May 22 and the Signs of Spring

One of the small oddities at Northwestern, and one that I have enjoyed through the cruel days of April, is the practice of using masking tape to adhere posters to the sidewalks. I don't know if this resulted from a ban on putting signs on walls or if it was simply the genius of one fraternity brother that became a Wildcat tradition. Whatever the origin, the paper signs are everywhere on campus.  They do not last long.  Rain and the wear of students' feet are hard on the posters. They rarely look fresh more than a day or so.

Signs and left over masking tape from poster are in the area in front of "The Rock." The Rock gets repainted every day or so by some organization.  Today it is promoting a volleyball marathon fundraiser. I walk past The Rock every day on my way to class and see the constantly changing coats of paint and promotions of different activities and causes.  I did a little research on this Northwestern tradition.  The rock itself is a purple and white quartzite boulder that was transplanted from Devil's Lake in Wisconsin as a gift to the college from the class of 1902.  In 1957, the first coat of paint was slapped on the rock.  If you or your organization would like to paint a slogan or message on The Rock, you must stand guard for 24 hours before applying pigment. You do not need to go to Evanston to see what is happening on The Rock.  There is a webcam that is focused on the old boulder (it is in fact hundreds of millions years old.)  You can see a live shot of The Rock here.

Northwestern is a very rigorous academic institution but it is still a college.  This is the kind of sign you are likely to find taped to the pavement.  It seems that the only appropriate way to affix the posters is using masking tape. If any of my Golden Apple classmates read this before Sunday, we may still have time to enter a team.

After weather and foot traffic have taken their toll on the notices, a masking tape shell remains.  You can see that several layers have built up here. I suppose someone comes and removes these but I have never seen that.

The announcement that "Thunk turns 21" has suffered through some bad Chicago weather.  At first, I thought THUNK might be a fraternity brother but it turns out to be a Northwestern co-ed a cappella singing group.  Happy 21st birthday, THUNK.

Theatrical events and concerts use the sidewalk posters to advertise events.  Friday night was an evening with the Iliad. Despite the Mud Olympics, Northwestern is a little geeky.

The Norris Center is the student union.  It is always a good place to catch up on coming events.

This caught my eye. It is a chance to become Willie the Wildcat. I wonder if a Visiting Scholar is eligible for this position.  I would love to be a Big Ten Mascot.

After the Mud Games, it might be worth swinging over to this frat house for what appears to be a watermelon party.  Nice.

Many signs promote campus activities.  This is an opportunity to join the Drumline.  Next to Willie the Wildcat, this is the coolest way to spend autumn afternoons.

A lot of signs are more commercial.  Why didn't I think of starting a storage company for students?

I don't care what Dr. Grandlin is talking about. I just want to know where he got that shirt.

Some signs are more permanent.  This plaque is set into a rock just about twenty yards past The Rock.

This plaque on a rock in the old part of campus commemorates a commencement address given by Theodore Roosevelt.  I assumed Teddy gave the talk on this spot but it was actually in the Auditorium Theater in downtown Chicago.  

I love class gifts.  The Class of 1896 gave this really lovely bench pavilion.  It is tucked away in the middle of some bushes. No one ever puts posters on it. Right after I took this picture, I sat down and read here for a while with gratitude to the Class of 1896.

Northwestern is, I think, one of the most beautiful college campuses in the nation. If you were making a movie set at a college, this seems like how you would want it to look.  Walking to class every day has been one of the great joys of sabbatical.

May 15--Coach E

Today we will attend the wake for Curt Ehrenstom--Coach E.  Curt was a teacher at Mt. Carmel High School for thirty years.  He was named a Golden Apple Fellow in 2013.  About a month later, Curt was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  Curt fought the battle against his cancer for almost a year.  On Monday night, he died.  The Mt. Carmel community, the Golden Apple family, Curt's own children, wife, brothers, sisters, and so many others are mourning the loss of a great educator and a great man.

There are others who are writing fitting tributes to Curt. Many of them knew him much better and longer than I did. My connections to Curt were through the Golden Apple.  There is, as in many groups, a special kinship among the ten of us who entered into the Golden Apple Fellowship together.  We only had a little time with Curt.  He attend the first few meetings in May after he received his award. By summer, he had found out about the disease that was attacking his body.  In October, WTTW taped the awards presentation ceremony.  Curt was already too sick to attend. The president of Mt. Carmel accepted the award on his behalf.  There was a table full of his proud family.  I remember going over to meet all of them at the end of the evening.  Everyone was sad that Curt had been unable to attend but still hopeful that he would respond to treatment and recover.

I don't recall when this group picture was taken.  It must have been May or the beginning of June.  That is Curt in the back row, second from the left. He was a big man, full of humor and life.  Others will write better tributes but I have a few memories that I want to record here--small photographs of a man who will always be part of our Golden Apple Class of 2013.

Curt had a sharp sense of humor that was always in play.  The last text message I got from Curt mentioned it.  He and I were the only two GA winners from Catholic schools this year.  He wrote me, "You could have used to have another Catholic guy there to lighten the place up." Curt's humor was often dry and ironic.  In a video done by Mt. Carmel students after he won the award, he was asked why he had stayed at Mt. Carmel so many years.  I am sure the student expected a speech about the value of Catholic education. Instead, Curt said, "Because I can't get a better job. I have all kinds of these little insufficiencies that keep me from really getting a better job so I'm kind of stuck here."  It wasn't true of course.  He loved Mt. Carmel.  Curt had graduated from the school in 1979, he student taught there, then spent his entire career as a science teacher and coach for the Caravan.

This video was done by Mt. Carmel students. Curt's humor is on display.

A few of us were coming out of class at Northwestern a couple of weeks ago.  Right outside of the Annenberg Hall, I saw a young man with a Mt. Carmel shirt.  I called over to him and asked if he knew Coach E.  "Coach E? He's my mentor!"  It seems like you could stop almost anyone with a brown Caravan shirt and he would tell you the same thing.  It is indicative of the position Curt held in the hearts of the students that the banner on the Mt. Carmel website now says "Lead like Coach E."  Good advice.

