known for vs. knowledgable about

A piece in Educational Researcher (January 2009) has caught my attention because it connects to the questions of great opportunities and grand challenges. The Economic Payoff to Investing in Educational Justice uses very conservative assumptions to estimate how individuals and society benefit from providing education to every student. In a nutshell, a variety of school reform interventions (e.g., pre-school initiatives and high school learning communities) are shown to be cost effective. The expenses of implementation are offset by benefits to individual income but also reduced burdens to society (e.g., costs of incarceration, burdens to social support systems, etc.). Not the kind of research I would do because it relies upon existing databases without having to actually interact with humans. However, it does provide clear evidence that educating every child pays dividends for everyone.

What makes this article compelling is the background personal story. In mid-1970, Senator Walter Mondale summoned this young professor to testify before the Committee on Equal Educational Opportunity. Following his presentation, an aide unexpectedly invited him to have dinner with Mondale. After dessert, the future Vice President turned to the budding academician and stated:

"I want you to do a study that tells us just what educational neglect will cost us, and how much we [i.e., Congress] need to spend to prevent it." I uttered a polite protest, telling him that such a study was too ambitious in scope and too ambiguous in precision to be done and that data did not exist linking educational attainment to the sources of these costs, and what did exist could not establish a causal connection. He smiled and asked me to have a scotch for contemplation, to consider the urgency of greater equity, and added that they had budgeted $10,000, an amount equal to about $50,000 at today's prices. As the scotch went down and my bravado went up, I agreed. (pp. 5-6)

Levin then made a career out of this work. He was driven by his desire to offer information that could be used in the service of educational equity. School desegregation was underway and it was unclear how to proceed. The Senate turned to an academic to uncover an answer and this young academic responded as best he could. At that time (early 1970s) he was knowledgeable about educational economics. What he came to be known for was using hard data to inform efforts at educational justice. But along the way, he became very knowledgeable about using data to study the impacts of education on the economy. Where there were insufficient tools, he helped to create what was required. And all of this was revealed in an AERA Distinguished Lecture in 2008. This becomes a lesson about taking chances as well as the beneficial influences of alcohol on academicians — notwithstanding the horrors of witnessing their efforts at dancing.

The point is that when contemplating grand challenges and great opportunities, at the individual level we probably need to discard our desires to be "known for" something in favor of becoming "knowledgeable about" something. In other words, rather than channeling our professional work in an effort to become associated with a brand, a better heuristic is to develop particular expertise and trust that you will ultimately become known for this knowledge. The distinction is very fuzzy and perhaps not being made too well in this space. The point I wish to make is to advocate for young scholars to rely upon deeply held beliefs to steer the professional activities rather than pursuing fame with the expectation that good works will then emerge. Hank Levin is a living example of this and I only know a little about his career because of this single article. Nevertheless, a professional life guided by a moral pursuit, in his case it was educational justice, avoided the tendency to suppress the voice of commitment and compassion. Examples of this may not be as rare as we might believe given who the superstars seem to be within our profession. But more and more, it seems that a purpose-drive career— rather than a publication-driven lifestyle — is possible and desirable.

hurry up, future

Japanese exchange students came to our town in about 1980. That's when I first listened to a Walkman. My little brother used money from his paper route to buy one. The stereo effects were amazing and it was astonishing to have music that sounded so good and yet was easily portable. Back then, this device was a remarkable toy and there was no way we could imagine what might follow. True, the progress of electronic devices has been akin to an evolutionary bush with many branches that became truncated including digital audio tapes, Betamax video, and other assorted devices that barely left a mark. But the Walkman was quite something.

And technological innovations march onward. I've seen enough new devices that I am eager to see what develops next. The iPod touch does some things really well but for some reason it takes more work to get it to access wireless on campus. But at home, it is a marvel. Another example occurred earlier today. First, I was on video chat with a co-author. Next, I was instant messaging on Facebook with 3 people at the same time: someone I went to high school with, a current grad student, and a colleague from Kent State. Part way through the messagings, Sherry calls me on my cell phone from HER cell phone. It was a little confusing to keep it all straight but that had more to do with my mental state. The ease of using these devices was hardly an issue.

