Post by Cincinnati Bengals (Chris) on Apr 3, 2021 11:10:45 GMT -5
Today I am reminded of a class I had in graduate school. The course was called, 'History and Geography of Virginia and Tennessee,' but for all intents and purposes, it should've just been called 'The Civil War.' The final exam question was "What happened in the Civil War," and after nearly three hours, and running out of blue books (I filled two), I just said, "Oh well," got up and left, and took my B+ happily. The instructors were historian Dr. Jack Roper, maybe the pre-eminent Civil War scholar in the south, and geography professor Dr. John Morgan. Some of you in this league will be intimately familiar with these characters, having taken their classes, or having seen Dr. Roper launch his fedora sky-high from the sideline of Emory & Henry football games whenever the Wasps scored a crucial touchdown. This class was a 3-hour graduate and undergraduate level course held on Wednesday nights in the warm and toasty McGlothlin-Street Hall 302. Dr. Roper, a native South Carolinian, would teach about 90% of the classes, and with his soothing, monotonous, southern drawl, inevitably put most of the class to sleep between 6-9 PM every Wednesday. Dr. Morgan, his close friend, was there for every lecture Dr. Roper gave, though Dr. Roper would never return the favor (I guess his standing gave him all the excuses he needed in his mind not to be present). Not to paint the wrong picture of the man--he looked like Santa Claus, and his genial demeanor and caring attitude was clear to anyone whom he befriended (Of which there were many). He was an outspoken proponent for dismantling what he referred to as "The Jim Crow tables" in the lunchroom (Sadly, in that area), where black students almost exclusively sat, though perhaps not 100% by choice. I still count the time that I made him laugh so hard at a stupid joke my dad told me, that he nearly coughed up a lung, as one of my greatest accomplishments in life. He had that kind of impact on his students.
One of the major components of the class was essentially, a book report. They were assigned, on various aspects of the course material, and were expected to be 15-20 minutes long, citing various themes from the course, and detailed analysis of the author's point of view and work. During these sessions, students were expected to take vigorous notes throughout (As did the instructors), which were collected at the end of each report, and to use those notes to help inform the questions we were required to ask at the end of each presentation (Dr. Roper usually led off the questioning). This story is a memory of one particular meeting of that class--one that will be inextricably linked with events like the one in question in mind forever. In this particular class, as I approached the classroom about five minutes before the start, an undergraduate student, whose name I am sorry to say that I do not recall, was sitting at one of the tables in the atrium, right outside of the classroom door, frantically scribbling chicken scratch onto a single sheet of looseleaf (It appear he had about a paragraph's worth of material). I quickly realized that this student was up for his report that evening, and had forgotten to do his report (Frankly, not a surprise, as he had continuously missed classes throughout the semester, but had chosen, for some reason, to show up, and upon realizing that he had forgotten to do his report and was due to present that night, had still chosen to stay and play his part in this sick, sad joke that awaited him inside).
Upon entering the classroom, sweaty and disheveled, he continued to scrawl, whipping his pencil across the page, illegibly, until of course presentations began, where he was then forced to at least devote some effort to taking notes--as they were graded, and professors would realize his lack of participation in this aspect. The night was totally unspectacular, until of course, midway through the class period, when this gentleman's turn was up. He stepped to the front of the class, nervously, putting on a meek poker face, and began to speak about his report on 'The Log Cabins of Appalachia,' by one J. Morgan (Also, side note, if you're not from Appalachia, you're probably saying that word wrong). The report lasted all of about two minutes. During that time, he bumbled through several vague and broad observations, using the terms 'kinda' and 'pretty much'--eliciting AT LEAST one purge from Dr. Roper, "Dagnabbit, John Brown!"--and the dreaded phrase, "He didn't really say/talk much about..." After he was asked if he was done, and nodded affirmatively, Dr. Roper asked, "Are there any questions," and Dr. Morgan's hand SHOT up. Dr. Morgan is very low key. He's an amiable gentleman, sallow a bit from age, with a sardonic humor, and a love for talking about baseball--particularly the Atlanta Braves. The fact that he, of all people, is animated, speaks to the irregularity of the moment. He even yells out, "Yeah, I got a question." Dr. Roper clears him, "Okay, go ahead Dr. Morgan," and then the tirade ensues. In a strong and authoritative voice (One that I had never heard Dr. Morgan put on until that point), Dr. Morgan beamed, "So, I'm just curious, when you read this book, was there a general theme? Or a conclusion? Or any information given at all in this book? Because it sounds like to me that THIS ASSHOLE doesn't know a GOD DAMN THING about log cabins, or really anything, if that's all that he said in the book. It makes me wonder, WHAT KIND OF FUCKING MORON would publish a book by this idiot? Because it's clear to me that THIS MOTHERFUCKING IDIOT had no idea what he was talking about." It was uncomfortable. All that each of us wanted to do was look away--but we couldn't. It was like a car crash. We HAD to watch. The class fell silent, as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room as Dr. Morgan finally relented, and in that moment, looking right at the now reddened and blushing face of the presenter, I saw him mouth the words, "J. Morgan..." and then drop his eyes/face in a prolonged sigh. He was doing a report on a book that he had not read, and that his own professor (Who was in the classroom) wrote. It was in that moment that he knew he was fucked.
