Chiseled Words and Broken Footsteps

The statue-less statue of Arsinoe II (285-246 B.C.) stood out from the 75 other more-or-less intact objects in a Chicago Art Institute exhibit titled, "When the Greeks Ruled Egypt,"sponsored by the Jaharis Family Foundation, Inc. One foot of the statue was formally posed ahead of the other in a typical Egyptian portrait stance. The rest of it was broken off at the top of the foot.

Now, a practically destroyed 3,000 year-old statue is not unusual, but these footsteps on an inscribed rectangular base, seemed especially poignant. When the statue was carved, the Greeks were at their height of power: Alexander the Great conquered Egypt in 332 B.C. beginning a 300-year era of Greek-installed Pharaohs. Fascinated by Egyptian practices for immortality, the Greek rulers adapted and amended Egyptian customs especially those promising an afterlife. Who wouldn't want to live forever? According to the museum description of this item, Ptolemy II (309-246 B.C.) "introduced new features into Egypt's traditional religious practices, including the posthumous deification of his sister-wife, Arsinoe II. He decreed that she was to be worshipped in temples throughout Egypt." Immortality by executive fiat.

But the life of a goddess only lasts as long as her disciples and, while some pantheons have been long-lived, none have yet achieved immortality. The Greek-installed Pharaohs of the Ptolemaic Period were replaced by Roman rulers, as were Greek temples with Roman temples and Greek gods with Roman gods. After that, Rome fell to others who fell to still others during subsequent historical epochs. During the chaos that followed, the statue and the memory of Arsinoe II was shattered, buried, and forgotten.

Forgotten? Not quite yet though her memory was not preserved by scripted rituals and carefully constructed chants for the dead. The powerful who relied only on such fantasies lie forgotten beneath the shifting sands of time. Immortality in this case was bestowed by the hammer and chisel of an unknown artist who carved the statue and double-inscribed (just to be safe) Arsinoe II's name in both Greek letters and Egyptian hieroglyphics in its base. Literacy not libations, art not artifice bridged those 2500 years.

This is probably not the immortality that was promised to Ptolemy II by his minions. The mighty pharaoh would not be pleased that he and his sister-wife were of only passing interest to middle school tour groups texting each other in a side exhibit hall in Chicago. What could the young know about the ageless yearning for immortality? To offset their disrespect, I stood quietly before the chiseled words and broken footsteps and wondered.

Seventy GED Students "Walk"

Seventy GED/HSED students "walked" on Wednesday. I don't mean "walked" in a bad way as if the students stormed out of a classroom as a programmed flash mob. I mean "walked" as in "proudly," "momentously," and "at long last" parading across a graduation stage, receiving ovations from college leadership and faculty, and soaking in the tears and cheers of family and friends.

Before the annual GED/HSED graduation at the school, graduates in caps and tassels, royal blue gowns and gold honor cords waited nervously in the Executive Dining room a few doors down from the stage entry. I visited with students I knew, as did other faculty, reminiscing with them and posing for photos. I was very happy to see five of my students from Oconto Falls and three from Shawano make the trip to Green Bay for the ceremony. Most students don't. The 70 students who lined up were just a fraction of more than 400 students who completed the GED/HSED series during the past year. That's too bad. All of the completers did the work. I wish more would allow themselves to enjoy this moment of triumph.

They should not take their GED/HSED accomplishment lightly. Given strong representation on Wednesday by college trustees, the college president and vice-president of learning, other vps and leadership, the college certainly takes their graduation seriously. We all know this credential represents an academic milestone for students who had -- to be perfectly honest -- failed the first time around. Each student had his or her own reasons why they dropped out of high school. On Wednesday, those reasons were not really important. What was important and what all of us were celebrating, was that they did come back to school, studied hard, balanced work and family with school, and, finally, finally, achieved their high school credential.

Marathoner, journalist and author, Amby Burfoot, spoke of such dogged perseverance when he wrote, "To get to the finish line, you'll have to try lots of different paths." There was one common goal that all these students achieved as they walked across the stage, a GED/HSED credential, but there were as many different paths to that common goal as there were students who were doing the "walking." These are the first few steps that they will take toward another marathon journey, lifelong learning, but no need to worry about that right now. The graduates have proven that they can succeed when they do the work. On Wednesday, it was time for them to hold their head high and proudly walk.

UWGB's Academic Forgiveness

For many freshmen, college is just too much: non-curricular temptations at college trump home-grown common sense, and others who do put in time on classwork realize that shaky study skills that eeked them through high school are no match for the rigor of the college classroom. Sure, most schools have early-warning signals in place and many are helped by that, but for too many unprepared incoming students, the first semesters of college spiral down from poor grades, to academic probation, and to the embarrassment of dismissal.

