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BECOMING A SCIENCE TEACHER:
THE COMPETING PEDAGOGIES OF SCHOOLS AND TEACHER EDUCATION

By

Jeffrey J. Rozelle

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Curriculum, Teaching, and Educational Policy

2010

ABSTRACT

BECOMING A SCIENCE TEACHER:
THE COMPETING PEDAGOGIES OF SCHOOLS AND TEACHER EDUCATION

By
Jeffrey J. Rozelle

A culminating student teaching or internship experience is a central component of
nearly every teacher education program and has been for most of teacher education’s
history. New teachers cite field experience and student teaching as the most beneficial,
authentic, or practical aspect of teacher education. Teacher educators, however, have
cause to View student teaching skeptically; student teachers often move away from the
reform-minded practices espoused in teacher education.

This multi-site ethnographic study investigated a full-year internship experience
for six science interns at three diverse high schools as part of a teacher preparation
program at a large state university. In taking an ecological perspective, this study
documented the dynamic and evolving relationships between interns, cooperating
teachers, teacher educators, and the school and classroom contexts. The goals of the study
were to describe the changes in interns throughout the course of a year-long internship as
a science teacher and to determine the relative influences of the various aspects of the
ecology on interns. Data include fieldnotes from 311 hours of participant observation, 38
interviews with interns, cooperating teachers, and teacher educators, and 190 documents
including course assignments, evaluations, and reflective journals.

Interns’ teaching practices were strongly influenced by their cooperating
teachers. During the first two months, all six interns “used their mentor’s script.” When

teaching, they attempted to re—enact lessons they witnessed their cooperating teachers

enact earlier in the day. This included following the lesson structure, but also borrowing
physical mannerisms, representations, anecdotes, and jokes. When interns could no
longer follow their cooperating teacher due to an increased teaching load, they “followed
their mentors’ patterns”—implementing instruction that emphasized similar strategies——
regardless of whether they were experiencing success in the classroom or not.

To eXplore this disproportionate influence, this study documented the differences
between the school—based placements and teacher education. Three contrasts were
described. First, in schools, intems received support and assistance in real-time from
cooperating teachers as they taught, while in teacher education, interns received support
in planning for and reflecting on instruction. Second, in schools, interns and cooperating
teachers’ work had a task-orientation in which they solved concrete and contextualized
problems together, while teacher educators were oriented toward ideas about teaching
that might be generalized beyond the immediate context of the intern. Finally, in schools,
interns acted like teachers. This meant dressing like a teacher, learning to use their bodies
and voice in authoritative ways, and managing the physical space of the classroom. In
teacher education classrooms, interns returned to talk and learn about teaching but
reacquired the persona of students in their dress, movements, and social interactions.

This study confirms the literature’s consistent finding about the importance of
cooperating teacher in the development of a student teacher’s practices. In describing the
worlds of the school and teacher education, it suggests reasons why the field experience
acts as an influential “pedagogy of enactment” (Grossman, Hammemess, & McDonald,

2009) and discusses the implications for teacher education pedagogy.

Copyright by
JEFFREY J. ROZELLE
2010

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am forever indebted to the six interns who graciously allowed me to join them as
they began the process of “becoming a science teacher.” You allowed me access to your
professional lives, warts and all, in ways that counter the descriptions of teaching as a
privatized practice. You were generous with your time, even in a year in which time was
at a premium. You were honest and vulnerable, even when that honesty and vulnerability
might expose what a struggle learning to teach can be. You were always kind and
welcoming, giving me far more than I could have ever returned. I hope your stories told
here honor your commitment to my work. and to teaching.

Likewise, I appreciate the cooperating teachers, field instructors, and course
instructors who allowed me to document the hard and uncertain work of supporting
interns. To the cooperating teachers, allowing an intern into one’s classroom is disruptive
enough; having me tag along even more so. But I always felt welcome in your
classrooms. To the teacher educators, you pushed interns to consider a professional
practice that was open for inspection and analysis; you walked the talk in allowing me
such open access to your own supervision and teaching. Thank you.

My time in graduate school and my work on this dissertation were so much richer
because of my work on the Entering the Guild project. Jamie Mikeska tolerated my
office mess, managed to stay patient with my travel neuroses, sparred with me over ideas
in ways that define what graduate school should be about, and made me laugh in ways .1
will never forget. More than that, Jamie, you are the dearest of friends and a most valued

colleague. Jodie Galosy, our project director, gave me such consistently good advice,

challenged my thinking patiently, encouraged me to be ambitious, and put up with Jamie
and my antics. Jodie, from the day I met you, I trusted your wisdom and character
entirely and have never been let down.

It is impossible to overstate the influence of Suzanne Wilson on this work, my
thinking, and my life. Whatever intellectual growth 1 have made, whatever strengths this
dissertation has, are a result of Suzanne’s patient, kind, and generous advising. Suzanne,
you are the finest of teachers, the finest of mentors, somehow capable of using your
powerful intellect not to force ideas on your students, but to help your students find their
own ideas. It is a precious gift you give to your students. Much like the “reproducers” in
this study, I will spend my career striving to emulate you.

Finally, I must acknowledge the sacrifices that my family has made and the
support they have provided for this dissertation. Molly and Anna, my precious girls, have
tolerated Saturday mornings with Dad rushing off to write, evenings where my mind was
on the data, and moves from homes, friends, and schools they loved for my work. Despite
that, they have continued to grow into the most lovely of girls. Molly, you inspire me
with your perseverance, your courage, and your loyalty. Anna, you inspire me with your
enthusiasm, your gumption, and your confidence. My life is richer and I am a better
person because you are my daughters. Tiffany, the love of my life, believed in me, and
always has, much beyond anything I deserve. No one should have had to give so many
baths, do so many loads of laundry, listen to so many stories, transcribe so many
interviews, critique so many ideas, edit so many chapters, and do so much for our girls on

your own. I could not have done this without you. I would not have wanted to.

vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES ............................................................................... x
LIST OF FIGURES .............................................................................. xi
CHAPTER 1
A HOLISTIC VIEW OF LEARNING TO TEACH SCIENCE 1
Overview .......................................................................................... 1
Review of Literature ......................................................................... 3
Effects of Student Teaching on Student Teachers .................................... 4
Important Aspects of the lntem Experience .......................................... 6
Taking a Holistic Perspective on Learning to Teach Science .......................... 14
The “Ecology” of Student Teaching ................................................... l4
Cross-Sectional Slices of the Internship ................................................ 18
Levels of Change in Teachers ........................................................... 21
Looking Ahead .............................................................................. 24
CHAPTER 2
METHODS AND CONTEXT .................................................................. 25
State’s Teacher Education Program ....................................................... 25
Participants .................................................................................... 28
Data Collection ............................................................................... 29
Participant Observation .................................................................. 29
Interviews .................................................................................. 36
Artifacts .................................................................................... 38
Data Analysis ................................................................................. 39
Sketches of Placement Sites and Participants ............................................. 42
Vincent High School ...................................................................... 43
Randolph High School ................................................................... 47
Quincy High School ...................................................................... 52
State’s Teacher Education Faculty ..................................................... 58
Limitations of the Study ..................................................................... 61
Positionality ............................................................................... 61
Circumstantiality .......................................................................... 63
CHAPTER 3
THE USE OF MENTORS’ SCRIPTS AND PATTERNS IN SHAPING INTERN S’
PRACTICES AND BELIEFS .................................................................. 65
Using the Script .............................................................................. 67
The Re-enactment of Lesson Structures: Performance and Pitfalls ................ 68
Interns’ Use of Mentors’ Instructional Representations .............................. 71
Following Mentors’ Patterns ................................................................ 74
The Reproducers .......................................................................... 77
The Strugglers ............................................................................. 99

vii

Conclusion ..................................................................................... 1 18

CHAPTER 4
LEARNING TO TEACH IN SCHOOLS ...................................................... 121
Real-time Assistance and Feedback ........................................................ 122
Stepping In ................................................................................. 123
Directing Interns’ Attention ............................................................. 128
Smoothing Things Out ................................................................... 130
The Physical and Embodied Nature of Learning to Teaching in Schools ............. 134
Looking like a Teacher .................................................................. 135
Moving like a Teacher ................................................................... 137
Managing the Material World like a Teacher ........................................ 140
Kinesthetic-Conceptual Assistance ..................................................... 141
Solving the Problem at Hand ................................................................ 145
Returning to Interns’ Ecologies ............................................................. 151

CHAPTER 5
LEARNING TO TEACH IN TEACHER EDUCATION ................................... 153
Reflection, the Hallmark of Teacher Education .......................................... 154
“Let’s look at the situation using our steps”: Systematic Rational Reflection. . .. 155
“This was a horrible day”: Introspective Retrospective Reflection ................. 161
Discussion .................................................................................. 167
The Physical World of Teacher Education ................................................ 168
Retaking the Persona of a Student: Teacher Education Classrooms ............... 169
An Outside Observer: Field Instructors Visit the Schools ........................... 173
Written Later: Journals and Course Assignments .................................... 180
Discussion .................................................................................. 182
“Can you give me some analytical way of seeing this?”: Oriented Toward Ideas... 184
Learning to Teach through Inductive Analysis ....................................... 184
Learning to Teach through Deduction .................................................. 191
Discussion .................................................................................. 193
Conclusion ..................................................................................... 194

CHAPTER 6
WORLDS APART ............................................................................... 197
“Based on a true story, I guess”: The Story of Heather .................................. 198
The Differences between TE and School-Based Practices .............................. 202
The Task Orientation of the Field vs. the Idea Orientation of TE .................. 202
Support in Real-time for Teaching vs. Support for Planning and Reflection. . 205
Being a Teacher in the Field vs. Bring a Student in TE .............................. 207
Pedagogies of Enactment, Reflection, and Investigation ................................ 209
Pedagogies of Reflection and Investigation in TE .................................... 211
Pedagogies of Enactment in Schools ................................................... 212
Opportunities and Challenges ............................................................... 216
Promising Attempts at Pedagogies of Enactment in Teacher Education .............. 218
Final Thoughts ................................................................................. 220

viii

APPENDICES ..................................................................................... 222

REFERENCES .................................................................................... 236

ix

LIST OF TABLES

Table 2.1. Demographic Profiles of School Sites ............................................... 29
Table 2.2. Matrix of Data Collection ............................................................. 32
Table 2.3. Summary of Number and Duration of Field Observations ........................ 33
Table 2.4. Internship Artifacts Collected ......................................................... 39
Table 3.1. Mentors’ Instructional and Relational Patterns ..................................... 77

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1.1. The ecology ofthe internship ........................................................ 16
Figure 1.2. Studying a component of an internship in isolation .............................. 19
Figure 1.3. The Onion Model: Levels of change in a teacher .................................. 23
Figure 4.1. Narrowing in on the school side of the interns’ ecology ........................ 121
Figure 5.1. Narrowing in on the teacher education side ofthe interns’ ecology...........153

xi

Chapter 1
A Holistic View of Learning to Teach Science

The importance of student teaching —and field experiences more generally ——for
new teachers goes almost unchallenged. A culminating student teaching or internship
experience is a central component of nearly every teacher education program and has
been for most of teacher education’s history (Guyton & McIntyre, 1990). Although recent
reforms of teacher education have called for changing field experience in different ways
(Holmes Group, 1986; Lanier & Little, 1986; Levine, 2006), no one doubts the central
place of teacher learning in schools and classrooms; even the harshest critics of teacher
education almost always promote on-the-job or in-the-field training (e.g., Hess, 2001).
New teachers reinforce this message, often citing field experience and student teaching as
the most beneficial, authentic, or practical aspect of teacher education (Adams &
Krockover, 1997; Britzman, 1991; Farkas, Johnson, & Foleno, 2000; Goodlad, 1990).
Given its centrality, then, it is surprising that field experiences in university-based teacher
education programs —as sites for teacher learning —are not well understood, for a
variety of reasons which I elaborate below.

I begin this chapter by examining what we know about field experiences and
student teaching based on research, the limitations of this knowledge base, and how this
study might inform the literature. I then describe the study’s theoretical framework by
considering two questions: In what environments are interns immersed? What changes (if
any) do interns undergo as they move through the year?

Overview
My intent is to provide a holistic analysis of the internship experience for

preservice science teachers. It is holistic in two senses. First, I keep track of the

“ecology” of the experience for a group of interns (student teachers who spend an entire
year in one school as part of their teacher preparation) (Zeichner, 1986). Rather than
focus on one aspect of field experiences (for example, the influence of cooperating
teachers), I include in analysis the entire professional life of interns, documenting interns’
interaction with various influences and people. This includes —prominently —the
cooperating teacher, but also the university supervisor, the school and classroom context,
and teacher education coursework, all of which have been cited by various researchers as
potentially influential on student teachers and/or new teachers.

The second sense in which this study will be holistic is in its view of the changes
that may occur in interns throughout the year. Using Korthagen’s (2004) conception of
the levels of change within teachers, I will describe and explain changes in interns’
behaviors and competencies, which are more readily observable, but also look for
changes in less observable, though theoretically important, levels of teachers like beliefs,
professional identity, and mission. Given this emphasis on capturing a holistic description
and analysis, I conducted an ethnography of the science interns’ experience in which I
attempt to construct “descriptions of total phenomena within their various contexts and to
generate from these descriptions the complex interrelationships of causes and
consequences” that exist during their intemship (LeCompte & Preissle, 1993, p. 3). My
central research goals were:

0 To describe the changes in interns, if any, throughout the course of a year-long
internship as a science teacher and explain why those changes occur.
0 To determine the relative influences of the various aspects of that ecology on the

different levels of change.

In sum, I sought to understand the experiences of interns holistically by documenting the
array of forces at play that may influence these new teachers.
Review of Literature

While we have limited knowledge about teacher learning from field experiences
in schools, it is not for lack of interest on the part of researchers. However, literature
reviews cite common problems with the research on field experiences (Clift & Brady,
2005; Guyton & McIntyre, 1990; McIntyre, Byrd, & F022, 1996; Wilson, F loden, &
F errini-Mundy, 2001). The literature is dominated with descriptions rather than analyses;
the evidence for claims concerning the effects of such experiences is uneven or weak.
While these reports may assist teacher education practitioners, attributing effects to
particular innovations can be difficult (Wilson, Floden, & Ferrini-Mundy, 2001).

Further, more quantitative studies use pre- and posttest designs in which teachers
are assessed ——-along dimensions of perspective, orientation, or efficacy —prior to
entering the field and then again at the end of their field experience (e. g., A. W. Hoy &
Spero, 2005; W. K. Hoy & Woolfolk, 1990). Studies like these report the “effects” of
student teaching on various outcomes, but offer limited insight into the mechanisms
behind those changes (Zeichner, 1986). Rarely have researchers systematically compared
different field experiences (either across programs or school sites) (Clifi & Brady, 2005),
though important exceptions exist (Lacey, 1977; Tabachnick & Zeichner, 1984).
Additionally, relatively little work has been done that takes account of disciplinary
backgrounds in the field experience (Clift & Brady, 2005); that is, little research
examines the effects of field experience in learning to teach mathematics or science or

literacy. This may be most true for the work in science education where, for example,

“little effort has been made to understand the contributions of cooperating teachers and
teacher educators” to student teachers’ learning in and from the field (Clift & Brady,
2005,p.322)

In sum, pinpointing and isolating the effects of the student teaching experience
has proved elusive (Clift & Brady, 2005). Different results occur across different teachers
and programs, and this has led to consistent calls for a more richly theorized conception
of field experiences (Clift & Brady, 2005; Guyton & McIntyre, 1990; Wideen, Mayer-
Smith, & Moon, 1998) and for research that empirically documents learning in the field
and over time (Clift & Brady, 2005; Zeichner & Gore, 1990).

This study targets several of these weaknesses in the literature. First, data were
collected continuously throughout the year, allowing for an analysis that documents a
trajectory of teacher learning and socialization over time. In this way, it opens the “black
box,” documenting (perhaps) the mechanisms at play in “field experience,” even as it
looks at effects of the experience over the year. Second, the interns are all science
teachers in a teacher education program that emphasizes a disciplinary perspective. In
this way, the study speaks to the particular concerns that come with becoming a science
teacher.

However, despite the limitations of the research, there are several key findings
that inform this study. I begin with research on the effects of field experiences on
prospective teachers.

Effects of Student Teaching on Student Teachers
In general, researchers have found that the student teaching experience, along

with the first few years of teaching, tend to move teachers toward a more authoritative

 

stance toward their students (W. K. Hoy & Rees, 1977; Veenman, 1984). For example,
W. K. Hoy and Woolfolk (I990) surveyed 191 undergraduates at the beginning and end
of a semester using an instrument designed for assessing the tendency of teachers to
desire control of their students. The group of undergraduates who student taught (n=54)
grew significantly more custodial in their attitudes over the semester compared to the
group of education majors who had not yet student taught (n=63) and the group of
psychology majors who were not necessarily planning on becoming teachers (n=65).
Through surveys of preservice teachers, Lacey (1977) found that science teachers were
more likely to have this custodial attitude than those in other disciplines, though he
attributed this not to the effects of student teaching, but to differences in the type of
people drawn to the various disciplines.

A second related effect of student teaching is that teachers tend toward more
traditional styles of teaching and away from the reform-minded methods and strategies
espoused in teacher education. Traditional teaching might manage students in more
custodial ways but, more broadly, might also include a dependence on teacher-centered
pedagogy (rather than student-centered) and treating the teaching/ learning process as one
of knowledge transmission from teacher to students (rather than construction of
knowledge by students with assistance of teachers). In the heat of the moment, student
teachers resort to following their “apprenticeship of observation” (Lortie, 2002), bend
toward their cooperating teachers’ traditional style or influence (Hewson, Tabachnick,
Zeichner, & Lemberger, 1999; Ross, 1988), are too consumed by the demands of
curriculum and classroom management to implement their reform ideals (Moore, 2003;

Powell, 1994, 1997; Tang, 2003), or fail to translate the theory of teacher education into

practice (Graham, 1997; Korthagen & Kessels, 1999). For example, in Graham (1997),
one student teacher, Michael, held deep commitments fostered at the university toward
student-centered instruction in which students played active roles in their learning and
was placed in a cooperating teacher’s classroom who shared some similar commitments.
However, when Michael felt uncomfortable interacting socially with his students, he
reverted to a traditional lecture-based teaching style that minimized awkward
communication between him and his students, a style similar to the one he experienced as
a student growing up in elite, private schools. Similarly, Hewson, Tabachnick, Zeichner,
and Lemberger (1999) found their efforts for reform-based teacher education thwarted
when student teachers entered classrooms with mentoring teachers where they rarely saw
efforts at conceptual change teaching by their mentor and were offered little practical
support in attempts to implement it themselves. An important exception to this study is
Tabachnick and Zeichner (1984) who found that student teachers’ perspectives on
teaching did not change throughout the student teaching experience, but rather
“solidified” or deepened.

Third, many student teachers undergo what some have called “praxis shock”
(Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002; Veenman, 1984) or “shattered images” (Cole & Knowles,
19933) in which their conceptions or visions of the teaching profession, or the act of
teaching, or their own persona as a teacher radically change. For some teachers, school is
disturbingly different from what they remembered as students (Graham, 1999), while
others are disillusioned at how different teaching, their mentor teacher, and students are
from what was described in teacher education coursework (Britzman, 1991; Bruckerhoff

& Carlson, 1995; Cole & Knowles, 1993a). Cole and Knowles (1993a) document student

teachers who describe being “misled” by their assumptions of school based on their
experience as students (p. 462), as well as teachers whose experiences with lazy,
uncreative cooperating teachers and catty, unprofessional school cultures “shattered”
their lofty images of teachers and left them doubting their desire to teach.

In sum, research on the effects of student teaching suggests that immersion in
schools leads new teachers to become more educationally conservative, to replicate both
the status quo and their experiences as learners, and to be unnerved by the clash between
their ideals and the realities of schooling.

Important Aspects of the Intern Experience

Another domain of relevant literature concerns variations in the field experiences
that new teachers have. While we tend to talk about field experience or student teaching
as monolithic, the time that different new teachers spend in schools may be wide-ranging.
They witness different teaching styles, engage in a range of relationships, and have
opportunities to participate in a variety of events and practices, each of which interacts
with their own previous experiences in classrooms in potentially varied ways. Here too
the research findings are limited for reasons noted above, but serve to direct this study
toward some of the influences on the intern experience. These four influences include the
cooperating teacher, university supervisor, the classroom and/or school context, and
teacher education coursework. Below, I will describe the findings around each of these,
beginning with the most prominent influence, the cooperating teacher.

Cooperating teachers. Cooperating teachers or school-based mentors are
influential in teacher development (Wilson, F loden, & F errini-Mundy, 2002), although

their influence is not uniformly positive or negative. For example, Winitzky, Stoddart,

 

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and O’Keefe (1992) describe early efforts at developing professional practice school
relationships between colleges of education and K-12 schools. They document instances
of student teachers who were taught to use conceptual change methods of science
teaching in their university methods courses, but placed with cooperating teachers who
predominantly use didactic methods. The student teachers, when faced with this conflict,
invariably conformed to their cooperating tcachers’ expectations, though the reasons for
this conformity are not made clear. Likewise, researchers at the University of Wisconsin-
Madison published a set of papers focused on a teacher education program that promoted
conceptual change science teaching (Hewson, Tabachnick, Zeichner, Blomker, Meyer,
Lemberger, et a1., 1999). At both the elementary and secondary levels, they found that
pre-service teachers were influenced by their methods courses and an action research
seminar toward the conceptions of teaching that the teacher educators desired, at least in
the way the student teachers responded in interviews and coursework (Lemberger,
Hewson, & Park, 1999; Meyer, Tabachnick, Hewson, Lemberger, & Park, 1999;
Tabachnick & Zeichner, 1999). Yet, these student teachers rarely attempted instruction
that matched these reform-minded conceptions. One reason for this mismatch, the
researchers argue, is that “cooperating teachers rarely modeled the kind of teaching (the
teacher educators) were seeking to encourage” and, consequently, student teachers
adopted many of their mentors’ approaches (Hewson, Tabachnick, Zeichner, &
Lemberger, 1999, p. 381). More positively, Graham (1999) describes a mentor teacher
committed to student-centered writing instruction who is able to strongly influence a
student teacher who enters with teacher-centered tendencies, and Mewborn (2000)

describes an expert elementary mathematics mentor whose reflective practice greatly

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increased the reflective capabilities of the student teachers with whom she worked. These
findings suggest that cooperating teachers exert a considerable influence on the ways that
student teachers teach and think.

Given the reported importance of cooperating teachers on teacher development, a
major emphasis of this study involved documenting the cooperating teacher-intem
relationship. Because the literature suggests that cooperating teachers tend to pull student
teachers toward their perspective, I attempted to uncover those perspectives through
interviews and participant observations. In addition, I documented the interaction
between the cooperating teachers and student teachers in order to attempt to uncover the
mechanism responsible for the influence. My efforts entail characterizing the multiple
perspectives that interns encounter, test out, and develop.

University supervisors. Another important part of the student teaching ecology is
the university supervisor, who, along with the student teacher and cooperating teacher,
completes the “student teaching triad” (Guyton & McIntyre, 1990). While the role of the
university supervisor varies across teacher education programs, the influence of the
university supervisor is considered to be less than that of the cooperating teacher on the
student teacher’s development. For example, Borko and Mayfield (1995) studied four
middle-school math student teachers and found the university supervisors’ role across all
four cases dominated by paperwork (primarily lesson plans and observation forms) rather
than mathematics or mathematics-related pedagogy. In general, the university supervisors
expected to have little impact on student teachers and were pleased if they managed to

keep their relationship with the student teachers relatively congenial.

Others have argued that, because the role of university supervisor role is often
assigned to graduate students or adjunct faculty, the supervisor has little institutional
power or influence and might be considered a “disenfranchised outsider” (Slick, 1998;
see also Britzman (1991) and Lanier & Little (1986)). At the same time, because the
university supervisor serves as the eyes, ears, and voice of the teacher education program
and is such a ubiquitous component of student teaching programs, I fully documented the
interaction of the intern with the university supervisor, and the interaction of the student
teaching triad, when for example, they met as a group after classroom observations or
during summative conferences.

Teacher education coursework. At some level, all these findings (the effects of
student teaching, the varying influence of cooperating teachers and university
supervisors, and the like) suggest that one major problem confronting teacher educators is
the degree of separation between teacher education coursework and teaching in schools.
Major calls for reform of teacher education (Holmes Group, 1986; Levine, 2006) often
target the closing of this gap between schools of education and K-12 schools. As Clift
and Brady (2005) argue in their review of methods courses and field experiences, student
teachers often feel like they receive conflicting messages from teacher education and
school placements. And even on the relatively rare occasions when alignment appears to
occur, student teachers still struggle to implement the practices called for by teacher
educators (Clift & Brady, 2005; Graham, 1997).

Science teacher educators fare no better. As I described previously, the University
of Wisconsin-Madison’s teacher education program was designed to foster conceptual

change teaching (Hewson, Tabachnick, Zeichner, Blomker, et al., 1999) and they found

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that their methods coursework and seminars did influence preservice teachers’ beliefs and
commitments (Hewson, Tabachnick, Zeichner, & Lemberger, 1999). That success,
however, was tempered by student teaching experiences they felt were unaligned with the
university’s vision of teaching, which prevented student teachers from engaging in
reform practices (Hewson, Tabachnick, Zeichner, & Lemberger, 1999). In a different
study, Sadler (2006) studied 13 middle and high school science student teachers who
were taking a methods course (for which Sadler was the instructor) during their student
teaching experience. Using interviews, field notes of class discussions, and reflections
written for class, he found that the student teachers (with only one exception)
conceptualized how teaching should be along reform-based ideals, but had serious
reservations about whether these ideals might ever be realized due to a variety of
constraints including lack of resources, time limitations, curricular concerns, and their
students’ lack of appropriate preparation. Schools, it seems for these teachers, get in the
way of the good teaching envisioned by the university. In an attempt to better understand
the kind of changes student teachers undergo, capturing the interplay between the ideas
and experiences that student teachers encounter at both the university and their K- 12
schools is a central task of this study. As a result, I followed student teachers as they
moved back to the university for weekly coursework and attempted to look for
interactions between the ideas and practices advocated for in teacher education and the
secondary science classroom.

School and classroom contexts. The impact of school and classroom contexts on
new teacher (not student teacher) socialization has received increasing attention (e.g.,

Achinstein, Ogawa, & Speiglman, 2004; Flores, 2006; Flores & Day, 2006; Hebert &

11

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Worthy, 2001; Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002; Powell, 1997). Powell (1997) documented
the degree to which a lack of classroom science resources, coupled with classroom
management concerns, pushed a new science teacher toward a textbook-based teaching
style even though his prior commitments indicated a desire to teach in more scientifically
authentic ways. Although this second-career teacher (who had been a working scientist)
brought with him a strong desire to implement realistic science with a focus on data and
evidence, a lack of lab materials and an inability to maintain order when attempting
laboratory work left him using his textbook nearly every day. Other studies describe the
powerful influences of the school culture and leadership, including principals, on new
teachers’ success or failure in their first few years. Hebert and Worthy (2001) found that
one new teacher’s “successful” induction depended on her learning to enter the culture of
the school and a match between the new teacher’s personality and temperament with that
of her colleagues. Flores and Day (2006) followed a cohort of 14 new teachers through
their first two years of teaching and found that where the school cultures emphasized
teachers’ adherence to bureaucratic rules and extra non-instructional duties, those
teachers grew more conservative in their teaching practice in order to comply with
directives and manage their workloads while maintaining a belief that their teaching
should be different than it is.

However, the research literature is relatively thin on the influence of these aspects
of school and classroom context on student teachers, perhaps because student teachers are
seen as short-term visitors to a school rather than as more permanent members of the
school community. Alternatively, this may be because researchers tend to use theoretical

frameworks that do not foreground context as an important aspect of field experience,

12

opting instead for other factors already described (cooperating teachers, university
supervisors, or teacher education coursework). For example, Bruckerhoff and Carlson
(1995) documented a case study of a struggling and undersupported student teacher in an
urban school, but attributed the problems less to the urban context and more to poor
mentoring and a lack of professional behavior on the part of the cooperating teacher and
university. In this study’s setting, however, student teachers spend a full year in the
schools and were expected to participate in many of the functions of full-time teachers
(like parent conferences and staff meetings). It seems reasonable to assume that the
school and classroom contexts that influence new teachers might also be relevant to the
interns in this study. As a result, they were a part of the intern experience documented in
this study.

In summary, most previous research has documented the effectiveness of that
field experience through studying its components, including university courses,
university supervisors, and cooperating teachers. This framing assumes an additive effect;
that as teachers go through a field experience and participate in its components, each
component changes teachers in some way —sometimes a little, sometimes a lot,
sometimes for good, and sometimes for bad ——and that one can study the effects of field
experience by isolating the effects of the components. It also assumes that programs are
relatively monolithic and that each teacher receives the same “treatment” in each program
component.

This study, as I will describe in the following section, frames the problem of field
experiences for beginning science teachers differently. Rather than presuming either that

learning to teach is linear or additive, or that the problem to be investigated concerns how

13

to “control” various aspects ofa teacher preparation program so as to increase its
effectiveness, I am interested in taking an ecological perspective on understanding
student teaching. An ecological approach is holistic in that it focuses on describing
reciprocal, dynamic, and evolving relationships between individuals, groups, and the
places in which they live and work. Thus from an ecological perspective, understanding
the intern experience means understanding the interrelationships of university
experiences (like coursework), school experiences (like teaching, planning, and
curriculum), university personnel (like university supervisors and course instructors), and
school personnel (like cooperating teachers, principals, parents, and students).
Taking a Holistic Perspective on Learning to Teach Science

As noted, this study takes an ecological and holistic perspective on science
internships. Here I will explain my conceptualization of the internship and new teacher
growth by considering two questions: In what environments are interns immersed? How
do I understand the changes interns undergo as they move through these environments?
The “Ecology " of Student Teaching

Wideen, Mayer-Smith, and Moon (1998) argue that improved teacher education
research would take an ecological perspective; that is, it would recognize, as is true for an
ecosystem, that “everything is connected to everything else” (p. 168). Many studies of
student teaching isolate factors/components without looking at the “content and context”
of the experience as a whole (Zeichner, 1986), or using the ecology metaphor, examine
only particular organisms without considering that organism’s relationship to other

organisms and to the environment. In this study, 1 document the interactions between an

14

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intern and the components of that intern’s ecology as well as the relationships between
the components.

Figure 1.1 below shows a conceptualization of the ecology of the internship. The
major influences on student teachers (as discussed above) surround the intern. Double-
headed arrows indicate interaction between the ecological components. For example, we
see arrows connecting the cooperating teacher to a) the student teacher (as they interact
on a daily basis), b) the school/classroom context (as the cooperating teacher teaches and
mentors within a school and classroom community), and c) the university supervisor (as
the cooperating teacher meets with the supervisor during visits, conferences, or
evaluations). While not drawn, an interaction might also be possible between the
cooperating teacher and teacher education (as when a cooperating teacher attends
orientation meetings hosted by the university). I have also included arrows between the
intern and the cooperating teacher <1=i>university supervisor interaction. In a case like this,
the intern, in addition to interacting with one or the other independently, might interact
with the two of them in interaction, for example, during an evaluative conference or after
a class taught by the intern which both of them observed. In the same way, the intern may
also interact with the cooperating teacher ¢-‘> classroom context interaction as he or she

observes the cooperating teacher teach a lesson in their shared classroom.

15

r:

if

m.

Cooperating
Teacher

Teacher

School/Classroom Education

Context

 

 

Figure 1.1. The ecology of the internship

There are some important ways in which my use of “ecology” is different from a
scientific use. First, when studying an ecological system, one might see connections that
continue to branch out beyond one trophic level; that is, one might see the relationship
between the insects that consume plants, but also the sparrow that consumes the insects
and the cat that consumes the sparrow. One could imagine that the university supervisor
has his or her own ecology that might include doctoral coursework, teaching experience,
professional colleagues and so on, and that teacher education itself exists in a web of state
policies, university affiliations, accreditation and so on. All of that exists within the
ecology of student teaching or internships as an institution, but will be beyond the scope
of this study. Here I concentrate on those components that are one degree from the
student teacher, including interactions between those components; the ecology I describe
keeps the intern at the center.

Second, in an ecological food web, single-headed arrows indicate the direction of

the flow of energy; as the cow eats the hay, one finds an arrow moving from the hay

16

toward the cow. Here, my arrows are double—headed indicating that the potential for
exchange is reciprocal; for example, student teachers may influence the cooperating
teacher, but the cooperating teacher may be influenced by the teacher as well (Lacey,
1977; Zeichner & Gore, 1990). It is, for instance, common for cooperating teachers to say
that they enjoy learning about new ideas that new teachers bring with them to schools.
The question, however, of the nature of those arrows still remains. What is meant
by an “interaction” between cooperating teacher and student teacher or teacher education
and student teacher? I will view interactions between various actors as a process of
socialization. Zeichner and Gore (1990) broadly define teacher socialization as “the
process by which the individual becomes a participating member of the society of
teachers” (p. 329), so in this case, the arrows become events or situations in which
“becoming a member” occurs.

More specifically, however, I am using an interpretive paradigm of socialization
(Lacey, 1977; Zeichner & Gore, 1990). The important assumptions I make include:

(1) That the interpretation of events by actors in socialization is as important as
the event itself and that interpretation will necessarily be subjective. In an
interpretive view of socialization, one seeks less to generalize socialization
processes to a larger population, and more to understand the process as it
occurs with its individual and subjective nuance (Lacey, 1977).

(2) That while there are important structural constraints on members of the
ecology that may influence their behavior or perspectives, people retain

agency in making choices about how they will respond to those constraints

17

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and pressures (Zeichner & Gore, 1990). Structure influences —but does not
determine ——people’s actions.

(3) That changes may occur to student teachers at different levels within the
teacher. For example, in Lacey’s (1977) idea of “strategic compliance,”
teachers changed behavior (e.g., taught more like their mentor) in order to
gain an advantage (e.g., receive a better review), while also retaining
perspectives that contradict that behavior.

The implications of using an interpretive view of socialization are
correspondingly threefold. First, I will seek subjective interpretations of the events rather
than only considering my interpretations. Second, while interns are the subject of
socialization in this study, I will view them as agents in the process of socialization who
are being influenced by socialization pressures while also influencing the environments
around them (hence, the reason for double-headed. arrows). And third, I will view interns
as being capable of change at different levels rather than assuming, as examples, that
changes in a teacher’s behavior necessarily indicate changes in that teacher’s beliefs
about teaching or that a teacher’s improvement in developing a skill means that teacher
views him or herself as a different kind of teacher. I return to this third point below.
Cross-sectional Slices of the Internship

An issue that arises when using an ecological approach is that the frame keeps
many interrelated things in the foreground at once. I critiqued other studies for attempting
to isolate effects of individual components (e.g., the impact of the cooperating teacher on
student teachers), while neglecting the more holistic and interrelated picture. In my view,

studies like these can be represented by the dark oval in Figure 1.2 (see below); only the

18

cooperating teacher, the intern, and the interaction between the two are kept in the
foreground, and the other components of the ecology (of which there are many) have to
be neglected. While I believe that neglect limits those studies, the reason for such
decisions is understandable; one cannot look at everything.

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Figure 1.2. Studying a component of an internship in isolation

Given the dual constraints of not looking at everything and keeping an ecological
and holistic view, I elected to consider two “cross-sections” of the internship in order to
keep all ecological components in the foreground but limit how much of each component
I might be able to see. With cross-sections, I am limited in that I no longer can see
everything about an intern and her socialization. Rather, I will have only slices of the
intern and the components of her ecology, but within those slices, those components will
remain in interaction with one another. In doing this, 1 limited the data I collected and the

analysis I conducted without sacrificing the holistic and ecological nature of the study.

19

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My first cross-section was classroom management and ways of relating to
students. As described earlier, some studies report that student teachers and new teachers
tend to become more custodial and authoritarian in their interactions and views of
students (W. K. Hoy & Rees, 1977; W. K. Hoy & Woolfolk, 1990; Veenman, 1984). It is
suggested that they are socialized by the environment around them (e. g. model
cooperating teacher’s practice, responding to student misbehavior) and that these
socialization pressures alter their beliefs (W. K. Hoy & Woolfolk, 1990). In this study,
my attention during all aspects of data collection kept classroom management in the
foreground.

The second cross-section was the use of inquiry in the classroom. Scientific
inquiry is a central feature of the current reform efforts of science education (National
Research Council (NRC), 1996, 2000) and is an emphasis of the science teacher
preparation program under study. Inquiry can be considered both content to be taught and
an instructional model for teaching content (NRC, 2000). As content, inquiry “refers to
the diverse ways in which scientists study the natural world and propose explanations
based on the evidence derived from their wor ” (NRC, 2000, p. 1). Students are expected
to learn about these methods of science —that scientists ask questions, rely on other
scientists’ research, propose possible and tentative explanations, rely on evidence to
create and critique explanations, and make their work public. These ideas about science
are propositions that students could learn, recite, and understand about science. As a
model for instruction, inquiry, it is argued, is the best way for students to learn about the
way scientists work as they engage in practices similar to scientists; in other words,

students’ experiences in the classroom should be “parallel” with scientists’ experiences as

20

scientists (NRC, 2000, p. 10). While there is seemingly broad appeal for and wide use of
“inquiry” in the science education literature, the details of inquiry are contested (Settlage,
2007) or, more problematic, left undefined in use (Abrams, Southerland, & Silva, 2007).
Inquiry, then, became an important way for me to see how this important idea for
reformers moves across the ecology of the intern.