Graciously, the class broke for 15 minutes, and when we returned, that kid was nowhere to be seen. I did happen to see a discussion between he and the two professors in the hallway during the break, and so therefore did the math: he was being dropped from the class. Class continued, and concluded normally, but the memory of that specific session stayed lodged in my brain, where it will stay. So, why did I feel the need to share this story? Well, no reason--except for one. You see, this student whose name I cannot remember had already missed multiple classes in the semester, and I knew from other classes I had with him, he frequently missed classes and deadlines there too. Some professors allowed him to continue doing so right through the end of the semester, where I assume he either took a WF or an actual grade (Probably a low letter grade) on his transcript. But you see, these professors did not do that. He had missed maybe 2-3 classes in this course (Read: 2-3 weeks in a once a week course), and once he showed up that night, realized it was his turn to present for the book that he hadn't read, stayed around (Which, again, bold and ballsy. I'll give the kid that. Either that, or just plain stupid), and turned it into the aforementioned disasterpiece, the gears were set in motion for an inevitable decision that had to be made about him continuing in that class--and those professors made it. And whether it was for his sake--to perhaps lessen his own personal embarrassment--that of the class, who would likely react awkwardly to his presence (Provided, you know, he actually chose to attend future classes), or just a personal stand on the part of the professors, saying they would not tolerate that, I have always admired them for how they handled that (In light of the circumstances, I suppose I find Dr. Morgan's reaction pretty demure, although you could argue it was cruel to toy with him like that, he didn't beat the dead horse for too long). They had a choice, and unlike the commissioners in this league, myself included, they chose to make the difficult decision, rather than to allow an unacceptable pattern of behavior from continuing. To that end, I really do hope to end the pattern of enabling and handholding--the pattern of looking at a problem and saying, "Okay, just this time," or, "We'll deal with that tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow..." No disrespect to any member of this league, and it isn't personal (I really hope that anyone who wants to continue in this league can do so, as I've built bonds and memories, and gotten close with everyone in here) but sometimes, if you're going to repeatedly miss class, assignments, and show up to do a book report on a book that your professor wrote, (That you haven't read, no less), just drop the class.
One of the major components of the class was essentially, a book report. They were assigned, on various aspects of the course material, and were expected to be 15-20 minutes long, citing various themes from the course, and detailed analysis of the author's point of view and work. During these sessions, students were expected to take vigorous notes throughout (As did the instructors), which were collected at the end of each report, and to use those notes to help inform the questions we were required to ask at the end of each presentation (Dr. Roper usually led off the questioning). This story is a memory of one particular meeting of that class--one that will be inextricably linked with events like the one in question in mind forever. In this particular class, as I approached the classroom about five minutes before the start, an undergraduate student, whose name I am sorry to say that I do not recall, was sitting at one of the tables in the atrium, right outside of the classroom door, frantically scribbling chicken scratch onto a single sheet of looseleaf (It appear he had about a paragraph's worth of material). I quickly realized that this student was up for his report that evening, and had forgotten to do his report (Frankly, not a surprise, as he had continuously missed classes throughout the semester, but had chosen, for some reason, to show up, and upon realizing that he had forgotten to do his report and was due to present that night, had still chosen to stay and play his part in this sick, sad joke that awaited him inside).
