Applying to college? You’ve got to know the rules of the game.

By Joan H. Bress, LICSW, CEP

It may be a personal quirk, but as soon as I learn that I can’t get a reservation at a new restaurant, I really, really want to sample their cuisine. I can think of no other satisfying meal or environment in which to enjoy my meal other than the restaurant that politely informed me that they could not offer me a table at the time I requested. It doesn’t matter if the restaurant is filled with loyal and satisfied patrons that night or with the owner’s freeloading friends and relatives. If it’s hard to get a reservation, I want one. And no restaurant will be quite as tempting as the one that doesn’t want me.

For many people, it works the same way with college admission. The more selective a college appears to be, the more people want to attend. Colleges, who spend a significant portion of their hard-earned endowment and of families’ hard-earned tuition dollars marketing themselves as “the” place to be, have learned that lesson well. An early attempt to appear more desirable was the Early Decision admission option, a way for colleges to lock in a portion of their freshman class before other colleges have a chance to accept those high-achieving students. A new incarnation of the “let’s look good” game is the SAT — optional movement. While both of these plans serve the needs of some students and, when used correctly, can simplify and expedite a student’s admission to the college of his choice, both plans were designed for the benefit of the institution. Benefit to the student, where it exists, is a fortunate byproduct.

Early Decision is one way that colleges can skew the public’s perception of quality without changing academic offerings, instructional processes, or the quality of student life. As a culture, we evaluate our educational system by what goes in, rather than by what comes out. Like the restaurant that builds a following among people who wait weeks for a desirable Saturday night reservation, colleges build a reputation by denying admission to a large number of high school superstars. Accepting a large group of students under a binding Early Decision plan means that the college needs to fill a smaller percentage of its freshman class during the regular application period. Therefore, by accepting fewer regular-decision students, the college appears more selective than it really is. To encourage students to make an early commitment to their college and help the college appear more selective, colleges use a variety of enticements. A common one is to let students know that they have a greater chance of being accepted if they are willing to make an early commitment to the college.

Christopher Avery, a Harvard professor, and his collaborators, Richard Zeckhauser and Andrew Fairbanks, studied admissions decisions at 10 highly selective colleges and universities that employed Early Decision programs. Their chief finding, documented in their book, The Early Admissions Game: Joining the Elite, was that applying early does significantly increase the student’s chances of acceptance. It found that, on average, the Early Decision colleges accepted seventy percent of Early Decision applicants with SAT scores between 1,400 and 1,490 on a 1,600 scale, but only 48 percent of those with the same scores who applied during the regular admission process. The authors calculate that the advantage of applying early is the equivalent of 100 additional points on the combined SAT Critical Reading and Math scores.

Avery states that the fact that Early Decision applicants are accepted with less impressive credentials than regular applicants points to another advantage that Early Decision offers the college: the opportunity to construct a freshman class that effectively meets the needs of the institution. That means colleges seek students who will fill specific niches. During the early selection process, colleges are free to accept students with lower academic credentials who will fill the roster of athletic teams and the marching band, meet geographic and gender needs, and populate majors such as Greek and philosophy. Knowing the makeup of part of the class in January enables the admissions committee to know exactly what niches remain to be filled. They have a skeleton around which to construct their “ideal” class. The advantage to the college of being able to predict the composition of a portion of the class in January is a disadvantage to the student, who cannot know which niche he or she might fill at any given school. The tap-dancing baton twirler may be a hot commodity in November, but be of little interest in January if the spot on the pep squad has already been filled.

As Early Decision programs have come under closer scrutiny and increased criticism, colleges have begun to look for other ways to meet their enrollment needs and to appear as selective and desirable as possible, while claiming to serve the needs of their applicants. The much maligned SAT is the new target. In 2001, Richard Atkinson, then president of the University of California, the country’s largest user of the SAT, threatened to stop requiring the SAT for UC applicants. He believed it was not a good predictor of college success and was “distorting educational priorities.” His announcement was called “the most important single anti-SAT effort ever in the history of the test” and sent shock waves through the academic community. ETS, the owner of the SAT, immediately got to work redesigning the test, but Atkinson’s criticism encouraged other highly selective colleges to assess the value of the SAT for their individual institutions. Currently 815 four-year colleges, including 32 colleges on the U.S. News Top 100 Liberal Arts College list do not require the SAT for admission decisions. Locally, WPI is a test-optional school.

