By Andrew Lagassé
From behind the row of turnbuckles and metal rods, David Maker thumps the batons of the aging carillon. Each smack of his fist makes a harsh slapping sound, followed by the resonating toll of a bell overhead.
The bells are part of the University of Connecticut’s carillon, and Maker is a professor of music and a carillonneur.
The 31 bronze alloy bells, collectively weighing 15,500 pounds, are owned and maintained by the university, but housed in Storrs Congregational Church. According to Maker, this is the only carillon publicly owned but installed on private property.
In 1931, through the generosity of Austin Cornelius Dunham, the carillon was donated to the university. It was inaugurated on June 6, 1931, the university’s 50th anniversary.
The UConn carillon is one of 11 carillons in Connecticut, and one of only a half-dozen carillons made entirely in the United States, according to Maker.
Col. Benjamin Hanks, whose foundry stood not two miles from campus in the early 1800s, was the first maker of church bells in the United States. His son’s apprentice, Andrew Meneely, created the Old Meneely Bell Co. in Watervliet, N.Y. The Storrs carillon came from the Meneely firm.
In some towns, the bells are regarded as a nuisance. “The carillon bells at Yale University are hated by the townspeople, so they have rules for when the bells can be played,” said Maker.
In other communities such as Simsbury and Storrs there are no limitations on using the carillon.
To reach the UConn carillon, one must climb up two flights of stairs inside the church. Here, the clock mechanism resides. A level below the carillon, this contraption looks like something out of a storybook. At each quarter hour the machine whirrs and whistles, gears turning, levers spinning, all of this to produce a simple song to sound the passing of time.
Two steep ladders in the church tower lie between the clock mechanism and the carillon, an instrument much less sophisticated than the piece of clock equipment below.
A single fluorescent bulb is enough light to fill the room. The wooden keyboard is composed of keys, called batons, that look like chair legs. The foot pedals jut from the bottom of the carillon. The entire wooden instrument is connected to slender metal rods that shoot up to the ceiling, like the strings of a puppet.
Above, the bronze clappers clang their notes as Maker pounds the tired batons. Every punch of the keyboard threatens to knock out the carillon for good, but the carillon continues to play the notes demanded by the carillonneur.
Such bells in the past were once used as a broadcast system, and also to determine the boundaries of a town. If a person was within earshot of the bells, then they were considered to still be in the town limits.
University officials intended to use the carillon as a passing bell, but their use as such was short lived.
A single file cabinet contains the entire library of carillon sheet music. According to Maker, there is not an abundance of music written specifically for the carillon.
Today, the carillon is worn from decades of use, and is in need of repair. Maker is optimistic that repairs will be made. “We want to start an account for donations,” said Maker. “I have no idea how soon it would be repaired.”
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Passing bells
By Alexandra Sanders
The Austin Cornelius Dunham Carillon in the Storrs Congregational Church was once used as a passing bell for students at the University of Connecticut. Today the tall steeple that remains the home to the carillon is used as a cell phone tower to broadcast signals from a telephone company.
Downstairs, the church is white and pristine with an immaculate set of stairs leading to the carillon. But with each ladder rung after the staircase, the thinner the air gets and the thicker the layers of dust and cobwebs become. The walls are partially brick and wood and they smell distinctly of a grandparent’s closet.
The room that is home to the carillon is about half the size of a dorm room and is a collision of past and present. There are rough-hewn, dusty wooden beams that support the telephone company cables and metal planks that are plastered with comics and pictures of the church. In the center of the room, sits the carillon – old and rustic, yet bright thanks to two vases of fake daffodils that adorn it.
The carillon is stuck in its own time. It looks out of place and forgotten in this era. Others may overlook it, but it is a coveted instrument to the player – or carillonneur.
The carillonneur for the demonstration was David Maker, a music professor at the university. He learned to play the instrument at Trinity College and now teaches others how to play it.
Maker’s cheerful expression and white hair didn’t fit the description of Quasimodo, but as he sat down and passionately banged his hands on the large wooden keys, the lights flickered, and at that moment – it was clear that he was meant to play the carillon.
He explained that the church is home to 31 bells, all owned by the University of Connecticut, although the church itself is privately owned. UConn students and Mansfield residents have mixed feelings about the noise that the old instrument causes.
“There are certain hours that you can play them,” said Maker. “They could be a nuisance. Some people think they are the most wonderful thing this side of heaven but others disagree.” As Maker pounds on the large keys, the room fills with banging and clinking blanketed by the sound of ringing bells. The noise seems to replace the musty air in the room and envelope the instrument that produces it.
“The instrument has only recently been thought of as a concert instrument,” Maker said with a pleased look on his face. The bells were previously only used for signals and occasions like weddings and funerals. The carillons were eventually used for musical purposes but then people lost interest and they didn’t gain popularity again until ten years ago.
“Tastes change,” said Maker. “People used to want to listen to the bells and then radio came out and they wanted that.” Listeners may alter with the times but the carillons remain the same.
The carillon has never been refurbished but Maker hopes that will change. Some of the batons clink when they are pounded on and Maker slides them to adjust the tuning. The carillonneur can’t control the length of the notes so the bells overlap, causing a sound that one would expect to be jumbled, but simply blends into itself. The sound is called a minor third and it creates stream of legato notes that carry out of the vent-like openings at the top of the church.
Because of noise pollution, and construction on campus, it is difficult to hear the bells. But years ago, they were used to define town boundaries and could be heard for miles. If someone could hear the carillon, he could be sure that he was still in Storrs, Conn.
“I’m told that on a good day, some people in Mansfield Center can still hear the bells,” said Maker.
The Austin Cornelius Dunham Carillon in the Storrs Congregational Church was once used as a passing bell for students at the University of Connecticut. Today the tall steeple that remains the home to the carillon is used as a cell phone tower to broadcast signals from a telephone company.
Downstairs, the church is white and pristine with an immaculate set of stairs leading to the carillon. But with each ladder rung after the staircase, the thinner the air gets and the thicker the layers of dust and cobwebs become. The walls are partially brick and wood and they smell distinctly of a grandparent’s closet.
The room that is home to the carillon is about half the size of a dorm room and is a collision of past and present. There are rough-hewn, dusty wooden beams that support the telephone company cables and metal planks that are plastered with comics and pictures of the church. In the center of the room, sits the carillon – old and rustic, yet bright thanks to two vases of fake daffodils that adorn it.
The carillon is stuck in its own time. It looks out of place and forgotten in this era. Others may overlook it, but it is a coveted instrument to the player – or carillonneur.
The carillonneur for the demonstration was David Maker, a music professor at the university. He learned to play the instrument at Trinity College and now teaches others how to play it.
Maker’s cheerful expression and white hair didn’t fit the description of Quasimodo, but as he sat down and passionately banged his hands on the large wooden keys, the lights flickered, and at that moment – it was clear that he was meant to play the carillon.
He explained that the church is home to 31 bells, all owned by the University of Connecticut, although the church itself is privately owned. UConn students and Mansfield residents have mixed feelings about the noise that the old instrument causes.
“There are certain hours that you can play them,” said Maker. “They could be a nuisance. Some people think they are the most wonderful thing this side of heaven but others disagree.” As Maker pounds on the large keys, the room fills with banging and clinking blanketed by the sound of ringing bells. The noise seems to replace the musty air in the room and envelope the instrument that produces it.
“The instrument has only recently been thought of as a concert instrument,” Maker said with a pleased look on his face. The bells were previously only used for signals and occasions like weddings and funerals. The carillons were eventually used for musical purposes but then people lost interest and they didn’t gain popularity again until ten years ago.
“Tastes change,” said Maker. “People used to want to listen to the bells and then radio came out and they wanted that.” Listeners may alter with the times but the carillons remain the same.
The carillon has never been refurbished but Maker hopes that will change. Some of the batons clink when they are pounded on and Maker slides them to adjust the tuning. The carillonneur can’t control the length of the notes so the bells overlap, causing a sound that one would expect to be jumbled, but simply blends into itself. The sound is called a minor third and it creates stream of legato notes that carry out of the vent-like openings at the top of the church.
Because of noise pollution, and construction on campus, it is difficult to hear the bells. But years ago, they were used to define town boundaries and could be heard for miles. If someone could hear the carillon, he could be sure that he was still in Storrs, Conn.
“I’m told that on a good day, some people in Mansfield Center can still hear the bells,” said Maker.
Bundling and the sexes
By Samantha Henry
Tree branches glisten with snow, the air is raw and the wind is strong one winter day at the University of Connecticut.
A boy, around 20, trudges in jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt, seemingly unaffected by the weather.
A girl, about the same age, shivers with each step she takes. Arms crossed, face down and hood up, she faces the cold weather with warm boots, gloves, a scarf, and a thick, puffy jacket.
“There’s a social perception that many young men subscribe to about masculinity,” Jeffrey Wickersham, a professor in the communication department specializing in gender differences, said. “Maybe it’s about being tough, braving the cold.”
Dr. Thomas Odinak, a pediatrician from Fairfield, Conn. agreed with Wickersham that there could be a social factor involved in the way that college students dress for the cold weather.
“I think that the number of kids affected in a medical way is small,” Odinak said. “It is not big enough to make a difference. An underactive thyroid causes people to feel cold. This is more common in women than men. But most women don’t have it, so I don’t think that this is the explanation.”
Some students believe that the difference lies in the size of the person.
Annie Petitti, a junior, sat in the library, still wearing a snow hat and scarf, and her nose was red from the outside cold. She said that maybe girls bundle up more because they’re smaller and could be more sensitive to the cold.
“I want to say girls have less body fat, but that’s not always true,” Petitti said.
Hormone levels are one thing that’s different, Odinak said.
“It’s possible that there’s an influence on the sense of cold. Increasing testosterone levels boosts energy and strength,” Odinak said.
