Went out a tad late this morning after debating with myself whether to go out at all. It was not inviting out there. Reinforced by a cup of hot, freshly brewed coffee, I did. As I ambled along the dark, slippery, drizzle-soaked streets this hurricane-threatened morning (sounds more dramatic than a saying a tropical depression), castigating myself with a “what the hell are you doing out here,” I began thinking about battling hostile conditions, how much easier and rewarding it is to walk when the weather is….is likeable. “Likeable,” I found myself saying to myself about a quarter into my route as the street lights were exploded into distorted, glaring, blinding novae by the water than clung to my glasses. “That’s an important word to me. It should be an important word for all of us.” As I began to realize just how much of an important word that is, a sharp image of Holly, a student I had in one of my first year classes a few quarters ago, and what she had said to my wife about me one night last week, just popped into my head.

I hadn’t been in the mood to wok up a meal that night. So, my wife and I decided to go out for a quiet, simple dinner and enjoy the comfort our new car (the payments sure aren’t comforting). We hadn’t stepped a few feet inside the door of the restaurant, when we heard a shout, “Dr. Schmier!” I looked up to see Holly’s bright face and beaming smile. She rushed up to me, hugged me–and I hugged her back–and showed us to a table saying, “Only the best for my favorite teacher.” Then she turn to my wife and said, “I really like him as a teacher and person. You know he’s one of the best-liked on campus? I’ll be your server.”

Does this sound egotistical to recall and relate this episode? I’m sure some will think so. I don’t because I think it has important meanings for teaching, and let me tell you why. I think much of what I do that is good in and out of the classroom is motivated by my usually successful desire to be liked by the students. I don’t deny it. I don’t want to deny it. I have discovered that unless I want to be liked by the students in the class, the magic of the learning community isn’t there. The sense of a learning community isn’t there because I can’t teach and learn very well and the students can’t learn and teach very well unless we like each other a lot, like ourselves, and enjoy what we are doing.

What do I do for the students to like me? Well, the first thing is to get to know them as quickly as possible. If I want a student to like me, I have to find out what makes him or her comfortable, what puts him or her at ease, what makes him or her happy, what makes him or her feel safe, what makes him or her respect him or herself, what is meaningful for him or her. So, this is what I do to get students to like me. I play music–all sorts–at the beginning and end of class to set a mood of being alive. I openly display my frail humanity by freely admitting to mistakes and nervousness about trying a new technique. I dress in a way that I am honestly comfortable and am me, not in a masking uniform of authority. I offer them Tootsie Pops as incentives. I am as real as I know how to be–no masks. I am fair. I am interested in them. I trust their judgement. I listen carefully to each one of them. I see each one of them. I laugh with each one of them. I talk with each one of them. We have fun learning. I respect them. I believe in them and their ability. I support and encourage each one of them. I treat them so they know I want them in the class. I challenge them. I don’t demean them with pandering or patronizing. I treat them as I would want to be treated. I treat them with dignity. I don’t denigrate them with poor-mouthing. I don’t hold any threats over their head. I am sensitive to the demands on their lives outside the classroom and am accordingly flexible.

Those are elements essential to encourage growth and development and learning and change in the students, but they are also elements that promote my own cause, my own joy, my own growth and change. When, five years ago, I stopped seeing students as signs of my failure, as distractions from the higher task of scholarship, when they became my profession, when I began to seek their approval and recognition instead of my colleagues and superiors, when I became more interested in their evaluation than some faculty salary review, I discovered that I could concentrate much better and more effectively on their individual needs and differences as well as on my own individual needs and difference. And, I discovered I could be a far superior better teacher and learner–and a much better person.

By the way, we gave Holly a good tip.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Not a good day yesterday. I was sitting in the student union savoring a cold Coke and sucking on a Tootsie Pop and dreading having to emulate a Mad Englishman and go out into the noon day sun that was creating a heat factor of 124 degrees! A student, an eighteen year od whom I had in one of my first year classes, came over to say goodbye. I looked up at him.

“Goodbye?” I asked. “There’s still a week and a half to go in summer school. I’ll see you around.”

“No you won’t.” he replied. “I’m dropping all my classes today.”

The look I gave him must have made him feel like explaining. He said something like, “I know. We talked a lot about me leaving school to take this job. And I thought a lot about what we talked about. But, I came to school to get a good paying job. What’s what everyone I heard says college is for, and I just got offered one that one we talked about one last time. It’s take or leave it, now or never. It has a good future. Maybe I’ll go back, but right now no one but you has really talked to me why I should go to college and think about whether I should get a degree or take this this job. I know this won’t be the only job, but it’s one I want. And, they’ll train me on the job and send me to their own school. Don’t worry I’ll remember the lessons from our class: people, not things.”

“Well,” I said knowing that all had been said months ago. “Then, if you’re sure, go with it. Don’t look back, and be the best manager they ever have had. But, don’t stop learning.”

I wished him luck, and told him to keep in touch. With a wave of his hand, he turned and walked out to become a manager of a store in a national auto parts chain where he had been working since he was fourteen.

I don’t know if he understood that he asked a heck of question: why go to college? We talked about it alot when he was in my class during the winter quarter.

Why go to college? To get a job? To be taught what is needed to know to succeed in a particular career? A good reason. The problem I have with that is that so much of the preparation provided by those professional courses will be dated almost before the students leave campus and the job markets probably will have changed.

Why go to college? To soak up information? You don’t need college for that. You need an encyclopedia, a library, and a computer. And again, you probably are cramming your brains with job-oriented information that will soon be dated.

Why go to college? To learn how to think, how to concentrate, how to solve problems, how to perceive problems, and above all, how to ask questions? That’s better, but to what end. It’s one thing to ingest and quite another to digest.

