  affiliation  to  Ms.  Dixon).  An  overview  of   the  teachers’  knowledge  of  the  evaluation  rubrics  their  districts  were  using  is  provided  in   Table  8.3.           280   Table  8.3.  Teacher’s  knowledge  of  evaluation  rubrics   Poor   Modest   Moderate   Good     Excellent   Mrs.  Reid  (P)           Mrs.  Curtis  (W)   Mrs.  Monahan  (P)         Ms.  Stickle  (W)   Mrs.  Hall  (W)         Mr.  St.  Johns  (M)   Ms.  Quincy  (M)         Ms.  Carroll  (M)   Ms.  Herman  (M)   Ms.  Cunningham  (P)   Mr.  Bridges  (W)   Mrs.  Jackson  (W)   *Ms.  Dixon  is  omitted  from  this  analysis  because  of  lack  of  systematic  data   In  sum,  the  potential  of  reform  documents  by  themselves  to  promote  teacher   understanding  of  reform  appeared  to  be  quite  limited.  Teachers  only  attended  to  these   documents  out  of  necessity  and  determined  at  the  individual  level.   Summary     While  a  necessary  element  of  any  successful  reform,  securing  teacher  learning  is  a   formidable  task.  The  previous  two  chapters  examined  the  difficulties  that  schools  had  in   connecting  teachers  with  reforms  even  when  principals  provided  diligent  instructional   leadership.  In  this  chapter  and  the  last,  I  considered  broad  qualitative  differences  between   behaviorist  and  situated  opportunities  to  learn  and  then  went  further  to  understand   teachers’  experiences  and  how  they  differed  across  and  within  schools.       The  behaviorist  approach  had  several  advantages.  First,  because  of  its  batch-­‐ processing  capabilities,  behaviorist  trainings  could  accommodate  far  more  teachers  and   connect  them  with  reforms  more  easily  than  could  reforms  with  situated  learning.   Behaviorist  opportunities  also  allowed  the  session  providers  to  standardize  the  reform   messages  that  teachers  received.  However,  these  messages  were  typically  altered  to  adhere   to  the  structure  of  these  sessions  and  these  alterations  either  undermined  the  spirit  of  the   reform  ideas  as  they  did  in  the  CITW  trainings  or  misrepresented  the  reform  by  breaking  it   into  a  series  of  perfunctory  tasks  as  happened  in  the  TLC  sessions.     281     Teachers  also  grew  to  resent  their  treatment  like  school  children,  the  incongruence   between  the  reform  ideas  the  trainers  espoused  and  the  format  of  the  training,  and,   perhaps  most  of  all,  the  assumption  that  teachers  would  willingly  adopt  the  subordinate   role  that  the  behaviorist  opportunities  seemed  to  require.  When  teachers  were  inclined  to   resist,  there  was  ample  room  for  them  to  do  so.  Resistance  was  as  much  a  part  of   behaviorist  trainings  as  any  of  the  features  detailed  above.  And  the  resistant  teachers  got   very  little  from  the  trainings  and  there  was  no  mechanism  that  would  reorient  teachers  to   the  work;  rather  attempts  to  regulate  teacher  behavior  more  tightly  only  strengthened   their  resistance.  Even  so,  teachers  could  attend  to  the  trainers’  presentations  and  activities   designed  to  improve  teacher  engagement  with  both  the  workshop  and  the  reform  itself.  In   these  cases,  the  teachers  did  seem  to  benefit  by  both  increased  knowledge  and  modest   adjustments  to  practice.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  teachers  who  benefited  from   behaviorist  training  were  early  in  their  career.  Perhaps  this  was  the  case  because  new   teachers  were  closer  to  their  experiences  of  learning  in  large  lecture  halls  or  maybe   because  they  had  not  grown  weary  of  these  experiences  after  years  of  shifting  and   ephemeral  district  priorities.       Situated  learning  opportunities  solved  some  of  the  challenges  that  behaviorist   learning  brought  into  sharp  relief.  First,  situated  learning  placed  teachers  in  a  much  more   active  role  and  assumed  that  teachers  had  expertise  that  they  could  bring  to  bear  as  they   collectively  strove  to  understand  new  instructional  reforms.  Teachers  were  generally  more   satisfied  with  situated  learning  opportunities  and  consequently,  these  opportunities   provoked  far  less  teacher  resistance  than  behaviorist  opportunities  did.     282     Teachers  also  learned  more  from  situated  learning  and  situated  learning  seemed   like  a  better  approach  to  familiarize  teachers  with  reforms  and  elicit  their  ideas  about  how   these  reforms  might  be  enacted.  This  was  particularly  true  for  complex  reforms  like  FAME.   Most  teachers  could  articulate  their  understanding  which  reflected  the  collective   sensemaking  from  learning  team  meetings.  No  teacher  mentioned  the  ideas  from  the   behaviorist  one-­‐day  learning  component  of  the  FAME  project  that  they  attended  at  the   beginning  of  the  year.     However,  situated  learning  also  introduced  problems  of  its  own.  Because  teachers   worked  closely  in  a  variety  of  settings,  the  main  foci  of  the  meetings  were  vulnerable  to  be   overtaken  for  unrelated  concerns,  as  Poe’s  case  illustrates.  Situated  experiences  also   demanded  more  from  teachers.  If  they  showed  up  to  meetings  unprepared  or  reluctant  to   participate,  meetings  quickly  faltered.  This  sometimes  happened  at  the  Middleton  learning   team  meetings  when  teachers  neglected  to  do  the  assigned  reading,  forgot  the  goals  they   had  written  for  themselves  at  previous  meetings,  or  had  not  enacted  any  of  the  formative   assessment  practices  upon  which  the  group  had  been  focusing  and  thus  had  nothing  to   share.       Situated  learning  was  also  much  more  limited  in  its  capacity  to  accommodate  many   teachers  and  only  a  minority  of  teachers  at  any  of  the  three  schools  participated  in  any   situated  learning  at  all.  Situated  learning  was  also  limited  in  its  capacity  to  get  through   material  quickly.  Teachers  at  meetings  shared  their  experiences  at  length,  clarified  and   sometimes  debated  what  reforms  meant,  and  discussed  best  practices  in  general.  All  this   took  time  and  the  two  teams  who  progressed  through  the  components  of  formative   assessment—Middleton  and  Waller—did  so  at  a  deliberate  and  modest  pace.  Teachers  who   283   had  a  comprehensive  understanding  of  formative  assessment  as  a  complex  process  as   reformers  did  were  few  and  had  been  deeply  engaged  in  the  project  for  several  years.  Even   at  Middleton  and  Waller,  teachers  typically  had  a  partial  understanding.       Perhaps  most  importantly,  once  reformers  placed  teacher  learning  in  situated   contexts  they  no  longer  controlled  message  delivery  and,  consequently,  situated  learning   had  a  greater  probability  that  reform  ideas  would  be  distorted  and  teachers  would  make   sense  of  reforms  in  ways  that  designers  of  the  programs  did  not  intend.  For  instance,  the   learning  team  at  Poe  came  to  understand  that  formative  assessment  was  simply  a   collection  of  tools  that  teachers  could  use  to  check  for  student  understanding.  When  this   misunderstanding  formed  there  was  no  one  to  step  in  and  correct  it.     A  final  and  related  challenge  of  situated  learning  is  that  it  required  local  expertise.   Recall  that  situated  learning  assumes  that  teachers  will  participate  by  actively  bringing   together  reform  ideas  and  the  complexities  of  practice  to  work  out  challenges  with  small   intimate  collegial  groups.  Both  Middleton  and  Waller  had  this  expertise.  Mrs.  Herman  and   Ms.  Shriver,  respectively,  had  been  involved  in  the  program  for  several  years  and  had   dedicated  a  great  deal  of  effort  into  understanding  the  reform  better.  Additionally,  both  had   assumed  more  formal  roles  in  the  program  as  “regional  leads”  because  state  administrators   noticed  their  commitment  to  and  knowledge  of  formative  practices.  However,  for  teams   like  Poe,  expertise  was  in  short  supply.  While  state  administrators  did  make  some   provision  to  infuse  teams  with  expertise  (at  least  initially)  through  special  coaches’  training   and  the  beginning  of  the  year  launch  for  all  team  members,  these  efforts  were  not  always   sufficient,  as  Poe’s  case  makes  clear.  This  highlights  a  dilemma  for  situated  learning.  These   opportunities  depend  on  expertise,  but  expertise  is  scarce  and  difficult  to  generate.     284   Finally,  relying  on  reform  documents  alone,  as  was  typical  for  the  two  mandatory   reforms  at  each  of  the  schools,  provided  the  most  meager  opportunities  for  teacher   learning.  Teachers  appealed  to  reform  documents  only  out  of  necessity  in  dire  situations,  as   happened  at  Middleton  in  the  teachers’  concern  over  fair  evaluation.  Even  so,  teachers   looked  to  the  documents  more  for  their  own  protection  than  they  did  to  improve  their   instructional  practice.  Teachers  in  less  extreme  but  still  evaluative  circumstances  tended  to   look  to  documents  because  they  felt  a  sense  of  responsibility  for  knowing  what  the   documents  said  or  to  get  just  enough  from  the  documents  to  meet  their  obligations.     