Some blog posts you just don’t want to write, and this is one of them. I’m thankful to be writing it, that I’m able, and that for us, it all turned out okay. “Okay” is such a relative word, but it works.
Yesterday I took my almost-4-year old and 7 month old to Natick with some friends to watch the runners. A friend of mine from high school was running, and I thought it would be fun for Leo, and also get him used to a race because I am training for the Boston Run to Remember in May. We had a great time watching the runners, and Leo thought giving them high fives was the best. He was very excited to have a one on one trip with mama to the finish line to go see more runners and see them “win the race.”
Here are some of our Natick photos:
After leaving Natick, we dropped my daughter and our car off in Kendall Square with my husband, and Leo and I walked over the Mass Ave bridge towards Boylston. The magnolias on Comm Ave were fantastic. We found a great spot right near the corner of Boylston and Gloucester St. where we could see the 26 mile marker and hang out the sign we had made.
Then the first explosion happened. The crowd became silent. Leo was in his stroller, and I turned him away from where the sound had come from. The cop standing in front of the barrier put his hand on his gun and stood his ground.
People milled for a few seconds, confused, before the second explosion. We felt the wave of the blast and smelled the smoke. Someone yelled, “they blew up a building!,” and as the crowd began to scream and run, I ran, too, pushing Leo in the stroller.
I didn’t know if there was another, perhaps closer, blast about to happen. I knew that potentially more people would be heading our way, and I didn’t want to be on Boylston St. I saw a nondescript door leading to businesses upstairs over Boylston, (I believe it was 883 Boylston St.), and headed for it. Other spectators dove into restaurants, but I didn’t want to be near any glass. I told Leo that we were going to find a hiding spot. I managed to text my husband and my brother that we were okay.
In the hallway, it was quiet, and I couldn’t get a signal on my phone to figure out what was happening. At the back of the building I peeked out and saw that there was a loading dock down some stairs.
Although I probably could have hefted the stroller and Leo, I wanted to keep him as close to me as possible so that if there was another blast I could shield him. Or, more generally, I just wanted to have his hand in mine. He kept saying, “that was a loud noise, mama,” and that there was a monster in the ground “firing” at people.
We left the stroller in the hallway and I walked with Leo into the alley behind Boylston. I took a picture when we emerged in case I forgot what building we had come from, hoping that my phone would geotag the photo so I could remember the location, or that the scenery would help me find it again.
Outside people were running and crying. I managed to get a call through to my husband. I told him we were going to cross the Mass Ave bridge, and after a minute the phone service cut out.
When I got to Mass Ave I was not comfortable with how many people were going over the bridge, and so I decided to continue down to Bay State Road towards the BU History department, where maybe I could find a phone and call my husband.
Along the way, Leo told everyone we passed that there was a loud noise. But he kept walking.
We went in to 226 Bay State Road and took a break in the seminar room, had some water, and went pee (in a toilet, not in the seminar room).
Back outside we continued along Bay State Road, and Leo declared he wanted to walk by the river. We went over the pedestrian bridge to the bike path. As we approached the BU bridge I got cell service back (along with a deluge of text messages). I told my husband that we were headed toward the River Street bridge and that we would meet him on River towards Central Square.
Leo began to tire a bit and so I carried him intermittently. When we crossed to the Cambridge side of River Street he wanted to walk again so he could look for his Dad. We finally reached him and my daughter. In the car I began to feel the physical effects of our walk as well as the shock. I talked to my Dad, who relayed the details of what had happened as they were being reported then. At home, I was finally able to talk to my mom, who had been in an appointment.
Later that night I scrawled off a note to my online class students that I might be a bit delayed in responding to emails, or in grading their papers. Both their class and my Honors class are discussing World War II this week. Today’s class is on the home front, and in this discussion I use some personal letters from my family to help us think about the experience of the war and to introduce the idea of how we create historical memory. I am so happy to be discussing this today.
I was pretty tired and perhaps a bit delirious when I wrote this to my online students: “There are many sad and scary stories in history, but if we look with an educated eye history can also teach us about humanity and the beauty, joy, and fellowship that comes with the human experience. History helps connect us.”
I’m grateful for my family and to live in a city and country that I love, to be a historian and to have a job that I love.
Words are not flowing so easily today, but I felt I should get this out. I’m thankful that Leo and I were not closer, but so incredibly sad and so very angry that others were not as lucky as us.
I’m going to go do some data entry. Or something.
It’s no secret that historical writing, or indeed structured analytical writing, can be formulaic. Sure, as historians we tell stories, and that is an important part of our relationship to the public, each other, and our students.
But when it comes to teaching writing to undergraduates, it’s also no secret that imparting the skills of analytical writing can be daunting, demanding, and sometimes downright frustrating and futile. Having conducted countless in-class writing workshops, I nevertheless always receive student essays that exhibit little to no semblance of the skills and methods I tried to impart.
In a fit of frustration having graded yet another round of papers — where the students were interested in the subject but struggling with mechanics of essay writing — I spent Christmas Eve 2011 (I know, I know…) coming up with a formula for a simple 3-4 page primary source analysis. I included a detailed process, and even wrote a sample essay.
Select a Primary Source from the list of sources handed out in class.
