The Internet is wonderful in many ways, but it has encouraged and enabled plagiarism. The arrogance in the idea that "I'm too busy" or "It's only a term paper" or "Everybody does it" or "Why should I think of something when it has already been written by someone else?" or "Copying and pasting is so easy, so why not?" or "The teacher will never figure out where I copied this from" sets the scene. The scene plays out with the plagiarism either ignored or not exposed, and the writer becomes a liar, cheat, and thief not only in writing but in other areas of life.

With the PO's permission, I assigned one of my teen community service workers to write an essay. I asked him to write it at a desk near mine, in his own handwriting, and to fill up two sides of a piece of paper, keeping in mind good grammar, sentence structure, spelling, punctuation. He pleaded with me to do "real work" (washing shelves) at the library and be allowed to take home the essay assignment which he would neatly type up, include graphics, and maybe even add a PowerPoint presentation. "I'll make it real pretty for you," he assured me. I wasn't bamboozled.

That's the dilemma I have. Twenty years ago, after having left college teaching to work as an editor, I returned to it part-time at the local community college because (a) I missed teaching and (b) I was beginning to see in the material I was editing that I could help students before they got out in the business world. That was in the mid-80s, and many of my adult students had gone to school before the system began to crash and burn. Yes, I had my share of "subliterates" even then, but they were a minority. I could teach sentence structure and essay construction, with an occasional "refresher" on basic grammar – and nearly all of my students could grasp what the hell I was talking about.

That is no longer the case. Since I believe in "meeting students where I find them," I have been gradually reduced to explaining what a simple sentence is and covering such basics as it's/its, then/than, their/there – and still, after two-thirds of a semester, half the class (and these are the ones who haven't already given up) are making the same errors. One evening, in talking about different ways a sentence could be written, I (gasp!) mentioned the semicolon. One student raised her hand and asked, "Mr. Turner, could you show us what that is?"

As I said in my Mudgelog entry, I'm thinking of putting away my red pens and calling it quits. I love teaching, but I'm not cut out to teach elementary school. And I'm beginning to feel that this is the level at which I must, of necessity, go when I instruct these college kids (who aren't kids but are, since I teach at night, in their mid-twenties, on average). I realize that they are "only" community college students, not exactly the cream of the graduating crop . . . but good grief! Anything more than the bare fundamentals sails miles over their heads. They couldn't grasp these concepts if they stood on their desks – on stilts.

Outcomes-Based Education
This is an approach to teaching that is quite different from the current method and has been widely discussed.

The way things are done now, students are graded on a curve. Their grades are based on how well they do compared to others. There is no determination of whether or not they have mastered the material.

The philosophy behind Outcomes-Based Education is that students be measured on how much material they can master. Students are allowed to progress at different rates and are not allowed to tackle more advanced material until understanding of the preliminary material has been achieved. Graduation is based on some reasonable standard that all students should be able to pass.

Grading on a curve is unfair and does not tell what the student knows. Additionally, under OBE the reward for learning is the opportunity to learn more.

I think it's asinine anyway – an educationist theory that looks fine on paper but works differently in practice. The goal of "a reasonable standard that all students can pass" ultimately reduces the target of each level of education to whatever the very lowest common denominator is. The result: The goal for granting a high school diploma (graduation) isn't even literacy. If it were, all high school graduates would be literate. They are not. This theory pretends to reward learning; all it really does is lower standards to something that everyone (even the slowest student) can reach.

If I understand it correctly, here's how I would have to apply that theory in my class. Suppose a student starts the course barely literate (as some of my students do). Suppose that student works his or her butt off in a 15-week semester. At the end of that time, this student can write some error-free sentences but cannot yet put them together into a coherent and logical paragraph (which is quite likely because a student who is that poorly prepared cannot do much more in 15 weeks, no matter how hard he or she tries).

A passing grade for that student is a lie. A passing grade in English Composition means that a student has met a minimum standard for that course. A reasonable minimum is that the student be able to write a reasonably understandable essay. The only way I can convert this lie to truth is to make "writing an error-free sentence" the new minimum standard (it's something everyone can reach with effort). I have thus lowered standards. It's no longer a course in "Composition"; it's a course in "Sentence Writing." That's like passing a student in algebra by making the "reasonable standard that everyone can reach" the ability to do simple arithmetic.

A grade is not just a measure of progress; it also represents the level of skill that the student has achieved. Indeed, as far as the record or practical application is concerned, the latter is all it should represent.

