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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FREE AT LAST! But with a little gift or two…

Oh, God. Finally got done with the last class. Yesterday was a bear! And like the eternally undead, this accursed teaching job will. not. go. away.

Out the door at quarter to seven, navigating the cut-throat traffic to get to my regular Thursday business meeting. Stupid woman damn near crashed my car by charging around me, into the oncoming traffic, in a major intersection as I was turning left!!!!!!!!!

Fly from that meeting, running late. Speed across the city, jet up a freeway, and run into the classroom right at the minute the 101s’ final exam period started.

Feed them Phaque Phood to go with the Phaque Phinal: horrible popcorn purchased perforce (oh, the onomatopoeia!) from charity-happy colleague.

Every kid who had even the vaguest question about her or his semester grade wanted me to grade the final right then and there. This was easy because it’s just a matter of glancing at the thing, and though it was mildly annoying, it meant I got rid of about half of them on the spot.

Meanwhile, an Eng. 102 student who has an F in that class has been pestering me, by e-mail, to meet with her on the campus. I explain three times that a) I have no office in which to meet; b) after she received two D’s and a 0, there’s no way her grade is going to be anything other than an F; and c) I have work to do and I’m not traipsing back out to Heavenly Gardens to argue with her.

Just as I shoot off an e-mail volley to this woman, Mr. Strangelove comes up and asks didn’t I get his papers? I say he submitted one, count it one, of the four papers, the first one, and he should have noticed that I never returned any of the others…that was because I never received them. He now says he discovered his e-mail wasn’t forwarding them and it was sequestering emails from me. That’s clear and present bullshit, of course, but I wasn’t in any mood to accuse him of lying. Ultimately, he talks me into accepting three of the four papers that he never bothered to turn in. He claims he has to work and will need 48 hours before he can get back to his computer.

This means that for reasons unknown to anyone with an ounce of sanity, he has decided to write all three papers in the next day and a half.

I take him over to the chair’s office, where fortunately said chair is lurking, and ask if I can give Mr. Strangelove an Incomplete or what. He says that’s fine, but it’s really easier to give him an F and then change the grade later, because the Incomplete process is so complicated and difficult to navigate. Okay. Strangelove agrees to this.

Shovel the 102s out the door, again running late.

Jump back into the car and jet back out to Scottsdale for a BNI meeting. First one of those I’ve ever attended. It’s a bit of a cult, but I can see that if you really got into it, you might turbocharge your marketing. Expensive, though: about $1,000/year. Not at all sure I can spare that, what with quitting the hated composition job.

After a luncheon of Mexican food that I really don’t feel like eating, I listen to a hustle to get me to join and then stumble out the door.

By the time I get home, it’s 2:30. The dog has been trapped inside the house for over 7 hours. I ran out of meat for her yesterday afternoon and so had to feed her canned dog food. Thought this would give her the runs. I was right.

She has deposited not one, not two, not three, but FOUR stinking mounds all over the family room floor.

Thank God for tile floors.

A free turkey that I procured after Thanksgiving has been sitting in the fridge, where it had fully defrosted and by yesterday was heading toward decomposition. This bird was to supply the next month’s food for said dog. Rain is predicted, and I need to cook that thing now, not later. I have to cook it outdoors in the gas grill, because the flicking oven, being a Frigidaire product, cannot be run on the self-clean cycle, and I am not sticking my head in a metal box full of Easy-Off fumes, ever again.

Fart with that. Takes four hours to cook the thing; finish just as the storm clouds are lowering.

102 student keeps begging. I cc my answers to the chair.

I promised La Maya one of the lariat necklaces I’ve been making. This job is taking a lot longer than I expected — have been working two days on it and still have a ways to go. Meanwhile, I’ve neglected a client’s work; his project started out as a tangle and is still a tangle, and I need to get back to work on that. But first I’ve got to get the pile of beads, charms, and findings off my desk!

While the turkey cooks, I string beads as fast as I can string. Finishing this job takes the entirety of what remains of the day and all the evening hours, too.

102 student begs some more. Before shooting off a sharp letter to her, to be cc’ed to the chair, I figure I’d better C my A with a closer look at the work she’s done this semester.