Whether guys show off to be tough or just don’t care, it may be because of higher levels of testosterone, Odinak said. The difference could also be that guys are more physically active, which could keep them warmer.
“On campus, I see guys coming out of the gym in shorts, which could be part of it,” Wickersham said. “When I see guys in shorts in the cold I think ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Going to the gym? Don’t want to carry a bag?’”
When Wickersham was in college, he noted that he was more willing to go out in freezing weather than he is now. Today, he owns three heavy winter coats. “You learn,” Wickersham said. “Maybe girls know more. Maybe they learn faster.”
Odinak also noted that when he was in college he didn’t bundle up as much. “As I get older, I dress more warmly,” Odinak said.
Amanda Alvarez, a junior at UConn, thinks that maybe girls dress warmer because of fashion. Uggs, the furry boots that almost every girl on campus loves to wear, and puffy North Face coats, are popular not just because they keep the occupants warm.
“I honestly think that [guys] think that they’re too cool to wear a jacket,” Alvarez said. “I think that guys are just stupid and girls are more intelligent. Maybe men are just more warm-blooded, hunters.”
Ryan Brown, a sophomore, said that he might be cold when he goes out in just a sweatshirt, but it won’t affect him. “I just don’t care,” Brown said.
Petitti put on her coat, scarf, and hat to leave the library. Stepping out of the student union, Alvarez zips up her red puffy coat. Wickersham lifts his heavy coat from the chair in the Nathan Hale lobby, put each arm in the its proper sleeve, and walks out.
Tree branches glisten with snow, the air is raw and the wind is strong one winter day at the University of Connecticut.
A boy, around 20, trudges in jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt, seemingly unaffected by the weather.
A girl, about the same age, shivers with each step she takes. Arms crossed, face down and hood up, she faces the cold weather with warm boots, gloves, a scarf, and a thick, puffy jacket.
“There’s a social perception that many young men subscribe to about masculinity,” Jeffrey Wickersham, a professor in the communication department specializing in gender differences, said. “Maybe it’s about being tough, braving the cold.”
Dr. Thomas Odinak, a pediatrician from Fairfield, Conn. agreed with Wickersham that there could be a social factor involved in the way that college students dress for the cold weather.
“I think that the number of kids affected in a medical way is small,” Odinak said. “It is not big enough to make a difference. An underactive thyroid causes people to feel cold. This is more common in women than men. But most women don’t have it, so I don’t think that this is the explanation.”
Some students believe that the difference lies in the size of the person.
Annie Petitti, a junior, sat in the library, still wearing a snow hat and scarf, and her nose was red from the outside cold. She said that maybe girls bundle up more because they’re smaller and could be more sensitive to the cold.
“I want to say girls have less body fat, but that’s not always true,” Petitti said.
Hormone levels are one thing that’s different, Odinak said.
“It’s possible that there’s an influence on the sense of cold. Increasing testosterone levels boosts energy and strength,” Odinak said.
Whether guys show off to be tough or just don’t care, it may be because of higher levels of testosterone, Odinak said. The difference could also be that guys are more physically active, which could keep them warmer.
“On campus, I see guys coming out of the gym in shorts, which could be part of it,” Wickersham said. “When I see guys in shorts in the cold I think ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Going to the gym? Don’t want to carry a bag?’”
When Wickersham was in college, he noted that he was more willing to go out in freezing weather than he is now. Today, he owns three heavy winter coats. “You learn,” Wickersham said. “Maybe girls know more. Maybe they learn faster.”
Odinak also noted that when he was in college he didn’t bundle up as much. “As I get older, I dress more warmly,” Odinak said.
Amanda Alvarez, a junior at UConn, thinks that maybe girls dress warmer because of fashion. Uggs, the furry boots that almost every girl on campus loves to wear, and puffy North Face coats, are popular not just because they keep the occupants warm.
“I honestly think that [guys] think that they’re too cool to wear a jacket,” Alvarez said. “I think that guys are just stupid and girls are more intelligent. Maybe men are just more warm-blooded, hunters.”
Ryan Brown, a sophomore, said that he might be cold when he goes out in just a sweatshirt, but it won’t affect him. “I just don’t care,” Brown said.
Petitti put on her coat, scarf, and hat to leave the library. Stepping out of the student union, Alvarez zips up her red puffy coat. Wickersham lifts his heavy coat from the chair in the Nathan Hale lobby, put each arm in the its proper sleeve, and walks out.
Choosing not to follow the crowd
By Emily Volz
College students who make the choice to abstain from alcohol have puzzled their peers for decades. The decision not to drink can lead to misunderstanding and alienation.
“It gets really old hearing, ‘Oh, you don't drink? That's awesome man; I wish I could do that.’ Or ‘Man, I really respect that,’ only to have that person immediately stop talking to you because you're not on that level,” said Kyle Hannon, an 8th semester business management and communication sciences major.
Hannon is a former member of the non-drinking minority at the University of Connecticut. He decided to abstain from alcohol until his 21st birthday.
“Originally it was because it was what the cool kids were doing, and I wasn't friends with them so I didn't want anything to do with them,” said Hannon, explaining why he didn’t drink when he arrived at UConn.
A study by the U.S. Surgeon General and the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services shows that one in five college students abstain from alcohol.
That number is also rising, from 15 percent in 1993 to the current report showing that the level is now 19 percent.
Although their numbers are growing, these students are still part of the minority on college campuses, and they are very aware of that fact.
Making the decision to abstain from alcohol can leave non-drinkers feeling isolated from many of their peers.
Hannon said his first semester at UConn was awkward because drinking alcohol is a means for many freshmen to bond.
While Hannon became friends with other non-drinkers, he found that they too eventually began experimenting with alcohol.
“It became something I was mildly afraid of because I had waited so long to do it and had no idea how I would act when I was under the influence,” Hannon said. “Like six months before I turned 21 it was sort of me just having waited so long at this point, why not push it until 21 so the birthday would be a blowout.”
Hannon said he now spends his weekends going to the bar or drinking at his friends’ off-campus apartments. He is satisfied with his decision to abstain from alcohol until his 21st birthday.
I completely respect the decision to not drink, or to wait until you turn 21,” said Ashley Yalof, a 6th semester communications major. “But that doesn’t mean it’s something I want to do.”
Yalof began drinking in high school. She said that there was some peer pressure involved, but she doesn’t regret her decision to drink before turning 21.
“I’m not saying it’s something I can’t live without, but I think [drinking] makes college, especially parties, a lot more enjoyable,” said Yalof. “People do funny things when their drunk, it just lightens the mood and everyone loosens up.”
Students who drink often entice their peers to join in the festivities. But belligerent students can deter others from drinking; especially students who are uncomfortable losing self-control.
“I’d be pretty happy if I never drank,” said Michael Mitchell, a 6th semester economics and political science major.
Mitchell is only 20, but he doesn’t intend to drink alcohol, even after his 21st birthday.
“It's really just not my style,” said Mitchell. “I like to know that, at all times, I'm in control of myself. You always hear people excuse their actions by saying that they were drunk. I'm not a fan of that.”
Although the majority of his friends drink, Mitchell said he doesn’t consider them “party types.”
Mitchell is studying in Washington this semester, but when he is at UConn, he finds things to do during the weekend that don’t involve drinking.
“Fridays, [I] go to the gym and get food at the [Student Union],” Mitchell said. “This past semester I had a car on campus, so my friends and I did whatever we wanted… bowling, movies, restaurants, dates with my girlfriend, etcetera.”
Yet Mitchell finds that alcohol and its effects are inescapable on a college campus.
“The worst parts are when all your friends are drinking and they unintentionally alienate you,” Mitchell said. “Sometimes the nights you want to hang the most are the nights they end up drinking the most.”
Mitchell doesn’t believe there are many great benefits to abstaining from alcohol, but he is nonetheless proud of his decision to abstain.
“The best thing is that I’m comfortable enough with myself to know that drinking isn’t something that I really want to do,” Mitchell said.
College students who make the choice to abstain from alcohol have puzzled their peers for decades. The decision not to drink can lead to misunderstanding and alienation.
“It gets really old hearing, ‘Oh, you don't drink? That's awesome man; I wish I could do that.’ Or ‘Man, I really respect that,’ only to have that person immediately stop talking to you because you're not on that level,” said Kyle Hannon, an 8th semester business management and communication sciences major.
Hannon is a former member of the non-drinking minority at the University of Connecticut. He decided to abstain from alcohol until his 21st birthday.
“Originally it was because it was what the cool kids were doing, and I wasn't friends with them so I didn't want anything to do with them,” said Hannon, explaining why he didn’t drink when he arrived at UConn.
A study by the U.S. Surgeon General and the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services shows that one in five college students abstain from alcohol.
That number is also rising, from 15 percent in 1993 to the current report showing that the level is now 19 percent.
Although their numbers are growing, these students are still part of the minority on college campuses, and they are very aware of that fact.
Making the decision to abstain from alcohol can leave non-drinkers feeling isolated from many of their peers.
Hannon said his first semester at UConn was awkward because drinking alcohol is a means for many freshmen to bond.
While Hannon became friends with other non-drinkers, he found that they too eventually began experimenting with alcohol.
“It became something I was mildly afraid of because I had waited so long to do it and had no idea how I would act when I was under the influence,” Hannon said. “Like six months before I turned 21 it was sort of me just having waited so long at this point, why not push it until 21 so the birthday would be a blowout.”
Hannon said he now spends his weekends going to the bar or drinking at his friends’ off-campus apartments. He is satisfied with his decision to abstain from alcohol until his 21st birthday.
I completely respect the decision to not drink, or to wait until you turn 21,” said Ashley Yalof, a 6th semester communications major. “But that doesn’t mean it’s something I want to do.”
Yalof began drinking in high school. She said that there was some peer pressure involved, but she doesn’t regret her decision to drink before turning 21.
“I’m not saying it’s something I can’t live without, but I think [drinking] makes college, especially parties, a lot more enjoyable,” said Yalof. “People do funny things when their drunk, it just lightens the mood and everyone loosens up.”