Students cheered as an increasing number of schools announced that the SAT would become an optional component of the application packet. However, some administrators and experts in college admissions have begun to see cracks in the SAT-optional system and have raised questions about the real beneficiaries. As reported in The Journal of College Admission, Providence College implemented an SAT-optional policy in 2007. Its applicant pool increased by 12 percent, the acceptance rate fell to 42 percent from its previous year rate of 49 percent, student-of-color applications rose by 17 percent, and first-generation student applications rose by 21 percent.

After they had submitted their enrollment deposit, Providence College students who had taken the SAT but had not submitted it with their application, were required to submit their scores. Students who had not submitted their scores as part of their application package averaged 1,100 on a 1,600-point scale, while students who submitted their scores with their applications averaged 1200. While a statistically significant difference, it remains to be seen whether the lower-scoring students will be lower-achieving students. Studies at other colleges that have used SAT-optional admissions indicate that this might not be the case.

One vocal critic of SAT-optional policies is Colin Diver, president of Reed College in Oregon. While not a supporter of the validity of the SAT, Diver states that if it has value for some students, it has value for all students. He believes that colleges should either accept that the SAT is predictive of student achievement in college or they should abandon its use completely “It is illogical,” he says, “to count a test if it is high, but ignore it if it is low.”

Opponents of SAT-optional policies assert that this plan makes colleges look more selective as it increases the number of applications because students have less data upon which to decide where to apply. In addition, it is obvious that students will submit high scores and withhold low scores. The question to ask, then, is how colleges calculate and report students’ scores. Thirty-one of the 32 selective colleges noted above do not include scores of non-submitters when they report scores of admitted students, thus artificially inflating their ranking and making it harder for students to determine whether they are a good academic match for that college. And with the increased number of applicants who apply to SAT-optional colleges, colleges appear more selective than they are.

It will be a shame if artificially inflated scores and lowered acceptance rates discourage students from applying to colleges where they would be successful and happy. It is also a shame that rapidly changing policies and practices make families feel that colleges are being disingenuous about what they say. Colleges expect that applicants will be honest in their application. Students should feel equally trusting about colleges. “It feels like a game,” one mother told me, “and my child’s education shouldn’t be a game in anyone’s eyes.”

Joan Bress, Director of College Resource Associates, is a Certified Educational Planner. She specializes in advising families on all aspects of the college search and application process. For more information visit, CollegeResourceAssoc.com

The Beat goes on for Kerouac researcher
By Steve Roux

The Manhattan bound “B” train grinds over the Manhattan Bridge. Specks of light flicker off my glasses as I peer up from my paperback and absorb the sunlit water of the East River.

I stare at the horizon and allow my mind to drift. A man leaning on the train’s doors reads a pornographic comic book.

Various passengers take advantage of fleeting moments of cell phone reception to make hurried phone calls. Others read or converse, apply make-up with pocket-sized mirrors or listen to iPods.

The subway begins its descent, blowing by Chinatown with its banners and crowded streets until finally becoming engulfed in darkness once again.

I resume reading “Wild Boys” by William S. Burroughs as the subway screeches to a stop at Grand Street. Engrossed in my literature, I take no notice of passengers entering and exiting the train.

After passing West 4th Street and 34th Street, the train slows as it enters the 42nd Street-Bryant Park station. I tuck my novel into my backpack and stand in front of the door, taking one last look at the porno-comic-reading man.

The train stops and the doors slide open. I step out, cringing slightly at the moist, warm subway station air.

I hop up the stairs to the mezzanine, stroll pass stairwells leading to other subway lines, and head toward the 42nd Street-Fifth Avenue exit.

Pushing through the turnstile, I hardly acknowledge the cranking clicks of the metal bars as I make my way through.

Gazing up the stairs as I ascend toward the daylight, I see a man smiling down at me with a bundle of newspapers under one arm and a single newspaper in his other outstretched hand.

“Free Daily News, free, free, free Daily News here,” he calls. I decline as politely as possible and enter the swarm of people traveling along 42nd Street. Walking by a businessman getting his shoes shined, I notice a homeless man with dreadlocks sitting against the library holding a sign stating, “Tell me off for $1.”

