Charles Brewer

on behalf of the American Psychological Foundation

Jane Halonen’s talk today serves two purposes: First, it is her invited address as recipient of the American Psychological Foundation’s Distinguished Teaching of Psychology Award, and it is her address as president of the Society for the Teaching of Psychology (Division 2).

Representing the APF Teaching Award Committee, I will share a few comments that people wrote about Jane. Among numerous accolades, they called her all of the following—and much more:

1. An exemplary classroom teacher.
2. A dedicated, caring, supportive mentor to students and colleagues.
3. A visionary, dynamic, and inspirational leader.
4. An internationally known and respected scholar.
5. A person who willingly and graciously provides enormous amounts of service for her university and for colleagues around the country and around the world (and always with a smile on her face and encouraging words for everyone!).
6. A thoughtful, generous, kind, loyal, and compassionate friend who is always there when you need her.

Jane S. Halonen

James Madison University

I am honored to be here in this most unusual circumstance. I thank my colleagues responsible for that moving introduction. I am especially pleased since they have taught me a lot about teaching, and I appreciate the opportunity to acknowledge their gifts to me in this meaningful context.

I do need to take a moment to express some other appreciation for my various academic families. First, I am grateful to the Council of Teachers of Undergraduate Psychology, an organization that gave me my first exposure to regional program planning in faculty development. I also owe a debt of gratitude to my family in the Society for Teachers of Psychology. It has been such an honor to serve you this year. I am grateful to Ludy Benjamin for introducing me to high school psychology. I draw enormous inspiration from the energy shown by my colleagues in the various summer institutes, TOPSS, and AP "camp." Thanks to Bill McKeachie, mentor of mentors, I have an international teaching family in the Improving University Teaching conferences that have become so dear to me.

I am particularly fortunate to have had the academic homes I've had. I couldn't have had a better environment in which to begin learning about teaching. I agree with former Harvard president Derek Bok that Alverno College is a "jewel in higher education." I am proud to have been associated with such a noble effort, and I cherish the 17 years I spent at Alverno.

I am so lucky to be working with such extraordinary colleagues at James Madison University in the School of Psychology. To give you some idea of what this department climate is like I need to tell a story. One of my first columns in the STP newsletter drew a parallel between how I was feeling as the incoming president and the chaos in the family life illustrated in the movie "You Can’t Take It with You." I closed the column suggesting that I was ready to "bring on the harmonicas." Within the week I was serenaded by an impromptu harmonica concert in the halls at JMU. Would my colleagues from James Madison University stand?…I love you and thank you for being here. I am more than lucky. I am truly blessed.

 On Reversing My Position

Many of you know that I have not exactly had a love affair with teaching awards. In fact my position is rather well expressed in this quote by acting legend Katharine Hepburn:

Part of my public resistance to such competitions was the occasional evidence I'd accrued that awards can transform fundamentally good people in sometimes unattractive ways. They craft energetic campaigns to secure the recognition and demonstrate a kind of monomania about winning the award. Worse, when they win, they actually began to believe the award.

I'm pleased to report that this is unlikely to happen in my case. The morning that I received the call announcing the APF award from Joe Matarazzo I had just been handed the worst teaching evaluations of my career. As I sat looking at the disappointing numerical results and trying to take in the particular pain that such ratings can cause, I pondered where things had gone wrong. They weren't awful evaluations. They were just not consistent with my own personal standards. In the midst of that pain, poor Joe calls. I believe that the conversation went something like this:

So if Joe is present, my apologies for sounding like the least excited award winner in APF history. I was simply pondering the cosmic irony of the moment. Circumstances such as this convince me that God not only exists, but chronically watches the comedy channel, and somehow I manage regularly to be a guest star.

Since that time, I must say the overall impact on my life has been so significant that I now believe that APF should sponsor a similar celebration for every faculty member who makes it through two decades of this profession who can still manage to smile about the choice. I thank you deeply for the honor.

Can I see a show of hands of all of those who have fallen under the spell of J. K. Rowling? Then you can empathize with why magic might be on my mind. (Thanks to my chief leisure reading consultant Rob McEntarffer for helping me discover Harry and his friends).

I see many parallels between higher education and the kinds of events that have happened at the Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Frankly, I’m downright envious of some of the conveniences in Harry Potter’s adventures. For example, it seems to me that resorting to "owl posts" would do a lot to cut back on my email queue. I personally would kill for a "sneakoscope," a device that squawks when someone with faulty intentions is in the vicinity, particularly to help me detect those pesky plagiarism problems. Failing that, it would be helpful to silence windy colleagues by shouting, "Stupify," or at the very least have the capacity to cast one wobbly-kneed spell. Hermione's time-turning tool for being in two places at one time would certainly do a lot for the overburdened academic with too many committee obligations. (I could have used the device for my triple-scheduled moments at APA!.) Of course, there is also a parallel related to the dementors, the beings that suck out your life force. In Harry Potter’s world, dementors are easy to identify because of their long robes, bony fingers, and enduring chill. We are not so lucky. Our dementors frankly bear a resemblance to us! And we have more than our fair share of dementing characters on nearly every campus, whether they be narrow-minded administrators, malevolent students, or disagreeable colleagues.