Students who drink often entice their peers to join in the festivities. But belligerent students can deter others from drinking; especially students who are uncomfortable losing self-control.
“I’d be pretty happy if I never drank,” said Michael Mitchell, a 6th semester economics and political science major.
Mitchell is only 20, but he doesn’t intend to drink alcohol, even after his 21st birthday.
“It's really just not my style,” said Mitchell. “I like to know that, at all times, I'm in control of myself. You always hear people excuse their actions by saying that they were drunk. I'm not a fan of that.”
Although the majority of his friends drink, Mitchell said he doesn’t consider them “party types.”
Mitchell is studying in Washington this semester, but when he is at UConn, he finds things to do during the weekend that don’t involve drinking.
“Fridays, [I] go to the gym and get food at the [Student Union],” Mitchell said. “This past semester I had a car on campus, so my friends and I did whatever we wanted… bowling, movies, restaurants, dates with my girlfriend, etcetera.”
Yet Mitchell finds that alcohol and its effects are inescapable on a college campus.
“The worst parts are when all your friends are drinking and they unintentionally alienate you,” Mitchell said. “Sometimes the nights you want to hang the most are the nights they end up drinking the most.”
Mitchell doesn’t believe there are many great benefits to abstaining from alcohol, but he is nonetheless proud of his decision to abstain.
“The best thing is that I’m comfortable enough with myself to know that drinking isn’t something that I really want to do,” Mitchell said.
Finding Jayden
By Crystal Maldonado
Jayden was shy. It was September and he was just beginning preschool at the Vernon YMCA. He felt insecure, he had trouble talking to his four-year-old peers, and he rarely participated in class or played tag with others.
Katie Zurowick wanted to teach and work with children. Full of energy and enthusiastic, as a senior at the University of Connecticut majoring in education, Zurowick was looking for a program that would provide her with experience and help her work closely with kids. She applied to UConn’s new program, Jumpstart, which paired college students with preschoolers.
And that’s how she met Jayden.
UConn’s partnership with the national children’s early literacy program, Jumpstart, began in 2007. The program aims to increase reading and comprehension in young children by intervening during the early education years.
According to Meg Marshall, Jumpstart site manager for UConn, Meg Marshall, a local student, Colleen Deasy, first recommended the program. Deasy approached Matt Farley, associate director of community outreach, about starting a local chapter. Her idea was well received by faculty members and the program began.
“The whole thing is based on the vision of a student,” said Marshall.
Jumpstart matches children with college students in a classroom setting. The volunteers are called corps members, and they commit their full academic year to the kids, working 10 to 12 hours split into two sessions per week. Corps members dedicate four hours a week to their partnered children, two hours a week to their fellow volunteers in a group session, and then several hours of classroom assistance. Occasionally, they even work on weekends.
Nicole Abbott, a senior majoring in psychology who has participated with Jumpstart said, “The program helps in so many ways other than just reading to kids. We have an important responsibility to these children.”
At UConn, for the 2008 to 2009 year, there were 42 corps members serving 44 children one-on-one. Because the corps members also do classroom work, Marshall estimates that their efforts extend to approximately 100 children. Though only in its second year, the program has been successful, according to Marshall.
“Data shows that students make better gains when part of the program,” said Marshall. “The program is based in low-income preschools and we must face realities of achievement gap. One-on-one attention really makes a difference.”
Because of this, Marshall hopes that Jumpstart will eventually expand throughout Connecticut.
“There’s a tremendous need in inner-city and rural areas,” she explained.
Currently, UConn is the only college in Connecticut involved with Jumpstart. UConn students are matched with preschool children in four surrounding areas: Hockanum Valley Child Development Center, Vernon Head Start, Mansfield Discovery Depot, and Vernon YMCA.
It was at Vernon where Zurowick and Jayden, whose mother did not want his last name used in the story, eventually met.
Zurowick’s Jumpstart team would arrive each day at around 1 p.m., just after the children’s naps. The kids who were involved with Jumpstart were separated into a different room, where they would have what was referred to as a welcoming circle: everyone would sit and discuss how things were going. A group reading activity followed, and then the children were free to choose any activity they wanted.
After that, they would move into one-on-one groups. The mentors would sit with the children and read for 20 to 30 minutes. Throughout the week, they would also meet with the preschoolers for one-hour mentoring sessions.
“We were also in charge of creating activities and lessons the children could learn from. Helping to spark their interests in reading was very important and a main goal,” explained Zurowick. “But sometimes we would just need to be there to show that we care and that we would listen if they wanted to talk.”
Abbott agreed. “The kids depend on us. We’re their friends.”
Both volunteers felt that the hours spent one-on-one with their kids were most important. Zurowick said that it was in those times that she saw the most growth in Jayden.
“He was very shy and insecure at the start of the year,” she said. “Yet by the end, he was running around playing with all the other children. It was incredible to be a part of.”
Jayden immensely benefited from the program. Not only was Jayden prepared for kindergarten, but he flourished into a talkative, energetic little boy.
But it may have been Zurowick who benefited more. She is still in contact with Jayden and his mom, and she took away memories that she will carry with her.
“The day Jayden graduated, he ran up to me and told me I was his best friend in the whole world and he wished I could be his sister,” she said. “That meant everything to me.”
Jayden was shy. It was September and he was just beginning preschool at the Vernon YMCA. He felt insecure, he had trouble talking to his four-year-old peers, and he rarely participated in class or played tag with others.
Katie Zurowick wanted to teach and work with children. Full of energy and enthusiastic, as a senior at the University of Connecticut majoring in education, Zurowick was looking for a program that would provide her with experience and help her work closely with kids. She applied to UConn’s new program, Jumpstart, which paired college students with preschoolers.
And that’s how she met Jayden.
UConn’s partnership with the national children’s early literacy program, Jumpstart, began in 2007. The program aims to increase reading and comprehension in young children by intervening during the early education years.
According to Meg Marshall, Jumpstart site manager for UConn, Meg Marshall, a local student, Colleen Deasy, first recommended the program. Deasy approached Matt Farley, associate director of community outreach, about starting a local chapter. Her idea was well received by faculty members and the program began.
“The whole thing is based on the vision of a student,” said Marshall.
Jumpstart matches children with college students in a classroom setting. The volunteers are called corps members, and they commit their full academic year to the kids, working 10 to 12 hours split into two sessions per week. Corps members dedicate four hours a week to their partnered children, two hours a week to their fellow volunteers in a group session, and then several hours of classroom assistance. Occasionally, they even work on weekends.
Nicole Abbott, a senior majoring in psychology who has participated with Jumpstart said, “The program helps in so many ways other than just reading to kids. We have an important responsibility to these children.”
At UConn, for the 2008 to 2009 year, there were 42 corps members serving 44 children one-on-one. Because the corps members also do classroom work, Marshall estimates that their efforts extend to approximately 100 children. Though only in its second year, the program has been successful, according to Marshall.
“Data shows that students make better gains when part of the program,” said Marshall. “The program is based in low-income preschools and we must face realities of achievement gap. One-on-one attention really makes a difference.”
Because of this, Marshall hopes that Jumpstart will eventually expand throughout Connecticut.
“There’s a tremendous need in inner-city and rural areas,” she explained.
Currently, UConn is the only college in Connecticut involved with Jumpstart. UConn students are matched with preschool children in four surrounding areas: Hockanum Valley Child Development Center, Vernon Head Start, Mansfield Discovery Depot, and Vernon YMCA.
It was at Vernon where Zurowick and Jayden, whose mother did not want his last name used in the story, eventually met.
Zurowick’s Jumpstart team would arrive each day at around 1 p.m., just after the children’s naps. The kids who were involved with Jumpstart were separated into a different room, where they would have what was referred to as a welcoming circle: everyone would sit and discuss how things were going. A group reading activity followed, and then the children were free to choose any activity they wanted.
After that, they would move into one-on-one groups. The mentors would sit with the children and read for 20 to 30 minutes. Throughout the week, they would also meet with the preschoolers for one-hour mentoring sessions.
“We were also in charge of creating activities and lessons the children could learn from. Helping to spark their interests in reading was very important and a main goal,” explained Zurowick. “But sometimes we would just need to be there to show that we care and that we would listen if they wanted to talk.”
Abbott agreed. “The kids depend on us. We’re their friends.”
Both volunteers felt that the hours spent one-on-one with their kids were most important. Zurowick said that it was in those times that she saw the most growth in Jayden.
“He was very shy and insecure at the start of the year,” she said. “Yet by the end, he was running around playing with all the other children. It was incredible to be a part of.”
Jayden immensely benefited from the program. Not only was Jayden prepared for kindergarten, but he flourished into a talkative, energetic little boy.
But it may have been Zurowick who benefited more. She is still in contact with Jayden and his mom, and she took away memories that she will carry with her.
“The day Jayden graduated, he ran up to me and told me I was his best friend in the whole world and he wished I could be his sister,” she said. “That meant everything to me.”
When silence works wonders
By Marc Gauthier
On a Tuesday afternoon, Doreen Simons walks into her classroom of about 20 students at the University of Connecticut. There’s a light chatter, but Simons will never know it.
Before Simons starts her lecture or collects homework, she stands in front of the class and asks her students about their weekends.
In one simultaneous effort, the entire class falls silent, but again, Simons will never know it.
When she moves her lips, no voice comes out. But when she moves her hands, she speaks volumes.
“She really stresses the communication with people,” said Diane Lillo-Martin, former linguistics department head. “She’ll find different ways to do it, whether it’s through miming or visual aids. I think that’s an important part of her success.”
Simons is one of two deaf professors at the University of Connecticut. She teaches American Sign Language (ASL), as well as other various deaf culture courses. to hearing students.
Simons’ first started at UConn in 1986. At that time, she was asked to be an ASL researcher for Martin, who wanted a researcher who was a native speaker of the language.