That’s when I discover either my TA has neglected to enter the score for the woman’s last, gigantic, 2,500-word paper or I somehow managed to erase it.

Sonuvabitch.

She’s received a generous D on the thing: an even 60%. With one point a day for showing up in class and breathing and a few more points for various busywork, this brings Ms. Importune’s semester score up to 62%, a low D.

Amazingly, Heavenly Gardens will accept a D in freshman comp as “passing” for credit toward a two-year certificate or AA, although the course will not transfer to a four-year school. Even though you or I may see little difference between the disgrace that is a D and the disgrace that is an F, Ms. Importune wants that D.

So. Now today I have to traipse all the way back out to Heavenly Gardens — in the rain! — track down a change-of-grade form, fill it in, and go stand in line to turn it in at the Registrar’s office for a good 40 minutes with all the students who are trying to get into courses for next spring.

Ducky.

To frost that cupcake, the eye pain/runny nose has morphed into a full-blown, nasty cold. I just knew it! Two of the 102s showed up on Monday with heavy colds and sat there sniffling, snorting, and smearing germs all over the hard-copy “finals” I had to grade. I thought at the time, Don’t touch your face! Don’t scratch your nose! Don’t stick a finger in your mouth!!!!!

But all those things are unconscious, especially since my nose itches all the time. Within hours after shuffling those virus-laden papers, I was coming down with this thing. Hoped it might subside, but should have known better: I’ve been sick nonstop for over a year. Every time one damnfool thing starts to clear up, another ailment takes its place. Presumably my immune system is faltering in old age. And of course if I was going to get sick from hanging out in the sink of infection that is a college campus, it was going to happen on the last day of my career there.

Along about 9 p.m., an old client resurfaced. Would I index a 360-page volume of medieval and Renaissance history?

I think I got about $500 for that job the last time. That wasn’t enough: it’s a HUGE job. But I could sure use the money. He wants it done yesterday. As usual, he’s running late on the printer’s deadline.

This means I’ll have to put off the chiropractor’s job another few days. Not good. I wonder if I can foist that job on the Kid.

At the BNI meeting, a lawyer has asked if we can edit a short document for him, pretty clearly thinking he’ll try something brief just to see what happens. I’ve said “sure,” and as soon as I get back to the house, signal one of my legal editors that this thing will be incoming. She thinks she can breeze through it. I say I think she’d better check facts, because I suspect he’s about to throw us a curveball. With the confidence of youth, she predicts no problem.

Right.

Around 11 p.m. the factotum at the center for historical studies at the Great Desert University, which last year paid the bill for the indexing job, emails to say the publisher is now covering all editorial and publishing costs.

On the one hand, that’s good, because this is a solid mid-range scholarly publisher, one of the houses I intended to hustle for business as soon as I got free of teaching. On the other, not so good: they’re likely to be tight with indexers, and negotiating a contract means more delay. I’m not doing the job for under $500, which is practically throwing my time away. This job will take three or four days, maybe a week. It’s really worth more like $800 or $1,000.

I email the client to tell him I need to know who to contact at the press to discuss this. So far, no answer, and it’s already 6:40 in the morning.

The cold has progressed to laryngitis, so I won’t be singing soon…probably not on Sunday or at midnight mass.

I was too sick and too exhausted to go to a surprise party for one of the choir members, which I’m sure was noticed.

So.

I’m free, all right. Never again will I teach freshman comp.

But it sticks to my feet like the stuff the dog dumped all over the family room:

• Not one but two change-of-grade hassles, one of which has to be done when I have much better things to do.

Thus, more time spent in more unpaid labor while I should be working on paying jobs.

A terrible cold.

A client’s job still not done, and now unlikely to get done for another week, unless I can shift it to my sidekick. To do that I’ll have to drive across the city. And it’s a hideous mess…I doubt if she can easily untangle it.

Continued bad odor among a group that might be a source of friends if I could manage to find time to be civil.

One fiasco after another. Defines teaching, doesn’t it?

Class meetings left to go: 0

 

Posted in General Miseries | 5 Comments

Countdown to Freedom: 12/11/2012

One more class meeting to go.

