Suppose

 

One of the more vituperative arguments of our time is over what is called “The Common Core.” It's a well-meaning attempt to ensure equal education of all so that no child is “left behind.” The improvement of the education of our children is a praiseworthy goal. And there is a basic body of information they should all share – whether its immediate use can be identified or not. The classical college education with a core curriculum illustrates the validity of this concept (although it is undeniable that some colleges have wandered from long-standing ideas of what constitutes a classical education and adapted the core to reflect current fads and fashions).

But, as far as the “Common Core” is concerned, the aim of many is also to establish a tool for comparing students and educational institutions, and to evaluate educators. Implicit in the concept are the assumptions that all children are equally able to absorb the education offered, that identical educations are appropriate everywhere, that one set of “experts” can, and should, make all the decisions, and that standardized tests are the best way to guarantee comparable evaluation. In short, all students, whether they have an IQ of 80 or 130, are the same (yes I know that people consider the IQ a poor indicator of ability, but I don't), and there is a single ideal way to determine knowledge. Teachers, moreover, can be evaluated by their adequacy in filling the children with the particular “facts” that make up the government approved warehouse of necessary information and ideas.

But granting the sincerity of its promoters – if not their wisdom – a significant fault of the concept, as seen from a distance by an amateur, is that the children are taught things, and that teachers are rewarded for drilling them in that kind of knowledge. Certainly such education is important, especially as a starting point for younger children, but it seems to me that it's more important for them to discover how to learn and how to think. And it's a shame. Kids have rich imaginations, and simply stuffing their minds with facts rather than encouraging them to learn some of those facts on their own, or to work out solutions to problems they can imagine, that they face, or that society has faced, sells them short.

Suppose, for example, some kids were asked to consider, and write about, what would have happened if Alexander Fleming hadn't discovered penicillin. They'd have to read about him, the times, and the results of his discovery, and then one might comment on the value of antibiotics in saving lives, and how the failure to have penicillin (and similar drugs subsequently) might have affected the outcome of the Second World War, while another will, perhaps, be more interested in the what could have resulted if there were no risk of overuse of antibiotics in cows and chickens. A third might choose to deal with “accidents” and the effect of their absence on science, while a fourth would, perhaps, expound on the fate of St. Mary's Hospital without him. The rote memorization of the simple facts of his discovery might fit well on a multiple-choice test, but it would be advantageous to consider the implications of those facts on their times, rather than memorize the facts themselves. Less structured by the specifics, it would give the student the opportunity to explore what interests him, while learning a little history, or science, or whatever. And the students could conceivably raise issues that hadn't been considered already.

Or suppose that the Supreme Court hadn't used Marbury v. Madison as a vehicle for establishing its dominance over the legislative branch of government (and the executive for that matter). What would be the implications in terms of more recent decisions? How would the current controversy over judicial “over-reach” be affected? How would the Judiciary's weakness, as anticipated by the Founders, change – if at all – the decisions about which cases should be judged and what the judgments should be?

What if President Washington hadn't imposed a two-term limit on himself or if Franklin Roosevelt had? How would these events have changed our history? There are many questions like these – perhaps involving Darwin, Napoleon, Einstein, Babe Ruth, or Moses – that would give a student the chance to use newly available technological tools to do research, and would provide a platform to use as a starting point in understanding the events involved and their implications.

The topics chosen – if the students don't choose for themselves – would obviously have to be tailored to different ages, but I suspect that even some younger students would be able to write a few paragraphs on what life would be like without television or pocket telephones (and it certainly wouldn't hurt if they thought about it). Perhaps they wouldn't be able to fully understand the history of those inventions, but they'd probably have some ideass about life without them – especially after reading “Little House on the Prairie” or some comparable work.

And older students could use their imaginations outlining a problem in modern science or society, and suggesting a plan for solving it, without retreating too far into the world of fantasy. Or maybe with such a retreat. It might take some research into current events or technology, but that could be useful – especially for future entrepreneurs. It would also give them the chance to give some thought to their own futures. Apart from future professions, having them consider how their lives would change if they had a baby could affect their behavior.

