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.