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Gladly Learn and Gladly Teach
Presidential Address, Anne Ruggles Gere
90th Annual Convention, National Council of Teachers of English
November 2000, Milwaukee
My mother was a teacher. I grew up watching her cut stencils on her old Royal typewriter and tease musical sounds out of wiggling nine-year-olds. My daughter is a teacher. I smile in recognition as she explains how she wants to get past grabbing up one lesson after another and think about big, unit-long projects for her students. My family is full of teachers. The subjects vary—we have teachers of music, history, math, theology, art, and English—but teaching gets passed along from one generation to the next, like the family silver. Those who step outside this pattern pay a heavy price. When my maternal grandmother, who was raised in nineteenth-century Germany, married a carpenter instead of a teacher like her father, she had to leave the country and emigrate to the United States. I never had to convince anyone when I decided to become a teacher. Everyone in my family was already convinced that teaching is important and valuable work. Many of my students are not so fortunate. Those who feel called to the classroom often face strong opposition from parents and others interested in their welfare. Kim was enrolled in my English methods course two years ago. Three weeks into the semester she hadn’t completed the first assignment because, as she explained, "I can’t afford to buy the textbook." Later, in my office she explained that her parents, immigrants from Korea who had sacrificed a great deal to send their daughter to college, became furious when Kim said she wanted to become an English teacher. They expected her to become a doctor. In their anger, her parents refused to pay for Kim’s senior year in college, and since she was still scrambling to get loans and a part-time job, Kim hadn’t been able to buy the textbook. "I know I’ll be a good teacher," Kim sobbed. "It’s what I have always wanted to do. I just wish my parents could understand how much it matters."
NCTE members don’t, of course, need to be convinced that teaching matters, but the continuing assaults on our profession, the statistics on teacher burnout, and the apologetic tones of those who introduce themselves as "just a teacher" convince me that we need to remind ourselves of the intellectual, social, and political ground on which we stand. We who teach English/language arts occupy a special position in the world of teaching because the literacies we teach and practice lie at the center of identity. We—teachers and students together—learn more about who we are as we read and write the world. We operate in a world of stories, whether we help first graders in Mississippi craft their first account of a scary experience, open the text of Langston Hughes’ "Theme for English B" for eighth graders in the District of Columbia, guide high school juniors in Wisconsin through a reading of The Crucible, or show first-year college students in California how to make an argument. In our classrooms we create and critique stories. It’s a daunting responsibility because stories are full of power; they can inspire heroism or destruction; they can delight or terrify; they can unify or divide. I think it was Ursula LeGuin who said that story is the only boat we have for sailing on the river of time.
For those of us who work in English/language arts classrooms, stories are both our subject and method. We read and reread accounts like Bridge to Terabithia, MacBeth, The Outsiders, Their Eyes Were Watching God¸ Make Way for Ducklings, and To Kill A Mockingbird and came to new insights and understandings with each pass through the text. The ever-changing faces in our classrooms provide us with stories of their lives and learning in their journals, essays, and papers. We read about their dreams and fears, their discoveries and decisions. These stories of our students and of the authors we read constitute the subject from which we learn. Each of us can give an account of the intellectual ground on which we stand, of ourselves as learners. Here is a brief version of mine. When I was a member of the English department at the University of Washington, I served as founding director of the Puget Sound Writing Project, a site of the National Writing Project, and I learned to use writing groups in my own classes. I could see that student writers benefited from the immediate audience response and multiple perspectives of writing groups, but I wanted to know more. What were students actually saying to one another? And what could we learn from a close look at their language? Were writing groups an innovation of the 1960s as some critics claimed, or was there more to the story? These questions led me to a life of research that included lavalier microphones and transcriptions as well as archival records of college literary clubs and curriculum reports from nineteenth- century English departments. 1
Students who were required to participate in a writing group as part of a course frequently continued to meet after the class ended or formed a new group outside school. Sometimes they met to talk about books they had read. As I watched these self-sponsored literacy activities, participated in writing and reading groups with colleagues, and recalled that classroom writing groups owed their origins to student organizations like Linonia, a literary society founded at Yale in 1769 or the Athenian Society that was founded at Amherst College in the middle of the nineteenth century, I became increasingly interested in the extracurriculum of literacy, the ways people read and write outside of educational institutions. At that time I was teaching a course called women and literature. Discussing texts like Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland, Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, and May Sarton’s The Small Room made me especially interested in communities of women. I began to wonder about groups of women who met to share their reading and writing. This project took me to attics, basements, and archives from Atlanta to Anchorage and from Portland, Maine, to Portland, Oregon, as I searched out tracings of the literacy practices of club women active between 1880 and 1920. One of the things that impressed me was the variation in text selections by club women from varying class, race, and religious groups. African American club women read canonical American writers like Emerson and Hawthorne, but they also read Frances Harper, W. E. B. Dubois, and Anna Cooper. Jewish club women added Emma Lazarus, Grace Aguilar, and Emma Wolf to the more familiar names, while working-class club women turned to Jane Addams, Florence Kelley, and Annie Nathan Meyer.2
I was thinking about these various constructions of American literature as I began teaching courses in the subject to undergraduates. My students, who represented a wide variety of racial and national backgrounds, led me to rethink the term "American." As we made choices about readings, I began to see how we were creating a version of American literature. The wide range of texts we chose— including sea chanteys sung by sailors on the Great Lakes and poetry about Detroit—expanded the category of literature.