Through  the  three  examples  of  teacher  learning  (behaviorist,  situated,  and  reliance   on  reform  documents)  help  bring  context  to  the  findings  of  the  earlier  chapters.  Reforms   that  were  mandated  came  to  the  schools  through  traditional  channels.  These  reforms   essentially  enrolled  teachers  in  reform  with  or  without  their  consent.  The  concomitant   learning  opportunities  for  these  mandated  reforms  were  limited,  in  most  cases,  to   dissemination  of  reform  documents.  This  situation  presents  a  paradox—teachers  knew  the   mandated  reforms  least.     When  one  considers  the  requirements  for  the  other  two  types  of  learning,  this   paradox  is  partially  explained.  Securing  teacher  learning  took  considerable  effort  for   multiple  actors  through  the  system  and  this  effort  was  not  easily  or  quickly  mobilized  or   secured.  Behaviorist  learning  opportunities  were  more  easily  realized  because  they  did  not   require  extended  teacher  commitment  and  they  did  not  place  the  burden  of  learning  in   local  contexts.  However,  they  still  required  ISD  or  district  administrators  to  create  learning   opportunities,  principals  to  consent  to  sending  their  teachers,  and  teachers  who  would   attend  without  protest.       285   The  requirements  for  situated  learning  are  more  daunting  still.  In  order  for  reforms   which  relied  on  situated  learning  to  prosper,  they  needed  a  reform  entrepreneur  with   social  connections  and  a  group  of  teachers  who,  in  addition  to  perceived  social  pressure,   willingly  participated  for  personal  and  often  idiosyncratic  reasons.  In  sum,  neither   behaviorist  or  situated  learning  were  easily  achieved  and  may  not  be  a  widely  feasible   solution  to  keep  up  with  reforms  that  were  rapidly  and  hastily  introduced.     Sensemaking  of  Multiple  Reforms     This  research  set  out  to  understand  how  teachers  were  making  sense  of  the  multiple   instructional  reforms  that  were  pressing  in  upon  them.  The  previous  chapters  identified   and  categorized  the  reforms  that  came  to  schools  and  examined  the  routes  that  the  reforms   took;  investigated  the  principals’  actions  in  response  to  reforms  and  how  these  actions   shaped  teachers’  opportunities  to  learn;  analyzed  the  characteristics  of  the  learning   opportunities  in  greater  detail  and  how  these  experiences  contributed  to  teacher   sensemaking.  This  final  section  focuses  these  finding  to  illuminate  the  following  question   from  the  introduction:  How  do  teachers  interpret  and  respond  to  multiple  and  potentially   contradictory  reforms?   Making  Sense  of  Multiple  Reforms:  Highlight  Congruence     The  research  assumed  that  teachers  would  be  trying  to  navigate  many  instructional   reforms  at  once,  but  for  most  teachers,  this  assumption  simply  did  not  hold  true.  Most   teachers  involved  in  the  study  were  only  managing  two  or  three  reforms  (most  commonly   FAME,  CCSS,  and  educator  evaluation)  at  a  time.  When  teachers  were  involved  in  several   reforms,  it  would  be  inaccurate  to  say  that  this  involvement  preoccupied  them.  Even   mandated  reforms  with  potentially  high  degrees  of  accountability  affected  teachers  only   286   modestly.  When  I  asked  teachers  to  tell  me  about  life  at  their  school  or  to  detail  the   challenges  they  faced  as  they  went  about  the  routines  of  their  work  they  rarely,  if  ever,   talked  about  any  of  the  reforms.  Typically,  teachers  talked  about  reforms  only  when  I  asked   about  them  by  name.     The  story  here,  then,  is  that  instructional  reforms,  even  when  they  penetrate  schools,   do  so  unevenly  and  rather  weakly.  None  of  the  classes  that  I  visited  seemed  to  be   profoundly  impacted  by  any  of  the  reforms,  and  that  included  the  CCSS.  Indeed,  for  most   teachers  life  in  schools  appeared  to  be  business  as  usual  and  schools  and  classroom  looked   very  similar  to  how  I  remembered  them.  Even  so,  teachers  needed  to  make  some  sense  of   the  multiple  reforms.       One  way  that  teachers  navigated  multiple  reforms  was  to  cite  a  general  congruence   among  the  reform  ideas.  For  example,  Mrs.  Hall  said  of  UDL  and  FAME,  “They  both  make   me  a  better  teacher.  They  both…  were  designed  for  all  students  to  be  a  part  of  something.  I   guess  both  of  them  [require  students]  to  be  part  of  their  learning.  They  don't  conflict.”       Some  teachers  knew  the  reforms  well  and  could  discuss  the  congruence  between  or   among  them  at  length.  Generally,  the  more  teachers  knew  about  reforms,  the  greater  they   perceived  the  congruence  among  them  to  be.  For  instance,  the  following  exchange  with   Mrs.  Herman  reveals  a  robust  knowledge  of  both  formative  assessment  and  standards-­‐ based  grading  and  a  general  understanding  that  the  reforms  were  harmonious:     Interviewer:    You  said  something  that  I  thought  was  interesting.  You  said     standards-­‐based  grading  and  formative  assessment  go  hand-­‐in-­‐hand.  Can   you  talk  about  that  a  little  bit?   Mrs.  Herman:  Because  standards-­‐based  grading…is  not  about  the  grade.  It's  about     287   ‘have  you  met  the  standards?’  And  in  order  to  meet  the  standards,  which  kids   don't  really  understand  the  standards,  the  teacher  has  to  set  up  learning   targets.  So  the  kids  can  understand,  ‘What  is  it  that  I  have  to  do  to  meet  this   standard?’  So  here  is  the  learning  target.  And  hopefully  the  teacher  can  do   that  in  a  way  that  is  motivating  for  them  so  they  say,  ‘I  want  to  be  successful   in  this.  I  want  to  understand  these  concepts.  I  want  to  learn  this  material.’   And  then  the  learning  targets  are  really  just  like  the  first  step  in  the  formative   assessment  process,  but  in  order  to  know  if  they've  met  the  learning  targets,   students  have  to  be  able  to  get  feedback  along  the  way,  either  from   themselves  in  the  self-­‐assessment  or  from  the  teacher,  through  feedback.  And   in  order  to  give  feedback,  then  the  teacher  has  to  have  an  understanding  of   where  they  want  the  student  to  be,  and  where  the  student  currently  is,  and   then  give  them  that  feedback  to  move  in  the  right  direction.  And  the  peer   assessment  can  be  involved  in  that.  And  then  all  of  the  pieces  of  formative   assessment  and  the  learning  targets  and  the  checks  for  understanding,  and   the  metacognition.  I  don't  really  get  this  yet.  What  is  it  that  I'm  not   understanding.  What  can  I  do  to  help  my  understanding  and  then  for  the   teacher,  what  are  they  not  getting?  what  are  their  misconceptions  and  how   can  I  give  them  strategies  to  move  them  along  toward  the  learning  target.       This  same  general  pattern  of  perceived  congruence  held  when  teachers  participated   in  multiple  reforms.  For  instance,  Ms.  Stickle  was  involved  in  six  instructional  reforms   during  the  time  of  the  study  and  she  only  noted  congruence  among  these  reforms  during   interviews  or  learning  team  meetings.  The  following  exchange,  which  occurred  in  an   288   interview  when  I  asked  Ms.  Stickle  to  organize  the  reforms  she  was  involved  in  spatially   using  index  cards,  is  representative:     Interviewer:  You  mentioned  that  CITW  fits  as  a  subcategory  of  the  Framework  for     Teaching.  Does  UDL  fit  in  the  same  way?     Ms.  Stickle:  Yes,  under  instruction.     Interviewer:  Right  next  to  CITW?   Ms.  Stickle:  Or  in  place  of.  They  almost...like  this  (she  puts  one  index  card  over  the     other)   Interviewer:  They  overlap?     Ms.  Stickle:  Very  much.  They  are  exactly  overlapping.  They  just  have  different  titles.     It  is  almost  word  for  word.     Interviewer:  UDL  and  CITW  don't  conflict  either?   Ms.  Stickle:  Not  at  all.       As  described  at  length,  teachers  often  did  not  know  much  about  instructional  reforms   either  because  they  had  no  opportunities  to  learn  about  them  or  because  they  purposefully   ignored  reform  messages  even  when  given  the  opportunity.  Mrs.  Reid  was  an  example  of   the  latter,  but  even  though  she  knew  only  a  little  about  the  reforms,  she  expressed  her   perception  that  they  were  in  general  agreement  although  she  did  not  detail  any  specific   evidence.     Interviewer:  So  speaking  of  alignment  you  said  that  you  felt  with  the  new  teacher     evaluation  came  along,  that  it  worked  well  together  with  the  Common  Core.   How  about  formative  assessment  and  the  new  teacher  evaluation?   Mrs.  Reid:  I  think  so.   289   Interviewer:  They  don't  contradict?   Mrs.  Reid:  I  don't  think  so.     Additionally,  teachers  anticipated  congruence  among  reforms  even  when  they  had   not  had  much  opportunity  to  learn  about  them.  For  instance,  when  Mrs.  Curtis  was   considering  what  she  would  be  learning  the  following  year,  she  said,  “I'm  going  to  be  doing   the  [CITW]  training  next  year  to  learn  more  about  it,  but  I  know  a  lot  of  it  is  using  your   learning  targets  and  whatnot  in  the  classroom.  So  I  think  a  lot  of  it  will  be  stuff  that  I   already  know.”   