MIA: Students Who Never Show

I’m about to drop six students of the eleven who remain in the magazine-writing course.

Fifteen signed up. Of those, four have already left. These six are people who aren’t turning in assignments but haven’t bothered to drop the course. That’s a total attrition rate of 66.7%.

Only three classmates turned in the most recent assignment, so I’m afraid two more may be on their way out.

This is not atypical. One interesting (but very small) study showed that on the MBA level some 42 percent of online students dropped. The New York Times puts attrition rates as high as 90 percent in some large online courses. More credibly, the Chronicle of Higher Education reports that “countless” studies show success rates of around 50% in online courses, as opposed to 70% to 75% in F2F sections.

Nor is it surprising, especially in the community colleges where large numbers of students hold down full-time jobs and care for families while they try to struggle through their coursework. As the Chron‘s author pointed out three years ago, some subjects shouldn’t be presented online at all, and many students aren’t well suited for independent online study. I think it might also be said that the online environment itself is not well suited for certain kinds of study: people who use the Internet all the time quickly come to expect short bursts of information requiring brief, gestalt bursts of attention. The environment itself invites distraction. That’s inimical to sustained concentration, study, and effort.

On the one hand, for me it means almost no grading. But on the other, it would be bizarre for the college to continue offering this course, when maybe three of fifteen students make it through to the end of the semester.

And that would be too bad (for me…). I don’t make much on these little courses, but it’s a little bit. And every little bit helps.

Hope the “indie” book-publishing scheme works. It may be needed to replace the so-called income from teaching…fortunately, so little money comes from teaching that I won’t have to earn much from the books.

As we speak, a conversion dude is working on making Kindleizing a book spun off this site: Slave Labor: The New Story of American Higher Education.

As soon as he finishes that, he’ll move on to the diet/cookbook: How I Lost 30 Pounds in Four Months. Then to the first of what I expect to be a series of speculative fiction novels, Fire-Rider.

Those three books are in the can. I’ve got material residing on Funny about Money to spin off at least one book, maybe more. The puppy is a gold mine of schmaltzy stories of the sort that sell. I have two more plotlines for the Fire-Rider series and a decent idea for an entirely different series of sci-fi novels.

Additionally, I have CDs on how to improve your writing skills — things I used to sell to my upper-division students at the Great Desert University. Should be able to crank at least one e-book from that; another on how to edit your own work; and one or two more from various presentations I’ve given over the years. They say eight is the magic number for writers who want to earn a noticeable income from e-books. I expect to have that many on Amazon and waypoints by the end of 2015.

It has to be said that any day I’d rather poke along writing fun little books than spend hours laboring over student papers and other people’s Ph.D. dissertations.

Meanwhile, there’s the great mystery of why people pay good money to attend a college course and then never bother to show or even to drop.

Posted in Online coursework, Students | Leave a comment

Would You Advise a Student to Get the Ph.D. in Your Discipline?

So, here we are reading student intros for the newest iteration of the magazine-writing course, and up pops a young woman who announces she wants to go all the way through to the Ph.D. in English(!) because, heaven help her, she wants to be a professor of English.

Oh, dear.

What do you say to an otherwise smart kid like this?

I can’t imagine recommending that a student — certainly not one enrolled in a community college — get a doctorate in English. Maybe, maybe if she had a solid, credible shot at a graduate program at, say, Princeton or Harvard. But if this is a kid who’s likely to end up at a public university? Not a chance!

Maybe I was too blunt in replying that she should be very careful about what she wishes for. When I was that age, there was nothing in the world that I wanted more than an academic career.

I wanted to go into the sciences. But in the first place my math wasn’t good and in the second, as a practical matter women were even less welcome in astrophysics and microbiology (my two preferred subjects) than they were in university humanities departments. Hence by default I ended up first in French and then in English. But…in those days the baby boom was hitting college, and there were lots of jobs in just about any subject.

LOL! By the time I finished the doctorate, the boomers had graduated and the academic job market had collapsed. Since then, hiring in academic positions has gone from bad to worse, especially in the humanities.

If I were a young thang today and I envisioned myself, oh so vividly, someday pacing the ivied halls of academe, I would get the terminal degree in business management. The math required is not too onerous, and because of the apparently irreversible trend to convert university-level education into trade-school training, there are still plenty of jobs in business schools. Better yet, a Ph.D. in business will affect your real-world job prospects in exactly the opposite way of the doctorate in English: instead of making you unemployable, it will make you highly desirable.