None of this is especially original (it's probably a standard technique for teachers), but the memorization of uninteresting and seemingly irrelevant facts, however useful it might be on a multiple-choice examination, is unlikely either to excite the student or engage him in learning. Reading, learning, and thinking – not to the book or the test – would probably provide a better hook for involving him. And it would probably interest the teachers more. It might not provide the metrics desired for evaluating students and teachers, but good teachers are the best evaluators of good students, and good supervisors of good teachers.

I suspect, however, I'm living in the past.

Next episode: “Staying Alive” – The goal of modern journalism.

Miss Bishop, Mitchell Grossberg, Dr. Ralph Goldin, and Socrates

 

I hated Miss Bishop. She was one of the worst teachers I ever had. I had her twice – in the fifth and seventh grades and I was convinced that she was out to get me. I had always received excellent grades and I was used to having a report card that I was proud to show to my parents. And there was no reason why it shouldn't be a good card. I was one of the smartest, if not THE smartest kid in the school. But she ruined it. She gave me a “U” in something or other. (I can't remember what it was. Its presence under whatever guise was an abomination for me.) Worse. The offending grade was in red ink. It was a positive embarrassment.

I subsequently realized that the “U” must have been the rating I got for effort. Sure I did well. It was easy. But she demanded more of me. She knew I was coasting. And only since have I come to recognize that she was pushing me to accomplish all that was within my reach, and to reach even further. It was up to me. I hated her, but she was one of the best teachers I ever had.

Mitchell Grossberg wasn't one of my teachers. He was a friend – a better friend than I appreciated. Even so, I can only remember one incident in our relationship, but in view of the fact that it probably happened sixty-five years ago or so, the impression it made on me is evident.

We were playing in an overgrown vacant lot. I was about ten or eleven and he was a year older than I. I can't recall how the issue came up but I called someone (probably Miss Bishop) a ____ [expletive deleted]. Mitchell responded by asking me if I knew what the word meant. It must have been obvious to him that I didn't because I used a verb as a noun, and I used an expletive in an age when cursing was far less common than is the case now. When I admitted my ignorance (it was also an age when children knew less about the “birds and the bees” than is true now) he simply told me not to use words I didn't understand. The idea of comprehending what I was discussing has stuck with me. I suspect that he didn't think twice about what happened, but it provided an important lesson for me.

There was a hiatus before the next teaching that affected my approach to the world. It happened during my residency in radiology. I was already a doctor and learning to be a specialist, and I thought I knew everything. In the middle of the night a resident from one of the wards asked me to perform some kind of emergency GI procedure (I forgot long ago what it was) and I argued against it because I didn't think it was indicated at that hour. Rather than fight it for too long or awaken one of the attending physicians to back me up, however, I did what was requested and put off the discussion with my superior until the morning.

The superior was Dr. Goldin, who was both the staff member most experienced in gastrointestinal radiology and a thoughtful and experienced physician. From him I sought a ruling – or really a rule – concerning the indications for the procedure. I wanted to have some criteria I could quote that would justify my refusal should the situation arise again. But he refused me. He didn't say whether I was right or wrong in the particular case, only that there was no rule. Each case had to be evaluated individually. In current jargon, one size doesn't fit all.

But the individual who affected my learning most, and who most influenced my own teaching methods, was one I never met. Indeed he lived, if at all, more than two millennia ago. It was Socrates, as portrayed by Plato. He taught me to think. His lesson encompassed all the others I've described. They were all important, but the example of Socrates, that I have to question everything, and work out all problems for myself, has governed my approach to education – both my own and that of my students – for most of my life. I have learned to ask questions rather than answer them.

In retrospect, none of the three teachers I mentioned prior to Socrates didn't always answer my questions. But all made me think about them. I hope that my students have learned this lesson as well.

Next episode: “They Speak For Themselves” – I said it and I meant it. At least at the time.

