Woodland Shoppers Paradise

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Bigger Classes, Better Outcomes?

In so many ways, Arizona seems like a test case for a future America governed by corporate values. One example: a proposed 2013 budget continues a trend toward the widgetization of higher education. Anne Ryman writes in the Arizona Republic that, for about $15 billion, Governor Jan Brewer hopes to invest in "technology and capital improvements aimed at improving academic results and decreasing per-student costs for large classes or classes with high failure rates." Cutting costs and reducing failure: Rather than designing better lesson plans, Arizona appears to be designing better factories.

Well, maybe not better factories, but certainly bigger ones. How big? Some of Arizona's "mega classes" enroll 1,200 students. This means more clickers to facilitate anonymous answers, more computers to process learning modules, more projectors to display PowerPoint slides, and more T.A.s to fill the gaps. None of these additions are, themselves, bad things. Indeed, I should emphasize that access to enthusiastic, dedicated teaching associates can be a wonderful part of an undergraduate's education. Yet I'm troubled by a trend that seems to deprofessionalize professors.

Arizona's large-classroom model represents a future in which student learning is facilitated less by individual professors and more through artificial measures and "outcomes." Fewer students will experience the kind of one-on-one consultation, tutelage, and apprenticeship that inspires wisdom and character. This is not to say that every student faces a future of large lecture halls. Indeed, I'm certain that wealthy lawmakers, administrators, and consultants will keep writing paychecks to expensive private schools, ensuring that their children enjoy direct access to professors.

Public colleges and universities, though, risk becoming widget factories, especially as the design and implementation of Next-Big-Thing "learning systems" becomes increasingly big business.

So, should we fight this future? Should we cry out for a nostalgically romantic model of cloistered education in which every classroom resembles a scene out of Dead Poets Society? Oh, God, I hope not. [As one Simpsons episode reminds us, that film "ruined a generation of teachers."] Neither the large lecture class nor the small seminar are ideally suited in every case. Many subjects benefit from hybrid approaches that leverage intelligent-agent software, small group interaction, and a mix of personalized and mediated instruction. Heck, sometimes the large lecture can work pretty well. We may yet learn something from Arizona.

Even so, I fear the future of higher education when professors are transformed into content delivery specialists, when we are so plugged into each new learning management fad dreamed up by multimillion dollar consultants that we become stripped of our intellectual autonomy - and our role as bulwark against administrative arrogance. And no matter how many pupils get crammed into a lecture hall, each student remains a singular self striving to learn. Education, no matter how convoluted an operation we concoct out of this business, is ultimately a personal encounter. Without a professor, that encounter might as well take place at the DMV.

For too long, colleges and universities have been encouraged to learn from corporations, to cut the fat and secure the bottom line. In Arizona that means increasingly large classrooms and ever more pressure to cut the number of tenured faculty. It's a future spreading across the nation. But as we consider the disconnect between corporate and non-corporate America - in terms of outcomes, yes, but also in terms of ethics and values - we must ask ourselves: Is this the future we want?

Learn more: Bigger Arizona college class sizes a growing trend: http://bit.ly/ITNjB0

Monday, April 16, 2012

John's Modern Cabins

During my recent solo road trip, I spent a quiet afternoon at John's Modern Cabins, a frequently photographed collection of 30s-era shacks along a bypassed stretch of Route 66 in Missouri. Once an infamous juke joint whose patrons could crash in chicken coop shacks, John's is now an overgrown wreck that greets unsuspecting wanderers with broken glass and rusty bed springs. Yet it remains a must-see stop along the Mother Road.

Visiting the cabins can be tricky. Heck, I get lost every time I hunt for these ruins. This past trip I realized that I'd failed to even write down a semblance of directions. So I pulled off-road and did some web-sleuthing. Thank goodness a commentator named "southwig" posted a swell set of directions on the Historic Route 66 Forum. I'm reposting those directions here for archival purposes:

"Westbound: From I-44 exit 176. Turn left at the end of the exit ramp and cross over the interstate. Take a right onto Arlington Road (west bound) perhaps 1/4 to 1/2 mile. You will see a couple of businesses on your right, and will need to cross over what was the old I-44 right of way. The crossovers are gravel and present no problems. You will find John's Modern Cabins just a few yards west of the present businesses."[I'd merely add that the cabins can be seen near Vernelle's Motel.]

Back in '04, I found a set of Burma Shave-type signs standing near the cabins [I'd later learn that Route 66 News editor Ron Warnick had planted them]. The signs read: "Photograph These/While You're Here/The Wrecking Ball/Is Looming Near." During my most recent visit - just a few weeks ago - I could only see one sign standing; another lay on the ground nearby. I remember wanting to take that fallen sign ("Photograph These") for myself, just toss it in the car. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

Thanks to Swa Frantzen for producing this Google Map!

[View John's Modern Cabins in a larger map.]

Friday, April 13, 2012

St. Louis Graffiti Wall

During my recent solo road trip, I found myself wandering beneath the fast lane. I'd spotted some neon tags splattered across the skeletal ruin of the Powell Square building and was determined to get a better look. Before long I was bracing myself against a concrete divider, trying to grab shots while cars screamed past. I stayed for a while but eventually began long, lazy circuits among the surface streets. Strolling the roads, sometimes spotting the St. Louis Arch between bombed out houses and bars, I smiled at the sight of horse carriages taking a break from their downtown duties. Veering toward the water, I figured I'd see little more than another swath of post-industrial wreckage. Instead I found a flood wall running alongside the railroad tracks, stretching miles south. Nearly every inch of that wall was covered in street art. I knew I'd have to stick around a while longer.