Once committed to the title, my speech-writing ritual is then to wait for the muse to come back and tell me in detail what it was that she had in mind. Unfortunately, my muse was off reading the 4th episode of Harry Potter so she rather playfully hovered instead of channeling some creative results in a more timely manner. (When she did descend very late in the process, she got me out of bed at 1 in the morning so at the very least I’ve got to talk to her about her hours.)

It does appear that there are some compelling parallels between what we do and the ancient process that purported to turn materials into gold and precious metals. Alchemy is a natural process. It involves mixing an array of elements in the hope of producing something rare. We had that idea reaffirmed in Carla Howery’s invited address earlier in the convention because it isn’t the money that keeps us in the classroom. I submit to you that it is the opportunity to create those golden moments that sustain our efforts as educators.

As I began to look for expertise on the topic, I was surprised to discover how little teaching magic has been addressed but startled to see that some mention of magic came from someone whom I have always considered a nemesis:

How interesting to observe that kind of optimistic expression from the scholar who suggested American minds were closed just a few years ago. It was sufficient encouragement to continue thinking about what constitutes a classroom model of magic.

I propose that classroom magic comes in two basic varieties. The first type of magic comes from thoughtful, careful planning to produce reliable golden moments. We'll call this form "practical magic," which I think was well addressed in this quote by science fiction writer, Arthur C. Clarke:

Practical magic comes from hard work. It results from the reliable application of pedagogy to produce a specific effect. The second type, and perhaps the far more interesting, consists of the powerful gold produced through happy accidents and what that suggests about our unique responsibilities in the classroom. First, let’s explore practical magic in more detail.

It is critically important that we strive to make the classroom as welcoming as possible. Students come to the class with an array of experiences that may not predispose them to believe that college is the place for them. If our students don’t have the good fortune of being taught by teachers who have talents like so many of those I’ve met in TOPSS, they may show up in our classrooms devoid of curiosity. We can contribute to changing old habits by being hospitable to students with different learning styles and motivations. Rachel Carson understood the importance of this element in the alchemic mixture to some degree when she made this magic wish:

If we expect our students to engage fully in what we have to offer, we must create safe places in which they can reconnect with their own sense of wonder.

As Robert Coles (1989) so gracefully reminded us a few years ago in the Call for Stories, narratives have a way of transcending complex abstraction and simply make it easier to learn. Coles cited storyteller and physician William Carlos Williams as support for narrative as a vehicle for powerful learning:

You probably have developed stories that help make abstraction more concrete. When you look on your course calendar, you may even be excited that it is once again time to haul out that old chestnut for another telling because you know it can conjure magic. For example, I know from years of practice that I can share the story of how my husband deconditioned my snake phobia. I was traumatized by snakes in my youth. In fact, I have a scar from the encounter. I stepped on a snake and it scared me so badly I ran into a barbed wire fence! Both how I acquired the phobia and how my husband helped me overcome the problem are elegant illustrations of reinforcement principles. (It will help you to know that he waited for me to have foot surgery so I couldn't easily escape the procedure that he had in mind…).

However, storytelling can easily backfire. Although sometimes students can readily identify the concept behind the story, at other times, with eyeballs on "roll," they may simply be wondering, "Is this going to be on the test?" The litmus test for effective storytelling is whether both you and your students can easily identify the point of the story--from a conceptual standpoint--to justify the time you are investing in the tale. If not, you may be bewitching only yourself.

Practical magic is not just the province of learner-centered teachers (although I think we have a much easier job in creating golden moments). There are such skilled practitioners of lecture (for example, individuals who share the stage with me amply qualify) that students feel swept up in the felicitous expression. I believe that Virginia Woolf had it right when she described the teacher’s responsibility:

I invite you to think about how many times you had the kind of satisfying experience as a student from a lecture that Woolf captures. Crafting such magic is extremely hard work. Connecting with all the students in the class may be as difficult as creating gold. However, we have ample evidence among us today that such alchemy is possible.

Lucy’s comment suggests that there are specific ways that we can assess magic. (Those of you who know my work won’t be surprised that I must bring up assessment in this context!). Here is where I’d like to give you the opportunity to talk about your own magical practices. Please find a partner and share with that person what constitutes magic in your classroom.

[discussion period]

Magic Markers in Classroom Discussion

[At this point I have solicited commentary from the audience. Apologies for the potential errors in paraphrasing and neglected examples.]

Linwood Lewis (volunteered by Bill Buskist):

"Silence. What I mean by that is that our discussion becomes so

intense that everyone stops talking. Eventually, someone says,

"Damn!… That’s deep."

