.
CHAPTER
VIII
HURRICANE -
WILLY WILLY - CYCLONE - TYPHOON
Students seem oblivious to much of the change
because their points of reference only go back a few years - most of the
marvels they see around them have evolved in their short histories and
they take them for granted without comprehending the repercussions involved.
My pre-schooler, China-Li, routinely operates powerful computers which
only a few years ago would have cost millions of dollars and would have
filled large warehouses. She uses her own video recorder to add to her
personal tape collection of computer-generated animation chosen from any
one of 150 television channels beamed down from 25,000 miles in space.
She chooses her favourite children's songs or encyclopedia reference material
from laser-read digital compact discs and then interacts with the medium
electronically. She will embark on her journey through formal education
next year in a classroom which uses none of these devices - in a curriculum
which does not recognize the existence of such advances, let alone prepare
her to cope. Many of our school boards, and the powers-that-be who decide
such matters of direction and curriculum, have huddled their school charges
together to sit complacently in the deceptively placid eye of the hurricane
of change. We can tap and harness the power which swirls so rapidly around
us - or we can wait for it to destroy us.
DON'T STOP
Education must be revamped to allow people
to move easily in and out of education. At present, education is traditionally
bunched at the beginning of a person's life. An alternative is to allow
young people to interrupt their formal schooling for brief periods during
their late teens in order to work, travel, or engage in other learning
experiences. Later, they should resume their formal education.
"Sweets with sweets war not, joy
delights in joy." -Shakespeare
JOY TO THE WORLD
(aka JEREMIAH THE BULLFROG)
Although I have spent all 23 of my teaching
years at Strathclair Collegiate, I have had many occasions to visit other
schools around Canada, USA and England. The most successful ones seem to
exude an atmosphere of warmth, respect, tolerance and friendliness. We
have always worked at creating an air of friendliness. In fact, the principal
under whom I served as a student for 12 years and then as a teacher for
another 15 years, was guided by the motto, "Fair, Firm and Friendly." In
semi-retirement now, he still has a prominent place of honour set aside
to display the so-inscribed school bell which I presented to him on his
acceptance of early retirement.
GOOD-TIME
JAMBOREE
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #10)
Come on and give the
band a hand on the ole bandstand
They're singing all
night for you
Guitar's ringing and
the drummer girl's singing the blues
We'll pick a little
fiddle and diddle with the ivories in harmony
We'll have a rompin'
stompin' good-time jamboree
Forget your tax laws,
in-laws, outlaws too
Even Grandma's jumpin'
like new
Dancing and prancing
- any ole dude'll do
Dancing outside, inside,
upside-down
Look - her feet don't
touch the ground
Struttin' double clutchin',
and hitching up her gingham gown
The amp'll snapple,
crackle pop when we start to rock
You'll feel your toes
tapping down in your socks
Skippin' and trippin'
and rocking around the clock
We'll keep you creepin'
and peepin' - anything but sleepin'
Till the moonshine
meets the sun
Then you'll drag it
to your wagon and
the band's on the
run again.
ZEN AND THE
ART OF CYCLE MAINTENANCE
Some educators have used a 'ticktock' metaphor
to describe the endless cycles of life, narrative fiction and curriculum.
They see each 'tick' as a humble genesis and every 'tock' as a feeble apocalypse
- lesson planning is seen as a cycle of downtime/uptime ticks and tocks
- each set with a beginning and end.
My thinking is not so digital - nor as predictable.
I prefer a more continuous analog approach - an approach more analogous
to some other-world wave theory gone bonkers. I recognize in my planning
a basic cyclical rhythm but within major wave rhythms are countless ripples
and swells, peaks and troughs, ever-changing wave lengths, heights and
intensities - even the very nature of the medium can change.
This life ocean harbours many types of waves
- from tidal surges and toppling breakers, to quiet ripples. Many forces,
most beyond our control, are at work to change the nature of these waves.
Shock waves and tremours spin off racing tsunamis. Prevailing currents,
storms, and winds of change all set up their own kinds of motion. Waves
disrupted by undertows and shallow bottom, pile up until they become collapsing
and destructive breakers. Many waves close to shore carry broken remnants
of once proud solid-rock bluffs - hurling these particles to bring about
even more shoreline changes.
