224. History

            “I see where they are going to quit teaching the history of your country in New York public schools,” C.W. said as we lounged in the living room reading.
            “That’s nice,” I said. Actually I was reading history and half-listening to him. He was in his “lounging form,” a cross between Gore Vidal and how he supposed Charles Darwin would have looked.
            “No, really,” he said. “they say it doesn’t contribute to standardized test results so it doesn’t need to be taught. Is that a good idea?”
            “Some people in …, where did you say? They must think it is.”
            “New York,” he said. “But others will surely follow.”
            “Why do you say that?” He was beginning to draw my attention.
            “Don’t you remember when your people started emphasizing history in public schools?”
            “Years ago?”
            “A big push, according to the article I read, came during what you call World War One.”
            “Oh really?”
            “Seems your people worried that all the new immigrants coming into your country didn’t understand your great history.”
            “Hmmm.”
            “And thanks to that effort, so many people now know about the massive employment programs you had back in the early days of your nation for immigrants from underdeveloped countries in Africa.”
            “Employment programs?”
            “Surely you know about those.”
            “Employment programs? That’s what you call them?”
            “That’s what the expert on that news show you don’t like calls them, and he teaches history at a university.”
            “And calls them ‘employment programs?””
            “Sometimes he calls them ‘employment opportunities.’ After all, you did furnish free transportation here, room and board while being trained for work, and a living wage during the process.”
            “And you believe that?”
            “Doesn’t matter what I believe. I’m just an alien. But the folks around here that I talk to believe it. And they vote.”
            “You are making me despondent.”
            “Many of those I talk to also understand, because of the teaching of history, about the war that resulted when northern industrialists decided to confiscate southern farms and eliminate the so-called ‘middle-man’ in manufacturing and food processing.”
            “Say what?”
            “I don’t blame them for resisting. Do you?”
            “Where do you hear such nonsense?”
            “At the coffee shop. You should go with me some time. You could even learn about how hard it was to turn back the hordes of stone-age savages that invaded the country from Russia in the 1600s, trying to annihilate your early settlers.”
            “You know this is bull…, that it is all wrong, don’t you?”
            “So you are saying maybe the teaching of history isn’t such a good idea?”
            “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
            “What are you saying?”
            I said, “We should try to understand it and learn from it, history that is.”
            “Why? It’s not on the Common Core tests. Why should you teach it? How does knowledge of history help you operate a computer?”
            “It helps,” I said, “understand Americans who changed history, people like Susan B. Anthony, and Abraham Lincoln. In my lifetime, there was Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Dwight Eisenhower, Martin Luther King, Jr. and John Kennedy.”
            “Yeah, Lyndon Johnson’s wife paid Charles Manson to kill him, didn’t she?”
            “Where do you hear this stuff?”
            “Different places,” he said. “I get around.”

We'll soon get rid of these antiquated things
called teachers. What part can they play in
passing standardized tests? - C.W.

            “You don’t get around to the library, it seems.”
            “The what?”
            “Oh my god.”
            “Just kidding,” He said. “But don’t worry about the libraries. I heard they cost too much and they are going to shut them down. The authorities can put everything you need to know on your personal computer, according to what career they determine for you.”
            I hung my head. “And just who will determine these careers?”
            “Not who. What.”
            “What will determine these careers?”
            “Why standardized test scores, of course. Michelle Rhee is working on them right now, I hear.”
            “Isn’t that a sort of, oh say … an educational version of a ‘circular firing squad,’ standardized tests determining what courses you should take to pass standardized tests?”
            “Hey,” he said as he started to transmogrify into his favorite form of Reggie the Young Conservative, “it’s your country. I’m just an alien.”

Hit an ad. Keep knowledge alive.
Also, check out www.wattensawpress.com
- C.W.

Education

Dear Friends and Followers:

I’m still thinking about the proposal Big Dope and I have for replacing the (ugh) “teach to the test” system in public schools with the Teacher Reward System. It would work like insurance commissions. We would keep track of a teacher’s students and reward that teacher with residual yearly bonuses for student success. Possible examples:

- A teacher whose student becomes a TV pundit receives a $00.01 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a Wall Street exec receives a $00.05 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes an attorney receives a $10.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a firefighter or police officer receives a $20.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a physician receives a $50.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a nurse receives a $75.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a studio musician receives a $100.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a writer receives a $200.00 bonus

- A teacher whose student becomes a scientist receives a $500.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a librarian receives a $600.00 bonus.