If I could muster the math skills and gag down the boredom, I’d get the degree in accountancy. Even the Great Desert University is hiring brand-new Ph.D.’s in accountancy at salaries in the six figures.

You’re lucky to earn five figures with a degree in English.

What about you? What would you say to a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young student who expressed a desire to pursue a Ph.D. in your field?

Posted in Adjunct Poverty, Careers, Education in America | Leave a comment

Adjunct: It’s Not a Job. It’s Community Service

That sounds ironic, I expect. But…maybe not. I’ve turned over a new leaf in the attitude department. A few weeks ago I came across a resumé posted by the Great Desert University’s radically high-paid legal counsel, a gent who happens to be a former law partner of my former spouse. On it, he mentions that he teaches the occasional course at the community colleges.

And where does he list this attribute? Under “Community Service.”

Heh. That’s good, isn’t it?

When you think about that, though, it’s more than just ironically, deliciously good. It’s freaking brilliant.

First, the guy has got it dead right: Pay for community college teaching is so absurdly low it doesn’t even come up to the level of minimum wage. It’s decidedly not what we  professionals earn.

Second, to say he’s teaching college courses as a “service” makes him sound sooo magnanimous!

Welp, after some rumination, I came to the conclusion that what I do to earn a few shekels on the side does not rise to the level of a real job, but it does qualify as a kind of volunteer work. It is, one could say quite accurately, community service.

So after this, that’s what I’m calling it.

You should see the difference in people’s reactions, when you say you teach as a community service rather than saying you teach adjunct, you teach part-time, or you teach on a contract basis for the junior colleges. It’s amazing. The other day I sprang it on one of my clients, a high-powered CEO of a foreign bank. He accepted the statement with equanimity and even gave me a fleeting look of respect.

Quite a change from the look of pity, the look of disdain, and the blank look the phrase “adjunct teaching” elicits.

So I’m feeling a little better about the job. Regarding it as a variety of volunteerism means the pay is irrelevant. And that’s nice.

I guess.

The attitude is much improved, too, by the fact that henceforth all my courses will be online, except for one short course this summer that’s likely to attract relatively high achievers. Not having to go into the classroom and deal with the barrage of disrespect, inattention, and outright craziness makes managing these courses bearable.

To the extent that I can avoid it, face-to-face teaching is now a thing of the past for me. I’ve got an English 102 section and the magazine writing course this semester, as many courses as the chair is allowed to assign. If he’ll keep that up, by golly, my teaching “career” won’t be at an end, after all.

Well, yes it will. It’s no longer a career. It’s a volunteer activity.

Posted in Adjunct Poverty, Careers | 1 Comment

A Good Syllabus: Different for Full-timers and Adjuncts

While I was out of town on Friday, the departmental chair e-mailed to ask if I would take on a mythology course: in the English department, a study of the literary and anthropological evidence of organized mythological constructs around the world. The full-time instructor scheduled to teach the section this semester had fallen ill. Could be back in one to three weeks; might be out all semester.

As a practical matter, the District’s pay for substituting is pretty good — at least over the short term. It works out to around $50 an hour, in the ball park of what I earn as a contract editor. If you end up taking over the course, though, pay falls abruptly into the adjunct’s minimum-wage range, because it doesn’t cover the hours spent grading papers and conferring with students out of class.

That notwithstanding…I recently ponied up $1650 for a desk chair to ease the excruciating back pain that’s afflicted me over the past 18 months. A net $1900 or so would cover that expense. So, thought I, why not? It’s not freshman comp…that’s something.

This gives me two sections this fall: an eight-week online course that starts the middle of this month, and a face-to-face lit course that started several weeks ago and has been without an instructor for some time.

So the chair sent the instructor’s syllabus over. And it’s quite a production.

As a device to help community-college students achieve success, this is a very fine teaching tool. It’s designed to teach effective study skills — or to reinforce them for those who already have them.

The disabled instructor has assigned seventeen short writings over the reading matter — clearly intended to force students to actually read the texts and, not only that, but to think about the reading. She asks them not to summarize but, in a couple of paragraphs, to consider how a specific concept applies to a specific myth and then to analyze the myth in that context.