The waves carry an endless array of anchored
buoys, flotsam and jetsam, life and death... and a congeries of vessels
-ocean liners, old trawlers, tramp steamers, supertankers, greasy tugs,
sleek catamarans, surf boards and lowly barges. To stay on the surface
it is important to learn to pick the right currents and waves and to ride
them well. The ride can be long and exhilarating or short and wet. The
navigator can harness and go with the force or sink and drown.
The teacher needs experience to ride these
waves - the student needs a life jacket.
Sadly, some teachers seek out little placid
tide pools, drop anchor and sit in tired, creaky-leaky dinghies while their
young passengers look longingly... expectantly... out to open sea... They
yearn for the thrill of the salt spray in their faces and the toss of the
waves and a chance to skim across infinite waters to distant adventures
- and to learn the skills to survive on this life sea. Many of these tide-poolers
either will meet disaster when they do break out past the breakwaters,
or will spend a lifetime as land lubbers - frustrated, angry and haunted
with personal devils which constantly remind them of what they could have
been.
THE OLD MAN AND
THE SEA
One can study the theory behind seamanship
- it can be mastered by most any hotshot yachtsman, but the experience
of the old salt is invaluable when the going gets long or rough. He can
read the tides, the stars, the wind...he can talk to life in the deep...
he can create a course and navigate it... he can sail by the seat of his
pants... knowledge recollected allows him to cope with each unpredictable
crisis along his course. To the novice, the waves and cycles with which
the old salt is so in tune, at first appear meaningless or incomprehensible
but really they are just a part of life's cycle.
As in the oriental concept of yin and yang
where the two complementary forces flow into one another, so does night
become day, season follows season, death follows birth, birth follows death,
and all apparent opposites constantly change in a ceaseless, unbroken,
rhythmic cycle. So too does this rhythmic cycle apply to our education
setting... to lessons...to curriculum... it blossoms through our entire
existence ...it is life...
OFF THE WALL
(POV TELECASTER GUITAR)It's been a good
week...an 'off the wall' week... in more ways than one. Will has been preparing
a seminar presentation for the University... and I'm involved... at last!
His topic revolves around the importance of cycles and rhythm in the planning
of lessons and curriculum. Since much of his work this year has involved
the creation of metaphors and the probing of personal experience related
through journals - and since I have played a prominent part in his journal
writing, he stretched a bit and tried meld all three of these elements
in his seminar introduction. Not entirely happy with the metaphors used
by Connelly and Clandinin, he audaciously went off on a tangent and created
an entire milieu drawing from the rich heritage and folklore of sea-faring
tradition. All this he tried to squash into a journal entry...and here's
the good part... Acknowledging that there has been some desire among colleagues
to share journal jottings he decided to read the metaphor entry as an introduction
to his presentation - but with a difference - for full dramatic effect
and to maximize the idea of cycles and rhythm HE CALLED ON ME FOR HELP.
Together we worked out a variety of cyclical chord changes, rhythms, and
rises and fall of pitch and volume.
INTREPID MARGINS
(POV Telecaster guitar) Will needed a
little more help though... I found his behind-the-scenes margin notes on
the narration script to be immensely more entertaining than his silly nautical
references in his "Captain's Log"... "E-Flamenco taps/metronome... G-Rock
Island Line - get steam... Stop... Modulate.... E-Blues Shuffle... Explode...
Damp/dull... Tina shift... E7-Swamp it... Wham build... EFG AB CD E7 Tony
Joe... E7-Go with it... Chooglin... Stop Drama into spot... Diddle D...
A Fly with it... A Minor Mood shift... E minor... Melodramatic... Lighten
up... O Well...Meanwhile... C Journeyman... 50s chord cycle... Stop...
Pregnant... Cut."
I tried to get him to sing too... an Olivier
he ain't... but he bowed out... something about sticking to the task at
hand... so... I did all the work... (it was fun though)...
CRAM IT!
