Tag Archives: Issue

Online Learning: Next Course

Prod-Stills-Middlebury-300dpi-39671A digital course for alumni—Years of Upheaval: Diplomacy, War, and Social Change, 1919–1945—is slated for a winter release and will be taught by Russ Leng ’60, the James Jermain Professor Emeritus of Political Science and International Law. The course will consist of 10 video classes, each featuring a short lecture and augmented by documentary images, recordings, and videos. To conclude each class, Leng will converse with Frank Sesno ’77, the award-winning journalist and director of the School of Media and Public Affairs at George Washington University.

The alumni course follows two other digital ventures recently launched by Middlebury entities. Last summer, the James Martin Center for Nonproliferation Studies at the Monterey Institute auditioned its first online course, a six-session series titled Global Trade and Weapons of Mass Destruction. And this fall, students in Middlebury’s master’s degree program in Hebrew are taking advantage of the opportunity to supplement their traditional instruction with video-conferenced class meetings.

Susan Baldridge, vice president for strategy and planning, sees these projects as invaluable opportunities to explore how best to construct learning experiences—“experiences that reflect the institution’s commitment to educational excellence”—which will allow instructors to connect with students and the broader community in new ways.

With the production of Years of Upheaval nearing completion, Leng says that he found the subject matter particularly suited for “an online multi-disciplinary and multi-media approach.”  He adds, “I hope that those who take the course, will find it half as compelling as I did in creating it.”


Download: Why I Love Socrates

Socrates statueEverything about Socrates is ironic and enigmatic: He is one of history’s most famous teachers, yet he claimed not to be a teacher. He stands at the beginning of more than 2,000 years of texts, yet he wrote nothing himself. Universities have canonized Plato’s Socratic dialogues, yet Socrates was never in an academy, but on the streets of Athens—the city that sentenced him to hemlock.

The Delphic oracle called Socrates the wisest person in Athens, yet Socrates felt he possessed only an ironic wisdom, an enlightened ignorance: “I know that I do not know.”

Of all the versions of Socrates, Plato’s remains the most compelling and influential. Plato’s phrases have entered contemporary English: we speak of “the Socratic method,” “the gadfly to the state,” and “the examined life.” Instead of rigidly defending a single position, Plato’s Socrates shows us how to question all positions rigorously. The Socratic position reminds us—lest we be in a rush to judge others—to recognize how much we do not know. Searching itself is meaningful; questions become as important as answers.

Plato’s Socrates continues to inspire students today, as well as creative minds across cultures. The young Nietzsche called Socrates “the vortex of world history.”

Virginia Woolf, in an essay on the Greek classics, wrote that reading a Socratic dialogue provides “the greatest felicity of which we are capable.” And Martin Luther King, in his 1963 letter from a Birmingham jail, invoked the spirit of Socrates when he called for reform and for “nonviolent gadflies.”

Today, when it comes to humanistic inquiry and hard conversations about controversial issues, Socratic dialogue can provide a valuable model; there’s so much we do not know, and so much we can gain from questioning and searching together.

Symposium: Tech’s Role

middlebury_finalThis year, at the annual Clifford Symposium, the keynote address was given by John Palfrey, head of school at Phillips Academy and author of four books on education in the digital age. The conference’s theme was “Transforming the Academy in the Digital Era,” and Palfrey’s address touched on the need to blend digital tools and face-to-face pedagogy.

“When we figure out the sweet spot in the combination,” he said, “we can do some really interesting work together.”

People often think in either/or constructs. But at this symposium, as attendees discussed technology’s role in education, they consciously strove for more of a both/and method of thinking, something that was readily evident in all the lectures, exhibits, panel discussions, and performances. (The symposium concluded with a mind-bending performance by Paul Miller, also known as DJ Spooky, in which the artist channeled electronica to interpret algorithms that mirror the geometry in ice crystals and the math of climate-change data. He then melded this iPad composition with a violin solo to construct a suite of music that most attendees surely never thought possible.)