So, what happens next? These students move on without college. Life does continue. But after some years, they realize they really do need a degree credential to move forward. Unfortunately, their previous record drags them down even though they may have now learned the life lessons that would allow them to be successful in college if they had a second chance. A low GPA on the transcript can cause all kinds of problems: re-qualifying for program entry, applying for scholarships and loans, and interviewing for program internships. It takes a lot of positive credits to overcome a bad start.

Since 2010, the University of Wisconsin--Green Bay has quietly established an alternative proposal: Academic Forgiveness. I read about the program in the June 2014 issue of the UWGB alumni/community magazine, Inside 360. The basics of the program are if a student has been out of school for at least three years and if the student struggled "because of health issues, motivation, too much on their plates, or something else," the student is given a fresh academic start when he or she re-enrolls. The student keeps whatever credits were earned on the first go-around, but the GPA altimeter is reset at 0.00.

Darrel Renier, director of academic advising at the college, reports the program has been effective. As of the beginning of the last school year (2013-14), Renier said, "We've had 62 requests for forgiveness, and the new average GPA for these students has been a 3.43." That's a huge jump for students who had not been able to maintain a 2.00 GPA in earlier semesters.

The Academic Forgiveness program recognizes that not every student is ready for college at the same time right out of high school. Age is a notoriously poor indicator of post-secondary maturity because some students need a little more seasoning and motivation before they allow themselves to be successful. Kudos to UWGB for eliminating the GPA barrier for returning students and for focusing on what is most important to all of us: student success not the grades.

Reflection: Balancing Our Good to Great Stuff

The Achieving the Dream conference speakers, putting an academic spin on the Jim Collins management classic, Good to Great (2001), explained how pockets of innovation within an organization can lead to larger, organization-wide change, if a culture of intentional institutional redesign has been established. Too opaque? OK, let's quote Collins directly:

"Visionary companies make some of their best moves by experimentation, trial and error, opportunism, and -- quite literally -- accident. What looks in retrospect like brilliant foresight and preplanning was often the result of 'Let's just try a lot of stuff and keep what works.'"

In order to promote such a change culture, you need data to identify and evaluate innovative "stuff," leadership willing to allow stuff to bubble up from below, formal and informal communication promulgating and supporting stuff, and time for reflection about stuff... time for reflection?

The community college audience at the workshop sat a little straighter at this last requirement. Reflection? Didn't Collins, the guru of greatness now not later, say, "A culture of discipline ... is a principle of greatness." Doesn't this drive toward discipline imply moving, moving, moving? 24/7? Who, we asked ourselves while checking the room number for the next session, has time for reflection?

Apparently we should. The speakers said our rush toward innovation has to be balanced with reflection on the data, the goals, and the "stuff." While action to initiate change is encouraged, action for the sake of action becomes unanchored, and possibly counter-productive without planned moments of reflection. We as instructors know that students need moments of reflection to move new information from short term memory to long-term habits. You can't teach, teach, teach without pauses for learning. That's part of any sensible lesson plan. Why would we expect any less for our colleges?

Fortunately for most colleges, the traditional school calendar provides scheduled moments for reflection. Right now, our school has begun a two-week break between the Spring Term and Summer Term. The hallways are quiet without the flow of students walking between classes. Final papers are collected, grades recorded, and schedules set up for the next session. Christian colleges might use the down time to conduct spiritual retreats for staff, faculty, and leadership. That's a great idea to move reflection from an exterior process to an inner core change. Unfortunately, public colleges can't go that route, though they do strongly encourage us --wink wink nudge nudge -- to take time to plan and recharge.

During semester breaks, we need to consciously and methodically step back from classroom activities, regroup our resources, and refocus our thoughts on our shared and personal mission of student success. In a word, it's time to reflect. Quiet still moments of reflection balance the busyness of the innovative stuff we try during the semester. During reflection, the daily detritus is swept clear from our pathways, vistas are opened, and, to quote a fourth-century consultant, Chang Tsu, "the whole universe surrenders." He must have been a teacher reflecting on stuff too.

Students are the Passion of our Data

When those of us in Academia discuss student success, we often narrowly focus on data points that support our favorite programs and initiatives. We know from experience that grant funding agencies and even our own local budget committees respond better to quantitative data sets rather than to stories of individual students. Logos trumps Pathos at budget time.

For example, speakers at an Achieving the Dream workshop this past winter outlined the dismal record we have in this country of converting developmental education students to college students. Speakers promoting the Carnegie Foundation Statway and Quantway developmental education math curriculum used data to show the disaster:

• Consider, they said, that 60 to 70-percent of our incoming students need developmental math courses.
• But, of those who enter the dev-ed courses, 80-percent never make it out.
• That's 500,000 lost students each year.

If you're selling a new, more effective (again according to student data) math curriculum, this is a powerful argument that demonstrates an overwhelming need for a new model. But is that all student success means? Hoping for a ten or twenty-point gain over two years?

I was asked to report on the Achieving the Dream conference to a college committee this past week, which gave me a reason to review and reflect on notes and handouts, such as the Carnegie material. I, and others from my college, attended dozens of workshops over three and a half days. Each presentation was supported by data showing a problem, the implementation of a new idea to solve that problem, and post-data demonstrating incremental success.

