Ozzie Wright Jr. is a veteran educator and a black belt-certified kicker of butt. Now he"s taking on his toughest job yet: principal of his alma mater, beleaguered West Philly High.

On a cold Wednesday morning in January, the principal's office at West Philadelphia High School is a beehive of activity. Phones are ringing off the hook, staff members scurry back and forth and the line of people waiting to see the principal ranges from angry parents here to have their suspended children reinstated, to plumbers called in to fix broken toilets, to a couple of guys who want to build a bicycle rack out front. In the center of the storm, newly appointed principal Osborne "Ozzie" Wright Jr. calmly issues orders and takes time for everyone, a huge smile on his face. He clearly loves his new job, which is fortunate for the school district. A turnover rate of seven principals in seven years has created a crisis of leadership at the school, and although he's only been here two months, Ozzie Wright seems to thrive on a job that no Philadelphia school administrator wanted, or at least wanted to keep.

West Philadelphia High School, established in 1912, is the huge, forbidding structure that takes up the city block from 47th to 48th and from Walnut to Locust. For decades she was among Philadelphia's most respected high schools, graduating such future notables as comedian David Brenner, music mogul Kenny Gamble, Philadanco founder Joan Myers Brown, early film star Jeanette MacDonald and Wright himself. Lately though, West has come to symbolize all that is broken in the Philadelphia school system, and all that people fear from inner city high-school students. There's a perception, and one that's not entirely unfounded, that the three Rs of reading, writing and 'rithmetic have been replaced with robbery, rape and running for your life.

Last school year, West topped the district in the arson category, with 39 reported fires. Statistics for other crimes are similarly chilling. Add to this the latest abysmal standardized test scores released by the school district, the most glaring being that as of 2000 (the last year for which the stats are available), a whopping 89.8 percent of West Philly students scored below basic in math, reading and science. Still, Wright is not the least bit discouraged.

"This is a fresh start for West Philly High, a brand-new day," the new principal says brightly. "We're shedding last year's image. Forget everything you've heard about West Philadelphia High School. We're going to be the No. 1 academic school in the city before it's over, mark my words."

Coming from most new principals, this would sound like premature optimism, but not from Ozzie Wright. Even though he's only been here since November, Wright's reputation precedes him -- his last gig was as principal of perhaps the only school in Philly tougher than West, the Youth Study Center. Here in West Philly, though, he's even better known for his work at another tough school: the Chang Moo Kwan school of Tae Kwon Do. Wright, an eighth-degree black belt, founded the Chang Moo Kwan school at 57th and Market streets more than 30 years ago, and still teaches there several days a week. But is the veteran educator prepared for what could be his biggest challenge yet?

Considering the conditions he and his staff and students sometimes work under, you have to admire the principal's attitude. On this frozen January morning, about half the rooms in West have heat blasting like a furnace, and the others are freezing without any heat at all. In his office -- one of the ones that's hot (really hot) -- Wright is meeting with various school district officials, trying to get his agenda of school improvements rolling. One of those officials is Marjorie Wuestner from the office of the deputy chief academic officer. Part of Wuestner's job is to monitor and help upgrade the athletic programs in Philadelphia schools. Not just the courts and fields, but all sports-related facilities.

"There are no benches and no heat in the boys' locker room," Wuestner says, "and sadly, this is almost typical. I visited Overbrook High not long ago, and one student asked, in dead seriousness, 'Are you here to bring us heat?' There are broken locks on many, many doors, but we only have two locksmiths for the entire [school district]. It's heartbreaking."

With the average age of Philadelphia school buildings at about 64, the fact is, according to Wuestner, most school buildings are deteriorating faster than the district can make improvements, and West Philly High is no exception. Still, Wuestner believes that, despite the peeling paint and broken windows, and despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles of apathy, ignorance and years of neglect, if anyone in the school district can turn around West Philadelphia High School, it's her old friend Ozzie Wright, who was selected for the principal's post after a national search.