For  an  overview  of  teacher  perceptions  of  congruence  among  reforms  see  Table  8.4.   Table  8.4.  Perceived  Congruence  among  Reforms   Teacher   Mrs.  Curtis   Ms.  Stickle   Mrs.  Hall   Mr.  Bridges   Mrs.  Jackson   Ms.  Cunningham   Mrs.  Monahan   Mrs.  Reid   Ms.  Dixon   Ms.  Carroll   Mrs.  Herman   Mr.  St.  Johns   Mrs.  Quincy       School   Waller   Waller   Waller   Waller   Waller   Poe   Poe   Poe   Poe   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Middleton   Congruence     3   12   8   7   11   2   5   1   NA   5   3   4   2   Incongruence   0   0   3   1   2   0   0   0   NA   0   0   1   0   Examining  incongruence.  Although  teachers  saw  perceptions  of  conflict  among   reforms  were  infrequent,  these  perceptions  did  emerge  from  time  to  time.  For  example,   Mrs.  Hall  believed  that  the  isolated  skills  approach  of  Close  and  Critical  Reading  was  at   odds  with  the  hands-­‐on  approach  of  a  reform  that  was  on  the  horizon—the  Next   Generation  Science  Standards—that  stressed  critical  thinking  and  scientific  inquiry.  When   asked  what  she  would  do  if  the  Next  Generation  Science  Standards  actually  came  to  her   290   school,  Ms.  Hall  suggested  that  she  would  limit  the  use  of  Close  and  Critical  Reading,  but   might  still  use  it  from  time  to  time.       Mrs.  Jackson  twice  noted  that  there  was  a  misalignment  between  the  assessment  the   district  was  using  to  determine  teacher  “value-­‐added”  and  the  CCSS.  Mrs.  Jackson  noted   that  her  allegiance  was  to  the  standards  and  when  it  came  to  the  test  she  hoped  that   students  would  do  their  best.       Mr.  Bridges  said  that  the  he  sometimes  had  to  choose  between  making  instructional   decisions  that  were  responsive  to  student  learning  needs  and  covering  the  curriculum,  but   he  was  the  only  teacher  who  made  mention  of  this  classic  dilemma.       Teachers  believed  that  each  of  these  conflicts  was  mild  compared  with  a  general   agreement  among  reforms.  When  faced  with  conflicts,  teachers  typically  indicated  that  they   decided  among  the  two  by  preferring  one,  but  did  not  neglect  consideration  for  the  other   entirely.   Summary     For  the  typical  teacher  in  the  study,  the  reform  environment  was  not  that  crowded.   With  the  exception  of  educator  evaluation  (which  did  provoke  at  least  modest  concern  of   all  teachers)  teachers  did  not  feel  hard  pressed  by  reform  or  obligated  to  enact  reform   teaching.  When  the  teachers  did  consider  two  or  more  reforms  at  once,  they  predominantly   felt  that  these  reforms  were  well  aligned  and  could  be  simultaneously  satisfied.  A  summary   of  the  findings  from  the  past  four  chapters  is  included  in  the  next,  and  final,  chapter.           291   CHAPTER  9:  Conclusion   Introduction     Before  1965,  schools  received  very  little  federal  or  state  direction  in  how  to   organize  or  enact  instruction.  With  the  passage  of  Elementary  and  Secondary  Education  Act   (1965),  and  more  specifically  Title  III,  schools  had  incentive  and  some  direction  to   innovate.  Section  301  of  Title  III  of  ESEA  provided  funds  on  a  competitive  basis    “to   stimulate  and  assist  in  the  provision  of  vitally  needed  educational  services  not  available  in   sufficient  quantity  or  quality,  and  to  stimulate  and  assist  in  the  development  and   establishment  of  exemplary  elementary  and  secondary  school  educational  programs  to   serve  as  models  for  regular  school  programs”  (Public  Law  89-­‐10).  As  described  in  Chapter   2,  early  implementation  research  focused  on  how  these  new  federally  inspired  programs   fared  as  they  were  implemented  in  local  districts  and  schools  (e.g.,  Berman  &  McLaughlin,   1974,  1978;  Smith  &  Keith,  1971).       While  federal  policy  made  it  possible  to  study  implementation,  these  studies  were   limited  because  of  their  unavoidable  reliance  on  federal  programs  that  typically  resulted  in   the  alteration  of  school  structures  but  not  transformation  of  schools’  instructional   substance  (McDonnell  &  Elmore,  1987).    Emboldened  by  federal  policymaking  and  the  A   Nation  at  Risk  report,  states—which  had  been  virtually  bypassed  in  ESEA—began  to   generate  instructional  policy  and  became  major  reform  actors  in  the  1980s.  Initially,  state   reforms  amplified  those  elements  of  schooling  (e.g.,  improving  graduation  rates,   introducing  basic  skills  tests)  that  did  not  upset  conventional  notions  of  schooling  (Odden,   1991).  Over  time,  states  like  California  became  more  aggressive  policymakers  and  their   ambitions  led  them  to  generate  instructional  policy  in  both  mathematics  and  reading  that   292   would  fundamentally  challenge  extant  beliefs,  commitments,  and  practices  regarding   instruction.  These  efforts  provided  considerable  fodder  for  researchers  and  much  of  what   we  know  of  policy  implementation  stems  from  studies  conducted  surrounding  California’s   instructional  policymaking  efforts  (e.g.,  Ball,  1990;  Coburn,  2001,  2004,  2005a,  2005b,   Cohen,  1990;  Cohen  &  Hill,  2001;  Cohen,  McLaughlin,  &  Talbert,  1993;  Wilson,  1990,  2003).     These  studies  were  remarkably  powerful  and  they  ultimately  shaped  or  inspired   other  researchers  not  directly  involved  in  studying  the  California  reforms  (e.g.,  Spillane,   2004).    In  total,  the  studies  created  a  robust  picture  of  the  promises  and  perils  of  state-­‐ generated,  subject-­‐specific  (usually  mathematics  or  reading),  elementary  focused   mandated  reforms  that  teachers  engaged  one  at  a  time.  At  the  same  time,  this  clarity   confined  the  phenomenon  and,  thus,  provided  a  narrower  view  of  instructional  reform  and   the  activity  that  surrounds  it  than  can  be  found  in  the  empirical  world.  This  dissertation   research  was  designed  to  understand  the  activity  of  instructional  reform  more  broadly   considered  and,  to  this  end,  defined  instructional  reforms  as  any  policy  or  program   designed  to  influence  curriculum  or  instruction.  I  set  out  to  understand  how  schools   engaged  in  multiple  instructional  reforms  and  how  teachers  made  sense  of  the  reforms.   Finally,  the  dissertation  endeavored  to  understand  something  of  the  nature  of  the  system  in   which  reforms  were  carried  out  and  to  consider  how  reforms  and  the  system  combined  to   shape  reform  and  ultimately  determine  what  a  reform  became.     Multiple  and  Diverse  Reforms     Studies  that  examine  the  differences  among  reforms  and  how  different  types  of   reforms  are  taken  up  at  the  local  level  are  rare  (Cohen  &  Ball,  2007).  Even  the  limited   research  that  considers  the  challenges  created  by  multiple  instructional  reforms  still   293   focuses  on  centrally  designed  and  mandated,  disciplines-­‐specific  polices  at  the  elementary   school  level  (Mayrowetz,  2009).  However,  the  paucity  of  studies  is  not  due  to  either  a  lack   of  local  engagement  with  multiple  reforms  or  a  lack  of  qualitative  variation  among  the   reforms  themselves.  The  reforms  in  this  study  were  both  distinct  (e.g.,  they  all  sought  to   change  what  or  how  teachers  taught)  from  other  types  of  school  activities  and   distinguishable  from  one  another.    That  is,  actors  at  different  levels  had  conceptually   similar  ways  of  dealing  with  reforms  that  were  also  sensitive  to  reform  types.     To  borrow  terms  from  Cohen  and  Ball  (2007)  instructional  reforms  in  this  study   were  both  “elaborated”  and  “scaffolded.”  Reforms  were  elaborated  in  that  they  articulated   the  central  ideas  of  the  reform.  They  were  scaffolded  to  the  extent  that  reformers  made   accommodations  for  teacher  learning.  While  the  instructional  reforms  in  this  study  shared   these  two  fundamental  elements,  the  qualitative  characteristics  of  a  reform  shaped  its   elaboration  and  scaffolding.   Mandatory  Reforms     First,  mandatory  reforms  were  elaborated  at  the  state  level  and  expected  district   and  school  site  compliance.  They  followed  a  familiar  path  from  the  statehouse  to  the   district  through  principals  and  to  teachers.  Despite  these  similarities,  there  were   differences  between  mandated  reforms.  Elaboration  looked  different  between  CCSS  and  the   new  educator  evaluation  system.  The  CCSS  were  elaborated  through  reform  documents   that  detailed  the  types  of  learning  expected  by  students  at  different  grade  levels.  However,   the  learning  was  not  scaffolded  in  any  particular  way.  The  state  essentially  left  the   provision  of  learning  about  CCSS  to  local  ISDs  and  districts,  and  only  one  of  the  schools  in   the  study  (Poe)  engaged  in  deliberate  learning  about  the  CCSS.  Both  Middleton  and  Waller   294   relied  on  dissemination  of  reform  documents  or  technological  tools  to  assist  teachers  with   implementation.     For  the  other  mandatory  reform,  the  new  educator  evaluation  system,  the  state   specified  rules  for  compliance,  but  essentially  sub-­‐contracted  the  work  of  elaborating  ideas   about  instruction  to  publishers  or  local  districts.  