[The Montana Professor 16.2, Spring 2006 <http://mtprof.msun.edu>]
Gwendolyn Morgan
English
MSU-Bozeman
"No child left behind." The political climate currently, as it has for some years, focuses on the underachiever and those students with, perhaps, less intellectual acumen. Our aim, we are told, is to bring these into academic line with their peers. We are to spend extra time with them, focus upon them, change our teaching strategies to cater to them so that all our students can succeed. Surely, the goal is noble, and most of us engage in a continual quest for better ways to motivate our students to excel. When we succeed, we justifiably congratulate ourselves in bringing those D students up to the C or B ranges. After all, it's a hard task, especially given increasing student-to-teacher ratios and greater service and research demands.
It is equally understandable that, given the effort we expend on those not performing up to par, or who are inadequately prepared or simply not as savvy, we thank our lucky stars for other students who are already "the brightest and the best." It is they who produce the fine work that gets us through grading those other papers and exams which range from mediocre to downright painful. Nonetheless, while we demonstrate our appreciation of them with honors and awards, few of us would deny that the vast majority of our effort is spent on their less capable peers. It's all too easy to appreciate and delight in the "natural A students" without challenging them beyond the standard requirements of our courses. Thus, while they may enjoy a 3.8 graduating GPA, they also may have learned little in their four years with us. But is this educational justice? Is it not equally important to allow the gifted to excel as to motivate our more average charges?
Whatever political correctness encourages us to believe or say, these gifted students are the primary font of the future leaders of our society, indeed the future of the academy. This being so, it is obviously our duty to help them reach those heights. Yet how can we do so, without utterly depleting our own time and energy or "leaving behind" the others? I would submit that we change the way we view them. The following remarks from one brilliant student protégé sparked this idea.
The educational system continually enforces and reinforces the separation between teacher and student.... The distinction and the elitism that attend the letters Ph.D. are certainly not unmerited or necessarily a bad thing; but it is intimidating.
If the student is capable, can we not welcome her as a colleague rather than maintain that gulf between the podium and the desk? If our excellent students already know the curriculum intended to prepare them for a career, we can move to allowing them to participate in that career while still pursuing their Bachelor degrees. In recent years, I have focused on doing just this, using our own familiar venues of professional meetings and scholarly publication to accomplish the goal.
I must offer the following strategies with several qualifications. First, it goes without saying that those particularly bright students in our classes who major in other fields are unlikely to have the time or inclination to attempt participation in ours. For them, we must find different ways to allow them to shine in our field. Second, my own area of medieval studies tends to frighten many students with its unfamiliar language, social structure, and world view. Thus, those who seek out courses centering on medieval studies tend to be more gifted to begin with. Moreover, medieval texts, which by virtue of the conditions under which they were produced, operate on multiple levels with intricate connections as a matter of course. This, in turn, tends to stimulate exemplary performance in those grappling with them by choice; the student rises to his "adversary." Overall, then, my experience is certainly not typical in the academy, but I would nonetheless submit that it has enough which is common for the conclusions offered below to have applicability to all of us.
As Director of Conference Activities and Vice-President of the International Society for the Study of Medievalism, I arrange sessions at major conferences in my field, as well as the Society's own annual meeting. Since I will be in attendance at these anyway, when a student produces work of particularly high quality, I encourage her to submit a proposal to a professional meeting. Doubtless, most of us have done this at one time or another, but the suggestion is not enough. To truly mentor a bright young scholar requires one to shepherd him through the process. As Charity Jensen, a recent graduate student attendee of the International Conference on Medievalism, puts it, "there are no manuals for those with questions, no 'Conferences for Dummies' to provide a step-by-step explanation of the customs, manners, or expectations." Thus, the suggestion elicits a high degree of excitement which is equal parts nervousness and enthusiasm. These must be met with explanations of what an abstract should entail, how to adapt an essay to a conference paper, the important qualities of oral presentation, and conference etiquette. This means hours of going over the paper, confirming research and making stylistic suggestions.
Yet another essential component of student preparation is a trial run in front of a professional audience, something that requires a sacrifice not only of my time but of that of my peers. Yet, properly prepared, the undergraduate whose research receives acceptance at a conference can find the experience one which builds confidence, professionalism, and his vita. In contrast, the fate of a student whose faculty mentor merely threw her to the wind is articulated by Brian Johnsrud, an undergraduate who presented at the same conference attended by Charity:
The first two days of the conference were filled with engaging lunch discussions, affable introductions and meetings, and a "personal tour" of the academic community by Dr. Morgan. By the time I presented my research, I knew over half of the audience listening to me, had already spoken with them about my topic, and actually looked forward to their questions and comments.
