Open: An Autobiography

Our grounds are designed like a college campus, with intimate quads and welcoming common areas. The walls are stone - muted purple and pale salmon quartzite from local quarries - and the walkways are lined with delicate plum trees, leading to one beautiful holly oak, a symbolic Tree of Hope, which we planted even before the groundbreaking. First things first, our architects figured, so they planted the Tree of Hope, then asked construction workers to keep the tree watered and lighted while they built the school around it.

The land on which the school sits is narrow, only eight acres, but the lack of space actually suited the architects’ overall scheme. They wanted the flow of the campus to symbolize a short, serpentine journey. Like life. Wherever students stand, they can turn one way and see a glimpse of where they’ve been, or turn the other and see a hint of where they’re headed.

Kindergarteners and elementary schoolers can gaze at the tall high school buildings, waiting for them - though they can’t hear the voices of the older kids. We don’t want to scare them.

High schoolers can glance back at the primary classrooms from which they set out - though they can’t hear the high-pitched screaming on the playground. We don’t want to disturb them.

The architects, local guys named Mike Del Gatto and Rob Gurdison, threw themselves in-to this project. They spent months researching the history of the neighborhood, examining charter schools throughout the nation, experimenting with ideas. Then they stayed up night after night, brainstorming around a ping-pong table in Mike’s basement. They built the first cardboard-plywood model of the school on that ping-pong table, unaware of any coincidence or irony.

It was their idea to have the buildings teach, to tell stories. We told them the stories we wanted told. In the middle school we wanted enormous photos of Martin Luther King Jr., Ma-hatma Gandhi, and, of course, Mandela, with their inspirational words painted on raised glass beneath their portraits. Since most of our students are African American, we asked Mike and Rob to embed bricks of marbled glass in one wall, depicting the Big Dipper, and to the right one single brick of glass, representing the North Star. The Big Dipper and the North Star were beacons for runaway slaves, pointing them to freedom.

My small contribution to the aesthetics of the school: in the common area of the high school building I wanted a gleaming black Steinway. When I delivered the piano, all the students gathered around and I shocked them by playing Lean on Me. What delighted me most was that the students didn’t know who I was. And when their teachers told them, they weren’t all that impressed.

I dreamed of a school with the fewest possible dry routines, a place that fostered serendipity. A place where serendipity was the norm. And it’s happened. On any given day something cool is likely to happen at Agassi Prep. President Bill Clinton might drop by and take a turn teaching history. Shaquille O’Neal might be the substitute in physical education.

You might bump into Lance Armstrong walking the halls, or Muhammad Ali wearing a visitor badge, shadowboxing a freshman. You might look up at any moment and see Janet Jackson or Elton John standing in the door of a classroom, or members of Earth, Wind & Fire auditing.

More serendipity: When we dedicate the gymnasium, the NBA All-Star Game will be taking place in Vegas. We’ll invite the rookie and sophomore All-Stars to play their traditional pickup game on our floor - the first game ever played at Agassi Prep. The kids will love that.

Our educators are the best, plain and simple. The goal in hiring them was to find sharp, passionate, inspired men and women who were willing to lay it on the line, to get personally involved. We ask one thing of every teacher: to believe that every student can learn. It sounds like a painfully obvious concept, self-evident, but nowadays it’s not.

Of course, because Agassi Prep has a longer day and a longer year than other schools, our staff might earn less per hour than staffs elsewhere. But they have more resources at their fingertips, and so they enjoy greater freedom to excel and make a difference in children’s lives.

We thought it important that students wear uniforms. Tennis shirt with khaki pants, shorts, or skirt, in official school colors - burgundy and navy. We think it creates less peer pressure, and we know it saves our parents money in the long run. Every time I walk into the school I’m struck by the irony: I’m now the enforcer of a uniform policy. I look forward to the day when some Wimbledon official happens to be in Vegas and asks for a tour. I can hardly wait to see the look on his or her face when I mention my school’s strict dress code.

We have another code that might be my favorite feature of the school. The Code of Respect that begins each day. Whenever I’m down there I poke my head into a random classroom and ask the children to stand with me and recite.