- A teacher whose student becomes a teacher receives a $1,000.00 bonus.

Preachers would range from Fundamentalist (a reprimand) to Methodist and other mainline groups: $15.00 bonus.

Wouldn't it be nice if students learned something
besides how to take a standardized test? - C.W.

We are still working on professional athletes since teachers rarely have any input into how those are moved through the educational system as youths.

Big Dope is leaning toward incarceration for a teacher who has a student graduating while believing in so-called “creation-science.” Personally, I am more in favor of having such teachers wear “ribbons of shame.”

Your thoughts would be welcomed.

Your Friend,

 The Alien C.W.

Also, check out Bit Dope's new book at www.wattensawpress.com

134. Education.2

One must admire C.W. for being tenacious. Whether it is a Falloonian characteristic or one developed while amongst us lower species, he doesn’t give up easily. Take his current interest in education.

 

He was back yesterday to admit that his highly-touted “Three H” system proved flawed. It was true that classes composed of only honor students, homogeneous cohorts, and honest, law abiding students performed better on standardized tests than others. But problems arose.

The most severe involved unscrupulous superintendents channeling 3H classrooms to preferred teachers, sometimes for sexual favors, or even worse, political ones.

So, he was back with another plan. This time he was a dead ringer for Michelle Rhee herself.

“Out with the old, and in with the new,” she said.

“Okay, lay it on me,” I said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry. Let’s hear it—your new plan to save education.”

“It has eleven steps,” she said. “My old plan only had ten.”

“Eleven is better?”

“Oh please,” she said. “Pay attention.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“This one is called the Success Account Program.”

“SAP?”

“Exactly. It has eleven steps, but the long-range teacher award system is at its core.”
“The long-range teacher …”

“Award system. See,” she said. “After careful study we decided that the long-range success of students should be the consideration upon which teacher rewards are based.”

“Long-range?”

“Yes, didn’t you have a teacher who contributed to your success?” She stopped and thought. “Well, in your case that might be a tough question.”

“I did have one, Doris Morgan,” I said, trying to be helpful. “Hadn’t it been for her, I would probably have been a TV evangelist, or worse.”

“Worse?” she said. She considered it for a moment, shook her head, and continued. “Anyway, under the SAP program, a rewards account would be set up for each teacher. For every student that proved successful in life, a cash award would be deposited into the account.”

“Successful in life?”

“Yes, say one became a respected cinematographer. Ca-ching!”

“Oh.”

“Or, say, a Presbyterian minister. Ca-ching again.”

“Oh,” I said. Maybe one owned a successful ad firm, or editorial company, or became a police officer, a professor, a Mayor, a marketing genius, a nurse, good parent, or a teacher.”

“Ca-ching, ca-ching, ca-ching, ad infinitum,” she said with a huge oriental smile on her face.

“Or developed a successful blog site.” I was on a roll, thinking of my friend Lisa.

This time she didn’t look quite so please. “Perhaps,” she said. “At any rate, good teachers would become among the highest-paid professionals in the country.”

“I have only one question, though,” I said.

“What question could you possibly have?”

“Did you consider the Null Hypothesis?”

“The what?”

“The possibility that the results might not work as planned.”

“How could they not work?”

“Well,” I said, trying to be as ‘thoughty’ as possible. “Suppose a teacher produced a Bernie Maddoff, a Ken Lay, or …” I thought long and hard. “Say a Glenn Beck?”

Her smile vanished. “What are you saying?”

“Can the awards account be charged for screw-ups?”

She didn’t respond, just assumed her most inscrutable face.

There simply has to be a way to introduce
profit-motive into our educational system.
Why, Jeb Bush himself says so. - C.W.

I pressed her. “Are you willing to have SAP work both ways?”

She remained deep in thought.

“Can you see the implications?” I was enjoying this.

