The Case for Arts Education

"We need education that nurtures judgment as well as mastery, ethics and values as well as analysis. We need learning that will enable students to interpret complexity, to adapt, and to make sense of lives they never anticipated." I can imagine that these words from Harvard President Drew Faust might have been input on the keyboard of about a hundred college presidents across the country.

Mastery, ethics, values: check. Enabling students to interpret complexity and adapt to change: check. Enabling students to make sense of their lives: check, check, and check. Sounds like sound education strategy from a moving, thinking, planning, proactive post-secondary corner office. Except, President Faust was not talking of the latest whiz-bang construct from his engineering department or a breakthrough in medical research. He, along with legendary trumpeter and composer Wynton Marsalis, was writing a USA Today opinion piece (Jan. 2, 2014, p 7A) about the importance of arts education.

As examples of the practical lessons that arts teach, they cited music: "... Music stresses individual practice and technical excellence, but it also necessitates listening to and working with others in fulfillment of the requirements of ensemble performance," and they cited visual/performing arts: "... Learning to play or paint, dance, sing or act, means constantly being refashioned, constantly demanding risk."

Too often, when local budgets tighten, the first cuts are in arts education: labeled the  "luxuries" of the classrooms by misguided populists. In secondary schools, Faust and Marsalis noted a steady decline in arts education over the past 20+ years: "In 1982, nearly 66% of 18-year-olds in the US reported taking art classes; by 2008, the number had fallen to below 59%." That's troubling, but what is disgraceful is the practical elimination of credentialed arts classes from elementary schools: "The percentage of elementary school students who had theater or dance classes available to them went from 19% in the early '90s to only 4% and 3% respectively, in the 2009 - 10 school year."

My word.

What kind of education are we giving to a generation by eliminating early and consistent exposure to the fine arts? The lessons lost at that age create deficits in creativity, in discipline, concentration, and self-confidence. The loss is not just in those classrooms, but in all of us. President Faust and Marsalis wrote arts teaching encourages students "to develop understanding of those different from themselves, enabling constructive collaborations across national and cultural origins and identities." Arts are not just self-expression projects on school bulletin boards, but a rhythmic pulse from the best part of being human.

As we consider the basics of education, one of those basics has to be arts education: reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic and 'rts. President Faust and Marsalis summed it well, "As we lament the discordant tone of our national conversation, perhaps we should focus less on that which we can easily count. Let's instead look to the longer run as we teach our children how to practice until it hurts, to bravely take the stage, to imagine, create and innovate and -- after hitting that wrong note -- follow it up with the right one."

Keeping the GED on the Clock

Student numbers are now totaled from the last days of the 2002 GED test series and, not surprisingly, it was a record year in student numbers and student achievement. This past December's deadline seemed to push students harder than years and years of reminders from grandparents, spouses, friends, and tech college instructors.

During a typical academic year, our technical college graduates about 175 GED students. That's a nice, steady stream of students who then transition to better jobs or the college classroom: win, win, win. This past year was not typical because of the end of the 2002 series. During the first half of the current academic year (starting June 2013 and ending December 2013), when the GED Closeout Campaign was at full force, 341 students completed the series with us. That's almost double the typical 12-month total in just half the time: win, win, win, boing.

In a few days, I look forward to begin working with a new group of students on the new GED 2014 test series: realigned content, updated questions, computer-based testing, instant (practically) grading. All that is, again, to the good. What worries me is the lack of a deadline this spring: no clock ticking. Without one, I fear too many students will fall into the same trap as those who rushed to complete in December.

So, along with the new test series, I think we also need a new schedule of deadlines. Rather than rely on a vague, unspecific closeout deadline every decade or so, the new GED tests should have expiration dates built into them. Let's say, for example, that test scores are only good for three years. If a student isn't able to convert a test score into a credential within three years, then the test expires and needs to be retaken. The students would lose the fee and the time it took to study for the test -- a little push toward timely completion.

