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> School Spotlight: The John F. Kennedy Magnet School, Port Chester, New York

Practicing What He Preaches

By Emily Weinstein

Related stories
Teacher Feature: Francis Osei. Learn more about the philosophy and background of this educator.
In the Press: April 2002 Port Chester and New York Journal News articles

December 2002 - In his classroom at the John F. Kennedy Magnet School in Port Chester, New York, Francis Osei unites philosophy and action in every aspect of his teaching--and gets amazing results.

Mr. Osei spends most of his time at eye-level with his students. Here, he helps Kimberly, a fifth-grader, measure an angle.

“The last thing I want to do is sit at a desk like some dictator and oversee the students. We’re always on the same level.”

In most classrooms, there is one desk that dwarfs all others. Not so in Francis Osei’s classroom. His desk is kid-sized, like the other twenty-five scattered around the room. This does not mean that Mr. Osei’s presence in the classroom is in any way pint-sized--or that the desk itself gets much use. Mr. Osei, after all, is a meter-stick wielding tornado, a mastermind who can cram three solid mathematical concepts into a forty-five minute period. Part stand-up comedian, part drill sergeant, part ringmaster, part mathemagician, he dashes around the room, capturing students' attention and focusing it on finding answers and on helping one another.

"My hands are not tied. I’m running Salvadori without compromise.”

Mr. Osei is the Math Lab teacher at the John F. Kennedy Magnet School (JFK). Founded in 2001, the Math Lab was the final component of a three-pronged magnet program that includes science and technology.

Man in motion: Mr. Osei holds the class’ attention with his educational antics.

When Lou Cuglietto took over as principal of the JFK, he remembered an impressive professor he had encountered at City College and the unique program he ran. The professor was Mario Salvadori and the program was an early incarnation of the Salvadori Center. Mr. Cuglietto’s superintendent, Dr. Charles Coletti, encouraged him to contact the Salvadori Center. The Center was indeed looking to expand its reach, and so Port Chester became the first formally established Salvadori school outside city limits.

Between 1999 and 2001, Mr. Osei worked closely with Al Isaac, Salvadori’s Senior Architect-Educator. While teaching math at Bronx middle schools I.S. 74 and M.S. 142, Mr. Osei was instrumental in enhancing students’ learning as documented by their improved test scores. When Dr. Cuglietto called Lorraine Whitman, Salvadori’s Executive Director, looking for someone to create a Salvadori Math Lab at John F. Kennedy Magnet School, she knew exactly who her first choice would be.

Salvadori Senior Architect-Educator Al Isaac helps Mr. Osei test his flawed creation.

Now in his second year at JFK, Mr. Osei has seized this unique opportunity to teach math through problem-solving, hands-on activities, and is igniting his students’ interest while building their confidence. Having an all-Salvadori classroom means having the space and time to do long-term, in-depth projects, as well as to center short but far-reaching lessons around built-environment themes.

Mr. Cuglietto calls Francis’ problem-solving, project-based work “a major influence on our students and their test scores” and “a major part of [Port Chester’s] success.” JFK students have shown the highest increase in reading scores in Westchester County, and their fourth-grade math scores have jumped from 62% to 80%, warranting recognition from the State Education Department. Parents are fighting to get their children into the school, which is now at full capacity. Mr. Osei explains the students’ improvement simply: “The kids learned to solve problems. Because of that, all their scores went up.”

The regular classroom teachers also see the value of Math Lab. “I think Math Lab is fabulous. It really turns the kids on to math, which is often neglected,” said Laurie Warner, a fifth grade teacher whose class, like every class in the school, visits Mr. Osei once a week.

Third-graders Angel and Javier prepare to test the limits of paper’s strength.

“I want them to start thinking differently. Looking at something and seeing something else in it.”

“What does it mean when something is strong?” Mr. Osei begins a lesson with third-graders.
“Muscles are strong,” says one student.
“Is this paper strong?” he asks the kids.
“Noooo!’ they answer.
“It’s not strong?” He asks if it will hold the tape measures he’s placed on each desk. He starts by placing one on a flat piece of paper he holds with one hand. The paper flops over and the tape measure falls.
“Do you think you could do something to this paper to make it hold the tape measure?” he asks. “You have three minutes to think of a new idea.”

The students begin folding and ripping, turning their construction paper into columns, slings, baskets and tripods. The noise level is high, but the concentration level is higher. Mr. Osei manages to come around to all of the students as they test their constructions.

"I want my students to see me fail.”

Mr. Osei pulls his own building effort from his pocket. It’s crumpled.
"Do you think mine will hold the tape measure?” he asks.
“Noooooooooo!” they reply.
“You don’t like me?”
“That doesn’t mean that!” replies one student.
His folded column buckles under the weight. The class discusses why it failed, and how it could be improved.

Fifth-graders Abel (standing) and Gabriel work together on a construction.

Throughout the day, I notice that it’s nearly impossible to be shy about testing a design or shouting out an idea--the worst that can happen is that everyone laughs--most definitely with you.

"I want the kids to teach each other.”

Turning students into teachers is one of Mr. Osei’s specialties. When they have finished their own work, Mr. Osei’s students get up to help their classmates, carefully showing students who are confused how to complete the task at hand. Sometimes he gently urges them--“Abel, show him how to use the protractor,”--but just as often, they do it themselves.

Third-grader Diana completes a measuring task and raises her arms in triumph.

"This year, I am going to obsess over measurement.”

The construction part of the lesson over, Mr. Osei shouts, “Measure your papers!” The students practice starting at zero and using their rulers.
"Help each other!” he urges the class.
"How big is it?” asks Mr. Osei.
"Nine by twelve!”
"Nine by twelve WHAT?!” he roars.
"INCHES!” they shout in unison.
Mr. Osei spends the rest of the class period underscoring his point about including units in measurement by pointing at each kid in the class and asking, “How old are you?” “Eight,” they answer. “You are NOT eight!” he booms. He moves on, the class giggling uncertainly at his antics, until they catch on that all measurements must have units. Rather than telling them, he shows them, leading them to the “aha!” moment that will help them discover and digest the knowledge they need.

"On the coldest day of the year, you’ll sit in these igloos without your winter jackets. And I will be in here, drinking coffee and waving at you. You know how crazy I am."

Construction gets underway on the geodesic igloos.

The fifth graders stare back at him, shocked into silence. Mr. Osei has just finished describing how they are going to build and insulate their own geodesic-dome igloos. “I’ll sue you!” shouts one disbelieving student.

But several weeks later, Mr. Osei reports to me that the igloos are built and being painted, and the temperature is dropping fast enough that they will be ready to test them soon.

"You’ll have to come back,” he says. “Anytime.”

Questions? Comments? Email emily@salvadori.org