She has also assigned two substantial researched critical essays, 1,000 to 1,500 words or so.

She promises random pop quizzes.

And she has a final exam — an essay exam on the Odyssey.

Wow. The sheer amount of work involved in grading this volume of student maunderings beggars the imagination.

Even as a full-time faculty member, this lady is definitely earning her pay. On the other hand…her pay is substantial. Some of these folks earn near or in the six figures. For that kind of pay, I could write a syllabus like this one, too. And would.

But as an adjunct? Well, my syllabus would be significantly different. I would seek ways to maximize student effort and minimize my effort.

Instead of assigning a weekly paper, I’d probably do pop quizzes to be graded and discussed in class. This occupies class time and gets students talking about the reading material. Instead of two term-paper-length essays, I would assign one presentation and one substantial paper. And instead of an essay exam, they’d get a true-false-multiple guess final.

Even at that, I’d still be earning less than minimum wage, with no benefits, by the time you figure in the course prep time and the grading time.

Would my course be lesser than our f/t instructor’s? Absolutely. It would be designed more for my self-protection and less for tutoring weak students in the techniques of learning.

And therein lies a specific, real-world illustration showing how the widespread practice of staffing college and university courses with adjuncts works real harm. It harms students, and it harms the quality of American education.

So it goes: we get what we pay for. Well. Unless we’re students, that is…

Posted in Adjunct Poverty, Community Colleges | Leave a comment

While Rome Burns…

Seventy percent of New York University’s faculty is adjunct. They are unionized, and consequently they have access to health insurance and a retirement plan, assuming they can qualify and assuming they can afford the plans. However, they are adjunct, a status that even in a union shop equates financially to “can’t afford it.”

So NYU saves wads and wads of money by staffing its courses with part-timers. And where do you suppose all that money goes?

Well, for starters, into fancy vacation homes of its upper administrators. NYU’s president, John  Sexton, owns a million-dollar home on Fire Island, purchased with a loan from an NYU foundation. And he’s only one of a number who enjoy the the same perq.

Former NYU Executive Vice President Jacob J. Lew was graced with $1.5 million in mortgage loans, of which the university eventually forgave $440,000.

Former NYU Law School Dean Richard Revesz occupies a West Village town house financed by NYU and a 65-acre estate near the Housatonic River.

And so it goes. This and other egregious examples of tax-exempt academic largesse are justified, according to the Times, by a crying need to recompense upper management in the style to which they would become accustomed were they working in the corporate world:

“The purpose of our loan programs goes right to the heart of several decades of sustained and successful effort at N.Y.U.: to transform N.Y.U. from a regional university into a world-class research residential university,” John H. Beckman, the university spokesman, said in an e-mail. In some fields, he added, certain loans help retain faculty members who “can easily pursue a financially rewarding professional career instead of choosing the path of university scholarship and teaching.”

Right. Tuition is $1,204 per credit, plus an additional $63 “registration fee” per credit. Plus $11 per credit for any course offered in the College of Arts and Sciences. Plus a program fee of $250. Plus other course-specific fees. Plus $211 a week for a dorm room. One hundred twenty-eight credits are required for a bachelor’s in “liberal studies,” a degree that will leave you underwhelmingly employable.

At $1,204 + $63 + $11/credit, a bachelor’s degree from this institution will set you back $163,584. That’s assuming you live at home and that your parents foot the bill for your food and your commuting costs.

Presumably it’ll be a while before an NYU grad can afford a house on 65 acres by the Housatonic.

Presumably that will be never for most of his or her “professors.”

If you needed any further proof that the practice of staffing courses with adjunct faculty is grossly exploitive, you just found it.

 

 

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How to Cut the Number of Points Available in Comp Courses

Frugal Scholar  has decided, in response to student complaints posted on Rate My Professor to the effect that she doesn’t provide enough points in her courses, to up the number of available points to 1,000. To make this happen, she will assign a bunch of 20-point activities, and to turn the result into an intelligible score for the final grade, she will divide the result by 10.

She compares this strategy — rightly, as we will see by the end of next semester — with J.C. Penney’s scheme of increasing their prices and then giving people coupons and sales. Consumers, we are told, would rather think they’re getting a bargain on an inflated price than to be offered “everyday low prices” (i.e., realistic retail prices) all the time. Students, like consumers in general, are very stupid about numbers, and so are easily flamboozled.

