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Title: Mission Education
Author: Carolyn Campbell
Date: April 18, 1996

As a slight yet stately Iranian woman, with a smile as broad and warm as noonday sun, enters the tutoring office at a Salt Lake City public housing complex, a laughing group of at least 20 children, ranging from age 3-14, stop talking to flock around her. She gives one a hug, runs her hand down the waist-length ponytail of another and holds another's face in her hands to wish the small girl a happy Easter weekend. As she speaks, a calm air of professionalism somehow reaches beyond her casual red sweater and jeans. While her accent adds a precise, clipped dignity to her words, her enthusiasm feels simultaneously genuine and effusive. Moments later, the children are all seated at tables reading books with tutors. Mid-hour, when the tutoring is half over, the children receive a snack—often crackers with peanut butter or cheese and juice—that will ease the hunger which sometimes impairs their concentration. Then it's back to the books—more reading and mathematics—sometimes taught through games such as Scrabble. Laughter and conversation continue to pepper the learning process.

This scenario takes place seven days a week in all nine Salt Lake County subsidized housing complexes under the direction of Sima Vaghti, education specialist for the Housing Authority of the County of Salt Lake. The 265 children—nearly half the number who are school age in the complexes—go to 29 different schools, and the 48 tutors who teach them come from local colleges and the University Fifth LDS stake. The Utah Food Bank furnishes snacks for the tutoring break, and Salt Lake, Murray and Jordan school districts provide lunches for all children who attend tutoring in the summer. Amazingly, this widespread, unified effort that many believe has infused new hope into their children's educational futures began just four years ago when Vaghti set out to change children's lives, armed with only a notebook and a pencil. "My first thought was that because there was no plan or schedule, I was going to be creative," she says. "I went door to door to talk to the tenants and find out who had children who could be tutored."

Back then, Vaghti was rebuilding her own career life as a recent Utah transplant who moved here for her husband's job. The University of Utah didn't have any job openings in educational leadership, the field in which she obtained her doctoral degree and taught at California's National University in both Irvine and Westminster. An active, energetic person who found it difficult to stay home, she visited Utah's Job Service. She wanted a job in education, whether paid or voluntary. An employee told her she would be unlikely to find a job that matched her education and experience. She then visited the Department of Human Resources. "I told them I would gladly accept a voluntary job—it wasn't the lack of pay that was bothering me, but the waste of my time when I wanted to get back into my own career field and do something for the people." The Housing Authority told her they were looking for a volunteer tutor because there were no funds left in the budget to pay such a person. She clearly remembers someone at the Housing Authority handing her the notebook and pencil, and telling her to "Go for it." Vaghti didn't protest that her background was in academic arenas rather than public housing. "It did not matter to me that I would be working with people who were low income. I feel low income is not a problem—low education is a problem." She also didn't quibble that there was no plan, curriculum or schedule. She began using the single tool she had—her own commitment to education.

Almost from birth, Vaghti understood that her family considered education to be a prized and life-changing commodity. She recalls, "The only time I remember my mother getting angry at me was one night when I hadn't finished my homework before dinner, which, in Iran, is at 7 p.m." The role of women in Iran is usually confined to their own home and family. Her mother was one of the first Iranian women to receive an advanced degree, and today Iran's Goharshad High School still carries her name. Vaghti received her first taste of helping younger children learn after her mother died of stomach cancer at 31. Vaghti, at 14, was suddenly in charge of much of the care of her two brothers, who were 11 and 5. "From that experience, I learned there is nothing too difficult for me in this world—I can do it." Vaghti shared her mother's passion for education with her two younger siblings. Today, one holds a Ph.D. in biomedical engineering and teaches at the University of Texas, another holds a doctorate in operational research. And Vaghti continues to maintain her emphatic belief in education's intrinsic value. "People need education to know themselves and their goals, and to have a better understanding of the world around them—to be useful in their own lives and their society," she says.

Like Vaghti, both her brothers left Iran to attend college, feeling that the United States offered the best educational opportunities worldwide. Arriving in the United States when she was 21, Vaghti knew only four words of English—yes, no, hotel and policeman. A native speaker of Farsi, she took classes in English as a second language for six months, before beginning college. She later received her Ph.D. from the University of Chicago at the age of 31. She initially returned to her homeland, hoping to make use of her degree there, but found the country in the midst of revolution. "While I have always loved my country, I could see that the whole style of society had changed and there was no room for an educated woman at that time—there was no way I could do what I wanted to do."

She felt no choice but to return to the United States. Because she and her two brothers have each received doctoral degrees at U.S. colleges, she feels, "I owe a lot to the United States because we got our education here. I feel it is part of my responsibility to do the best that I can for these needy people who can become the best citizens."