“What we wanted to avoid was the rhetoric of utopia or dystopia when talking about technology in the academy,” Jason Mittell said a few days after the symposium had concluded. Mittell, a professor of film and media culture and American studies, organized Clifford this year. As regards technology and pedagogy, he said he subscribes neither to “knee-jerk boosterism” nor “dystopian skepticism.”

“In my mind, it was critical that we approached technology within a context, recognizing all the other factors that affect teaching, learning, and scholarship,” he said.

“We’re living in an era of change,” he continued, “and all too often it seems that people are quick either to celebrate or blame technology in ways disproportionate to its impact. We wanted to bring a realist approach to understanding the role of technology in the academy.”

Mittell saw this year’s Clifford as the launch party for Middlebury’s new digital liberal arts initiative (DLA). This effort will involve people from geography, history, and library sciences working to foster a campus-wide understanding of technology and the liberal arts.

Throughout the year, DLA will host workshops and reading groups pertaining to open-access publishing, digital archival research, and emerging interdisciplinary movements such as the digital humanities.

Said Mittell: “We want to give visibility to new tools and approaches in teaching and scholarship while also providing support and guidance for faculty who’re interested in experimenting, trying different things.

“Digital transformations have caused us to rethink what’s a given,” he said. “That doesn’t mean we’re putting technology at the center of what we do. We just don’t want ignorance to be an excuse or fear to be an obstacle when considering how technology can be best used in the academy.”          

Colophon: Where Do Fanatics Come From?

_D3_7358Despite being a part of the generation that in World War II defeated fascism, Eric Hoffer was never a member of U.S. armed forces. Rejected as an enlistee when he was 40, the Bronx-born, working-class Hoffer turned to laboring as a longshoreman along the docks of San Francisco’s Embarcadero. Always considering himself more a reader than a writer, Hoffer nevertheless distinguished himself with his first book, garnering acclaim with the 1951 publication of what scholars and laymen alike continue to regard as a classic.

In The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements, Hoffer focused on explicating the collective psychologies underpinning Nazism and Stalinism, the two dictatorial movements that had risen to prominence, and very nearly to world domination, during the prime of his life. Others, of course, had wrestled with how nearly half of humanity could ever have been led down totalitarianism’s senselessly destructive path. However, no one had yet explored the issue with the incisiveness, lucidity, and wit that Hoffer’s prose offered. Hoffer had an abiding respect for the common people and yet discovered that they continued to allow themselves, with alarming predictability, to be blindly misled.

While generally in favor of religion, Hoffer nonetheless professed lifelong atheism. He was wary of the descent into fanaticism that, now, has become a hallmark of extremist sectarian and terrorist movements. Fanaticism facilitates abandoning one’s fundamental humanity or, as Hoffer wrote: “Faith in a holy cause is to a considerable extent a substitute for the lost faith in ourselves.”

Wild Moose Chase


In search of Vermont’s most mysterious creature

I tumbled headlong down the hillside once, twice, three times before landing in a heap of snow beside Ky Koitzsch, a wildlife biologist from in Waitsfield, Vermont and also my guide as we trekked along a remote ridgeline in the Green Mountains, east of Granville, Vermont, in search of moose.

“The avalanche method,” I explained, as I struggled to extract my splayed cross-country skis from nearly three feet of powder. “It works almost as well as skiing when the hill is this steep.”

After untangling my limbs, I reattached my skis. Ky waited all of five seconds before setting out again along the moose tracks, not noticing the difficulty with which I was clambering after him. He had eyes only for the hoof prints that curved out before us, disappearing into a dense thicket of decapitated firs.

“Tracks!” called Ky from twenty yards ahead. “Here are our first moose tracks.” He pointed into the snow with his pole. “They’re not fresh—probably two days old or so, judging by the amount of snow that’s blown into them.” The tracks were widely spaced and diagonally staggered.

