A Failure Of Leadership: Maloney And The Turtles

“A good gardener knows when it’s time to prune,” Nina said in the sing-song tone that she always used when she knew she was telling me ​something I wasn’t ready to hear. She was my dean of students, my partner, and my consigliere.

It was the end of the school year and we were talking about a team member who was considering transitioning out in the Summer. We both ​knew he was ready. He was still an outstanding teacher but he was not as inspired and excited about the work as he had been in previous years ​and he’d begun to have a few challenging interactions with his colleagues. There did not appear to be any catalyzing event. Teaching often has ​a shelf life. He wasn’t yet sure if he should leave and was seeking my input.

When it’s a teammate's time to transition, it’s a leaders’ responsibility to support them in doing so. Even if it’s hard in the short tem. That is what ​caring means.

I had prided myself on being able to do this for our people. To support them regardless of how it impacted our organization. But this time, I ​wasn’t ready for him to go.

I was scared of the future.

I knew it would be hard to replace him. I knew just how good he was. Despite the fact that he was no longer as enthusiastic as he had been, he ​stayed on board. I was glad to continue having a wonderful math teacher for our kids and quietly hoped that he may feel re-energized come the ​Fall.

He didn’t.

The following year was just as challenging as Nina expected. Maloney struggled to connect with staff and felt slighted by the administration at ​every turn. He was unhappy with his schedule, he didn’t like things that other staff said, and he was frustrated if teachers transitioned kids to him ​a few minutes early or a few minutes late.

All the things that are normal occurrences in a school day.

He was unhappy with how he felt he was supported. Eventually, it was clear he had lost faith in me. While our conversations about teaching, ​learning, and the future continued they were surface level. I didn’t move us further into the truth because I was afraid of what I might learn.

So, I didn’t address our reality. He became more and more isolated from his colleagues. Our relationship remained pleasant but there was a ​noticeable distance.

Then, the turtle thing happened.

Our campus was on the water. There was real live nature and wildlife in the middle of the city. We always spoke with new students regarding our ​expectations about the animals and the land. We shared our beliefs that we were always to be kind.

Most of the time, the kids were incredible. They let us know about wounded birds. They carefully caught chickens that had escaped and placed ​them back in their coop. They let us know if a football had scared away geese and they excitedly watched animals play in the water.

But the turtle thing was an issue.

During recess, a few students shared with the adult monitoring them that one or two children had stepped on baby turtles. The baby turtles ​were incredibly small and the children shared that two of our students had done it on purpose. The children who reported it were devastated.

The students went to their next period class after lunch. Before the turtle information got to myself or our other administrators, it got to the ​teachers. They were livid.

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It’s important to note here that children are often unreliable narrators. They are also acutely aware of what kind of language to use to ensure ​others get into trouble. They are excellent at manipulating adults. To this day, we could not confirm that any of our children stepped on the ​turtles. I absolutely believe that it is possible and likely. However, children often share things that they hear about as if they saw it. They often ​embellish or accuse without evidence. This happens in many social aspects of school. Part of an administrator’s role is to suss out the ​information the best they can, find resolution, and provide steps towards growth. After all, school is supposed to be about making decisions and ​learning from them.

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So when Maloney approached me in the hallway, I was blissfully unaware of anything related to turtle murder.

He shared what the students told me about what had happened. He was visibly upset. He demanded that I handle the situation. He let me know ​that if I didn’t that he and a few other teachers would boycott our school’s weekly community meeting.

He did it in the hallway. He did it in front of others.

Perhaps he didn’t realize that I was unaware of the situation. Perhaps he assumed that this was another way in which I would not meet his ​expectations. But this wasn’t just about the turtles. This was deeper. This was the anger that had been buried under professionalism bubbling to ​the surface.

This was also the moment that I knew just how badly our relationship was broken.

But at the moment, as I fumed internally, I did not respond in kind. I quietly let him know that we would address this issue and his handling of it ​at another time.

I did address the students. I did address the team. I publicly spoke about what taking care of wildlife meant to us. I let families of the accused ​students know what we thought happened. We discussed ways to move forwards.

But moving forwards with Maloney would be different.

Nothing went back to normal between the two of us. Previously, we had trust. But somewhere along the line we lost it and I could not summon ​the fortitude to lead in the way that I would have liked or that Maloney deserved.

Our team would have benefited from it if I had. So would Maloney. So would I.

I didn’t do it.

Later in that year, I made the decision to restructure our staff for the upcoming school year. We needed to add a foreign language teacher ​which meant a reallocation of the school’s budget. That meant staffing changes. We moved away from our grade level teams into content ​teams. This made room for our new position.

Maloney was in one of the two positions that I cut in order to restructure.

I brought my supervisor to the meeting where I was going to tell Maloney about the change. When we sat down, I was quick and clear. We were ​moving forwards with a necessary staffing realignment. His position would not exist next year.

Over the last few months of the school year, Maloney came to work and did his job. He was still an excellent teacher. He still built wonderful ​relationships with his kids. But he was clearly displeased. He missed more days than he ever had in the past. He was disaffected.

Maloney was young. He deserved to have the leader he needed at that moment and I wasn’t that leader.

If I had listened to Nina and supported his leaving when he was ready, Maloney would have exited at the right time. On good terms. He would ​have left because he was ready. It would have been the next step on his journey. One that we could have celebrated together.

And all I would have had to do was hire a new math teacher.

Instead, I let him wilt on the vine because I was too afraid of not being able to replace him to do the right thing for him. I didn’t stand in his way ​but I certainly didn’t provide him the support and grace he deserved.

Maloney left teaching. He’s moved on from our school. We don’t speak.

While it’s not unusual for staff to change and for colleagues to lose touch, it didn’t have to be this way. If I had the courage to lead in the way ​that was needed then our story could have been different.

Maybe we could have addressed our issues. Maybe we could have spoken honestly and shared what we both needed to move forwards ​together. Maybe Maloney keeps teaching. Maybe he doesn’t. But I didn’t give us that chance.

A good gardener knows when it’s time to prune. If they don’t, they end up losing all the plants and flowers along the way.

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