(POV WH the kid) Why won't it start...come
onnnn! I stayed up all night cramming for this thing... going over and
over old Departmental Exams for years back... think I ate a whole watermelon
last night to keep awake... then the racket of that tractor and braying
cow bugged me since the sun came up... now the car won't start... I'll
be late... there goes grade XII... it all depends on these exams... it's
past nine...they've started already... don't panic... I've gotta run it...
over a mile and a half... oh oh! damn watermelon...
SOLOMON'S CURSE
Stressful travel today for my travel mates
- they are under fire - Final Examinations. Much of my day was spent wandering
among them - spurring some on - encouraging, calming and trying to tranquilize
others. Any non-supervisory time I could pick up was devoted to creating
and checking the very things which are causing this week-long turmoil -
exams!!!
OLDUVAI GORGE
An recent archaeological dig through my
'old college days' files (early '60s stratum) brought back a flood of memories
from that era... not a lot remains with me in terms of lasting textbook-lab-lecture-notemaking
artifacts or knowledge but curiously one thing which has survived the years
is a little black notebook. This notebook was written by a lonely, green
kid from the country... adrift on a sea of Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics,
Geology... waters sailed on because all the old salts who had advised him
on his voyage had agreed that this was the only course to follow. The notebook
made no reference to the leagues covered or journey which lay ahead. In
this book, however, carefully scrawled in pen, was score upon score of
movie titles - and under each title was the name of the stars, a date,
a personal rating... and impressions. Coincidentally, I remember the plot
and lessons and moral and mood associated with each of these films - the
lessons learned from each of these vicarious experiences have shaped my
perception of life.
SEPTEMBER 1st
(POV WH the kid’s first day of teaching)
You mean I'll be teaching science, geography, health, history, language,
literature, business education and data processing, computer awareness,
and phys ed - all in one day? What...no French?
DO DOS OR DODOES?
I see small schools and their teachers offering
so many more advantages than the lumbering, steamrolling behemoths which
are wolfing them down. The very fact that we have limited students and
maximum subject areas can promotes subject and society integration... and
generalism - wide knowledge - an appreciation for a wide variety of interests
- interests upon which they can specialize later in life.
HOW'RE THE KIDS
REX?
Sometimes this causes the teacher in a 'small
school' setting to feel 'spread too thin' but in many ways this is an advantage.
Such a teacher is always on the edge... questioning... always looking...
scavenging materials... looking for different ways of 'making do'... of
improvising... questioning... inventing... integrating classes... integrating
ideas... questioning the pat formulas decreed from 1181... challenging
the 'experts'... questioning... involving students... involving parents...
involving community... involving local expertise... involving! Small schools
are facing extinction... it scares me... scares me as a teacher... and
a father.
TELE - THE FAST
TALKIN' AGENT
(POV Telecaster guitar) I just read this...
and I know where he is coming from... I've been there too. We have played
such a variety of gigs... sure, I've got my favourites but it's a real
challenge to play some of the other musical styles we get into: stuff from
every era over the last two centuries, and blues and folk and country and
western and rock and pop and rock 'n roll and jazz and big band and...
and... whew! Over the years it seems that we have played every type of
venue imaginable: from bars to arenas to concert halls to English discos
and Workingman's Clubs to barns to hangars to outdoor festivals to TV,
radio and recording studios to... to... living rooms... whew! again. And
those weird and wonderful special events: Barn dances in England, teen
dances, military bases, American state fairs, receptions and picnics for
Royalty, Governor General's Balls, U of M Grad Dances, CBC national shows,
Playhouse/Pantages concerts, Indian Reserve outdoor mudbaths and PowWows,
Legionnaire reunions, opening for touring celebrities, and ...and... OK!
OK!
