The Reading Terminal Market: A model for small colleges (and a great place to eat in Philly)

I was in Philadelphia last week for the Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association.  One of the things I enjoy most when I am visiting new cities is eating good food, particularly "local" fare in local spaces.  My hotel (and the convention center where the conference was held) happened to be right next door to Philadelphia's Reading Terminal Market, which many consider to be one of the finest food markets in the U.S.  In addition to being really interesting, the story of the market, including its struggles through the 70s and subsequent renewal in the late 80s, provides important lessons for higher education--especially small colleges.

The market has nearly 80 independently-owned small businesses, representing a wide diversity of products and services.  The brochure I picked up in the hotel lobby boasts that the market "has something for everyone," and this isn't untrue.  As I walked through the market nearly each day of my 8 day trip I saw bakeries, coffee shops, ice creameries, a flower shop, craft stands, meat counters, seafood markets, produce stands, and sit-down restaurants (if you're planning on visiting Philly, my personal favorites were the Down Home Diner, Bassetts Ice Cream, and Profi's Creperie).  Based on this description, it would be fair to wonder how the Market is different from a run-of-the-mill mall.  And, this is the lesson for small colleges.

One of the challenges for any institution of higher education is balancing the tension between identity and universality.  If an institution is too parochial, it runs the risk of attracting too few students and too little attention from other important stakeholders (e.g. key community & government leaders, funding sources, researchers), similar to the fate of a highly specialized boutique that can't manage to get off the ground.  Alternatively, if an institution becomes too broad or too general, it loses its identity and becomes unremarkable and run-of-the-mill, like a shopping mall.  The key for a small college is achieving balance between these two extremes--enough diversity to attract a good group of students and faculty members, but enough identity that it can carve out a space and home on the higher education landscape.

The Reading Terminal Market is a great model of this balance.  Like I mentioned above, the promotional brochure produced by the non-profit organization that manages the Market, touts that it "has something for everyone." While I understand the appeal for its brochure to make these kinds of claims, I'm not sure that the Market really offers something for everyone, like a typical mall might.  In fact, what makes the Market such a great model for small colleges is that they have made some very strategic decisions about the constraints they would place on themselves and their vendors.  And, it is these constraints, tempered by a small degree of diversity among the types of vendors they invite to house the space, that bring the Market the identity and vibrancy that allow it to thrive.

1.  Connection to history and values.  First, the the Pennsylvania Convention Center Authority (the non-profit that runs the Market) has worked to ensure that the story and history of the Market have been preserved and represented in today's Market.  When the Market was re-built in the early 1990s, the Authority negotiated a preservation agreement that made sure that the refurbished Market would adhere to historic standards and maintain its historical integrity.  Those simple architectural decisions and constraints give the Market personality, voice, and signature that link it to its past and leave you feeling a bit like you've walked back into history when you walk through the market.  This creates an experience that visitors enjoy and remember--very different than walking into a shopping mall.

2.  Connection to the local community through signature services & speciality products.  When the Market underwent its initial reconstruction the Reading Railroad Company (who operated the Market until trains stopped coming into the terminal) recruited specific vendors who would tie the Market to the unique culture and history of both the city of Philadelphia, as well as the state of Pennsylvania more broadly.  This included a group of Amish merchants from Lancaster County.  They also made sure that Bassett's Ice Cream, who have been in operation at the Market since it opened in 1892, would remain in their original location.  Inclusion of these products and services diversified the Market's offerings, while grounding the Market in a local place and community.

3.  A personal, neighborhood feel.  Though I was an outsider at the Market, I felt like a local and felt like I had stumbled across something that only locals know about (which is actually not true of the Market at all).  The small vendor spaces, counter top dining, friendly merchants, and mixing of various types and demographics of people make the space feel like neighborhoods and communities should feel.  I was comfortable there, felt attended to by the merchants, and wanted to go back day after day.

Small colleges could learn a great deal from the Market.  Just as small businesses often feel the gravitational pull to become like the big-box stores around them, there is a tendency for small colleges to try to be everything to everyone.  The logic seems to be that the more we offer and provide, the more students we'll have, and the better off we'll be.  But, the reality is that identity, mission, and place are just as important has providing access to a broad range of academic programs and services.  The Reading Terminal Market has grown and innovated, but it has tempered this process by maintaining ties to its history and mission, grounding its work in the local community, and ensuring that it provides an experience that feels personal and supportive.  Likewise, there is a need for small colleges to pursue strategic and constrained growth and innovation by remembering the institutional stories and values that are at the core of their mission, providing a small set of signature programs that are ideally linked to the values and economy of the local community, and that leverage one of the greatest strengths of small colleges, which is their ability to foster a neighborhood or community of diverse, yet like-minded learners.

