Confessions of a Lapsed Academic Darwinist

Opinions on matters of interest to the university and higher education.

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A guest column by Todd Diacon, Vice Provost for Academic Operations

Don't think what I thought, and don't do what I did. This is my advice to new professors. I was an academic Darwinist—you know the type. In my classes you either survived or you did not. "You are not in high school," I said on the first day of class. I told students I did not take attendance, and that it was up to them to decide whether or not to attend class. If a student dropped the course after doing poorly on an exam or paper I quietly thought, but did not actually say, that the student had gotten what she or he deserved.

After two decades of teaching I still am a demanding teacher and a difficult grader. In most courses no more than 5% of my students earn A grades. And yet, my approach to students has changed dramatically. I no longer see them as a talented few and suspect majority. I embrace teaching strategies that I once thought silly gimmicks. I now take roll in all of my courses, and three unexcused absences lower the final grade. What happened? When did I, an academic Darwinist, add nurture and nurturing to my vocabulary?

I am a morning person, and seven years ago I began teaching all of my courses at eight AM. What I soon discovered was the students, even the best and the brightest, needed help, a push, to get them to class that early in the morning. Calling roll and counting attendance in the final grade put people in the seats, so to speak, improved class discussions, and also academic performance. Over time I began to understand that my students' performance was not always determined just by intelligence and hard work alone, but by other factors as well. The latter was confirmed one December night in the local Sam's Club when I spied a student who was a decent writer, but who consistently earned C grades in my course. She was working, of course, and on her lapel she wore a button with a photograph...of her infant daughter. Years of my own smugness melted away. I graded her no differently, but my assumptions about her abilities and future changed. Yesterday I saw Jim (not his real name) in a local restaurant. He too had earned a C from me, and certainly did not shine in the course. As we conversed he noted that he works 40 hours a week, and did so when enrolled in my course. He attended my eight o'clock class, went straight to work, and then returned to campus for night classes. Suddenly his C, and my assumptions about his drive and ability, took on a new light.

My son's recent journey through his junior and senior years of high school solidified my change of perspective. A bright, academically accomplished and creative sort, he never gave me any doubt as to his abilities. And yet, he seemed, and was, immature. Thankfully, professors at his university eased the transition to college and taught him how to be a university student. They did not confuse his immaturity with his intelligence level and ability. They also did not abandon their famed heavy workload and demands for deep inquiry. Instead they combined rigor and support, and along the way demonstrated a real affection for him and his fellow students.

I hope new professors will keep this in mind. I hope they will not confuse rigidity with rigor. I hope they will not judge ability before understanding the challenges and difficulties any particular student faces. I also hope new professors at Tennessee will compose challenging assignments, demand the best results, and be stingy when assigning top grades. Certainly our students deserve just this kind of treatment as we move them through the University of Tennessee.

30 March 2007