There was an article about Curt in the Southtown Star a few weeks ago.  Curt must have been asked whether he ever asks himself, "Why me?" in reference to the disease.  Curt is quoted as responding, "Why me? Why not me?"  Curt told me that he believed that what happened to you is not what defined you as a person.  You were defined by how you responded to what happens.  He was not unrealistic about the disease.  He told the newspaper, "“I have maybe nine months left, but I think we can push that envelope a bit."  That was in April. He did not have that long left but he was ready for the end.  Mt. Carmel had asked Curt to be the commencement speaker on May 25th. Curt was already too sick for that.

I was part of the Purple Stride Walk to raise funds for research in combating pancreatic cancer. Thanks to the generosity of some wonderful friends and members of the Golden Apple, I was able to raise over $700. Because of the money I brought to the march, Curt's family asked me to carry one of the signs identifying the group as "Coach E's Odd Squad." I had the opportunity to walk the 5K path with Curt's brother.  He told me that the Ehrenstroms are a large family (I think he said eight siblings but I may have that wrong.) I told him that I am from a family of nine kids so I understood. About a week before the march, they managed to get all of the family together at one time. Anyone from a large family knows how hard that is.  Curt enjoyed it but got very tired after about an hour.  He was disappointed but he couldn't stay any longer.  The family knew from this just how sick he was.

"Teaching was all he ever wanted to do," his brother told me. "And coaching." Curt's brother paused as we walked along the lakefront. "Poor Curty," he said--the only time there was an expression of sadness on this otherwise hopeful day. "He was at the peak with the Golden Apple and then this happened."

The nine of us Golden Apple winners from 2013 who meet every Thursday admit to each other occasionally that we wonder how we were selected.  We see so many other excellent teachers.  None of us ever wonder why Curt was chosen.  He combined three of the characteristics that make for a great teacher, I think.  First, he cared about kids more than anything.  The story is told that Frank Lenti, athletic director at Mt. Carmel, asked Curt to coach football. Curt told him that he had never played or coached the sport.  Frank said he didn't care about that. Frank could tell that Curt knew how to work with young men.  Curt went on to become the head sophomore football coach and an important part of the legendary Mt. Carmel football program.

Second, Curt approached the world and his students with a sense of humor that showed his love for life and people. He always had a soft touch. His wit and irony could take the tension out of a tough situation.  In March of this year, he said, "“You talk about making plans? I don’t buy green bananas.”  

Finally, he was a man of deep faith and principles.  I am not talking about being religious, although Catholicism was a part of his life.  I am talking about faith that allows us to trust that the world is a good place even when we have come up against an insurmountable obstacle.  I see in Curt hope that what we do in the years of our lives is meaningful.  He was the kind of man who could combine principles with realism.  He told a reporter, "“Everybody asks me if I’m mad. What’s the point in that? Better me than my wife. What are you going to do? It just happens. It’s part of life."

So today, we will join hundreds of people at the Mt. Carmel Convocation Center to say goodbye to Curt. I know how proud all of the Carmelites are of him.  Everyone who is associated with Catholic education should know and tell his story as an example of the best of what we do.  I can say with confidence, speaking for the Golden Apple family, that Curt was exactly the kind of teacher for whom the award was created and intended.  Excellent as a teacher. Excellent as a man.  Lead like Coach E, for certain.

May 10--Ending the Week

I can finally take the time to sit down with my dear friend here.  Saturday has been chewed up by errands and tasks. The bicycle is fixed and the sound at the front of the car has been identified and eliminated.  The carpet is shampooed and unintended canine accidents are washed away.  The printer has ink again and the laundry is at least in progress.  The dogs have walked and the kitty litter is fresh.  There is plenty of school work to do but it may not get started today.

On Thursday, I was part of the "surprise visit" to announce one of the ten new Golden Apple recipients.  I went to the ceremony for Melissa Talaber Mathwyshyn of St. Nicholas Cathedral School, a Ukrainian Catholic School in Ukrainian Village on the near west side of Chicago.

Melissa is in the striped blouse, just to the left of the poster.

A large group of media, politicians, family, Golden Apple officials, and school community members walked into her classroom around 9:00 AM on Thursday. ABC News reporter Theresa Gutierrez announced to the class that their teacher had been selected as a winner of the Golden Apple Award.  The class applauded.  Melissa, who we had been told is very shy, stood quietly--a little shocked, I think. From what I could see and from all the reports I have heard, Melissa is an extraordinary teacher.  The school is small and does not have many resources but she and her colleagues are doing great work bring faith-based education to the young people.

The week also brought sadder news.  Maureen Doolitte, a retired counselor from Fenwick, died in her sleep over the weekend.  Maureen had been a religious sister for many years and then left the order and was married.  At Fenwick, she taught theology and was a class counselor.  She and I had some extra bond because she had, at one time, taught in Cleveland.  We knew several people in common.  I want to use this space to record what has become a favorite story at Fenwick.  It is one that involves Maureen.

Some years ago, there was a Dean of Students who overly enjoyed giving the announcements on the P.A. and spoke, how shall I put it, effusively--sometimes about mundane matters.  This man had a slight Eastern accent; I think he was originally from Philadelphia. 

He once announced the formation of a new student club.  He closed the description of the organization by saying, or at least we thought he said, "And the best part of this club is that there are no Jews! No Jews at all!"  All of the students in the school, and the faculty as well, hearing this anti-Semitism being publicly proclaimed across the public address system, sat in stunned silence.  I moderated a very well-mannered homeroom at that time.  They did not laugh but they did show obvious discomfort.  One student said, "I think he meant 'dues.' He talks a little funny."

We agreed that the Dean (who was, I should probably add, a priest) had unquestionably meant "dues" and we said nothing more about it.  

Apparently someone said something to the Dean though. Two days later, he came on the public address again in a state of high agitation.

"I am told that there are those in this school who believe that I made a negative comment about Jewish people on Monday.  Anyone who knows me knows that this is not even possible.  Some have told me that when I said there were "no dues" for a club, I was understood to say "no Jews."  First, I would like to say that this type of problem of diction is most unlikely as I was frequently a champion in oratorical contests. Secondly, I am known for my sensitivity. Any slur would be unthinkable.  Let me no make it absolutely clear.  What I said was, 'dues! dues! dues! dues! dues!'"

