Teach a Fish to Swim, and He'll Swim his Whole Life

Many years ago, I taught a few graduate level courses in computer science for a local college. My favorite was a "transition" course called, Object Structures, which was required for students who hadn't an undergraduate degree in computer science. It was necessary to get students up to speed, and as such, the course was for no credit. Unfortunately, many students thought "no credit" was synonymous with "easy." Two weeks into class, I got a strange phone call.

"My name is Carol. I'm Allen's mother, and I work in the industry."

Allen was a student who was struggling right from the start. I don't recall what his undergraduate degree was in, but it wasn't computer science so my course was required. Carol continued,

"Your course is too hard."

I tried to explain to Carol that students had to possess a certain skill set to attempt a masters degree in a field which was different from their undergraduate degree. Carol, a vice president for a well known software company, was having no part of it. She insisted that since Allen's company paid for the course, her son should get an A.

"After all, your course doesn't count," Carol insisted.

Snowplow parents are pretty common today, but back then it was widely believed that students had to suck it up and study. Helicoptering at the masters level was mostly unheard of. I explained to Carol that, my course did, in fact, "count" in that you had to pass it if you wanted to continue with the rest of the program. She was so dissatisfied with my response that she took it up with the Dean of Computer Science, who sent me an email indicating,

"The mother of one of your student's called to inform me that your class is too hard."

The dean was a bit of a stiff. That's probably how he got to be dean. Anyway, I rarely back down from an opportunity to be an asshole so I responded with,

"I was hoping Allen's mom and I could discuss this at the next parent-teacher conference."

The dean wrote back,

"There are no parent-teacher conferences in graduate school."

A few weeks later Allen did poorly on a homework assignment. The program he handed in didn't run at all so evaluating the efficacy of the output wasn't an option. There were only five programming assignments so bombing one would certainly impact your grade. I didn't want one bad assignment to cost Allen a letter grade, so I talked to him after class. He said that his workload got the best of him. I offered Allen the opportunity to take another week to work on his program.

He took the offer. He also took his friend's corrected assignment, copied it then handed it in the following week. I gave him a break, and he responded by cheating. Allen got a zero on that assignment which certainly cost him a letter grade. The dean sent me the following,

"Heard you gave a student the opportunity to makeup an assignment, and they copied another student's work. No good deed goes unpunished."

I had never met the Dean of Computer Science. I didn't even know what he looked like. I knew him through terse emails that he send out to the staff. I was what they called "Adjunct Faculty," that is, non PhD people from industry who teach for a fraction of the cost of a full time professor. The dean always distinguished adjunct from full time as in,

"All faculty are permitted to park in the garage. This policy expressly excludes the adjunct faculty."

I used to think about being called a word which sounded like "junk" on my long nightly walks to the building I taught my class in. In response to his inquiry about my cheating student, I wrote,

"I'm planning on addressing academic integrity at the next parent-teacher conference."

The dean wrote back,

"There's always after school detention."

After I returned exams, I always spent a few minutes of class time to go over the test, then I endured the line of students who questioned how I graded something. I called this activity "gaggling" for "grade haggling." I usually tossed the student a point or two just to avoid listening to their diatribe on fairness.

One five point problem required a numerical answer. Allen waited his turn in line then explained,

"You marked this wrong when I got it right."

Now, I wrote the correct answer in red ink next to Allen's wrong answer which I circled. Best I could tell is that Allen had added the parts to his answer that would make it correct like an extra circle above a "6" to make an "8." Not wanting to accuse Allen of outright cheating, yet again, I asked,

"Did your answer change?"

Allen laughed as he sat back down. I told the story to a colleague who must have relayed it to the dean because a few days later, he sent me this sage, unsolicited advice,

"You'll discover that teaching has its perks and its punishments. Next time make a copy."

Allen got a "C." I could have ejected him from my class for copying his friend's homework assignment, which many of the full time faculty advised. His mother wrote a letter to the Dean on her company's letterhead requesting that Allen's grade be expunged, the tuition returned and "a letter of reprimand be entered in Professor Languedoc's permanent file."

I laughed when I read my title. The dean had sent me a copy of the letter along with his response which was on university letter head. He wrote,

"Dear Carol,

   I'll take this up at the next parent-teacher conference.

      Sincerely,

          (signature)

          Dean of Computer Science"

Maybe he wasn't such a stiff after all.