On the other hand, generating 1,000 points will not be easy. It will require Frugal Scholar to assign flurries of little 20-point exercises, each of which she will have to read and assess. Even if they’re rote things with simple “right” and “wrong” answers, they still will occupy time out of class. And since she’s at one of those colleges that inflict five sections a semester on everyone, even tenured faculty, that means 20 or 30 returned papers x 5: 100 to 150 papers per assignment to read.

If she can get through a given paper in 2 minutes, that’s 200 to 300 minutes per mind-numbing assignment: three hours and twenty minutes to five hours per assignment. And believe me, in each section at least two or three nimrods will turn in something that’s such a tangle it will take lots longer than 2 minutes to explain why the student scored 3 points out of 20. If she doesn’t take that time up front, then she will find herself spending even more time explaining to her chair or her dean why she’s discriminating against that poor little soul.

This is COLLEGE, for cripesake. If you have to assign a thousand points of busywork to keep students on task through the semester, they shouldn’t be in college. And you shouldn’t have to waste your time grading 20-point dingbats here and 20-point dingbats there because they can’t score passing grades on real assignments.

Toward the end of my own reluctantly reborn career in teaching freshman comp, I decided I was not going to read 20 or 30 busywork assignments (x 60 students!) meant to inflate their grades when the assignments that were required by the community college district’s policy came to four essays in 101 and three in 102.

This conclusion came about after a couple of full-timers described how they operated their sections. With a five & five teaching load, they certainly weren’t knocking themselves out reading 87 gerjillion 20-point assignments.

I gave students one, count it (1), opportunity to turn in a draft, which was to be “as close to a final paper as you can make it.” This occurred before the first required essay; it was graded as though it were a final paper and commented upon in detail, with instructions on what they needed to do to score a decent grade. Those who were clearly illiterate were instructed to take their papers to the writing center and work with a coach before turning them in to me.

To keep them busy, I compiled a 60-page workbook of exercises, which they had to do in class. Instead of grading that stuff, we discussed their responses in class. This, as you may imagine, handily consumed a fair number of class periods. Since most of them had never heard of a style manual and few understood (or cared) that pasting passages off the Internet into their papers amounts to plagiarism, it gave them opportunities to practice MLA style and other key matters without being beaten about the head and shoulders.

And then I assigned the topics for each paper — for each student — at the beginning of the semester. Each classmate had to give two oral reports preparatory to submitting a given paper:

1) What specific approach did they intend to take to their topic? How did they intend to focus the essay, and what specific research material did they intend to use? (All of their papers were sourced and documented — yes, even in 101, and no, most of them had never written a sourced paper in their lives.) They had to turn in an outline with this report.

2) Report to your classmates what you have learned about your topic and why it should matter to us.  With this report, they had to turn in a preliminary bibliography.

I also assigned them to groups by closely related topics, so they could help each other with their research. They spent time in the library to do research (many of them spent the time socializing) and time in the computer labs drafting their papers (many of them spent the time on Facebook).

They got scores for the oral reports — meaning I didn’t have to use unpaid time out of class to read the equivalent garbage they would turn in when I used to ask them to put the stuff in writing. I used the first report to determine whether they were on track in terms of subject matter and focus, and the second to see whether they were actually doing any work on the assignment. Additionally, they got scores at random for the exercises (they never knew when I was going to ask them to turn one in).

That enormously reduced the amount of time I had to spend reading careless schlock. Instead of a spreadsheet that extended to and disappeared over the western horizon, the gradesheet had (for Eng. 102, for example) 12 scores, 6 of which were oral reports. And since adjuncts at Heavenly Gardens are, by explicit written policy, paid only for the time they spend in the classroom, it reduced the number of hours I had to spend working for no pay.

It did not change the grading curve.

It did not change retention levels.

Ultimately, it did not make me dislike the low-paid, futile job any less. But it did make it bearable for a few semesters.

Posted in Assessment, Teaching composition | 2 Comments

Good Li’l Students!