Teaching English methods courses for preservice teachers and working with experienced secondary school teachers of American literature intensified this experience. I began to see new connections between college and high school teaching. All of us were concerned with the ways we "make" American literature in our classrooms, whether through the selections we choose from an anthology, the books we require students to read, the critical approaches we take in discussing texts, or the ways we apprehend the literary qualities in student writing. I learned to rethink the "making" of American literature.3
Throughout this time I was also learning about how the personal and autobiographical lead directly into the public and social world of the classroom. Among the greatest challenges of my life has been the necessity to support the literacy of both my mother and my daughter. My mother’s descent into dementia made it impossible for her to read, write, or even speak for herself. It was easy to shuffle her papers and meet her physical needs, but it was harder to find words that could reach her as her mind drifted away. In part I was prepared to help my mother when life became more confusing and frightening for her because I had years of practice with our daughter Cindy. The alcohol that bathed Cindy’s brain before she was born created a neurological havoc of short circuits and missed connections. Names of friends and common objects elude her; she writes with fractured syntax and unconventional spelling; filling out forms is pure torture for her. We’ve worked together for years. I help her with reading and writing, and she, a prize-winning painter, helps me see the world in new ways. In particular, as we wrote our two-voiced memoir together, I came to understand multiple literacies more completely and saw how I could address them in my own teaching.4
I have, up to this point, been speaking mostly in the first person singular, but, as Frankie, the main character in Carson McCullers’ Member of the Wedding, puts it, "you are the we of me."5 Because of you, my friends and colleagues in the Council, I am not an isolated teacher, not like Frankie the summer she was 12, "a member of nothing in the world," "an unjoined person." I am an I and I am a we. I trust that some of what I have learned as a teacher, both in and out of school, resonates with the learning and teaching you have experienced, with the literacies of your lives. I’d like to turn now to what "we" share as members in NCTE. Regardless of where we teach or the ages of our students, we share common intellectual, social, and political ground. In intellectual terms, we are wordsmiths and readers of texts; we learn from our teaching; and we are also becoming more self-conscious about public representations of what we do in the classroom. For those of us who work in higher education, the "scholar- ship of teaching" is becoming a familiar phrase. We have begun to recognize, as Ernest Boyer urged, that scholarship should include teaching as well as research.6 We are starting to acknowledge that taking learning seriously means, among other things, learning from our own pedagogical experience and, as Lee Shulman urges, sharing that learning in acts of scholarship that advance the knowledge of practice.7 The scholarship of teaching, like scholarship of any sort, includes the habits of mind that foster discovery, integration, and application as well as good classroom practices.
