This lecture was delivered on October 7, 1991, as part of the Ashbrook Center's "Major Issues Lecture Series" at Ashland University. The subject for the 1991-92 Major Issues Lecture Series is "Striving Towards Excellence in Education." Because, as Governor George Voinovich has said, these lectures "cover topics that are innovative and substantive within the educational field," and because the "subject is of particular relevance considering the challenges facing our current educational system," the Ashbrook Center is publishing the lectures under the series "Excellence in Education." It is our hope that the wide circulation of these monographs, and the book to follow, will add to the much needed national dialogue on educational issues. Other speakers and authors in the series include: Rita Kramer, Pete du Pont, Chester Finn, Dinesh D'Souza, Lynne Cheney, and Lamar Alexander. The opinions expressed in these publications do not necessarily reflect the views of the John M. Ashbrook Center or its Board of Advisors. The Center is grateful to the John M. Olin Foundation for its generous support of the series.

      F. Clifton White
      Director
      Ashbrook Center

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. It's a great pleasure to be in Ohio on a gorgeous fall day such as this. I would not be a proper visitor from Washington if I didn't begin with a true story about politics. I am reminded of Al Smith, a veteran campaigner who, after a long day on the campaign trail, made his way to a podium like this. Just as he was about to speak, someone in the far back of the hall pulled himself to his feet and said: "Tell them all you know Al. It won't take long." Al Smith replied: "I'll tell them all we both know and it won't take any longer."

I'm going to tell you all I know and it won't take very long. I do owe you, however, one word of explanation about what I do for a living. I have worked at think tanks for more than a decade and know that you are all too polite to ask what it is we do: we look at the world of practice to see if we can make it work in theory. That is what I propose to do this afternoon.

Let me begin at the beginning. Education reduced to its essentials is really two things: what people know and are able to do. That is all there is to it. I use this simple construction because it is easy to make too much of an education—to make it so abstract that it loses its meaning. It is, of course, not a good education unless it is guided by a moral vision: we must decide what is worth knowing and what is worth doing. These three things taken together—what we know, what we can do, and what we should do—are what make up an educated person.

Three-quarters of a century ago, Alfred North Whitehead, in his timeless essay The Aims of Education, observed that: "A merely well-informed man is the most useless bore on God's earth." Whitehead went on to say something else, however, that bears repeating as well, for he captures a universal definition of education. The "essence of education," he said, "is religious." Its purpose is to inculcate a sense of reverence.

Across the globe education exists in a historic, cultural, philosophic, and ethical context and, as a consequence, it differs in particulars from country to country. But, as Whitehead suggests, its fundamental purpose and goals are the same. There are some universal varieties that span the globe.

Let me begin with some illustrations of what education is not. It is not and can never be considered a simple assembly of mere facts, skills, or techniques. Used for moral ends facts, skills, and techniques may serve important purposes, but they have no end in themselves. Education without its normative component is, at best, training, and it is at worst, amoral. In the world of education, there is no such thing as a disembodied fact or set of facts. Facts are important because of the way they fit in to the larger context of the world. As "Don" E.D. Hersh so powerfully points out in his book Cultural Literacy, we do not learn to read as an abstract, disembodied activity; as independent adults, we read purposefully. And as students as well—with any luck at least—we read things that are worth reading. Knowledge is contextual and embedded—not random.

It has an aesthetic and ethical dimension, which supersedes any technical or practical dimension it may exhibit. We read for a purpose—typically to entertain, to exalt, to amuse—but never randomly. Indeed, randomness is a sign of derangement. Remember, the definition of surpassing nihilism advanced by the surrealists of the 1930's was this: to fire at random into a crowd. It was an idea so shocking it could be used because even the surrealists were confident it would never happen. Incredibly, it is an event that is happening more and more often, of which two examples are: the work of deranged killers like Charles Whitman in the Texas Tower, and more recently—and commonly—the drive-by shootings in our big cities. One wonders: is the moral fiber of the nation utterly unraveling?

