PrintThe big box seemed closed to him. The stone walls formed a thick barrier around this fortress, and the iron gates were open yet uninviting. If he were to cross over onto the cobblestone and enter, he would see names he didn’t know: Homer, Herodotus, Sophocles, Plato, Aristotle. He would overhear the muttering of disenchantment so ubiquitous on campus. He would be enchanted.
But Shaun Abreu walked by every day on his way to work at the New York Public Library on Broadway and 113th Street. “I never walked inside the box—the cubicle—College Walk,” he recalls.
“I was on the outside at that time,” and even though he knew the campus was open to the public, “I kept myself outside of it.”
Abreu needed to be invited inside.
The son of Dominican immigrants, Abreu moved from Washington Heights to the Bronx to the Upper West Side, changing schools even more times than he did apartments. By his freshman year at George Washington High School on Audubon Avenue and 191st Street, he was struggling. A big school, George Washington doesn’t have the resources to give every student the attention he or she needs. His guidance counselor directed him to outside help at the Double Discovery Center, a Columbia tutoring and mentoring program. At the urging of his friend and DDC student Franchesco Martinez, Abreu finally crossed through the gates.
“You can get to DDC from outside, but I would go in through the main entrance,” he says.
He entered to face the names he didn’t know. These names engraved on Butler’s façade identify the University’s philosophy, one that espouses education as the means to a virtuous life in a successful city.
In a summer Double Discovery course that connected Abreu and his classmates with the American studies department, he was taught the word “polis.” Abreu says he learned about “navigating and understanding concepts of citizenship.”
In New York City, Columbia’s contribution of an Aristotelian love of wisdom to students like Abreu often remains unknown to others who don’t find their way inside the gates. And to some, the University’s connection to city education appears to be only a means to institutional ends. Still, at points of intersection like the DDC, Columbia puts its philosophy of education for the polis into practice. Abreu has benefited from that—though he may be a standout success story in the University’s enigmatic narrative of engagement with neighborhood students.
He sat at the Hungarian Pastry Shop one recent Friday afternoon, sipping hot chocolate and talking about Columbia and education and politics. He didn’t raise his voice much over the din of procrastinating students around him—his voice blended with theirs.
Abreu held his mug firmly in his hand and looked confident. After having haunted this neighborhood for years, he says, “I’ve always felt like I’ve been a Columbia student.” Abreu has been accepted to the class of 2014.
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The Double Discovery Center, housed in Lerner Hall Room 306, has about 125 volunteers and 12 full-time staff members, 10 of whom are trained in teaching and college advising. Over the course of a year, the center works with anywhere between 800 and 900 students during after-school tutoring hours, Friday sessions, counseling meetings, and a three-week residential summer program—all free of charge. The students come from more than 160 high schools and middle schools across the city. Two-thirds of them come from low-income families in addition to being first-generation, college-bound students, and nearly all the rest fall under either one of those categories. There are two main tutoring programs at the DDC—Upward Bound and Talent Search—the former seeks students with below an 80 percent average, the latter accepts more high-achieving kids for shorter-term help.
“We don’t take sure shots,” says DDC’s executive director Kevin Matthews, CC ’80.
Double Discovery was started in 1965. Roger Lehecka, CC ‘67, along with a couple of classmates who were skeptical of the New York City public school system, heard that the federal government was giving out grants for education programs to help low-income kids who would be first-generation college students. They put together a proposal for 150-160 high school students to live on campus and take classes during the summer, then come in for follow-up tutoring during the academic year. The plan was to start with ninth graders, students Lehecka describes as “needy both financially and academically,” and continue working with them until they reached college.
“As for what we thought we were doing, we had a pretty naïve attitude in a sense, because if someone had told us in the beginning that the program would be here forty-five years later, that wouldn’t have been exhilarating. It would have been discouraging. Naïvely, we thought what something on this scale could do—so much bigger than anything Columbia’s done before—was that if you take students who were not successful in high school and you show they can be successful, which we certainly did the first couple of years and the program continues to do, then the high schools would have to change. … In retrospect, that seems incredibly naïve, right?”
Instead, the program continued to supplement the often inadequate education students received at public schools. DDC alumna Nathalie Lissain, now a sophomore at Barnard, says that the program “kind of became our second school.” Matthews says he worries about “the kids that are run by an overworked, overburdened, under-serviced department.”
The latest tally released by the New York City Board of Education puts the city’s graduation rate at about 60 percent. But a recent analysis done jointly by an assistant sociology professor at Columbia and the head of city advocacy group Class Size Matters suggests that this count is misleading, and might be around 15 points lower if the city took discharged and G.E.D. students into account. Among students in the DDC, more than 90 percent of kids graduate from high school and go on to college.
