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Reminiscences on Harriet Walzer Sheridan and the Founding of the CenterThe reflections below are from members of the Brown teaching community from the time of the Dedication of the Center in October 1997 and from the Celebration of the Center's 20th Anniversary and the Lippitt Endowment in November 2007. Click on 1997 or 2007 below to view the reminiscences from that year or click on a name below to view that reflection.
1997 - Reminiscences of Sheridan Center Graduate Teaching Fellows Suzanne Barrett It is no exaggeration to say that I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for Harriet Sheridan. I was working on my Ph.D. in English in 1988 when, instead of the usual teaching assistantship, I got an appointment as a fellow to the just forming Center for the Advancement of College Teaching. During the next two years I learned how universities actually work; I learned how to arrange for food and furniture, how to publicize events, how to convince faculty members that it would be great fun to talk to graduate students about teaching. And during those two years, I also found a new direction for my career. I now run a teaching and learning center at Boston College and I use the lessons I learned at CACT every single day. Harriet showed us how to get the best out of people, how to give them independence and room for creativity. She met that first year with her four fellows, one each from History, Linguistics, Computer Science and English and immediately empowered us: we were to develop and run programs for other graduate students based on our own experience as teaching assistants. She gave us a little advice (always feed people was the main thing) and told us there was a budget, and then she let us go on our own. She met with us periodically, but mostly to listen to what we were up to rather than to give us instructions. She had a wonderful way of asking questions that led to the "right" answers ("How quickly do those flyers need to get to the mailboxes? Can you depend on campus mail to deliver them that fast? (Oh, yes, good idea, you could personally deliver them")--but mostly it was up to us. I try to imitate her methods with the students I work with and with those I teach. Slowly I've been introducing some of her ideas to the Center here at Boston College. This past year I hired 3 graduate students (one each from Chemistry, Philosophy and History) to develop programs for other TA/TFs. I asked them to figure out what programs TA/TFs need to improve their teaching and let them run with it. They of course did a great job and substantially improved the program from the previous years when a dean and I had made all the decisions. I think Harriet chose to be a role model rather than an inspiration. I was prepared to be inspired, even awed. She was so intelligent, so well read, so professional in her speech and manner, so respectful of all individuals. How could anyone aspire to be like Harriet? But she demystified her success and managed to convince us that it wasn't due to magic, but to really hard work. An outstanding example is her public speaking. We admired her immensely for her poise and for the intelligence she always managed to convey. She seemed like a natural. But no, she said, it didn't come easily to her at all. In fact she struggled over her speeches, practiced them and memorized every word. By giving that behind-the-scenes glimpse of the work she did, she turned herself into a role model instead of a distant star. I don't pretend to have reached her level of expertise, but every time I prepare a talk, I remember that it is a matter of preparation, not magic. And in the end, of course, she did inspire us. Just a short list of the extra things she did for people has to inspire. She read my dissertation, into the spring of 1992, making insightful comments all the way through. Her letter of recommendation helped me get my first job out of Brown (I know this for sure from the person who hired me). She invited us all, with kids and spouses, to her house for dinner and she always showed interest in my daughter and how she was growing up. And at least once a year I have occasion to watch the tape she made on teaching students with learning disabilities, "Effective Teaching for Dyslexic/All College Students"; each time I see her, I remember the work she put into helping those students. At first it was very hard to watch that tape but now it is a comforting reminder of her dedication and her approach to getting things accomplished. I often test the things I do at Boston College by wondering what she would think of them. I think she'd like that very practical role as a touchstone. Gregory Pingree Harriet Sheridan was from the old school. She esteemed tradition, both personal and curricular; she scrutinized every new notion with a rigor that could border on stubbornness; and she was motivated by a lofty view of people that led her to engage critically and passionately with them, with their thoughts and their values. For Harriet, to be truly educated was to seek to master the past, but also to honestly probe and assess the present; and to teach was to illuminate for others this vision of humanistic thinking, whatever the trouble it took. My own teaching experiences, both before and since working at the Center, have confirmed for me the wisdom of Harriet's approach to teaching, especially the belief that, whatever one's pedagogical temperament, one must first meet students where they are, on their own terms. This does not mean that effective teaching is an exercise in unprincipled accommodation. Rather, effective teaching is a simple but profound matter of communication: one must have the courage and willingness to deal genuinely with students; to go where they are, intellectually and emotionally speaking; to do the hard, often tedious, work of showing them how to think and feel and believe in new ways. In recent years I have been teaching that most hard-to-please constituency, law students, yet that experience has only further convinced me of this simple lesson: you must believe in your students and their potential for intellectual growth, whatever their problems, whatever your ideological angle. Otherwise, teaching becomes, as it often does, a cynical rather than an affirmative enterprise. The rewards of this kind of faith are subtle and often long-delayed, of course. But they can be glorious. Wayne Booth, in an address to the MLA put it this way: "What could be a more revolutionary political stroke, what action could make a bigger difference to the world, in both the short and the long run, than that of leading students from passive acceptance of the words that flow over them to critical understanding of those words?" This article of faith for the teaching profession was Harriet's also, and it is, I hope, part of her legacy at the Center. Harriet's last illness effectively consumed her during most of the year I worked with her, and by mid-year she was present mainly through phone discussions and the still considerable force of her personality. At that point I wrote Harriet a letter, which I regret that I have with me still, thanking her for the opportunity to work with her at the Center. I put off giving it to her, thinking she would recover one more time. Had I the sense to deliver the letter sooner, she would have read that I was grateful to her for sharing her passion with me, for reminding me that teaching, despite its difficulties and limitations, remains a profession within reach of great people, great ideas, and great consequences. Andrea Nerozzi I actually have been giving the matter some thought, in between my wanderings on campus and actually teaching my classes. Looking back, I still really wonder how in the world I came to be a fellow at the center. In comparison to the previous fellows, as well as my comrades Elon [Fischer] and Lyde [Sizer], I had very little teaching experience, except to say that what I had done I had enjoyed. Oh, I had some vague ideas about what works and what doesn't, but now, with more experience and a year's worth of adolescents behind me, I realize just how remedial my experiences were. The one thing I brought with me, and at least I hope that everyone saw every now and again, was a genuine interest, enthusiasm, and faith that the Center was "doing the right