Tuesday, April 14, 2015

"Little Gophers" : An Informal History

Housed in a far corner of the East Bank campus, and eventually claiming Peik Hall, Pattee Hall, a gymnasium, and a basement cafeteria as a near-exclusive domain, a unique group of students pursued their educations at the University of Minnesota from 1908-1972.

Who were these students? Why is their place in University of Minnesota history all but forgotten? Should anyone care?

For would-be scholars of such things, evidence about the educational and developmental growth of these seemingly oddball students is scanty, limited to 5.5 cubic feet of boring reports and lifeless summaries, a few specialized studies, brief mentions in scholarly tomes, and a haphazard collection of newspapers and yearbooks. Oral histories, memoirs, autobiographical reflections, and other historical sources concerning these so-called “Little Gophers” are hard to . . . um . . . ferret out. As one might say, the story remains untold. But here’s a start.

In 1908 -- the year marking the first airline passenger flight (no, they didn’t serve free peanuts then, either), the election of William Howard Taft, and the now dubious admission of Oklahoma to the Union -- the Minnesota Board of Regents established University High School, designed to enroll students from the 7th through 12th grades. The College of Education, awarded oversight for the new, on-campus learning enterprise, envisioned a testing laboratory for secondary education, emphasizing the training of student teachers (an activity generations of these particular school kids would pursue with zest and perverse enthusiasm). By the 1950s, the laboratory school, known as “U-High”, enrolled girls and boys from all over the Twin Cities, including emerging, far-flung suburbs (Can you say, “Fridley”?)


From its beginnings in 1908 until a merger with neighboring Marshall High School (1968), U-High featured up-to-date facilities and equipment, small classes, and a wide-ranging, progressive curriculum. Among the few drawbacks was the name chosen for U-High’s athletic teams. Somehow, charging out on the basketball court or storming the gridiron as the “Little Gophers” didn’t quite hack it. Exposed buck teeth and high-pitched rodent squeaking from hostile fans had a debilitating, rather than comic effect on U-High athletes, not to mention a shriveling of school spirit and machismo.

Chronicling over seven decades of U-High’s past is a difficult task given the scarcity of primary sources, but history these days, much to the discomfort of professional historians, is often delivered in short order style —by the decade. So, this narrative will follow the popular path and make a quick dash through the 1950s, a decade within which the U-High experiment reached maturity and perhaps its finest years.

From what the surviving records and participant recollections indicate, U-High students roamed widely across the campus and its adjacent neighborhoods, attending concerts at Northrup Hall, studying at Walter Library, acting in theater productions, and cheering on the Golden Gophers (. . . a far  more animating nickname, don’t you agree?). These students also endured an onerous burden  psychological research testing. (Note: The scholars behind the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory and the Torrance Tests of Creative Thinking owe much to the #2 pencils wielded by teenage U-High test subjects. Indeed, where was the reward for those kids who, year after year, had to puzzle about items such as, True or False  I am very seldom bothered by constipation / I would like to be a florist / I have never been in trouble because of my sexual behavior. With regard to the latter question, most of the U-High test-takers of the Puritanical 1950s would have chorused, “Bring on the trouble!” One young woman’s remembrance of the Torrance Creativity Test focused on the intentional, incomplete drawing of a dog. Her somewhat bewildered response? Draw an appropriate set of genitalia for the pooch. To this day, that student wonders, “why”?) But, moving on . . . students claiming a university professor for a parent might set off from Peik Hall, at any time, heading for assorted departmental offices to hide, chat, or bum a ride home. It also proved easy for any student to disappear from Peik Hall given the inclination, a talent for imaginative, compelling excuses, and the ability to blend into large clumps of college undergraduates walking past the building.

As time permitted, students stepped off-campus to Dinkytown, frequenting Bridgeman’s, the Varsity Theater, Gray’s Drugs, Al’s Breakfast, McCosh’s Bookstore, and the venerable Bridge CafĂ©. And yes, U-High music devotees of the late fifties hung out nights at the Ten O’Clock Scholar and other Dinkytown haunts listening to local folk-blues musicians the likes of Dave “Snaker” Ray, “Spider” John Koerner, and the soon-to-be famous, but very embryonic, Bob Dylan.

