By Amy Silverman
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By Monica Alonzo and Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Michael Lacey
By Weston Phippen
Before she burned her rear while sitting on a toilet in the kindergarten rest room, before she discovered that children were being forced to stand in the sun as a form of discipline, Nerina Kagan, an offbeat, highly credentialed music teacher from Connecticut, figured she'd found her niche teaching hip-hop and show tunes and spirituals to inner-city kids at Mary Bethune Elementary School.
When Kagan was hired at Bethune last January, she recalls sensing a certain simpatico with her new boss, Principal Earl Epps. Like Kagan, Epps was a transplanted Easterner devoted to educating poor kids living in what we now euphemistically call Phoenix's "urban core"--the gang-infested inner city where junkies toss used needles on school playgrounds, where kids cart knife shanks to class in backpacks, where a felled leader of Wetback Power or West Side City has more name recognition and respect than Martin Luther King, Jr., Cesar Chavez or John F. Kennedy.
Kagan wasn't at all intimidated by the toughness of Phoenix's inner-city schools--she'd taught in similar schools in Connecticut for years.
But before moving to Phoenix, she wondered how she'd fit into the Arizona educational landscape, where schools were underfunded by the legislature, where the teacher's union seemed emasculated by right-to-work laws, where wing nuts were popping out fringey charter schools faster than she could say "Piaget."
Despite her apprehensions, Kagan moved to Phoenix in 1998 because she wanted to be near her adult daughter, who lived in the Valley. Except for her daughter, she didn't know a soul. She figured she'd make friends once she got a teaching job.
Upon obtaining her Arizona teaching credentials, Kagan interviewed with Principal Earl Epps (she describes it as a wonderful session) and was hired by the Phoenix Elementary School District to teach music at Bethune, 1310 South 15th Avenue, which enrolls 583 students in kindergarten through the sixth grade.
Kagan's hire was a blessing for Bethune, which had been relying on a "long-term" substitute teacher to teach music to the children.
Then, just a few days after her hire, Kagan sat on the toilet seat in the girls' kindergarten bathroom and noted to several staff members that she'd burned her butt on what she claimed the janitor told her was an "acid" used to remove rust from toilets. Kagan wasn't so worried about her burn, but she said that children might similarly be injured. No one at the Phoenix Elementary School District could determine that such an acid had been used in the rest room.
The school nurse suggested Kagan had been bitten by an insect.
Kagan's complaints annoyed Epps because she hadn't voiced them directly to him, the boss.
She was told by Epps to address future "concerns" to him.
And Epps instructed her to use the faculty bathroom, not the kindergarten bathroom.
Kagan said okay.
For a while, it seemed as though Kagan had settled right in to Bethune School.
In late March, Kagan received a perfect evaluation from assistant principal Kristyne Hannah, who noted, among other things, that Kagan "carefully displays self-control, good judgment and tact" and "follows established policy and procedures as established by the District in accordance with state law."
Kagan "has really turned around the Music program" and "displays a lot of energy and enthusiasm while conducting lessons," Hannah wrote in the same evaluation.
"The students in turn show this energy and enthusiasm," Hannah concluded.
Then, in late spring, Kagan overheard a teacher say unruly students could be forced to stand in the sun as punishment.
Kagan never saw kids standing in the sun, but after talking with parents, teachers and children she concluded that such a punishment did exist.
She wasn't alarmed by kids standing in the sun on winter days, but the notion of students being made to suffer autumn and spring rays while being deprived of shade and water seemed unusually cruel to her.
Still chafing from her last encounter with Epps over the toilet-seat incident, she decided not to complain to the principal. Instead, she rang up the Child Protective Services hot line. She phoned CPS, she says, to figure out whether standing in the sun is a suitable punishment for children in Arizona.
CPS replied that it wasn't okay to line kids up in the sun for punishment, but that CPS could not intervene because the alleged abuse occurred on school ground. It was up to school officials to put an end to the practice. So Kagan informed assistant principal Hannah, the one who'd given her the great evaluation. And Kagan also told parents that standing out in the sun was not acceptable in CPS's eyes.
After parents and kids decided to talk to Epps about this bizarre form of discipline, Kagan sensed that other teachers in the school shunned her because she was a troublemaker.
Epps was feeling the heat, too, although he wasn't standing in the sun.
On May 11, after Kagan called CPS, Epps sent out a memo to teachers warning them not to force kids to stand out in the sun as punishment.
On May 13, two days later, kids again said they were made to stand out in the sun. On that day, according to the National Weather Service, the temperature reached 98 degrees. There was no precipitation.