After a year, Simons noticed five graduate students who were pursing their doctorates in ASL, yet weren’t taking any ASL classes.
She knew something wasn’t right.
Simons started to teach the students ASL, but as a researcher, the university couldn’t pay her to teach.
“I volunteered to teach them all for two classes a week on Tuesday and Thursday nights,” Simons said. “I remember that they paid me $50 – out of their pockets – to teach them.”
Others started to hear about Simons and her ASL classes.
“She kept encouraging me to help set up ASL courses,” Martin said. “As we were increasing the ASL program, Doreen was always pushing to improve and expand the program. She convinced me and I convinced the administration.”
In 1989, Simons was hired by the university as a part-time employee. She started with one class, which quickly became two.
By 2002, Simons became the first full-time deaf professor at UConn.
But as a deaf professor at a hearing university, there are difficulties Simons must face when she steps into a classroom.
“There are tons of differences in teaching as a deaf professor,” Martin said. “You need more one-on-one time, especially with sign language. The teacher needs to see everyone and interact with each person one at a time.”
When Simons first started to teach, she knew these challenges were out there. But the pride she had as a deaf individual wouldn’t let her fail.
“I remember when I was 9 years old and my dad and I went into a store and I asked him to get something for me,” Simons said. “He told me, ‘I’m deaf too. Why do I have to do it for you? Some hearing people will have bad attitudes towards the deaf, but all the others have good attitudes.’ I always thought to myself that I can do it, even if I have to find a different way.”
Since 2004, the number of students enrolling in ASL classes every year has increased from 60 to 240. In 2006, the department asked Simons to teach two ASL summer courses to accommodate some of the 150 students who were put on a waiting list for the class.
While Simons has become quite popular amongst her hearing students, she has only taught one deaf student. This doesn’t bother her. In fact, Simons sees her success at UConn as an important influence for the deaf community.
“It shows [deaf people] that I can do it and so can they,” Simons said. “I also influence hearing parents who have deaf children and even my students, who see that deaf people can succeed.”
Two hours of ASL class flies by when Simons looks down at her watch and realizes she’s kept her students late. She dismisses the students, letting them know what’s due on Thursday.
As she leaves, Simons turns off the light and walks down the hall.
She leaves some of the silence back in the room. The rest, she takes with her.
On a Tuesday afternoon, Doreen Simons walks into her classroom of about 20 students at the University of Connecticut. There’s a light chatter, but Simons will never know it.
Before Simons starts her lecture or collects homework, she stands in front of the class and asks her students about their weekends.
In one simultaneous effort, the entire class falls silent, but again, Simons will never know it.
When she moves her lips, no voice comes out. But when she moves her hands, she speaks volumes.
“She really stresses the communication with people,” said Diane Lillo-Martin, former linguistics department head. “She’ll find different ways to do it, whether it’s through miming or visual aids. I think that’s an important part of her success.”
Simons is one of two deaf professors at the University of Connecticut. She teaches American Sign Language (ASL), as well as other various deaf culture courses. to hearing students.
Simons’ first started at UConn in 1986. At that time, she was asked to be an ASL researcher for Martin, who wanted a researcher who was a native speaker of the language.
After a year, Simons noticed five graduate students who were pursing their doctorates in ASL, yet weren’t taking any ASL classes.
She knew something wasn’t right.
Simons started to teach the students ASL, but as a researcher, the university couldn’t pay her to teach.
“I volunteered to teach them all for two classes a week on Tuesday and Thursday nights,” Simons said. “I remember that they paid me $50 – out of their pockets – to teach them.”
Others started to hear about Simons and her ASL classes.
“She kept encouraging me to help set up ASL courses,” Martin said. “As we were increasing the ASL program, Doreen was always pushing to improve and expand the program. She convinced me and I convinced the administration.”
In 1989, Simons was hired by the university as a part-time employee. She started with one class, which quickly became two.
By 2002, Simons became the first full-time deaf professor at UConn.
But as a deaf professor at a hearing university, there are difficulties Simons must face when she steps into a classroom.
“There are tons of differences in teaching as a deaf professor,” Martin said. “You need more one-on-one time, especially with sign language. The teacher needs to see everyone and interact with each person one at a time.”
When Simons first started to teach, she knew these challenges were out there. But the pride she had as a deaf individual wouldn’t let her fail.
“I remember when I was 9 years old and my dad and I went into a store and I asked him to get something for me,” Simons said. “He told me, ‘I’m deaf too. Why do I have to do it for you? Some hearing people will have bad attitudes towards the deaf, but all the others have good attitudes.’ I always thought to myself that I can do it, even if I have to find a different way.”
Since 2004, the number of students enrolling in ASL classes every year has increased from 60 to 240. In 2006, the department asked Simons to teach two ASL summer courses to accommodate some of the 150 students who were put on a waiting list for the class.
While Simons has become quite popular amongst her hearing students, she has only taught one deaf student. This doesn’t bother her. In fact, Simons sees her success at UConn as an important influence for the deaf community.
“It shows [deaf people] that I can do it and so can they,” Simons said. “I also influence hearing parents who have deaf children and even my students, who see that deaf people can succeed.”
Two hours of ASL class flies by when Simons looks down at her watch and realizes she’s kept her students late. She dismisses the students, letting them know what’s due on Thursday.
As she leaves, Simons turns off the light and walks down the hall.
She leaves some of the silence back in the room. The rest, she takes with her.
When to keep your head down
By Andrew Lagassé
It can be found on the sidewalk, in the parking lot, or under the couch. It could be in the dryer, the car, or even in one’s pockets.
Loose change is everywhere, and in tough economic times, every penny counts. So why is it that many people don’t stop to pick up a couple of cents on the sidewalk?
Charles Lowe, head of the University of Connecticut’s psychology department, has a theory. “It could be because students are simply in a hurry to get somewhere,” says Lowe.
This seems to be the case for Ashley Sayadoff, a 4th semester pre-pharmacy major at UConn. “I’m not really looking for change on the ground,” says Sayadoff. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t have time to pick it up.”
Cleo Rahmy, also a UConn student, doesn’t bother to pick up change either. “Unless it’s a half-dollar or something very rare, I’m not going to bend down and get all dirty for a penny,” says Rahmy, an 8th semester English and education major.
If Rep. Jim Kolbe has his way, Rahmy may not have to worry about picking up or seeing any pennies on the ground.
Twice Kolbe has proposed legislation in Congress that would eliminate the penny. Both his 2001 and 2006 bill failed to make it to the House floor for a vote.
The Arizona representative said that the penny costs more to make than its face value. The U.S. Mint in it’s 2008 report concurred, citing, dramatic increases in the cost of zinc and other metals.
However, the U.S. Mint will release four new versions of the penny in 2009. Lincoln’s portrait will still appear on the “heads” side of the coin, but the “tails” side will depict four different scenes from Lincoln’s life, including his Illinois log cabin.
Robert Martel, a UConn economics professor, believes the penny is as important as every other coinage.
“We need fractional parts of a dollar, and coins are more durable than paper,” says Martel. “The lower the denomination, the faster the circulation.”
Coins are essential to U.S. currency, but they can also potentially influence a person’s mood.
A 1972 psychological study by Alice Isen and Paula Levin demonstrated the relationship between “feeling good” and helping by using loose change.
In the study, a dime was placed in the coin slot of a telephone booth. When someone went to make a phone call and unexpectedly found the dime, a woman would walk behind them and drop her papers on the ground.
The study showed that people who found the dime in the coin slot were more likely to spontaneously help the woman than those that didn’t find any money.
Aly Moreno, a UConn student, certainly feels good when she finds change on the ground. “I pick up change so I can save it all and cash it in.” Moreno, an 8th semester economics major, says last year she picked up around $15 in change.
“I remember I always walked around with my head down when I was a kid,” says Lowe. “My father told me to pick my head up when I was walking, so I did. A few steps later, he found a $5 bill on the ground.”
Sometimes it pays to keep your head down.
It can be found on the sidewalk, in the parking lot, or under the couch. It could be in the dryer, the car, or even in one’s pockets.
Loose change is everywhere, and in tough economic times, every penny counts. So why is it that many people don’t stop to pick up a couple of cents on the sidewalk?
Charles Lowe, head of the University of Connecticut’s psychology department, has a theory. “It could be because students are simply in a hurry to get somewhere,” says Lowe.
This seems to be the case for Ashley Sayadoff, a 4th semester pre-pharmacy major at UConn. “I’m not really looking for change on the ground,” says Sayadoff. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t have time to pick it up.”
Cleo Rahmy, also a UConn student, doesn’t bother to pick up change either. “Unless it’s a half-dollar or something very rare, I’m not going to bend down and get all dirty for a penny,” says Rahmy, an 8th semester English and education major.
If Rep. Jim Kolbe has his way, Rahmy may not have to worry about picking up or seeing any pennies on the ground.
Twice Kolbe has proposed legislation in Congress that would eliminate the penny. Both his 2001 and 2006 bill failed to make it to the House floor for a vote.
The Arizona representative said that the penny costs more to make than its face value. The U.S. Mint in it’s 2008 report concurred, citing, dramatic increases in the cost of zinc and other metals.
However, the U.S. Mint will release four new versions of the penny in 2009. Lincoln’s portrait will still appear on the “heads” side of the coin, but the “tails” side will depict four different scenes from Lincoln’s life, including his Illinois log cabin.
Robert Martel, a UConn economics professor, believes the penny is as important as every other coinage.
“We need fractional parts of a dollar, and coins are more durable than paper,” says Martel. “The lower the denomination, the faster the circulation.”
Coins are essential to U.S. currency, but they can also potentially influence a person’s mood.
A 1972 psychological study by Alice Isen and Paula Levin demonstrated the relationship between “feeling good” and helping by using loose change.