Only no one heard him to say that this time either.  What we all heard through the P.A. was, "What I said was, 'Jews! Jews! Jews! Jews! Jews!'" 

The Dean turned off the microphone and walked out of the small public address closet and into the Student Services Office. He was content that he had put the matter to rest.

Maureen Doolittle was standing in his path. He paused for a minute but, before he could speak, Maureen said, "It sounded like Jews to me."

The Dean turned purple and stomped away.

Maureen was an extraordinary educator (she taught for 49 years) and a woman of great love and compassion.  In recent years, we have had chance meetings at Starbucks. I was always delighted to see her.  She will be missed.

And also a bit of sad news about Golden Apple Fellow Curt Ehrenstrom, who has battled pancreatic cancer for this past year.  Curt is a faculty member at Mt. Carmel High School--"Coach E" they all call him.  Curt is not doing well. He is too weak to speak and has been put into hospice.  Like so many others who have been touched by Coach E, I am very sad to hear of how poorly he is doing.  Curt's illness has been a great loss to his students and to the educational community.

And finally, a beautiful thing and a moment of great pride for me.  LynnMarie Rink was one of my students at Lake Catholic High School.  She is now a four-time Grammy Award nominee and a successful theater and recording artist.  Lynn's son James has special needs.  She has written and recorded a beautiful song about James and all special needs children. It is called "He Will Never Be."  The song is an affirmation of love, hope, family, and the absolute goodness of every child.  If you enjoy it, I hope you will share it with friends.

May 1--The Power to Transform

The Golden Apple Seminar was visited by Stephanie Pace Marshall, the founding President of Illinois Math and Science Academy and author of The Power to Transform. Dr. Marshall discussed her book (which I had read with great enjoyment,) her experience at IMSA, and her belief in the need for transformation in the living systems of education.  We had an incredible session.  A few highlights of my thoughts from the meeting.

Stephanie's work, and her conversation with us, is based in one question:

“What would it take to create a generative and life-affirming system of learning and schooling that liberates the goodness and genius of all children and invites and nurtures the power and creativity of the human spirit for the world?”

Her book explains how she has succeeded, and is proposing to the community, to radically change the story we tell about education.  Stephanie finds great power in story and narrative.  There is a anecdote in the book that made the idea of the power and potential of narrative in transforming a community clear to me. A few years ago, IMSA had mistakenly sent letters of admittance to about 30 students who were supposed to still be on the waiting list.  There was no space in the school or the dormitory for the added students (IMSA is a boarding school.) Some of the faculty said they should send letters of apology and inform the students that it had all been a mistake. Stephanie overrode them and directed that IMSA should honor its offers and admit the students. Everyone would need to hustle to get new desks, beds, and mattresses ready.  Argument flew around the school concerning the wisdom of this. Stephanie collected all of the things that were being said and tried to group the arguments together.  She found that there were really just two narratives that had emerged: one she called The Firestorm, which predicted dire consequences from the added students, and the other she called The Gift, which saw the extra enrollment as a special opportunity for the school.  She presented both narratives to the faculty, without judgment, comment, or argument. She simply relayed them as the two stories that were being told. Faculty who believed that admitting the added students would be fine found that they now had, in The Gift, a language and a narrative to rally around and to express their hopefulness.  Instead of just exchanging complaints and arguments, the community now spoke in terms of the two stories. The narrative of The Gift eventually became the dominant narrative.

I have been in similar situations and seen one narrative, usually the most negative and destructive, become the default story for the organization. I took from the IMSA experience the importance of shaping the narrative, especially in my own classroom.

I was thinking of this past school year, the three quarters I taught before my sabbatical.  Most of the things that happened in my classes were not new; they had happened before, but this year, a narrative grew among the students that went something like this: "We not only have the chance to speak our own minds in this class but it is generous of us to participate because it might help someone else get the courage to speak."  I did not create this story, although I think I did work to shape it. By the last days of the third quarter, before I left for Northwestern, the students told me in discussions that this is what had happened that had made the class successful. The story was always told as what they had decided to do with class, with some gratitude that I had not stood in their way.  I don't think we actually did that much different from other years but the story of personal ownership and generous sharing had become their story.  Stephanie would call it "mind-shaping" and would remind us that "mind-shaping is world-shaping."

Much of Stephanie's theory and practice comes from an experience she had in Australia in 1997. She learned that the aboriginal people used something they called songlines to guide them when they went on a journey. They would sing their way out, with their song telling the caves and rivers along the way, and then sing their way back. They tell how their ancestors had "emerged from sleep beneath the earth and began to meander and sing their way across the continent."  The earth was forming and so "they wandered and (sang) the land into existence." This is world-shaping in song and story.  I am quoting now from her beautiful and poetic explanation of how to approach transformation:

"When you change the story, you change the map. When you change the map, you change the landscape. When you change the landscape, you change your experiences and your choices. When you change your experiences and choices, you can change your mind. And when you change your mind, you can change the world."

All of this came at exactly the right time.  I have been thinking throughout the sabbatical that I have lost interest in educational reform. I don't care anymore about rearranging schedules and suggesting new tactics and adding extra bits of technology. I am not going to live long enough to see a wholesale (and with luck creative) destruction of the factory-style, industrial revolution classroom.  I am weary of the many teachers who spend as much energy making certain that innovation never occurs as they do at teaching itself. I no longer think I will persuade or redirect them.  Despite all this, I am more optimistic than ever, because I have seen that my job is not to reform schooling, it is to transform it.  And that transformation will not happen by legislation or management techniques or I-Pads or professional development. Transformation will happen if I transform myself. I need to be sure that my story is a story of liberation and goodness and genius and inclusion.  If I tell that story, the map of my class will be life-affirming and generative.  If my classroom is mapped in favor of life and creation, the conditions and experiences will be favorable for young persons to be learners.  When they are learning, their minds will be open, kind, and just.  When a hundred and fifty students  a year move on with new and learned minds, we will change the world.

I would like to strongly recommend that anyone who cares about learning (students, teachers, parents) order a copy of Power to Transform today.  It is an important and inspiring story of what we can be.  My deepest thanks to Stephanie Pace Marshall for joining us in conversation.