He then skied a few yards and, leaning over, put his head a few inches from an indentation in the snow.

“Here’s a good one!” He drew me to his side with an animated hand gesture. “You see how this side is deeper?” He didn’t give me a chance to respond. “You can tell the direction the moose is traveling based on the uneven depth of the print. When the moose walks, it puts most of its weight on the front of its hoof, just like we do. So the deeper side of the print with point in the direction the animal is moving.”

He rolled his balled fist through the snow, mimicking the movement of a moose on the hoof. “We’ll follow these for now. They should lead us to some fresher tracks.”

Our trek took us still higher into the Green Mountains and further from the national park access road that had deposited us into these snowy woods. Ky was confident that we’d find fresher tracks before the day was out—if not an actual moose.

“Come look at this, Conor,” Ky said without looking up from the trunk he was scrutinizing. “This is a great example of bark stripping. You can see marks from the moose’s teeth. Moose only have bottom incisors, so the scraping will always be angled upwards.”

I ran my hand along the grooved surface, thankful for the momentary respite from our energetic jaunt.

Other than tracks, trees display the most prominent signs of moose. During the winter months, moose in the Vermont woods rely on woody twigs for food, and evidence of moose munching on trees could be seen almost everywhere Ky and I turned. The tree Ky pointed to was a striped maple, one of the many varieties that moose will eat during the winter.

“The food moose eat in the summer is buried now,” Ky said. “Now, instead of greens like leaves and aquatic vegetation, the moose will browse on mostly woody twigs and bark. Around here, I find that during the winter, they eat mostly striped maple, balsam fir, hobblebush, and occasionally cherry and birch.”

Moose derives from the Algonquin word “moz”—meaning “twig eater.” And moose certainly live up to their name. The animals consume staggering amounts of vegetation. A typical moose will eat sixty pounds of vegetation in a day. All of which is digested in a moose’s massive, four-chambered stomach.

We stopped in a meadow about thirty yards away from a striped maple tree that a hungry moose had stripped of its bark.

“These,” he said, gesturing to the meadow of firs surrounding us, “have been chowed! Notice that none of these firs are more than five feet tall—moose stunt their growth by coming back and eating here for multiple years.”

“Do you think they’re fresh?” I asked.

He ripped a branch off the closest fir tree. “Look at this,” he said, handing me the branch.

I glanced at it, then back at him. I could tell the end had been chewed off, but didn’t know what else I was looking for.

“Notice the color of the bark,” he told me. “You can tell from the brown color of the inner wood that this moose passed through at least two days ago. If this bite had been taken any more recently, the inner wood would still be yellow or even green.”

We moved through several meadows that had been trampled by browsing moose. Ky followed one pair of tracks for a little bit before picking up a new one—and then a newer one.

“Ah, here we go. Check this out. You can tell this is a moose rub based on the height.”

I studied the patch of trunk he was discussing. Starting at about three feet off the ground (and then spanning another four or so feet) the tree’s bark had been rubbed away, leaving stringy bits of wood hanging at the top and bottom edges.

“This bark wasn’t eaten, it was rubbed off by the moose’s antlers. You could tell that the bark on that striped maple we saw before had been eaten because of the incisor grooves and the clean edges,” Ky said. “But you can tell this fir was rubbed because there are no incisor grooves.”

He removed a glove, running his bare hand along the trunk. “See?” he said. “Totally smooth. Also, the edges of the bark are stringy and frayed when antlers rub them.”

“Keep your eye out,” he said.

As fast as we were moving, Ky reminded me that we couldn’t hope to match the speed of a moose travelling through the woods. I found it hard to imagine animals as large as moose moving swiftly through the labyrinth of brambles and fallen trees that were clawing us from all angles.

“Look at this!” Ky said, “This is great! A fresh moose bed—it can’t be much more than a few hours old!”

