Unlike Ronald Dolloff, Waldoboro’s beloved principal of Medomak Valley High School for almost 25 years, his daughter Linda Pease never set her eyes on being principal herself. Her soul was in the classroom, being among young people and bringing them along in their education. She wanted to teach and to teach here. So, she did. After college, she returned to Lincoln County and at different times, taught elementary, middle and high school classes, plus some in Career Technical Education. Only when Medomak Valley’s principal at the time, Harold Wilson, got a diagnosis of cancer, did she step up, first as Assistant Principal, then as acting Principal, and finally as Principal of Medomak Valley High School where she’s been since 2018. Each year she wins awards, but certainly last year’s National 2024 Principal of the Year is the biggest yet. The month of March is budget season, with the school budget being the town’s biggest chunk. When you read this, Linda will already have presented her own budget, 80% of which is for staff salaries and their concurrent benefits, with the healthcare rising and rising. The other 20%, which she can control, she keeps level. After all, she has the frugal soul of a teacher.
When I was a little girl, Medomak Valley High School was almost our second home. It was just built, and it smelled new, and my dad was the interim principal. And soon after, he became the principal. I sit in the same office where he sat.
I feel him everywhere, not just in the auditorium (which is named after him). Sometimes, I think he’s speaking through me. Like the day I caught myself in a staff meeting saying, “Let it be known that…” I burst out laughing because, oh my gosh, I had just channeled my father!
My dad went to extraordinary lengths to see that every student graduated. I feel the same way. We make up each year a Worry List of the kids we think might not make it. It could be 30 kids or it could be closer to fifteen like this year. Then we throw everything at the problem we can and try whatever there is to try.
We have an education tech whose sole responsibility is to tutor kids during study hall. If we need to, we’ll change classes around. And we’ll set up online programs for them here at school, with just one teacher. We have conversations with them. We follow them closely, all year long. We speak to their parents. We touch base with each other. And I have something I call the “Graduation Talk.” I tell them their diploma is a door. Everybody doesn’t need to go to college, but a diploma is what can help you get a Captain’s license for lobster fishing or a plumber’s license. It sets you up. I never hear someone say, “Getting that diploma was a waste of time.” I hear, “I wish I had done it when the people around me were begging, because they would have helped me. And then I would have had it.”
So do it, dude! We’re right here to help you. What do you need?
But there will always be kids who don’t do high school well. It doesn’t mean they aren’t ever going to move out of it. It’s just not on our timeline. Recently I ran into a student I had maybe ten years ago. He’d been one of the most difficult students I’d ever had. But we recognized each other and hugged. Then he said, “I know! I was a mess in high school! And look at me now!” He’d gone back and got his Hi-SET diploma; he got a job; he got married and has kids; and now he’s getting ready to go on vacation to Florida with his family.
Whoever the student – it could be an A student or failing student, a Republican or Democrat, a trans or against all of that, abled, disabled, severely challenged or whatever — I’m the principal of each student who walks through that door. Which means I’m going to be as supportive as I can. And I’m going to follow the laws that are before me. I respect our students. I listen to them. And I will try to do my best to meet any request. These are our students.
One of my favorite things to do is being outside every day at 7:15 or 7:30 to wave to parents and greet kids as their parents are dropping then off. I never get tired of hearing, “Love you! Have a good day!” And the kids saying back, “Love you, too, Mom.” No matter who they are in the classroom, all these kids are somebody’s loves. I think about this a lot. It’s a huge responsibility.
When I first became principal, I thought I needed to be tough. But what I learn every day is almost the exact opposite. In any exchange, with a student or parent, I start with “What can I help you with?” Then I listen. When they finish, I say, “What else?” When they run out of steam, I say again, “What else?” I keep doing this. It could be four or five more times. And then they say, “I think I’ve said it all.”
“Alright,” I say. “Let’s look at it and see what we can do about your concerns.” There will always be people who won’t go for it, but that’s what I try to do. I know I make mistakes, and I think about those mistakes. I want to be better for the next time. I think my dad was like this, too.
But high school was different when he was principal. Today, we have students for whom English is not their first language. They have their own classroom.
We have whole wings and groups of classrooms that are dedicated to the Endeavor Program, for kids who have trouble behaving. Their classes are smaller.
We have a Composite Program, for kids with intellectual disabilities, and they’re in another two rooms. We have our LEAD Program for students with severe challenges, and that’s another two classrooms. And we have rooms for physical and occupational therapies for the special ed folk.
When I was a little girl, I remember going with my father to Pineland. That was the place where parents sent their children who were in crutches and in wheelchairs. They were segregated! And then the laws changed in 1975 with the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. It was just starting at the end of my dad’s time.
It’s much more specialized now, and that’s good because it serves these students’ needs better. But you know the best part? We all get to learn about each other, in all our different capacities.
I’m not the principal because I wanted to be a principal. I’m the principal of this school in this place, because it’s where I’m supposed to be. The people here are my people, and they are rich and authentic and real. They are extraordinarily resilient. They are make-do-without-a-lot people. They are private. But they want their children educated. And that is my responsibility.
When I do the Friday announcement, I end with, “May you be safe. May you be wise. May you be well. Students are dismissed.” I think of it as a gold ring that students can hang on to. They won’t remember if they passed a test. But they’ll remember is how you made them feel.
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