That's all to the good, but what stands out from the conference was not the charts and tables of numbers, but the stories I heard of students helped by colleagues in Achieving the Dream colleges. One of the speakers, a data guy, put it best: "Students are the faces of the data; their stories are data with soul."

As instructors, staff and leadership in community colleges, we know that students feel isolated and doubled over by a seemingly uncaring collegiate system. Students of color told the conference attendees that they felt stupid, intimidated, and out of place in a "white people's college". They didn't believe they belonged in college until someone stepped out from behind a desk and worked with them. One former student, now a college administrator with a Ph.D. behind his name, said his success began with one person who persuaded him, "You are able. You have a right to be here. You can succeed, and I will help you."

Data may get us the dollars to run the programs that buy the desks, but one-on-one student engagement gets us the success. We can't overlook the stories of our students as we count their heads. Certainly, we have to use the data to secure funding to create an "infrastructure of opportunity available to every student," as a speaker said. That is the funding game. But while we work at that, we should never overlook the hopeful faces that the data sometimes hides. Students are the real passion that we, as academics, pursue. If the student is not our passion, then what are we doing here?

Me and William: My Brief History with the Bard

There is a post circulating among English teachers this year, the 450th year of the birth of William Shakespeare. The prompt asks, "When did you learn to love Shakespeare?"

Thinking back, I was introduced to him in junior high school when we were given parts to Romeo and Juliet to study. Classmates trudged to the front of the classroom to perform the famous balcony scene (Act II Scene II) to a giggling crowd of classmates. The girls gamely tried to put life into the fair damsel, but most of the boys stood fixed like part of the balcony and recited lines in a hurried sign-song. I gave the exercise a little more effort and somewhere between "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" (line 2) and "Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast" (line 139), I found my calling and began an extra-curricular love of the Bard and of performing.

In college, I was cast in a production of The Merchant of Venice. I was the lone freshman among juniors, seniors and grad students, energetically playing multiple crowd roles of a Magnifico, Officer of the Court, and Reveler in the streets of Venice. The UW-Madison production at the Union Theater was far above my talent or previous high school experience. The grad students who played Shylock and Portia in particular were amazing. And, during the first dress rehearsal, this small town boy was introduced to an eye-opening lack of modesty as cast members of both sexes changed from one costume to the next just off stage without bothering with a dressing room. The Bard opens many doors.

After college, I became an audience member, not a performer and was rarely disappointed. Fortunately, I have access each summer to a nationally acclaimed Shakespeare troupe only hours away: American Players Theater in Spring Green, just west of Madison. Last year as a treat, we saw back-to-back same-day productions of first Hamlet and then Rosecrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard using the same cast for both shows. Again, amazing. The juxtaposition of Shakespeare and Stoppard told the story of the Hamlet's tortured soul from shifting front stage and back stage points of view.

Each time I see a new production or return to favorite lines, I am surprised and delighted by the simplicity and complexity of the words and phrases. It is remarkable that a man who wrote 37-plays in a 25-year stage career is still able to touch audiences with a remarkable clarity of human experience. The reason the plays are still relevant is that our central human experience hasn't changed all that much in 450 years. Whether you are a middle school student, a college freshman or a theater-goer with a lifetime of experience, the stories of Shakespeare ring true at whatever level you need at the time. That is the test of artistic genius and that is why we continue to love his words.

A Good Class is like a Good Story

I just finished up two end-of-year curriculum assignments (yeah, I know, I am cutting it pretty close to the end of semester deadline -- sorry Val) and have spent the spring semester working on a new model of GED class from the brand new GED material. So, it seems like I have been writing curriculum nonstop since January because, well, I have.

Writing a curriculum is like very much like writing creative non-fiction. There are certain rules you must abide by (assigned competencies, criteria and objectives deposited in a state online vault called WIDS), but there is also a certain freedom and creativity as you write individual lesson plans. A good lesson, like a good story, requires plot elements familiar to any high school student (exposition, pace, dramatic tension and such). The lesson should have a recognized pattern throughout the semester so students know what to expect from class to class, but the course should also take occasional unexpected turns just to keep things interesting.

And, unlike straight-up writing, curriculum writers have to factor in how the course will be delivered: face-to-face, online or blended (a little more than both), or video-conference (a little less than both). But like any good story, a good lesson needs to have a defined beginning, middle and end that blends into the 15-week term that has its own beginning, middle and end.

Good curriculum, like a good story, has movement, information, flow, humor, improvisation, and expression within the strategic rules of the WIDS outline. It is a narrative, but much much more. A good curriculum builds an academically-tested scaffolding that holds up resources within the classroom, explores resources outside of it, and is willing to roll to the side to showcase the abilities and talent of the students. As a curriculum writer, your goal is to create a consistent, yet evolving collaborative story through which learning emerges.