The ABCs of Reggie Streater

Not long after his first stint at community college in the 2000s, Philadelphia’s Reginald “Reggie” Streater spent time “in the wilderness”—including a lacquered bar at a TGI Fridays in Willow Grove Park Mall, behind which he slung drinks like “Fridays ’Ritas,” talked to folks, and wondered what should come next.

“I was this bright young man who had no idea what he wanted,” says Streater. “I went to school for architecture, and I didn’t do well because it wasn’t my passion. I wasn’t prepared, and I didn’t have mentors in place.”

So for a decade, Streater bussed, tended bar, managed front-of-house, and went back to bartending, eventually landing at Freight House in Doylestown. 

And then Ray Parker III sidled up to the bar. Parker, a lawyer and one of Streater’s Freight House regulars, turned the tables on the “barkeep pep talk” trope. 

“He said, ‘We love you behind the bar, but I think you have a lot to offer,’” Streater remembers. “He told me he thought I could have a much larger impact on the world. All it takes sometimes is one person to inspire this.’”

Streater was a connector, a bridge, and he needed to do something that made better use of those skills.

“Growing up in Philadelphia, economics created systems of segregation,” Streater says. “You could live in Philadelphia as a young person and never see a white person. But someone like me, who cares about humanity first, I was able to be successful around people who didn’t look like me. I was able to find connections.”

Streater, who wears locs, remembers when people would come up to him in affluent Montgomery County and ask questions. “‘What are those? Can I smell your hair?’ Those things were happening, and I think Ray was intrigued by my ability to navigate that,” he says. “He also understood that there’s a deficit of Black men in certain spaces—like law. I took what he said to heart.”

Streater says he charts his life by a constellation of North Stars. In his mid 30s, one began to burn a little brighter.

Streater first walked through the door of a law firm at age 37. It was 2018 and he had two young kids at home. “I’ve always been a person who wants to get the skills to pay the bills as fast as possible,” he says. “There are just too many spaces, particularly in the African-American community, where people show up at places at different times in their lives. If somebody was 10 years younger than me, well, you still got a skill that I need, so I’m going to build relationships with you so that we can learn from each other.”

During his first year of practice in New Jersey—he joined Philly’s Berger Montague in 2021 and Feldman Shepherd in 2023—Streater realized you can work hard and work smart. “Early on, I was recreating wheels that didn’t require recreation,” he says. “When you do that, you stymie your ability to seek new skills, build new relationships.”

He’d always had a bent toward social justice, and a desire for the betterment of all. Those virtues came from his mother, who helped him understand that he could be thoughtful about and advocate for who he was while also understanding the deep differences in others. 

These lessons led him to tussle with some big questions, particularly in the pews of his Philly church. “I was like, ‘I understand that heaven is a place for those who do X, Y and Z, but what are we doing for those who are on Earth? How can we use our collective resources to prepare people for a better life now?’” he says. “I think this is what drove me toward being centered on being a human. I am a humanist before anything else, which makes me the appropriate person to be an attorney: someone who deals with people from different backgrounds but understands we’re all engaging in a human experience.”

As a plaintiff’s personal injury and civil rights lawyer, Streater often walks with clients through their most difficult human experiences. “Not only are these cases the kind that touch the soul, but they align with my North Star of helping my community,” he says. “My worldview is that we should all use the skills and talents we have in any way that we can to help individuals who are dispossessed or disempowered.”

Although he prefers not to share many specifics about his legal work, one particularly resonant case involves a student at Temple University who took his own life.

“There was a mental health provider that we believed didn’t do their due diligence to ensure that all therapists were qualified to deal with individuals who clearly showed signs that would require a crisis plan,” Streater says. “That case is important because the types of folks who use those [web-based therapy] services are likely students or people who can’t afford $400-an-hour therapists, but need help. Because this kind of treatment has a growing place in our economy, a [win] would signal these companies need to promote best practices. That’s what this work does: It has the power to change institutions for the better of all.”

Then there’s Streater’s unimpeachable love for the School District of Philadelphia and its students. If you need proof, say the words “Germantown High” and watch Streater’s eyes light up. 

A chatty kid who often got notes on his report cards for being “too social,” Streater says it was public school teachers like Ms. Altman who, consistently and with few resources, guided him: “They were always so successful in figuring out how to point this missile in the exact right direction.”

He also feels blessed to have been educated under Dr. Constance E. Clayton, the nation’s first Black superintendent of a major school district. 

“Her focus on student achievement and ensuring that all children had access to a quality education, yet understanding that there may be differences in delivery systems—not only am I a product of that, but I’m also the product of the first school district to require African-American history to be taught to every high schooler. This was huge,” he says. “We can be culturally responsive and also ensure that our children have the tools they need to be successful.”

So, in 2021, when then-Philadelphia Mayor Jim Kenney was looking to build the Board of Education for the School District of Philadelphia—three years after the district regained local control after a tumultuous state-takeover that began in 2001—Streater raised his hand. A year later, he was elected president, a role he inherited from outgoing president Joyce Wilkerson.

“One of the things that’s wonderful about Reggie is he’s open to being mentored, and accepting criticism or input,” says Wilkerson. “That has allowed him to evolve in the role as president in a way that’s been remarkable.”

