Leaving Teaching--Willamette University College of Law

On January 2, 2007 I handed in my last grades as a law professor. When you consider that I first began teaching in higher education in 1982, you realize that I have spent nearly a quarter century of involvement with higher education. Granted, I spent two years as a pastor, three years in law school, half a year as an editorial writer, and three years as a litigation attorney in those 24 1/2 years, but most of my professional career has been as a teacher--of religion and humanities, of history and government, of law. I had known since April 2006 that my days as a law instructor would end in December. Oh, my termination wasn't punitive. I had come on to the faculty as a sort of "utility hitter" law professor a few years ago while the law school was undergoing some transition but I knew that it would end sooner or later, when some younger faculty were hired. I am leaving with friends and good feelings about Willamette University College of Law. But I don't feel inclined to try to return to teaching in a school (i.e., degree-granting) context. Nevertheless, I think my identity as a teacher is etched so deeply into my psyche that wherever I go I will teach, but I just won't be giving and grading exams and papers.

Ending it All (the Teaching, that is)

The last weeks of class were particularly gratifying for me. It seemed as if students were understanding what I said, that good chemistry was everywhere, and that students were rising to the occasion by giving wonderful oral presentations. I believe that my final evaluations will be positive, indeed very positive. Like an athlete who leaves before decline has set in, however, I am leaving teaching "at the top of my game." But two things happened very recently that tempered some of the positive feelings that surrounded my departure. They illustrate the point that I have known for years but have only reluctantly accepted, and that is that only very rarely do victories come without some losses. Perhaps this is nature's way of keeping us humble--by not allowing unalloyed elation to deceive us into thinking that any challenge we face can simply be mowed down.

Let me tell you the two 'tempering' experiences. The first grew out of the student protests which resulted in the taking over of my Jurisprudence class on 11/16. My class wasn't "targeted;" it was just that I happened to be teaching at 8:30 a.m. when the protestors came. Well, we identified the person who was most intrusive in the class, and the Dean asked me what I felt should be the college's response to him. I suggested that he be required to write a reflective essay (assignment here) either on the theory of civil disobedience or on the actual events at Willamette. He chose to write on the latter. I thought we had a good conversation with the student before he wrote his paper. Well, he turned it in, and it was acceptable, but his spirit of hurt and spite continues. The line that was most telling was that a requirement that he "reflect" on his activity was "insulting." When I read a line like that, my heart sank a little, because I saw that communication really hadn't taken place. The goal of higher education as reflection on human experience (and learning subject matters) and, specifically, reflection on his protest was taken by the student to be a punitive and insulting task.. He said he had thought about the protests since they happened. Asking him to write his reflections was insulting. Well, he is young, and may yet learn that many of the most powerful proponents of civil disobedience "reflected" quite a bit on what they did. I was disheartened because my basic value seemed to fall on such deaf ears.

A Similar Experience

I had that same experience today when I met with a law student to review his paper he turned in for one of my classes. It isn't unusual that students in law school think they deserve better grades than were given them; indeed, so thinking is really the norm. Nevertheless, the student wanted to talk to me about his course grade, and we ended up talking about his paper. Suffice it to say that the student hadn't documented any of his assertions in the paper. He would say something about a "trend" in the law, then he would tell me where the "common law" was on an issue (he did document that), and then he told me that new laws were passed that were part of a trend that was developing, but then he didn't give me any citations to say how he knew a "trend" was developing. What made this case much more troubling to me, however, was that when I said that he needed to document his thoughts, especially if he made claims about the way the law was going, the student just looked at me and said, "I disagree." What?? What he didn't understand was that he wasn't disagreeing with me (other than in a formal sense); he simply didn't seem to "get it" that he needed to cite a statute when he talked about statutes being passed. He then said that he wasn't quite clear on the nature of the assignment, and I told him that really the nature of the assignment has little to do with it. You know what kind of writing to do based on the claims you make in a paper. If you claim there is a trend, you have to show it. You just can't assert it. What was more troubling was that this student was a third-years student, with only one semester to go. I think that we as an institution have failed him.

Conclusion

So, those are my bittersweet thoughts upon leaving law teaching. I am gratified on the one hand (apparently there is a group of students that wants to meet with me just to shoot the breeze and talk law and life), but I am a bit "down" on the other. I like to think sometimes that no one should be able to misunderstand me when I think I am being clear about something. But, obviously, this isn't the case. Sometimes inability to hear relates to unclarity in the messenger; sometimes it is because there is too much "noise" in the hearer. I could have wished it were better in these two situations, and I hope both of the young men find their ways in their school and work lives. They probably will. But I feel a little like Bronson Alcott felt when students acted up in his 19th century classroom. He would have them cane him for not, obviously, being able to communicate his lessons clearly enough for them not to act up. I don't want a beating tonight, really, but I do feel that I have contributed, even if a little bit, to students' not understanding what they were supposed to do. I suppose it isn't bad to leave law teaching under these circumstances. I will forever be grateful when someone does understand me. And, I will always be committed to the notion that teaching and learning is a sacred task that we are sometimes better able to take on than at other times. Maybe those things aren't bad lessons for a 24-year career.

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