"[School District CEO] Paul Vallas could not have picked a better man than Ozzie for the job if he searched 100 years," Wuestner gushes. "His love for the kids shows, and his entire life is one of motivating and inspiring kids. I don't know many people -- no, I don't know any people with his kind of inner strength."

Of course, part of that inner strength probably comes from the fact that despite his appearance as a mild-mannered educator, 52-year-old Ozzie Wright Jr. is a certified butt-kicker of the highest order.

After graduating from West Philly High in 1968, Wright joined the Army and found himself stationed in Korea. Like many soldiers on Far East duty, he developed an interest in the martial arts, training and practicing under the best teachers, called sensei. After his active duty, Wright came back to Philadelphia in 1971 with his black belt in tae kwon do, determined to do two things: open a martial arts school in his tough West Philly neighborhood, and complete his college education in order to get his certification and become a public school teacher. So he enrolled in Temple University, and founded the Chang Moo Kwan school. He fought competitively, winning local and national karate tournaments, and earned community praise as an inspiring martial arts instructor who was as interested in his students' grades in school as he was in their ability to execute a side kick. If you were doing poorly in school, you couldn't attend Chang Moo Kwan until you demonstrated that you could handle both your schoolwork and martial arts training. (This writer took classes at the school in the mid-'70s with Wright and other instructors.)

The Chang Moo Kwan School of Tae Kwon Do is still fully operational today, with classes held four days a week. Wright just earned his eighth-degree ranking last year, and says he's still learning himself.

"There's no way to learn all there is to know about the martial arts," Wright says with a laugh, "just like there's no way to learn all there is to know about most things. Your job as a person is to absorb as much as you can about everything you can, and pass along what you've learned while still striving to know more. In that way, we're all teachers."

Wright's been a teacher all his adult life. After college, he bounced around several schools in the district teaching phys. ed., then served as assistant principal of Fels High School in Northeast Philly before taking over the job at the Youth Study Center. He remained in the Army too, continuing to serve as a Sergeant First Class in the reserves. Eleven years ago, Wright was recalled to active duty for the Gulf War. He says there's a possibility he could be recalled again if the Iraqi conflict becomes a shooting war, but doesn't spend much time fretting over it.

Fortunately, he stays in shape. Even when he's in a suit and tie, it's obvious that the middle-aged high-school principal is in tremendous physical condition. His muscles bulge through his shirt, his stomach is as flat as Kansas and he patrols the halls of West Philly High with the confident stride of a man who is absolutely unthreatened by tough-talking teen thugs. In fact, as he moves through the school, Wright offers gentle chastisement to student after student, telling the boys to remove their hats, or telling the girls to quiet down in the hallways. Not one gives him any backtalk, or eye-rolling, or general bad attitude. When Ozzie Wright talks, the students listen and do what he says without another word. In less than two months, he seems to have earned their complete respect. "What some teachers and administrators forget," Wright says, "is that we're service workers. We're here to serve the children of our school, just like a waiter or a mechanic exists to serve the customer. If you don't look at it as a service, but rather as a painful task, you're not going to like working in the school system."

At 9:30 a.m. a bell rings inside the school. The voice of assistant principal Dr. Keith Look comes over the public address system announcing a hall sweep, a long-standing school district directive designed to maintain order by periodically making sure that each and every student not in class at that moment has a valid excuse. It's up to each principal when and how often to conduct the sweeps. Wright says he consulted his staff and the students, who overwhelmingly voted to have hall sweeps frequently and at random intervals.

Whether working on a special project, coming in from auto shop or just going to the bathroom, every West Philly High student has to have a valid pass, and those few who don't go tearing for their classes when the hall sweep is announced. One student, obviously trying to chat up a girl, leaves her abruptly when the sweep is called. According to Look, the kids don't mind the periodic inspections because the school is more orderly now. Kids aren't meandering in halls or disrupting other classes, and that is apparently how the students like it.

"These are good kids, fantastic kids," Look says after the hall sweep is over. "They want a decent place to learn, and are willing to help the staff toward that end."

