The Locusts are Singing

My mother used to tell me that the droning of the locusts was a song. The lyrics? Summer's over, summer's over.

So as I'm digging out my pencil box, my plaid skirt, and my lunch bag, getting ready to return to the classroom, I'm reflecting on my summer's work. All to the tuneless song of the locusts.

I will say, it was pretty lazy by my usual standards. I attended a conference, where I presented a paper; I team-taught a week-long workshop for high school teachers; I went to a writers' conference in creative nonfiction, for which I had to write an essay; I developed a survey for a major research project I'm beginning with a colleague; and I proposed a chapter for an edited book which was accepted - all I have to do now is to write it.

I haven't begun the syllabus writing yet, but since I'm usually the last one in the department to send mine to the print shop, that shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone - not even the print shop.

I also squeezed in a fabulous trip to Rome, Florence, and Paris with a colleague, and visited my new great niece in Akron.

I know that I have an unusually good life for someone with a PhD in English. I remember the years when I had to beg for summer courses to teach, just to keep a roof over my head. I remember when I had no research agenda or professional development funding or time to do anything but read student essays and sleep.

As I look ahead to the fall 2014 semester, I am excited: I have a new plan for my basic writing courses, I'm teaching a media theory course for the first time, and, as a third year teacher, I feel comfortable at my institution.

I also anticipate teaching an overload, for which I will be paid, but, of course, not enough. I will be in my office 10 hours a week, hoping students will come and talk to me. I will be on at least three committees, a team, and a task force.

And . . .   there's the usual three days of meetings and trainings and orientation events. I used to complain about these days - when I did, my husband said, well, why don't you quit? Why don't you go into another profession? As many professors have done - and then there's this:

I'm being positive right now, so it's he students, I say. I'm in it for the students. 

There's no other reason on earth for anyone to do this job.

And I'm very thankful for every day I spend with them.

Christmas Wishes

It's Christmas Eve, and we had a light dusting of snow this morning that may or may not stay long enough to give us a White Christmas.

We're having a quiet holiday - visits with the kids and grandkids, plans to visit the miniature railroad at the Carnegie Science Center and maybe see the baby penguins at the National Aviary.

We know how blessed we are to have two good, full-time jobs with excellent health benefits, to have employed children and two healthy grandsons, with a third to arrive in February.

We'll have a wonderful dinner tonight at my friend Dana's as we have for over 10 years.

My Christmas Wishes for the academic world?

• Full-time, tenure-track positions for those who desire them and are qualified for them.
• Decent pay and benefits for those who want to remain part-time, for whatever reason.
• An academic system that would nurture and encourage talented teachers to stay in the profession.
• Jobs outside the academic system for those who would contribute more there.
• Peace on earth; goodwill towards all humankind (Why not? It's no wilder a dream than the rest of the list!).

Feats of Strength I'd Like to See

On Festivus (see the whole story here),it's tempting to stress the importance of The Airing of the Grievances, but, because I've already done a fair amount of that on this blog, this year I'd like to emphasize the Feats of Strength. Here are some I'd like to see in the academic world, starting tonight under the Festivus Pole and extending into the New Year and beyond.

For Contingent Faculty Members:

• Be strong enough to juggle their many courses, long commutes, and economic insecurity just long enough for the the academic world to wake up and smell the gallons of coffee they're guzzling on the road.
• Be strong enough to continue to organize, protest, speak up, write, and whatever else it will take to get the word out and the world changed.
• Be strong enough to say no to anyone and everyone and catch up on sleep over whatever break they get.

For Full-Time, Tenured or Tenure-Track Faculty Members:

• Be strong enough to be kind to and inclusive of contingent faculty in their departments.
• Be strong enough to join in the organization of, protests for, and any other actions to help change academic labor conditions for those not as fortunate as them (us, that is. Us.).
• Be strong enough to support the needs of contingent faculty to their department chairs and other administrators.

For Campus Administrators:

• Be strong enough to recognize that the current system will eventually (or much sooner) destroy the system of higher education in America.
• Be strong enough to fight for better working conditions on your campus and beyond.
• Be strong enough to stand up for better working conditions to your boards, governors, funders, and whoever else is encouraging you to follow the business model - all the while knowing that the business model of treating you employees badly is bad business, as well as bad education policy.