THE BIOGRAPHER

I decline that offer as well and stride past the giant stone lions that stand guard in front of the New York Public Library, up the marble stairs to the main entrance, semi-circle my way through the revolving doors and unzip my backpack.

A security guard nonchalantly flashes his light into the main compartment of my backpack and nods his approval. I take out my laptop and climb more marble stairs. Above me are magnificent chandeliers that once pulsated with orange candlelight and now emit the yellow shine of electric light bulbs.

Before I make my way to Room 320, I wash my hands in the public restroom. Fortunately I don’t see any homeless men bathing themselves with sink water.

With hands dried and as germ-free as possible I head toward Room 320, the Berg Collection.

Knowing very well how annoying the entrance buzzer is to the people researching within the room, I press the button as lightly and gently as possible, for the shortest duration of time possible.

One of the librarians opens the door and greets me by name. I sit down at one of the two long wooden tables and flip open my laptop. The librarian gives me a plug adapter (none of the plugs are three-pronged) and I look at my e-mail to see what Paul Maher wants me to transcribe today.

After filling out a call card with numbers from the meticulously arranged index system, I hand it to the librarian who disappears into a back room. He returns with a notebook Jack Kerouac filled with writings in 1941.

Sifting through the pages with my clean hands, I skim through his writings before I begin typing away.

Months ago when I first started my work, a surreal feeling of disbelief would sweep through me at this point. Now I’ve mostly overcome the excitement — still retaining some of the joy, of course.

THE LEDGEND

Maher, the professional biographer I’m transcribing this work for, is a former high school English teacher who lives with his family in Massachusetts. Since he lives about four hours from New York, he doesn’t have ready access to the city’s library, which holds the majority of notebooks, diaries, screenplays, plays and poems written by Jack Kerouac throughout his life. (Kerouac’s are only a tiny sampling of the works in the collection by numerous literary figures dating back hundreds of years. This is a sacred place for a biographer — Charles Dickens’ writing desk sits in one corner of the research room.)

I’m not obsessed with Kerouac — as many people assume once hearing about my work — but he is one of the writers who fueled my literary interests as a teenager.

While attending Wachusett Regional High School my friend Dave Keddy informed me one day how his English teacher, Mr. Maher, had a biography of Kerouac published. One day while walking to class I spotted Maher, and told him of my interest in Kerouac and writing. He gave me a copy of “Empty Phantoms,” a compilation of Kerouac interviews Maher put together after he wrote that first biography. We exchanged e-mail addresses and soon thereafter I was watching a burned DVD he made for me of Beat Generation documentaries and filmed interviews with Kerouac.

As a freshman at UMass Dartmouth, I told Maher that I was considering transferring to Brooklyn College in New York. He said if I made the move I could help him do research for more Kerouac biographies he’d been contracted to write.

I transferred to Brooklyn College two years ago, and now I’m here in New York reading out of notebooks and diaries that have been viewed by very few sets of eyes.

Yes, I’m helping Maher with this work. But I can also say with honesty that I’ve learned more doing my research at the Berg Collection than I have in three years of college study.

Reading Kerouac’s work has been both a worthwhile experience and an agent of encouragement for me as a young and unknown writer.

Learning that Kerouac also read books all night until the morning daylight shined through his windows makes me feel a bit more at ease when I do the same. And it’s very comforting knowing that Kerouac battled with twilight-induced introspection and self-doubt as I do now (though it’s easy to imagine all the aspiring writers who also dealt with this and never got published).

STEVE

Both Kerouac and I moved to NYC at about the same age and unfortunately both lost our fathers shortly afterward. Although much has changed in the city — most of the bars he drank in are gone, as are the restaurants where he and Burroughs stole suitcoats — the displays of humanity are still fuel for a writer.

Other things though, like the stray cats of Brooklyn, haven’t changed at all (Kerouac wrote a poem about one of these prowling felines). Many neighborhoods and landmarks were significant in Kerouac’s life, including his collapse on the Brooklyn Bridge while walking across with Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg (a Benzadrine addiction was the culprit).

The Beat writers along with many other literary visionaries have greatly influenced me. And although I have gained more knowledge of Jack Kerouac over the past months than I ever thought I would in my entire life, I don’t idolize or strive to be like him. I don’t view Kerouac as a writer I should imitate; I view him as a character who exhibited a lust for life far exceeding that of most people. I never want to be compared to him or labeled as a Kerouacesque writer, but I do wish to live with the same love for experience.