“They have no reason to understand that colleges are actually looking for them and will accept them, because they’ve never actually spoken to anyone who gets that message across,” Matthews says of many city high school students—especially those who come from homes where this isn’t impressed upon them.
“My parents, they don’t understand the American way. They just don’t understand it. Because in Africa, the thing is, when you go to high school, you take a test at the end of the year and whatever subject you do your best in, that’s the college they’ll send you off to,” says Angela Adusah, a senior at the A. Philip Randolph Campus High School on West 135th Street. Her parents moved to New York from Ghana, she explains, and “they don’t understand the process of the Common App, visiting, interviews.”
So for Matthews, this is part of the DDC’s role. “I’ve got kids here, sitting here, trying to do their FAFSAs [Free Application for Federal Student Aid] and their CSS profiles, who for the first time are looking at a tax form,” Matthews says, adding that “two-thirds of our seniors are going to do their own FAFSAs because their parents will give them—‘here honey, take that.’ And without our assistance, think of how many kids would say, ‘you know what? It’s too much for me.’”
He added, “Folks in the high school, their role is to give someone a high school diploma. My job is to get them into college.”
It worked for Nathalie Lissain. She’s pre-med, majoring in English, and “hopefully I’ll get into the writing concentration, but we’ll see,” she says, seated downstairs in the Diana Center. Lissain is a poised, trendy Barnard student, with a scarf stylishly draped around her neck. She grew up on the east side of Harlem on 119th Street—“Not really inner city,” she notes.
As a junior at the all-girls private Cathedral High School on East 56th Street, she was looking for a program that would help her prepare for her SATs. Upon arriving at the DDC, she fell in love with Columbia: “I just thought of you guys as geniuses and I thought, ‘I need to be there one day, you know?’”
Now, returning as a volunteer, Lissain observes DDC students from the other side. “As they start taking part in this program, they become more immersed in the community, and they see it for what it is,” she says.
Although Matthews and Lehecka note that the DDC is not oriented towards recruiting Columbia and Barnard applicants, this exposure to campus life can translate into a desire for more. According to Matthews, an average of 15 DDC students apply to Columbia out of around 100 seniors each year, and two or three are admitted.
“A lot of kids will see education though Columbia’s eyes. So it’s very hard for any institution to live up to Columbia,” says Matthews, adding later that, “for most of our students, Columbia becomes part of an ideal.”
Abreu’s DDC friend Franchesco Martinez is among the applicants still waiting on a decision. “I just really couldn’t see myself at any other place than Columbia University,” he says. After he has “pretty much lived here for the past four years,” Martinez says “it would just feel weird” to pack up and go off to college anywhere else.
Martinez has lived his whole life on 107th Street between Amsterdam and Columbus. He visited Columbia “all the time” as he was growing up, though he says most kids don’t step on campus unless they have a reason to be there. It wasn’t until Martinez enrolled in the DDC when he started to feel a connection to the University—taking classes in Hamilton on Fridays, gaining access to Dodge Fitness Center—and he “realized Columbia has a lot to offer.”
As an incoming high school freshman at the Manhattan Center for Science and Mathematics on East 116th Street where he was one of 1,500 students, Martinez “wasn’t accustomed to such a large setting.” He had been valedictorian of his middle school, and then, he says, “in ninth grade, I came in as a very arrogant, cocky student.” That year, he failed three classes.
To his chagrin, his aunt made him sign up for the DDC. “I didn’t really have a voice back then,” he says of his reluctance to go for tutoring. “But at the same time, I’ve always had a curious and inquisitive nature. It ended up being the experience of a lifetime.”
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While Abreu is ordering his cup of hot cocoa at Hungarian, Danielle Rojas is excused from math class and called down to Charles Fry’s office, which has become the de facto college guidance office at Randolph High ever since the former head counselor retired. Fry has been there for 26 years, teaching literature and composition and serving as coordinator of student activities.
It is a busy day in Mr. Fry’s office. He is selling cupcakes and muffins—big ones—to raise money for Haiti earthquake relief. In between customers, he explains his take on college advising: “A lot of these kids—their parents are first generation Americans—the kids are second generation, so they don’t know the whole college process. They don’t have a super-realistic perspective of what college is like. It’s more romantic than anything else.”
He then interrupts himself when the time comes: “Muffin or cupcake?”
A prep-oriented high school adjacent to City College, Randolph sends about 90 percent of their students off for higher education. Fry notes, “We send some kids to some pretty good schools. We have a girl at Barnard now. We do have a couple of kids at Columbia.” He called down Rojas that day because she will be joining Abreu in Morningside Heights this fall.
She wants to be a brain surgeon. Rojas got to know Columbia’s campus when her mother was at St. Luke’s Hospital, pregnant with her baby sister. She bravely crossed the street.