Three years should give students plenty of time to complete the series. Exceptions can be given to those who need them, but for most, a built-in deadline would provide a game clock by which they measure their progress. The expiration deadlines would force students to complete the new 2014 series sometime, I hope, before a last second rush in December of 2026.

Measuring a Vacation in Memories

The counter person with the dark visor looked at me carefully, "You were here last night."

Yes, I was. We had driven south during Christmas break searching for sand, shells, and sunsets, and at the end of the trip found instead snow, ice, and sub-zero temperatures. We stopped at the McDonald's the night before in Vandalia, IL. about 100 miles south our intended destination. After a quiet night of reconfiguring our plans, we now were up at daybreak to begin our push for home: that is why we were back at the McDonald's.

"Large coffee, black, and bottled water."

"Same thing you ordered last night." The counter person was polite and efficient last night when we were tired, and, twelve hours later, she was just as adept. She also had a good memory.

"That's right."

The trinkets and t-shirts you buy from vendors, attractions you gawk at, and images you snap and store in scrapbooks and smartphone albums are the grand strokes of any vacation. But, what makes any trip really successful are the unexpected experiences that fill in the lines between the paint-by-number outline of a vacation drawn by trip planners. These unplanned moments are found from dealing with people, most of them low wage workers, who wait on you in restaurants, coffee shops, bookstores, state park kiosks, toll booths, and hotel front desks. To their credit, most of them will go out of their way to help you have a good trip. It doesn't cost them much to be kind, and, I like to believe, most people do try to be kind.

Each moment of honest person-to-person contact when you travel -- eye contact, a smile, a greeting in the morning, remembering your order from the night before -- creates as strong a memory of a trip as birds flitting in and out of a rolling surf or the stolid brick and earth battlements of a Civil War coastal fortress. Author Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote, "We are here to change the world with small acts of kindness rather than one great breakthrough."

So sure, I will remember Spanish moss hanging like Christmas tinsel from the southern pines, seafood lasagna, and the "Beware of Alligator" signs along walking paths in the salt marshes, but I will also remember other incidental moments. I will remember, for example, the pre-teen who scrupulously checked out our purchases from the main street bookstore under the watchful eye of her grandmother/owner, the hotel custodian who pointed out that the dot and dash on the horizon was a 600-foot nuclear sub leaving its Georgia base on New Year's Eve, and the diner hostess who showed us a YouTube clip insisting it was proof of a "real" mermaid: after all, it was on the Internet. A vacation is measured by those small bits of memories, not by miles driven.

The counter person poured out my coffee, capped the cup, and pulled out a chilled water out of a cooler.

"Where's home?"

"Green Bay, Wisconsin."

"Long drive." She added, "Happy memories."

"Thanks." Thanks to all of you, I have them.

Giving Mr. Wuffles

My wife called me to the Amazon link that was keyed to this year's top selection of children's books. The picture book featured on the screen told the story of Mr. Wuffles, a black and white tuxedo cat who "doesn't care about toy mice or goldfish. He's more interested in playing with a little spaceship full of insect-size aliens." Sounded like our kind of gift.

Each Christmas, we traditionally give books to nieces and nephews. We love researching and browsing the children's and juvenile book sections of independent and chain bookstores during the year as well as those touted by Amazon and other online entities. The best children's books are clever, creative, and current, without being cloying, and the illustrations are amazing. Mr. Wuffles (2013), by David Wiesner, Caldecott medalist (the Caldecott is the Pulitzer of children's literature, and Wiesner is one of two authors to have been awarded the medal three times), wordlessly tells the story of first kitty-contact (other than alien script and insect "cave" paintings) with finely rendered watercolor illustrations.

Over the years, we have given many different editions of Dr. Seuss, of course, as well as Polar Express, James and the Giant Peach, and other classics. After reading a little more about Wiesner, I realized that we had also given his third Caldecott winner, Flotsam (2007), as a gift some years back. Nice to see the best return to delight us.