One main reason I have the poorly prepared students that I do (and a reason I say that this approach is asinine) is that many of my students have passed remedial courses when they should not have. About one-third of our entering students are placed in these remedial courses because placement tests show that they aren't prepared for English 101, the course I teach. They have met "reasonable" [low] standards for high school graduation, but they haven't learned enough.

If they make some progress in these courses, they pass with C's and even B's or A's. I've had some "graduates" of these courses enter my class even though they cannot write one error-free sentence and cannot read well enough to understand simple instructions. However, because instructors have given them grades that don't match their skills level, they are in way over their heads. I've been told by the dean that remedial instructors often pass students who should not because "they feel sorry for them and are so eager to see these students succeed." They lower their standards. They set these students up for failure later on. Should I do the same with my students – set them up ultimately for failure in a world that still requires some literacy?

Indeed, the increasing presence of poorly prepared students who have "passed" remedial courses is one reason why I am forced to teach down to my class. If the downward spiral continues, we shall soon be beginning English 101 by learning the alphabet.

Grading is not the issue anyway. I already reward improvement. Papers written toward the end of the semester count more than those written at the beginning. Rewrites count as much as or more than original drafts. Effort and attentiveness, as much as they can be measured, are factored into the final grade, especially if it's a "borderline" grade. The issue is maintaining standards that will adequately give students the skills they need down the road. More and more, they come to me with skill levels that are so far short of the mark that, if I "meet them where I find them," I must teach eighth-grade English (or lower) in a college classroom. Shoot for the middle ground? I've tried that. The poorly prepared students cannot reach that level; the few well-prepared students are bored stiff.

What's the big picture? Using something like "Outcomes-Based Education" in the public schools, we have been promoting students to the next level regardless of whether they have "attained an understanding of the preliminary material." We rationalize that they have, just as the remedial course instructors rationalize that their students are ready for 101 when they are not. As a result, the "reasonable standard" for graduation "that all students could pass" is by definition whatever level the slowest student in 12th grade can achieve. Consequently, we graduate students who are barely literate, fail placement tests, and go on to remedial classes (which they "graduate" from in the same manner). Then I get them.
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Rich Turner (The Curmudgeon Himself)

Clifford C. (Kip) Russell has just graduated from a small-town high school. In Chapter 1, he tells us about his high school and how he has come to win a contest. The high school's emphasis was on "preparation for life," and was great: "we're league champions in basketball and our square-dance team is state runner-up and we have a swell sock hop every Wednesday. Lots of school spirit." As a sophomore, Kip, who wants to be an engineer, had "a swell course that semester—social study [class exercises in 'family living,' taught by a spinster], commercial arithmetic, appplied English (the class had picked 'slogan writing' which was fun), handicrafts (we were building sets for the Blow-Out), and gym." Until his father noticed! "Dad switched me to algebra, Spanish, general science [all the school offered], English grammar and composition; the only thing unchanged was gym." And then his father handed him a lot of books to study on his own, things he should have been learning at school.

Chapter 2 is about the contest; then he encounters an 11-year-old girl who has been kidnapped -- and they're off! Much adventure in foiling the kidnappers, culminating in saving the world and getting everyone back home. And all because he learned useful things, in school and on his own.

Well, I will admit that I have a whole lot to learn. I feel that I learn something every day.

Again, thanks to all who have helped me recently and in the past.

If you think teaching in a community college is bad, you ought to try middle school.

I shouldn't have to explain that comment to anyone, so I'll try to give you something more positive.

I had a student at the end of last year who ended up in a maximum security prison for juveniles. I don't know what he did to get there, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't shoplifting. He was very bright. He liked learning and thinking. He was always respectful to me without being a suck-up. He was 16 years old.

One day I talked to him about using parallel structure in his writing and tried to show him some examples. He didn't understand, so I gave him a written explanation and some exercises. When I cam back to him several minutes later, he explained the concept to me in his own words and revised some sentences orally. I was high for an entire week because I was able to say, "You got it!"

The last time I saw him, he was walking down the hall with a guard beside him. His hands were clasped behind his back and his mouth was closed. (Those are the rules.) When he saw me, he subtly put his hand to his head in a mini-salute.

Main Entry: re·cid·i·vism

Pronunciation: \ri-?si-d?-?vi-z?m\

Function: noun

Date: 1886