In the study, a dime was placed in the coin slot of a telephone booth. When someone went to make a phone call and unexpectedly found the dime, a woman would walk behind them and drop her papers on the ground.
The study showed that people who found the dime in the coin slot were more likely to spontaneously help the woman than those that didn’t find any money.
Aly Moreno, a UConn student, certainly feels good when she finds change on the ground. “I pick up change so I can save it all and cash it in.” Moreno, an 8th semester economics major, says last year she picked up around $15 in change.
“I remember I always walked around with my head down when I was a kid,” says Lowe. “My father told me to pick my head up when I was walking, so I did. A few steps later, he found a $5 bill on the ground.”
Sometimes it pays to keep your head down.
Troubles in paradise
By Britton Taylor
In January Lindsay Pratt left the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, Mass. to study in Florence, Italy for six months. "My first few weeks here were wonderful," said Pratt. "I loved my new home."
But it all changed one night in a bar when a man threatened her with a knife and the Florence police failed to investigate.
Studying abroad is an adventure for many college students. They look forward to learning a new language, being immersed in a new culture and meeting new people. But for some students, their adventure comes with unexpected and sometimes dangerous outcomes.
Hannah Urkowitz, an employee at Florence For Fun, a travel company that connects American students studying abroad in Florence and attempts to provide fun and safe activities, says that bad experiences do happen. “We deal with students who may have had trouble with locals in Florence,” she said. “This semester alone, we have helped five different people contact the Florence police about a situation in which they felt threatened.”
Urkowitz added that there is danger in any major city. “It is just how Americans carry themselves that brings attention,” she said. “When they get drunk, they draw unwanted predators.”
Like many American students studying abroad, Pratt and her friends found solace in a bar in Florence that plays American music; a connection to college life back in the states. "I have gotten to know most of the people that work and frequent there," said Pratt.
One night at the bar, Pratt “let her guard down”, she says, and “drank more than usual.” She began dancing with a man she didn't know. "The Italian men have no respect for American girls, when they dance with you they put their hands all over you and are very inappropriate," she said.
After a few minutes Pratt began to feel uncomfortable and attempted to push him away. "He wouldn't let go of my arm, he held on really tight. Then he let go and I went flying to the floor spilling my drink all over me."
Later Pratt purposely spilt her drink on he man. He grabbed her and threw her against a wall. "All of the sudden, he had me pinned against the wall by my neck and he pulled out a knife. He began screaming and from what I could make out, he was telling me to never come back to the club or he was going to kill me," said Pratt.
Pratt and her friends fled the bar. They dragged a distraught Pratt through the winding streets of Florence to the police station. Five hours passed before an officer finally came to question her.
"At that point I was livid," said Pratt. "I just wanted to get out of there and go home." Pratt filed a report, but the police said there wasn't much they could do without a name or a good description of the man who had assaulted Pratt.
"The police were absolutely no help,” said Pratt. “They acted like they couldn't care less. In reality, I bet they get these situations all the time."
The police sent Pratt home and told her to contact them if she ever saw the man again. Not that she would let that happen. "I am never going back to that bar again, I bought pepper spray to keep with me when I go out," she said.
According to the University of Connecticut’s study abroad office website, the issue of personal safety is discussed when university gives an orientation to students planning on studying abroad. They offer advice such as, “Avoid poorly lit places and walking alone. Stick to well-traveled streets and try to walk in groups at night. Students should be especially cautious when in a new city and not yet sure what parts of town may be less safe.”
University officials also address the issue of alcohol consumption. “Use alcohol sparingly and be aware that drinking even a small amount could increase your vulnerability to crime.” But university officials also acknowledge that the school is not responsible and cannot guarantee the safety of students.
Ronell Hardin, a former student who moved to Seville, Spain for the immediate future, had a similar experience with the police when he was robbed while in the Barcelona airport. "My bag was taken from the seat next to me while I was waiting for my plane," said Hardin. He lost his passport, 1,000 euros and all of his clothes he was carrying with him. "I got up to throw something away for a second and it was gone."
Hardin was convinced that the airport police would be able to help him if he gave a good description of his bright blue backpack. "I frantically ran over to the first cop I saw and explained what had happened," he said. "I thought the least they could do was make an announcement to the airport security so they would look for a person carrying my bag, I gave them a full description of it."
But the police did nothing. In fact, Hardin was reprimanded for not looking after his belongings and for bothering them with such a complaint. "Let's just say, my experience with the Barcelona airport security was less than satisfactory," he said.
While students may find their study abroad experiences tainted by these unwelcome occurrences, “It didn’t make me want to up and move back home,” said Pratt. She will be finishing up her semester in Florence and returning back home in May.
“I am still shaken up, but I am taking it as a learning experience,” she said. “I know to not drink like I am back at home around people I know. You have to be more careful here.”
In January Lindsay Pratt left the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, Mass. to study in Florence, Italy for six months. "My first few weeks here were wonderful," said Pratt. "I loved my new home."
But it all changed one night in a bar when a man threatened her with a knife and the Florence police failed to investigate.
Studying abroad is an adventure for many college students. They look forward to learning a new language, being immersed in a new culture and meeting new people. But for some students, their adventure comes with unexpected and sometimes dangerous outcomes.
Hannah Urkowitz, an employee at Florence For Fun, a travel company that connects American students studying abroad in Florence and attempts to provide fun and safe activities, says that bad experiences do happen. “We deal with students who may have had trouble with locals in Florence,” she said. “This semester alone, we have helped five different people contact the Florence police about a situation in which they felt threatened.”
Urkowitz added that there is danger in any major city. “It is just how Americans carry themselves that brings attention,” she said. “When they get drunk, they draw unwanted predators.”
Like many American students studying abroad, Pratt and her friends found solace in a bar in Florence that plays American music; a connection to college life back in the states. "I have gotten to know most of the people that work and frequent there," said Pratt.
One night at the bar, Pratt “let her guard down”, she says, and “drank more than usual.” She began dancing with a man she didn't know. "The Italian men have no respect for American girls, when they dance with you they put their hands all over you and are very inappropriate," she said.
After a few minutes Pratt began to feel uncomfortable and attempted to push him away. "He wouldn't let go of my arm, he held on really tight. Then he let go and I went flying to the floor spilling my drink all over me."
Later Pratt purposely spilt her drink on he man. He grabbed her and threw her against a wall. "All of the sudden, he had me pinned against the wall by my neck and he pulled out a knife. He began screaming and from what I could make out, he was telling me to never come back to the club or he was going to kill me," said Pratt.
Pratt and her friends fled the bar. They dragged a distraught Pratt through the winding streets of Florence to the police station. Five hours passed before an officer finally came to question her.
"At that point I was livid," said Pratt. "I just wanted to get out of there and go home." Pratt filed a report, but the police said there wasn't much they could do without a name or a good description of the man who had assaulted Pratt.
"The police were absolutely no help,” said Pratt. “They acted like they couldn't care less. In reality, I bet they get these situations all the time."
The police sent Pratt home and told her to contact them if she ever saw the man again. Not that she would let that happen. "I am never going back to that bar again, I bought pepper spray to keep with me when I go out," she said.
According to the University of Connecticut’s study abroad office website, the issue of personal safety is discussed when university gives an orientation to students planning on studying abroad. They offer advice such as, “Avoid poorly lit places and walking alone. Stick to well-traveled streets and try to walk in groups at night. Students should be especially cautious when in a new city and not yet sure what parts of town may be less safe.”
University officials also address the issue of alcohol consumption. “Use alcohol sparingly and be aware that drinking even a small amount could increase your vulnerability to crime.” But university officials also acknowledge that the school is not responsible and cannot guarantee the safety of students.
Ronell Hardin, a former student who moved to Seville, Spain for the immediate future, had a similar experience with the police when he was robbed while in the Barcelona airport. "My bag was taken from the seat next to me while I was waiting for my plane," said Hardin. He lost his passport, 1,000 euros and all of his clothes he was carrying with him. "I got up to throw something away for a second and it was gone."
Hardin was convinced that the airport police would be able to help him if he gave a good description of his bright blue backpack. "I frantically ran over to the first cop I saw and explained what had happened," he said. "I thought the least they could do was make an announcement to the airport security so they would look for a person carrying my bag, I gave them a full description of it."
But the police did nothing. In fact, Hardin was reprimanded for not looking after his belongings and for bothering them with such a complaint. "Let's just say, my experience with the Barcelona airport security was less than satisfactory," he said.
While students may find their study abroad experiences tainted by these unwelcome occurrences, “It didn’t make me want to up and move back home,” said Pratt. She will be finishing up her semester in Florence and returning back home in May.
“I am still shaken up, but I am taking it as a learning experience,” she said. “I know to not drink like I am back at home around people I know. You have to be more careful here.”
Don Murray took the mystique out of writing
By Samantha Henry
“He was a writer who studied writing, who studied himself, who never let a day go by without writing, and he was an inspiration to so many writers,” said Christopher “Chip” Scanlan about Donald Murray.
Murray’s dedication to Scanlan in his book “Writing to Deadline” referred to Scanlan as a “master journalist, caring teacher, writing colleague, [and] constant friend.”
Scanlan, currently a writer for the Poynter Institute, first met Murray while working as a reporter at the Providence Journal. Murray had come to help the writers better their craft.
“I met Don Murray in the early ‘80s at the Providence Journal,” said Robert Wyss, a journalism professor at the University of Connecticut. “He was a big man. He looked kind of like Santa Claus with his big beard and big belly. He was jolly like Santa Claus too, come to think of it.”
Murray taught Wyss and the other writers at the Providence Journal how information could be broken down and made more accessible – he took the mystique out of writing, Wyss said.
Wayne Worcester, also a journalism professor at UConn, first met Murray in the early 1970s as an undergraduate at the University of New Hampshire.
“He was the first of my mentors,” Worcester said. “I learned how to write in Don’s classes. I learned what reporting and writing was all about and why the two were equally important in journalism.”
