We’re Teachers…We’re Drowning (Part 2)
The Berkeley County Board of Education continues to face a growing crisis compounded by population increases and the steady loss of education professionals due to cost-of-living disparities. (Mike Chalmers for West Virginia Watch)
Bargaining Power to Increase Teacher Salaries
“It’s economics 101,” said John Deskins, director of WVU’s Bureau of Business and Economic Research. “If salaries remain the same across the state, schools in more competitive job markets like the Eastern Panhandle will struggle to attract and retain teachers. It’s a matter of supply and demand—higher costs and a stronger labor market require higher pay.”
Berkeley County Schools Superintendent Ryan Saxe, formerly superintendent in Cabell County (WV), echoed the sentiment—and admitted to not fully grasping the depth of the problem until taking his current job. “In my previous county, we competed with Ohio and Kentucky for teachers, but the disparity wasn’t nearly as severe as what we see here with Maryland and Virginia.”
Saxe doesn’t believe West Virginia needs to match those salaries dollar for dollar, “… but we must close the gap,” he affirmed. “Right now, we have around two hundred permanent substitute positions because we can’t fill them with certified staff. That depletes our substitute pool and leaves us constantly reposting vacancies for high-need areas.”
State Senator Patricia Rucker, representing the 16th district (Jefferson County and part of Berkeley), believes part of the issue is Charleston’s reluctance to even acknowledge cost-of-living disparities. “The federal government has already done the research to determine appropriate salary increases for employees based on regional economic conditions,” she maintained. “A similar approach for public employees in high-cost areas in our state makes sense.”
But the push for locality pay has failed repeatedly, she noted, primarily due to opposition from lawmakers outside the Panhandle. “The Senate has passed similar measures three times, only for them to fail in the House. The last time, we were fourteen votes short. That’s a big gap.”
The resistance comes from a long-standing belief in uniform pay across all 55 counties, said Dale Lee, president of the West Virginia Education Association. “But that resistance mindset ignores an economic reality. A few years ago, an attempt to secure locality pay for state police was soundly defeated. The challenge is that while it would benefit a few counties, the majority wouldn’t see any advantage—so their delegates aren’t inclined to support it.”
Instead of direct locality pay, some legislators are exploring alternatives, like reducing the “local share,” which would allow high-growth counties to keep more of their tax revenue to fund education salaries. “If that money is earmarked for salaries and benefits, it could be a real solution,” Lee said.
As Lee indicated, the shortage isn’t limited to teachers—state police, social workers, and other public employees face the same problem in high-cost areas.
Former West Virginia delegate John Doyle has been advocating for locality pay for over thirty years, first proposing a housing allowance in the early 2000s as a way to soften opposition. “The state would provide a housing allowance based on cost-of-living data,” he explained. “Every county would be ranked from one to fifty-five, with the median county serving as the baseline. Any county ranked above the median would receive some level of housing allowance—smaller for those just above, larger for the highest-cost counties.”
He recalled that when cost-of-living data was first released to legislators, some were stunned by the housing prices in the Panhandle. “They assumed we all lived in large homes. I had to explain that I lived in a thousand-square-foot FHA rancher, and it was worth almost double the state average.”
Doyle also warned against the idea that raising salaries in border counties would simply cause a ripple effect of teacher migration. “Salaries don’t need to match Maryland and Virginia—just get close enough. If the gap is twenty thousand dollars, they’ll leave. If it’s ten thousand or less, they might stay.”
But the state has spent decades failing to act. Doyle pointed out that in 1990, West Virginia was ranked 26th in teacher pay after a major statewide raise under Governor Gaston Caperton. By the late nineties, Maryland and Virginia had surged past it once again.
“Every few years, the issue reaches a boiling point, like the 2018 teacher strike, which resulted in a five percent statewide raise—but failed to address the Eastern Panhandle’s unique economic challenges,” he underscored.
