Required Short Reading
On Bullshit, by Princeton University professor emeritus Harry Frankfurt is a uniformly entertaining tongue half-in-cheek look at the phenomenon of bullshit. The essay continues to develop around examples for longer than expected, like a highbrow version of Peter Griffin clutching his knee in agony. To cite an excerpt, "Just as hot air is speech that has been emptied of all informative content, so excrement is matter from which everything nutritive has been removed."
Stand and Deliver Revisted delves into details that compromise the inspirational nature of the film. The 5 years that passed before Jaime Escalante first taught calculus are time-compressed into 5 minutes in the film. In 1974, his first year teaching at Garfield High, he asked his previous employer for his job back, but changed his mind when he was able to round up 12 students willing to learn algebra. His first calculus class (in 1979) had only five students, two of whom passed the AP exam. However, with the help of a new sympathetic administration headed by Henry Gradillas, the existence of a calculus course provided enough leverage to improve the feeder courses. In 1987, Garfield High had 73 students pass the Calculus AB test and 12 pass the Calculus BC test.
That year, principal Gradillas went on sabatical that year to finish his PhD. When he came back, he was not reinstated, but was instead told by the school board to go supervise asbestos removal. District officials denied they were punishing him, but one said privately that Gradillas was refused better assignments because he was considered "too confrontational." Politics and jealousies (aw, Arnold Schwarzenegger sat in on his class but not mine! No fair!) eventually drove Escalante to resign in 1991. A sevenfold drop in passing AP scores ensued over the next few years. In 1996 Escalante contacted Garfield’s new principal, Tony Garcia, and offered to come back to help revive the dying calculus program. This offer was subsequently rejected.
When Escalante gets all cranky about this kind of stuff, the dismissal is usually something like "such backbiting only hurts the kids," or "Jaime didn’t get along with some of the teachers at his school. He pretty much was a loner," or "he wants to see beaners get into MIT, Harvard, Yale, Berkeley, USC, and UCLA. I don't see the point of that."
So there you have it, an epic journey from dismal to exceptional to average.
Oh, and The Brick Testament is required reading, too, in case you missed it last time. Lego foreskins!
Stand and Deliver Revisted delves into details that compromise the inspirational nature of the film. The 5 years that passed before Jaime Escalante first taught calculus are time-compressed into 5 minutes in the film. In 1974, his first year teaching at Garfield High, he asked his previous employer for his job back, but changed his mind when he was able to round up 12 students willing to learn algebra. His first calculus class (in 1979) had only five students, two of whom passed the AP exam. However, with the help of a new sympathetic administration headed by Henry Gradillas, the existence of a calculus course provided enough leverage to improve the feeder courses. In 1987, Garfield High had 73 students pass the Calculus AB test and 12 pass the Calculus BC test.
That year, principal Gradillas went on sabatical that year to finish his PhD. When he came back, he was not reinstated, but was instead told by the school board to go supervise asbestos removal. District officials denied they were punishing him, but one said privately that Gradillas was refused better assignments because he was considered "too confrontational." Politics and jealousies (aw, Arnold Schwarzenegger sat in on his class but not mine! No fair!) eventually drove Escalante to resign in 1991. A sevenfold drop in passing AP scores ensued over the next few years. In 1996 Escalante contacted Garfield’s new principal, Tony Garcia, and offered to come back to help revive the dying calculus program. This offer was subsequently rejected.
When Escalante gets all cranky about this kind of stuff, the dismissal is usually something like "such backbiting only hurts the kids," or "Jaime didn’t get along with some of the teachers at his school. He pretty much was a loner," or "he wants to see beaners get into MIT, Harvard, Yale, Berkeley, USC, and UCLA. I don't see the point of that."
So there you have it, an epic journey from dismal to exceptional to average.
Oh, and The Brick Testament is required reading, too, in case you missed it last time. Lego foreskins!