Getting to Know Harold
E. David Wong
The Teachers' Journal, 1995
Somehow that fiftymile drive along those snowy roads between East Lansing and Flint defied the laws of nature. How was it possible that it took one hour to get to Flint, but only fortyfive minutes to return to East Lansing?
Harold and I were sitting at a small table in the school library. It was an uncomfortable moment for me. Afters working together for almost a year, we were meeting to discuss and evaluate our collaborative efforts. Harold was an eighthgrade science teacher; I was a member of the science education faculty at Michigan State University. Our working together was part of a professional development school (PDS) collaboration between the Flint schools and MichiganState. The Flint/MSUPDSwas itself embedded in the Michigan Partnership for New Education, a conglomIeration of Michigan universities, businesses, and schools united to bring about major change in Michigan's educational system. I felt like a small part deep within a massive educational, political, industrial machine: apowerful machine whose parts moved with a disconcerting certainty. And I was a small part that was about to falter.
I felt a familiar twinge in my stomach as I listened to Harold and waited for my turn. He was listing an impressive number of things that he had thought about, tried, or was thinking about trying in his eighthgrade science class. As Harold spoke, I found myself contrasting his list with visual memories of what I had actually observed in his classroom. Not knowing quite how to react to what he was saying,I sat there silently.
Eventually, Harold ran out of things to say and came to an abrupt stop. This was the signal that it was my turn to give testimony to our accomplishments.
A long pause. "You know, Harold...," I began slowly, "you know what this year has been all about for me? It's been about getting to know you. " "Say what? Getting to know me?" l think he expected me to say that the year had been all about "teaching for understanding" or "learning communities" ...something that we were supposed to be working on as a PDS.
I continued, "You would not believe how much time and energy l've spent trying to understand you. All through the fall quarter and into this winter, I've observed your classes. I've really been struggling to make sense of it - trying to find a way to think about you and your teaching in a way that I can work comfortably with."
Harold sat there looking at me. I could see I was talking too abstractly. Perhaps it was a matter of style: the proclivity of academics to gravitate toward abstractions and generalities as quickly as possible. Or, perhaps, it was a matter of substance and audience: the nature of what I wanted to say was too personaland specific to Harold. Ethical concerns - the fear of betraying an implicit trust - constrained what I felt I could freely express.
I had already raised the topic, however, and my dramatically enigmatic entrance to the conversation was now, hanging awkwardly in the air, in desparate need of support and elaboration. Wlth no choice but to get more specific, I continued. With great care, I reconstructed my story from the beginning.
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ln the warm days of fall, when I first observed Harold's science classes, l saw students left alone, seemingly abandoned to work on their own. Everyday they would routinely copy questions from their ancient science texts, do the activity described in the text, and answer the questions they had just copied. Harold would spend little time giving directions or helping students. He seemed extremely uninvolved. Several times during my visits, Harold would not even be in the classroom. Instead, he would be attending to business elsewhere in the school, leaving the students to teach themselves about the complexities of eighthgrade chemistry. As I saw these things, I thought to myself, "I wouldn't teach that way." Actually, I reacted even more strongly. "Idon't think it's right to teach that way. It's wrong."
I began to notice a twinge in my stomach. Harold is a big man, big in many respects. Weighing in at well over 200 pounds and standing over six feet tall, he is physically large and intimidating. He looks as big as he is, if not bigger. In class, Harold would often stroll slowly around the room to quiet the class. The shadow he cast over a table of four was often sufficient to quell even the mosts boisterous students.
Harold is also an important man at Holmes Middle School. He has been teaching for seventeen years, most of those years at Holmes. As the union representative for the school and as a candidate for the local union presidency, Harold is politically capable and powerful. During one characteristically futile meeting between Harold and myself, I experienced firsthand his central role in the school. No less than ten people - students, teachers, administrators - came to seek Harold's assistance during a twentyminute period.