April 26--Purple Stride and Prom

I spent Saturday morning at the Purple Stride Walk to raise funds to combat pancreatic cancer. I joined this because Curt Ehrenstrom, Golden Apple Recipient and long time teacher at Mt. Carmel High School was stricken with this awful disease. Curt has not been able to participate in the events of Golden Apple during the last year because of his struggle with the disease and the effects of the treatment.  He has had a very tough year.  He has been missed by the other members of the Golden Apple Class of 2013.

Curt receiving the award from Gloria Harper and Dominic Belmonte

I did not know what to do to be of support to Curt. I have prayed for him and his family and tried to drop a note when I could. I did not know Curt before the Golden Apple Award but I felt some kinship with him because of the Fellowship. Perhaps a little more because he and I were the two teachers from Catholic schools. Curt and I know several people in common, including the late Fenwick swimming coach Dave Perry who died too young of cancer a few years ago.

When I discovered that Curt's sister Jane was putting a team together to walk in the Purple Stride event, that was my answer of how I could try to be of some small help.  Jane did an incredible job recruiting over 80 walkers from her family and from the Mt. Carmel community.  Her efforts helped to propel the team to second place in fundraising for pancreatic cancer. This made us an "Elite Team" with our own tent and plenty of scarves and beads. I am very grateful that I was able to raise over $600 and become one of the highest contributors on the team.  My gratitude goes to a number of members of the Golden Apple family, including Board Members, staff, and Fellow, who generously donated to the cause. It also extends to a student I taught in the late 1970's who is always a reminder of why I love to teach.  All of these wonderful benefactors allowed me to be a significant part of the team effort.

Pancreatic cancer is a terrible disease, in part because it is so hard to detect until it is advanced. The survival rate is not good and the treatment is debilitating.  I spent some time talking to one of Curt's brothers and he filled me in on what a tough time it has been.  He told me that it is not just a question of having a good day occasionally. Sometimes, it is a matter of having a good hour or so and then Curt will feel bad and tired and need to retire.

Curt's sister had initially thought he might be able to join us after the walk but his health was not up to that.  That was too bad. I know he would have enjoyed seeing everyone. He was sending text messages to his family in the hour or so before the walk began. That is a good indication of how much he would have liked to be part of things.

I feel as if I should draw some moral from all of this and I don't know what might be besides the obvious ones.  Curt's brother John said yesterday, rather wistfully, "Poor Curty. He was right at the peak of everything and he got hit with this."  I saw an interview with Curt where he said some people wonder if he says, "Why me?"  He said that he responds, "Why not me?"  The question of theodicy is at the center of the course I am taking in "Love and Evil."  I think most people make the assumption, at least I do, that life should proceed without trouble and suffering. We are surprised when illness, death, and tragedy intrude. It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that pain and disappointment are part of the natural course of things.  This is not a painful world but there is pain in it.  Life was not made for suffering but there is suffering in life.

What defines us is the way we live this mystery.  I suppose saying how we respond to the suffering is the most accurate expression although it seems not to express the complexity of what it means to endure hardship. In this definition, Curt (Coach E everyone calls him) is a man of meaning, purpose, and nobility.  He has been badly struck down and has reacted with humor, grace, and dignity.  I am probably reading some of my own biases on to this story but I think that this illness has shown the qualities that made Curt a great teacher, a true Golden Apple teacher.  Perhaps there is also some grace to be found in his years of teaching in a faith-based school. In any case, it has been an honor to know Curt and it was my privilege to walk in Purple Stride in his honor.

In the evening, I changed gears completely and went to the Fenwick Junior Prom. I have not seen my students since the last day of third quarter--the day before I began the sabbatical.  There is not a lot to say here except how much I enjoyed greeting them all again.  One after another ran up to tell me how much he / she missed me.  I told them truthfully that I missed them very much too. I am enjoying the sabbatical very much and my classes at Northwestern are a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but I was reminded how much life and joy I get from my students.  The prom was fine.  I always hate thinking of myself as an old fogey but the music was unintelligible to me and deafeningly loud. Late in the evening, the DJ switched to Neil Diamond singing "Sweet Caroline."  I think Neil Diamond is pretty cheesy but the song was welcome.  The students don't dance much, even compared to a few years ago. Hundreds of them stood in a big clump and watched a few guys perform. When they did all dance, they seemed to just jump up and down. Old fogey time: I found myself wishing for a garage-rock band playing "Louie, Louie" and couples dancing the watusi.  But--it is not my prom, it is theirs.  While they all came with dates, they seemed to lose their partners as soon as they came in.  Most of the evening, the crowd was divided into groups of boys and groups of girls.  A few brave (or just in love) souls stayed coupled.  All of the girls discarded their shoes as soon as they entered. Another teacher notice one girl who still had her shoes on but that girl gave in to either peer pressure or sore feet and put hers against the wall after a bit.

19th Century Club was the site of the Junior Prom. The snow was gone though.

The school holds a separate Junior and Senior Prom. Even though this younger version is to be less formal, most of the boys wear tuxes and the girls have very fancy dresses (with no shoes.) There is no dinner, just some appetizers.  I think the kids go out to dinner after the dance, which they fled at 10:00.  About ten faculty members supervised from the fringe of the dance floor. The President, a Dominican in full white habit, got pulled onto the dance floor and gamely tried a few moves.  He should learn not to stand that close to the action.

The only other event at Fenwick that I am planning on attending during the sabbatical is graduation.  I will not teach these Juniors again, except for the one or two who might land in my Film class next year.  They are a wonderful group and I miss their discussions and insights.

April 24--Not Speaking the Same Language

Two small and not very important anecdotes about the failure of meaning. Both occurred at the Norris Student Center at Northwestern on this Thursday morning.

There are six computers in the southeast corner of the ground floor of the student center.  These are available for general use by students. To use one of the work stations, you sign on with your university "NetID," a useful code that allows you to access almost anything in the technological world at Northwestern.

I was finishing up a study guide this morning, getting ready for my class in "Love and Evil."  The student center is pretty empty in the morning.  It will fill up around lunch time.  I don't think college students get up and come to the dining area at an early hour.