A favorite pastime for some of the more adventurous U-High students involved exploring underground tunnels between university buildings, hidden areas of Northrup Auditorium and Memorial Stadium, and the Mississippi riverbanks-- more often than not a promising site for the discarded liquor bottles and Grain Belt beer cans of late-night, college merrymakers.

But, notwithstanding long commutes to school, highly-demanding classes taught by renowned university professors, the Shevlin Hall cafeteria cuisine, peevish glances and grumbling from university undergraduates at the Cooke Hall swimming pool, and those nasty “Little Gopher” put-downs, U-High students gained considerably from their uncommon experiences. In an academic context, only a few decided not to enter college study after graduation, and a daunting percentage enrolled at Ivy League schools and other high-profile academic institutions. Those who remained at the University of Minnesota, thus extending their on-campus adventures to Odyssean length, rarely wandered into academic “troubles” (Of course, the wording and metaphorical intent of this this sentence, while suspect as good writing, is but a “classic” example of how a U-High student might lure a teaching trainee onto the rocks of despair. What? You didn’t take a Mythology course?).

Perhaps what made U-High unique for its students owed to a combination of geography and population. Its location on the University of Minnesota campus placed students in the middle of a thriving and exciting academic setting. U-High students could access learning opportunities well beyond those contained in their own building. Libraries and special collections, faculty experts, art, theater, concerts, intercollegiate athletic contests, and even bowling lanes in the Coffman Union were part and parcel of the experience. The population of U-High had a special flavor beyond the many, various neighborhoods the students called home before setting off for school. Each day, classes filled up with the sons and daughters of parents representing an imperfect, but reasonable mixture of economic, educational, religious, professional, and societal backgrounds for the times. Was U-High a truly diverse environment as might befit modern day hopes and definitions? No. Was U-High free of class lines, racial bias, regrettable behavior, and bad experiences? No. Indeed, the 1968 merger with Marshall High School proceeded from the College of Education’s desire to create “a more balanced laboratory school” in terms of race, class, abilities, and disabilities. Even so, U-High students may have encountered more opportunities than their contemporaries to meet, know, respect, and befriend others different than themselves. An assessment of U-High graduates before and after the 1950s might have revealed more experiences and respect for diversity than later judged or imagined by the College of Education. But no such assessment was undertaken.

In 1982, the Minneapolis School Board closed Marshall-University High School ending a seventy-four year span of experimental education. Beyond the on-campus buildings known so well to U-High students, not much of that experiment remains on hand except in the memories of a dwindling number of U-High grads (surviving alumni now might reword that sentence substituting “dwindling memories”). On a positive note, a lengthy “Poem for Commencement” discovered in the 1960 U-High yearbook illustrates the uncommon talents and interests of those bygone students. Here’s a snippet:

. . . you are scurrying mice
Whose small feet rattle in a dusty attic.
The walls are dry and dirty, sour air
Chokes you, catching in your furry throats.
Hear how your paws scratch on the empty floor;
Hear how you squeak and whimper, as you search
In desperation for a flashing trap
Whose swift metallic snap will end your life

Is this the end to all our going forth?

In the best tradition of U-High students, this graduating class subjected their poet laureate’s meaning to intense literary analysis, probing well below the surface for hidden meaning, as they had been taught to do. Yet, after extended, scholarly discussion, the following question remains unresolved to this day: Was the poet’s original intent to use “scurrying mice” or, perhaps, . . . some other species of rodent with prominent buck teeth?

All in all, perhaps the Minneapolis School Board was on the right track.

_______________________________

Thomas B. Jones, CLA ’64, and U-High ’60, is a retired professor and author of Bad Lies: A Novel.


Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Now Available: Bad Lies: A Novel

HISTORICAL MYSTERY SPOTLIGHTS 1940s SEGREGATION AND PROFESSIONAL GOLF

An African American golfer and a washed-up, St. Paul Saints’ pitcher, caught in a dangerous post-World War II mix of racial tension, anxious social change, and anti-Communist paranoia, struggle to find a common ground of trust as they mount a challenge to segregation in professional golf.

