Bridging the Gap
by Brother George Van Grieken, FSC

The re-opening of Saint Joseph School in Sunnyside, Washington was a media event in the small, largely Hispanic community and followed an earlier decision that the De La Salle Christian Brothers would sponsor La Salle High School in Yakima. The area had not had a Catholic high school since 1986.

At the end of the news conference announcing the arrival of the Brothers, Brother Robb Wallace, FSC, newly-appointed principal of St. Joseph, noticed an elderly sister sitting in a wheelchair, crying. Concerned, he asked her if she was okay. She nodded, then she told him this story in Spanish-accented English:

"I want you to know that I am personally responsible for you coming here. I prayed you here. I am a member of the founding community of sisters who started Saint Joseph 35 years ago. When we heard the announcement that the school would be closed, we prayed and prayed for a miracle...for a miracle that the school would re-open. When we heard during breakfast this morning that the Christian Brothers were going to re-open the school, we danced."

La Salle High School in Yakima opened last September with 54 students, one Brother administrator, one religious Sister, other faculty members, and a host of people working in the background. Two years from now, when they move from their four rented classrooms of Holy Family Parish in Yakima to their permanent site in Union Gap, they will have completed a process that began in 1994 when the then-Bishop of Yakima, Francis George, approached the De La Salle Christian Brothers of the San Francisco District to help establish a Catholic high school for the Yakima Valley.

From the beginning, Bishop George and the Brothers were committed to the long-term viability of the school and to its accessibility to all the families of the Diocese of Yakima, a diocese that is over 65% Hispanic, including many farm workers. The project moved forward because there was clear agreement on these principles and because the needed school touched the mission of the Brothers -- to give a human and Christian education to the young, especially the poor.

When Bishop Sevilla was installed as the new Bishop of Yakima in 1997, he described the work of the Church in the Yakima Valley in terms of its many bridges. He called on the people of the diocese to serve as bridges between the various economic groups, cultural groups, and social groups; to become a single family, to form one community.

The Board of Trustees, the school administration, and the larger community have taken the expectations of Bishop George and Bishop Sevilla, along with the mission of the De La Salle Christian Brothers, very seriously. The permanent site for the school is in the nearby town of Union Gap, situated between the upper valley and the lower valley, home for many economically disadvantage farm workers and next to the Yakima Indian Reservation. The $7.5 million capital campaign for purchasing the property and building the school is called "Bridging the Gap," a phrase deliberately chosen to represent the school's efforts to bridge the racial, ethnic, and economic gaps between peoples, the geographic gaps between the upper and the lower valley, and the educational gap between Catholic elementary schools and Catholic colleges and universities.

With faith, zeal, and the leadership of the De La Salle Christian Brothers and other Lasallian educators, the gaps in the Yakima Valley are slowly bridged.

One More Lesson
by Brother Robb Wallace, FSC, Principal

I could not help noticing as I looked around at the group of Saint Joe third graders that all of them were violating the dress code. Yes it was after school, but the code distinctly says that all students must have their shirts tucked in while on campus.

"Why," I asked in my most authoritative voice, "aren't your shirts tucked in?" Junior Vargas squinted up at me as he pushed handfuls of polo shirt into his pants and answered with his own question, "You haven't been a principal very long, have you?"

Startled, confused, and a little guilty, I replied, "Why do you say that?" Still tucking in his shirt with one hand and scratching his buzz-cut moon head with the other, he let me have it, "Cuz principals don't ask. They tell!"

It was just one more lesson that this untried principal had to store away for future reference. It has been that way since I arrived in June: lesson on top of lesson, heaped up and overflowing.

I learned nothing ever happens as quickly as I want it to. I arrived in Sunnyside, Washington with a single mandate: get the place ready to open in September. That was no easy task, considering the run-down state of the facility.

The shoestring budget on which the school had operated for several years did not allow for maintenance. Most of the systems were broken or sputtering along with makeshift repairs. The 70 days I had to get things up and running nagged me. With our very first project, I realized I could not control how quickly projects would be completed: re-keying -- pretty straightforward, right? Not in Sunnyside. Days stretched into weeks, and still the work was not done. At the end of August, I knew that my options were to blow my top (and still not have the job done) or try to expedite things with threats (and still not have the job done) or accept the fact that the year would begin without everything in place. I chose the third option, and the facility is now re-keyed. But it did not happen on my timetable.

Another lesson I learned was to approach the experience as a student. You have to understand the demographics here: 99% Catholic; 91% Latino; 78% qualified for free or reduced-price meals; and 55% of families qualified for tuition assistance. Another alarming fact: in this small rural community, the people knew who I was, but I did not know them. Plus, it seemed that they were all related to one another. The culture in the school was different, too. The energy level was very high; kids didn't get hurt, they got boo-boos; when they lined up, they often held hands with one another; and the decorations on the bulletin boards changed with the seasons.

When you put all this in the context of a school that had been plagued for years with financial difficulties, you find teachers who have learned to make do, who go without, who buy school supplies from their own salaries. Teachers pitch in and volunteer for every project that comes along; the kids view the school as an extension of their families; parents are willing partners in the education of their children. I had to learn how to be in this place. With this learning has come great appreciation and love.

Another lesson learned is that these children are God's gift to me. It is a lesson that Saint John Baptist de La Salle would approve of, but one which many of us forget in the craziness of education. As gifts, the children are joy, surprise, and a source of thanksgiving.

There are the obvious joys like the kindergarten girl who makes a point of saying she loves me each day; the sixth grade boy who trusts that I will have answers to all his family problems; and the parade of first graders moving past my office window -- waving and smiling -- on their way to P.E.

The surprise gifts are equally frequent: the graduate who comes back to say, "Saint Joe changed my life," the distant tinkle of laughter as the second graders enjoy their recess, the group hugs kindergartners like to give.

But it is as a source of thanksgiving that I most frequently encounter the children, as the following story illustrates: I have made it a habit to be in front of the school every morning for about half an hour to say hello to the students and parents as they arrive. The Murillos -- Salvador, Michael, and Alvaro -- always greet me warmly. They greet me warmly even when it is cold outside. One morning, Salvador came to me, lifted my arm, and put it around his shoulders. I am used to Salvador's affectionate nature, but this was a bit much, even for him. When I would remove my arm, he would put it back. Finally, I asked him what was going on, and he responded, "I left my coat at home. Today you are my coat."

I could not keep from thanking a wise God who has given us -- the Lasallian Family -- a chance to be a coat to Salvador and to this school. However, unlike a cloth coat, we benefit from the wear. We are given a unique opportunity to encounter Jesus in this place and in the faces of these children. And this encounter changes our lives, too. Junior was right. I have not been a principal very long. But it has been long enough for me to be grateful to a loving God for giving Me a chance to meet Him anew.