With legislative momentum reliably sluggish, greater political action might be required, said Rucker—who also chairs the Government Organization Committee. “If we don’t have enough qualified teachers, we are failing to meet our constitutional obligation to provide an efficient education system. A class action lawsuit could force the state’s hand.”
On the economic side, Deskins sees another consequence of inaction: economic decline. “If schools decline due to this crisis, the region becomes far less appealing. People don’t want to move to areas with struggling schools, which would ultimately slow economic growth.”
Essentially, explained Deskins, West Virginia’s fastest-growing region—the only part of the state successfully attracting new residents—is being left to fend for itself. “From a broad economic-development perspective, we’re making one of the state’s most promising regions less attractive—ultimately working against ourselves.”
The political fight will only continue, and will hopefully play a prominent role in the current legislative session, said Doyle—who believes the Panhandle finally has strength in numbers. “The Eastern Panhandle now has more than ten percent of the legislature. That gives our delegation real bargaining power. If they unify and make this a non-negotiable priority, they can trade support on other bills to get it passed.”
Rucker agreed, “The delegates from this region have better strength in numbers, and are working hard to educate their colleagues and emphasize that this benefits the entire state, not just the Panhandle.”
Nonetheless, Lee remains skeptical. “In my experience, when the legislature makes something a priority, they find the money for it,” he said. “If this becomes a priority, a solution will follow. But that remains to be seen.”
Doyle, however, was more blunt: “At the heart of it all is the fact that the state doesn’t want to give money to teachers because they want to be able to give a giant tax break to corporations.”
(Repeated requests for comment from State Superintendent Michele Blatt went unanswered.)
The Cost of Inaction
Imagine a moment in the near future in the Eastern Panhandle—likely Berkeley or Jefferson Counties—when a brand-new high school opens with all the pomp and circumstance that comes with such occasions. And on day one, as the doors open and the students pour through them en route to homeroom and the new year ahead, not a single certified teacher is there to greet them. Rather, every room, and every subject, is being covered by a substitute.
Sounds crazy? Many education professionals in the Panhandle are calling it something else: inevitable.
“I can easily see that happening—we’re drowning,” exclaimed Jana Woofter, a chemistry and physical science teacher at Spring Mills High School in Martinsburg. Woofter also serves as president of the Berkeley County Education Association.
“Bills are often triple what they are in other parts of the state,” she added. “Housing costs are through the roof. Berkeley County tries to help with a housing allowance, but Jefferson and Morgan counties don’t have those same benefits. Even with the assistance, my members are struggling—especially with PEIA [West Virginia’s Public Employees Insurance Agency] costs rising.”
The struggle isn’t just with the state. Clay Anders, a physical education teacher at C.W. Shipley Elementary in Harpers Ferry (Jefferson County), is frustrated that even as property values have doubled, teachers haven’t seen a county-based raise in over a decade.
“The local levy passed again, and there’s millions in additional revenue coming in – but none of it has gone to us in quite a while,” he observed. “Meanwhile, the board office has added new positions and given themselves raises every year.”
(As of November 6, 2024, the Jefferson County School Excess levy passed with ease – totaling $25,427,656. According to Jefferson County Schools, the bulk of the levy—$19,376,035—will go to “salary assistance for teachers and service personnel.”)
At the same time, Anders pointed out, extra-pay options that once existed for Jefferson County educators have disappeared. “The county cut a program that allowed teachers to earn up to three thousand extra dollars per year. That was real money that made a difference. But then they phased it down to fifteen hundred dollars, and now it’s gone completely.”
The level of participation in that program told him everything he needed to know. “Nearly ninety-eight percent of eligible teachers took part in it,” said Anders. “That should tell you how much we need the money.”
He believes that if the county won’t act, teachers may have to take matters into their own hands. “Maryland and Virginia have county-based unions that fight for local pay,” Anders said. “West Virginia doesn’t. We only have state-level unions, and they aren’t fighting county battles.”
