Tag: education

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University of Where???

Daily writing prompt
What colleges have you attended?
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I’ve got a bachelor’s degree from Boston University, a master’s, and an incomplete doctorate from a snooty Ivy League school in Pennsylvania. But most of what I learned was from Hardknocks U and the College of Experience. I also took extensive coursework at the University of the Road, Extension School. So much for my jive introduction to the theme.

It was actually in New York’s Greenwich Village that I began an actual intellectual education. I had what is now known as ADD. But in those days, the New York Public Schools found it most convenient to warehouse those who were “problems.” In need of new beginnings, I followed a friend to the Village one evening. I performed with his band at the infamous Purple Onion. That night, I played a mean kazoo and tambourine.

After that, I found my feet wandering to the subway frequently, and from there to MacDougall and Bleecker Streets. One night at the cafe Rienzi, I found myself sitting opposite a retired history professor with a love of the Byzantine Empire. Other nights were spent with college students, writers, and creative people of many types. They introduced me to Nietzsche, Kipling, Cassius Dio, and Henry David Thoreau. These casual acquaintances were not so much an actual education as an introduction that invited me to explore. My time at Cafe Rienzi did what the New York Public Schools had never been able to achieve. It ignited a love of learning and a habitual need to feed it.

When my guitar and I began our wandering in Pius Itinerancy, the bottom of my pack was full of books. Between rides, I visited Canary Row and other interesting locations in literature.

Well Roundedness

Justifiably, our society places much credence on education. I thoroughly agree. But there is a tendency to cage and fence the concept – you need to get a job, you need to make a career. To me, that makes sense as a practical matter, but you shouldn’t cage, fence in, or herd your imagination and creativity while doing that. Let’s introduce the concept of wellness to education. We used to have a term for it. It was a “well-rounded education.”

In a well-rounded education, you studied your major, but were offered samplings from other disciplines to expand your experience, skills, and intellect. There has been a drift away from this. Study X, it will be all that you will ever need. When your knowledge of X is obsolete, or the job market in it is so crowded that you can’t get a job, the employers ask you, “Well, what else do you know?’ If the answer is nothing, you’re shit out of luck.

As a moderately educated person, you know about wellness in diet, exercise, and other areas. You wouldn’t eat only carbs or fats. Why would you do the intellectual equivalent in terms of education?

Dividends

So, regardless of whether you attended any of my old alma maters or not, you can take full advantage of what’s on offer. If you have a particular passion, as I did for anthropology, feel free to follow it, but don’t ignore literature, philosophy, hard sciences, and craft. All those things offer lessons that might not be immediately visible, but offer later dividends.

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Money, Money, by the Pound!

Daily writing prompt
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
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The photo is so old now that it might as well be done in sepia tones. It shows me dressed in the gown of a graduate. I, of course, still had my signature waxed and twirling mustachios and wore a secretive grin. It was taken following the observances for commencement at Boston University in June of 1975. In the fall of that year, I would commence graduate work for several more years.

Was it all expensive? Simply put, despite scholarships, fellowships, and occasional small grants, I wouldn’t pay it off until 1997. Over twenty years later.

These days, when the value of college and university education seems to be widely questioned, the query is often, “Was it worth it?” I wonder how to answer that. At the end of 1970, when I finally embarked on a new course in life, the question that was posed was, “Can you afford not to invest in yourself?” Because that was precisely what I was doing, investing in myself.

Put your bets down!

If you’ve read some of my other stuff, you might know about my years as a Pious Itinerant ( road bum) and folksinger. At the point I decided to be very speculative and make an investment in an education the odds were long that I’d see thirty going the way I had been. How risky was it? Well, how would you like to dump your lifetime savings into a cryptocurrency scam I have going? Yep, it was that risky.

“Friends” and my girlfriend were certain that it would be a phase that Wes ( that’s me!!!!) would grow bored with. They assumed, and told me as much, that I’d be back to my usual routine soon enough. I wish I had them take bets. I’d be rich!

So, the question was, was it worthwhile? These days, that question gets framed most often as an economic one. That’s a shame, because if you take full advantage of an education, it opens new worlds, interests, and opportunities. The terminal degree you receive on graduation day is only the beginning. It is up to you to make more of it.

But was it worth it? Absolutely. To answer the economic question, the opportunities to earn opened up for me. But beyond that, the vistas of ongoing investigation opened. I discovered new interests, perspectives, and amusements.

So, yeah, it was the most expensive personal item, but I’m not sure that I could have afforded not to make that investment.