There is a more congenial and less shocking way to think about the question of context. To turn to a happier aspect of our theme of education let me quote Diane Ravitch, Assistant Secretary for Educational Research and Improvement. She reminds us that: "I have never met a child who stayed up late reading a basal reader."

People who stay up late and read do so because the book interests them. To further enlarge upon the notion of context, the events of the past two months are helpful. The most important event, of course, has been the second Russian Revolution, which has permitted President Bush to propose a build-down of the U.S. nuclear arsenal. Events like these cannot be understood except in the great ebb and flow of history. They are embedded in a larger geopolitical context, and we must understand this larger context if we are to understand the values of our own democratic society.

Having said this, when the turmoil dies down and the smoke and fog clear, the issues of what we know and what we are able to do are really best captured in three ways. First—and simplest of all—is knowledge, second is skills, and third is purpose or moral and ethical vision. How are these acquired? They are acquired by three devices as old as the educational process, certainly as old as organized thought in both the East and the West—by study, example, and practice. As Ruskin observed: "Education is the painful, continual, difficult work to be done by kindness, by watching, by waning, by precept, by praise, but, above all by example." Or as Thomas Huxley observed: "The most valuable result of education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not." Education then, is fundamentally the construction and building of character.

One of the things that has to be done from time to time is to be a bearer of bad news. People of character can, of course, bear bad news—better, at least, than those without character. I tell you this because part of my mission today is to deliver bad news. I do this because it is important for us to remind ourselves from time to time how high the stakes are and where we stand in the great ebb and flow of events across the globe.

We are in a great post-industrial, interdependent global economy. It is one of America's making—one we constructed carefully and by design after World War II. Victors in war, in peace we believed in and pursued a vision of global commerce, trade, manufacturing, and extraction. To imagine such a system was not the same as its coming to pass. The technological revolution that made it possible crept up on us from behind. The irony is that we started it and now it is up to us to live in it.

But, the immediate post-war world was a comfortable world for us to live in. It was not until our former adversaries, Germany and Japan, began to exhibit extraordinary skill at working in an interdependent global economy that it began to be uncomfortable for us. They learned our lessons too well—or more accurately, we did not practice what we preached. Indeed, the transformation of war ravaged Japan and Germany is a story of breathtaking scope. Who, fifty years ago, would have believed that they might shoulder us aside before the end of the century—not only as manufacturers, but as leaders of design, development, implementation, marketing, and sales.

As you may have guessed, my interest in this extraordinary economic transformation has a direct bearing on the topic of education—in the modern world, the two topics are inextricably bound together. Put most simply and directly, wealth is the product of "human capital"—what people know and are able to do. The policy variable that has the most important bearing on wealth creation is education.

On one hand, contrast the Phoenix-like rise from the ashes of defeat of Germany and Japan—two countries with limited natural resources—to the economic stagnation of countries like Zaire—enormously rich in natural resources but poorly developed human resources. To be blunt, Zaire—and countries like it—need more human capital. Without it, all the physical wealth in the world is of no use. To be sure, successful economic activity requires more than just a high level of technical and professional education—there is the matter of habits of mind, law, custom, and culture. However, the policy variable—the point of leverage on the system—is education. It is the umbrella under which the other elements necessary to economic success are gathered.

Let me make my point in a positive way by comparing ourselves to the Japanese—something that makes most business leaders and educators very uncomfortable. I will then go on to compare ourselves with ourselves, over a period of time. I hope to make a simple point: a sense of absolute urgency must descend upon us if we are to be optimistic about the next century.

Look at the Japanese: they attend school 240 days a year while Americans typically attend school 180 days a year. The Japanese ministry of education—Mombusho—only requires 210 days, but each local prefecture in Japan voluntarily adds 30 days, convinced that without 240 days, the typical Japanese student cannot get the curricular "coverage" he or she needs to advance successfully through the education system.

