THE POTATO KNISH STORY:

THE GREATEST LESSON A BUSINESSMAN CAN LEARN

Courtesy of Rayonos Magazine

“If I ran my business the way you people operate your schools, I wouldn’t be in business very long!”

I stood before an auditorium filled with outraged teachers and school staff members who were becoming more irritated by the minute. My presentation had entirely consumed their precious 90 minutes of in-service. Their icy glares had turned to restless agitation. You could cut the hostility with a knife.

I represented a group of business people dedicated to improving the one school in our community that serviced all our children. In addition to owning a significant amount of real estate throughout the region, I was a partner at a local, very popular take-out store. Our little shop became famous in our state in 2000 when the local paper dubbed our potato knish as the “Best Knish in America.”

I was convinced of two things. First, our schools needed to change; they were archaic selecting and sorting mechanisms designed for the industrial age and out of step with the needs of our emerging “knowledge society”. Second, educators were a major part of the problem: they resisted change, hunkered down in their feathered nests, protected by tenure and shielded by a bureaucratic monopoly. They needed to look to business. We knew how to produce quality. Zero defects! Continuous improvement!

At the time of my speech, I was proud of my attitude. “Don’t take this personally”, I said. “You people simply don’t understand the business of business.” In retrospect, the speech was perfectly balanced – equal parts ignorance and arrogance.

As soon as I finished, a woman’s hand shot up. She appeared polite, pleasant – she was, in fact a razor-edged, veteran, Middle school teacher who had been waiting to unload.

She began quietly, “We are told, sir, that you manage a company that makes great knishes.”

I smugly replied, “Best Knish in America, Ma’am.”

“How nice,” she said. “Is the potato inside rich and smooth?”

“Smoothest in the world,” I crowed.

“Premium ingredients?” she inquired.

“Super-premium! Nothing but triple A.” I was on a roll. I never saw the next line coming.

“Mr. Berger,” she said, leaning forward with a wicked eyebrow raised to the sky, “when you are standing on your receiving dock at your factory and you see an inferior shipment of potatoes arrive, what do you do?”

In the silence of that room, I could hear the trap snap…. I was dead meat, but I wasn’t going to lie.

“I send them back.”

“That’s right!” she smiled, “and we can never send back our potatoes. We take them big, small, rich, poor, less, gifted, exceptional, abused, frightened, confident, home-less, rude, and brilliant. We take them with ADHD, junior rheumatoid arthritis, and English as their second language. We take them all! Every one! And that, Mr. Berger, is why it’s not a business. It’s school!”

In an explosion, all 126 staff members – teachers, principals, aides, special educators and secretaries jumped to their feet and clapped. The standing ovation lasted 10 minutes.

And so began my long transformation.

Since then, I have visited many schools. I have learned that a school is not a business. Schools are unable to control the quality of their raw material, they are dependent upon the whims of donors and patrons for a reliable revenue stream, and they are constantly mauled by a howling horde of disparate, competing customer groups that would send the best CEO screaming into the night.

None of this refutes the need for change. We must change what, when, and how we teach to give all children maximum opportunity to thrive in a post-industrial society. But educators cannot do this alone; these changes can occur only with the understanding, trust, permission and active support of the surrounding community. For the most important thing I have learned is that schools reflect the attitudes, beliefs and health of the communities they serve, and therefore, to improve education means more than changing our schools, it means changing our attitudes.