OUTLAW RAMBLIN'
BAND
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #11)
We're a travellin'
ramblin outlaw band
Kevie, me and Suzie,
we travel the land
We kinda got our minds
a-set on leavin' the West
This prairie land
rebel band a-flyin' the nest
Took a 747 ride to
heaven by jet
The closest that the
most of us is ever gonna get
Heathrow luggage slow
- we fuss and we fret
Sue, she's in the
loo - she's trying to get her face wet
CHORUS:
Cause we're outlaws
- An outlaw ramblin' band
Outlaws - Outlaw ramblin
band
Tea time cars in line
on Westminster Bridge
It's scary for a prairie
boy from Maple Grove Ridge
Ride the M-5 - still
alive - we're steaming up north
Workin' for the workin'
man to show our worth
We bring on Lonnie
Donegan - they clap and they stomp
And we sing a little
song about an ole Cajun swamp
We rant about Canada
- we pick and we sing
They can't understand
American - "What's he sayin'"
We're with the crowd
- singin' loud - we're startin' to rock
When Housey Man up
on the stand says, "I say chaps - stop"
It's dour hour holy
hour - time to unwind
Bingo is the only
thing they got on their minds
Thirty nights of flashing
lights - the end of the grind
Heading down to London
town for studio time
Suzy drums, Willy
strums, in old Soho
Kevin just a-revin'
up the piano
Yeh, we're a transported,
imported, semi-deported, genuine, certified..
Outlaw Ramblin' Band.
HILLMAN EXPRESS
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #12)
Get on board - We'll
make you more
Than satisfied
Whistle blowing -
Wheels a rolling
Come on and ride
Don't need no ticket
- There ain't no wicket
There ain't no fee
Our magic potion -
Is locomotion
And ridings free
CHORUS:
Ride Ride Ride on
through the night
Rolling on outa sight
Rockin' Express speedin' through the west
Ride Ride Ride - On
the Hillman Express
From prairie sidings
- To those exciting
Bright city lights
The music's hummin
- As we keep runnin'
On through the night
Don't need no baggage
- We're gonna manage
To get it on - To
every station - 'Cross the nation
Come ride along...
RULE OF RAPPORT...TAKE
IT TO THE MAX
As rapport and trust develop within my classes
the rule or maxim we always seem to approach but can never fully realize
is:
"Every rule here can be broken except
this one."
I find this situation analogous to the state
predicted by Einstein as one approaches the speed of light. This goal can
never be reached, but as it is approached so much of what we have always
accepted is convoluted - our perceptions of time and space are challenged.
TALK TO ME
I have spent all 23 of my years "on the
road" - interacting daily with hundreds of kids of all backgrounds - reacting
to mood shifts - growing pains - ego trips - wallflowery - belligerence
- insecurities - hangovers - mental and physical bruises from the night
before - puppy love - dog hate - friendships - secrets - peeves - joy -
exuberance - imagination - will to please - disruption - depression - shyness
- sexual desire - frustration.... and countless kids who need someone to
turn to as a confidante - anyone whom they regard as being 'kinda special'
but not a frightening authority figure who will put them down one more
time.
OVER THE TOP
INTO NO MAN'S LAND
After visiting many schools larger than
our own, I have developed a strong sense of appreciation for the small
school setting. A teacher working in such a school knows every kid by name,
as well as most of the parents and the home situation of most families.
I have seen educators in large schools become so bogged down in red tape
manipulation/paper shuffling/bureaucratic two-stepping/information dispensing
that they become little more than high pressure executives in 'peer sucker'
suits. The general who loses touch with the front lines...the trenches...loses
touch with the battle. The small school educator still has a finger on
the pulse of the student body.
M*A*S*H
All through the writing of this picaresque
journal I have found my thoughts drifting over to another type of journal
writing - journals which have played such an important part in my life
over the years - the raw, honest, private, sometimes pleading, always touching
writings which I encourage from my travel companions in their own journals.
Few of these have I ever shared with anyone - I would never break the trust.
I have a nagging feeling though, that it may be all too easy for the educator
in the "fast lane" to lose touch with this human element. It is all too
easy to see adversaries, disruptive problems, junk in the cogs of the system,
than to see a child whom someone out there loves - or more tragically whom
no one loves.
SUICIDE IS PAINLESS?
Would such an educator see the writer of
the journal entry which follows (these words were carefully written by
a student on a loose-leaf sheet which appeared out of nowhere on my desk),
as an anti-social, lazy, irresponsible, stupid, sex-crazed, drunken, suicidal
Indian slut? Would such a document ever be shared with a distant, disciplinarian,
"by the book" the ruler of such an Arcticdom? We must keep our humanity,
warmth and compassion and never let the pressures, or "importance" of our
roles cause us to lose sight of unique microcosms entrusted to our care.