The 102s’ Phaque Phinals are graded; for that section, final grades have now made themselves evident, and I have instilled the same in the District’s official grading system. All that remains now is to administer the extra-credit Phaque Phinal to the 101 class, score it, let Excel tote up the final grades, and report them online to the District.

Hum. I forgot that the odd 9:30 final exam meeting time will conflict with my networking group’s Thursday morning breakfast meeting. Damn. That means I’ll have to keep an eye on the time and leave by about 10 to 9. Nuisance: I’m cooking up an enterprise with one of the guys in that group, and I need to meet with him after the chatfest.

The final exam period for that class runs until 11:30, but I have a BNI meeting at noon in Scottsdale and will need more than half an hour to fly across town to that.

Understand: the Phaque Phinal consists of ten, count’em (10) rather MickeyMouse questions.

What is wrong with this sentence? If you can’t articulate the problem, just show how you would fix it.

The cat ate it’s food.

Here is an example of a fallacy:

The dog grabbed my steak off the kitchen counter and gobbled it down. Two hours later she barfed. So, the steak must have made her sick.

What type of fallacy is this? Why?

Not a single one of the 102s scored 50 points on the Phaque Phinal. The highest score was 40, and that was with me fudging the answers to give them a break.

Nothing on the PP was new. None of it covered anything we had not discussed in class. All of it was addressed in class, covered in the textbook or handouts, posted on our website, and explained on Internet sites to which I provided links. If you couldn’t follow my explanation, or you couldn’t keep your eyes open through the class discussions, then you could figure it out by reading the textbook or else go to some other expert’s interpretation and hope for words of fewer syllables.

So, it’s dismaying when even the best of them fall short of 100% (two A students showed up to take the Phinal, even though they were home free without the extra credit). Especially so, because last semester several classmates nailed 50 points, and the “exam” has not changed.

Whence the abysmal performance on what is essentially grade-school material? How is it possible that second-semester college freshmen can’t recognize when proximity is confused with causality? How can they not know what it’s means?

Part of the problem — in my opinion the largest part of the problem — is poor academic preparation. Large numbers of bright and theoretically competent young people leave high school utterly unprepared for college-level work. Or, come to think of it, for any kind of white-collar work. I don’t know what’s going on in the lower grades, but whatever it is, it ain’t workin’ for enough of our children.

Another issue, which probably is part of the same problem, is poor study skills.

Despite my taking them by the hand and begging them to start working on their papers early — particularly on the difficult 2,500-word paper, a project all the more difficult for students who have never written a sourced paper in 13 years of K-12 schooling — a week before that paper was due, student after student would admit to not even having framed a topic, much less started research and drafting.

Several students came up to me a few days before the major research paper was due and asked me what date it was due and what they were supposed to be writing about — this, after having taken a quiz on the syllabus early in the semester, which asked them to state when the papers were due and what their topics were to be. And after a prewriting assignment was due. And after an oral report on their topic was due.

Some classmates never purchased the textbook.

Knowing that they would not, I offered a workaround: links to websites providing the same information as the material in the assigned textbook readings. In spite of my regularly having pointed these out in class, many students evinced no awareness that any such things existed.

Do remedial courses  help? I don’t know. I do know that many graduates of Heavenly Gardens remedial English and writing courses arrive in my English 101 and 102 courses  utterly unprepared to perform at the college level. For those students, at least, remedial classes clearly didn’t do much. But how many students experience success in their college courses after remediation?

Some figures say as many as 60 percent of incoming college students need remedial training. Peter Bahr studied the results of math remediation and concluded that those students who experienced success in remedial math courses functioned about the same in later college work as did students who didn’t need remediation. However, a majority of remedial math students do not succeed in such training, and for those students, outcomes are less than positive. Typical community college students who need but do not complete remediation have only a 21% chance of transferring, and they face a 73% chance of neither completing a course of studies nor transferring to a four-year school.

Little is known about the effectiveness of remedial training for college students. Some studies have indicated that remediation may be helpful in math but has little effect on reading deficiencies. In any event, results are consistently mixed. No one really knows whether these programs do anything for students.