To summarize, these cross-sections serve as diverse instances to study the process
of intern socialization. One slice will focus on classroom management and socialization
of the intern around classroom management (generously defined to include routines of
managing groups, as well as relationships with students), while the second will focus on
inquiry and the practices promoted by science education reformers. Each enjoys a
prominent place in the research literature, teacher education, and in the practices of
student teachers. Finally, each has associated with a variety of practices, knowledge,
beliefs, and ways of being that will allow me to investigate these cross-sectional slices
across multiple levels of the teacher, which I will describe next.

Levels of Change in Teachers

Having described the ecology of interns and the cross—sectional slices of the
ecology that I will study, I now turn to describing the outcomes I seek to understand. Fred
Korthagen and his colleagues (Korthagen, 1993, 2001, 2004; Korthagen & Kessels, 1999;
Korthagen & Lagerwerf, 1996; Tigchelaar & Korthagen, 2004; Wubbels, Korthagen, &
Broekman, 1997) have made significant theoretical and empirical contributions in their
emphasis on the “holistic” nature of the work of teaching, arguing against models of

teacher behavior that are solely cognitive or competency-based in favor of ones that

21

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account for sub-conscious, affective, or identity-related components of the work

(Korthagen, 2004; Korthagen & Lagerwerf, 1996).
Korthagen (2004) calls for a more holistic model of teaching that attempts to

complicate and explicate the relationship between the behavior/competency side of
teaching and more personal characteristics like beliefs and identity. In the “onion model”
(See Figure 1.3), the teacher is represented as a series of concentric circles, each of which
represents a different layer, or level, of the self. Those outside levels (behavior and
competencies) are more readily observed and also more directly influenced by the outside
environment. As one moves deeper into the onion (beliefs, identity, and mission), the

I eV'els become more difficult to observe directly and may be further from direct

envi ronmental influence. Levels are not independent of one another; the environment and
Outer levels may influence changes in the inner levels as in the case when a challenging

Stud ent (the environment) may cause the teacher to seek new skills (competencies) for

dea l i n g with that child, which if successful, might change the teachers’ views (beliefs)
abou 1: how children behave. Likewise, the beliefs a teacher has about teaching might

in . .
fl hence the comp6tenc1es she chooses to develop and, consequently, the practice

b
( eh avior) she employs in her classroom.
The strength of the model is its insistence on keeping the whole teacher in

cQt) - . . . . . . . .
‘Slderation at one time, while still allowmg distinctions to be made at each level. As a
tee. . . . .
Qher educator, I am fascmated by the apparent contradictions that sometimes seem at
\a . . . . .
p y: a young teacher who espouses strong commitments to socral justice, while

e‘i‘TDoning the strategies of a tyrant (Bruckerhoff & Carlson, 1995), or one deeply

QQ“knitted to scientific inquiry in the classroom who relies almost entirely on his

22

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textbook (Powell, 1997), or a student teacher, convinced of his own efficacy as a lecturer,
who develops the ability to lead student-centered work (Graham, 1999). One could
assume that the only thing that matters is what they practice, that the first teacher is a
tyrant, the second a traditionalist, and the third a progressive. But this model allows one
to say that many things may be happening to a new teacher all at the same time, even in
contradictory ways. She may be developing skills for teaching practices that go against
her beliefs about how students learn or even contradict who she envisions she is as a
teacher. He may be stirred in his soul by something he reads but not be able to picture its

application in a classroom.

environment

 
    
    
    
   

behavior
competencies
beliefs

identitv

Figure 1.3. The Onion Model: Levels of change in a teacher (Korthagen, 2004, p. 80)

But all these changes may be important in helping us understand the influence of
teacher education and student teaching on the development of teachers, especially if, as

the model suggests, these levels can influence each other. For this study, I have chosen to

23

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simplify Korthagen’s model to focus on the feature that I find most compelling—the idea
that how a teacher behaves and what a teacher knows how to do may conflict with,
influence, and be influenced by what they believe and who they believe themselves to be.
In my analysis, I will highlight the ways in which these levels within interns interact and
change over time as a result of the influence of the ecology they find themselves in.
Looking A head

Having reviewed the literature and provided an overview of my conceptual
framing of the study, I now turn to a description of the methods used in the study as well
as a guide to the contexts being studied (chapter 2). In chapter 3, I present findings on the
changes to interns that take place over the course of the internship, focusing particularly
on the ways in which their cooperating teachers shape the interns teaching practices and
beliefs. In chapter 4, I focus closely on the work the interns do when they are in their
school sites and the interactions between interns and their cooperating teachers. In
chapter 5, I examine other aspects of the intern ecology—the work that interns due with
their teacher education course instructors and field instructors (university supervisors).
Chapter 6 concludes by bringing the analyses in chapter 3, 4, and 5 together—in essence,
returning to a full ecological picture—before discussing the implications for this study on

the work of teacher educators and university-based teacher education programs.

24

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Chapter 2
Methods and Context

This study was designed as a multi-site ethnography of the fifth-year science
teaching internship within a teacher education program. As I have described in my
theoretical framework, I intend to describe and explain the effects of the ecology of the
internship on the socialization of interns. In this chapter, I begin by describing the study
settings and methods for data collection and analysis. In the second half of the chapter, I
describe the study’s participants and context in greater detail.

State '5 Teacher Education Program

Interns enroll in the secondary teacher preparation program at State University’
with the intention of gaining certification as a secondary science teacher. The program is
designed to be five years. During the first four years, preservice science teachers major in
a scientific discipline and receive a Bachelor’s degree from one of the University’s
science departments. During that time, they also complete required courses within the
College of Education. Some of these courses are relatively general and are taken by all
education majors, addressing topics like principles of learning, diversity, and content-area
literacy. In addition, during their fourth year, all secondary science preservice teachers
complete an ll-credit hour course series designed for secondary science teaching. These
science-specific courses include what might typically be called “science methods,” but
also address classroom management, microteaching, and coordination of field placement
experiences in local schools. During the spring of their senior year, prospective teachers
prepare resumes and “apply” for consideration in high schools located in three general

regions in the state: in the middle of the state and close to the university, in an urban

 

‘ All names of people, institutions, and cities used throughout are pseudonyms.

25

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center in the eastern part of the state, and in an urban center in the western part of the
state.

The internship, the focus of this study, takes place during preservice teachers’
fifth year at the university, after they have obtained Bachelor’s degrees. The internship
lasts almost one full school year, beginning in August (corresponding to the school
placement’s calendar) and ending in late spring (corresponding to the end of the
university semester). As designed, interns begin the year at their school placements
taking responsibility for one “focal class”—a group of students for whom they will have
primary responsibility throughout the entire year—while assisting and observing their
cooperating teachers during the other classes. Twice during the fall semester, interns
increase their teaching load for two to three week periods (called “guided lead teaching”),
during which they may take on the responsibility for planning and teaching one or more
of their cooperating teachers’ classes in addition to their focal class. Finally, in the spring
semester, interns assume full responsibility for teaching four classes over an
approximately 10-week time period (called “lead teaching”); this experience is the
culminating event of the internship. The program is thus modeled on a scaffolded entry
into teaching, informed by sociocultural and socio-cognitive theories of apprenticeship
and participation (Feiman-Nemser, 2001).

Each intern is assigned one cooperating teacher, an employee of a local school
district, who serves as the intern’s primary mentor throughout the year (some interns may
have two cooperating teachers if they are becoming certified in multiple subjects). Interns
teach in their cooperating teachers’ classrooms, and an intern’s students are officially

students of the cooperating teacher; that is, the cooperating teacher is the “teacher of

26

record.” Intems are also assigned one field instructor, a university employee, who serves
in the “university supervisor” role. The field instructor visits the classroom of each intern
once every two or three weeks, on average, to make classroom observations. In this
study, both field instructors were graduate students in State’s doctoral program, though
retired teachers are commonly employed as well. The field instructor has both a teaching
role, in that he or she may give feedback, support, and advice to interns, and a
supervisory role, in that he or she completes regular, program-required evaluations of
intern progress. Thus, for this program, field instructors assume both the “assessing and
assisting” functions of mentoring/coaching (Slick, 1997).

During this internship, interns are also completing teacher education coursework.
They attend classes on most Fridays at the university. One of their courses (called here
TE Science) is science-specific; all science interns take the same course and, in the year
of this study, it was taught by two university faculty with backgrounds in science and
science teaching. The other course (called here TE Professional) is site-specific and
generic; interns are grouped into sections by the location of their internship. For example,
all interns placed in urban high schools (regardless of their subject-area) might be in one
section, while another section might include all teachers in neighboring suburban middle
schools. As a general division of labor, TE Science attends to issues of planning and
instruction (thought to be more discipline-specific) while TE Professional attends to
broader professional issues like classroom management, working with various

stakeholders, and teachers’ professional and ethical obligations.

27

Participants

Sampling for this study proceeded using criterion-based selection of interns, in
which I specified prior to the study’s onset a list of criteria my sample would meet
(LeCompte & Preissle, 1993). The criteria included: 1) each intern would be starting an
internship in the Fall Semester of 2008; 2) each intern would be working in a high-school
near State’s campus, thus making ethnographic data collection possible as interns moved
between the school and TE settings; 3) the interns would be selected so that there would
be two interns per school site to allow for similarities and contrasts across the ecologies
of the interns; and 4) the schools would serve communities with contrasting
socioeconomic status increasing the variation within the school/classroom context
component of the ecology.2

After receiving permission from State University’s Institutional Review Board to
conduct the study, I located a list of all secondary science interns placed in schools within
an approximately 30 mile radius of campus and identified all schools that had at least two
science interns. Based on consultation with experienced teacher educators in the area as
well as using demographic statistics, I initially selected the two schools (Quincy High and
Randolph High) most divergent in terms of the student population they serve. However,

Quincy High could not grant permission to conduct research in the schools prior to the

 

2 Achinstein, Ogawa, and Speiglman (2004) found that the influence of district policies
and curricular decisions, made in response to state and national pressure over test scores,
led to very different socialization outcomes for beginning reading teachers. They
followed about ten new teachers each in a “high-capital” and “low-capital” district,
looking at the development of teachers’ beliefs and practices as well as the hiring
practices, professional cultures, and responses to state policies of each district. They
found that teachers in the lower capital district, serving poorer and a higher proportion of
minority students, were socialized into different literacy teaching practices (more teacher-
centered, more scripted) than their higher capital counterparts.

28

school year starting. As a result, I selected a third school (Vincent High) to begin the
consenting process. In the end, however, all six intems, cooperating teachers, and schools
consented, leaving me with six interns at three schools in the sample.

Table 2.1 provides an overview of the three school sites for this study. After
describing data collection and analysis, I will describe the schools and their communities
and provide “character sketches” of each participant.

Table 2.1. Demogra hic Profiles of School Sites

 

 

 

 

 

 

School Interns State Grades Setting # of % % Free or Graduation
(Mentor Field Students White, Reduced Rate
Teachers) Instructor non Lunch
Hispanic
Vincent Heather Hee—Sun 9-12 Suburban ~950 ~90°/o ~10% >95%
High (Ken) &
School Cindy
(Shannon)
Randolph Tammy Hee-Sun 10- l 2 Suburban ~1450 ~85% ~20% ~90%
High (Vince) &
School Chad
(Frank)
Quincy Kimberly Sam 9-12 Urban ~1400 ~45% ~55°/o ~75%
High (Bonnie)
School & Holly
Michael)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Data Collection

Eisenhart (I988) identifies three data collection strategies commonly used by
ethnographers in their attempt “to understand (holistically) the worlds of others and
themselves” (p. 105): participant observation, ethnographic interviewing, and artifacts. In
this case, the world being studied is that of the secondary science intern. I will describe
below my use of each.
Participant Observation

Eisenhart (1988) describes participant observation as resting along a continuum

from participant to observer and states that one’s placement on that continuum may

29

 

change during the course of a study. I did not have an official role with either the school
districts or the teacher education program during the year of the study. However, in the
year prior to data collection, I served as a course instructor to the six interns selected in
the sample. As a result, I did not assume that I would be viewed by the interns as a
neutral observer; most likely, I would be viewed as a teacher educator, the role I had
served with them the previous year. (I will discuss more fully this limitation at the end of
this chapter.) While recruiting participants, 1 explicitly addressed the role I hoped to play
in an intern’s class (that of a researcher), but also gave them permission to negotiate my
presence in ways that they might find beneficial (Cole & Knowles, 1993b). All the
interns at the time of consent gave me pemiission to participate in any experiences they
might have as interns and did not express to me any reservations about my participation.
However, once I began attending classrooms, the cooperating teachers and I negotiated
aspects of my participation. For example, in Holly’s classroom, Michael (her mentor)
explicitly told me that I could act “as a fly on the wall” and provided me with a chair in
the back comer that I could use when I visited. With the exception of lunch time (when I
would eat with Holly and Michael), I stayed in that chair. On the other hand, in Tammy’s
classroom, Vince gave me permission to feel free to wander the room during teaching
and I did. Sometimes, I would walk around the room eavesdropping on student and
teacher conversations or providing assistance to students if asked; at other times, I would
park in one spot for the day.

What did I observe? Recall Figure 1.1, in which I mapped out the ecology of
student teaching and the various interactions (double-headed arrows) that might occur

that would influence socialization. To understand the ecology, I needed to observe

30

occurrences where the ecological components might be in interaction with one another.
In Table 2.2 below, the first column identifies a particular interaction suggested by the
framework, while the second column identifies the situation in which I observed such an
interaction. For example, the first row (I—CT) identifies one of the most common
interactions of the internship, that of the intern with his or her mentor. Much less
common, for example, was the fifteenth row (CT—TE), where interaction would take
place between the cooperating teachers and the teacher education program.
Thus the ecological framework and this list of interactions provided me with a
me thodological tool to make sure I was seeing the full ecology of the internship. I used it
to make “plans deliberately to spend time in (these) particular places, at (these) particular

tim es” (Erickson, 1986, p. 143).

31

Table 2.2. Matrix of Data Collection

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

[ Interaction Observations Interviews Artifacts
I — CT During lntem Teaching 1
During CT Teaching CT
Planning Periods
Lunch Periods
Before/After School
US visits 1 Observation Feedback
Evening Meetings for US and US Email Journals &
Interns responses
Formal Evaluations
During Intern teaching 1
Before and After School CT
Faculty Meetings
Lunch Periods
1 —— T E During TE classes 1 Course Assignments
Course
Instructors
CT —— US Evaluation Conferences CT
US visits US
LI — ( C T—US) Evaluation Conferences 1 Formal Evaluations
US visits US
CT
[ CT — CC During lntem Teaching 1
During CT teaching CT
Parent conferences
R Faculty meetings
I —‘ ( CT—CC) During CT teaching w/ intern l
assisting CT
Parent conferences
K Staff meetings
CC “ TE Course
\ Instructors
I\‘((3\C\TE) 1
US ‘ TE US Program Rubric &
W Standards
MTE) US Visits to TE courses
me shown) US visits US
Sho C) (not US visits US Observation Feedback
' I1) ST Email Journal and
Responses
T E (not shown) Opening Institute CT Agenda] Materials for
Mentor Meetings with Course Meetings
Instructors
Sho \TE) (not Opening Institute . CT Agenda/Materials for
t ‘ After Mentor Meetings Meetings

 
 

 

 

 

 

Key : 1* lntem, CT = C

CO“ ooperating teacher, US = University Supervisor, CC = Classroom
teXt, TE = teacher education program

32

 

In the end, my fieldwork entailed four major categories of observations that
covered most of the interactions in Table 2.2: school, school with field instructors
present, teacher education courses, and outside meetings. Table 2.3 summarizes the
number of observations I made and the total duration of those observations in each of
those broad categories. In the school visits, I attempted to shadow the intern through his
or her day. Early in the school year, interns spent much of their time observing their
mentors teach and assisting their mentors; this meant that much of my observation was of
their mentors teaching. As the year progressed, I observed greater proportions of interns’
teaching. This observing in schools also meant documenting the moments “off-stage”
wh ere interns were not teaching or watching their mentor teach—friendly conversations
wi th other interns in the school, lunch with other school staff, planning lessons with their
mentors, making copies, meeting with students at lunch, grading papers, and talking with
parents on the phone. On most occasions, I spent half days with interns, either in the
moming or afiemoon. On morning visits, I tried to arrive when the intern did (as much as
an hour before classes began) and stay through lunch. On afternoon visits, I would often

stay LlI'ltil the intern was packing his or her bags for home. The intention was to capture

the fil 1 1 range of activities that interns engaged in on a daily basis.

of Number and Duration of Field Observations
Hours

of
56 216
38

26
courses 44
13

 

33

Field instructors generally attempted to visit interns once every two to three
weeks for a total of at least 10 observations throughout the year. In addition, field
instructors met with cooperating teacher-intern pairs twice during each semester to

discuss intern progress. On 26 occasions, I documented work in the school on days when
field instructors were present. Eighteen of those visits were at formal evaluative
conferences in which the field instructor, cooperating teacher, and interns met to discuss
the i nterns’ progress and to produce written evaluations that were sent to the teacher
education program. These meetings, including the informal chatter before and after,
gen erally lasted about an hour. I did not participate in these meetings; instead, I sat at the
tab 1 e and recorded by hand as much of the dialogue as I could as well as collected copies
of the formal evaluations. On six other occasions (once with each intern), I shadowed the
fiel d instructor through a visit to the intern, which included documenting the field
instructor observing the intern and the post-conference that followed. Finally, on two
000 as i ons, I happened to be visiting the intern when the field instructor arrived for an
Observation and documented that interaction.

Interns attended teacher education courses on 10 Fridays each semester for a total
0f 20 Course meetings in both TE Professional and TE Science. I attended 16 teacher
education courses throughout the year, four for each of the instructors in my study.
Bee an Se the science interns in the study attended TE Science together and attended three
different TE Pr f ' r ' '

o essrona courses, this meant I observed more TE Professronal courses
than I did TE Science. In total, I observed TE Professional courses twelve times and TE
Science four times Durin TE 1 ' ' '
. g courses, took a low profile role, often Sitting in a back

corner away from the rest of the class where I could as unobtrusively as possible record

34

 

what happened. When interns sat in small groups, I would generally join a group in
which one of the study’s interns was participating. Classes met for three hours at a time
and on most occasions I documented the fiill duration of the class.

I also documented six other meetings. Three times during the year, the teacher

education faculty hosted cooperating teachers. The first of these was the Opening
I nsti tute—an orientation meeting for interns and cooperating teachers that introduced
course instructors as well as highlighted some of the key deadlines and structural
components of the program. In addition, two other meetings were held for cooperating
teachers, field instructors, and TE faculty to talk without the interns present. I
doc umented all three of these meetings. Finally, field instructors occasionally held
gath erings for all the interns with whom they worked. These were held after school at an
interns’ house or apartment, or, on occasion, on campus at a restaurant. I documented
three of these meetings.

While in the field, I used “jottings” as a method for taking fieldnotes,
ConCentrating on capturing particular and pertinent details of the action I witnessed,
focus ing most closely on capturing quotations that might be harder to remember at a later
time (Emerson, Fretz, & Shaw, 1995). These rough notes were then written into a
narrative form that were “intelligible to anyone, not just to (me)” shortly after leaving the
field Setting (Miles & Huberman, 1984, p. 50). On most occasions, these notes were
Written up the day of the observation, though in some cases I waited until the following

moming to complete them. In total, these fieldnotes span about 300 hours in the

to . . .
p fes.Sional lives of interns.

35

Interviews

In addition to participant observations, I conducted semi-structured interviews
with the interns and each intern’s cooperating teacher, field instructor, and course
instructors. The interviews allowed me to check my observations against the meanings
the participants assigned to events and interactions as well as to gather data about
interactions for which I did not have access. In addition, those levels of change that lie
further from observation (like beliefs, identity, and mission) may be more difficult to
observe directly (Korthagen, 2004), so interviews were an important supplementary
source of data. All interviews were tape-recorded and transcribed for analysis.

I conducted three interviews with each intern, one before the internship began,
one near the middle, and one after the interns had completed their lead teaching. The
opening interview (Appendix A) focused first on the interns’ reasons for choosing
teaching as a career and the influential visions or role models they had. These were
intended to elicit information about interns’ beliefs, identity, and mission. In addition, I
asked some targeted questions about classroom management, inquiry, and using student
ideas in order to establish a baseline for each intern prior to the internship beginning. The
“”0 follow-up interviews (Appendix B) asked questions similar to the opening interview,
but i ncluded questions that allowed the intern to characterize the interactions they had
with the various members of their ecology. While the interview protocols look structured,

the i1'lterviews were actually free-ranging and interns used the opportunities to talk and
vent about their internship to me, a captive audience.
In addition, for both the second and third interviews, I prepared by reviewing all

of the data that I had for that intern, as well as discussing with my advisor any emergent

36

themes in the study. I tailored the interviews to check emergent themes and to fill in gaps

in my understanding. I often asked about key events I had documented in order to get

their reactions to them. Interviews were conducted in a variety of places: local
coffeeshops or restaurants, offices on campus, or rooms in the intems’ schools. Opening
interviews ranged from 40 to 50 minutes, and averaged 45 minutes. Midpoint interviews
ranged from 89 to 119 minutes, with an average of 102 minutes. Final interviews ranged
from 61 to 81 minutes, with an average of 70 minutes. In total, I recorded over 21 hours
of i nterviews with interns.

I conducted two interviews with each cooperating teacher (Appendices C and D)
and field instructor (Appendices E and F), one closer to the beginning of the year and one
nearer the end. After collecting some background information, I probed these
parti cipants’ ideas about teaching, followed by their perceptions about the different
660 l o gical interactions. In the early interview, I focused more on their past experiences as
COOperating teachers or field instructors, as well as their ideas about the context in which
the i ntern is working. The later interview asked them to describe the interactions with
corIlli><>nents of the ecology throughout the year and to describe their views on the interns’
pr Ogr eSs and performance throughout the year. All interviews with the cooperating
teachers were conducted at the school sites in locations where the interns could not
overhear. Opening interviews with the cooperating teacher ranged from 47 to 60 minutes,
averaging of 50 minutes. Closing interviews with the cooperating teachers ranged from

52 to 67 minutes, with an average of 61 minutes. In total, I had 11 hours of interviews

wi . . . . . .
th the cooperating teachers. Opening interv1ews With the field instructors (Sam and

37

Hee-Sun) were 60 and 71 minutes, respectively, and the closing interviews were 62 and
73 minutes. Field instructor interviews were held on State’s campus.
Finally, I conducted one interview with each intern’s course instructors
(Appendix G), both for the TE Science course (Rosa) and the TE Professional courses
(Will, Sandy, and Cathleen). These interviews aimed to capture the ways in which those
instructors think about teaching, the big ideas of their course, their thoughts on how the
course went, and their relationship with the interns in the study and the other members of
the interns’ ecology. Interviews with course instructors were conducted in the course
ins tructors’ offices, except for Will’s which was conducted in a empty classroom on
S ta te’s campus. These four interviews ranged from 56 to 79 minutes long, averaging 69

minutes. The 38 interviews with all participants totaled just under 42 hours.

A rtiflzvcts

Finally, I collected copies of key artifacts from the internship experience in order
to Ch aracterize the nature of the interactions between members of the ecology, as well as
dOCu ment the changes that occurred in the interns throughout the year. Table 2.4 lists the
311i f ac ts that I collected and the number of each. Artifacts were of particular importance
in Characterizing interns’ relationships with TB (both course instructors and field

mStI"-lctors) because much of their correspondence occurred electronically.

All artifacts were collected directly from the interns themselves rather than from
field instructors, course instructors, or State’s teacher education program. I collected
these documents from interns on a case-by-case basis. Some interns simply forwarded to
me each course assignment or journal entry they received. Other, less organized interns

s . . .
Dent some time at the end of the semester collecting the artifacts for me and then saved

38

them to my computer. One intern, Chad, did not provide me with any artifacts from the
second semester. This means that I do not have a complete set of any of the classes of
artifacts. While I have nearly 100 journal entries written by interns, there may be as many
as 100 more that I did not collect. Likewise, of those 100 journal entries I do have, I only
collected 55 of them with the feedback provided to them by field instructors. Interns and
field instructors both told me that field instructors almost always provided feedback, so
en tries with missing feedback are likely holes in the dataset rather than evidence that
interns were not receiving feedback. The same is true for course assignments. Since
in terns controlled what documents I received, they may have been selective about what
they provided me. I do not have any evidence suggesting that they withheld documents

that reflected on them more negatively, but that possibility exists.

 

Table 2.4. Internship Artifacts Collected
Class of Artifacts Number Collected

 

kekly journal entries written by interns 98 (55 with feedback from field instructors)

 

WTE Course Assignments 31 (23 with feedback from course instructor)

 

Professional Responsibilities TE Course 17 (11 with feedback from course instructors)

merits

 

Fortnal Evaluations from Cooperating 17
W

 

FOwl‘Evaluations from Field Instructor 15

 

 

WSelf-evaluations from intern 7
int Set“lation feedback forms provided to 13
ems from field instructor

 

  

 

Mi .
b Sc e 1 l aneous email correspondence 4

an een interns and field instructor
L Or course instructors

   
 

 

 

 

Data Analysis
Data analysis began during the process of data collection through the writing up

of fiEldnotes (Emerson, F retz, & Shaw, 1995). While the handwritten fieldnotes were

39

often nothing more than captured dialogue or short description of interns’ or students’
movements, the typed fieldnotes were more polished documents that represented my first
attempt to impose a narrative structure to what I had just seen. In addition, I regularly met
with my advisor throughout data collection and would share with her stories about events
that seemed important or relevant or surprising; we discussed those events, tried to
connect stories to other stories I had shared with her, and, in doing so, generated lists of
articles or book I might read, as well as things I might keep my eyes open for in the field.
During data collection, I also wrote short analytic memos that I shared with my advisor
and others that served to solidify my thinking and prompt reaction from others (Emerson,

Fre: t2, & Shaw, 1995). During this time, initial themes began to emerge inductively that I

u 5 ed to spark more formal data analysis.

Once data collection ended, I turned to more formal data analysis procedures. All
H e l dnotes and interview transcripts were imported into the qualitative analysis software
NV i v0 8. In addition, electronic artifacts (such as course assignments and emails) were
imported into NVivo 8, though handwritten artifacts (such as lesson observations from

fie l d instructors) were scanned and stored electronically but not imported.

Coding using NVivo 8 began by finding a middle ground between a closed coding
sys tern preferred by Miles and Huberman (1984) and an open coding system proposed by
Glas er (1978). Instead, I used a “general accounting scheme for codes that is not content-

Speci fie but that points toward the general domains in which codes will have to be
inductively developed (Miles & Huberman, 1984, p. 57). In this case, my ecological

IIlevvork suggested that a fruitful “initial accounting scheme” would be in the various

010glcal interactions experienced by interns and others in the ecology. The interactions

40

listed in Table 2.2 were the source of my initial codes. For example, as I read fieldnotes
from an observation in a school, I coded the three minutes between classes where the
intern talked with her cooperating teacher as I—CT, meaning the intern and cooperating
teacher were interacting. The description of the lesson being taught by her mentor while
the intern assisted was coded as I—(CT—CC), meaning the intern was interacting with
the interaction of the cooperating teacher and classroom context. If during the lesson, the
in tern and cooperating teacher talked, then it would receive the code I—CT. For
1' n terviews, 1 coded based on what interviewees described, so if an intern told a story
a b out how she and her mentor planned together, that portion of the transcript would
rec e ive I—CT. For artifacts, I coded based on what the artifact represented, as well as
wh at it was reporting on. In other words, some artifacts (for example, an email journal)
were examples of the intern interacting with the field instructor (as it was being sent from
th e i ntem to the field instructor) and would be coded I—FI. However, the journal might
re 1 ate a story about a difficulty in the relationship between the intern and cooperating
teac her; consequently, it would also receive a code of I—CT. What this initial coding
sch e me allowed me to do was to group all of a particular type of interaction into one

plac e so that I could more easily look for patterns in those interactions as well as

con trasts between the different kinds of interactions.

Once this coding had been completed, I read and re-read the data for each

in e . . . . .
t I.Etetion type and began to inductively note themes that emerged across interactions.
Ini ‘ . . . . .
t1 ally, this was done by marking these as “Free Nodes” in NVivo 8; in other words,
the . . .
Se Codes were just marking text that I thought important With a key phrase. For

amp le, 1n fieldnotes of a class I observed, 1 coded a portion of the text as “Emphasrs on

41

 

Principles” when the instructor relayed a story about how, in her experience,
administrators interviewing prospective teachers will want to know “what are the
principles you have, the stance you take” rather than the details of a particular lesson.
After several re-reads and open—coding (which took place while I continued to have
discussions with colleagues and my advisor) hierarchical codes or “tree nodes” were
created to reflect the patterns I was constructing from what I both saw in the open codes
and could explain to colleagues. For example, the “Emphasis on Principles” code fell
un der the category of “Describing the Teacher Education World” and then under the code
‘ ‘Idea Orientation” along with two other codes at the same level of the hierarchy:
‘ ‘R easoning Inductively” and “Reasoning Deductively.” Once these new hierarchies were
bu i l t, I re-read the data and coded the entire dataset one more time. This analysis then
S el'ved as the outlines for my findings reported in Chapters 3, 4, and 5. While the process
In i gh t sound linear, it was iterative and dialogical: my work with data occurred within a
treat-m of other activ1t1es, including discussmns about my study With colleagues, reading
nd re-reading materials that they suggested along the way, and attempts to write out my
11 .
nd «3 rstandings.
Sketches of Placement Sites and Participants
In this section, I begin by providing brief “sketches” of the schools and
egth . . . a .
tmunities that served as Sites for this study, as well as prov1de background
Infg . . . . . .
blnation regarding the interns and cooperating teachers. F ollowmg that, I describe
y the partiCipants in the teacher education program, along With overvrews of the two

1‘ ses that interns completed. These sketches are generated from fieldnotes and

i ‘1
1t§li‘Views.

42

H4

Vincent High School

Vincent High School serves a suburban community outside a small Midwestern
city. The community of Vincent is predominantly white and economically middle to
upper-middle class, although there are pockets of working class or low income people in
trailer parks and apartment complexes scattered throughout the district. In addition, some
0 f the more expensive homes in the area have been built around a lake in Vincent. The
town itself does not have a small-town feel to it; there is no “down-town Vincent” to
speak of. Instead, it a collection of residential neighborhoods and housing developments
th 21 t are tied together largely through the Vincent Public Schools, giving the schools

C onsiderable importance to the community, as they serve as a source of pride.

Vincent High School (VHS) serves 950 students, a size that teachers believe
a] 1 0 W3 them to keep a small-school feel while also having enough resources to provide
S tud ents with most of the electives and extra—curricular activities that larger schools offer.
Man y of the teachers at the high school have spent their entire careers in the Vincent
S eh (>01 district. VHS students are hi gh-achieving, earning an “A” in the state’s report card
Sys ‘3 e111 across all the disciplines tested. However, in the year before this study, the
Seli‘QQl—for the first time—failed to meet No Child Left Behind’s adequate yearly
pro &‘ess (AYP) goals, as the special education sub-group reached a large enough size to

‘

‘eQ
Lll‘it” statistically in the school’s ranking, and that sub-group did not meet the AYP

S. t a
Gard. Although this failure was viewed by some teachers as failing on a technicality,

1‘:
t off alarms Within the community and served as an impetus for a school-Wide reform

1 ed
by the principal based on the “Failure is not an Option” model (Blankstein, 2004) and

43

 

an increasing emphasis on the state standards that guide the tests used to evaluate the
schools.
Heather. Heather Johnston was placed at VHS with Ken Dansby, a 20-year
veteran at Vincent. Heather is a Caucasian female who grew up in a middle-class family
that highly valued education. For much of her childhood, she wanted to be a teacher and a
coach. Her family was very supportive of this decision, although she met some resistance,
particularly from her high school teachers, who thought that Heather had potential that
would be wasted on teaching (a viewpoint she disdained). She majored in chemistry at
th 6 university with a minor in sociology and completed her Bachelor’s degree in just
three years. Heather exudes confidence and positivity; she remarked before the school
ye ar began that other interns she talked with were dwelling on “how nervous they were
and how hard the year would be.” She, on the other hand, was excited, sure she would
fac: e Challenges, but confident that she could handle them.
Ken Dansby had a long history with the university teacher education program. He
Corn pleted his undergraduate science degrees at State, as well as his teacher preparation,
a
nd had hosted an intern in his room every three years for the last 15, making Heather his
1‘3 13:
h intern. He prefers the three-year cycle, because he finds the mentoring experience to
be 1:) - , -
ch a large amount of work (something he couldn t do every year) and profeSSionally
i 11v ‘ . . . . . . .
l gorating (because of the new ideas that interns bring from the univerSity to his
Q l a :3 -
Sroom). He spoke warmly about many of the State college of education faculty and
tQQ
k pride in his involvement with a program he finds to be “cutting-edge,” good at

Dr
é13 aring teachers, and “responsive to feedback that (it) gets from teachers in the field.”

44

 

Ken is a leader of the VHS science department, having previously been the
department chair and currently spearheading the department’s curriculum reform. He has
an intense personality, quick to show his emotions and share his problems, both personal
and professional. This leads him to some conflict within the school, particularly with
administrators, who he feels “question his professionalism and work ethic” in their

a ttempts to implement new school reforms, and he has raised these concerns, sometimes

angrily, in department or school-wide meetings. Ken views himself as a good teacher, a

v i ew validated by other teachers, parents, and students. During the year of this study, he

was pursuing National Board Certification and was a regular contributor at professional

(2 o n ferences. At meetings held at State for mentoring teachers, Ken was a vocal
C 0 n tributor who impressed teacher education faculty with his professionalism and desire
to I earn.
Cindy. Cindy Miller was placed at VHS with Shannon Kent, a biology teacher at
Vi r1 C ent for about 10 years. Cindy’s family tree is full of teachers; her father teaches
’i (idle-school math, her mother works as a program coordinator at the high school from
h 1 Q 11 Cindy graduated, and her fiancee teaches speCial education. As Cindy describes it,
IItiother and father liked their jobs and made a happy, balanced life for their family.
D e S . . . . , .
I) ite that history and despite Cindy 3 success and enjoyment of school (she was
dictorian of her high school), she initially majored in zoology and took an internship

as
E‘- Zookeeper because of her love for animals. Very quickly, however, she realized that

Sh
: heeded more interaction with people and, in her words, “missed the science” in
Q 1 e
E\‘ljing up and caring for animals. The summer following her graduation, she made the

SW ‘
1 tch to teaching and joined State’s teacher preparation program as one of only a few

45

 

post-baccalaureate students. Her family “supported (her) decision 100%.” At VHS,
Cindy’s focus class was freshmen biology and she also taught human biology, an elective
course for juniors and seniors. Cindy was described by those who worked with her as
very caring, deeply reflective, and bright. She highly valued, prior to the internship, the
opportunity to work with teenagers, and her mentor and field instructor both
characterized her strength as building relationships with students. Cindy was not
:1 ecessarily a “cool” teacher; she proudly proclaimed herself a “science dork” to students
an d peers alike, and the students attracted to her were often not those who were the more
p o pular or the more successful in school.

Shannon Kent, Cindy’s mentor, had been teaching biology for almost ten years
th 0 ugh she had never served as a mentor for a State intern before the year of the study.
D e S p ite having worked with student teachers from other universities, she admitted that
Sh «3 did not know much about the program and depended on Cindy to keep her informed

abo ut program requirements. Shannon was active in the school, primarily through
ex tra curricular events, serving as a class advisor as well as coaching the cross country
and track teams; posters from her own marathons and other running paraphernalia adorn

h e r
’ <2 lassroom.

Cindy’s relationship with Shannon was, at times, a difficult one; both used the

m
1% taphor of “college roommates” to describe the challenge of sharing space, time, and
S
bud exits. Cindy felt that Shannon occasionally undercut her authority in front of students
an
q admitted she felt more relaxed when Shannon was not in the classroom; Shannon

S u
SlDected this was the case and tried to leave as often as she could. Despite this tension,

8 In
annon and Cindy spent a lot of time together, staying late after school to plan or

46

supervising the football game’s concession stand together. Both spoke warmly of one

another in final interviews.

Randolph High School
Randolph High School (RHS) also serves a predominantly white suburban
community not far from Vincent. The community of Randolph is middle-class, with
many new residential developments going up where farms had previously been. The
s c hool district also includes several small towns and a significant amount of rural
s mdents. In places, Randolph abuts with the city school district and along those
1:) oundaries sit a number of lower income housing developments, mobile home parks, and
ap artrnent complexes. Like Vincent, the schools of Randolph serve as the unifying
i 11 fl uence on the community. The sports teams at Randolph High are an especially big
deal ; local shops throughout Randolph display posters with the football, basketball, or
I acx—O 556 team photos and schedules.