You don’t go to college merely to soak up information; you don’t go to college merely to prepare for this professional world or that one; and you don’t go to college merely to get thinking skills. You go to college for all that–and more. You go to college to grow and change and develop morally and ethically as a person. You go to college to become socially conscious. You go to colleage to help you perform the roles beyond the workplace. You go to college to learn how to learn on you own and become your own teacher so that courses and credentials become irrelevant. You go to college to find, appreciate, and respect your unique, genuine, and independent voice. You go to college to acquire a connectedness with others, to hear and respect the unique, authentic, and autonomous voices of others; you go to college to prepare to live in the world. If a student doesn’t see or is taught to see much beyond a mass of information and technique crammed into the brain, if his or her understanding of an education isn’t broadened beyond a GPA; if his or her vision isn’t raised above a diploma, his or her college experience, then, is indeed a waste of all those hours and all those dollar signs. But, I’m not sure college has a monoply on the way a person can walk to acquire these understandings and visions. At least, not the way so many of us inside the ivory tower and so many outside it so emphasize the singular vocational and informational the purpose of a college education.
Make it a good day.

–Louis–

No walking today. No weather report. I was sitting here at my desk, quietly sucking on a Tootsie Pop, blowing an occasional bubble, listening to the mesmerizing soundtrack from _Les Miserables_, and reading some e-mail messages. Then, I started reading a message from a fellow traveler, a kindred spirit, a colleague committed to enhancing teaching at a major southern university. As I read his message, I sat up and found myself enveloped sadness and anger. With every passing sentence, I shook my head every so slightly in a “so what’s new” manner. It seems the new administration much preferred the ease of standing behind podiums and sitting in stuffed chairs the and mouth the meaningless rhetoric of talking the talk of teaching excellence and concern with student rather than engaging in the more meaningful but far more difficult walking the walk, and tired of my friend courageously calling it down when its actions in support of teaching and undergraduate students did not match its public pronouncements. Just as I read that because refused to become an administrative puppet rather at the expense of being an advocate for reform and a spokesperson for teaching faculty and students he was no longer the Director the university’s Center for Excellence in Undergraduate Teaching, the haunting song about failed revolution, “Empty Chairs and Empty Tables”, floated out from the boombox. I congratulated him. I think I told him how proud I was for him. Sound strange? I told him that we all have to decide how much we each are willing to pay to remain true to ourselves. It is do easy to intellectualize a situation and say, “I would have done” or “you should do.” But when the chips were down and my friend’s butt was on the line, he held fast. He proved that he didn’t come cheap and would not be on the take. That’s courage and commitment in my book and is worth both congratulations and a bag of Tootsie Pops. The new Provost may have taken away his administrative position, but the high-paid, hypocritic jerk couldn’t touch the heart and soul–much less match it–of my noble friend.

I started thinking how it is obvious that the dominant academic attitude, which places student learning as the periphery of the academic enterprise, is that research and publication deserves predominate a place, partly because faculty prefer specialized, prestigious–and at time more lucrative–research and publication to teaching and partly because institutions derive much of their prestige, power, and income from faculty research. But, before we can talk of the merits this and that concept, philosophy, attitude, procedure, curriculum, or even physical architecture of our classrooms and campuses, we have to talk about people in the flesh. Yet, we get so wrapped up in theoretical, abstract, philosophical or whatever kinds of mental exercises about education–we so throw around these lifeless, flat words like faculty, students, administration, system, staff, university–that we forget we are talking about real, live people.

And so, I now I find myself jotting down these snippets, for want of a better word. I’d like to share with you:

1. I don’t think any of us can legitimately pursue or defend educational theory or philosophy without regard to practical reality. And the practical reality is that I cannot separate me, the teacher, from my teaching. Unless quantum mechanics is at work daily in our lives and work, nothing happens by itself without people!. Without a teacher, there is no teaching; without a learner, there is no learning. Without a policy maker, there is no policy. Without an administrator, there is no administrating. Without people, there is no system. Someone, a person, is always involved. And, whatever it is individuals do, it is a consequence of a self-concept as well as a consequent perception of other things and people; their actions and thoughts are an extension of themselves, of their personalities, of their values. I don’t think you can deal with a policy or a practice without consciously or otherwise touching upon the personality and value system of the individual involved in that practice, without talking about and to ourselves.

2. So many people, us included, have gotten into a long habit of thinking one way about ourselves and certain things about academia, or doing something in the classroom or about students or about ourselves, and not daring to think seriously that such habits might be wrong or needs remodeling, or rationalizing that little otherwise can be done or needs be done, we create the appearance for ourselves that those habits are right. And so, we create images of perfection which allows us to ignore the imperfection, shut out questions, and/or place the onus on others. And we erect formidable, isolating redoubts in defense of those habits against being wrongly “dictated to” or unethically being “told what to do” or inappropriately being asked “to see things differently.”

3. I think we should de-intellectualize all this talk about teachers and students, stop distancing–externalizing, according to the jargon–this talk from ourselves and bring it home, and talk instead about real, frail, imperfect people–not them, but us. As my good friend shows, all this discussion about ethics, professional integrity, educational practice and policy, all boil down to and starts with OURSELVES. Ethical codes won’t in an of themselves deal with campus issues, only ethical people will. Evaluations and portfolios cannot create a caring campus environment, only caring people can. Everyone is talking about changing a philosophy, a theory, a policy, an approach, a practice, a method, a technique. So few are thinking about changing themselves! We have to start by taking an inventory of ourselves. We have to look at ourselves and have the courage to ask the difficult questions, and accept nothing less than the hard, honest answers.

