By Dr. Kevin W. Parson
Walk into Baltimore Collegiate School for Boys on any weekday morning and you feel it immediately: a sense of purpose. Ties are straightened, hands are shaken and young men are greeted as “scholars,” not as problems to be managed. This is not cosmetic branding; it is a deliberate counter-narrative to what too many Black boys in Baltimore have been told about themselves.
My understanding of the value of all-male education began long before my career in leadership. As a student at Cardinal Gibbons School—a Catholic, all-male, college-preparatory academy that served Baltimore from 1962 until its closing in 2010—I walked hallways built intentionally for boys: academically, athletically and spiritually. Expectations were clear: work hard, be accountable and grow into a man who serves his community. That formation mattered. It shaped me deeply and became one of the reasons I later co-founded Bluford Drew Jemison STEM Academy for Boys.
Baltimore has a long, proud tradition of male academic institutions shaping generations of young men. Baltimore City College, founded in 1839, operated as an all-male school for roughly 140 years. During that period, its graduates became doctors, lawyers, judges, mayors and members of Congress—including figures such as the late Congressman Elijah Cummings and Sen. Charles E. Sydnor III. “City,” as it is known, proved that when boys learn in spaces built for them, they rise.
Baltimore Polytechnic Institute (“Poly”) offers another example. Established in 1883, Poly built its reputation as a rigorous engineering and technical high school for young men—producing STEM professionals long before the acronym existed. Alumni include patent owners, professors, judges and civic leaders. Dr. Carl O. Clark, Poly’s first African American graduate in 1955, went on to become the first African American to earn a physics degree from the University of South Carolina. Alumni such as former Judge William “Billy” Murphy and former City Council President Nick Mosby further illustrate the school’s impact.
These institutions did not “fix” every boy, nor should they be romanticized as perfect. But they demonstrate a powerful truth: when schools are intentionally designed around the developmental needs of young men, they cultivate achievement, leadership and character at scale. They also provide an essential counterforce to the school-to-prison pipeline that disproportionately harms Black boys.
Today, all-boys schools for students of color—such as Bluford Drew Jemison STEM Academy, Banneker Blake Academy of Arts and Sciences, and Baltimore Collegiate School for Boys—are not luxuries. They are strategic interventions in a system that has never been structurally designed with Black boys at its center. These schools create identity-safe environments, culturally responsive teaching and brotherhood-oriented cultures that research shows can improve engagement, behavior and long-term outcomes for boys of color.
Given their purpose and the magnitude of need, closing these schools should never be the first option when challenges arise. Instead, districts should provide targeted technical assistance, governance support, and oversight to help them stabilize and thrive. If board functioning is an issue, restructure it. If financial controls are weak, strengthen them. If compliance gaps appear, address them aggressively and transparently. But do not abandon the boys these institutions were built to serve.
We must confront a sobering truth: In Baltimore, Black boys are statistically more likely to be pushed out of school than to complete a four-year degree. In that context, the question becomes unavoidable: Do we repair and fortify the institutions designed to elevate our boys, or do we let them sink and pretend we had no choice?
In closing, standing with our boys is not a matter of convenience—it is a moral imperative. From my years at Cardinal Gibbons, I know what it feels like to learn in a place where every hallway, ritual and relationship communicates: “This place was built with you in mind.” I know what it means to have teachers who understand boys, who push them and who refuse to let them live down to society’s low expectations.
Maintaining schools like Baltimore Collegiate—and honoring the legacy of Bluford Drew Jemison and Banneker Blake—requires more than symbolic praise. If we are serious about dismantling the school-to-prison pipeline, then we must fund such schools, support their governance and fight for their longevity. When we close these institutions, we are not simply shutting buildings. We are sending a message about whose futures we are willing to invest in—and whose we are not.
The opinions expressed in this commentary are those of the writer and not necessarily those of the AFRO.