"You build a school like you would build a prison," Payne said.

For years they were. Corridors were dark, narrow, and numerous. Classrooms were uniform, and often windowless. Brick was the building material of choice.

It was the "kids on a grid" model of school architecture and design.

Then, as a facilities administrator for the Davis School District in 1996, Payne noticed that principals kept asking for design changes. After listening to suggestions from students, teachers, parents and school administrators, Payne and others in his department realized the district's long-standing design prototype was obsolete.

"We were building one thing, and they were trying to teach in something that didn't fit anymore," he said.

Payne's story is part of an emerging plea for rethinking and reworking the way public schools are designed.

The arguments in favor of better architecture aren't limited to aesthetics. Studies by the Council of Educational Facility Planners International show that increased exposure to natural light increases student and teacher morale, improves test scores, and may even cut down on absenteeism and truancy. Harnessing natural light can also cut down on energy costs.

In his new book published by St. Martin's Press, "Smart Kids, Dumb Schools: 38 Ways to Save America's Future," Brian Crosby, a 20-year English teacher in Los Angeles schools, lists eliminating teachers' unions and requiring parents to pay tuition for public education as ways to improve the quality of education. The first chapter, however, recommends a complete national overhaul in school design. Crosby's take also echoes Payne's first job advice: America's schools resemble prisons and fortresses to an alarming degree. It's not good for children, and speaks volumes about how we value education when we warehouse children in brick boxes.

"The school building is the first thing you see when you drop your kids off in the morning, and it says a lot," Crosby said in a telephone interview. "Certainly the kids understand what a prison-like edifice is all about."

Walk into any new school built in Davis School District since Payne and the facilities department overhauled the district's prototype more than 10 years ago and the impact is immediate. Instead of a hall, you're greeted by open space. Light pours into the structure from almost every angle. Halls are so wide they become gathering places. High ceilings are accentuated by glass walls large enough to check the weather outside. Brushed steel graces stairwells inside, with corrugated steel contrasting with concrete outside.

All these elements combine in Syracuse High School, which Davis School District opened last year to 1,800 students. The school's north end splits off into separate wings or "academies" to emphasize smaller centers of learning communities.

The design of the Davis district's West Point Junior High School by Salt Lake City architecture firm Valentiner, Crane, Burnjes and Onyon received an award from the Council of Educational Facility Planners International in 2004.

Utah lawmakers in the past were less than impressed, accusing the district of building pricey Taj Mahals at taxpayer expense. In reality, Payne said, such buildings compare favorably in price to bland, brick-heavy designs.

"We showed them the buildings, showed them the cost, and the issue died," he said.

Even when limited by building materials, Davis School District's new schools achieve striking results. When one parent phoned to complain about the use of what he thought was imported Italian marble in his child's school, Payne replied that it was in fact polished concrete.

The Utah State Office of Education has taken notice as well. When students in the district left the old North Davis Junior High School for the new facility built just behind it, talk of improved test scores and fewer behavioral problems bubbled up to top administrators.

"It wasn't a scientific study, but it did seem to show that architecture and environment matter," said Jennifer Young, school construction and inspection specialist for the state office.