Vincent Hevern

"It’s when you a student who is normally not very involved coming

up with a wonderful comment or insight."

Tack Chance

"Magic happens when students are so deeply involved in the discussion

that you don’t seem relevant anymore."

And here are a few more "magic markers:"

The last marker serves as a good segue to explore the second form of magic. This category is more challenging to describe but in keeping with my presidential theme of "crossing boundaries," I think it is important to honor the happy accidents that create magic, when you cross or abandon a self-imposed boundary to produce something fresher and more interesting. In some ways, I cherish these more. Accidental magic represents the decisions that you make without the more routine, careful planning that characterizes most of our work lives. Seizing this opportunity also represents a way in which you can keep your teaching, no matter how well honed, from becoming uninteresting to you. Although you can’t prepare precisely for those moments, you can develop a perspective that will help you make the most of them.

I am very concerned with the technological trends that are influencing pedagogy. Although we know that powerpoint can provide a very potent learning experience (Ginny Mathie’s Harry Kirke Wolfe lecture serves as a brilliant example), the fact is we know powerpoint discourages spontaneity. This problem was captured well by one of my students at JMU:

In our carefully prepared multimedia environments, it may be all too easy to ignore the tangents and the questions that are such critical ingredients in making classroom magic. I’ve even heard instructors at this convention laud the power of tech presentations because it prevented students from asking questions. For me, that stance is simply incompatible with magical classrooms.

• Share Your Humanity

One of the most powerful lessons I learned in my adolescence came from one of my favorite teachers, my father:

I learned this lesson shortly after obtaining my driver’s license. My father was the production manager for Avanti Motors. The Avanti was a gorgeous, hand-crafted sports car--with very pointy fenders. He had given me permission to drive our Avanti to school. It was snowing hard. When I came out of school late that evening, I threw the car in reverse and discovered that a friend, whose father had given her permission to drive their two-week old car to school, had parked well beyond the cluster of cars where the rest of us parked. So I had many lessons from that experience:

1. That sometimes people park away from the crowd to avoid collision;
2. That sometimes this is not a very effective strategy;
3. That you can’t see very well in your rear view mirror when its snowing;
4. That driven at the proper angle, an Avanti can slice a car door neatly in two.

However, coming home to inform my parents of the problem was mortifying. I anticipated being grounded until after college. I expected there would be angry talk or the surrendering of my coveted license. My father merely asked the question, "What did you learn from this?" and let me go. He knew my own self-recrimination and humiliation among my peers was a far more powerful lesson than anything his punishment would have achieved.

I had the opportunity to apply that lesson recently in my History of Psychology class. I was teaching history for the first time. I had taken sound counsel from Ludy Benjamin and Jim Goodwin about the best ways to promote enthusiasm for history. I assigned short speeches on little-known psychologists as an opportunity for students to identify with important figures and get some practice in oral expression. The class was 150 minutes long. On the day that Big Al was scheduled to make his presentation, he didn’t show up on time. We proceeded with the rest of the schedule. About 90 minutes after the start of class, Big Al opened the door and his face reflected a mixture of horror and confusion. "What time did class start?" he asked. He had confused our starting time with the starting time of another class that he happened to have in the same room. We took a five-minute break while he composed himself. When he established himself behind the podium, he said, "Things couldn’t get any worse than they felt right now." After his classmates stopped laughing, he gave a stellar presentation. His discussion was so impressive that I began lobbying him to consider a teaching career, something I regularly do to secure the best and brightest for our profession. Although he is now applying to optometry schools, he has confided a wish to teach that very well may have started with the happy accident of his late arrival.

We are regularly confronted with choices that we must make about how to handle the unexpected. In the long run, I believe it will be far more satisfying to respond as humanely as possible to situations such as these even if we run the risk of being exploited by the less scrupulous among our students. Humane interventions will more regularly provide outcomes that can feel as valuable as gold

It is understood that the first year of teaching will be a year in which you regularly feel incompetent, perhaps even fraudulent, as you try to establish your values, strategies, and rhythms in the profession. I would add that it is important and perhaps inevitable that we re-experience first-year feelings in every year that we teach. Being in touch with our own frailties perhaps allows us to polish a sense of humor and extend that tolerance when judging the frailties of others.

As I have tried to demonstrate today, creating magic is not the province of any one type of teacher. However, like alchemy, it requires a conscientious awareness of all of the natural elements that the classroom has to offer:

• your teaching style and strengths
• the sociohistorical context
• the growing gap in age between you and your students
• your student's learning history and style

And like alchemy, there is happily no formula guaranteed to produce gold. Unlike alchemy, there is a strong likelihood that with continued experimentation you just might get lucky.

I’d like to close the address today with a quote from a man whose name suggests that he could be employed at Hogwart’s School, Eden Phillpotts:

McKeachie, W. J. (1994). Teaching Tips. 10th edition. Lexington, MA.: D. C. Heath.

Rowling, J. K. (1997). Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. New York: Scholastic,

Inc.