By Maggie Downs
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Monday through Friday, Donnie McPherson makes his rounds. He circles the block, picking up condoms, syringes and broken liquor bottles. Then he approaches the prostitutes.

St. Francis Seraph school janitor Donnie McPherson chases away drug dealers, pimps and homeless that often disrupt school business. (Michael E. Keating photo) | ZOOM |

"Find another corner. It's time for school," he tells them. "I don't care where you go. Just be respectful of my kids."

Each day of the school year begins like this for McPherson, 33, the maintenance man for St. Francis Seraph School, an Archdiocese of Cincinnati school in Over-the-Rhine, now in its first week of summer break.

But there's more than mopping and sweeping to the Mount Auburn man's job. Since September, he has provided a fresh slate every day for the children.

"I want these kids to see a school that would be what you would expect in Indian Hill or any of the upper-echelon schools," he said. "Our kids are entitled to a clean place to learn, too."

That includes keeping trouble away from school grounds.

"What the prostitutes and the drug dealers do on their own time is on them," he said. "But 6:30 (a.m.) to 2:30 (p.m.), stay away from here.

"My kids are first, as long as this block is concerned."

Those kids, he figures, already go through enough simply to get an education.

In the K-8 school of 145 students, 98 percent live below the poverty level. (That means a family of three living on $14,150 or less a year, according to 2000 federal guidelines. )

About 60 percent of the students come from Over-the-Rhine, while three buses haul the rest, many from Price Hill or the West End.

All but three of the students are black.

But against daunting odds, these children succeed. They are high achievers. They are art and music lovers. They are well behaved.

McPherson plays a role in that success. He tries to protect the children from dirt, drugs - things that might sully their lives.

"Some see a lot of dope dealing. Some see a lot of hobos and bums. Some have had family members shot this year.

"Some of 'em see too much," he said, angrily, emphasizing every word by pounding his fist once for each syllable.

"They're just children."

ABOUT THE SCHOOL

• Address: 14 E. Liberty, Over-the-Rhine. • Built: 1861. 2002-'03 enrollment: 145. Of those, 142 are African-American, three are Caucasian. Ninety-eight percent of these children live at or below the poverty level. Five percent are Catholic. • Staff: Students are served by 15 full- and part-time faculty, including a full-time social worker. They are supplemented by more than 60 volunteers.

In the 2001-2002 school year, 123 of 150 students lived in single-parent homes. The children who live with two adults didn't necessarily live with a mother and father.

That's another pair of shoes the maintenance man tries to fill.

"I try to be a positive black male role model they can relate to," McPherson said. "I enjoy being able to go right where they are and be what they need at that time."

For each of them, McPherson waits in the morning. And he looks into the eyes of every one of them.

"I'm just a janitor, but I like to know how they're doing and reset that, if they need it," he said. "It makes for a healthy day."

The neighborhood

St. Francis Seraph is in the heart of Over-the-Rhine, near the corner of Liberty and Vine streets, one of the highest crime areas in the city. The school was built in 1861 to serve the Catholic children of German and Irish immigrants.

On one side of the school is a gas station and a couple of seedy alleys. The other side is bordered by run-down buildings.

Behind the school is a fenced-in layer of blacktop where the students play.

Sometimes, late at night, people leave pools of urine. Sometimes they do worse.

"When I was in first grade, I saw two men in a car doing something. The police came. We all had to go back inside," said Latia Jackson, 11, of Madisonville.

Earlier this year, a woman, naked from the waist down, passed out next to the school when school was in session. This spring, a man was shot three times in the face at the grocery store, three blocks away.

Then there are the constant sirens.

"You can't have a 10-minute reprieve without the sirens," said principal Wanda Hill, 55, who just completed her third year at the school. "The teachers have learned to teach around it."

"You know (crime) is there, and that it's beyond your control," Hill said. "Besides, we have other things to do here."

The school

The building at 14 E. Liberty St. was in the middle of the April 2001 riots, yet was not damaged. Word among rioters was that they couldn't mess with the school, the nearby St. Francis Seraph Churchor Alabama Fish Bar, two blocks away on Race Street.

Students were dismissed early in the midst of the riots, a decision Hill said she wouldn't repeat.

"They typically feel safer at school than in their own homes," she said.

Part of it could be the personal attention students receive from staff members.

Once the children are at school, Hill makes every effort to keep them there. For example, when children are late more than once, she gives them alarm clocks.

Since arriving at St. Francis Seraph, the veteran educator has made numerous physical changes to the school, including new carpeting, paint, air conditioning, water fountains and fire alarm system.

She established a computer lab, got rid of dim lights in favor of bright ones and repaired the heating system.

Academically, she has implemented accelerated math and reading programs at every grade level, updated textbooks and restructured the discipline policy.

She has also stressed the importance of etiquette. At quarterly "Manners Matter" lunches, children eat together at proper table settings.

The stated tuition for the school is $3,500, but no student pays that.

The school runs on a budget of almost $700,000 per year. About 10 percent of that comes from parent tuition contributions; 10 percent are gifts/donations (restricted) and 22 percent gifts/donations (general); 50 percent comes from the Archdiocese of Cincinnati through tuition assistance subsidies and the Catholic Inner-City Schools Education Fund; and 8 percent from other sources.

At the beginning of each year, Hill meets with each family to discuss finances. She asks how much they need for car payments, rent, food. Then they pay what they can.

Sometimes a "Secret Santa" pays a month's worth of tuition for those with a particular money crunch. Other times parents work off tuition by doing tasks, like dusting or scrubbing the stairs, for $5 an hour.

"That's what makes this school work," Hill said. "The parents want them here. They're willing to make sacrifices for a Catholic education."

Only 5 percent of the students are Catholic. Still, parents appreciate the school's Christian values.

"It's spirituality that they teach. They have a love for one another," said parent Lynnette Chancellor of Forest Park. "They have the love of God in them, so they don't feel fear."

The results

In 2002, the school received the Mayor's Salute to Education, one of 27 schools in Cincinnati honored for noteworthy accomplishments.

Academics aside, students' efforts shine in other areas. The children have impeccable manners, always addressing elders as "sir or "ma'am." There's no talking in the hallway. When Hill raises her hand, the signal for quiet, all students are still, their mouths zipped tight.

They've learned respect in many areas of their lives.

"They used to drop things on the floor, as if they didn't care about anything," McPherson said. "Now if someone drops something, another student will pick it up before I get to it."

Although the school year is over, McPherson is still at work, unloading books, scrubbing desks and wiping down walls.

As he performs these tasks, he is creating a clean slate for next year's students. And he continues to hold out hope for their future.

"They're great kids. If I had a million dollars, I would invest it in all of them and make them even greater," he said. "I want them to know you can come off Vine Street and be an actress or a scientist.

"I want them to know you can be somebody."

E-mail mdowns@enquirer.com