What was a good idea when nieces and nephews were third and fourth graders, seemed not such a great idea when they passed through their teen years. So, we fell back on the tried and true and boring aunt and uncle Christmas presents of gift cards. Not as much fun as Green Eggs and Ham, Sam I am, but safer. Now, we have a new generation of young grand-nieces and grand-nephews and our book-giving binge continues.

I wondered, recently, if our Christmas books were anything other than a momentary distraction for young ones on Christmas morning. Would it be better to gift the latest "Hello Kitty" or other fad now in the rage? Then, this past Thanksgiving, one of our nieces, grown into a fine young lady and mother herself, silenced those doubts when told me that as a child she looked forward to our annual books. "My shelf above my bed was filled with the books that you guys gave me each year. I read them and reread them until I knew them by heart. I still have them and still use them."

That made me smile. My wife and I chose the books hoping that it would create a habit of reading as well as provide parent/child time when the books were read. I suppose it's old fashioned, but I think children (and adults) do need the physical presence of a book to develop and nurture the habit of reading. I think a family benefits from a book like Mr. Wuffles where, according to a reviewer on Booklist, "the mundane and the magical collide."

At one time, children's book magic was in the comic but recklessly destructive hands of the The Cat in the Hat. Now it's the turn of another generation of cat, the fickle Mr. Wuffles, to create wonder and memories through the talent of the author and the interaction of child, parent, and book. Enjoy the gifts, Bailey, Avaleigh, CC, Maleah, Quinn, and Emma. We promise to give you, as we gave your parents, a special square-shaped package each Christmas morning tied with a shiny bow and ribbon and sent, with love, from your aunt and uncle.

Final Thoughts from 2013

I collect quotations the way people collect coins, stamps, and matchbook covers. I collect them from Internet sites, from books and magazines, and from miscellaneous social and unsocial media -- T-shirts are an under-utilized source of inspiration. At one time, early in my pre-computer career, I pasted address-sized stickers of sayings on interoffice mail envelopes until the mailroom stopped that practice after most of the envelopes of the school were cluttered with my little bits of wisdom.

Now, my life's work is to fill the digital capacity of the world's servers with witticisms. But rather than hoard them in digital folders buried many layers down, I recycle quotations on email messages, classroom whiteboards, assorted posters, and lesson PowerPoints.

Before I retire 2013 quotes from active use to inactive memory, I thought I would give a dozen favorites one more moment to digitally shine. Think of this post as a parting, end-of-the year gift for those just starting their collections of wisdom.

Many of my favorite quotations talk of journeys:

"It doesn't matter where you are coming from. All that matters is where you are going." Brian Tracy.

"The best sermons are lived, not preached." Cowboy saying.

"If it's both terrifying and amazing, then you should pursue it." Erada.

Some talk of overcoming problems along that journey:

"One cannot stumble upon an idea unless one is running." Vladimir Kosma Zworykin.

"A bird only flies. It does not turn to another bird and ask, "Am I doing this right?" Mary Ann Rademacher.

"No one would have crossed the ocean if he could have gotten off the ship in the middle of the storm." Paul Boese.

Some talk of persistence while overcoming problems along that journey:

"It's hard to beat a person who never gives up." Babe Ruth.

"Never make decisions while running up a hill." Christina Cox, runner.

"If Plan A didn't work, the alphabet has 25 other letters." Unknown.

And some talk of our most difficult journeys: those we take within ourselves:

"If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win." Carl Lewis.

"You become what you think about." Earl Nightingale.

"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken." Oscar Wilde.

Counting and Measuring in the Classroom

At the end of every month, I open up my old-school attendance notebook and total data points in columns and rows. This is a habit I started back seven years ago as an adjunct in the Basic Ed classroom when I first wanted to know how I was doing and how I could improve it.

Sure, the creative free-flowing part of my brain saw the results of daily lessons and thought that everything was brilliant, just brilliant, but my business, quantitative-numbers side wasn't so easily persuaded by colorful thoughts. It asked persistently, "Do you have the data to back that up?" I know from a variety of business experiences that almost everything can be measured or counted: it's just a matter of asking the right questions and tallying the data.