Creating Shared Value in For-Profit Higher Education

The for-profit sector of higher education is frequently criticized for a variety of reasons.  Some argue that it neglects the real needs of students and provides a subpar education, while saddling students with exorbitant debt.  Others (particularly educational traditionalists) point to its heavy emphasis on career and technical training as another apocalyptic sign of the demise of "pure" education, where students learn for the pure satisfaction of learning and receive a "well-rounded" (I've never really been sure what that means, but am guilty of using the term quite often in conversations with others where I'm defending the value of a liberal arts education) and "holistic" education.  

I'll admit that I'm still skeptical of the value that is provided by the for-profit sector to students.  However, I'm willing to admit that this value likely varies tremendously across various for-profit institutions.  Additionally, it isn't lost on me that those of us in the more traditional academy ought to be asking the same question of our work:  What value am I (or my institution) adding to the life of students?"

Notwithstanding my personal hesitancy and skepticism toward for-profit higher ed, I want to argue in this post for some ways that the University of Phoenix and Strayer's of the world could increase both profits and positive perception by reconceiving the intersection between their corporate goals and a broader set of societal needs.

In a January 2011 Harvard Business Review article, Michael Porter wrote about the need for corporations to consider the principle of shared value, by developing policies and practices that both add value to the company itself (in terms of profits), while simultaneously addressing broader societal concerns in the communities where they operate.  He asserts that profits do not have to come at the expense of adding value to society (as opposed to individual clients or customers) and that addressing societal needs should move from the periphery of an organizations mission to the core of a business model.  

Brick and mortar academic research institutions have, for some time, bought into this notion of shared value by attending to both the needs of individual students (by, for example, teaching courses and awarding degrees), as well as more general community issues (through conducting research that contributes understanding which can improve society).  Although the question of whether academia does this well, is open to debate, research institutions believe and attempt to create shared value.  For-profit institutions, however, have failed to consider how they might adopt a similar approach.   

The vast majority of for-profit higher educational institutions are stuck in an outdated model of value creation that narrowly views "value" as consisting of only two factors:  (1) profits for the company and shareholders and (2) value for students in terms of improved education, stronger job prospects, etc..  In essence, these organizations have fallen victim to the same mistake Porter points out in his article.  Like other corporations, they have not leveraged the opportunity to link their educational and economic missions with pressing issues or challenges in the broader community.  And, this is one of the potential explanations for why for-profit institutions are looked down upon by so many.  By focusing exclusively on profits and the needs of individual students, these institutions have developed a reputation of being selfish and concerned with the narrow interests of the "one."  Whether it is the corporation trying to get ahead or the working professional trying to advance her career by completing a degree, the ultimate focus is on advancing individual interests.  Although there is nothing wrong with a company wanting to turn a profit or an individual wanting to advance their education, these two images do little to engender support from the broader community.  

Clearly, a for-profit institution has no explicit obligation to add value to a community or address societal needs.  Unlike a public research institution, they do not receive state funding or other resources that come with an expectation to give back.  However, as Porter argues in his article, creating shared value isn't just about being charitable or sacrificing profits for the common good.  Rather, institutions that find ways to link their economic and educational missions with societal concerns, will be more innovative and productive and ultimately increase profits.

There are at least two reasons why this will be hard to do for the for-profit sector.  First, the lack of a research mission takes away what for most other institutions is a relatively easy and visible way to contribute.  Second, because for-profit institutions are often large and distributed across a variety of locales (both physical and electronic), they have no real sense of place and likely have a difficult time connecting their work to local needs and concerns.  

But, my hunch is that the for-profits that can identify broad societal issues that people care about, and then thoughtfully consider how their work of educating students can contribute, will be far more successful than those continue to cling to an outdated model focused only on providing convenient and accessible education for those who can't access it elsewhere, without adding value to society at large.  Finally, if any institutions take on the challenge of blurring the boundary between for and non-profit education by addressing social needs, it will be equally important for government to regulate the for-profit higher education industry in ways that don't obstruct their efforts to be both profitable and useful to society.  

What if course registration was like buying a book on Amazon?

I just finished reading Charles Duhigg's very interesting book, The Power of Habit.  In Chapter 7 ("How Target Knows What You Want Before You Do") he relates the story of Andrew Pole, a data expert who helped Target develop a process for identifying which of its customers were pregnant, sometimes before their families even knew (This NY Times article by Duhigg essentially tells the same story).  Target then could mail customized books of coupons featuring the exact products a pregnant woman would be shopping for at that point in her pregnancy.  It's a story that is both fascinating (what kind of statistical genius comes up with this stuff) and slightly disturbing (what else does Target know about me?).