4. We must articulate for ourselves and never stop engaging in self-examination and self-evaluation why we are in academia, why we are in the classroom, what is our philosophy of education, what purpose and goal do we see in an education, what are our principles of teaching, why do we honestly teach the way we do. Without such reflection we have no guiding light to illuminate our way.

5. I think honest reflection takes us off auto-pilot. It involves some form of challenge to and critique of ourselves, our personal and professional values. Without such self-reflection we tend to simply reinforce existing habitual patterns and tendencies. But, reflection does not take place in a professional, social or psychological vacuum. Objectivity is non-existent. Reflection is always influenced by our social and personal values and experiences, by our view of the world. So, we have to change our awareness by deliberately setting out to view ourselves in new ways. We have to move beyond our everyday way of looking at ourselves, others, and what we do. We have to take the position of the devil’s advocate and challenge ourselves, be our own gadfly-like Socrates, and be ready not only to admit to possibility of error and the need to change, but to start changing if need be. It’s constant self-monitoring, self-challenging, self-responsibility. We can’t cannot palm off onto someone else the responsibility for want we believe and think and feel, and how we consequently act, and still retain our individuality and independence and integrity.

6. We each honestly and painfully have to decide for ourselves which way we want to live and work. Whether we want to walk the easy road, live and work the casual life and simply exist at the beckoning of others, or whether we want to walk the harder road of deliberately trying to do something about our own lives, about what we do, about other people, about that ethereal thing called society of which we are a part, and about humanity in general.

7. Like it or not, we play show and tell with students. We should make every effort to demonstrate to the best of our ability the characteristics which we wish to encourage in my students. As an e-mail colleague wrote, like it or not, we are being watched and followed, and certainly not just with respect to the subject matter of the course. Many attitudes are ‘caught, not taught.’ We’re, as adults and authority figures, their role models. We cannot teach what we do not live. We cannot offer what we do not have to offer. Our actions betray us. “We will surely reap,” correctly proclaimed, “what we SHOW.”

Just a few random thoughts triggered by my friend’s dismay and my admiration.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Interesting walk this morning. Ignoring the dampening remnants of hurricane Erin, I was concentrating on my experiences with John (not his real name), a student who was in one my first year history class in the spring, 1994. He is what I can only call “my favorite mistake.” He reminds me that it’s damn easy being a professional, but it’s a struggle, a lot more hard work, a lot more riskier being a human being. He reminds me that the person is far more important than “the student” and that we as teachers are dealing with people caught up in the trials and tribulations of both their lives and the classroom, not with high-sounding words or dry abstraction and theories. I was thinking about him, as I do frequently, because of an on-going conversation I’m having on a list with an e-mail colleague about how “peril”, “risk”, and “mistake” relate to teaching, how in education you can’t steal second base if your foot is always safely on first base. John was the epitome of what another colleague called “teaching on the verge of peril.”

How do I describe John without seeming to be the psychologist I am not? Physically, he had all the hallmarks of being one the “breathing dead”: smileless, blank stare, laughless, stone silent, hollow eyes nailed to the floor, eyes that fought to look at another face, head almost always bowed, a face that spoke loudly of deep felt hurt, penetrating fear, and an inner crying. On those very rare occasions when he said something, it was in an almost inaudible whisper. All his body movements were guarded, tense and hesitant. He always seemed to be on defensive alert.

In many ways, he reminded me of the “me” not too many years ago except he had not perfected pretending to an art. He could not hide his confusion, loneliness, pain, weak self-concept, and fear beneath shielding images of smugness, complacence, nonchalance, and sophistication, or behind masks of authority and scholarship. He could not project an image as I once could that he was in control, in command, needed no one, and did not care what anyone thought of him. He could not act cool, smooth, and that nothing could shake him.

About a week into the class, a student, who had been his classmate in high school, came to me and asked what was wrong with John. She said something to the effect, “He was outgoing, friendly and used to have a good time with us. He should have loved the bonding ‘stuff’ we just did. He and his family left Valdosta a few years ago. I don’t know what happened, but now he so different. I went up to him to say hi and he just mumbled something as if he didn’t want me to notice him. It’s not like him to ignore people or push them away. I’m worried about him.”

I suppose her plea put me on quiet alert. I kept an eye on him. She was right. He acted like a person who had joined the armies of his enemies and had taken up arms against himself. His mask was transparent to anyone caring enough to see. An invisible bargain basement price tag hung around his bent neck that read, “Seconds. Damaged goods. Soiled, marked down. Close-out, half price.”

He refused to journal except on the rarest occasion, offering a myriad of lame excuses. But, a word here, a phrase there in the very few journal entries that he did write, indicated that he preferred isolation behind a self-built barricade which he had painstakingly created to shut himself off. If he had his preference, he would have been a loner, going faceless and nameless, lost in the background’s shadows.

He had gone through some of the motions of doing the beginning of class bonding and trusting exercises, but he never bonded and trusted. Rarely did he display a responsibility to the other members of his triad or a voluntary willingness to work with them or participate in class discussions and projects or discuss answers to questions on the open weekly quizzes. He would do what he was told to do by the two others. He would somehow always be absent from class when his triad had to get up to perform its skit or run its game. He frustrated and angered them, but they tried–oh, how they tried—to include him. But, he kept them at a safe distance.

I tried to talk with him, to offer him support and encouragement on more than one occasion, but he seldom answered a question during our conversations about his class performance and commitment to the others in the triad with more than a word or two. He kept his doors tightly shut. More often, he just stared ahead or looked down at the floor and enveloped himself in silence. At various times, fishing around, I offered him alternative ways to display the material he professed to understand. “If you don’t want to discuss in front of the entire class, just bring in a question to raise and then remain still.” Nothing. “Write the question out and hand it to someone in the triad to read out.” Nothing. “If you don’t want to discuss with the class, talk with the other members of your triad.” Nothing. “If you can’t talk to anyone, talk it into a tape recorder and hand the tape to me.” Nothing. “Write up your reflections on the material and give the pages to me, or make it part of your journal.” Nothing. “I saw that you like to draw during the shield exercise, draw pictures for me depicting your insights to the material.” Nothing. I talked with our school psychologist. Agreeing that since he refused to see her, there was little else I could do.