When Murray died on Dec. 30, 2006 at age 82, he left legions of writers that excel in journalism because of what he taught them.
According to “Introduction: The Essential Donald Murray,” written in part by Thomas Newkirk, one of Murray’s editors, “No one studied the writing process as obsessively as Murray did, and no one wrote it as eloquently and incisively.”
Scanlan, Wyss, and Worcester are now all seasoned journalists with skills that they attribute to the lessons that Murray taught them.
“ He told all of us that one of the most important things a writer could do was to read, read, read and follow his maxim from Horace, 68 A.D., Sine dies nulle linea, which means ‘Never a day without a line,’” Worcester said. “It means write every day. Don was one of the most disciplined writers I’ve ever known. If he had no particular goal in mind, he would sit down and write. The premise was, when you get the fingers moving and the mind in gear, things start to happen. And he was right.”
The writers and editors were skeptical when Murray first came into the Providence Journal. Wyss thought, ‘What in the world could he teach seasoned reporters?’
Scanlan wrote in an article for the Poynter Institute of the moment Murray walked in to the Providence Journal: “Now, chilly receptions often greet academics who venture into newsrooms where cynicism reigns, and murmurs of ‘those who can do, teach’ are never far from journalists’ lips. Don Murray was different. There was no doubt he could ‘do.’”
Murray worked as a writing coach for the Providence Journal as well as The Boston Globe.
“I was more interested in what worked,” Murray wrote in his book, “Writing to Deadline.” “How did reporters and editors collect information, organize it in a clear, coherent, and often graceful style in a matter of hours, meeting impossible deadlines day after day, hour after hour?”
Murray “became an investigative reporter before he knew the term,” he wrote. As a child, he would felt his world was full of contradictions with criticisms jumping from family member to family member.
“I was a listener, a watcher, a spy, a sneak. I was driven by continuous, hungry curiosity – and I still am,” Murray wrote.
Murray dropped out of high school in tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades to work on the Boston-Record American, where he lied about his age to get the job.
“I don’t know if they believed my age, but they knew I would work long hours for about four bucks a day,” Murray wrote in his book, “Writing to Deadline.”
Murray later finished school at Tilton School and Tilton Junior College before graduating from the University of New Hampshire. At the time of his death, Murray lived in Durham, N.H., where he was able to walk to UNH and teach English. Murray also established the journalism program at UNH while working as a writing coach.
In his early years after college, Murray was ashamed to be a journalist. As an English major in college, he was taught that journalism was not literature.
“I was a professional writer but I was not literary,” Murray wrote in his book “Writing to Deadline.” “But basically I was a journalist, not – I thought – a real writer. Even a Pulitzer – for journalism – could not change my feeling that I practiced a craft that could never become art.”
In 1954 he was the youngest person ever to win the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing for a series about national defense written for the Boston Herald.
“Don Murray probably did more in his lifetime to de-mystify the process of writing than any other person in the country,” said Worcester. “He had little tolerance for the poseur who insists on waiting for the muse to visit before writing can begin. Little wonder that Murray’s books on writing are useful to the novice and the professional both.”
Murray later learned to take pride in his craft.
“He was an extraordinary teacher, a gifted poet, novelist, columnist, reporter and teacher and a life-long student of the craft of writing,” Worcester said.
What is unique about the way Murray writes?
“His vulnerability,” Scanlan said. “His willingness to show, in his writing, strength by admitting his weaknesses, to show courage by doing what he feared, and by reminding all of us that we should never apologize for being human.”
When Murray died he left behind two daughters, Anne and Hannah, sons-in-law Karl and Michael, and three grandchildren, Michaela, Joshua, and Samuel. His wife of 54 years, Minnie Mae, died in February 2005 from Parkinson’s disease.
“[Murray] was a gadget freak,” said Scanlan. “He loved computers, always buying the newest ones. On his desk when he died was a beautiful iMac with a massive screen – not sure if it was 20” or 24”. He was always buying new scanners and hoped for optical character recognition software that really worked. I admired the way he started his career writing on manual typewriters and finished, at 82, with a digital one. We used to joke that we could get gadgets – I’m an early adopter too – by telling our wives, ‘They’re tools, not toys.’ It didn’t always work!”
Narrative was always part of Murray’s life. He wrote in his book “Writing to Deadline” that as a child he would put himself to sleep telling stories.
Newkirk wrote that Murray’s stories brought his own stories to the forefront. Murray’s passion with writing inspired people to write – to put words on paper – or screen, Newkirk wrote.
“Stories explained the world, found cause and effect in confusion, sequence in contradiction, order in disorder,” Murray wrote. “I was fascinated by stories, terrified by stories, comforted by stories, instructed by stories.”
“He was a writer who studied writing, who studied himself, who never let a day go by without writing, and he was an inspiration to so many writers,” said Christopher “Chip” Scanlan about Donald Murray.
Murray’s dedication to Scanlan in his book “Writing to Deadline” referred to Scanlan as a “master journalist, caring teacher, writing colleague, [and] constant friend.”
Scanlan, currently a writer for the Poynter Institute, first met Murray while working as a reporter at the Providence Journal. Murray had come to help the writers better their craft.
“I met Don Murray in the early ‘80s at the Providence Journal,” said Robert Wyss, a journalism professor at the University of Connecticut. “He was a big man. He looked kind of like Santa Claus with his big beard and big belly. He was jolly like Santa Claus too, come to think of it.”
Murray taught Wyss and the other writers at the Providence Journal how information could be broken down and made more accessible – he took the mystique out of writing, Wyss said.
Wayne Worcester, also a journalism professor at UConn, first met Murray in the early 1970s as an undergraduate at the University of New Hampshire.
“He was the first of my mentors,” Worcester said. “I learned how to write in Don’s classes. I learned what reporting and writing was all about and why the two were equally important in journalism.”
When Murray died on Dec. 30, 2006 at age 82, he left legions of writers that excel in journalism because of what he taught them.
According to “Introduction: The Essential Donald Murray,” written in part by Thomas Newkirk, one of Murray’s editors, “No one studied the writing process as obsessively as Murray did, and no one wrote it as eloquently and incisively.”
Scanlan, Wyss, and Worcester are now all seasoned journalists with skills that they attribute to the lessons that Murray taught them.
“ He told all of us that one of the most important things a writer could do was to read, read, read and follow his maxim from Horace, 68 A.D., Sine dies nulle linea, which means ‘Never a day without a line,’” Worcester said. “It means write every day. Don was one of the most disciplined writers I’ve ever known. If he had no particular goal in mind, he would sit down and write. The premise was, when you get the fingers moving and the mind in gear, things start to happen. And he was right.”
The writers and editors were skeptical when Murray first came into the Providence Journal. Wyss thought, ‘What in the world could he teach seasoned reporters?’
Scanlan wrote in an article for the Poynter Institute of the moment Murray walked in to the Providence Journal: “Now, chilly receptions often greet academics who venture into newsrooms where cynicism reigns, and murmurs of ‘those who can do, teach’ are never far from journalists’ lips. Don Murray was different. There was no doubt he could ‘do.’”
Murray worked as a writing coach for the Providence Journal as well as The Boston Globe.
“I was more interested in what worked,” Murray wrote in his book, “Writing to Deadline.” “How did reporters and editors collect information, organize it in a clear, coherent, and often graceful style in a matter of hours, meeting impossible deadlines day after day, hour after hour?”
Murray “became an investigative reporter before he knew the term,” he wrote. As a child, he would felt his world was full of contradictions with criticisms jumping from family member to family member.
“I was a listener, a watcher, a spy, a sneak. I was driven by continuous, hungry curiosity – and I still am,” Murray wrote.
Murray dropped out of high school in tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades to work on the Boston-Record American, where he lied about his age to get the job.
“I don’t know if they believed my age, but they knew I would work long hours for about four bucks a day,” Murray wrote in his book, “Writing to Deadline.”
Murray later finished school at Tilton School and Tilton Junior College before graduating from the University of New Hampshire. At the time of his death, Murray lived in Durham, N.H., where he was able to walk to UNH and teach English. Murray also established the journalism program at UNH while working as a writing coach.
In his early years after college, Murray was ashamed to be a journalist. As an English major in college, he was taught that journalism was not literature.
“I was a professional writer but I was not literary,” Murray wrote in his book “Writing to Deadline.” “But basically I was a journalist, not – I thought – a real writer. Even a Pulitzer – for journalism – could not change my feeling that I practiced a craft that could never become art.”
In 1954 he was the youngest person ever to win the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing for a series about national defense written for the Boston Herald.
“Don Murray probably did more in his lifetime to de-mystify the process of writing than any other person in the country,” said Worcester. “He had little tolerance for the poseur who insists on waiting for the muse to visit before writing can begin. Little wonder that Murray’s books on writing are useful to the novice and the professional both.”
Murray later learned to take pride in his craft.
“He was an extraordinary teacher, a gifted poet, novelist, columnist, reporter and teacher and a life-long student of the craft of writing,” Worcester said.
What is unique about the way Murray writes?
“His vulnerability,” Scanlan said. “His willingness to show, in his writing, strength by admitting his weaknesses, to show courage by doing what he feared, and by reminding all of us that we should never apologize for being human.”
When Murray died he left behind two daughters, Anne and Hannah, sons-in-law Karl and Michael, and three grandchildren, Michaela, Joshua, and Samuel. His wife of 54 years, Minnie Mae, died in February 2005 from Parkinson’s disease.
“[Murray] was a gadget freak,” said Scanlan. “He loved computers, always buying the newest ones. On his desk when he died was a beautiful iMac with a massive screen – not sure if it was 20” or 24”. He was always buying new scanners and hoped for optical character recognition software that really worked. I admired the way he started his career writing on manual typewriters and finished, at 82, with a digital one. We used to joke that we could get gadgets – I’m an early adopter too – by telling our wives, ‘They’re tools, not toys.’ It didn’t always work!”
