Falling Up and Beginning Again: Teaching at an Independent School
I want to offer a positive and joyful dispatch from the front lines of classical studies: the high school classroom. I’d like to share my story of transition from college professor to independent high school teacher so that others might be inspired to consider the same. I believe that if the field of classical studies is going to have a flourishing future, we need more creative, restless, ambitious, and imaginative teacher-scholars in high school classrooms to inspire a new generation of young people at an impressionable time of life. In an era in which the field is already peripheral or non-existent, we need to reimagine classical studies within the twenty-first century high school curriculum, just as some of our colleagues are reimagining classical studies at the college level.
Before I begin, however, I want to recognize the men and women who are already doing what I’m calling for, and I honor them as models of commitment and patience, of excellence and enthusiasm, of grace and decency, of innovation and perseverance. I write this for them, for under-appreciated colleagues who are grinding away in visiting or other contingent positions in college, and for those in graduate school who may not have the support or advice that they deserve. Ultimately, you may choose, like Michael Zimm, to try something new, but for those of you who want to remain in the field, I’m here to offer a window into what might be — to describe the real benefits of teaching and learning in an independent school.
For eight years I taught at a small liberal arts college in a quiet historical town. I started as an adjunct, “the trailing spouse” of an amazing tenure-track (now tenured) biologist, making the equivalent of my graduate student stipend (but without health insurance). I taught two courses a semester, elementary Latin and a first-year writing seminar. It was during that time that I revised a chapter of my dissertation and saw it published in Classical Receptions Journal.
I proved useful and reliable to the college, so at the end of year two, I was offered a three-year contract (full-time, with benefits) as a Visiting Assistant Professor. My college didn’t have a Department of Classical Studies (my undergraduate major) or a Department of Comparative Literature (my Ph.D.), so my formal appointment was in the Department of English. My load was four courses a semester (three English classes, plus elementary Latin, which was technically housed in the Department of Modern Languages). This arrangement exceeded the typical 3/3 load of my colleagues, but I took the deal, happy to make a real salary.
In the spring of year five, I was renewed for another three years, and my load was normalized to a 3/3 (all courses in English). By then I had taken on first-year advising and college service responsibilities, and my book proposal had been submitted and accepted. Interest in the classical languages was strong, and in year six, with the support of the Dean and my department chair in English, I taught elementary ancient Greek. It was my fourth course, and I was compensated for the overload. With an industrious colleague in Political Science, I started planning a short-term study abroad trip to Greece with The Paideia Institute. In year seven, the Dean, recognizing the awkwardness of my VAP title, changed the position name to Assistant Professor. I was still a non-tenure track faculty member, but at least I didn’t have to introduce myself with a present participle.
Year eight was different, both personally and professionally. I completed work on my book, and after the spring semester ended, my colleague and I took twelve intrepid students to Greece, a transformative experience for all. I was offered a new five-year contract, but for whatever reason it seemed to mean less to me. Perhaps the grief I felt for a dear friend who died too young made me think about life in another way. Perhaps I thought about my family and how the next five years would play out. Perhaps I was tired of having to explain the value of studying the classical languages to skeptical colleagues and administrators. I was — and I remain — very grateful to the college, but I yearned for something more than just fine and familiar.
Shortly before I left for Greece, I heard that St. Andrew’s School, a coeducational, all-boarding school, was looking for a teacher. I had long admired St. Andrew’s as a tight-knit community with a wonderful liberal arts culture, and it’s not too far from where I live. I inquired, made arrangements to interview, and was hired in late June. When I broke the news to a senior colleague at the college whom I greatly respect, he smiled, raised his glass, and said, “You’re falling up.” I know he said that to be nice, but he was also right.
I’m pleased to report that things are going well. I’m teaching four language courses this year — Latin 1, Latin 3 (prose), Latin 4 (poetry), and Greek 1 — but it is likely that I will teach a section of English in 2017–8. I’ve had to adjust to new textbooks, I’ve created new assignments and assessments, I’ve adapted my classroom practices, and I’ve read a lot about how young people learn. I’ve visited the classrooms of other teachers (both within and outside of my department), and I’ve engaged them in unhurried conversations about the art of teaching. It’s hard but thrilling work, and I’ve thought more intentionally about who, how, and why I teach in the first nine months at St. Andrew’s than I had ever before. I wish I had done more of that when I taught at the college level. I’m only left to wonder what I would have learned from my colleagues whose classrooms I never observed!