Districts  determined  the  rubrics  they   would  use  for  gauging  teacher  performance  (with  some  state  oversight)  and  the  tests  they   would  use  to  determine  teacher  “value-­‐added.”  The  rubrics  and  tests  that  districts  used  for   evaluating  teachers  then  combined  with  the  state  regulations  and  became  the  de  facto  tools   that  elaborated  evaluation  reform.  Like  with  the  CCSS,  then,  learning  for  new  educator   evaluation  was  scaffolded  only  modestly.  In  Middleton’s  district,  the  superintendent   worked  with  site  principals  to  elaborate  the  educator  evaluation  rubric  and  to  discuss  the   rules  for  determining  value-­‐added  scores.  At  Waller,  Ms.  Shriver  and  the  other  principals   participated  in  district-­‐led  workshops  designed  to  help  them  standardized  scoring  across   the  district.  Mr.  Delancey,  Poe’s  principal,  attended  district  meetings  where  the  district’s   evaluation  of  teaching  rubric  was  disseminated,  district  officials  specified  the  procedures  of   the  new  law,  and  principals  were  sent  out  to  construct  the  practices  of  the  new  system   virtually  on  their  own.  The  districts  did  not  provide  on-­‐the-­‐job  oversight  for  any  of  the   three  principals.  Meanwhile,  teachers  were  left  to  glean  what  they  could  from  their   districts’  evaluation  tool  and  access  other  electronic  and  print  resources  about  the  educator   evaluation  law.           295   Non-­‐Mandatory  Reforms   Most  reforms  were  not  mandatory.  For  analytic  purposes,  I  created  three  types  of   non-­‐mandatory  reforms  based  on  each  reform’s  characteristics:  state  supported  programs,   ISD/district  wide  coverage  programs,  and  ISD/district  select  coverage  programs.       The  FAME  program  was  a  non-­‐mandatory,  state  supported  reform  program.  State   administrators  elaborated  both  the  ideas  about  formative  assessment  and  made   arrangements  for  how  teacher  learning  about  reform  ideas  would  be  scaffolded.  Notably,   the  FAME  program  situated  teacher  learning  primarily  in  small,  teacher-­‐led  teams  that   were  conducted  close  to  teachers’  instructional  contexts.  These  situated  opportunities  to   learn  differed  significantly  from  behaviorist  opportunities  to  learn  that  were  characterized   by  their  batch  processing,  trainer  focused,  and  skills  and  task  oriented  teacher  work.  They   also  varied  from  the  learning  offered  by  the  two  mandated  reforms  that  relied  primarily  on   reform  documents.     ISD/district  wide  coverage  programs  were  those  generated  at  the  ISD  or  district   level  and  designed  to  have  wide  coverage  over  teachers  in  an  area.  Some  ISD/district  wide   coverage  reform  programs  were  generated  in  response  to,  but  were  distinct  from,   mandatory  reforms.  For  example,  the  Teach  Like  a  Champion  (TLC)  workshops  guided   teachers  in  a  series  of  trainings  about  how  to  translate  the  CCSS  into  daily  lessons  and   testable  items  that  the  teachers  could  then  use  to  make  instructional  decisions.  In  so  doing,   the  TLC  workshops  exemplified  how  reforms  were  elaborated  at  separate  levels  and  the   potential  consequences  of  this  arrangement.  TLC  shows  how  ISD  or  district  reforms   allowed  for  elaboration  of  particular  reform  ideas  (e.g.,  content)  to  the  exclusion  of  others   (e.g.,  ambitious  new  role  for  students).  CITW  in  Waller’s  district  was  the  other  non-­‐ 296   mandated  wide  coverage  reform.  CITW  was  independent  of  any  mandated  reform  and  the   trainings  led  teachers  through  a  series  of  9  instructional  practices  that  were  designed  to   improve  teacher  and  learning.  Wide  coverage  reform  programs  used  behaviorist  trainings   to  secure  teacher  learning  about  the  reform.         ISD/district  select  coverage  programs  were  the  fourth  and  final  type  of  reform.  Like   wide  coverage  programs,  these  reforms  were  generated  by  the  ISD  or  district  but  they  were   similar  to  state  supported  programs  in  that  they  were  not  intended  for  broad  coverage.   Three  of  the  eight  instructional  reforms  to  emerge  in  this  study  were  select  coverage   programs:  Close  and  Critical  Reading  (CCR),  Standards  Based  Grading  (SBG),  and  Universal   Design  for  Learning  (UDL).  Select  coverage  reform  programs  relied  on  both  behaviorist   (CCR)  and  more  situated  (SBG,  UDL)  learning  opportunities  for  teachers.     Reform  Pathways     In  addition  to  differences  across  reforms  in  how  they  were  elaborated  and   scaffolded  and  by  whom,  reforms  differed  in  the  routes  through  which  they  arrived  in   schools.  Mandated  reforms  pursued  the  traditional  bureaucratic  routes  typically   considered  by  both  reformers  and  researchers.  In  this  route,  reforms  were  generated  at  the   federal  or  state  level;  they  were  then  transmitted  to  districts  that,  in  turn,  passed  the   reform  to  principals.  Finally,  the  reforms  came  to  teachers,  but  only  after  having  been   handled  and  shaped  at  multiple  levels.     The  pathways  through  which  non-­‐mandated  reforms  came  to  schools  were  more   various.  Non-­‐mandated  reforms  could  come  directly  to  teachers  as  FAME  did  to  Poe’s   teachers.  They  could  bypass  the  principal  and  come  from  the  district  directly  to  the   teachers  as  happened  with  FAME  at  Middleton  and  TLC  at  Poe.  They  could  be  principal-­‐ 297   controlled  like  they  were  at  Waller.  Finally,  as  in  the  instance  of  SBG  at  Middleton,  teachers   could  actively  seek  out  reforms  and  bring  programs  into  the  school  directly.     The  above  findings  from  earlier  chapters  establish  the  diversity  in  reform  type  and   the  reform  pathways.  However,  accounting  for  the  diversity  of  reforms  and  their  effects   (including  how  teachers  made  sense  of  them)  remains  to  be  done.  Why,  for  instance,  did   reforms  take  on  the  many  forms  that  they  did?  More  specifically,  why  did  mandatory   reforms  have  both  the  power  of  legislation  behind  them  and  the  most  meager   opportunities  to  learn?  Why  did  reforms  that  provided  situated  opportunities  to  learn  also   require  entrepreneurship,  social  connections,  and  individual  purpose  and  motivation?  To   answer  these  questions  one  must  know  something  about  the  nature  of  the  larger  system   and  how  the  system  shaped  efforts  to  improve  classroom  instruction.       Key  Features  of  the  System   The  purpose  of  this  section  is  to  cull  the  findings  from  this  dissertation  and  combine   them  with  the  previous  literature  in  order  to  construct  the  characteristics  of  the  system   into  which  instructional  reforms  were  launched.  This  dissertation  set  out  to  understand   how  teachers  made  sense  of  and  responded  to  multiple  reform  initiatives  and,  in  the  midst   of  data  collection  and  analysis,  it  ended  up  answering  the  question  of  how  reform  happens   in  a  system  of  “overlapping  collectivities”  (Cusick,  1992,  p.  210)  characterized  by  an   unusual  blend  of  interdependence  and  independence.  To  understand  why  reforms  did  not   create  existential  crises  for  teachers  one  must  know  something  about  the  system  into   which  these  reforms  were  deployed.         298   Interdependence       Interdependence  among  groups  was  the  first  of  the  system’s  key  features  to  emerge   from  the  data.  Actors  throughout  the  system  needed  others  at  different  levels  and,  as  Cohen   (1982)  argued  over  30  years  ago,  policymaking  at  the  federal  level  increased  policymaking   throughout  the  system  of  fractured  governance.  But  increased  reform  activity  across  levels   also  fostered  mutual  dependence.  For  instance,  federal  and  state  administrators  not  only   needed  one  another,  they  ultimately  depended  on  local  ISDs,  districts,  principals  and   teachers  to  enact  their  reforms.  The  federal  Race  to  the  Top  program  would  not  have  been   successful  if  no  states  amended  their  education  laws  in  exchange  for  a  stronger  likelihood   of  receiving  federal  money.    Michigan  willingly  and  quickly  changed  its  laws  governing   teacher  evaluation  to  include  teachers’  value-­‐added  contribution  to  student  learning  and   qualitative  evaluation  of  teacher  performance.     These  changing  demands  came  to  districts  in  the  form  of  state  mandates,  but  the   state  remained  at  the  mercy  of  local  districts  administrators.  For  reasons  specified  below,   centralized  reforms  respected  traditional  arrangements  of  deference  to  local  control.  The   state  left  it  to  districts  to  adopt  or  adapt  both  rubrics  for  evaluating  teachers  and  tests  that   would  gauge  teacher  contribution  to  student  learning.  The  state  deferred  to  the  local   control  for  practical  reasons  as  well.  Other  than  providing  general  guidance  and  oversight,   the  state  simply  did  not  have  the  capability  of  incentivizing  or  regulating  compliance.  The   state  needed  good  faith  efforts  of  both  local  districts  and  schools  if  the  reform  was  to  be  a   success.     The  state’s  adoption  of  the  CCSS  tells  a  similar,  yet  distinct,  story.  