Upon entering the classroom, sweaty and disheveled, he continued to scrawl, whipping his pencil across the page, illegibly, until of course presentations began, where he was then forced to at least devote some effort to taking notes--as they were graded, and professors would realize his lack of participation in this aspect. The night was totally unspectacular, until of course, midway through the class period, when this gentleman's turn was up. He stepped to the front of the class, nervously, putting on a meek poker face, and began to speak about his report on 'The Log Cabins of Appalachia,' by one J. Morgan (Also, side note, if you're not from Appalachia, you're probably saying that word wrong). The report lasted all of about two minutes. During that time, he bumbled through several vague and broad observations, using the terms 'kinda' and 'pretty much'--eliciting AT LEAST one purge from Dr. Roper, "Dagnabbit, John Brown!"--and the dreaded phrase, "He didn't really say/talk much about..." After he was asked if he was done, and nodded affirmatively, Dr. Roper asked, "Are there any questions," and Dr. Morgan's hand SHOT up. Dr. Morgan is very low key. He's an amiable gentleman, sallow a bit from age, with a sardonic humor, and a love for talking about baseball--particularly the Atlanta Braves. The fact that he, of all people, is animated, speaks to the irregularity of the moment. He even yells out, "Yeah, I got a question." Dr. Roper clears him, "Okay, go ahead Dr. Morgan," and then the tirade ensues. In a strong and authoritative voice (One that I had never heard Dr. Morgan put on until that point), Dr. Morgan beamed, "So, I'm just curious, when you read this book, was there a general theme? Or a conclusion? Or any information given at all in this book? Because it sounds like to me that THIS ASSHOLE doesn't know a GOD DAMN THING about log cabins, or really anything, if that's all that he said in the book. It makes me wonder, WHAT KIND OF FUCKING MORON would publish a book by this idiot? Because it's clear to me that THIS MOTHERFUCKING IDIOT had no idea what he was talking about." It was uncomfortable. All that each of us wanted to do was look away--but we couldn't. It was like a car crash. We HAD to watch. The class fell silent, as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room as Dr. Morgan finally relented, and in that moment, looking right at the now reddened and blushing face of the presenter, I saw him mouth the words, "J. Morgan..." and then drop his eyes/face in a prolonged sigh. He was doing a report on a book that he had not read, and that his own professor (Who was in the classroom) wrote. It was in that moment that he knew he was fucked.
Graciously, the class broke for 15 minutes, and when we returned, that kid was nowhere to be seen. I did happen to see a discussion between he and the two professors in the hallway during the break, and so therefore did the math: he was being dropped from the class. Class continued, and concluded normally, but the memory of that specific session stayed lodged in my brain, where it will stay. So, why did I feel the need to share this story? Well, no reason--except for one. You see, this student whose name I cannot remember had already missed multiple classes in the semester, and I knew from other classes I had with him, he frequently missed classes and deadlines there too. Some professors allowed him to continue doing so right through the end of the semester, where I assume he either took a WF or an actual grade (Probably a low letter grade) on his transcript. But you see, these professors did not do that. He had missed maybe 2-3 classes in this course (Read: 2-3 weeks in a once a week course), and once he showed up that night, realized it was his turn to present for the book that he hadn't read, stayed around (Which, again, bold and ballsy. I'll give the kid that. Either that, or just plain stupid), and turned it into the aforementioned disasterpiece, the gears were set in motion for an inevitable decision that had to be made about him continuing in that class--and those professors made it. And whether it was for his sake--to perhaps lessen his own personal embarrassment--that of the class, who would likely react awkwardly to his presence (Provided, you know, he actually chose to attend future classes), or just a personal stand on the part of the professors, saying they would not tolerate that, I have always admired them for how they handled that (In light of the circumstances, I suppose I find Dr. Morgan's reaction pretty demure, although you could argue it was cruel to toy with him like that, he didn't beat the dead horse for too long). They had a choice, and unlike the commissioners in this league, myself included, they chose to make the difficult decision, rather than to allow an unacceptable pattern of behavior from continuing. To that end, I really do hope to end the pattern of enabling and handholding--the pattern of looking at a problem and saying, "Okay, just this time," or, "We'll deal with that tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow..." No disrespect to any member of this league, and it isn't personal (I really hope that anyone who wants to continue in this league can do so, as I've built bonds and memories, and gotten close with everyone in here) but sometimes, if you're going to repeatedly miss class, assignments, and show up to do a book report on a book that your professor wrote, (That you haven't read, no less), just drop the class.