Although Duhigg's method is very sophisticated and allows Target to market to customers in ways many companies cannot, the practice of collecting and analyzing data which illuminates customers preferences and habits is not all that new.  I have been listening to Pandora since 2004 and, at this point, I rarely hear a song I don't like (even if it is a song I haven't heard before).  Pandora knows what I like because it has analyzed my likes and dislikes for the last 8 years and it can recommend songs to me that I will like, but wouldn't have been aware of otherwise.  Similarly, Amazon tracks my purchases, compares them to their vast database and then suggests other titles I might be interested in.  In some sense (theoretically), everyone wins in these situations--I make better choices and am more satisfied with my purchases, listening choices, etc. and the company makes more money (because I am more satisfied and more likely to make future purchases).  So, what might this mean for institutions of higher education?

I typically hesitate to transfer business practices to educational settings because of what I see as very different value systems at work in the two areas; however, Target and Amazon may have something to teach higher ed, particularly those who are involved in enrollment and registration processes on their campuses.  While higher education isn't "selling" a product to students in the traditional sense, it is true that students "purchase" a particular type of experience which is provided by an academic institution.  This experience is multi-faceted and includes a host of sub-experiences including co-curricular and extra-curricular activities, a residential experience (in some cases), and many others; however, at the core of the educational experience "purchased" by students are courses.  Students pay for the right to enroll in, attend, and complete courses.  And, ultimately, these courses lead to graduation (disclaimer:  what I have just described here, clearly, ignores the learning we hope occurs for students on a campus and is a good example of what John Tagg has termed the instruction paradigm.  I don't espouse this paradigm and do value learning; however, from a purely economic perspective, students at the vast majority of institutions are indeed purchasing courses, rather than paying for learning.  I say this because students can buy a course and eventually graduate, without learning very much at all).

One of the problems facing many institutions is the lack of a clear path from admission to graduation and the resulting problem of time to graduation measures which are much higher than we would like.  This is particularly true at institutions like mine where students are given nearly complete freedom to "purchase" whatever classes they wish and in whatever sequence they wish.  Of course, that is an over generalization and there are some constraints placed on registration choices (e.g. prerequisite courses, limited enrollment programs); however, in most cases (particularly in a student's first few semesters) they have very limited guidance and even less constraint when it comes to course selection.  Not surprisingly, students often make poor choices when it comes to course registration--choices which (a) they are not satisfied with and (b) delay time to graduation.

Institutions, long ago, developed a human solution to this problem and began hiring academic advisors to provide students with assistance in making these decisions.  And, clearly, these advisors have an important role to play on campuses (and one that extends far beyond the mechanics of course registration).  However, the impractical "loads" of most advisors, coupled with the lack of mandatory advisement on many campuses (yes, these two issues are linked) means that very few students receive the type of advisement we would hope for.  No technical solution could or should ever replace the human and high-touch work that advisors do, but in today's economy the chances of an institution hiring more advisors isn't good.  Consequently, technological interventions are becoming more and more of a necessity.  This is where Amazon and Target might be able to help.

Virtually ever campus has an online registration system and, feasibly, could track student's registration choices.  Additionally, campuses know where students are from, how many AP/IB/Concurrent Enrollment credits they brought with them, what their major is, their age, marital status, and probably many other pieces of demographic data.  Additionally, campuses know how long it takes students to graduate.  What if the Andrew Pole's on our campuses could, first, identify the most efficient pathways to graduation on their campus and, more importantly, identify the unique pathways for particular types of students (e.g. engineering majors, non-traditional students, or History Teaching majors with minors in coaching)?  The wisest campus leaders would also find ways to determine how to balance time and learning outcomes such that these ideal paths take into consideration both time and quality of learning (through analysis of learning outcome data and other evidence which helps determine how much and how well students are learning).

But, identifying these paths alone isn't enough to change student behavior; campuses need to find ways to use this data to inform student decision making at the very time they are making the decisions.  At each step along a student's path to graduation (e.g. first enrollment as a brand new first-year student, 5th semester, etc.) unique and specific suggestions could be made within the registration system so that a student logging in to register for classes sees a "students like you have registered for . . . " message at the very moment and in the very electronic space where they will be making their "purchase."  However, when we say "students like you" we really mean students like you who also have had a good experience on our campus and graduated in a relatively short amount of time (so, maybe we're lying just a bit, but it's for the greater good).

Could it be done?

Can good people make it in corrupt systems?