Let me emphasize one point: there is no tracking in Japan. All Japanese students are treated equally. The ferocious academic competition you have no doubt read about does not occur until the second year of high school. Indeed, the competitive Japanese high school is not very different in atmosphere from college preparatory programs in this country.

Many Americans are amazed how warm and friendly Japanese grade schools are. John Dewey would find the Japanese elementary schools much to his liking, as indeed he did. He visited—and praised—Japanese schools. Competitiveness is not stressed until high school. Cooperation and sharing are very important traits in the Japanese grade school. Not surprisingly, these traits pay off handsomely in the work force when students become adults.

In addition, Japanese youngsters have two to three hours of homework every night and most Japanese youngsters—by middle school and high school—have begun to attend Juku. What are Juku? As described in the Western press, they are monotonous after school cram sessions. Juku are more aptly and accurately described as settings in which Japanese youngsters are given the opportunity to assess their own academic and social strengths and weaknesses, which allows them to build on their strengths and correct their weaknesses. A Juku is typically run by a teacher—a teacher by day and a Juku operator by afternoon or early evening.

The Japanese graduation rate from high school is ninety-six percent, compared to the American rate of seventy-two percent. Most striking is the fact that compulsory attendance in Japan only goes to age 18, and high schools, both public and private, charge tuition. Students in Japanese high schools are there because they want to be or feel they must be to succeed. The Japanese took General Douglas McArthur's mandate—mass education—with a vengeance. They have taken mass education and made it work—the only people in the world to do so. This is, of course, a pattern you will all recognize: an American invention, mass education or mass production, adopted and adapted by the Japanese and made to work.

Consider this: the Japanese eighteen year-olds who hold high school diplomas have, in time alone, spent the equivalent of a four-year American college degree. Two hundred-forty days a year for thirteen years is actually more time than a person in this country spends from beginning kindergarten to acquiring a bachelor's degree. As you no doubt know, Japanese test scores are among the highest in the world; however, what is not so widely known is that they cluster around the mean.

What does this signify? There are few outliers, which means there are a few slow Japanese students and a few high flyers. Everyone does well—not just the best and the brightest. Which permits the Japanese to say, with justifiable confidence and some pride, that they have the best bottom-half in the world. For a very long time we could slide by on the notion that we had the best top-half. No longer.

While it is true that we have the best colleges and universities in the world, that is not sufficient to meet the global challenge. Consider what happens when a Japanese student attends an American post-secondary institution. Never will you meet a happier person. Indeed, this is not just restricted to Japanese students. Japanese teachers who get to leave Japan and study or teach at an American college or university love it as well. Why? Self-disciplined, deeply and broadly educated, self-sufficient, and eager to learn, the Japanese teacher or student in the American post-secondary educational setting is a person who thinks he has found education nirvana. It's an extraordinary adventure for them.

The Japanese experience deserves some further elaboration on two counts. First, let me turn to Japanese parents—principally Japanese mothers. When asked in public opinion polls what accounts for academic or intellectual success, without exception they will answer "enterprise, hard work, diligence, and application." When the same question is asked of an American parent, almost invariably the answer will be "luck, native intelligence, and ability." Hard work almost never figures in the American answer.

This is extremely important in subjects which most people find difficult—science and mathematics. Japanese test scores in these subjects are among the highest in the world but, as Michigan Professor Harold Stevenson's work shows, this extraordinary high level of achievement does not begin to occur until three or four years into school. The importance of this rather prosaic and obvious observation is that it is hard work in school that makes the difference. Kids will learn these subjects if the school expects them to and they work hard.

School policy is the key variable. As Stevenson points out, American students in places like St. Paul, Minnesota, a location with relatively high income levels, look as good as the Japanese students do in the beginning. There is no genetic difference—native intelligence is native intelligence. By grades three or four, the American student scores have begun to decline. By the end of five years, the top five percent of American students are at the Japanese average.

My second point is a variant on the first. When Japanese students are asked how they feel about themselves and what their knowledge of science and mathematics is, they systematically underestimate how much they know and report that they don't feel very good about themselves. To use the jargon of psychology, they have poor affect.