RHS serves 1450 students at its newly built 10—12 high school campus, with an
add i tional 500 students on the 9th grade campus across the street. The building itself is
it“ 1:) ressive, sprawling, with enormous open lobby spaces where students congregate in
bemeen classes and at lunch in addition to a large gymnasium, natatorium, and state-of-
the ‘ an auditorium. Student achievement, however, lags behind some of Randolph’s
Sub urban counterparts; on the state report cards, scores are in the B or C categories, and,
tilt) 1"3 importantly, the school has never met the AYP requirements. Like Vincent, the
S Qurce of AYP failure is “sub-groups.” Economically disadvantaged students and special

Q q
“Cation students have consistently fallen short of the targets. The economically-

i . .
S advantaged students are a particular source of frustration at the school; teachers talk

47

 

euphemistically about “a changing student demographic,” particularly because RHS each
year admits more and more students through the state’s schools-of-choice program from
the neighboring city. These students, from the teachers’ perspective, are more often of
color, more often of lower socioeconomic status, and more often underprepared
academically. Because of these student achievement challenges, the district mandated
Ch anges in the school’s curriculum, including common exams across the school that are
s u p posed to be aligned with the state’s exams. Teachers worry about how these exam
results will be used by the district and they have become a source of tension across the
s c h 001.
RHS has a long history with State’s teacher education program. At one point, it
S erVed as a professional development school (PDS) where State’s faculty taught and did
res earch with Randolph’s faculty serving many clinical roles at the University. While the
Offi C i al PDS label has been dropped, Randolph continues to host more interns than any
0th e r school and is considered by the university to have a larger contingent of “reform
mi nd ed” teachers who understand State’s mission and vision of good teaching. An
add i t ional legacy of the PDS designation is a once a week two-hour block of
“D r0 fessional development” time where teachers meet as a school, with departments, or
on Q Qmmittees. This time for teachers serves as an important distinguishing feature of the
SQhQQl one that re ' ' ' '
, presents a commitment to professmnalism and teacher leadership.
Tammy. Tammy Ahrens was placed at Randolph High with Vince McCarthy, a
S i x . . . .
\ year veteran who had himself been an intern in State’s program at RHS. Tammy is a
Q all Qasian female who grew up in a middle-class family and attended a smaller rural high

S Qh
Q()1; school achievement was important to her family. She entered college as a zoology

48

 

major with an interest in conservation efforts, but a bad experience on a “study-abroad”
trip to Africa left her disenchanted with the politics and money involved in those efforts.
She decided to teach because it was an opportunity to stay involved with science and
because she always liked and was good at school. Tammy had extensive experience
working on plant genetics in undergraduate research, and, though she enjoyed it, did not
see herself working in labs for a career. She was described by her State course and field
instructors and by her cooperating teachers as having very strong content knowledge, and
she was academically successful throughout her college career.
Tammy comes across to others as reserved, perhaps even shy. While thoughtful
and thorough in her written coursework, Tammy is woman of few words. Even while
teaching, she tended to have short, clipped explanations when compared to Vince. In
conferences with Tammy, Vince, and Hee-Sun (Tammy’s field instructor), Tammy said
Vel‘y little relative to other interns. Sometimes others perceived this reticence as aloofness
or d i stance. Vince worried that he and Tammy did not talk enough, that they did not
“c l i Ck personally,” and, early in the year, Hee-Sun shared with Tammy her worries that
Tammy wasn’t developing relationships with students like she should. Tammy, however,
1i ked Vince a great deal, felt like they talked often, and found Hee-Sun’s critiques

Cl ‘ . . . . .
l S1Tlllrbing because she conSIdered her relationships With students as one of the most

r
ew arding parts of her internship.

Vince McCarthy, in his sixth year at Randolph, had shared an intern and worked
itli pre-service teacher observers from State in the past, but Tammy was his first intern.

[ Q too had interned at RHS through State’s teacher preparation program, taught for a

fiar at another local school, and then accepted a half-time position at Randolph just to

49

 

get his foot in the door. His desire to get back to Randolph stemmed from his belief that
“to do the kind of teaching (he) wanted to do” required being surrounded by other
teachers who shared his commitment to student-centered, inquiry teaching. The RHS
biology curriculum centered on a series of cases that structured weeks-long units by
using, for example, a cholera epidemic to explore structure and function of cell parts or
childhood birth defects to explore genetics. These units were during RHS’s time as a PDS
wi th the cooperation of Randolph and State faculty; Vince used them as an intern and
continued to use modified versions in the year of the study. State’s teacher educators
fondly remembered Vince as a top student, mature beyond his classmates, and serious
about his commitment to Randolph. It excited State to have him, as a graduate of the
Program and someone they believed practiced the teaching they promoted, serving as a
COOperating teacher. As a teacher, Vince personally valued his relationships with students
h i ghly, and used his ability to connect with students as his primary tool for motivation
and engagement. Students loved “Mr. M”; former students, boys and girls alike, stopped
i n frequently just to say “hi,” share a success story, or repeat one of Vince’s old jokes. He

had an easy, low-key way in front of the classroom, used humor frequently, and seemed

t O enj oy playfiil banter with students.

Chad. Chad Brunswick interned with Frank Dack at RHS, teaching general
Q11emistry, as well as a section of advanced algebra. Chad, a Caucasian, began at State as
l Chemical engineering major, but soon began to question whether he would “ever see the

ggod” that came out of engineering, worrying “that it would be all about saving the

:Qmpany money.” Teaching seemed like a more intimate experience, one where he could

more readily see the good that he might accomplish. In the teacher education program, he

50

 

described being profoundly influenced by a course on student diversity, one that pushed
him to consider issues of race and class and the way they influenced schooling. Chad
identified some of the hand wringing at RHS over student achievement as “evidence that
(they) aren’t ready to deal with the growing issues of racial and class tension” at their
school. His TE course instructors thought he was a particularly thoughtful guy. Prior to
the internship year, Chad completed a summer internship with a large chemical company
that initially convinced him he did not want to work in a lab, though throughout the

school year he admitted that many times a job as a chemist seemed appealing compared

to teaching.
Self—described as “really shy,” Chad has an awkward manner, though—when

Com fortable—he can be funny and charming. I once observed Chad sip on a coffee mug
dufi 11g a lecture 13 times in the span of six minutes, an indication both of his nervousness
and quirkiness. Again by his own admission, he tends toward negativity and, at times, his
frustration with students’ lack of motivation or cooperation led to him complaining to

other interns about his students. As Chad remarked, the internship “had been a hard

ye 2111” A long—term romantic relationship ended and his father lost his job, both of which

i
t) ereased Chad’s general level of stress.
Frank Dack, Chad’s mentor, is an institution at RHS. He had been a multiple-

8 D
Ql't student-athlete at Randolph, still holding a track record over 20 years later. After

S
mdent teaching in a nearby city, he was recruited back to his alma mater, where he has
t a
1.1 ght chemistry and coached a sport every season. Few call him “Frank” or “Mr. Dack.”
back” is how he is known to students and teachers alike. He lives in Randolph, his

1‘Kildren graduated from RHS, and he considers his connection to the community as one

51

 

ofh is strongest assets as a teacher. Frank was well-known to State’s teacher education
faculty, having served as a mentor to interns or student teacher close to 10 times over the
years - He enjoyed having interns, sought to have one every other year, and spoke often of
“pass ing the torch” off to the next generation as he approached retirement. While he tried
to stay positive, he admitted that he was not as resilient or optimistic as he once had been;
reforms seemed more cyclical than groundbreaking and changes (such as Randolph’s
switch from semesters to trimesters the previous school year) less easy to adapt to.
Speaking one-on-one with Frank, one might imagine him to be soft—spoken. He
rarel y talks at faculty meetings; when he does it is to throw in a wise-crack or advertise a
social event. But in front of students, he is a dynamo of energy and enthusiasm. Students
responded well to him; “Dack” was well—liked and well-known, despite his reputation as
being the hardest chemistry teacher at RHS. While he was aware of the “inquiry”
methods of teaching—and had even designed some inquiry units with State faculty many
years ago —he had stopped using inquiry because he believed that there was not enough
time to cover all the chemistry standards using those methods. He relied heavily on a
recitational style of teaching, peppering students with questions during lectures and
explallations, working through problems on the board, and having students practice those
prObleI'ns in groups as he assisted.
Quincy High School
Quincy High School (QHS) is one of several large urban high schools that is a
part of the Auburn city school district. While most students at Quincy come from the
nearest quadrant of Auburn, a number of “magnet” programs draw students around the

City to the school. QHS is located near downtown Auburn, adjacent to a large hospital,

52

and less than a mile from modest government and business high-rises. As a city, Auburn
is s truggling; like many Midwestern cities, the downward spiral of the American auto
industry has hit Auburn hard. Foreclosure signs are everywhere. QHS has a proud
history; at one time, it served the wealthiest communities of Auburn and the building,
con structed in the 19203, shows that now-crumbling legacy through its ornate tiling and
impressive woodwork.

QHS serves a diverse population 1400 students in grades 9-12; there is an
approximately equal mix of Caucasian, African American, and Hispanic students, as well
as In any students classified as English as a Second Language. Teachers proudly report the
fact that over 30 languages are spoken at home by students in the school. Academic
achi evement is low, as it is at all the high schools in Auburn; its report card grade was a
D in the year of the study and it had failed to make AYP yet again. As a result of this
chronic low achievement, the district had proposed many different restructuring plans for
several years preceding this study. During the study year, the district proposed closing all
the high schools and consolidating in one newly built high school, though this plan met
great resistance from teachers and the Auburn community. In addition, Quincy hired a
new principal just a days before the school year began, and the transition had been,
predictably, a rough one. Teacher morale, according to my participants, was low and
getting lower, though Quincy had a surprising number of afterschool programs and clubs
all Sponsored by faculty, many with little financial remuneration.

Every year, State placed a large number of interns at QHS, more than any other
urban placement, in part, because it was closest geographically and, in part, because it

had a reputation for being a bit more stable than the other urban high schools. Many QHS

53

teachers participated in research projects and professional development through various
departments at the university and a significant number were graduates of State’s teacher
education program or had completed graduate work there. Despite these connections,
Sta re ’3 faculty were sometimes uneasy with the placement of interns at Quincy; nearly
every year, including the year of this study, interns were pulled from Quincy mid-year
because of problems or crises. Faculty worried about how to balance the program’s
com mitment to urban schooling with school conditions that made, in their view, Quincy
less than ideal for learning to teach including significant classroom management

prob l ems (even for the mentors) that seemed to take interns’ full attention at the expense

of other things new teachers need to learn.
Kimberly. Kimberly Sui completed her internship at QHS with Bonnie Abrams, a

20-year veteran chemistry and biology teacher. Kimberly is a first generation Korean-
American, whose parents, while not highly educated, valued education and pushed
Kimberly to be successful. They held aspirations for Kimberly of being a physician, but
were not disappointed in her decision to become a teacher because, as she described it,
“in Korea, teachers are very highly respected.” As an undergraduate, Kimberly served as
a “buddy” to international graduate students, meeting regularly to converse in English
and e>‘E1:)lain puzzling aspects of American culture and language. She received positive
feedback, both from her buddies and the director of the program, that convinced

KlrnbeI‘ly that she might be good at teaching. Given her initial pre-medicine major and

the Credits she had accumulated, she decided to try science teaching, though she also had
a minor in ESL. While intending to teach science eventually, following the internship,

Kuhbel‘ly hoped to teach English in Korea for a year or two. In addition, because of her

54

passion for ESL, Kimberly was committed to working in urban schools where ethnic and
linguistic diversity would be part of her experience. In this regard, her placement at
Qu i ncy was an excellent fit.

Kimberly was short in stature and spoke with a quiet voice —often in interviews I
worri ed that my tape recorder might not pick up what she said. These qualities concerned
her before the internship began, because she worried that students might not take her
seri ously; during her senior year placement at QHS, security guards had asked for a hall

pass and students had mistaken her for one of them as she tried to move past them in the
hallways. In addition, everyone who worked with her commented on how deferential and
respectful she was, often apologizing as they mentioned it because it aligned so tightly to
stereotypes of Asian students. Kimberly herself noted it as an issue. Despite a very close
personal and professional working relationship, Kimberly could not bring herself to call
her mentor “Bonnie,” instead relying on the more formal “Ms. Abrams.” Her State field
instructor and course instructors worried that Kimberly might not be able to venture out
On her own as much as other interns, both because Bonnie was known for not

r elincPolishing control of the classroom easily and because Kimberly might not assert
her sel f for fear of offending Bonnie.

Before teaching at QHS, Bonnie had taught in private religious schools and at the
univerSity level. She had served as a mentor to intern six or seven times before, and State
teacher educators COnsidered her to be one of their safest bets. She had a reputation,

among Students, other Quincy faculty, and among State teacher educators, as being no-
nonsense, strict, and having high expectations for students. She accomplished this with a

lo - . .
W key manner. I never saw her raise her veice or demean students, though she

55

adamantly refused to do things for students that she believed they could do for
themselves. If a student asked for a writing utensil, she would not provide one even if she
had one in hand; they knew where to find the extra pencils. A question that could be
answered from the textbook or notes would be deflected with some help about where a
stud ent might look. This emphasis on responsibility, procedures, and routines led to
orderly classrooms where most students were on-task most of the time. While the
hallways of QHS were filled with students being sent to administrators for misbehavior, I
rarel y saw Bonnie or Kimberly remove a student. Students treated Bonnie kindly, did
what they were asked to do, and spent a great deal of time hanging out after school in her
classroom. Bonnie still enjoyed teaching, viewed it as her calling, but characterized
herse l f as a bit of a “lone ranger.” While she participated in administrative tasks with
colleagues like choosing textbooks or attending staff and department meetings, she
disli ked these aspects of her job and attempted to shield Kimberly from these tasks
Whenever possible. As a result, Kimberly interacted very little with other staff members
at QUincy, with the exception of the chemistry teacher next door with whom she ate lunch
r egu lEll'ly and, later in the year, observed.

Holly. Holly Lamberts was placed at QHS with Michael Delaney, also a 20-year
veteran. Holly entered college as a philosophy major, and while she liked philosophy, she
W011i ed about job prospects. For a time, she majored in elementary education, took a few
courses in elementary math education, but was not sure that she had the patience for

young Children. She settled on physics, because it, like philosophy, seemed to be asking
“the big questions” and because she had done well in it in high school. Holly remembers

being inspired by the idea presented to her in education course “that every child can

56

learn;” this idea struck her as profound because it contradicted much of how schools
seemed to actually treat students. As a result, Holly was drawn to work in urban schools,
where it seemed that many students were not learning and people seemed to accept that.
Ho 1 1 )1 was committed to being an urban teacher, had requested senior placements and an
intern placement in urban schools, and hoped to move to Chicago to teach in Chicago
Pub 1 i c Schools after her internship. Based on her experiences during early field
placements, she thought that generally teachers did not expect enough of students in
urban schools.
Michael Delaney, Holly’s mentor, has been a long-time science teacher at QHS.
Mich ael plays an active part in many professional organizations; he had served in the
teac her’s union leadership, regularly presented at science teacher conferences, and had an
impressive network with science-education partnerships that regularly came into his
classroom to work with his students and provided him with professional development for
Curricular units that he brought back to Quincy. During the year of this study, Michael
Was Seeking his National Board Certification. Michael had been enrolled in a Ph.D.
PI'Ogram in State’s College of Education, though the commitment of the program while
teaching full-time was eventually more than he wanted to handle. At Quincy, Mr.
Delaney was well-likEd by students; many times, old students would stick their heads in
to Say “hi,” and Michael consistently greeted current students warmly, by name, with a
pe:rsollal comment (“I like your hair today, Taneisha” or “How’d the games go last night,
J aCOb?”) as they entered each day. In interviews, Mr. Delaney talked about the

‘mportance of forming relationships with students, especially in urban schools.

57

Michael had served as a cooperating teacher several times before the year of the
study. However, faculty at State expressed some hesitation about his participation,
because, in the past, interns had been asked to do more than the university thought they
should. One teacher educator expressed that she “didn’t really know what to think of
Michael. He seemed to talk a good game, but (she had her) doubts about what he was
real 1 y like.” At times, Holly’s schedule and Michael’s personal and professional lives
red uced the time that the two had to interact. Holly taught a math class (her minor) with
another mentor during 2nd bell—Michael’s only prep bell—which reduced the time where
M i c hael and Holly might talk. In addition, Michael missed a lot of school as both he and
h i 5 wife experienced some health issues, and Michael frequently went to professional
de V61 0pment or took “personal leave” to work on his National Board Certification
leav i ng Holly to “sub” for his classes.
State ’3 Teacher Education Faculty
Field Instructors. At State, university supervisors were called field instructors
ind i C ating their unique (within State’s structure) position in the school placement sites.
Fi e l d instructors historically had been drawn from two groups: retired teachers from the
area and doctoral students at State. Duties I observed field instructors complete included
obs erving interns teach lessons on a bi-weekly basis, providing written and verbal
feedb ack on those lessons, providing suggestions, tips, and encouragement to interns
(primarily through email), coordinating formal evaluations with the cooperating teacher,

an
d updating State faculty on interns’ progress, especially when interns were having
I)I‘leems.

58

Two field instructors participated in this study: Sam and Hee-Sun. Sam
supervised students at Quincy High (and several other schools) including Kimberly and
Ho] 1y while Hee-Sun supervised Tammy and Chad at Randolph High and Heather and
Cindy at Vincent High as well as two other interns. Sam was a first-year student in the
doctoral program after having taught middle and high school science for nine years. His
vari ed experiences included teaching in both urban and more suburban schools as well as
a brief stint in private schools. While Sam’s role as field instructor meant that he was
representing the university’s perspective in the schools, he admitted that he was often
1 Gaming that perspective as he went. Less than a month after starting at State, he was in
80h 0015 as a field instructor.
Hee-Sun was a third-year doctoral student in State’s program, but like Sam, was a
fi r S '3 time field instructor. Because Hee-Sun’s teaching experience had been in Korea
r ath 61' than in US. schools (six years at a variety of levels), State required her to
parti Ci pate in a year of training and mentoring prior to becoming a field instructor. In the
Ye at before the study, Hee-Sun had shadowed another field instructor through much of
the year, going to schools to observe and meeting with interns and mentors. In addition,
she 13 an. . . . . . . .
iCipated in a weekly seminar for doctoral students who were participating in
teacher education. As a result, Hee-Sun had a very strong sense about State’s priorities
and eIl'iphases and she viewed conveying and articulating those to interns and mentors as
eel‘1t1‘al to her job.
Course Instructors. Interns took two courses during the internship: TE Science
and TE Professional. All six interns in the study were enrolled in the same TE Science

Q.
Q11I‘se led by Rosa, a tenured faculty member at State. When State still used a

59

Professional Development School (PDS) format, Rosa spent several years teaching
bi ol ogy part-time at RHS where she had been central in developing the curriculum that
was still in place. Rosa’s was a scientist and the transition from science to science
education had been a gradual one. Rosa had also been one of the methods instructors the
previ ous year for this same group of students; the interns knew her well and the course
was designed to be a continuation of the previous year. This cohort of interns made the
eighth that she had followed through the two—year cycle. Rosa had collaborated with
several colleagues on the development of the program, and while faculty continued to
ti nker with the course sequence, they had hammered out a lot of the curriculum, which is
Sp i ral in nature: “There really isn’t much new content in the TB Science course,” she
sai d , “as much as it is a refining of what we did last year and working on helping them
im 1:) l ement that in schools.”
The TE Professional course had many sections, and interns were assigned a
Sec ti On based on the characteristics of their schools. RHS, given its tight connection to
S fate , had enough interns placed at it to warrant its own section taught by Sandy. Sandy
had been an English (and occasionally social studies) teacher for close to 15 years in a
nu r1‘1E3er of private and public schools. However, State had been her home for the last 20
Ye arS where she served as an academic staff member, filling many of the administrative
r01 .3 S a , , . .
ssoc1ated With field placements as well as regularly teaching the TB ProfeSSional
COurSe and other courses as needed. She did not know the interns placed at Randolph
pets Qnally prior to the year beginning. Intems at VHS were placed in a section with
S‘ifi‘ldents from other suburban schools in the area Cathleen an assistant f t St t
. , pro essor a a e

t . . . . .
an ght this section. Cathleen’s experience as a teacher was in home economics, but she

60

also spent five years leading family education programs in the community before .
returning to graduate school. Cathleen had not taught TE Professional before and. she
admitted that it was at times a struggle for her to detemiine just what the course was
supposed to be about. All the interns in urban high schools, including Quincy, were
placed in a section with Will, a doctoral student as State. Will had been a middle school
ma thematics teacher for nine years before becoming a principal. After nine years as
principal, he left that position to return to graduate school. As with Cathleen, this was
Wi l l ’ s first time teaching TE Professional. The course, as designed, intended to assist
i ntems in managing the professional responsibilities associated with teaching. This was
ac C Omplished through a case-based curriculum in which interns were expected to bring
the i r experiences in the field to bear on the course discussions, readings, and assignments.
Limitations of the Study
Given the methods and context of this study, there are limitations that deserve
atten tion before I turn to the findings in the following chapters. Following Geertz (1992),
I W i l 1 describe these limitations (or simply limits in Geertz’ view) as arising from two
maj Or components of ethnographic work: positionality and Circumstantiality.
PCS itionality
I write as a 35-year old Caucasian male who spent nine years as an urban high
SChQOl science teacher. As a twenty-one year old, I was a teaching intern in a program
Stmcmred similarl t St t ’ d full-t' t h t d
y o a e 5 program, an , once a ime eac er, ac e as a
C06 . . .
Derating teacher or mentor to over ten student teachers and interns from a variety of
Ilt1i\’ersity-based teacher education programs. Furthermore, while a graduate student, I

blaSled the role of teacher educator in State’s program, teaching methods courses at both

61

the internship and senior—year level. In the year prior to the study, I taught the senior-year
course with Rosa (the TE Science instructor described above); all six of the interns in the
study were students in our class. I knew each intern well, though I worked most closely
wi th Heather, Holly, Chad, and Kimberly because they majored in a physical science, my
area of specialization. When I approached the interns about participating in the study, I
was not an outside researcher coming in to study their internship; I was Jeff, their teacher.
Likewise, they were not subjects, but my students for whom I had already begun to assess
thei r strengths, weaknesses, personalities, and quirks. In addition, though I did not select
th em for this reason, I had affection for each intern before the year even began—an
affection that only grew as I followed. them through a formative year in their lives.
I disclose this for two reasons. First, I disclose my insider positionality—I do not
i n 136: nd to write with “views from nowhere” (Geertz, 1992, p. 132). To the degree that the
find i n gs I report here read as such, it is a weakness of my writing rather than a
methodological decision. I knew and was known by State’s program and by the interns
be-fO re this study began and I approached the study with a relatively large amount of
experience working with science teachers, old and new. Second, and related given my
ins i der perspective, a great challenge of this work was “to apprehend as strange” contexts
and S ituations in which I had a spent a great deal of time (Latour & Woolgar, 1986, p.
29) ‘ H igh school science classrooms, teacher lunchrooms, university teacher education
c133 Srooms—these were all situations I knew well. As a result I made an effort
estbecially early in my field work, to try to observe with fresh eyes the situations I was in
and my fieldnotes reflected an effort to portray the context I was in as close to the

S‘ . . . .
‘mation as pOSSible With as few “school” terms as poss1ble (Emerson, Fretz, & Shaw,

62

1 995). These attempts, ofcourse, do not separate me from my previous experience which

no doubt limited how strange classrooms of any kind might appear to me.

Circumstantiality

In addition to my position in the study, I also describe some of the characteristics
of the situation and program under study that place limits on the study’s findings. 1 do not

intend to argue that the findings presented here apply equally well across all student

teach ing contexts; the study reported is the case of one program and six interns at three

(:1 i ffe rent schools.

The program under study had several important characteristics that may be
part i cularly relevant to the findings. First, State is a research institution in which teacher
e du cators are expected to also be educational researchers. This is not always the case as
man y, if not most, preservice teachers are certified at universities where faculty are
pri marily teachers with fewer research commitments (Levine, 2006). Second, State’s
program includes a full year in the field under the supervision of one cooperating teacher.
Th i S a too, varies from some programs that include either lesser amounts of time in the
fi e 1 d or a movement between several mentoring teachers. As I will report in Chapter 3,
the ITlentoring teachers in this program come to exert a great deal of influence on the
intem, and it is fair to ask whether that influence may be, in part, structured into the

pro gram due to the large amount of time interns spend with a single mentor. Finally, the

Study documented a full year in the life of an intern who spent at least four days a week
1n SQ110015 and only one day a week at the university. It does not capture the four years
befgre the internship in which interns’ lives were dominated by university coursework

r
ether than field experiences. It also does not follow interns into their teaching careers as

63

they completely leave teacher education and teach full-time in the schools. In this way,
the study captures only what occurs during this unique period of time in an intem’s life,
not the full relationship between universities, schools, and beginning teachers.

Given a sample size of just six teachers (and their six cooperating teachers), the

sample assuredly does not fully represent the population of all student teachers. In this
case, five of the six interns were Caucasian (with one Asian-American), and five of the
six i nterns were females. Five of the six cooperating teachers were Caucasian (with one
As i an-American) and four of the six mentors were males. No Latino/as or African
Am ericans were in either group. While the sample generally matches the student and

teac her population of State’s program, it does not necessarily match the population across

th e Country and may limit the findings.
Finally, while the schools were selected to increase socioeconomic diversity, the

thr e e schools were all located within 10 miles of one another in a smaller city in a

M i dWestem state. While the student populations varied at the schools and represented

Urb an and suburban schools, they do not capture the diversity of schools and students that

In 1 gh t be found more widely.
To summarize, the study of this program, these interns and the people that worked

W i . . .
th tl'lem, and these schools does not intend to describe “every” program, intern or

11001, but is instead just a concrete description of a particular time and place (Geertz,

l 9
92)- Borrowing from Geertz (1992) again, however, it is my hope that “just trying to

this particular circumstance “is not chopped liver” (p. 132).

f
‘ gure out”

64

Chapter 3
The Use of Mentors’ Scripts and Patterns in Shaping Interns’ Practices and Beliefs

The six interns’ stories of their year are in many ways unique to their
personalities, their contexts, their mentors, and their students. Even from the brief
descriptions in Chapter 2, it is easy to see the uniqueness of each intern’s circumstances.

Despite those idiosyncrasies, when viewing interns through the lens of Korthagen’s
(2 004) onion model (See Figure 1.3), patterns of change exist across the interns in both

thei 1‘ more outer levels (like enacted teaching practice and skills) and inner levels (like

the i r beliefs and visions of good teaching).

Initially, all six engaged in an early period of “Using the Mentor’s Script.” Interns
Used their mentors’ performances, witnessed earlier in the day, as the source of their own
performances with a later class. This following of a script could be literal or metaphoric;
S 0 m e interns took copious notes as their mentor teachers taught and then used those notes
as a guide, while other interns relied on their memory. In either case, intems imitated
the i r mentors’ performance.

Once the scripting stage had ended, all six interns entered the stage of “following
mentors patterns.” Teacher education program requirements eventually prevented interns
from observing their mentor teach prior to their own teaching; their script was removed.
HOW eVer, as interns planned, enacted lessons, and related with students, they faithfully

tried to “channel” what they had seen their mentor do for the first few months of school.

M enters generally had one or two instructional approaches—moves, strategies, or
aeti\Iities they used on an almost daily basis—as well as relational ones—ways of
interacting with students, again, on an almost daily basis. These approaches served as the

anbone of the mterns’ more independent practice.

65

However, during this second stage, interns’ experiences began to diverge. One

group of four interns, which I call “reproducers,” experienced a great deal of success

during the “following the patterns” stage. Reproducers continued replicating their

rn en tors’ approaches and, in doing so, got consistently good feedback from those around
them—their mentors, field instructors, and students. Over time, interns grew increasingly
comfortable with these approaches and used them frequently and consistently throughout
the i ntemship, even during the final lead teaching period in which most mentors stopped
he 1 pi n g interns plan and were no longer present in the classroom. In addition, when

in terns talked about their practice and their visions for teaching, they increasingly

inc 1 uded aspects of their mentors’ practices and visions. To some degree, it appeared that
th e mentor had spawned another teacher who shared many of the same characteristics.
The reproducers, in addition, were viewed as the most successful of the interns by all
S ta l<€tholders involved; this is true despite the fact that their end practices and visions

Var—i ed widely and may or may not have reflected the components of good teaching

prom oted by State’s teacher education program.
The second group of interns, which I will. call the “strugglers,” also faithfully tried

I:

O I.eIDroduce their mentors’ approaches in their own teaching. Unlike the reproducers,
h x K ,
0 ever, they struggled—a struggle that was readily apparent to all involved including

th ~
e l tltern. Despite the lack of success using their mentors’ approaches and despite a

m ~ . . .
L11tltude of alternatives suggested by their mentors, field instructors, and course

1“Actors, the strugglers forged ahead in followmg their mentors examples, rarely

t -
ry‘ng anything that they had not seen their mentor do. This was not a case of these

i
“terns simply having poorer examples to follow; the strugglers’ mentors were

66

experienced teachers, experienced mentors, and had developed practices that worked well
for them. In the end, the strugglers, and their internship experience, were viewed as
unsuccessful to a certain degree, certainly when compared to the reproducers. Unlike the
reproducers, however, the strugglers’ visions of good. teaching did not move toward their
mentors, nor did they remain the same throughout the year. Instead, the strugglers

appeared to have an uncommitted vision of what good teaching should look like—one

much less coherent and certain than those of the reproducers.

My goal in this chapter is to trace this narrative are. I begin by demonstrating how
the interns early on clutched tightly to the instructional scripts of their mentor teachers.

F 01 l owing that, I describe each group’s trajectory in their attempts to follow the patterns

of the mentors.

Using the Script
All the interns began the year tightly following the script set out for them by their
mentors. Intems re-enacted mentors’ lessons by attempting to replicate the lesson they
had witnessed their mentor teach. This included bigger picture items like lesson activities,
materials, and the agenda for the day. It also included the details as interns borrowed
mentors’ representations, examples, or anecdotes. Like Sundli (2007), who found that
“Students did not just copy the mentor’s working patterns, but also mimicked body-
langu age—gestures, for instance” (p. 209), I too saw interns mimic their mentors’ use of
body and voice, sometimes effectively and sometimes quite awkwardly.
In Sundli’s (2007) description of her student teachers’ “copying,” it is not clear
whether students are actually replicating what they have seen their mentors do or are

f0 . . . .
noV'Vlng the patterns they gleaned from observmg their mentors over time. Here, I am

67

making the distinction. In this first stage—“using the script” (which generally lasted
between a month and two months)—interns’ copying of patterns and mimicking came
immediately on the heels of watching their mentors and was an attempt to replicate the
lesson they hadjust witnessed, albeit with a new group of students.
The copying and mimicking is not particularly surprising given the structure of
State ’ s internship. For all six interns, the selection of their focal class explicitly involved
the calculation that it came after one of their mentors’ classes, thus providing interns with
an example to follow. No intern began the year expected to teach a class that did not have
an example class taught by their mentor preceding it. For example, Frank taught general
chemistry 1‘”, 3rd, and 5th hours and advanced placement chemistry 2"“ hour. As a result,
Chad and Frank decided that 31rd hour would be Chad’s focal class because he could
watch Frank teach 1St hour and then have 2nd hour free (because Chad was not going to
teach AP chemistry) to get himself ready to teach general chemistry. Other intern/mentor
Pairs made similar decisions.
The R e-enactment of Lesson Structures: Petformance and Pitfalls
During this first month or so, interns and mentors would discuss the lesson to be
taught, usually the aftemoon before, but the mentor was primarily responsible for
p lallrling; lessons used mentors’ materials and activities, and mentors decided what was
to be taught. Depending on the intern/mentor pair, the intern might have more or less
input into making small changes about what she or he might do, but, regardless, the
‘683011 . . , . , . .
was primarily the mentor 8. During the mentors teaching of the lesson, interns
would carefully observe the mentors’ performances. For some, “scripting” was literal.

C
had and Tammy sat in the back of the room and wrote notes as the class unfolded.

68

 

Tammy’s took the form of note-taking; she had a paper copy of her lesson plan, written
during her discussion with Vince the day before, and would fill in the details around that
template based on what she saw. For example, when Vince added a step to a lab

procedure that they had not discussed, Tammy wrote that step in the margins of the plan.
Chad’s scripting, however, had a more frantic quality. He would start with a blank legal
pad and try to capture every detail, every comment Frank made, every example Frank
used, every drawing Frank drew before it disappeared from his memory. When it came
time to teach, Chad did so with his legal pad right in front ofhim. The other interns did
not write a literal script, but watched closely enough, and then used the same materials
(e. g - , PowerPoint slides, handouts, etc), that the lesson they taught had a re-enacted
qual i ty to it.

This does not mean, perhaps obviously, that the lesson taught by the interns
looked exactly like their mentors’. A common complaint among interns was that “my
lessons go more quickly than my mentor’s,” which meant that they completed the lesson
With time in the period left over. While the lesson structure might have been the same,
interns tended to move through things more quickly, primarily because they did much
less eXtemporaneous talking than their mentors which might be difficult to script. For
exatT113163, a pre-lab discussion of an activity about the breathing of yeast cells from the

third Week of school took Vince 12 minutes to complete. It included several parts: 1)
”Sting and describing on the overhead projector the five parts of the lab report and giving
StuClel”Its hints about what they might include. (9 minutes), 2) reminding students what
they should do when they get back to their lab stations (2 minutes), and 3) explaining

Cle . . . . . .
at“up procedures (1 minute). Tammy’s discussmn took 5 minutes though it included

69

all of the same parts. For example, during the description of the parts of the lab, Vince
included many more opportunities for students to answer or contribute to the description
that Vince was writing on the overhead. Tammy on the other hand, limited student input
and ended up using Vince’s writing word-for-word, even though Vince’s description
included language his students had contributed. In the clean-up procedure portion, Vince
took a full minute to explain what cleaning up would entail: rinsing the test tubes
thoroughly, including how to use the test tube brush, taking the labeling tape off the
tubes , where and how to store the cleaned test tubes, and directions on what to do after
clean—up. Tammy’s clean-up portion included seventeen words, “When you are finished
coll ecting data, clean the test tubes and then come back to your seats.” This pattern
repeated itself over and over; an intern would follow the mentor’s lesson plan, use the
same activities or worksheet, lecture from the same PowerPoint slides, or give similar
directions. Most often, the intem’s explanations were briefer, less developed, delivered at
a pace that was both quicker and less open to students’ participation.
At times, students’ ability to de-rail instruction provided an additional reason why
intems ’ lessons looked different from the mentors’. For example, Chad was following
F r ank ’ s lesson structure in which he had three students come to the board to write an
elec tron configuration for a variety of atoms. Frank had students compare the
Confi gurations, find any differences, and then he provided some guidance to students who
had a detail wrong. Chad’s instantiation began the same way—he called for three
VolIlllteers. But unlike in Frank’s class where three students quickly rose and went to the
board onl 1 ' '
, y one vo unteer emerged. After some cajoling, Chad eventually selected two

Ore Student names from his class roster, but these unenthuSIastic partiCipants

7O

 

approached the board slowly and borrowed heavily from the first volunteer’s work. When
it came time for the second set of three, a student initiated a negotiation: “Can’t we do
three different ones rather than all do the same?” Chad ignored his request and said
instead to the class “Don’t you want to do this?” When no one responded, he selected
Jade from his class list. Jade quietly said, “No.” Chad responded with “Yep, you’re going
to.” Her friend, Katie, mocked C had, “Yep, you’re going to.” When Jade eventually
made i t to the board, she simply stood and waited for her friends to tell her what to write.
While the structures of Frank’s and Chad’s lessons were the same, Chad’s inability to
garner cooperation from his students made the execution look quite different, exposing—
painfu 11y for Chad—the invisible interdependence of teachers on their students.
Interns ’ Use of Mentors ' Instructional Representations
In addition to lesson structures, interns copied other aspects of mentors’
performances, including the use of examples, representations, and, in some cases, jokes
01' personal anecdotes. During this scripting phase, interns would use the same examples
to illustrate a point that they saw their mentors use. For example, when Shannon (Cindy’s
mentor) was explaining the movement of water through the cell membrane, she
enlpllaSized a way for students to remember water’s path: “Remember, the water always
moves toward the solute.” When Cindy taught, she used the same phrase, word-for word,
even emphasizing it more than Shannon by repeating it several times. When mentors used
a drawing, or an outline of ideas, or definitions of key terms, interns were sure to use
them a . . ,
S well. On occaSion, espeCially when mentors examples seemed more
extemporaneouS, interns would attempt to copy, but the example might fall flat. For

EX . . .
Ellilple, in an early class, Ken was discussmg a problem from students’ worksheets that

71

 

read: “Which is a larger atom, carbon or nitrogen? Why?” Ken pointed out that this

question had “tricky wording” because:
you have to figure out if the question is asking about atomic radii or nuclear
charge. The answer might be different depending on what you are asking. That’s
why we emphasize reading carefully on things like the ACT test, because figuring
out what the question is asking is important.

He then, seemingly off-the-cuff, pontificated about how studies have found the greatest
correlation with ACT science scores is with reading skill. When Heather reached this
example during her class, she pointed the question out by saying “this is a tricky one” and

told s tudents “that it is really important for you to pay careful attention when you are

taki n g tests like the ACT, because reading is the most important skill for tests like those.”
What she left out was any discussion of the multiple meanings ofthe word “larger” in a
chem i cal sense, which is the point that led to Ken’s discussion of reading and test taking.
ln thi 5 example, Ken’s teacher-initiated intrusion (Kauchak & Eggan, 1993) might have
had the effect of distracting his intern as well as his students from the larger point,

leading Heather to attempt to follow his script but emphasize the tangent rather than the
conten t.

