Free Leadership and Crisis by Bobby Jindal Page A

pre-K or any other classes for four-year-olds. After the fourth grade, I was enrolled in public schools.) Runnels, where I spent the first five years of my schooling, was more than a school; it was a community. It had a mix of students, including white, Asian, black, disabled, etc. The teachers sent their children there, and they would discipline their own kids the same way they would discipline any student. What made Runnels great was excellent teachers, an orderly classroom, and parents who cared deeply about their children’s education.
    Some of those teachers profoundly affected my life and the lives of many others. Mrs. Couvillion, who taught reading, was one of the toughest teachers we had. We would sit on a “magic carpet” in her class and read all sorts of books. Most of my friends didn’t like her because she was demanding and set high standards, but I enjoyed the
challenge. She was also popular with all the parents because of the results they saw when their kids took her class. It didn’t occur to any of those parents to indulge their children’s gripes about the hard work she demanded or the high standards she established.
    Once we had a read-a-thon in which you had to find sponsors to pay you for each book you read, and the students who raised the most money won a prize. Ignited by Mrs. Couvillion’s inspiration, I read fifty-five books before my dad finally told me to stop. “Wait a minute, how much money do I have to give?” he asked. “No, no, stop reading. That’s enough. I’ll go buy you a prize instead.”
    Mrs. Williams was my science teacher. I met her for the first time when I was dropped off at her house because she had offered to drive me to school. She was running after one of her sons with a shoe in her hand. I don’t know what she did when she caught him—but it scared me to death. I decided then and there I would never misbehave in her class. Since our small school didn’t have lab equipment or expensive science displays, Mrs. Williams would bring the body parts of real animals in bags to class to teach us about biology. (I think her husband was a hunter—at least I hope so.) She was smart, passionate about science, and had a great knack for creating a fun learning environment. Her love of biology became my love of biology. The moral of the story is simple: good schools start with teachers who inspire students and create expectations that challenge them.
    Many of us have wonderful recollections of the neighborhood school that was a hub of community life. The school was just that: a community of teachers, parents, and administrators working together. It’s a shame, but we seem to have lost some of that in America today. In my own family, we try to uphold my dad’s commitment to education. I have dedicated much of my public life to improving schools in
Louisiana. And my wife Supriya, who is a chemical engineer, has established a non-profit foundation to encourage the teaching of science and math in Louisiana. She visits classrooms across the state to demonstrate science experiments to illustrate the role that math and science play in our daily lives, and to deliver interactive whiteboards and laptops purchased with private dollars.
    When I took over the University of Louisiana system, I was struck by how many in the education establishment were trying hard, but were simply setting the wrong goals. The state was funding universities according to how big their enrollment was, rather than their success in educating students. In other words, the system was rewarding universities for recruiting students, but not for keeping them in school. Just as football teams don’t win championships on draft day, colleges shouldn’t declare victory on the first day of class. Victory is only achieved when a student graduates and begins helping to drive our economic future.
    As governor I’m fighting to drive home a new priority for Louisiana colleges. It’s a novel concept that will rock the