It's early in the morning to be talking about disillusionment — on a Monday, no less — but David Doty, superintendent of Canyons School District, is not the kind of man who minces words.
The March sun glitters high in a brilliant blue sky as he heads toward his first appointment of the day: visiting an elementary school for a performance by kindergartners. It's the first time he's been able get out to a school in weeks, it seems. Before that, his office was consumed with a legislative session that had turned a wanting eye to his district's finances. It hadn't been pretty.
"The thing that has been most discouraging to me about this job has been my inability to resolve the legal and political conflict that has surrounded the creation of the district," Doty says as he nears the parking lot of Willow Springs Elementary School. "I wasn't na?e when I came into this. I knew there would be a lot of conflict and friction to deal with, but I guess I had maybe a little more hope than I now have that I would be able to play some role in settling that down and resolving it."
Still, as he opens his car door to the sounds of children laughing and stomping around on the playground, Doty can't help but hope that things will get better. Besides, there's plenty more to worry about than his feelings.
As a superintendent who came to the job uncharacteristically and almost unintentionally, Doty draws criticism from some principals about his minimal teaching background. He draws skepticism from some parents with his innovative education policies and resentment from others as the representation of one district that took money from another.
Yet Doty is pragmatic and optimistic. His unique background frees him from the entrapment of the status quo, and while he doesn't intend to be a superintendent all of his days, he's embraced his job with passion. He feels the weight of his fledgling district's success or failure sits squarely on his shoulders. It makes him tense.
Back in the school, Doty sits in a room full of 5-year-olds puckering their faces like yellow lemons then leaping and bending their bodies into little bananas. It relaxes him a little, watching the children laughing and the teachers caring. He chuckles at how cute the kids are.
He needs mornings like this to get him through the day.
When Doty started as superintendent of a school district that was so new it still didn't have a name, it had been 90 years in Utah since anyone had ever attempted the same thing. That fact alone made the creation of Canyons School District, one of the largest in the state, a historic event. But the acrimony that has surrounded the district since then made it even more significant.
The district's creation began in November 2007, when a slim majority of residents living in Alta, Draper, Cottonwood Heights, Midvale and Sandy voted to create an east-side-only school district. Their reasons varied from displeasure with the existing school district, wanting greater control of resources toward improving east-side schools and the idea that smaller districts are more desirable.
East-side residents who supported the split pointed out that some of their schools don't have air conditioning or meet seismic standards. They said they wanted more local control to fix such problems.
Other east-side residents said it wouldn't be fair to leave the west side and risk losing a shared, quality education. Back then, Doty was one of the anti-split crowd, and he voiced his opposition publicly.
"We are discouraged that I-15 continues to be a mandatory dividing line of communities along the Wasatch Front," Doty wrote in a newspaper editorial in July 2007, before the vote took place. "I … have no appetite for any policy that divides people, regardless of whether it is on the grounds of race, socioeconomic status or ZIP code."
By 53 percent vote, the district was created, and eventually Doty changed his mind — ultimately becoming the face of the change he once decried.
On the morning of his first day on the job, Doty got up, then got to work at his kitchen table. His office was not yet ready, and there was nowhere else to go, and no staff in place to talk to. So he went home, feeling very much alone.
"It was surreal," Doty says, now sitting in his real office with a secretary outside his door and a staff at his disposal. "It almost didn't seem real. It was kind of one of those feelings like, 'What do I do now? What's next?' It wasn't disconcerting … but it was kind of symptomatic of this whole endeavor."
His first task was to hire a staff, but that was difficult — a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of his district was looming, and a team of arbitrators was divvying the assets of the east and west districts like the spoils of a divorce. Fifty-nine percent of the assets went to Jordan. Canyons would pay the better part of a $281 million bond incurred when they had been together. Teachers would stay with their schools. Tax revenues went with their new districts.
With good reason, Doty worried the district seemed too precarious for people to want to join. It wasn't until this February that the lawsuit was resolved in Canyons' favor, and up until then, Doty says, people were still afraid to work for him.
As he pieced his staff together, Doty came under fire for one thing, then another. Jordan School District Superintendent Barry Newbold blasted him for stealing away key employees who left to join Doty's administration.
Community members balked at how much district officials would be paid. (Doty receives $175,000 a year plus benefits.) Frustration and disbelief raged from unsupportive parents on the east side who voted against the split and west-side residents who didn't have a vote in Canyons' creation.
After the split, Jordan School District — from whence Canyons came — suddenly found itself with about $400 less to spend on each of its roughly 48,600 students, having lost the revenue it formerly received from taxes generated by east-side businesses, which are now in Canyons' boundaries. The nearly $20 million loss has become part of a perfect storm of economic distress that has left Jordan considering laying off about 200 non-teacher employees to cope with a $30 million deficit overshadowing its 2011 budget.
"My issue is with what was handed to (Doty) and the way it was done," said Rep. Jim Bird, R-West Jordan, shortly after authoring a bill this last legislative session that would have given some of Canyons' tax revenue to Jordan. "As I've said before, we were hoodwinked. There's no question about it."