The  state  adopted   the  CCSS  in  response  to  the  criteria  the  federal  government  set  forth  concerning  Race  to  the   299   Top  applications.  Unlike  the  new  educator  evaluation  system,  the  CCSS  were  already  well   elaborated  when  they  were  enacted  through  legislation.  Yet  neither  the  educator   evaluation  system  nor  the  CCSS  scaffolded  teacher  learning  at  the  state  level  and,  while  the   state  was  relying  on  districts  to  provide  for  substantive  opportunities  for  learning,  districts   failed  to  do  so.       The  two  mandatory  reforms  in  this  study  highlight  two  important  findings   regarding  interdependence  between  states  and  districts.  First,  state  governments  are   better  at  generating  reform  than  they  are  at  elaborating  and  scaffolding  them.  For  this   reason,  states  are  likely  to  rely  on  ISDs  or  districts  to  implement  reforms  and  to  provide  for   teacher  learning  about  them.  This  was  particularly  true  for  reforms  that  were  hastily   conceived,  considered,  and  adopted.  When  there  was  a  breakdown  between  levels  of  the   system,  teacher  learning  was  likely  to  suffer  and  the  impact  of  the  reform  was  likely  to  be   modest.       In  addition  to  mandatory  reforms,  the  state  had  a  noteworthy,  yet  limited,  role  in   promoting  voluntary  reforms.  When  state  administrators  created  FAME,  a  state-­‐supported   but  voluntary  program,  they  also  relied  on  local  support.  State  administrators  generated   interest  for  the  reform  by  contacting  districts  throughout  the  state  and  mobilizing  their   social  networks  by  calling  on  particular  administrators  and  teachers.  State  administrators   in  charge  of  the  FAME  project  also  developed  reform  materials  and  cultivated  expertise  in  a   small  cadre  of  ISD  and  district  administrators.  They  called  on  volunteers  to  lead  and   construct  learning  teams  in  their  local  contexts  and  to  commit  to  meeting  regularly  to   discuss  the  reform  ideas  as  they  had  elaborated  them  in  print  reform  documents  and  online   resources.  Finally,  state  administrators  also  provided  learning  opportunities  for  teachers   300   via  the  beginning  of  the  year  program  launch.  Notably,  FAME  provided  evidence  that,  given   favorable  circumstances,  the  state  could  elaborate  and  scaffold  instructional  reforms.   Unlike  the  mandatory  reforms  described  above,  FAME  enjoyed  the  intense  commitment  of   a  small  group  of  state  administrators  and  reformers.  Furthermore,  the  program  developed   over  time  and  remained  on  a  manageable  scale  for  these  administrators  to  accommodate   initial  teacher  learning  and  provide  for  print  and  online  resources.  Finally,  the  program   ostensibly  engaged  volunteers  at  the  local  level  whose  commitment  to  the  program  was  not   only  essential,  but  could  also  be  assumed.  The  state  did  not  take  on  a  regulatory  role  but   relied  on  the  good  faith  efforts  of  local  teams  who  had  voluntarily  committed  to  the   program.     Other  non-­‐mandatory  reforms  were  generated  at  the  county  or  district  level  and   required  little  or  no  interaction  with  or  mutual  reliance  on  the  state.  ISD  and  district   administrators  often  worked  in  tandem  to  sponsor  reforms  and  create  professional   learning  opportunities  that  would  accompany  them.  While  freeing  themselves  from  state   involvement  in  these  endeavors,  ISD  and  district  administrators  still  relied  on  local  interest   and  commitment.  ISD  or  district  administrators’  ambitions  varied  for  these  reforms.  With   wide  coverage  reforms,  ISD  or  district  administrators  expected  to  reach  a  substantial   number  of  teachers  in  a  county  or  district.  TLC  and  CITW  were  of  this  variety.  Other   reforms  were  generated  at  the  ISD  or  district  level  and  were  intended  only  for  select   groups  of  interested  teachers  and  administrators.  SBG,  CCR,  and  UDL  were  of  this  type.   Two  reforms  reached  schools  through  wide  coverage  programs.  For  example,  in  the   TLC  program  in  Poe’s  district,  ISD  and  district  administrators  worked  together  to  provide   trainings  that  promoted  teacher  learning  about  elements  of  the  CCSS.  Yet,  the  reform  was   301   distinct  enough  in  that  it  featured  district  priorities  (in  this  case  getting  teachers  to  use  the   CCSS  to  create  a  series  of  benchmark  tests)  that  drew  teachers’  attention  away  from  some   other  elements  critical  to  the  CCSS.     CITW  was  the  other  wide  coverage  reform  to  emerge  during  the  study.  It  had  no   affiliation  with  any  of  the  instructional  reforms  endorsed  or  mandated  at  the  state  or   federal  level.  Because  the  goal  of  both  TLC  and  CITW  was  to  provide  training  for  every   teacher  in  a  large  coverage  area,  both  reforms  employed  behaviorist  opportunities  to  learn.   While  neither  reform  relied  on  the  state,  both  needed  to  secure  the  support  of  local   principals  who  would  commit  to  sending  their  teachers.  Thus,  in  addition  to  elaborating  the   reform  and  scaffolding  the  learning  opportunities,  ISD  and  district  administrators  had  to   ensure  that  teachers  would  participate.  For  instance,  administrators  in  Poe’s  district  called   Mr.  Delancey  as  a  matter  of  courtesy  before  contacting  the  teachers  about  TLC  and  Mr.   Delancey  quickly  obliged  the  request  to  send  his  teachers.  Evidence  from  this  study  also   suggests  that  administrator-­‐principal  contact  was  more  than  mere  formality.  Ms.  Shriver   sent  her  teachers  to  CITW  training  despite  believing  that  she  was  under  no  compulsion  to   do  so.  In  fact,  several  of  the  principals  in  Waller’s  district  declined  the  invitation  to  have   their  teachers  participate.       Other  ISD  and  district  generated  reforms  were  not  intended  for  district-­‐  or   countywide  coverage  and  were  thus  smaller  in  scale.  These  reforms  were  particularly   vulnerable  to  local  interest  and  commitment  as  they  did  not  have  the  expectations  of   central  district  administrators  behind  them.  However,  as  was  the  case  with  UDL,  CCR,  and   SBG,  administrators  needed  only  a  modicum  of  local  interest  for  the  programs  to  be  a   success.  Therefore,  the  interdependence  relevant  to  these  reforms  played  out  mostly,  but   302   not  entirely,  at  the  site  level.  Both  principals  and  teachers  still  relied  on  ISD  or  districts  to   elaborate  reforms  and  scaffold  teacher  learning  but  generating  interest  and  commitment   was  mostly  a  local  affair,  especially  if  the  principal  was  a  reform  entrepreneur  as  Ms.   Shriver  was  at  Waller.  Ms.  Shriver  needed  teachers  to  invest  the  time  and  energy  because   without  it  meaningful  reform  activity  would  not  be  possible.     Without  principal  sponsorship,  it  was  likely  that  schools  would  not  be  involved  in   these  reforms  at  all.  In  this  way,  nonparticipation  highlights  the  interdependence  of  local   actors.  Teachers  depended  on  principals  to  connect  them  to  reform.  Without  this   connection,  it  was  unlikely  (but  not  impossible)  for  teachers  to  be  connected  to  reforms,   especially  programs  that  were  sponsored  by  ISD  and  districts  but  not  intended  for  wide   coverage.     Independence   In  all  the  ways  listed  above,  actors  at  multiple  levels  relied  on  one  another  and   reform  activity  can  only  be  understood  by  first  understanding  this  mutual  reliance.  Mutual   reliance,  however,  was  only  one  of  the  system’s  key  features.  One  needs  also  to  understand   the  principle  of  independence  if  he  or  she  is  to  explain  how  teachers  made  sense  of  multiple   reform  environments.       The  principle  of  independence  meant  that  actors  across  levels  could  engage  in   reform  primarily  on  their  own  terms.  This  independence  was  evident  whether  reforms   were  mandatory  or  voluntary  or  whether  the  learning  opportunities  that  accompanied   them  were  behaviorist  or  situated.  Nevertheless,  independence  played  out  differently   under  different  reform  circumstances  and  it  is  important  to  consider  each  separately.     303   It  may  seem  that  mandatory  reforms  were  generated  centrally  and  demanded   compliance  through  standardized  local  behaviors  and  responses.  Yet,  even  mandatory   reforms  respected  local  independence  and  preserved  the  tradition  of  local  control.  District   officials  could  decide  whether  they  wanted  to  choose  from  a  list  of  state-­‐adopted  rubrics   for  evaluating  teaching  or  if  they  wanted  to  develop  their  own.  While  subject  to  state   oversight,  locally  developed  rubrics  still  reflected  local  priorities,  commitments,  and   preferences.  Furthermore,  state  policymakers  allowed  local  districts  to  determine  how   they  would  gauge  teachers’  “value-­‐added”  as  the  new  educator  evaluation  legislation   demanded.  As  one  might  expect,  respect  for  the  autonomy  of  different  levels  resulted  in   natural  variation  across  schools.  While  Waller’s  district  purchased  a  series  of  national  tests   to  determine  teachers’  contributions  to  student  learning,  both  Poe’s  and  Middleton’s   district  further  devolved  this  decision  to  the  site  level.  