Mothers whistled up a storm at charter

Megan Snyder Galo reread her long e-mail to the Philadelphia School District's charter school office.

"I am the parent of a child attending the Philadelphia Academy Charter School. There are things that are going on at the school which are alarming . . ."

Galo, who had gone over each word with fellow parent Lisa George, took a deep breath and hit the send key.

That simple act last November triggered a chain of events that resulted in the overhaul of Philadelphia Academy's operations and a widening federal criminal probe that has ensnared at least three charter schools.

"Never in my wildest dreams," said Galo, referring to the year's developments. An internal probe concluded that former chief executive Kevin M. O'Shea and founder Brien N. Gardiner may have misused school funds for personal gain. Both men were fired in May from the Northeast charter, which has 1,200 students in kindergarten through 12th grade.

But the parents' efforts came with a price.

"Lisa and I have spent the last six months trying to figure out why there is the perception that we're the bad guys," Galo said.

In many ways, Galo and George, both 44, are unlikely whistle-blowers. They were drawn to Philadelphia Academy by Gardiner's dream of a charter school where special-needs children would be educated in a safe place alongside other students and where parents would have a voice.

The women spent the summer of 1999 setting up classrooms with other parents before the new charter school opened at 11000 Roosevelt Blvd. that September.

Galo, the office manager of an orthopedics practice, led the parents' advisory group, but the more members asked questions about how the board was running the school, the more they felt pressure to remain quiet, she said. Galo and other members resigned in the fall of 2001, and the group withered away.

They heard from other parents who tried to ask questions at board meetings and were ridiculed and shouted at. George, who works as a medical secretary, experienced it herself in the spring of 2007 when she asked the board to improve communication with parents.

The women were even told they could take their children out of the school if they weren't happy. Others have reported similar treatment.

Galo and George each have a child with learning difficulties, and as time passed, they became increasingly worried about their progress.

"While I think the school was great for kids with profound disabilities," Galo said, "I had concerns about the gray-area kids with learning differences but regular IQs."

Last fall, both women began hearing rumors that O'Shea, a former police officer with a high school diploma, was running the school. Their 14-year-old children found proof: O'Shea's identification badge said "CEO."

"So someone with a high school diploma is now going to make educational decisions on behalf of my child?" George recalled thinking. "That was the final straw."

She was also concerned that parents were never told that Gardiner had become a consultant and that the top post was given to O'Shea, a former parent and a past board member who had been the operations director.

George, who lives in the Northeast, and Galo, who had moved to Abington, were only acquaintances. But they discovered they had been asking the same questions.

After learning of O'Shea's promotion, they teamed up to figure out what was going on. They found that O'Shea and Gardiner might be making money from businesses related to the charter and had several relatives on the payroll. They were also stunned to discover that the school had 29 percent of its students in special education and received $15,346 for each. Yet the school said it could not afford needed services.

Knowing they had to tell someone, the women called state lawmakers and the state Department of Education. They withheld their names for fear their children could be targeted.

As the mothers had learned, the school had a culture of silence. "If you opened your mouth, then your kid will be retaliated on until you leave," George said.

But they were getting nowhere. Gardiner, a former principal, was respected in the district and revered in the charter community.

"No one would listen," George said.

That's when Galo sent her signed Nov. 30 e-mail to the district. She included her phone numbers but asked to have her identity protected.

While charter office staffers listened, the mothers weren't getting the answers they needed. After agonizing for days, they set aside their husbands' worries and signed up to speak at the Philadelphia School Reform Commission's Dec. 19 meeting.

The commission was voting to increase scrutiny of charters. Several charter representatives - including Gardiner - urged the commission not to micromanage them.

In contrast, Galo and George called for more regulation, charging there were problems at Philadelphia Academy, whose five-year charter was up for renewal. How was it possible, they asked, for someone with only a high school degree to become CEO of a charter school, and why was the school governed by a self-appointed, permanent board? The women also asked the commission to make sure there was no retaliation against their children because they had spoken out.

Gardiner afterward assured the women their children would not be punished.

The women said that his demeanor, though, signaled something was amiss. Normally outgoing and upbeat, Gardiner appeared to them to be subdued and shaken by their remarks.

While driving home, Galo said, "Something is really wrong. More than we know." They pledged to find out.

The two mothers and a few other parents subsequently met with an Inquirer reporter. Later, they contacted the school district's inspector general, who investigates allegations of wrongdoing involving district funds.

In mid-April, The Inquirer reported that the inspector general was investigating allegations of fiscal mismanagement, nepotism, and conflicts of interest at the school and that a web of charter and business entities enabled Gardiner and O'Shea to be paid more than most area superintendents. As the CEO of both Philadelphia Academy and Northwood Charter School, Gardiner had gotten a total of $224,500 in 2005-06.

The disclosures upset many parents and teachers who attended a charter board meeting two days later. Many said they feared the SRC would close the school.

At the school, the mothers felt ostracized.

George said she was shunned in the school yard by a parent who told her she had to step away because she didn't want to be seen standing near one of the "troublemakers." Others accused them of trying to hurt the school and called them "the haters." Even their children felt it.

"Some of their kids' friends wouldn't be friends with them anymore," said one staff member who did not want to be quoted by name.

"I was disappointed by the reaction," George said. "I was worried about the kids being at the school, especially my son at the grade school."

Galo recalls headaches and stomachaches. Fearful of confrontations with other parents, the women made sure they arrived at charter board meetings at the same time.

Some parents who privately thanked the women for exposing the problems did not sit near them at the meetings.

Fears that the school would be closed proved unfounded. What the other parents didn't know was that Galo and George had told district officials they would not talk to them unless they were assured the charter would remain open.

But, in the aftermath of The Inquirer's reporting, the school's operations were drastically changed. The SRC required Philadelphia Academy to replace its board and sever all ties with Gardiner, O'Shea, their relatives, and their business entities as conditions for obtaining a new charter. A federal criminal investigation was launched. The legislature changed state law to prohibit charter school administrators from collecting multiple salaries as Gardiner had done.

And an internal probe of the school found more than $700,000 missing and "substantial evidence of wrongdoing" by Gardiner and O'Shea.

Many parents now applaud the mothers for helping expose the alleged misspending, but most are reluctant to say so publicly because of lingering resentments.

"They were speaking so negatively about the charter at the SRC," said Patty Zeitz, whose son is a fourth grader at the school. "To risk the charter - that's what people were furious about."

Zeitz said the reaction remained mixed. "I think it's going to take a lot of time."

Carolyn Markmann, who has two children at the school, said she was amazed people still harbored bad feelings toward Galo and George.

"They blew the whistle on two people who allegedly were taking money from our children," she said. "And if they hadn't done this, God knows how long it would have gone on."

Yet Galo and George, Markmann said, "are the ones who are paying the price."

To help their children with learning differences get the education they need, the mothers exercised their rights under federal special-education law. These children now attend a private school.

George, whose younger child still attends Philadelphia Academy, lauded the new board and new administrators. The secrecy and the intimidation, she said, have been replaced by openness and a renewed emphasis on academics.

"In this short amount of time," she said, "huge, huge changes have occurred."

For stories on the charter schools investigation, go to http://go.philly.com/charterEndText