Vicki Phillips got her degree from Western Kentucky University and became a teacher. She later went back to school, earning a doctorate in education. She has worked as a teacher, in state government, as leader of a non-profit education foundation and as a school district superintendent. She was named Secretary of Education/Chief School Officer by the governor of Pennsylvania. She left that post in 2004 to become superintendent of Portland Public Schools.

In Portland, Vicki is spearheading reforms designed to make certain that every child, in every school, gets an education that is second to none. She expects teachers and other adults to hold high expectations for all children, no matter their family background or income level.

Vicki returns to Kentucky to visit her mother and the community that helped raise her. She still remains in touch with her former neighbor, Gerry, and her friend Cindi.

Leaving Home
I grew up on a small tobacco farm in Falls of Rough, Kentucky, a poor community about 90 miles southwest of Louisville. My mother and stepfather bought the farm when I was 7 years old; they got it for the back taxes owed. The land was overgrown with brush and weeds. The house had four rooms, with no flooring and broken-out windows. It had no running water - our bathroom was an outhouse. After a while we got flooring and a hand pump for water, but I never had an indoor bathroom while I was growing up.
We raised or grew everything we ate. We went to the grocery store about once a month for staples.

In all my years growing up, I never went to Louisville, even though it was an hour-and-a-half away. Our radius was a couple of small towns near the farm. I had no frame of reference for the rest of the world - except through books.

I read every book I could get my hands on. Anytime I wasn’t doing chores on the farm, I had a book in my hand. That was how I learned about places beyond Falls of Rough. Reading made me curious about the rest of the world.

Our neighbor, Gerry, lived on the next farm. She would invite me to her home and tell me stories about her life as a young woman - how she grew up in my town, graduated from high school and moved to Louisville. She told me what Louisville was like, what it was like to live with roommates, get a job - all these incredible experiences. She met her husband in Louisville and moved back to our town to raise her kids. Gerry never told me to escape. But she helped me see that I could do something different without betraying my heritage. I could leave the only community I knew, and still come back.
The high school was 35 miles away. I rode the bus an hour-and-a-half each way. I never got to participate in sports or other extra-curricular activities; by the time I got home at 5 pm, it was time to do the farm chores.

Two grade schools fed into the high school - one rich, one poor. When teachers found out I went to McQuady, they knew I came from poverty. In my entire high school career, not one adult talked to me about going to college - no teacher, no counselor, not the principal. I had straight A’s, and I graduated in the top 10 percent of my class, but they thought that because I was from Falls of Rough, I would never go to college.
My friend Cindi thought otherwise. Cindi came from the rich school, and we mostly didn’t mix with those kids. But she and I ended up in the same business class and became great friends. Cindi wanted to come to my house and meet my family. I said no, I was too embarrassed. But Cindi wouldn’t let me get by with that. She said, “I’m coming.” And she had a great time with my family. Nothing bothered her. She took me to her home where I first saw how the other half lived. We often talked about the injustice of it all.

It was Cindi who took me to get my driver’s license in her car. It was Cindi who convinced me to take the college entrance exams. My parents didn’t know I went to take them, or even what they were. I got accepted at Western Kentucky University with a scholarship and a work-study job, and that’s when I first told my parents I was going to college.

My stepfather was dead-set against it. He said if I left, I should never darken their door again. I left for college with my stepfather not speaking to me and my mother in tears. I think in her heart, my mother always wanted me to go, but she just couldn’t stand up to him.

Don’t misunderstand - my stepfather was an incredibly generous man. He would give you the shirt off his back. He just didn’t want me to leave. In our town, everyone gathered on weekends, brought a musical instrument and played and danced and ate home-made ice cream. Those were his values. He had heard about college life and was afraid it would change me for the worse. He had no frame of reference for college - he never knew anyone who had gone. I was the first in my family to even think of going to college.
To his credit, he reached out to me later. He admitted that college didn’t change my values after all. And when my little sister was old enough, he encouraged her to go.