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Gene Hickok has never shied away from telling people exactly what they don鈥檛 want to hear.

A blustery, snow-blown day this March in a college lecture hall at his alma mater, the University of Virginia, was entirely typical. Wearing a crisp navy suit with a handkerchief tucked neatly in the breastpocket, Hickok, the U.S. undersecretary of education, faced a crowd of education graduate students in jeans and sweatshirts, some still bleary from spring break.

The students training as teachers and, on this morning in Charlottesville, Va., listening to a Republican with a history of clashing with teachers鈥� unions peppered him with piercing questions about Washington鈥檚 freshly extended reach into America鈥檚 elementary and secondary classrooms.

Hickok deftly outlined the new federal law aimed at improving public schools. But he also told the students there should be more alternative paths for teachers to reach classrooms. For instance, Hickok told the crowd, it鈥檚 folly that someone like himself鈥攚ith a couple of advanced degrees and years of educating college students about political science鈥攚ould be barred in many places from teaching a high school civics class.

鈥淭o me, that certification isn鈥檛 the silver bullet we think it is,鈥� Hickok said.

That message, one definitely not calibrated to please, left some students fuming.

鈥淔or him to say we need highly qualified teachers but we don鈥檛 need to move them through a quality education program like this one is asinine,鈥� Craig A. Young, in his second year of the Master of Teaching program, said afterward. 鈥淚鈥檓 $32,000 in debt. That鈥檚 a slap in our faces.鈥�

But Eugene W. Hickok, 52, is a true believer and, until recently, hasn鈥檛 often tempered his message to fit his audience.

Gene Hickok, seen here in his Education Department office, disdains the Washington insider culture. But those watching say he uses his charm and savvy to excel in that environment. 鈥擯hotograph by Allison Shelly

During six years as Pennsylvania鈥檚 secretary of education, Hickok often faced a hostile roster of education advocacy organizations. He spent 16 years as a political science professor at Dickinson College, in Carlisle, Pa., where his conservative politics set him apart from other faculty members. And he helped coordinate the defection of several state schools chiefs from a leading Washington advocacy group in 1995.

But now, holding the No. 3 position in the federal Department of Education, Hickok seems to be acquiring a leadership style that allows him to blaze a path toward his educational and political aims鈥� without burning bridges. Spearheading the implementation of the 鈥淣o Child Left Behind鈥� Act of 2001鈥攖he Bush administration鈥檚 signature educational endeavor鈥� he appears to be adopting a more flexible tone and easing aside the ideological blinders some say he wore to Washington.

On another March day, this time on a chilly Capitol Hill, Hickok stands before a different group: members of Congress grilling him on the No Child Left Behind Act.

As Secretary of Education Rod Paige鈥檚 point man for the reauthorized Elementary and Secondary Education Act, Hickok has the ticklish responsibility for turning legislative theory into a 50-state, 50 million-student reality. The law calls for dramatic national education changes, with more testing, new accountability and teacher-quality rules, and new mandates for public school choice.

During the past few months, the undersecretary has met with dozens of state education chiefs, two hours at a time, to get details on the difficulties they face. At this hearing, before the House appropriations subcommittee responsible for setting federal education spending, Hickok nimbly sprinkles his comments with state-specific information gleaned from those t锚te-脿-t锚tes. His acting training (he earned money for college doing local commercials) is apparent as he adroitly jumps from topic to topic, parrying, placating, and pressing his point.

Since the No Child Left Behind law was enacted, Hickok has been both cheerleader and taskmaster to the states, which must put ambitious new education measures into place in a time of depleted budgets. What Hickok has as leverage is the power to withhold federal money. But the Education Department has never actually punished laggard states in that manner, so Hickok is an enforcer with precious few carrots to dispense and a stick that doesn鈥檛 produce much fear and trembling. But it should, he says.

鈥淲e鈥檙e serious,鈥� he says later during an interview in his panoramic corner office at the department. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 not meant as a threat or as chest-pounding, but I took an oath to enforce the law and I will.鈥�

Many people say Hickok has deftly managed to provide tough love to states, even expanding his sway over No Child Left Behind without much criticism. Last month, he took over on an interim basis for the former assistant secretary for elementary and secondary education.

鈥淗e鈥檚 consolidated his power in the department,鈥� says Jack Jennings, the director of the Washington-based Center on Education Policy. 鈥淵ou get the impression that Hickok is a force on his own, an independent force鈥� within the agency.

But Jennings, a former Democratic House aide, says Hickok has shown early signs of 鈥渉eavy-handedness鈥� by pushing a strict interpretation of the school choice provision within the education law that would force schools to hire extra teachers or build new classrooms to make way for students transferring in from failing schools.