Ask American students the same question and—you guessed it—they overestimate their scientific and mathematical knowledge and feel just terrific about themselves. This offers final, scientific proof that ignorance is bliss.

Now, to make these points more forcefully, I want to compare ourselves to ourselves over a period of time. I recognize that I run some risk in doing this before an audience largely my junior—many of the students here today are younger than my children. Let me assure you that I mean no invidious comparisons between generations, but the facts are that academic achievement levels have changed and changed drastically.

SAT scores have changed very dramatically over the two and a half decades that the scores have been watched with care. Not only have they changed for the worse, but they've changed for the worse in a very special way. Ironically, the issue is not the poor and the dispossessed. Black scores in particular have shown slow, steady gains but problems remain. The gains are not as high as we might like even though the gains are real—that is the good news. The problems of the inner city poor, racial minorities, and low income youngsters must be remedied if we are to be a successful democratic society.

The bad news is that there is another problem—one that is much more severe. It is found among the former high flyers, the best and the brightest, the youngsters who used to get high scores on the SAT—their numbers are falling rapidly. Between 1972 and 1985 the number of youngsters who scored above 650 and 750 in the verbal portion of the SAT fell by forty percent while the number of youngsters who scored within that range on the mathematical portion, stayed almost constant. The presumption underlying the steady math scores is the quadrupling of the number of Asian students taking the SAT.

The old canard that SAT scores were falling because more women and blacks were taking the SAT has been revealed to be precisely that—a canard. While upper-middle class white scores have fallen sixty points, black scores have climbed forty-nine points—a gap that is still too big but narrowing in the right direction.

Why does the decline in the number of high scorers present a problem? It means we are not producing a sufficiently large number of youngsters who are well-prepared enough to do the demanding work of a modern economy. It is that simple.

By now many of you will be saying to yourselves that the comparison with the Japanese is unfair—apples to oranges—and you're right. It is unfair. Life is unfair—but it isn't improper. It is proper because we are in a world in which we must compete with them—a world which we, in large measure, have created. If this audience is typical, one-third of you own Japanese automobiles. Most of you—probably ninety percent—are wearing a Japanese wristwatch.

All of you who own a television set made in the last five years own a Japanese set. If it's not Japanese made, it is a Japanese brand which is made offshore in Hong Kong or Indonesia under a Japanese label. Think of it—VCR's, camcorders, fax machines, PCs, laptops, cellular phones, copiers, and laser printers—all American inventions and all exploited by the Japanese. No one forces us to buy them. No one makes us participate in an economic order in which they make better things than we do.

Lamar Alexander used to like to tell the story of his visit to Australia after being governor of Tennessee. He spent six months there with his family. Australians would approach him and they would say, "Why does the fact that the Japanese make such good cars make you Americans so angry?" Well, it's a fair question. Is there a secret weapon that the Japanese have that we don't know about? I would suggest that they do. Their secret weapon is their schools. They have the best trained, best educated work force in the world. They do because they do it by design. Schools are a policy variable which people choose—a society chooses its schools.

Schools are created as acts of human ingenuity and human resourcefulness. This is absolutely true in the case of the Japanese. After the Mei Jei restoration in the 19th century, the Japanese were opened to the West by Admiral Perry. They had no choice but to join the West. To do so, they decided to learn what the West did and how it did it. They sent consultants to places like Rutgers, New Jersey to get advice on how to start a school system that would help them prepare for competition in the West. They designed a school system that looked like the best in Exeter, Deerfield, Boston Latin, Philadelphia Central, and Lowell High in San Francisco—fast track, demanding, elite, and selective.

At the end of World War II, General Douglas McArthur, as military governor of Japan, was a virtual dictator. He imposed mass education on the Japanese and they had no choice but to accept; however, they would not lower their academic standards. Slower youngsters would be put on a forced march, where they remain to this day. If any of you are interested in this, I recommend that you read Merry White's extraordinary book The Japanese Education Challenge. It is a story worth reading as much for what she tells us about ourselves as for what we learn about the Japanese—how the Japanese care for children, how they nurture them, how they maintain them, and how they support them.