A young woman came over to the computers in an obvious hurry.  Her backpack suggested to me that she might be on her way to a class. She had earbuds attached to an I Pod.  She went to one computer, then the next, punching a few keys on each.  Every computer failed her.  She worked down the three units across from me and then attempted to start up the two on the same side of the table as I was seated.  I thought it odd that only my computer was working. She was clearly frustrated.

After trying all of the computers, she asked me for help.

"Can I interrupt you?"  She pulled the sound buds out of her ears. "Do you know how to log on to these computers?"

The computers were not broken. She was just unsure how to sign on.  I explained.
"Press CTRL-ALT-DEL at the same time."

"I tried that and it didn't work."

She demonstrated for me by awkwardly putting her fingers on the control key, the ALT key, and....BACKSPACE.

"Delete," I told her.  "Not Backspace."

"They do the same thing," she responded.

"Not in this case. You need to press Delete."

"They do almost the same thing. The only difference is that you use Backspace when you are beyond a letter and want to go back.  Delete is when you are on a letter."

I told her I knew that to be true but it didn't apply in this case.  The keystrokes for logging in are specifically CTRL-ALT-DEL.  It actually has no relation to the function of deleting something, which is where you would find the similarity to backspacing.

"That seems strange," she said.  "Where is Delete? I never use it."

I pointed out the key.  Then I said, "My Chromebook doesn't have a Delete key. You always have to Backspace."

"I don't have a Chromebook," she said.

Shortly after this, I thought I might like a bottle of milk. I went to the Dunkin Donuts that was recently opened in the Norris Center.  I hear about this fast food stop all the time from the student docents who lead groups of prospective students through the student center. These well-scrubbed young people have a memorized patter about the food at the university.

"This is the Norris Center. You will spend a lot of time here.  It seems like everyone comes to the Norris Center. In fact, the slogan is 'Meet me at the Norris Center' so you see it really is the center of life here at Northwestern.  We have every kind of food here.  Northwestern was rated third in the nation in the quality of our food. We have a Subway but, since this is Northwestern, we call it "Norway." There is a Starbucks but we call it "Norbucks." The Dunkin Donuts just opened.  I think we should call it "Nunkin Nonuts" but I don't think anyone else agrees."

Who rates the food in colleges?

I asked the young woman at the Dunkin Donuts counter if they had milk and she answered that they did.  She then asked me if I wanted whole milk or skim.  I said skim and reached for some cash.

"We don't sell milk by itself."

This seemed odd but every company has policies.  I thought I would like a bagel and said I would take a multi-grain with the milk.

"We don't sell milk with bagels."

Really?

"What do you sell the milk with?

"Only coffee. If you want milk by itself, you have to go to the store."

You have probably solved this riddle, and much more quickly than I did. I was about to order a coffee just to get my bottle of milk when it occurred to me that she was talking about adding milk to the coffee as a kind of creamer.  I turned down the coffee.

"Do you want the bagel?"

A line was forming behind me.

April 21--Faces from the Northwestern Front

I have changed the names of these students.  Everything else is true, or at least as accurate as it can be from my observations.

Cade is a theater major.  I suppose he has been a theater major since he was ten years old.  The drama club provided him refuge and community.  He is active in every classroom discussion as a matter of habit.  Philosophy is personal to Cade and every subject is part of a narrative that stretches from one course to another. "We discussed that in my English class last quarter." He was raised Catholic but considers himself more spiritual now.  His favorite writer is Sondheim.

Uta is a doctoral student in history but she simply describes herself as a "medievalist."  This title begins a lot of sentences.  "As a medievalist, I think..." and "A medievalist might say..." She told the professor on the first day that she thought she might be the only medievalist in the class and that turned out to be the truth. She wears baggy trousers and orthopedic shoes.

Sarah smiles constantly, even when she is fiercely disagreeing.  The smile is permanent and it gets bigger when she talks.  And her eyes roll up, always looking away during a comment or statement. But she does disagree.  I suggested that the bible was full of transgressive behavior: the abnegation of primogeniture, adultery and murder, and rape of potential in-laws. She took this as an attack on Judaism and she became very animated and argued that "all of the world likes sordid stories." She cited soap operas and such as examples.  She seems too young to know what soap operas are.

Matthew describes himself as a neo-Kantian.  He wears a yarmulke on Friday. He does not like Derrida (solipsistic) or Barthes (in need of psychological help) or Benjamin (too obvious.)  He does like a number of what I take to be extremely rational philosophers. I have never heard of any of them. These philosophers are living because Matthew can say where each teaches.

Theresa is a Jewish Studies major even though she was raised Catholic. Her father is Jewish but her family followed the faith of her mother. She started undergrad as a religious studies major but narrowed into Jewish Studies in her graduate work. She is currently teaching Buddhism.

Beverly is a senior journalism major. She is not interested in working at a newspaper nor does she care much for new media. She has her heart set on television, specifically on doing the weather. She told me that she wants to be on camera because she "likes to get dressed up and all that." She is pretty sure that her training at Northwestern will help her to break in. She knows that she will need to start in a smaller market and is applying to stations now.

Completely random picture of some students I do not know. I got this from Google so the blog would have an image.

Devon is a senior in journalism as well. He sends texts from his phone (I think they are texts but it could be Facebook or perhaps more likely Snapchat or such) for an hour and a half during class.  The professor has asked him not to text during class but Devon seems not to hear her.  Once during every class period, he offers a short comment on the discussion topic.

Philip is a doctoral student in Gender Studies. When he talks about Bourdieu, it is to question what the sociologist says about queer theory. He will discuss Merleau-Ponty in terms of queer theory. His hair is almost shaved on the sides and is very long on top. He has piercings in his nose, eyebrows, and ears. When I discussed how habitus is shown in the films of John Ford, he sought me out after class and said that I made total sense.

Mary Kate has red hair that is pulled back. She wears serious glasses. She is a doctoral student in history.  After we have discussed a philosopher, Mary Kate always asks what the ideas mean for her work.  She usually seems satisfied with the answer.

There is a young woman who sits near me in the Norris Center every Tuesday and Thursday morning. I know she is a theater major because of the books she reads.  I knew the author of one the books she was studying (I mean I actually know him) and mentioned that to her.  She seemed impressed.  Now, every Tuesday and Thursday morning, she says hello to me. Last week, she brought a drink she had purchased from Dunkin Donuts over to the seating area. She misjudged the location of the table and dropped the drink. I got up to help her and she told me that she is always a klutz.