The effect of this movement is becoming visible in many ways. The 1997 presidential address given at the Modern Language Association was titled "Teaching and the Making of Knowledge," a speech in which Professor Lindenberger recounted his experiences as a student, noting how his understanding of "what constitutes knowledge and of how knowledge takes on new forms derives from [the] teaching" of his mentors James Holly Hanford and Northrop Frye.8 Just this fall, graduate students on my campus organized a Symposium on Pedagogy that extended across three days. They invited literature faculty to describe how and why they teach certain novels, plays, and poems. They held sessions on technology and literary studies, the play within the play in the classroom, and the politics of drama. They even mounted a workshop on writing a statement of teaching philosophy—a session that drew an overflow crowd to comment on workshop draft statements and to discuss what it means to represent one’s teaching. There was enthusiastic response to this Symposium, and not just from graduate students. Faculty seemed delighted at the opportunity to share some of their pedagogical discoveries and to demonstrate the ways they have been able to integrate their literary work with their classroom practices.9
For those of us who work in elementary, middle and high schools, "teacher research" is the term most often used to describe processes of learning from teaching. It has a different political edge than the scholarship of teaching because K–12 teachers have often been excluded from participation in scholarship and positioned as transmitters of knowledge produced by others. Teacher researchers responded to Ann Berthoff’s call for RE-searchers who did not need more findings from university-based researchers, or to L. Stenhouse’s call for a democratizing research in the process of moving toward what progressive educators like Eleanor Duckworth describe as "teaching as research."10 Regardless of which approach they take, teacher researchers share a common opposition to the idea that teachers present the knowledge of others. Instead, they insist that K–12 teachers produce knowledge in their classrooms, thereby making both teaching and research more social.
The teacher research movement makes way for students to tell us more about how they learn. One of my favorite accounts comes from Karen Smith, who spent a number of years working with the Navajo people. When she asked one of her students to explain how he learns, he responded with this account: "When I was a small boy, I learned by listening to my father and his friends tell stories. They told tales of animals, of heroes among our people, and of things that happened before I was born. Often they talked long into the night when I was supposed to be asleep. To escape their notice, I would lie on the floor under my brother’s bed. One of my mother’s shawls was thrown on the bed and hung down over the edge. I learned through the fringes of my mother’s shawl."
In these days of teacher bashing, it’s easy to forget the important social position that teachers still occupy. Not long ago I was getting my hair cut, and the person in the chair next to me discovered that she and her stylist had gone to the same schools. Together they rehearsed the names of each teacher from first to sixth grades and then continued on to discuss middle school and high school teachers. I can, on a moment’s notice, recite my teachers’ names—Mrs. Phipps, Miss Dunton, Mrs. York, Mrs. Schlander, Miss Maw, Miss Dancoes, and so on—through every one of my grade school and high school years, but I had thought maybe my memory resulted from the fact that I never really left school. The people next to me at Great Clips convinced me otherwise. The questions my undergraduates ask as they begin to work in schools demonstrate their awareness of their socially visible position. "What should I wear?" "Is it okay if I give students a ride home after debate club?" "How will I know enough and how will I be able to convey what I know to my students?" To be sure, some of this reflects the normal anxiety associated with taking a new position, but I think that these questions also come out of students’ awareness of the social position they will occupy.
One aspect of their social position is that teachers have always been expected to meet a higher standard than their peers. In the nineteenth century it was common for communities to publish rules for teachers. Here are a few items from an 1872 list: "Each teacher will bring a bucket of water, and a scuttle of coal for the day’s sessions; After ten hours in school, the teachers may spend the remaining time reading the Bible or other good books; men teachers may take one evening each week for courting purposes or two evenings a week if they go to church regularly; and Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed." 11
We can see that community members had an ideal in mind for the teachers they employed. Not only did the community expect instructors to educate youngsters who entered their classrooms, but it also expected teachers to provide a model for thrift, sexual purity, religious devotion, and self-improvement. Part of the reason such rules were written and tolerated can be traced to a version of the gender politics that allowed courting for male teachers but forbade female teachers to marry. In the 1830s Catherine Beecher initiated a program of educational reform, arguing that the moral degeneration of the nation could be reversed by educating women to become teachers. They would, she claimed, provide "moral and religious education [which] must be the foundation of national education." 12 The feminization of teaching not only guaranteed that schooling would cost less than it would with an all-male teacher corps, but it also created expectations of a higher moral and ethical standard for teachers. These expectations have endured even though circumstances have changed since the mid nineteenth century. In 1928 Herbert Hoover observed that the teacher was "peculiarly a public character under the most searching of watchful and critical eyes." 13
