What follows is a response to requests which have suggested that current friends of the school, and future generations, may be interested in how we managed the COVID-19 pandemic at St. Stephen’s.  It is written without pretense and shared because it’s a story worth telling. Thus far, I think it’s mostly a hopeful story because it illustrates the power of collective decision-making, the extraordinary dedication not only of our employees but also of our families and students, and a country that I believe has managed the crisis reasonably well.

In early March 2020, Italy closed schools abruptly. I called a hasty assembly in the chapel and told students to take their essential belongings from their lockers and head home. Students were generally giddy, reminding me of my own childhood at the news of a snow day. Many of them were smiling and high-fiving, which didn’t thrill me, but also seemed perfectly natural. None of us knew what was coming.

We took one day off and then began teaching remotely. We remained in that mode for the balance of the spring semester, unable to return to in-person teaching. During that time, we made a number of important decisions, some short-term and some long-term.

As we watched the semester ebb away on zoom, the all-important question of graduation arose. Usually scheduled for the last Friday in May, all of us were sick at the prospect of mailing seniors their high school diploma. Already the seniors had their senior spring, their prom, their spring sports, and their faculty/senior dinner pulled out from under them, but to end in such an impersonal way -- receiving a diploma in the mail -- seemed unacceptable. 

We set to work. Because we have for years taught English for free to the local police and Carabinieri, we have many friendly and helpful contacts. We pitched the idea to them since it would be those officers responding if there was a neighborhood complaint, and we managed to find an elegant solution: individual students would come on six-minute rotations, accompanied by no more than two guests, and would process up the chapel steps, in the chapel doors, down a red runway carpet, and to a formal dais where they would receive their diploma. In addition, we presented them a framed piece of original artwork (painted by one of our teachers), a typed advisor letter, which was read aloud by their advisor, and a small potted bonsai given to parents in recognition of all their hard work and love.

It took two full days to get everyone through, and we had to do the exercise on zoom for boarding students who had been sent home -- but we had 100% participation, which illustrates how much this event meant to everyone involved. Hearteningly, there were still the tears on the cheeks of parents and the few of us who could be present; there was still Mr. Trythall’s beautiful (recorded) playing of the processional piano theme. Interestingly, several parents -- who had older students graduate years earlier in our traditional ceremony -- noted that they preferred this ceremony: “it was just much more personal.”.

While teachers were busy teaching and students were busy learning that spring, this was the question on the minds of senior administrators and trustees.  Would it be safe to reopen? Should we close for a semester or a year? What if we chose to reopen, but half of our families withdrew, perhaps for financial reasons?  Could we even dream of reopening boarding?

Collectively, we spent hundreds of hours on these questions. We scenario-planned for catastrophic circumstances, as well as moderate and best cases. We made educated guesses about the future and continued to refine those as new information emerged globally.

Through sound financial management in the past, the Board had created financial reserves. We determined that even in the most catastrophic circumstances, we could and would keep the School operating. What’s more, to close for a semester or a year would force all of our students into other schooling options, effectively shuttering St. Stephen’s permanently.

Once it was clear that we could afford to reopen -- even with the possibility of massive attrition -- we set to work on strategy. As an educator, it was clear that I did not possess the community health knowledge to make intelligent decisions.  I formed a four-doctor Medical Advisory Team, in part because I wanted a difference of opinion; it didn’t feel fair or wise to place all of that responsibility on one medical professional.  We met with the team weekly throughout the summer and monthly in the fall to review our decisions and proposals. There was occasional disagreement, but generally strong consensus, giving us confidence in our decisions.  I assured the doctors that I wanted their honest opinions; I would be the one to make decisions if there was disagreement. I think that freed them up, to be completely frank, leading to more strategic outcomes.