But anyone with any common sense should be able to guess that it would be a great deal cheaper for the taxpayer, a great deal more effective for our young people, and a great deal more sane for colleges if students showed up at the door with ordinary study skills and reasonable proficiency in reading, composition, and math.

Is that impossible?

I doubt it.

Back in the Dark Ages when I went to school, few first-semester freshmen were relegated to what was then unkindly called “dumbbell English.” I went to a public university with average rankings in most programs other than the top-rated astrophysics and cultural anthropology. Few of us were products of elite homes or private schools: I was a first-generation college student, and so were almost all my friends and acquaintances. Having skipped my senior year in high school — my father contrived to get me admitted early so he could quit his job and retire to Sun City, whose rules required that one’s youngest child had to be over 18 or enrolled in college — I started my freshman year shortly after turning 17.

I had no problem keeping up with the coursework. Neither did any of my dorm-mates or my classmates or my boyfriends or my cronies. We arrived on the campus understanding that we needed to buy the required textbooks, read the assignments, and submit written work on time. We knew how to prepare research papers and lab reports, because they were not very different from the kind of work we’d been doing in high school and junior high school.

Today I meet college students who have never written a sourced paper of any kind. High-school graduates tell me their English courses required them to write poems, essays, journals, and short stories, but never a research paper. Some students tell me they didn’t even take an English course in senior year. A few have said they hadn’t been in a library since middle school. Colleagues who require students to read more than a few anthology entries report that students go to their dean to complain about the unreasonable reading load — on some occasions arguing that if a course is not listed as fulfilling a literacy requirement, no substantial reading assignments should be expected.

Bright students tell me they’ve earned A’s and B’s in K-12 courses without studying and in some instances after cutting a large number of class meetings. They don’t see why that shouldn’t apply in college, too.

Having led many a horse to the Pyrrhean Spring without much luck at getting them to drink, I can’t bring myself to blame K-12 teachers for the present state of affairs. I do blame educational theorists who pushed through wacky ideas to the effect that formal training in usage, grammar, and style does nothing to build and polish language skills. And I do blame trends that have changed our schools from academies of learning into institutions of social work. We need to change our thinking about what ought to be taught in American schools, and how. Ideas that have become politically incorrect in our brave new world need to be revisited, and parents and taxpayers need to ask why strategies that worked to train our grandparents effectively were relegated to the dustbin.

I’m not suggesting that we go back to the Dark Ages. I ask only that we figure out what worked during the Dark Ages and consider whether those approaches should be revived and adapted to our kids’ present circumstances.

We know that most high-school graduates once were prepared for college-level work. Why are 60 percent of them underprepared now?

Posted in Community Colleges, Education in America, Students | 2 Comments

Countdown to Freedom: 12/8/2012

One class down, one special studies section down, two more class meetings to go.

Voilà! The magazine writing course is finished, done, lost and gone forever. Grades for that bunch are filed and I’ll never have to think about them again.

I hope.

Maybe.

One always comes back to haunt. Especially when you’re feeling smug about getting finished.

That section started with twenty students. It ended with five.

Think of that: an attrition rate of 75 percent!

Actually, it ended with eight, since three people who stopped participating never bothered to drop. I gave them W’s with “excessive absences” as the reason. We’re allowed to regard missing an assignment as an “absence” in the online courses. But that doesn’t change the number of classmates who didn’t complete the course.

In general, this class has a very high failure and dropout rate — and it’s not what you’d call  nuclear physics. The hybrid version, which is scheduled in the first eight weeks of each term, hasn’t made at all over the past two semesters. I would expect that’s because students can see there’s a 100 percent online version and prefer that to having to drag into campus once a week.

The person who teaches the hybrid section is full-time, and sooner or later I’m sure she’ll bring a stop to letting some adjunct teach an online section that suctions off students from her section. When hers doesn’t make, she ends up stuck with teaching composition, something she hadn’t done for years until I came along.

(Misery loves company, eh?)

Next semester I think I’ll put this course on Canvas, which will be available to students then. Canvas does have some interactive features that may keep classmates more interested. I could put a listserv on the WP site I’m using, but a) that seems like more hassle than it’s worth and b) I’m wary of  having strangers wander onto that site. Even though the thing supposedly is invisible to search engines, it really isn’t — one of the librarians had no trouble finding it through Google.