thing." Although Harriet passed away before I had the chance to meet her, I somehow feel that I had known her on some level. One of the Fellow''s first reponsibilities was to attend the Memorial Service held in honor of Harriet. I remember listening to the speeches, thinking that I was honored to be able to be a part of her dream. Also, I had a hard time keeping a "stiff upper lip" and felt more than a little awkward at how shaken I was. Becky More had made it abundantly clear just how difficult that first year without Harriet would be, and her predictions were accurate. On a pragmatic level, the Center was my first experience with campus politics, and the committee meetings were always a "treat". Although there were many "good intentions" on that particular road, what amazed me was the roundabout way things were decided upon. I was never really sure when we left what exactly we had accomplished. Megan, a student at Seminary in the Botany Club, which I sponsor, said to me the other day: "Dr. Nerozzi I'm afraid people are losing interest because all we've done this year is meet and talk about what we're going to do." Although we actually accomplished quite a bit at the Center that year, I will always feel that I just didn't do quite enough, or in the right proportions. So, I guess, in a pathetic, very Catholic, guilt-stricken kind of way, I feel that the Center gave to me more than I was able to give back. Since William Shakespeare and I have very little in common, I'll sum up what I learned from my center experiences in a few short, numerical "points". 1. The most important thing that I learned at the Center was to keep in mind the diversity of learning styles hidden behind the silly grins and absent minded sighs I see every day in my classes. I somehow intuitively understood that this was the case, but the Center provided a framework for me to hang my ideas upon. To that end, in my classes, I try to approach material from a variety of angles. I have really put this to the test in Biology this year, as I have completely redesigned the course. How? Well, I started off in a place I knew that they were already familiar with, ecology. I guess in education this is called a "constructivist" approach? Most ninth grade biology books begin with atoms and the cell, which the students just can't really comprehend yet, even if they can parrot back the correct terms. I try to provide a variety of activities, for example, in the last 6 weeks, my students have done a debate, 12 (!) labs, and a few activities, as well as held discussions, listened to lecture and watched a few videos. Some of the labs were "cookbook", meaning that the answers were predictable, but, the best ones were "open ended", an idea I first saw in action in Annette's Aquatic Ecology lab, and which I saw repeated in the Center's seminars. I actually had my ninth grade class designing their own experiments in the second week of class. The great thing about this is that it's a "win-win" scenario. If they get "good" results, fantastic, if they don't we talk about why not, also fantastic. I hope that this approach has taught them a little beyond the usual "this is the scientific method" and have shown them just a glimpse of how that method is actually applied. The kids seem to really enjoy the class, and get bummed out when I have a lecture day. 2. Sometime at the Center, I was introduced to the idea of "active learning", which I have pondered ever since. It seemed like a great idea then, and, after one brief year at the helm, I can see that it is the only way to go. To this end, I have started a scientific research group at Sem. It is an extracurricular activity in which students conduct experiments. Most of the projects are done in close association with a college research group. I currently have three main topics, micropaleontology of lake sediment cores (though Peter Siver at Connecticut College), an investigation into the ability of various soybean cultivars to tolerate high levels of iron (through William Terzaghi at Wilkes University) and the "acid mine drainage group", which has two goals, to monitor the various chemicals in an affected stream and to test the affect of acid mine drainage on the growth of a variety of wetland plants. Through these groups I have seen a totally different side of my students. First, they will definitely "go the extra mile" if they feel that what they are doing is under their control, and worth something beyond just getting a grade in a course. Several of them have commented that the research group has made science seem more "real". My question is, "why is the classroom so often "unreal"?" What are we doing there that leaves students feeling that they have only passed through a few hoops, rather than had a meaningful experience? I think the key to successful teaching is really very simple, show your students respect, by allowing them the freedom to think on their own, and to solve problems. And, to let them know that their solutions are worthwhile. 3. The last thing I will comment on is the topic of "accurate assessment". I have changed biology, and will revamp chemistry next summer, to try and get a more accurate view of what my students actually know. I know that many of them know a great deal more than their test scores indicate, or at least in a different way than the tests have asked the questions, regardless of how cleverly they are designed. This idea was brought up at Center seminars. I find that only a few faculty members are truly concerned with this matter, as central as it may seem. In the Chariots of Fire, the lead character tries to explain to his girlfriend exactly why he has to race and says something to the effect: " Jenny, you've got to understand. I believe God made me for a purpose, for China, but he also made me fast, and when I run I feel his pleasure." I have always felt that my life has a purpose. I have spent, and certainly will spend, more than a few agonizing moments trying to figure out just exactly what that purpose is. And, I know that I have only lightly felt God's pleasure on a few, very rare occasions. More than anything else, the Center helped me to define my path in life, to find my purpose. As crazy as this may sound, I now know that I am following my "first, best destiny" (that's Spock in Star Trek II: the Wrath of Khan), to teach. And, I primarily have Harriet and Becky to thank, because the Center was the first place where I was surrounded by people who loved to teach thoughtfully. N. Sanjay Rebello I was first acquainted with the Center as a third year graduate student, when John Richards, one of the Fellows at the Center called me to ask whether I would be willing to be on a panel of lab TAs who would describe their experiences teaching labs. I had not given much thought to the way I taught my labs at that time, and being asked to be on a panel to share my experiences with other lab TAs, made me think long and hard about what I had learned since my first year as a TA. I had always taken my teaching responsibilities seriously. Now I knew that there was a community of graduate students and faculty at Brown that shared my interest in teaching. The following year, the Associate Director of the Center, Rebecca More, asked whether I would be interested in being involved with the Center in an informal capacity -- as a "consultant". I was excited at the possibility of working at the Center and knowing more about the work that it was involved in. The interdisciplinary nature of the Center's work enabled me to see the connection between teaching techniques and strategies that were seldom used in my discipline, but were commonplace in other disciplines. My involvement with the Center grew the following year, when I was fortunate to have been appointed as a Fellow. I was now a part of a team that organized various Center events and created the Newsletter. I honed my interpersonal and communication skills as a result of this experience. That year the Center also began requiring the aspirants of the Teaching Certificate program to be observed in the classroom. I was fortunate to have worked with two highly talented and dedicated Center fellows -- Hanna Rodriguez-Farrar and Shelley Hawks. The three of us visited several lectures, labs, and recitations of students and faculty across campus. This experience afforded me the opportunity to be acquainted