Look joined the staff in September, and says that a big part of the problem here is the lack of continuity that has resulted from a high turnover of faculty, especially principals.

"Under Mr. Wright, we now have a plan, and it's unfolding," Look says. "But we as administrators can only create plans. Those plans have to be implemented by the faculty, and in order to do that, we have to create and establish meaningful relationships with the staff based on mutual trust and commitment to the children. It's the teachers and support staff who are the anchor of any school, and Mr. Wright is really earning their confidence."

Terry Scott is West Philly High's lead NTA, or non-teaching assistant, who, along with her five assistant NTAs and nine lunchroom aides, is primarily charged with keeping order in the hallways and lunchrooms. Scott, an eight-year veteran dubbed "The Queen of West Philly High," is a short, round, tough-talking lady who takes no guff from the students. Very few give her any. Scott has seen principals come and go through the revolving door at West, and likes what she sees in Ozzie Wright.

"My job here is to ensure safety," Scott says, "but up until this year it hasn't always been easy. We've been understaffed for five years."

Just then a student, late for class, comes charging down the hallway at breakneck speed. Scott yells, "Freeze!" just as the kid darts past her, and he does. Freezes dead in his tracks. Scott then proceeds to give the teen a tongue-lashing for being late, for running in the halls and for wearing his hat in the building.

"You know better than that," she chides the boy, who, though at least a foot taller than Scott, has managed to hang his head meekly and slouch down to her eye level. Then something happens you might not expect. After his dressing down, the kid humbly says, "You're right, Miss Scott. I'm sorry," and gives her a hug before walking to class. Not just a cursory hug, but a sincere expression of love for someone who cares about him.

"See?" she says as the kid turns into his classroom. "They aren't really bad kids. They haven't been given responsibility and no one expects anything from them. We need the parents to lay that kind of groundwork, and to get more involved with their children's education."

Part of Wright's plan was to give the students more responsibility for their own educations, thereby impressing upon them their own obligations and expectations of school. One of his favorite projects is the school district's Teen Court program, run by teacher Judy Paul. Teen Court is just that: a real courtroom right in school, with students acting as judge, jury, prosecutor and defense counsel. The program has been in place at West for four years, and Wright says one of his priorities is to look for ways to expand Teen Court by encouraging more participation from students. According to school district literature, the purpose of Teen Court is to develop leadership skills, as well as educate kids about the rule of law. Quite a few students at West are familiar with courtroom procedure already, having seen the inside of a juvenile court, but Teen Court is much different. Here, the adjudication and punishment come from peers. Teen Court is used for infractions not serious enough to warrant calling the police, but still inappropriate enough that the student needs to be sent a message. Typically, punishment stipulates a written apology, restitution where appropriate and even community service. It's a way of letting the disruptive students know that their behavior isn't considered cool by their fellow students. And it seems to be working. Although statistics for the current school year are not available, all indications are that minor infractions of the rules are down, as well as major ones. And if there's a real barometer to the program's success, it's this: According to Judy Paul, every last one of the seniors who participated in last year's Teen Court program as a lawyer, judge or court administrator was accepted to college.

The early success the new principal seems to be having with the students is not surprising to those who know Ozzie Wright well. His confidence and can-do attitude are absolutely infectious.

"One of Paul Vallas' smartest decisions so far has been the appointment of Ozzie Wright to that position," says West Philly Congressman Chaka Fattah, an old friend of the educator. The relationship goes back to the '70s, when Chaka's mother, longtime West Philly community activist Falaka Fattah, ran the anti-gang teen sanctuary, House of Umoja, only a few blocks from the Chang Moo Kwan school.

"I can't tell you how great it is to have Ozzie at the helm at West. West Philly High School's difficulties have been well-documented, as you know. I hope its turnaround is just as well-documented. It won't happen overnight, because it took awhile for the school to slide so far downhill, and it's going to take awhile to bring it back. But I can say with full confidence that there is no better man for the job than Ozzie Wright, and I mean that. He has my full confidence and support, and he knows all he has to do is call me, and I'll come running."