There is a woman with green tights who rides the same Metra train as me and goes to the same Starbucks before she goes on to her destination, which I assume to be the campus. She walks a little faster than I do and arrives at the Starbucks ordering line first.

David is an undergraduate. He has missed two of six classes, apparently because of illness. He always notifies the professor that he will be missing and she tells us.

Tavel works in the bookstore and I do not think he is a student. Every time I make a purchase, he asks me if I am a faculty member (I assume there is a discount involved.) I tell him no, that I am a student. That is fine with Tavel and he makes small talk while he rings out the purchase.

Rene speaks heavily accented English. I think his first language is French and he looks as if he might be Algerian. I have a brother-in-law who is Algerian so I have developed a pretty good eye for the nationality. My brother-in-law is, in actuality, Berber but the distinction is not a great one.  It took me a while to recognize that when Rene spoke of meadow pond-ee, he was referring to Merleau-Ponty.

Annie asks thoughtful and provocative questions. Last week she asked whether Merleau-Ponty could conceive of a restrained body because her own sense of being gendered female involved a a set of constraints.  I am always interested in her questions but I don't think she ever gets answers.

April 19 Celebration of Excellence

This morning was the Golden Apple Celebration of Excellence recognizing the 32 finalists who are being considered as recipients of the Golden Apple Award for Excellence in Education.  It was a marvelous brunch held at the Marriott O'Hare with entertainment by the Joliet West Jazz Ensemble, directed by Golden Apple Fellow Kevin Carroll.  In this very amateurish photo, the finalists and their principals are lining up on the far side of the banquet hall to be introduced.  The photographers in the foreground are snapping shots of the teachers as they receive their plaques.

Dominic Belmonte, the CEO of the Golden Apple Foundation, gave the keynote address.  He talked about how, for many of the critics of education in America, the problem with our educational system is the teachers.  If we could only get better teachers / get rid of bad teachers / get teachers to work harder / get teachers to use newer methods / get teachers to use older methods, the problems of education would disappear.  This approach manages to ignore the effects of poverty, racism, under-funding, corporate profiteering, political meddling, and gross inequity.  It allows many Americans to say to themselves that we, as a society, do not have a problem.  If those teachers would only do their jobs, all would be well.

Dominic pointed out that it feels as if everyone is an expert on how to teach.  We would not give a doctor advice on how to doctor, or a mechanic a talking-to about how to repair a car, or--well you get the idea--but we all went to school and many of us are pretty certain that we know the best way to educate young people.  For many people, that "right way" is to return to some good old days that probably never really existed. I met someone not long ago who explained to me that, when he was in school, "teachers talked and students listened."  If we went back to that format, test scores would certainly increase.  I was thinking about asking him if he walked to school and back, ten miles and up hill both ways, but I held my sarcasm.

There are some myths that form many of these opinions about teachers and teaching.  It might be worth doing some reality checking on these ideas.

Myth #1: Teachers are just not as good today as the old-timers were.  Nonsense. The profession is full of teachers with vast knowledge of their subjects, highly-formed and practiced pedagogy, innovative and exciting methods, and a deep commitment to young people. Add to this technological capabilities unknown even ten years ago and you get some of the best teachers ever to work in classrooms. Ever.  If you are not sure, look up the 32 finalists for this year's Golden Apple.  I have seen these teachers and read about their classrooms.  They are incredible educators.

Myth #2: Anyone with intelligence and good subject material knowledge can teach.  Good teaching takes a special set of gifts and specialized training.  If you are not sure of this, check the classroom of a young teacher who is misplaced in the profession.  I can think of a young man who was known to be brilliant in his content area, both when he was in high school and in college. After he graduated from college, he was uncertain what do do and so he picked up a teaching position in a private school that was able to work around his lack of certification. He had never considered teaching but he needed a job and this seemed like a good fit given his knowledge of the subject.  Everyone knew he was floundering, the students knew, the school knew.  This is a very smart guy and it may well be that, should he get some training and earn some experience, he will find his way and become an excellent teacher.  Knowing content is not enough to teach. 

Myth #3: Tenure makes teachers lazy and ineffective. Tenure is not the enemy.  Tenure is not a guarantee of lifetime employment.  Tenure is a guarantee of due process for teachers who have earned some measure of stability.  It would be wonderful to report that school administrations act fairly and responsibly toward teachers all of the time.  Unfortunately, that has not always been the case.  In most cases, some of the best teachers in a school are mature, developed educators who have committed many years to students and to their practice.  If there are bad teachers in a building, it is because administrations have failed to institute adequate assessment and evaluation practices and to promote beneficial professional development.  No matter what you hear, it is not "impossible" to fire a teacher.  It happens all the time.  If the administration has reason and follows reasonable procedure, bad teachers should be removed.  But even more than that, good teachers should be nurtured and developed.

Thanks Mark Larson for this photo of the Celebration of Excellence.

I could go on and on but the point is, I hope, made.  There are good teachers, lots of them.  There are many great teachers and Golden Apple has been a leader in recognizing their excellence.  We need to develop even better teachers and the Golden Apple Scholars programs is leading the way on how to do this.  We will not improve education by adding more and more mechanistic testing that primarily profits corporations and satisfies the blustering of politicians.  We will improve the future of our young people through education by increasing the opportunities and experiences afforded them and by supporting the development and growth of great teachers.

On a personal note, it seems almost inconceivable that it was a year ago that I was a finalist at the Celebration of Excellence.  I remember how excited and overwhelmed I felt at the event.  I was hopeful of being included among the recipients but, I admit now, I had no idea of what entering Golden Apple really meant.  This has been one of the great experiences of my life, and it continues to give me opportunities to grow and expand.

My congratulations to the finalists and thanks to Gloria Harper and all of the staff at Golden Apple for putting this great event together.  Thanks also to the Board and the Koldykes for all you do for teaching and for students.

Here is a link to the full story about the finalists.