We stood before a rounded depression in the snow—a bowl a moose’s body had created. At its center was a heap of what looked like tiny chocolate eggs. A few inches beyond, it appeared someone had spilled a dozen highlighter markers. I couldn’t take my eyes off the fluorescent urine and the pile of droppings.

“Pick one up,” Ky said. “We’ll see how long ago the moose was here.”

I picked up a small piece of scat. It was an egg-shaped pellet, not much bigger than a marble.

“Is it warm?”

“No,” I said, squeezing the pellet. “It’s not frozen though.”

Ky picked up another pellet from the heap, rolling it between his fingers. It broke open like an Easter egg.

“Sawdust.” Ky showed me the digested bits of wood. “That’s really all it is. Now if we were looking at coyote scat—or any other carnivore, for that matter—it might have been uglier. This is basically just cellulose.”

We started following these new tracks, which Ky estimated were made about an hour earlier.

“I’ll bet she heard us,” he whispered. “We can’t be far behind her now. As we ski, try to be as quiet as you can.”

We spent ten minutes in vigorous pursuit. The tracks reached an open meadow and pivoted sharply, turning uphill. Then they turned back downhill. Or were they a different set of tracks? I slowed down, unsure.

“It looks like she went higher up into the mountains,” Ky said, pausing. “I’m thinking we should probably head back. We’ve had this cow moving pretty fast for awhile now, and she’ll already be pretty warm in weather like this. We really ought to let her be. She’s probably struggling as it is.”

“Of course,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

 This essay is an abridged version of a longer story and video produced for the winter term course Writing the Adventure.

Old Chapel: Arts Scene

Middlebury dance finalThe arts have a rich history at Middlebury, playing a fundamental role in the life and culture of the College. We talked to President Liebowitz about the importance of the arts, its evolution inside and outside the curriculum, and its future in higher education.

Let’s start broadly: What is the role of the arts in a liberal arts education?
It’s an integral part of a liberal arts education. To be liberally educated you have to have an understanding, an appreciation, and a critique, in some way, of the arts. The arts are an embodiment of the human endeavor, a product of creativity, and an expression of one’s relationship to oneself, to other people, and to the environment. The arts are central to our educational mission.

Students come to a liberal arts college like Middlebury for both the breadth and the depth of what we offer. If you’re a chemistry major or a political science major, you’ll take 18 to 20 courses outside your chosen field of study. You’ll be exposed to various ways of thinking, creating, and appreciating. This broad education includes the arts.

The College recently received a generous grant from the Mellon Foundation to support a multiyear project to bring emerging artists in dance to collaborate with Middlebury faculty and students in other disciplines. This seems to be a groundbreaking effort.
I’m very excited about this. “Movement Matters” will address the question of how human bodies can shape—both literally and metaphorically—our political and physical worlds. Christal Brown, an assistant professor and chair of the dance program, will direct the project, and she’s done an amazing job. She’s an incredible ambassador and spokesperson for the performing arts becoming more central in the lives of our students, faculty, and staff.

To be honest, I think students are already there. With this project, I think faculty and staff will be the ones being pushed to think beyond the traditional boundaries of a liberal arts education. As faculty advisers, we always encourage students to broaden their experiences by taking courses outside their areas of endeavor. But this project goes further. It will compel faculty to think about how art meshes with their disciplinary teaching.  It’s a wonderful reinforcement of the liberal arts ideal.

During your time at Middlebury, have you seen an increase in student interest in the arts?
I believe there’s greater student demand to engage in artistic endeavors. There’s always been great interest in the arts curriculum here, and this student body has consistently been a bit more arts oriented than other student bodies I’ve encountered in the academy.

I’m seeing an expansion of interest outside the curriculum. We have amazingly creative students working on, say, playwriting in the Old Stone Mill or pottery on Adirondack View. Both spaces fall under the auspices of PCI, our Programs on Creativity and Innovation in the Liberal Arts, and they’re serving as creative laboratories for students who want to experiment outside the classroom.

