I got this from a colleague in our music department and thought it might be
of interest. Particularly the irascible professor might take note.
Came across a really funny article in the Cornell Alumni News and I thought
others in academia might enjoy it, so I scanned it in and here it is:
THAT'S EDUTAINMENT _ _
Every semester, as required by the university, I distribute and collect
evaluations of my course in American studies, taking class time to make
sure most of the 150 students fill out the forms. Since I already have
tenure, the evaluations are essentially for my edification. After I read
them, they will be filed away and forgotten. This semester the evaluations
were favorable, and often flattering: "One of the best, no, the best
lecturer I have had in four years here," wrote one perceptive student. The
lectures "were captivating and lively," wrote another, adding that "the
professor was very cute." After I have
finished reading these reviews, why on earth would I feel depressed?
One reason is that, even after twenty years of teaching, three "arrogants,"
two "inaccessibles," and a "wise guy" still smart. But beyond the bruises
to my weak ego, the evaluations, taken as a whole, reveal much about the
intellectual curiosity and capacity for work this generation of
undergraduates possesses.
Simply put, they attest to the pervasiveness, in colleges and universities,
of the same culture, obsessed as it is with entertainment and celebrities,
that dominates the rest of American society.
With few exceptions, my students seem to have understood the most
sophisticated concepts presented in the lectures. Although one person
complained about "too much analyzation of events," the rest of the class
discussed perceptively such concepts as the "commercialization of leisure"
and culture as "contested terrain" among social and economic classes and
racial and ethnic groups. These young men and women are very bright indeed.
Intelligence, however, was not always matched by willingness to work.
Students complained, often bitterly, about the amount of reading assigned
in the course (150 to 200 pages a week). "lt was demanding and took a lot
of time," wrote one undergraduate in a sentiment echoed by many. Others
were more specific. The load was "a good 7-8 hours, often more, of reading
a week." "Very demanding and difficult," added another, "at least 5 hours
a week outside of class many weeks." I wonder how many students shared
this thought: "Well, if you actually did all of the reading, I'd say it was
pretty demanding, but I managed to get away with reading about half of each
book most of the time."
In the age of infotainment, students' capacity to read has clearly
atrophied. "Books" was the one-word response to a question on what
detracted most from the course. Many students were "bored" by the
readings, a mix of novels and nonfiction that were best sellers in their
eras, finding almost every book longer than 300 pages"repetitive." Not at
all atypical, I suspect, is the student who asked, "Couldn't we have read a
10- or 20-page excerpt from some of them?"
Professors initially respond to these sentiments by reducing the amount of
reading they assign. When students continue to complain, some begin to
write them off. After all, eight hours of work a week for a course was not
a heavy load when we were undergraduates. Last year, a colleague suggested
a new question for the evaluation form: "What book in this course did you
like least and to what defect in your character and/or training do you
attribute this choice?"
Although students engage in the culture of complaint with respect to the
workload, they give their instructors high marks, much higher than their
counterparts did ten and twenty years ago. The grade inflation for
undergraduates that has swept colleges and universities (the average grade
at Cornell approaches a B+) has now reached student evaluations: it is rare
for a professor to be designated "fair" or "poor" or to receive a numerical
assessment much below four (out of five). Why? Students in the 1990s tend
to defer to faculty expertise. They may disagree with, or even dislike,
the professor, but they almost always seem to assume that the information
is up-to-date, accurate, and adequate. The phrase that appears most
frequently on my evaluations, and those of my colleagues, is "knows his
stuff." Most of us do, of course, but when students become passive,
reluctant to challenge or ask questions, and unwilling to discriminate
among their professors, we ought to worry.
Perhaps the most disturbing revelation of student evaluations, however, is
the extent to which every class has become a show and every instructor a
personality. The liveliness of the lectures, the use of videos, and the
professors' ability to draw frequent laughs count more than content."The
professor knows how to teach in an entertaining way (almost like TV),"
concluded one admiring student. "The lectures were informative and, most
importantly, entertaining," wrote another. I think the students who
suggested a laser light show and a warm-up dance before the lesson were
kidding, but these days one can never be sure.
At times, evaluations appear to be the academic analogue to "Rate the
Record" on Dick Clark's old "American Bandstand," in which teenagers said
of every new release, "Good beat, great to dance to, I'd give it a 9."
Students are becoming more adjectival than analytical, more inclined to
take faculty members' wardrobes and hairstyles into account when sizing
them up as educators. Many teachers share or give in to the attitudes and
behavior I have attributed to students. The evaluation form used by the
American studies program at Cornell, for example, asks, "How do you feel
about your professor?"-not "What do you think of his/her ideas,
organization, and methods of presentation?" And, let me confess, I make
comments in class about my Gucci ties and diminutive height, and I continue
to give my eleven-word impersonation of Franklin D. Roosevelt ("Yesterday,
December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy"), even though I'm irked
that students remember it more than my analysis of the achievements and
limitations of the New Deal. I like the applause and the large
enrollments, and I'm not above a song and dance to keep 'em in their seats.
Too many students now choose the pleasurable over the valuable. People who
exercise vigorously or learn to play a musical instrument, Cornell
economics professor Robert Frank observed in his most recent book, Luxury
Fever, experience discomfort, and even pain, at first. But if they stick
with it, enduring satisfaction, to the point of enjoyment, can ensue. Will
students and other smart people learn to exchange the satisfaction of the
short run for more hard-won pleasures? If not, what will I do for an
encore when more undergraduates conclude, as one already has, "I thought he
would be funnier than he was"?
.........Glenn Altschuler,
PhD
'76