April 17 and American Literature

I have not spoken much about my class at National Louis University.  This term, I am teaching American Literature: 1900-1945.  Even though I am on sabbatical from my high school teaching, I decided I wanted to keep this class.  It meets once a week, on Wednesday evenings.  The course is a survey of the modernists in American Literature.  We began with The Great Gatsby and will be going on to The Sun Also Rises, and later Their Eyes Were Watching God. This past week, we spent time reading and reflecting on some of the great poets: Langston Hughes, Wallace Stevens, Gertrude Stein, Carl Sandburg, ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore, Ezra Pound. And we studied T.S. Eliot. I know that Eliot ends up in a lot of British Literature classes but he is from St. Louis, and frankly in the age of the Lost Generation who could tell what was American and what was not.  Besides, I love teaching Eliot.  Let's recall that I named my cat Eliot. Enough said.

I chose to have the students read "The Love Story of J. Alfred Prufrock."  I know that many students read this in high school.  Even though my students at National Louis and smart and eager, they have not had very deep literary backgrounds in high school.  None of them had read Prufrock.  It seemed like a good place to start.  They read the poem at home along with a very large packet of other poetry. When I started the discussion in class, Melissa set the tone.

"I don't know about that poem," she said. "It was really long and I kind of got lost."

The others agreed that Prufrock had been their least favorite, except perhaps for the poems of Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound.  They liked "This is Just to Say" and several loved "I Carry Your Heart."  Sandburg had several fans.

"I don't know," Ashley added. "I don't think I understood it."

And so we began deconstructing Prufrock.  I did not go front to back. Instead I started with his self-description of whether he is Hamlet or the Fool.  The students were willing to answer specific questions about the text but, when I came to more general issues about the poem, they felt uneasy and decided silence was prudence.

We worked slowly through issues.  Who is the narrator talking to?  I reassured them that critics disagree and urged them to stake a claim on a position.  How old is Prufrock?  We looked for phrases that would support or negate our answers.

I tried to get them to go with me into the "half-deserted streets" but I could see them setting into an old and tedious position.  This was just like beating up a poem in high school, their faces seemed to say.  They answered questions but only grudgingly.  The life seemed to be fleeing from the classroom.

Occasionally there was a spark.  Maxine had talked about Sandburg's "Fog" earlier in the evening.  We compared the cats that became smoke in the air.  The yellowness of the fog excited some reaction.  Everyone found it slimy and disgusting.

Some references such as the connection of "there will be time" to Ecclesiastes got hands writing in notebooks.  I think it seemed like the kind of sound academic information one would like to save.

And then Prufrock wondered, "Do I dare?"  And something broke lose.  Ashley talked about knowing these kinds of boys who stood on the sidelines and just fantasized about approaching the girls.  It made Maxine wonder about his age again.  Perhaps he was in his twenties, past childhood but not yet clear on how to become a man. Taylor agreed.  "I think he's creepy."

Andy, twenty years in the military and returned to college to try and get a job in criminal justice, entered here. "This is all new to me.  I never read a poem like this.  But I wonder about the arms.  The bare arms."

That is what Taylor had meant.  She thought Prufrock was creeping on the women. I think so too.

And the conversation started to fly.  The bored looks were gone.  The class went back to find more clues that would tell us who he is talking to (they still thought himself.)

I wondered if we might be too tough on poor Prufrock.  Does he deserve some of our sympathy? The class said no; they were still thinking him a creeper until the last lines. For some reason, the singing mermaids brought them a bit around to Prufrock's side.  Maybe it was the comb-over that got them feeling for him.

One student did an impression of the women who come and go, talking of Michelangelo.

Another thought that, in the Hamlet section, Prufrock spoke with an awful lot of learning and intelligence for the nobody he paints himself to be.

The class was very amused by the rhymes: peach, each, beach.

And then we began to wonder about Prufrock and Gatsby, Prufrock and Nick. How is Tom the opposite of Prufrock?

I had allocated an hour and fifteen minutes for discussion of Prufrock.  We tore through that and finally had to stop to fit a final assignment in.

Today in the Golden Apple seminar, we talked about the New 3 R's that Bill Gates suggested: relationship, relevance, and rigor.  There were some questions raised about what is meant by relevance.  To me, relevance is when a poem (even one that is one hundred years old) finds a home with students who are new to reading modernist poetry.  It is when Eliot speaks loudly.  It is when we judge Prufrock, and pity him, and wish him better, and know he will descend the stairs.  It is when we can sit together and realize that we will not find the overwhelming question, much less be able to answer it.  It is when we tell each other things that we would not have said had we known we would return from that place.

Indeed, there will be time.

April 16 and Spoken Word

Wednesday is office day again leaving me a chance to get an entry ready.  This morning has been filled with trying to read Phenomenology of Perception by Maurice Merleau-Ponty.  I will admit that I am struggling to get through the French phenomenologist.  I can see that there are words on the page and they appear to form sentences. What happens after that is uncertain.

Also spent some time trying to finish the final draft of the Golden Apple Site Observation report and preparing for tonight's American Literature class.  The internet modem got fried two days ago which slowed things down a bit but a very able AT&T repair man came by this morning and it is up and running again.

I am continuing to read Courage to Teach and making new discoveries on almost every page.  Some of the ideas from Parker Palmer came alive last night.  My friend Stephen asked me to attend the Spoken Word Spring Showcase at Oak Park River Forest High School.  A little more than seventy students participated in group poetry presentations and read individual works of their own composition.  What I saw connected to the ideas in Courage to Teach.

Palmer talks about the assumptions we (teachers mostly but others) make about students.  He suggests that we are fearful of our classes, which causes separation and disconnection, and that this fear comes from the assumptions we make.  One that he mentions is that the students are brain-dead.  They sit in front of us, the belief goes, without thought or interest.  Palmer notes, and those of us who have been around education long enough recognize, how often often we hear descriptions like this: "Kids today don't care," "Students aren't able to concentrate because of video games," "This class is really lazy." And so on.  Palmer wonders why the students who seem brain-dead while they are sitting in our classes come to life as soon as they pass the threshold of the classroom and reengage with their friends in the halls. 

He suggests that they are not brain-dead; they are afraid.  They might be afraid because they live in uncertain circumstances, with divorce, unemployment, addiction, or death. They might be afraid because everything they have heard and learned has told them that they are not worthy of love and acceptance.  They may worry about being bad at school, too fat, too tall, or too shy.  They may be afraid because we have built an educational system built on fear.

