Salon Books | Leaving the stage


Arts & Entertainment Books Comics Health & Body Media Mothers Who Think News People Politics2000 Technology - Free Software Project Travel & Food Columnists - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Also Today For a full list of today's Salon Books stories, go to the Books home page. - - - - - - - - - - - - Search Salon Advanced Search \| Help - - - - - - - - - - - - Recently in Salon Books Reviews "Holy Clues: The Gospel According to Sherlock Holmes" Was the redoubtable detective a mouthpiece for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's spiritual beliefs? By Sean Elder [07/07/99] Salinger and me My excellent adventures with the author of "The Catcher in the Rye." By J.B.Miller [07/06/99] The pissed-off muse She dreamed of being immortalized in literature -- until he showed her his manuscript. By Abby Ellin [07/06/99] Reviews "The Good Times" Sharp, staccato Scottish dialogue more macho than Mamet's fills James Kelman's new story collection. By Todd Pruzan [07/06/99] Reviews "Bucket of Tongues" A former janitor turned literary player pens gritty tales of Scottish street life. By Steve McQuiddy [07/06/99] Complete archives for Books - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -		Leaving the stage One young professor dares to quit lecturing and listen to her students. - - - - - - - - - - - - By Sherryl Kleinman July 7, 1999 \| In my first undergraduate class, Introduction to Social Psychology, I teach 80 students in a large room that has movable chairs and an aisle down the center. The front of the room has two steps and a stage. In one corner stands a full-body lectern, designed for average male height. The podium hides my shaky hands and gives me a place to keep my notes, but I can barely see the mass of faces. I wonder if they can see me, a talking head bobbing up and down in the corner. At least I think to ask them if they can hear me. I leave each hour-and-15-minute class with a sore throat. I take a chance one day and venture to the center of the stage, escaping the confinement of the corner. But the lectern -- the place where I think I am supposed to be -- draws me back. I am safer behind it. A month goes by. I'm still suffering the dread that begins an hour before class. Today it seems especially acute -- as if my body will rebel and finally realize my greatest fear: to enter class but not to be able to speak at all. By the time I open the door to Alumni 410, my throat is shut and I'm convinced my mouth will follow. I'm wrong; words do come out. But they're not the ones I have planned. "I can't stand it up here. I'm getting off the stage," I say. I move away from the lectern, walk down the two steps. The class applauds. The course gets better after that. I walk in front of the first row of chairs and I move up and down the aisle. Students in the back row no longer read the Daily Tar Heel. Their applause has given me courage. Over the remaining 10 weeks I begin to experiment. Sometimes I stop lecturing altogether. I have the students do some 15-minute exercises in small groups. Occasionally I ask questions any of them can answer, questions about their lives. The interaction warms my joints and I find myself doing a bit of improv, making them laugh. The pre-class dreads have almost dissolved. I ask students to apply concepts to their experiences as students, friends, daughters and sons, girlfriends and boyfriends, moviegoers, sports enthusiasts and whatever else they'll share. I ask them to think about this "education" they're participating in and the model of teaching that fits most of their classes. One assignment calls for them to write detailed field notes based on five hours of observation in a social setting. When it's time to show them that even the physical arrangement of a setting can yield important information, I use our classroom as an example. I ask them: What does this room tell us about higher education? Silence. Next page \| Reaping the rewards of mediocre teaching


Search..Archives..Contact Us..Table Talk..Ad Info..Investors