Now, there’s healthy debate among some faculty as to whether we should be facilitating this experimentation outside of the curriculum. Some arts faculty feel students should understand the fundamentals of what they’re doing, rather than just attempting it. I understand their thinking, but another perspective is unquestionably compelling. Peter Hamlin, the Christian A. Johnson Professor of Music, says that among his composition students, those who have composed music experimentally in the Old Stone Mill have arrived in his class having already learned, to an appreciable, if not complete, extent what works and what doesn’t work, and he senses a constructive confidence as they discuss their creative endeavors.

Like in other disciplines, in the arts, there’s theory and there’s practice. How valuable are the opportunities students have to engage in these “real world” programs like the Potomac Theatre Project in New York or the Town Hall Theater in town?
Extremely valuable. Let’s look at the Potomac Theatre Project (PTP). Since Cheryl Faraone and Richard Romagnoli founded PTP (with Jim Petosa) in the mid 1980s, scores of Middlebury students have been involved with this professional acting company, working alongside equity actors, learning the art of acting as well as set and costume design, in ways really hard to replicate in the traditional classroom or theater program. And since PTP moved to New York and off-Broadway seven years ago, the experience has gotten that much richer. Our undergraduate theatre program already is amazing; access to PTP makes it, in my view, remarkable.

As well, our partnership with the Town Hall Theatre not only supports a local cultural institution but also expands our students’ opportunities. (For more on this partnership, see p. 32) During the school year, students act, co-direct, and stage productions in collaboration with community actors and performers. Each January, THT also houses our winter-term musical, which typically plays to full houses every night. And in the summer, our Language Schools students perform in the space, as the arts constitute an important part of the learning process and Language School mission. We have flexibility in our accessible venues, and we also place unique artistic offerings right in town.

There are two other programs emblematic of both the thirst for, and success of, the arts for our students. During fall break, senior majors in architecture studies will visit cities—recent locations have been Montreal and Boston—where they will view and study important architectural works. They’ll meet with the architects of those projects, when possible, and also visit architectural firms, both large and small, to see first-hand what it means to work in this field; this kind of exposure to the profession is difficult to obtain in the Champlain Valley.

Another extraordinary opportunity is the Museum Assistance Program (MAP). Students learn how to be docents of a collection—they learn how to show, talk about, and teach art. But they are also learning to speak intelligently to audiences and to carry themselves in professional ways. They’re acquiring interpersonal and intellectual skills that will help them in any profession.

There’s also a fund that allows winter term students to…
They purchase art for the museum! Yes, that’s another wonderful opportunity. Through the generous gift of an alumna, the students research art, they learn about art acquisition, and they learn about the marketplace. It’s an incredible experience, and they get to work alongside the donor to the fund, an art gallery owner, who comes to campus and provides advice and expertise. Another fund, given by parents of a recent graduate, provides residences for visiting musicians. When these professional musicians come to campus, they spend a little time on campus and work with students, giving the students a feel for performing or composing at a professional level. These experiences are invaluable.

The College recently received a generous gift of a Steinway concert grand piano, and part of the donor agreement was that this piano be made available to the entire community.
It’s a beautiful gift to the College, and this aspect of the gift especially so. We have far more musical talent than what we regularly hear about. When the piano arrived, this became abundantly clear. You wrote about it in the magazine—we had sign-up opportunities for people to come into the concert hall and play. The list filled up immediately. And interest has continued, as it has with people getting to play other pianos. If anything, we’re many pianos short in terms of demand on campus!  A gift of 10, 20, and maybe 30 pianos for practice and leisurely playing would probably still not meet our campus demand; one can hope!

Middlebury has celebrated music for a long time. We have a concert series in its 95th year, and recently I looked at the entire lineup of performers who have come to campus during this period. Both the evolution and the continuity in this music series is remarkable. Middlebury cares about music, and this Steinway is symbolic of that commitment to the art form.  It has all the more meaning by coming to us as a gift from parents whose son excelled here in music and the performing arts.

