The Farmer in the Dell

We are doing spade work in the classroom.

Now when my father gets this blog (our dear friend Sylvia is kind enough to print out copies of the blog entries so my computer-deprived father can read the comings and goings of his intrepid son) he will laugh and say, “He doesn’t know what spade work is! He’s only done yard work about a dozen times in his life!” A funny aside: when I bought my house in Charlotte in 1992 my father came to supervise the move, and when we arrived at the house, a dozen helpful and wonderful students loading and unloading boxes, my father urged the group to take a good look at the yard saying, “it’ll never look this good again!”

But we are doing academic spade work here. The goals for this past week included prompt arrival to class with the right materials, the practicing of note-taking, and, gulp…the big one…thinking like a historian. Like any good journeyman farmer, it was (metaphorically of course) backbreaking, strenuous, and rewarding in many ways. We are plowing over (under? whatever!) new ground in many ways.

One of two quotations of the week came early last week when I was sitting with a couple science teachers lamenting how hard it was for these students to question a historical source, and do anything other than memorization (which, I am not sure is a great skill of theirs either, but I haven’t required any so I will not stand in judgment on that count). A Jordanian colleague spoke frankly, “John, don’t forget, we just see history as useless.”

Oh, okay. I’ll try and remember!

Get out the scholarly garden tools everyone!!

Last week many students’ schedules needed to be re-worked given the changes in arts classes, ethics classes, etc. and so one day I found myself with a new class of 20 students. Now that shouldn’t be a problem, and my dear public school teacher friends, please do not roll your eyes at the number, but, the room only has 16 chairs, and the hearkness table atmosphere barely accommodates that number of sweet 16 anyway. I had a class of 18 boys and 2 girls, and I affirm on all that is holy in pop culture, this was a class of behavior issues I had never imagined! We worked to get a pen in hand, and a notebook open for every hormonally-enthused teenager in the room. It took 30 minutes. I decided there must be a better way.

I searched my Columbia University Teachers College-trained mind and soul for help with these behaviorally challenged youngsters.

But, in the end, I eschewed the ways of all the greats: John Dewey, Maxine Greene, Nel Noddings, Lynda Darling-Hammond. I turned my back on all that is pedagogically logical, and I begged my friend Fatina: “take me to a candy store. I must have candy.”

Fatina obliged and we sped to Madaba, and I got bags of M&Ms. I figured B.F. Skinner and the rats might have the answer to the notebook-open-pen-in-hand rap I had begun to chant in class. I would give them candy for being like good 3rd graders. (Is a Protestant allowed to utter a good ole Oy Vey?)

The following day as the students sauntered in, I had written on the board, “Please take your seats, and be prepared for class.” When the bell rang, I counted to 10 out loud. Who was ready? Who? Who had read the board? Why is that excited American counting? Four students got a handful of M&Ms.The rest? Oh, yes, they whined. They would have to wait for the candy!

By the end of the day, word had gotten round a bit, and in the last class, 9 of 15 students complied and got a handful of the candy the Mars brothers invented so World War II gunner-soldiers could enjoy a chocolate-y treat and not have sticky fingers for their weapons (ah, you didn’t know you would get some food history today, did you??).

The next day: in the class of 20, all but 2 were seated and ready seconds before the bell rang (seconds before people!). I saw smiles. I got out the candy. It was a day of jubilation, organization, acquiescence and strong insights.

Later that day I saw Meera, the outstanding university professor, and she looked a little down. She mentioned how she just can’t get some of the boys to bring their book to class, and be a prepared student. I felt wise at this moment—you see, I had the answer. I said to her, “Meera, do not be proud. Buy the candy. It changed my life.”

Quick—buy some stock in American candy companies! I have a feeling…

I explained to the students the next day about B.F. Skinner and his concept of random reinforcement and said, “you never know when the charitable hand of candy will reward you. Be prepared.” We shall see.

Last week I picked a cultural artifact to discuss each day. In the US I would teach more than one artifact a class period, but I just wanted to cover one thing well every day, and see how they did at sustaining a conversation about one historical topic or concept. I chose things I knew would grab them, and it worked. One day we discussed a photograph, one day a painting, one day an 18th century engraving, one day a movie clip. Each day we tried to figure what we saw in the work, and what questions we needed to ask so that the article made better sense. Each day was more spade work trying to illuminate what good historical thinking was.

I also introduced a straightforward paper topic due in two weeks. As I explained the process, the need for research, for crafting an argument and not relying on an “announcement” one boy, a boy particularly moved by the candy technique, raised his hand, and asked, “May we plagiarize?”

There is spade work to be done.

By the end of the week there were some changes again with scheduling, and after I put my authoritative foot down, the class of 20 had been pared down to 11, and the girl, affectionately known in my blog as SS, was transferred to another class. Frankly, I am a little sad that she and I would not have the wondrous gift of a year together, but c’est la vie. I don’t know the Arabic for that phrase yet, sorry.

I have enjoyed study hall in the evening. For the first two weeks of school it was in the library, and I would go over at night just for fun and walk around and check on the students. I love that one-on-one time to check on their work, possibly allay their fears, and talk more of the expectations we have for them. After those two hours in the library, they would boisterously return to the dorms, and often burst out in song and dance—one night a conga line of 20 boarders on the second floor, and one night a group doing a Japanese tribal dance they had learned in the dance class.

In last week’s classes on the cultural artifacts there were some insightful and elegant comments. One bright girl named Reed explained the irony in the French engraving from 1738. Her comments definitely pushed us to a new understanding of this penny-print; a boy named Mohammed explained to his class how the figure in this one 1932 British painting had a shameful look, and then he said, “he seems almost regretful about the state of humanity.” Like the crocuses around Easter time, flowers emerge from the fertile soil. Wow.

Of course, there is spade work to be done for me as well! Last week I was with my colleague Fatina (she of the “I need M&Ms,” and the “I want a hamburger soon” car service) in the library when a student summoned me for help. “Come help me, Mr. John” asked Rashed. I bid him to come to me, but he said he needed me at his laptop. As I got up to join him at his study carrel I said, “Oh sure, if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain will go to…” and I stopped. Eyes wide, I said, “Oh. Oh, I’ll bet that’s sacreligious here!” Dear Fatina, good friend, said with a smile, “I will forgive you, but yes, best not to use that phrase in this part of the world.” As curious historians, we then wondered how that phrase ever came to be, but I realized one should try and stay one sentence ahead in one’s brain if possible.

Most farmers have to wait months to see the fruits of their spade work. Mohammed, the same as the insightful one above, rewarded me much more swiftly.

Last week Mohammed earned 2 Fs on homework assignments. We talked, etc. and then I showed the students how I wanted them to do a Journal Sheet of their thoughts covering the week’s work. Mohammed did his that night, three nights early (he did miss the idea that it should cover the whole week, but never get toooooooo picky about work early!) and came to show me. “How is it, Mr. John?” “Mohammed, this work is brilliant! You chose great examples, and you explained them! That’s it!,” I enthused. He asked me, “What mark do you think I will get?” I looked him in his wide eyes—“I think it is an A.” His eyes just sparkled, and he smiled and said, “Inshallah.”

Should I end the entry with the sobering disclosure that I gave as many As as I gave Fs?

Well, I have the spade in hand, and “hi-ho” it is off to do some more work.