In 1979, I switched from teaching PE to elementary administration, becoming a principal at Prosser in southeast Washington state. After six years as an administrator at Prosser, I moved to Osborn Elementary School in Leavenworth, Washington. In 1988, I was given one of eight state Excellence in Education Principal awards. In l987 and l989, I received one of seven state Distinguished Principal awards. I’m not sure what they had in mind when they called me "distinguished" because our school had a reputation for being zany. I had a sign on my office door that said, "Take your profession seriously, but don’t take yourself seriously."

I did take my job too seriously at first. As a new principal in Prosser, I focused on the problems. I let the paperwork and pressures pull me down and make me a bit grumpy. In fact, within several months I ended up in the hospital all stressed out. I tell people that I still have the note my staff sent me: Dear Dan, We wish you a speedy recovery. The vote was 21-19!

That’s when I decided to choose to enjoy life at school in spite of the problems. I had forgotten to laugh and have fun. I wanted a positive, fun atmosphere. To combat the negative and create the positive, I had to start with me. After all, I was the leader! At Leavenworth we started a "Laugh Committee" and flooded the school with one-liner jokes:

I’d like to live in the fast lane, but I’m married to a speed bump! (Judy’s favorite!)

I posted them in the restrooms, over the copy machine, and many other places you wouldn’t expect.

I worked extra hard at making the school bulletin fun, adding quips and outrageous stories about my golf score or my wife’s red sports car. I would retell classic jokes and substitute staff names:

My bulletins contained word puzzles, elephant jokes and brain teasers. Another favorite entry:

My staff started crazy traditions. On the last Thursday before the last Friday, before the last day of school, we had "The Last Supper." There was an OTLB (Out To Lunch Bunch) staff fun group at my school. They would plan fun get-togethers during the year.

On school picture day, I really hammed it up, by wearing something unusual. One year I wore plastic rabbit teeth for my official picture. I had the pictures enlarged and displayed in the hallway as "Portraits of the Principal."

I patrolled the playground on a small Honda Trail 70 motor bike. I called it "Harley Honda." The kids called it "Hardly a Honda"! One year I rode it into the opening assembly. I roared down the hall, into the gym, and around the kids, then took off my helmet and said. "I’m your principal, Mr. Miller. We are going to have a great year." The kids’ eyes got big and so did the teachers’!

In the winter we had rules about not throwing snowballs, but I knew how tough it was for kids to refrain. So once in a while I would declare a Snowball Recess and venture out with myself as a permissible target. Some of the kids’ had pretty strong arms. They loved hitting me with snowballs!

I would also wear silly stuff to school. I had a collection of more than 200 buttons to pin on my shirt or coat. They had wonderful thoughts about life, such as:

I had silly neckties, such as one that looked like a skeleton hand (it went with a "bonehead" hat). I called it my "hand-me-down tie." I figured out how to wear almost anything as a tie. In October I would wear a rubber skeleton. In December I wore a stuffed Rudolph which would play a favorite Christmas song when I pulled its feet down.

I also had a large, crazy hat collection. Each was unique and got the kids smiling and their eyes sparkling. My favorite was built by one of our district custodians. Steve Vaughn took a logger’s hard hat, hooked on wings made out of helicopter blades, mounted blinking lights and engines with props that whirled at the flick of a switch. I would put on this hat, stride into a classroom, and disrupt all education. I had another hat with clapping hands operated by a string so I could give the kids "a hand" for any success.

Other hats featured various animals, including my deer-head "hunting hat." My motto was—the sillier, the better. I wore these hats to school "Celebrations," which parents and grandparents attended. One parent who ran a shop in downtown Leavenworth decided to open a hat shop and came to inspect my collection for ideas. The store became a big success.

I also had special noses and ears I would put on just before someone came into my office. They never knew what to expect.

And then there were slippers. I wore slippers inside during the winter when I had to wear huge snow boots to school. Off came the boots, on would go my furry "bear feet" slippers. My favorite outfit was my "Just Ducky" hat and matching duck-feet slippers, which I wore to every kindergarten parent orientation.

