February 2012 Articles
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Charlemagne's Throne by Julia diLiberti
There's Always A Teacher by Linda Elaine
Looking Forward to the Spring Semester by Bob Hazard
Open Texts by Danica Hubbard
Charlemagne's Throne by Julia diLiberti
A colleague of mine once told me her reaction standing before the car in which JFK was assassinated. Fairly cynical in life, she was shocked that she stood there
stammering and shaken as she witnessed 
what remained of a momentous event in American history. I did not say that I had had the same experience in front of Charlemagne's throne in Aachen; I thought it might sound pretentious but I certainly knew what she was talking about. Not to overstate it, but it's the kind of reaction that hits you on an intellectual, psychic, and physical plane all at once. Last year while on sabbatical, I had the same experience standing before the remaining foundations of Charles V's palace in Brussels; I was so stunned I dropped a postcard to our college president thanking him for the opportunity to have had such an experience and encouraging him and our Board of Trustees to continue this kind of faculty development.
Now, as a Humanities professor, my next thought should not be said out loud, but here it is. I honestly believe that if my students never see the remnants of Charles V's home in Brussels or get the chance to stand before Charlemagne's throne, they may still go on to lead perfectly fulfilled lives never noticing the lack suggested by this lapse in tourist and historical encounters. But even more notably, I also truly believe that if they were to stand next to the remnants of Charles V's palace or to see the simple slabs that make up Charlemagne's throne, they would feel that shift in time and that same momentarily forged connection to something so much larger than themselves. Their perception of the world and their place in it would alter and the invisible line we all walk between individuality and connection could only be brought profoundly into their consciousness.
Sadly, we all know what happened to sabbaticals last year, but what we also know is that we're teachers and we're passionate; a lack of support (or limited support) in seeking these moments does not mean we forget their impact. We also understand that for our students, constrained by family situations, jobs, finances, and other life circumstances, there is the classroom, a place in which we try to regularly bring these ground-shifting incidents to our students through a combination of our experience, our passion, our expertise, and our perspectives born (in many cases) of longer years on the planet.
What I have come to believe is that underestimating these experiences is one of the more serious problems in higher education and that those who can't even understand their significance are often those making decisions at institutions of higher learning, finding these momentary shifts in our students' thinking and perceptions negligible and expendable. This, I believe, has led to decision based solely on financial expediency without regard for any sort of educational philosophy, and that, I believe, leaves me almost as stunned as Charlemagne's throne.
There's Always A Teacher by Linda Elaine
I believe the Buddhist proverb: When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. As an English composition teacher, I encounter too few students hungry enough to
develop the critical knowledge 
and skills America needs to reclaim its role as the leader in innovation. Instead, students hunger more to consume the audio and video technologies and the social and entertainment media created by the generation immediately before them.
They carry on their backs the trappings of the student: book bags filled with textbooks, paper, and pens. But, daily they ingest a diet of empty, sugary calories sold to them by the purveyors of language-destroying text messages, by enervating social skills communities, by YouTube videos, and by the makers of extreme caffeinated drinks that stimulate then sap their brain cells. Fully submerged in this viscous mud, they slog, half asleep, through the instructional halls wearing flip-flops, tee shirts, and pajama bottoms. As they troll, they bury their heads into their Smartphones and tap with their opposable thumbs messages to other students who, most likely, are just a few feet away.
Don't they realize that college is not the only path to success? Teachers are everywhere: in the workplace, in foreign countries, in the library, on urban subways. But, fresh from the sweaty aroma of high school, they enroll in college, programmed to do so by parents and the media who believe college is the place where dreams come true. College is the golden ticket to their futures. Once inside, however, some become angry; others despondent. They had not known that college is where they would be challenged to think about their thinking. So they squander the power of the opportunity.
But because of one student, I maintain hope. He enrolled in my English composition class, but stayed for only two weeks. A year later, I began to see him again and again. Once, he was my coffee shop barista; then he was my grocery store apprentice butcher; then he was my sandwich shop sandwich maker. Every time I saw him, he'd call out my name, chuckle, and tell anyone within earshot that I was his English teacher… for two weeks. He'd tell them that because I had told the class to do their lives, he had gladly shed his book bag for part-time jobs to pay the bills, so he could sing and play his acoustic guitar in small clubs, write original music, and, ultimately, record an album. He always thanked me, and the last time I saw him, he asked me to wait while he ran to his car to get the CD he had just recorded. Every time I think I'm wasting my time on seemingly unresponsive students, I think of Peter and continue to believe that a teacher will appear at the right time to teach the right student the right lesson meant just for him.