Upon completing my day’s work, my eyes glassy from gazing at a computer screen all day, I hand the notebook back to the librarian along with the plug adapter and he lets me out of the room. I retrieve my backpack from the check-in area and semi-circle my way back through the revolving doors.

I bounce down the marble stairs, re-enter the crowded sidewalk, jump down the stairs into the subway station, swipe my metro card and crank my way through the turnstile. Passing by an old man playing a melancholy tune on his violin, I head toward the B train labeled “Downtown” and “Brklyn.” I wait on the platform, watching the rats at play. Faintly, the two white lights looming deep in the tunnel grow larger until the train pulls into the station, doors slide open and I enter.

Worcester native Steve Roux is a junior at Brooklyn College.

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WSC professor goes ‘green’ in Thailand

Worcester State College Professor Margaret Kerr (pictured) is in Thailand this summer, teaching a graduate course in “green chemistry.” We caught up with her — 11-hour time difference and all — to pose a few questions about life and education a world away. And what is green chemistry anyway?

Why are you in Thailand this summer?

I’m in Thailand to teach at Ubon Ratchatani University. I’m teaching the equivalent of half of a course to graduate students (M.S. and Ph.D.) and a few upper level undergraduates. I will also be working with faculty to implement green labs into their undergraduate organic laboratory. This university is in the eastern part of Thailand, near the Laos border. I was fortunate to visit here two years ago on my first visit to Thailand to give a lecture and was invited back to participate in a program that is funded by the Thai government to start moving toward more English-based lecturing. I’m giving lectures about the process to form carbon-carbon bonds using transition metals (organometallic chemistry) and green chemistry. I’m living on campus in a very nice apartment.

How often have you been to Thailand? What is it about the country that brings you back?

This is my third trip to Thailand. My first trip was for almost six months in 2007 during my sabbatical from WSC. I had a Fulbright Senior Scholar grant that provided me with the opportunity to lecture and do research in green chemistry education at Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok. Last summer I was fortunate to visit briefly with administrators from WSC to formalize an exchange agreement between WSC and Chulalongkorn University. We now have opportunities for Thai students to come to the U.S. and for WSC students to study in Thailand. As for what brings me back to the country, it is hard to pinpoint a specific reason. I love the culture and people (and the food!), but there is something else that I have responded to that I can’t really describe. Despite the differences between the U.S. and Thailand, I feel comfortable there. Initially I wanted to do an international sabbatical and had an interest in Southeast Asia in general. When I got into it more, I was introduced to Dr. Supawan Tantayanon, who is an associate professor at Chulalongkorn University and the president of the Thai Chemical Society (and an alum of WPI for her Ph.D..) She was instrumental in getting me invited to Thailand and also was a great host and colleague while I was there. We are currently working on furthering our collaboration over the next few years to provide green chemistry expertise in the Southeast Asian region.

Tell us about green chemistry.

Green chemistry has been described by others as molecular-level pollution control. I like to think of it as a philosophy rather than a specific field of chemistry. If every chemist thought about controlling pollution by making changes to a reaction sequence or production process at the very beginning, we would have many more benign processes. Green chemistry spans all fields of chemistry and can be taught in all levels of coursework. The idea started in the 1990s and has become a growing area of interest in academia and industry. It sounds like an easy thing to do from this paragraph, but it is really difficult to do. I tell my students that they will be the ones who will be asked to solve the problems of the modern world, whether they like it or not. We need excellent scientists to figure out solutions to some of the issues that we are faced with.

“Green” has become a universal buzzword to denote all things environmentally sound. Do you think it’s getting overused, even abused? (For instance, companies are now so quick to promote themselves as “green” you wonder about the legitimacy of their claims.)

I think that there is a bit of saturation with the term “green.” As with anything new and popular, there are legitimate claims and others who jump on the bandwagon to make a buck. I would imagine that over time some of that will change and the products that are really green will be the ones that last. Perhaps that is somewhat optimistic, but I’m ever hopeful that products that are truly green will be available, work well, and be affordable in the near future.

Green chemistry seems to be a more difficult concept for the layman to grasp than other more tangible green initiatives like recycling newspaper or turning down the thermostat. Does dealing with the subject of “green” at the molecular level make it harder to spread the message about the value of green chemistry?

