Teacher new to district faces big, small tests

Sunday, Aug. 26, 2007 | 1:01 a.m.

Brian Lenze wanted the tattoo for a long time - years, in fact. But he hesitated. What kind of example would he set for students by sporting a green and black Celtic cross? A good teacher worries about such things. Lenze was determined to be a good teacher.

Still, the tattoo beckoned. He was sure his identity included that Celt ic cross. So two years ago, in North Carolina while visiting friends, he found himself at a tattoo parlor in Raleigh. For $250, he could have that cross.

Excellent.

But what about the example for students?

Hide the tattoo on a biceps or on his back?

No way. A hidden tattoo is no tattoo. He wanted it on a forearm, visible whenever he wore a T-shirt.

Then it came to him. Wear dress shirts to class. Put the tattoo on his left arm so he would have no fear it could be seen if his right sleeve rode up his arm as he shook hands or wrote on the blackboard.

You gotta be professional.

Here then is Brian Lenze, one of the more than 2,000 teachers new to the Clark County School District. He's a little bit of the rebel, but one who knows enough to keep it buttoned up on the job.

He can envision himself as a high school principal, but one of the first phone calls he made in Las Vegas was in search of an Ultimate Frisbee league.

His iPod is loaded with '80s bands and the latest alternative rock. He's an Eagle Scout who renovated the offices of a youth group at his Catholic church. He has three years' experience - one year at a charter school in Florida and for the past two years at a private school in Michigan.

Now he's made it to the nation's fifth-largest school district, which he considers the big leagues. And Lenze is here to hit one out of the park.

At 26, Lenze is closer to 30 than to 20 - but that is hard to tell at first glance. With his dark hair buzzed short and a stocky build, he could easily pass for a member of UNLV's rugby club. Lenze knows this, which is one reason he will wear a tie when classes begin Monday at Coronado High School in Henderson. For any new teacher, first impressions matter. For one as young as Lenze, they are critical.

When Lenze went to Florida after college, his parents weren't worried. It was normal for a kid to spread his wings after graduation. He would get teaching experience, at least enough to find a job in Michigan.

It was a good plan. But Michigan didn't play along.

Declining enrollments and budget cuts forced school districts to close campuses and reduce staff. After teaching for a year in Florida, Lenze landed a job at a tiny private school just outside Detroit. He jumped at the chance to come home, expecting it to be his springboard into Michigan's public education system. He eventually sent out more than 75 applications to school districts throughout the state, recounting his experience, listing his references, asking for a chance.

Not a single reply. Not one letter or phone call. His mother, Sheila, a teacher herself, suffered right along with him.

Do you know what that does to your self-esteem, his mother says from the family's home in Fenton, Mich., just south of Flint. How about having to live with your grandmother for two years because your private school salary barely pays the bills?

Lenze has been in Nevada for less than two weeks, but already his mother knows this is different. He is excited about the district-sponsored programs at UNLV, where he can earn his master's degree for just $45 per academic credit, compared with nearly $400 at Central Michigan University. The opportunities to move on to administration in a few years are boundless.

His daily phone calls to mom are full of details. Everyone is so friendly at the school, the other teachers are helpful, there is a long list of businesses and apartment complexes offering discounts to teachers.

But still, she thinks, it's Vegas. What mother would want to send her kids there, especially with the gambling?

On the other hand, you have to let them go, don't you? You hope that if they make mistakes, they'll learn from them.

Sheila Lenze is a registered nurse and has taught in a vocational high school's health careers program for 15 years. Watching her son struggle to find his foothold, and being unable to give him a boost up, weren't easy. If Clark County is the place where he's going to not only survive but also thrive, so be it.

But boy, are they going to miss him.

Brian Lenze visited Las Vegas last fall for a church youth group conference, of all things. He had heard the region was desperate for teachers but didn't give it serious thought. Surely one of the dozens of school districts in Michigan would have a space for him.

Then fall turned to winter, and winter to spring. With summer approaching and not so much as a nibble, Lenze went online to take a closer look at what the Clark County School District had to offer.

Compared with the districts whose dead silence greeted his Michigan applications, Clark County was an eager suitor. He submitted his paperwork in mid-June. His telephone interview took place on a Friday in early July.

