What Miss Butler Said
Jan 07, 2024 by Nina Herschlikowitz Gabelko
"You'll never be smart. You'll always be successful."
Yup. Those were Miss Butler’s, my typing teacher’s words when she sat down at my typewriter to take my final timed writing in her class when I was in the 11th grade—I refused to cut my long finger nails because that would have rendered me unfashionable. Perish the thought. Me?!? No chance.
I just realized that has been a theme in my life ever since. It has never offended me. I’ve done fine—and how I’ve gotten wherever has always done fine by me. During the almost three decades I directed the Academic Talent Development Program, not a week went by when at least a couple of grad students stopped by my office to tell me that I only worked six weeks per year AND they could certainly do my job better than I could. As an aside... when I retired, all of those pretenders to the throne had disappeared. Missed their big opportunity, huh? (BTW, the program is doing great and has made improvements and advancements I couldn’t have attempted.)
But that’s not the point I want to make. Rather, I want to disclose the many benefits of having the freedom to do whatever needs to be done, because one is beneath the contemplation of those who claimed that they should have my job much better. The program, when I assumed responsibility, had been a traditional “gifted program.” As Miss Butler had pointed out decades before and because it was at Berkeley, faculty stated things like “I couldn’t participate because I support the education of minority group students.” (That's what they said... that is, until their own children were of age to join the program!) That wasn’t a question so I didn’t respond, and we continued to go about our business—which was to serve the needs of students who wanted to learn. ‘Nuff said?
But the day that about 168 students of color walked by the dean’s office, on their way from the Downtown Berkeley BART subway station to their classes, he was astounded. When he huffily asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I replied, “You never asked.” You should have seen the look on the hundreds of faces on the day of a conference when we were identified as the largest minority outreach program on campus—and we ran on our own funding. (If others fund you, they get to tell you what to do.)
And so, recall my story about my fingernails when I was in 11th grade. Don’t tell me (or my magnificent colleagues) what to do. Gads, I even wrote—with my beloved collaborator Lauren Sosniak—an article titled , “Someone Just Like Me” because, if you ask any and all students, “If you had to work harder than you ever thought possible, what would you study?” they will answer you truthfully... and will even identify other students at their home school who would be great colleagues in those classes.
When I asked students from majority-minority schools to identify “someone just like you,” none responded by color. All identified potential colleagues from their schools who shared their academic passions, regardless of ethnicity. You want to know how to increase rich enrollment? Ask those who want to be there who else should be there, too.
What does that have to do with my first sentence? Don’t tell people what to do. Ask them where their passion is (yes, including growing long fingernails) and not only will they show you what that is, they will also exceed your hopes for their achievement. Well, that’s not quite fair. Those students were already smart—we just showed them how to be successful, together.
_____________
[ Editor's note: the amusing graphic accompanying Nina's post was generated with ChatGPT—seeing as we're already firmly in the age of AI now! ::chuckle:: — L. Nebres ]
Yup. Those were Miss Butler’s, my typing teacher’s words when she sat down at my typewriter to take my final timed writing in her class when I was in the 11th grade—I refused to cut my long finger nails because that would have rendered me unfashionable. Perish the thought. Me?!? No chance.
I just realized that has been a theme in my life ever since. It has never offended me. I’ve done fine—and how I’ve gotten wherever has always done fine by me. During the almost three decades I directed the Academic Talent Development Program, not a week went by when at least a couple of grad students stopped by my office to tell me that I only worked six weeks per year AND they could certainly do my job better than I could. As an aside... when I retired, all of those pretenders to the throne had disappeared. Missed their big opportunity, huh? (BTW, the program is doing great and has made improvements and advancements I couldn’t have attempted.)But that’s not the point I want to make. Rather, I want to disclose the many benefits of having the freedom to do whatever needs to be done, because one is beneath the contemplation of those who claimed that they should have my job much better. The program, when I assumed responsibility, had been a traditional “gifted program.” As Miss Butler had pointed out decades before and because it was at Berkeley, faculty stated things like “I couldn’t participate because I support the education of minority group students.” (That's what they said... that is, until their own children were of age to join the program!) That wasn’t a question so I didn’t respond, and we continued to go about our business—which was to serve the needs of students who wanted to learn. ‘Nuff said?
But the day that about 168 students of color walked by the dean’s office, on their way from the Downtown Berkeley BART subway station to their classes, he was astounded. When he huffily asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I replied, “You never asked.” You should have seen the look on the hundreds of faces on the day of a conference when we were identified as the largest minority outreach program on campus—and we ran on our own funding. (If others fund you, they get to tell you what to do.)
And so, recall my story about my fingernails when I was in 11th grade. Don’t tell me (or my magnificent colleagues) what to do. Gads, I even wrote—with my beloved collaborator Lauren Sosniak—an article titled , “Someone Just Like Me” because, if you ask any and all students, “If you had to work harder than you ever thought possible, what would you study?” they will answer you truthfully... and will even identify other students at their home school who would be great colleagues in those classes.
When I asked students from majority-minority schools to identify “someone just like you,” none responded by color. All identified potential colleagues from their schools who shared their academic passions, regardless of ethnicity. You want to know how to increase rich enrollment? Ask those who want to be there who else should be there, too.
What does that have to do with my first sentence? Don’t tell people what to do. Ask them where their passion is (yes, including growing long fingernails) and not only will they show you what that is, they will also exceed your hopes for their achievement. Well, that’s not quite fair. Those students were already smart—we just showed them how to be successful, together.
_____________
[ Editor's note: the amusing graphic accompanying Nina's post was generated with ChatGPT—seeing as we're already firmly in the age of AI now! ::chuckle:: — L. Nebres ]
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