Pro--choice

Neighbors refer to Pat Romine's home as "the bird cage," and to her two young daughters as "the little birds."

There's something to it. Like many of the tight row houses in Cleveland's inner city, chain--link fencing surrounds the home. Mrs. Romine prefers that her girls, ages 11 and 5, play with each other in their own small yard, or with a very few friends that she helps to choose. Other parents in the neighborhood find that odd; neighbor children have picked up on that and sometimes taunt the girls as they walk to the store.

But Mrs. Romine isn't swayed. She wants more for her children than the false freedom of having the run of the street, as more than a dozen neighborhood kids seem to have on this hot summer afternoon. Real freedom from this bird cage will be freedom from the hopelessness of the inner city.

She has a little more hope now: In late July, Franklin County Common Pleas Judge Lisa Sadler ruled that the experimental school voucher program slated to begin when school starts is constitutional. The program will allow 1,500 Cleveland children-Mrs. Romine's daughter Angela, 5, among them-to attend the private or religious school of their choice, with up to $2,250 per year in tuition help. Because religious schools are included, the Cleveland project outdistances the only other voucher experiment in the nation, which is taking place in Milwaukee.

"These are my children and I know their needs, their temperaments," says Mrs. Romine as she watches the older of the two help the younger put on shoes. "I don't think it's right for the city to force me to send my children off somewhere I don't feel they'll achieve."

The Cleveland victory for school vouchers should be in a textbook. The missteps that have slowed school choice reform in the past were avoided.

"Cleveland started with a problem that's all too common in inner cities now: dismal public schools," said William Mellor, head of the Washington--based Institute for Justice. "From there, you had individuals in the community, led by [city council member] Fanny Lewis, working to secure a better future for their children. They were then joined by the governor and by businessman David Brennan" who provided funding.

The Institute for Justice provided legal counsel and guidance as legislation was drafted. Mr. Brennan, an industrialist from Akron, formed a group called Hope for Ohio's Children and later Hope for Cleveland's Children. Republican Gov. George Voinovich tapped Mr. Brennan to head his Commission on Educational Choice, which studied voucher systems and ultimately designed the pilot program.

Providentially, this educational reform plan was being drawn up at the same time Cleveland's public schools were buckling under financial and academic failure. In 1995, a federal judge placed the school system into receivership.

The first round went to school--choice opponents. A plan called the Ohio Scholarship program would have provided $13 million in vouchers for 4,000 children in several districts. That plan never made it out of the legislature. But supporters didn't give up. In 1995, the legislature approved a plan that would provide about $5 million in vouchers to 1,500 children. The "scholarships," all of which would be awarded to low--income kindergarten through third--grade students, would be for an amount up to 75 or 90 percent of a private school's tuition, or up to $2,250 (whichever is lower). Once granted, the scholarships would be extended through the eighth grade. Another 1,500 children could receive grants of up to $500 for individual tutoring.

That bill was signed into law by Gov. Voinovich, and on Nov. 16, 1995, the program was announced. Parents had 45 days-until January 1-to apply. Ann Yarman, who heads Hope for Cleveland's Children, says the response was unexpected.

"We estimate that within the Cleveland school system, there were 27,000 eligible students," said Mrs. Yarman. "Within that 45 days, nearly 7,000 applied for the scholarships. When one--fourth of the eligible population responds that quickly, that says something about the Cleveland schools."

The response shattered two myths about vouchers: that only high--achieving students with concerned parents would take advantage of them, and that inner--city kids with apathetic parents would be left behind. "It proved that inner--city parents do care," said Mrs. Yarman. "They care deeply about their children."

The 1,500 children who won scholarships were chosen from the 7,000 by lottery.

Voucher officials made a decision to award the first round of scholarships to children who were below the poverty level, although the statute says that families at or below 200 percent of that level qualify. Among those first--round families, the average income is $6,597.

The response by parents was equalled by the response from the teachers' unions and other liberal groups. In January, the American Federation of Teachers, the American Civil Liberties Union, Americans United for Separation of Church and State, People for the American Way, and the NEA--affiliated Ohio Teachers' Association sued to stop the pilot program.

Everyone with a stake in the program-the parents and community leaders, Hope for Cleveland's Children, the Institute for Justice, and the governor's staff-stayed in touch and in concert. This contrasted with the infighting within the opponents' camp that eventually produced two separate but nearly identical lawsuits.

"None of the arguments they made were unanticipated," said the Institute for Justice's Mr. Mellor. And at all times, the voucher program was portrayed as anything but a subsidy for preppy private--school students. "From the outset the beneficiaries were identified as low--income kids from Cleveland's inner city," Mr. Mellor explained. "The parents and children were front and center the whole time."

Lydia Harris, who is black, found herself thrust to the forefront of the debate, but she didn't back down. This 35--year veteran of St. Adalbert School (she's now the principal) aimed precise jabs at the public--school system. Her case was bolstered by the fact that her school operates in the same neighborhood, with the same pressures, yet succeeds.

"For some of the children in this neighborhood, we're the only hope," she declares. "In the public schools, children are programmed for failure. My children live next door to the public--school children, in identical circumstances, but I don't have a gang problem here, I don't have drugs here, I don't have weapons here. I don't have truancy. In Cleveland public schools, 17,000 children are truant on any given day. I have none."

Just two weeks before school is slated to begin, Mrs. Harris and her staff are walking through hallways lined with boxes of new textbooks. It's not uncommon for Cleveland public schools to still be without textbooks after October. Her classrooms are full of desks, chairs, and chalk; like a good general, Mrs. Harris doesn't abide sending her teachers in to do their jobs without the materials they need.

As she talks, Mrs. Harris smiles at the noise from outside. Though the tables and chairs stacked in this idle classroom block out sunlight from the windows, the sound of boys being coached through dribbling and lay--up drills can be heard.

She seems to have endless patience with boisterous boys, but little patience with the arguments defending public schools. "It's a myth we take the cream of the crop," she says with a dismissive wave. "There's no cream on my crop until we put it there. It's a myth that we take the discipline problems and throw them out of school. It's the other way around. I get the kids the public schools can't handle."

One of her advantages is the ability to "do the things we know that are good for children," such as require uniforms and, when possible, offer single--sex classes.

"Our children wear uniforms and they hate 'em," she says with a smile. "I don't mind that they hate the uniforms. Because if they hate their own black--and--white oxford shoes, they're not going to steal someone else's black--and--white oxford shoes. There are no Air Jordans to envy."

Tuition at St. Adalbert comes to $850 per year, less than one--seventh of what it costs the Cleveland Public Schools to instruct one pupil for one year (nearly $6,200).

"For so long my heart has been for the children who can't afford to come here," Mrs. Harris says. The voucher program offers hope not just to the students who win the scholarships, she adds. "This is also the only hope left for the public schools," she contends. "This can show them that what I do here can be duplicated. It's important to me that public schools do succeed, because I can't take all the children."

On a recent spring day, Denny Widner walked out to his mailbox as he did most other days. Then his life changed. He was on welfare and without hope, he says. He was unable to work because he was needed at home, helping his ill wife take care of their three daughters, then aged 5 years, 4 years, and 8 months. There just wasn't much to look forward to. But that was before he learned that his oldest daughter had won one of the scholarships.

Mr. Widner is eager to tell his story. He assigns the two older girls tasks-Carinna is to write her name on a small chalkboard, and Stacy is to work on Bible verses she memorized at Vacation Bible School last week. Denny's wife holds the baby and supervises the older girls, adding a detail here and there to her husband's narrative.

"We started looking around at schools, and we liked Westside Christian Academy," he said referring to the school attached to the Madison Avenue Baptist Church. "So we signed Carinna [the 5--year--old] up."

Mr.Widner pauses and grins like a kid with a secret. "They asked me to go to the church, just once or twice, to see what they were all about, not that we had to be members or anything. So we went. And now one of the biggest sinners in Cleveland has become a Christian."

As hope so often does, it snowballed.

"Yeah, we got involved in the church, and we all love it," says Denny, 33. "And then I started working at the school and the church, as maintenance. So I'll be there at school with her."

Denny, who estimates he has a sixth--grade education, says he's determined to see his daughters succeed.

"I can't think of anything more important," he said. "And I'm going to keep pushing as hard as I can. When they need parents to show up and hold signs, I'll be there. I'm not taking anything for granted."

Indeed, it's still not certain Carinna, or Angela, or any of the 1,500 other scholarship winners will be able to use those scholarships when school begins later this month. The teachers' unions and other groups who have sued to stop the program have promised to appeal, and to seek an injunction to keep the genie in the bottle. Their desperation is showing. With unusual candor, NEA President Keith Geiger has said in debates concerning educational choice, "We can't let kids escape from the public schools."

A full--scale public relations offensive is underway. Ron Marec, president of the Ohio Federation of Teachers, is now saying the $5 million program will actually cost $500 million. And he says that already the program has cost 65 teachers their jobs. Calls made to Mr. Marec by WORLD, seeking explanations for these figures, were not returned.

In the press, teachers and unionists have called voucher proponents "selfish," caring only for their own children and not for the well--being of the public school system.

The Institute for Justice's Mr. Mellor says that's true. "The teachers' unions want parents to nobly sacrifice the interests of their individual children for the sake of some system, some unidentified mass out there," he says. "It's staggeringly arrogant, especially in light of their coming strike and the undeniable and irrefutable problems that plague Cleveland's public schools."

That strike, contemplated and threatened for months, now appears inevitable. Cleveland public--school teachers, asked to take a 10 percent pay cut to help reduce the system's $151 million debt, will likely walk out and stay out until at least January, according to Cleveland Teachers Union President Richard DeColibus. The district is desperately trying to convince voters to approve a tax hike, and administrators feel that good--faith budget tightening is the only way to convince voters that the hike would do some good. A strike would effectively kill the chances of that happening.

This kind of conflict has helped the voucher program move forward. But the fight is destined to continue, Mr. Mellor added. "This is on an inevitable course to the Supreme Court. The future of vouchers will be decided there."

Pat Romine has recently remarried, and her new husband is learning that her determination is infectious-whether those around her want to catch it or not. The tall, barrel--chested black man just home from work has settled into his chair, but Pat just can't let resting husbands lie. She wants Terry to come with her to show reporters the public school her daughters might be forced to attend if the vouchers program is blocked. It's a dozen blocks away through a bleak urban neighborhood; curious neighborhood kids watch with feigned disinterest as the family passes by.

Outside the prison--like public school, with its slit windows and its fortress--like walls, Pat talks of the warmth of the parochial school. "My girls are sensitive, a little timid," she says. "They need that extra hug when they leave for school, and when the leave the school. The classes there are like family. That kind of environment is what my girls respond to.

"If I could leave here I would," she says of the area. "But I guess I'm here for good. My daughters will have it better." c