In a recent post, I wrote about situational forces and the impact they can have on individual behavior.  The argument made is that good people can do terrible things under the right (or wrong) circumstances.  On Wednesday, this became a little more personal to me when a Provo City Council member, who is also one of my neighbors, was charged with 10 felonies relating to his dealings in local real estate development.  He isn't a next door neighbor and I've never been to his home, but I see him once a week or so and always got the impression that he was a pretty good guy--not someone I would take for a felon or defrauder.  The saddest part of it all is that he has a wife and young children that now have to deal with the fall out and find a way to hold a family together.  

I have no idea how much truth there is to the claims being made and don't care to make any kind of judgment.  It's just a sad situation and one that has brought me back to a question I have wondered about off and on over the years:  Can good people survive in systems or environments that seem to incentivize unethical and corrupt practices.  I first began asking this question as a new voter trying to make informed ballot decisions.  I saw the media regularly uncovering corrupt politicians and started to wonder if candidates in any very visible election or anyone in high profile public positions could hold on to their values and integrity.  As a student in an introductory political science class I asked this question of my professor (mostly because he gave us extra credit for visiting him during office hours).  After beating around the bush a little, he eventually told me that, no, he didn't think very many politicians stayed 100% honest (which is a little ironic given that until just a few months ago this professor was the chair of the Utah County Democrats now the chairman of the Utah County Democratic Party) and most compromised on their values.  Even as a fairly dense adolescent, I was a little shocked and pretty discouraged by his response.  And, voting that November wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be.

It would be unfair to paint all politicians or all business people as dishonest, but the reality is that those who work in these environments are often under extreme pressure to produce results, be it a victorious campaign or great quarterly report.  Similar pressures exist for professional and high profile collegiate athletics, some branches of academic research, and plenty of other settings as well.  And, because we are increasingly becoming a society which values "results" above all else (and, by results, we usually mean things that are easy to measure like profits, votes, and wins), we create systems that reward "producers," sometimes at the cost of values, relationships, and community.  

In my heart of hearts I know that there are plenty of good politicians, CEOs, and sports executives that are successful and upstanding.  But, I wonder how rare they are becoming and how many of them we'll see 10 or 25 years from now.  

Cafe West: An unlikely gathering place

My wife and I had a new addition to our family early on Monday morning.  Her name is Ashlyn and she weighed in at a hearty 6 lbs. 10 oz. (which, surprisingly, is a pound heavier than our first daughter).  Needless to say, it has been an exciting and tiring week as we've adjusted to having both an infant and a toddler at home.  But, she slept nearly 6 hours without interruption last night and our two year-old has only had a minor show of jealousy, so we are feeling like things are going well.

In between holding Ashlyn and watching a ridiculous amount of baseball while my wife recovered in a hospital room, I discovered "Cafe West," what, at first glance, appears to be a typical hospital cafeteria at Utah Valley Regional Medical Center in Provo, Utah.  I had eaten at Cafe West three years ago when our first daughter was born and knew the food was good, so I went back the night after Ashlyn was born.  It was nearly 11:00 p.m. when I walked down from the hospital room, so I expected things to be pretty quiet.  However, when I got to the cafeteria, I was surprised to find nearly 30 college-aged students camped out in a corner of the cafeteria eating, laughing, and just hanging out.  And, it was fairly obvious that none of them were patients at the hospital or there to see patients.  I went back the next night (mostly out of curiosity, but also for the most amazing onion rings I have ever had in my life) and there was a completely different (and smaller) group of students there.

Provo is a college town, so to see a group of students  out enjoying a late night meal at a local gathering place isn't uncommon at all.  But, I would never have guessed that gathering place would be a hospital cafeteria.  Let alone a cafeteria whose web presence is 4 lines on the general visitor info page of the hospital, who has no signage visible from outside of the hospital, and which a large percentage of the full-time citizens of Provo probably don't know about.  What has made Cafe West a gathering place?

I'm guessing here, but these are my hunches:

1.  Really good food.  No one hangs out at hospitals unless they have a good reason for it.  The food is what brings students to Cafe West (and keeps them coming back).  Not only does it give them a reason to gather, but facilitates conversation and connection.  And, yes, the food is that good.  I wasn't lying when I said their onion rings are the best.  They make my top 5 milkshake list as well (although there are only 4 flavors to choose from).  It also helps that their menu is very simple and easy to navigate--an idea I have blogged about before.  

2.  Cheap prices.  College students, particularly those in Provo, don't like to spend much money on their food (I know this from suffering through six months as a server at a local restaurant where a "good" tip was around 7%).  They gather to places where they can hang out, get full, and do it without taking too much of a dent.  