Jokes and personal anecdotes were replicated as well, again sometimes with a

di fferent effect than when the mentor used it. When Frank (Chad’s mentor) ran through
the namines of the elements on the periodic table, he had a joke for each one (e. g., “when
you S13611 fluorine, don’t spell it F L O U R, because that would be F lower-ine—not the
same thing”). The jokes were groaners and both Frank and his students knew it. He even
moaned himself and would say things “Oh, Dack (Frank’s last name), you’re killing me”

in
a faux-student voice. But the students loved it, laughing, eye-rolling, and glancing at

ea . . . .
ch Other in just the right places. When Chad told it, the language was Similar—“and

72

with fluorine, it’s F L U O R -ine, not F lower-ine.” But students did not perceive this as
funny, perhaps because Chad was nervous and did not smile as he said it. After no one
laughed, Chad added for effect, “This is important to know. Teachers will get on you
about this. Even students in college spell it wrong and the teachers would yell at them.
They get meaner as you go higher up.” While Chad’s last line reads funny (at least to
me), C had delivered it stemly, as a warning lest his students forget what he had told
them -
lntems were aware of the support that following their mentors’ script provided to
them as well as the challenges that came with it. During a debriefing session in a TB
Professional class after the first guided lead teaching period had ended, several interns
nom i nated the sentence “how hard it is to teach when I can’t watch my mentor teach” as
the most important thing they learned. In a different TE class, one intern shared as an
exam ple of her personal growth “that I got much better at thinking on my feet once I
couldn ’t watch Ken teach anymore.” lntems also acknowledged publicly the issues
created when following the script. A group of interns complained about the requirement
in their TE Science course that they plan units several weeks in advance. “It’s a farce,”
one Said, “my mentor doesn’t know what he is doing two or three days ahead. So I write
this pl an, and end up not doing any of it.” Many of the interns listening agreed with his
assessment. Another intern complained in the second week of the internship that her
mentor did not give her the information she needed; “I’ll say, ‘how are we teaching this?’
And he’ll say, ‘we’ll talk through it.’ That’sjust not enough for me.”
Mentors were well aware of the mirroring of their practices by the interns. In a

me - . .
etlng in October, a group of the mentors laughed about how strange it was to see

73

themselves reflected back when they watched their intern. One commented (to much
knowing laughter) “how weird. it is to see carbon copies of myself teach . . . Oh my God,
that is the same example I gave. This is the same joke I used.” In the most extreme
version of mimicking instructional represntations, Tammy even adopted her mentor’s
personal life; she described how her lactose intolerant sister used to eat ice cream and
then throw it up, except it was not her sister—it was Vince’s. When I asked Vince about
that in stance, he said:
Well, to be honest, I bet I probably did something like that (when I was an intern)
. . . They hear us tell a story and they think, “That’s how I fill this minute.”
Because, early on, I think for them it’s just about filling the time and they’re like,
“Oh crap, I got 73 minutes, I’ve got to know what to do every minute. And so, he
told a story here, I’ve got to tell that story at the same time when I teach this,” and
they don’t have some of those stories or they don’t think they do.
Vine 8 secs Tammy’s behavior as reasonable for a beginning intern, and his description of
interns ’ thinking about filling time seems a sensible explanation, consistent with the
literature (Feiman-Nemser & Buchmann, 1985). Indeed, as we move from the first step of
the model (using the script) to the second step (following the patterns) and interns move
into their second or third month of the internship, these sorts of mimicking behaviors
almost disappear, though the dominant influence of the mentors’ practices remains.
Following Mentors’ Patterns
State’s teacher preparation program structure involves two “guided lead teaching”
per10ds in the fall semester. In these eriods, intem moved from bein res onsible (i.e.,
P g P
“the te ,, . . . g ,
acher ) in one class to two or three classes, depending on their placement school 3
sch . . .
eCll—lle. During the second lead teach period (generally in November or December), all

of .
the Study’s interns, with some push from their field instructors, took on a schedule

w
here they no longer had an early class taught by their mentor to follow. This meant that

74

‘+__

“following the script” was no longer possible, because no matter how much help they
might receive from their mentors in planning, interns would not have witnessed an
enactment to replicate. Even when this second guided lead teaching ended and they might
again have a class to copy, I did not detect the degree of mimicry I did during the “using
the script” stage. Instead, a new pattern emerged among interns in which they attempted
to “follow the patterns” mentors had established for their classroom.
In order to characterize the mentors’ practices, I used the cross-sectional slices of
inqu i ry and classroom management. However, inquiry proved to be too narrow in this
case, particularly because many of the interns and mentors rarely used any version of
inquiry in their teaching. As a result, I broadened inquiry to include all aspects related to
science instruction—content, classroom activities, or lesson structures. Classroom
mana gement, as described before, includes the relational aspects of interacting with
students as well as issues of student discipline and behavior. I analyzed each instance in
Which I witnessed the mentor’s instruction, ranging from as few as 5 instances (in the
case of Michael) to 10 (in the case of Vince). In addition, I used the mentors’ description
0f their own teaching from the opening interviews, as well as interns’ descriptions of
their mentors’ teaching from interviews to corroborate my field notes and to seek out
more infrequently occurring emphases that might still be considered an important part of
the rilentors’ practice (see Table 3.1 for a summary of patterns in mentors’ practice).
Observed h f f h ’ ' h ' '
patterns aret ose eatures o t e mentors practicet at I wrtnessed m over half
Of the lessons observed (though often it was in every lesson). Described patterns are those
aspects of practice that mentors’ described as being central and were confirmed by the

lnte , . . . . .
IT‘S description in later 1nterv1ews.

75

There was considerable diversity in the mentors’ practice. Bonnie, for example,
strongly emphasized order, routines, and organization both in her instruction (e.g., an
emphasis on thinking and problem-solving) and in her relationships with students (e.g.,
routines and procedures) while Vince had a much more laid-back approach that
emphasized student-initiated inquiry in instruction and a highly relational (not structural)
approach to classroom management. Some mentors’ practice matched more closely with
the approaches promoted in State’s teacher education program. To return to the Bonnie
and Vince contrast, Vince used “inquiry” (frequently promoted by State teacher
educators) to teach biology, while Bonnie sarcastically commented that “it works great if
You have a whole class of kids who like to do jigsaw puzzles”; the field instructor
working with Vince said that, “it was great that Tammy got to see inquiry in action”; the
field instructor working with Bonnie felt it necessary to strategize with Kimberly about
how to work inquiry into her plans since it went against Bonnie’s normal instruction.
What this diversity means is that as I describe how interns converge around their

mentors’ practice, it does not mean that they are converging around a teaching practice.

76

Table 3.1. Mentors’ Instructional and Relational Patterns

 

Mentor (Intern)

Instructional Patterns

Relational Patterns

 

 

Observed Described Observed Described
Bonnie (Kimberly) I. Never telling 1. Developing l. Reinforcing 1. Establishing
students the thinking and routines and routines and
answers. organizational procedures procedures
2. Group-Work skills 2. Giving students 2. Keeping
2. Group-work choices students in class
(“Handling my

own problems”)

 

 

 

 

 

2. Thinking one

 

Vince (Tammy) l. Group-work 1. “Putting Interactions with 1. Getting to know
2. Inquiry-oriented leaming in students that begin students personally
labs and cases students’ hands” with the personal 2. Leveraging

2. Inquiry relationships to
motivate students
l Ken (Heather) 1. Explicitly 1. Focus on Reinforced I. Routines and
addressing learning objectives routines and procedures/Wong’s
standards/leaming 2. C lcar procedures “First Days of
objectives expectations and School”
2. Cooperative outcomes 2. Using every
learning structures minute for
for quick student instruction
\ discussions
Michael (Holly) Teacher and Conceptual l. One-on-one 1. Building rapport
student problcm- understanding personal with students
solving rather than “plug- relationship- 2. Discipline is
n-chug” building with “priority number
students one”
2. Removing
uncooperative
students to
\ administrator

Frank (Chad) Teacher and 1. Helping students Energy, 1. Establishing a
student problem- become problem enthusiasm, and “classroom
solving solvers charisma presence”

2. Occasional

 

Shannon (Cindy)

 

 

one’s feet “scream and rant
and rave”
1. Note-taking 1. Keeping things 1. Silly and playful I. Organized class
from creatively interesting through persona —“everything has

animated
PowerPoints

2. Oral quizzing on
vocabulary

 

variety

2. Adapting
assessment for
students with
special needs

 

2. Strictly enforced
routines,
procedures, and
rules

 

a place and time”
2. Actively using
proximity

 

The ReprOducers

 

Kimberly and Bonnie. I’ll begin by exploring the case of Kimberly and her

mentor, Bonnie. Bonnie believes her reputation among students at Quincy High is secure:

77

 

The kids will tell you that I am incredibly demanding. I expect them to work hard.
I will bend over backwards to help them work hard but I’m not going to hand it to
them. And that’s what I enjoy. I am excited about teaching kids how to learn, how
to find answers. Most of my students will never use chemistry directly the rest of

their lives but they will use problem solving skills. They will use organization

skills.
When Bonnie taught, she emphasized helping students find or develop answers
themselves. Questions by students (e.g., “Which number do we use for the conversion
factor?”) were always answered with another question in an attempt to guide students to
answers (e.g., “What do our conversion factors tell us?”) or point them to resources they
Should be using (e.g., “Where do we find information like that?”). For Bonnie, this habit
Closely connected to her classroom management style, where she “focuses on helping
ki d3 take responsibility for themselves.” The first week of school focused almost
exchlsively on routines and procedures, and consistently throughout the year, Bonnie,
With extraordinary discipline, never wavered on those. When students asked her to
borrow a pencil, or where to get an extra worksheet they had misplaced, Bonnie would
Simply look in the direction of the room where a student might find the solution or return
Students to the list of procedures she had them tape to the front of their notebook during
the fiI‘st week of school. Kimberly followed this script faithfully but admitted to Bonnie
that it was hard: “Part of me just wants to give them the papers _ ‘Here you go, let’s get
Started on the lesson.”’ Bonnie replied, “But every time (you do), you enable this pattern
of IDehavior. I’m confident that every kid can do this, and that’s where we set our
ex13ectation.”
However, once Kimberly was responsible for all of Bonnie’s chemistry classes

I‘d no longer had Bonnie’s example class to imitate, Kimberly continued to implement

78

Bonnie’s patterns with fidelity. Bonnie’s pattern of questioning did not come easily to
Kimberly:

I hated this at first, when I first saw my mentor teacher do this . . . because I was
like, “Gosh, that was so annoying as a student,” but asking questions when they
have a question for you, just to get them thinking about what is it they’re trying to
find out and leading them towards those steps versus saying ‘this is how you get
there.’

Kimberly felt, based on her personality, that she might be more nurturing than Bonnie
and that “being tough” was not something she was inclined to do naturally. Despite those
initial reservations, Kimberly quickly came to admire Bonnie’s commitment to making
Students think. By January, Kimberly’s vision of good science teaching had but one

COmponent:

I think it is very important for good teachers to—or for teachers in order to be
good teachers—to encourage their students to think on their own. I think very
often students are used to their teachers doing the thinking for them and so they’re
used to going through the motions and so they’re not used to thinking on their
own. For example at the beginning of the year, I had several students constantly
raising (their hands) “Is this right? Is this right? Is this answer right?” . . . I think,
starting from elementary school, these students are used to their teachers going,
“Yep, that’s right, that’s right, that’s right,” and so they have that affirmation
from their teachers that this is the right answer and I think it’s really important
that teachers kind of help or push their students out of that pattern. I think good
teaching, to put it simply, is encouraging your students to think and facilitating an
environment and a lesson plan that does that.

She I’epeated this idea—even more firmly—in the final interview.

In class, Kimberly, just like Bonnie, followed questions with questions and
etnthasized students taking responsibility for finding their own answers. During a lab in
which students were investigating the factors that affect solubility, one group (comparing
rates of solubility in different volumes of water) complained to Kimberly that they should

be able to use hot water.

Kimberly: “Well, what would that do?”

79

Student: “Well, it would make it go faster.”

Kimberly: “Is that a good thing?”

Student: “I think so — we won’t have to keep stirring so much.”

Kimberly: “What does that do for our question? Which factors are we looking at
here? What happens if we start changing multiple things?”

Student: (realizing the implication of the question):“But it’s going to take us
forever!”

Kimberly smiled and moved onto the next group. In most cases, just like Bonnie,
Kimberly’ 3 interaction with students involved only questions until students reached a
conclusion that she deemed satisfactory.

Kimberly also emphasized the same routines and procedures as Bonnie and
attempted to be as faithful in requiring students to follow them. During Kimberly’s lead
teaching, I did not observe any new routines that she created, nor did I see any instances
Where she dropped routines that Bonnie had begun. Class was managed in similar ways
With Kimberly in charge, though Kimberly’s lack of expertise led to things running less
SmOOth ly at times. At Quincy High, cell phones were ubiquitous despite a school policy
(placarded on every hall) that banned them. In any place besides Bonnie’s class, I
freclllel'ltly saw students calling and “text-ing” in front of teachers without consequences.
In B0l’lnie’s class, however, the rule was enforced firmly. I witnessed many occasions
Where a phone would ring, Bonnie would walk to the offending student, put her hand out,
and the student would give her the phone. On the occasions where students would argue
with her (about half the time), she would quietly and calmly give them a choice: “You
can either give me the phone and get it back after school or I send you to Mrs.

Schwimmer — you decide.” Students would give her the phone, pout for awhile, but class
C01Itinued quickly. On one occasion early in Kimberly’s lead teaching, the phone of one

Of her more behaviorally challenging students rang. Bonnie was not in class, and

80

Kimberly hesitated for several beats—long enough for the student to shut it off and shove

it in his backpack—but eventually confronted him with the same set of choices—turn the
phone over or go to the administrator. The situation was not quickly resolved as the
student spent more than five minutes wandering around class deciding what to do, and
Kimberly was visibly upset and angry. But she finally got the phone and frequently used
the story of this occurrence as an example of her “figuring out how to give kids choices,”
rather than exacting punishments. Later in the year, another student’s cell phone rang and
it was turned over without incident.

By the end of Kimberly’s lead teaching, class ran smoothly using Bonnie’s
instructional strategies and relational techniques with or without Bonnie’s presence.
when Kimberly described her vision of good teaching and good classroom management,
She described Bonnie. When she evaluated her own teaching, her progress was toward
Bonnie’ 3 practice. For example, she said “But I think second semester, I felt more
colnfortable, like this isn’t really me trying to push power on this kid, but it’s more of
‘ let’s have a conversation’ and hopefully help him realize or her realize how their actions
are affecting me and the class, and kind of approaching it that way”—a description that

Sounds remarkably like Bonnie’s emphasis on helping students learn to be responsible
citiZens. Bonnie, too, saw the change in Kimberly over the year and would evaluate her
progress by the degree to which she moved toward Bonnie’s practice. In Bonnie’s view,
I(it"lberly was an outstanding intern, the best of many she had worked with. Bonnie
Vie\"Ved Kimberly as responsible, conscientious, dedicated, and reflective—all

haracteristics that she credited Kimberly as bringing to the mtemship. In evaluating her

81

teaching however, “improvement” meant movement toward Bonnie’s instructional and

relational emphases:

(Kimberly’s classroom management) has improved dramatically over the course
of the year. She was initially willing to deal with almost anything that went on, on
an individual basis rather than establishing routines. And while that can be easy
initially, it doesn’t get any easier as the year progresses without teaching your
students those routines. And she saw the difference between modeling the
routines with the students and holding them to them consistently. . . .We were
talking about this the other day for a symbol quiz - and we’re on the 25lh symbol,
we’ve done this 25 times, all I have to say up there now is “symbol quiz” and they
know that five seconds after the bell rings, we’re going to count down - that their
time starts. If they’re still talking, we just don’t turn on the overhead. In the
beginning of the year it would take them two minutes to get to the point where
everybody had a piece of paper. But teaching and reinforcing those basic
routines—how important that is to freeing up class time for content.

Likewise, Bonnie described Kimberly’s progress in teaching content by noting how by

the end of the year she was regularly:

challenging students with questions when they ask questions as opposed to just
giving them the answer and moving on. And that’s something she has practiced
this year. Because she initially started off (allowing), “Miss Sui, how do you do
this?” Which just encourages kids: “Miss Sui, how do you do this?” “Miss Sui,
how do you do this?” And after the first couple weeks of running ragged, she saw
the value in—although it was going to be a long process, it wasn’t going to
happen in a week, or two weeks, or three months—encouraging kids to find their
own answers. And that’s a piece that . . . definitely came from my style of

teaching.

Sam, Kimberly’s field instructor, also thought highly of her. From his perspective,
her internship “had gone very well” and she made great strides, especially in confidence,
c138 sroom management, and ability to relate to urban students. When asked to identify a
weakness in her teaching, he could not, though he noted that “she struggled some in
IIleeting expectations in her (teacher education) coursework, but in the classroom, I think

She was always on top of things.” Sam’s final evaluation of Kimberly was very positive

eVen though he recognized that Kimberly’s teaching did not always match the normative

82

view of the teacher education program. He attributed this to Bonnie and did not seem to
hold Kimberly accountable. Sam hoped that Kimberly, going forward, might “want to try
some more ambitious teaching” once “some of the constraints” of her internship were
removed, rather than the emphasis (in his view, negative) on “building skills in urban
students” that he found pervasive in Bonnie’s classroom.

Kimberly and Bonnie exemplify the experience of the reproducers. Reproducers,
like all the interns in the study, followed their mentors’ script. Once following a script
Was no longer possible, reproducers followed their mentors’ patterns, both instructionally
and relationally. When they did use these patterns, they, of course, struggled at times, (as
We saw in Kimberly’s cell phone confrontation) but before long—and this is unique to
reprodueers—they began to feel good about how the class was running and their mentors
and fiEId instructors gave them positive feedback about their progress. By the end of the
year, I‘eproducers talked about their visions of good teaching and the kind of teacher they
are in tenns that sound much like their mentor. Kimberly, despite her initial negative
reacfi0n to Bonnie’s style, began to view good teaching as being about “getting students

to think,” echoing Bonnie’s goal of “teaching students to learn.” To that end, both
emphasized an instructional style that involved answering students’ questions with
questions, until students arrived at an answer. When Kimberly talked in her interview
before the intemshi h l ' d 'd l'k ' d ' b d
p, s e emp 138126 1 eas l e respecting an caring a out stu ents,
both personally and academically as well as “developing kids’ self-awareness and self-
growth.” While these ideas would not have garnered disagreement from Bonnie (Bonnie
was always respectful to students and cared deeply about them, despite her tough

d . .
errleanor), Kimberly’s language shifted away from “care” and “respect” when

83

describing her teaching and good teaching. Kimberly admitted being initially put-off by
Bonnie’s approach with students because it seemed to be too harsh or too demanding.

Yet, Kimberly’s practice became remarkably like Bonnie’s, even following the same

patterns of questioning she initially found annoying.

A final characteristic of reproducers is that the internships are viewed by those
involved as being generally successful, as ones where whatever should be happening in
internships seems to be occurring. Bonnie thought Kimberly progressed exceptionally
well, Kimberly raved about Bonnie and how much she learned, and Sam thought things

Went Well, even as he harbored reservations about the practices he witnessed. In the end,

these interns taught like their mentors and made a corresponding shift in their thinking

abOUt teaching and about themselves as teachers toward their mentors.

Three other interns, Tammy, Heather, and Cindy also followed this reproducing
pattern. I’ll describe Tammy’s story next, followed by a briefer summary of Heather’s.

Cindy ’ 8 case, while I classify it as a story of reproduction, presents several problems to

the model that I will discuss.

Tammy and Vince. Tammy’s mentor, Vince, had very different emphases than

Bonnie. While Bonnie was skeptical of inquiry (recall her jigsaw comment), Vince
etnphasized it and the group work that typically comes along with it. His biology course
was Organized around a series of case studies developed by Randolph High faculty and
State science education professors many years ago. In one case, students were given a
Stow of an outbreak of sickness. Over the course of three weeks, students uncover,
t1Iroligh labs and other activities, the information they need to determine the source of the

Olltbreak (cholera) as well as the key characteristics of cells. A normal day began with a

84

teacher-led discussion of the previous day’s work, an overview of the lab or activity for
t h 6 day, group-work in which students collected, analyzed, or reported on data, and a
s u mmary time where students made their findings public and Vince tried to steer the
d i s cussion where he needed it to go. Inquiry, for Vince, meant “putting the responsibility
fo 1‘ learning in students’ hands,” and presenting students with problems where “kids start
u s i n g their own questions to guide the curriculum.”
Relationally, Vince had few routines in his classroom, and did not emphasize
t h em or reinforce them as Bonnie had. Instead Vince emphasized:
building relationships with kids and . . . that helps me get them comfortable in the
classroom and get them, a lot of times, to work for me. . . I’ll have them say to me
“I wouldn’t have done this homework, but I didn’t want to let you down.” And “I
only did this because I knew you had given us this assignment.” And I don’t strive
to have that. I don’t want them to have the pressure of letting me down, but these
kids that we are spending all this time with, I feel like it would be a bummer if I
didn’t enjoy being around them. So through that avenue, I think a lot of times I
get kids to do work that maybe otherwise they wouldn’t.

Vince was perceived by those who worked with him (including Tammy) as being
ch a ri smatic, with an innate ability to draw students to him. To be sure, Vince had a good
en S e of humor and enjoyed getting Sllly wrth students in ways that might be difficult to

i n -
l tate . However, he also employed two techniques for establishing relationships with
S tn 6 . . . .
eIlts that Tammy used conSIStently, even as she moved away from scnptmg. First,
V i :1 Q . . . . .
e would allow students to be very somal w1th one another in class, even partICIpate
1 S socral interaction, before asking students to work on the as31gned task. For
ex
ample, a group of boys in the back of class were discussing the cars that two of them
had . . . . .
recently purchased and were fixmg up. The conversation grew 1ncreasmgly animated

an
(1 Started to draw students from the surrounding tables. Vince walked back to the table,

\is
telfled in for a few seconds, asked three questions about the boys’ new cars, and then

85

to 1d a story about a car he had driven as a teenager. Students laughed at his story; at that
point, Vince said “Hey, why don’t we make sure we’re getting this lab done too, ok?”

S tu dents nodded their heads, the two car-buying boys continued to talk about their cars

vv h i 16 they worked, and the rest of the students moved on.
Vince’s second technique, used almost every time he interacted with students

‘vorking in groups (most of the time in his class), was to begin every conversation with a
personal question or comment before moving to science. “Hey, how’s swimming going
3 ecky?” “Great, I set a PR last night.” “That’s awesome. (High five.) So, what are you

s 66 i n g in the scope?” or, walking up to a table with a sniffling nose, “I think my nose

(2 e l l s are making more mucus proteins than they need to.” “Alright, science nerd.” “Proud
o f that, actually. So what’s going on here?” Some might describe Vince’s behavior as

C I O Wnish. A special education paraprofessional working in the classroom would often
gro W impatient with Vince (and later Tammy) for letting so much “socialization” go on,
bu t Vince shared with me that, while he knew it sometimes seemed like he was letting

th ings go, he was trying to cultivate a classroom where “kids felt comfortable—actually

w ’ 99
a n ted to be in the classroom.
Tammy’s use of Vince’s emphases parallels Kimberly’s use of Bonnie’s. Once

he -
r abl lity to use Vince’s script was gone, she continued to use the instructional and
re1 :3 ~ . . . . .
t1 Onal emphases that Vince had begun the year With, again With less expertise.

T an
my continued to use case studies to guide the major units. She did not create any new

CBS
0%. Studies; rather, she accessed the materials that Vince and other teachers at Randolph

had
used in previous years, sought guidance on how the lesson had worked in previous

ye , ,
hrs and made minor modifications before teaching With them. A case study from her

86

lead teaching period began with students receiving information about “their” babies who
11 ad been born with an illness. Through the weeks, students learned the genetics needed to
u ncover the source of the baby’s condition. Her lesson structures, like Vince’s, involved
es tablishing some larger problems, directing students in group work, and then wrapping
up with discussions where the teacher’s role was to synthesize the students’ findings.
Relationally, Tammy was perceived by Vince and her field instructor as initially
s tru g gling with relationships with students. Vince worried that students might not know
th at Tammy liked them because of her reserved nature (though to my knowledge, he did
11 O t share this concern with Tammy). Her field instructor noted in an observation that
I 'amrny did not smile at her students, and questioned Tammy about this during a lesson
de bri efing. Tammy, however, did not believe she was struggling in this regard—she was
ac tually quite offended by her field instructor’s mention of smiling and Vince reported
that he “felt it was a bit out of line.” While Kimberly’s initial response to Bonnie’s style
' a S negative (she found it “annoyin g”), Tammy did not disapprove of anything Vince
d ’ . . . . .
l d =- but her personality did not make for an easy match w1th Vince’s relational approach.
S trategies of deflecting soc1al conversations or beginning conversations With personal
(to . . . . .
11)l‘l’lents required him to be able to think qu1ckly and relate to students eaSily and often.
Ta
filmy admitted, “I don’t think on my feet like Vince does.” But despite initial struggles,
Ta
filmy continued to emphasize Vince’s approach and used his strategies. Just like Vince,
allowed a great deal of soc1al interaction and would only step in when it began to get
Qhaotic. Initially, she was less adept than Vince at stepping into the conversation, and
111d instead, just stand next to the group talking, wait for a slight break in the

11Versation, and then direct students back to work. By the end of the internship,

87

however, she, like Vince, would participate in the social behavior, before getting students
back to work. During a lab in which students were measuring their stride length and
looking for patterns in the data, the students’ running (meant to be for data collection)
(1 evolved into a contest over who looked silliest as they ran. Tammy laughed at the
s tu dents and contributed her vote, even imitating one of the girls who was trying to
c omplete the task in too-high heels. At a lull in the laughing, Tammy said, “OK, let’s
make sure you get the data. You guys are too silly.” In communicating with students
i n d i vidually, she would begin with a non-science conversation. As Rolando (dressed up
fo r t he Friday football game) brought a paper to be checked by Tammy, she asked,
‘ ‘WOW, are those snakeskin shoes?” before beginning the discussion of the worksheet. I
Wan t to be careful not to oversell the case here; it is not that Tammy became a clone of
V i I) CC. Tammy did, for example, create new organizational strategies for students during
h er 1 ead teaching (e.g., she implemented a class notebook for students to keep notes,
han dOUtS, etc.) that Vince admitted he would never have had the organizational skills to
p u l l O f f. However, for those aspects of instruction and relationships with students that
Vi nee . . . . . .
used With great frequency, Tammy overcame her initial difficulties and—by the

en .
d Of the year—used them often and w1th greater confidence.

Tammy’s visions of good teaching and of her own teaching also made
Come Sponding shifts toward Vince. Instructionally, Tammy’s opening views already
ttlatclled closely with Vince. She initially valued “long-term hands—on projects” that
err)‘31‘lasized “inquiry” and “understanding things in depth rather than just
t1xét1"l()rization,”—ideas that were mentioned often in the teacher education program.

\7 ~
‘nce’s emphasis on inquiry work and case-studies was well-aligned; at the end of the

88

year Tammy continued to talk about hands-on science and case studies as well as seeking
0L1 t “multiple ways besides lecture” to engage students with science. Relationally, the
s h i ft was dramatic. In the opening interview prior to her work with Vince, Tammy
em phasized the importance of “clear rules and consequences” and the “need to follow
t 11 rough consistently with students.” During her placement the year before, she had

wi tnessed serious classroom management problems, and was convinced of the need for
c l ear rules and clear consequences, enforced by a fair and impartial arbiter. By the end of
t h e i ntemship, she emphasized relationships with students as the primary source of good
0 l as sroom management. Just as Vince believed that his relationships with students led to
i n creased cooperation from his students (recall his report of students saying. “I wouldn’t
h a ve done this homework but I didn’t want to let you down”), in the end-of—year
i n terview, Tammy described managing classrooms as “involving establishing
re 1 a t i onships” with students that you “can pull on” to gain their cooperation. When
n e eded, she reported saying, “Can you do this just for me?” and having students respond
1:) O S i t ively. While there are certainly subtle differences in these two stories (i.e., students
rep on the relationship to Vince while Tammy invokes the relationship to gain

0
0 Q133'31‘ation), the resonance between Tammy and Vince highlights the ways in which

Ta
m my’s vision of good practice moved toward the examples she saw in Vince’s

S Sroom. Gone from her description of good teaching or good classroom management

Wa
S any mention of rules or consequences or fairness; these are replaced by discussion of

S SI‘oom tone, relationships, and cooperation.
In his final evaluation of Tammy, Vince described her as having made

C

”Q . . . . .
QtlSiderable growth” over the year, and highlighted her ability to manage classrooms,

89

“maintain student interest and engagement” by designing lessons for various learning
5 tyl es, and work well with her professional colleagues. It was not necessarily an easy year
for Vince; it felt to him “a bit formal. It wasn’t like having a buddy in the room.” But he
VVaS quite confident that “it had been a great learning experience for Tammy” and that she
was leaving the internship prepared. Vince still thought that Tammy had more room to
grow in building relationships with students, perhaps not surprising given his expertise in
t h at area and Tammy’s initial struggles to establish them. Perhaps the best sign of
v i n ce’s approval of Tammy’s internship is that she was hired for a position at Randolph
H i gh (a highly desirable school for teacher candidates), something that certainly would
n o t have occurred had the internship gone poorly in Vince’s view. Likewise, Tammy’s
fi 3 l d instructor completed an entirely positive year-end evaluation, one that highlighted
T8 In my’s ability to design and implement a variety “of labs, demonstration, and scientific
i nve S ti gations” and highlighted Tammy’s progress in “working with students” as the area
i n. W h ich she made the greatest progress. In one interview, the field instructor articulated
h OW much she thought Tammy benefitted from working with Vince, a mentor she
th o-u ght most closely matched the priorities of State’s teacher education program. Finally,
Tam my had nothing but positive things to say about Vince and her internship. She
h i gh l i ghted her building of relationships with students as a source of greatest strength.
Sh e felt very prepared to teach the following year and was anxious to get her own
Clas SI‘()om.
Heather and Ken. Heather’s internship also followed the reproducing pattern
Q16 s e. l . . . . , . .
y, though I Will describe it much more briefly. She followed Ken 3 script during the

fit
St thonth or two of school, though Heather may have contributed to the lessons more

90

th 21 n other interns early in the year. It was often Heather’s job to update PowerPoint slides
o r find a new web simulation for a topic, which she and Ken would then both use in their
t6 aching. However, early in the year, she stayed close to his lead as did Tammy and

K i m berly.
Instructionally, Ken used several approaches almost every day. First, Ken daily

pres ented students with the state content objectives to be covered in class. At the
beg i nning of a lesson, he would ask students to “get your objectives out” (a handout he
prov i ded at the beginning of every unit), ask students which objectives they had covered,
and describe which ones were the goals for the day. Near the end of a unit, he would use
t he 0 b j ective sheet to guide review, providing questions that matched each objective and
hav i n g students self-monitor their progress in meeting them. He described this as
“pro v i ding clear-cut learning objectives presented to students” as well as a “very clear
CKp e c tation of what we need to learn.” His other daily strategy was using a cooperative
16 am i n g technique during whole-class instruction in which, when he sensed that students
in ‘ . .
l gh t be confused, he would stop and say, “OK, do a talk With your partner—can we
Chan .
ge one element to another?” Students would quickly turn and talk to the person next
11‘) , Ken would monitor the conversations, and then, 30 seconds later, call them back
as a . . . . . .
gr 011p to continue the Whole group discuSSion. I saw him do this as many as 7 times
in a 1 e . . - - “
Sson and I always saw him do it at least once. He described it to me as a more
facet)
t emphasis, trying to really get kids talking to each other about science.” I was
3’3 impressed with how smoothly transitions occurred and how much the student

CO“
V e51‘sations stayed on the topic. Little time was lost as students talked, turned around,

and
then came back to the whole group.

91

Just as with Kimberly and Tammy, these patterns in Ken’s teaching became a

maj or part of Heather’s practice. She kept objectives central to each lesson. After a
demonstration in which students were detemiining the reactants and products of a
C h emical reaction, Heather said. “OK, let’s look at objective number 9. Can someone
read that for me?” And she also used Ken’s technique for getting students talking in

every lesson I observed but one (when students were at computer stations for most of the

peri 0d), though I never saw it used more than three times.

Relationally, Ken was a “big believer” in Harry Wong’s T he First Days of School

(W 0 ng & Wong, 1998), particularly in its emphasis on establishing routines and

1:) r0 C edures for everything as a preventative strategy for student misbehavior. Heather,
tlj o u gh she had not read Wong’s book, followed Ken’s routines and procedures faithfully.
I C O mmented to her once about the degree to which she and Ken did things alike and she
no te d ‘ ‘Yeah, we noticed that too pretty early on. When I teach one of his classes or he
teach es mine, the students don’t even miss a beat.” Quite early, Heather fully adopted
Ken , S approach with confidence and skill. I do not have any examples in which she
appe ared to be awkward or unsure of herself following Ken’s patterns. Ken in his
open i r) g interview just four weeks into school attributed it to Heather “being so smart,
just a really fast learner.” By December, however, he was beginning to see it also as a
fume t i on of“just a really good match,” a point Heather echoed when she described the
re as Qns why she did something like him as “something we just had in common, teaching
style ‘Wise? Her field instructor, too, believed that the match was a good one—“they just
seem like a perfect pair, don’t they?” This degree-of-match hypothesis is hard to test, of

C’Qu
rse’ but it reflects the observations that people made (matching mine as a frequent

92

 

*‘fi

Observer) regarding how much Heather and Ken taught and acted alike, especially in
front ofthe class.
When one looks at Heather’s visions of good teaching and classroom
m a 11 a gement, it is easier to see how the internship experience shaped her, rather than the
s i m i larities being simply a result of fortuitous matching. In her initial interview, she
d as C ri bed good teaching in terms of“being active” in front ofthe classroom as well as
11 av i ng students “being active” and “talking to each other” (a point that resonates with
K e n ’ s cooperative learning structure). She did not mention objectives nor did she
d e s c ri be anything related to learning goals. However, in the post-interview, she
e m p h asized the importance in good teaching of “have clear expectations for students,
b0 1: h behaviorally and objectives.” In her talk about instruction, she highlighted (just as
Sb 6 d i d in her teaching) the importance of making sure kids knew what they were
work i n g towards. Relationally, Heather initially stated that good classroom managers
(1 o n ’ t yell,” use humor, and are good at noticing things—she thought she also would
u S e In)! loud voice” to get students’ attention. Absent from that discussion is any
11') ~ . .
ent 1 on of structured routines and procedures that Ken emphaSized and Heather used.
L. at e - .
‘1‘ In the year she told me she did not really have classroom management problems
like . .
Q‘Zl'ler interns because: “we took the approach from day one, that when you walk in
YOu h . . .
ave these things on the board, this is what you get started on, and we get started.
Th
3’ kind of bought in to that, and so we don t have that beginning time where they
dot) ’ . . . .
t know what 18 gomg on, that things start to get out of control”—a quote that might

be
tal(en directly from a talk by Harry Wong.

93

Following the reproducing pattern, Heather’s internship was viewed as extremely
successful by Ken, Heather, and her field instructor, as well as teacher education faculty.
K en was effusive in his praise for Heather in public settings; at a meeting of mentors and

T 13 faculty in late October, he expressed concem that he felt pressure from the program

no I: to score Heather too highly on her early evaluations. “Look,” he said, “I have a

ri d i culously good intern. I mean she’s an A+ as far as I’m concerned” and that should be
re H e C ted in her evaluations. He told me later that he found it silly that he needed (as he
u n d erstood her field instructor’s request) to give her lower marks early so that growth
(:0 u l d be noted later, because “she’s already better than many first or second year teachers
th at t I know.” Her field instructor, too, recognized Heather as very strong intern and the
in tern ship as having been successful. Her TE Science course instructor was “just really

irn pressed with her. She has all the pieces, really. . . I think she has the potential to be a

St a I. - 9 9
Cindy and Shannon. Cindy’s pattern of progress throughout the year matches well

W ith the other reproducers with one important exception. I will very briefly describe her

pattem, before exploring the one difference her case illuminates.

As with all the interns, Cindy used Shannon’s script and then later, more
in . . . .
dependently, followed Shannon’s instructional patterns. Shannon’s regular instructional

strategies emphasized the acquiring of important vocabulary through a variety of means.
F irst, Shannon had daily “bell work” in which students completed a review worksheet for
the first ten minutes of class. These worksheets typically involved students matching
efinitions and terms, but also included labeling of diagrams and charts with key words.

e00nd, Shannon extenSively used PowerPomt slides to give notes which students were

94

 

expected to copy into their notebooks. The slides were always animated with music or
movie clips that might relate to the content, but also related to Shannon’s outside
in terests. For example, during a lesson on the circulatory system, she included a video
tha I: showed a hockey player’s injury and the resultant blood Spurting. Students were
h orri fied by it and loved it. In Shannon’s words “I try to have a lot of variety, keep things
in te resting. Try to connect kids to the world around them.”
Cindy during her scripting stage used Shannon’s bell work and PowerPoint
p re s entations, as is. However, during her first guided lead teaching period in which she
crea ted her own PowerPoint slides, she realized that she felt more comfortable using
51 i (1 es that she had put together: “I feel like they are my own, not that I’m trying to work
W i t h someone else’s stuff. I just know it better.” However, to my point, Cindy’s venturing
011 t On her own simply meant using different PowerPoint slides modeled after Shannon’s,
11‘1 c: lud i ng an attention to being visually appealing and stimulating. While Shannon tended
to etTllaliasize adding music and video, Cindy aimed for slides that were aesthetically
p l eaS i n g—attractive backgrounds and fonts, interesting pictures, and the like. Cindy also
c - . . . .
0litlllued to use the same sorts of reView sheets as bell work. Cindy received conSIStently
gon reviews around instruction from Shannon, though Hee-Sun did push Cindy to
includ . . . . . .
6 more inqu1ry activ1ties. C indy made attempts to do so and had Hee-Sun attend
several times late in the year to observe her trying it, but it was not a regular part of
he]: , . . . .
01‘ Shannon 8 instruction. At the end of the year, Cindy emphaSized as part of good
teach - “ . . . . . . ,, . . .
mg keeping things interesting, not letting class become boring and the bringing in

Q ‘ e
f I‘eal-life examples so that students find biology to be as interesting as I do.” In many

WaB'S, her beliefs about instruction paralleled Shannon’s.