with a variety of teaching techniques and styles, but most importantly, I learned that there was no one particular style or technique that would work in all situations. I learned that while there were definitely certain do's and don'ts in teaching, each teacher had to evolve for herself or himself to achieve their fullest potential. I learned that there was great diversity in learning styles among students, and that to teach effectively one must address this diversity. I learned, that one must be willing to listen to one's students and that active engagement of one's students in class was key to their learning. When I returned to teaching at Brown after working at the Center for two years, I had a different approach toward teaching. I focused more on student involvement in the lectures and labs, often using the Socratic approach to teaching. My experiences had shaped and molded my philosophy of teaching and learning for good. Through my interdisciplinary experiences at the Center, I had learned the advantages of active learning, and was better prepared to take on the challenges of a new job that involved teaching. My job search ended when I accepted a research associate position at the Physics Education Research Group at Kansas State University. In fact, my experience at the Center was instrumental in distinguishing me from several other physics Ph.Ds who were candidates for the same position, and did not have the kind of experience and skills that I had acquired at the Center. The efforts of the Group that I currently work with are directed at creating curricular materials to effectively teach physics at the introductory level using hands-on experiments and interactive computer visualization programs in an activity-based environment. We attempt to put the physics concepts into the context of the day-to-day experiences of the students, and often use gadgets such as TV remotes that they may encounter daily to motivate the learning of complex physics concepts. Our curricular materials are field-tested in high schools and colleges across the nation. The constructivist pedagogical approach that we emphasize is a departure from the traditional lecture-lab-recitation format of teaching physics, but it is philosophically similar to what I had learned at the Center. Hence, my experiences at the Center did not just help me get the job, but also help me do it better. Overall, my tenure at the Center and association with Rebecca More and Fellows Hanna Rodriguez-Farrar and Shelley Hawks was a personally and professionally rewarding experience. It changed the way I thought about teaching and learning, helped me choose a career, and continues to be invaluable in my work everyday. I am fortunate to have been involved in such a great endeavor, and owe a deep debt of gratitude to the Center, its staff, and to Brown. I was overjoyed to learn that the University has rededicated itself to making a long and lasting commitment to the Center. I hope that several other graduate students will have the opportunity of gaining the rich and enlightening experience that I was fortunate to have had at the Center. Shelley Hawkes My experience working as an intern at the CACT was an important watershed in my professional development. In a real sense, what I "unlearned" by becoming an active member of the CACT community was just as important as what I "learned." I began to step back from stale assumptions inherited from many decades of being a student about what a good teacher should be like and what practices he or she should adopt. I realized the importance of starting afresh, and building my own set of criteria and practices for "what works" and "doesn't work" for me in the classroom. One of the most important gifts that working with the CACT gave me, and that I hope I can always keep alive in my own teaching, is the conviction that good teaching requires continuous experimentation and creativity. Not only will the literature pertaining to one's "subject" change from year to year, but so will one's students. What works for one individual, or one classroom of a certain composition, usually needs adjustment when the time comes to try it out again. Teaching, therefore, is an open-ended, continuous pursuit, and one that is most fruitfully conducted in the company of fellow travelers. One of the most important of the Sheridan Center's many functions will be to continue to foster such a community of fellow travelers. Hannelore Rodriguez-Farrar As I complete my degree and prepare to begin the next phase of my career in higher education, the Center is a focal point of my Teaching Portfolio and my curriculum vitae. Reflecting on significance of the Center on my life, two lessons stand out. First, the most important lesson I learned as a Center Graduate Fellow was that good teaching results from a continual investigation of student learning. How do students learn? Do all students learn the same way? What are they supposedly learning? What do I, as the instructor, and/or the University, as an institution, want students to learn? Is it enough for them to know facts, figures and other bits of information, or are there larger, not clearly articulated goals of higher education? The Center taught me to begin with these questions and to ask them frequently in order to evolve and develop my approaches to teaching. When I began working at the Center, content (the subject of the course, names, dates, facts, etc.) drove my teaching. As the Center forced me to think more critically about teaching, I discovered that developing my students' skills (critical thinking, writing, oral expression, etc.) would have them engage the content more creatively, intelligently and fruitfully for themselves as well as myself. Second, my work with the Center has been the best preparation for a career in higher education. The Center programs stress collaboration and cross-disciplinary interaction which necessitates a larger consideration of teaching and learning within the context of an institution. At the Center, I began an education on institutional management and assessment. These are exciting but scary times for higher education; rising costs, increasing tuition, affirmative action, challenges to the tenure system and government regulations are just a few of the many issues facing institutions today. At the Center, I learned how to consider these issues and many more. The Center provided me with an in-depth view into the machine of higher education. Its collaboration with The Graduate School, Office of Summer Studies, Office of Career Planning Services, Medical School, Dean of the College and other departments, offices, centers and programs across Brown University provided me with insights into and an understanding of the complexities of an institution of higher education. Due the nature of the Center as a resource for graduate students, faculty, staff and administrators across the whole University, I was able to create a personal curriculum for learning about the institution of higher education. The education the Center provided me dovetailed with my Brown undergraduate and graduate curricula, and instilled in me the confidence to pursue numerous career avenues in higher education. Put simply, Brown University has two purposes: 1) to create knowledge, and 2) to teach and prepare the rising generation of undergraduate and graduate students. The Center's role in both of these goals cannot be underestimated, and accordingly, Brown University must continue to recognize and nurture the Center as part of Brown's mission and purpose. This dedication marks the first major recognition of the importance of the Center for Brown, and hopefully, it is the beginning of a more vibrant and proactive engagement of the Center with Brown University. Margo Ballou I never planned to be anything other than a travel agent. Still, I wanted some great college years of real learning before I settled down to earn an honest buck. And college was where I began to learn about and love academia. I met professors there, and I liked and respected them so much that I found I now wanted a job that would maximize my interaction with such people. That job seemed to me to be a professorship for myself, which necessarily meant I would need to go to graduate school. I didn't know what graduate school entailed, and my professors didn't seem to understand the