Talking about chemistry in general with most people causes eyes to glaze over, I’m sad to say. It is a challenge for scientists to be able to discuss their work with the general population in a meaningful way. One nice thing about green chemistry is that there is a platform that is easy to grasp. Everyone in the world has been bombarded with news about the environment, so the idea that there is something that can help is something that people understand, regardless of their scientific background.

Is the concept of “green” different in Thailand than it is in the U.S.?

The concept is quite different. The term “green chemistry” translated into Thai doesn’t mean anything. I discovered this after using the term several times and not having it understood. When I used the term “sustainable chemistry,” then people understood the concept. I have been struck by the very obvious clash of Eastern culture and Western culture here. There is a rush to use Western products and to model certain types of things from the U.S. or Europe. The contrast is that the Thais are very deeply rooted to their country and try to live in harmony with it. They are concerned about the overuse of their resources and environmental degradation. Many people who I have met think that green chemistry is a real link between providing people with products and comforts of the modern world while not destroying the environment to attain that.

Is there a particular environmental issue that Thailand is really struggling with, and can green chemistry help the country address it?

Thailand is struggling with similar issues that we are in the U.S. I’ve met many faculty who are working on alternative fuel sources using materials available locally. There is also a big push to develop solar power and wind power. Thailand has increased the amount of pesticides imported significantly over the past several years. There are people doing research on more environmentally-friendly pest control. Waste management is a huge issue and is compounded by cost and awareness. Again, there are many people trying to work out this problem. The King of Thailand has been a big proponent of the environment and has funded many projects throughout the country.

Describe your students. How would you compare them to grad students in the U.S.?

My students are mostly from the region. Ubon Ratchatani University just celebrated its 20th anniversary just this week. The region is mostly farming and is one of the poorer economic areas in Thailand. My students have made sacrifices to attend college and graduate school and are eager to get their degrees and work to help their country and further their careers. In some ways they are no different from U.S. graduate students in that they are learning about something that interests them deeply and are wondering if they will ever finish their thesis and graduate.

Have you been able to meld business with pleasure?

In many ways the two are already melded. The Thais are great hosts and provide many opportunities for sightseeing. Some of what I enjoy doing is walking around, finding a new restaurant and trying something different. Sometimes just getting somewhere successfully and finding your way home again can give a great deal of pleasure. Every day seems to provide some type of new adventure. Today, I rode my bicycle 10 km to the next town just to see it. Everyone thought I was crazy, but it was something I wanted to do. There are several national parks and waterfalls in this region that I will visit. The area around the city of Ubon Ratchatani has over 100 Buddhist temples. I’ve visited only six of them, so I have a few more to see. My husband, David Snell, will be joining me next week and we will travel to Laos for a long weekend just to see it.

Which is the bigger culture shock: arriving in Thailand from the U.S., or returning to the U.S. after spending the summer in Thailand?

Going both directions is a bit of a shock. I came home after my first visit to two feet of snow. This year, after the monsoons of Worcester, the weather here during the rainy season is not too shocking. I miss the food of Thailand that is available everywhere at any time of the day or night when I get home. o

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The dirty little secret about teaching: It’s hard

By Jim Keogh

I have to laugh when I hear people rant about how easy teachers have it.

Of course, I get where it’s coming from: the 180-day schedule, vacations in winter and spring, the perception that once the 2:30 school bell tolls there’s a faculty conga line out the door.

Granted, the schedule is great. I don’t think there is a teacher who would deny it.

But here’s something the outside world doesn’t know. When done right, teaching is hard work. And for a first-year teacher, it can feel like a hazing.

I know, because I’ve been there. For two years after graduating from Holy Cross I stood at the front of a high school classroom and delivered lessons on Shakespeare and Steinbeck, and when to use adverbs. (Answer: almost never, use strong verbs instead. But you already knew that.)

The work could be fulfilling, yes, but also confusing and frustrating. I quickly discovered that a teacher doesn’t just impart information, but must also engage the mob so they don’t chase you out of the classroom with pitchforks and torches. And that’s just on Parents’ Night (ba-da-boom).