I heard many of these fears expressed with painful honesty (and often artistic grace) at the poetry fest last night.  I heard a young lady tell how she had learned that "a girl is nothing but a statue made of skin."  A young man told how his "grades were sagging like his pants."  One girl described the pain of an incestuous attack.  Others told the pain of love gone bad, of drugs that took over, of parents who were absent, of pain, and of loneliness.  The general theme of the evening was "I forgive."  Much of the audience spent the evening in tears as we heard the pain that needed to be forgiven.

We also saw that these seventy plus young people were not brain-dead.  They were alive and questioning and bristling with occasional anger and frequent pain. One young lady, a graduating senior, related to us how she had never succeeded in school.  She said she had "all of the learning disabilities."  Nothing ever seemed to make sense.  She talked about her personal birth through poetry and writing and how it brought her out of the shadows of loneliness and failure.

I think I have mentioned already that Palmer claims that "good teaching is based in identity and integrity."  That is what was on display at OPRF High School last night.  The young poets had the courage to go looking for their own identities and were generous enough to share what they had found with the audience and with each other.  They had the integrity and wholeness to look without flinching at what had caused them pain and to find with their poetry teammates the ability to forgive.

Thanks to Stephen, OPRF, and all the Spoken Word Poets for a great evening of love, honesty, and art.

April 14--A Reading Day is a Dangerous Thing

Monday is office day. Today, that has meant some time on the National Louis Adjunct Faculty Course (not as bad as it sounds,) rewriting the draft from the Golden Apple Site Observation, and reading Aftermath: Violence and the Remaking of Self.

Brison is a philosopher who teaches at Dartmouth. In 1990, she was taking a walk in southern France.  She was attacked by a stranger, raped, beaten, and left for dead in a ditch.  This book is both the personal story of her recovery and a philosophical exploration of the nature of trauma.  In her journey, Brison opens up the nature of self. Using the perspective of feminist philosophy as a beginning point, she explores narrative, memory, autonomy and community.  This book is for the Love and Evil class.  I got about halfway through it today and will finish on Wednesday.

I also read the first few chapters of Courage to Teach by Parker Palmer. We are using this as one of our texts in the Golden Apple Education Seminar.  Palmer gives words to something that I have been feeling for a while. On page 10, "Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher."  There are some things that I know go very well in my classroom.  I know they succeed largely because my students tell me what they have learned from the experience.  One of the best parts of my classroom is the nature of the discussions that we have.  The students are candid, inquisitive, supportive of each other, open to new ideas, and careful about their listening.  I have tried to think about the techniques that I use to create these discussions.  I have also even taught several seminars about how to lead discussions.  I have never been satisfied with my explanations. What's more I have observed other teachers trying to use my techniques with only limited success (at best.)  I think I have technique (and some amount of theory) but I don't think that technique or theory are creating the conditions for learning in my discussions.  The idea I got from Palmer is this: the success in my classroom comes from the identity and integrity that I attempt to bring and that my students are, in the main, willing to bring to the dialogue.  I think my classroom is hard for another teacher to recreate because he / she should not be recreating it. He / she should be creating a classroom that flows directly from his / her own identity and integrity.  Palmer explains (on page 24) that we need "to look for a way to teach that (is) more integral to (our) own nature(s)."  When we know what our own natures are as teachers, we can find the techniques that will help them along.

I have been outspoken that teachers ought not lecture.  I have cited the research that shows the low effectiveness of lecture as a method of learning and reminded listeners to how badly bored most of us are during endless lectures. Despite this, two or three of the most effective teachers I have ever experienced lectured constantly, and brilliantly.  They were men of unrivaled scholarship and great intellectual ingenuity.  Their lectures invited me into a world as imaginative and stimulating as a good book. They were, in fact, true to their natures and I found them to be hugely influential.

I find that, especially in the last few years, I am bored listening to myself in the classroom.  I sound too pat, too rehearsed to myself. On the other hand, I am endlessly interesting in hearing the stories of my students and in reacting to those tales with my own experiences and reflections.  I further find that, for me personally, I learn better when I carefully and closely read a text than when it is explained to me.  As a result of these realizations, I have been condensing my lecture material to talks no longer than seven minutes (the students timed me this year and I never exceeded the seven minute limit.)  It tires me to repeatedly deliver these talks and multiple sections is the nature of high school. So I recorded them with good visuals and post the lectures on the website--all seven minutes of them.  I use study guides and other techniques to aid the students with reading the text.  This is almost always done in class rather than as a homework assignment.  In a better and more rigorous world, students in eleventh grade might all go home and read carefully about ethical theory but, in this world, they do best when guided and prodded. Then I work hard to think about what the questions are that have uncertain answers. Best of all is when I can think of questions I cannot answer.  Using these, we spend days and days discussing, telling stories, posing questions, making connections.  It all fits the restlessness I feel about repeating things and the boredom I experience if I know what the outcome of the class will be.  It also seems to create the conditions for many of the students to do some very deep learning about ethics and morality.

It doesn't seem as if we ever cover all of the material I plan. That seems fine to me.  If a discussion is good and new questions are coming up, I will stay with it for a week.  If a new topic seems important, I will veer away from the plan.  I realize that I have much greater liberty in this than many teachers.  The nature of my disciplines, Theology, Film, and to a great extent English--certainly Creative Writing, do not have the same need to cover all the chapters that I would suspect Biology has.  In addition, I teach in a private school which does not observe the same obsession with Common Cores and standardized tests that some schools seem to suffer from.  My students are generally motivated and willing to go with me when we wonder about what utilitarianism has to say about the latest GM auto recall, but not all of them are and I am always pleased to see how some young men and women who do not care so much for school enter into the conversations.

So Palmer's book is encouraging me to think about identity and integrity.  He talks about what makes these up in detail and I will plan to reflect more on those ideas as we go along.

Also on the reading today is The Sun Also Rises, which is what I will retire to now.  I will begin teaching Hemingway next week for the National Louis Modernist American Literature class. This week they are considering the poetry of the modernist period.  In the meantime, it is great fun to get reacquainted with Jake and Brett.