It’s the late 1940s, and the Professional Golf Association’s “Caucasian only” rule is in force for almost every major tournament. Flash Dawkins knows he’s good enough to win as a pro golfer, but his attempt to qualify for the St. Paul Open makes him a marked man with a growing list of enemies ready to short-circuit his dream of becoming golf’s Jackie Robinson

Bad Lies: A Novel is rooted in the racial and political conflicts of the late 1940s and the history of segregation in professional golf. The story is based on the unsuccessful attempts of African American golfers to enter the 1948 St. Paul Open.

Book Information

Publication Date: September 15, 2014  
IBSN978-087839-752-5
Price: $14.95  (e-book available early October, 2014)                                        

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Golf-Babble
By
The Missing Professor


“Run like a thief”
“Be the ball!”

“Nice putt, Alice”
Tired of that clichĂ© a minute, non-stop, mindless jabber you suffer through every round of golf with your buddies? Ready to slam your putter into Vinny’s shin the next time he comes out with the “Never up, never in” thing? Bewildered as to why the hours spent in a relaxed, natural setting yield nothing more elevated than . . . “There’s a little meat left on that bone”?
Is “golf-babble” about to drive you knee-walking nuts? Well, breath easy. Your friendly college professor has the answer.
The next time you and the gang are finishing out on the first hole--seize the moment! Get in touch with your inner Aristotle, and try out this guaranteed, golf-babble muzzler: “Guys . . . tell me. Does golf has philosophical meaning for our lives? I mean, when we’re out here, do we find a greater sense of what is ultimately good?”
Was ever a metaphysical gambit guaranteed to elicit nothing but stunned silence from your companions? Build on it, Plato-man.
As the boys“haul out the lumber” for the second hole to “let the big dog hunt,” you stand in the tee box and stare down the fairway at the distant green with a look of innocent wonderment. “Can you feel it?” you ask. “Our time together . . . this ‘being as one’ with the natural environment. It gives us such a needed escape from our daily lives—the isolation, the regimentation, the worries—not to mention the burden of our technologies. Don’t you think Thoreau would have liked golf?”
Now it’s quite possible at that instant an ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” ringtone will sound on someone’s cell phone, and Fred, retired for ten years now, will hustle over to his golf cart. “I gotta get that, guys,” he’ll call out over his shoulder. This is a good thing. Fred’s urgent retreat helps prove your point.
Meanwhile, you pretend to examine your new driver--that anti-slice, multi-lofted, power-slotted, Bluetooth-enabled, calorie-counting, web-browsing, golfing miracle. With a deep sigh, you comment to no one in particular, “As did the yeoman framer--those rugged individualists of the American frontier--I shall conquer the wilderness before me. Self-reliance and this extraordinary product of American know-how are all I’ll need.” (Don’t worry, it’s doubtful any of your partners will note the irony and ask, “But what would Thoreau think?”)
After duck-hooking your ball out-of-bounds, smacking it into the wall of the townhomes lining the left side of the fairway, your golfing partners will start with the “Quack, quack” thing.  You smile and offer this bit in return, “In an age of suspect ethical behavior and callow pursuit of riches, is it not so that our game still demands honor? Therefore, I gladly accept a two-stroke penalty for my miscue.”
You’ve got your mojo going! It’s par-city, baby. No mulligans. Your playing partners are silenced like the lambs.