Narrative was always part of Murray’s life. He wrote in his book “Writing to Deadline” that as a child he would put himself to sleep telling stories.
Newkirk wrote that Murray’s stories brought his own stories to the forefront. Murray’s passion with writing inspired people to write – to put words on paper – or screen, Newkirk wrote.
“Stories explained the world, found cause and effect in confusion, sequence in contradiction, order in disorder,” Murray wrote. “I was fascinated by stories, terrified by stories, comforted by stories, instructed by stories.”
Raising the bar
By Alexandra Sanders
Ten minutes after Ryan McDonald became the official owner of Ted’s Restaurant and Bar in Storrs, Conn., the power went out.
“A squirrel got fried in the transformer, blacking the place out,” he said. “But the stoves are gas and somehow the beer lines kept working, so we did too.”
McDonald has owned the bar for 16 months and has worked there for two years. The electricity failure is one of the least strange things he’s seen in his time at Ted’s.
“There is the usual bunch of people who throw up and then there are some occasional fights,” said McDonald. “But there are some outrageous people who take body shots or are too affectionate with each other in public.”
“There was a couple who was practically having sex in the corner the other night,” Dani Langer chimed in. Langer has been bartending at Ted’s for a year and she said she loves her job. She usually gets to lay low on the job and spend time with co-workers and the pay is good, but she can recall a few rough nights.
“I’m usually the one who tries to break up fights,” said Langer. She has the bone structure of a model, making it difficult to imagine how she pulls guys off of each other. She admits that she got punched once in the process of breaking up a fight.
Rich Wrigley, a bouncer at Ted’s, said that the usual scene is mellow, and fights only really break out when it is crowded. So, fights usually occur on holidays or when people become too intoxicated.
“We have to kick people out when they get too drunk or it will get chaotic,” he said. “I will never forget my first night working at Ted’s. I had to kick out my best friend because he was obliterated. He was also an employee here and my housemate.”
The bouncers also check IDs strictly and turn underage drinkers away at the door. About twice a year, the state raids the bars just off campus to make sure that the state’s drinking codes are being followed and IDs are properly being checked. Underage drinkers that are present during the raid receive citations from the University of Connecticut police.
Dave Stokford, a bouncer at Huskies, which tends to be a more rowdy scene, had his share of breaking up fights and kicking people out as well.
“There was one night where a bunch of football players came in and tried to start a fight,” said Stokford. “Luckily they didn’t because I was afraid. I’m a pretty small guy.”
He quit his job there recently because of the late hours. Stokford had friends who worked at the bar and never slept at night. They slept throughout the day and missed all of their classes. He chose to make school a priority.
“It was all kind of a blur,” he said. “I was always so tired. I had to quit.”
Langer also said that the hours are the worst part of her job. She is a nursing major at the university so she has to wake up at 5 a.m. She usually doesn’t leave the bar until 1:30 a.m. The job pays well because she only has to split her tips between one other bartender. At other bars, tips are usually split up to six ways. Work as a bouncer pays significantly less.
“Dani makes more money than me so her job is worth it,” said Wrigley. “The hours are rough for the pay that comes with being a bouncer. I took 18 credits this semester and I am failing a bunch of classes because of this job.”
Wrigley would be graduating in the spring but now he has to make up the credits that he lost.
“Huskies goes through a lot of bouncers because of the hours,” said Stokford. He said he is much happier now that he isn’t working at the bar. He is doing better in his classes and he has more of a social life. Most of the bouncers and bartenders who work at bars just off campus are students, so their jobs are temporary.
They are all in their early 20s and don’t necessarily look the stereotypical part for their jobs. Langer dresses rather conservatively for the stereotyped female bartender and Wrigley is smaller in build than many would picture a bouncer to be.
“I would love to do this for the rest of my life,” said Wrigley. “There is just no way to earn a living doing this job.”
Ten minutes after Ryan McDonald became the official owner of Ted’s Restaurant and Bar in Storrs, Conn., the power went out.
“A squirrel got fried in the transformer, blacking the place out,” he said. “But the stoves are gas and somehow the beer lines kept working, so we did too.”
McDonald has owned the bar for 16 months and has worked there for two years. The electricity failure is one of the least strange things he’s seen in his time at Ted’s.
“There is the usual bunch of people who throw up and then there are some occasional fights,” said McDonald. “But there are some outrageous people who take body shots or are too affectionate with each other in public.”
“There was a couple who was practically having sex in the corner the other night,” Dani Langer chimed in. Langer has been bartending at Ted’s for a year and she said she loves her job. She usually gets to lay low on the job and spend time with co-workers and the pay is good, but she can recall a few rough nights.
“I’m usually the one who tries to break up fights,” said Langer. She has the bone structure of a model, making it difficult to imagine how she pulls guys off of each other. She admits that she got punched once in the process of breaking up a fight.
Rich Wrigley, a bouncer at Ted’s, said that the usual scene is mellow, and fights only really break out when it is crowded. So, fights usually occur on holidays or when people become too intoxicated.
“We have to kick people out when they get too drunk or it will get chaotic,” he said. “I will never forget my first night working at Ted’s. I had to kick out my best friend because he was obliterated. He was also an employee here and my housemate.”
The bouncers also check IDs strictly and turn underage drinkers away at the door. About twice a year, the state raids the bars just off campus to make sure that the state’s drinking codes are being followed and IDs are properly being checked. Underage drinkers that are present during the raid receive citations from the University of Connecticut police.
Dave Stokford, a bouncer at Huskies, which tends to be a more rowdy scene, had his share of breaking up fights and kicking people out as well.
“There was one night where a bunch of football players came in and tried to start a fight,” said Stokford. “Luckily they didn’t because I was afraid. I’m a pretty small guy.”
He quit his job there recently because of the late hours. Stokford had friends who worked at the bar and never slept at night. They slept throughout the day and missed all of their classes. He chose to make school a priority.
“It was all kind of a blur,” he said. “I was always so tired. I had to quit.”
Langer also said that the hours are the worst part of her job. She is a nursing major at the university so she has to wake up at 5 a.m. She usually doesn’t leave the bar until 1:30 a.m. The job pays well because she only has to split her tips between one other bartender. At other bars, tips are usually split up to six ways. Work as a bouncer pays significantly less.
“Dani makes more money than me so her job is worth it,” said Wrigley. “The hours are rough for the pay that comes with being a bouncer. I took 18 credits this semester and I am failing a bunch of classes because of this job.”
Wrigley would be graduating in the spring but now he has to make up the credits that he lost.
“Huskies goes through a lot of bouncers because of the hours,” said Stokford. He said he is much happier now that he isn’t working at the bar. He is doing better in his classes and he has more of a social life. Most of the bouncers and bartenders who work at bars just off campus are students, so their jobs are temporary.
They are all in their early 20s and don’t necessarily look the stereotypical part for their jobs. Langer dresses rather conservatively for the stereotyped female bartender and Wrigley is smaller in build than many would picture a bouncer to be.
“I would love to do this for the rest of my life,” said Wrigley. “There is just no way to earn a living doing this job.”
He's in the money
By Jesse Grab
“We’re in the money. We’re in the money. We’ve got a lot of what it takes to get along.” These were the lines sung in the chorus of Al Dubin and Harry Warren’s 1931 hit, “The Gold Digger’s Song.”
The song became quite popular during the peak of the Depression and its flashy message is echoed in the voices of successful rappers today. What is it that makes people without money pay to hear people with money brag about it?
Lil Wayne, born Dwayne Michael Carter Jr., qualifies as being “in the money.” His most recent album, “Tha Carter III,” elevated him to a whole new level of success. Released in May 2008, the album has already gone triple platinum in just nine months and Lil Wayne, a.k.a. Weezy’s voice growls out of car speakers from Atlanta to Boise.
“If you love rap music, you love Weezy,” said avid fan Steve Robinson, standing in his bedroom in front of an enormous poster of a Lil Wayne magazine cover.
The Lil Wayne story began in the same setting as many of his songs, New Orleans. Raised in the destitute Hollygrove neighborhood, Dwayne Michael Carter did not have much handed to him.
As an 11-year old aspiring rapper, Carter would show up at local label, Cash Money Records daily and leave frequent freestyle raps on voicemail recordings. The executives, including Carter’s future mentor Brian “Birdman” Williams, saw skills but they also saw a drive to succeed that kept Carter asking for a deal.
“He came from nothing and we’re just lucky Cash Money was there to promote his name right,” said Robinson.
To this day, Wayne functions with the same persistence. By flooding the airwaves with mix-tapes, free downloads, and cameos on tracks by a wide range of artists, Wayne has created a following. His album Tha Carter III’s sales numbers illustrate that artists give, they are likely to receive later.
This business strategy is representative of a “gift economy.” This is based on the concept of giving and giving without any promise of immediate return. Eventually the return for all Carter gave came in album sales.
Kathleen Segerson, a UConn economics professor, sees this permeation of the industry to be great advertising.
“You could certainly imagine that he is trying to familiarize people with a product,” said Segerson. “You are investing upfront and effectively advertising your product to people.”
But good marketing is not the sole reason Carter’s so good at what he does. In examining Lil Wayne’s vice-like grip on popular music, one must look at Carter’s musical content as well as the present cultural climate.
“I think that people listen to him because his message isn’t always whining about the economy or bragging,” said Boston’s DJ Ghot Dad. “It’s good party music and people want to party and forget how broke they are.”
Lil Wayne’s most popular content is about sex and money. Two of the four singles off Tha Carter III focus on riches. In “A Millie,” Carter says the word money ten times and millionaire six times.
“I think it’s actually inspiring,” said Catherine Dagon, 23, a fan. “I’m not jealous that the guy’s getting money and his songs make it seem all the more appealing. It’s a good thing to inspire people to get money right now.”
Boston-based hip-hop writer, V.J. Tursi, believes Lil Wayne’s respectability lies in his lyrics.
