Eleanor is a veteran teacher, and I love her.  I’m not alone;  she has been teaching English in this school for nearly three decades, and I don’t know anyone, teacher or student, who doesn’t respect her and like her.  Her gentle spirit, compassion for her students, and quiet authority with them are legendary.  She was born and raised in Alabama, and she still has a slight southern accent, and a courtly bearing that curiously makes her seem from a different era.  She also has a twinkle in her eye when you talk to her.

She and I have been on a number of faculty committees together, and have had some wonderful and serious conversations about education.  We have observed each other’s classes several times.  During her last observation, she told me she was particularly surprised by how self-directed the students seemed to be.  After I had given them a quick introduction to a new skill, the rest of the period had been open work time.  They had moved purposefully to start their various tasks, some in study groups, some by themselves, some doing bookwork, some working on labs, some in conversation.

When the period was over, she asked me “How is it that they have become so responsible that they can take care of themselves like that?”  In fact, whenever I have visitors, that is one of the first questions they ask.

“Well, Eleanor, that’s a long story, but I would say the fact that they feel like they have a voice in this class is a big part of it.”

“But why do they feel that?  It’s clear that they have a sense of ownership. What do you do that gets them to that state?”

“It’s a combination of things, I would say.  I’m often stopping what we’re doing to check in with them as a whole class, to see whether what we’re doing is useful.  If they seem bored or disinterested, I’ll stop and ask why, and that will often lead to an interesting conversation.  If it seems genuine, I’ll shift gears and do something different.  That definitely gets their attention, and it builds trust.

“Another thing we do is a steering committee.  I should explain that every student has a job - maintaining the library, being a lab assistant, keeping the portfolios organized, watering the plants, things like that.  But one of the jobs, and an important one, is being part of a steering committee.  Years ago, we’d meet every other week, but now, after implementing a lot of their suggestions over the years, we only need to meet once or twice every quarter.”

“So what do you do during these steering committee meetings?”

“I bring any issues I am concerned about to the table, and four or five students from each of my classes bring what they or their classmates are concerned about.  We dive in and see if we can improve things.  They have been an endless source of great ideas.  Probably half of the structure of this class has evolved out of those conversations.  And when I announce the next day that the steering committee came up with an idea, and we’re going to implement it immediately, it has a profound effect on my working relationship with the students.  They feel a renewed sense of ownership.

“Personally, I think talking about it isn’t going to really explain what we do.  I think you ought to see one for yourself.  We’ll be meeting in two weeks - why don’t you sit in?”

She agreed, and two weeks later the two of us found ourselves in the conference room sitting at a table with four of my students from the class she had observed.

“So I have a few things I’d like us to discuss, but let’s start with you - what is it that you think we should talk about?”, I say.

Jasmine jumps right in.  She began this year as a shy student, very reluctant to speak, even in small groups.  When I was looking for students to join this steering committee, I was surprised at the enthusiasm with which she raised her hand.  She has been an outspoken and very constructive member of the group ever since.

“We have been doing too much homework too quickly,” she says.  “I think a lot of students are feeling rushed, and for some of them, it’s starting to feel like busywork.”

She knows that will get my attention.  I’ve been so relentless in bashing busywork, that there’s no way I won’t take this seriously.

“How about the rest of you?”, I ask.  “Are you feeling the same way?  Are you hearing this from other students?”

They are, quite emphatically.

“Well, let me tell you why I planned the unit this way, and then we can talk about how to fix it for this unit and prevent it from happening in the future.  My thought was to get a lot of the conceptual work out of the way early on so that we could launch into a longer period of open work time.  That way, people could have more time to pursue their own directions.”

“Why can’t we have several smaller open work times spread out throughout the contract?” Mark asks.  That way, we could take more time to digest the work, some of us could do the reviewing we need before moving onto the next thing so we’d be better prepared.”

“I like it.  It’s the obvious solution - that’s what we’ll do from now on, whenever there is a string of homework like there is in this unit.  But that leaves the problem of this unit and the people who are feeling frustrated or lost right now.  What would help them the most?”

“First of all, telling them about this conversation and how it’s going to be in the future will help a lot, I think,” Jasmine says.  “That way they know we’re working on the problem, and it’s going to get fixed.”

Mark adds, “And give us a day of open lab tomorrow, with a review session for people who are lost and some above and beyond activities for everyone else.”

In fact, that’s exactly what will happen.  The day after this meeting, I will follow Jasmine’s and Mark’s advice, and the sense of relief in the classes will be palpable.  Every time we change course based on the voice of students, the sense of being in it together is strengthened.

We talk through some of the details of how to proceed with the open lab, and how to reorganize the calendar for the rest of the unit.  By the time we’re done, we have a clear plan.

Then I bring up one small issue that has been bothering me.  When students are choosing from the optional items, it’s not clear which items are designed to review specific required items on the contract.  It leads to confusion and makes it harder for students to choose the appropriate work.

We bat ideas around, and what comes out of the conversation is a clear improvement;  rather than listing all the required items in a row, I will list work in groups with each required item followed directly by the optional work that reviews it.  And, equally importantly, I will give a brief description of each item on the contract, and the review items will say directly what required work they are reviewing.  It is a clean, simple solution, and despite the wastefulness of running off a whole new set of contracts, I will in fact correct the structure and hand out new, replacement contracts tomorrow.  

Finally, the period is over.  It has been an enormously productive forty-three minutes.  Both Eleanor and I have the next period free, so we stick around to talk.  It is clear from the look on her face that she is troubled.  

“Eleanor, what’s the matter?”, I ask.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she says.  “I see how it works, and I know how much you and they are getting out of it, but I don’t think I can pull it off.”

I’m confused.  “Why not?  What is the problem?”

“I’ve been teaching for a long time, and I like to think I have a pretty good relationship with my students”, she says, “but I just don’t think I can open up like this and run the risk of being criticized or challenged in this way.  I don’t think I can be this vulnerable.”

I’m shocked.  I thought if there was anyone in the school for whom this would be appropriate, it would be her.  But I can see that she is filled with doubts.

“You know, what you saw here has been evolving for a decade.  There are ways to do a small bit of this, and control how open you want to be about it.  Asking for suggestions or feedback about how the class is going can be done in lots of ways.  You might turn it into a writing assignment about what a perfect school would be like, or what perfect homework would be like.  You could have one-on-one conversations instead of a group.”

“I know,” she says, “I was thinking along the same lines while all of you were talking.  But right now, it just seems like too much.”

“You know, the problem with grabbing just one idea out of this system I use is that it is a small piece of a whole web of activities that reinforce each other.  We spend so much time at the beginning of the year developing the philosophy, growing the trust between students and in their relationship with me, that I’m not even aware of how much I take that trust for granted.  It really requires a whole approach to set up the conditions for something like this to work well.”

We will continue to have our conversations.  Eleanor’s attempts at getting feedback from her students are initially limited and infrequent.  Over time, she’ll find ways to listen to them that are comfortable for her.  

The lesson for me is that every teacher has to be true to herself in finding new ways to structure a classroom.  I have found my way, and it works for me.  When I become a consultant years later, this experience with Eleanor will remind me to listen carefully to what each teacher needs in order to make changes in their practice.  I will have to work hard to find the fundamental truths that can then be adapted to each situation.  As with my students, one size does not fit all.