If you can't count or measure something, it probably doesn't exist.

At first though, I wasn't sure what data I needed. So I started to collect and organize what I had at hand: number of students per session, programs represented, hours attended, tests taken, results achieved, and so forth. After one semester collection, I had a baseline of data points. One semester of data still didn't answer the question of how I was doing since I had nothing else to compare it to. So I kept on.

After another semester, I started to notice trends by comparing the first semester to the next. I felt better, but two semesters of data didn't seem to be terrifically valid since I suspected that the fall semester differs from the spring or summer semesters (which it does by quite a bit). What I needed was a full academic year including the summer term.

In the meantime, I continued to collect and to ask questions of the data and pass the reports on to the center managers and my associate dean. Some of the information has been important for Basic Ed funding (student numbers, attendance, and entry and exit tests: all part of GED scorecards), some for center BE scheduling, and some information, while interesting, didn't have immediate practical importance. For example, at one time I tracked how many students signed into the center lab just for testing and how many were there for GED or pre-program instruction: since testing has moved to other desks, that data is now irrelevant.

And, my old notebooks and monthly reports have provided a hard record of the evolution of the Basic Ed program at my two sites. Initial data quantified the old system of open academic skills labs, while the 2012-2013 Academic Year data showed how the school-wide Pathways initiative changed the flow of students at my two sites. Now, this fall (AY 2013-2014), the data shows upward trends possibly due to changes we made in delivery of both the GED/HSED content and the college prep classes. I say "possibly due" since the increase might have more to do with the GED 2002 series Closeout Campaign, than any structural changes we have made. Time will tell. Data collection is an exercise in patience as well as persistence. Ask me about trends in May or next fall.

In the meantime, the monthly exercise of data collection, comparison, and trends satisfies my personal business numbers curiosity and helps me recommend the best BE strategy at the centers. And, the data comes in handy when my center managers or associate dean have specific questions of me. When you have the data, you have the basis for intelligent evidence-based answers. Without data, well, your guess is as good as mine.

Mandela's Code of Respect

When students fill out paperwork to enter Basic Education classes, they have to read and sign a Code of Conduct form promising to behave themselves in the classroom. It's a shame we have to waste the paper on the obvious, but there have been incidents and lawyers must make a living too. But when a student seems overly intimidated by the two-column legalese, I say, "Look, just respect the other students who are working alongside you. That's all this code means: respect one another."

I thought of that Code as I watched and read of memorials this past week to the late President of South Africa, Nelson Mandela. Surrounded by a world-wide celebration of his life, I reflected on the qualities of a Code of Respect, the basis for the Mandela legend.

One network correspondent summed his life saying Mandela believed that no one was above him. He would not acknowledge the power that others had over him, even as a prisoner for twenty-seven long years. Stories said he respected his jailers as fellow human beings, but would not bow to the system of apartheid that they represented. It takes an amazing inner reserve to respect your opponents without agreeing with them and then, in turn, to earn their respect by your strength of convictions.

Left unsaid by the reporter but equally true is just as Mandela believed no one was above him, he also believed no one was below him. He offered equal respect for people from all social and economic, racial and ethnic levels. This is what gave him his generous spirit that was loved by his countrymen and admired by the world. So many of the tributes during the past week spoke of vignettes that showed Mandela's humor and common touch when he walked among his people and focused on their individual stories. 

But respect, it seems to me, needs to crystalize within us before we can project it into the world. We need to begin our personal Mandela transformation by really, honestly, and openly accepting who we are. Self-respect may be the hardest part of the personal Code to form, because we all are too aware of our faults, gifts, and gaffes. Even Mandela. He once asked his followers, "Do not judge me by my successes, but judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again."

A life lived in a Code of Respect is an ideal that few of us can achieve on a consistent basis, which is why, I suppose, we need to be reminded of it as we sign classroom Codes of Conduct. It is also why we are attracted like moths to shining examples, like Mandela, who show us that we have the power to rise above daily pettiness and indecision that mires us to baser instincts. As Mandela once said, "A good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination."