Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Patron Saint of Science Teachers
On those occasions when I have the chance to describe the circuitous series of events that led to my becoming a teacher, one of the more common questions that people tend to pose is whether I was dissatisfied with my eventual placement as a physical science teacher. After all, I graduated with a history degree, signed up to be a social studies teacher, and only became certified in physics after being told that there were no history positions available. Certainly, one might think that the four years of training in history and the social sciences would serve me better than a few undergraduate courses in physics and astronomy. I know I believed that initially.
But three years of teaching experience revealed that there were some definite benefits to teaching science that my summer training sessions and the study guides for standardized certification exams never mentioned. For example, unlike in history or language arts classes, high school science and mathematics assessments are heavily slanted towards questions with objectively right or wrong answers. Although the possibility exists for open-ended or essay questions, there are definite correct and incorrect ways to solve physics problems or balance a chemical equation. Grading is therefore a much more straightforward enterprise.
In addition, unlike a history teacher who might sometimes have difficulty coming up with a means of hooking students into more esoteric time periods, science teachers can always come up with some way to capture an audience's attention. Chemistry demonstrations range from the most basic baking soda and vinegar fueled demonstration to more complex decomposition or double displacement reactions (e.g. the iodine clock). Physicists possess a veritable arsenal of death defying stunts like the "Pendulum of Doom" illustrating the transformation of energy or the (CAREFUL) use of a bed of nails. Even biologists can wow an audience using a combination of live specimens and dissections.
The high school science teacher possesses a rare power that no other educator has. They are modern day magicians. Their audience consists of students, who although old enough to believe that everything has a rational explanation are not necessarily educated enough to be able to deduce it when presented with a heretofore unknown phenomenon. Arthur C. Clarke wrote that any science that was sufficiently advanced would appear to an uneducated observer as magic. The typical high school student is just on that borderline. There is still room for magic and excitement in their world. Even if advances in technology have made it more difficult to penetrate the veneer of imperturbability, they are not completely jaded. Not to someone who knows how to be equal parts educator and entertainer, scientist and showman. In short, for someone who knows how to be, for all intents and purposes, a wizard.
No one in the twentieth century epitomized this dual role better than Don Herbert, who died yesterday at the age of 89 from bone cancer. Herbert, a general science and English major, served in the army and worked at a Chicago radio station after World War II. It was while he was working in radio that he came up with the idea for a new type of science program, centered upon demonstrations and intended to educate children about basic scientific principles. He presented the idea to the local NBC television affiliate and on March 3, 1951, Don Herbert formally adopted the name that would make him famous.
He called himself Mr. Wizard.
The clip above is from 1960 or so, the old black and white version of the show that inspired people like the Invisible Dad to become interested in science. The show was broadcast until 1965, winning several awards and inspiring a slew of spin-off books and the creation of the Mr. Wizard Science Center outside of Boston.
My memories of Mr. Wizard, however, begin in the mid-1980s. The cable network Nickelodeon had recently been founded and its executives were looking for shows to fill its schedule. They asked Mr. Wizard if he would be interested in creating a modern version of his classic show. Never one to turn down a chance to further popular interest in science, he accepted. Which is how a five year old Invisible Ben got some of his first exposure to concepts like chain reactions, optical illusions, and aerodynamics.
At the time, I had no idea that the entire show was staged. It was unthinkable. Mr. Wizard was just this friendly neighborhood scientist who kept cameras around and always had an interesting, scientifically relevant demonstration to show to his junior high school aged neighbors. I was slightly disillusioned when I learned the truth...but not enough to lose my respect for Mr. Wizard. So what if the dialogue was scripted? The science was real, damnit!
Mr. Wizard's World was cancelled in 1990, but it was rerun regularly until 2000 making it Nickelodeon's longest running show. In the years that followed there would be many imitators (I'm looking at you, Bill Nye! You too, Beakman!), but all of these acknowledged their debt to Mr. Wizard. Beakman's World even featured two penguin puppets appropriately named Don and Herb. There would also be parodies. (My favorite was this gem from Jim Henson's Dinosaurs: "We're going to need another Timmy!")
But in the end, none of these could live up to the original. When I started teaching science, one of the first thing I did was visit the public library and dig up a few of Mr. Wizard's books for demonstration ideas. Given my limited budget, supermarket science along the lines of Mr. Wizard's TV show were the perfect means of approaching the difficult task of having a demonstration every day. Granted, they weren't all perfect, but they served their purpose. They helped me capture my students' attention and hopefully inspired a few of them to become even more interested in science in the future.
I think Mr. Wizard would be proud.