I joined the faculty of St. Xavier Academy in Coventry, R.I. fresh out of college. It was a small all-girls Catholic high school that my sisters had attended years earlier when it was a Providence-based academic and athletic powerhouse. By the time I arrived at the doors of St. X the place was on its last legs. The student population had shrunk to such a degree that each department literally had only one teacher, who also doubled as chairman. I used to joke that this made department meetings quite manageable: I called myself to order, thought about stuff, and adjourned. But, really, that’s how it was.

I replaced a teacher who’d been at the school for years but was leaving to have a baby. Marcia Cross was good. My sisters spoke highly of her, and as I shadowed her for a week I could see how adroitly (ugh, adverb) she handled the classroom. As this was a private school, I was not required to have any state certification or prior training, so I studied the 8-months-pregnant Marcia and prayed that by some miracle she could hold off going into labor until maybe month 11 or 12. Then I’d be ready.

But no, Marcia was right on time. She had a baby girl, and I had her class.

There is no lonelier sound than the door shutting behind you when you enter a classroom for the first time as a teacher. From that moment, you … are … “on” — part instructor, part improv actor, all fallible human being. There is no one there to assist you, and there is no one there to save you, if saving is what you need. And sometimes it is.

I learned quickly the value of lesson planning. As a rookie, I’d enter the day believing I’d overprepared and then discover to my horror that I’d burned through my best stuff in 15 minutes. A lot of that was not knowing what the hell I was doing. Since I’d been hired so quickly, sometimes I found myself reading the textbooks the night before, then professing to be the ultimate authority in class the next day. Until I could get my legs beneath me, I felt like I was playing a high-stakes game of academic chicken. Surely one of these kids would be perceptive enough to tag me as a fraud, but none ever did. I believe it’s because a Holy Cross English major can bullshit his way through just about anything.

Once Marcia departed, I latched onto a new mentor. His name was Russ Meinhold, a retired college professor, deemed one of the sharpest minds in Rhode Island academia. It was Russ who had designed the revolutionary St. X curriculum, in which students were largely self-directed and approached their course work in “laps” — a series of assignments, tests and projects that had to be completed to earn credit. Each student worked at her own pace, with the teacher offering individualized instruction.

That was the theory, anyway. The drawback to the system lay in the fact that few students were disciplined enough to finish a lap without a swift kick — how many kids do you know who would volunteer to take a test? — while others attempted to race through a semester’s worth of material in a matter of weeks. Eventually I wised up and retreated to a more formal structure, delivering lessons to groups rather than repeat them over and over. The goal was to maintain sanity.

By the time I met Russ he was about 80 years old and teaching one psychology class a semester at St. X, just to help out. Russ pulled up every day in his pickup truck with his two beloved Weimaraners, who snarled and spit on the glass like they wanted to rip your throat out.

I once went to Russ’ house to interview him for a graduate course I was taking, and he had kindly put his dogs in the kitchen and shut the door. Throughout the interview they progressed from barking and scratching at the door, to howling and throwing their bodies at it. Russ thought maybe if he leashed them and brought them into the living room to see that I wasn’t a threat they’d calm down. But no. They strained against those chains like the hounds of hell, gasping and growling as Russ, who was unsteady on his feet anyway, struggled to control them. “You’d better leave,” he advised, as I edged my way along the wall toward the front door.

But I digress.

Russ taught me many things, but his most honest lesson was inadvertent. One day I told him I was having problems with a student that was mouthy, insulting, and who had taken the art of being uncooperative to an almost sacred level. As a green teacher, I assumed I was handling the situation all wrong and craved his advice.

“Who is she?” he asked.

I gave her name.

Russ shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Oh, what a bitch.”

I laughed, and was stunned, too. This from Russ Meinhold? The great education theorist and teacher? Turns out he’d taught this same girl the previous semester and had faced the same difficulties. He explained that some kids just aren’t reachable, and whether you have 60 years’ experience or a few months’ experience, you can’t change that.

St. X did not pay well, even by the standards of Catholic schools. How little I was earning was made clear by one of my students, who told me about her summer job driving an ice cream truck. She made more per week than I did.

By the end of my second year, I’d had enough. I’d gotten married to a Worcester girl, and wanted to try my hand at writing. Our decision to return to the city ended my association with St. Xavier Academy, and my teaching career as well.

With a couple decades of life experience under my belt since that time, I believe I’d be a much better teacher today. Every now and then I’m tempted to return to it. I still admire that schedule. But everything else? No way. o