94 CHICAGO | SEPTEMBER 2019
while continuing to work as a principal.
“In her admissions material, Janice
wrote that her long-term goal was to be
the CEO of CPS,” recalls Steve Tozer, who
was the founding director of UIC’s Center
for Urban Education Leadership and a
mentor to Jackson. “No other graduate
student has ever written that.”
Longtime friends say they saw signs
of intense ambition even earlier. “She
wanted a career where she accomplished
something important,” says Lakesha
Wilson-Hill, a former high school class-
mate who is now an accountant and is still
close to Jack son. “ S he wa nted to t r avel to
Europe, she wanted experiences.”
Jackson credits her father, a cab-
driver, with giving her the desire to
broaden her horizons, encouraging her
and her siblings to follow current events
in both the city and beyond and express
well-reasoned opinions. “My father was
very protective — no staying over at other
kids’ houses and things like that — but
he also wanted us to know the world,”
she says. “He wanted us to think our way
through things.”
Another friend, Yasmin Curtis, recalls
that even as a teenager hanging out at
the Evergreen Plaza shopping center,
Jackson displayed a calculated sense of
self-presentation. She didn’t have much
money for clothes, so she concentrated on
crisp white shirts, ironed to perfection,
and she began to develop her well-known
penchant for heels. “I tell her even now,
‘I’m going to buy you a nice pair of adult
flats,’ ” says Curtis, “but she won’t hear of
it.” (Jackson confirms this: “She bought
me flats for my birthday,” she says, affect-
ing indignation. “Can you believe it?”)
JACKSON JOINED THE RANKS OF CPS
management in 2014, first as a com-
munity-network chief and then as chief
education officer, a role that thrust her
into the public eye. During the tenure
of her predecessor in the CEO’s office,
Forrest Claypool — who took over after
Barbara Byrd-Bennett resigned following
her indictment in the kickback scheme
that would send her to prison — the inside
joke at CPS was that, in photos, Jackson
increasingly had the blank stare of some-
one being held against her will. There she
is in a news clipping from 2016, stand-
ing just behind Claypool, a wooden
expression on her face, as he announces
a contract deal with the Chicago Teachers
Union. And there she is again the fol-
lowing year, same expression, behind
Mayor Rahm Emanuel as he holds a City
Hall press conference to announce that
the school year would not be cut short,
despite a funding shortfall.
Jackson made no secret to those who
knew her of how unhappy she was with
many decisions — including the closing
of 50 schools on the South and West
Sides — the district was making under
Byrd-Bennett and Claypool, a local pol
and Emanuel ally with no experience in
the educational system. In December
2017, when Claypool resigned, accused
of lying to undermine an ethics inves-
tigation into improperly awarded
contracts, and Jackson was appointed
interim CEO, her expression sank from
wooden to dour. “I was angry,” she says
of that moment. “Yes, I’ve always wanted
to be CEO, but not this way. The way he
had to leave, it was a black eye for the
district. And it hadn’t been that long
since the last black eye.”
By January, Jackson had dropped
“interim” from her title. Then, less than
six months later, everything exploded.
Published on June 1, the Tribune’s ma s-
sive exposé on CPS, titled “Betrayed,”
detailed some 500 police reports of sex-
ual assault or abuse inside city schools
over the past decade. Students, the article
said, had been victimized — sometimes
repeatedly — by lunchroom aides, coun-
selors, coaches, award-winning teachers,
even two deans. In addition, CPS had
run ineffective background checks that
exposed students to people with criminal
backgrounds, and the district had failed
to publicly disclose that past employees
had resigned after investigations found
credible evidence of abuse and harass-
ment. To make matters worse, the state
teacher licensing board often took years
to suspend or revoke the licenses of those
who’d committed sexual misconduct.
One high school girl said she had been
assaulted 40 times. Another said that
when she was interviewed by an inves-
tigator from the CPS law department, he
asked what she had been wearing when
the abuse took place.
Publicly, Jackson said she “was sick
to her stomach” about the revelations,and she tells me she’s still haunted by
the details of the police reports. “I see
all the high-level cases. And I am a
strong person. But they are bad. I dream
about them. I wake up about them.
It’s disturbing.”
Jackson’s first move was issuing a
four-page plan of action that went to CPS
employees. She earmarked $500,000 of
the district’s budget for a top-to-bottom
review, headed by former assistant U.S.
attorney and Illinois executive inspec-
tor general Maggie Hickey and the law
firm Schiff Hardin. Every employee
who would be entering Chicago schools
in the fall — teachers, aides, coaches,
service staffers — now had to report for
fingerprinting and a background check.
Procedures for responding to and inves-
tigating complaints were overhauled.
Previously, if a student alleged that an
employee did something wrong, the
accused would be allowed to stay in
the school building while an investiga-
tion was conducted. No longer. And the
district established a new office to deal
w it h st udent- on-st udent sex ua l ha r a ss-
ment and abuse — another central aspect
of the Tribune investigation — and
created more rigorous definitions of
inappropriate behavior.
Still, not everyone felt Jackson was
doing enough. When she didn’t show up
for an Illinois State Board of Education
public meeting about the revelations that
summer, even though a seat had been
r e s e r ve d for he r, or at a C it y C ou nc i l me e t-
ing about the scandal six months later,
critics pounced. “Where was the boss
on Wednesday?” asked the Sun-Times’
editorial page after the City Hall meet-
ing. “As a symbol of CPS’s commitment
to resolving the matter,” the editorial
read, “Jackson should have been sitting
front and center in the Council cham-
bers. Demonstrating leadership just by
showing up is no small thing.” Jennie
Biggs, the communications and outreach
director for the advocacy group Raise
Your Hand, says, “I don’t blame Janice for
the scandal, but it was very disappoint-
ing when she didn’t attend the state and
City Council meetings. Extremely disap-
pointing.” (Asked about the no-shows,
Jackson’s director of media communi-
cations says that after numerous media
interviews, a virtual town hall with staff,