This past fall, I vowed not to make that mistake again, and I’m grateful for the culture of St. Andrew’s that allows such visits to happen. I’m able to be intentional about my teaching because my classes are small — smaller than my small classes in college. I can offer and respond to feedback quickly, and I’ve profited from knowing my students deeply. Bright, dynamic, and eager to learn, they come from all over the country and the world. Their lives are in front of them; their potentials pulsate.
Beyond the personal benefits of working at an independent school, I’ve received full financial support to attend the annual meeting of the SCS and this year’s Living Latin in New York City. At both conferences the future of the field was a prominent theme, and the opinions that I heard — some optimistic and future-oriented, others ominous and fatalistic — compelled me to start writing this essay. In Toronto I was able to reconnect with a friend who is employed as a professor but off the tenure track. He asked me about my experience in an independent school and, given my primary responsibilities as a teacher, whether I had time to think, read, and write. I explained to him that my “free” time during the school year is similar to the “free” time that I had in college — which honestly wasn’t much, since I often needed to meet one-on-one with students; to chat with first-year advisees; to grade a small hill of papers and quizzes; to prep for class; to participate in faculty meetings; to write letters of recommendation; and to attend special programs, lectures, and sporting events. Time will open up during the summer, and I look forward to diving into new scholarly projects.
By now I hope it’s clear that what I’m doing at St. Andrew’s is just as rewarding and more professionally fulfilling than my experience working as a non-tenure track assistant professor. I’m treated with respect, dignity, and kindness, and I feel stability and support in ways that I hadn’t at my college. My students are strong, fun-loving, and resilient, and I have ample opportunity to continue to develop as an educator. Admittedly, teaching high school students is different from teaching college students (that’s another essay in and of itself), but it is not an unsurmountable challenge for those who enjoy interacting with young people and who are energized by the process of learning.
The field of classical studies is going to look different in ten years, and we need great high school teachers to inspire a new generation of students. To be more precise, I think we need outstanding teacher-scholars in schools across the country to attract and connect with a wide range of students who will go to college empowered to learn more about the ancient world. Teacher-scholars don’t necessarily need to have terminal degrees, but they must be willing to engage in public conversations about classical studies in the twenty-first century.
Some teacher-scholars, for instance, might pursue issues of social justice and diversity by juxtaposing ancient culture and modern history. Some might commit to innovative teaching practices that create a truly inclusive “big tent” classroom. Some might highlight ancient paradigms of leadership and moral courage and demonstrate how valuable they are in an age suspicious of role models and ethical truth. (High school students, no matter how they identify politically or otherwise, love these intellectual mash-ups!) And if I may plug my area of research expertise, I think those interested in classical reception are particularly suited to lead these types of conversations. Not only do we understand the nuances of comparison, but we also present a depth and breadth of knowledge to facilitate productive, rigorous exchanges.
Teacher-scholars should be humble, happy warriors who can talk and write persuasively about the interdisciplinary foundation of classical studies: how teachers can — and should — contribute more than just language courses to a school’s curriculum. They should initiate and support pedagogical innovations that lead to collaborative, process-oriented, and life-affirming learning experiences. These are, after all, the hallmarks of a liberal arts education, and in the battle for hearts, minds, and attention spans, they are the best ways to hook students for life. What could be more important?
Teacher-scholars should be ready to engage students, parents, faculty, and administrators not just about why ancient Greece and Rome matter, but how they matter. If skills are the new canon, how does our field meet the needs of aspiring nurses, technologists, lawyers, business consultants, and artists? It’s prudent to have this conversation at the college level, but in 2017, I wonder if that intervention comes too late. It seems to me that teacher-scholars, armed with expertise, life experience, and a demonstrable set of tangible skills, would be great ambassadors for both classical studies and liberal education at large.
Despite the imperfect culture of our field, I remain upbeat about classical studies in the twenty-first century. We need to do a better job of valuing each other as colleagues and of voicing a common purpose, but I’m optimistic because our raw material — our data — is too good not to propel young people to seek meaning and understanding through the Greeks and the Romans.
So for those thinking about life after graduate school or who are tired of itinerancy, I encourage you to take a serious look at independent high schools. Be proactive, and reach out to heads of school and department chairs. Connect with a faculty placement firm. Visit your on-campus career center. Take stock of your many talents, and be confident about who you are and what you can contribute. Know that our field needs you more than ever. There can be many worse things than falling up and beginning again.
Philip Walsh is the editor of Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Aristophanes (2016). He teaches at St. Andrew’s School in Middletown, DE.