“But,” she said, rapidly running through all sorts of permutations and combinations involving high-level mathematical tests, I assumed.

“But, …,” she said.

“Yes?”

“My plan goes to eleven.”

129. Teachers

My goodness, but I could have sworn my 11^th grade English teacher, Mrs. Morgan, was in my living room. It was C.W. but the 1960s attire really brought back memories. There she was, in a tailored suit of subdued gray plaid with a starched white blouse complete with ruffles down the front. A modest necklace completed the arrangement and black, patent-leather shoes quietly expressed sensibility.

 

What wasn’t in character was the belt of cartridges strung across her chest and the assault rifle angling menacingly from behind her shoulders. Then there were the two pistols strapped to her waist, the holster belts making a menacing “x” at her midsection like the attire of a movie gunslinger.

“I’m not going to ask,” I said, slumping into a chair.

“Jimmie, please sit up straight,” she said. “How many times must I tell you?”

“C.W.,” I said. Have you gone completely mad?”

“Am I going to have to introduce you to my little friend?” she said, reaching a hand behind her to pat the rifle.”

“Okay. I’ll bite. What’s up?”

“Straighten up and I will tell you.”

I sat up and waited.

“At long last,” she said. “I read where school administrators will begin to arm teachers. I intend to be ready.”

Not believing what I was seeing, I just stared.

“Remember when you wouldn’t keep up with the rest of the class when we studied The Heart of Darkness?”

“I had other priorities.”

“Exactly,” she said. Then she walked to me and stood menacingly. She placed a hand on one of her pistols, a big one like the kind Dirty Harry used. “Don’t you imagine that Smith and Wesson could have helped regain your focus?”

“It gives a new meaning to the term ‘compulsory education,’” I said.

“Please don’t get smart with me,” she said as she drew the pistol from its holster.

“Look,” I said. Between you and I …”

“Stoppit,” she screamed, and before I knew it she had thrust the pistol barrel into my mouth and had cocked the hammer with a sickening click. “You are misusing the objective case. Would you say … ‘between I?’ Heavens no. So why ‘between you and I’? It should be ‘between you and me’! Can’t you understand?” She pushed the pistol harder and I nodded my head enthusiastically.

She removed the pistol and smiled. “No wonder your friends call you ‘Big Dope,’” she said. She placed the pistol in its holster and I relaxed.

“Can’t you just see how this will revolutionize teaching?” she said. “No more ‘children please take out your grammar books.’” She lowered her head and gave a “Clockwork Orange” smile. In a fluid motion she retrieved the rifle from her back and pointed it at me. “Now,” she said. “It’s ‘conjugate this, dirtbag!’ Oh happy day!”

“Uh, C.W,” I said. “I don’t think they plan for teachers to use the weapons on their students.”

“What? Then on whom?”

“You know, intruders.”

“Like Principal Patterson?”

“No, like gun wielding lunatics that might come blasting away.”

She stopped as if she had been slapped. She seemed to wilt and backed toward a chair then slumped into it.



Now children, today we shall study transitive verbs.
This will require our attention. So please don't provoke me.
Oh happy day! - C.W.

“Do you mean to tell me that there are those in your species who believe the cure for the insanity of violence is more violence?”

“Afraid so.”

“The thought of that provokes me,” she said, using a word I have always found to be the exclusive property of teachers.

“Be that as it may …” I began.

She interrupted. “It certainly points out the results of inadequate funding for education.”

128. Lists

I awoke this morning, a couple of days before Christmas, to find C.W. in the guise of the most innocent-looking 10 year old boy you could imagine. He was sitting cross-legged in the floor writing furiously on a Big Chief Tablet and looked up as if he had been caught in the act and the act wasn’t a good one.

“Don’t tell me,” I said.

“Hello Mr. Big Dope, I mean, good morning sir.”

My antennae immediately went on full alert. “We are being a little polite this morning, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said as he continued to write. “I pride myself on being nice to everyone.”

“Hmmm.”

“In fact,” he said. “I am preparing these two lists called ‘naughty’ and ‘nice’ as a recap of the past year, see?”

He held the tablet so I could see it. The list called ‘nice’ filled several pages while the ‘naughty’ list lacked a single entry.