Thus,  district  administrators  did  not   merely  implement  mandatory  reforms,  they  fundamentally  shaped  them  (Spillane,  1993,   1996,  1997)  and  increased  policymaking  at  the  federal  and  state  level  increased  the  activity   and  influence  of  other  levels  (Cohen,  1982).     Still,  district  administrators  had  to  be  sensitive  to  the  independence  of  both  site   principals  and  teachers.  At  the  school  level,  principals  like  Mr.  Delancey  could  borrow  state   strength  to  gain  legitimacy  as  an  instructional  leader  but  principals  could  just  as  easily   shape  mandated  reforms  to  align  with  their  preferences  and  in  so  doing  defeat  the  reform’s   spirit  as  Mrs.  Novak  did.  Mrs.  Novak  wanted  an  evaluation  tool  that  allowed  for   parsimonious  scoring  of  the  dimensions  of  teaching  that  she  cared  about  and  through  her   engagement  in  the  system  she  was  able  to  achieve  this  end.  Alternatively,  principals  like   Ms.  Shriver  could  embrace  the  reform’s  role  expectations  and  perform  it  remarkably  well.   304   In  each  of  the  cases,  principals  enacted  their  role  in  ways  that  reflected  their  beliefs,   priorities,  and  the  way  they  understood  their  circumstances.  In  other  words,  the  new   educator  evaluation  reform  did  not  threaten  administrator  independence.     For  their  part,  teachers  were  not  relegated  to  a  passive  role  in  which  they  were   simply  observed  and  evaluated.  In  each  of  the  three  schools,  teachers’  responses  to   educator  evaluation  reform  varied  and,  like  the  principals  in  the  study,  this  variation   stemmed  from  teachers  beliefs  and  understandings  of  their  situations.  In  short,  teachers  in   their  local  contexts  knew  how  to  preserve  their  independence  and  the  reach  of  reform  and   because  consequences  differed  across  the  three  site,  responses  varied.    For  instance,  Mrs.   Reid  at  Poe  completely  ignored  the  new  evaluation  system.  She  knew  nothing  of  the   evaluation  rubric  and  assented  to  only  minimal  compliance  of  forwarding  her  teacher-­‐ selected  evidence  of  student  learning.  Since  the  principal,  Mr.  Delancey,  was  struggling  for   legitimate  standing  among  a  divided  staff,  he  had  few  allies  and  needed  the  support  of  staff   members  like  Mrs.  Reid,  who  willingly  gave  it.     Teachers  at  Middleton  understood  their  situations  differently.  They  took  the  time  to   become  familiar  with  the  rubric  for  evaluation  in  case  they  needed  it  to  contest  their   evaluation  score.  The  parsimony  that  Mrs.  Novak  prized  also  made  the  district  rubric  more   vague  and,  thus,  more  vulnerable  to  challenges  of  subjectivity  and  alternative   interpretation.  In  other  words,  the  teachers  could  manipulate  the  same  tool  that  Mrs.   Novak  had  helped  shaped  to  meet  their  own  purposes.  The  teachers  knew  this  (the   subjectivity  of  the  rubric  was  repeatedly  a  topic  of  conversation  in  teacher  interviews  at   Middleton)  and  they  were  well  prepared  to  argue  their  cases  if  need  be.  They  were  also   confident  that  they  knew  the  elements  of  quality  instruction  better  than  Mrs.  Novak  and   305   could  argue  successfully  against  her.  Finally,  teachers  felt  that  if  they  were  scored  poorly   and  Mrs.  Novak  would  not  relent,  they  could  pursue  their  case  at  the  district  level  and  this   would  expose  Mrs.  Novak’s  incompetence  rather  than  their  own.     Even  at  Waller,  teachers’  responses  to  evaluation  were  largely  independent  of  the   reform  itself  and  instead  were  closely  linked  with  both  how  teachers  understood  their   situations  and  with  their  personal  beliefs.  For  instance,  Mrs.  Jackson  was  a  probationary   teacher  and  of  all  the  teachers  at  Waller  who  participated  in  the  study,  Mrs.  Jackson  was  the   most  concerned  about  her  evaluation  score.  Rather  than  using  the  Framework  for  Teaching   to  improve  her  instruction,  however,  Mrs.  Jackson  joined  the  FAME  team  in  order  to  boost   her  evaluation  score  under  the  section  of  the  rubric  that  evaluated  teachers’  “professional   responsibilities.”  Mr.  Bridges  was  not  concerned  about  his  own  score,  but  because  he  was   union  president  he  studied  the  rubric  so  that  he  could  help  fellow  teachers  when  disputes   arose  around  a  teacher’s  score.  Mrs.  Hall  virtually  ignored  the  rubric,  but  for  different   reasons  than  Mrs.  Reid  at  Poe.  Mrs.  Hall  was  very  active  in  reform  and  was  one  of  the  most   respected  teachers  on  staff.  She  simply  did  not  find  the  rubric  helpful  in  improving  her   practice,  and,  because  she  received  the  highest  evaluation  score  among  Waller  teachers  the   year  before  (when  the  district  piloted  their  new  evaluation  system  in  preparation  of  the   new  state  mandates),  she  reasoned  that  attending  to  the  rubric  for  the  pragmatic  reason  of   securing  a  better  score  was  unnecessary.     General  respect  for  and  deference  to  actors’  independence  across  levels  was  also   observed  for  reforms  that  were  not  mandatory.  However,  independence  was  not  absolute.   The  interdependent  nature  of  the  system  forbid  it.  Interdependence  and  independence   could  not  be  simultaneously  maintained  without  compromises.  Nevertheless,  compromises   306   left  independence  more  or  less  intact  and,  indeed,  made  independence  possible.  For   example,  teachers  never  questioned  the  legitimacy  of  ISD  or  district  officials’  attempts  to   generate  reforms  nor  did  they  typically  resist  attending  ISD  or  district  workshops  when   assigned  by  their  principals.       Evidence  from  the  study  illustrates  how  in  compromise,  independence  was   preserved.  Teachers  could  be  assigned  to  participate  in  reforms  but  had  ample  freedom  to   dictate  the  terms  of  this  participation.  For  instance,  at  Poe  Ms.  Cunningham  came  to  TLC   trainings  to  learn  about  the  Common  Core  and  she  attended  to  what  Deb,  the  trainer,  said   and  completed  tasks  Deb  assigned.  At  the  same  training,  Mrs.  Reid  privately  derided  Deb’s   presentation  and  both  Mrs.  Reid  and  Mrs.  Monahan  talked  about  unrelated  school  matters   when  they  were  supposed  to  be  working  their  way  through  revising  a  benchmark  exam.  At   Waller,  Mrs.  Jackson  took  notes  at  CITW  trainings  and  tried  many  of  the  strategies  she   learned  in  her  classroom  while  many  of  her  colleagues  symbolically  boycotted  the  trainings   by  refusing  to  engage  in  activities  or  enact  any  of  the  strategies  upon  returning  to  their   schools.   Because  of  this  discretion,  professional  development  trainers  had  good  reason  to  be   wary  of  teachers.  When  given  a  chance,  teachers  regularly  talked  about  summer  vacation   plans,  checked  their  cell  phones,  went  on  extended  bathroom  breaks,  or  dismissed  assigned   tasks.  In  response,  trainers  treated  teachers  like  school  children.  They  monitored  group   work,  criticized  teachers  for  not  listening,  and  attempted  to  redirect  teachers  from  their   own  interests  to  those  of  the  training  and  the  trainer.  While  informants  sometimes   complained  about  this  treatment,  no  one  suggested  that  the  arrangement  was  unusual  or   exceedingly  unpleasant.    Teachers  and  trainers  both  knew  that  their  mutual  connection   307   was  ephemeral.  All  the  parties  involved  seemed  either  to  ignore  or  deal  lightly  with  the   tensions  that  emerged  during  training  sessions  and  at  the  end  of  the  day  everyone  went  his   or  her  separate  way.     Aside  from  mild  in-­‐the-­‐moment  admonitions,  trainers  were  wise  not  to  censure   teachers  or  threaten  their  independence  or  discretion.  When  professional  development   providers  attempted  to  punish  teachers,  trouble  ensued,  as  it  did  at  Waller’s  CITW   trainings.  CITW  trainers  punished  teachers  by  kicking  out  those  who  held  side   conversations  during  training  sessions  and  asking  them  not  to  return,  as  happened  to  Mrs.   Hall.  Her  case  illustrates  the  consequences  of  the  delicate  arrangement  of  interdependence   and  independence  across  levels.   Notably,  the  system  of  overlapping  constituencies  that  recognized  mutual  reliance   and  independence  was  incapable  of  effectively  resolving  disputes  when  they  arose.  The   best  and  most  often  pursued  course  of  action  when  trouble  emerged  was  to  ignore   difficulties  and  continue  conducting  business  as  usual.  For  instance,  Mrs.  Hall  wanted  to   address  the  accusations  made  against  her,  but  when  she  approached  Ms.  Shriver  about   contacting  the  trainers  to  discuss  what  had  transpired,  Ms.  Shriver  suggested  Mrs.  Hall   forgo  further  contact  and  forget  the  entire  episode.  Mrs.  Hall  did  as  Ms.  Shriver  advised  and   neither  she  nor  Ms.  Shriver  heard  anything  further  about  it.  The  district  did  not  contact  Ms.   Shriver  or  Mrs.  Hall  about  the  incident  nor  did  either  have  any  further  interaction  with  the   trainers.  It  was  as  if  the  event  had  never  happened.  