But before that, she never visited the University and was told she couldn’t get in. “This school [Randolph] is in a not-so-well-off community. So in that sense, it might seem like the students from this school would be not be able to go to Columbia, because maybe your academics aren’t up there. It’s not necessarily the people, your ethnic background, but just thinking on an academic level, maybe your standards aren’t up there,” she says.
“They were saying that there wasn’t a great chance of my going there, since I was a minority and stuff, that I should just not bother applying,” she added. “But I didn’t listen to them.” Rojas smiled to herself as the rest of her peers in the office filed in line for cupcakes.
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Rojas crossed over, walked through the gates, researched the neuroscience major—all on her own. But Fry said that few of his students do that: “Columbia has walls, you know? Even if they lived at the bottom of the stairs there, that’s a wall too. There’s no reason.”
That wall—that “box” that kept Abreu away at first—sets Columbia’s campus apart from the surrounding neighborhood. When Angela Adusah saw the University, she said, “I thought it was gorgeous, like it was a city of its own.” But not for her.
For some, there is admiration—many students remarked, “Oh, it’s an Ivy!”—whereas others pass the campus without much of a thought. It’s big, it’s there, it’s not part of their lives.
One person who has observed this gap over the years is Dianne Johnson, president of the Community Education Council for the city’s school district 5—which is comprised of Harlem from Manhattanville to the East River, spanning 122nd to 155th Streets. She says that most kids see the campus as “expensive” and that “they might have walked through, but as far as going to see what the experience is like, what Columbia can offer, they don’t really know.”
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“I can see that Columbia is an asset and not a liability when it comes to education,” Johnson says, but “there needs to be more postings.” She goes on to explain that people aren’t aware that educational programs are offered. “If you want people to be aware of what you’re doing, give us the information,” she says, “go inside the schools.”
But they do.
The DDC is just one way Columbia works to educate students in the surrounding neighborhood and around the city. There’s also the Columbia Secondary School for Math, Science, and Engineering at West 123rd Street, which opened in the fall of 2007. According to the school’s website, CSS middle school students all live or went to school north of 96th Street, and 60 percent come from low-income families. Many of these students go on to fill out the CSS high school.
Community Impact—the University’s volunteer service network, composed of some 25 programs and 100 partnerships in Northern Manhattan—has a variety of educational projects. One is the Columbia chapter of national college student-run tutoring program Let’s Get Ready!, which has coached juniors and seniors at the Frederick Douglass Academy on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard twice a week for years. Learned Foote, a junior in CC and one of the chapter’s lead organizers, says the program has become “a fixture at the school.” Barnard also has a chapter, which visits the East Harlem Tutorial Program on Second Avenue between 105th and 106th Streets.
University affiliate Teachers College has an even more impressive record of working with Harlem schools. There are dozens of programs, according to Emily Zemke, coordinator of school partnerships, and “our aim is to work collaboratively with schools and respond to their needs.” Zemke said she personally talks with representatives at six or seven schools every week—all located between 110th and 155th streets—and has a looser relationship with around 25 schools in all.
“We do a lot of site-based work in schools. We regularly invite students and teachers onto the TC campus, but most of our work takes place in K-through-12 classrooms,” she said, adding, “We’ve not received any negative feedback from any schools about our communication.”
Although some in the district don’t see it or sense it’s not enough, Columbia does go inside the schools.
Randolph, where Charles Fry teaches, is among the schools that TC works with in its Office of School and Community Partnerships. But Fry says Columbia engages “not really at all” with the school, and adds later, “We’ve always had problems with Columbia.”
Most of the DDC’s students arrive through word of mouth, Matthews says. Danielle Rojas didn’t know about the program. Martinez heard about it from his aunt, and talked about it with Abreu. Lissain heard about the program from her sister’s friend.
“One of the main problems is that no one even knows this program exists,” she says. “It’s very on the hush hush. No one knows about it. And that’s a shame.”
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The Double Discovery Center is publicized prominently in one sense. While the University has sought to garner support for its Manhattanville campus expansion, it has brought the DDC to the forefront as prime evidence of its long-standing commitment to serving its neighbors to the north.
“We get trotted out,” Mathews says.
The University’s Manhattanville project website features the DDC first on the list under the Community Engagement and Education page. “Did you know?” the site asks. The answer for many students and parents who might be in the target area for this message is apparently a resounding “no.”
Matthews notes that every school within the University works with New York City students—“so many of us it’s not funny”—but in true Columbia fashion of decentralization, there is not one office that coordinates all of these projects. “The hard part is that Columbia does not do enough to actually get all of us together so we can talk about what we all do,” he says.
This makes it difficult to send a clear message of engagement to those the University aims to serve. According to Matthews, “If you talk to the individual resident who does not know that, or the political activist who does not know that, it sounds as though Columbia does nothing. Could we do more? Add it to the list.”