When Streater was installed, Wilkerson noticed what he didn’t do: come in looking to shake things up just for the sake of it. 

“He saw no value in reinventing the wheel, and in not doing that, he’s been able to bring more stakeholders into the conversation about the need to focus on children,” she says. “You’ll hear him say that repeatedly at board of education meetings. It’s so important to have a voice that brings us back to reality. We can wander off into the weeds, like, ‘What about a snow day? Are we going to the Eagles parade?’ But we have a leader who reminds us, always, that our job is to educate children. He understands, and is so fundamentally committed, to the belief that every child can succeed at high levels and it is our job to get there.”

Kevin Harden Jr. of Ross Feller Casey is a fellow product of Philly public schools, something he and Streater bonded over at meetings for The Barristers’ Association of Philadelphia, an affinity bar association in Pennsylvania for Black lawyers. 

“Sometimes law students come in and think, ‘I’m the best thing since pants with pockets; you never met somebody as talented as I am.’ And then there’s a thousand people just like them,” Harden says. “But Reggie was very thoughtful, with a mind toward service. And he’s a natural scholar. He’s also a bridge who likes to build an enterprise, create awareness and inclusiveness.” 

It was Harden who counseled Streater to join the school board. “I said, ‘This is your opportunity to punch in your own weight class, to put you in rooms where you need to be based on who you actually are, versus the rooms you’re getting into based on how many years you are out of law school,” Harden says. “Reggie’s someone who got a second chance at life, and that’s the energy he brings. He shows up to every school board meeting like it’s the Super Bowl.” 

For his part, Streater knows he’s in the right spot. “Being a board member—not even president—of a 200,000-student school district with a budget well into the multiple billions, which is still under-resourced, and believing in the product of that institution … it started a journey I will never regret.”

That’s why Feldman is the perfect home. “Having some ability to affect change in society is my form of self-care,” he says. “It makes everything else makes sense. That kind of thinking is at the heart of Feldman Shepherd.”

The presidency does eat up a lot of time, particularly considering the precarious position in which the district sits.

“We are reasserting control,” he says. “In doing so, we are putting things back that might’ve been taken out. But our No. 1 challenge is student achievement. What the board has done is approve a strategic plan. We are done with Whac-A-Mole approaches to governance. Our job is to set the vision and the mission of the institution, approve a strategic plan, and see it to fruition. In doing so, we’re already seeing the outcomes that we expected, which is that our children will achieve.”

The board is currently finessing its Facilities Master Plan, which covers the district’s more than 200 buildings. New buildings are being built and others are getting internal facelifts to meet the needs of the 21st-century student. The facilities will work hand-in-hand with the district’s recent $70 million curriculum revamp, which, for example, calls for more group work, dictating modular spaces and moveable furniture. 

“A lot of what we’re doing feeds into our continued work of restoring public trust,” Streater says. “The efforts are working: We’ve had our first enrollment increase in 10 years, and student-achievement outcomes have gone up faster than they did the previous 10. We have big challenges, but we have the right board to face them.”

He adds, “It’s helpful for me to understand the law and how it’s applied, so that I can educate the board. I’m also able to have a relationship with general counsel that a nonlawyer can’t; I know her language.”

In the end, it comes down simply to one thing: the kids. 

“It’s my job, and one I take deeply seriously, to ensure that every child has the tools they need emotionally, and the ABCs/123s, to be successful,” he says. “In a changing environment where AI is taking over the 21st-century global economy, we have to ensure our children have a strong foundation. If we don’t do that, we have failed not only our children, but our future.”

Then there are his own kids.

“I give my son his haircuts, and they’re better than the ones I got growing up,” he says, laughing. “I actually go on YouTube: ‘How can I make my son look fly?’” He and his daughter bond over the maintenance of their locs.

“I want them to see these intentional moments, and that there is a lot behind their dad’s public persona,” Streater says. “I hope they see how I try to lead, which is through consensus, which takes more time as opposed to ‘Do as I say.’ More than anything, I hope they see it is possible to be a good citizen who gives back to the community and who builds a life. All of that, for me, goes back to the basics of student achievement.”

The day after the Eagles brought the Vince Lombardi Trophy back to Pattison Avenue, Streater, a season ticketholder and a four-for-four guy, is all smiles. “Go Birds,” he says, by way of greeting. 

The Super Bowl victory was not far removed from another big W for Streater: On Jan. 20, hours before President Donald Trump signed an executive order to strike down diversity, equity and inclusion measures in the federal government, Streater was being recognized for his work in that space with a Drum Major award from the Philadelphia Martin Luther King Jr. Association for Nonviolence. 

DEI is another of Streater’s North Stars. Every stop along Streater’s journey, from law school student to lawyer to board president, has included critical, recognized work in the space; he says DEI work goes hand-in-hand with his humanist worldview. Since those first executive orders, major corporations—like Amazon, Google, McDonald’s, Meta, Target, Walmart and more—have rolled back the kind of policies he considers nonnegotiable and essential.

“What am I going to do about it?” he asks, smiling. “I’ll borrow a line from Jalen Hurts: ‘I’m gonna keep the main thing, the main thing.’”