So, that means that  just as I want to gear up for a new life in the Free World, I’ll have to devote some unpaid hours to wrestling with a new course management system. Probably many unpaid hours.

Oh well. I just finished a $450 project, and there’s at least $300 worth of work sitting in the in-box, so Copyeditor’s Desk will make its minimum monthly goal this month. Plus I have another order for one of those cool necklaces…just ordered up a bunch of beads and findings from a wholesaler and will start on that thing as soon as they get here.

So I don’t feel very stressed for money and have little excuse to resent working for free for the community college. Except for it bein’ the principle of the thing…

Two more class meetings to go.

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Little Brother Is Watching You: Ridiculouser and Ridiculouser

Really. You can’t honor the bureaucracy of a junior college system with the Big Brother sobriquet. So, let’s just call it Little Brother.

I fly into class this midday, needing to dismiss the noon bunch early so I can get to a doctor’s appointment at an office a good 30 to 40 minutes away from the campus. On the way into the building, I follow a Kampus Kop who is chasing one of my favorite students.

He pursues Fave Student into the classroom and, after a brief discussion, drags him out.

Students file into the classroom, distracted by this spectacle. On the whiteboard, I scribble what they need to do in what will soon be my absence.

Ms. Grandmère limps in, bags of food and drink hanging from her walker. She starts to unpack a gallon of milk, stacks of drink cups, and a big dish of brownies. Other students mill about restlessly.

I am pissed.

Shortly, Fave Student resurfaces, remarking on the depth of his hatred for the Kampus Kop. We kid him about his criminal career and ask him what felony he’s committed this time.

The kid’s offense: Daring to light up a cigarette in the parking lot on the edge of the golf course, as far away from the classroom and office buildings as it is possible to get and still be on the freaking campus.

SWB, I think privately: Smoking While Brown.

The District has established a new rule: noooooo smoking on campus, on pain of all sorts of various citations.

The stupidity of this has been pointed out to Those in Charge: ours is a working-class demographic; working-class people smoke; tobacco is more addictive than heroin; one does not blithely drop an addiction, particularly when one is under the kind of stress most of our students enjoy day in and day out; you can’t legislate healthful behavior any more than you can legislate morality. Those in Charge, secure in their righteousness, have chosen to ignore the voice of reason.

Fortunately, Kampus Kop elected to give Fave Student a warning rather than gouging him with a fine. I wonder how many white 19-year-olds have been hassled for lighting up on the farthest fringe of the campus, but I bite my tongue.

My patience for stupidity has been especially thin today.

Isn’t it past Little Brother’s bed-time?

 

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Countdown to Freedom: 12/5/2012

Three more days to go!

By golly. That’s one more regular class and the two Phaque Phinal days.

Adjuncts are required to show up for final exam periods, willy nilly, or else we don’t get paid. Doesn’t matter whether your course is one for which a final matters or not: you have to meet for the final exam period. I’ve been told we don’t have to give an exam, or make them do anything meaningful. We can have a pizza party, and many slave faculty do exactly that. But one way or another, if we’re not physically there, we don’t get paid for that day — and since most classes meet only twice a week, that means we lose 1/4 of a paycheck!

And that is where I first got the message that adjuncts at Heavenly Gardens Community College are not paid for the totality of the work we do. Our pay is only for the hours we spend in the classroom. If an adjunct gets sick and can’t crawl into the classroom, pay is docked. If the car’s battery won’t start that morning, pay is docked. If a wreck on the freeway stops traffic and makes the person an hour late, pay is docked. If an adjunct can’t get out of jury duty, pay is docked.

Thus, clear as day, all of the work we do in course prep, grading, mentoring students, attending faculty meetings, and killing half-days in required teacher-training workshops is unpaid labor.

At any rate, to get the comp stoonts to show up at this admittedly pointless meeting, I offer 50 extra-credit points for the Phaque Phinal, a ten-question review of substantive issues they should have paid attention to during the 16 weeks in which they idled away their and my time. For anyone whose score is on the plus side of a grade range (say, 86 points, where 89.999 is the top score for a B), 50 points can boost the person up to a higher grade.