So here we are, a few weeks into the semester, and the Magazine Writing Crew at Heavenly Gardens Community College has turned in its first real article, after an interminable number of preparatory exercises and real-world projects. Amazingly, quite a few of their efforts are very good. One — actually, maybe two are writing at the publishable level. Several are doing creditable jobs for student efforts, and several are well above creditable.

Sounds just awesome, doesn’t it?

Well, of course, it is awesome. Happy indeed is what we should be if even one of our students, especially one on the 200 level, is already reaching something like a professional stage. Pleased, if several of them are earning genuine A’s, not the kind generated by busywork calculated to inflate grades with the purpose of inflating our student evaluations.

But…

But the fact is that these excellent students self-select in the MagaWriting course simply by staying enrolled. Of the twenty who enrolled in this course, eight survive. Seven of those turned in the recently due article; eight turned in the query (a type of real-world proposal) for the next article.

Fewer than half the original bunch are still with us, and they’re the ones who are earning A’s and B’s. One or two of them are functioning at such a high level that one might reasonably ask why they’re in the class at all, since they could be selling freelance articles right now, today.

Soooo… The people who could actually benefit from the class, the ones who could actually learn something new: they’ve absented themselves.

There must be a way, somehow, to keep those students in the class.

I just wish I knew what it is.

Posted in Community Colleges, Students | Leave a comment

Little Lambs Lost in Canvasland

We’re nearing the end of the first week of Heavenly Gardens’s online magazine writing course, which for the first time I mounted on Canvas. Five days into the term, I’m still in the honeymoon phase with Canvas. As for my little lambs? Uhm…it’s hard to have a honeymoon with someone you can’t find.

Nineteen students signed up for the class. Of those, nine replied to the e-mail notice I sent out last weekend, telling them where to find the course’s site and asking them to reply to let me know whether they intend to participate. (Many community college students run into personal and work circumstances that make it difficult or impossible to do coursework they expected they could handle.)

The College is now requiring students to use a G-mail system specific to the District. This wish is mostly honored in the breach. In the first place, younger students hardly use e-mail at all. And in the second, nobody wants the inconvenience of having to ride herd on yet another in-box. So, many students simply ignore this demand.

And that means it’s entirely possible that ten of the maga-writing students never saw that e-mail.

Two, responding to the same notice placed in the first weekly announcement, said they haven’t received it. Since I copied and pasted their e-mail addresses from the District’s records, that seems…well, unlikely. But anything’s possible.

The first two (very mickeymouse) assignments are due by 11:59 tonight. So far seven classmates have turned in one or both of these. Those who have full-time day jobs presumably will send theirs this evening.

So far, I really like the way Canvas is working. It hasn’t gone down even once — at least, not that I’ve noticed. Its ease of integrating assignments with the gradebook and with communication is just awesome.

The student (I finally figured out how to get into the “Student” view) can click on the Assignments link in the navigation bar. There she sees a list of live links to each of the course’s graded assignments.

She clicks on, say, “Market Research,” the first substantive project of the semester, and she gets a detailed description of the assignment, its due date, its point value, and a “Submit Assignment” button. When she clicks on that, she gets an option to attach it as a file or to paste it into a textbox. She also can add comments to the instructor.

The instructor can then see, by at least two avenues, which assignments students have turned in. Within the gradebook, you can see icons flagging submitted papers, and you can instantly access the student’s work simply by clicking on the icon. Once you’ve read the classmate’s paper, you can enter a grade in the page the icon elicited, and that places the grade in the correct place in the gradebook. And you can return the graded paper to the student from the same page.

So: no more clicking and clicking and clicking and clicking on the same function until you’re blue in the face. Navigating the gradebook is easy, with no fussy demands that this, that, or the other bit of ditz be done before you can move off a cell.

The one drawback about it — so far — is that students can’t access an assignment’s “submit” function until close to the due date. That’s a nuisance, especially if you have students who have a good reason to submit papers early. For example, I tell them that if they know they’re going to be out of town on a due date, they should turn the stuff in beforehand. The only way they can do that, then, is by e-mail.

As we scribble, my go-to e-mail has 116 new messages waiting for me to answer or to delete. In a current like that, it’s easy to lose a message from one little student, especially at the start of the semester, when you don’t recognize their names. So it would help a lot if they could submit papers through Canvas at any time, whenever they choose.

Maybe that function is there, though, and I just haven’t found it yet.