Another dimension of the social position occupied by teachers has to do with the influence we wield. Shortly after my mother’s death, I took her elderly brother-in-law to his semi-retired barber, and when my uncle introduced me to the barber, he mentioned my mother’s name. "Oh," said the barber. "She was my fourth-grade teacher. I’ll never forget her. She used to play music on a little phonograph and ask us to put our heads down on the desk to listen. She said we should let our minds wander with the music. Then she would ask us to write." Listening to this stooped and white-haired barber recount his experience in my mother’s classroom in the mid-1930s, before I was born, reminded me of how far-reaching the effects of our teaching can be. The books we choose, the writing assignments we give, and the climate of feelings we create can affect students long past the final day of a course. The stories read and heard in our classrooms shape the future lives of our students. As Wayne Booth puts it, "It is in responding to, taking in, becoming transported by story that character is formed, for good or for ill. Stories that listeners really listen to are powerful self-creators: they can create or reinforce bad ethos or good. They can transform us in self-destructive directions or they can turn us into would-be heroes." 14
Increasingly, of course, the stories we read and hear in classrooms come under the scrutiny of those outside school-room doors. Administrators, parents, school board members, religious leaders, test-makers, and people in the community want a say in what our students read and write. The stories we deal with, the professional authority our research brings, the powerful and long-term influence we wield with our students—all these factors make us appear dangerous to some segments of the population. Like many of you, I know two teachers who are currently dealing with challenged books. One is defending Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, a book that was selected as one of several texts on a summer reading list for an English Honors class. The other teacher is being challenged for using a short story "Parents’ Night" by Nancy Garden. It is included in a collection titled Am I Blue? Coming Out of the Silences and recounts the story of a girl who has to decide whether to represent her school’s Gay Straight Bisexual Association at the parents’ night bazaar, which would involve not only outing herself at school but at home with her own parents. This story was included in a unit of contemporary texts to precede Catcher in the Rye to examine the diversity of American-lived experience. The guiding questions were: What kind of place is America? and Whose America is it? Other texts included "Who’s Irish?" by Gish Jen, "Frame" by Adrienne Rich, "Puerto Rican Obituary" by Pedro Pietri, and "Theme for English B" by Langston Hughes. The parent who objected to "Parents’ Night" called the story trash and complained that homosexual issues get shoved down her throat while her kids "can’t even pray at school."
I’m sure such stories are not news to most of you. They are unfortunately part of the regular business of teaching. I cite them as a reminder that we English/language arts teachers stand on politically charged ground. It is ground we can hold when we stand together, and NCTE provides a space where we can do this. It will not surprise you to know that the Council quickly became involved in both of the Michigan book challenges. Rationales for Challenged Books, an NCTE CD, has, as many of you know, helpful explanations of why Of Mice and Men should be used in classrooms. The Censorship packet and the advice of NCTE staff and volunteers were also helpful to both teachers. As one of them said, "I got immediate help. I have a new appreciation for the resources NCTE has to offer."
One of the things the Executive Committee has been thinking about is what NCTE resources ought to be for the future. What should we offer our members in the twenty-first century? We have been learning the new literacy of strategic planning, and as we do so, we realize that we need to plan strategically on a regular basis. To that end, we have drafted a list of seven priorities that can guide our thinking and planning. I share them with you as a way of inviting you to participate in our strategic plan, to signal that all of us "I’s" are part of the "we" of NCTE, and we who have been drafting this list want to be sure that it represents all of us. The order of the list does not signify relative importance; every- thing on this list matters. The brief explanations attached to each item offer some background on our thinking.
1) Technology. In recent years NCTE has gone from having no Web site to creating a significant presence on the Internet. Over 50% of the program proposals for the Milwaukee Convention arrived electronically; at least 2,000 new members have joined us via the Web site; our chatrooms, especially those for new teachers, attract many participants; our books are now being purchased online; and our Threshold Project is making our journals available to a much wider audience. We need to think creatively about how we can use technology to nurture our membership and achieve Council goals. Anyone who has cruised www.ncte.org knows that we have begun to connect paper and the Internet. We need to think about how to develop an even more coordinated communication plan for integrating print and electronic texts. Further- more, we need to foster a continuing critique of technology so that we and our students can make the best use of it.
2) Assessment. It isn’t news to say that high-stakes testing has too much influence on many of our classrooms. Student tracking, promotion, and graduation are all increasingly influenced by tests, as are ratings of schools, curricular programs, and individual teachers. These tests take resources away from instruction, do little to inform learning and teaching, and create tensions between teachers and administrators. They typically provide only the most limited portrait, based on a single performance, of what students can do. NCTE needs to work even more diligently, on the national, state, and local levels, to support programs of assessment that lead to improved instruction, incorporate authentic activities, and provide multiple measures of student achievement.