All quarter I and the other members of his triad could sense as one wrote, “He desperately wants to take that first step, but can’t bring himself to unlock the door even to take just a quick peak. I think he is afraid of being liked. He has done enough work behind the scenes, the script for the play and one of the ideas for the game, but not much for the final project. Be merciful and give him a ‘C-‘. He needs support desperately.” The other said of him, “He took no initiative, offered no suggestions, did only what we told him to him, tried to include him without success, but I know he has the ability. I think he is really afraid of being laughed at, and being made to look foolish. Something or someone has hurt him and put in that damn straightjacket. Don’t fail him even if his contribution was at best minimal. I vote for a ‘D.'” At the end of the quarter, relying heavily on the evaluations of the others of the triad, I gave him a “D.” It was afraid it was going to cost him his scholarship, but I didn’t see what else I could do.

A week after summer school began, John popped into my office to discuss his grade. He told me that he needed a “B” to keep his scholarship. We went outside, sat on a bench, unwrapped some Tootsie Pops, and talked. The sum of his argument was that “I read all the material”, “I understood the material”, “I did what I was told”, and “I don’t like to talk.” I countered simply with the fact that he didn’t seize the alternative ways I offered for him to display when he knew and his contribution to his triad and the class was at best minimal. He never once looked at me, and I had to look ahead for him to listen to me. I told him that I didn’t think he deserved more than he received in spite of his self-evaluation to the contrary. We went down the requirements of the course as laid out in my 15 page syllabus and offered him my assessment. But, I told him that I am willing to reconsider if he prepared a portfolio detailing everything he did in class and the extent of his contribution within the triad, and got the other members of his triad who I knew were on campus to either write testimonials on his behalf or talk with me. He didn’t see why he had to go through all that trouble. “Then,” I told him, “I have no reason other than your statement, which isn’t enough, to change your grade.”

He never did put together a complete portfolio together and get the other members of the triad to write on his behalf. Nevertheless, I spoke to them and they held their ground, but would accept without any rancor whatever decision I made. One of them made the passing remark of which I took little notice at the time, “I guess a quarter wasn’t enough time for him to take even one step.”

During the remainder of the summer quarter, John and I met four times, all at his insistence. He wouldn’t let go although he merely repeated his position, but at least he put up something that resembled a fight for something. More importantly, during each meeting, a minute here and a few minutes there, he mentioned or talked briefly about himself, members of his family, and his dreams and fears. Finally, at the last meeting, at the beginning of August, I told him I would make a decision once and for all on the following day.

That night was a restless one. God, I remember that conversation with my wife. “What to do. How I do I get to him in a way that has some meaning?” I asked her as I warmly lay next to her. “I’m not going to give him something he hasn’t earned. I can’t change his grade just because I feel for him. But dammit I know there’s a hell of an aquifer below that desert. I feel it in my gut. How to get him to divine for it.”

“Maybe,” she said with a consoling voice, “this is one of those whom you just can’t get to.”

“Maybe,” I sighed in return. “It sure was easier to make this kind of decision when I was just a distant professor. I’d just scratch him off without getting involved. Putting a face and name to a student can make it tough.”

“Yeah,” she retorted, “but you’re a teacher now and you can’t just throw him away and blame him for it.”

I told her that I had seen glimmers of light occasionally escaping through cracks in his wall before he could rush to patch them up that tells me there’s something worthwhile inside him for me to fight for. I told about one day, about a third of the way through the term, I bumped into him where he worked. He was more relaxed. I went up to him and said a simple, sincere, and warm, “Hello.” He seemed pleased that I noticed him. I thought I detected an almost imperceptible smile and a slight spark in his eyes. “Can I help you with the groceries?” he asked. That was the longest sentence I heard him speak. The manager, an ex-student, came over, “John your student?” he asked. I nodded silently. “He’s a good worker. Quiet but reliable. Always gets his job done and does whatever we ask him to. A good word never hurts.” I was surprised that I was not surprised, and it nothing to do with him being a “B+” high school student now on a state scholarship. About a week later, I came into class with Aretha Franklin blasting from the boombox, and yelled, “John”, as a chocolate Tootsie Pop softly sailed in his direct. He stiffly caught it and looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders in a “why not gesture” and said with a “I need you today” tone, “I’m a bit down today. I need one today. Thought we’d share some sweetness together.” A fleeting smile. “Can I have an orange one instead?” he hesitantly asked. That was the most he had said in class. “No sweat,” I replied with glee as the two Tootsie Pops passed each other in the air. Two weeks later, as he was lying on the floor drawing during the shield exercise, for an entire hour I saw him smiling and guardingly chatting with the other two members of the triad. Even though he refused the next day to get in front of the class to explain his design, it was a start. And he wrote a heck of a script for the triad’s chapter skit enough he didn’t show up to put it on and left them in a lurch for someone else to wing the role.

“But,” I signed, “in the long run, nothing could make a permanent crack; not a Tootsie Pop, not the boombox, not a shield, not his classmates, not me, nothing and no one–not even him.”

“Maybe that long run is not long enough. He just needs more time than the others. Sounds like he tried to lift his foot, but maybe a quarter is not enough for him to take even one step. What are you going to do?”