Undaunted that her first teaching supplies would hardly cover one person's schoolwork, Vaghti held her first tutoring session with five children around a kitchen table. Children who attended her first session told others in the next unit, and within two months, 15 children from two buildings attended weekly tutoring. Later, Vaghti herself visited tenant association meetings to introduce herself and publicize the tutoring. The Housing Authority hired her part-time and then full-time when budget funds were available. Vaghti's program continued to expand—including a tutoring office at each apartment complex. Science and computers were added as academic subjects, and preschool children began to receive instruction along with those from kindergarten to 12th grade. Her program continues to grow to this day, as she currently provides tutoring information to people who apply to live in public housing, and hopes to soon film a video publicizing the tutoring.

When Vaghti knocked on Bea Lane's apartment door in the Union Plaza public housing complex on 7200 So., Lane at first felt skeptical as she granted permission for her two grandsons and granddaughter to attend Vaghti's tutoring sessions. She'd seen self-improvement programs start up in public housing with a burst of enthusiasm, then fizzle quickly. Yet along with her initial cynicism, she felt deep concern for her grandsons, Stephon and Eugene, whose grades in school were Ds and Fs. She recalls Stephon frequently sitting in one spot on her velour couch and watching TV or reading comic books rather than studying his school textbooks.

Lane partially attributes the boys' school struggles to their being raised by both she and her daughter, who has had to leave Stephon at her house five different times, repeatedly taking him back after varying durations of stay, as her personal and financial situation fluctuated. At 47, Lane can relate—she is a former teen mom whose children are already 30, 29 and 26. Her first child was born when she was 16—her daughter Lynn was 17 when she gave birth to Stephon, her first child. She recalls, "When his mom left the second time, I could see that he struck back at her by not doing well in school."

A tile on the coffee table in Lane's apartment reads, "My place is small, but my welcome is big." Besides her grandchildren, other kids in the complex visit her often, stopping to talk or asking to borrow her phone. Yet sociable and accommodating as she is, Lane admits there are times when she gets tired of playing grandmother, and it feels like she's had children around her forever.

Lane's situation is typical of many residents of 600 subsidized housing units owned by the Housing Authority of the County of Salt Lake. Most are struggling single moms—86 percent women with a median age of 34. Before entering county housing, 25 percent of the residents are homeless, living with other families, in vehicles or on the street. The waiting list is at least two years long.

Mary Thompson, director of residential services, feels that while housing provides a temporary cushion against the harsh realities of street life, Vaghti's role is significant and life-changing because, for all the services it provides, the atmosphere in county housing doesn't offer the encouragement to attend school that kids need. Aspects of the typical night-before preparations for the next school day that thousands of Utah families take for granted, she says, are frequently missing. There is often no pattern of kids getting a good supper, keeping the apartment quiet so the children can have a good night's sleep, getting the children up on time or getting their school clothes and lunch money ready.

Thompson adds that the apartment complex atmosphere can be noisy and disruptive at night. When both moms and teen-agers party, no one gets anyone else up the next morning. Thompson recalls it was impossible to start a youth sports program at either 8 or 9 a.m. simply because no one was awake that early. Too, residents frequently use older kids to baby-sit and/or cook meals for younger children even if they have to miss school to do so.

Also discouraging is the fact that because many county housing moms work at marginal jobs or are on welfare, their children have never seen a link between school and future job success. Twenty-five percent of the residents didn't finish junior high. While many moms in the apartment complexes don't attend parent-teacher conferences, Vaghti visits the school to check each child's progress and discover what subjects each child needs help in. Lynnette James, a teacher at Oquirrh Hills Elementary School, was struck by what she felt was genuine caring and dedication when Vaghti met with her to discuss a young boy's school work. She explains that the boy's mother has visited school intermittently, but has no babysitter to care for her younger children and no car to drive to Oquirrh Hills, which is not the boy's neighborhood school—he is bussed there for a special ed program. "I have the feeling that her work will go on for a long time," James says.

Judy Kay, a past tutor, feels the tutoring program gives the children something millions of '50s children took for granted before their mothers entered the work force and many kids still enjoy today—a calm afternoon routine. This includes someone to talk to them about their school day, a caring adult to help with their schoolwork, a regular routine of sitting at the table after school to do homework and a healthy snack.

Thompson and Kay feel this interaction offers the tutors a glimpse into low-income housing they've never seen, and, "They realize that the low-income children aren't that different from themselves." Amy Nesick, a U of U anthropology major with a goal of becoming a doctor, formed a bond with Terry, a girl she tutors. When Terry expressed curiosity about college life, Nesick took her to the University campus, showing her the dorms and a science lab. "It is like we have a trust—now she has seen my lifestyle and I have seen hers." Nesick hopes to help Terry complete high school science. While Terry's current career goal is to be an actress, Nesick feels gratified that at least she has a post-high school plan.

One tutor was considering quitting because she had completed college and fulfilled the requirement to work with children that her college courses required. Yet near that same time, a child she had tutored was physically abused. Sensing the pain she felt on seeing the child's injuries, Vaghti took her aside and explained to her that she was the one stable influence in that child's life. The tutor returned to tutoring—and still teaches.