“I should say that is a pretty fair record for the year, wouldn’t you?”

“One moment,” I said, going to my computer. As I fired it up, he began to squirm.

“What are you doing, sir?”

“Just checking a few of your e-mail records.”

“Oh,” he said. “No need. I already checked them.”

“Really?” I said. “How about this one. ‘Dear Todd Aiken: I am attaching a circular from the National Institute of Physiology that you might find helpful in preparing your campaign interviews.’”

“So?”

“The National Institute of Physiology?”

“I sort of made that up,” he said, adding ‘overactive imagination’ to the ‘naughty’ list.

“Or this one, ‘Dear Mr. Zuckerberg: I love Facebook and think it would be great for you to take its stock public so I, and other small investors, could feel ownership.’”

“So, I was wrong.”

“How about this one: ‘Dear Mr. Romney, I am attaching a Google Earth Map of the Middle East showing the canal through Syria that provides Iran access to the sea.’”

“They don’t allow geography in school anymore.”

“How about math?” I said. “Dear Mr. Rove: You might find the attached polling data from the Southeastern Headquarters for Institutional Training helpful in your punditry.’”

“Now that was funny,” he said. “I don’t care who you are.”

“Well,” I said. “This one wasn’t: ‘Dear President Obama: Next time you talk to President Putin, why don’t you tell him that you will have more flexibility in foreign relations during your second term?’”

“Well he will, won’t he?”

“Undoubtedly.” I scrolled through files. “And what is this expenditure I found for a video camera that you purchased for Jimmy Carter’s grandson?”

“So I am generous.”

“Never mean-spirited?”

“Never,” he said indignantly.

“So, ‘Dear Learning Channel: I think it would be highly educational to develop a reality television show featuring a semi-literate redneck family with a chubby, child beauty pageant, contestant as its star’ is not mean-spirited?”

“Your species loves it some illiterate rednecks.”

“You should be ashamed.”

“Well, all those were sometime back. Maybe I have reformed.”

People should do as Mr. Big Dope
does and use my advice at
their own peril. - C.W.

“Oh really,” I said. “How about this one from a week ago. ‘Dear Mr. LaPierre: I am a student in elementary school and I would feel safer if everyone that goes to school or teaches there would carry a gun. Could you help me get the message out?’”

“I was only trying to be helpful.”

“I rather gather that you aren’t expecting any presents this year” I said.

 

“What? What did I do?”

118. Similes

“I’ve been reading here,” C.W. said, with a frown on his face. “That 60 percent of public-school biology teachers don’t mention the process of natural selection.”

“Of what?” I said. I was reading a book on the ratification of the U.S. Constitution, and frankly didn’t want to be bothered by a ruddy-faced adolescent playing with his iPad.

“What your species calls ‘evolution.’”

“What about it?”

“It says teachers avoid the subject because some parents and legislators don’t approve of the topic. Is this true?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said.

“And they are allowed to teach the biological sciences?”

“Why not?”

“Without mentioning natural selection?”

“I suppose so.”

“Isn’t this a bit like teaching arithmetic while avoiding the topic of long division?”

I thought. “A bit like it, I suppose.”

“A bit like teaching physics without mentioning gravity?”

“Hmmm, maybe so.”

“A bit like teaching chemistry without including hydrogen or carbon?”

“So what is your point?”

“How did you people ever advance to the point of landing folks on your moon. You should know that’s when we first noticed you.” His freckled face sparkled in the light of his iPad.

“We had help from other countries,” I said. “Besides, those were the old days.”

“Before the founders of your ‘your neo-conservative paradigm’ began attacking the teaching process?”

“If you say so.”

“It says here,” he began as he punched the iPad again. “That one of your elected congressmen says the earth is only 9,000 years old.”

“Seems like I read that somewhere.”

“So, he is a laughing-stock and will be voted out of office?”

“No, actually, I think I read somewhere that he is quite popular among his constituents.”

“And he is in a position of establishing educational standards?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a bit like the CEO of McDonalds establishing dietary standards?”

“C.W. …”

“Or,” he interrupted, “A bit like the Koch Brothers establishing air-quality standards?”