3.  Unique environment.  As far as cafeterias go, Cafe West isn't really all that unique at all (aside from the onion rings & milkshakes).  But, as a college hang-out, it's as different and unique as you can find.  College students like to feel different and to feel like they have insider knowledge.  When you eat at Cafe West for the first time, you feel like you have discovered a hidden gem amidst the relatively boring Provo landscape.  I think this adds to the allure and appeal for students.

4.  Small and intimate setting.  Cafe West couldn't have chairs & tables for more than 60 people and it is tucked away in a back corner of the hospital (just as you come in the "Labor and Delivery" entrance, which is how I found it).  What's more, the staff that run the cafe have a knack for making you feel like your welcome there and they're happy to see you (I have a hunch that this is a very intentional effort on the part of hospital administration--Utah Valley Regional Medical Center is part of Intermountain Health Care (IHC), who are well known for their patient-friendly culture and their efforts to embed that culture throughout all parts of the organization, from the housekeeping staff to, apparently, the 20 year old kid who makes shakes in the cafeteria).  When I went back on my 2nd night at the hospital, it was the same staff working behind the counter and I got the distinct feeling that they remembered me from the night before.  It was also obvious that they were familiar with the "regulars" and called them by name.  That's the kind of place people want to go back to and feel comfortable gathering to.

5.  Openness and accessibility.  Cafe West is open 23 hours a day, which makes it an ideal gathering place for college students who rarely sleep.  And, architecturally, it is wide open which facilitates larger groups and makes it easy to see late arrivals, acquaintances, etc. as they walk in (the large group I saw on my first night started with about 10 people and grew and grew as others came).  The lightweight, easy-to-move tables and chairs also provide flexibility in accomodating whatever size of group is there to gather.

The thing that I couldn't get over as I watched students and enjoyed onion rings was that Cafe West was never intended to be a gathering place for this demographic, but it happened rather serendipitously because the right conditions were in place.  What makes me laugh is that most of the gathering places we try to create inentionally aren't even close to this successful.   

College as an experience

Last weekend I was in Atlanta, Georgia at the Annual Conference for the First-Year Experience.  One of my favorite things to do in between conference sessions is to wander around the downtown area of the conference city and explore a little bit.  If nothing else it gets me out of the hotel and gives me a chance to clear my head.  But, I also find that I learn a fair amount about the personality of a city and stumble across interesting places.  So, last weekend before the conference began I had a couple of free hours and just started walking through downtown Atlanta.  

About 30 minutes into my walk I came upon The Varsity, "The world's largest drive-in restaurant."  I'm a sucker for local burger joints (and I was hungry), so I went in.  It was an intriguing experience and one that left me asking questions about why people are drawn to places like the Varsity.  The food was mediocre at best, the seating was uncomfortable, and the cashiers scream and yell at customers.  And, there are probably dozens of other burger joints in Atlanta that serve food equal to or better than what I ate that afternoon.  So, what's the draw?

The thought that occurred to me--and I admit that it is far from original or earth shattering--was that The Varsity isn't selling burgers, fries, or chili dogs.  They are selling an experience.  Although I could have gone to a lot of other places to get a burger, including the hotel restaurant, The Varsity gave me a unique experience that I couldn't get any place else.  As I thought about it on the way back to the hotel, there were some key components in place that seemed to contribute to this type of "experience":

1.  A clear theme running across the entire experience.  The Varsity is built on the theme of school and athletics, hence the name, the desks arranged in a classroom set up that patrons sit in to eat, the jerseys on the walls, and the multiple flat screens playing nothing but college athletics.  Any one of those things in isolation would have been strange or uncomfortable, but they all played into the underlying theme and helped to tell the story of the place.

2.  A distinct uniform.  All of the employees at the restaurant wore distinctive shirts and hats that were connected to the theme (like Hot Dog on a Stick, but far less embarassing).  And, what was even more interesting was that The Varsity subtly invites visitors to become "part of the team" by providing complementary hats identical to the ones worn by employees (you can also buy t-shirts there at the restaurant as well).  

3.  A unique language or discourse.  Each customer is greeted by a cashier with the phrase "What'll ya have?" which like I mentioned above is generally yelled.  Even the employees running the "gift shop" where the t-shirts and memorabilia are sold use the same phrase to welcome customers.  There are also more sublte aspects of this language, for instance virtually everyone refers to onion rings as just "rings."If definitely falls outside the standard fast-food script and would be viewed as rude or obnoxious somewhere else, but it's part of the fabric of The Varsity and adds to the distinctive experience.