depth of my ignorance, so I went to my graduate student friends (both of them): "What is graduate school, really?" They couldn't tell me! Being one obstinate woman, I applied anyway. Because I didn't know what to look for, at first I wound up in a program that wasn't right for me. There I learned what it meant to be in graduate school, and how to do research. I applied my new skills to getting into Brown. At Brown I promptly set myself to learning about the university - how it operates, whose administrative assistants run the place. I know that I understand academia better every year because every year I laugh harder at jokes about academia. I came to work for the Sheridan Center because I was leaning toward work as a language coordinator and wanted the experience, but little did I suspect that the Sheridan Center would serve as the apex of my experiences with campus politics. Serving on the Graduate Student Council, the Graduate Council, the Advisory Committee on University Planning, and other committees taught me a great deal about the operation of the university. Nevertheless, I primarily observed rather than participated. As a GSC officer I met with the Dean of the Graduate School, who acted as my advocate with the rest of the university. If I wanted something, I told the Dean and let him worry about whose toes to tread lightly upon. The Sheridan Center occupies a less settled place in the university, and we as staff sometimes need to convince people that we belong here at all. At staff meetings we discuss our approaches, ways to present ourselves. We read background information on every department we deal with, and we do our best to keep lines of communication open with everyone so that we can find out what people need and attempt to deliver it. We try to maintain a grassroots operation, in which we do not impose anything our constituency does not want, honoring Harriet W. Sheridan's desire that the Center be a useful resource at Brown. Carolyn P. Schick An entire year focused on the many facets of teaching - that's how I look at my Sheridan Center Teaching Fellowship. I had been a TA in the Chemistry Department for several years. Each year I would try some new techniques as I taught in the hopes of becoming more effective and to gain experience for a future teaching career. However, I never sat down during that time to think about my own teaching philosophy or even to think about teaching outside the Chemistry Department. This year, I have an excellent opportunity for reflection. I'm on sabbatical from my normal TA job as a graduate student and I'm a Sheridan Center Teaching Fellow. As a Sheridan Center Teaching Fellow (SCTF - my very own acronym in an organization that is absolutely acronym crazy) I am learning how to run a university teaching center. I'm discovering how to give constructive feedback to TA's as they are examining their teaching skills. Every day, I'm thinking about my teaching pedagogy. The Center is comprised of three dedicated staff members who contribute vast amounts of time and energy to the cause of academic teaching. At the staff meetings, I have begun to understand how a University works from the administrative side of the fence. I watch, as Becky and Nancy tackle the huge project of putting together the 10th Anniversary Dedication Conference. I have learned how to organize workshop sessions and how to be a visible and active representative of the Center. I view the Teaching Center as an adolescent with growing pains. I take pleasure in being a part of the maturation of the Center and I'm learning what it takes to build a teaching organization at a University. Before I was an SCTF, my teaching perspective wasn't very broad. I was focused in my department and looking at teaching Chemistry from a narrow point of view. I did not imagine how helpful a global approach to teaching would be. This year, I have realized by interaction with other departments in both the sciences and humanities that good teaching techniques are universal. As I attend the seminars and workshops, invariably I get at least one idea from each event that I would like to adopt in my own teaching. These ideas come from listening and being a part of interdisciplinary discussions. Adapting a class participation technique from a graduate TA concentrating in the languages to my own Chemistry laboratory was unimaginable before I became a Teaching Fellow. Now, I look forward to the opportunity to try these adaptations when I teach and to share with others my experiences. Perhaps the most beneficial habit I've picked up by being a part of the Teaching Center is a daily examination of my teaching philosophy. Every day, my philosophy evolves as I interact with graduate students and faculty on the many issues of teaching. So there you have it; I'm a Sheridan Center Teaching Fellow learning about teaching. One day the sabbatical will be over, but I will be ready to be the teacher I want to be. Michael J. V. Woolcock My overwhelming impression is that of an organization that has grown in confidence, professionalism and stature with every passing year. My memories of the not-so-good old days are of eating greasy pizza sitting uncomfortably with fifty others on the cold, hard floor in the darkened basement of the Graduate Center; both the venue and culinary fare were emblematic of young and well-intentioned, but underfunded, understaffed, and, it seemed, expendable organization. How things have changed! The continuous commitment of time and resources by selected individuals since 1987 has seen a remarkable degree of institutionalization and transformation across many fronts: in 1997, not only do more than a hundred graduate students routinely attend Center events, they do so in comfort over healthy meals, receive professionally prepared reading materials, and have access to services and resources that simply didn't even exist three years ago. We still have a long way to go in terms of getting to the point where high-quality teaching by both faculty and graduate students is required, recognized, and rewarded as part of everyone's basic job description and professional training, but the realization of that goal is, of course, shaped by factors well beyond those under the control of the Sheridan Center. In the meantime, let us rightly celebrate what has been accomplished, even us we continue to search for ways to improve the art and science of teaching at Brown. May our success, like teaching itself, be measured not by the size of the budget and number of students serviced (important as these are), but by the extent to which we attain our goals, and contribute in meaningful and measurable ways to the improvement of teaching on campus. May this initiative also continue to be an example to our peers and sister institutions. Rick Bungiro I began my association with the Sheridan Center just over a year ago with participation in the teaching certificate program. At the time I had a fair amount of experience as a teaching assistant for various biology courses at Brown, and my general impression (based on informal feedback from students and the professors for whom I had worked) was that I was pretty good at it, but could be better. I started teaching for the reason that most graduate students do, as a means of financial support while working on a degree. I quickly realized, however, that while teaching was more work than I had expected, it provided a level of personal satisfaction to me that my research alone did not. With no formal training (and through considerable trial and error) I gained some understanding of what works and what doesn't in a science classroom setting, but it never occurred to me before involvement with the Center to spend much time reflecting upon my teaching style. In fact, it was only this spring that I set my thoughts to paper when asked to produce a written "philosophy of teaching" as part of the nomination process for a teaching award. Fortunately for me, the reflective environment that I discovered at the heart of all Sheridan Center activities made elucidating my philosophy a much easier task. This year I have continued my association with the Sheridan Center as a graduate fellow. When Becky More asked me if I would be interested in applying for the position, I had some doubts. "I'm not ready for such responsibility," I recall thinking to myself. "What if