Thursday morning

2 March 2017

— I am never at my best in the early morning, especially a cold morning in the Yorkshire spring with a piercing March wind sweeping down from the fells, finding its way inside my clothing, nipping at my nose and ears. James Herriot

Good Morning All,

I just finished today’s Attic Archive Quiz #9. I do not honestly know why I enjoy putting these suckers together, but I do.

I have, honest, never believed quizzes to have much to do with education. That may be why I gave so many of them, so that no individual ones would mean much. Quizzes and tests never amounted to more than a quarter of a student’s grade. Class participation, homework, and essays counted for the rest.

If ever I had any doubts about the meager educational value of quizzes, they were put to rest my first year at C.I.S. after I found out about the history teacher’s 100 Specifics Tests. Mr. Vadala was an extremely bright fellow and a profound bull-shit artist whose students revered him like the Wizard of Oz. Once or twice a quarter he’d give one of his 100 Specifics, and those grades, plus one paper, and whether he liked your flattery was your grade. Such crucial historical questions as: What was the name of Napoleon’s horse? and What deserving Bolshevik got himself ice-picked in Mexico? (Mr. V. was very much a Cold-War historian.)

One morning I had my 10th grade English class first period. No one seemed to be paying much attention to my heartfelt rendering of Housman’s Loveliest of Trees. They seemed, rather, to be not so surreptitiously checking notes. Okay, I said, what gives? One of my students then explained that they had history next period, one of the dreaded 100s, and couldn’t I just let them have a study period, just this once? “Well, of course,” I said. “I mean, what’s a bloody poem about nature compared to who’s buried in Grant’s tomb? Here, let me help you. I’ll bet you a kroner Mr. V. is going to ask how many bricks there are in the Great Pyramid.” That was the stupidest question I could think of on the spur of the moment. One kid immediately shouted, “Hey, I know that one! Two point one million.” Another kid shouted, “You’re crazy! At least, you are if you mean the Great Pyramid of Khufu at Giza, which—I got it written right here—is two point three million!

Anyway, I have, honest, never believed quizzes to have much to do with education. That may be why I gave so many of them, so that no individual ones would mean much. Quizzes and tests never amounted to more than a quarter of a student’s grade. Class participation, homework, and essays counted for the rest.

God knows, once the kids came to appreciate my absurd love for the absurdity of quizzes, we all had a lot of fun. I think I have mentioned I’d ask as extra credit questions for the kids to rate on a scale of one to ten the new haircut of one of them. Or I’d offer ten free points if they could identify the color of the shirt I wore on Monday. Or ten extra points for the best answer (as voted upon by the class) for why mothers are always licking their fingers to try to knock down some hair on the heads of their offspring. Stuff like that. 

Of course I would also ask  questions related to the texts we were reading. One of my favorites was: Whom of these four would you want most to be your friend? (By the way, you will get points only if you tell the absolute truth and are in the majority.) A. Huck B. Jim C. Holden D. Phoebe.

Of course they got full points for whatever answer they gave, but I would not tell them that until after twenty minutes of them defending their choices, and thus doing most of the work in discussing how Twain and Salinger developed their characters.

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron