The Walker Papers

By Todd NelsoncloseAuthor: Todd Nelson Name: Todd Nelson
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About: Todd R. Nelson has been a public and private school English teacher and administrator for 29 years, in schools in Cambridge, San Francisco, Chicago and Maine. Head of School at The School in Rose Valley (Pennsylvania).See Authors Posts (31)
 

At the end of the term, the 7^th and 8^th graders wrote down their impressions of how grades and grading works—for them. We asked ourselves, “Are we using grades, or are grades using us? How do we get the biggest possible benefit from grades for academic work? Who really gives a grade, anyway? Who makes the grade? Is a grade a reward or a stimulus…and when should it be applied?” And we all wrote answers to these questions during a quiet writing period.

I found myself thinking about an important teacher in my life. It’s good to have students “see” the teachers behind us all, the ones whose influence we remember, for whatever reason. For me it was Mr. Walker, my high school English teacher. I can still hear his voice, his tone, his facial expressions, his wry humor.

I worked really, really hard for Mr. Walker, my English teacher in  11th and 12th. It wasn’t that he made a lot of comments on the weekly papers I had to write for him–for one thing I could barely read his handwriting; it was a standing joke when he wrote pertinent notes on the blackboard during class discussion. But everyone knew his high standards. His assignments were known as “Walker Papers,” and he had us write one every week. The scope was unlimited; length to be determined by the writer; correct grammar, spelling and punctuation very much part of the assignment. One a week. All year. It was Mr. Walker who made me think that being an English major would be a good thing to do in college.

My first attempts were Bs. And then, little by little, as I eased into the routine of writing on demand, filing on deadline, the rhythm of reflecting, drafting, tinkering, editing and finally submitting some piece of narrative, dialogue or opinion, my grades rose higher. When I finally earned an A, it made me want to write more, write better. I finally had a key to unlock my style and content.

Was it Mr. Walker and his comments on my work that made me a better writer? Was it the frequency of the assignment? Was it the value I attached to his opinion, reflected in the letter grade in red ink at the bottom of the paper? Somehow the process of being asked to “say” something led me to having something to say. And now I find myself writing in order to find out what I think—right now.

I’ve always worked in schools that used letter grades, and I’ve always taught students in the middle school ages. And I’ve always assigned frequent writing so that the routine of putting ideas on paper (or, now, on laptops) becomes part of the rhythm of the class. But do my grades matter? The students I’ve taught have always seemed conditioned to want grades, to want to work for good grades (more or less), and to think that the reward of a grade is the goal of the work they submit. It’s ironic, then, that I’ve always wished that my students would work for the goal of understanding, clarity, effectiveness in written expression, beauty, joy, and truth. Idealistic? Yes. Untested? Yes.

Or is it? Many of my former students have gone on to careers that involved writing. One is a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist! Others are poets and well-known artists, musicians, lawyers, clergy, doctors, among many, many intriguing career paths. Is there a relationship between my language arts class assignments and grades and their eventual achievements as adults? I don’t know. They never write!

I think it might have to do with trust. How do you turn the matter of inspiration and stimulation into intrinsic motivation, put the students in charge of their own aspiration and results–as will be the case in any endeavor in life?

Does the use of grades suggest that we don’t trust them to achieve success on their own terms? If they failed, whose failure would it be–the teacher’s for not giving grades; the student for ignoring their responsibility to themselves?

At what point should the responsibility be turned over to the nascent journalist, writer, artist, lawyer to become the person they wish to be, in the area of skill they wish to be known for? What would Mr. Walker say? Would I have written “Walker Papers” without the high standard represented by Walker Grades?

Ideally, I would prefer to trust that a mere shard of truth in a single poem, story, novel or play is enough to make anyone strive for better skills in their native language; that the beauty of one metaphor exacts a life-long yearning for mastery and fluency; that the wrangle involved in creating a sonnet seeds a whole year of Walker papers, and all that that metaphor stands for. It did for me. But that’s just me. And though I eventually earned A grades from Mr. Walker, every week, it isn’t the grades that I look back on with a sense of accomplishment or pride. It’s the affirmation of having a reader I respected say, “good work.”