A Founding Father of Ohlone Elementary School, Remembered
by 1970 Ohlones Alum Erika Berg, 5/26/2024
While restoring/renovating-to-sell our family’s long-time home in south Palo Alto, notice of an Ohlone Elementary School “50th Anniversary” event surfaced on social media. Wait, what?! I was taken aback, confused. Ohlone(s) opened in 1953. The school is 71 years old. About 50 years ago, Ohlones* corrected its spelling (dropped the “s”), moved from E. Charleston to Amarillo Ave, and transitioned from a neighborhood to an alternative “choice” school. But despite the move and new “alternative” designation, Ohlone on Amarillo still has the same roots that Ohlones on E. Charleston did, right? Sadly, I thought to myself, who would care? Only one homeowner on my childhood cul-de-sac in Walnut Grove still lives there and she’s now 92. I doubted the vast majority of today’s Palo Altans would notice that saying “50th Anniversary,” in effect, erases the legacies of the earliest leaders of Ohlone.
A few days later, I stumbled upon a video of our old school building on E. Charleston (in 1974, renamed Herbert Hoover Elementary School) being unceremoniously chewed up and leveled by bulldozers. To cars whizzing by in the background it was just a dilapidated shell of a building. But to those of us who spent our formative years there that shell held treasured memories. Since, I have accepted that future generations of students will be better served by the “new and improved” replacement. Yet erasure of a legacy, ironically by a school named after the Indigenous people of this land, is never okay. That’s what brings me here, what inspired me to dig into and share what I have learned about a “founding father” of Ohlone, 1963-69: my allegiance to our revered principal, Dr. Winfield Scott Christiansen.
As a young child, I couldn’t have known how innovative or impactful Dr. Christiansen was. Elaine Urban, the mother of an Ohlones classmate of mine from 1964 to 1970, kindergarten to 6th grade, recalled how Dr. Christiansen spent every recess on the playground. I read somewhere that he spent all of his lunch breaks with us, too. Back then, I wouldn’t have imagined that he did anything other than interact with us kids. All I knew was that our happiness seemed to make him happy, and our concerns were his concerns. What we thought and how we felt mattered to him. So, when something went wrong, I knew where to go.
I was in 3rd or 4th grade, can’t recall which, only where the door to our classroom was on the right wing of the building. Anyway, that day we had a substitute teacher. She had taken her place at the front of the classroom, her back to the chalkboard, while all of us students faced her attentively in rows of little wooden desks. Out of the corner of my left eye, a hand shot up. Before the teacher could respond, the girl seated beside me blurted, “Can I go to the ba…?” Without letting the girl finish, the teacher told her no, she could wait until recess, then returned to whatever she had been talking to us about. Squirming in her seat, the girl looked at me with the most anguished expression, her eyes pooling up with tears.
Instinctively, I stood up, grabbed the girl’s hand, and – oblivious to the scene I’d just created – whisked her out of the classroom. Together, we ran down the outdoor corridor. The girl slipped into the “Girl’s Bathroom.” As if figuring I’d end up in the Principal’s Office one way or another, I continued down the corridor. I can remember only one thing about my conversation with Dr. Christiansen. How I felt afterwards. Like he understood, like he would have my back. No matter what our substitute teacher said. That may not sound like a big deal, but back when students were far more respectful of their teachers, at least obedient, challenging that sub’s authority in front of the entire class could have backfired, big time.
Elaine recalled the day our beloved custodian, Ole, brought three piñatas to school to celebrate Cinco de Mayo. When a parent complained, Dr. Christiansen was quick to intervene. He made his position crystal clear: A member of his staff, Ole would be treated with respect. Dr. Christiansen thanked Ole for sharing a tradition from his native Mexican culture. Perhaps that’s partly why, rather than feeling like I needed to blend in, one Halloween I felt comfortable wearing a kimono to school, sharing my Japanese ancestry, and another Halloween I wore a traditional Korean outfit, a gift from my Korean aunt in Seoul.