I make mistakes?" I have come to believe, however, that effective teachers aren't afraid to make mistakes. Rather, they readily admit their failings and welcome the opportunity to learn from them - that is the essence of reflective teaching. Currently there is an abysmal lack of scientific knowledge among the general population, in large part because science is often poorly taught, squashing the interest that most people (especially children) have in the natural world. The problem is often compounded by those within the scientific community who are unable or unwilling to devote the time and effort to effectively communicate the significance of scientific research to the public. With pedagogical skills enhanced by my time with the Sheridan Center I will do my part to change this situation. In the words of Stephen Jay Gould, we should "rage (and scheme) against the dying of the light of childhood's fascination." I am honored to be part of the Center as it starts its second decade of promoting artful, reflective teaching at Brown University. "Making Stone Soup" When I first started working at the Center for the Advancement of College Teaching, Harriet, Randy, and I attended a conference; the purpose of which was to discuss the implementation of a sequence of teacher preparation programs at several Universities and Colleges. As representatives provided reports on their progress, it became clear that the interpretation of the program’s charter differed significantly from school to school. And the question was raised of what could be accomplished with such a wide degree of difference. A solution did not seem to be at hand. Then Harriet offered a story, which in so many ways serves as a metaphor for her life with the Center for the Advancement of College Teaching and for Brown. What she told was “Stone Soup,” a story about a band of soldiers who, when they were starving during the winter, wandered into a small village and began to boil several stones in a kettle. The curious townsfolk inquired about what they were making, and the soldiers replied that they were making the most wonderful soup in the world. Their curiosity aroused, one by one the townsfolk desired to sample the soup and to do so they offered something to make just a little bit better -- a turnip here, a potato there, a bit of meat -- until at last the pot had become filled with a number of fine things that make delicious soup. When all had made their contribution, the soldiers removed the stones and together the community dined. Harriet’s story was so very appropriate for what that conference could accomplish, but even more so, her tale was very much a reflection of what she accomplished here at Brown. As the director of the Center, Harriet recognized what she used to call the “dirty little secret” of research universities: a secret that no one really wanted to talk about. She believed that it was a scandal that research universities spent little or no time preparing their students to do the very thing that they would spend most of their professional lives doing: teaching. Harriet knew that as dedicated as universities are to excellence in research, they acted as if they were as equally devoted to mediocrity in the very thing that makes universities thrive, in the very thing that Harriet loved most: teaching. Like the hunger of the soldiers, Harriet’s passion was teaching and she devoted the last seven years of her life to helping universities and their graduate students, and in particular, the graduate students of this university, to be better teachers. Her position at the Center was not a hobby; nor did she treat it as a second career. It was her passion. Harriet had a talent, a very great one, for getting people excited and involved in the effort of preparing teachers. Despite the restraints of time, of attitude, of budget, and of commitment, which might render any organization ineffective, she, like the soldiers, could muster up curiosity, interest, desire, and lastly commitment to that wonderful con-coction that we call the Center. Whatever any one could give, let them give it, so long as it would it would make the result just a little bit better. She knew what needed to be done. She knew what the limitations were, but the secret to her success was that special gift of hers for getting people interested and involved in making better teachers. I’ll never forget one staff meeting when we were discussing the effectiveness of student evaluations. She asked me what was the worst comment I had ever received. My response was easy: I had one evaluation on which a student had written in answer to the question: What is your overall estimation of the TA: “John Richards is the Antichrist.” I told Harriet that I didn’t know exactly how I could make much use of that for improving my own ability as a teacher. And without a blink, she replied, “Are you sure that it wasn’t a compliment?” Like the stones in the tale, Harriet’s sense of humor, her seemingly endless supply of energy, even in the face of illness, her personal love for teaching, and her commitment and passion to the improvement of teacher preparation excited all of us who worked with her at the Center. Harriet is gone now. The stones are removed from the soup. But the Center lives on, and within that wonderful concoction which remains so much her brainchild and upon those of us who worked with her, there remains, as Henry David Thoreau put it, the “mind print” of Harriet’s passion and vision. Thanks to Harriet the job of preparing teachers is being done better at Brown. For myself and for others who worked at the Center, that “mind print” remains indelible. It can be done better. "Reading the Rhetorics: A Retrospective" I returned to Aristotle a semester or two later when my attempts to teach my English 2 seminar were failing miserably. A few days before, at an CACT workshop where Prof. Nancy Dunbar was speaking, Harriet mentioned that she and Prof. Dunbar shared a fondness for the Rhetoric, so the text was on my mind. Unfortunately, like most of my lesson plans that semester, Aristotle failed me too (Harriet laughed when I told her this), and I again began to wonder whether, in the post-modern, post-structuralist world of my classroom (!), the advice of Aristotle, and Harriet Sheridan, would be of any relevance. The last time I remember Harriet mentioning Aristotle was at a plenary session at Connecticut College, where we were discussing the writing programs on their campus and ours. Trying to be provocative, I asked the participants from the History, Religious Studies, and Classics departments why they, too, did not take responsibility for teaching writing to undergraduates rather than leaving it to us in the English Department. Harriet suddenly interrupted, "But wait a minute! What about the joys of teaching writing and argument to all the different students, as Aristotle describes? The English department should feel privileged, not burdened!" In subsequent re-readings of Aristotle, I cannot find such a reference anywhere, but such details are unimportant. I had never thought about Aristotle as a teacher, nor his Rhetoric as a pedagogical model. But what is teaching if not a rhetorical act? Certainly, as Harriet had frequently stressed, knowledge of our subject matter was not enough; we needed to know how to present it. However, I'm now beginning to believe that she admired the text for more than its model of expression, for there are many (and many more concise) models of this sort. As Lane Cooper writes, in the very edition of the Rhetoric that Harriet required us to buy for the methodology seminar, "The Rhetoric of Aristotle is a practical psychology...the modern psychologist commonly will find that he [or she] has observed the behavior of human beings less carefully than did Aristotle...." For Aristotle, as for Harriet Sheridan, a rhetorician or a teacher could only be successful if she or he understood how a listener or a student thought. Cooper continues, "...the speaker or writer must know the nature of the soul he wishes to persuade." As a teacher, I'm convinced, Harriet Sheridan was interested in souls. Even today I can still hear Harriet's plea that we "get to really know our students," and now I'm beginning to understand why. For her, teaching involves more than knowledge of materials and of rhetorical devices; it involves understanding