3) Diversity. We live in an increasingly multicultural society, where differences in ethnicity, national origin, language, social class, gender, religion, sexual preference, and generation proliferate. English/language arts classrooms offer a space where students can develop their own voices and learn to respect and hear all views. NCTE should promote diversity in its membership and provide even more resources for educators who face increasing diversity in their own classrooms.
4) Advocacy. The teaching of English/language arts has become increasingly politicized. In addition to censorship, conflicts about issues such as whole language and phonics, the use of journals, and testing programs complicate our lives. Teachers are professionals whose expertise deserves respect in decisions about instruction, curriculum, and assessment. NCTE should develop strategic links with other professional associations to provide a unified voice with which teachers can influence educational policies and legislation so that it is based upon what is known about language and learning.
5) Finance. NCTE is currently running a deficit of more than $1,000,000 on operations, which means that it is drawing heavily on reserves. While the Council can afford to continue a mixture of revenue-generating and non- profit activities, it cannot continue to operate at this level of deficit. NCTE needs to develop a balance between nonrevenue-generating activities and those that produce financial returns and seek new sources of revenue, including external grants and a development program.
6) Integrated Language Arts. NCTE advocates writing as a central tool for learning, thinking, and communication. It also supports and publishes research on writing at all levels of instruction. Similarly, NCTE promotes the use of quality literature across the curriculum as the basis of instruction at all grade levels. In advocating an integrated approach to language instruction, NCTE embraces a definition of literacy that includes, reading, writing, speaking, and listening as well as viewing, interpreting, and creating media.
7) Professional Development. NCTE plays a unique role in fostering and supporting quality programs of teacher education and leads the way in developing collaborative, participative, and effective forms of professional development where teachers’ voices are heard and respected. The Council needs to continue providing professional development opportunities for English/language arts teachers, supporting teacher research and the scholarship of teaching, and enabling members to find colleagues who mentor and sustain their faith in the work of teaching generally and the English/language arts particularly. Some of these goals seem rather bloodless and disconnected from the realities of our classrooms. As William Wordsworth reminds us, "getting and spending we lay waste our powers." Yet, attending to issues like finances will enable us to undertake projects that do have a direct effect on our own teaching and learning. To the extent that we enjoy a strong financial position, we will be able to invest more resources in trying to establish assessment that mirrors our interest in improving instruction, incorporating authentic activities, and providing multiple measures of student achievement. We will be more able to develop programs that help all of us deal more effectively with the increasingly diverse populations that inhabit our classrooms. We might even be able to broaden our advocacy efforts to address our increasingly child-hostile culture. Not long ago Herbert Kohl, author of 36 Children and many other books about teaching, was asked whether schools are worse than they were when he began teaching. Kohl responded by explaining that schools remain about the same, but the world beyond the school is much harsher toward children than it used to be. That harshness appears in statistics like these: We spend about $6,000 for each student who attends school in the South Bronx of New York City and about $60,000 for each prisoner on Riker’s Island; youngsters under 18 represent 40% of the population designated as poor even though they make up only about 25% of the total population; at least 15% of our nation’s children have no health insurance; and the dispari- ties between children living in families of high and low income continue to grow. Clearly, NCTE cannot address these social problems single-handedly, but as the keepers of our culture’s stories, we can help circulate stories that identify inequities while affirming the capacity of all our students to grow and learn.
To undertake this and any other new project as well as to strengthen existing ones, we need to broaden our member- ship in several ways. As you may know, a high percentage of NCTE members are white women over 50. I assure you, I have nothing against this segment of the population. After all, it includes me. But the future of our profession and of NCTE does not lie with me and those like me. The future lies with the younger and more diverse populations who are beginning their careers. In an effort to help change the demography of NCTE, I have undertaken several initiatives and hope to carry out more in my year as president. The NCTE-Prentice Hall Pearson Leadership Development Award was established to help some of our newest members attend our Annual Convention. Like many of you, when I first joined NCTE (I joined in 1968, so we are talking ancient history here), I saw myself as someone who received a monthly journal. It wasn’t until I attended an Annual Convention— my first was Philadelphia in 1973—that I felt like I belonged to an organization. Talking with colleagues from all over the country who shared my interest in teaching helped me understand that I was part of a much larger whole. Our new Leadership Development Awards provide funding to help one early-career teacher from every state, regional, and provincial affiliate to attend an Annual Convention. Thanks to support from The NCTE Fund, we were also able to offer awards this year to early-career teachers at two- and four-year colleges in the Milwaukee area. We hope to institutionalize this awards program with external funds soon. These awards, like the Leadership Development Awards, give priority to new teachers who will add to the diversity of our organization.