That quietly jolted me. I stopped staring at the ceiling and turned towards her beautiful face thinking, “Maybe he does need more time.” It was exactly what John’s triad member said. I decided what I had to do. I told her that I was going to take the risk of holding out my hand even when it appeared that it was last thing he wanted from me. I had the feeling that though he acted like he did not need me, he really did. “I’m not going to listen to his words, but to his silence. I’m going to let him take the course over.” After a few seconds of silence, I asked her, “What if I’m making a mistake trying this? If it blows up in my face, my ass may be in one hell of a sling.”

She came back with just the right encouraging words. “I think you know it would be a mistake not to try.”

She was right. I just needed to hear say those words.

The next day, I told John what I told my wife. “I’ll make you a deal I’ve never made anyone else. I’m going to bet on you. I will change your grade to a ‘B’ right now so you don’t lose your scholarship, but you have to promise to take my course again off the books in the fall and risk giving it all you’ve got. You know what to expect now. They’ll be no surprises.”

He looked off in the distance asking with his warning system at full alert. “Why are you doing this?”

Looking off into the distance, I tersely replied, “Why shouldn’t I?”

He turned his head and for the first time looked up into my eyes as I turned my head toward him. To the surprised look on his face was added a slight glimmer in his eyes that I had never before seen. It was as if my words were a key that might fit the lock to the door of his self-built prison. It was as if my words alleviated his fear that deep-down he was nothing, just no good; that they reassured him that I if I discovered the truth about him, I would not think less of him, laugh at him, and reject him. It was as if my words were words of love that assured him what he could not assure himself, saw what he was afraid to see: that he was really worth something.

“That means I’ll have to take an overload. That’s tough what with work an all.”

“That’s the best offer I can make, and believe me when I say the administration will not be happy if anyone finds out.”

“What if I agree now, you change the grade, and change my mind later?” he asked

“Will you?” I confidently replied without missing a beat.

After a few minutes, he said, “I won’t.” And we shook hands.

The first day of the fall quarter came and went. No John. The first week came and went. No John. I finally saw him come out the building I was about to enter. We looked at each other. “I thought about it. I tried. It’s too much,” he whispered and walked on. With disappointed tugging at my heart, I turned and slowly walked to the registrar to change his grade back to a “D.” On the change of grade sheet form, I wrote, “Professor’s mistake.” Then, I walked over to the Financial Aid Office and sadly told them of the grade change knowing John was going to lose his scholarship which he would not be able to retrieve.

After he received letters of notification from both the registrar and the Financial Aid Office, he came to me. I wouldn’t budge. He complained to the Department Head. I wouldn’t budge. He went to the Dean. I wouldn’t budge. He went to the Vice- President of Academic Affairs, a stickler for procedure, who called me into his office, demanded both an explanation and a promise not to violate procedure again. I ignored his “demand” but willingly explained the motives behind my actions, and refused to issue his desired promise. John went to the President, but I never heard from him. He knew better. And finally, John walked into my office to make on last request for a grade change.

We got some Tootsie Pops, and as we sat in the hall, I told him. “John, I’m going to tell you what I told the Vice-President. I still believe in you. And I will change your grade back to a “B”, but this time only AFTER you take my course off the books in the Winter quarter–not before.

He looked at me. “It won’t get my scholarship back. Why should I do it?”

“That you have to figure out. But, I think you know why.”

“I’ll let you know.”

He got up and we shook hands. I never saw him or heard from him since that day.

I’m sure there is a coterie of sociological and psychological explanations for John’s behavior, but that doesn’t make him any more of any less human. I still believe he’s still magic and wonderful, and would greet him as a long lost friend if he chose to unwrap a Tootsie Pops with me. If for no other reason, I owe him. He taught me a lot about myself and my the extent of my commitment to my educational ideals when the time came to putting it all on the line. I learned that if I choose to teach, I cannot in good conscience hide the human face of each student however it may sneer at me or him/herself. It’s impossible to connect if I am not willing to take the risk of believing, hoping, and loving.

I must be willing to risk that again and again, every day of every term of every class. To miss trying to seize the opportunity to help them re-write that price tag around their necks to read: “First. Top quality merchandise,” always would have been MY greatest loss. I can’t think of anything more important to attempt. That’s what we work for, strive for, endure for, hope for. And, I know that only if I am willing to risk, to be hurt, to be disappointed, to be reprimanded, to suffer setbacks, to have my outstretched hand slapped away or ignored, to feel a sense of having failed to touch a student, will I have the opportunity to help a Student help him- or herself–or myself. For the truth is that in any relationship between and among people there will always be the danger of betrayal. But, without taking the chance of creating a bond there can be no love, no friendship, and no real teaching.

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t like to make mistakes, but maybe I have to make a mistake every now and them. Like the prophets of old, a mistake afflicts my comfort! Cuts me down a peg or two. It confronts me with my humanity and reminds me that I am not a saint, that I am imperfect and fragile, that I have foibles; and that I will stumble–and that it’s okay. So few of us allow ourselves to make or to be seen making a mistake. We have written a resume for ourselves that is not human. It’s superhuman. It’s distancing from the mortal students. That’s why I say that John is “my favorite mistake.” He, more than my “successes”, caused and still causes me to deeply reflect, and in looking at myself I am discovering a heck of lot of what I am personally and professionally made of, and humbly how much more there is to be remade and made.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Survival! That’s what was on my mind at first this morning. For six miles and 54 minutes, I felt like a lobster being steamed alive as I trudged through a clammy fog that was superheated by a 82 degrees temperature, 97 per cent humidity, and 95 degree heat factor–and the sun wasn’t even up.