Tutor Allison Branan formed a close bond with two Hispanic sisters—fixing their hair and teaching them math and English. One day when they were late for tutoring, she went to their apartment to find them. Their father answered, who Branan had never met because he was only recently released from prison. He refused to let them attend again. At Branan's hurt bewilderment, Vaghti explained some men do not want to risk their children becoming smarter than they are. After their father again disappeared from both their lives and the housing complex, the two girls returned to tutoring.

Vaghti's gentle human relations skills and unflagging optimism appear to grease the wheels of countless volunteer interactions. Colleagues describe Vaghti as definitely "a half-full rather than a half-empty" thinker. When a man who was physically handicapped and blind wanted to volunteer, Thompson wondered how he could help children with their homework. Yet when Vaghti took him to a complex on a Saturday, he held the children's spellbound attention by relating how he used to have two eyes like they did—until one day when he was hunting and his gun accidentally went off. "Sima was able to discover that he had a powerful message that became a real learning experience for the kids," Thompson says.

Realizing that volunteer work is unpaid and consumes a volunteer's time, she says she tries to be grateful for whatever anyone gives. When two volunteers arrive late and explain they had car trouble, her smile is genuine. "I'm just so glad you are here now," she says. Branan says she feels Vaghti's secret is the gratefulness she expresses. "Because she appreciates what you do so much, it makes you want to do more."

Several people feel Vaghti is an old-fashioned heroine transplanted into the burned-out '90s—the kind of crusader who seems to work around the clock and never give up when increasing numbers of people are cynical, tired and backing away from challenge.

Walking to the tutoring office at a Salt Lake City complex, she expresses worry about one resident who has allowed a drug dealer to move in with her. Seconds later, she offers to hold a party for another single mother who has just landed a job in accounting, along with a surprise party for another child. Her method of coping is not to dwell on the dark in the tenants' lives, but to add more light in an effort to dilute the despair. On Saturdays on her way to a housing complex in West Valley or Sandy, she will stop at garage sales, in search of textbooks or other household items the residents can use. Sometimes she uses her own money. "If I can buy 10 books for a dollar, it's not going to kill me that it's my dollar," she says.

Housing Authority personnel and parents alike feel that she works on her own adrenaline—she's often still at the 7200 So. distribution office of the tutoring program until 10 or 11 at night, when one of the residents will tell her to go home, jokingly asking if she has her own life or her own family. Vaghti credits her husband, Cyrus, for providing extensive child care for the couple's two children, Orchid, 10, and Arash, 6, during her seven-day work schedule.

Sitting on his grandmother's couch wearing a blue and black baseball cap turned sideways, 13-year-old Stephon's face grows thoughtful when asked his opinion of Vaghti. There is a long pause while he sifts for the right words, and when he says them, there's meaning behind his common phrases. "She's cool and she's nice and she's helped me a lot," he says.

Lane, his grandmother, goes on to relate that his grades are now As and Bs. While he previously spent much time alone in her apartment, she feels that the boost tutoring gave his self-esteem allowed him to venture out as a player on two basketball teams, where he plays both forward and guard. Since they attended tutoring, his sister Desera is now on the debate team at school, and his brother Eugene has improved his grades.

Vaghti stresses that changes don't take place overnight—like the tutoring itself, learning is a day-to-day process. Three years ago, Kay read a section from The Hobbit to a fifth-grade girl she was tutoring. "Back then, I could see that it was way over her head—but when I saw her recently, she said, 'Oh, by the way I've almost finished The Hobbit.' It was thrilling to me that she kept the book for three years, then started reading it on her own initiative."

Just as she is patient with the time it takes to see changes happen, Vaghti also understands that she's not done yet. She has visions of taking her program statewide and eventually across the nation. Her ideal situation would be to work in the tutoring program during the day and return to teaching college at night. She also hopes someday to return to Iran and work in education.

In the cynical '90s, many colleagues describe Vaghti as a rare breed of heroine, a woman whose optimism, spirit and dedication aren't diminished by depressing statistics and endless demands. Yet Renee Buchanan, service learning coordinator at the Milton Bennion Center, takes a different view. While she agrees that Vaghti expends incredible energy and has changed student lives, she says, "I think we should not say how unusual she is, but rather how we can all become like her. If we say her dedication is rare, none of us will say she is what our norm could be."

In interviewing Vaghti, at first it feels as if the number of hours and multitudes of children she helps don't feel quite real, because the weight of her work appears to rest so lightly on her shoulders. It's as if any discouragement and negative aspects have dropped away. As the numbers of children in her program grow, Vaghti seems not to think of the increasing workload, or even few resources being spread increasingly thin. She appears to view each day, each child and each task as a new opportunity. Perhaps not surprisingly, her greatest reward seems to resemble that of the everyday parent. "When I see one of the kids from tutoring at the mall or on the street and they run to me and yell, 'Sima!' that pays everything back."