4.  Signature items that would be hard to find anywhere else.  Like I mentioned above, the burgers and fries are pretty average, but The Varsity does have a unique line of desserts (fried fruit pies, the "Frosted Orange,") as well as "chili burgers."  It left me thinking that an eatery doesn't have to have an entire menu of fantastic foods (although some do)--sometimes it's enough just to do a couple of things very well.

5.  Simplicity.  Deciding what to order at The Varsity is a welcome contrast to the sometimes overwhelming task of placing an order at some other restaurants (e.g. The Cheesecake Factory, whose menu boasts 200 selections).  While choices aren't always a bad thing, The Varsity's menu simplifies things tremendously with just a handful of relatively basic options (again, peppered with a few signature items).   The simplicity of the choices allows customers to focus on other aspects of the experience without getting lost in complexity or becoming overwhelmed with sorting through a lot of different options (See Barry Schwartz' interesting book The Paradox of Choice for a great discussion of this concept).

Now it's time for my obligatory connection back to higher ed (and I realize that this might be a stretch).  What if we thought of our campuses, not as places where we deliver instruction, but rather as place where we stage experiences?  I'm not advocating for a fun and games approach to learning whose sole function is to entertain, but for campuses that have distinct missions and objectives (similar to the themes at restaurants like the Varsity) and who design physical spaces, messaging, programs, and curricula that are connected to those missions.  For example,  a campus who makes their values public in the way classrooms are designed, the language academic advisors or peer leaders use in talking with students, and the unique learning experiences they provide (e.g. study abroad, case-based learning, service-learning, etc.) seems to be closer to offering a unique educational experience--one that has the potential to leave lasting impressions on students and, subsequently, help with retention efforts.  But, again, the key here is for all of these elements to be aligned with a clear mission and embedded in various parts of campus.  

The Varsity (and places like it) tell a coherent story about who they are and why they exist and they invite visitors to participate in and become part of that story.  So, what kind of story do our campuses hope to tell and how well are we telling it?

IKEA & Instruction

My daughter turned two yesterday, which was lots of fun. But it also meant that I spent my labor day putting together her birthday present -- a dresser and night stand for her new room. As an aside, it occurred to me while searching for screw #14554, that I will probably spend the next 8 or 10 labor days assembling some sort of gift because of the fact that my daughter's birthday will always fall just a few days after labor day. The good news is that things seem to get better each year (this year's furniture project went much better than did last year's swing set debacle, but that's another post).

All in all, the furniture was pretty easy to assemble, mostly because the folks at IKEA know a thing or two about design and how to help people like me put together their products. In the four hours or so I spent trying to follow the instructions I had some insights about teaching and learning.

1. Every once in a while force yourself to try to teach & learn visually. IKEA's instructions were made up exclusively of images. That meant that their visual descriptions had to be incredibly clear because there was no written description to fall back onto. It also meant that the design of the furniture had to be very simple and intuitive. Too much of instruction relies solely upon written or oral pedagogies. Written or verbal methods are not inherently evil, but because we're so accustomed to communicating in these ways, it's easy to do it badly without really knowing it. Representing ideas visually requires teachers and learners to think in new ways--recognizing patterns, making associations between ideas, and making sense of the parts of an idea and how they come together to form a meaningful whole (see Dan Roam's ideas in The Back of the Napkin). Chances are that if a teacher can teach a concept visually (pictures, symbols, flow charts, etc.) they (1) understand it deeply and (2) have developed a clear way of communicating those ideas to a learner. The same is also true of a student learning a new concept. If they can "draw" it, chances are they understand it more deeply than someone who cannot (in some ways this is the same premise behind concept mapping and other similar learning aids, but even concept mapping can rely too much on text at times).

2. Identify pitfalls and help learners avoid them. One critique I had of the instructions I used was that there were a couple of places where I made stupid mistakes (mistakes that, in my pride, I feel like most inexperienced furniture assemblers would make) that could have been prevented with simple reminders or warnings. Most were minor, but one added about an hour onto the project (this is one of the few cases where IKEA might be wise to break it's rule of no text. In fact, because text is so out of place within the overall landscape of IKEA instructions, the very limited use of well placed text could draw attention to critical instructions or reminders). When designing instruction, we need to pay close attention to any pitfalls--meaning those things that could be significant setbacks for a learner--and help them avoid them.