Dr. Christiansen was ever alert to opportunities to enrich our education. To enhance Ohlones’ science, reading, arithmetic, and art programs, he engaged parents with relevant expertise to volunteer as classroom aides. He believed that teaching was a community affair; adults in the community were a school’s greatest resource. Elaine and my mother assisted in the arts, which Dr. Christiansen valued as highly as traditional academic subjects. A local artist painted an 18’-long mural depicting “The History of the United States” at the main entrance to Ohlone. Another local, a war artist renowned for documenting conflicts in Korea and Vietnam, exhibited his drawings in the Multipurpose Room.
After school and weekday evenings, Dr. Christiansen hosted discussions about diverse teaching methodologies and districtwide challenges, including libraries in Palo Alto elementary schools being inadequate and poorly staffed. He simultaneously increased awareness of issues and mobilized support for change. Weekends, he hosted events and workshops. For example, teachers from Montessori schools demonstrated Montessori methods of teaching. The Sequoia Chapter of Hadassah held a food fair, serving blintzes, knishes, and other Jewish specialties. Camp Unalayee, an interracial, intercultural wilderness camp, held a reunion at Ohlone. All events were inclusive, “open to the public.”
Old newspaper articles have taught me a lot about Ohlones’ evolution under Dr. Christiansen’s leadership. Clearly, he valued critical and creative thinking. That reminds me of a pivotal experience I had one morning in 6th grade. Every day started the same way: Stand beside your desk. Place your hand over your heart. Then recite the “Pledge of Allegiance.” For some reason, that morning I fell out of step. Midway, I fell silent and listened, instead. In that moment, I felt like I’d been a parrot, reciting the “Pledge” on autopilot. “God” had never been mentioned in our household. As for “Liberty and Justice for all”? A child of the ‘60s, even I knew that wasn’t true. My right hand dropped to my side. While the rest of the class completed the “Pledge,” I just stood there, feeling defiant. Well, until I heard Mr. Krause call out, “Erika?”
I can’t recall what happened next. Dr. Christiansen was no longer our principal. (He had contracted hepatitis, cutting his tenure at Ohlones short.) Still, I knew he would understand, he would have my back. In retrospect, I can see a myriad of ways in which Dr. Christiansen challenged what wasn’t in our best interest and championed what was. Ever inclusive, he broadened our – including our parents’ and the larger community’s – world views. He instilled in us a sense of belonging, and strength, in diversity. He engaged our parents as classroom volunteers, investing them in our education. Always open to suggestions, he asked questions, solicited feedback. And he didn’t just listen. He heard us, he modeled empathy and compassion. Most importantly, Elaine stressed, “He loved children.” We were his first – and last – priority. So I wasn’t the least bit surprised by the title of his 1953 Ed.D. dissertation: “The Influence of the Behaviors of the Elementary School Principal Upon the School He Administers.”
After putting our house up for sale, I returned to Washington, DC, where I work remotely with the Middle Passage Ceremonies and Port Markers Project. As a genealogical researcher, I wondered about Dr. Christiansen’s deeper roots, his upbringing. His obituary, published in the May 6, 2011, issue of the Palo Alto Weekly, chronicles the breadth of Dr. Christiansen’s accomplishments and contributions in Palo Alto. He earned an M.A. in 1950 and an Ed.D. in 1953, both from Stanford. He was principal of numerous schools in the Palo Alto Unified School District. Before Ohlones, he headed Stanford Elementary School; Stanford Elementary Demonstration (summer) School, staffed by outstanding teachers from across the state; and Stanford’s Convalescent School (for children). After Ohlone, after he had recovered from hepatitis, he was principal of Greendell Elementary and, after Greendell closed, Fairmeadow. Newspaper articles about school reunions, honoring Dr. Christiansen, spoke to his enduring legacy.