Specifically, the questions cover

critical thinking;
rhetorical structure of specific essay genres;
assessment of research sources;
techniques of citation & documentation; and
a few of the most egregious matters of grammar & style.

The Phaque Phinal is a fake final because it’s an open-book, open-handout, open-mobile device, open-laptop affair. They can bring any- and everything they can haul into the classroom to help themselves maximize their scores on this silly little thing.

And I can guarantee this: not many of them will score the full 50 points.

Here’s your chance to score five phaque points:

The opinion of an authority has as much weight as an established truth: true or false? Whichever you select, explain why you think this is so.

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Crazies in the Classroom, Crazies in the State House

ABC News reports on yet another violent incident on a college campus. This one was all in the family: A demented man decided to kill his father’s live-in girlfriend at home and then visit his father’s classroom and take a crossbow and hunting knife to him.

The father tried to fight off the lunatic son as students fled the room. One commenter on this story wonders why the 18-year-olds didn’t try to protect their professor.

Every day as I drive out to the campus, I wonder if something like this will happen in my classroom. In any such event, the last thing I’d want students to do is try to help me — I would want them all out of the room and out of the building, as fast as they could run.

Teaching in a community college, you find at least one unbalanced person in your classes every semester. This semester I’ve got three in one section. Every time one damaged soul goes off, it stimulates another one someplace else to go berserk.

Eighty percent of US community-college faculty are adjunct, paid $1250 to $2500 per sixteen-week course, an amount that often works out to less than minimum wage. The risk is just not worth that kind of pay.

Here in Arizona, our esteemed legislators’ idea of a response to this situation is simple: arm every  man, woman, and child who walks onto a college campus. They’re serious. Every year or two they advance legislation to allow students and faculty to carry concealed weapons onto campus.

Picture the scene:

Demented Student: ARRRRRGHHHHHHAAAAAA! Ratta-tatta-tatta-tatta-tatta-tatta-tatta-tatta….

Professor Boxankle: Now hold that thought, Mr. Demento, while I dig this Glock out of the bottom of my purse!

Holy cripes.

Legislators who are crazy as loons, presumably elected by a citizenry as crazy as loons in a culture that provides little or no mental health care and warehouses the mentally ill in prisons,  and whose idea of coping with people who are a danger to themselves and others is simply to arm everyone. What a place!

Six  more days of class. Hope I make it through them…

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Countdown to Freedom: 11/29/2012

Six more class meetings to go.
Three 101 meetings.
Three 102 meetings.

Four more 2,500-word term papers to read; seven to score and assess.

A set of the 101 exercises preliminary to their final 750-word paper awaits on the server. The 750-word argument essay is due December 6. We have 6 days in which to read them.

Three more assignments are incoming from the magazine-writing students.

Fortunately only about five of the latter worthies survive. That’s down from 20 at the outset. Online courses. Ugh.

Oh well. At least one doesn’t have to drive to campus and hang around for 90 minutes to meet online students.

Seventeen of the original 25 Eng. 101 students survive — not bad, all things considered.

Six more classes to go.

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Countdown to Freedom: 11/27/2012

Eight more days to go.

Four class meetings for each composition section. A week and a half of instruction left, with two assignments remaining for the online magazine writing section and the final essay for the 101s; after that two final exam meetings for the f2f courses, to be occupied by the extra-credit Phaque Phinal, a device created to persuade a few students to show up for the required, redundant, time-wasting final exam meeting, to which adjuncts must show up on pain of not being paid.

Up at 4:00 a.m., grading papers. It’s after 8:30 p.m.; just finished entering grades for the most recent in-class time-filler.

Soon as offices opened on the campus, it was on the phone to the counseling department, where I had to explain the situation with Ms. Annoyance not once, not twice, but three times as the story escalated upward through increasingly responsible levels of supervision. Finally ended up with someone who apparently was as elevated as they get in that office — another adjunct.