There is a final canard that I would like to put to rest: the notion that the Japanese have good schools because of their culture. A cultural reflex kicks in when Japanese youngsters go to school. There is, to be sure, some truth to the idea that culture matters; however, by using culture to explain everything, we explain nothing. What is it within a culture that makes a difference? In the case of the Japanese, it is the old-fashioned American virtue—hard work. Japanese teachers work hard and the kids work harder.

Harold Stevenson, America's premier authority on Japanese education, was subjected to hostile criticism about his Japanese research. He was accused of being insufficiently attentive to the issue of culture. His new work dispels any residual criticism. He describes, in detail, what goes on in Japanese classrooms. The fact is they spend more time studying and learning and that's why they do better on international comparisons—they know more. They spend more time studying, learning, thinking, working, and writing.

There is one more bit of bad news about the performance of American students today. The results of the Test of Standard Written English, a subset of the SAT that has been given for fifteen years, had reached its all time low in 1991. Now standard written English—as distinct from the English we speak among ourselves—is taught and learned in a deliberate, self-conscious process. Some youngsters someplace—sons and daughters of journalists or college English professors—learn standard English by osmosis, but most of us are taught spelling, punctuation, syntax, and grammar in school.

When TSWE scores decline to an all time low, they do so for a reason. The reason is as simple as I have suggested—there is no mystery to it. We are getting from our schools precisely what economists would predict from a monopoly provider: demoralized teachers and students, low levels of performance, a high degree of inefficiency, a cost spiral, and a familiar lament—more money as the solution.

I could have come here today with good news because we still have many fine schools across America. However, I bring this message today because I am convinced that America's greatest virtue has become America's greatest vice. Our greatest virtue from the time of the Founding has been a profound optimism—the conviction that we can do anything and that everything would come out all right; that through hard work, application, and diligence American pragmatism and practicality would triumph. Ordinarily that is a marvelous virtue. It is a wonder to behold in a world in which hard work is too little valued and too little prized, in which optimism is too infrequently expressed.

But today, optimism is a fool's paradise. Look at the Gallup Poll of the Public's Attitude Toward the Public Schools. For the twenty-three years the poll has been reported, it turns out that Americans know that our schools have entered a period of dangerous decline, but the problem is in somebody else's school district—not my district. So long as we believe this, the crisis will deepen. The problem is in every single school district in America and it must be remedied the old-fashioned way—through hard work.

Let me conclude with a true story. As Henry Kissinger used to say, it has the added virtue of being true. This to show that I'm not altogether hard-hearted and pessimistic.

As a professional writer, I labor under this dread suspicion that no one ever reads anything I write. My mother says she does, but I'm not even sure she does. Pieces disappear, or they are used to wrap fish in. True, royalties come and go, but in my dark moments, I think no one reads it. About a decade ago, when the generation of teachers who had been hired, recruited, trained, and taught during the Great Depression began to retire, I wrote a piece for the Washington Post. I called it the "depression bonus."

What an extraordinary bit of great fortune it had been for America to have these men and women—who would have otherwise gone on to more lucrative callings—teaching. By the historic injustice and accident of the depression, they had been pitched into the teaching profession and stayed there. We as people owe to all these men and women a great debt of gratitude—I certainly did. Personal and professional gratitude to the men and women who had made a difference in my life as teachers. I'd gone to a public high school in Chicago in the 1950's. In the article—to make a literary point—I didn't name the city or years or my high school. I just used the last names of six teachers who had left an indelible impression on me.

Within three or four days the phone began to ring. People in Washington D.C. recognized the list. Sons and daughters, nieces and nephews of faculty members, old friends I hadn't seen for a long time. People were actually reading the article. About four days went by and the phone rang at eight o'clock in the morning. I was having my first cup of coffee and I was still half asleep. It was the husband of my freshman Algebra teacher. He wanted to know why her name was not on the list.