Looking Forward to the Spring Semester by Bob Hazard
There is much to look forward to this spring. We're off to a great start. The first full week of classes ended with an unprecedented meeting between faculty and
administration about the 4-day 
on-campus work schedule. Seventy-seven of our colleagues stayed on a Friday afternoon that was so snowy that the college was closed soon after the meeting ended. Think about that for a minute: a full quarter of us came in and respectfully challenged the administration. To all of you who attended, thank you. Special thanks to Deborah Adelman and David Goldberg who organized the meeting. I look forward to this conversation continuing. I look forward to the attitude of respectful questioning spreading to other issues.
I'm also looking forward to the successful culmination of our contract negotiations. While the negotiations over the past ten months have been tough, our team has more than held their own. I'm also looking forward a smooth transition to the next president, Glenn Hansen. Almost two hundred of us voted in Wednesday's election, and I view that as a testament to our support for Glenn. Fully two-thirds of us took time out of our busy schedules to vote in an election that was never in doubt. So when 195 of us voted, it says to me that we were giving Glenn our vote of confidence. We're telling him that when he sits down with the administration to have those difficult conversations, he's representing all of us. Thanks to Glenn for stepping forward, and thanks also to Ken Gray for his leadership and integrity: I know we all are wishing him the best.
Right now, I'm looking forward most to teaching. I firmly believe that I have the best job in the world. I get to work with students who grow, who learn, who move from stenographers who write down everything I say in hopes that something might be important, to critical thinkers who learn how to write what they think is important. One of my secret joys is when I pass an open classroom and hear one of you talking to your class. The snippets of your lectures and class discussions are inspiring, and you make me want to be a better teacher. For that, I thank you.
See you in the halls.
Open Texts by Danica Hubbard
As a Professor of English I am fascinated by words and their meanings. For example, the word "believe" in verb form means to have confidence or faith in the truth: a
positive assertion, a story.
I believe in investigating students' experiences, their literacy history and personal reasons for making the choice to enroll at College of DuPage. In my classroom we communicate with one another via dialogue, journaling and storytelling. For example, I have played the audio version of This I Believe in my English 0482 developmental reading classes; in "The Joy and Enthusiasm of Reading" by Rick Moody, he writes:
In college, I read some of the great Europeans and Latin Americans: Borges and Kafka, Genet and Beckett, Artaud, Proust [:] open texts all. I may not have known why Kafka's Metamorphosis is about a guy who turns into a bug, but I knew that some said cockroach, and others, European dung beetle. There are those critics, of course, who insist that there are right and wrong ways to read every book. No doubt they arrived at these beliefs through their own adventures in the stacks. And these are important questions for philosophers of every stripe. And yet I know only what joy and enthusiasm about reading have taught me, in bookstores new and used (160-161).
Sharing a variety of texts makes understanding what community college students may be thinking about reading more robust. I ask students their points of view and work to interpret students' meaning. I am influenced by Lev Vygotsky's concept of inner speech; the fact that students are able to embody their own words as well as others evokes further thought. In other words, the emergence of inner speech is based on external speech. And eventually speech becomes not only a means of communication with other people, but also a means for student's inner thinking process. What do students interpret and digest while they read? Why? How?
I believe in an ethnographic approach in collecting students' stories. To observe and celebrate student lore is one of my primary goals. If we take time to embrace student stories, our curriculum will be enriched, our programs will improve, and our sense of community will be strong.
Since I began teaching at College of DuPage seventeen years ago, I delight in the thick ethnographic description that punctuates students' stories. Their stories motivate me to teach and learn, offering valuable opportunities to assess my own purpose in teaching.
Students' voices can be found everywhere. We listen to a cacophony of discourse reverberating in the hallways, conferencing in faculty offices, shouting in parking lots, laughing in student lounges, sharing in the cafeteria and communicating on Internet web pages, blogs and e-mail. I believe in tuning in to hear student stories because they often reveal life's everyday challenges and genuine dreams.