As Doty settled into his new job as superintendent, he began the delicate walk between honoring the 100 years of Jordan District's heritage and changing century-old policies he thought weren't working. He was fearful his soon-to-be principals would take issue with his limited classroom experience, so he called them all together to introduce himself and nip those concerns in the bud. It helped some, but as Doty and his team scrambled to organize bus routes, define boundaries, set budgets and discuss curriculum — all in less than a year — a few remained skeptical.
"We'll have to wait and see," one principal, who wished to be unnamed, said recently about the direction of the district. "It's early to see where things are really going."
Now, after almost a full school year has passed since the district opened its doors to students, Doty has redefined Canyons' graduation requirements, adding the state's first differentiated diploma program. It allows seniors to graduate with a standard, advanced or honors diploma with the goal of getting students better prepared to handle college and earn a higher degree.
Along with that, grades within the schools will be reconfigured, putting sixth-graders in junior high and ninth-graders in high school. Changes in the district's accelerated learning program have also left some parents confused about the classes their kids will be taking next year. The changes are gutsy, and alarming to some, but as Doty sees it, creating college-ready kids is his job.
During a recent meeting at district headquarters, where the closest members of his cabinet gathered for a quick planning session, Doty repeated this mantra. He looked at his chief operating officer, communications staff, chief academic officer and chief financial officer from across an oval-shaped table as he began to read out loud from his latest newspaper clipping about college-ready kids. A lanyard with "Stanford" written on it dangled from his neck.
"People who have higher levels of education are more likely to have insurance, they're more likely to vote, they're more likely to participate in the community, they're more likely to be healthy, and volunteer, and on and on and on," Doty told his staff.
They chimed in with their agreement — you just can't get away with not going to college anymore and still expect to get paid well, one said summarily.
The district office has an energy that feels more like a pep club or a grassroots campaign than a workplace. Key executives — with Doty as a ringleader — use e-mail, the Internet, texts and Twitter to share their enthusiasm for their latest plans.
Yet, despite the enthusiasm, and the staff of roughly 4,300 that he now directs, Doty still feels the way he did that first day in his kitchen: When it comes down to who is responsible for whether the district fails or succeeds, he is alone.
Early in the morning, before most of the students in his district have begun to stir, Doty likes to go running. He's a trim 44-year-old with a wide, easy smile and short, dark hair that is just starting to thin. It is one of the few visible indications of his age. On mornings like this one it's therapeutic to be out here in the darkness, he says, with just the sounds of his own feet slapping the pavement. It helps him clear his head.
It is 5:30 a.m. on a Thursday, and Doty, wearing water bottles around his waist, a running cap and fluorescent yellow glasses, is breathlessly pontificating on the value of a public school system at a time in which the whole idea of public ed is under attack by private schools, charter schools and politicians from all sides. As he trots along, he pauses at a TRAX crossing, where an empty school bus with a thick yellow strip labeled "Canyons District" stops for a moment, then rumbles away.
"You know, when I see these bus drivers up at 5:30 in the morning, driving, I don't feel so bad working long hours," Doty says. "I sort of feel like, you know, what I do is no more important than what you do, as a bus driver or a school foods cook or teachers working 'til late at night grading papers and getting ready. I think everybody in this industry, if they're committed to it, works pretty long hours."
Still, driving a bus affords some anonymity that Doty can't buy. He says he works hard to not care too much about what people think, yet it bothers him. It hurts him when he hears people say he doesn't care about west-side kids because he is the east-side superintendent.
"You can't make everyone happy," Doty says. He points to the exhausting, grueling nature of his job — always in the public eye, always being criticized and second-guessed — as one reason he sees himself having a limited tenure as superintendent for maybe five, 10 or 15 years — he doesn't know how long.
That can be a sticky point for educators still building their trust in Doty.
"It would worry me if this is just kind of a dropping-off point in the road and then you're going to pick up and move on to something bigger and better in five years," one principal said at the idea of Doty's impermanence. "To implement a vision for a school district is not a five-year project."
But Doty says he's committed to seeing his plans through.
"I intend on taking a good long run at it," Doty says. "I really do love what I do. But will I be doing this 20 years from now? Probably not."
It's a running joke among Doty's friends to wonder what he'll finally be when he "grows up." ("He could have a real career in higher education," says David Sperry, Doty's friend and former dean of the University of Utah's College of Education.)
Doty, originally from Iowa, started his career 20 years ago, working as a Spanish teacher at a public high school in Millbrae, Calif., while he earned his master's degree in education at Stanford. He was 24, and he'd always loved teaching, but his experience there, instructing ninth- and 10th-graders alongside two lazy teachers who showed movies to their students every day, persuaded him to leave the classroom and go to law school instead.
"One day I was in this workroom area getting my things ready for my first class … and all of a sudden, (one of the teachers) says to me, 'Why do you bother working so hard? All these kids care about is stealing your keys and stealing your wallet and you are wasting your time to work that hard because they don't care.' I was speechless," Doty said. "And I just thought, if this is what the teaching profession is going to be for the next 20-30 years of my career, not interested. … It was sad, because I loved working with the kids, but … I left that day, and I thought, is this what public education is about? Is it just about settling and maybe even in most cases, rewarding mediocrity? … Because if it is, then I don't want to be a part of it."