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School Days! stream of consciousness Saturday

My first school was a parochial institution run by the Sisters of Perpetual Pain. The teacher I remember most was Sister Marguerite De Sade. Thankfully, my parents moved me to a public school in third grade, where I thrived. It’s incredible what encouraging words and a positive environment can do for your learning experience.
This saved me from Sister’s yardstick and landed me in a learning haven. But our return to New York City the next year was traumatic for me. There was no more Sister De Sade, but City public schools were not much better.

At the time, kids with any sort of learning issue were lazy or a discipline issue. It was detention, study halls, and the always inspiring visits to the Principal’s office. I was labeled a problem. By the time high school loomed on my horizon, it was clear that the City wanted to warehouse me.

I resisted warehousing and resumed education elsewhere. First, it was the local pool hall, but soon, I matriculated to the storied Greenwich Village School of peripatetic scholasticism. It included long discussions at the Cafe Rienzi with street poets and erudite rejects from the City’s many elite Colleges. My performances at the second and third-rate coffeehouses never warranted a career as a musician. But I received the start of a classical education that included history, literature, and philosophy. All while drinking coffee and soaking up conversations with interesting and generous people.

When I hit the road, the bottom of my pack contained volumes of suggested readings for a Pius Itinerant.

Some years later, I was fortunate to continue my education under more formal circumstances. I eventually earned a Bachelor’s, Master’s, and most of my Ph.D. But the informal schools of coffeehouses, social gatherings, and art galleries in the Village, Boston, and Baltimore set the course.

Take that, sister De Sade!

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Off to see the elephant

Let’s see, I’m not a lawbreaker, and I have no supersized jumbo addictive habits anymore. So, what do I like about myself? I like that when I was younger, I “went to see the elephant” often. It gave me a perspective on how the world malfunctions.
Need to familiarize yourself with the term? I picked it up from a guy I knew in the service. Before enlistment, he’d been a rodeo bull rider. Every time he’d tell a story about his wild and varied life, he’d conclude it with a variation on this phrase: “Yep, that was one time I went to see the elephant!” He meant he’d seen and done many things the average faceless person sitting in the stands had not.
We were at a buddy’s place once. The entire lot of them had all been bull or bronc riders, ropers, or other sorts of rodeo folks. I was drunk and stupid enough to allow them to put me on a horse with a mean disposition. Afterward, he and his wife Lucille gave me an icepack and sang sorrowful verses from the western song “Blood on the Saddle.”‘
“Yes, son. Now you’ve been to see the elephant!” I had been begging him for stories about the rodeo, and he told me that until you experienced it, you’d never been to see… you got it…the elephant.

Yes, I’ve been to see the elephant on numerous occasions. From those experiences, I learned exactly how stupid I and the rest of the human race can be. So, what do I like best about myself? Well, one, I survived to talk about it, and two, I eventually woke up enough not to walk into trouble just for the hell of it.
Most of the time, telling people about it doesn’t stop them from doing dumb things, but at least they can say afterward that they’ve been to see the elephant. Eventually, those that survive wise up.

Daily writing prompt
What’s your favorite thing about yourself?
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Mrs. Kresge, Libraries, and the Sisters of Perpetual Pain

The nuns were clear. I was an incorrigible brat who would never learn to read. Sensing that they were wasting money, my parents removed me from parochial school and put me in the local public school. So much for the teaching abilities of the Sisters of Perpetual Pain!
Less than two months later, I was reading at grade level, and soon I was above that. Public school was good for me!
I may have omitted the excellent third-grade teacher I had, Mrs. Kresge, who made it her mission to save me from almost three years of unremitting agony.
OK, you get the general idea that nuns swinging yard sticks are not my favorite teaching method. Mrs. Kresge believed that you sponsor student interest by engagement. She found the topics that fascinated me and led me to the books. When I struggled, she tutored. Then, I began teaching myself—a method I’ve used throughout life – and she suggested that my parents take a trip with me to the library. The library was better than ice cream on a hot summer day.
Later, in adulthood, when stressed, I’d dream that I’d woken up on the floor of the history section in the Hempstead Public Library. That history section, the library, and the librarians had become my refuge.

I can’t say that I had one favorite book, but I know that when we moved back to the city, I took the memories of the library with me.

Daily writing prompt
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?
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Three Books and Three Stories

We all have our learning styles, and mine is putting it all together myself. Remember the old saying that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear? Well, in my case, the teacher’s train was late, and if I had waited, I’d never have learned to play guitar or carve. Carving and guitar playing have been two essential parts of my life, but when the urge to learn appeared, there was no one to teach me.
Rather than sit around frustrated, I taught myself.