Already Fattah has put his money where his mouth is, in the form of his GEAR UP program. Fattah secured $28 million from the federal government for GEAR UP, which seeks to ensure that good students have the opportunity to attend college after graduation, regardless of family income. West Philly High is a GEAR UP school, and the prospect of his old pal running the school and signing the best and brightest up for GEAR UP has Fattah busting at the seams.

"This is a great, great thing for the students of West Philly," Fattah says. "Just watch and see what happens."

Accepting the praise for hiring Wright, school district CEO Vallas says that so far, Ozzie's done all the right things.

"He's so far demonstrated excellent skills in uniting the students and staff at West Philadelphia High," Vallas says. "I have great confidence that Ozzie will make a tremendous difference there. It's a school that faces a number of challenges, but Ozzie is there because of his reputation for uniting people in a common purpose. He has my full support, and the full support of the District."

Joseph "Just call me Joe" Pollock, 80, is president and founder of the West Philadelphia High School Alumni Association, which he started in 1940, just after his own graduation from the school. Pollack is a living encyclopedia of all things West, effortlessly rattling off names and dates of famous and semi-famous alumni from World War I until today. He's also a former school system administrator himself, and has known Ozzie Wright for more than 30 years.

"I remember when he was just a young pup," Pollack laughs. "Even then you could tell he was really one of the good guys. You just knew he'd be somebody someday. Listen, let the papers print all the negative stories they want, I'm telling you West Philadelphia High is a great, great school and Ozzie is just the guy to bring her back to her former glory."

Things are changing more quickly at West than even he anticipated, Wright insists. He points to several successful programs, including his recent incentive-based remedial reading program, the details of which he lays out for incoming ninth-graders at assembly.

"Your class is the largest in West Philadelphia High School history," Wright tells the 600 or so freshmen assembled. "And we think you're going to be the best and the brightest. But those of you who need help are going to be attending our mandatory afterschool program from 3:30 to 5:30 for below basic and marginal students." An audible groan goes up from the freshman class, clearly agitated at the thought of anything with "afterschool" and "mandatory" in the same sentence. A second later their moods brighten.

"How many of you know what a stipend is?" Wright asks. A dozen hands go up, and he picks a girl who answers succinctly. "Money!" she shouts.

"That's right, money," Wright laughs along with the crowd. "This is what's called an incentive-based program, and you'll find out more when you sign up." Suddenly the prospect doesn't sound so horrifying, and there's another groan when Wright explains that there are only 150 open spots in the program, and they'll take the 150 who need the most help. After the assembly, Wright explains the logic of paying kids to learn.

"We're not talking about a lot of money," he says, "and if it gets even one child to think differently about remedial reading and math it's worth it. Did you notice the change in their reaction when I said Œstipend'? It's a mental thing -- to look at it as a source of income and learning as opposed to punishment for being slower than your classmates."

According to the University of Pennsylvania's InfoResources database, West Philly High's dropout rate is staggering: 13.9 percent for ninth grade, 25.8 percent for sophomores, 18.1 percent for juniors and 18.4 percent for seniors. Compare these numbers with the statewide average of 2.6 percent for ninth grade, 3.9 for 10th, 4.5 for 11th and 4.3 for seniors. Even the Philadelphia public school average dropout rate is substantially lower at 9 percent, 11.3 percent, 10 percent and 10 percent in respective grades. Nobody finds these numbers more objectionable than Ozzie Wright.

"Kids drop out of school for a variety of reasons," he laments. "What we have to do is give them a reason to drop back in." To that end, he's got teacher Pat O'Hara working a program that does just that. For the past few years, O'Hara has conducted classes geared toward older, previously underachieving students who decided to call it quits. There are 22 former dropouts, or "returning students," in O'Hara's class, some in their 20s.

"I admire them for having the guts to say ŒI made a mistake in dropping out and I want to correct it,'" says O'Hara. "They have to work extra hard, and put in quite a bit more time and effort." O'Hara proudly points out that even with weekday, evening and Saturday classes, his program has a 75-percent graduation rate.