Mrs.  Hall’s  hurt  feelings  were  the  only   vestiges  of  trouble.  The  system  simply  had  no  way  of  handling  breaches  of  decorum  and  the   whole  thing  was  forgotten.     308   This  is  not  to  say  that  trouble  did  not  resurface.  When  resistance  to  CITW  trainings   mounted,  trainers  accused  teachers  of  urinating  on  training  materials  and  trying  to  flush   the  materials  down  the  toilet.  Rumors,  accusations,  and  counter  accusations  abounded.   Pressed  to  do  something,  the  district  investigated  yet  quickly  abandoned  the  effort  and  any   investigative  findings  were  never  disclosed.  Meanwhile,  the  program  persisted.  No  training   sessions  were  canceled.  No  additional  teachers  were  expelled.  No  reprimands  were   forthcoming.  And  even  though  there  was  a  general  dissatisfaction  among  teachers  that  Ms.   Shriver  shared,  she  planned  to  send  teachers  to  the  CITW  training  again  the  following  year   and  teachers  were  either  resigned  to  or  cautiously  optimistic  about  attending.   Limited  evidence  from  this  study  suggests  that  this  pattern  of  respect  for   independence  held  even  when  the  principals  were  assigned  to  professional  development.   For  example,  Waller’s  district  was  trying  to  standardized  scores  on  the  new  teacher   evaluation  system  across  its  schools  and  it  conducted  trainings  to  achieve  this  end.  District   administers  familiarized  principals  with  the  Framework  for  Teaching  and  then  led  them  in   classroom  walkthroughs  at  select  schools  in  the  district.  Ms.  Shriver  embraced  the  new   educator  evaluation  system  but  she  had  no  reason  to  expect  the  other  district  principals  to   share  this  enthusiasm.  While  doing  walkthroughs  she  reported  that,  when  she  asked   questions  and  introduced  problems,  she  ran  afoul  of  her  colleagues  who  simply  wanted  to   get  through  the  exercise.  Ms.  Shriver  grew  more  and  more  dissatisfied  by  what  she  saw  as  a   wasted  opportunity  to  engage  in  meaningful  discussions  about  teaching  and  learning   (although  she  did  achieve  a  modicum  of  success  in  pursuit  as  described  in  Chapter  6).   Nevertheless,  she  was  resigned  to  voicing  her  displeasure  with  her  colleagues’  apathy  to  a   district  administrator  and  during  research  interviews.     309   In  several  cases,  then,  careful  and  quietly  maintained  boundaries  that  respected   individual  independence  became  noisy  if  disturbed  and,  since  there  was  no  easy  way  to  the   system  to  respond,  difficulties  were  quickly  sundered  and  forgotten.  In  other  cases,   frustrations  could  be  voiced,  but  the  active  engagement  and  good  faith  efforts  of  others   could  not  be  compelled.     The  principle  of  independence  was  particularly  important  with  voluntary  reforms   that  relied  on  situated  teacher  learning  (e.g.,  FAME,  UDL,  SBG).  Situated  learning  placed  the   burden  for  learning  almost  entirely  on  teachers  to  take  control  of  their  own  learning.  For   reforms  with  situated  learning  to  be  successful,  then,  a  core  group  of  teachers  needed  to  be   enthusiastic  and  committed.  For  this  reason,  assignment  to  reforms  with  situated  learning   was  impractical  and  only  employed  in  very  particular  situations  (see  chapter  6).     The  compromises  evident  in  enrolling  teachers  in  reforms  without  their  consent   (mandated  reforms)  or  assigning  teachers  to  attend  trainings  (all  wide  coverage  and  some   select  coverage  reforms)  receded  into  the  background.  Indeed,  with  reforms  like  FAME  that   situated  teacher  learning  in  local  contexts,  individual  autonomy  held  sway.     The  first  and  most  obvious  challenge  was  involving  teachers  in  the  first  place.  As   was  demonstrated  in  Chapters  6  and  7,  only  a  minority  of  teachers  participated  in  situated   learning  of  any  kind.    Not  wanting  to  be  involved  in  FAME,  UDL,  or  SBG  constituted  reason   enough  not  to  participate.  While  the  reasons  that  teachers  gave  for  joining  the  FAME   program  were  idiosyncratic  and  specific  to  their  understanding  of  their  situation,  no   teacher  suggested  that  he  or  she  was  compelled  to  join.     The  primacy  of  independence  in  the  realm  of  voluntary  reforms  with  situated   learning  is  also  illustrated  by  the  number  of  teachers  whose  commitment  to  FAME   310   weakened  over  the  course  of  the  year  without  any  apparent  consequences.  Involvement   was  contingent  on  the  teacher  not  having  something  more  pressing  to  do.  Mr.  Brooks’   commitment  to  FAME  faltered  before  the  Poe  learning  team  met  for  the  first  time.  He  never   attended  a  single  meeting  and  the  team’s  leader,  Ms.  Dixon,  stopped  referring  to  Mr.  Brooks   as  a  member  of  the  team  halfway  through  the  year.  Mrs.  Jackson,  who  by  her  own   admission  was  only  on  the  team  for  the  “technical”  reason  of  earning  a  higher  evaluation   score,  never  dropped  from  the  team  entirely,  but  she  did  stop  attending  meetings  in  the   spring  when  she  started  coaching  soccer.  Mrs.  Curtis  often  had  meetings  with  the  high   school  foreign  language  teachers  that  prevented  her  from  attending  FAME  meetings.  Mr.   Bridges  had  union  business.     When  a  member  of  the  team  dropped  entirely  or  simply  did  not  attend  a  meeting,  no   one  spoke  of  this  as  noteworthy  or  alarming.  Rather,  failure  to  attend  was  just  a  routine   fact  of  life  that  teams  like  these  often  had  to  deal  with.  Nor  did  any  sanction  befall  teachers   whose  commitment  to  FAME  wavered  or  lapsed  completely.  Attendance  at  meetings  was   solely  a  matter  of  one’s  personal  preference  and  nonattendance  was  not  subject  to   punishment  or  censure.  If  learning  team  coaches  had  difficulty  assembling  a  critical  mass   for  a  particular  meeting  date,  the  meeting  was  canceled.  Teachers  were  not  expected  to   reschedule  other  commitments  and  compelled  to  attend  FAME  meetings.    In  each  of  the   three  cases  learning  team  coaches  scheduled  meetings  entirely  around  teachers  schedules.   Even  so,  meeting  attendance  was  sporadic,  but  the  meetings  went  on  provided  that  a   critical  mass  of  people  could  attend.         311   Summary     The  system  as  I  have  described  it  was  characterized  by  both  interdependence  and   independence.  In  order  for  reforms  to  be  launched,  diffused,  and  implemented,  actors   throughout  the  system  needed  to  be  active  and  they  also  depended  on  the  activity  of  others   at  different  levels.  Independence  accompanied  this  mutual  reliance  as  the  prerogatives  of   different  individuals  and  groups  were  maintained  while  reforms  made  their  way  through   the  system.  Mandated  reforms  stressed  the  existing  balance  between  interdependence  and   independence  most,  but  these  reforms  were  constructed  with  the  importance  of  individual   discretion  in  mind  or  actors  quickly  re-­‐established  these  boundaries  in  practice.  But  at  each   of  the  three  schools  in  the  study,  district  administrators,  principals,  and  teachers  quickly   reached  mutually  agreeable  solutions  that  preserved  independence  among  actors,  even  if   they  did  require  some  compromise.  Indeed,  the  flexibility  of  the  system  to  handle  demands   of  this  sort  was  remarkable.       The  system  was  far  less  able  to  handle  intrusions  into  independence  not  covered  by   compromises.  Even  with  compromises,  each  group’s  influence  over  other  groups  had  limits,   and  when  these  limits  were  threatened  the  system  actors  faced  problems  that  they  had  no   means  of  resolving.  The  typical  solution  in  this  situation  was  to  retreat  back  to  one’s  own   fiefdom  and  resume  business  as  usual  where  respect  for  individual  and  group  autonomy   held  sway.     The  consequences  of  the  system  are  paramount.  As  we  have  seen  in  the  sections   above  and  as  will  be  articulated  more  fully  in  the  next  section,  interdependence  and   independence  ensured  that  reforms  did  not  push  in  on  unwilling  teachers  too  severely  and,   if  pressed,  teachers  could  manipulate  reforms  so  that  they  were  participating  on  their  own   312   terms.  Furthermore,  teachers  could  choose  not  to  participate  at  all  in  non-­‐mandatory   reforms.     The  Consequences  of  Interdependence  and  Independence  on  Instructional  Reform   Interdependence  and  independence  affected  the  way  reform  activity  was  generated   and  how  people  organized  around  it.  Much  has  been  said  in  the  preceding  pages  about  how   the  system  of  interdependence  and  independence  combined  to  affect  mandatory  reforms.   This  account  would  be  familiar  to  policy  researchers  (e.g.,  Ball,  1990;  Berman  &   McLaughlin,  1978;  Cohen,  1982,  1990;  Lipsky,  1980;  McLaughlin,  1976;  Spillane,  2006;   Weatherly  &  Lipsky,  1977).  Namely,  centralized  reform  activity  generates  activity  from   multiple  levels  and  reforms  are  continuously  shaped  as  they  make  their  way  from  the   statehouse  to  the  schoolhouse.       