In 1973, a school that operated on the then-radical notion of having a progressive and hands-on learning environment opened in West Philadelphia -- the University City New School.
But last Friday afternoon, the doors of this independent school's home at 42nd and Locust streets were shut for the last time, the victim of dwindling finances and the lack of a permanent home.
"This is as sad as it gets," said New School principal Betty Ratay, as she packed her few remaining belongings in an otherwise bare building. "As an educator, you never want to see a school go out of business unless it is a really bad place -- this isn't a really bad place."
The New School was informed in May 1998 that it would lose its current home in a Penn-owned facility to make way for the new Penn-assisted public school, which will have a partial opening this fall.
Even today, she remembers that it was just minutes before a bi-monthly parents meeting when she heard what was to be the beginning of the end.
"It's kind of like hearing a piece of music and knowing exactly where you were when you heard it," she said.
After this, the New School made plans to temporarily relocate to the Calvary Church at 48th Street and Baltimore Avenue, at a cost of $450,000. Although Penn had offered financing totaling $275,000, the New School could not make up the difference.
Ultimately, only about $75,000 was raised, according to New School board co-chairwoman D.L. Wormley. She noted that many parents were skittish about enrolling their children in a school with an uncertain future, which compounded the problem.
"We just didn't have a choice," Wormley said of the decision to close that was made in February.
Although Penn had been a benevolent landlord in the past -- forgiving loan and rent payments -- it had decided that its core mission, and the mission of its Graduate School of Education, was to assist schools that were public, not private.
"When we started taking a look at what we wanted to do and what the community wanted of us, the issue of whether [Penn] should be subsidizing a private school became a legitimate concern," said Carol Scheman, Penn's vice president for government, community and public affairs.
"The New School was a jewel that people had strong, strong feelings about, and we would have liked to have them somehow affiliated with the new Penn-assisted school, but in the end it didn't work," she said.
University President Judith Rodin said that eventually, Penn wanted to provide more opportunities for neighborhood students and more community-based activities than what the New School had the resources or the interest to provide.
"They're just a very different level of operation, and while there were no other uses for that site, we were happy to provide, and did so gladly," Rodin said.
But although it was matters of finance and real estate that caused the closing of the school, it was its different manner of educating that marked its life.
Following the teachings of the late 19th century philosopher John Dewey, the students in the first through eighth grades learned by doing. The school also tried to be a "democratic microcosm," so that its students became active and responsible citizens.
Ratay said that this meant exploring the election process in the 1996 presidential election by planting a tree. Although several different varieties of trees were suitable for the site, only one could be chosen, so the students campaigned for the tree of their choice.
After taking a vote, a pear tree won.
"It's not quite like government, but at least it's the election process," Ratay said.
Wormley said that it was the spirit of the children, who came from homes of many races and income levels throughout the city and inner suburbs, that stood out most in her mind.
"Every time you turned around, the kids were either welcoming people or demonstrating in a very public way what a special place the New School was," Wormley said, adding how three recent graduates met with West Philadelphia Councilwoman Jannie Blackwell on their own accord to try and save their former school.
Although the school's population once numbered 115, last Friday only Ratay remained. As a tribute, she burned a list of the names of the students, teachers and board members and buried the ashes under the victorious pear tree.
"If this had to happen the way that it did, I'm just hoping that what gets built here becomes a success," Ratay said. "Otherwise, that would mean that all of this would have been for nothing, and that would really hurt."
