June 25, 2005
The Little School That Could, With a Patron's Help
By ELISSA GOOTMAN, NY TIMES

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At the Urban Assembly School for Law and Justice in Brooklyn, the young principal has worked from 7 a.m. until 7 p.m. - on her light days. Teachers have lined the walls with essays on the O. J. Simpson trial and other assignments reflecting the school's theme. Every other week, lawyers have regaled students with tales from the courtroom, over sandwiches brought by car service from the Manhattan office of Cravath, Swaine & Moore, the white-shoe law firm that is the school's partner and patron.

Law and Justice, which opened in September in an elementary school overlooking the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, is one of 200 small schools, mostly high schools, that Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg is creating as part of his effort to overhaul public education in New York City.

Some of the new small schools have struggled, crammed into large high school buildings, flailing in their attempts to incorporate their themes into class work, burdened by the midyear departure of teachers.

But Mr. Bloomberg's supporters point to Law and Justice as a model for what a small school can be when it is done right. The attendance rate among the 107 students is 92 percent. Every one of the 24 students who took the Math A Regents exam passed. Half the students will have some sort of law-related summer internship.

To spend a week at the school, which occupies six classrooms in Public School 287, near the Brooklyn Navy Yard, is to see the extraordinary resources that have been pumped in to get it off the ground, from the generous donations of a prestigious law firm to the dedication of teachers who make up with enthusiasm, creativity and long hours what they lack in age and experience.

It is also to see up close the obstacles that city high schools of all sizes are up against, particularly the personal problems and academic deficiencies that students bring, and which officials say are far more likely to go undetected in large schools.

Experts often point to the principal's leadership as the single most crucial factor in a school's success. Enter Elana Karopkin, a 29-year-old Bryn Mawr graduate who sweeps through the halls of Law and Justice in skirt suits worthy of a television show glamorizing the legal life. She is by one turn a nurturing big sister to her teenage charges, by another an unforgiving scold. When one girl cried after hearing that her father would be called to discuss her unruliness, Ms. Karopkin comforted her with tissues and warm words, but made the call nonetheless.

Days after graduating from college with a vague sense that she wanted to do "something law and social justice related," Ms. Karopkin served as a juror in a murder trial, an experience that turned her toward education and away from law.

"We saw child after child on the stand," she said. "There was so much displacement and tragedy. I felt that no matter what the verdict was, it was too late."

Since then, she has experienced all sides of the debate over high school size, teaching at the large, troubled Thomas Jefferson High School in East New York and at the small, successful Cobble Hill School of American Studies.

"Small schools are the only hope," she concluded.

Ms. Karopkin works every Saturday, supervising detention and answering e-mail messages. Her friends and relatives have also been lured into the Law and Justice orbit. Her father, Martin, a judge for the United Nations in Kosovo, was a guest speaker. Her mother, Karen, a school guidance counselor and dogged bargain hunter, sifts through the sale bins for discounted school supplies. Her college roommate's boyfriend, a professional theater director, directed the school play, "Antigone."

Ms. Karopkin credits most of the school's success to her staff, and to the private and nonprofit groups that serve as the school's partners.

Law and Justice is one of nine schools opened by the Urban Assembly, regarded by city education officials as one of the most effective nonprofit groups involved in New York's small-schools effort. The organization established relationships between the new school and other outside groups, including Brooklyn Law School, the Red Hook Community Justice Center and, most significantly, Cravath, Swaine & Moore, which has repeatedly helped with everything from money to mentorship to catering.

When the Department of Education offered Ms. Karopkin furniture from a warehouse in Queens, but no help getting it to Brooklyn, Cravath came to the rescue with six trucks. Cravath also gave the school 75 computers and spent $15,000 to rewire the building.

Then there are the little touches, like the school logo that Cravath designed and had emblazoned on book bags and hats that it gave to students, along with a copy of the United States Constitution and four books for summer reading.

The teachers are among the first to acknowledge how atypical Law and Justice is among New York City high schools.

Brian D. Edgar, 29, said his three years teaching at a large Brooklyn middle school were characterized by high turnover and poor supervision of teachers.

"It was basically like, 'You're not scared to work in this place, so here you are,' " he said.

Ms. Karopkin has taken pains to recruit teachers for next year, when the school will double in size as it takes its second class. She required candidates to submit portfolios, listed the job openings on all the Web sites she could think of, and held evening recruitment receptions featuring friendly students and chocolate cake.

The school's small size makes it possible to hold daily meetings of all the teachers to coordinate lessons and discuss problems. During "kid talk," teachers take turns talking about one student at a time, sharing knowledge in a way that they say brings to light problems and potential solutions.

At one recent session, for instance, it turned out that a boy who had been surly was mourning the death of his grandmother, and that a girl who sometimes fell asleep at her desk has a mother whose job takes her away from home for days at a time.

As for the students, they are precisely the demographic that may otherwise be at risk of dropping out of a large high school. Seventy-three percent qualify for free lunches. On their eighth-grade standardized tests, 51 percent were below grade level in English and 77 percent below grade level in math. Several have been held back before. Students are not screened by academic performance.

Sasha Gonzalez, 14, said she wanted to practice law because some of her relatives had spent time in jail. "It's always been in my blood to want to defend people or put bad people away."

As an eighth grader, Sasha attended school so rarely that her mother sent her to Puerto Rico to live with her grandmother, who threw up her hands and sent Sasha back. But on the third day of school this year, she stood behind a lectern at Cravath, arguing on behalf of the plaintiff in a mock lawsuit about an unruly pit bull, as part of a school orientation exercise.

"It felt kind of good to have everyone's attention," she remembered with a smile.

The spotlight was less welcome a few days later, when Sasha skipped class and her mother was called immediately. But this point was clear: As one of only 107 students at Law and Justice, Sasha would not slip through high school unnoticed.

"Sasha is allowed to be who she wants to be in the school," said her mother, Clara Rivera, 32, who even has Ms. Karopkin's cellphone number. "And they know who she is."

Sasha is not yet the model student. She had to write an essay not long ago, explaining why her decision to throw a dictionary at a classmate violated the school ethics code. ("We deal with problems as they arise in a spirit of open communication and respect," she wrote.) But she also made the highest level of the school honor roll, called "summa cum laude," in the hopes that when - not if - Sasha and her classmates go to college, that term will be familiar.