Not long ago I received an e-mail from Sarah, a former student who took a teaching position in Philadelphia because she was committed to working in the inner city. Sarah had joined NCTE and the Michigan Council of Teachers of English when she was in my methods class, but when she arrived at her new school she couldn’t find any NCTE members or an affiliate to join. "How can I connect with NCTE?" she asked. I expect that there are many Sarahs out there in urban schools. NCTE does not have a strong presence in places like Philadelphia or St. Louis or Milwaukee. Yet more youngsters are being educated in urban schools than in rural or suburban ones. If we believe that professional development like that which NCTE provides improves teacher quality, then we have reason to be concerned about the limitations on human as well as material resources in our city schools. The new NCTE- Scholastic Urban Teacher Initiative is a small step toward making NCTE a more vital presence in urban schools. This initiative provides funding for teachers from the schools in our Annual Convention city to attend our meetings—this year Milwaukee, next year Baltimore, and so on. I am currently working on developing additional initiatives that will enable NCTE to become more active and visible in urban schools. If you have suggestions for such initiatives or for our develop- ing priorities and strategic plan, please e-mail me at My fond hope is that initiatives like these and others I cannot even imagine right now will position NCTE as a vital professional presence in the lives of English/language arts teachers at all levels throughout the twenty-first century regardless of the location of their classrooms—in a city, a suburb, or a small town. If we can accomplish this, I know that we can help create the intellectual, social, and political conditions that will help those who follow after us to say that we, like Chaucer’s clerk of Oxford, "would gladly learn and gladly teach."
1 Anne Ruggles Gere and Robert Abbott. "Talking about Writing: The Language of Writing Groups," Research in the Teaching of English 19 (1985), 362–386. Anne Ruggles Gere. Writing Groups: History, Theory, and Implications. Carbondale: Southern Illinois U Press, 1987.
2 Anne Ruggles Gere. "Kitchen Tables and Rented Rooms: The Extracurriculum of Composition." College Composition and Communication 45 (1994), 75–92. Anne Ruggles Gere. Intimate Practices: Literacy and Cultural Work in U.S. Women’s Clubs 1880–1920. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1997.
3 Anne Ruggles Gere and Peter Shaheen. Eds. Making American Literatures. Urbana, NCTE, forthcoming.
4 Anne Ruggles Gere and Cynthia Margaret Gere. "Living with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome/ Fetal Alcohol Effect (FAS/FAE)." Michigan Quarterly Review 37, 3 (Summer 1998), 396– 409. Anne Ruggles Gere and Cynthia Margaret Gere. Woman of the King Salmon, forthcoming.
5 Carson McCullers. "The Member of the Wedding," In Collected Stories. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987, p. 379.
6 Ernest Boyer. Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities of the Professorate. Princeton, NJ: Carnegie Endowment for the Advancement of Teaching, 1990.
7 Lee Shulman. "Taking Learning Seriously." Change 31 (Jul./Aug. 1999), 10–17.
8 Herbert Lindenberger. "Presidential Address 1997: Teaching and the Making of Knowledge." PMLA 112 (1998), 373.
9 See Symposium Web site at: http://www.umich.edu/~earlymod/symp.htm.
10 Ann Berthoff. "The Teacher as Researcher. In Dixie Goswami and Peter Stillman (Eds.), Reclaiming the Classroom: Teacher Research as an Agency for Change. Upper Montclair, NJ: Boynton/Cook, 1987, pp. 28–38. Lawrence Stenhouse. Research as a Basis for Teaching. London: Heinemann, 1983. Eleanor Duckworth. The Having of Wonderful Ideas. New York, NY: Teachers College Press, 1987.
11 Rose Hamlin Tennis. The School That Was. Fowlerville, MI: Wilderness Adventure Books, 1990, p. 4.
12 Catherine Beecher. An Essay on the Education of Female Teachers. New York: Van Nostrand & Dwight, 1835, p. 18.
13 Quoted in J. Frank Marsh The Teacher Outside the School. New York: World Book, 1928, x.
14 Wayne Booth. "The Ethics of Teaching Literature." College English 61, 1 (Sept. 1998), 49.
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