For Politicians:

• Be strong enough to stand up for the importance of education, and back up that stand up with funding.
• Be strong enough to admit that you don't really care about the future of education if you refuse to provide restored funding.

For All:

• Be strong. It's going to be an interesting year at best.

Now, I'm off to put up my pole and cook the spaghetti dinner. I still got a lot of problems with (some of) you people, but I've decided to hope for the best. That is my Festivus Feat of Strength.

When your only tool is a spreadsheet . . .

 . . . every problem becomes a number. And this is exactly why expecting education to be run like a business and to treat students like customers is disastrous.

It might be remotely possible that not everything is quantifiable. Turning non-numeric things into statistics is forever pounding the square peg into the round hole. And we know what Mark Twain said about statistics.

School districts, colleges, and universities cut the things that don't make money: art, music, foreign languages . . .  But they ignore the (quantifiable) studies that say things like, students with a good background in music do better in math (take those numbers, you bean counters!).

We want our students to learn how to think critically, express themselves clearly in writing and speech, and reason scientifically and mathematically. And yet, we let core curriculum be eroded because the customer - the student - doesn't think that will matter in the real world.

And yet the student? The student came to us for an education. How is it possible that the student (the 18-year-old student) knows what will matter? That is the same student who orders a super-sized meal at the local fast food place because metabolism change is so far in the future.

This week, I discovered that half my students had never heard of Nelson Mandela. Just like not knowing that in ten years that unhappy meal will suddenly appear in their midsection, it's not their fault. They were never taught history - especially the ancient history of the 1970s and 80s - way before they were born.

When I ask them if they've seen Gone With the Wind, they say, No. It was made before we were born (So, weird that I've seen it, right? How old do they think I am?). But they have seen The Wizard of Oz and are amazed that those movies were made the same year. Before they were born. How can it matter?

These are the same students (and I love and respect them - they are so smart in ways I never was in college) whom we expect to choose the right things from the menu of the university. Colleges make more money offering courses, programs, and majors that purport to offer the fast track to a big money job. Who needs music, art, literature . . .  Let's just pack in all the calories we can at the lowest cost.

And this is exactly why the teaching profession is under attack. Just as the health insurance companies decided they knew more than doctors, bean counters have decided they know more about education than professors. Teaching is the new prostitution - a career to mock, to sneer at, to destroy.

Is it too late for me to become a stripper? Because at least in that profession, your pay is based on your performance. In teaching, your pay is based on your dedication and love and blah blah blah. Stuff that this culture has no tolerance for . . . Stuff that hasn't proven its worth in numbers - at least not in numbers that the bean counters are willing to look at.

Giving Thanks for Thanksgiving Break

I am truly fortunate to teach at a school that has the whole week off for Thanksgiving. Well, technically, it's not just for Thanksgiving - deer season starts today in West Virginia, and the administration is smart enough to know that the halls would be empty and the classrooms would echo if they tried to open.

And so, I am housecleaning. The good old fashioned kind, where you move all the furniture, and wash the bathroom rugs and shower curtains. I've been doing the kind that my mother called "a lick and a promise," but rarely get back to the promise part.

So far, I've done the living room, dining room, and den. Still to go: kitchen and baths, bedrooms. Make the guest bed for my sister, who will arrive this evening. Clean up after the sick dog (ok, that has to be next.)

And: go in to the office to follow up on a few details for the publication my creative nonfiction class is putting out. Do work on dissertation research I'm participating in. Annotate an entry for a famous publisher of annotated bibliographies in the field.

And maybe, just maybe, get back to my own research project.

So if you don't hear from me in the meantime (and even if you do), have a wonderful Thanksgiving, everyone.

Another Great Teacher the Field Could Lose . . .

Today I got an email from a wonderful friend who is an adjunct at a small Catholic university - not Duquesne, for those of you who have been following . . .

She had received an email from her dean asking all the faculty to consider how the addition of more adjunct faculty could benefit the university.

Ha. Why send that to the adjuncts?