how students learn and understanding how we can help them learn. Perhaps this idea is not clearly annotated in my edition of the Rhetoric, but I'm certain that in one of the many copies Dean Harriet Sheridan owned, though perhaps only in the ideal version of the text which she lived, the importance of understanding students before trying to teach them is heavily underlined by her favorite red pen. 2007 - Reminiscences of Brown Faculty and Administrators Stanley M. Aronson, MD, founding Dean of the Brown University Medical School We assemble this evening – not so much to honor Harriet Sheridan - but to receive yet another of her many gifts: This gift, the privilege and the warmth of each other’s company and the opportunity, in our busy lives, to pause, to reflect and to remember Harriet’s immense personal influence upon each of us. Harriet is the catalyst [which is yet another word for great teacher], the catalyst that has brought us together this April evening. Her gentle presence with us, in this season of renewal, is as palpably real and undeniable as are her lasting contributions to this university and its students. The time for eulogies is past. And rather than explore my recollections of Harriet [fond, but toward the end, painful] I thought it more purposeful if we all listened to some of Harriet’s thoughts on education, as expressed in some of her writings – particularly an article entitled “A Teacher’s Commentary: The Desire to Be Whole Again.”[1981] When asked about the title, Harriet responded, “Ah, yes. But the reader must learn to bear some creative responsibility.” There is however, a very brief recollection that I would share with you. At one point, when she was a patient for the uncounted time in Boston, Harriet declared – as do all humans encountering mortal disease: “Why me?” She paused, reflected, and then uttered: "Why not me?” In those three words, Why not me?, Harriet expressed her most private religious conviction; her belief that we are at best one of many in a vast multitude of living creatures given the rare, and brief, gift of life. All sense of privilege, of splendid individuality, of special treatment, is thus swept aside. And what was left was the still voice of her faith. Perhaps she was thinking of the Scriptural passage: "For I am but thy passing guest, a sojourner like all my mothers and fathers.” In her 1981 paper, Harriet begins by observing that “good teachers believe in human perfectibility, not original sin.” She then stipulates the first of the many essential qualities of the good teacher. “Scholars” she says, “need not be good teachers, but good teachers, however, must always be scholars.” Beware, she had often declared, of the charlatans who substitute persuasive resonance for genuine scholarship. Truly, there is no substitute for disciplined and scholarly commitment to the subject being taught. She warned of the glib teacher: What he lacks in accuracy he makes up for in irrelevancy. And what fragile hopes does such a teacher cherish? For these teachers we have the parable of the prodigal son, the reclaiming to the happier state of those who might be presumed lost, welcoming them to the world of the intellect, and then their participation in humane considerations. In many ways, Harriet believed, the seeds planted by the fervent teacher should not – cannot – be harvested at the completion of the semester. The love of scholarship [the fulfillment of the teacher’s most ardent dreams] may not emerge until long after graduation, long after the nurturing teacher’s image and imagery [and even name] have been lost to memory. There is no true reciprocity between the teacher and her pupil; as there is no symmetry between parent and child. In each case, the movement is toward the future, and repayment [or even thanks] is but a fond hope, rarely realized. She wrote, “How much easier we have found it to cultivate the scholar in our students, to inculcate the various knowledges that have been painfully accumulated." Thus our catalogs provide course after course on the content of what we know. Yet we are not altogether successful at this. Students are bored, confused, resistive or affronted by our gifts to them. Harriet believed that there was more to education, “The essence of education is that it be religious – an education which inculcates duty and reverence.” Such words as service and responsibility were crucial to Harriet. Harriet recognized, painfully, that teachers are victim to the opposites that they themselves have created. In her words, between “objective and accurate factuality versus compassionate, subjective responsiveness: authority vs. distributed responsibility; individual needs versus social and communal services. How can we who have lost faith in absolute certainties in this age mediate amongst contradictory objectives?” Harriet’s further reflections on education: First, she recognized that one of the greatest goals of education is the suspension of judgment; that controversy is at the core of education; that without controversy we have only preserved doctrine, or worse, the dregs of dogma. This view, of course, is distinguishable from Coleridge’s who asked for a willing suspension of disbelief. Second, that true scholarship requires the courage of the lonely gladiator; yes, we must work constructively together; but first we must learn to walk alone, prepared to defend our newly fashioned beliefs. Scholarship is a lonely task, it is practiced in the silent carrels of the library or behind the shut door of a study. And when scholarship comes to completion, it is published, generally to sink without a trace. True learning flourishes, as plants are said to thrive, when they share each other’s atmosphere, in collaboration. And third, that education [like faith] is what remains when we have forgotten all that we have been taught. Many of you knew Harriet far better than did I. But from what I could perceive, she was a righteous woman, a courageous woman, a scholarly woman, a person with an immense capacity for self-criticism, penetrating reflection, and humor, which is to say, a rare capacity for growth. Harriet was also a deeply religious woman. In the face of an implacable and destructive disease, and in the last measure of her rich life, she achieved a rare state of equanimity, "I am not only me" she said, “I am part of something larger and I am no longer afraid to go.” Harriet was a tolerant woman and I am therefore certain that she will forgive me when I paraphrase the psalmist who might have thought of Harriet when he declared: O Lord, who shall sojourn in thy tent? The clouds pass, the semesters follow each other, but a sadness remains. Truly, the past is never dead; it is with us as an enduring legacy from those, such as Harriet, who have made our individual paths more visible, less menacing. And all of us tonight thank both Lynn Epstein and Chancellor Joukowsky for their labors, both moral and material, in ensuring that we remember Harriet Walzer Sheridan, a wise teacher and cherished friend. Prof. Emeritus Maurice Glicksman (Engineering), Provost in 1987 when the Sheridan Center was established. Harriet Sheridan was a wonderful colleague, intensely engaged with education and the students at Brown. Her charisma charmed alumni and students and her total commitment rallied faculty to improve Brown’s undergraduate programs. She also inspired loyalty and support from her staff, who worked closely with her to carry out the goals of the College organization. But I want to focus on a characteristic of Harriet which is not overwhelmingly present in many others – her personal courage and willingness to sacrifice for what she saw as the major good. It showed very clearly in her later years, as she faced medical challenges and handled them so well. Harriet was informed by one physician that she had the prospect of only a few months of life. With the help of another physician, she found a practitioner who was willing to take aggressive action to address her medical problems and to give her years of life, albeit with difficult ongoing therapies. Harriet did not take this approach simply to live longer: she felt that there were people who needed her support and advice, and that she needed to be there for them. She took on the strain of ongoing treatments, working when she could, in between periods of difficult living. All