This 1980s high school principal changed a troubled teenager’s life and made his quarter century journalism writing career possible.

Dr. Edith Pewitt
I was a really self-absorbed, troubled, 1980s teenager mourning the death of my maternal grandfather when I attended the Career Planning Academy high school in Fort Worth, Texas. Had Dr. Pewitt not kicked me in the hiney when I needed it back in high school, I never would have had the guts or the college education to do a lot of things. For instance, I jumped from a airplane, had the experience filmed, then wrote a news story and also made a film about it as a reporter for the Baytown Sun in 2010. Check it out!

(Editor’s Note: This Ben Tinsley column originally ran in the Jan. 7, 2013 edition of the Jacksonville Daily Progress. A revised version ran in the June 29, 2017 edition of the Burleson Star.)


FORT WORTH, Tx. — As an educator, Dr. Edith Pewitt elevated the minds of many Texas high school teenagers teaching chemistry, biology, physics and physical science. But it was during her tenure as principal of the former Career Planning Academy that she literally transformed their lives.

Dr. Edith Marie “Mimi” Pewitt died Dec. 21, 2012, at the age of 86. There was a obituary about her published December 2012, but it did not mention the time she spent as the principal of the Career Planning Academy, a now-defunct Fort Worth, Texas alternative school.

It’s a shame that the obit left out that part of Dr. Pewitt’s life. Please allow me to amend that oversight.

As I was saying, Dr. Pewitt was brilliant, empathetic, and tough as nails. And she never — EVER — gave up on her students.

Looking at the school in its heyday, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell the impact this educator made.

CPA was located on 1.4 acres of property — 59,130 square feet of land — on East Vickery, off Vickery Boulevard and nearly adjacent to Interstate 30 in Fort Worth.

Let’s clarify how small a property that is: Fort Worth’s Paschal High School currently is 1,084,100 square feet of land on 24.8875 acres, according to the Tarrant County Appraisal District.

Despite its diminutive size, the school housed an auditorium, cafeteria, principal’s office and several upstairs and downstairs classrooms.

High schoolers of all ages and some middle schoolers were allowed to attend the Career Planning Academy. A care center for disadvantaged kids also bused students to the school.

This, by the way, was around 1983. This is when I first strolled across Dr. Pewitt’s cunning radar.

And afterward? I never was the same.

I met a good friend of mine, Danny, there at the school because he was a guest of that care center.

Many students were assigned to CPA kind of a “last stop before the REALLY rough alternative school.” (I forget the name of that particular “last stop” Fort Worth ISD school. Let’s call it “HELL HIGH.”)

Contrary to its name, the Career Planning Academy was not a trade school — at least not while I was there. It was a basic high school and upper-level middle school, if very small.

And, as far as the student body was concerned, it was the original melting pot.

There, students were from all races, religions, and creeds. Among them were African Americans, Caucasians, Latinos, and Asians. Some were straight and others gay.

Most of them, myself included, smoked cigarettes.

There were several different social classes at play. Before the first class bell rang each morning, a few kids would sneak a smoke outside, while others would practice their break dancing moves inside by the cafeteria.

The Career Planning Academy admitted students with emotional, educational, and/or legal problems. I was one of the few students actually enrolled there by parents.

Dr. Pewitt made it a point to work closely with those who needed her the most — such as Johnny, a student in his 20s who had been forced by life’s obstacles to drop out of school earlier.

When Johnny was accepted to the Career Planning Academy, it was a second chance to get his diploma and do something with his life. Dr. Pewitt helped him make the most of that chance.

Johnny (at age 22!) walked across the graduation stage with me in 1985 and I know that was a huge point of pride, both for him and for Dr. Pewitt.

There was a lot of teaching to be done at CPA. One good friend of mine, for instance, could barely read when he first attended school there. The teachers there worked with him until those reading skills were up to par and he graduated.

Why was I there? My maternal grandfather, Ray Miller, my PePa, had died on Christmas Day 1983. In his absence I was trapped in kind of an emotional tunnel. This added even more chaos to what had always been a tumultuous, rebellious, insane childhood.

I refused to return to a boarding school I had been attending after PePa died.

I insisted on returning to school in Fort Worth.

My Mom and Dad agreed to enroll me at a smaller, less-hectic Fort Worth school — in this case, the Career Planning Academy.

Transitioning to CPA wasn’t easy. This tunnel I spoke about was a kind of trauma. I had trouble talking to people or even looking them in the eye when I first came to CPA.

I was pretty much a zombie during classes; during lunch I would sit in the front office rather than interact with the other students.

This went on for quite awhile.

Then things started to change. One day in the front office, I noticed Dr. Pewitt in the hallway looking at me with a concerned expression on her face. She was standing next to our guidance counselor, talking to him. She nodded at him, he nodded at her, and the next thing I knew I was in the counselor’s office being gently encouraged to make new friends.

Dr. Pewitt never talked to me directly about my solitude, but I always felt her presence, nudging me toward the light.

One of the interesting aspects of this very, very small school is we would have occasional group sessions. There, we would discuss our problems with a licensed counselor.

One day during one of those sessions, my counselor asked me point blank why I never came out of the office at lunch.

I was shocked at the audacity and straightforwardness of his question.

I really did not want to answer it. Honestly, I had no answer.

But just briefly confronting the problem like that, like the counselor did, triggered some kind of shift within me. It was around that time I felt something inside me start to thaw.

The staff here wasn’t rushing me, but they were definitely starting to draw me out of my shell.

And life was waiting for me on the other side.