While  over  the  past  four  decades  researchers  have  conducted  a  great  deal  of   research  on  the  phenomenon  of  mandatory  instructional  reforms,  less  is  known  about  non   mandatory  reforms  and  how  multiple-­‐reform  environments  affect  principals  and  teachers.   In  effort  to  describe  these  environments,  I  detailed  the  key  elements  of  both  the  reforms   themselves  and  the  system  of  “overlapping  constituencies”  (Cusick,  1992)  that  would  help   explain  the  social  organization  that  formed  around  reforms  and  ultimately  shaped  how   teachers  made  sense  of  and  responded  to  multiple  reforms.    In  this  section,  I  explore  the   consequences  of  the  multiple  reform  environment  in  a  larger  system  characterized  by   interdependence  and  independence.       Reforms,  particularly  non-­‐mandated  reforms,  simply  could  not  happen  without  the   active  participation  and  commitment  of  actors  at  several  different  levels  of  the  system.  In  a   system  of  interdependence  and  independence  this  was  achieved  through  reform   313   entrepreneurship.  Entrepreneurs  could  come  at  any  level  of  the  system  but  they  had  to   have  the  necessary  social  connections  to  make  a  reform  happen.  The  state  administrator   created  the  FAME  program  and  used  her  social  contacts  at  Poe  to  secure  their  participation   in  the  program.  In  turn,  Ms.  Dixon  reached  out  to  her  small  group  of  close  contacts  and   encouraged  them  to  participate.  A  very  similar  story  could  be  told  at  Middleton.  The   superintendent  contacted  Mrs.  Herman  directly  because  he  knew  that  she  was  generally   interested  in  reform.  For  her  part,  Mrs.  Herman  was  free  to  politely  dismiss  the  invitation   but  because  of  her  own  interest  she  submitted  an  application  to  the  state  to  participate  and   then  set  about  constructing  her  team  of  close  colleagues.       The  case  of  Waller  is  the  most  illustrative.  At  Waller,  all  reforms  came  through  Ms.   Shriver.  Ms.  Shriver  was  the  study’s  most  remarkable  reform  entrepreneur  as  she  was  most   active  in  connecting  to  reforms  and  then  building  support  for  them.  In  Ms.  Shriver’s  case  we   see  the  differences  between  reforms  with  behaviorist  learning  opportunities  and  those   with  situated  opportunities.  Ms.  Shriver  typically  assigned  teachers  to  attend  reforms  with   behaviorist  learning  opportunities  and  teachers  did  not  object  to  this  assignment  (a  similar   pattern  held  at  both  Poe  and  Middleton).  However,  reforms  with  situated  learning  were   another  matter.  Situated  learning  placed  teachers  into  small  groups  and  demanded  that   teachers  take  an  important  role  in  constructing  their  own  learning.       For  reforms  with  situated  learning,  reform  entrepreneurs  with  social  contacts  were   necessary,  but  not  sufficient.  Because  the  system  allowed  for  widespread  independence,   individual  actors  had  to  have  their  own  compelling  reasons  to  participate.  Forced   participation  in  situated  learning  was  not  subject  to  compromise.     314     These  features  of  the  system  are  by  now  familiar,  but  what  were  the  consequences   of  this  arrangement?  First,  situated  learning  was  unequally  distributed  among  staff.  This   was  particularly  true  at  Waller.  Ms.  Shriver  used  a  blend  of  solicitation  and  voluntary  call  to   build  support  for  reforms  with  situated  learning.  When  Ms.  Shriver  solicited  participation   she  did  so  by  asking  the  teachers  who  she  felt  were  the  most  capable  and  the  most   enthusiastic  about  reform.  When  teachers  responded  to  her  general  call  for  participation,   they  were  also  generally  the  teachers  who  Ms.  Shriver  felt  were  most  able  and  committed.         Likewise,  Mrs.  Herman  at  Middleton  put  her  team  together  by  approaching  her   peers  who  were  of  like  mind  about  reform  and  the  importance  of  collaboration.  At  Poe,  Ms.   Dixon’s  social  contacts  and  interests  in  reform  were  much  more  modest  than  either  Ms.   Shriver’s  or  Mrs.  Herman’s,  but  her  approach  to  constructing  a  team  was  similar.  She   reached  out  to  the  few  members  on  staff  who  she  felt  would  be  interested.  In  sum,  when   teachers  learned  in  situated  contexts  in  this  study,  they  were  surrounded  by  closely   associated,  like-­‐minded  peers.       This  picture  of  formal  activity  surrounding  reform  differs  sharply  from  previous   accounts.  For  instance,  Coburn  (2001)  argued  that  when  teachers  collaborated  about   reforms  in  formal  groups,  the  groups  themselves  were  heterogeneous  and  in  these   meetings  teachers  tended  to  talk  about  matters  that  turned  teachers’  focus  from  intense   discussions  about  teaching  and  learning  because  the  teachers  had  trouble  talking  across   their  differences.  Teachers  had  to  employ  their  informal  personal  networks  to  discuss   instruction  with  homogeneous  colleagues.  Coburn’s  account  is  likely  specific  to  mandatory   reforms  at  the  elementary  school  level  that  have  dominated  researcher  interests.  Yet,  as  we   have  seen,  non-­‐mandatory  reforms  were  not  organized  in  this  way.  Teachers  participating   315   in  situated  learning  of  non-­‐mandatory  reforms  were  free  to  associate  with  whom  they   chose  and  formal  teams  built  up  around  colleagues  with  similar  interests  and  perspectives   on  instructional  improvement.       This  research  also  offers  a  contrast  to  Coburn’s  (2001)  findings  that  when  teachers   talk  with  like-­‐minded  colleagues  their  conversations  tended  to  be  “in-­‐facing”  and  centered   on  issues  of  instruction.  However,  this  research  demonstrates  how  teachers  work  in  formal   teams  was  not  only  typically  homogeneous,  the  conversations  they  had  stemmed  from  the   larger  interests  of  the  group.  Consequently,  conversations  at  Waller  and  Middleton  were   tightly  focused  on  formative  assessment  principles  and  the  enactment  of  formative   assessment  practices.  In  contrast,  Poe’s  team  was  less  disposed  to  do  this  and  they  spent   their  time  on  what  Coburn  termed  “out-­‐facing”  conversations.  Homogenously  grouped   teachers  were  no  guarantee  against  unfocused  collaboration.   Because  teams  formed  the  way  they  did  in  response  to  the  larger  system,  expertise,   interest,  and  commitment  became  concentrated  leaving  no  clear  path  to  scaling  up  a   reform  that  situated  teacher  learning  in  local  contexts.  Splitting  up  learning  teams  and   thereby  dividing  expertise  around  which  other  subsequent  groups  could  form  might  be  one   way  to  increase  a  reform’s  reach.  However,  it  does  not  appear  that  this  was  a  natural   solution.  Although  the  FAME  program  had  been  at  Waller,  Middleton,  and  Poe  for  many   years,  it  had  not  expanded  and  become  more  influential  over  time.  The  FAME  program   satisfied  those  who  were  reform  seekers  and  wanted  an  experience  working  closely  with   colleagues  but  it  did  not  seem  to  provoke  wider  interest  in  this  type  of  work.  And  because   the  system  honored  individual  independence  especially  in  matters  of  situated  learning   experiences,  teachers  were  free  not  to  participate.       316   Situated  learning  requires  both  expertise  and  enthusiasm,  but  in  a  system  marked   by  interdependence  and  independence  it  is  unclear  how  either  can  be  generated  where  it   does  not  currently  exist.  It  is  clear  that  enthusiasm  cultivates  expertise  in  the  current   system  as  independent  actors  accrue  learning  opportunities  congruent  with  their   preferences  and  over  time  the  most  ingenious  and  dedicated  teachers  develop  considerable   knowledge  about  reforms.  In  other  words,  teachers  do  learn  from  these  experiences,  but   how  to  cultivate  enthusiasm  that  would  propel  such  learning  remains  puzzling.     Finally,  because  teachers  were  free  to  participate  they  were  also  free  to  drop  from   participation  in  reforms  with  situated  learning  at  any  time.  In  reforms  with  behaviorist   learning  opportunities,  teachers  were  generally  assigned  to  attend  during  contracted   school  time  and  they  consented  to  go.  However,  their  commitment  to  the  workshops   differed  and  depended  on  their  personal  preferences.  Teachers  were  essentially  enrolled  in   mandatory  reforms,  but  they  could  manipulate  the  nature  of  this  participation  and  over   time  actors  across  levels  settled  on  mutually  agreeable  compromises.  Taking  in  the   system’s  affect  on  these  three  types  of  reforms  explains  why  multiple  reform  environments   did  not  create  crises  for  teachers.  Teachers  were  not  often  coerced  into  reform   participation  and,  when  they  were,  they  could  engage  with  reforms  on  their  own  terms.     When  reforms  were  not  mandated,  teachers  had  even  wider  discretion.  They  could  treat   the  reform  as  they  would  a  mandated  reform  and  shape  it  to  meet  their  preferences  or  they   could  resist  the  reform  entirely  and  choose  not  to  participate.     Ultimately,  teachers  in  the  study  did  not  see  reforms  as  mandates  that  they  had  to   satisfy,  but  rather  as  a  set  of  sometimes 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