Gina S. Claywell

A cursory look on the ERIC database or at a bibliographic list in most any composition theory text quickly confirms Mina Shaughnessy's place in the field of rhetoric and composition; just such a list is attached at the conclusion of this chapter. Words such as "legacy" profound," and "quintessential" frequently appear, a testimony to the power and timeliness of her one major work, Errors and Expectations: A Guide for the Teacher of basic Writing. As most of us know, Errors and Expectations reveals the struggles Mina and her Basic Writing students experienced as they negotiated the birthing of the open enrollment movement at City University of New York. She discovered patterns in student errors in her tireless efforts to bring these new, underprepared students--who had always been considered uneducable--to an understanding of academic prose. In the twenty years since its publication, the field of rhetoric and composition has blossomed, although few of us are yet quite satisfied with our programs or our individual instruction. Only now are we beginning to understand that Shaughnessy's concern with "the writer's way" (Errors 81) implies a multitude of writing processes, not one way of writing shared by all writers. And, though we give lip service to the recommendations Shaughnessy made lo those many years ago and despite the technology that makes writing much less onerous than ever, we still have much more to accomplish in areas such as the political placement of composition, basic writing instruction, writing across the curriculum, student writing conditions, the social independence of classrooms, and the content of composition courses themselves. Indeed, several interrelated "errors and expectations" exist that composition programs, writing centers, and English programs in general need either to be made aware of or to continue to address into the twenty-first century.

A NEW DEFINITION FOR BASIC WRITING

Shaughnessy's work is often used to train graduate students preparing to tutor or teach developmental or first-year writing. I use the book in such a way chiefly because it painfully reveals to those entering the profession the necessity of balancing the standards required for academic products with an understanding of the difficulties associated with writing processes, especially for students who have read or written very little. At first, graduate students find Shaughnessy's students' writing to be oddly humorous, even appalling. Then, they tutor or teach a student whose work looks hauntingly like the Errors' examples, and they find themselves grappling with the same issues Mina herself dealt with two decades ago. Many of these new instructors are encountering this field in a trial-by-fire manner--learning the realities, the theory, the definitions, and the day-to-day business of writing instruction all at once. Their own strong writing and reading skills earned them a general undergraduate degree in English steeped in literary terms and traditions and frequently devoid of the very classes these graduate students are preparing to tutor or teach because they successfully challenged firstyear composition as undergraduates.

These beginning teachers often hold, consequently, very contradictory notions of elitism and confusion. "How," they wonder, "could students arrive at college without knowing what a sentence is?" On the other hand, they question their own abilities: "How can I be a graduate student in English and not know the first thing about teaching composition?" They quickly develop strong opinions about the appropriateness of college-level developmental writing courses. Initially, they pooh-pooh the very idea of a university's offering remedial instruction. Gradually, as they get to know their students, they realize the innate intelligence that such Basic Writers have; soon, graduate students develop cynicism that schools, or teachers, or parents, have allowed such bright individuals to arrive at college without a proper introduction to academic reading and writing. Finally, as they begin to distinguish between those Basic Writing students who are merely behind and those who lack basic cognitive abilities that might ever enable them to "get it," the graduate students display outright indignation at administrative and legislative dictates pushing high enrollments and fiscal accountability. Such number-crunching encourages the admission (and fee payment) of severely learning-disabled students at the expense of those students' self-esteem since so few realistically will or actually do matriculate. The new instructors arrive at seemingly jaded conclusions that are neither naive, meanspirited, nor wrong; indeed, they are shared by experienced mid-level administrators who deal daily with learning-disabled students and basic writers.

One such administrator recently revealed to me his intention of proposing a minimal competency level based on standardized scores in order for students to be admitted to his regional public university. His proposal was based not on insensitivity or on any elitist desire to deny students academic opportunity or close open-door policies; rather, he constantly sees the demands that severely limited students place on the resources of time, money, facilities, and faculty allotted to basic instruction. These students, he asserts, arrive at the university at the insistence of either parents or former high school teachers, counselors, or principals, some of whom admit the students' probable inability to succeed in vocational education programs; thus, the adults encourage college enrollment for lack of a better alternative and, sometimes, in spite of the students' lackadaisical attitudes about being there. While neither this administrator nor I necessarily want our home heating and air conditioning systems wired by someone with substantially reduced cognitive abilities, we are perplexed by what to do with these same students in the academic setting. All students can, of course, benefit from the cultural enrichment and humanistic traditions often associated with general education courses, and it is a moral imperative in this country that we all have the opportunity to pursue an education. And, just because they probably will never complete a degree is not reason enough alone to deny admission despite how it affects university matriculation rates. Still, these students lack some of the "basic" skills that even Mina's Basic Writers possessed. They are indicative of a trend in open enrollment that prevents student support services from assisting those students who have "basic" skills and both the potential and desire to overcome obstacles because such offices are swamped with the overwhelming needs of some students. Someone with Mina's empathy then or now might assert, with due reason, that standardized examinations might be able to measure potential, but they cannot indicate determination and thus should not be used to decide who gets educational services; however, the severity of problems universities are encountering as open enrollment is being extended to those with limited literacy skills is becoming a financial and ethical dilemma.

While this trend of admitting students with diminished intellectual capacity may be an understandable result of a complex interaction of increased rights for the disabled, political correctness and a subsequent fear of litigation, and continued attention to recruitment and retention, among other things, still, problems arise when open enrollment is fully extended--gone haywire until the hinges burst--and thus gives rise to a new definition of "basic."

TRAINING TEACHERS VIA MODELING

My experience at several schools across the Upper South has revealed that many graduate students enter composition theory courses as though they are entering a new country; they struggle to learn both the new language and the new content simultaneously, initially overloaded. Undergraduates, however, rarely have the benefit of such instruction, and, more important, look on pedagogies frequently used in composition classes with disdain or fear because their own backgrounds in English suggest that such instruction--because it is not in a lecture format or focused on the professor's knowledge of a literary figure or era--is not what English is really "about." Perhaps it is due to pervasive and ongoing attitudes such as those revealed by John Schilb in a review of texts in College English:

If many English faculty still scorn composition studies, this is partly because writing specialists see pedagogy as a scholarly concern. To raise the status of teaching and of composition, English departments will have to make material changes. But many of them will also have to change their thinking. For one thing, they will have to historicize pedagogy, recognizing how concepts and practices associated with it have altered over time. (341)

We do not, as a field, adequately distribute our knowledge about how we teach and how we have taught composition over the past century to those outside our community, partly because we ourselves do not have an accurate understanding of those methods. We have histories, of course, but in many cases, that history examines textbooks alone, while ignoring data that might be more representative of what really goes on in the composition classroom materials such as actual student writing, gradebooks, lesson plans, and, eureka!, teacher and student interviews. In fact, such research from the 1930s and 1940s in Kentucky and Tennessee suggests that, despite falling squarely in what was supposed to be the current-traditional paradigm, students at private and public universities spent a lot of time writing and less time doing rote memorization than might be expected. And teachers, lo those many years ago, also spent an inordinate amount of time grading papers! (Claywell).

So, it is important that future teachers be made aware of what really has been tried in the past and what the results of those efforts were just as they need to be introduced to the contemporary notions of composition instruction. Perhaps it is more important that primary and secondary school teachers have such grounding than future college professors since the better prepared our first-year college students are when they enter college, the stronger our composition programs will be. Former colleagues in Oklahoma did such training and went even further by professionalizing all English and English Education students on both the undergraduate and graduate levels--by encouraging participation and by also participating themselves in their statewide NCTE affiliate. Former students returned to the annual conference each year with stories of their in-class successes. And, since it was a regional university and most of the students remained as teachers in the area upon graduation, the first-year composition classes were filled with students who had been taught both literature and composition with the most up-to-date techniques by instructors who knew their place in the legacy of teaching writing.

In order to reach these goals for improving teacher education, composition instructors need to TALK--talk, talk, talk, talk, talk--about pedagogy both with their colleagues who teach literature, TESOL, technical writing, etc., and with their students--those in English Education or who plan to pursue graduate coursework in English and perhaps with their first-year students. And, at the expense of perpetuating the "House of Lore" that Stephen North describes as merely practitioner-building (27), one of my biggest concerns in preparing future teachers is that we do not talk about or model good teaching strategies--which composition theorists have so readily adopted--in the other areas of English instruction (and, from my experience in observing college composition instructors, we sometimes forget to model such strategies in our own classes). This mixed message tells novice teachers that those pedagogies that psychologists say most effectively facilitate learning are best used only with writing instruction but that literature and the other courses required for English studies are best presented via lecture.

Future college and high school English teachers must have a firm grounding in the history of composition instruction; they must know contemporary theories about how we write and think; they must be coached and mentored by faculty who model the most effective means of teaching. Otherwise, as Shaughnessy pointed out, "Teachers must do something on Monday morning, and this reality forces them either to do what their teachers did on Monday morning or to invent English composition anew out of their understanding of the craft and their observations of students learning to write" ( Errors 120 ). They will, if we do not modify the ways we teach all English classes, probably teach exactly as they have been taught, in a teacher-dominated classroom with students who will learn to regurgitate facts, not apply them. Their students will then walk into our college composition classrooms with few critical thinking, collaborative, or even basic reading skills.

DIGGING DEEPER TRENCHES

Just as we need to professionalize graduate students preparing to teach college and English Education majors readying for secondary schools, so do we need to encourage the continued professionalization of adjuncts. As administrators continue to drag their feet concerning hiring tenure-track faculty, the numbers of adjuncts being used to teach composition and other general education courses rise. A November 1995 article in The Council Chronicle states that "at the postsecondary level, 38 percent of teaching is done by adjunct faculty" ( Cassebaum 5 ). As this text goes to press, more than 97 percent of the composition courses are being taught by adjuncts and graduate assistants at my university an increase of 53 percent in just four years.

Observations of these teachers show their passion and energy, their dedication and creativity. I empathize with their ongoing struggle to keep computers running, papers graded, and students motivated. Their jobs are not easy. I am amazed at how they do it since many not only teach three courses for us but also teach at other schools.

I am appalled at the response administrators give to the situation. The pay is lousy, the benefits are nonexistent, and even simple considerations are not provided. For instance, invitations to faculty development workshops rarely are extended to adjuncts. Many, of course, would be too busy to attend, but the offer itself would say a lot about the value the university places on them. And, despite the increase in technology that has reduced some of the burdens of teaching composition, few things seem to have changed in composition instruction since the 1930s and 1940s, when adjuncts were called upon at the last minute to teach courses they were not always comfortable with, and they shared heavy teaching loads for little pay. They agonized over student performance, and they spent countless hours grading papers, often with children at their feet or ailing parents in their homes ( Claywell). The similarities between their existence and the professional lives of adjuncts today far outweigh their differences.

What are the implications of these similarities? Gender and economic factors are involved, since many of the adjuncts then and now are female with little opportunity for moving into tenure-track positions. It is, as Cassebaum points out, "a labor issue. It's also a feminist issue" (5). Furthermore, despite the relative growth of the field of rhetoric and composition and the professionalization of many of its members, writing is still considered administratively as something easily and readily taught by graduate assistants or adjuncts. I do know many adjuncts and graduate assistants who are fine teachers, but having an extremely high percentage of courses taught by them is an indication that composition instruction has strength primarily in the number of students taught, not in its support from higher administration. Even the numbers are scary, with ever-increasing student-teacher ratios further compounding teaching loads, especially for adjuncts. When the students are basic writers, especially with the severe problems previously mentioned, the problems of high workloads are compounded. Nevertheless, we need to anticipate continued pressure to increase course numbers while diplomatically refusing to increase those numbers despite administrators' demands.

We must incorporate adjuncts into our departments by welcoming them to participate in the democratic decisions that affect composition programs. Then, we should provide them equitable pay for such service they provide beyond classroom instruction. Some schools have formed unions to aid the plight of graduate students and adjuncts, but such measures must be well organized to gain ground and must be supported by composition programs. In general, we must provide adjuncts opportunities to grow and learn, to feel a part of the departmental discourse rather than isolated from it.

PERPETUATING THE LONELY-WRITER-IN-THE-GARRET MYTH

The rise of computer technology has created no less than a revolution in the teaching of writing at the university level and has, admittedly, improved the potential for and ease of revision in student papers. While many instructors have wholeheartedly embraced the technology, many others, not all of whom are oldschool, have begun to question the efficacy of the technology in actually creating better writers, as opposed to more prolific writers.

Related technologies such as distance-learning are also being questioned by teachers as perhaps raising more problems than they solve. New technology provides political muscle to university recruitment, so it becomes an administrative imperative to push technology incorporation into the classroom, but the pedagogical implications need to continue to be examined. Chris Anson writes in College English, New technologies introduced with the overriding goal of creating economic efficiencies and generating increased revenues may lead to even greater exploitation in the area of writing instruction, the historically maligned and undernourished servant of the academy. ( Anson 263 )

Not only do technological advancements make it possible for administrators to push higher student enrollments per class because they are no longer limited to classroom size or other artificial constraints in an electronic environment, but they also open up the possibility of returning us to the myth that writers best produce writing when secluded from the world. Computer monitors in dorm rooms and in high school classrooms miles away from the college composition class are now making it possible for students to get writing credit without actually physically interacting with their peers or instructors. And maybe, if writing really is the goal, this is fine, but it certainly seems to remove some of the social component that has always made the college experience, the human experience, what it is. It removes the face of the audience and replaces it with a text, and it turns teachers into mere text-readers.

Curiously, it is such distancing that might allow instructors to really focus attention on student writing patterns by, for instance, providing students flexible deadlines that allow for their own writing processes. Such personalized attention was Shaughnessy's focus, but, if student numbers continue to rise as a result of the perceived ease of teaching via technology, this potential benefit will be counteracted. Furthermore, as "aliteracy"--the choice not to read or write--becomes an increasing problem in American schools, finding patterns that neatly identify the problems in student writing may be problematic because the global qualities of student writing will continue to deteriorate.

Composition programs must also look carefully at movements many from within English departments--to move the attention of composition classrooms away from a focus on writing per se to writing about literature, service, politics, humanities, and so on, because, just as technology poses political problems, so do such content classes. They threaten to remove a concentration from "writing" as a concrete, measurable subject of study and as a worthy academic enterprise. They also mystify writing style and fluidity so that composition becomes mysterious, inaccessible, or not important at all and thus reaffirm the myth of the lonely writer in the garret.

MAKING THE CHANGES

How can real changes be made? English programs need to consolidate their political muscle but not before they reach consensus internally. English programs must help administrators become aware of the importance of our programs--a goal unreachable until we ourselves come to an agreement about what composition courses mean financially, politically, and theoretically--and then present a united front with administrators about what and how much we do and have been doing for all these years.We must be proactive in working with university administrators by publicizing successes, strengthening assessments, and developing creative solutions to both fiscal and physical problems. Few administrators realize either the labor intensity of teaching composition or how the addition of two to three students per section compounds that workload. Stronger connections with other departments, specifically education departments, and with the media must be forged. What we do is important, and we should actively seek to get that work acknowledged and understood. The dividend in better public understanding is worth the effort.As we teach writing, whether it be basic, first-year, or advanced, we need to continually ask ourselves those vital questions Shaughnessy asked in Errors:

As we fine-tune our curricula, we need to find ways to incorporate technology without losing humanity. We need to develop more innovative methods for reaching those students who choose to be aliterate, and, unless admissions standards change, we must develop new, efficient ways to present writing skills to those lacking much of the cognitive ability required for literacy. We must, most important, model good teaching and reach out to those who would be teachers.To accomplish these goals will require a balance between teaching and research; the problems are interrelated and complex, and thus solving them will not be easy. Mina Shaughnessy did not expect change to be easy either. Her 1976 address at the Conference of the CUNY Association of Writing Supervisors in New York entitled, "The Miserable Truth," could be given at a conference today:

Our staffs are shrinking and our class size increasing.

            Talented young teachers who were ready to concentrate their scholarly energies on the sort of research and teaching we need in basic writing are looking for jobs.

            Each day brings not just a new decision but rumors of new decisions, palcing us in the predicament of those mice in psychological experiments who must keep shifting their expectations until they are too rattled to function.

            Our campuses buzz like an Elizabethan court with talk of who is in favor and who is out. And we meet our colleagues from other campuses with relief: "Ah, good," we say (or think to ourselves)--"you're still here."

            We struggle each day to extract from the Orwellian language that announces new plans and policies some clear sense of what finally is going to become of the students whom the university in more affluent times committed itself to educate. (263-64)