A Regular Kid Spencer Tower Proves Value Of Placing Disabled Students Full-Time In Regular Classes

Spencer Tower ran for office on a campaign platform that hasn’t occurred to even the wiliest of politicians.

“I promised to be nice to all kids,” explained the recently elected Mullan Road Elementary vice president.

And to girls in particular.

“I like the girls the best,” he said with a smile.

In addition to his student council responsibilities, Spencer bats for the school softball team, swims in a Special Olympics program and plays drums. He excels at spelling and recess and adores his grandparents.

Spencer, 12, hasn’t let Down syndrome push his goals out of reach.

In fact, he could be touted as a success story for a national trend toward inclusion - placing disabled students full-time in regular classrooms.

The Individuals with Disabilities Education Act of 1975 guarantees disabled students a “free appropriate public education” and paved the way for parents to choose full inclusion.

A citizens advisory committee studied the issue three years ago and recommended to the Spokane District 81 school board that more disabled students be placed in regular classrooms. The group found some district schools were more open to inclusion than others.

A 1995 Department of Education study showed Washington state failed to force school districts, including Spokane, to fully comply with federal disability laws. Among the problems: Disabled students weren’t integrated into regular classrooms to the extent required by law.

Of the district’s 3,755 special education students, most get a mix of special education and mainstream classes. A team of educators meets with parents to design the best program for each child, said district special education supervisor Mike Ainsworth.

Critics argue full-time inclusion is distracting to other students and expensive — many students like Spencer have a full-time instructional aide.

None of which Susan Hammond and Alan Tower knew anything about when their son Spencer was about to enter school.

But they knew this: Spencer’s language and motor skills developed faster than anticipated because he was raised with a nondisabled peer — his twin brother Lane.

“I don’t think we even knew what the word `inclusive’ meant,” said Hammond. “But we knew if he were segregated he’d never really reach his potential.’

As Spencer neared kindergarten, the family started researching the subject and attended a national Down Syndrome conference.

Hammond and Tower approached educators with their desire to include him in a regular classroom.

“It was a pretty new concept for the district,” said Hammond. “It was a very new concept for Mullan Road. There was a lot of fear born from lack of experience. There was definitely resistance.”

Mullan Road Principal Paul Stone said some parents feared a teacher couldn’t balance Spencer and 25 other children.

“Early in his career here, a few parents were concerned,” said Stone. “They worried the teacher would spend an inordinate amount of time with him.”

Spencer has his own instructional aide, Robin Bartlett, to help both with his classwork and keeping him focused. He has different reading and math programs from his classmates, but joins them for spelling lessons.

Last week, Spencer filed in from recess to face a spelling test.

His word list differs from his classmates’ and, unlike them, he doesn’t have to battle the loops and curves of cursive. Spencer uses a special computer to type in his words.

He struggles with “adults” but aces “like” and “dollar.”

A classmate sneaks him a thumbs-up sign when Spencer nails a tough word.

Even a mid-test fire drill doesn’t shake him. After insisting on holding the door for every student shuffling back in, he returns to spell “admits,” “common” and “sea.”

By all accounts, Spencer’s time at Mullan Road has been a success. And not just for him. His teachers say his peers learn the importance of empathy.

“Kindness is learned and tolerance of differences is very important,” said Spencer’s current teacher, Becky Lucke. “They learn to be helpful. They learn to see other people that might need a hand.”

It’s not uncommon to see a classmate take Spencer’s hand to coax him in from the playground.

Last Thursday, the softball team trailed badly in a game against neighboring Moran Prairie Elementary. But Spencer desperately wanted to pitch and the coach put him in.

Instead of groaning about a looming loss, his teammates whispered “Look, Spencer’s pitching,” and gathered to cheer him on.

“I thought, `There are adults out there who don’t get it,’” said Hammond. “And these kids already do.”

Students say he’s a good friend, quick to praise.

“He congratulates me a lot,” said Mullan Road student president Jeff Pearson, a sixth-grader. “He gives me a thumbs up every time I see him in the hall. He’s just a really nice guy.”

Spencer first ran for office last fall and narrowly lost.

“I actually, to be honest, tried to talk him out of it,” said Hammond. “I just didn’t want him to fail, but he couldn’t be dissuaded.”

Spencer graciously shook his opponent’s hand — “My mom’s idea,” he said — but he wanted to try again.

“I only lost by 18 votes and I wanted to make it up to myself,” he said.

The second time, he didn’t tell his family as he gathered student signatures on a petition required to enter the race. Mom found out from the school secretary.

Not that she was surprised.

“Spencer is very gregarious and he’s very outgoing,” she said. “Everybody at school knows him and he’s confident. So in that regard it’s in keeping with his character.”

His brother Lane signed on as his campaign manager, and younger brother Trevor, 9, also helped.

Though they’re in different classrooms, the twins have a tight bond.

“He gives me confidence,” Spencer says of his brother.

Preparing his speech, Spencer mastered tough words like “respectful” and “trustworthy.”

“By the end, I could recite his speech,” Lane said, rolling his eyes.

As vice president, Spencer sets up for student council meetings and serves on several committees.

Friday morning, he walked into school early for a meeting of the playground committee, a little groggy but still punctual.

On school days, “I’m just not a morning person,” he said. “But on the weekends, I shoot right out of bed.”

Spencer walks into the meeting and pores over a catalog with page after page of $34,000 jungle gyms. The school’s budget for new equipment: $2,500.

Student president Pearson sits with him, helping guide him to a few pages within their price range.

“He’s my best friend,” Spencer says of Pearson.

It’s this interaction his parentshoped for when placing Spencer in a regular classroom, Hammond said.

“You can put him in a special-needs classroom all the way through high school,” she said. “But when he graduates, there isn’t a special-needs world. There’s no special-needs mall, no special-needs McDonald’s.

“Those kids are his future employers and his future neighbors,” she said. “They need to know him.”