“He’s a genius because he makes stupid songs with brilliant metaphors,” says Tursi. “He caught the ears of the masses because he can rap about sex, drugs, and bling without making people feel their brains are rotting away.”
Though his clever rap keeps fans on their toes Tursi believes that in the end, there is a simple force behind Lil Wayne’s success.
“In economic recession people gravitate towards escapism,” said Tursi. “His songs are for partying and people want to party right now.
“We’re in the money. We’re in the money. We’ve got a lot of what it takes to get along.” These were the lines sung in the chorus of Al Dubin and Harry Warren’s 1931 hit, “The Gold Digger’s Song.”
The song became quite popular during the peak of the Depression and its flashy message is echoed in the voices of successful rappers today. What is it that makes people without money pay to hear people with money brag about it?
Lil Wayne, born Dwayne Michael Carter Jr., qualifies as being “in the money.” His most recent album, “Tha Carter III,” elevated him to a whole new level of success. Released in May 2008, the album has already gone triple platinum in just nine months and Lil Wayne, a.k.a. Weezy’s voice growls out of car speakers from Atlanta to Boise.
“If you love rap music, you love Weezy,” said avid fan Steve Robinson, standing in his bedroom in front of an enormous poster of a Lil Wayne magazine cover.
The Lil Wayne story began in the same setting as many of his songs, New Orleans. Raised in the destitute Hollygrove neighborhood, Dwayne Michael Carter did not have much handed to him.
As an 11-year old aspiring rapper, Carter would show up at local label, Cash Money Records daily and leave frequent freestyle raps on voicemail recordings. The executives, including Carter’s future mentor Brian “Birdman” Williams, saw skills but they also saw a drive to succeed that kept Carter asking for a deal.
“He came from nothing and we’re just lucky Cash Money was there to promote his name right,” said Robinson.
To this day, Wayne functions with the same persistence. By flooding the airwaves with mix-tapes, free downloads, and cameos on tracks by a wide range of artists, Wayne has created a following. His album Tha Carter III’s sales numbers illustrate that artists give, they are likely to receive later.
This business strategy is representative of a “gift economy.” This is based on the concept of giving and giving without any promise of immediate return. Eventually the return for all Carter gave came in album sales.
Kathleen Segerson, a UConn economics professor, sees this permeation of the industry to be great advertising.
“You could certainly imagine that he is trying to familiarize people with a product,” said Segerson. “You are investing upfront and effectively advertising your product to people.”
But good marketing is not the sole reason Carter’s so good at what he does. In examining Lil Wayne’s vice-like grip on popular music, one must look at Carter’s musical content as well as the present cultural climate.
“I think that people listen to him because his message isn’t always whining about the economy or bragging,” said Boston’s DJ Ghot Dad. “It’s good party music and people want to party and forget how broke they are.”
Lil Wayne’s most popular content is about sex and money. Two of the four singles off Tha Carter III focus on riches. In “A Millie,” Carter says the word money ten times and millionaire six times.
“I think it’s actually inspiring,” said Catherine Dagon, 23, a fan. “I’m not jealous that the guy’s getting money and his songs make it seem all the more appealing. It’s a good thing to inspire people to get money right now.”
Boston-based hip-hop writer, V.J. Tursi, believes Lil Wayne’s respectability lies in his lyrics.
“He’s a genius because he makes stupid songs with brilliant metaphors,” says Tursi. “He caught the ears of the masses because he can rap about sex, drugs, and bling without making people feel their brains are rotting away.”
Though his clever rap keeps fans on their toes Tursi believes that in the end, there is a simple force behind Lil Wayne’s success.
“In economic recession people gravitate towards escapism,” said Tursi. “His songs are for partying and people want to party right now.
Students go to college but not to class
By Emma DiLallo
STORRS, Conn.—Sean Andrew, a junior at the University of Connecticut, says he skips about half of his classes every week and even encourages others to do the same.
“The curriculum follows the text books, and I learn more if I teach myself outside class,” said Andrew, who is a chemical engineering major. His schedule is made up of strictly calculus and chemistry classes and taught in lecture halls.
“You can go to class all you want, but unless you put the time and work into the material, it doesn’t matter how much you go,” he said.
Although Andrew’s persuasiveness may not be a leading cause, yet, in attendance drops, it is clear that a high number of students are unmotivated to go to class.
A 2005 report by the Higher Education Research Institute at the University of California at Los Angeles surveyed 38,538 first-year students from 144 colleges and universities.
They found that 33 percent of students said they skipped class frequently or occasionally, and 63 percent of students said they showed up late for class frequently or occasionally.
The survey gives some possible insight into these statistics, with 48 percent of students saying they felt their social life interfered with their school work, and 44 percent of students saying they felt bored in class.
Harrison Smalbach, a sophomore, makes his social life a priority over classes.
“I’ve mainly missed class this year to go to the UConn basketball games or when the Yankees are playing [on TV],” said Smalbach.
Joe Locke, an English major at UConn, often attends class but does not pay attention; he has even fallen asleep in his lecture classes before.
“I usually play around on my computer in class. I know that seems pointless to go at all, but I feel bad if I don’t go,” said Locke.
Medora Barnes, who teaches a 75-person sociology class at UConn, is an instructor who understands that, “straight lecture every class gets boring for everyone,” she said. “I think it’s important to try to do multiple things each class period.” She mentions free writing and group work as a means of adding variety to teaching.
Barnes also recognizes Andrew’s frustration with repetitive readings and class lectures.
“I believe that instructors should cover material in class that is not just in the textbook. Whether or not this is giving background information, class exercises, or a movie, the instructor should be able to provide something beyond simple clarification during class time,” said Barnes.
This could be a start in increasing attendance in big lecture halls—the classes that usually receive the lowest attendance rates.
InsideHigherEd.com, an online source for higher education news and opinions, deduce that it is “the size of the class that is a likely predictor of attendance. So to the extent that large public universities are most likely to offer lecture hall-filling courses, the issue of class skipping is most pronounced there.”
Jeff Farrar, who teaches a communication processes course to about 300 UConn students, says that he has loosely kept attendance in his lectures with a sign-in sheet, but that the university policy prevents assigning grades based solely on attendance.
“I was more interested in correlating test scores with attendance, but didn’t find anything too interesting,” said Farrar, explaining that students’ grades did not tend to be higher with higher attendance.
Students have a multitude of reasons that dissuade them from attending class, and there is no single solution to increase attendance. There are solutions to combat the problematic lecture-style classes and keep students attentive, but it is up to both the students and the professors, as David Cox, a physics professor at UConn, explains:
“Power point presentations are problematic; an invitation for a nap if not handled right,” he said. But, as far as the students are concerned, “if you feel that your professor is wasting your time, it's worth finding out if your classmates feel the same way. If so, form a mob and approach the professor with your grievances,” said Cox.
STORRS, Conn.—Sean Andrew, a junior at the University of Connecticut, says he skips about half of his classes every week and even encourages others to do the same.
“The curriculum follows the text books, and I learn more if I teach myself outside class,” said Andrew, who is a chemical engineering major. His schedule is made up of strictly calculus and chemistry classes and taught in lecture halls.
“You can go to class all you want, but unless you put the time and work into the material, it doesn’t matter how much you go,” he said.
Although Andrew’s persuasiveness may not be a leading cause, yet, in attendance drops, it is clear that a high number of students are unmotivated to go to class.
A 2005 report by the Higher Education Research Institute at the University of California at Los Angeles surveyed 38,538 first-year students from 144 colleges and universities.
They found that 33 percent of students said they skipped class frequently or occasionally, and 63 percent of students said they showed up late for class frequently or occasionally.
The survey gives some possible insight into these statistics, with 48 percent of students saying they felt their social life interfered with their school work, and 44 percent of students saying they felt bored in class.
Harrison Smalbach, a sophomore, makes his social life a priority over classes.
“I’ve mainly missed class this year to go to the UConn basketball games or when the Yankees are playing [on TV],” said Smalbach.
Joe Locke, an English major at UConn, often attends class but does not pay attention; he has even fallen asleep in his lecture classes before.
“I usually play around on my computer in class. I know that seems pointless to go at all, but I feel bad if I don’t go,” said Locke.
Medora Barnes, who teaches a 75-person sociology class at UConn, is an instructor who understands that, “straight lecture every class gets boring for everyone,” she said. “I think it’s important to try to do multiple things each class period.” She mentions free writing and group work as a means of adding variety to teaching.
Barnes also recognizes Andrew’s frustration with repetitive readings and class lectures.
“I believe that instructors should cover material in class that is not just in the textbook. Whether or not this is giving background information, class exercises, or a movie, the instructor should be able to provide something beyond simple clarification during class time,” said Barnes.
This could be a start in increasing attendance in big lecture halls—the classes that usually receive the lowest attendance rates.
InsideHigherEd.com, an online source for higher education news and opinions, deduce that it is “the size of the class that is a likely predictor of attendance. So to the extent that large public universities are most likely to offer lecture hall-filling courses, the issue of class skipping is most pronounced there.”
Jeff Farrar, who teaches a communication processes course to about 300 UConn students, says that he has loosely kept attendance in his lectures with a sign-in sheet, but that the university policy prevents assigning grades based solely on attendance.
“I was more interested in correlating test scores with attendance, but didn’t find anything too interesting,” said Farrar, explaining that students’ grades did not tend to be higher with higher attendance.
Students have a multitude of reasons that dissuade them from attending class, and there is no single solution to increase attendance. There are solutions to combat the problematic lecture-style classes and keep students attentive, but it is up to both the students and the professors, as David Cox, a physics professor at UConn, explains:
“Power point presentations are problematic; an invitation for a nap if not handled right,” he said. But, as far as the students are concerned, “if you feel that your professor is wasting your time, it's worth finding out if your classmates feel the same way. If so, form a mob and approach the professor with your grievances,” said Cox.
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