Having I barely made it through our Georgia survival training course, I dropped down with a freshly brewed cup of rejuvenating coffee into a chair and randomly picked up one of the students’ journals from the box I had brought home to read as I struggle to meet the deadline for that most uneducational task of assigning final grades. It turned out to be Sam’s. (not his real name). I had read pieces of it every week, but this was the first time I read it in its entirety. As I turned the pages, my heart started to pound once again and my chest began to heave. It was like I was walking another six miles. Only this time, my trek was strengthening and renewing. Words, phrases, and sentence jumped out at me as I traveled through his journal. Page after page provided snapshots, often unguarded and intimate, into his mind and soul. On page after page, this quiet, noble man, who a colleague unsolicitedly had warned me wouldn’t do much in class, painted portraits of what he thinking, what he was feeling, what he perceived about himself, how he was struggling. I read it three times! I put it down each time. Each time I had to pick it up again. I whispered and wrote these words to myself: “This is it! This is what teaching and learning is all about: when we help students to see education as more than just a gathering of and spitting back of a bunch of information; when we teachers see education as a means of inspiring students to become learners instead of memorizers and grow into better persons; when we encourage them to look beyond the narrows of the classroom to the larger picture of life, when we teach and the students learn where they are living their lives, and when the moral, humane power of education is exercised in the classroom. And since Sam was one of the students who gave me permission to use his journal, I want to take you along on his marvelous journey of wondrous discovery and magnificent growth. It’s a bit long, but bear with me. It’s worth the trip. It makes me feel worthy in this profession and in this life:

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Thursday, June 22: ….I had a most interesting first day in my history class. I don’t actually recall the word “history” mentioned, but I knew there was where I was supposed to be because Dr. Schmier was there….Only a few minutes before that I was sitting on the steps in Nevins with Cathy nervous about my history class. She had Dr. Schmier and started to tell me about him when I heard strains of big-band swing filling the Hall. There walked by this guy in a blue tie-dye Grateful Dead t-shirt, jean shorts, moccasins, carrying a boombox, not caring about the puzzled looks. Cathy leaned over and said, “That’s Dr. Schmier.” She told me that the stick in his mouth was a Tootsie Pop. …..I have never been greeted at the door by a teacher, had one shake my hand, and welcomed to a class and introduced to another bunch of students. He made me feel that it was important to him that I was in the class. Me! I felt like I was only person in the room. The room was buzzing with strangers who were slowly stopping being strangers. The desks were turned so we had to look at each other. Ella and Louis were swinging out a tune on the boombox. Dr. Schmier was climbing over desks, moving around, giving out a Tootsie Pop or two, and talking with us. We were laughing and introducing ourselves to each other. We were having a ball. Then we had what Dr. Schmier called “getting to know you” scavenger hunts. This place looked more like a party. We went on scavenger hunts to introduce ourselves and shake hands or hug ten people in the class we didn’t know. He did it too. Then, we went on other hunts to see who had a tatoo, played an instrument, cooked in the nude, and other things. I am a shy person, but in barely one hour of Dr. Schmier’s class I had met and knew the names of more people and knew more things about them in just one class than I had known the entire last quarter in three classes. Then, he opened himself up for questions. He talked about himself, held nothing back. The place was quiet as a church. It was strange for a professor to share himself with the students and come across as human….made me feel respected…..I went up to Dr. Schmier after class and told him that I would do my utmost not to be the shy person I have always been, usually been. I’m forty-six years old and I lived an eventful life, help people at a detox center, and I think I really have a lot to say if I can just get it to come out. I told him that I can write it in a journal, but….Dr. Schmier listened intently as if what I was saying was worth listening to. He told me to think of talking as writing with my tongue. And as for being to old to go to college, he said he didn’t know what “too old” meant since you only stop learning when you’re buried. Interesting….Never took role or mentioned history
Monday, June 26: ….we interviewed each other and filled out sheets with all sorts of interesting questions. Groups of 5 students got together and we started talking about all sorts of things as we asked each other questions. Dr. Schmier was part of a group. I thought we would go through this in a few minutes. We just barely completed the 25 items in an hour and a half. One person would get and tell a few things to the class about each one in the group. We didn’t get around to my group. O’neal was elected to be our spokesman. At the end of the class as I was leaving, Dr. Schmier asked me if I would be the spokesman for our group. Yes “me” to be the spokesperson for the group tomorrow. I told him we had already selected O’neal. He said he knew, but asked me to do him a favor. As non-traditional student if I stood up it would help the younger students. We were all the way over in the corner of a very large room and he knew what was going on. How did he do it? I was scared “shitless.” I am very uncomfortable in front of a group. I think he remembered our quick talk. But you know, it probably won’t be all that bad. I’ve gotten to know a lot of the students and a lot about them. I think this is what I really need. I don’t believe I just said that–we’ll see tomorrow. Still no role, but he already know the names of half of the 60 students in the class. No mention of history…..

Tuesday, June 27: ….I did the group spokesperson deal….I was very nervous in getting up in front of the class, but I wasn’t as scared as I thought I would be, especially when I mentioned that I had lost 95 lbs. I got a round of applause and cheers and whistles that really did me an awful lot of good mentally even though I did keep shaking a little throughout the delivery of what I had got to know about a few of my new FRIENDS. Dr. Schmier threw me a Tootsie Pop from across the room…formed our triads today…did the metaphor exercise….strange what we think about college, professors and ourselves….talked about all of us capable of being top notch students but none of us would be able if WE didn’t believe we were like Dr. Schmier did….nothing but encouragement and support in this class…more “trust stuff….sounded and acted like barnyard animals in front of each other….stood up an sang. It was so nervous I almost lost my voice. But did it….we’re all equal now….if we can do this nothing can stop us if we don’t want it to in this class….decided our class motto would be “We quacked and mooed; we sang; we can do anything!”….have to do it instead of just saying it….Got the syllabus….finally mentioned history….No role taking, but he knows almost all of us.