So she explained her work load to me (and plans to explain it to the dean . . .) this way:

"One example is what I experienced Fall 2012. I asked for, and taught, 3 sections of College Composition. I had over 75 students, with some sections overenrolled. I taught 9 hours a week for 14 weeks, prepared for each class, spent hours answering student emails, and held office hours. Then on top of that, I graded hundreds of pages of written homework, 375 papers, and 75 portfolios. All for about $7500, a fraction of what the university pays full timers. I get no benefits, no health insurance, and no pension. I must walk sometimes four blocks in all kinds of weather hauling textbooks and papers to avoid paying parking fees."

I warned her about sending the letter. She could end up as a greeter at Walmart. And yet - she's my friend. She's like me: strong, outspoken, with a great sense of reckless abandon (thanks to another friend who paid me that compliment today!). She will speak truth to power.

If we all did - if all levels of faculty from fully tenured to barely hanging on - told the truth to the people who control our destinies, what would happen? Classes for one, or two, or ten adjuncts might disappear; tenure decisions could be delayed or go wrong; early retirement might be encouraged. But ultimately, administration will need someone to teach (I hope!).  If we stick together to demand decent working conditions, shouldn't that do something?

I'm a left-over hippie, and I remember the slogan of the 1960s: Suppose they gave a war and nobody came. Well. Suppose they had a university and nobody taught.

And that will be the outcome no matter what. Already people who are outspoken about the state of academic labor are being criticized for pursuing advanced degrees in the first place - if we're so smart, we should have known there would be no jobs.

Soon, young people will listen. They will be smart. They will not become teachers.

Then what?

Broken Computer Charger Changes Everything

Two weeks ago, I wrote about my actual, real, true workload - the work I and other faculty do outside of the classroom. This week, a music professor from Allegheny College wrote a similar story in response to the great state of Pennsylvania's attack on the state university system. He also debunks the myth of the overpaid, underworked teacher - you can read it here.

Yesterday morning, the absolute truth of both of our essays hit home. When I woke up, I discovered that my laptop computer had not charged. It would not charge. It would not come on when it was plugged in.

I called Apple and they are sending me a new adapter, which should come tomorrow or Friday.

When I went home for dinner (before returning to school for rehearsal of the play I'm directing), I thought I'd do a little work, as I often do over dinner.

Oops. No computer.

This morning, over breakfast, I checked my school email on my phone.

I'm writing this during my office hours and realizing I'll probably have to stay in my office over the dinner hour because, again, no computer at home.

And out of my six-figure income (ha! not quite half that . . .), I pay for my computer, my internet service, my phone, and my phone service. And I could not do my job without those things.

Or without working over meals at home.

Summers Off and Other Myths

It happened again. Yesterday a student said something about how lucky teachers are to get summers off. Also, he noted, I don't have a class on Friday afternoon.

Teachers everywhere are tired of hearing about how little they work. Six hour school days, summers off, a few weeks at Christmas . . .  And, yes, thank you, I do presume to speak for teachers everywhere.

College professors are rumored to have it even easier. They have fewer students, fewer classes, and the Christmas break is longer.

Here's my reality - and I have a much lighter teaching load than I did back in my for-profit education days. And certainly much lighter than the average adjunct.

This semester, I'm teaching five courses, although our typical load is four courses per semester. Of those five courses, only two are separate sections of the same course, which means I prepare for four different classes every week.

I serve on three committees (all of which are meeting this week). I am the secretary for one of them.

I am required to hold office hours 10 hours per week.

Because I teach writing, I read and comment on a lot of papers. A lot. I usually take them home over the weekend.

I'm directing the student play - six hours in auditions this week, and weeks of rehearsal coming up.

I'm going to emcee the open mike poetry reading next Wednesday.

I'm required to perform community service. Last summer, I spent 20 hours reading with elementary school children.

I wrote two conference proposals this week, and am working on an article to submit for publication. I still struggle to find time for my own personal research and creative writing - which, technically, is what we're supposed to be doing over the summer.

I go to college events - football games, art gallery openings, concerts.

I am not complaining about any of this. It's my job. It's my career. I chose it, and I came in with my eyes wide open. I love every minute. Well, almost every minute. Sometimes on the 53rd paper out of 60 on a Sunday afternoon I get a little bit cranky (Students: that might explain some of my comments.)

But the idea that teachers only work when they're in the class is absurd. No one believes that lawyers only work when they're in court or surgeons only work when they're in the operating room.

So, please - let us stop attacking the profession of teaching. In fact, let us begin to honor and respect it once again.

Please?