3. Minor mistakes, early in the process can be a good thing. This seems a bit contradictory to my comments in #2 above, but let me explain. There is a Japanese proverb that teaches "You will become clever through your mistakes." I believe that is true, particularly of minor mistakes that occur early in the learning process. Mistakes focus attention, can increase engagement, and when caught, can prevent more major mistakes from occurring later on. Good instruction provides opportunities for minor mistakes to be made early. The very best instructional experiences are designed so that mistakes become clearly apparent to the learner (as opposed to being pointed out externally by a teacher or coach) and then force them to figure out what went wrong. That process of asking "why didn't this work?" yields learning that becomes valuable later on and helps the learner better understand the whole (e.g. How the entire dresser will need to come together. There is a fascinating case study on how this happens among West African apprentice tailors in Jean Lave & Etienne Wenger's book, Situated Learning.

4. Provide a real person when things get unmanageable. Luckily I didn't get to this point with my IKEA assemblies (but last year's swing set nightmare was a different story). But, I knew that if I did reach an impasse, I could call the number on the instructions and a real person would answer. Whether it's faculty office hours, a teaching assistant, a help lab, or a peer mentor, learners need a human that can help with things get tough.

5. Humor is a good thing. Although I dreaded the thought of putting together the furniture all weekend, I started off the project laughing because of images like this one. Just the fact that I smiled a bit at the outset, made me a lot more willing to dig into the project. It's important that we find ways to do that sort of thing with learners, because the honest truth is that the best learning is hard and takes effort. The more we can do to prime the pump and make learning an appropriately enjoyable experience, the better.

I still refuse to enter the front doors of IKEA, despite my wife's efforts to convince me that I'll "love it once I try it." And, I'm still not really looking forward to next Labor Day and putting together another birthday present (I'm banking on a bike with training wheels). But, at least I learned something in the process.

What schools could learn from cab companies

I spent the first year of my professional career as a teacher.  At the risk of sounding arrogant, I thought I was pretty good--I had good rapport with students, I tried to align my teaching with learning objectives, and I believed that I applied good pedagogical practices in my classroom.  It's probably pretty easy to spot the problem in this assessment--they are all my own personal perceptions of my ability and performance, and very subject to bias and inaccuracy.  This has bothered me lately and I've wondered how good a teacher I really was during that year.  As I look back on those experiences, two really important things seem to have been missing:  feedback and focused effort to learn from mistakes.  

While I tried to regularly evaluate my own teaching, like most of us I probably overestimated my abilities and was likely unaware of many of the mistakes I was making.  On a few occasions (three, that I can remember) I was observed by another teacher and then given some basic feedback at the end of the class session.  It's fair to assume that both my own evaluations and those of others might have had some slight improvement on my teaching.  But, in retrospect, I don't think I was much better in June when the school year ended than I was on the first day of school in September.  In fact, I probably developed some bad habits, got too comfortable with the role, and stopped doing some of the little things that make a big difference in one's teaching ability.  In short, I may have even been worse.  

At the same time I was having these depressing thoughts, I was reading Traffic, by Tom Vanderbilt.  The book uses driving patterns and habits as a context for exploring human behavior.  He tells a fascinating story about how cab companies and limo services have helped improve their drivers' performance using a technology called DriveCam.  DriveCam installs cameras on the rearview mirrors of cars that continusously buffer images (like TiVo) of what is happening both inside and outside the car.  Sensors monitor various measurable forces and when a "trigger" is detected (sharp turn of the steering wheel, significant decrease/increase in speed, etc.), the camera records ten seconds of footage both before and after the trigger.  This footage is then sent to a database and may be reviewed with the driver in an attempt to correct mistakes and improve safety.  Although it probably ruffles some feathers of drivers who feel like their privacy is being invaded, the bottom line is that transportation companies have a lot to lose when their drivers don't drive well.  What's more, this is great learning.  Drivers can view actual footage of their driving, spot mistakes and fix them, and focus on small elements of the driving performance that seem to make a big difference in achieving good outcomes, namely safety (this isn't unlinke the way elite athletes use taped performances to improve).

This left me wondering why something similar couldn't happen in classrooms, particularly those classrooms led by novice teachers.  We spend millions of dollars to equip classrooms with new technologies that are touted to improve student learning and increase engagement.  And, while ipods and laptops can help, the core factor influencing student learning still seems to be the teacher.  It seems fair to ask why technology can't be used to imrove core teacher practices that would have far-reaching impact upon student learning.  There is some work being done in this area (see the work of Peter Rich and this pilot project at the University of Central Florida), but it  seems to be on the periphery.  

What would happen if there were cameras installed in classrooms that could capture real footage of teacher performance.  Are there "triggers" that we would want to focus on?  What would they be?  Something like this would seem to fill a gap in current teacher development practices.  Teachers would have the opportunity to really see themselves teaching (as opposed to their perception of their teaching or someone else's interpretation), use mistakes to improve, and focus on critical parts of their performance that have been shown to lead to significant improvements in student learning.  