And Joel Packer, a senior lobbyist for the National Education Association, says the nation鈥檚 largest teachers鈥� union has had 鈥渟ignificant disagreements鈥� on implementation of the law. The department is 鈥渧ery strongly鈥� pushing school choice and extra academic help for students in failing schools, 鈥渁lmost above everything else,鈥� Packer says. Hickok, he says, is 鈥渃learly the one driving the decisions and setting the direction and priorities.鈥�

Rep. Peter Hoekstra, a Michigan Republican and a member of the House Education and the Workforce Committee, says he has seen Hickok back states when it comes to the new law, however. And with his background as a state education chief, Hickok brings instant credibility, Hoekstra says.

鈥淢y perspective is that he鈥檒l be as flexible as the law allows,鈥� says Hoekstra, who was among a minority of Republicans who voted against the No Child Left Behind law. 鈥淕ene has gone to bat for Michigan to make sure the law works for us.鈥�

Tom Houlihan, the executive director of the Council of Chief State School Officers, points out that Hickok allowed states to stagger deadlines for compliance plans. 鈥淚f he had taken a hellfire-and-brimstone attitude,鈥� Houlihan says, 鈥渢here would have been huge pushback.鈥�

Hickok had nearly the opposite reputation as education secretary in Pennsylvania. Powerful state lobbies for teachers, administrators, and school board members found him inflexible, and criticized his lack of K-12 education credentials. When he was unexpectedly plucked from relative obscurity by then- Gov. Tom Ridge for the state education post in 1995, his involvement in precollegiate education amounted to less than two years鈥� service on a local school board.

Pennsylvania education leaders say Hickok was chosen solely for his support of vouchers, charter schools, and other forms of school choice鈥� a Ridge priority.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 have anything constructive to say about him,鈥� says Al Fondy, the president of the Pennsylvania Federation of Teachers, an affiliate of the American Federation of Teachers. Fondy and officials of several other statewide groups say Hickok shut them out of nearly every discussion. 鈥淭here was just no relationship there,鈥� Fondy says. He describes Hickok as an 鈥渋mperious鈥� academic, oblivious to the way his philosophies played out.

Hickock says you can鈥檛 be a 鈥減urely ideological person鈥� and govern effectively. Public service, he says, 鈥渞equires a combination of political philosophy and pragmatism.鈥� 鈥擯hotographs by Allison Shelley/澳门跑狗论坛

Born in Denver and raised mostly in Richmond, Va., Hickok went to both public and private schools before getting a 1972 degree in government and foreign affairs from Virginia鈥檚 Hampden-Sydney College. He then got a master鈥檚 degree in public administration and a doctorate in government, both from the University of Virginia.

While teaching political science at Dickinson College (where he earned several 鈥渙utstanding teaching鈥� awards), he took leaves to be an adjunct scholar at the conservative Heritage Foundation and, though he is not a lawyer, to work on constitutional-law issues in the Reagan Justice Department.

Aside from raising two children who attended public schools, it was not until he got elected to the board of Pennsylvania鈥檚 4,800-student Carlisle Area School District in 1993 that Hickok stepped into an active role in K-12 education. Almost immediately after he was sworn in, teachers there went on strike in a bitter feud that Hickok acknowledges colored his later dealings with unions.

He was such a newcomer to the scene that when he became Pennsylvania education secretary, Hickok didn鈥檛 even know where the state education offices were located. Recalling his first moments in his new digs, Hickok says, 鈥淚 remember looking around and saying, 鈥楴ow what do I do?鈥� 鈥�

As state schools chief, he helped push through controversial new standards for students and teachers, as well as reading and technology programs. He was instrumental in slashing the education budget while increasing the number of programs administered, and helped put in place the Education Empowerment Act, which gives the state the right to intervene in troubled districts. Hickok also fought hard鈥攂ut unsuccessfully鈥攆or conservative-agenda standbys like vouchers and privatization of school management.

He honed his political skills, too. In the battle over charter schools in Pennsylvania, for example, Hickok came up with a political 鈥渕asterstroke,鈥� says Charles B. Zogby, who took Hickok鈥檚 Pennsylvania position when the Washington job came calling. Though the state had no law permitting the independent public schools until 1997, federal money was available earlier for charter school 鈥減lanning grants.鈥� Hickok spread those grants throughout the state, and by the time charter school legislation reached state lawmakers, a built-in constituency was pressing them to pass it. And they did.

Critics say Hickok鈥檚 gains left Pennsylvania public education gasping for breath. 鈥淭he schools are absolutely worse now,鈥� says Patsy J. Tallarico, the president of the Pennsylvania State Education Association, the state affilate of the NEA. 鈥淭here was so much we could have done together.鈥�

But others say part of the reason education groups reviled Hickok was that 鈥渉e was so damn effective,鈥� according to Millersville University political scientist Charles E. Greenawalt, who attended the University of Virginia with Hickok and shares many of his views. 鈥淣o one liked going head to head with him,鈥� Greenawalt says. 鈥淗e terrorized them, quite frankly, in terms of being such a very good spokesperson for the Ridge administration.鈥�

Hickok says, even in hindsight, he would not have operated differently. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 regret the strategy I used,鈥� he says, though it prompted some political enemies to dub him 鈥淲ild Gene鈥� in a reference to his distant ancestor, the U.S. marshal and frontier legend Wild Bill Hickok.

