The day Superintendent Greg Goins and Principal Stephanie Wood walked through the doors at Joppa-Maple Grove for the first time together, they were stepping into a district that had just survived a tough stretch. The town had recently fought off a merger that would have dissolved its identity into a larger neighboring district. The local power co-op—its largest taxpayer—had closed. Maple Grove Elementary had shut its doors. "It was kind of a tough time," Greg says. But in Joppa, those challenges became a rallying cry.

From the beginning, Goins and Wood knew this would be a different kind of partnership. They didn't meet until after Greg was hired, but when he saw her name cross his desk—an award-winning Kentucky principal who had just retired three days earlier—he didn't hesitate. "I knew that the success, any success I would have, would be directly tied to how good the quality of administration that we had," he says. "Once I found out she was interested, I put the full-court press on her. I felt like I was a college football recruiter." She accepted, and Joppa gained two leaders whose balance of vision and execution has begun to reshape everything from the mood in the halls to the trajectory of its students.

They call it Elevate38—a shared pledge to raise every element of district life, from classrooms to culture. "We call it School Leadership 2.0," Greg explains. "I am retired from Kentucky schools,” Wood says, “and Dr. Goins is coming from college experiences.  We are on our second opportunity to make a difference. The goal is simple - let's elevate everything we do as a school district and keep pushing forward. Let's get better every single day and reach new heights."

Their priorities lined up from the start. "It was interesting how our priorities lined up so well from an educational standpoint," Greg says. "It was the fact that we were both all about the kids here," Stephanie adds. "And that's how I thrive, is being about the kids." The partnership works because their temperaments do. He dreams big; she makes those dreams real. "He's the car salesman," she teases. "And then I go do it. I can go make it happen."

But what they’ve built together is more than a management style. It’s a spirit of renewal in a region, like so many across the country, that’s been shaped by shifting populations, fewer job opportunities, and rising economic pressures. Instead of dwelling on those realities, Greg and Stephanie focus on what this generation needs to thrive. “Our goal is to make sure every student here graduates with the skills and confidence to succeed anywhere,” Greg says. “Whether that’s college, a trade, or something entirely different, we’re preparing them for a world that keeps changing. That’s what Elevate38 is really about.”

Kids here used to wear their zip code like a limitation. "They would say, 'Well, this is Joppa,'" Stephanie recalls. Now the message is different. "We want all of our kids to understand that you're not limited to what you can do in your life," Greg says. "Just because you live in Joppa, there are tons of opportunities out there. We want to provide them with the tools."

That mindset shift has shown up everywhere. They've introduced a STEAM lab—something even larger districts nearby don't have. "Massac doesn't have that, and they're down the road," Stephanie notes. They've filled the hallways with digital displays celebrating student achievements. "You would have thought we bought a new gym," Stephanie laughs. "People stop and stare at those screens to find their kids." Tonight at the fall festival, the building will be packed. "You won't be able to get a parking spot," Greg says. "The whole community, you drive through town, you're like, where's everybody? Tonight when they get here, they'll all be here."

They've even installed a Coke machine outside for neighbors who don't want to drive to Metropolis for a drink, and put computers in the building for community use. "It's a small thing," Greg says, "but it's about being responsive."

Part of what makes the message of possibility believable is the way they run the place. Both insist on a culture of trust—one where teachers aren't micromanaged but supported. "I don't harp on them about everything that they do," Stephanie says. "We don't focus on every moment that they're teaching and tell them everything they're doing wrong. We try to focus on one or two things a year. It's not like we're out to catch them, we're here to help them." That sense of mutual respect has rebuilt confidence after years of instability. "They had a different principal three years in a row," she recalls. "They just kind of did their own thing" because they knew change was coming again. "But they know that we're here for three years at least."

Community support has followed. Board members are deeply engaged but not overreaching. "I've worked with some challenging boards throughout my career," Greg says, "but this is by far the most supportive, nurturing group of people that I've ever had the pleasure of working with." Parents, once hesitant to set foot in the school, now drop by easily—sometimes just to visit. "Some of our parents didn't have great experiences in school.  Due to those experiences, they struggle returning to school with fear of facing more negative experiences. But by making this more inviting—and it was not inviting when we first got here, it was pretty ugly at times—by making this an open spot, our parents come in who have nothing and they have said how big of a difference it has been just for them to come in and not feel like they're doing something wrong."

Greg has a philosophy about discipline that shapes how they handle problems. "My favorite all-time TV show is The Andy Griffith Show—the black and white version," he says. "I always talk about how we need more Andy Griffiths and fewer Barney Fifes. Let's find a way to solve problems where it's a win and everybody walks away feeling good about the situation. It's easy to turn to page 23 of the Student handbook and this is what it says you're supposed to do. But is that really going to solve the problem?"

That approach is working. "We didn't have any suspensions last year," Stephanie says. "I'd rather sit and talk to a kiddo for 30 minutes and figure out what's going on and help them fix it or sometimes just listen to them share, rather than to just suspend them."

The greatest compliment they've received since arriving? "We've been called fixers," Greg says. "We are not people who if we see something that doesn't work or we know in our heart that we can do something better, we're not going to sit back. We're going to really dive into it and fix the problem. And so over a period of time, you start fixing problems. And then as you fix problems, you build trust, and then believe it or not, other people want to help you start solving problems, and you build that momentum."

They also want to create a culture where failure is okay. "We're not afraid of change," Greg says. "And if we fail, it's okay," Stephanie adds. "We'll just try something different. We want to create that culture in the building with not only our teachers, but our kids too. It's okay to fail. That's one of the best ways to learn."

The results are showing. High-achieving students are heading to places like the University of Kentucky's engineering program—out of a senior class of just 14 students. Jimmy Barnett scored a 34 on the ACT math section. Others embody a quieter kind of excellence. "We have one of our girls who works as a manager at Fazoli’s 40 hours a week," 

Stephanie says. "She's helping to raise her younger two siblings most of the time and still comes to school. She's a senior this year. She's gonna go out and do whatever she needs to do, and she's going to be successful at it. To me, that matters as much as those academics do."

Stephanie has watched the work ethic shift over years of hiring kids to work on her family's hay farm. "We went from kiddos who would come in and work all day, come back the next day, work again, to one dayers and then you got to half a dayers and then they come in for about an hour and they're like, I'm out," she says. "They're not used to having to do that real work. Nobody wants to do what they call the little jobs, but they have to be done. We want our kiddos to be ready to work hard and hold down a job even if it’s difficult."

And the broader community has rallied. Alumni like Gary Miller have been transformative, funding everything from the STEAM lab to a senior trip to Gulf Shores. "Some of them have never seen the ocean," Stephanie says. The annual fish fry, the fall festival, and even the haunted house built out of trash bags—each fills the building wall to wall.

"We talk a lot about grit, growth, and grace," Stephanie says. "It's more than a slogan—it's a daily conversation. Grace is treating people right. Growth is never settling. And grit is what holds it all together."

What they've created at Joppa-Maple Grove isn't luck. It's leadership rooted in compassion and the belief that small places can still dream big. "We both love what we're doing," Stephanie says. "And I had lost that love, you know, and so this place opened that up again."

In a world where change can feel heavy, that rediscovery—of love, of trust, of purpose—may be Joppa's most remarkable lift of all.