As we spent spring 2020 attending webinars, talking to other educators, and reading, one statistic caught my attention: “1 in 3 students will return to school with social/emotional problems from the pandemic”.  While that was speculative, it felt true in my bones.  With the Board’s support, I created a position entitled Community Wellness Counselor, who would attend to the needs of not just students, but also employees and parents.  In addition to our existing school counselors, Katherine Young (who was awarded this position) has done a masterful job offering everything from yoga and mindfulness to stress management and breathing to regular counseling sessions and webinars for parents.

We also knew that we would need a different educational product for fall 2020. We expected to have what I called an “accordion year” where the campus would open and close periodically, driven by the local health situation.  We needed a unified pedagogy that would work equally well in-person and remotely. Department chairs and other academic leaders spent the late spring and summer developing teaching techniques, researching apps, and creating structures that allowed us academic flexibility but with the assurance of excellence. We rolled that out in September and continue to draw on that planning wisdom.

No single aspect of the school has been as thorny as residential life. With 18 returning senior boarders, we knew it would be catastrophic for their educational journeys to re-open the school without a residential program. Those seniors (and the younger boarders, as well) were depending on us, and if we could make it happen, we needed to do so.  It felt to me like something of a moral imperative.

We prepared for this decision by logging lots of time with educational leaders from around the world, including the US-based Association of Boarding Schools (TABS), which was suddenly catapulted into a position of global prominence.  With research data and a collection of anecdotal experiences from other schools, we agreed to open the boarding program but with serious changes: to reduce risk, students would live in singles, which necessitated us renting an entire hotel on the Aventine hill for the seniors; students would be clustered in family groups, with whom they would dine and socialize, such that if one student became ill, only that family group would quarantine, not the entire residential program; programming would be reduced to outdoor activities or family group activities, and meals would take place with reduced density in the dining room.

In addition, we knew that the existing single-room infirmary would be insufficient. We made the radical decision to relocate a host of administrative offices to create a 6-bed infirmary, where ill students could be housed before returning home or to hospital if needed.  To staff the facility, we hired an additional nurse to live in a newly-built faculty apartment within the facility.

One of the themes emerging from educational institutions by late summer was the concept of early detection.  It struck me as an unavoidable truth: the disease is pernicious because asymptomatic transmission is a primary vector, and there’s just no solution but frequent testing.  I knew we couldn’t ask families to test offsite, as there just wasn’t testing capacity in Rome at that time, and that fact further narrowed the decision: we would have to test on-site. Supplies of testing swabs were limited and expensive, but I didn’t see a responsible alternative.

When I announced the decision in September that faculty, staff, and students would all be tested regularly, there was mixed reaction. Some families asked to opt out, viewing my decision as alarmist. “No other schools are doing this.”  Opinions were mixed amongst employees as well.  We proceeded, making rare exceptions for physiological anomalies, even though Italian law did not protect our decision.  I knew both families and employees could challenge this plan, but I just could not responsibly defend any other position.  Thankfully, we had 99% participation in both cohorts (100% now).

Writing this piece in February 2021, as the pandemic rages throughout Europe and America, that decision seems a bare minimum for operating a school. In fact, we’ve increased our testing in response to a minor outbreak in our dormitory last November; our residential staff and students are now tested twice a week, with day faculty and day students tested once a week.  The school covers the staffing costs, and families pay only for the test itself (now down to about $5 per test).

We knew winter would be our toughest season. Modeling suggested a powerful second wave was coming, and a cold Roman winter, while hardly frosty, would present problems.  As continued evidence pointed to airborne transmission as far more problematic than fomite (surface) transmission, we explored air purification equipment for classrooms. The problem with those portable units is that they’re only functional if windows are closed, and both the decree and common sense told us that windows needed to be open.  To normalize this frigid plan, I referenced how prior generations had educated children during pandemics – – outside with lots of warm clothing.  And so all of us are here in layers, with gloves and hats sometimes.

We now have a global race between vaccine deployment and the spread of these more contagious variants.  Hopefully, we come out on the winning side of that challenge. In the meantime, we will keep prioritizing creativity, rigorous precautions, and a love for learning here at St. Stephen’s.