Christopher Peak Photo
Denise Cox and Maureen Bransfield shoulder D’Angelo Rivera, as he addresses New Horizon’s final graduation Thursday night.
D’Angelo Rivera, whose family could barely afford clothes, was repeatedly disciplined for wearing the wrong-colored socks to the Amistad High charter school and eventually felt pushed out of the charter school.
Three years later, he finished his high-school education Thursday night in the last class to graduate from New Horizons, an alternative school offering an intimate, personalized learning experience that will be closed by month’s end.
Choked up with tears, D’Angelo told the crowd how he’d persevered through poverty and homelessness to get a diploma at Thursday night’s graduation ceremony, held at Betsy Ross Arts Magnet School’s Parish Hall.
New Horizon’s last class graduates.
Processing in to the hip-hop song “I Can” by Nas, the 17 grads took their seats in a circle on the stage. The boys wore black, a white corsage pinned at their collar; the girls wore white, tiny bouquets of pink daisies in hand.
Without a formal commencement speaker, each student took a turn at the microphone, sharing stories and giving thanks, as their parents wept and snapped pictures in the audience. More than at most graduations, the attendees at this ceremony knew just how hard the students had worked to earn their degrees.
The city’s three alternative schools, including New Horizons, cater to students who struggled in a traditional high school settings because of behavioral challenges, special education needs or serious trauma. They’re the disengaged, the disenchanted, the discredited, Principal Maureen Bransfield has said of her students.
“These kids are real. They’ve felt real things, and they’re going into a very real world,” Bransfield said after the ceremony. “We’re very proud we’ve prepared them for that.”
Rivera gets his diploma.
For the first time on Thursday, D’Angelo candidly described his emotions in coming to New Horizons, saying he felt like it was the right time to share what he’d been holding in for so long.
After being by ragged by poverty, separated from family and tossed out of schools, he reflected on what it meant to make it.
He grew up in the Hill without much. “I remember my friends coming in with new shoes and clothes all the time, and I wore the same stuff all year round. I knew they noticed,” he said. “I tried not to let it get to me, because there’s always someone going through something worse, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t affect me.” But he said that he remembered good times, like watching Empire with his folks.
For high school, D’Angelo started out at Wilbur Cross, the district’s largest comprehensive school, where he excelled in his classes, he said.
Wanting a challenge, he transferred into Amistad High, a charter school known for its rigorous classes and tight code of conduct. But D’Angelo felt that the school overlooked his day-to-day circumstances, in their drive to prove that poverty doesn’t excuse achievement gaps.
His family could afford to buy only two school uniforms, which he switched off, he said. Sometimes he forgot to wear a belt or black socks and would get in trouble. “I was getting detention every day, leaving at 4 p.m.,” he said. D’Angelo said he wasn’t a bad kid, but he felt treated like one.
(After a student walk-out and state intervention, Achievement First has updated its policies, paying particular attention to the students considering withdrawal, Morgan Barth, who took over as principal at Amistad in 2016, reported in an email to the Independent. “Over the years we have gotten better and better at retaining students, and attrition (from kids who choose to leave) is only 3 percent. We know that our school is harder — in terms of work, length of day and expectations — but we also believe that all students can be successful here.” He added that parents have told him a school uniform is more affordable than buying other outfits, and that students can a find a cabinet of clean uniforms to borrow or keep. The school has also loosened rules around shoes and socks, while still making sure kids “look sharp and professional,” Barth stated.)
After a few months at Amistad, D’Angelo decided to go back to Cross. Discouraged, he played hooky and chased girls, he said. His many absences landed him at New Horizons. After he arrived at the school, his grandfather died of cancer and the family lost its apartment. Homeless, he and his mom had to split, moving in separately with two aunties.
D’Angelo said the school helped, but he closed off. (He even felt he had to apologize on Thursday for not chatting up his classmates.)
But he soon found he wasn’t alone.
Victoria Cardozo: “We did it.”
A new classmate he’d ribbed relentlessly, Malik James-Gaskin (who graduated last year and is heading to a Pennsylvania college), became one of his closest buddies after they joined the basketball team together.
And when D’Angelo ran out of cash, a girl from Waterbury he’d just started dating bought him a pair of shoes and a set of new clothes. He was stunned by her kindness; they’re still dating today.
At some points, D’Angelo said, he still felt “tired of everything,” like “life was too much.” He missed a lot of school. Through conversations in the cafeteria and hours on the phone, D’Angelo worked through the emotions.
“I never expected to make friends in here because it’s hard for me to say someone is my actual friend, but you are more like family,” D’Angelo told the crowd at the ceremony. “I never thought school would be this fun, but you guys always made me forget about everything outside of school, no matter how sad or mad I was.”
For the last three months, D’Angelo worked two jobs and thought he could save up for college. But, he announced Thursday, he has decided to join the Army. He plans to head off to boot camp after a long summer with his family.
Watching his family struggle, D’Angelo had long considered enlisting. He said he felt like it was his only option, Others told him not to rush the decision. After many nights where he sobbed in bed, “scared of going and leaving what I love,” he wavered, before committing this week.
“It’s going to be hard leaving and I might cry a little like now,” he said, but “it’ll be worth it.”
Frank Alicea and his classmates.
D’Angelo and his classmates will be the last crew to graduate from New Horizons. Last month, the Board of Education voted to consolidate all three alternative schools, contributing $1.3 million in savings toward a $19.3 million deficit.
Superintendent Carol Birks said New Haven’s alternative schools have too many absences and too few graduates. At a finance committee meeting last month, she proposed replacing them with an “opportunity school” that offers more vocational training, perhaps run by Jobs for the Future or Big Picture Learning. Since then, she hasn’t publicly shared any details about where current students are headed next school year.
Birks missed Thursday’s ceremony; three other administrators from central office attended.
I rode by New Horizons the other day and thought it needed some landscaping, now I know why. New Horizons is the reason my girl graduated high school. She was bored at other schools and had attendance issues and was never going to graduate until she went to New Horizons. The smaller classes and more direct interactions worked. After graduation she joined the Navy and has seen many other countries. She is a war time vet. None of this would have happened without New Horizons. A gifted, extremely intelligent girl would have slipped through the cracks. I wonder how many other kids benefited from New Horizons, and how many might now fall through the cracks. The smart people don't always think about that.