Read through your primary source. What does it say? Are there quotes or images that stand out to you? List key examples and quotes you find interesting. Where does the author or artist make his/her key argument? (These will become Examples 1 – 7 for your paper. You should list more than 7 in your list to have a decent selection from which to choose in Step Three).
Review your list of examples and brainstorm the connections you can make to the historical context. What larger themes or ideas that you’ve studied in class connect to the image? Identify other sources to help explain the text (consult your textbook and class notes, or other primary sources from the era). Create a page of notes (with citation information) to help analyze the primary source.
Identify three connections between the primary source and the historical context.
- (Example: The Tarzan cover reflects several impulses that lay behind America’s experiment with Imperialism: (A) the idea of the white man’s burden, (B) a fascination with primitive masculinity, and (C) helps explain why leaders like Teddy Roosevelt believed that the United States should take an active role in world affairs alongside other great powers).
Create an outline of these ideas (A, B, and C). Go back to your list from Step One and identify which examples will best support each of these points. Consult your list of resources from Step Two and add these sources to your outline.
Write the paper according to the formula provided
The formula was specific, detailed, and elaborate. It featured a sentence-by-sentence structure, and included where to use primary source evidence, where to bring in the secondary sources, and where to cite. I even specified style settings and fonts. See the Primary Source Analysis Formula document itself.
Having spent a few hours crafting this document, I was then seized by several anxieties about actually using it in the classroom. Wouldn’t this impart the wrong lesson to my students — telling them that there is only one way to write, to think, and that it has to be MY way? Wouldn’t it squash any creative thinking they might have had about a subject to begin with? Most of all, maybe my formula stinks. Maybe it’s not the best way to even go about this assignment — I could envision myriad versions of this formula, each as useful (or limiting) as the next.
What to do?
I decided I couldn’t give up — something had inspired my creation, and I decided it was worth pursuing.
So I printed it up and handed it out to students, indicating it was a guideline, or handbook, to writing the first paper. I didn’t require that they use it, but I used an in-class writing workshop to go through the process steps as outlined.
Well, it was my own fault. I didn’t require that they use the formula — so guess what? They didn’t use the formula.
But. I did receive better papers. The least successful papers resembled those I had received in the past, but the better papers were, well, better. And the students that did use the formula (there were a few) turned in the most creative and most specific papers I have ever received. Even the papers that diverged from the formula came out better than papers in past.
I asked a few students who used the formula religiously for some feedback. One student wrote:
The guide was extremely helpful for me, especially the format for the introduction and thesis which I generally have trouble with. It was great to know exactly what we were to be graded on and how you preferred the paper to be set up. …I also found the example paper you posted on Blackboard and the Tarzan example that was presented in class to be very useful as models for the paper.
Yes, the feedback indicates that students just want to “do what we want,” suggesting a sense that professors have arbitrary hoops for students to jump through. But, her thesis was good; it did the job and clearly structured her paper. And she was able to break through a past roadblock to writing: creating an introduction and thesis. Her thesis:
“The lyrics of the song “The Temperance Army” reflect the swell of support received by the movement to “march on” towards total prohibition. The music exposes the Christian context of the temperance effort, emphasizes the new role of women as leaders within the movement, and displays the advancement of temperance as an unstoppable force. The lyrics do not display the negative implications of the elimination of alcohol, but show an overall promotion of the temperance movement and its growing strength.”
The paragraphs followed this structure, and used specific evidence from the song she chose as well as clear contextual information and analysis to support her reading of the source. One supporting paragraph included the following:
“Led primarily by members of religious organizations, the anti-alcohol movement utilized Christianity as a motive for convincing citizens of the evils of the drink and its parallel damages to society. The first lyrics of the song proclaim “Now the temp’rance army’s marching/With the Christian’s armor on/Love our motto, Christian Captain/Prohibition is our song!”. There is a blatant emphasis on the guidance of God in the temperance supporter’s quest to rid our nation of the sin of intoxication. The “Christian Captain” is a reference to God as a leader-figure of the temperance army and the reason behind their actions. People of faith believed that salvation was the solution to the evils of the drink, and that by enacting laws to prevent its consumption, we would perfect a moral society that lacks the violence and disarray that results from intoxication.”
Feedback from students included the sense that the formula, rather than being restrictive, gave them a better ability to think more creatively about the materials, and most of all helped with writer’s block. One student remarked that she would spend what seemed like hours staring at a blank Word document lost about where to start. Another student said that he found it much easier to focus on fixing his grammar with this formula.
I found that the grammar and word usage remained the same for these essays, still needed work, but that with their ideas more easily structured, these essays were easier to grade. At first, I was surprised at receiving such well structured papers that I almost didn’t see some of the errors. After a second reading it became easier, however, to focus more on the content of their essays.
This last result suggested that my experiment might be more useful than my doubts suggested: by helping students overcome the structure roadblocks to writing, I was better able to hone in on the specific historical skills I was trying to get at in the first place. It became easier to point out facile connections or where analysis could be enhanced or more nuanced.
Thus, my experiments with writing by formula will continue. The formula itself could use some revisions, as could the sample paper I wrote. But as a tool for survey students, I think the formula has merit, though in limited application. I would hate for students to think that all writing can be accomplished by formulas such as this, but if they can’t formulate a workable thesis based on connections they make between sources and context, then the space for creative thinking is much smaller. Later posts will examine how I built on these skills in later assignments.