Tonight I learned of a new device that outdistances almost anything I could imagine. The Pomegranate looks like a sleek and sultry cell phone. But it has an array of features that boggle the mind. Sure, it looks impressive with the slick advertisements. And the price is more than a little steep. Somehow, though I find myself being drawn in and wonder just how much extra summer school teaching I would need to do in order to secure one of these beauties for myself. Truth is, I just "discovered" the actual fruit in its unadulterated form this past Thanksgiving. Prior to scooping out the fruit for the salad, my only other exposure was via grenadine in mixed drinks. Soon, the Pomegranate will stand for so much more than a curiosity at the produce stand. This thing has completely taken me in.

head and hands and heart

Over the past few years I have become quite interested in pragmatist philosophy. As part of the sense-making process, I wrote about pragmatism as being a complementary relationship among one's head, heart and hands. Not the most original notion especially since organizations ranging from 4-H (head, heart, hands & health) to the Shakers have made use of similar metaphoric combinations. If my perspective is in any way original it is to bring these ideas into the realm of academic work.

Today I learned about a genetic connection between the heart and hands. Much of what has been learned in human biology is through the study of defects. The most obvious example are brain injuries where physicians determine how the different portions of the brain control different functions. Oliver Sacks has shown himself to be a master essayist and diagnostician. A hereditary defect called Holt-Oram syndrome affects the embryonic development of the heart and hands. A specific gene on Chromosome 12 controls the formation of the heart's four chambers as well as influences the differentiation of the hand into fingers. T-Box 5 is a gene that does not function as it should. Quite poetically, Heart and Hand Syndrome suggests that there is more than a philosophical connection — a genetic connection exists between the two.

the teaching life

Last fall I attended a short meeting in California in which a kit-based organization was exploring ways to bring their products into the realm of preservice teacher education. To introduce ourselves we were to share our relationship to the curriculum. I found myself listing all the units I'd used: Earth Materials (grade 3 in Cleveland), Fabric (kindergarten in Cleveland), Air & Weather (2nd grade in Salt Lake City). What struck me about this sharing was first that I had a considerable amount of experience (ALL joyous and enlightening) but also that I had not done this kind of stuff in my current location. So I wrote myself a note that reminds me I needed to return to this. This week, it happened and what a joy.

The reality is that the kit did not arrive so I had to borrow stuff from the physics department. They had only 9 bar magnets but a bunch of cheap little compasses. The morning of the lesson, I decided we'd start with the materials that were in the greatest abundance. All I asked the kids to do was to record observations of the "object" in their science notebooks. They didn't have to worry about using scientific vocabulary. And although they were supposed to feel excited and happy and so on, those did not qualify as "describing words" for their journal. Emotions were important and it was great to hear those being expressed. But not so they appeared in writing.

They witnessed some unexpected phenomena including that the objects felt cold, smelled like metal, and rolled really well. It was when each child received a second compass that things got interesting. My expectation was that they'd put compasses side-by-side and notice how the head of the arrow always pointed toward the tail of the next arrow. But most importantly was when they put one compass on top of the other: the two arrows always went different ways. So I told them about the phrase "opposites attract." And we met the objective for the day even though I was not certain what a reasonable goal was for this day.

The reader will have to trust my claim that the students were interested and engaged in the activity. And everybody wrote observations without too much pressure. When I asked what might be causing the arrows to move, some child ventured that it was a force -- apparently a topic the teacher had been covering. I then asked what kind of force: wind? (nope: they tested that by spontaneously blowing on the compass) light? (no again: shading the compasses didn't change anything). Two faint voices proposed magnetism. I responded by producing the bar magnets and we all delighted by the discovery that the red end stuck to the blue end, but not vice versa. That the bar magnets were too weak to obviously repel was just fine. And we were all delighted and amused that waving a bar magnet over a flotilla of compasses made the needles dance and spin. Not only have I been encouraged to return next Wednesday morning but two giant boxes of equipment were waiting for me on campus today. Quite a life to be having.

stating the obvious

You will take a chance in something in the near future.

~ fortune cookie