 

Posted in Community Colleges, Online coursework | Leave a comment

Canvas: So Far, an Improvement

Gearing up for a new eight-week session of English 235, the magazine-writing course. The course is 100 percent online; in the past Blackboard has proven to be such a headache that I created my own CMS (“course management system,” ô ye mercifully uninitiated) on WordPress.com, which does everything my students need, is easy and intuitive for webmaster and student alike, and never goes down. Heavenly Gardens Community College, however, has dropped Blackboard in favor of a newer, less bloated system called Canvas, the product of a five-year-old enterprise called Instructure. At this point I have the entire course online, and it took only two evenings to get it there — a huge improvement over days of wrestling with Blackboard!

Apparently it’s pretty easy to export a semester’s course to a new shell for a subsequent semester, and so if the organization I’ve designed works for the students, it should take significantly less time to set up future sections.

At the outset, several conveniences rolled into one impressed the hell out of me. Videlicet: in the “Assignments” function, you can enter a full description, due date, and point value for each of the tasks with which you intend to belabor your students.

When you do that, you accomplish not one, not two, but THREE tasks, any one of which is time-consuming and tedious in Blackboard:

1. You establish a chronological list of the course’s assignments, visible to classmates.

2. You automatically enter the assignments and point values in the gradebook(!!), in chronological order(!).

3. You enter assignments on their due dates in a nice calendar, organized in a normal, conventional calendar format.

Holy freaking mackerel.

Building the gradebook in BB is such torture. All of that misery — sometimes several hours of misery, we might add — disappears with Canvas.

Fall on the ground and worship at the feet of Instructure’s young entrepreneurs!

The calendar function allows you to enter assignments from within the calendar, too, but more to the point, you can enter other “events.” This allowed me to post reminders, a week or so before unusual or particularly difficult tasks are due, to let students know they need to get started early or that they should already be addressing a specific phase of the job.

It was very easy to replicate the series of weekly announcements I’d posted in WordPress. All I had to do was copy from the “Visual” view and paste to Canvas — links in the copy came over unmolested, formatting converted nicely to Canvas’s standard, and all that remained to do was update a few details and then schedule posting at the desired dates. I kind of thought I would have to copy the HTML out of WP’s “text” view into the equivalent view in Canvas, but nay…all went smoothly with exactly zero extra hassle.

Burn incense to Instructure’s young entrepreneurs.

Entering hypertext is intuitive and easy with the traditional link-shaped icon, and magically, typing a URL into your text automatically makes it go live, relieving you of the task of highlighting it and copying it into the insert/edit link command. This is one of those many small tasks that, when repeated ad infinitum (as they will be when mounting any online course) consume an inordinate amount of unpaid time.

Light a candle to Instructure’s investors.

There are a few things I have yet to learn.

In the faculty training seminar, we built a bio; I can’t find a way to edit that.

Our instructor showed us how to embed YouTube videos, but I couldn’t replicate her trick, which as I recall entailed having to use the old YouTube embed code. Even if I could remember exactly how she did it, the old code doesn’t appear with my video lectures.

There’s got to be a way to create a page of links or a list of links in a sidebar, but I’ll be darned if I can find it. I had to type links into Word docs and upload them into a function called “Files.” It’s a clumsy workaround that I’ll have to change whenever I figure out how to do that job right.

These are pretty minor issues, though, compared with the ease of building the grade book, the automation of the calendar, and the sheer consistency, across functions, of the operations. So far, no two functions require different coding or different actions. They all work the same way. None of them are provided by outside vendors, and none of them are quirky, annoying, or weird. Hallelujah!

Thank you, Gods of Instructure!

Fixing these small matters will require a trip to the campus during one of the open lab sessions, which I’ll need to do some time over the next couple of weeks — the course starts March 3, and I want it to go live a few days before then.

Now, if the thing just stays up all term and doesn’t crash at the psychological moment, I’ll be converted to a true believer. For the time being, I’m keeping the WordPress course as a back-up, just in case. That means double the free labor, of course, but it’ll be worth it if the new system goes down, as Blackboard could always be relied upon to do. And for the same reason, I’m asking students to e-mail their completed work to me, rather than posting it on the site, having been burned one time too many by BB.