The phone rang again Monday.

How would you like a job at Coronado High School? Science teachers, even those who minored in the subject and majored in history, are hard to come by.

Six weeks later he loaded the car and drove for two days, stopping only to refill the tank and catch a little sleep. Dusk was settling Aug. 13 as he crossed the Arizona-Nevada line on Interstate 15. The last bright rays of sunlight danced off the canyon rock, and before long the city lights flickered ahead as he made his way down into the desert.

He called his parents.

You just can't believe how beautiful it is.

The cinder-block walls guarding the apartment complex are draped with banners. See our Newly Renovated Apartments! Move-In Specials!

Five sweaty workmen are replacing tiles on the clubhouse. Lenze's two-bedroom unit is on the second floor, overlooking the pool.

Start furniture inventory: air mattress, floor lamp, television (borrowed), two blue folding stadium chairs.

End furniture inventory.

In the smaller bedroom are boxes of school supplies, lesson plans and books - everything he could cram into his silver 2000 Chevy Malibu. He gets his $2,000 signing bonus in October. It cost him all of that to ship everything he had.

The boxes, which he hopes will arrive before the first day of school, include a few movie posters - "Braveheart" and "Fight Club" - leftovers from his days at Eastern Michigan University. But he doubts he'll put them up on the walls.

"I gotta buy some art," Lenze says. "I'm not a college student anymore."

He hunted carefully for his apartment, comparing rents, move-in specials, rebates. Last year, to help pay the bills, he took a part-time job cleaning vacated apartments for a management company. He learned quickly to look for the warning signs in rentals - discolored walls from heavy smokers, wheezing refrigerators and first-floor units that echo every sound from the upstairs tenants.

His new apartment is in a modest complex off Eastern Avenue, about 1 1/2 miles from Interstate 215. The carpets are clean. The faux-wood laminate in the kitchen and bathroom add a little something extra, don't you think? And look, brand-new appliances - the A/C works great.

Lenze caught the tail end of the long, hot summer. There have been a few days when the heat staggered him, like the Monday night he rolled into town and it was still 100 degrees.

Remember, no snow in January and February.

Lenze is not so far removed from high school that he has forgotten how tough it can be. Teenagers need someone they can talk to and respect. That's what got him into teaching, working with the high school kids in the Catholic youth group in Michigan. He knew he was connecting with them, making a difference in their lives.

His plans to become an environmental lawyer fell to the wayside. He has no regrets. Teaching is the greatest job in the world.

Lenze will be paid about $35,000 in Clark County. That's a nice raise from his last job at the small private school just outside Detroit, where he was the only science teacher at a school with 87 students and 10 faculty members, including administrators.

At Coronado, he will teach three classes of honors biology (mostly sophomores) and two classes of science fundamentals for freshmen. Each class probably will have as many as 40 students, which means his student load will more than double.

He stumbled over those numbers at first, did the math a few times to make sure he was correct. That's going to mean more time at home reviewing assignments, correcting papers. But he is determined not to use the class sizes as reason to skimp on homework - no way he'll take the easy route of getting rid of the writing assignments, making every quiz and test multiple choice.

Why should the students be short changed just because they go to a big high school?

The first day's homework assignment is set. Students will have to find a mission statement, from any company they want, and bring it in the next day. Using those examples, each class will help write a mission statement of its own and students will have to sign a contract promising to uphold the principles.

Great idea, the mission statement. Where did he pick that up?

Mom.

It's early in the game and the Detroit Tigers are down by one run to the Cleveland Indians. Lenze wants to be at the ballpark, not watching the action alone in his empty apartment, slouched in a stadium chair in front of a borrowed TV.

Before he left Detroit, he handed over his season tickets to his dad. Don't worry, his father told him. We'll use the seats.

He spent much of the last week getting his classroom organized, attending staff meetings and finding his way around town. He wants to see Zion National Park and Red Rock, hike Mount Charleston.

Outside of school, the only people he knows are close friends from Michigan who recently settled in Summerlin. It's a little lonely not having a wider circle of friends , but that's going to change. There are so many other young teachers just like him.

Maybe it's a little scary. But it's more exciting than anything else.

He thinks he has a future here.