Eagle
Woman
Writen Bye **************
(Eagle Woman)
She's the one who stands alone
She turn her back on the world
and the people She use to love
She built a big wall around
her and thats were she feels safe
She feels she can't trust
anyone cause the people
she trusted hurt her or turned
there back's on her.
She cries out in a voice that
no one can hear only her.
People tell her they no what
she's going through
but she knows that no one
knows
Only she does, only she understands
herself.
When she thinks about the
passed, it tares her up,
she tries to talk about it
but she is scared it might happin agian
and no one will be there to
help her.
So she spends her days in
fear and darkness
She is scared to take a step
out into the real world
so she stays behind the walls
she built with her anger, hage and her hurts
She tells herself she'll never
leave cause the passed will always be apart of her
She's tried to leave this
world bye taking her life but she failed
She cries out to the Creator
please take me
away from this place but she
knows that
he put her here for a reason
and she knows
when her time is up he'll
come and take her
Until that time she'll wait
and try make her life better
and take a step out form the
wall of hate, anger and her hurts.
Keep standing on the mountain...
Alone
As she stands out on the mounain...watch
the sunset
She ask herself how can she
go on with out him bye her side,
he was the one who helped
her through her life,
he showed that life is special,
he made her smile and happy.
She feels so empty and hurt
People tell her to go on with
her life but she cant
because her love for him grows
strong as each day passes bye
She wishes that he could come
and take her saddness away
She knows that he's in a better
place were
he won't have to hurt or feel
sad ever again.
She cries out from the mountain
she stands on
Why did you have to take him
so far for me
She cries take me so we can
be together in your special place
But she knows when he wants
her he'll come and get her
and take her to his special
place so they could be together
Until that time she waits
Alone!
MASSACRE
(Words & Music by Bill Hillman) (From
CD Album #10)
Grand daddy told of times he saw men dying
Old women weeping, naked children crying
Blankets, trinkets for land and gold
Ain't nothing left but memories to hold...
for the
Chickasaw Waccamaw Iroquois Sioux
Susquehanna Missisauga and the Kickapoo
Choctaw Chippewa Yakima Cree
Sissipahaw Witchita and brave Pawnee
Then we chopped down the trees and poisoned
the breeze
Killed all the beasts and brought nature
to her knees
Now rivers are dying to heavy to flow
Proud people crying, nowhere to go... for
the
Cherokee Apache Mohave Mandan
Shawnee Comanche Miami Cheyenne
Apalache Muskogee Tutchone Navajo
Missouri Shoshone and proud Arapaho
O BILLIE BOY...MY
DARLING BOY
With my mind so upon journal writing this
year it was with great excitement I that I jumped into some entries I had
stumbled upon from my Nannie's old diary of almost 50 years ago. The entry
of January 10, 1943 was written the day her son, my Uncle Bill left for
England to lead Lancaster bomber missions over Germany:
"This was Billie's last day with us. His
leave was so short this time. He and Don spent the morning going around
town talking to old friends. It's turned very cold - 40 below. Dad took
us to the train in the cutter in the afternoon. Billie looked so handsome
and grown up in his uniform. He shook hands with Don and Dad. I held my
boy and we said goodbye again. His eyes. My little boy. My darling boy."
I was born the next day...
These simple, heart-wrenching words of a mother
saying goodbye to her son drove home another side of journal keeping. The
experiences I have been sharing and reliving from my own life and work
have been generally happy and rewarding - periodically I find myself drawn
moth-like to these home-made flickering glimmers of inspiration. Tonight's
discovery was a revelation - it made me aware of just how deeply everyone
can be affected by heartbreak and loss in life - at any age...and how powerful
journals can be. How can we really reach our students until we develop
some degree of awareness, empathy, compassion and understanding for their
everyday problems. What better way of achieving this than through the epistolarian
dialogue of student journals.
ROYAL CANADIAN
AIR FORCE PILOT'S FLYING LOG BOOK
NAME: F/L Wm. G. CAMPBELL NO. 428 SQUADRON
RCAF GRAND TOTAL FLYING HOURS: 1347 Hrs ...Crane... ... ...Link... ...