Intermezzo 2

The previous blog told you a little about me – as an addition to the introduction to this series which I published in October of last year. It was not complete, for no such endeavor can be complete. We always hold back.ⁱ The current effort is intended as a supplement, but it, too, will be only part of the story. You'll learn more about me as time goes by. My original intentⁱⁱ was to avoid writing about myself – to delineate only my views of the world around me – but I now realize that whatever I enter here is a reflection of myself, even though I stated initially that I would avoid that topic. “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself.” Walt Whitman knew better than I.ⁱⁱⁱ

In any event, if you haven't already figured it out, I'm relatively conservative in some matters and liberal in others.^iv That doesn't clarify very much, nor does the fact that I'm often, if not usually, not really either of the two. Labels, you see, aren't very useful. Descriptions are deceptive. They don't solve anything. Indeed, solutions cause problems. So since my words have caused problems, I'll try to clear up a few issues here.

I don't know if I mentioned it already (and I have no interest in reading previous blogs to find out) but I'm a retired radiologist. I've spent my life in hospitals rather than private practice so I never got rich, but that's all right. I'm certainly comfortable and I've had the opportunity to do a lot of teaching and that has given me a good deal of satisfaction. My mother was a teacher^v and so is one of my (two) sons.^vi I guess it's genetic, although we teach (taught) at different levels.

Teaching worked fine for me. It gave me the opportunity to express my views (not varying, of course, from the provision of the scientific “Truth”^vii of the material I presented) to those who would question them and help me clarify my own ideas. It is true, or at least it was true for me, that students are the best teachers.  Or, at least, they stimulate the most thinking. 

Because I was in radiology, I was able to satisfy another of my loves – solitude. I don't much like people, so interaction with patients didn't attract me. But the challenges and puzzles of medicine did. Radiology, for those unfamiliar with the field, involves some interaction but it's primarily with other doctors and limited to the enigmas which interest me, and the teaching is primarily “one on one” and controlled by me, so I could avoid the small talk and stick to the science.

Although I loved radiology, since my retirement I have made no attempt to “keep up.” In fact, I try to ignore anything that has to do with medicine in general. I discovered a long time ago that whatever “medicine”^viii reaches the media is either false or premature – usually the result of a single study and not (yet) confirmed. Hence I don't place much stock in it. I must admit that I'm troubled that others do, but if they didn't we wouldn't be able to sell newspapers.^ix

My main activity nowadays is writing.^x As I have noted before, I'm really writing to myself. These essays into essay writing allow me to experiment with my own thoughts and prejudices, and the intentionally limited audience – me – makes it possible for me to enjoy my treasured solitude, the privacy I seek.^xi I'll continue to use this format as my (silent) sounding board. In the past, whenever an idea or question crossed my mind I wrote it on a piece of paper and stuffed it in my pocket along with the others, but the computer has allowed me to “download” my pockets. I know I'll never get to most of the topics, but at least I have less to carry around.

Next episode: “Parenting For Dummies” – It doesn't take a village.

i     More about privacy in a future essay.

ii    I'll have more to say about that, too, in an upcoming blog. I'll be writing about our Founding Fathers, however.

iii    Song of Myself. I may not be large, but I contain multitudes.

iv    “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.” Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self Reliance. I like to believe that I have more than a “little mind, ” but even if that isn't the case, I'm not troubled by consistency – foolish or otherwise.

v     And, for the record, my father was a CPA.

vi    Just to satisfy your curiosity, I also have one daughter. And a total of eleven grandchildren.

vii    One of my teachers, one for whom I have great respect, once told me that lying is a valid teaching tool, as long as the lesson was true. Of course I would never lie – or at least I'd never get caught lying if I could avoid it.

viii   I presume the same is true in other fields but I cannot judge them with any expertise.

ix     In all likelihood they'll disappear soon anyhow due to the internet.

x     I'm full of righteous indignation about the the perfidy, stupidity, and gullibility of others. But I doubt that I'd get very far – if I survived – confronting them, so I write to myself.

xi    Different societies treat privacy differently, and there is a wide spectrum of need for solitude within each. I probably would have made a good monk, but that kind of life isn't for everyone.