What could I do but tell him the truth. She had been a fabulous teacher and she was absolutely gorgeous. I said, "You have to understand that when I took freshman algebra I was madly in love with Miss Moran and when you married her, I never forgave her." Thank you.

Discussion

Question: Please comment on the parking lots of high schools looking like used car lots.

Dennis P. Doyle: They do; this is a source of astonishment to European and Asian visitors. They cannot believe that American students drive to school and that they have after school jobs to earn money to buy cars—and pick up trucks—and to pay for gas. It is really quite amazing. There is an interesting point to be teased out of this however: not very long ago American cars were the envy of the world, not just the muscle cars. Remember A Man and A Woman? A French movie, the hero of the movie was a Mustang, an American car. How far we have come. The French would not make a movie about an American car in 1991. I am reminded of Jessie Jackson's quip about TV—Americans watch it, the Japanese make the sets.

Question: What do you think the relationship of TV is to education?

Denis P. Doyle: The research results about TV are surprisingly sparse. I'm amazed that they are as weak as they are. One thing we do know, however, from Berkeley Professor Charles Benson's research which reveals something extremely interesting: most of the kids they surveyed watch about the same amount of television. The distinguishing characteristic between good students and mediocre students was this: kids who were good students came from households in which the TV was turned off during meal time and adult conversation ensued. Actual TV watching hours didn't seem to make much difference.

I was in Korea recently visiting KEDI—the Korean Educational Development Institute. Most children's TV programming is done there. A Korean youngster after school goes home and watches TV, but not to watch Road Runner cartoons. He does math problem sets, studies science, Korean, English, or Korean history. There isn't children's TV as we know it. One thing we do know absolutely, without fear of contradiction, is that you learn what you study and the more of it you study, the more you're certain to learn. Time on task makes a difference and time off task makes a difference. Television is, by and large, a pernicious influence on academic achievement. No other advanced country has television of the kind that we have, in which random viewing is available in terms of the programming, and random viewing is permitted in terms of parental control or lack thereof.

Question: Are there studies comparing Japanese teaching to American teachers?

Denis P. Doyle: There are. They're not terribly edifying except in limited ways. Japanese teachers are, relative to the pay scale in Japan, more highly paid than American teachers, which is an important thing to know. How important I don't now, but it is useful information. Teaching positions there are sought after and coveted. There is no such thing as a vacant teaching job in Japan. There are as many as ten to fifteen applicants for each opening. Once one becomes a teacher, it is an honorable profession that is highly regarded by the society.

The term in Japanese for teacher is a reverential one which, when you are a successful adult, when you are older, you may be lucky enough to earn. You might be called teacher by a Japanese because you exhibit singular wisdom and superior virtue. The teaching profession is quite different. The Japanese are an extraordinary people and while they have weaknesses as well as strengths, as we do, they revere the written word as well as the spoken word.

Question: What is the relationship of sports to education in Japan?

Denis P. Doyle: Let me suggest that those of you who have VCR's that you see a splendid movie, McArthur's Children. It is the story of the introduction of baseball by the American Occupation Japan and the Japanese reaction to it. The movie opens with the fear and anxiety about what the American occupiers would do and then moves to the relief that we were benign, friendly, and fair occupiers.

Then came the introduction of American baseball, which has swept Japan since then. The Japanese are very enthusiastic about everything they do, but sports at the high school level have never assumed the importance that they do here in American high schools. They play an important role in physical conditioning, healthy body and a healthy mind, but I think the balance in Japan as in most of Europe is a more sensible one, in which academics are given the principle play and sports and physical activities are secondary.

Question: Could you give us three things that would help us correct the problems you have outlined today?

Denis P. Doyle: In order, the most important would be: have a clear vision of where you want to go. As Lamar Alexander is fond of saying, "If you know where you want to go, you have a good chance of getting there." That vision has to be clearly enunciated and it has to be reflected in standards for teachers as well as students. What it is we need to know and be able to do. Specify them in detail. Your vision statement will include the capacity to read and understand an editorial in the Plain Dealer, to be able to read and understand Time magazine, to do mathematics to a degree of proficiency that you could balance your checkbook, and probably to do simple algebra. Lay these things out in a systematic way. At the same time avoid being too prescriptive: Teachers and principles should have the opportunity to construct their courses and work days according to their strengths and abilities without being tied up in bureaucratic red tape on how to do. You need objectives and performance standards across the board.

Second, institutionalize the notion of bench marking. Routinely compare yourselves with the best producers in education and the best producers in other fields. Cleveland should not be satisfied with comparing itself to Cincinnati, or Cincinnati to Chicago, or Chicago to St. Louis. Cleveland should be comparing itself to Osaka, to Berlin, to Taipei, to Soule. Similarly, affluent, plush suburbs should not be resting on their laurels, comparing themselves to fancy, plush, affluent suburbs in California or New York, but rather to the best in the world. They should also compare themselves to the best organizations around.

I'll give you an illustration. IBM is one of the biggest employers of teachers in the nation 7,000 full time teachers on the payroll. They invest a billion dollars a year in education. IBM teachers have an electronic classroom where students can quickly respond to any question the teacher may have. If some critical mass of students in the IBM classroom are not getting the information, the presumption is not that the students are dumb, but that there is something wrong with the teacher. The teacher goes back to the drawing board and figures out how to bring a larger number of students up to speed.

Third, in a country as diverse, as open, as anarchic as ours, choice is absolutely essential to make education work both for teachers and for students. The big losers in the modern school are teachers; they are performing blue collar jobs. They may get dressed up and call themselves professionals, but they work to someone else's clock, to someone else's routine, someone else's text books, someone else's tests, and someone else's calendar. They are not professionals in anything but name. The good teachers we have , of whom there are many, are good teachers in spite of, not because of, the system they labor under.

The other big losers are kids of whom too little is expected. The dirtiest trick you can play on a kid is to expect too little of him—to not set the goal high enough.

Ours is the only industrialized democracy which does not provide public funds for children to attend either public or private schools. Choice will reconcile these two problems by putting together willing providers and workers, teachers and students, families and administrators. When they share a vision of what is important and needs to be done, they will share the responsibility for accomplishing it. Each can have high expectations of the other—teachers of their students, students of their teachers, communities of their schools, and schools of their communities.

About the Author

Denis P. Doyle, an educational consultant, speaker and author, is a Senior Fellow at the Hudson Institute. From 1983 to 1988 he was director of Education Policy Studies and Human Capital Studies at the American Enterprise Institute; prior to his tenure at AEI he was a Federal Executive Fellow at the Brookings Institution. He has held several posts in government service, including that of Assistant Director of the National Institute of Education and Assistant Director, United States Office of Economic Opportunity.

Doyle is widely published, with numerous articles to his credit. His op ed pieces appear regularly in The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times, and Education Week. He also appears in the Phi Delta Kappan, American Educator, Teachers College Record, The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Public Interest, and the Wilson Quarterly.

Within the past few years, he has co-authored five books on education, including the recently re-published Winning the Brain Race: A Bold Plan to Make Our Schools Competitive, with David T. Kearns, former Chairman and CEO of the Xerox Corporation (now Deputy Secretary of Education). His most recent book, Taking Charge: State Action on School Reform in the 1980's, was co-authored with Bruce Cooper and Roberta Trachtman.

He is also the author of Endangered Species: Children of Promise, which first appeared in the Fall, 1989 issue of BusinessWeek. It was the longest special supplement ever run by BusinessWeek, the world's most widely read business magazine. He is currently producing a series of sponsored editorials Focusing on Education for Rockwell International, which run every other month in The Atlantic.

Mr. Doyle lives in Chevy Chase, Maryland with his wife, Gloria Revilla Doyle, and their two children.