This change in tone [from Brian's earlier misgivings] became all the more evident to me when I introduced myself to another presenter in our session, the only other undergraduate in the conference. She had applied to the conference on a passing suggestion from one of her professors. To her surprise, she was accepted. Unfortunately, the professor was not interested in preparing her for the experience. This young lady barely survived the two days prior to our presentations without meeting anyone else in the conference, feeling entirely out of place and questioning--much as I had earlier done--what right she had to be among such prolific scholars. The chief difference, of course, was I had my mentor and new-found acquaintances to calm my nerves. She did not return for the remaining day or the banquet.
What rewards successful entrance into the professional conference community offers students should be obvious. Aside from a credit on the vita and a boost to pride, the experience allows the undergraduate to participate in discussion within and outside of sessions as a peer; he had a free taste of life in the academy and a chance to evaluate his own aspirations; she makes valuable contacts for graduate study. Which of us would not sit up and take notice of an application to a graduate program which included professional quality conference presentations? A candidate offering one or more, especially if accompanied by good GRE scores and/or an actual refereed publication, is all but guaranteed a slot, and likely whatever graduate or teaching assistantship lies in our power to offer. Moreover, undergraduate experience in professional venues is a confidence-builder; it requires research, writing, and oral skills essential to post-graduate success. This, in turn, increases the desire and aptitude for professional success, whether in the academy itself or in society proper. Publication in a professional venue also is not infrequently a follow-on success for the undergraduate colleague. In what now amounts to seven instances in nine years, my students have succeeded even in placing an expanded version of their professional conference presentations in academic journals. In other words, these brilliant undergraduates have indeed become colleagues.
Even so, the undergraduate whose training, skills, and maturity merit entrance into the fully professional arena is a rare bird. In 17 years teaching at Montana State University-Bozeman, I have mentored merely 11 students through an academic conference. I have had many more very bright students, but the necessary requirements simply did not gel. There is, however, a middle ground for these young scholars. In the case of my discipline, the only International Honors Society for specifically English majors, Sigma Tau Delta, provides it. The society holds a large annual conference with considerably high, although not professional, standards of acceptance. It offers prizes, scholarships, and incentives to allay the expense of attendance, and its own publication venue. I started our campus chapter of Sigma Tau Delta a mere five years ago. The following year, four undergraduates presented a panel entitled "Women Writing Women," consisting of four endeavors in different creative genres: poetry, fiction, autobiographical essay, and a multi-perspective critical analysis of an everyday experience. It was a well-attended, instant success which established our reputation with the society immediately. The following year, a different four students (one of whom was elected Associate Regional Student Representative, then the following year Full Regional Representative) presented an individual paper and three papers in a panel on J.R.R. Tolkien, one of which received Honorable Mention in a conference contest. Last year, I shepherded yet another three students to the conference in Kansas City, and this term seven will present and two more attend in Portland.
In virtually every case, the class work of each undergraduate presenting at the Sigma Tau Delta conference has blossomed beyond where it was, demonstrating improved research techniques, better writing, and more confidence. All cited the experience of presenting their work and associating with other high achievers and professionals as one of the most influential of their undergraduate careers. Our Sigma Tau Delta chapter experience has resulted in a significant growth of members, many of whom have gone on to share their research at other national undergraduate conferences. The most important effect of sponsoring these ambitious students, however, has been that most of them have set higher expectations for themselves. This is reflected in sharp increases in their GPAs, in others using their classes to generate papers in anticipation of presenting their work at future conferences, and in the development of a solid community of undergraduate scholars. Indeed, there is evidence that such benefits overflow to less exceptional students. A number of B students in classes where a more accomplished peer gave a Sigma Tau Delta conference presentation stretched to attempt presentations of their own, some successfully, others not. The important thing, however, is that they tried.
What may not be as obvious as the benefits of introducing undergraduates and their work to our own professional and semi-professional venues are the tradeoffs, both for the mentor and the protégé. What need I, as a faculty mentor, sacrifice? What are the demands on a student's time, or psyche? How do these negatively impact other academic and personal endeavors? What of the student's reception by undergraduate peers at the home institution? Of her opinion of and demands on herself?