Eager to point out the school's other success stories, Wright conducts a guided tour of the auto shop, more formally known as the West Philadelphia High Automotive Academy. From all indications, the principal has a right to crow. The kids in this auto shop aren't just rebuilding transmissions and carburetors; in the advanced automotive program, they're building hybrid cars. And while the program predates Wright's appointment as principal, he's determined to expand it under his watch. For the past few years, under the tutelage of science teacher Simon Hauger, the students have built several electric and solar-powered vehicles from the ground up, even competing in the country's largest electric vehicle competition, the Tour de Sol, a 400-mile race from New York to Washington, D.C. The team from West Philly High was the first team of color to enter in the history of the race when they started competing three years ago. Last year they won, beating out teams from the best engineering colleges in the country, including Drexel and M.I.T. Corporate race sponsors Team Honda were so impressed with the incredible story of these ghetto whiz kids that the choked-up vice president of Honda America also presented them with the Power of Dreams award after the race.

"My students have overcome tremendous obstacles," Hauger says humbly. "More than 90 percent are receiving government assistance and come from broken homes, yet look what they can accomplish when someone simply tells them, ŒYes, you can.' They probably inspire me more than I inspire them."

This school year the advanced automotive class has been motivated to top itself, so they're embarking on an ambitious new project: the world's first hybrid supercar. Don't laugh. They've already designed it and laid out the plans for this monster, and have every intention of finishing it. The design calls for the sleek convertible roadster to be powered by a 200-horsepower VW turbo diesel at the rear wheels and a 200-horsepower AC propulsions electric motor at the front wheels. It all adds up to a fuel economy of better than 50 miles per gallon from a car that can go from zero to 60 in less than four seconds, which by the way is faster than the Porsche 911 Turbo, the Lotus Esprit and the Ferrari F40.

Hauger says his kids have the will, the ideas and the smarts to build this road rocket. What they need is hard cash donations, and Hauger is quick to make a pitch for sponsorships.

"It's really hard to believe," he says, proudly showing off pictures of the proposed supercar, "that this group of kids even came up with this workable, perfectly engineered plan. This thing represents the next step in hybrid technology -- incredible fuel economy and blazing acceleration. I just want people to know that they can contact me here at the school to make donations. It's really an investment in not only these kids' dream, but truly in the economic and environmental future of America. How can you not be inspired by these students?"

As he talks about the program and his kids, Hauger gets a little misty. So does his boss, Ozzie Wright. Before leaving the shop, the men embrace warmly.

"He's the best," Wright says, stepping out into the frigid air. "It's programs like his that make me so proud to be doing this job. He doesn't get headlines or publicity like the bad things that happen around here, but I hope that changes now. If you're going to talk about the problems at West Philly High, talk about our successes, too."

Ozzie Wright's own success story is what the school district and the faculty are counting on to inspire his students. Three years ago this month, he suddenly and tragically lost his only son, 28-year-old Ozzie III, to a blood clot. A nationally recognized martial arts champion in his own right, young Ozzie didn't realize he had a problem until it was too late. Ironically, his dad partially blames the young man's superior physical conditioning.

"He was in such good shape that he figured the slight shortness of breath he was having was his own fault," a still-grieving Wright laments. "He figured he was just slacking off on his cardio, and he'd be fine if he worked out a little harder. Turns out it was a blood clot on his lung, and they didn't catch it in time. You know how macho is sometimes -- we just don't want to admit being sick."

Even the death of his son was an inspirational event to Wright -- and the rest of the family. Daughter Danielle decided to make medicine her career, and is now studying pre-med at Hampton University. Wright and his wife Zenobia have a third child, 10-year-old Maya, whom her father can't even reference without breaking into his characteristic big grin.

"Daddy's baby," he says, then corrects himself. "Actually, I have almost 1,700 children. They're all mine. They're yours. They're the entire community's, and we have to start treating them like it."