On those occasions when I have the chance to describe the circuitous series of events that led to my becoming a teacher, one of the more common questions that people tend to pose is whether I was dissatisfied with my eventual placement as a physical science teacher. After all, I graduated with a history degree, signed up to be a social studies teacher, and only became certified in physics after being told that there were no history positions available. Certainly, one might think that the four years of training in history and the social sciences would serve me better than a few undergraduate courses in physics and astronomy. I know I believed that initially.
But three years of teaching experience revealed that there were some definite benefits to teaching science that my summer training sessions and the study guides for standardized certification exams never mentioned. For example, unlike in history or language arts classes, high school science and mathematics assessments are heavily slanted towards questions with objectively right or wrong answers. Although the possibility exists for open-ended or essay questions, there are definite correct and incorrect ways to solve physics problems or balance a chemical equation. Grading is therefore a much more straightforward enterprise.
In addition, unlike a history teacher who might sometimes have difficulty coming up with a means of hooking students into more esoteric time periods, science teachers can always come up with some way to capture an audience's attention. Chemistry demonstrations range from the most basic baking soda and vinegar fueled demonstration to more complex decomposition or double displacement reactions (e.g. the iodine clock). Physicists possess a veritable arsenal of death defying stunts like the "Pendulum of Doom" illustrating the transformation of energy or the (CAREFUL) use of a bed of nails. Even biologists can wow an audience using a combination of live specimens and dissections.
The high school science teacher possesses a rare power that no other educator has. They are modern day magicians. Their audience consists of students, who although old enough to believe that everything has a rational explanation are not necessarily educated enough to be able to deduce it when presented with a heretofore unknown phenomenon. Arthur C. Clarke wrote that any science that was sufficiently advanced would appear to an uneducated observer as magic. The typical high school student is just on that borderline. There is still room for magic and excitement in their world. Even if advances in technology have made it more difficult to penetrate the veneer of imperturbability, they are not completely jaded. Not to someone who knows how to be equal parts educator and entertainer, scientist and showman. In short, for someone who knows how to be, for all intents and purposes, a wizard.
No one in the twentieth century epitomized this dual role better than Don Herbert, who died yesterday at the age of 89 from bone cancer. Herbert, a general science and English major, served in the army and worked at a Chicago radio station after World War II. It was while he was working in radio that he came up with the idea for a new type of science program, centered upon demonstrations and intended to educate children about basic scientific principles. He presented the idea to the local NBC television affiliate and on March 3, 1951, Don Herbert formally adopted the name that would make him famous.
He called himself Mr. Wizard.
The clip above is from 1960 or so, the old black and white version of the show that inspired people like the Invisible Dad to become interested in science. The show was broadcast until 1965, winning several awards and inspiring a slew of spin-off books and the creation of the Mr. Wizard Science Center outside of Boston.
My memories of Mr. Wizard, however, begin in the mid-1980s. The cable network Nickelodeon had recently been founded and its executives were looking for shows to fill its schedule. They asked Mr. Wizard if he would be interested in creating a modern version of his classic show. Never one to turn down a chance to further popular interest in science, he accepted. Which is how a five year old Invisible Ben got some of his first exposure to concepts like chain reactions, optical illusions, and aerodynamics.
At the time, I had no idea that the entire show was staged. It was unthinkable. Mr. Wizard was just this friendly neighborhood scientist who kept cameras around and always had an interesting, scientifically relevant demonstration to show to his junior high school aged neighbors. I was slightly disillusioned when I learned the truth...but not enough to lose my respect for Mr. Wizard. So what if the dialogue was scripted? The science was real, damnit!
Mr. Wizard's World was cancelled in 1990, but it was rerun regularly until 2000 making it Nickelodeon's longest running show. In the years that followed there would be many imitators (I'm looking at you, Bill Nye! You too, Beakman!), but all of these acknowledged their debt to Mr. Wizard. Beakman's World even featured two penguin puppets appropriately named Don and Herb. There would also be parodies. (My favorite was this gem from Jim Henson's Dinosaurs: "We're going to need another Timmy!")
But in the end, none of these could live up to the original. When I started teaching science, one of the first thing I did was visit the public library and dig up a few of Mr. Wizard's books for demonstration ideas. Given my limited budget, supermarket science along the lines of Mr. Wizard's TV show were the perfect means of approaching the difficult task of having a demonstration every day. Granted, they weren't all perfect, but they served their purpose. They helped me capture my students' attention and hopefully inspired a few of them to become even more interested in science in the future.
I think Mr. Wizard would be proud.
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