Sometimes when I wore these outfits, sales people came into the building and would walk right past me, never suspecting that I was the principal. At Halloween we always went crazy with costumes. At Prosser I added a long-haired wig to go with my beard, held it on with a red bandana and added the leather and chains to look like Willie Nelson. My secretary always dressed up special as well. The office was a fun place to visit. Another year I moussed and spiked my hair into a mohawk and wore (ouch!) bull clips for earrings. Still another time I painted my face white, sprayed my hair red, and added holey, scruffy denim to become "Boy Dan," my version of the punk rock star Boy George. That same day some parents came to the superintendent to complain about a bus driver. He had to call "Boy Dan" in to talk to them. They were so mad they didn’t even smile or laugh at my outlandish outfit. And I had on a button that said, "Is that your face, or did your neck throw up?" I’m sure they wondered what kind of principal the district had hired.

I had a great staff with a great attitude, but not everyone was perky on Mondays. They probably saw the negative sign that says, "On Monday I rise and whine." I told my staff from now on Monday would be the greatest day of the week. After all, it is one-seventh of our lives and one-fifth of our work week. The staff reacted by wearing black the next Monday. I persisted. I put up signs that said, "I Live for Monday" and "TGIM"(Thank God it’s Monday). I added reminders to Friday school bulletins: "Only two and one half days until Monday." Eventually, Monday became a popular day in our school (well, maybe for a couple of us). I have found hating Monday is a national problem, so I continue my battle to elevate its status. I have even changed my phone number to include the letters "TGIM"!

One of education’s worst images is that of the kid called or sent to the principal’s office. I told my staff—everybody from cooks to teachers—to start noticing kids who were doing things right and send them to me in the principal’s office.

So students started trooping in carrying notes saying an adult had noticed a change in their behavior or better work on school assignments. Maybe they had finished a hard book, done a kind deed, or simply been a good kid who did what was expected. I had a big home-made book I called the Good Kids Book on display in the office. When the kids were sent in, they signed this book with big colored markers. Then I gave them a penny to get some jelly beans I kept in an old gum machine. Finally, I had them wait while I called a parent or grandparent at home or work to brag on their "good" achievement.

Parents are usually afraid of any call from the school, especially from the principal. Their past experience was that such calls meant a child was hurt, sick, or in trouble. But word of the "good kid" calls spread throughout the community. A Seattle television station even came over and did a special on it.

I always got through to parents, even when a secretary had to interrupt a parent in a meeting. One time I couldn’t get a student’s parents at home or work. The little guy suggested I call his grandma.

"Where does she live?" I asked.

"Mexico," he said. Fortunately, he couldn’t remember the phone number. The last year I was at Leavenworth, there were more than 3,300 "good kids" visits to my office.

Behavioral scientists say your productivity goes up when you are around happy people. I agree with that. Our offbeat, happy school lifestyle seemed to ease tensions in the staff and create a comfortable learning environment for children. And the children’s academic test scores improved every year.

We also worked on improving communication. So many times we herd kids from here to there, but they also need time just to talk to adults. One survey at a Washington high school revealed that the students’ greatest need was a meaningful conversation with an adult. Deciding this was just as true for elementary students, I urged my staff to use their playground time to chat with students about their horses or bikes or whatever else. My silly buttons, hats, ties, and slippers gave children an excuse to talk to me. Focusing on an "unstuffy" environment helped build trust. When children really had something to talk about, they felt they could approach us.

Another educator gave me the idea for the WIF Button Award. At each weekly assembly he would call up four to five children. While pinning on a big "WIF" button, he would whisper in the child’s ear "What It’s For" (hence the initials)—usually a character quality. Curious classmates and teachers had to later ask the student why he won the button.

Another project that helped boost kids’ self-esteem was the toy checkout program. We had a wonderful group in Leavenworth which spent hundreds of dollars each year for winter coats and Christmas presents for the school’s needy. One year I asked them for additional money to buy some expensive toys. At that time, Cabbage Patch® dolls and Transformers® were the toys every kid wanted. Some of the kids in our school had them, but some came from homes where the money didn’t stretch far enough to buy them. So I filled my office with these new, expensive toys and set up a program in which children with good behavior, as measured by the five school goals, could take a dreamed-about toy home for a few days. (After I was finished playing with them!)

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