95

What makes Cindy’s case different from the other reproducers is that from almost

the beginning, Cindy did not follow Shannon’s relational patterns. Cindy came into the
in ternship year with a particular view of how she wanted her classroom:

I would love to have definitely a relaxed classroom. Not a stressful environment .

. . I think kids need to feel accepted. High school is definitely a time where they

want to fit in. They want to dress like everybody else and there’s all the drama

and the gossip and everything. I would like a relaxed classroom which I think is

really hard to do, but hopefully, leave your business at the door. We’re here to do

science. Something that’s fun. Where leaming’s not stressful because they have

enough stress in their lives with their schedules, sports, and clubs, classes and
homework.

T11 ere is nothing about this idea of Cindy’s that seems particularly well-developed or
c o r) crete. Even when I pushed her on it, she did not include strategies she might use—
rat b er, it was more a feeling or atmosphere she wanted to create. This was not the
atm osphere of Shannon’s classroom. While Shannon liked to be silly and have fun, she
ex pected students to toe the line, follow the routines and procedures she established, and
C 011 l d be quite tough on students when they did not. When students were working, she
W011 1d move throughout the room and point students back to work when their attention
dri fted. During her PowerPoint lectures, she expected students to remain quiet, especially
when she was talking and would raise her voice at students if they did not do so: “Jimmy,
I asked you to stop talking.” She was not a tyrant; rather, she was direct, firm,
authoritative, and, on occasion, sarcastic and cutting.
But Cindy’s perception was different. She saw the value in much of what
Slleltlnon did: “She stays on them and makes them work hard. She means well and she
Wants them to learn and they do.” But Cindy found Shannon “a little bit mean,” “harsh,”
“too sarcastic” and thought that for the students who did not like that style “they were not

Cothfortable in her class at all. Maybe some students are comfortable, but there is a group

96

o f them who are definitely not.” Cindy may have even identified with those students.
Though I did not observe it, I overheard on multiple occasions Cindy tell a story about
Shannon “snatching” an overhead marker form her hands in front of the class—a

si tu at ion that clearly bothered her deeply. In an interview, she described it this way:

It was tough because we ended up being so different in our teaching styles. They
always say “don’t be like your mentor, you have to find your own style.” And I,
unfortunately found mine very quickly, and it was not hers. I think it was really
tough the first week when I was at the front of the room teaching and this is my
first week and I’m already so nervous, and she comes in front and grabs the pen
out of my hand, and then starts writing and takes over the whole class. And from
that point on I was like “oh my gosh,” and I don’t think a lot of times she even

knew that she was being VERY harsh but the way she would say things

sometimes, I would just be shocked. (Jeff: To you or to the kids?) Both. Both.
A s a result of, or at least following, that event, Cindy did not follow Shannon’s script or
patterns in her relationship with students.

Instead, Cindy quite faithfully adhered to her initial vision of creating a
com for-table classroom where all students felt accepted no matter what. This was a source
of ten sion throughout the year between Shannon and Cindy, because it meant that
behaViors that would never have been permitted with Shannon teaching were allowed
Wi th Cindy. On occasion, Shannon would be in the room and unable to resist jumping in
to c Orrect behavior, which only led to a reinforcement of Cindy’s assessment of
SI1"5‘r11'10n’s harshness. Eventually, Shannon tried to find other things to do while Cindy
taught. Students flocked to Cindy’s room at lunchtime and between classes, officially to
get help but unofficially because it became a very loose and fun social hangout. This was

a SQIlrce of pride for Cindy and a source of discomfort with Shannon who felt like the

t‘
lme at lunch could have been used for planning or simply getting a break from students.

QirlCly admitted that she had not “yet figured out how to use my relationships with kids to

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my advantage,” but there was no doubt that they felt comfortable in her presence. By the
end of the year, Cindy viewed relationship with students as her primary strength as a
teacher and a point she would emphasize from day one in her own classroom,
It is hard to know how to attribute Cindy’s break from her mentor. Instructionally,
s h e was a “reproduction” of Shannon both in practice and beliefs about instruction, but in
t 11 e relational components she certainly does not fit. Perhaps the pivotal “pen snatching”
ev ent proved enough to change the course of the internship in that regard or perhaps there
were other factors at play. I keep her in this category, however, because despite this
v a ri ation, she stands in sharp contrast to the “strugglers” I describe next.
As I wrap up the description of the group of reproducers, I wish to foreshadow
S e Vera] key characteristics of this group that will become important to my larger
a1‘gllti’lent. First, despite the fact that everyone involved viewed these four cases as
S 1.1 cc essful internships, this is not a story about interns being successful because they
c O11\/erge around a particular practice or conception of good teaching. For example, an
itTlIDCDI‘tant, if not central, component to science education reform has been an emphasis on
i nqui ry (NRC, 1996, 2000). Kimberly, Tammy, Heather, and Cindy all attended the same
te"‘E‘cller education program in which inquiry played a prominent part. But the degree to
Wh i Ch they ever used it in their internship or integrated inquiry into their vision of good
te aching depended entirely on their mentors’ use and perspective on it. Vince used
inquiry frequently as part of group work and case studies; Tammy used and valued it in
the Same ways. Ken used “guided inquiry” (though it was not a particular emphasis in his
c121SS), but it did not look like Vince’s instantiation of it. Instead, guided inquiry

amounted primarily to worksheets that emphasized students’ interpreting and analyzing

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data or models before being told the “right answer.” Heather used these frequently and
became adept at creating her own. Bonnie was skeptical of inquiry, believing it to be
unrealistic. In her interview, Kimberly cited just one instance of trying to “use inquiry”
a nd that only in response to a TE assignment. A similar case could be built for any
number of aspects of the TE program. These interns were “successful” because they
m anaged to master their mentors’ practice. Second, this mastering of practice was
ac c ompanied by a shift in the beliefs of the interns toward the practice they had mastered.
F o l lowing Korthagen’s (2004) levels of change model (See Figure 1.3), I conceive of this
a 8 being an example of the development of behaviors and competencies (in this case,
f‘ro m mimicking and following the patterns of their mentors’ practice) influencing
C h an ges at a level more toward the core of the teacher (their beliefs). These findings
S u g gest that engaging in a practice that emphasizes problem solving or establishing
Font i nes and procedures or case studies or explicitly addressing objectives, leads, for the

reproducers, to the development of competencies around those practices and eventually a
C Orre Spending change in their beliefs.

Tl7e Strugglers

The trajectory for the second group begins like the reproducers, but due to an
inab i lity to master their mentors’ practice, ends quite differently. I’ll begin this section by
considering the case of Holly, continue by summarizing the pattern found in strugglers,

and then more briefly discuss Chad’s case of struggling.

Holly and Michael. Michael, Holly’s mentor, had one distinct instructional pattern

1 01)served when teaching physics, Holly’s major and the course she taught with him.

Michael emphasized solving problems. (He taught biology using a different instructional

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pattern, but Holly was not always present during that instruction and did not teach
biology.) A common lesson structure for Michael would entail 1) an opening question in
which students solved a problem like one they had encountered the previous class period
(c. g- , calculating the acceleration ofa block on an inclined plane given the mass, force,
a nd angle of the plane), 2) a period of teacher-led recitation in which Michael would
so 1 ve the opening problem with student input, 3) an introduction of a new kind of
problem to solve including some teacher-worked examples, and 4) a significant amount
0 f t i me for students to work the new kind of problem as Michael (and Holly) helped
3 tudents individually. In many ways, when Michael taught this way, it reflected a
s u bstantially common-place approach (Wilson, Taylor, Kowalski & Carlson, in press) to
t e aching physics or mathematics, in that a substantial amount of time relied on teacher-
0 e n tered problem solving and students solving paper-and-pencil problems from textbooks
or Worksheets. While the example above was more mathematical, Michael often used
more conceptual problems like those emphasized in Hewitt’s (2009) Conceptual Physics,
:1 bOOk he had used for many years including the newest version that he was piloting for
the School. The more conceptual problems might require connecting graphs (for example,
a Speed and time graph) to a description of an object’s motion. In either case, Michael
de ScI‘ibed his teaching as emphasizing the “conceptual” because “there is very little
memorization? he provided students with all the formulas they needed and their job was
to tilanipulate and use them.
Michael did include, on occasion, non-traditional, larger-scale engineering
1)er ects that students would engage in over a period of a week or longer. I only observed

1: ‘ . . . . . .
h‘ S kind of instruction one time (of the five times I saw him teach), but based on more

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circumstantial evidence, it seems that it was an important part of his classroom practice.
_Michael was well-connected in the local science community. He worked in the summer at
a large, well-funded research lab at State, had connections to the state’s Department of
Transportation, and was always seeking professional development opportunities that
provided materials, curriculum, and support for his classroom. Students built roller
co asters (using materials and curriculum provided by an outside agency), worked with
trac ks provided by the Department of Transportation to investigate kinetics, or built egg-
drop devices. Based on my single observation as well as Holly’s descriptions, when one
o f‘ t1) ese projects was going on, students would work exclusively on the projects for up to
a Week, usually in groups, and Michael (and Holly) would help students troubleshoot or
m ai ntain the materials. Michael liked these opportunities to engage students in things
“that got them working in groups, working on visualizing” the content in ways that other
acti Vities could not. I suspect that involvement working with these outside groups was an
itI‘I'JOrtant part of Michael’s professional identity; he often told me about his summer
r-eSeElI‘eh experience or professional development he was engaging in, posters from these
di 1‘ f erent groups adorned his classroom walls, and he led several extra-curricular groups
th at provided his students with opportunities to engage in the kinds of opportunities he

r - .
ecelved from these outSide groups.

Relationally, Michael relied heavily on his ability to befriend and connect with

mdents—“bmld a rapport w1th students”——to gain their cooperation. Without this

r . . . .
a‘3130rt, in Michael’s View, “students shut down and, as a result, learning stops.”
1\liiehael’s efforts to connect with students personally were evident on a daily basis. He

met every student at the door, greeted them warmly, commented on their clothing or hair

101

or recent sporting event. Michael was active as an extracurricular advisor, and attended
the events of his students often, though, due to health and personal issues, it was less
Often (by his estimate) than it had been in previous years. Students seemed to genuinely
1 i ke Mr. Delaney; as I walked in the hallway with him, students were always saying hi or
g i v ing him a high-five. On two occasions, I witnessed former students of his, now adults,
com ing back to introduce their new baby or new spouse to him. Michael was slow to
c orrect student behavior or assign consequences. Instead, he would slide up to an off-task
s tu dent and joke with them or ask them a question about their sport or club or family.
S tudents responded to these overtures in friendly ways and rarely did confrontation
0C C 111'. It did mean, however, that Michael spent a great deal of his time engaged in this
Ki nd of talk and that students often returned to the off-task behavior after he left.
C Ompared to any of the other mentors in the study, Michael’s classroom seemed least
Orderly, though it generally was pleasant especially in regard to Michael’s relationships
Wi th students. On the occasions, however, where students showed disrespect to Michael
01- f‘Eiiled to follow a directive Michael would issue, he would quickly remove students
from Class to the administrator. This was not particularly common, especially in physics
(though more common in his biology class), and Michael joked with me that the
adm inistrators “knew the student had really acted up” if he sent them to the office. To
S”‘lt‘l'ltnarize, Michael’s relational strategies were to l) engage with students warmly and
personally as often as he could, 2) get to know students outside of class through

xtl‘acumcular actiVities, and 3) qurckly remove students from class to the administrator

i - . .
f hls friendliness and respect were not returned.

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Holly’s year, like the other interns, included an early stage of using Michael’s
script; in her words, she “parroted what he did.” However, quite early on, Holly faced
great challenges in building relationships with students. By the time of the first interview
with Michael (early-October), he expressed concern that while she “was very cordial”
with students (following his example), students “did not seem to be taking her very
seriously. . . . She has this voice that almost kinds oflulls you . . . We’re working on
that.” Her field instructor at an early meeting (October I") raised the issue of non-
compliant students with Holly; he told me after we left her room together that he had seen
some “pretty chaotic” moments during her class, though he did not want to overreact just
YCt- By December, it was apparent to everyone that very serious classroom management
problems were occurring. I witnessed lessons in Holly’s classroom, particularly when

Michael was not present, in which chaos reigned to the extent that it was difficult to
detect any hint of a lesson trajectory. It would be gratuitous to describe here how bad it
was, but often upon leaving her classroom, I worried about Holly’s ability to continue
teaching—40 take the kind of verbal abuse she faced on a daily basis—and questioned my
role as a researcher sitting idly in the chair Michael had assigned to me while she
struggled mightily. What I wish to highlight, however, is Holly’s approach to solving
these problems in light of the kinds of assistance she was receiving from Michael, her
field instructor, and her TE course work.
Once Holly left the “scripting” stage and continued to struggle, Michael decided
to withdraw more from her classroom in an effort to force Holly to be more assertive and
(0 make it easier for students to view her as “the teacher.” (At the end of the year, he

fiXpressed doubts about this decision—“I don’t know, I wanted it to make her more

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resilient. Maybe she would have felt less pressure (if he had stayed), but I was hoping she
would get more exposure, more connected to the students”) Michael, however,
recognized that Holly continued to struggle. At the December conference with her field
instructor (Sam), Sam and Michael spent a great deal of time suggesting resources and
strategies that Holly might use. Michael made several suggestions 1) read Harry Wong’s
First Days of School, 2) work on establishing some new routines in the classroom that
she might feel more comfortable using (rather than continuing to use his), 3) use the
school district’s software program to increase parent contact, and 4) be quicker to remove
students from class and send them to the administrator. He also praised her for her efforts
at establishing relationship with students, for attending their sporting and extracurricular
events and for getting more comfortable talking with students. Sam had asked her to
Prepare a “behavior plan” for the meeting, one that had her own classroom expectations,
rules and consequences, as well as some new routines. He also imposed a sanction to
express how serious he viewed the problem by assigning her a “Pass with Concern”
which meant he was officially bringing his concerns to State’s teacher education
program. It was a tense meeting. Holly was visibly flustered and, at times, defensive,
Particularly with Sam who kept pushing Holly to admit how bad things were going. Holly
in an interview shortly after this meeting said of Sam, “We’re on the same page - I don’t
know if he knows that I know that it’s my most important and biggest challenge, because
he definitely reiterates it so much it drives me crazy.”
In the lessons following this meeting, however, I saw no signs of changes in
[lolly’s classroom practice. If anything, the level of confrontation with students

; ncreased. In one particularly difficult moment, Holly asked a student in the front of the

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room to stop talking as she was explaining a problem on the board. The student stood up,
turned to face the rest of the class, and yelled, “Man, she’s on my dick all the time.
(turning to Holly) Why you always talking to me? He’s talking. She’s talking. Why not
say something to him? Why not say something to her? Why not say something to him?”
After the student sat down, Holly continued her teaching, “So, you are going to have a
decrease in potential energy when . . . More importantly, Idid not see any signs of
implementation of the suggestions that had been noted at the conference (with one
exception I will discuss shortly). While both Sam and Michael emphasized the need for
new routines and procedures, Holly continued to use the same set of procedures (e.g.,
beginning with an opening question) she had used before, and students continued to
ignore them. She did not have any new rules posted or assign any consequences. While a
behavior plan had been written at Sam’s request, I could not detect any evidence of its
enactment. Though I did not witness it, Sam reported to me that he had seen Holly
remove several students from class on a day he had come to observe, though he was
skeptical that this was more than a show for him. (Sam later talked with one of Holly’s
students who teased that Holly always acted tough when he showed up.) Recall, however,
that sending students to administrators was one of Michael’s main strategies (used
relatively rarely) for managing his classroom. In addition, Holly seemed to double-down
on her efforts to build relationships with students; she complimented students on their
Clothing or hair fiequently as they entered, she tried to incorporate media that she thought
students might appreciate, and she attended as many sporting events or school plays as
éhe could. No matter how mean or disrespectful students were to her, she seemed

jetermined to win them over with kindness and interest in their lives.

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Instructionally, Holly also continued to follow Michael’s pattern of problem-
solving. Class always began with a question on the overhead that Holly expected students
to solve on their own and that she would then go over. The problems were often
conceptual, utilizing drawings or graphs (e.g., Given the drawings of circuits below,
describe what will happen if you unscrew lightbulb A). Presumably, her intention was to
talk about the problems, or discuss the problems as a class, before introducing a new kind
of problem. However, given the serious classroom management problems she faced, it is
difficult to talk about the instructional design of lessons. No matter what Holly planned,
the class would invariably end with students sitting around playing cards, talking with
friends, listening to their iPods, talking on their phones—anything besides the task Holly
wished them to do. Students were quick to yell at Holly, to roll their eyes at her, to ignore

her request, and Holly apparently had no tools available to her beyond the two that she
saw her mentor use: trying to develop relationships with students on a personal level
KWhich she used valiantly) and removing students when that failed (which she used less
frecluently because, in her words, it “always leads to this big ordeal”).
What is clear in the case of Holly is that, unlike the reproducers, she does not
acquire a level of expertise in her mentor’s practice. Not for a lack of effort, to be sure; as
Michael says in his end of year interview when I asked him about Holly’s relationships

with students:

“She tried to do it (develop relationships with students), but in her own way. For
instance, in the morning, I always say hi to every single student. She got to see
that and she did that. She would say hi, but what happened in a way, there is an
element of doing it for the sake of doing it and doing it for the sake of sincerity,
really getting to know them. . . . And I didn’t see that level in her . . . I think she
tried to do it, but maybe she didn’t understand why to do it. Maybe I was not

explicit with her on why it is helpful, I don’t know.”

106

One can see in this passage from Michael a bit of confusion. Holly tried to do what he
did, she tried to talk to every student who came in just as he did, but it just did not seem
to work. He attributes it first to a lack of sincerity and then to a lack of understanding.
Even in the last two weeks of the internship, Michael reported that she just did not seem
to make a connection with students. Holly volunteered to stay with her focus class
through the end of school even though the university’s semester had ended, a step far
beyond any of the interns in the study. Michael appreciated the gesture as a sign of
Holly’s commitment, but reported that when the students in that class found out, they
expressed concern. “I just think students feel a little bit anxious with all that goes on
when she is here.”
For the reproducers, their increased expertise comes with a change in their vision
0f good teaching to match their mentors’. With Holly, on the other hand, we see a
different kind of change to her vision. Prior to the year, she identified as important to
good science teaching the use of demonstrations to peak students’ interest, along with an
ability to connect real-world science with students in the classroom. By the end of the
internship, she talked about the need to create inquiry-based assignments in order to give
students experiences in class that they could draw on for discussion. Most striking about
these lists is that I never observed her try any demonstrations (though she talked on
several occasions about one that Michael did in the first week of school) and I have only
one documented case in which she tried to bring students’ experiences into a discussion
(an OPening question about common uses of the word “force” that was designed in
f‘eSPonse to a TE course assignment.) Nor did she or Michael regularly, if ever, use any

{40ml of inquiry to teach, though this became her new vision of good teaching. Very late

107

in the year (March 23), in response to a TE course assignment in which she was required
to design an “inquiry” sequence of lessons, 1 was struck by how little she seemed to
understand about inquiry or designing lessons that used it. She was teaching a unit on the
characteristic of light and proposed to me beginning the “inquiry” unit by having students
read the first few sections of the textbook on the electromagnetic spectrum, “just to give
them some background knowledge.” She proposed that the “question” for the inquiry
might be something about whether solar energy is a viable source of energy to replace
fossil fuels. Leaving my researcher role, I asked her about whether she might find some
light phenomena to anchor the lessons (e. g. examples of reflection or refraction), might
have some activities where students collect and work with data, and I proposed some
possible questions that might be more connected to the content. I do not intend to belittle
her here; preservice teachers’ often have incomplete or na'i‘ve views of what “inquiry”
might look like in classrooms (Windschitl, 2004), and the term itself is often contested
ground (e. g., Johnston, 2008; Settlage, 2007). In that regard, Holly is quite, unfortunately
perhaps, normal. However, the striking thing is that when she envisions good science
teaching it centers on a concept for which she has little knowledge or sense about how it
might be enacted. Unlike the reproducers for whom their vision is considerably more
concrete (after all, they “saw” their vision enacted in their mentors’ practice for a year),
Holly still holds vague notions for what she might do similar to what I saw in all interns,
including Holly, at the beginning of the year. For Holly and the other struggler, a year-
long internship did little to firm up their visions.
We see an even better example of this when we look at Holly’s shifts in beliefs

/round classroom management. In her first interview, Holly discussed her recollection of

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good teachers—teachers she wished to emulate—and what she hoped she would be like.

A common theme throughout was her emphasis on “high expectations,” “having structure

for students so that they always knew what they should be doing,” “making sure that

students are held to high standards—that they know they will be held accountable.” She
described a spectrum between teachers characterized by “rigidity and responsibility and
accountability” on one end and those that are “more compassionate toward the students
and listen to their explanations and allow late papers, for example.” At the time of the
first interviewjust as her internship was beginning, Holly wanted to be “more to the
accountability side.” Her internship year was one in which she struggled mightily with
classroom management and was rarely able to create any system of accountability or
responsibility in her classroom. Her mentor and field instructor throughout the year
encouraged her to set up systems of procedures, rules, and consequences that might work
for her, but she never did, at least not to their satisfaction or to the degree that her
classrooms reflected any structure. Clearly, these initial beliefs were not aligned with
those Michael promoted or modeled that emphasized rapport-building above all along
with the removal of students from the classroom when that failed. In her final interview
after the internship had ended, she talked extensively about her struggles with classroom
management; she recognized it as a problem, one that she knew had been a year-long

Stl'uggle. Knowing she was seeking employment in large urban districts (similar to

Quincy), I asked her what her plan might be:

I want to establish a method of having a black book of good behavior and bad
behavior, recording those things down. If I collect a lot of things that are either
good or bad, phone calls can be made home. . . . And establishing rapport with

students, being more about pulling everyone together, rather than saying this is
this and this is that. Setting a different kind of tone. As soon as they realize that I

109

am on their side and want them to do well, I think discipline will be more
personal and effective as opposed to just being the authority figure.

One wonders where the “black book” idea emerged from. It has a very police-like tone
that stands in sharp contrast with a classroom that “pulls everyone together, rather than
saying this is this and this is that.” Without reading too much into a single word, her use
of the word “think” in the final sentence, suggests that her ideas about discipline still
have a tentative nature to them.

Finally, it would be difficult to argue that Holly’s internship progressed as anyone
had hoped. While Holly remained optimistic about her future as an urban school teacher,
she acknowledged how difficult the year had been, that there were many times “where I
just lost control, both of the students and myself.” She continued to say that the internship
was worthwhile, because she had “learned a lot about the things I shouldn’t do, the things

that didn’t work well for me.” No one can deny the importance of learning from
mistakes, but Holly did not, as the reproducers did, consistently engage in a practice that
she viewed as working well. Her mentor and field instructor were much less optimistic.
As an evaluative conference in December, Michael told Holly that if she was planning on
trying to teach in a place like Chicago, “they are going to eat you alive. I’m not saying
that to be mean.” When I asked after the year had ended how he felt about making that

comment, he said:

It’s one of those scenarios where I made that comment out of concern. . . .Look,
you will get hurt—either physically, emotionally, mentally or whatever. And so,
when I say ‘you are going to get eaten alive in Chicago,’ I know that from this
smaller town setting, if she can’t handle it, to ramp it up two or three degrees, I
just think that it will be a much bigger task. Maybe it is not as bad as I think. . . .I
tried to give her some survival mechanisms to make sure she isn’t completely

unaware.

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Sam was equally uncomfortable with how the year had gone. He struggled with
where to place responsibility for the problems that occurred. He questioned “whether she
really got the support she needed to be successful, in terms of her mentor” who, in Sam’s
view, was not as involved in the classroom as other mentors. He felt that early on,
Michael should have “been more assertive” with Holly and said:

‘These are the beginning of the year procedures I use and the routines I use’ and
then work with Holly to establish them, maybe adapt them to cater to her style,
but that never happened until the year was already well on its way. Then second
semester, she revealed that she didn’t have any classroom rules for her students
but at that point it was so out of hand.

Of course, Sam’s diagnosis assumed that Michael had not done this sort of work; in fact,
Michael did pass on his practice (establish rapport, attend afterschool events, remove
Students who don’t respond respectfully). It was not, however, the kind of practice Sam
had in mind nor did Holly use it effectively. Sam also worried that Holly seemed
“oblivious to some of the problems going on around her” and “didn’t seem to have much
understanding of what the program coursework encourages, things like the learning
cycles, inquiry, lesson planning, big ideas, things like that.” Finally, he felt that the TE
program had let her down, or had at least failed in its certification duties. “It’s hard to see
her go and get her credential knowing she never fulfilled her obligations or met the
program standards. I have some real concerns. 1 have some real concerns for her.”
Chad and Frank. Chad, another struggler, followed a similar path as Holly,
though the contexts in which they worked and their mentors were quite different. Just as
HOHY did, when Chad attempted to implement on his own the patterns he had observed

¢nd mimicked in his mentor, he failed to master the practice. As a result, he floundered,

Mas unable to acquire an alternative practice, left the internship without a clear vision for

111

the kind of teacher he wished to be, and his internship was deemed to have been
relatively unsuccessful.
Frank, Chad’s mentor, emphasized solving problems in his instruction. A normal
day for Frank included going over homework problems assigned the night before (with
h i In working some examples), showing students how to complete a new kind of problem
or task, some kind of activity (often involving students’ coming to the board) in which
5 tudents practiced problems in a structured way, concluding with time for students to
work on the homework in groups with his help as needed. Relationally, Frank depended
o n his energy, enthusiasm, and charisma to win students over and minimize classroom
In anagement problems or distractions. Frank talked loudly and animatedly, used a host of
C reative voices, peppered his talks with jokes (often corny), and in Chad’s words “just
g e n erally overpowered students” with his charm. As a result, students cooperated with
F 1:- ank, liked him a great deal, and he was known across the school for being a
Ch 3 l l enging, but well-loved teacher. On the rare occasions when students did not meet his
be h aVioral expectations (I saw this only once), Frank did not hesitate to yell—and yelling
“’8‘ S- a bit scary, as he got red in the face and very loud. When I saw this happen, students
“2% re silent for minutes afterwards. In Frank’s words, “I will scream and rant and rave

a
lid everybody will shudder . . . but if it happens, it will only happen once, and then when

I-
1 B 0k up, (imitating students’ voices) I’m ready Mr. Dack, I’m ready.” Frank did not

h
ave firmly established classroom routines, he did not spend time talking about or

r -
e Itlforcing rules, and he did not have consequences for behavior. Students did what they

W ere asked because they loved (and maybe feared) him.

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Chad, like all the other interns, followed Frank’s script; as I described before, he
would scribble madly while Frank taught during the first month or two. And like the
other interns, Chad, once scripting was not an option, attempted to follow Frank’s
patterns and implement Frank’s emphases. Instructionally, Chad’s classes were structured
as Frank’s. On a normal day, Chad would take role, work some of the homework
problems, introduce a new kind of problem to solve, and try to structure students’
practice of those new problems. ln Frank’s view, the internship should be an “opportunity
f0 1‘ intems to try things out, find their own style.” When asked about his style of working
VV i th interns two weeks into Chad’s internship, Frank said:
I really encourage Chad to create whatever he can. I haven’t held back anything, I
have given him all my work sheets, everything on CD. I said you can use
whatever you want, however you want. But, at some point, you want to create
something that you take pride in. He said, “yeah.” So he’s getting close, he hasn’t
created anything that I consider his own yet but he is getting close.
B u t at the end of the year, Frank felt disappointed that had never really happened; in his
V i e W , Chad had never created anything new “that he could be proud of” or developed
le S S ons that did not, to Frank, seem a lot like what Frank was already doing.
Relationally, Chad faced many of the same challenges as Holly, though never
r
ea Q hin the level of chaos I witnessed in Holly’s classroom. Chad identified classroom
g
E‘I‘Azagement as his greatest struggle throughout the year, and his field instructor worried
1.1 t student motivation and engagement, as well as how seriously students took Chad.
F1. , . .
am reported that a number of Chad 5 students would complain to him about Chad—
‘1
h at they could not learn from him—and he suspected that in many ways “they were

‘a‘l ghing at him behind his back.” Attempting to re-enact Frank’s energy and

etlt‘husiasm—to emulate Frank’s charisma—was a challenge Chad recognized very early

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i n the year. In a support meeting with his field instructor and five other interns at the end
0 f September, he described Frank to the group as an Energizer Bunny, “hyper-energetic
and hard to emulate.” He told the group “I spent the beginning of the year trying to copy
11 i 5 style, but it’s a disaster because I can’t do it” given his natural tendency toward
i ,n troversion. But Chad did not decide, as a result, to pursue developing his own style. In

11 i 5 January interview, he talked about this struggle:

I need to get out of my shell 3 little bit more and show a little bit more
enthusiasm. But at the same time, I’m not Frank. I’m just not a high energy, goofy
guy as he is. . . . But there are things I can emulate and try to do a little bit more.
He utilizes his voice. I read about it in a book on motivation, and I was reading it
because it shows a lot of what he does. It talks about using your voice, projecting

different styles of inflection, changing it to make it more interesting for the
student. It’s like acting more or less. Frank has basically mastered that, so in a lot

of ways, I want to look at that.

On 6 can see here that, despite his early perception that he could never be Frank, Chad
Con t inued to pursue ways of becoming more like him, of trying to develop a style like

Frank’s. He continued, “1 think it’s not just an issue of becoming like him, it’s seeing

W h at he does and seeing how 1 can make that happen.”

What else might Chad have done? His field instructor discussed with him at every
CO 11 ference 1 documented the need to “establish a classroom community of learners”
has, ed on mutual respect, not based on the teacher’s charisma, and they discussed
Stl‘a-taegies he might use to begin that process. Alternatively, in one of his teacher
ecl‘~1Qation classes, Teaching with Love & Logic (Fay & Funk, 1995) was emphasized as a
C} as sroom management approach. Chad was intrigued by Love & Logic (as it was
c OII‘Amonly referred to), committed at his end-of-fall-semester conference to read and
implement the approach, but I saw little evidence of its influence in the class. Frank

rePorted his recollection of Chad’s first attempt at its use:

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Frank: And 1 think the first time he tried Love & Logic, he came here (and said)
“I'm trying Love & Logic today.” I said "’did it work?” He said “kind of.”
I said, “well, okay you have to stick by your guns because if you don’t
follow through . . .” But when something didn’t work he just would give
up, he would — the comment would be “I don’t know.” I said “no, you do
know, you do know, come on. How are you going to handle this, what can
you do to handle the situation?” (Imitating Chad) “1 don’t know.” That
was disheartening to me.
Jeff: Did you see him try Love & Logic after that first try?
Frank: I don’t think so, no.
While Love and Logic passed away quickly, Chad’s attempts to enact Frank’s emphases
persisted throughout the year, despite the fact that he thought it would never work. Late
into his lead teaching, he taught a lesson on oxidation-reduction reactions in which he
persistently tried to joke with students; they took every joke as an opportunity to take the
class off topic and he would spend minutes getting their attention back. At the conference
with his field instructor, she expressed doubt whether students were respecting him or his
learning. He agreed, but when asked whether he had a strategy for combating it, he
replied, “No, 1 don’t. The class beats me down pretty good and I get discouraged . . .
Frank has established this joking environment that he can finagle well. It works for him.”
The disconnect we see in Holly between her initial beliefs, her practice, and her
ending beliefs is present with Chad as well. Before the year began, Chad talked about the
importance of getting students “to learn and be motivated in their own unique way and to
be able to effectively balance being the teacher in the front of the room but also being the
individual teacher for each student.” Motivating students meant “connecting with
students and their lives;” this included finding ways to bring “real science” into the
classroom, an emphasis that came from his summer internship with a chemical company.

He also believed teachers need to be sensitive to “social justice issues . . . racism, sexism,

and the various ways bigotry can manifest in the classroom.” Frank’s emphases of

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problem solving and presence were not on his radar. During the year, however, Chad
enacted problem-solving and struggled all year to develop his classroom presence. While
Chad did show a sensitive spot for students on the margins (a point both Frank and his
field instructor noted in the interviews), Chad developed a reputation among the interns
as being quick to complain about his students, to assign them the blame for his struggles;
he admitted being “embarrassed” by this in a conference because it conflicted with his
principles.

At the end of the year, Chad’s vision of good teaching had changed but it looked
neither like his initial beliefs nor his mentor’s (and his) practice. In the interview, he
sounded more certain than Holly did, more confident and more coherent in his ideas
about what he thought he should do. However, like Holly, he described a hypothetical
practice, one that he “wishes” or “hopes” to be able to try rather than one based on either
witnessing it or engaging in it. For example, Chad at the end of the year emphasized the
development of a “community of leamers” in which students are not “content to just sit
there and not understand, but know that they can get help from me or their classmates.”
When I asked him what 1 would observe if I came into a classroom where that was
happening, he said:

I think in some ways, what I'd like to do is create pockets of students where they
work together in groups where you have some sort of question at the beginning of
the hour that they work together on, or work in labs together so that you can
hopefully establish something where they're working and improving. Because
often times when you just throw someone in a group, it’s going to be a different
one each day and that’s not going to be that effective because that's not how
groups work. Also when you are helping a student try to include the rest of the
people in the assistance, because I noticed that sometimes if you're working with
one kid, the other kids are just staring at you so try to include them and get them
into get them in the conversation. . . .It should be expected that I'm willing to help

them, but I guess friendliness, sitting with them and when you're helping them
you could seem more cooperative and not be condescending about it.

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When I asked him if he had been able to accomplish this kind of teaching, he said, “No, I
think this is more aspirational, noticing the things that I wasn’t doing and how it really
needs to be different. Maybe I was starting to do these things, I don’t know.”

Finally, as with Holly, the internship was not viewed as successful by those
involved. His field instructor felt that “it was a challenging year for Chad” and
“challenging for (her) particularly because (she) just didn’t see much progress.” Her very
last observation of the year in April was one in which “it was so chaotic and out of
control and he would try to say something firm, but kids were just joking and
disregarding what he said and arguing with him.” In addition to classroom management,
she did not “think that his ideas about science teaching had progressed very far.”
Particularly frustrating to her was that, due to Randolph Hi gh’s trimester schedule, Chad
was able to teach the same content three different times, and he made very few changes
each time. Instead, he stuck with the more traditional (in her view) style of Frank. She
worried (much as Sam had about Holly) that Chad “didn’t get enough support” from
Frank, but this was based not on her observations of Frank’s support, but on her
perception that Chad was not progressing. Frank also worried that Chad had not made
much progress. Frank recognized that Chad had a very different personality and reported
telling Chad often that he needed to develop his own style, his own way of doing things,
and his own activities. But he rarely saw that “kind of initiative. Maybe it’s a work ethic
thing. Maybe it’s just his personality. He had some personal things going on this year,
too. I don’t know.” While Frank liked Chad a great deal and talked about him

affectionately, the year had clearly not gone how Frank had hoped. Chad also admitted

117

that it had been a tough year, though when we talked in May two weeks after the
internship had ended, he was beginning to get reenergized about teaching:

There was a period midway through the lead teach in March where I was looking

at lab jobs just because 1 was getting really frustrated and not really sure if I could

even do it. But I think now that I am done with it all, I am really looking forward

to teaching again and I am starting to get plans about things that I can teach and

strategies I can use to improve myself and get better. So now that I am looking for

a job, I am reenergized. But there was a period that I was having serious doubts.
Like Holly, and in contrast to the reproducers, taking on more responsibility in the
classroom from Chad’s mentor led not to greater skill, but deeper frustration and concern.
Chad failed to master his mentor’s practice, never formulated or attempted an alternative
practice based on suggestions from his mentor, field. instructor, or TE courses, and left
the internship with a fuzzy vision of what he thought good teaching might be.

Conclusion

In summary, the strugglers began the internship attempting to follow the script of
their mentors, just as the reproducers did. However, when following the script was no
longer possible and the strugglers tried to implement the instructional and relational
patterns of their mentors, they never saw the steady progress that reproducers did.
Instead, students failed to respond to them and they received feedback that suggested they
look to develop some new strategies that might work better for them. Rather than taking
that feedback and making changes, they redoubled their efforts to be like their mentor;
Holly said hello to every student who entered, went to many games and plays and
concerts, and threw out more and more students while Chad read books on motivation
and acting to increase his presence while sticking with a joking banter that never worked

for him. Perhaps most surprising is the doggedness with which the strugglers clung to

their mentor’s practice despite the poor results and the alternatives they might have tried.