of us benefited from her continuing presence and activities, and her close family and associates received what she hoped to be able to give: a better base for their continuing lives. We continue to be thankful for the example she set, as her memory lives on inside so many of us. Prof. Emerita Arlene Gorton (Athletics) We were on a putting green very soon after one of her many cancer operations and she was realizing that she might not have enough energy to continue as Dean of the College. Then President Howard Swearer had asked her to give him a plan of action for her staying involved at Brown. She did not hesitate for a second, deciding, while making a putt, that she wanted to start a "Center for Teaching." Her only concern was - would this be a popular idea with faculty? She putted successfully and decided to move forward. I can honestly say that her first germ of an idea for what became the Sheridan Center was on the second green at the golf course about 7:30am one frosty morning. Harriet was so devoted to the Brown undergraduate curriculum and the idea of a center for teaching. I cannot believe that more than 20 years have passed since her initial idea. She is, I believe, very proud with the results. Prof. Emerita Martha Sharp Joukowsky (Anthropology and Archaeology & the Ancient World), Chair of the Sheridan Center Advisory Board, 1992 - 2004 The memory of Harriet Sheridan's actions during her grueling battle against cancer is vivid as I recall her courage and heroism in confronting the disease. But she was also waging a battle on another front. One of her last wishes was the creation of a center for teaching and learning at Brown University. She told me from her hospital bed, "You must ensure my vision of helping students learn. Ideally the venue will not be in a department, but will be a comfortable place in a little white house." From the time of her arrival at Brown, Harriet had a vision of how we learn, how we process information and how we disseminate it. As part of the Brown professoriate, not only did Harriet teach herself, she visited classes, finding that in some cases, teaching and learning were at risk. At a time when the faculty at Brown did not consciously address teaching and learning, she dealt personally and fell ill from the strain of her efforts. However, she did succeed, and it is that extraordinary accomplishment that we celebrate in the establishment of the Sheridan Center. Before she was stuck by cancer, I remember Harriet’s efforts in holding sessions for students with alternative learning abilities (including my son, Misha), at risk of being left behind in the classroom. Harriet organized special meetings and helped hosts of students, before she tackled the academics and their graduate teaching assistants. She recorded them on film and discussed ways they might improve their teaching and made a film herself to address teaching and the processing of ideas. [The Center's videotape: Effective Teaching for Dyslexic/All College Students"] Harriet endowed us with the realm of promise and the power of possibility. I remember her as a noble and brave woman without pretense who knew the spirit of human potential. She was a voice for persuasive teaching and learning, acting out of concern for the student. I feel humbled, privileged and blessed to have shared those early days with Harriet as a long time defender of the thoughtful learning process. That same spirit of mission and commitment to Brown students that burned so brightly in Harriet, lives on in the Sheridan Center and Rebecca More who has fulfilled Harriet's dream. I have such pride in the Center. Harriet's deep depth of commitment made a difference. She was a great warrior who committed herself to an ideal and inspired others to create change in the Brown classroom. For one, I feel Harriet's mission has been realized in "a comfortable little house" that now bears her legacy." Prof. Emeritus Lewis P. Lipsitt (Psychology, Medical Science, and Human Development) Among Howard Swearer's good influences on the Providence community when he left Carleton College for Brown University, he should be remembered with enormous gratitude for bringing Harriet Sheridan with him. She helped greatly to distinguish his presidency as he honored this somewhat off-center lady with the college deanship and gave her the freedom to help people. Helping people is, after all, what we should expect of deans. And off-center people, especially when they are articulate, learned, and benevolent, can be among the most cherished people in our midst. I use the term "off-center" to characterize Harriet entirely complimentarily. Harriet cultivated her career, and her being, on individual differences - in human traits, and in the development of individuals. She respected the insecurities of others, and gave the challenged and humble the permission to be themselves. She was not cowed by authoritarian constraints. Harriet was encouraged by them, and she sought to help people with "differences" feel good about their differences and to capitalize on those differences in getting what they wanted from life - and to fight the constraints. Harriet was a great counselor, as everyone knew who drew advantage from her understanding and pointed interventions. Evidence was of great importance to her; she proceeded in her deanly ministrations under the guidance of data. She had, for example, a keen understanding of the influences of prenatal and neonatal hazards as these affect later development and behavior. She was sure that impairments in language development and in reading ability were rooted in risk conditions during early childhood. And she sought to change those conditions of humanity which marked some individuals for less accomplishment than others. Harriet Sheridan was way ahead of her time. She was connecting the dots long before many of us knew the dots were connected. Prof. Kenneth R. Miller (Bio-Med MCB) I really didn't have much direct contact with Harriet, but one thing does stand out in my mind. At one point she asked faculty members to list their four favorite books of all time, and published a little booklet of the results to distribute to incoming freshman. For the next couple of years she asked each faculty member who had participated in the survey to pick one of their books and lead a seminar during Orientation Week for freshmen who agreed to read that book over the summer. I can't remember all of the books I listed, but two of them were Arrowsmith (Sinclair Lewis) and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert Pirsig). At a reception in Faunce House to celebrate the publication of the booklet, Harriet came over to me and observed that six faculty, including me, had listed Pirsig's book — and she had never even heard of it. She asked me to explain. I asked her who the other five faculty were, and we looked them up. All of them were in science or engineering. "The two cultures are alive and well," I explained. "Zen" is appreciated by us techno- types because it beautifully illustrates the integration of scientific and technical thinking with the fundamental aesthetic ideas of western culture, as articulated in Plato. She got a copy and read the book within a week. She called me to thank the six of us (collectively) for opening her eyes to another area of learning. Harriet was determined not to let any aspect of scholarship escape her grasp, and her eagerness to learn about a book that her faculty valued was a wonderful demonstration of that. Associate Dean of the College Emerita Karen Romer (English) What I remember about the Office of the Dean of the College [during Harriet's tenure] is that we were the only entity (before the Sheridan Center) that seemed to think about graduate student teaching from the point of student learning. So we weighed in wherever we could, for example, in:
Harriet continued a practice the previous Dean, Walter Massey, had begun (as chair of CCC) of inviting concentrators from a department, on rotating basis over several years, to a brown bag lunch where she explored (with a couple of staff participating) issues undergraduates had with their concentration: such as, course sequences, attitudes to S/NC grades, teaching styles, the usefulness of a DUG, involvement with honors theses, etc.. You can imagine that undergraduates typically would include assessments of teaching in key courses, the goods and bad, and things they would especially like to change! It was all in confidence but with the understanding that afterwards she would synthesize it and give feedback to the relevant department. This often gave rise to fruitful interchanges or even new initiatives. Quite a few of our grant proposals included graduate students which gave us some authority over a few who were working with us in some way. For example, the project with FIPSE/AAC involved the faculty and graduate students in several departments exploring teaching issues with colleagues at a local area liberal arts college (1989-1992). You can see how in the Office of the Dean of the College we kept nibbling where we had access, using contacts we had in various ways to strengthen the opportunities to talk more about teaching. While this mostly worked with the deans who taught, plenty of others actually collected quite a lot of insight from extensive talks with undergraduates about their learning processes. All of this made the idea of the Sheridan Center very appealing, as we were aware that we were trying to work at something in which we only had limited authority and the Graduate School at that time was not really interested in graduate teaching. The Sheridan Center provided a focus for really thinking about teaching and for sharing opportunities with other research universities which were beginning to do a lot with teaching. Prof. Emeritus Frank Rothman, (Bio-Med MCB), Provost Emeritus One reminiscence I have of Harriet is of her losing a battle with the faculty in her attempt to get every concentration to require an integrative senior experience, whether a thesis, seminar, or similar activity. The faculty meeting at which it was rejected helped to define some major issues in the tension, (I hope creative), that is intrinsic in a "university college." One advisor in a large concentration, a dedicated and skilled teacher himself, simply dismissed her proposal as impossible. As I recall, a number of departments felt that faculty time would limit such a requirement only to honors programs. Although it did not carry the day, Harriet's vision of the importance of such an activity to the education of all students shone through. Today I keep up somewhat with issues in undergraduate science education through my continuing association with Project Kaleidoscope. There is no doubt that the educational principles for which Harriet fought at Brown have become the mainstream view in science education, as documented in numerous reports from the National Academy of Sciences, the National Research Council, various professional societies, and other public and private educational organizations. That full implementations of Harriet's ideas remain a challenge at most research universities in no way detracts from her vision. Prof. Emeritus Mark Schupak, (Engineering), Dean of the Graduate School Emeritus There are two incidents I remember that may suggest her attitude towards life: First, Harriet and I, along with other people in the administration, had to attend Brown Corporation meetings to show the flag. We didn't speak or participate, but we did appear knowledgeable and supportive. One dark and cold February morning I was sitting next to Harriet at the Corporation meeting (the administrators had their own special section separate from the Corporation members). In the middle of the meeting, Harriet fell asleep. I pushed her a little and said "Wake up, Harriet, we are being paid to be here." She woke with a start, and said in a voice that was a little too loud, "Not nearly enough!" Second, Frank Durand and I were the two Associate Provosts working for Provost Maurice Glicksman. One of our big projects one year was to put together a comprehensive faculty database both to keep track of crucial data about the faculty and to serve in making planning decisions. We would report the progress we had made at the Provost's staff meetings. As we were finally getting near the end of the long building process, we reported that "We are beginning to see the light at the end of the terminal." Harriet, ever the keeper of our rhetoric, complained loudly to the rest of the group, especially to Maurice. She said that we shouldn't be allowed to talk that way. Maurice smiled and said he appreciated that the database could be used soon. On the wall of Harriet Sheridan's office hung a faded transom window on which one could still make out the word "Rhetoric." Rhetoric, the ability to use language effectively, the art of influencing the thought and conduct of an audience, epitomized Dean Sheridan. Whether in a prepared lecture or in an informal conversation, her use of language was delightful. She understood that the Dean of the College position is a bully pulpit and used it well to implement a number of innovations in the Brown curriculum, including the Curricular Advising Program model of freshman advising, greatly increased support for undergraduate research opportunities, and a support system for students with learning disabilities that has served as a model for hundreds of other colleges and universities. In the 1980s she served on the boards of two national organizations, the Orton Dyslexia Society (now called the International Dyslexia Association) and the American Association of Higher Education (AAHE). She convinced both that they should care about the issue of students with learning disabilities in higher education. The Orton Society started a college affiliate program, of which Brown was the first member, and the AAHE included sessions on dyslexia and other learning differences in all their national conferences from then on. Harriet was a wonderful mentor. She knew enough about each of her colleagues to suggest steps they should take to further their careers - courses to take, research opportunities to pursue, conferences to attend. The complex character of her mind was reflected in her office, with its life-sized papier-mache dragon, a large mixed-media painting of Venetian boatmen, and the comfortable conversation area next to her desk. A professor of English, she took delight in learning about complex issues in science and the social sciences as well. She served as an inspirational model for students and faculty alike. Prof. Emeritus Terry E. Tullis, Geological Sciences I took Early English Literature from Harriet during my freshman year at Carleton College in 1960-61. The books I recall reading are Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, and Milton’s Paradise Lost. For a boy from the wilds of South Dakota’s Black Hills, with an orientation toward math and science, this world of Middle English was a rather confusing one. Harriet, however, was clearly in her element. Her enthusiasm and caring made me understand and appreciate the literature more than I can imagine anyone else managing to do, even though it did not turn me away from science! As a professor at Brown, it was a great pleasure to reconnect with her and be invited to dinner at her home on George and Benefit Streets when she came to Brown as Dean of the College many years later. Prof. Emeritus Thompson Webb III, Geological Sciences In the fall of 1979, I drove down to the Alton Jones Center with Jimmy Wren (East Asian Studies) and Anne Fausto-Sterling (Bio-Med MCB) to participate with Hunter Dupree (History), George Morgan (Engineering), Tori Haring-Smith (English) and others in a day of interdisciplinary discussions about teaching and writing at Brown organized by Harriet. Harriet had recruited Tori Haring-Smith to get the Writing Fellows program started. I participated in a small group (eight or so faculty) with Tori facilitating the discussion about writing and other issues across the curriculum. I later took a summer teaching seminar, perhaps in either 1987 or 1990, which Tori organized and ran for six or so faculty. After Harriet stepped down as Dean of the College, I was at a talk on teaching in Wilson Hall. When I stopped to talk with her, she congratulated me on my article in "The Teaching Professor" about having students do self-grading of their papers (adapted for an article in the Sheridan Center's "Teaching Exchange"). Harriet was the only person at Brown to mention reading "The Teaching Professor" to me, and until she mentioned it, I had never thought of listing an article about teaching on my curriculum vitae. |