...Tiger Moth... ... ...Oxford... ... ...Anson... ... ...Wellington...
... ...LANCASTER... ... ... Apr.27/45 Lancaster - Pilot: Self Crew: 6 Duty:
Seq C&L Apr.28/45 Lancaster - Pilot: Self Crew: 6 Duty: Seq Xcty F/A
Apr.30/45 Lancaster - Pilot: Self Crew: 6 Duty:...
[KILLED]
The medals arrived in time for the gala
'war is over and our boys are coming home' ...celebrations...
AFTERWORD
It may seem paradoxical, but one comes
best to know one's real self, and to be able to introspect honestly, as
a consequence of unselected, spontaneous disclosure of self to another
person.
-Sidney M. Jourard
Paradoxically the practice of writing graduate
course journals has forced me to think with more discipline, while at the
same time having to think more imaginatively and multi-dimensionally. I
have spewed out a stream of personal experiences which I have tried to
relate to my philosophy of education, but in hindsight I can't help but
feel that no matter how much these words may try to take on a persona of
confident gems of wisdom, they are really nothing but questions - not necessarily
doubts, but certainly questions. I have never allowed myself the luxury
of becoming fully satisfied with anything I have accomplished in life -
I question constantly. This is especially so in teaching. There is seldom
only one right answer to the question - indeed, many people are put off
by other people's answers... they must find their own truths... and to
do so they must learn to ask the right questions. Few thoughts have passed
through my head without inspection to see if they passed muster for further
pursuance. The process seemed to take up every waking moment - if not writing,
then observing or analyzing or imagining. I found myself writing on a tremendous
number of different levels, through different voices, and melding past,
present and future because I came to realize that this is the essence of
curriculum. I gained new perspectives on curriculum, my teaching, students
and even my own life - it has even given me the confidence to share my
private thoughts and personal history, because I realize that these elements
really are inseparable from my style and M.O. as a teacher. It has not
been easy as I am an extremely private person, but it has been far easier
than I could ever have imagined. When one has time to organize and crystallize
his thoughts, the whole process becomes almost therapeutic... but the experience
is really quite draining and one needs some excuse or reason to do this
- no matter how pleasurable and rewarding it may be. There is the added
encouragement of realizing that what is being recorded has some permanence
- even in the midst of writing it, I found myself going back over passages
already "in the can" - not for revision's sake but for enjoyment and satisfaction
(and even surprise...Did I write that? When?...). This was enhanced not
a little by the on-going margin dialogue with my mentor which seemed to
take on a life all of its own.
I welcomed the mental stimulation and a chance
to coach and quarterback the complex interplay of experience, thoughts,
memories, emotions, personal philosophy, and practical expertise - all
on the undulating playing field of curriculum and all under the game pressures
of home, school and university. The over-riding realization which has made
this experience worthwhile is that it has actually been read by someone
who cares - and who has taken time to patiently crawl into my rambling
mind to develop a rapport while all the while interjecting encouragement
and insight - no "duckbilled" platitudes here. As a teacher I know how
demanding and time-consuming this type of response can be - far easier
to put a check mark after each paragraph and to sum it up at the end with,
"That's nice." or "Where's your documentation?" or "I disagree so you are
totally off base." My faith in the university education process is restored.
Is this the last chapter? I think not. I'll
probably continue on with documenting my ramblings... after a period of
R & R. I think I've caught the bug. Continued writing will doubtless
strengthen my teaching but I envision future efforts taking on the form
of a personal journal which I will leave to my kids - a part of their growing
up from a POV they could only guess at after I am gone... I was there all
the while. They will probably have no interest in reading this until they
have their own offspring and the whole process takes on a renewed relevancy.
I would give fortunes if I could share such thoughts put down by my loved-ones-gone.
But when it is all done and dry who really would care what I write anyway
but my descendants. There seems to be a special tie/link which blood provides
- humans seem to have a hunger for knowing from whence they came ... and
how. If I can provide some of the answers along the way and become a better
teacher and person while doing so, I believe I shall have accomplished
my given task.
This has been an experience I shall treasure
and bringing it to a close is akin to losing a close and valued friend.
Joy Geen
William
G. Hillman M. Ed. (1991)
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