Still, I wondered: What/who seeded and nurtured Dr. Christiansen’s lifelong dedication to the holistic education of young children? Before he moved to Palo Alto? For the same reason that I felt Ohlone’s “50th Anniversary” announcement erased the school’s deepest roots, for the same reason I was compelled to research Ohlone’s beginnings and submit dozens of old newspaper articles about Ohlone’s story before 50 years ago (some of which have been posted to the 50th Anniversary website under “Ohlone history” – see “Ohlone in the News 1953-74”), I found myself tracing Dr. Christiansen’s ancestral roots.
Ancestry.com, Newspapers.com, census records, and Google offered answers and lots of clues. Dr. Christiansen’s father, Christian Bohn Christiansen, was born in Denmark in 1872. He immigrated to the U.S. in 1892. Dr. Christiansen’s mother, May “Julia” Scott, was born in Chicago in 1878. When she was 12, her family moved to Colorado. She graduated from the University of Colorado and started teaching in Denver. In 1905, May and Christian married. Drawn to the fertile farming lands of the San Joaquin Valley, they settled in Dinuba, Tulare County, where Winfield and his older brother Rolfe and younger sister Laura were born and raised. Rolfe became an advisor to aeronautics companies in Europe and the Middle East. Laura worked as a secretary and performed as a vocalist and violinist.
For 30 years, Christian worked the family ranch. Eight years after Winfield’s birth, on October 27, 1912, Tulare’s 1920 census says that the Christiansen’s neighbors included numerous Japanese and German Russian immigrant families, also farmers. May taught and was principal at numerous elementary schools in Tulare and Fresno counties: Kennedy, Mt Olive, Pinedale, DeWolf, and Jane Addams. After retiring, May – a widow since Christian died in 1942 – moved to San Francisco, where she had done demonstration teaching at San Francisco State College, in the summer. In 1954, May moved to Palo Alto and lived on Hamilton Ave with her son, Dr. Christiansen, until her death in 1960.
Growing up in a farming family, toiling the land among other immigrant families, must have instilled in young Winfield a strong work ethic while broadening his horizons. Clearly, his mother’s lifelong dedication to young children’s education informed his own aspirations. After earning an A.B. from Fresno State College, Winfield stayed in Fresno. He taught at John Muir School, where he also directed the orchestra, and then at Hamilton Junior High – a brief departure from his focus on elementary school children. In 1940, he became principal of Jane Addams School, where his mother taught. During WWII, Winfield served as master sergeant in the U.S. Army in the South Pacific while childhood friends and classmates of Japanese descent back in his family’s farming community would have been forcibly interned. 1946-1947, he was principal of Emerson School and, 1947-50, principal of Lafayette School, presumably while attending Stanford long distance as he received his M.A. in 1950.
After retiring, in 1978, Dr. Christiansen had more time to play the piano, which reminds me of a 1922 newspaper article that featured 10-year-old Winfield performing at a piano recital at the Dinuba Woman’s Club. He kept in touch with former colleagues and students and supported causes close to his heart. Dr. Christiansen donated to the Palo Alto Library Foundation and the Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford and, in his estate, made a bequest of $100,000 to Stanford’s Graduate School of Education.
Dr. Winfield Scott Christiansen lived a full life, a life of purpose. He died on April 7, 2011, at the age of 98.
Dr. Christiansen didn’t have any descendants to help keep his legacy alive. He never married or had children – other than us, thousands of us, his students throughout Fresno and Palo Alto. If you are an early alum of Ohlone(s) Elementary on E. Charleston, if you’re now reflecting on someone at Ohlone(s) who played a pivotal role in your life, please share in the Comments section below, please help the Ohlone school community of today and tomorrow learn about their school’s deepest roots.
* Until 1974, our school’s name was misspelled “Ohlones.” Years earlier, Michael Galvan, an Ohlone Indian, stopped by the office to say that if they really wanted to honor the first people of this land, they should drop the “s” and call the school “Ohlone.”
Opmerkingen