Few, if any, readers of this magazine knew my brother Terry. He died two years ago, after a yearlong battle with inoperable brain cancer. As hard and as sad as it was to witness his increasing suffering and not to be able to do much of anything about it, I also became aware — through the sheer volume of visitors he received — just how many lives he touched. Of course, I knew what he meant to his immediate family, and to his siblings, and to me personally. But through the visitors, I got a much better sense of his value to his co-workers and his community. Neighbors stopped in all the time. His boss at his software company, a man my brother ate lunch with most days, came by frequently, and seemed as devastated by my brother’s death as any of our family members.
I mention my brother here because, in many ways, he embodied the theme of this magazine — the concept of leading from the middle — in his own world. No, he wasn’t an educator, and yet he offered essential lessons to all who knew him, lessons about how to conduct oneself in both good times and bad, how to make a deep and unwavering commitment to family, how to be a respected boss and dedicated co-worker, and how to give of oneself to others in need. As his roommate for the first 18 years of my life, I’m constantly hearing his guiding voice in my head still. I even learned from him how to be competitive — to work hard, to strategize, to stay focused, to be a student of the game (whatever it was), to be a team player, to compete not against but with others.
And when he was dying, he exhibited the highest level of grace I’ve seen.
We live in a culture that excessively celebrates celebrity. It’s easy to do. But the truth is that our nation is held together mostly by people like my brother — those who live and work and play and love in the trenches. They are not bound for public fame, but they have more value to our families, our communities, and our places of work than we often recognize.
In independent schools, of course, the head of school and the board of trustees matter deeply. They have the authority to set the direction of a school and to oversee its health and energy. But, these days, the importance of a vibrant group of deans, division heads, directors, department chairs, and a connected, energetic faculty makes the difference between an excellent school and a mediocre one. Perhaps it has always been this way, but it seems to me that there is new energy in the air, new excitement about what a school community can do — and much of the credit goes to those in “middle management.” The energy is palpable. You can see it in the growth of professional learning communities, both within schools and among schools. You can see it in the careful reexamination of every aspect of school life. You can see it in the growing networks of educators who seek each other out for their shared wisdom.
It’s hard to capture all this movement and energy in a single issue, but I hope the conversations here about how leadership can, and should, be shared broadly sparks new views on the role of middle management and deeper respect for those who exhibit such leadership daily.