But before we go any further, let the old professor give you a teaching tip guaranteed to produce a verbal blackout. It works without fail in all but the most elite college classrooms (and Vinny, Fred, and “Boomer” sure as hell never qualified for one of those). Here’s the time-tested strategy: ask open-ended questions designed to stimulate discussion. Ha! As with nine of ten college students, your buddies will embrace the advice given by that revered scholar, Muhammad Ali. “Silence is golden when you can’t think of an answer.”
So at an opportune moment, maybe when everyone is searching in vain for a banana ball tagged into the tall stuff, try out my teaching tip. Here’s how.
“No matter how you . . . um . . . slice it, guys, the game we play seems to have meaning more deeply buried than Boomer’s drive. Imagine now. We are like the pioneers trekking through the western frontier. What sorts of know-how would we need to survive? How would those skills connect with today’s golf adventure?”
Believe me, your on-course teaching technique will bomb just as it does in 99 percent of college classrooms. Instead of checking Facebook, texting, dosing off, or staring blankly into space like most college students . . . your golf pals will intensify their search for the lost ball, shaking their heads in dismay at your new on-course persona. Whatever path taken, handy golf clichĂ©s will pretty much lie stillborn. But, don’t waste a second. Drive home your advantage.
“Think about it,” you urge the guys. “Daniel Boone would have been a hell of a golfer, don’t you agree? Great hand-eye coordination to shoot all those bears and rabbits, no fear about what’s over the next hill, patience when things didn’t work out right . . . stuff like that. And he was at home in the wilderness.”
You now have the upper hand. You’ve thrown a stranglehold over golf-babble, that noxious threat to the game’s enjoyment. Of course, you can’t expect that such verbal habits are easily cast aside. Continued application of the academic ointment will, no doubt, be required. But enjoy the moment. As you line up a birdie putt --ready to close the deal on the eighteen holes, and sure to walk off with all the money--it’s time for a denouement (i.e., the academic’s version of golf-babble). So go with the discussion question gambit again. It’s been a winner.
“Guys. I’ve felt an almost spiritual dimension to our play today. Haven’t you?” At this point, you could probably say not a word more. But what the hell? Forge ahead. “Can we see today’s golf as a reflection of religious practice and spirituality? I’m not talking just about the beginning of life, the fullness of possibility at the first tee, or some end of life on earth reckoning at the 18th -- that ‘final scorecard’ thing. Maybe there’s more?” You place your marker on the green for a tap-in putt. The dazed looks around you signal that a biblical flood of three putts is forthcoming.
“Remember when Boomer drove his ball into the rough? We all said ‘it’s dead; that’s history’. But then Boomer yelled out ‘Jesus Christ!” And low and behold, he found his ball. It was like a rebirth. Right?”
“I get ‘ya,” Boomer says. “It’s like the clubhouse grill is a church, and Jake behind the bar . . .  he’s doing a sacramental wine thing.”
“Wow!” Freddie throws his arms wide, real enthusiasm on his voice. “I like that, Boomster. Beats the heck out of the cranberry juice at my church.”
“Well, God bless us all.” Vinny rolls his eyes and whacks his golf ball off the putting surface in disgust. He’s just missed a two-footer to lose the hole. “Guess I need some New Testament clubs.”
Vinny’s biblical allusion will require some thought by his fellow golfers, but their silence may be only momentary. How long before one of them pipes up with “Only God can hit a one iron”?
But the future still looks bright. Perhaps in Vinny, you’ve found a partner, an acolyte for your ongoing crusade against golf-babble.
“Hey, Vinny.” You pick up the wedge he’s left on the green. “Lemme buy you a beer.”