Managing Transitions: What FYE can learn from the corporate world

Recently I have been reading a book from business literature called Managing Transitions.  In it the author (William Bridges) describes a philosophy and accompanying set of strategies that organizations can employ to successfully navigate difficult transitions (e.g. a merger, downsizing, closing, etc.).  The premise of the book is that transitions, while filled with anxiety and the sometimes debilitating potential for failure, present tremendous opportunities for growth and innovation.

This has been interesting reading for me because my area on campus is in the midst of a fairly dramatic transition.  But, as I read another chapter this afternoon it occurred to me that some of Bridges ideas could be applied to my work in first-year experience.  New freshmen on college campuses look, in some ways, a lot like a mid-level manager trying to grapple with changes in her organization.  Both are anxious and somewhat frightened of the uncertainty that lies ahead, both are probably questioning their ability to succeed in their new environment, and both are likely to brush up against experiences that expose weaknesses and deficiencies.

So, what can those of us in FYE learn from corporate America about managing transitions? 

Bridges' identifies three fluid stages--(1)Letting Go, (2) the Neutral Zone, and (3) The New Beginning (see image below).

 It's important to note that these are not three static phases that are moved through in sequential order (like walking through three separate doors).  Rather, we find ourselves in all three phases at any given point within a transition.  The concept of a new beginning was not new to me--it is where we focus most of our efforts as we design orientations, first-year programs, etc.  However, my sense in talking with colleagues on other campuses is that most of us haven't spent much time thinking about the letting go and neutral zone elements of students' transitions onto our campuses.  That's where I'll focus the rest of this post.

Letting Go.  Among other things, Bridges recommends that those assisting individuals in transition pay attention to what is being lost by those experiencing the change.  What are they giving up?  What are they likely to long for in the new situation?  etc.  The first implication here is that we both expect and accept the fact that most if not all new students will experience some sort of "grieving" during their first year on campus.  For some it will come in the first few weeks and in other cases it could come much later (e.g. after Thanksgiving or Christmas vacations).  But, we shouldn't be surprised or discouraged when we see students struggling with the "I wish I was at home" sorts of feelings.  In fact, recognizing and addressing those feelings is necessary for students to eventually become integrated into our campuses.  At times, those of us who interact with new students (faculty, advisors, residence hall staff, etc.) might be guilty of trying to skip to the "new beginning" without ever allowing students to let go.  One way that this might happen would be to mark the ending in a very public or visible way.  Could something happen during new student Convocation or another part of orientation that ritualizes the ending (this could also more effectively signal the new beginning we hope students engage in)?  Also, could students be invited to discuss with one another or with a peer mentor/advisor the sorts of things they are giving up as they transition into college (e.g. old study habits, friendships, their own room, etc.)?  This could help lead to a conversation about the many things that we provide on our campuses to compensate for these losses--student organizations, academic help centers, residence hall advisors, and more.

The Neutral Zone.  The neutral zone is that place between the ending and the beginning where we are trying to find our place, reframe our identity, and figure out how to make it in our new situation.  It's in the neutral zone where we see students anxious, stressed, ambiguous, and questioning their ability to make it.  And, in some ways, our programs are intended to move students through this uncomfortable place as quickly as possible.  The interesting idea presented in Managing Transitions is that the neutral zone isn't necessarily something that we should try to rush people through because of the opportunities for growth and innovation that it presents.   A quote from the book (p. 52) captures this idea very well:

"The key to succeeding in these efforts [the efforts to help individuals navigate the neutral zone] is to look at the neutral zone as a chance to do something new and interesting--and to pursue that goal with energy and courage."

I like that thought because it shifts the responsibility for success on to the individual and essentially asks "what can you do during this time of transition to grow, change, be creative, etc"  That seems like a liberating thought and one that should be shared with students.  In addition, Bridges recommends that the neutral zone be "normalized" such that it becomes clearly understood by students and others on campus that the transition to college won't happen overnight and won't happen without some growing pains.  Carol Dweck's ideas in Mindset seem like they would have particular application here; in a nutshell she discusses the idea of a "growth mindset" wherein individuals view intelligence and success as malleable and responsive to hard work and practice.  This sort of attitude can help students reframe the way they view failures and help them use the neutral zone and its "failures" as learning experiences that lead to eventual growth and success.  

So, the take home for me was that for FYE professionals to really help students "begin" their college experience, we need to pay a bit more attention to the other two elements involved in the transition to college.  Thoughts?  How are you helping students let go or navigate the neutral zone?