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[Jill i

r

 

Neither mentor expected the strugglers to copy them—in fact, both made moves later in
the year to try to give the interns more independence in the hope that they might stake
their own claim. lntems were not without alternatives to try. Both came into the
internship with their own vision of teaching that differed in significant ways from their
mentor; they might have worked on implementing that vision. Both were getting
feedback from their field instructor and mentor about strategies they could try, books they
might read, or plans they might create; they might have chosen one or two of those and
pursued it. Both were in TE courses that proposed a reform-oriented perspective on
science teaching and alternatives to their mentor’s classroom management plans; they
might have tried to put those ideas into practice. Instead, they stuck with what they saw,
continued with what they had started; in this regard, they were just like the reproducers,
though the outcome was less optimal from everyone’s perspective.

What bears some further investigation is this dilemma. One might expect that a
field placement in which a mentor’s practice works for an intern would have a
momentum that might prevent any outside ideas from gaining a foothold. It could be
argued that a “successful” internship (one in which reproduction happens) might not
produce a level of pedagogical discontentment (Sowell, Southerland, & Granger, 2006)
or dissatisfaction with their teaching sufficient to motivate the intern to look to TE or
other sources for a different kind of practice no matter whether it matched their own
vision or the vision supported by TE. But this cannot explain the strugglers who were
discontent, saw discontentment all around them, and still failed to take up a practice other
than their mentors’. To explore this fiirther, the next two chapters will examine the world

of the interns in greater detail, to try to describe their lived experience in both their school

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placement and in teacher education. What is it about the experience in schools and TE
courses that produces such an apparent enduring and negligible, respectively, effect on

intems’ practices?

 

120

 

Chapter 4:
Learning to Teach in School

Given the influence of interns’ experiences in schools on the teaching practices
they engage in and, for some, their beliefs about good teaching, I continue this analysis
by shifting my attention to the school components of the intems’ ecologies. The trapezoid
in Figure 4.1 (below) indicates the interactions that will be the focus in this chapter. My
intent in this chapter is to further explore the mechanism for the finding in the literature
and this study that the cooperating teacher and school-sites have a powerful—though
often not-entirely-welcome (from the TE program perspective)—effect on the student

teacher/ intern.

A

Ifnchrsity
Supcrx isor

 

Cooperating
Teacher

 

frenchcr

School/Classroom

l;dnca1nni
Context

 

 

   

Figure 4.1. Narrowing in on the school side of the interns’ ecology
Thus far, it is clear that each intern’s experience was distinctive; each had unique

personalities and backgrounds, different experiences with mentors of all stripes, and. had

121

internships that I have characterized as being reproductions or struggles. Despite that

diversity of experience, the work that interns engaged in at their school sites shared

common characteristics and patterns, including: 1) a world surrounded by real-time

assistance and feedback; 2) attention to kinesthetic, embodied, and physical aspects of the

work of teaching; and 3) a task-orientation that focused on the daily activities of teaching.
Real-time Assistance and Feedback

Lortie (2002) described teacher induction as a process through which new
teachers were expected to “sink or swim,” left on their own for survival (or not). Unlike
the stereotypical student teaching experience in which the mentor hands over the keys to
the student teacher and disappears to the teachers’ lounge, State’s program structure
worked against that idea as interns gradually took more responsibility from their
cooperating teacher over the course of the year. As a result, interns and cooperating
teachers spent a great deal of time in the classroom together, either while the mentor
taught or while the intern taught, and for most interns, this opened up an avenue for
receiving real-time feedback and assistance from their mentors.

Real-time assistance and feedback. took three distinct forms. First, while interns
taught, cooperating teachers publicly stepped in and assisted, thus temporarily reasserting
their teacher role. Second, rather than assisting interns directly, cooperating teachers
would, usually privately, direct intems’ attention to something occurring in the classroom
without actually intervening. Finally, cooperating teachers worked behind-the-scenes to

make interns’ classes for run more smoothly, often without the intems’ knowledge.

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Stepping In

While the program’s expectation was that mentors and interns would collaborate,
a strict distinction in roles was maintained by the program and by most intem-mentor
pairs as to who was “teaching” at any given time. Most interns referred to their focus
class as “my class” and the others as their “mentor’s class”; they might tell each other
that “I’m picking up my mentor’s human biology class for my lead teaching,” meaning
that for the lead teaching period, that intern would act as the teacher (and consequently
the mentor would not) for several weeks. At any given moment, both the interns and
cooperating teachers knew who the “teacher” was and who was observing or assisting.
Despite that clear distinction, there were moments when mentors blurred those lines to
provide interns with real-time support or assistance.

Sometimes they did so because an intern asked for help. These explicit requests
usually centered on technical or mechanical problems an intern could not solve and
occurred only in the first month or two of school. For example, during a lab in which
Tammy took students outside to collect pond water, each group—one group at a time—
was supposed to use an apparatus to collect water from the center of the pond. Tammy set
herself up as the one assisting the students with that procedure, while Vince monitored
the rest of the students. However, when the first group’s test tubes became jammed in the
apparatus, Tammy struggled for about 30 seconds before calling over to Vince, “Hey,
Mr. M, I can’t quite get this.” Vince came over, unattached the first group, got the second
group set up, and then took over the collection assistance as Tammy moved to Vince’s

previous position of monitoring the students waiting to collect their water.

123

 

Sometimes the assistance was much briefer as when Chad, on the first day of
school, could not get the LCD projector to focus and asked for Frank’s help. Once Frank
had things focused, he turned it back over to Chad. In a similar way, when one of
Heather’s weblinks to a video appeared to be broken, she stepped aside and allowed Ken
to take over the computer to find an alternative video. Once Ken found one he liked, he
returned to the back of the classroom, and Heather used this new video in her lesson.

Cases in which interns asked for their mentors’ intervention were relatively rare,
and like the examples above, almost always involved equipment or technological
problems. The single exception to this involved a situation early in the year in which two
horse-playing boys tackled one another and wrestled on the floor. Tammy ran across the
hall to the teachers’ lounge where Vince was working because “it was during my first
lead teach, and I had no idea what to do.” Vince came across the hall, and assertively
directed the boys to sit with him in the lounge for the rest of the class period. Once the
boys were gone and with Vince, Tammy began teaching again. The boys both sheepishly
apologized to Tammy after class.

lntems did not ask mentors to help them explain something they did not
understand or (with the exception of Tammy above) request assistance in real-time for
management concerns or disruptive students. Despite not having been asked, mentors did
often “step-in.” The two most common reasons were to clarify or expand upon directions
that interns had given students or to correct or expound upon intems’ content
explanations. Shortly after interns would give students directions for a procedure or
activity, mentors would interject, direct attention to themselves, and then add additional

steps or expand upon something the intern had said. For example, Kimberly, with about a

124

 

minute remaining in class, told students “OK, this is your official pack-up notice.” As
students scrambled to get their books and folders together, some took the additional step
of lining up at the door to wait for the dismissal bell. When Bonnie saw this, she raised
her voice slightly and began to move to the front of the room: “Ladies and gentlemen, we
are not cows. We do not herd to the door. We are civilized human beings.” The students
(and Kimberly) laughed and began to move back to their seats. Similarly, near the end of
a lab taught by Tammy, she asked students to return from the lab benches at the back of
the room to their desks in the front, reminded them about the homework that they had due
for tomorrow, and then said, “OK, every group needs to label their test tubes, put the
tubes in the rack at the back, and then clean up your work stations.” As students started to
get out of their seats and return to the lab stations, Vince stepped in to include additional
directions:

Hold on. Hold on. First, the way we are going to label the test tubes is to get a

small piece of the masking tape in the back and then put your bell number and

your group members’ names on that tape. That way we don’t get tubes mixed up.

You’ll find the markers to do that over there in the supply drawer.
He followed up with some directions for storing the tubes, cleaning up their lab stations,
and checking their stations to know they were finished. Then, he dismissed students to
work. Some interventions were less dramatic, involving mentors simply adding a
supporting detail to interns’ instructions. Cindy told students that, during their
classmates’ presentations on stem cells, they “might want to write down the things the
presenters say” and Shannon added, “Especially if you don’t know the material!”

This kind of clarification also occurred around interns’ content explanations and,

likewise, could be small and short interjections or more extensive. Heather taught a

lesson on activation energy of chemical reactions that involved students following an

125

online simulation as they completed a worksheet she had designed. The simulation
appeared to engage students. particularly because it allowed them to change variables
(like temperature, activation energy, and enthalpy), and then see how the reaction
proceeded. Simulated particles would bounce over a wall, faster or slower depending on
what students inputted, and students enjoyed trying to make the reactions behave in
various ways. However, few groups paid much attention to the worksheet nor were they
systematically changing the variables one at a time to gauge a variable’s impact. Sensing
1""

this, Heather spent the last 20 minutes of class working with groups one at a time and ’
talking them through the worksheet’s questions, following a similar line of questioning 52 .
with each group (e. g., “So have you figured out how to get yourself more products? What
does adding heat more do? What does lowering the bar do? Wait, wait, not so fast. Let’s
go back to the worksheet, what steps are you supposed to follow?”). As class time ran
out, Heather made an announcement: “Okay, we can put these worksheets away and log
out ofthe computer. It’s time to go.” Ken stepped in:

1 would definitely read the worksheet pretty carefully, okay. Because this can get

pretty overwhelming without it. . . .Did you notice the ways that you could

actually get all the reactants to products? Most of the reactions that we do aren’t

actually going to go to completion like this, but we will pretend that they do,

because it is easier to think of them that way. And a lot of the ones we do might

go 99.9% of the way so it is ok to think of them that way. But I wanted you to see

this simulation.

Although Heather had been the “teacher” for the entire class period, Ken wanted
to make sure that students had some ideas about the limitations of the simulation. While
Ken’s intervention involved the whole class, some interventions occurred when the

mentor stepped into an interaction between an intern and student. For example, Tammy

was reviewing the endocrine system with the whole class and asked: “You guys

126

mentioned hormones. Do you know what a hormone is?” Jake answered, “Well, for
males it is testosterone and for females it is estrogen.” This appeared not to be what
Tammy was looking for and she said “But do you know what they are? They are actually
chemical signals.” At this point, Vince, sitting at his desk in the front, stepped in, “But
Jake is right. Testosterone is saying to the body ‘grow hair on your face’ to the boys and
for the girls, estrogen is saying different things.” Jake looked a bit relieved, and Tammy
said to him “Good job,” before moving on with the review. These sorts of interventions
(both for directions and content) occurred frequently; across all interns, a little more than
once a day, with more frequency during the first semester of the year than during the
second.

Another frequent occasion for “stepping in” involved interns overestimating the
time needed for a lesson. In some cases, the intern made clear that she had run out of
things to do, as when Tammy ended a lesson in September with a public declaration: “I
don’t have anything else.” Vince sitting at his desk, immediately asked the students, “So
how would I find something on my microscope? Someone talk me through the process
from the very beginning,” using the last 10 minutes of class to review microscope
procedures. In other cases, it is not clear that the intern recognized the need for help.
Holly’s lesson left 25 minutes at the end of class for students to work on homework
problems. Soon, the class was chaotic and few students seemed to be working. Holly,
however, continued to make her way around the class, helping students who would begin
working as they saw her approach. After 15 minutes, her mentor stepped in and directed
students’ attention to him. He held a Slinky, a toy he was planning on using with his

physics class next period. “Does anyone know the connection between this Slinky and

127

 

 

our celebration of Women’s History Month?” He talked about the Slinky’s origin. as
excess metal from machine shops during World War II and a female inventor’s idea to
market them as a toy. The content of his comment might be dubious (it doesn’t relate to
the topic of the lesson and his story seemed apocryphal), but the chaos was reduced,
students were quiet and listening, and class ended on an interesting and upbeat note.
Whether the intern made clear that she had run out of things to do (as Tammy did) or not,
mentors often filled wasted time and maintained their class’s momentum.

Directing Interns ’ Attention

A second way that mentors provided real-time assistance was to direct interns’
attention, privately or publicly. A less dramatic intervention (that is, mentors do not do
anything for the intern), it was nonetheless very effective. When mentors directed intems’
attention, interns responded immediately.

Sometimes, a mentor conveyed to the intern how he or she thought students were
thinking or feeling. Often, mentors would be in the back watching an intern lecture and
would say, “Miss Ahrens, can you put that on the overhead so that they can see it better?”
or (speaking to students) “Hey, did you guys get that explanation ok?” or “Why don’t you
tell them where we are headed?” In these cases, Tammy adjusted the overhead to bring it
into focus, Heather doubled back to re-explain something, and Chad provided students
with an outline for the upcoming unit. One mentor, Bonnie, occasionally role-played a
student while Kimberly taught. As Kimberly was solving an equation involving specific
heat for students, Bonnie raised her hand, was called on by Kimberly, and asked “How do
you know if the ‘m’ in the formula is for mass or for moles?” Kimberly answered the

question straightforwardly, “Well, you know because your specific heat will be given

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F:

 

either in grams or in moles—whichever one it is, that’s what you will use in the formula.”
She finished with “Good question,” at which everyone, including Kimberly, laughed. In
examples like these, mentors put themselves in the seats of the students, imagined what
they might be thinking or struggling with, and then cued the intern.

A second way that mentors directed interns’ attention was by privately prompting
them to take action. Often, this involved the mentor moving alongside the intern as he or
she taught and making a quiet suggestion about something the mentor had noticed or
thought the intern should do. Many times, I missed the content of these suggestions
because they were handled privately, but they looked similar even without hearing them.
Students would be working in groups, the mentor would come up to the intern, speak in
her ear, the intern would lift her eyes and direct them somewhere in the room (usually at
a student) as the mentor talked, and then head to that student when the mentor finished
talking.

When a group of boys began to roughhouse at a lab table, Vince asked Tammy
with a bit of an edge in his voice, “Ahrens, why don’t you go back there and yell at
them?” Tammy immediately walked toward the boys and —not yelling —said: “Why
don’t you get back in the groups you are supposed to be in?” Bonnie walked passed
Kimberly as they monitored groupwork and asked her, “Where’s Jimmy?” Kimberly
scanned the room, remembered that she had written him a restroom pass nearly 20
minutes before, said to me, “Uh oh, missing students. That’s not good,” and called to the
main office, letting security know that Jimmy had been gone too long. These promptings
from mentors could involve simple non-verbal cues that interns seemed to understand.

Bonnie would frequently hold up fingers and Kimberly would announce, “OK, two

129

 

 

minutes left, guys,” or Frank might —from behind the students (and out of their sight)—
gesture to the lab tables leading Chad to quickly end his lecture or discussion and send
students back to the tables to work. A significant number of these more private
promptings revolved around the management of materials. For example, Michael would
often ask Holly: “How we doing on calculators?” or “Do we have all our books?” near
the end of a period to remind Holly to get all the materials back from students. Shannon
would point out to Cindy when students were using lab materials inappropriately or when
s upplies were running low.
When mentors directed intems’ attention, they could do so with less risk to the
1'11 terns’ credibility with students, because the “role” of the teacher was not usurped. The
i n terns ran the show—explaining, disciplining, collecting materials, etc.— but on the

S i d 6 lines, the mentors were cueing interns in, helping them notice things, decide what to

d O , or change course. While stepping-in puts the intern in the position of observing the

m e n tor complete a task, when the intems’ attention is directed, the intern is still left
de C i ding how to implement whatever the mentor has suggested. Tammy checks on the
ho 1‘ S eplaying boys, but chooses what tone to take. Kimberly gets help in noticing

Ji m l‘ny’s absence, but makes the decision on how to proceed. Mentors convey their
appraisal of the minutiae of the work of teaching, seemingly trivial acts, often rooted in
so In eone’s intuitive sense of how to read a room or read a kid or anticipate an adolescent
It) i I1(ls.et. And this is not the stuff of textbooks —nor should it be —but without these
hi t1 t8, these little cues, the interns would run into much bigger problems.

Si):
OOthing Things Out

A third way that mentors assisted interns in real-time has a very different

130

character from the first two, because interns might not even be aware of the assistance.
When mentors “smooth things out” for interns, they attempt to prevent interns from
having to face a potential problem or handle too many tasks at once. Examples of
smoothing things out include mentors completing everyday tasks for interns, addressing
issues of student understanding one-on-one when they perceive students are confused,
and, most commonly, attempting to prevent student misbehavior.
Mentors commonly completed everyday, routine tasks for interns as they taught,
keeping interns from having to do more things at once, as well as preventing potential
problems or confusion. Examples included passing back student work while the intern
ta u ght, collecting student work, taking roll, or entering grades. It should be noted that
th ese are the same tasks that interns generally performed early in the year while the
11‘) entor was teaching; it may be that mentors were returning the favor or simply keeping
'3 “u S y to avoid boredom. However, other routine tasks completed by the mentor were not
th 6 sort interns did. For example, on several occasions, Cindy began teaching her first
b e 1 1 class in the dark or would forget to turn on the lights when transitioning from lecture
r10 tes to an activity. Shannon would come into class, notice the lights off, and turn them
on - Bonnie regularly updated the daily agenda kept on the board whenever she noticed
th at Kimberly had forgotten to change the date or homework assignment. Vince would go
t0 the adjoining stockroom to get additional needed materials when supplies were running
16“] On several occasions Frank corrected the s 11' f d Ch d h d '
- , pe ing 0 a wor a a written on
the board in between classes These small assists easil ' '
. , y unnoticed by the intern,

Q‘ientially prevented student confusron or the disruption caused by students who might

I atke a big deal about a teacher’s slipup or error.

131

Two mentors, Bonnie and Vince, also “smoothed out” things for their interns in
ways that related to student subject matter understanding. Bonnie did this in two ways.
First, she often participated in class as Kimberly taught, much more so than any other
mentor in the study. As I described previously, she would occasionally role-play as a
student in order to direct Kimberly’s attention to something she thought students might
be thinking. She did, however, also participate in more subtle ways. For example,
Kimberly spent a great deal of time preparing elaborate PowerPoint presentations. Her
slides were complex, even busy, with animated mathematical formulas, relevant art, even
3 elf-designed cartoon characters (Biff and Olga) who were featured in every story
problem. As Kimberly lectured using the slides, Bonnie would sit at the computer and
m ove the mouse so that the arrow would point to the particular aspect of the slide that
K i mberly was talking about. In this way, Bonnie would direct students’ attention to what
S h e deemed important. At other times, Bonnie moved throughout the room as Kimberly
S 0 l ved example problems or led a discussion. When a student asked Kimberly a question,
b L1 t seemed dissatisfied or confused with the answer, Bonnie would sidle up next to that
S '51—! dent and have a short tutoring session while Kimberly continued.
Vince used a similar technique of targeting students who appeared to be
S t1”L‘lggling to understand his intern’s explanation of content for one-on-one discussions.
P 61‘ example, during a lesson about the translation of DNA, a girl asked Tammy: “Can
YQ 1.1 explain the difference between translation and transcription again? I don’t think I’m
3% tting it.” Tammy pulled up the presentation she had used the previous day and quickly
C an proximately 30 seconds) walked through the key differences between the two. Tammy

%
IlC’led with: “Does that help?” to which the girl replied, “Yes.” Tammy dismissed the

132

students back to the lab tables to work on the new activity for the day. Vince immediately
sat down next to the girl and reassured her: “So, it will take some time to get this. That’s
why we have you practice it, and in time, you will get it. Why don’t you use these models
to show me what you think the difference is?” He spent the next four minutes helping the
girl with her explanation. The other four mentors would circulate and answer student
questions when they were present in the room, but not in the same targeted way that
Bonnie and Vince did.
The third and most common way that mentors smoothed things out for the interns
was by attempting to prevent student behavior problems. The most common technique
was simply using their own proximity to curb problems. For example, if a student quietly
c h atted with a friend while Kimberly was teaching (and Kimberly had not addressed the

s i tuation), Bonnie would walk over and stand right next to the talking student,

im mediately ending the conversation. On occasion, mentors might gently intervene by
tapping a student on the shoulder, wake them up, or direct a daydreaming student’s
attention back to the front of the classroom; in a case like this, the intern might notice the
m e 11th moving about but not see the intervention. Less often, mentors, sensing
so In ething going on that might escalate, would step in. For example, during a sheep brain
d i S S ection, several of Cindy’s students found a stash of blood pressure cuffs left out on a
Sh e 1 f. Before long, they had the cuffs out and on, tightening them on each other’s arms,
ev en putting one around a sheep’s brain. Cindy was on the other side of the room and did
11 Q ‘3 notice this occurring. Shannon watched the situation from her desk for about 10
8% Q Qnds, but when she did not see Cindy act, she went to the students, scolded them, and

11
ad them clean up and put away the cuffs. While Shannon’s (and other instances like it)

133

intervention is more dramatic here, the rest of the class continued to work and Cindy
maintained her role as teacher. After class, Shannon explained what she had seen students
doing, but at the time, Cindy did not see (or at least react to) Shannon’s intervention.
Other examples include mentors heading into the hallway to round up a straggling
student or splitting up a group of students more concerned with flirting than with
completing a lab.
In real-time, interns must manage students and materials, respond to students’
questions, and make changes in instruction among many other tasks. Things happen
q uickly and the demands on the attention and skills of novices learning a complex task
are great. And the risks if they fail, as perceived by interns, are real and important; interns
C o mmonly worry about whether their students will learn if they make a mistake or if their
S tudents will respect them if they are shown to be weak. By providing the assistance to
in terns in the moment, mentors are able to mitigate some risk while reducing the
C O mplexity interns encounter.
The Physical and Embodied Nature ofLearning to Teach in Schools
The interns’ experiences in schools had a distinct and important physical and
em bodied component to it. Rose (1999) described beginning physical therapists in a
C l i 1:) ical class as engaging in “kinesthetic-conceptual work” because of the tight
CO I)Jrlection between their bodies, their patients’ bodies, and the principles of physical
th erapy being promoted by the instructor. Learning, in this setting, included close
ph ysical work between the teacher and the new therapist, as the teacher might join hands
W i tell the novice in performing a manipulation for the first time. Instructors also used

c
aneptual tools like diagrams, concepts, or rules-of-thumb that connected to the physical

134

reality that the novice therapists were experiencing. Students would, with instructors’
assistance, for example, draw a “movement diagram” that translated the resistance the
novice felt in a patient’s knee into a representation that could be discussed as a class.
The kinesthetic-conceptual work of leaming to teach took several forms in the
schools. First, and perhaps obviously, interns in schools looked like teachers, using their
mentors and, the school culture as a guide to their appearance. Second, interns learned to
move like teachers by watching their mentors complete the physical acts of teaching; this
included taking on some physical mannerisms of their mentor in their own practice.
Third, interns were tasked with managing the physical space of a classroom, including
materials and students. Finally, interns received considerable guidance (both in real-time
a n d in planning) from their cooperating teacher on the managing of space, materials, and
S tu dents’ bodies, including more “meta” discussions concerning the use of one’s body as
a t eacher.
.L O oking like a Teacher
Hee-sun, the field instructor for Tammy, Chad, Heather, and Cindy, held meetings
fol“ all her interns hosted either at her house or by one of the interns. These were casual
a ffa irs that interns simultaneously appreciated and resented. They valued the chance to
CO me together and talk about their experiences (as well as be pampered by Hee-sun who
w Quld bring special foods and drinks), but struggled to give up two hours on an evening
Wh- 611 they could have been planning for class, completing TE coursework, or visiting
théir f . . .
amily and friends who they rarely saw. These meetings were loose and free-
1‘. Q"Ving. Hee-sun usually brought an agenda, but it was rarely followed. Instead it was

tr) ‘ . . . .
l X ture of outrageous stories about mterns’ students and their parents, complaints about

135

their mentors’ idiosyncrasies, heartfelt expressions about their own perceived
inadequacies, and opportunities to celebrate small successes. lntems sat on couches with
their feet propped up, wore casual clothing, laughed loudly, and cursed frequently. But
for the fact that the conversation was about schools, one might not know these young
people were teachers.

But when interns were at their school sites, they carried themselves quite
differently. Interns, not at all surprisingly, took on the physical stance of their mentor.
This point might be obvious, so I do not wish to belabor it, but when interns came into

school to work with mentors, a significant part of the task was to look and carry

th emselves as a professional teacher, including dressing like a teacher and taking an

a u thoritative stance.
When interns were in their school sites, they dressed much like the other teachers

i n the school. In some cases, interns followed the cues of their mentors in determining
W h at “professional” dress might mean. Tammy, for example, followed Vince’s cue in
Wearing casual work pants (never jeans) and comfortable shirts and shoes. Vince never
W Ore a tie or sportcoat; Tammy never wore more formal dresses or skirts. In the same
Way, Holly followed Michael’s cue of “dressing up.” Michael always wore dress pants

and a sportcoat and Holly usually wore a skirt with a dress shirt. In cases like these,

' terns seemed to dress up or down, calibrating their appearance With their mentors .

Kimberly and Cindy were exceptions, in that they dressed significantly more up

t h . . . .
an their mentors. Bonnie, Kimberly’s mentor, often wore casual pants and shirts w1th

v
e 8 ts; Kimberly looked like she walked out of a fashion magazine. While Bonnie walked

a
1‘0 11nd in comfortable gym shoes, Kimberly clopped around noisily in chunky heels.

136

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Likewise, Shannon coached and was a competitive runner, and so on some days she wore
clothes matching those roles; Cindy, on the other hand, never dressed in these more
casual clothes. Weber and Mitchell (1995) argue that teachers’ clothes are part of the
cultural text for teaching reinforced both by the media and by years spent in classrooms
watching teachers. That 's Funny, You Don 't Look Like A Teacher (Weber & Mitchell,
1995) captures the essence of what I say: teachers (for good or bad) are expected to look
and dress a certain way and in this study all the interns met that expectation. No one
seemed to chafe at this expectation or felt stifled under these constraints; 1 never
witnessed a cooperating teacher or teacher educator correct interns over issues of dress,
t11 ough when preservice teachers were preparing for field placements prior to the
i n temship this did get some attention by teacher education faculty. Only once during the
i n temship did I observe the issue of dress come up; at the first TE course of the year, I
C) V erheard Heather telling Cindy about the shopping spree she took with her mother to get
th e clothes she needed. lntems looked like teachers when in the schools.
MO Ving like a Teacher
In addition to looking like teachers, interns also used their bodies like teachers to
e S tablish their authority. As described previously, interns took on the “teacher” role in
d i fferent ways throughout the year. Even when they were not the “teacher” and were
Ob S erving or assisting their mentor, they still positioned themselves like teachers. They
FD allied around the classroom freely without direction or permission from their
c Q Q1:)erating teacher. lntems moved from the front to the back of the classroom to work
on a new task, left the room to use the restroom or make copies even if their cooperating

I:
§ acher was in the middle of talking, or walked through the classroom helping students at

137

their desks during classroom activities (just like their mentors). Bonnie told a story about
an undergraduate observer (pre-internship) from State completing an early field
experience in her classroom; this college student sat in a student desk during class and
raised his hand to answer Bonnie’s questions (intended for her high school students). No
such role confusion existed for interns, especially when in the classroom.
When they were teaching, they likewise adopted the physical behavior of the
mentors, easily and quickly. At the beginning of the year when they followed their
COOperating teachers’ scripts (and, later, instructional and relational patterns), they
occupied the spaces in the classroom that their mentor had. lntems stood in front of the
CI assroom to make announcements or lecture, walked around the class to help students
While the students sat, spoke when they wanted and asked students to raise their hands
b e fore speaking, controlled the classroom environment by turning lights on and off or
p u tting some equipment out but not others out for students to use, answered the telephone
Wh en it rang in the classroom, and signed students’ passes to the restroom or office.
Wh en in the teaching role, they performed the physical tasks of teaching with, as I
d e S Cribed in the earlier section, occasional real-time help and assistance from their
C O 0 peratin g teacher.
In some cases, the use of the mentor’s scripts and patterns also extended to
p h ysical aspects of the jobs. lntems did not just say the same things; they also moved and
u 8 ed their voices like their mentors did. For example, I described earlier Tammy’s
g1‘EiClual use of Vince’s strategy of joining in social conversation before redirecting
S‘:“1C1ents to work. This strategy had a physical component to it as well. Vince and Tammy

W
911 1d notice a group of students who seemed to be getting off track. In other classes

138

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where I observed situations like this, interns or mentors would walk quickly to that area
of the room, and students would, if they noticed the teacher—at least temporarily—direct
their attention to the approaching teacher. If they failed to notice, the teacher would move
into the students’ line of sight, often by standing over the shoulder of one group member,
and interrupt the off-task conversation.

Vince’s technique, and Tammy’s in time, was much slower. They would
gradually begin to move toward the louder group, perhaps even stop at another table for a
brief conversation, and then position themselves just outside the group of students, often
several feet away. They would wait for a lull in the conversation or for a moment in
which they could interject their own personal story, and only then take a more central
position in the circle of students. This moment of interjection might be the first time
students in the group even noticed them standing nearby. Tammy and Vince may have
benefitted from the fact that students sat high on lab stools around a lab table rather than
at student desks, allowing Vince and Tammy to be less obvious as they moved around the
classroom. However, the slower speed and roundabout-ness of their approach to the table
looked different from any other teaching I observed, as was the way in which they
maintained a nearby but peripheral position in relation to the group for some duration
before interjecting into the conversation. I never observed Tammy and Vince discuss this
approach, nor did either ever state it explicitly to me; however, Tammy’s adoption of this
physical aspect of Vince’s practice suggests the kinesthetic quality of Tammy’s learning
from Vince.

Recall as well Kimberly’s use of Bonnie’s strategy of following every student’s

response with another question until the student arrived at an answer she wanted the

139

 

 

student to have. This acquired technique had a physical component to it as well. One
morning both Bonnie and Kimberly were tutoring students before school—Bonnie at her
desk in front and Kimberly at a table in the back. While the intern and mentor looked
nothing alike—one was middle-aged, Caucasian, wearing jeans and a vest with a long
gray ponytail and the other a sharply dressed 22 year-old Asian-American —I was struck
by how similar they looked and acted. Both were sitting low, lowering their eyes to or
below the students’ eyes in order to make eye-contact easier, and both engaged in
dialogue in which they followed every student response with a question. When the
student finally arrived at the right answer—for example, saying “It went up by 75
degrees”——Kimberly and Bonnie lifted their eyebrows without saying a word, which was
the cue for the student to write down the answer on the paper in front of them. The
physical resemblance was remarkable.
Managing the Material World like a Teacher

lntems also managed the physical space of the room and students’ bodies within
that room. For example, one of Tammy’s self-identified challenges was managing
students’ movement during group activities; Vince’s and her use of inquiry and their
relational style of classroom management meant that students had a great deal of freedom
to choose where they worked and how. However, despite the relative freedom students
experienced, Vince and Tammy were actively monitoring the classroom. When a boy and
girl began spending more time cuddling and touching each others’ faces than working on
the lab, Tammy slowly worked her way to their table and began a conversation with them
that got them back on track. Likewise, when two of Kimberly’s students who had

finished their work and were roaming the room to help their students (with her

140

 

 

permission) turned their attention to flicking rubbing bands at one another, Kimberly
quickly instructed them to return to their seats. All interns were charged with the tasks of
managing and monitoring students’ placement and movement. And they picked up the
moves quickly.

Not surprisingly, this kind of attention to students did not occur only in the spur-
of-the-moment. Interns planned classroom activities, set up labs, and designed seating
charts. Each task required that interns take account of the physical space of the room and
the students within it. One morning before a lab, I came into the room to find Cindy
standing in front of the room visualizing how students might move throughout the day.
For the lab, she needed hot plates for boiling water used for testing food for the presence
of sugar. While she originally had the plates set up at the students’ lab tables, she later
moved them to the tables set up around the perimeter. She was “worried that they might
spill the water” if it was in the middle of the group. On the side of the room, “it might be
safer.” Cindy’s work in this instance involved her considering how the room’s
arrangement might interact with the 25 adolescents whose behavior she had come to
know well. Later, when Shannon came into the room shortly before class, one of the first
things she told Cindy was, “Oh, good. I was going to tell you to put them (the hot plates)
on the side tables so they didn’t get knocked over.” When Shannon left the room again to
get her mail, Cindy gave me a big smile.

Kinesthetic-Conceptual Assistance

1 previously described how interns were surrounded by real-time assistance and

feedback. Sometimes that real-time assistance and feedback had distinctly physical or

spatial components to it. When Vince “stepped in” at Tammy’s request to help with the

141

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pond water apparatus, he was making sure that the lesson continued uninterrupted; in
addition, Tammy was able to observe Vince complete an important physical component
of the lab activity. Later in the day, she completed the task without his help. Likewise,
when Bonnie stepped in to prevent Kimberly’s students from herding to the door like
cattle, her assistance focused on the space in the room and students’ bodies within that
space. When cooperating teachers “directed interns’ attention,” that attention was often
toward students’ physical actions. Vince pointed out to Tammy how some of her students
were horse playing and Frank signaled to Chad to wrap up a discussion and move
increasingly bored students to the back of the room to start working. In real-time,
cooperating teachers helped interns notice and manage the complexities of a classroom
full of many students in a confined space.

The assistance with this complexity was not only in real-time. Mentors helped
interns plan for the physical dimension of the job and retrospectively engaged interns in
discussion of the physical aspects of previously taught lessons. In an early lesson, Chad
and Frank had planned a lesson in which the class seating chart (consisting of rows and
columns of desks) was used as an analogy to the periodic table (consisting of rows and
columns of related chemical elements). The idea was that students would move around
the room and sit down based on information given to them on an index card. As Chad and
Frank discussed the activity in the minutes before students came in, Frank realized that
Chad was having trouble connecting the written chart with the physical arrangement of
the room, primarily because Chad’s chart was missing the lab tables in the back of the
room. To assist, he told Chad to place the chart on the document camera so they could

both see it; “So, find the door and the demo desk. Got it? OK. So as long as those are

142

 

 

lined up in the right spot, you’ll have it where you need it. It’s tricky because, for you, it
will look upside down.” In his help, Frank assisted Chad in translating the three-
dimensional layout of the room into a two dimensional map, a task Chad needed to help
students do to complete the lesson.

As intems and mentors talked through and planned lessons, mentors mentioned
the physical often. Ken described how he wanted Heather to conduct a formative
assessment: “You don’t need to collect it or anything. Just do a quick over-the-shoulder
check” to see how students were doing on the assigned problem. Bonnie and Kimberly
discussed during their planning hour how they would handle a student who had been
giving Kimberly trouble the last few days: “But anything that comes up, any disturbing
behavior—Boom, I’d move him to the hallway.” It was also quite common for interns
and cooperating teachers, especially before labs or group activities, to talk through where
they would place materials and arrange desks or tables in the room. Vince and Tammy
debated whether to put indicators at the lab benches or require students to get them from
the back table. Ken and Heather rearranged the seating in the room to give a student with
emotional disabilities a clear space in the back of the room to pace if he needed it. The
physical aspects of teaching, the managing of space and bodies and materials, were a
central component of intern-mentor planning.

So too in reflections on lessons after the fact. When they retold stories of what
had occurred, interns often recounted dialogue (e. g., “and then she said this” or “I told
them to” or “when he asked whether or not”). Somewhat less frequently, they described
students’ physical behavior. Heather described how “Kirk did that pacing thing again

today. Everyone just seemed to ignore it today, so that’s good” and Kimberly relayed to

143

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Bonnie how “Mark wouldn’t give me the phone and he just walked around the room.
Finally, I went to him and put my hand out. He gave me the phone then, but I could feel
myself shaking inside. It seemed like it took forever.”

Mentors would listen, relay what they might have done, how they might have
responded, or suggest ways that the intern might proceed. lntems and mentors would
work to solve interns’ problems, including those that involved the physical dimensions of
teaching. Much less commonly (I have only three examples), the conversation would
shift to a more “meta”-level in which the mentor suggested heuristics or principles that
the intern might follow in regards to managing the physical spaces of the classroom. For
example, following the lesson in which Vince stepped in to remind Tammy to put the
sheet she was reading from on the overhead camera so students could see it, Vince told
her “You need to remember to put what you are working on up on the screen so kids can
see it. Having the visual up while you are talking about it makes a world of difference. It
helps them focus.” Vince not only explains how he would have conducted the class or
solved the problem, but also describes a rule-of-thumb (keeping things visual) for
Tammy to follow in the future.

The work of teaching has many physical dimensions; teachers strategically hover,
raise and lower their voices, lock eyes or wink. They also manage students and space.
lntems watched their mentors’ teach in physical space, taught in that same space, even
mimicking at times the ways their mentors moved and acted. And mentors attended to
this in their comments to interns, even on occasion connecting the physical components
to more general heuristics that interns might follow in ways that make explicit the

“kinesthetic-conceptual” nature of the work (Rose, 1999).

144

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Solving the Problem at Hand

Interns work in schools had a distinctly task-oriented nature. This task orientation
has three components to it. First, interns and their mentors almost always worked on
concrete problems. Second, the work on those problems was highly contextualized;
interns were planning lessons for particular students, within the boundaries and
expectations of a particular mentor, with particular materials, for particular times of day.
Finally, when principles or concepts were suggested or applied to the problem at hand,
they were of a heuristic or rule-of-thumb nature.

With the exception of time spent teaching in front of students, working together
on concrete tasks was the most common things mentors and interns did. Science teachers
have lots to do, and interns and mentors did it together—writing quizzes and tests,
grading papers, composing emails, or preparing for labs. Tammy and Vince were sitting
next to each other in front of the computer when I arrived one morning; Vince typed and
Tammy sat in the chair next to him. She looked at a review sheet they had distributed to
students, while Vince pulled up the test that he gave the previous year. Vince says, “I put
this one on last year, because I wanted the kids who maybe had some of it down but not
all of it could should what they know.” Tammy agreed to keep it and they worked to alter
last years’ test to better account for how they taught the unit this year. When they
finished, Tammy showed Vince the lab reports she was grading, asked him to look at a
few students’ responses and he told her how many points he would give and why.
Writing tests and grading papers are part of life for teachers. Sometimes they
accomplished these tasks as a pair while other times the intern would complete it on their

own and seek guidance as necessary.