Thursday, April 24, 2014

The Educated Person and Graduation Requirements


“Eat your vegetables.”
“Why, Mommy?”
“Because . . . Mommy says they’re good for you.”

Every college and university sets up graduation requirements students must satisfy to receive a diploma. Graduation requirements come in many shapes and sizes; typically, but not in every instance, students must complete 120 semester credits, maintain a grade point average of 2.00, pass a writing assessment, complete a major and a minor, and be in residence on campus while completing a designated number of credits. In addition, graduation requirements include completing study in areas labeled variously as “liberal education,” “liberal learning,” “general education,” and “core curriculum.” It’s this aspect of the graduation requirements that is most closely connected to the ideal of the educated person.

To avoid mix-ups and confusion right from the start, it helps to boil down the labels (e. g., “liberal education,” “liberal learning,”) into what I’ll call educated-person requirements.[1] 

Who thinks up these educated-person requirements in the first place? At some point, and revisited every so often, colleges and universities discuss questions such as: “What is an educated person?” “What understanding, abilities, and values should graduates of this college possess?” and “What are the essential learning outcomes necessary for our students to meet the demands of complexity, diversity, and change?” Faculty members at each institution usually take the primary role in discussing such questions and providing answers. Ideally, these answers represent the heart and soul of what professors on each campus believe about the educated person. Some schools will sponsor learning experiences (for example, first-year seminars and orientations) to help students understand the thinking behind educated-person requirements and prepare them to take advantage of the promised knowledge, skills, and traits. At too many campuses, however, students receive little guidance other than a brief background explanation and a listing of the requirements in the college or university catalog. Here’s a hypothetical example of general education requirements:

General Education at “Middle of the Road” College
The General Education requirements ensure that students develop a core of liberal arts abilities and experience a range of liberal arts perspectives—social, scientific, humanistic, and artistic—as determined by the faculty. These requirements also expose students to a diversity of perspectives necessary for living and working in an increasingly interdependent world. The General Education program seeks to accomplish three goals: 1) development of important abilities and skills drawn from study in the liberal arts; 2) exposure to a broad variety of disciplines; and 3) a developing global perspective.

General Education: A Summary of Requirements
Two courses from the Social Sciences
Two courses from the Fine Arts
Two courses from the Sciences (one fulfilling a lab requirement)
Two courses from the Humanities
One course in Mathematical/Symbolic Reasoning
One course in Interdisciplinary Issues
One course in Global Perspectives
One course in College Writing
Foreign Language¾each student must complete an introductory year’s study of a foreign language at the college level.

At almost any four-year college or university, throw in the number of credits required for a major (and a minor), some for electives, a minimum number to be completed at the junior–senior level, and voila! . . . supposedly, you have an educated person.

As you might have noticed, the main flaw in most programs of educated-person requirements is this: students are rarely given a chance to fully understand and appreciate the reasoning that lies behind the requirements. Why wouldn’t a college or university want its students to launch their quest to become educated persons with eyes wide open, ready to take best advantage of their learning? What takes place at most schools reminds me of this familiar conversation.

“Eat your vegetables.”
“Why, Mommy?”
Because . . . Mommy says they’re good for you.”

This sort of an approach hardly leads to the ideal of the educated person. It’s too easy for all concerned to fall into the trap of thinking that educated-person requirements only match up with specific courses and academic disciplines (history, computer science, sociology, and so on). The understandable (but regrettable) response of most students is to trudge through these sets of required courses and to jump through the hoops without much deep thought about the educated person. I don’t want this to be your fate.

I urge you carefully analyze and measure the value of educated-person requirements at the college or university you have chosen to attend. You must work within a specific system and listing of requirements, but take as much control and responsibility as possible to develop your ideal of the educated person. Here’s a way to do just that.

Take a trip to your local library or do some background research. Examine a variety of catalogs from private, public, and community colleges, focusing your attention on “graduation requirements” and, in particular, those listed as “liberal education,” “general education,” and “core curriculum.” Read any introductory background explanations and rationales the schools advance. (Would you believe a number of colleges and universities don’t have such a section and launch right into their lists of requirements?) Take a good look at the required subject areas/categories (sometimes these are identified as “core” or “theme” areas; for example, humanities, cultural diversity, natural sciences). Take note of exactly how students are supposed to satisfy these required subject areas.

Try to answer these questions:
1. What were the strongest arguments made for completing these types of educated-person requirements?
2. What are the similarities and differences among these requirements? What is confusing or unclear?
3. Which background statements and explanations for requirements seemed most persuasive?
4. Did any of the supporting arguments and discussions connect with your ideal of the educated person? How so? According to your emerging views on the educated person, what is missing in these requirements and explanations? What seems unnecessary? What would you add? Why would you make these additions?
5. Were most of the requirements geared to the completion of specific courses? How much leeway is allowed for students to pursue individual paths and ways of satisfying the requirements?
6. Do you think it’s possible to attain the educated-person outcomes (i.e., cultural diversity, critical thinking, ethical reasoning, communication skills) by completing the requirements?

Now that you’ve had a chance to sort through educated-person requirements from a range of colleges and universities, let me suggest some things about the learning process that will help you make any choices allowed and to assess the value of the requirements.