At about age ten, I found a broken-up old lute and tried to play it. My father, taking pity on me, found me a Stella guitar, and I started plinking on that. But I had no idea what I was doing. On a trip downtown to a music store, I found a copy of “The Folksinger’s Guitar Guide” by Jerry Silverman. Using it, I made enough noise that sounded like music that I eventually received “Charlie,” my favorite guitar, As a Christmas present.
Charlie is still with me and has many thousands of miles to his credit as my companion on many road trips and many performances.
A battered older copy of the Folksinger’s Guitar Guide still resides on my bookshelf, and after all these years, it still has valuable information. I believe it, and several successor volumes are still in print. If you want to learn how to become an engaging raconteur, folksinger, and survivor of altercations while performing in bars, as I was, pick up a copy.

I found E.J. Tangerman’s book “Whittling and Woodcarving” pretty much the same way I found the Folksinger’s Guitar Guide. I had already procured some tools, and needed instruction on using them. There was no teacher available, so a book became my guide. And yes, this book is still on my shelf, but more out of nostalgia than practicality. There are many better instructional books on carving available now. But in 1968, it was the little paperback by E.J. Tangerman. I was fortunate to rapidly find some mentors who showed me things I could not understand from texts alone.
I had a moment of dislocation the first time I prepared to teach woodcarving. Mastering skills in woodcarving really should not be a random mishmash like it was for me. Teaching was an extremely valuable experience that made me a better carver.

Peter Kemp’s “Ships and the Sea” occupies three locations in my home – office library, shop library, and maritime library. I picked up my first copy in 1976 at the greatly missed Encore Books. If you are into things maritime and lack a copy, there are used copies of the 1976 edition and the more recent 2005 edition and a reissue in 2015. Open randomly for some exciting tidbit. The maritime historian William Avery Baker harbored a bit of prejudice against the book for its British proclivity but granted that it was a helpful reference. No maritime library is complete without a copy. I have so many copies because they keep getting buried in the shop or the office, and I like to have them at hand when I find a term while researching a portrait I do not recognize.

So the prompt asked for three books. So I’ll exclude the story about my old copy of Gray’s Anatomy. My “favorite” orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Puffer, hurled it at me because my knowledge of anatomy needed improvement. He was an interesting “old School” guy to work with. Next time!

So there are three valuable books, and why I find them useful. Perhaps one might be of use to you.

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AI

Let’s start by saying that I have no desire to “speak” with my editorial program’s new AI feature. Despite having worked on my doctorate, master’s, and bachelor’s degrees, I remain at the root of the folksinging road bum who dropped out of high school. I don’t want some idiot savant telling me how to improve my writing. I got it to check my spelling, assist me in placing commas, and watch for bad grammatical stuff. Ahhhhh. There it goes, suggesting that I should not use the word “really.” Up yours!

A while ago, I tried its suggestion in one paragraph. When it finished, I was not captivated; I was horrified. It was not an improvement; it was more of a drive-thru shooting of my writing style. I could not recognize my voice in the finished product. As result I turn off all the polite idiot popups suggesting that I try the generative AI settings. That’s not why I bought a subscription to their program.

I realize that not everyone in the blogosphere loves my writing style. But it is mine; I own it. I have no desire to sound like some neutered chat program. Everyone should rally around their own unique identity and voice. It may not be perfect, but it is authentic, and it is yours.

That’s all until my writing program tells me…“I’m sorry Lou, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Daily writing prompt
Who would you like to talk to soon?
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work!

Work is a topic that has been of professional interest to me for many years. A big focus of my time as a practicing anthropologist was program development for festivals and exhibits. I often interviewed and even worked alongside traditional craftspeople as part of my job. Those experiences did two things for me. First, they influenced my attitudes toward craft and the meaning of work. Secondly, it cured me of any desire to step into another’s shoes for a day and try their occupation. 

Many exciting-sounding occupations require enormous amounts of skill and patience. Your appreciation of them should include understanding how much goes into doing them competently. Without that, you will soon be out of the oven and into the fire on your day doing another’s job.

Let me give you an example.

Given my lifelong preoccupation with maritime matters, it was almost fate that I’d wind up working with boatbuilders. We decided to run a boatbuilding program at the Folklife Center, of which I was the director. Guess who advocated for that! 

