Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Center of the Campus

Rather than build a college around geeky science laboratories and uber-smart classrooms, I think schools ought to be built around coffee shops. That inspiration came to mind as I sipped my Campfire Mocha Friday in the newly remodeled Campus Buzz coffee shop on the Green Bay campus.

Wouldn't you rather sip a medium brew in a coffee shop than sit in a sterile study space, computer lab, or industrial commons? So, rather than have one solitary coffee shop, wouldn't it be better to have them scattered about the campus and in regional learning centers, like choice parking spots? The coffee shop is the natural center for a free exchange of ideas among close friends and between departmental colleagues. I can't think of a place I'd rather be in a school, and I kind of like the classroom.

The idea of a social center in our lives is nothing new. That's why town squares were platted in the first place. Atriums and open areas in corporate buildings are designed to give the mechanistic soul a respite from the 9-5. The Apple genius, Steve Jobs, circled his huge Cupertino headquarters around socializing choke points he called "serendipitous and fluid meeting spaces," according to his biographer Walter Isaacson. Jobs knew breaking down departmental barriers, or silos, allows even unlikely colleagues to come together to exchange work projects and ideas. Great ideas come from that serendipitous exchange.

What works for communities and for business, also works in education. Instructors long suspected that groups of students generate as much learning together as do lectures, worksheets, and textbooks separately. Give me an Americano menu on a chalkboard in a multi-use, art-filled space equipped with comfy chairs, a reliable WI-FI signal, and light jazz, and the world will pivot in my favor as if balanced on a caffeinated lever. Sprinkle generously with scones, muffins, and Death by Chocolate brownies and, Houston, we have landed in Nirvana. Sit down and let's go over the assignment for today.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Excuse Me. That's My Spot.

By this point in the semester, the second full week of classes, the routine for the rest of the term has been set. We of the college classroom know where we need to go to find a parking spot for a particular class at a particular hour, which doors have the straightest path to the coffee shop or vending machine, how to most efficiently get from classroom A to classroom B, and where to sit once we are there.

One might think that these routine patterns would create a malaise among the students and instructors, that it would hinder creative academic achievement, but we seem to thrive on it and, in fact, are put off by any change in the norm once the semester has begun. One week, for example, in a graduate class more than a few years ago, I sat in a chair across the room from where I usually sat. This was about three-quarters of the way through the semester, so the unspoken seating arrangement had been firmly set.

My de-chaired classmate came in her usual door at her usual time and stared at me for a bit. I think she thought I had wandered into "her" spot by mistake and politely waited for me to say, "Oops, wrong chair." But I didn't. I just reviewed my notes for the class, pretending I didn't know she was behind me, quivering with indignation, spilling her Starbucks mocha. So, she wandered to a vacant spot, my usual spot (now empty of course), on the other side of the class. Classmates on either side of me were silent, no small talk. The professor stepped over and asked me if something was wrong. "No, not at all," I said. It was as if I had stumbled into the wrong class. People could not make eye contact with me. Discussion was subdued. Everyone seemed thrown off by this breach of educational etiquette, but no one stated the obvious: "You're not in the right seat."

The next week, bowing to peer pressure, I sat in my usual spot, and my classmate sat in hers and her mocha did not spill. Equilibrium was reestablished. Class participation was energized and the universe once again spun unimpeded around its celestial axis. I have since decided that since the purpose of education is to deconstruct our knowledge base and rebuild it with new scaffolding, we need our habits to keep our balance. We will take risks -- and education is certainly a risk -- so long as some things do not change -- like our parking spots, our coffee drinks, and our seats in class.


Sunday, January 20, 2013

Just Being Best in the Neighborhood

When we daydream about success, do we dream of world-wide fame, universal-accolades, and a chest full of gaudy gold medals? I think, too often, popular self-help wisdom pushes us to set our goals at unachievable levels. Then when we fall short -- which usually happens -- we give up. Successful workers realize goals set at less Olympic heights can be just as impressive

Mexico City's most famous chef, Enrique Olvera, said he did not dream of world-renown when he opened his restaurant, Pujol, 13 years ago. Chef Olvera told Hamish Anderson, of the Wall Street Journal Magazine (February 2013) his goal was just to be "the best restaurant in the neighborhood." Neighborhood? Only neighborhood? To the casual reader expecting an inspirational story, that might seem low balling the dream. Aren't entrepreneurs supposed to reach for stars and walk in the heavens on a daily basis?

No, not really. That star-stuff is good for fawning interviews after you are successful, but on a day-to-day basis, being "the best in the neighborhood" is the best recipe for success. Following Chef Olvera's initial humble goal, Anderson writes that Pujol is considered "Mexico's finest -- and 36th best in the world according to the much scrutinized S. Pellegrino rankings."

Rather than walking among the stars, Olvera works side-by-side with his cooks through lunchtime service. On a daily basis, work is often neither earth-shaking nor revolutionary. It is done faithfully on a consistently high level. The key to success is persistence and continual improvement. Each day you do the best you can with what you have. Then you get up the next day, and try to do a little better.

Most of the time, working toward being "best in the neighborhood" is usually quite extraordinary.