“Actually, they do but …”

“Or like the Grover Norquist establishing fiscal policy?”

“Well, you may be surprised to learn …”

“Or, like Paris Hilton setting standards for behavior.”

“C.W.!” I screamed. “Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy?”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit like someone driving Donald Trump to greediness?”

I groaned.

“Or, driving Lindsay Lohan to drink?”

“I’m warning you …”



I'm not greedy!
I just need a lot of money for hair care.
It's like protecting a national treasure.



“Or,” he said, returning to his I-pad. “Driving teenagers to distraction?”

117. Citizenship

“Ich bin ein Amerikaner.”

“What?”

“Ik ben een Amerikaanse”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Soy un Americano.”

“Will you stop it?”

“Je suis un Américain.”

“C.W., will you shut up for a second?”

“Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?”

“I want you to shut the … to tell me what you are doing?”

“I am preparing,” the figure of a young farm worker, dressed in work clothes and a straw hat said.

“Preparing for what?”

“Citizenship.”

“Citizenship?” I said.

“The Falloonian Elders think it would be nice if I could demonstrate an ability to pass.”

“Pass what?”

“Pass as a citizen of your country.”

“Why the languages?”

“Quotas.”

“What do you mean quotas?”

“Don’t you have quotas for citizenship based on country of origin?”

I thought. “Good point. Best you forget the Spanish. Stick with the northern Europeans.”

“I agree,” he said. “Want to help me with the test?”

“What test?”

“The Elders sent me some practice questions based on my monthly reports and they wish me to study them.” He held up a large sheath of papers. He read one and then said, “For example, ‘The teacher at a major university will receive the highest salary for teaching:  1.physics, 2. heart surgery, 3.chemistry, or 4.football.’ That’s a no-brainer, right?”.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Here’s another. ‘Marijuana is considered an illegal possession in the United States because, 1.it makes a person do silly things, 2.enforcement creates jobs, 3.it keeps amateurs out of the production and distribution processes, or 4.all of the above.”

“Who did you say wrote these?”

“Our planetary research institute. I send them material such as newspapers and social network videos.”

I must have looked startled.

“How about this one? ‘Social concern for the nation’s needy children ends 1.upon graduation from high school, 2.after adolescence, 3.after pre-school status, or 4.after gestation?’”

“And your answer would be?”

“I’m stumped. It would seem to depend upon your political persuasion.”

“And they think these questions will be on the citizenship test?”

“Based on your popular media outlets, yes. Here’s another, ‘The founders of the United States did not wish to maintain a standing army. Today we consider this attitude 1.stupid, 2.out of date, 3.bad for the economy, or 4.chicken shit.”

“Chicken shit? Is that really a choice?”

“That’s what they sent me.”

“What kind of material are you sending them?”

“Oh, talk radio broadcasts, news segments, blogs. You know. Typical Americana.”

“Are you sending them Fox News Broadcasts?”

Just think fans. Before long I can say "Hello my
fellow Americans." - C.W.

“Want to hear another?”

“C.W.!”

He looked at the floor. “I may have sent them a couple.”

“Sean Hannity?”

“He’s very popular.”

“Rush Limbaugh?”

“How could I ignore him?”

“Don’t tell me that your superiors think they are typical of our country.”

“Jag är en Amerikansk,” he said, returning to his studies.

46. Teachers

We enjoy an early spring in our state as a recompense for brutal summers and mercurial winters. So I was enjoying one and visiting, in my mind, a place far away in a time equally distant. I was aware that someone had taken the seat next to mine on the park bench where I sat. But I paid no attention until I felt a poke in my side and someone said, “You always did daydream a lot.”

I looked, and was startled to see, looking me over as if I were a newly captured criminal, my fifth-grade teacher, Miss Edith Rupe. Well, of course it was C.W., but the resemblance was so uncanny that I allowed myself to be transported back to 1953. It felt strangely comfortable, but then I am a white male.

“Do you remember me?” she said.

“Oh yes, you were everyone’s favorite.”

“Do you remember where I lived?”

“Yes, in a boarding house on Sixth Street.”

“From where I walked the eight blocks or so to work.”

“You never had a car?”