There are well-documented economic pressures on higher education. Where do the arts fall in these discussions of cost and relevance?
It’s a real question, specifically one of cost.  To circle back to the beginning of our conversation: the arts are essential to a liberal arts education. Appreciating the arts doesn’t end when one graduates. Rather, if we are successful in educating our students in the liberal arts tradition, that appreciation becomes a lifelong endeavor.  Learning about artistic forms allows one to appreciate life. We’d be delinquent if we didn’t recognize the arts’ place in our students’ educations.

Does this mean always having the most expensive things? No. It means always making artistic endeavors a part of students’ educational experiences. Students must be exposed to, and inspired by, the arts—by what they see and hear and learn. Middlebury has long been committed to this philosophy, and I believe we’ll not only retain this commitment but strengthen it in the years ahead.

Pursuits: On the Road

PursuitsWebPhysician Bob Friedman ’68 was visiting a large house on Cape Cod, checking in on a wealthy patient who had high blood pressure. “Are you exercising regularly?” he asked. Of course, the patient said—even though laundry festooned the treadmill in his living room. “What about salt? Are you careful with that?” Dr. Friedman continued. Yes, the patient replied; just then, his wife threw open a cabinet to reveal three big bags of potato chips.

“Here he told me he was careful with salt, and he’s got all these potato chips in there,” Friedman laughs. As a Medicare evaluator, Friedman goes house to house visiting patients, just like an old-fashioned doctor making house calls. In an age where managed care and computerized medicine are wresting control from doctors and shortening appointment times, Friedman has the luxury of seeing people in their homes—and making critical recommendations about their health.

“If doctors meet patients at home, they have the chance to see lots of things they’d never see at the office,” says Friedman. “I sit down with them for an hour and by the time we’re done, they’re showing me pictures of their family.”

Friedman ran a small practice for 34 years in Middleboro, Massachusetts, before joining a large group health plan last year. “It was not a good fit for me,” says Friedman, who found himself increasingly frustrated navigating new systems, which were inhibiting his ability to communicate well with his patients. “Using the computer system was like texting while doctoring,” he says.

“The daily frustration became so overwhelming that after three months I left.” He spent the next three months volunteering for a local hospice and putting in many hours on his bike. Then a corporate recruiter called, asking if he’d be interested in a job at CenseoHealth. The Texas-based company works with Medicare and supplemental private insurance companies to monitor elderly patients and provide preventative care that could avoid costly procedures later.

Now each morning he packs a lunch, shoulders his black leather doctor’s bag, and dons the white doctor’s coat he bought on Amazon.com. Then he’s off, seeing up to five patients a day—anywhere from Cape Cod to Central Massachusetts. He checks their height, weight, and blood pressure, goes over their medications, examines their homes for falling risks, and makes sure they’re up to date on mammograms and flu shots, all the while setting them at ease with his steady patter.

“I have a whole repertoire of jokes,” Friedman says, estimating that he’s made 500 house calls since September 2013. Growing up in Brookline, Massachusetts, he was used to seeing his father’s patients at the medical practice his father ran  in their home. Now Friedman has developed his own bedside manner, talking quickly and peppering his conversation with anecdotes. There was the time he had to walk through Beacon Hill in 90-degree heat, dragging his scale; the man he met in a trailer park who ended up being an accomplished poet; the person on Cape Cod who filled his house with plane and ship models, including a huge replica of the Titanic.

Friedman says that while many of his house calls are routine, more than once they’ve been life saving. On one visit, for instance, he met a 97-year-old woman who played Beethoven on the piano for him. She then mentioned she was waking every morning at 3:00 with night sweats. Friedman discovered that her primary care physician had wrongly prescribed her diabetes medicine. “She
could’ve gone into a diabetic coma.”

If Friedman is successful, it’s because he gets to treat his patients as whole people rather than as collections of symptoms. “I never had an hour to spend with patients,” he says. “Now I feel like I get to know them really well.”