Wednesday, June 28: ….read the syllabus….the chair exercise was interesting. There’s so many ways to look at something and each one has to be respected just like we can’t look at the people at detox in the hospital all in one way, but as different people….different ways of seeing, interpreting, and doing….

Thursday, June 29: Chapter discussion in history today. I knew the stuff. Our triad met, read the material, discussed it, and did the commentary sheets. I sat there like a frog on a log. I tried so hard to get some stuff out but it just wouldn’t come. I was comfortable being there, but I know it’ll take a little time to work out this fear of speaking in a group….saw Dr. Schmier walk by outside. He stopped and called me by my name and threw me a Tootsie Pop. Me! We talked and told him what happened….He didn’t give me a rah-rah speech. Just told me about his fears and lack of self-worth as he grew up, and when he had his ephipany about himself, it was still tough to break old habits. One step and one day at a time, he said he took, there were no revival tents and instant miraculous cures. Just a lot of hard work and commitment to himself.

Monday, July 3: ….Tidbit discussion. I said something….did another personal scavenger hunt….weird pets–mongoose, horses, cows, lizards–people have rings in the damnest places and told us why….one guy had it through his nipple, ouch. He was happy to show us….Getting to know more people….less isolated and less like a stranger! Class is getting closer.

Wednesday, July 5: Nothing spectacular today. Said a little more. Some of us talked before Dr. Schmier came bouncing in with his boombox….I found out that I’m not the only one scared….we’re all in it together. We promised to help each other, not just in our triad but in the other triads as well….

Tuesday, July 11: you really have to know your stuff to come up with good skit and game about the material in the chapter….I’m learning so much already….we’re put in contact with the material and we have to be our own learners and teachers….we have to trust each other and rely on each other….we’re like a sports team or a theater cast….don’t feel alone….

Wednesday, July 12: ….I was afraid to give the group an idea for a skit because they’d think it was dumb and so different from the others….I told them what I thought we ought to do….We didn’t use it, but no one thought it was dumb. They liked it, but there wasn’t enough time to make the scenery….doggone we’ve got to tear the chapter apart and look at it like the chair and really get into the material if we are going to get into our roles….This is like an academic “getting to know you exercise.” I think the whole class is one big “getting to you and yourself exercise”….. just about everyone knows each other….

Thursday, July 13: ….I like working with them and getting to know them. It makes me feel at ease and that I can take a risk. If I could quack and waddle like a duck and everyone laughed with me and not at me, I think I can do my part in the skit….

Wednesday, July 19: ….the skit went great. We all knew what we were going to say and did our lines…I was a judge. Wore a wig….We had a big laugh….Everyone did a great job….a good confidence booster….Sure amazed how much creativity and imagination is in this room and how much learning is taking place….

Monday, July 24: ….I didn’t say anything in class today and disappointed myself….talked with Dr. Schmier outside under the tree again…came away knowing I have to be patient with myself, be proud like he said that I’m here after all these years struggling to become a nurse. He asked me to think what that says about me. I think it says a hell of a lot….I have to be pleased that I talked some, was the announcer in the game and played the judge in our skit about the Salem witch hunts….one step and one day at a time. When I put it together it sounds like a race….That’s the way we do it on the detox ward. Maybe my addiction is my shyness and I have to face it just like the alcoholics at the detox ward–one step and one day at a time….looking inside to see why I am shy and lack confidence….

Wednesday, July 26: ….got my list for the scavenger hunt. I have absolutely no idea of what to get for some of these people. Maybe a little imagination needs to be thrown in for good measure–what could it hurt? No one is going to laugh at me–there’s no stupid question asked or dumb statement made in this class–so, not stupid items can be brought in. Remember the chair, one person can be presented in many different ways…I have something for everyone on my list. A couple are a little risky, but what the heck. I’m getting out of my “shell” a little more–maybe this stuff for the scavenger hunt will further enhance my “outgoingness” ….looking forward to Thurs., a little scared. But, Dr. Schmier told me yesterday that he discovered on his inward journey that it was OK to be scared as long as he would not let it control him. I’m going to do–not try–the same tomorrow.

Thursday, July 27: ….Margaret Sanger! ***** brought in an old bra and burned it….I took a gulp and showed by “six pack” of condoms. Seneca Falls Convention! I was last. I showed my centerfold from Playboy and Playgirl–gender equality–all MEN and WOMEN are born equal!! Did I get a reaction. It made my day. A bunch of my male and female friends came up to me and said–“Boy, that was brilliant. Talk about the chair! you’ve got guts. We’ll never those feminists!” Gee, I wrote “friends” instead of “classmates” without thinking. I think this class IS a sunrise for me. If Dr. Schmier’s sunrise came at 50 like he told us why not for me at 46? I’ve got four years on him…..

Monday, July 31: ….It doesn’t bother me near as much to get up front of the class it did. I rather enjoy it–sorta….I’ve come a long way in such a short time, but I do seem to still hang back when it comes to discussion in my other classes which are colder and sterile where the professor cares more for his subject than us–they remind me of hospital rooms. But the more I do it in Dr. Schmier’s class, the better it will get at it and do it in the other less supportive classes…..Saw him again as I was waiting to go to class….he’s right. I can’t rely on someone else to turn me off or on. I’d be no different than the slaves we’re studying. The excitement and confidence has to come from within….damn sounds like the detox center….more of that addiction to shyness and relying on others and going inside you instead of inside a bottle when faced with a tough situation….

Tuesday, Aug 1: ….I can’t believe I said absolutely nothing in class discussion today. I got a little “pissed off” at a couple of “youngins” for jumping on Dan….But what do I do?–nothing. A lot of work to do, nothing like a confidence breaker to show that….got a bit taken with myself….too much over-confidence….Now I know what Dr. Schmier meant when he said he’s always wary about stopping for too long to pat himself on the back too much for the few steps he has taken…..