It took only a short time to understand that all the books I had read on the subject had left lots out. When building a lapstrake boat ( a boat with overlapping planks as the sides) You must mount the planks accurately on the frame and over the preceding plank. This requires beveling and shaping each plank accurately before putting it in place. You have tools to help you shape the plank to a previously established line and angle. I was given this as an assignment, and I confidently measured and created the bevel. 

My friend Ralph, the boatbuilder, came over to check my work. He asked me to close my eyes, put my fingers on the bevel, and walk the length of the plank. I did as requested and felt every bump, valley, and unfair surface my eyes had missed.

We all can have Walter Mitty-style daydreams in which we create skillful works through plucky attitudes and our native creative abilities. But a bit of reality should temper the desire, lest we fail to respect the amount of knowledge and skill actually involved in actually doing the job.

Yeah. I know, I’m a real spoilsport!

Daily writing prompt
What’s a job you would like to do for just one day?
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Feelings

Over the years that I’ve worked as a craftsman, I’ve participated in many craft shows, boat shows, and art shows. The interactions with the casual visitors to the shows are what it’s all about. Your job is to take the minute you have their attention and turn it into a motivated sale. And, no, you can’t come across as a crass, ruthless sales clerk. Your job is to interest them in what you have laid out for them to examine.
Usually, it’s about me educating you. But I’ll never forget one interaction that was an educational moment for me.
For a while, I had a line of hand-carved walking canes. The heads were carved owls and bears, but I mostly sold ones with eagle heads at boat shows. At a good show, I could sell several of these throughout the show.
My best and most enjoyable show was held late in March every year in Portland, Maine. The Maine Boatbuilders Show was in a funky former factory on the waterfront. Being it was in Portland, and during March, you trudged through puddles of rain or drifts of snow to gain access to the show. But lousy weather did nothing to lessen the crowds. And thousands of boat owners, potential buyers, and casual visitors did troop through my booth. It was my most profitable show of the season.

Sunday afternoons were always slow, and it was the day that most families visited the show. By four in the afternoon, most of the vendor’s thoughts were turning from spotty sales to packing up, packing out, and getting dinner. We had all started a bit of surreptitious packing away of smaller items. But we couldn’t be too open about this. There were still visitors walking about and some sales to be made.
That afternoon I had a visit by a pair of sisters in their twenties. They looked carefully at everything and asked intelligent questions, and it was a joy to have them see me on a slow Sunday afternoon. One thing that I noted was that they ran hands over everything. Seeing that, I noticed one sister told me the other was blind. She enjoyed the tactile aspect of my carved goods. I admitted that I deliberately made my cherry spoons to be fun to touch and hold. But it was the eagle-headed cane that attracted the most attention. It was fun to have and feel – contours, feathers, beak, and eyes. It was an easy sale, and a happy customer.
Taking up my trim saw, I quickly adjusted the cane to her size. Then, the pair strolled off to meet up with family, carrying a shopping bag with the cane, spoons, and a cutting board, all useful but also pleasing to the touch. Since then, I have pointed out to people that the carvings have a tactile element.
It’s not just sight but feeling that brings pleasure.

Daily writing prompt
Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.
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A Loose Alternative

The words High School and truant will forever be linked in my memory. I remember years ago, there were emails and ads for some company that wanted to put you in contact with your old schoolmates. Well, being that I never graduated, they couldn’t find my picture in an album or on a list of graduates. If they searched old school files they might have found the truancy records. Those would put in contact with the bunch I hung around with at the pool hall. “Yes, sir! Lou! How are you doin’, my man? Hey! Let’s go to Sullivan’s and have a few Guinness for old-time sake!”

Remember how the old movies had truant officers scouring the streets and pool halls for the neer do wells? In New York City, I never saw that. We were just “free-range students” until the expulsion letter was mailed. No truant officer ever placed a tail on me. We reveled in how powerless the schools were to do anything about us. Of course, the truth was that the schools could not have cared less. Most serious truants were custodial problems; they had no idea what to do with us. So we were warehoused until we conveniently disappeared to the alternative educational system: the streets.

In my case, I took hold of a loose alternative and drifted to Greenwich Village, where I performed in the lower end of Folkie coffeehouses and matriculated into the village’s alternative educational system.

Years later, I convinced a major university to grant me a bachelor’s degree based on my merit rather than my educational background in high school. Education is where you find it.

A few years ago, I was driving through New York City and passed my old high school on the highway. I felt not the least urge to stop and revisit good times – there weren’t any.

Daily writing prompt
Describe something you learned in high school.
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