IN THEIR SEARCH for financial backers, Levin and Feinberg thought about approaching Jim McIngvale, better known in Houston as Mattress Mack. McIngvale owned Gallery Furniture. Over the years, the store had grown from a few tents on I-45, a popular commercial strip, to one of the most successful businesses on the north side, where Garcia Elementary School was located, as well as in all of Houston. Feinberg had written to McIngvale but got no reply. It occurred to him, watching the man’s television commercials, that a visit to the store might be a better way to reach him.
Many American cities have entrepreneurs like McIngvale, in love with the power of television and unafraid to look foolish on the tube. Levin and Feinberg watched Mattress Mack with fascination. They were selling reading, writing, and math to often reluctant buyers and were happy to learn new techniques.
“Come to Gallery Furniture, where we really will save you money!” Mattress Mack shouted at them from the TV screen. He threw a fistful of money at the camera, making the point as strenuously as he could that customers who visited his rapidly growing business would find it worth their while.
Would he throw any money at KIPP? Feinberg and Levin drove over to see. They expected someone that outgoing would not be difficult to find. McIngvale was on the showroom floor, with a loudspeaker microphone nearby. “Hi, Mr. Mack,” Feinberg said. “We’re two teachers from Garcia Elementary, down the road.”
“Teachers!” he said. “I love teachers. Education is the most important thing to fix to help our country. Hang on a sec.”
He grabbed the loudspeaker microphone. “Attention! Today only, today only. Couches twenty percent off. Make sure you grab the couches.”
He turned his attention back to his visitors. Feinberg jumped right in, not certain what would happen next. “We’re starting this program with fifth graders,” he said.
“Oh, fifth graders!” McIngvale said enthusiastically. “A very important age. Just before middle school. Hang on a second.”
He pushed the microphone button again. “Recliners! Recliners! Go see the recliner section.”
Levin and Feinberg diagnosed a bad case of attention deficit disorder, or at least its commercial variant. They were going to have to speak in ten-second sound bites. “We’re starting a program called KIPP,” Levin said. “It stands for Knowledge Is Power Program. We believe there are no shortcuts.”
McIngvale’s eyebrows went up. “What did you say?”
“We believe there are no shortcuts.”
The furniture dealer’s livelihood depended on communicating essential information quickly and attractively. He was a fanatic on the subject of great quotes. “You know what?” he said. “That is absolutely right. There are no shortcuts. It’s all about hard work, right? So again, what are you here for, boys?”
Feinberg talked fast. “Well, we’re starting this program and having the kids come from seven thirty to five and having summer school for everybody this summer —”
McIngvale smiled broadly. “This is great!” he said. “This is exactly what public education needs. So what can I do to help?”
“Well,” Levin said, “we put this proposal together.” He handed the businessman a copy of the KIPP plan. “We wondered if you know anybody who could help. We need to raise some money for some things, like lunch on Saturday, and field trips, and —”
“Well, boys, I really like you,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. I need to run this by my education mentor. You ever heard of Thaddeus Lott?”
They said they had. There been a story about him on ABC’s 20/20 magazine show. He was well known. “Lott, Thaddeus Lott,” McIngvale said. “He was principal of Wesley Elementary School in Houston. He has kids walking in lines and he has all the phonics and he knows how to do the basic-skills stuff. He’s my education adviser. He will know what to do. Follow me.”
They walked through the store to the parking lot. “Here is my car,” McIngvale said. “You follow me.”
The drive to Wesley Elementary in Feinberg’s pickup truck took fifteen minutes, with Feinberg shaking his head in wonder. “Dave,” he said, “this is the strangest life we have ever led.”
At the elementary school, they followed McIngvale as he waved at the secretaries and walked into Lott’s office. “Thaddeus,” he said to the tall man sitting behind the desk, “how are you doing?” He slapped the KIPP proposal on the principal’s desk. “Dr. Lott, these boys came to me. They have a program called Knowledge Is Power. They want my support. I want you to tell me if this is a good program or not.”
McIngvale sat down and helped himself to candy in a jar on the desk. Feinberg and Levin waited while Lott skimmed the proposal. He asked a series of questions. How many students had they recruited? What was their curricular emphasis? Would they be using phonics? What did Ms. Verdin think of their program? How much money did they need? How did they plan to use it? The questions were more intelligent and more practical than the ones they had gotten at school district headquarters. After a while, Lott signaled McIngvale that these two boys seemed to have thought it through and might be worth his time.
Mattress Mack greeted this news as if he had just gotten an order from the Marriott Hotel chain. “We’re going to change the world!” he said. “We’re going to change the world!”
“Boys,” he said, “I’ll tell you what. I think what Dr. Lott here says is fantastic, and I think you should use the SRA reading program, the same one he uses. If you agree to use SRA in your reading program, I will pay for it.”
The two teachers had not thought about a reading curriculum. Their lessons would be focused, as Esquith’s were, on reading and analyzing novels. It did not matter much to them which reading program they used to supplement that. They said they would be happy to use SRA. That sealed the deal. From then on, no one in Houston was a bigger supporter of Levin, Feinberg, and KIPP than Mattress Mack, who enjoyed throwing money at them as much as he liked tossing it at television cameras.