Can I suck your brains?

I'm thinking about offering a pre-statistics class, sort of a statistics appreciation "you can do this" class for our majors. I want to aim it toward our more math-phobic students. I imagine that in between practicing basic algebra and summation notation I'll have guest lecturers from around our department come in and tell them how they use statistics in their own disciplines.

I don't know anything about teaching math phobics. Do any of you have any suggestions? Textbooks, teaching exercises, similar courses? Is it too much to expect that at the end of the quarter the kids would have generated a "portfolio" containing what they'll need for statistics?

Am I insane to think of doing something like this?

I don't understand why this is happening.

I gave a quiz today, the last one before the final. On regular (non-quiz) days, I have on average 50% attendence. On quiz days the classroom looks more full.

After the quiz I began my lecture. Five minutes into the lecture, someone packed up their bags and left. Note that the classroom is not large, around 35 seats. A few minutes later, someone else left, and I made a joke about it. Everyone laughed.

It wasn't over. Another person left, and then another, and then another. One at a time. It was comedic. Finally even this guy left (it was his first time in class since the last quiz). In all, seven students left.

All the while I am trying to keep my cool and deliver my lecture, but I was completely rattled. I made another joke. I said, "I know your names. Anyone else gets up and leaves I'm making a note of it in the gradebook." The exodus ended.

I'm still rattled. What the hell? What's wrong with these people? I hate confrontation. How should I handle this?

Update: Well, well. Attendance for today's lecture was six (6) out of 25. It was easy to determine that none of these students were part of Tuesday's exodus. I began class with a comment about the exodus, and the observation that those present didn't need a lecture on common courtesy. I marvelled with them at the size of the class, then said, "I want to announce that we will have an extra credit quiz at the end of class today. And the question I will ask you on this quiz is [about factoid]. If any of you believe that a question [about factoid] is appropriate during my lecture today please feel free to ask it and I will happily give you the answer."

At the end of my lecture I asked them to take out a piece of paper and a pencil and to put their names at the top. One young lady stuck her hand in the air so quickly I worried that she may have dislocated her shoulder. "Angry Professor," she said, "What is the [answer to factoid]?"

I said, "What an interesting question. It turns out that [answer to factoid]. Now, your extra credit quiz is [about factoid]. Please write down your answer and you may hand in your quizzes to me as you leave."

Everyone got full credit, which worked out to about half a letter grade.

My students are always astonishing.

Student 1 is failing. He came in today to ask me to compute his grade for him. He didn't want me to solve the "hard" problem: Given the quantities p &isin [0,1], H &isin [0,100] (homework) and T &isin [0,100] (test), solve the equation (T+x)p + H(1-p) = 60 for x, the score required on the final exam to obtain a passing grade. No, he wanted me to compute his grade: Tp + H(1-p) (astonishing moment number one).

Student 2 is clueless but not failing. I put a challenging extra credit question on the exam, a question that no one had gotten right in so long that I hadn't actually had to work through it in quite some time. She came by, deeply interested in the solution (astonishing moment number two), and asked me to work it through with her. In an (astonishing) moment that will shine as one of my more embarassing, I myself screwed it up, badly. I recovered, but not without some sweat. I am humbled.

In which my friend gets screwed over.

Go on now go, walk out the door.
Just turn around now,
'cause you're not welcome anymore...

I'm a little slow on the uptake. Only last week did I learn about what happened to the Phantom Professor. I had a few twinges, of the "wait I have tenure could I lose my tenure am I still anonymous" variety, but went on with my life without giving her situation too much more thought. I'm so sorry about that, Phantom Professor.

Over the weekend I received a letter from a dear friend who held an adjunct position at my former institution, one of the Ivies. He has been at this institution for over 20 years. Yes, I said 20 years. He was initially a research scientist, wherein he wrote lots of grants and supported himself and his family on soft money. Then he was asked and agreed to take on a position involving undergraduate advising and curriculum development, with some teaching on the side. The appointment required 100% of his effort, which meant he could no longer obtain grants to support his research, and also that he had no time to do his research. The position was, last year, absorbed into the dean's office, and my friend found himself with little more than an adjunct teaching appointment.

Not too long ago his department told him that his contract was not going to be renewed. This is a decision that the faculty arrived at, one can hope, during a meeting in which all the pros and cons of keeping him in the department were carefully considered.

He's been in this department for over 20 years. This was not a "temp" whose contract was not renewed, this was a full-fledged member of the department. From the tenured faculty perspective, he no longer fit into the department's mission, and so this decision seemed appropriate. From his perspective, he has been ejected from the department that was his home. He no longer has (a) health insurance; (b) retirement benefits; (c) tuition benefits (with children currently in college); (d) a paycheck; (e) any self-esteem -- this job was his life. I can only imagine his feelings of betrayal. More than one member of the faculty reassured him that even with departmental changes he could be sure of having a position. They shook his hand, they patted him on the back, and then they stabbed him in the back.

How could a group of my colleagues, people like me, come to such a decision, especially in light of the fact that each and every one of the members of this department had to know that this move would be personally and professionally devastating for my friend? Maybe they even felt bad about it. But after 20 years of service, the least they could have done was to find a position for him elsewhere in the university. They didn't: they cut him off completely.

The tenure and promotion system adhered to by most universities (promotion or tenure by year 7) does not apply to adjunct faculty, for reasons that I have never understood. I always thought the U.S. tenure system was draconian and stupid and in need of revision, and until this weekend I was also an advocate of post-tenure review. Now I don't know where I stand. Do the intellectual elite really need the tenure concept to force them to treat their colleagues like human beings? How can any tenured person of conscience exploit the system in this way (for 20 years) and not feel accountable to the adjunct persons exploited?

How also can an adjunct faculty member let himself be exploited like this? I understand the exigencies that forced my friend into this position, and I understand the limitations of the academic job market. However, adjuncts have more power than they know. Nothing terrifies most prominent, senior faculty members (at this university) more than the thought of having to teach a large undergraduate course. Am I naive in thinking that all the adjuncts have to do is stay home one semester, leaving all the teaching to the tenured faculty, and that more sensible tenure/contract guidelines will be drafted for the following semester? Perhaps I am.

I'm sorry if this entry is more poorly written than usual. I am also sorry if I appear to have just had my blinders pulled off. I have never worried about tenure for myself, and never thought too seriously before about the living conditions of the not-yet- and never-to-be-tenured. I have been ignorant, in the same way that a rich white man ponders the circumstances of a poor black woman. I have no right to even tell an adjunct faculty member what they should be doing to better their situations. Instead, the adjuncts should tell me what I can do to change this system. Because this system is truly fucked up.

I think it's in her genes.

My young daughter, light of my life, when faced with a question to which she does not know the answer, responds, "Yes!" in a confident and cheerful way.

I just know she's going to be an academic.