Wednesday, Aug 2: If I don’t say something in class today I’ll have to go to bed w/o supper. I think that’s my new rule in regard to history class. I heard Dr. Schmier tell ****** that there’s an old Chinese saying, “Don’t ‘try.’ Do!” Good idea. No say something?–no supper! Just do it! Don’t try! Do it!…..well I didn’t say anything in class, but I think I’m on the threshold. Instead of planning what to say, I’d really would like to be “spontaneous.” If I can’t be spon. in this class, I doubt I could in any other….I’d talked with ***** about her accent and fear of talking. Told her that she sounded better than Dr. Schmier. She felt better–and said something in class today….

Friday, Aug 4: ….I got really upset with the unit supervisor today in the ward….I thought about Dr. Schmier & history class–honestly–and I actually told her how I felt about this situation….I think I’m getting a little bolder and am beginning to learn to speak my mind and take a risk rather than be pushed around or be quiet–especially when I know I’m right. I think she was surprised….It felt good….I feel like I’m a bit truer to myself and nearer to my true self.

Tuesday, Aug 8: Took a big step today. Volunteered to be interviewed for television by a crew filming our class. I almost shit in my pants, but I did it!!–Don’t try. Just do it–told them I have never learned as much history in all my schooling as I have in this one class. Doug said the same thing….told Dr. *****, in answer to whether Dr. Schmier’s style would work in any other class that I thought it wasn’t just technique but Dr. Schmier’s attitude and the atmosphere of support and encouragement and challenge he creates. I told him what I told the reporter–Dr. Schmier has this unshakable belief in us and when you go into a class and know everyone by name–and a little something about each of them–and you see them all over campus and work with them and speak to them as if you’ve known them all your life–and the professor is not on some distant high pedestal looking down on us like a god but is in the trenches with us–then whatever is taught and how it is taught–will be more enjoyable and fulfilling than sitting in a class of strangers afraid to speak to one another listening to another dull stranger at the front of the class talking….They used my interview and I was on television–me!

Thursday, Aug 10: ….it was impressive to listen during a discussion on social reform to ***** get up and speak about his bout with alcoholism as a teenager and **** mention that he was high school dropout and only has a GAD. I don’t think they are lesser in anyone’s eyes in this class. They know that. I know they are not in Dr. Schmier’s. It’s amazing how free we can be about ourselves in this class. I wish everyone got it….

Friday, Aug 11: ….picked up some great stuff for the final project scavenger hunt. You really have to know your stuff before you can think of a symbol. I tried to get stuff that would really indicate the importance of each person and how much I’ve learned about them….I’ve talked a lot more in class in these last weeks and have become a class leader of sort. Everyone seems, well most everyone, seems to willing to use their creativity and imagination more. It’s like a friendly game among family members…..that’s what most of us have become–a family. Are all those bonding and exercises, and the little things throughout the quarter, having a visible effect? Are we becoming the learning community Dr. Schmier is working hard to create? I know we are learning a heck of a lot this way. Most of us are not studying to pass a test. There are none! We’re learning and letting the results take care of themselves. Heck, if we weren’t understanding and learning, we couldn’t do the chapter commentaries, tidbits, roadmap, skits, games, and scavenger hunts. I’m amazed how few slackers there are. I’m beginning to see what Dr. Schmier believes and sees….

Wednesday, Aug 16: My new motto is “JUST DO IT” and NOT “wait ’till someone else does it first to make it safe.” I still get a little shaky at first when I get up….Before this class I probably would not have been able to even stand up in front of the class–you know I’m pretty good at this in the long run. I never would have thought I could have done this, understood so much, and learned even more. In fact–I’m proud of me!

Friday, Aug. 18: Last entry….These past eight weeks have been miraculous for me. I came in as rather shy person, deathly afraid of standing before the class, trembling at the thought of saying or doing anything other than what the professor told me to do, frightened of anything that would make me look stupid, embarrass me, and afraid I would be laughed at or ridiculed. Instead I have become extremely less shy and having absolutely no fear–well almost–that anything I said or did was out of line or stupid. It still shake a little at first, but not for long….I have faced fears that have been instilled in me which I didn’t know were there. Before, I thought I was content at sitting back, taking notes from boring speakers and memorizing what I thought they want me know or what they told me I must know. No more!! ….We had to have closure today and bring in a symbol of what we thought about ourselves. I brought in a bag of horsepoop and a shovel. I told the class that the shovel represented what Dr. Schmier and everyone else gave me, the support and encouragement to find the tools I didn’t know I had and needed to start digging beneath my fallow surface, discover that the land was not barren, and prepare my fertile ground for planting. The horsepoop showed how when I came here I thought of myself as a piece of useless shit, waiting for the first reason to go back and die as an orderly. Now, I see this doodoo as the fertilizer inside that will help me grow…..I thank Dr. Schmier and he told me that I did it, not him. He only helped me to ask the right question of myself, but I had to ask them and even more struggle to start answering them. He thanked ME for helping him grow. It has been like a breath of fresh air that you take in so deep you have to exhale slowly so you can keep his new air in you as long as possible. When you let it out–there’s a feeling of total relaxation, satisfaction, and accomplishment. I’ve learned to “Just Do It” and “Have Fun Doing It.” From “Miss August” and “Mr. July” to real “horse doodie,” it has been a strange and eventful inward trip. I know a lot of other in the class have made a trip maybe not as far but one step at a time, one day at a time, one class at a time. I now have an appetite for learning, a greater confidence that I can learn, and a need to share what and how I have learned. I am going to make one great nurse!!

Make it a good day.

–Louis–