In my own experience, I have had to put aside for a period, or at least slow down, certain of my own research projects while working with undergraduates over a few months to assist them in preparing for their "professional debuts." However, this is much less an imposition than one might think. No one could argue that my publication record shows any adverse impact, and, indeed, I might argue that the positive influences of student mentoring on my research outweigh the negative. My most recent book (released in February), for example, contains significant contributions from two students whose work in a senior seminar led to professional presentations, which then in turn became new material for my monograph which I would not otherwise have explored. Even those whose work did not directly contribute to mine forced me to consider different perspectives and issues than those I would normally address. So, while my time allotted to research has diminished somewhat, the process itself has been aided by mentoring these gifted undergraduates, since their research, I would argue, often has a cross-pollinating effect with one's own. After all, the nationally offered Cox Family Awards for the successful integration of scholarship and teaching celebrate just that. Perhaps the worst effect I can admit is that I do less of the smaller projects: book reviews, editorials, conference papers. Student mentoring forces me to consider how best to spend my more limited research time, and how to match class subjects and approaches for senior courses to current research interests.
Indeed, the pedagogical issues when mentoring students are more profound, I think, than the effect on scholarly production. How does one approach material in upper division courses so that the aims of the course for the general student population are still met and yet provide an optimal environment for potential undergraduate colleagues to emerge? How does one not confine student interests and expertise to one's own, yet maintain enough expertise to direct research at a professional level? Moreover, does keeping an eye toward identifying young colleagues draw that same eye away from the less successful to a degree that the latter suffer?
As yet, I am still experimenting with classroom strategies in this regard, and I have few answers. Obviously, I rarely teach upper division courses outside my areas (and fortunately, I am somewhat eclectic), so some concern with regard to subject matter is laid to rest. I have, in classes particularly rich in high achievers, noticed that more average students are somewhat cowed. But I wonder if that is any different from the tightrope act we always perform in the classroom, whether or not to identify and mentor the truly gifted. Additionally, much of the stress of identifying undergraduate colleagues is relieved by their self-identification to me: office visits concerning additional research on a particular subject, fine papers turned in, and so forth.
What undergraduate mentoring means for the exceptional student may seem more clear-cut, since the benefits for the successful are undeniable. Yet even the stars from my mentoring program have had reservations. Regarding conference participation, one student remarked,
I was concerned, first and foremost, about how I might accidentally embarrass my mentor. This inherent fear of bringing shame to my academic "family" was something quite unanticipated and altogether unpalatable.... If anyone was to find a piercing flaw in my work...of course, the attention would shift from my incompetence to Dr. Morgan, who had introduced to the conference such an unworthy candidate.
While this young man seemed far less concerned for his own potential embarrassment, others have wondered if they were capable, admitting to serious anxieties both at the initial possibility of professional participation and then at the conference proper. Again, not unlike, I would suspect, any Ph.D. student at his first professional meeting. Much the same holds true concerning students' trepidation about potential publication. Nonetheless, all agreed that the experience was worth the stress, even a young woman who was told by a top scholar that her prospective Master's Thesis topic was not worth pursuing. Students overwhelmingly endorse their early entry into professional arenas with enthusiasm, citing preparation for graduate schools or careers, the confidence received from recognition, and other advantages. The profession and its practitioners seem less removed, less unachievable: "the, I guess, inevitable 'humanizing' of my academic heroes [showed them] to be, on the whole, average mortal human beings."
Students engaging in professional activities also seem by and large unconcerned about the additional stress or demands on time and resources that such may entail, or at least willing to accept the drawbacks as small payment for the experience. Indeed, students again seem to self-select, withdrawing in good time (well before such might cause difficulties for the conference host or embarrassment for themselves or their mentor.) This has happened, however, only twice in my experience, and the individuals involved felt no shame, only apology for not having enough time to properly develop their papers.
In a state which, we are all aware, presents a more difficult environment for academia (given economics, populations, small-town, cultural biases against it and toward more immediate needs), we can still produce, indeed we have produced, Rhodes Scholars finalists and winners. From towns such as Big Sandy or Anaconda come some of the brightest and most enthusiastic undergraduates I have seen anywhere. All we need to do is compensate for what might be a few early disadvantages.
Neither I nor my students, nor those involved in different but similarly professional activities with certain of my colleagues, including professional editing, research assistance, and teaching lower level courses, can find much negative to say about the experience. To a person, each finds such mentoring excellent preparation, a rewarding experience in itself, and a challenge to self-improvement. Our undergraduate colleagues have given us a mission; if we step up and fulfill it, we might be surprised at the rewards we also reap.
[The Montana Professor 16.2, Spring 2006 <http://mtprof.msun.edu>]