IN SEARCH
OF THE
GREAT TEACHER

By
Libby Young

On the last day of the Hawaii Great Teachers (HGT) Seminar on the Big Island, some fifty of us sat in a circle, sharing what we would take back to our classrooms. "Renewed commitment, " said one community college teacher from California. "Pride in our profession and some good ideas," said another from Oahu.

Then one nursing instructor from Texas added, "The memory of being a child again." Many of us nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. For the past six days, we had traded our teacher clothes for sneakers and jeans. We had laughed, admitted our mistakes, looked at our students with new eyes and tried to understand what makes a "great teacher."

It's easy to wax sentimentally about the HGT seminar-- and about our profession-- in the afterglow of this teachers' summer camp. We were, after all, in a place of great escape: the Kilauea Military Camp in the volcano area of the Big Island. The altitude and crisp air helped to clear our minds of academic muddle. For a week, we left behind book orders and administrative minutiae to focus on the heart of what we really do. Even the volcano itself helped to remind us of everything that was simple and elemental in our lives.

Each summer Great Teachers Seminars are held in different states and Canada, in beautiful and relaxing locales. The idea is to bring people together, away from campus distractions, to learn from each other. The result has been a growing movement, with more states sponsoring their own versions and California adding a similar seminar for administrators.

For the Hawaii version, more than fifty of us gathered from across the country-- about half from the University of Hawaii community colleges and UH-Manoa and the rest from places such as Connecticut, New York and Arkansas. Coordinators Larry Fujinaka and Dennis Kaibara of Leeward Community College and Harold Kozuma of University of Hawaii at Hilo made sure everyone felt at home. It was my second "great teachers" experience. Last year I was a participant, but this year I was invited back as a facilitator.

Our leader, David Gottshall, reminded us this was not just any professional conference. There would be no formal presentation of papers or keynote speakers. We were the experts in teaching, and we were there to share what we knew.

And that is exactly what we did. For six days-- in and out-of-doors, over coffee, on bus excursions, early in the morning and late into the night, by a fire or under a tree-- we shared ideas the way friends trade secrets.

How do you motivate students? What about more humor in the classroom? Encouraging critical thinking? Handling diversity? We talked about teaching innovations and problems; shared one minute ideas from our "bag of tricks" and books that had influenced our lives; learned where we stood on issues in education; and discovered an amazing network of teachers who remain truly committed to their profession.

One of the keys to the success of these seminars seems to be the honesty: how honest are we willing to be with a group of strangers about our own successes and frustrations? Maybe we're more willing to reveal ourselves in settings like this-- away from campus politics, daily classroom pressures and some colleagues who are less than collegial.

The Great Teachers movement also practices a "less is more" approach to both seminar planning and teaching. Instead of a heavily preplanned agenda, "hot topics" which emerge in the early small-group sessions form the list of possible workshops later in the week. Topics on this list included "Teaching Smart," "Teaching through Imagination," "Academic Freedom," "Making It Real," and "Encouraging Student Responsibility."

Sharing sessions like these can work their own quiet revolution. Hearing what other people do in class can spark more ideas, clarify thinking and trigger possibilities to try in your own courses.

The sessions reminded me of those late-night dorm marathons when we talked about Life with a capital L-- only this time the subject is Teaching. At Great Teachers, the talk ranged from the nitty-gritty of facilities to cosmic questions such as open admissions. Community college teachers from across the country all seemed to be grappling with the same questions: How much can our colleges realistically do? How can we reach students more effectively?

At the beginning of the seminar, the leader also outlined the Six Commandments meant to guide our behavior for the week. Several people have observed that these might not be bad rules for on-campus use, either. They include:
1. Thou shalt give equal time.
2. Thou shalt not gripe.
3. Thou shalt not compare systems.
4. Thou shat not idly show and tell.
5. Thou shalt not hold back.
6. Thou shalt mutually enforce the other five.

As a staff facilitator, I was impressed with how well the groups tried to follow these rules. They also made me wonder why we can't do more of this on our home campuses. The discussions focused on solutions whenever possible, not just a recounting of problems. There was a conspicuous lack of ego as veteran teachers asked for ideas on student motivation and retention. People seemed anxious to help each other solve their problems and simply become better teachers.

We also discovered how our similarities seemed to outweigh our differences. The nursing instructor and the food service teacher knew how to make learning "real" for students. The English instructors liked one biology teacher's assignment of having students write about a fantastic voyage into the world of a cell. We all knew the challenges of grading and handling the paperload, of time management and teacher evaluation. We laughed at David Gottshall's jokes in all the same places, from a shared knowing and common bond of experience in the college classroom.

By the time we took our excursion to see Pele's lava pouring into the sea, we were one bonded group of happy campers. Maybe it was all that Korean barbeque we devoured together the night before or the clear, chill air and starry skies. Whatever the mystique, we were friends by then, not just a group of teachers at a workshop.

When I think back to that summer I'll probably remember people first: Don, the automotive teacher who also counsels drug abusers; David, the biology teacher who wrestle snakes in class and does an Arkansas pig call that would wake the dead; or Connie, the beaming early childhood instructor who led us in song our last morning together.

Then I'll remember why we were there: to rediscover why we chose teaching in the first place.