First of all, watch out for learning experiences that exclude the exercise of individual reasoning powers and judgments. If you are not taking an active and questioning role in learning, and if your individual powers of judgment are rarely involved, then the subject or course studied is technical and limited in regard to the educated person ideal. This questioning and judging, or what might be termed a “critical component,”[2] helps define “educated-person learning,” whether gained in classrooms, on the job, or through experiential/life learning (such as travel, independent reading, community-based study). Yes, and don’t get me wrong, I agree that technical know-how and skill development for specifically defined occupational tasks are important, but they don’t qualify in the realm of educated-person requirements. Data processing, inventory control, accounting—no matter how valuable or difficult to learn—are not examples of educated-person requirements and what best forms an educated person.

The learning best matched to educated-person requirements, in my opinion, is non-technical, broadly applicable, and stresses individual reasoning, questioning, and judgment. For the most part, such learning is located in what we call the liberal arts areas of the curriculum—the humanities, the fine arts, the natural and physical sciences, and the social sciences. But why is this?

The liberal arts help students learn how to ask good questions, to exercise judgments based on both facts and values, and to analyze problems (and if you can do these three things reasonably well, you’ll be a student any college or university would be proud to claim). Indeed, without attention to these learning objectives, most areas of the liberal arts cannot be taught or researched. While a course in modern art might try to teach only about the artists and what they create, it’s unlikely that students will go far without asking some of these essential questions: “What is good art?” “Who is an artist as opposed to a technician?” “Why do cultures develop and need art?” In contrast, most (but not all) courses in business administration and similar areas necessarily concentrate on “how” to do something—better, more quickly, more cheaply. Questions like “Is it right to . . . ?” or “What are the human implications of doing . . . ?” are not the first in mind for such branches of study.

But alas, study in the liberal arts disciplines can fall well short of the ideal. Courses in history, psychology, and other liberal arts areas can be narrow and technical (depending on the subject and who is doing the teaching). Liberal arts courses don’t automatically guarantee learning results that meet the ideal standards. So, for example, someone teaching a history course who sticks to an endless narrative of names, dates, and facts contributes no more to an educated-person ideal than the instructor of advanced widget sales.

Learning experiences that are soon outdated and inflexible in application are hardly the best for building the educated person. But, the understanding, abilities, and traits derived from a well-formulated set of educated-person requirements are seldom swept aside by technological change or unpredictable future trends. Educated-person learning allows students to be flexible, confident in the face of change.

To sum up, you need to do some thinking and digging around within a system of educated-person requirements to find appropriate subjects of study, good teachers, and stimulating learning strategies. Don’t be afraid to find out if your school will allow learning outside the classroom as a strategy to fulfill requirements. Overseas study, internships, community service, and independent study may be excellent options for you to pursue.




[1] Definitions supplied by the American Association of Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) are helpful. But, as you will see, the use of the terms “liberal education,” “general education,” “liberal learning,” and “core curriculum” is not uniform across higher education. That’s why I prefer to concentrate on the ideal of the educated person and how these variously labeled requirements fit with that ideal. Here’s how the AAC&U defines liberal education and general education:
Liberal Education—Liberal Education is an approach to learning that empowers individuals and prepares them to deal with complexity, diversity, and change. It provides students with broad knowledge of the wider world (e.g., science, culture, and society) as well as in-depth study in a specific area of interest. A liberal education helps students develop a sense of social responsibility, as well as strong and transferable intellectual and practical skills such as communication, analytical and problem-solving skills, and a demonstrated ability to apply knowledge and skills in a real-world setting. General Education—The part of a liberal education curriculum shared by all students. It provides broad exposure to multiple disciplines and forms the basis for developing important intellectual and civic capacities. General Education may also be called ‘the core curriculum’ or ‘liberal studies.’”

[2] The critical component of education, in contrast to the technical, attempts to expose students to multiple and conflicting perspectives on themselves and their society to test previously unexamined assumptions. It strives to create conditions that stimulate students’ intellectual, moral, and personal development. Critical education deliberately tries to stimulate students to formulate goals, develop their cognitive map of the world, and construct viewpoints about their roles in society.