“Right now there’s a perception that all Columbia is doing is trying to buy up buildings in Harlem,” Dianne Johnson says, and people who live in the neighborhood don’t associate the University with local education. “They think Columbia is attacking the community.”
Over the past several years, the University has held hearings and community meetings to discuss the Manhattanville campus plan, yet a disconnect between Columbia as an institution and the understanding of this project remains undeniably persistent for many people. In using education to demonstrate how the University engages with these neighbors, the message does not seem to get across effectively.
“The program was never the object of attack from outside, or criticism from outside,” said Lehecka, as he recalls the DDC’s success even during the fierce Columbia-Harlem tension of 1968. “It was one of the things that Columbia did that was right. And they certainly have done their share of bragging about it.” Now, in the midst of Manhattanville development, “This is the time when they’re making the most of it.”
But Columbia “is not making it up,” Lehecka added. “In fact, for 45 years—or when the Manhattanville discussion started, maybe 40 years—whether it was politically prudent to do it or not, Columbia supported the program. It could house it on the campus, it kept it going … Columbia deserves to brag about it. Unfortunately, there weren’t very many things like it I guess.”
The program actually receives no financial support from the University. The DDC does not pay rent or maintenance fees for its space in Lerner, but the bulk of its operating budget—about $1.3-1.4 million—comes from the U.S. Department of Education. Columbia College annually contributes around $42-44,000, and the program receives some other donations from outside groups and individuals.
Still, the University calls the DDC its own and continues to present the program as its trademark of student engagement. The same goes for TC’s projects, which also receive significant outside funding.
A new TC demonstration school is the other major selling point for Columbia in terms of Harlem education, as a key component of the Manhattanville-inspired Community Benefits Agreement—a document composed by the University and a host of neighborhood representatives to ensure that Columbia contributes to the welfare of local residents amidst its campus development.
In the CBA, Columbia commits “$30 million of value” for the school, which “shall be tendered through a combination of expertise, and other resources from the Teachers College.” The document does not express the $30 million value in terms of a check to be written, but rather as a measure of the worth provided by this school or other services.
Zemke says that TC plans to open the Demonstration School in September 2011. It will be housed by the Department of Education—likely in an existing facility, though the construction of a new DOE space would be something to strive for in the future—and will accommodate about 500 students in pre-Kindergarten through eighth grade.
On March 4th, TC will hold a “Community Engagement Forum” in conjunction with West Harlem’s Community Board 9 to gather input from residents on what they want in the new school. The event, to take place from 6 to 8 p.m. at I.S. 195 on 625 West 133rd Street, will seek feedback on resources such as after-school programming, adult education, and health and family services.
The TC Demonstration School’s website features a video of Associate V.P. for School and Community Partnerships Nancy Streim, who says, “It’s very important for a school of education that is an anchor in the community to partner with the Department of Education to provide additional public school options.”
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The Demonstration School, like the DDC, may be a means to an end—proof of “Engagement and Education” that the University can “trot out” as needed. But whether the Manhattanville campus is destined to wreak havoc on Northern Manhattan or invigorate the economic and intellectual vivacity of the area, these P.R. assets that have helped Columbia gain necessary approval for the expansion have had real impact on students’ lives.
Many people just don’t know. “They’re not educating people about what they’re actually doing. And people in Harlem, they don’t want to hear about it,” Abreu says. “At my school it’s like ‘Columbia expansion—what?’”
Just as the University has failed to successfully communicate the intentions and implications of its campus development to a number of Harlem residents, there is a gap between Columbia’s connection to many neighborhood students and awareness of this outreach. As this point of intersection between Columbia and city students—literally a “Double Discovery” learning experience on both sides—is used to prove the University’s long-standing, local commitment to government officials, donors, and reporters, it remains only on the “hush hush” for students, as Nathalie Lissain put it. And as she said, “it’s a shame” that the program isn’t better known among those in the neighborhood who could benefit from it.
“Columbia does better than many of our peer institutions in taking seriously the imperative to make an Ivy League education available to kids from low-income families,” says Andrew Delbanco, head of the American studies department. Together, Delbanco and Lehecka teach a seminar called Equity in American Higher Education in which students are required to volunteer at the DDC.
Yet Delbanco says that, although the University demonstrates a genuine commitment to supporting education in the surrounding neighborhood, “We should be more engaged with local schools than we are.”
Matthews adds, “An Ivy League institution in Harlem benefits Harlem. Has Columbia always done everything that it could for those kids? Probably not. Has Columbia actually reversed that in the last thirty years? Absolutely.”
Franchesco Martinez, the DDC student who applied to the Columbia class of 2014, has benefited from the University’s presence up the street. He says simply, “It was really close to my home.”
This spring, he will open a letter from admissions that will determine whether he will remain at home here for the next four years.