Additionally, Anders and a group of teachers are preparing a Freedom of Information Act request to uncover exactly where the money is going. “The Board claims there’s no money for teacher raises, yet they’re increasing salaries at the top. If every million dollars in new revenue could mean an eight-hundred- to nine-hundred-dollar raise per teacher, then where is that money going?”
The answer, at least in Berkeley County, according to Board of Education member Damon Wright, is complicated. “Most of our budget already goes to salaries. And we’ve denied requests for new administrative positions to keep costs down. But we continue to have growth needs—especially when it comes to mental health services for students, which require more funding.
“That said, every time we dip into reserves, we run the risk of the state stepping in and questioning our financial management. We’ve increased the housing allowance, and we’ll keep looking for ways to supplement pay, but we can’t solve this alone.”
The challenges only get more complex, he recognized, when Charleston refuses to act.
“The state doesn’t believe in cost-of-living adjustments. They think if we raise salaries in high-cost areas like the Panhandle, teachers from rural counties will flood the region. But that’s not realistic. Most teachers in McDowell and similar counties are among the highest-paid professionals in their communities. Here, teachers need roommates just to afford rent.”
Michelle Pereschuk, a special education teacher at South Middle School, called the system broken and confessed that teachers are running out of reasons to stay—including herself.
“I’ve been at the tipping point for years,” she said. “I was born and raised in Berkeley County. My kids are in the school system. I want to stay—but I can’t afford it much longer.”
Like many in the county, Pereschuk’s mortgage swallows her paycheck. She once considered a position in nearby Washington County, Maryland, that would have paid her $11,000 more in the first year and up to $17,000 more over time. She ultimately stayed due to personal reasons, but the pull to leave grows stronger every day.
“Winchester City Schools and Frederick County, [both in Virginia], are twenty minutes from my house. Maryland and Virginia also allow out-of-state teachers to send their kids to school there. For the first three years, you pay a small tuition fee, then your kids attend for free. If I move, I could take my youngest with me and give him a better-funded education while making a lot more money.”
Such decisions aren’t just being measured in Pereschuk’s household, she assured, but rather, in many homes across the region. “Off the top of my head, I can name at least ten people in my school alone who are seriously considering leaving.”
Woofter, who works multiple jobs to make ends meet, added that, even for those who choose to stay, survival requires sacrifices.
“I run the science fair for my school and the county, coordinate academic competitions, tutor, sell tickets at events—anything to make extra money. If I moved across the border, I wouldn’t have to do all that. But I stay because I love it here.”
As for the above-mentioned rising insurance costs, noted Wright, whatever raises the State offers at this point are quickly wiped out by PEIA increases.
“The misconception is that a raise actually means more money,” he contended. “It doesn’t. When insurance premiums jump forty percent, and co-pays triple, as they’re set to do, it’s actually a pay cut. Later this summer, when those PEIA increases hit, I think we’ll see a mass exodus—not just teachers, but public employees across the board.”
Without action, warned Woofter, the situation will only deteriorate. She’s already seeing it play out at her own school. “Spring Mills High School opened in 2013. In just over a decade, fewer than twenty original staff members remain. That kind of turnover is devastating.”
Moreover, continued Wright, Charleston’s inaction is feeding into another, larger movement—the privatization of education.
“Rather than addressing the crisis in public schools, the State is using the decline as an excuse to push private schools, charter schools, and voucher programs,” he said. “The problem is, twenty-five percent of Berkeley County’s students have special needs, and public schools are required to serve them—private schools are not.”
West Virginia doesn’t fully fund those services, indicated Wright, so counties cover the gap. “If lawmakers shift funding away from public schools to private options, that burden grows. They’re letting the system fail so they can justify alternatives.”
At the end of the day, he emphasized, the community, is the last line of defense.
“We’re already in crisis mode—whether the state chooses to address it or not. The public needs to understand just how bad this is getting. And the only way any of this changes is if the public demands it—loudly. If people in the Panhandle make enough noise, Charleston can’t ignore it forever.”