After Doty earned his master's, he returned to his undergraduate alma mater, Brigham Young University, where he graduated from law school and later got his doctorate in educational leadership. His hope was to have some effect on public school policy to reward exemplary, bright teachers, instead of punish them with discouragement. In 2005, he got that chance, when Richard Kendell, a former Davis County superintendent Doty had worked under, called to ask if Doty would work for him as an assistant commissioner and director of policy studies at Utah's System of Higher Education.
When the business of creating a new east-side school district began, Doty was happy in that job and teaching law on the side at the University of Utah.
Then one afternoon, Midvale Mayor JoAnn Seghini phoned him at work to ask him to join the east side's new school district transition team.
At her request, he joined the messy process of transitioning to two districts, along the way, hearing rumors about the candidates — or lack thereof — applying to lead the new district.
"I got pretty worried at that point because I thought, you know, this is not a situation where you want somebody from out of state who is looking at this to be a stepping stone to someplace else, who is not going to understand the culture of the community, who is not going to understand the background of this, and step into this and get frustrated with it after a few months and bail out," said Doty, who has three kids in Canyons School District schools. "It needs somebody who really is committed."
So, with his wife's encouragement, Doty applied. He impressed school board president Tracy Cowdell during his interview by being "a visionary and idealistic person," Cowdell said, as Doty emphasized the importance of getting kids ready for college even then.
Teachers and principals in Canyons School District say they, for the most part, like Doty's demeanor, his changes and his policies. In this school year alone, he's visited all 45 schools twice, a rare feat for a district leader.
But there are some teachers and principals who are not quite converted. Some, who spoke only off the record to protect their status, said they have felt left out of the decisionmaking process. Others say Doty favors the public's opinion over their own. Some teachers of the humanities fear Doty's math-and science-heavy honors diploma will pull students from their programs. And the fact that Doty didn't teach in public schools for very long still chafes a few.
"You're talking to someone who doesn't get it a lot of the time," one principal said. "If you haven't been there (as a principal) you don't really understand the issues. Let's be real here, there's a good and bad side to that. He hasn't been with an old system, and it's sometimes really hard to see things work a different way. … But there's a side where we've lost a lot, because, gosh, to be drawing from years ago — I can't even remember my first year of teaching. It's just a big fuzz."
A Canyons District poll from February shows a majority of parents are happy with the district, but complaints are common — especially when Doty's new initiatives were announced. The plan to reconfigure middle school and high school in the next couple of years has some parents nervous about how their children will be impacted, and there are those who say his differentiated diplomas won't make a difference.
"The implementation of new diploma options is ridiculous," one angry resident wrote to the district. "Are you trying to promote a new class system? … Stop trying to one-up the other school districts and focus on the basics. When you have mastered the basics, then maybe you can begin to branch into 'creative education.' "
Outside of the district, bad feelings still fester over the split. Canyons' approach of employing government relations specialists to lobby legislators on their behalf has come under fire by some who say the practice is illegal — or in the very least, uncouth — though Canyons obviously disagrees.
After a proposed bill from this last session would have taken about $15 million from Canyons' tax revenue and returned it to Jordan, Canyons says spending $200,000 on lobbyists was worth it because the bill was defeated.
But their battle is far from over — legislators have said so.
"This issue is going to come back to the Legislature every year, every year," said Rep. Carl Wimmer, R-Herriman, during an education hearing in February where HB292 was defeated. "I'll make sure it comes back as long as I'm in office, until we get some kind of statewide equalization. I promise you. As sure as I'm setting here and you're setting here, you'll be back here next year."
Doty seeks to quiet voices like Wimmer's on his early-morning runs. He uses the time to empty his mind, to slow it down. By the time the sun has started to rise from behind a curtain of mountain silhouettes, only his feet are racing.
On a recent Thursday, after a full day of work, Doty stopped at a three-on-three basketball tournament for junior high students before going home. The courts were a mass of flying balls and shouting teenagers as Doty stood on the sidelines, taking it all in.
"Dr. Doty's here!" a little girl whispered excitedly to her mother as she walked by the superintendent on her way to her seat.
Doty didn't notice the girl. He shook a few principals' hands and said hello, then sat down on the bleachers without any fanfare. He was thinking about the legacy he'd like to leave when he's gone, but he was torn. It's not about me, he said. But really, when it comes to the fate of the district, it is. It's personal.
That's why, after weeks and years of full days of work, dropping by just one more event and stopping at one more school seems like it will never be enough. Leaving a legacy is just one more thing that's only on the wish list.
"If I had one wish, it would be that I had the time and the opportunity to meet with and learn about and really encourage, on a personal basis, every one of the 34,000 kids in this district," Doty said methodically as the basketballs whizzed past his head. "Because it only takes one person to make a lifelong impact on a young person and I hope that's a part of my legacy. A big part. I hope when I'm done, there are some — if not many — kids who would say, 'Dr. Doty had a positive influence in my life.' And whether I know about that is irrelevant to me, but I hope that's the case."
e-mail: achoate@desnews.com