Canvas looks good now. We’ll see how it holds up when every campus of the largest community college district in the nation plugs in. Last fall we had over 265,000 students; that could be a challenge for a young enterprise with only 200 employees and some 300 client institutions. If they can just keep it simple, though, and not gum up the works with unnecessary functions and bloatware, maybe they’ll have a shot at success.

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Paranoia in the Classroom

Nice timing: the hideous events in Connecticut occurred as I was filing final grades for the last composition classes I’ll ever teach.

When the news came down, a selfish and unworthy thought entered my mind: thank God I’ll never have to walk into a classroom again!

You know, one doesn’t obsess about it, but concern for the safety of one’s students and oneself does enter every teacher’s mind. La Maya and I were talking about this yesterday. She says the Great Desert University West has jimmied the classroom doors so faculty can’t lock them.

They used to be lockable. When I taught there, I checked — I wanted to be able to lock the classroom door in case some poor unhinged soul decided to come a-visiting with a semi. And my students told the tale of a faculty member who became so irked by students wandering in late that he took to locking the door at the appointed hour, so late-comers couldn’t get in at all.

Some punkins! :roll: Why on earth would you care if the kid shuffles in 15 minutes late? This isn’t high school…missing part of your lecture is the kid’s problem, not yours. Oh well.

At Heavenly Gardens, none of the doors lock. What’s more, each classroom has only one entry. GDU’s computer-equipped classrooms have two: one near the front of the room and one near the back. So, if someone who meant us no good did come in one door, at least a few students would be able to get out the other. With the Heavenly Gardens set-up, everyone in the room would be trapped.

GDU also had phones in every classroom. At the community college, the only phone is out in the hall. Apparently it doesn’t occur to the administration that 80% of the school’s faculty don’t earn enough to pay for a cell phone.

Neither school has a very simple and obvious expedient: a panic button at the instructor’s station. How likely is it, when someone charges in the door shooting, that you’d have time to dig a cell phone out of your purse and call for help? GDU installed panic buttons for the admins after one menacingly disturbed faculty member had to be fired (they cleared out part of the building before sending the chair, accompanied by several DPS officers, to his home to tell him he was canned). There’s no reason they couldn’t be installed in every classroom.

Lockable classroom doors and a panic button in each room seem so simple, so obvious, and so inexpensive. What is the matter with administrators that they don’t provide them?

Some remarkably foolish things have come out of the hysterical national conversation surrounding the horrific event. One is the bizarre idea that there’s a direct connection between Adam Lanza’s alleged Asperger’s and his breakdown.

That’s absurd. People with Asperger’s are just like other people: they can be angry, they can be calm; they can be happy, they can be sad; they can be smart, they can be dumb; they can be mentally healthy, they can be mentally ill. Asperger’s syndrome is not a red flag that you’re going to become violent.

I’ve had two Asperger’s kids in my junior-college classrooms. And yeah, they’re different. Sometimes they can be a little difficult. With the right kind of accommodation, they can be successful and rewarding human beings.

The idea that screening every gun buyer will prevent events like Newtown is pretty pathetic, too. The shooter didn’t buy the guns: his mother, who was regarded as a stable member of the community, bought them. Like anyone who wants a semiautomatic weapon, the shooter found a way to get  his hands on them.

It’s way, way too late to take guns out of Americans’ hands. As we scribble, Arizonans are cleaning out the shelves of local gun stores, as they always do every time a new gun control flap arises. Prior stupidity that made it possible for civilians to buy military-style weapons and load them with cop-killing bullets has ensured that we will never be able to take the things off the street. The country is pretty well flooded with high-powered weapons, and there’s no way gun owners will obediently turn them in to government agencies.

Particularly not the ones who think the world is going to end on Friday.

Meanwhile, we need to find ways to keep our public spaces safe, and that does not include arming teachers and administrators.

Classroom doors should be lockable and hardened so the locks can’t easily be shot off. Every classroom should be equipped with a panic button. Every classroom should have more than one exit.

Sales of semi-automatic and fully automatic weapons need to come to an end. Today. Now.

And most important: access to quality health care, including mental health care, must be made available to every American, rich or poor. That is the only way we can bring a stop to the staggering losses the status quo is causing. We’ve lost more than 20 little kids and eight school faculty. Adam’s and his mother’s lives were wasted, too.

 

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