Hickok wasn鈥檛 satisfied with a mere shake-up on the state level. During his days as a state education honcho, he also bucked the traditional education lobbying forces at the national level by breaking ranks with the Washington-based Council of Chief State School Officers, which counted most top state education leaders as members.

What he saw as a mostly liberal- leaning organization wasn鈥檛 speaking for him, Hickok says. 鈥淭he membership cost a fortune, and they were lobbying for things I didn鈥檛 agree with,鈥� he says.

He and several other members defected and formed their own, more conservative group, the Education Leaders Council, in 1995. Hickok now says he鈥檚 worked hard to make peace with the CCSSO. Houlihan says Hickok has spoken at every CCSSO event for which his presence was requested. But that doesn鈥檛 mean the newer group has fallen off Hickok鈥檚 radar screen.

Since Mr. Bush took office, the ELC has received $3.5 million in grants from the Education Department, and Congress recently appropriated another $10 million through the department. Hickok says he had no influence on those spending decisions.

And though he isn鈥檛 cheek by jowl with the NEA, the national union鈥檚 relationship with Hickok is nowhere near as acrimonious as Hickok鈥檚 link with the state association. Though the NEA鈥檚 interaction with the department has been 鈥渓imited,鈥� Packer says, officials of the union have had meetings with both Paige and Hickok. In those meetings, Hickok has come across as 鈥渟mooth and somewhat soothing,鈥� says Packer. 鈥淗e鈥檚 not overly confrontational.鈥�

Ridge, who has now gone on to head the new federal Department of Homeland Security, originally floated Hickok鈥檚 name for U.S. secretary of education. Though Hickok didn鈥檛 get the No. 1 job鈥攈e鈥檚 making $142,500 a year as undersecretary 鈥攊t鈥檚 no accident that Hickok is implementing the high-profile No Child Left Behind Act.

鈥淚 want to be where the action is,鈥� Hickok says, sitting on a couch in his office, with a wall full of framed awards rising above his head.

But he doesn鈥檛 necessarily embrace the arena. A trim man who runs regularly to blow off steam, Hickok keeps a glass 鈥渏argon jar鈥� on his table (currently sporting a few dollar bills), levying a $1 fine on anyone who utters a sentence like: 鈥淎YP is due FYI by COB.鈥� (鈥淎YP鈥� is the policy mavens鈥� shorthand for the law鈥檚 鈥渁dequate yearly progress鈥� mandate.) He returns home to his wife in Carlisle (population: 17,980) nearly every weekend. 鈥淚鈥檓 not a Washington insider,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 think I can do a good job at what I do because I鈥檓 rooted in something else.鈥�

But he has the charm and polish of an insider, and the confidence to train his wit on himself. He jokes that he likes to sit at his desk, with the American flag on a stand behind him, his floor-to-ceiling windows affording a view of the U.S. Capitol over his shoulder and say, 鈥淚鈥檓 a very important man.鈥�

Though he sees himself sticking with the administration to follow through on the new education law, he doesn鈥檛 expect to return to Dickinson College when his stint at the department is over.

鈥淚 would like to find a way to broaden my portfolio,鈥� he says. 鈥淢y field is really much broader than education.鈥�

During his work at the Heritage Foundation, Hickok studied and wrote about federalism and limiting the national government鈥檚 power. A framed copy of the 鈥�10 principles of federalism鈥� hangs on his office wall, along with a signed picture of President Reagan, and one of the U.S. Supreme Court with signatures below the row of black robes.

Greenawalt, the political scientist at Pennsylvania鈥檚 Millersville University, says he鈥檚 sure that the No Child Left Behind Act, and its raft of new federal dictates on the states, must at times make Hickok think twice.

鈥淓ducation should be directed locally, but all too often there are few people that have the specialized knowledge needed,鈥� Greenawalt says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the real intellectual quandary in education reform.鈥�

In a 1990 Heritage Foundation paper, Hickok wrote that the U.S. Constitution 鈥渆stablishes a national government of limited and enumerated powers and reserves all other power not delegated to the national government to the states and the citizens.鈥� He openly criticized Congress for overreaching into the realm of state and local government.

Hickok acknowledges a disconnect at times between his philosophical roots and his current responsibilities.

鈥淚f I were a purely ideological person, ... I鈥檇 have a hard time in any administration,鈥� he says. 鈥淭o govern requires a combination of political philosophy and pragmatism.鈥�

Coverage of leadership issues in education鈥攊ncluding governance, management, and labor relations鈥攊s supported by the Broad Foundation.