Given the large, powerful image projected by Harold, I took great care approaching the issue that had brought us together - the issue of changing classroom practice. Myfirst actions andcomments were passive and indirect. In truth, l was somewhat scared to take the lead in our conversations and to suggest that something different might be in order. Therefore, I left the agenda of our PDS discussions to Harold; the impetus and the ideas for discussion would have to come from him. My role, I was hoping, would be to listen and facilitate. This fit my image of Harold (big man on campus). I expected him to take charge of our meetings with great eagerness. But our meetings would invariably begin with Harold asking, "What's on the agenda?" I found myself constantly having to establish the agenda and initiate the discussion. I discovered that in our PDS meetings, Harold was not a man of action; instead he was a man of great inaction. It felt like I was trying to move a rock that had no intention of moving.
Typically, we would begin by my asking Harold how he thought the class was going, inviting his reflection on his own teaching and what the students were learning about chemistry. Usually, he responded with a few vague statements like "It's going all right" or "We're in the business to try new things and we'll just have to see how it goes. " When Harold finally got more specific, he usually ended up commenting on how these kids don't know how to take responsibility for their own learning, and until they do, not much is going to happen.
Meanwhile, I would be thinking, "How could this teacher place such minimal focus on himself? Wasn't he in charge of the class? Isn't the teacher supposed to be the leader? How was I supposed to interpret this type of response?" By being so uninvolved and removed, Harold seemed to me uncaring about the students and about teaching. I was perplexed, frustrated, and angry.
Every other Wednesday all the PDS participants met as a large group after school. To establish a relaxed, collegial atmosphere,the project provided a generous spread of food. I noticed at the first meeting that Harold was responsible for ordering and setting up the food, the drinks, and all the plates, cups, utensils, and napkins. By the time I arrived for the meeting, Harold was already there busily setting up. The food was laid out with great care and looked absolutely wonderful. Then, as we began our small groupe meeting for the science teachers, everyone was seated and ready but Harold. Iooked around and spotted him tending to the table of food. People had just served themselves, and Harold was tidying up, getting ready for another round. I motioned to him to come over. Before he finally arrived, he had to first make sure that all the tape recorders had the proper extension cords. Waiting, I felt that twinge of frustration again. When Harold finally arrived, he too seemed uncomfortable. His attention seemed elsewhere, constantly monitoring what was happening in the large room.
As part of my PDS research agenda, I taught in one of Harold's chemistry classes for a fiveweek period. He had been willing to let me work with his secondhour class. "Whatever you want is fine with me," he would often say. I foresaw this teaching experience as anopportunityfor Harold to observe his class from another perspective and also to observe some different methods of teaching. I discovered,however, that when l was teaching,Harold sometimes left the room. Even though I had asked him to operate the video camera I was using to collect data (admittedly, an indirect ploy to keep him in the room), I sometimes looked up to discover the camera unattended. My feelings of frustration intensified.
At this point,a pattern seemed to be emerging. To my mind, Harold just did not seem very involved - with his students, with the process of reflecting upon practice, with the science group meetings, with my teaching. Why? It certainly wasn't from a lack of ability or experience: he was a veteran teacher and a leader at the school and district levels. It was extremely difficult for me not to feel upset about the whole situation.
Yet, just when I had resigned my self to a long PDS year at Holmes Middle School, an interesting thing happened late one Wednesdayafternoon. lt was few weeks after the arrival of the Nev Year. In a meeting of the science group we were trying to envision what our classes would be like on an "ideal" day. We closed our eyes and described what the students and we, as teachers, would be doing. One teacher saw herself flitting from desk to desk, effortlessly generating discussion,answeringquestions, and reassuring students wherever she alit. She was the"mother hen": aleader both wise and nurturing.
Then all eyes tumed to Harold. With drama, he said, "You know what I would be?" A pause for emphasis. "I would be the one students would come to...as a last resort. When they no longercanfigureoutsomethingontheir own - then, and only then, should they ask me. Even so, I would be likely to answer their questions with questions. I am a resource person." His words lingered in the silence that followed. I began to realize that in the months that I had known Harold, he had been telling me, in so many words,me this same message. If Harold was anything, he was consistent. Here he was saying it again, perhaps more explicitly andclearly: the responsibilityfor learning science is in the hands of the students. All the pieces - the memories of our conversations, the recollections of his actions - began to slowly realign for me into a different image.
In the quiet darkness on the longdrive home from Flint that Wednesday evening, I found myself thinkings about Harold's image of himself as a teacher. Snippets of our past conversations emerged and faded like the headlights of oncoming cars. Emerged and faded. Came, lingered, and left. Meanwhile, as the miles passed, these vivid and familiar memories began to feel strangely different. "I am a resource person. " In his teaching, Harold would leave the students to their own devices. In our conferences, the initiative and agenda always seemed to come from me. In large group meetings, Harold was often away setting up the food or making sure the tape recorders had extension cords. As for my teaching and that of his student teacher, unless Harold was explicitly asked to stay in the room, he would leave us to fend for ourselves…"I am a resource person. "
During the course of the year, through many interactions and much reflection,my understanding of Harold changed in important ways. Recently, when I went to observe and talk with him, I saw the same things I always have: students in his class still work by themselves, the agenda for our discussions is still my responsibility, and so on. However, while his actions remain largely unchanged, my interpretation is different in the light of what I have come to know about him. As Harold's underIying beliefs about teaching and learning came to light for me, the ominous feeling I had of him as an uncaring, uninvolved teacher subsided - though it has not entirely disappeared.
The differences between Harold and me still exist: in fact, because I think I understand Harold a little better now, our differences may be more prominent than ever, though better grounded. My reaction to his class, to some extent, is still the same as it was last fall: "I would not teach that way."
I think he may have a similar reaction to my teaching. When I taught Harold's class, I spent a lot of time work ing with the students as a whole group. Harold calls this method "lockstep. " Despite our differences, however, we share some broad values and goals. For example, we both want our students to become independent thinkers and learners. While Harold would prefer to leave them more to struggle on their own toward this end. I would prefer to help them more directly.
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I finished my story with great apprehension. I had said many things to Harold that I had been keeping inside out of professionaland personal respecto and tolerance (I also showed him this article). The intensely personal, political, and institutional features of the Flint/Michigan State PDS relationship seemed to implicitly discourage statements that could be construed as criticism about a teacher's practice or about the PDS enterprise in general. However, because of accumulated fatigue or frustration, I had allowed myself to be somewhat more open and honest. Harold's reaction was characteristically vague and enigmatic. Surprisingly, he did not seem upset by my characterization of his teaching. Instead, he seemed pleased that I had come to a better understanding and appreciatione of him. While I was greatly relieved after having expressed my thoughts and concerns, I was left with a nagging concern that not much had changed between us.
I write about it here not to describeo how Harold and I came to discover that we do, after all, see eye to eye and, as in the movies, all's well that ends well. While we may have discovered some common ground, I am more aware than ever of the significant, perhaps irreconcilable,differences inour ways ofteaching,ourbeliefs about science education, and our notions of PDS involvement. The goal that lies ahead for us is not to learn to resolve our differences so that we can work together, but rather, to learn to work together in spite of our differences. Such is the nature of genuine collaboration,and that is the pointof the story I tell.
I think back to a particularly cold day in December. On my way to Flint to work with Harold, I found myself helplessly sliding sideways on an icy Highway 69, coming perilously close to hitting other cars. After a pretty good scare, I ended up safe, but stuck in the grassy median. I never did make it to Holmes MiddleSchool that day.
Now, as spring approaches, I'm hoping the roads to Flint become a little less threatening. However, leaving nothing to chance, I've put a hundred pounds of sand in my trunk as extra insurance. The trip between MSUand Holmes now takes little less than an hour both ways. It's still a long drive, though, no matter how you look at it.
E. David Wong is on the faculty at Michigan State University