145

 

 

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On another morning at Vincent High, Cindy quietly worked at her desk before
Shannon arrived. When Shannon showed up, she did so with a flurry of activity: “Sorry,
my run went long this morning. We’re doing the brain dissection this morning with my
first bell, right? C an you give me a hand?” As Cindy set out 10 dissection trays and kits
around the room (at Shannon’s direction), Shannon pulled down boxes from shelves
above the cabinets to find the box of brains: “Where are they? Have you seen them? I
know I ordered them—I remember giving Sharon the invoice.” Before long, Shannon and
Cindy were standing on chairs looking in every box in the room and back stockroom.
When Shannon finally found a box of brains, it was last years’. Only 10 brains were left,
five for each class (half of what Shannon hoped to have) and there were only five minutes
left before first bell began: “Okay, I guess we’ll have to have them in groups of five
now.” Cindy asked, “You want me to put the other five trays away?” “Yeah, I suppose.
I’ll have to make sure they all get a turn to see it.” When the students arrived, Shannon
apologized for the shortage of brains and told students, “Just because there are five of you
in a group now doesn’t mean that one or two of you should do all the cutting and probing.
Make sure everyone takes a tum.” The mad scramble for brains certainly was not an
everyday occurrence, but the task of setting up for labs and improvising based on the
available materials was fairly common. In this case, Cindy assisted Shannon in preparing
for her lab including modifying the plan and then watched Shannon present those
changes to students.

In both of these vignettes, the work that interns do with their mentors is concrete,
timely, and particular. The tasks need to be done for the classroom to function, they must

be done soon because the test is approaching or the students are arriving, and they are

146

 

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tailored to the situation at hand. Vince and Tammy are not writing a test; they are writing
a test for their students who have had particular instruction in a particular year over
particular content. Shannon and Cindy are not designing a lab; they are getting sheep
brains and dissecting kits ready for students who arrive in five minutes, and they cannot
find the box Shannon ordered.

The passage below highlights those same ideas. Frank and Chad write a quiz

together while sitting around Frank’s computer. Frank types and Chad watches over his

shoulder.
Frank: Give me one more.
Chad: How about one of the covalent ones? We don’t have one of those yet.

Frank: Yeah, that’s good. Maybe a tougher one like silicon tetrachloride that
might make them think. Hey, did you see when Josh came up during
the lab and said “What’s this stuff on my hands?” And I said (dramatic
pause, very slowly) “You are going to die.” And then I added
“Someday.” (Chad and Frank both laugh.) How about magnesium
sulfate? Would that work?

Chad: Oooh, a polyatomic ion, that’ll hurt them.

Frank: OK, we got it.

Again, Frank and Chad are writing the quiz with a particular class in mind. There was not
a discussion of general principles about quiz writing or assessment; Frank does not make
explicit how he is choosing items including why, for example, he selects magnesium
sulfate. This, of course, does not mean that general principles are not at work and one
could see how Chad might infer some of those principles. Chad suggest that “a covalent
one” might be good likely because the other quiz questions were all of another type
(ionic) and Frank affirms that decision. As well, Chad may draw the lesson that ending
the quiz with a harder question should be a general rule.

I also include the seemingly off-topic story that Frank told in this example

because it illustrates the everyday nature of this task-oriented work between interns and

147

mentors. These pairs shared a classroom together for almost eight months—like getting
“a college roommate” again—and the work interns did with their cooperating teacher was
intermixed with simply “living” with another person —sharing stories, complaining,
telling jokes, and, at times, bickering and conflict. Planning, writing assessments,
designing activities, setting up labs, intervening with problems students, writing emails to
parents—these were structured not as discrete activities in which interns and mentors set
aside blocks of time to accomplish a specific task; instead, interns and mentors did these
things in the flurry ofa day at school. Setting up a lab together included colleagues
stopping by to chat, answering a ringing phone, gossiping about students, describing a
TV show they had watched last night, giving updates on plans for a summer wedding, as
well as giving advice on how to mix a solution, arrange desks in a classroom, or keep
Frankie from distracting the rest ofthe class.

Let us finally consider an example from Kimberly and her mentor Bonnie.

Kimberly: Boy, Ashley came in with a bad attitude today.

Bonnie: I bet I saw and asked three times for her to put the make-up away. The
scores for that group (5'h hour) are going to be ugly. And then we are
going to have to make some phone calls.

Conversations between mentors and interns often started this way. A troubled student, a
commonly missed question on a test, a demo that did not work as planned——-intems bring
a problem to their mentors and the two begin to work on it. Following this initial
exchange, the conversation turned to the use of a “yellow-card” warning system that
Kimberly and Bonnie had developed for classroom management:

Kimberly: I kind of feel like with first and second hour, we can push them a little
bit and they’ll respond. They’ll get back to work when we ask them.

Bonnie: I would have booted a couple of kids today in 5’h hour. I would have

moved through the steps (of the yellow card system) much more
quickly.

148

 

 

 

Kimberly: I hate that. After the fact, I always feel like I should have handled it
differently.

Bonnie: I know. I know. But the thing that you’re getting much better at is
recognizing it and you are much better at just stopping and waiting for
kids to get quiet. I would have given one (a yellow card) to Nathan. He
doesn’t give any other kids any wait time; he just blurts and blurts. It is
just as disruptive as anyone else. They are going to be in for a rude
awakening on this test. (She walks to the printer to get a copy of the
test and gives it to Kimberly.) We’re at a point in the year with them
where there just isn’t a student who doesn’t know what needs to be
done. They have many choices, but they have to be the one to decide
to do what they need to do.

Kimberly is really struggling with 5’h hour, especially in comparison with the earlier
classes; this class, in Kimberly’s view, responds differently and she needs a new
technique for working with them. Bonnie’s response addresses the issue of S'h hour
directly; she would have “booted . . . kids today.” She refers to a situation with Nathan
who keeps blurting and describes how she would have handled him, advice she could
have given only because she was present in class, had seen Nathan’s behavior, and
realized he had passed her threshold for receiving a yellow card. While this assistance is
not in real-time, Kimberly and Bonnie both experienced the same class and, as a
consequence, Bonnie is able to point out concrete details.

The conversation then turned to another student in 5th hour, Nikki, who had been
absent for several days and had been, in Kimberly’s opinion, much less interested in
getting her make-up work than Kimberly would have liked.

Kimberly: It was like Nikki didn’t even know when she was absent.

Bonnie: Did you see a note (an official excuse note from the administration) for

Thursday? Ididn’t. . . .

Kimberly: Part of me just wants to give them the papers—here you go, let’s get

started on the lesson.

Bonnie: But every time you do, you enable this pattern of behavior. I’m

confident that kids can do this and that’s where we set our expectation.

A few minutes later, the conversation shifts to another student, Lamar.

149

 

 

Kimberly: So this was Lamar’s second yellow card. Should I call home?

Bonnie: It’s Monday. A new week.

Kimberly: OK

Bonnie: But anything that comes up, any disturbing behavior—Boom. I’d
move him to the hallway. And if there are problems there, we went
through the steps. We have been fairly lax on the consequences.
We’ve tried the positive consequences.

Kimberly: One of the things I hate about myself is the posing of these threats. It’s
like I’m always threatening them. That’s what 5th hour seems to have
figured out.

Bonnie: But you have to let kids know the consequences of their action or what
you do will appear arbitrary to them.

Each of these two final comments by Bonnie has a different quality, as they apply
more broadly than the particular student (Nikki) or class (5th hour). In the first example,
Kimberly begins that transition to the more general by switching the conversation from
Nikki to “them” and Bonnie then describes her idea—that giving kids (more generally)
things is enabling students to continue in undesirable behavior and high expectations will
help change that behavior. In the second example, Kimberly is still talking about 5“ hour
and her feelings around threats when Bonnie makes the transition to the rule-of-thumb—
kids (again generally) need to know the consequences up front or you will appear
arbitrary. These rules-of—thumb arise in the process of the mentor and intern trying to
solve an important problem in Kimberly’s class rather, it seems, than from Bonnie’s
intention to teach the rule of thumb. Kimberly raised the problems and directed the
conversation based on her recent experience, and Bonnie, in her attempt to help
encourage Kimberly to engage in a particular kind of teaching, shared some general rules
that she thought would be helpful for Kimberly to remember.

Other mentors gave this kind of principled advice, most often (as in this example)

following a lesson and arising from a discussion of some event or problem that had just

occurred. For example, after a lesson in which Vince had reminded Tammy (in real time)

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to put her handout on the document camera for students to see, he told her that “you need
to remember to put things up so that kids can see it. Having the visual up while you are
talking about it makes a world of difference. It helps them focus.” Likewise, during a
planning session for a review game, Frank and Chad are discussing some of the more or
less competitive options that Chad might use. In the end, Frank told Chad that it was his
decision and he could choose whatever format he wished, but he should remember that
“the more structured these things are, the better it is.” Like Bonnie’s assistance above,
these statements arose from a problem (kids not being able to see) or a task (preparing for
a review game) that the intern is working on and the mentor used the situation to give the
intern a more general principle that might guide their decisions or actions. The source of
these principles given by the mentor was never made explicit. No mentor referred to
research findings or a book on teaching. Instead, these principles seem to derive from
mentors’ experiences with situations similar to the one the intern is experiencing.
Returning to Interns ' Ecology

As I end the analysis of intems’ professional lives in schools, I return briefly to
the ecology of the intern. In Figure 4.1, the interactions between cooperating teachers,
interns, and the school/classroom context are highlighted and will be used here to
summarize. First, interns interact with the interaction of their cooperating teachers and
school/classroom context. When an intern watches her mentor teach, gathering his scripts
and patterns, she is not watching her mentor perform a solitary act. Instead, her mentor is
planning for, responding to, and creating with the students in the class, all of whom are
embedded within a larger school culture. Second, as interns and mentors accomplish

tasks together, write tests, and set up labs, they work with their mentors, learn. from them,

151

 

 

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get advice and feedback from them in concrete ways. Third, interns interact with the
school/classroom context as they teach. When they assume the stances of teachers, look
like teachers in front of students, and lead instruction (even instruction that mimics or
follows their mentors), they interact with the students and school. The act of being a
teacher—of embodying one—may shape the teacher they become and that process occurs
not in a generic school, but at Randolph, Vincent, or Quincy High, not with generic
students, but with students they know very well.

It may be, however, that an important arrow is missing from Figure 4.1—one that
would connect the cooperating teacher to the interaction between the intern and the
school/community context. When interns teach and receive feedback and assistance in
real-time and are directed in ways to use their bodies and space, mentors intervene in that
interaction in ways that shape the experiences that interns and their students have.
Though interns are learning to teach in school, they are learning in an interaction with
that environment that has been shaped and modified by their mentor.

As we saw in Chapter 3, this school portion ofintems’ ecology seems to have a
substantial influence on the practices and beliefs of interns. It is not, however, the whole
story. State’s teacher education program, including the field instructors and course
instructors, creates its own world with different kinds of socializing pressures. We turn to

an analysis of it next.

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Chapter 5
Learning to Teach in Teacher Education

Most teachers learn to teach in and between the university and the field. Thus far,
we have considered the field; now we turn to the university. The practices that interns
engaged in and the support they received when they were with teacher educators, and in
settings most structured by teacher education faculty, differed in fundamental ways from
their practices and support in their school placements. While the school placement is a
part of an intern’s teacher education program, for this study I identify the teacher

education program as those components of the internship populated by members who

 

identify first and foremost with State’s program—the field instructors and the course
instructors. Figure 5.1 below highlights the components of the ecology under analysis for

this chapter.

   
   
  
 

  

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Figure 5.1. Narrowing in on the teacher education side of the intems’ ecology

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I begin with the thesis of this chapter. While interns receive real-time feedback
and support as they engage in teaching in their school sites, when in teacher education,
interns are supported in reflection and analysis removed from—but grounded in— the
moment of teaching. While in school sites, interns take on and pay attention to the
kinesthetic and physical aspects of being a teacher; in teacher education, interns take on
and pay attention to the kinesthetic and physical aspects of being a student. Finally, while
in the school settings interns use and are supported in their use of their experiences and
challenges as opportunities to engage in task-oriented problem solving, in teacher
education, interns are supported in connecting their experiences with more generalized
ideas about teaching. This chapter will describe those three important dimensions of
teacher education.

Reflection, the Hallmark of Teacher Education

One cannot open a journal, a course syllabus, a curricular catalogue, and—
increasingly—a criticism of teacher education without seeing the word “reflection”
multiple times. Its omnipresence is both striking and troubling. Indeed, F endler (2003)
argues that when one talks about teachers engaging in “reflective practice,” it is best to be
cautious because of “reflection’s many faces” (p. 17). She argues that

today’s discourse of reflection incorporates an array of meanings: a demonstration

of self consciousness, a scientific approach to planning for the future, a tacit and

intuitive understanding of practice, a discipline to become more professional, a

way to tap into one’s authentic inner voice, a means to become a more effective

teacher, and a strategy to redress injustices in society. (p. 20)

For F endler (2003), the prevalence and shifting meanings of the term calls into question

its utility.

154

 

 

 

Both the goals of “creating reflective teachers” and the pedagogies of reflection
were a prominent feature of State’s teacher preparation program. In fact, one of the most
prominent features of the TE experience for interns was the emphasis on engaging in
“reflection,” although—as Fendler would predict—what instructors meant by that, and
even whether they used that specific language, varied. From the array of meanings of
reflection described by Fendler, I observed two key facets of reflection in State’s teacher
education program: I) a systematic and rational (even scientific) examination of practice
and 2) an introspective look at one’s own practice. I’ll describe each below. This
admittedly means that I have cast a large net in identifying “reflection” within State’s
program, but this characterization parallels the varied meanings of reflection identified by
Fendler within the larger literature on reflection and reflective practice.

“Let ’s look at the situation using our steps Systematic Rational Reflection

Interns in State’s program are coached to engage in systematic and rational
examination of their teaching practice. This emphasis is most common in course
assignments in which interns engage in a step-wise and bounded process for examining
their practice or for making changes in their teaching. Both TE Professional and TE
Science expected this kind of reflection, although the steps of the reflective process
varied between the classes.

In the professional responsibilities class, the guiding systematic framework for
examining one’s practice was based on the work of intern-created case studies (Sykes &
Bird, 1992). In this class, “working on a case” involved interns following six steps for
investigating and then attempting to solve a persistent classroom problem. First, intems

were expected to describe their motivation for investigating the problem they selected, in

155

 

 

essence answering the question “What prompted you to care about this aspect of practice
or the student you have chosen to investigate?” Second, they described the situation.
Instructors consistently pushed interns to hold off on interpreting during this step and
instead focus on what the behavior, student, or problem looked like. This step
emphasized trying to paint a descriptive picture of the problem before assigning a
judgment or interpretation as to the source of the issue.

Only once interns thoroughly described the situation were they permitted to
proceed to the third step of interpretation. Here, interns were encouraged to suggest
multiple interpretations for the problem they described. For example, if an intern
described a student not completing homework, she might identify as possible
interpretations a lack of organizational skills, a lack of motivation, or a life situation at
home which was getting in the way. The fourth step involved identifying the stakes
involved in the problem and any possible solutions, not only for the student at whom the
intervention is directed, but also for the intern or the other students in the class. Fifth,
interns identified and implemented a plan of action to address the problem. Finally, they
assessed the effort made and the results of their interventions.

These steps served as the six sections of the major course paper used in the
professional responsibilities course throughout the year. lntems were evaluated on the
degree to which they completed these steps well. For example, the feedback provided to
Heather by Cathleen indicates what Cathleen was looking for (the steps of the process are
bolded, emphasis added):

Nice analysis, Heather. You begin with a balanced description of worthwhile

problems, then analyze each of these problems with care and insight. Next, you

turn to stakes and alternatives, carefully mapping out your thinking for the
reader about what’s going on, why it matters and what you might reasonably do to

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address it. You then reflect on your implementation, which highlights the ways
your teaching is becoming more responsive to individual student needs. I’m really
glad to know that things with Richard improved, however I was saddened to note
that things only got worse for Bryan. While you did the right thing by
recommending him for assessment, that alone doesn’t help you to help him when
he’s in your class. I wonder what role holding “high expectations” might play in
supporting kids like Bryan?
Will connected his feedback even more tightly to the framework by providing the
feedback directly after each section of the paper. He wrote to Kimberly:
Good description — but it would be helpful to discuss at least briefly your
impressions of the level of understanding that the two students have. Besides not
doing work, what difficulties do they have in understanding the content? . . . You
have introduced several reasonable hypotheses, connected to the description —
good. . . . It would be good to also consider the stakes for the rest of the class and
for you, as their teacher and as a student of teaching. . . .You have explained
several good options, although it would be helpful to develop them more
completely. . . . Nice description of the implementation. 1 would like to see more
reflection as you assess the effort.
Across all the interns and instructors of the professional responsibilities course, these six
steps served to guide the most important assignment of both semesters. Note here too that
both Cathleen and Will isolate the process of “reflection” (at least in this particular
feedback) to the final step in which interns assess on how their implementation, though
many scholars would include the entire process under the umbrella of “reflective
practice” (e.g., Jay & Johnson, 2002; Loughran, 2002; Mansvelder-Longayroux,
Beijaard, & Verloop, 2007).
Instructors also used this framework to structure interns’ discussions with one
another in the university seminars. In seven of the twelve TE Professional class sessions I
observed (including all three instructors), interns were asked to discuss problems they

were dealing with in their internship using this framework. Sometimes this was done in

large group format. For example, in one class led by Will, Kimberly was telling the class

157

 

about a male student who was speaking inappropriately to her during the first week of
school. The student pestered Kimberly about disclosing her first name and when she told
him that she might tell him later, he asked her (in front of a group of students), “Can I
find out later tonight?”—a comment she interpreted as sexual innuendo. The same
student told Kimberly that she should call him “Daddy” or “Big D.”

As Kimberly shared the story, the other interns in class were full of questions:
“How does your mentor handle it?” “Were students assigned seats?” “Were there
established classroom routines or procedures to address this?” Kimberly tried to respond
to each by providing additional pieces of the story. After several minutes, Will stepped in
and said,

OK, so let’s take a look at Kimberly’s situation using our steps. (Pointing to the

board) What we’ve been doing here are the first two steps of this process,

describe and interpret. Let’s go ahead and record some of our interpretations.

What are our interpretations of “Daddy” and “Big D”?

lntems suggested the situation between Kimberly and her student might be one of
several things. Perhaps it was a power struggle or maybe attention-seeking behavior. On
the other hand, the student may want a personal relationship with Kimberly or was
compensating for a lack of school knowledge. Once the interns shared various
interpretations, Will led a discussion of the stakes involved or possible consequences of
this problem (step 4) for Kimberly and her students. The other two professional
responsibilities instructors (Sandy and Cathleen) used similar whole-class formats,
structuring the discussions by either implicitly or explicitly using the six step frame.

lntems also used the frame in small groups. A regular format was to group interns

and ask them to share (using the steps) an issue from their internship. These discussions

were sometimes organized around a topic (for example, classroom management or

158

 

working with parents) and sometimes around a student of the interns’ choosing. In either
case, instructors emphasized the importance of following the steps and set boundaries on
the discussions. For example, Cathleen organized interns into groups to discuss a
particular student’s problem. She set ground rules for their discussion, emphasizing the
need for the intern “to first describe as crystal clear as possible” the situation without
interjecting his or her interpretation of what is occurring. Then, Cathleen cautioned, “you
need to sit quietly and listen” as the other interns in the groups share their interpretation
of what is occurring. “Don’t talk during this time.” Once the small group had started, the
group I was observing quickly began a free ranging discussion of the first intern’s
problem that included the group members’ interpretations but also a multitude of possible
solutions and interventions the interns might try. The describing intern did not sit quietly;
as one intern would offer an interpretation or solution, she jumped back into the
conversation to offer additional infonnation, her own interpretation, or some reason why
the intervention proposed would or would not work. Cathleen likely noticed this
occurring in many of the groups because she flicked the classroom lights to get the
interns’ attention:
It is so easy to want to jump in there and clarify things, isn’t it? To try to guide
your classmates’ interpretations? But teachers report that when they see how
others are misconstruing things, the assumptions that they make, that this can be
really eye-opening for you to see how others hear what you are saying. So please,
try not to say anything and just listen to what your group is saying.
Like Will’s management of the whole class discussion, Cathleen attempted to structure

the intems’ discussions to be more systematic and disciplined, to follow the steps of the

process rather than allowing the discussion to take its unguided course.

159

 

 

The TE Science course also promoted the systematic examination of practice,
particularly through its course assignments, though it used a different set of steps. For
example, in the inquiry course assignment, interns were expected to design and
implement at their school site a series of lessons that used an “inquiry approach.” To
report on this work, they were expected to describe the “story of what happened,”
“analyze student work,” and describe the way in which they designed and implemented
aspects of inquiry, like questions, evidence, and students’ explanations. Each part
included sub-steps. For example, when analyzing student work, students were to: 1)
describe the assessment task, 2) generate an ideal response of a hypothetical student who
understood the content well, 3) summarize the patterns in the actual student responses, 4)
analyze their effectiveness of instruction, and 5) summarize what they would change next
time they did it. As before, this assignment structure suggests that better thinking about
instruction comes when these steps are followed. Before, the assignment seems to say, a
teacher looks at student responses, they should think about what they hope students might
be able to say. And before making a judgment about how effective instruction was, one
should look at student responses. And before thinking about what they would do if they
taught the lesson again, one should analyze the effectiveness of their instruction.

In sum, in both yearlong classes that interns took at the university, teacher
educators were asking them to engage in a form of self-study, “the intentional and
systematic inquiry into one’s own practices” (Dinkelman, 2003, p. 8). The assumption
here is that good teaching puts “reflection at the center” (p. 8) of the work; that is, good

teaching requires taking a “mindful,” or intentionally thoughtful approach to thinking

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about one’s teaching, and entails adjusting one’s practices in response to the systematic
and intentional inquiry.

Fendler (2003) argues that reflection that stresses systematic thinking resonates
with Dewey’s arguments for a more scientific and rational way of generating knowledge
about teaching. As Dewey (as cited in Fendler, 2003) says “reflection thus implies that
something is believed in (or disbelieved in) not on its own direct account, but through
something else which stands as witness, evidence, proof, voucher, or warrant; that is, as
ground of belief” (p. 18). The steps that teacher educators take intems through are
intended to promote that kind of belief with evidence or warrant; decisions about which
intervention to try come by considering the situation almost as data and then analyzing
the results before deciding on success and subsequent steps one might take. However, as
Fendler (2003) would predict, another important “meaning” of reflection arises in State’s
program. We turn to that meaning next.

“T his was a horrible day Introspective Retrospective Reflection

A second form of reflection that teacher educators asked of interns was an
introspective and retrospective recall of one’s experience. Unlike the systematic (or
scientific) version of reflection described above in which interns were encouraged to plan
for action through steps, this version of reflection encouraged interns to make explicit
their thoughts, feelings, motives, and responses to practice they had already engaged in.
Future action might be included in this reflection, not as a result of a rational systematic
decision (e. g., considering alternatives, identifying the stakes, etc.), but as the product of

looking into one’s self.

161

 

 

 

The predominant pedagogy used to encourage this style of reflection was weekly
joumals that interns wrote and sent to their field instructor and, in some cases, their TE
course instructor. To my knowledge, the guidelines for writing journal entries were loose;
the primary requirement was that interns send them weekly and that they were to be used,
in Sam’s words, “as a place for you to reflect on what you have been doing.” The field
instructors responded to the journals with comments, suggestions, or questions.

As I described in Chapter 2, I collected 98 journal entries written by interns, 55 of
which included the responses interns received from teacher educators. In analyzing these
journal entries and responses, three themes emerge. First, interns replayed classroom
events and teacher educators responded with additional questions intended to promote
interns’ thinking. Second, and related to the first, interns often forecasted how they would
change something about their practice based on the outcome of the story they told.
Finally, interns used the journals and were encouraged to use the journals to put their
emotional responses into words. Thus, journals were alternatively used as mirrors,
assessment or evaluation tools, and diaries.

The most common component of introspective reflection was the sharing of self-
nominated significant events from practice. Over 80% of the journal entries re-told a
story from practice. Unlike the more structured or systematic case study assignments
described above, there was no extemally-imposed structure. Descriptions were mixed
with interpretations which were mixed with possible next steps. Holly described a
situation below from November:

A second disciplinarian issue for me this day, Friday, was when I took Jamal out

into the hallway because he was acting so very aggressive all day. He was short

fused when the hour started, and I had to break up some “male aggression” going
on inside of the class, and later when everyone was working independently he

I62

 

 

kept being so short tempered. After watching him draw some gang sign on the
chalk board 1 took him in to the hallway to ask what was going on. He talked
about being disrespected when someone took his chair and said if that happens
again, he had no choice but to . . . There were a few things I mentioned to him
about having a choice, and then it came time to address the gang symbol. I told
him that we represent our school by showing our colors, but we couldn’t represent
ourselves using those symbols that he drew on the board. I felt like my father.
This is the way he would talk to me—very indirectly, and expressing to him “you
can’t do this.” I had NO IDEA how to handle the situation. I can handle fights,
but taking preventative measures about that gang sign, I just have no clue.

Holly does not try to describe this situation before interpreting. For example, it is not
clear what “male aggression” or “short tempered” look like, only that Holly clearly
interpreted it as threatening and potentially dangerous. She does not offer alternative
interpretations of the situation, but instead jumps to solutions to the problem, or in this
case, her lack of a solution.

In another example below, Cindy describes a situation and quickly settles on an
interpretation without considering alternatives:

This was the second day that fourth hour was in the library working on their
research project. I am quickly discovering how difficult it is to keep students on
task when they are placed in front of a computer. I ended up spending the
majority of the hour walking around and asking students to get back on task.
There is a music download program that for some reason is not blocked and this is
where the students want to spend all of their time. It is so frustrating having to
continually monitor certain students to make sure they are doing what they should
be. This indicates to me that the lesson is not engaging enough but recently
nothing I seem to do engages them.

She uses the rest of the entry to describe a possible solution (participation points):

I think beginning next semester I’m going to give participation points for being on
task in class. Without participation points there is no consequence for student
misbehavior. They surf the intemet when they are supposed to be working, they
never work on their bell work, and they are constantly starting side conversations.
Once again I am afraid that these behaviors are a consequence of students not
being interested in the material. I need to find a way to solve this issue.

163

 

Her field instructor’s response to Cindy was prototypical. She acknowledges the struggle
and poses some questions:
Motivating students is not easy. . . . I would recommend you starting from the
easiest place. When do your students show their interest most, work hardest, and
learn best either in your lesson or in Shannon’s lesson? What about observing or
thinking about (this situation) while having this question in your mind?
She does not push Cindy to be more systematic, but instead points Cindy toward her own
experience and her own thinking as the source for answers or solutions to practice. i

Another field instructor, Sam, would often take a similar tack and ask interns questions

that required interns to look more at their own lives or teaching practice. For example, he

 

commented to Holly that “it’s important to have some balance and not miss out on life.
How can you reduce your work that goes home from school?” and “Now, how have you
been able to help your students become critical thinkers and ask the important
questions?” In both cases, no systematic examination of a problem was required. Holly
and Cindy were encouraged to look inside.

In addition to retelling stories, interns also use the journals to engage in future-
oriented thinking. Sometimes this involved interns describing new strategies they will
implement in the future. Cindy’s discussion of participation points above serves as one
example of that kind of work. She described a situation in which she struggled with a
problem and then uses the journal to propose a change she might make in the future.
Likewise, Holly described a confrontation she had with a young man in class (a different
but remarkably similar confrontation than the one described above) and then uses the
lessons of the experience to propose future action:

I then confronted him about what he was writing on the chalk board, as he looked

back at me with confused eyes like he didn’t know what I was saying. All the
while I couldn’t help but sounding like a parent telling him that what he was

164

 

 

 

doing was inappropriate and he needs to “grow up” from that. That wasn’t really

what I wanted to say but found myself getting caught up in the disciplining that I

started resembling my parents and how that sounded to me (NOT the impression I

was trying to give off). This instance gave me a starting point to think about how

I’m going to handle these kinds of situations in the future, and how it will take

maturity on my part to speak to the student in a way that’s effective and loving at

the same time. Next time I would like to show the student what his or her possible

options are and what the outcomes of those choices would be. I need to speak in a

way that will relate to the student while showing concern at the same time.

Other interns used language like “I wasn’t really happy with how things went, but I have
been able to reflect on what I would change” (Cindy) or “When I teach this unit again, F ,1}
there are two main changes I would make” (Tammy) or “I hope that in the future I can
give . . .” (Chad) or “I am still sorting out my thoughts, but I would like to try some new
ways of presenting for the next unit.” (Kimberly). At the end of each story, the most
common follow-up was for interns to talk about what they had learned and what they
might do the next time they taught a unit, dealt with a parent, or engaged with a particular
student.

This kind of reflecting was explicitly taught and encouraged, particularly by field
instructors. For example, at a meeting with Sam and five of his interns, he gently
chastises them:

Thank you for sending your journals to me. This is just a reminder to be a little

more reflective in them than you have been, ok? Some are just synopses, really,

but I’d like to see a little more thought. What went well? Would you have done
something differently? What would you do the next time or if you could do it
again? Be reflective. Think about the practice of teaching.
Individual events become occasions for reflecting, for thinking ahead using the
experience and insight one garnered from teaching. This kind of reflection differs from

the more systematic approach promoted in TE coursework. The journal entries did not

conform to any step-by-step process for generating new knowledge and there are not any

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explicit boundaries placed on what interns wrote about. Instead, it more closely matches
Schon’s (1983) idea of reflection-on-action in which interns take their practical
experiences and generate new personal knowledge from them, not by following a system,
but by relying on intuition, experience, and soul searching.

lntems were unguarded and self-disclosing in their journals, often explicitly
describing and labeling their emotions. This emotional writing was often commended by
teacher educators, though it would not have been appropriate (and did not appear) in a
course assignment. For example, early in the year, interns commonly talked about the
fear or awkwardness they experienced being in front of students. Chad described how at
the end of the first week “the idea of standing in front of my students is still scary, but I
think that it shows a lot less than it did before” and Heather shared that “Stress is
probably at a maximum right now.” Interns described situations in which they felt shame
[“I can’t believe I said that” (Holly)], frustration [“Unless I get this classroom
management under control, I won’t be able to teach them ANYTHING (Chad)], guilt [“I
realize that you cannot save every student, but does this guilt ever go away? (Kimberly)],
or even anger. Cindy used the journal to vent about her mentor: “This was a horrible day
and I honestly don’t know if I can survive with Shannon anymore. I honestly feel like I’m
going to lose it with her.” When she finished with a story about how Shannon corrected
her in front of her students, she added, “Wow I guess my frustrations finally all boiled
out. I needed to do this but I’ll pull it together like I always do. Deep breath. . .tomorrow
is a new day and at least I’ve got my students... they’re great!”

Of course, emotions were not always negative. lntems expressed hope,

excitement, or satisfaction, though this was less frequent than more negative emotions.

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Heather described success she had with a previously troubling student: “Although I’m
sure all of our days with him won’t be good, I think we have made some really good

!,9

progress Chad said proudly: “They were not just listening. They were active and
engaged! At the end ofthe class, I felt really good. I felt like this was my best teaching
experience to date.” But positive or negative, emotions were present in journals in ways
not seen in course assignments or class meetings.

Field instructors responded to this emotional tone by offering reassurance and
encouragement. C onsidcr an example in which Holly was upset because she overheard
students criticizing her teaching and worried about its impact on other students:

And so, I heard it: my first rude awakening to hear a student’s opinion of my

teaching. Zelda, who was raising her hand, was asking “Where’s Mr. Delaney?

Where did he go?” And then, “If Mr. Delaney was teaching I would understand

this better.” Since she speaks so LOUD, whether or not other students shared her

sentiment or not, she could have sparked it then. It was a little bit chaotic that day
with all of the questions and it was a lesson for me that I need to do some more
review at the start of each day.
Sam replied, “Always remember, don’t take things personally. Kids will say things
whether they mean it or not. It looks like you have done well to make this a positive
experience in that you are reflecting on your practice and recognizing areas you would
like to work on. Keep it up!” Sam tried to reassure her, but also noted that “reflecting”
will make her a better teacher.
Discussion

The practice of reflection plays a prominent role in State’s teacher education

program, though reflection here has at least two related meanings. Reflection might

involve interns using systematic thinking to examine their practice— selecting problems,

evaluating interpretations, carefully weighing the stakes, and analyzing the outcomes of

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action—or it might mean looking introspectively into their practice and tapping into the
personal, emotional, and contextual aspects of their experience. In either case, however,
the Opportunities to reflect were grounded fimily in the interns’ experiences in schools.
They were not reflecting on written cases or theoretical concepts or readings or
videotapes. Practice was front and center.

In contrast, however, to intems’ work with their cooperating teachers, this
reflective work around practice did not take place in real-time. When interns completed
course assignments, they were planning for future practice or recalling past practice.
They recounted the experiences they had lived rather than living the experiences with
their teacher educators. In recounting those experiences, interns leave the physical
aspects of teaching and shift to thinking about teaching. This shift signifies another key
way in which teacher education differs from the field for the intern and is the topic of the
next section.

The Physical World of Teacher Education

In the previous chapter, I described the ways in which the physical and bodily
dimensions of teaching were conveyed and discussed in the interns’ school placements.
Here I contrast that with the ways in which interns used their bodies and voices in teacher
education and the physical and material dimensions of interaction between interns and
teacher educators.

Interactions with teacher educators and the program occurred primarily in three
settings: teacher education classrooms at the university, conferences held at the interns’
school sites, and electronically through course assignments and journals. Across all sites,

some important themes emerge. First, interns, especially in TE courses, dress, move, and

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talk like their students rather than like their field or course instructors. Second, interns sit.
This sitting stands in sharp contrast to interns’ work in schools. With teacher educators,
interns sit in groups to discuss with peers or talk with instructors, sit with field instructors
during conferences, and sit in front of their computer screens to complete course
assignments and journals. Finally, there is an emphasis on written texts, arising from a
variety of sources including the intern, the teacher educators, or outside experts. These
texts are often the focal points around which discussion, work, or feedback is provided.

I organize this section by the location of the interactions that occurred between
the interns and the program. I begin by describing the teacher education classrooms,
follow with an analysis of conferences held at school sites, and end by relooking at the
written texts (usually electronic) produced by interns and TE for their attention to
kinesthetic-conceptual issues.

Retaking the Persona of a Student: Teacher Education Classrooms

Teacher education courses during the internship year used physical space and
asked students to use their bodies in quite similar ways across classes. Two classroom
arrangements were predominant. First, interns sat at desks or tables in a circle with the
instructor sitting at a table or desk nearest the front of the room with access to a
whiteboard or computer console. In this arrangement, instructors led whole class
discussions, conducted short lectures, or used the board or projector to convey
information. The second arrangement positioned interns at tables where they were part of
a group of three or four. Instructors often had interns in these groups to have discussions

or work on joint projects.

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Of the almost 2600 minutes of TE coursework I observed, interns were in one of
these two arrangements for about 2000 minutes. The choice between these arrangements
rested with the course instructors. When interns entered the room, instructors had already
set up the room or asked early arrivals to help them arrange it before class began. In
addition, instructors might transition the interns from one arrangement to the other during
class. For example, Will asked his students who had been working in small groups: “All
right, let’s take a little break, and when we come back, we’ll talk as a large group about
our readings.” When interns returned from their break, they took seats around the outside
of the classroom rather than around the smaller tables as they had before.

These two arrangements changed the nature of intems’ participation. When seated
in a circle, interns often had their laptops in front of them without anyone behind them,
most importantly the instructor. While I would not describe the courses I observed as one
characterized by interns being unengaged, most interns’ laptops almost always had email,
instant messaging, or social networking software on and in use. I observed Heather
paying her bills online while her instructor gave details about an important course
assignment (on which Heather eventually earned an A). All the interns in the study, and
the vast majority of the interns in the program, are millennials, described as both fluent
with social media and inclined to engage in multi-tasking even during college instruction
(Carlson, 2005). When students were seated in groups at tables, interns less frequently
engaged in multi-tasking, in part because instructors were walking around. As interns
worked in groups, instructors would roam the classroom, listen in on groups’ discussions,
and occasionally participate. On one occasion, a student was illicitly using his iPhone

while his group was working through a case. Cathleen walked up behind the intern and

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tapped him on the shoulder. She was clearly annoyed and while I could not hear the
entire conversation, the intern looked mildly angry. As he turned the phone off and put it
in his pocket, he said “I mean, come on, I’ve been engaged in conversation all day.”
Cathleen responded, “That may be true, but we’ve talked about this before.” While the
consequences of this interaction may have been different (after all, Cathleen did not
confiscate the phone), this scene could have been from one of the intern’s own classroom.