“Do you think a teacher in those days could afford a car?”

“What a about the bus?”

“I saved bus fare so I could have a parakeet—my only luxury.”

“Yes, I seem to remember when it died. Petey, or something like that was its name.”

“Something like that. It was a lonely time.”

“Did you have a good life?”

“What do you think?” She—it—leaned back on the bench and looked wistfully toward the river. “How good a life do you think an ‘old-maid’ had on a teacher’s pay in the 1950s?”

“Well, you were good at it”

She just looked at me as if I had passed wind or something.

“I mean, several people I know, who you taught …”

“Whom I taught.”

“Whom you taught, have done quite well. I know one, a stockbroker now, who made nearly a million dollars a year before he retired.”

“Yes, that made it all worthwhile.”

I looked to see if I could detect irony. Nothing. Just sadness.

“We all did a good job considering,” she said. “Teachers still do, don’t they?”

“Oh yes, and under very tough circumstances.”

“Then tell me something.” It was C.W. talking now.

“What?”

“Why are your leaders trying to take teachers back to the conditions that existed in the old days? Don’t they respect them at all?”

“Well, some do.”

“What about the others?”

“Well, they seem to think things would be better with private schools, or even better with religious ones.”

“After what some of their leaders have been doing to those young boys?”

“Well, in some cases their thinking may be a little behind …” I stopped and flushed a crimson red.

Not Miss Rupe, but I did get your attention, right? - C.W,

Fortunately for me, Miss Rupe interrupted. “Before you buy into that “private school” thing, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” I was glad to change the subject.

“Did I ever teach you about a concept called ‘Cherry-picking’”?

I thought. “That is … when …”

“That is when you provide excellent service to those to whom it is profitable to provide excellent service—usually the rich—and let those to whom it is unprofitable to provide service—usually the poor—fend for themselves.”

43. Artifacts

C.W. was driving my wife, Brenda, crazy. And me too, truth be known. We were snowbound with him at her ancestral farm, deep in the middle of nowhere. He had decided, for reasons known only to himself, to retain the persona of a 11 year-old boy. Just imagine it, if you will.

The first thing I caught him doing was messing with one of my guitars—a Martin D-28 named "Baby" that I keep carefully stored away in its case to prevent undue exposure to the elements and the bad karma emitted by network TV. She is a sensitive thing and easily thrown into an unbalanced state. So you can imagine how I felt when I heard him banging away on it and attempting to yodel.

“Put that away immediately,” I heard Brenda yell.

“Aw gee.” It was only going to get worse.

He put it away reluctantly and then settled into a chair and pretended to read until we were out of the room.

I dozed for a short spell and awoke to a loud, “How dare you?”

I ran into a bedroom and there he was with one of her precious collections of Native American artifacts spread all over the bed.

“I was just looking,” he said as she began to gather arrowheads and stone tools to return them to their box.

He grabbed one. “Is this a Clovis Point?” he said.

“Are we in Clovis?” she tried to take it from him but he jerked it away.

“I’m confused about something,” he said.

“You’re going to be more than confused,” she said, staring at him with a homicidal look on her face. I must add that she has always assigned C.W. as my problem and my problem only, meaning she tolerates but doesn’t participate.

“Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson says the ancestors of the people who made this crossed the Bering Strait about 16,000 years ago.”

“I think that’s about right,” I tried to interject myself between them and assume a pedantic demeanor, which I pride myself at being good at. “They taught us about 10,000 to 13,000 years ago, but that was when I was in school.”

“That’s the problem,” he said.

“What?”

“Teacher says the earth is only 6,000 years old but says don’t tell anybody she told us the truth because the School Board doesn’t love Jesus.”

We were stunned.

“You’re teacher taught you that?” We sometimes forget to whom we are talking.

“Yes. And I thought your species valued education.”

“Did you bother to tell her what the prominent PhD and astrophysicist Dr.Tyson said?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say then?”

“That he wasn’t ‘saved,’ whatever that means, so he had no business teaching science.”

A tight place to be locked up with an alien.

He paused and studied an arrowhead. “Know what I think?”

“I’m all ears,” Brenda said.

“I think that in many ways your species is about as dumb as this rock.”