Each time a teacher or staff member would ask — in a matter-of-fact manner — if I wanted to go outside with the other students at lunch, I would feel myself moving closer to the door to the school yard.

One day, I blinked and found myself outside. I was talking to students and making new friends. That day, I became fast friends with a girl named Toby and her boyfriend, the aforementioned Danny.

My ice-breaking friendship with Toby and Danny meant a lot, as did my friendship with a thoughtful young man named Jason. (I actually eventually went on a couple of “double dates” with Jason as my wingman. But this all took place much, much later. After I gained more emotional footing.)

Back at CPA, I started talking to Jana, a pretty redhead on whom I had a massive crush. (But, like Charlie Brown, I just didn’t have any luck with redheads. OR, in the case of my first marriage, TOO MUCH luck.)

Every now and then, when chatting with Toby and Danny outside during lunch, I would glance at the windows to the school and notice Dr. Pewitt right there carefully watching me.

I think she winked at me one of those times. I could be wrong.

Don’t misunderstand me: Subtlety was NOT Dr. Pewitt’s area. She could be as loud and bombastic as she needed to be to get her point across to the more belligerent students.

There were many, many, many “tough guys” at my school who were terrified of her.

And they were right to be scared. I remember incurring her wrath one particular time.

I had been foolish enough to join a group of students exiting a classroom in protest to the way one substitute was teaching. I think we didn’t like the sub’s politics or something.

The lot of us — high school students all full of ourselves — trotted down the stairs, only to find Dr. Pewitt waiting for us.

She was not happy.

We tried to explain what we were doing, but Dr. Pewitt proceeded to stomp her feet, yell, wave her fists and generally scare the attitude right out of us.

We RAN — not walked — back to the classroom. And that was that.

The school in general generated more than a little drama.

Dr. Pewitt, by the way, was a larger lady, but you’d never know that by the way she moved during a crisis.

One day my senior year, a bloodcurdling scream came from the upstairs men’s room.

Dr. Pewitt seemingly defied gravity, bolting from her downstairs office, up the stairs to the men’s room in seconds flat.

She deftly handled that situation, although my memory fails me as to the specifics of what exactly happened or how. I think a bunch of students were group fighting in the upstairs Men’s room.

Then … things got even more interesting.

There was a media explosion. A huge, breaking story for the time.

An alleged member of Paschal High School’s “Legion Of Doom” student vigilante group was suspended from his home school, Paschal.

He was then reassigned to the Career Planning Academy. This was the very semester he was slated to graduate.

This student was a bit of a jerk, and didn’t really make any new friends at CPA. But Dr. Pewitt made sure he fit in safely and seamlessly and ultimately graduated without harassing anyone or being harassed.

He opted to have his diploma mailed to his house.

It was while at CPA that I started really, really working on my writing.

I wrote elaborate essays under the encouragement of my favorite CPA English teacher, Vivia Daniels.

I penned a one-act play for my drama class.

I created poems for the literary magazine and news stories for the school paper.

As a point of fact, I was made editor of the school newspaper, my first such hiring.

Unfortunately, I was also fired from the job for mishandling a couple of personnel situations. (I raised my voice at a couple of our school newspaper reporters.)


At one point toward the end of my senior year, I made a decision to join the Texas Army National Guard immediately after graduation.

My Texas Army National Guard recruiter asked me to come by his office to sign some paperwork during a school day.

I told Dr. Pewitt what I needed to do — and she drove me to the National Guard armory herself.

Like I said, Dr. Pewitt never, ever, gave up on me.

I was behind on several subjects when I first came to her school, but she and my teachers worked with me regularly to make sure I would complete my classes and graduate on time in the spring of 1985.

The Career Planning Academy was known for its small graduations. Sometimes only one person would walk across the stage. Other times, a handful of students would cross the stage.

My particular graduating class consisted of three. I’m pretty sure that made me either valedictorian or salutatorian.

I was offered the opportunity to attend my home school graduation, which in this case was the aforementioned Paschal High School.

I thought about it, but ultimately opted to cross the stage only at CPA. As far as I was concerned, the Career Planning Academy was my school. My place. MY alma mater.

Like Dr. Barry B. Thompson would do for me with Tarleton State University years later, Dr. Pewitt made the Career Planning Academy my school. My only school.

Unfortunately, I never saw Dr. Pewitt again after graduation.

I tried to locate her late in 2012 to thank her for everything she had done for me. To my dismay, I learned she had already passed away.

And reading her obituary, one might get the mistaken impression she only worked at Grapevine High School. But that is so very far from the truth.

I have not been able to determine how many years Dr. Pewitt was in charge at the Career Planning Academy, but I know for a fact it was long enough to change many, many lives.

There are a lot of well-adjusted adults out there who can speak to that.

Dr. Pewitt deserves so much more than to fade into obscurity following a small obituary.

She deserves to have scholarships named after her.

She deserves candlelight vigils held by her former students.

Tears should be shed and the lessons she taught should be recounted.

There are quite a few Career Planning Academy alums on the straight and narrow who might not have been so if not for this dogged, tenacious, educator.

These alums were once the students Dr. Pewitt took under her wing.

They were extremely lucky to have had that experience at this tiny little school off Interstate 30 in Fort Worth, Texas.

The Career Planning Academy literally changed lives.

Our lives.

My life.

All of us.

Ben Tinsley, CPA Class of ’85, is managing editor and senior reporter of the Burleson Star. He can be reached at or 702–524–3773. Also, @BenTinsley on Twitter.