#Unity jr high full

While he applauds the school’s effort to create a feeling of greater intimacy, Klonsky isn’t convinced that it’s enough. Mike Klonsky calls the school “a disaster waiting to happen.” Klonsky directs the Small Schools Workshop at the University of Illinois at Chicago, which helps districts plan small schools or break big schools down into smaller units. But it’s an entirely different set of issues that most worries critics, including some parents of Unity students. Contaminants left from the factory delayed construction of the school for more than a year, and $12 million had to be spent to clean up industrial toxins and get final approval from the Illinois Environmental Protection Agency. When a large swath of space on the site of a former car-parts factory became available, the district jumped at the chance to buy it, even though it turned out the land was heavily polluted. He says the lack of available land in Cicero meant that building several smaller schools was not feasible. “We were burdened with finding a space, so we went with a small- school concept in a large building,” says Aksamit. They also will stay with the same teachers for their two years at Unity. The school, which opened this past August, is also organized into “clusters,” allowing students to spend most of their days in one part of the complex, rather than having to schlep all over the 332,235- square-foot building. The wings have their own principals, and every hall has an administrative aide. Students are separated by grade, with 7th graders in the east wing and 8th graders in the west. While the building itself is gargantuan, administrators say class sizes are relatively small, with approximately 20 pupils to each teacher. On a table in her office, she spreads out the school map, which looks like a floor plan for a shopping mall. “We realize it’s a big school, but we have tried hard to create a small-school atmosphere,” says Denise Boyle, the school’s 8th grade principal, in between squawks from her walkie-talkie on a fall Monday morning. The campus does offer a less-than-subtle retort to the notion that big schools are dinosaurs, but teachers and administrators at Unity say the most capacious junior high school in the nation functions more like a bunch of smaller schools that all happen to share the same roof. “I’ve had parents stop me and say, ‘I’m glad my child is going to the school,’” says superintendent Edward Aksamit. They speak in glowing terms about a state-of-the-art school that offers kids-97 percent of whom are Latino-an environment usually found only in wealthier, whiter suburban communities.Īdministrators hope the school-'Cicero’s crown jewel,” as the school district’s Web site proudly calls it-will lead to academic improvement in the district, where 10 of the 15 schools appear on a state “watch list” because of low test scores. In that context, supporters argue, Unity has been a godsend. School officials have to find space for 500 new students a year in a town with precious little buildable space.

From fewer than 5,000 students in 1983, Cicero School District 99 has grown to serve 13,000 students. But teachers and administrators say that’s not necessarily a bad thing-especially given the lack of alternatives.

#Unity jr high full

When it reaches its full capacity of 4,000 students, Unity will be the largest junior high in the nation, according to Judy Marks, associate director of the National Clearinghouse for Educational Facilities. Just what those numbers add up to has been the subject of debate: “Horrible.” “Cicero’s crown jewel.” “A disaster waiting to happen.” But at the center of this swirl of words and numbers is the school’s sheer size. In a way, you could say that Unity Junior High School in Cicero, Illinois, is all about numbers: More than 2,700 students. “Let’s go, the doors are open!” a teacher shouts, and students pour into a building big enough to be an airport terminal. The 12- and 13-year- olds, many chatting in Spanish, a few listening to music on headphones, quickly fill the sidewalk that runs the length of two football fields in front of their school. Sleepy-eyed 7th and 8th graders, bundled in baggy sweatshirts and lugging bulging book bags, stream from every direction, forming a restless sea. It’s a few minutes before 8 a.m., and a tidal wave is gathering. A new junior high school flies in the face of the small-school movement-big time.