{sigh}

She recognized Ms. A’s name but could not recall the context in which she’d heard it. Plowing through her department’s records and looking up our stressed student’s records by her ID number shed no light on that question. However, she did discover that Ms. A is enrolled in a course taught by one of the counselors, one of those “Welcome-to-College-Now-Grow-Up” things that have become all the rage in higher education.

She said she’d explain the situation to said colleague; the teacher-student relationship should at least open that door in a convenient way. The words “an adult student with four kids of her own said she’s afraid of her” and “might harm herself” helped a great deal in this endeavor.

So. At least I’ve alerted some authority somewhere about whatever risk, if any, exists.

Entertainingly enough, when I remarked that this has been a particularly difficult semester in the behavioral department, she said things have been crazy all across the campus. She said they had never had so many behavioral issues in one semester, in the entire history of their department. “We’ve heard some stories that you wouldn’t believe,” said she.

Ohhh-kayyy. I guess I should feel happy that the 101s have only come close to fisticuffs.

Ms. A did not appear today. One of the veterans riveted classmates’ attention by discussing his struggle with PTSD and describing how he felt, to paraphrase mightily, like an outsider. Our future police officer revealed that he didn’t even know what assignment was due next, to say nothing of having even vaguely thought about a topic for it.

It’s hard to think of a subject for an assignment you don’t know exists, eh?

I can’t stand it.

 

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Lord, Is This EVER Going to End???

Cripes. What an endless semester. This has been one of the most difficult semesters I can remember.

In the magazine writing course, which mercifully is online — meaning I don’t have to confront at least one nut case face to face — a woman plagiarized not one but two assignments, all the while bleating that I was not returning her papers. Each of her papers had been returned to both of the e-mail addresses she’s been using, and, when it appeared that they may have been intercepted by her system’s spam filter, I re-sent every paper and her current score spreadsheet from not one, not two, but three e-mail addresses.

She finally gets the message that copying and pasting a web page into a Word document and turning it in as her work results in a grade of zero. Now she e-mails and asks if she may be allowed to rewrite the plagiarized assignments for a grade.

I should do a lot of extra work because you decide to cheat in a college course? Right! Let us leave aside the fact that I consider it deeply insulting that you think I’m so stupid I can’t figure out that you’re cheating. Give me a break!

Moving on, when I had a few minutes to sit quietly and think while stringing beads for a living, the weary mind turned to the issue of Ms. Annoyance.

Her behavior becomes more bizarre as the days pass. On a couple of occasions, she has walked into the classroom, sat down, sulked, and after about 15 or 20 minutes has gotten up and walked out. The last time the class met, though, she didn’t even sit down. She walked in, stood there, looked slowly around the classroom, and then turned around and walked out.

One of the students in that class, a grown woman with several kids of her own, told me that she was afraid of Ms. Annoyance, who, she said, telephoned her in the middle of the night in some sort of manic state. I didn’t question her in any detail, because I tend not to encourage neurotic or exaggerated concerns. However, in light of the way Ms. A is behaving, I wonder.

Statistically, it’s unlikely that she’s dangerous. Strafing classrooms with a street sweeper is a guy thing.

However, my concern is that she could be a danger to herself. I’m becoming increasingly concerned that she might harm herself. And I’m not sure what to do about it.

I’ve already made such a flap about this woman that I hate to draw more attention to her — which could be harmful, too — or to myself. I’m sure the chair already thinks I’m plenty eccentric — last week I had to let him know about the exchange between me and the plagiarist, which entailed forwarding her papers and cc-ing  him with e-mails bearing the plagiarized copy. Earlier in the semester I dragged Ms. A into his presence so we could sit her down and make her understand that she can’t engage in disruptive behavior during class time. If I create another scene over Ms. A, he’ll likely think I’m crazy as a loon.

That conclusion may be correct, but I’d just as soon he didn’t know it.

On the other hand, what if she commits suicide? Of course, it’s not my fault if someone else chooses to off herself. But it could be my fault if I sense she’s about to harm herself and do nothing to intervene.

Her class doesn’t meet until next Tuesday. No one is on the campus over the Thanksgiving weekend, and that includes the counseling people. There’s not a thing I can do about it until Monday. The question is…what, if anything, to do on Monday?

Posted in General Miseries, Plagiarism, Students | 9 Comments