At Constance E. Clayton’s funeral, 17 speakers she handpicked told stories of a no-nonsense but loving schools chief

Until the end, Constance E. Clayton would never leave the fate of issues she cared about to chance.

It surprised no one, then, that she planned the funeral service that celebrated her Thursday, leaving detailed notes about who should sing and what, who should give remembrances — she chose 17 speakers, some of whom were left specific instructions about the topics they should cover — and how the order of service should be arranged.

But even the indomitable Clayton, the trailblazing former Philadelphia superintendent who died Sept. 18 at age 89, could not have choreographed the outpouring of love and deep respect that her death inspired.

» READ MORE: Constance Clayton, Philadelphia’s first Black and female schools superintendent, has died at 89

About 200 people — a who’s who of education and political personalities — gathered at the African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas in West Philadelphia to pay respects to Clayton. Mayor John F. Street spoke, as did Superintendent Tony B. Watlington Sr. and Philadelphia Federation of Teachers president Jerry Jordan. Former Superintendent William R. Hite Jr. attended, as did the entire current school board and Cherelle Parker, Democratic nominee for mayor.

Philadelphia knew Clayton as a no-nonsense chief of what was the fifth-largest school system in the country during her tenure, from 1982 to 1993 — the woman who took a school system battered by strikes, deficits and the handing out of patronage jobs, and then calmed the waters, standardizing curriculum across the city and insisting on high standards for all.

Clayton was so esteemed in the city that at a party marking Darryl Ford’s retirement as head of school at Penn Charter, the longtime friend of Clayton’s felt like second banana because people wanted to greet Clayton before they wished him well.

“Dr. Constance E. Clayton was the star, and we were the players on her stage,” said Ford, one of the speakers.

Aruby White, who was Clayton’s friend and East Mount Airy neighbor for decades, knew Clayton as a devoted friend with a soft side, someone who loved antiques, jewelry and old Hollywood movies.

“She was funny, and she loved to make jokes, especially about politics,” White said at the funeral. White eventually moved to Los Angeles; when Clayton learned she was coming back to Philadelphia to visit, she told White she must stay with her, and if White tried to refuse, Clayton said she’d call the Philadelphia Police Department and have her barred from entering the city.

And Clayton loved learning; even when her body grew frail in recent years, her mind was sharp. She recently brushed up on her knitting skills and had begun to knit scarves to give to needy children this winter.

Clayton revered her mother, who died in 2004. When she made donations to causes, Clayton often asked that the gifts be made not in her name, but, “In memory of Willabell Clayton.”

Willabell Clayton instilled in her daughter a desire to do right, to stand up against injustice.

When Cecil B. Moore, then-president of the Philadelphia chapter of the NAACP, contested the will of the banker Stephen Girard in an attempt to integrate Girard College, Clayton was one of the teenagers who protested outside the North Philadelphia school for months, in all weather. Her mother would drive home children who needed a ride, said Gloria Blount, a friend of Clayton’s.

Deidre Farmbry, who spent years as a special assistant to Clayton at the school district, learned much from her about “leadership that dares to accomplish the impossible.” But her favorite conversations happened around Clayton’s kitchen table, when they ate sandwiches and talked about their lives.

Clayton, Farmbry said, had “a quick tongue for lashing out against absurdities and inequities.” At the same time, she never failed to ask about Farmbry’s son. She called those she loved “sweetheart.”

As the Constance Clayton Professor of Urban Education at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education, Howard Stevenson became close to Clayton. She was deeply involved in planning a yearly lecture that bore her name, sometimes calling Stevenson four times a day to fine-tune details.

At one recent lecture, Clayton was displeased with an answer given to a child who asked a question about why African American history wasn’t more emphasized in most social studies curricula. She thought the speaker didn’t answer robustly or seriously enough. So Clayton addressed the question herself, from the audience, and then directed the child to ask the question again.

The speaker didn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Whatever Dr. Clayton wants, she’s going to get it,” said Stevenson.

Watlington was nervous the first time he met Clayton, he said. He arrived at her house 10 minutes early, made sure he was wearing a sharp tie. He was new in town, recently arrived in Philadelphia to lead the school system after years in education in North Carolina, and he wanted to make a good impression.

» READ MORE: Philly schools poised to rename headquarters for former superintendent Constance Clayton

In 2020, a survey of superintendents revealed that 3.4% were Black. Just 1.5% were Black women. Watlington said he was eager to learn from a woman who became Philadelphia’s first Black and first female superintendent 40 years before.

“She had this national reputation as the premier superintendent in these United States,” said Watlington. And she became his friend and adviser, calling him as recently as three days before her death to talk about after-school programs, math curricula and year-round school.

Watlington has proposed renaming the district’s headquarters for Clayton, which the school board will consider at a future meeting.

Another speaker at the funeral, Pennsylvania Education Secretary Khalid Mumin, brought the condolences of Gov. Josh Shapiro, and his own deep respect for Clayton.

In the late ‘80s, Mumin, who grew up in the city’s Logan section, was a struggling student at Olney High School. He had to repeat ninth grade. But Clayton mobilized him with a speech given to young athletes at a church breakfast.

“She basically told us to get off the sidelines and do something,” Mumin said. He never forgot that. And when he became an educator, he told her.

“I’m just one example,” Mumin said, “of the effect that Dr. Clayton had on us.”