In group discussions, interns most often faced each other while talking. They
actively listened and while they would follow instructor directions by rotating who had
the floor, they often interjected with questions for one another or would add comments
about how similar or different their experience had been. Less often but still regularly,
interns would work on a project together and huddle around an intern’s laptop. This
occurred, for example, if they had to design an appropriate formative assessment question
about cells or to prepare a pros and cons list for the assigning of homework. Whether
facing each other or facing a computer, interns’ collegial interactions were egalitarian and
nonconfrontational; I rarely saw interns try to assert control of other interns or steer
another intern to work differently. This is true even when an intern might be obviously on
the wrong track. For example, the intern caught using his iPhone, despite his assertions,
did not appear to be listening to his group’s discussion. His eyes were down and he was
not contributing. The other interns appeared not to notice and no dirty looks or other
efforts were used to pull him into the conversation. Only the course instructor took that
initiative.

The primary instructional strategy employed by TE instructors was classroom

discussion, whether large-group or small. Texts played an important role in these

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discussions. While the reading load was relatively light given that interns were teaching
nearly full-time, instructors assigned short readings and writing during the week. For
example, Sandy asked interns to read an early chapter from Love & Logic (Fay & Funk,
1995); when they came to class, small groups made physical representations or models of
some of the principles espoused in the chapter. Will used a summary of conceptions of
justice that he had posted on the course website as the basis for a short lecture and
discussion of justice. In addition, instructors ha'd interns create their own texts in the form
of postings on the course website, asking, for example, intems to describe a situation
related to classroom management that occurred during the week- Instructors then shared a
posting or two using the projector with the rest of the class to launch the discussion for
the day. In addition, students in both the professional responsibilities and the science-
specific courses often used time in class to work on course assignments, get feedback
from classmates or instructors, or work on sections of assignments together.

An outside observer to class would have had no problem identifying who the
course instructor was and who the interns were. First, the instructors were always sitting
closest to the front of the classroom—the area of the room nearest the board or computer
workstation that controlled the projector. Second, during class, interns rarely stood while
instructors were often standing. While arranged as a whole group, all the instructors in
the study except Cathleen would stand in the front of the class or lean against a table
while talking, while the interns were seated in chairs or at desks. While the instructors
were quite skillful at having interns talk with one another instead of having all the

discussions run through them, the instructors’ posture gave them away.

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So did their dress. Instructors wore suits, dress pants and shirts, sweaters, skirts,
or dresses. lntems wore much more casual clothing. Blue jeans or shorts (depending on
the weather), State sweatshirts and T-shirts or gear from the high school in which they
were interning, ball caps turned backwards for the men and ponytails for the women—all
of these were common on any given Friday in a TE classroom. lntems became students
again.

The contrast was often striking; all week I would observe professionally dressed
interns in their school placements as they talked about how to arrange the classroom with
their mentors, arranged the desks as they wanted them, told students where to sit, stood
(in front of the classroom) as they led discussion or gave directions to groups of casually
dressed students. lntems corrected their students when they were off-task, monitored
their students’ attention and behavior, and controlled how long activities might last and
when transitions would occur. On Fridays, these same interns would come to class to talk
about teaching but take on the role and persona of their students—sitting most of the
time, sitting where and when told, engaging in work that someone had planned for them,
reading and writing texts someone else assigned, rarely correcting anyone else who was
not toeing the line, texting their friends during class, browsing their messages, and
dressing like they had as undergraduates.

An Outside Observer: Field Instructors Visit the Schools

While work with teacher education course instructors occurred almost entirely on

the campus of the university (or electronically), field instructors’ primary responsibility

was to visit the interns’ classrooms, observe interns teaching, provide feedback, and hold

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evaluative three-way conferences between teachers, interns, and the field instructor (as a
representative of the program). This all occurred at the interns’ schools.

Field instructors visited interns’ classroom approximately once every two weeks.
Visiting entailed watching one period ofteaching (e.g., 3rd hour or 6th bell). If the
schedule permitted, immediately after the lesson, the field instructor and intern would
meet to talk about the lesson for approximately 30 minutes. On those occasions where the
intern could not meet immediately after the observation, field instructors would return to
the school later in the day. For Sam, this post-observation conference usually involved

the mentor teacher; Hee-Sun usually met with her interns one on one.

When field instructors arrived in the classroom, interns would typically greet
them as they entered. More organized interns would immediately hand the field instructor
their focus class binder (a collection of materials including unit and lesson plans as well
as past evaluation and observation reports). Once when Hee-Sun brought a field
instructor-in-training along with her, she commented that “Tammy is so organized; she
always has her binder ready for me.” More often, field instructors would need to ask the
interns for the binder. On several occasions, I saw interns (Heather and Holly) huddled
over their focus class binders during their planning periods in preparation for the visit,
despite the fact that the binder was meant to be a repository for work the interns were
doing on a regular basis. After they arrived, field instructors took a seat in the back of the
room, thumbed through the binder, and looked at the lesson plan for the day. In the post-
conference, this lesson plan might serve as a topic for conversations—“I noticed that you

had planned to do . . .” or “Why did. you choose this as you objective?” In addition,

174

missing pieces of the binder would be brought to the intern’s attention. Sam, for example,
questioned why Kimberly did not have unit plans in the proper format.

Once class had begun, interns and field instructors would rarely interact. Unlike
the cooperating teachers who provided real-time assistance by stepping in, directing
interns’ attention, or smoothing things over, field instructors generally kept their distance.
From the back of the room, they kept a running log of the lesson on triplicate paper (one
for them, one for the intern, one for the program) that described the lesson while also

noting questions to ask in the later debriefing session. For example, Hee-Sun divided her

 

observation report into three columns: Teacher, Student, and Thoughts/Questions. In the 4"
teacher column she described what she saw the teacher doing or saying (ex. “9:35:
<Whole Group> ‘The conclusion is due tomorrow. What do we notice? What are some
pattems?) In the student column, she would describe students’ work, behavior, and talk
(Next to what Hee—Sun wrote above she wrote: “Being quiet. ‘Hot went faster.’ ‘Cold

99’

took longer. ) Finally, she would record her own impression and questions she had for
the intern (“How can we have students present their results to the whole class and help
them find the pattems?”). Sam used the same triplicate papers, though his reports were
more narrative. Instead of three columns, he would summarize a segment of class in
paragraph form and then off to the right, would pose a question (e.g., “What role does
this kind of review play in student learning?”) These written reports were often two to
three pages long and composed entirely in the duration of the lesson being observed;
interns were handed their copy during the post-observation conference.

On occasion, particularly when students were working in groups on an assignment

or in lab situations, field instructors would leave their seats and circulate. Most often,

1.75

they would simply observe the students or pose to them descriptive questions that might
help them understand what the students were doing (e. g., “Do you mind if I watch your
group for awhile?” or “So what are you working on?”). I did observe Hee-Sun and, Sam
each engage in behavior similar to “smoothing things out” on one occasion, both in
laboratory settings. Hee—Sun noticed a group of boys in Chad’s class begin to playfially
argue over the last lab stool. Before the situation escalated and before Chad noticed it
occurring, she stood up and offered the boys her lab stool. The boys laughed, took the
stool and started working. During one of Kimberly’s lab, Sam noticed a group getting off
task. He walked over and said “So are you done? What did you discover if you don’t
mind me asking?” He talked with the group for two minutes or so about their results until
Kimberly called for the class’s attention and gave directions for cleaning up. These two
relatively small interventions were the only times .I saw field instructors providing help
with real-time, smoothing out assistance; neither intern was likely aware ofthe
intervention. Any other assistance or feedback caine after the lesson during the post-
observation conference.

Depending on the intern, post-observation conferences were held in different
places throughout the school. Tammy had a backroom where she and Hee-Sun would
meet as Vince taught while Chad and Hee-Sun often met in the school library, again,
without Frank. Hee-Sun and Heather sometimes met in the lunchroom across the hall and
other times met in the classroom—when in the classroom, Ken would usually join them.
Cindy and Hee-Sun met in Cindy’s classroom and Shannon joined them only

occasionally. Sam and his interns, Holly and Kimberly, always met in the classroom after

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school or during a planning hour and, at least when I observed, always were joined by
Michael or Bonnie, respectively.

I describe later the content of these conferences. Here, I focus on the physical
nature of the conferences. First, interns and, field instructors (and mentors, when present)
would sit around a table to talk. In many ways, this table could have been anywhere
without impacting the meeting; the physical surroundings of the room rarely if ever
played a part in the conversation. I never observed interns or field instructors leave their 1

seats to demonstrate or re-enact a moment from the classroom nor did the physical layout d

 

of the room become the topic of conversation. Instead, interns and field instructors talked
about the lesson that had just occurred, with the observation notes of the intern serving as
a guide for the conversation. For example, in the conversation below, Sam talks with
Kimberly and Bonnie about a lesson he had just observed where students were working
in groups on a review activity:

Sam: (looking at his notes) I thought it went pretty well and really most
kids were pretty engaged. But I noticed that in several of the groups ,
it seemed like one of the students might have dominated the group a
little bit, just let the other group members sit back and then in one of
the groups, they didn’t seem to make much progress. So, I wrote this
question here (pointing to his report) “How do you make sure that
students are all working productively?”

Bonnie: Well, for the groups that were working . . . . (response not recorded)

Sam: I also noted (pointing to report) that some of the kids relied pretty
heavily on their notes.

Kimberly: And some kids do do that so I try to make every problem a little
different from the ones in their notes do that they have to understand
their notes rather than just copying the example problems.

Conferences did not always stay as tightly connected to the reports as in the
example above; field instructors often gave interns a chance to comment about what they

saw as important events and these were not tied to the text that field instructors had

177

produced. But those questions that field instructors noted in their written observation
were always brought to the interns’ attention.

Four times throughout the year, interns, cooperating teachers, and field instructors
met in classrooms for more formal evaluation meetings (fall midterm and final
conference, spring midterm and final conference). These meetings were not connected to
any particular lesson, but were instead an opportunity for more structured evaluation
from both the field instructor and cooperating teacher, organized around the program’s
standards. In fact, these meetings and the forms that went with them were in most cases

the only time that cooperating teachers provided written feedback to the interns.l

 

The conference fomis had four sections, each of which was written on a page.
These sections were: 1) Liberal Education and Science Subject Matter, 2) Working with
Students, 3) Class Organization, and 4) Professional Roles and Responsibilities.
Cooperating teachers, field instructors, and the interns completed the forms
independently, giving the intern a score, ranging from novice to expert on each section,
along with notes about the strengths and areas for improvement. The meetings always
began with a sharing of fomis, giving each participant about five minutes to read the
others’ reports. Once that had been completed, the field instructor would ask the
cooperating teacher to comment on the first page, follow that with his or her comments,
and then give the intern a chance to respond. The text served as the center of this
important formal meeting. For example, during Heather’s spring mid-term conference,

Ken and Hee—Sun discussed Heather’s progress. When Hee-Sun asked Ken about what

 

1 The only exception to this was 3 TE course assignment that required interns to get
written documentation of a lesson from their mentor. Four interns received that written
summary from their cooperating teacher. Furthermore, it was intended to be more like
‘data’ that interns used to make claims about how instruction went rather than feedback.

178

 

things he’d like to see Heather work on for before the internship ended, he asked “Do you
mean on particular sections or overall?” Hee-Sun told him that “by section would be
good.” Ken, over the course of the next three minutes, summarized his feedback by
following the text he had written on the evaluation sheet:

Well, I think really nothing in section 1. We have a pretty set curriculum so there

aren’t a lot of places where she can make many changes. . . . I just don’t have any

concern with one, two, or three. Number four, assessments, are very good. One

thing with inquiry I would like us to look at more are data. . . . Caring for

individual students (a subheading on the form) — we’ve talked about this some — l
but you know when you are annoyed with students, making sure that they don’t he
know that you find them annoying. . . . Responding to behavior (subheading), you i
are really very good at confronting misbehavior. Technology (subheading) is
outstanding — one thing you do is that you change plans very quickly if you need
something and that is very hard for an intern to do. I think that 10 and 11 (sections 1
on the form) are awesome. . . . I’m asking you to do things that aren’t any of my

strengths. 1 really want you to be accomplished. I mean, expert, who can be

expert? I don’t like that language, master teacher. I don’t even know what that

means.

 

Hee-Sun’s response was, likewise, tightly tied to the text that she had prepared. Like Ken,
she began at section I and progressed through the sections using the language on the
form. She began: “I also think that you are strong in the first strand, but I want to see you
focus more on science content and the way that science works.” She continued by
describing Heather’s progress from her perspective on each section.

This was the format for all the formal conferences and was followed without
exception across interns and field instructors. The most extreme version of this occurred
in Holly’s spring mid-term conference where Sam tried to convince Holly that she
needed to make changes in her practice or his final evaluation of her would be negative:

Sam: So I’d like you now to read this as a school administrator, through that

lens and see if there are things that would raise a red flag in terms of
them making a hiring decision.

Holly: Yeah, sure. I think, well like with “shying away” — what were the
struggles that she was having?

179

Sam: Would you hire someone based on that first paragraph?

Holly: Umm, it depends. If I’m looking for Chicago Public Schools and it is
all about managing student behavior, that would be a problem.

Sam: I recognize that you are still an intern. I know that you still have some
room for growth. But I almost wanted to get a reaction out of you with
this (pointing to the written evaluation), but you stayed with Miss
Congeniality.

Holly: Well, I have known that student behavior would be my big goal, my
big challenge. I mean, I remember saying in my first journal that my
life would never be the same.

Sam: Well, as you go through this evaluation with a fine-toothed comb — are
there things that you would like to have changed? And what would the
reasons be? I’m not trying to be mean here, but I want you to make
those changes in writing (Sam hands her a red pen) so that we can
have something different in your final evaluation. What about that first

sentence?
Holly: Adequate? (reading from the text) Is that what you want me to notice?
Sam: Well, I think that you know your physics, but I want you to be able to

translate that to students.

The conversation was tense and uncomfortable. Sam took Holly line-by-line through each
sentence of the evaluation and asked her to interpret what was undesirable about the
words he had written and make corrections (in red ink) that reflected what she would like
in her final evaluation.
Written Later: Journals and Course Assignments

I have already described the ways in which journals and course assignments
emphasized the need for interns to reflect on their work. Later, I will look at the structure
of the assignments and the ways in which field instructors and course instructors used
intems’ experiences to reinforce and teach core ideas form State’s program. Here,
however, I will briefly describe the embodied, or perhaps disembodied, nature of these
written assignments and the feedback.

First, and obviously, these assignments and the feedback were text-based. When

interns describe in a journal or course assignment how a situation transpired in their

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classroom, many of the physical. details of the classroom, of the student, of the intems’
voice and body are lost. Even though assignments push interns to “describe situations”
before interpreting, very rarely does this description include descriptions of classroom
surroundings, of students’ physical appearance, posture, or voice tone, or the intems’
physical or bodily response. Even in the rare cases where more physical descriptions do
come up (for example, Tammy describes a student whose response to her request to work
is “a blank stare and then he returns to reading his novel”), course instructors and field
instructors do not specifically address those physical characteristics. (In the case above,
for example, Sandy, Tammy’s course instructor, does not comment on the blank stare.)
This is reasonable, of course. Course instructors do not attend the interns’ classrooms, do
not know interns’ students, and would have to depend on the interns’ abilities to write
very descriptive prose that allowed them “see” into the classroom. This rarely happens.
These text-based formats for communication and feedback do not lend themselves well to
paying attention to more physical or bod.in aspects of teaching.

Second, when interns write these assignments, they do so away from the
classroom in which the events they described occur. lntems, for example, are not writing
journals as they teach as a running log of their experience. Instead, after the event has
occurred, hours or days later, they reconstruct the events as they type on their computer.
lntems completed this work in different places; Chad did much of his work for TE in a
prep room connected to his classroom or at home as did Kimberly and Lindsay, while
Heather completed hers at a computer in the classroom as Ken taught. As interns
completed this work, they were sitting and typing, most often alone. And while I never

observed the field instructors and course instructors typing their feedback, one can be

181

 

 

 

sure that it did not occur in the interns’ classroom and it often occurred many days, if not
weeks or months, after the event had actually transpired in the interns’ classroom.
Discussion

Looking across these three main sites for interaction between TE and interns
(university classrooms, field instructor conferences, and electronically exchanged
assignments and joumals), three themes emerge. First, written text plays a prominent role
in interns’ work with teacher educators. In courses, interns read. texts, produce texts,
center discussions around texts, and receive feedback, advice, and encouragement
through written texts. When field instructors come to observe teachers in classrooms,
they are expected by the program to produce a text and use the majority of their time in
the classroom doing so. During the post—observation conference, that text loosely guides
the direction the discussion takes and the text serves as permanent feedback the intern
receives and can go back and consult. lntems are judged in courses on their ability to
create written texts. While the assignments asked interns to connect their lived
experiences with what they were writing, the act of writing for TE was not one done in
the moment of teaching. Instead, interns wrote by themselves, after the teaching had
ended, about events that had occurred previously. An intern who wrote well about his or
her experience, who followed the assignment’s guidelines, and could put into written
form the kinds of thinking that teacher educators desired met the assignment’s
requirements regardless of what occurred in the classroom. Likewise, a teacher who
taught well, but failed to write well about that experience, might be evaluated poorly. I
am not claiming this occurred, but simply suggesting that course instructors’ primary

basis for evaluating teaching came through judging the written texts interns produced.

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Second, in every TE-related setting, interns mainly sat. In class, they sat while
instructors stood and walked. In conferences immediately following a teaching
observation, interns and field instructors sat. When interns wrote assignments or journals,
they sat. This stands in sharp contrast to the work they do in classroom with their
cooperating teachers. Of course, they sometimes sat as they met with a parent in a
conference or enter grades at their computer. But their work also involves them doing
many other kinds of activities with their bodies as I described in the previous chapter—
collecting water samples, running across hallways to retrieve their mentor, pulling brains
off shelves, and leading discussion while standing in the front of the classroom.

Third, when interns interact with teacher educators, they do so in ways that
resemble students rather than as instructors. In TE classes, course instructors determine
where interns sit and when interns will talk or write or listen or move but in schools,
interns make those decisions. In schools, interns dress professionally and in the TE
classrooms, their instructors do. In TE classes, the teacher educators tap their shoulders,
reminding them to put their cell phones away; in schools, they do the tapping. Even with
their field instructors (who are often in the interns’ classrooms), interns take on student
roles. The evaluation forms are provided by the field instructor (through the program) and
the intern is evaluated. In schools, interns do the evaluating; they write the tests.

The physical dimensions of the life of an intern in schools and TE stand in sharp
contrast with one another. As we shall see, the more cognitive or conceptual tasks of

interns’ lives are also very different.

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“C an you give me some analytical way of seeing this? Oriented Toward Ideas

State’s TE program was clearly grounded. in interns’ work in the field. Almost all
course assignments involved, for example, lntems making changes to their teaching,
reflecting on lessons, or designing and analyzing interventions. The stereotypical
accusation that positions TE as an ivory tower institution unaffected by the problems of
the field does not hold for State’s program. However, the ways in which State’s program,
both through its course instructors and field instructors, used interns’ experiences and
taught interns’ to use their own experiences varied greatly from the work that interns did
with their cooperating teachers. While in schools, interns and cooperating teachers
approached intems’ experiences as problems to be solved with few attempts to generalize
to principles of practice; in TE, interns were consistently pressed to consider their
experiences in light of ideas about teaching.

Course and field instructors asked interns to inductively look across their
experiences or the experiences of classmates to find patterns and connect those patterns
to ideas promoted by the program. In more deductive cases, ideas about teaching were
presented and interns worked to find experiences from their practice that could serve as
examples of that concept or principle. I consider each.

Learning to Teach Through Inductive Analysis

TE course instructors often attempted to have interns arrive inductively at certain
principles or ideas about good teaching. They most often did this by proposing a topic for
discussion, either in whole group or small group, allowing interns to describe for each
other examples from their own experiences related to that topic, and then attempting to

bring interns to a conclusion that seemed supported by the “data” of the experiences that

184

 

 

 

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had been described. For example, in a professional responsibilities class in November,

Will divided the class up into small groups to discuss the topic of homework. He

 

provided them with 4 prompts: 1) The purpose of homework is , 2) Different
ways to assess homework are , 3) My stance on homework is ,
and 4) I still wonder . The groups of four interns went to work,

 

following the prompts but also talking about their own teaching experiences with
homework, both good and bad as they perceived it. In the group I observed, a social
studies intern shared one ofher more successful assignments in which she had students
collect newspaper articles about the recent election, while a math intern described an
assignment in which his students collected data from friends and family that were later
used as part of a class activity. As the math intern shared his story, he said “I think it is a
way of connecting outside of school to school.” “Oooh, I like that,” said another intern,
as she wrote down his example and. his summary sentence. When Will called the groups
back together, ideas Were shared and discussed. The group I observed shared their finding
about how “we’ve found that when we can connect students’ lives to the assignments,
that they are much more successful.” After each group had shared, Will wrapped things
up by stating the principle about HW that he believed came out of the interns’ discussion:
I’m pleased about how this went and the thoughtfulness that you all displayed, as
well as the great ideas that came out of this. I think we can see now that
homework has to have a purpose and that we have to be thoughtful about how we
use it, not just giving lots of assignments for the sake of work. Student learning
has to be the focus of what we do.
In another example, Cathleen was summarizing interns’ responses to a course

assignment, in which some interns were expressing disappointment that interventions

they had tried had failed to achieve the desired outcomes. She described intems’

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f“- ‘1

experiences, using a few personal examples (“for example, James wrote about the ways
in which his attempt at implementing a contract didn’t seem to matter because the parent
never bought in”). After several examples had been shared and interns could see the
pattern emerging, she introduced a principle that she hoped they would remember; “the
idea I want you to hold in your hearts and minds is persistence. I want to see you not
giving up on kids. Don’t give up. How can you keep at it? That what I take from these
and what I hope you take from them.” In examples like this, course instructors allow
ideas to emerge from intems’ descriptions of their work and then connect these to a
principle that they view as important for students to know: don’t give up, make
homework meaningful.

Another version of this kind of inductive work in TE courses is course instructors’
ability to “name” interns’ experiences. Here, course instructors listen to interns describe
their experiences, often in the context of general questions like “Is there anything anyone
wants to share about their week” or “Are there any pressing issues that someone would
like to bring to the table?,” and then place the interns’ experience into a particular
category, often one that has some theoretical backing. Sandy, for example, was a big
proponent for the classroom management strategies promoted in Love and Logic, one of
which is the principle “provide choices within limits” (Fay & Funk, 1995, p. 28). She
began class one week singling out two interns to share their responses to a prompt about
something that went well the previous week. Jason talked about a success he had in his
relationship with a troubled student. Elizabeth described how she and her mentor had let
students choose among different math assignments and the resulting increase in

motivation she had perceived in her students. Sandy noted:

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I thought these were really good examples of what Love and Logic, calls “giving
kids choices.” In Elizabeth’s example, I liked how the choices could even be in
the cum'culum—l learned something from that. I hadn’t been thinking of “giving
kids choices” in that way. These are just really good examples.
In other cases, course instructors labeled interns’ stories as being examples of “the
uncertainty that comes with teaching,” “the kind of things students do when they don’t
understand,” or “the classic dilemma of depth versus breadth.” In each, interns shared
experiences in response to more general prompts; course instructors then named the
experiences as examples of some concept. The instructors turned an intern’s work into a
case of some class in an attempt, one presumes, to help the interns understand their own
situation better and to help teach principles the instructor believes will serve the intern
well in future practice.

This effort to move from examples to principles may also be a result of
discomfort at lingering too long on any one individual intern’s story. TE course
instructors, unlike cooperating teachers and field instructors, have responsibility for
guiding groups of interns all of whom have unique contexts and experiences. In focusing
on one teacher’s story, on problem-solving for one intern, other interns may be left
behind or bored. A particularly telling example of this concern happened shortly after the
Love and Logic discussion Idescribed above. Two classroom teachers (an English
teacher and a guidance counselor) arrived as guest speakers to talk about their
experiences with Love and Logic. They were introduced by Sandy as experts in its use.
These teachers, both of whom were experienced cooperating teachers, presented the
principles they found most useful (like giving students choices), and, for each principle,

they described many classroom examples. However, when Tammy described a new

situation which had been really troubling her, the differences between the ways in which

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‘q.

these experienced cooperating teachers and Sandy, the course instructor, responded were
quite different:

Tammy: I have a new student in my class — they just moved him in from
another section, because of disciplinary problems in another class. And
I’m having a hard time putting what he did in that class out of my
mind. So I feel like I’m kind of watching him at every moment and I
feel like I maybe need to give him a break. So I’m having a hard time
building a relationship with him. Because what he did was really not a
good thing — I mean he hurt someone else. So I think I’m a little
intimidated, well maybe not intimidated, but worried, with him in
there. He’s a big guy. . .

English Teacher: I’m just curious, Tammy, was the student that he hurt, a girl?

Tammy: Yeah.

English Teacher: Yeah, that’s tough. Wow.

Counselor: Is your mentor in there with you all the time?

Tammy: Well, this is my focus class so he is sometimes, but sometimes he steps
out.

Counselor: I think this would be a situation where you would want to have him in,
there with you. You might want him around whenever that student is
in class. It sounds like in some ways that you don’t feel safe, and that
isn’t right.

English Teacher: And I wouldn’t feel safe either — there’s no reason that you have
to feel this way. When he got moved, was there some kind of contract
set up about his behavior?

Tammy: Actually, there was, and we are trying to figure out what to do with
this, because he keeps showing up tardy and that doesn’t seem right . .

This conversation continued for the next two minutes, with the two teachers probing
Tammy, asking questions about the situation, seeking more information, and providing
concrete potential steps. Finally, Sandy, the course instructor, seemed to grow a little
uncomfortable with the path the conversation was taking and broke in, “You know,
Tammy, let’s talk about this a little more at the break. My experience is that you can’t
teach if you don’t feel safe. Let’s take a ten minute break.”

In the classroom teachers’ hands, Tammy’s problem was not treated as a case of a

larger concept. It was a specific situation in need of a solution that they went about

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solving. The TE course instructor’s uncomfortable reaction to the discussion suggests the
atypical nature of this kind of talk in a university classroom. And her statement “My
experience is that you can’t teach if you don’t feel safe” is a perfect example of an
attempt to take Tammy’s situation and apply it more generally, to make it a case of a
more general situation.

Field instructors also commonly used a more inductive approach to connecting
interns’ experiences to the principles and ideas promoted in teacher education. As did
course instructors, field instructors used interns’ experiences as a connection point to
more general principles. For example, following an observation in which Hee-Sun had
observed Heather use a “demo log”—an instructional tool that Heather and Ken had
invented in which students watched a chemical demonstration and then systematically
recorded data and conclusions from the demonstration. In the log, there were spaces for
students to write, labeled with the headings Before, During, and After. To Hee-Sun, this
format seemed parallel to a Predict-Observe-Explain (POE) instructional model
frequently used in science education (Palmer, 1.995) and discussed in State’s science
methods courses:

Hee-Sun: I noticed the demo logs. Are these kind of like a POE?

Heather: Well, sort of, but we have before, during, and after.

Hee-Sun: Why not just use POE?

Heather: 1 just thought that it might make sense for students to call it during,
after, and before—these are terms they know and they make sense
with the demos. It just seems a little more student-fiiendly . . . Seems
like POE would require me to explain a lot.

Hee-Sun: I’m asking because we think the goal of science teaching is not just
teaching scientific canonical knowledge but also the way that scientists
view the world and the language of science, the logic of scientific
thinking. I think that’s part of the goal of science teaching. So what did
you expect that kids get in class today — is it just the knowledge in the

textbook? Or more? Would we want them to know about predicting,
observing, and explaining. What do you think?

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Hce-Sun noticed a connection between the experience Heather had just had and
an idea from Heather’s coursework. Though Heather had not made that connection
before, Hee-Sun attempted to use that experience to promote an instructional strategy
discussed in TE, as well as remind Heather ofthe multiple goals of science education, a
point regularly made in Heather’s science education courses.

In another case, Hee-Sun had just finished watching Tammy teach a lesson on
pedigrees:

Hee-Sun: So was this an application or inquiry lesson? Can you give me some

analytical way of seeing this?

Tammy: It is definitely an application. They already knew about pedigrees and
then we were having them use them to answer questions.

Hee-Sun: Application means that we are going the other way from experience to
patterns to models. So what are those in this lesson?

Tammy: Well, the model would be the beginning like with the pedigrees. And
the actual experience would be the stories, making the transitions from
what’s on the paper to the structure of the pedigree.

Hee-Sun: Patterns?

Tammy: Well, pedigrees are always structured the same. I’m trying to give the
students lots of experiences with the pedigrees.

Tammy: That’s good. I like it.

Hee-Sun attempted to foster here in Tammy the ability to take experiences that she has
just had as a teacher and apply a theoretical lens (provided by TE) to that experience.
Tammy’s lesson becomes more than a lesson about pedigrees; it serves as an example of
an application lesson that Tammy might use (Hee-Sun might hope) to better understand
and perhaps use application lessons in general.

Field instructors also used interns’ journals to reinforce this kind of thinking.
After Heather had described a lesson she had completed (along with what she might

change or improve), Hee-Sun replied:

What you did in these lessons—a) having students know the value of learning

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about a particular unit or topic, b) pre-assessing students’ prior knowledge or
understanding and using those information as a resource, c) motivating students
by having them see the connection and usefulness of the content with their lives,
are all excellent strategies for leveraging your students’ understanding. I hope you
are finding some converging points between State’s words and your classroom
instruction. The more you know about your students as learners, the more you
will be successful in assisting them build on their own knowledge.

While Heather had described the lesson and her instruction, she had not referred to her

practice more generally, at least not using “State’s words.” Heather described a very

 

specific example in which she used a mistake on a wireless telephone bill to teach the !
importance of including units in any mathematical calculation; Hee-Sun made this a case E

II
of “motivating students by having them see the connection and usefulness of the it _

content.” Hoe-Sun’s hope that Heather can see the connection between “State’s words”
and her instruction illustrates well this important attempt of TE to inductively connect
experiences to ideas.
Learning to Teach through Deduction

In addition to using interns’ experiences to generate principles through inductive
means, teacher educators asked interns to recall their experiences in order to teach and
explain particular concepts. In the more inductive approach, interns recall or are
prompted to recall experiences and teacher educators guide the experience toward
principles of good teaching promoted by the TE program. In the deductive case, however,
interns’ experiences are generated in order to serve as examples of a concept.

The most common example of this deductive work centered around assigned
course texts. For example, in Cathleen’s class, interns were discussing a chapter from a
classroom management text (Weinstein, 2007) in which the author outlined principles to

be considered when designing classroom space, including security and shelter, social

191

contact, and task instrumentality. Each group of students was assigned a topic and asked
to discuss the readings, relate them to their internship experiences, and prepare a class
presentation. One group was assigned “task instrumentality,” that is, the “ways in which
the environment helps us carry out the tasks we need to accomplish” (Weinstein, 2007, p.
44).

The interns spent a short amount of time rereading and discussing the half page
description of the topic before beginning to list the ways in which their (really, their
mentors’) rooms were or were not prepared according to the principle. One intern offered
as “a good example of this idea,” her struggle with her mentor over room arrangement.
Her mentor preferred “more traditional” styles of teaching, in her view, which meant he
wanted the room set up in “nice neat rows.” When she wanted to try something where she
had students working in groups, she either had to rearrange the table and risk his
disapproval or have students working as groups at tables that were too far apart. Another
intern commented that this “seemed like a good example for us to use” in their
presentation.

Likewise, Sandy had interns generate a list of important principles from Love &
Logic, select one, and then generate an artifact—a clay model, a poem, a drawing, etc.—
that connected the principle to their classroom experiences. Will lectured about different
conceptions of justice (retributive, procedural, or distributive) taken from a course
handout he had prepared, before having interns think of scenarios in which these visions
of justice were on display in their school sites. In cases like these, the interns were asked
to sift through their experience and identify relevant examples. In so doing, they

demonstrate their understanding of a concept.

I92

 

 

Discussion
This emphasis or orientation on ideas was not a haphazard result; instead, teacher
educators explicitly provided rationales to interns for focusing on ideas and talked about
them in interviews. Sandy often emphasized to students the need to keep “core values
present as you teach” in order to make good principled decisions. She described the use
of Love and Logic to interns as being more than a set of strategies:
Let me tell you one thing. I know that you want strategies to do on Monday l
morning to deal with this particular kid. But Love and Logic is about developing ffi
something bigger, a philosophy, and a stance that guides me — the thing that I
keep in the back of my mind to draw upon in any situation. It’s about developing
a philosophy and a stance.
Likewise, Cathleen emphasized the need to have a “guiding philosophy,” conceptualized
as a set of principles that guide your decision-making process. Will saw the course as an
attempt to bring interns’ experiences into dialogue with “some ways of thinking about
classroom management and professional responsibilities.” In the science-specific TE
course, Rosa emphasized a few key concepts—inquiry (including POE), learning cycles,
and Experience-Pattem-Explanation (EPE) tables—that she hoped would serve as “a
basis for a strong professional practice.” Everywhere, the emphasis was on principles,
values, guiding ideas, frameworks, or key concepts that would serve interns in their
practice regardless of context. This push to see experience through an analytic lens stands
in sharp contrast with intems’ work with cooperating teachers in which the emphasis was
on the joint work of solving a concrete problem.
Field instructors echoed the course instructors and saw themselves under an

obligation to help interns understand and enact the principles of State’s TE program. Hee-

Sun admitted that she viewed as one of her main roles “to serve as an advocate for State

193

ideas here in the classroom,” even though she knew that “this was sometimes resisted by
interns and mentors.” Likewise, Sam recognized that the program had some “big ideas”
that it promoted and that part of his job was helping interns put those into practice,
though he emphasized how challenging he found this to be.

Conclusion

As I did in Chapter 4, I will return to my ecological framework to assist in
summarizing. As seen in Figure 5.1, the primary interactions of interest for this chapter
are those between the field instructors, TE courses, and the intern.

When interns interact with their TE courses, reasoning and ideas were the agents
through which socialization was intended to occur. Course instructors held as central to
their work the development of interns’ abilities to think and reason about teaching;
whether in discussions or through written assignments, interns were asked to practice
reasoning about their practice. In the assignments, the steps of processes (e. g., working
through a case) acted as scaffolds for interns’ thinking, an attempt to discipline their
minds to consider alternatives carefully, use data in making decisions, and be able to
support instructional choices. In addition to reasoning, course instructors also attempted
to convey to interns the importance of ideas, theories, or principles that might speak
across contexts. Using course readings or through more inductive means, course
instructors connected interns’ experiences as teachers to more theoretical ideas which
they hoped would serve interns even in future placements throughout their career.

As interns interacted with field instructors, “reflection” was still emphasized
though the meaning shifted toward one of introspection. Instead of interns being

supported in systematic or rational thinking, the emphasis moved to searching one’s

194

 

 

 

experiences closely, even emotionally, and using those experience of looking backwards
to make changes in future practice. Ideas were also central to the interaction between
field instructors and interns in part because field instructors felt an obligation to promote
key concepts from State’s program. When field instructors would observe interns teach,
they often asked interns to use teacher education course frameworks (e.g., POE, inquiry
or application) to analyze their teaching. Likewise, in journals, they would supply
“State’s words” to the experiences that interns had in an effort to help interns see how

their experiences might be learned from.

 

By carving up the ecology the way I have over the last two chapters, 1 ran the risk
of perpetuating the “ivory tower” stereotype in which academic interests (in this case,
teacher education) have little interest or connection to the real world (in this case, the
schools). I wish to emphasize here how the stories in this chapter dispel that
characterization as it applies to State’s program. No doubt, cooperating teachers rest
closer to those school and classroom contexts; they spend every day there and the
interactions they have with interns occur in those schools and classroom if from nothing
else a result of geography. However, this chapter also describes the interaction between
teacher educators, interns, and the school/classroom context. Field instructors’ work
consisted almost entirely of interacting with the intern in the school/classroom context:
providing feedback on lessons in that context, responding to journal entries written about
it, and writing evaluations that reflected interns’ progress in it. Likewise, course
instructors designed assignments and activities that required interns to bring their
experience in that school/classroom context to bear. No course instructor, for example,

ever gave an assignment that two interns could have completed in exactly the same way

195

like, for example, a review of literature; because interns taught in different contexts,
course instructors expected they would use their experiences in unique ways. The work
teacher educators did with interns centered around interns’ work in schools. However, as
we turn to the discussion in the next chapter, what becomes clear is that while teacher
educators and cooperating teachers may both make connections with the teachers’
experiences in school and classroom contexts, the work they engage in with interns is so

different that, for some lntems, they seem to be working in different worlds.

196

 

 

Chapter 6
Worlds Apart

As the internship approached an end, interns began to shift their focus from the
work of teaching tojinding ajob, and the TE courses (pmrticularly TE Professional)
devoted class time on Fridays to assisting interns in that endeavor. As interns developed
their resumes, portfolios, it'ebsitcs, and pro/essional statements, course instructors

designed activities that allowed interns to getfeedback on these documents from the

L

instructors, classmates, and members of the professional community like local principals

and teachers. During one activity, interns were dissecting Cindy ’5 personal statement.

hm-
“ .

Peter (a social studies intern) questioned the way Cindy had phrased something:

In the second paragraph, you say, “Making the class inquiry-based rather than a
collection of facts. " That makes it seem like all you are doing everyday is inquiry.
That 's not true, is it? I wonder if what you mean is that while science for a long
time has been just memorizing facts, it is more than that —that you are also
incorporating other strategies like inquiry to give a fuller picture of the discipline
—things like that. You know, you want to include some of the State taglines, toss
them in.

C indv responded to this last statement with a quizzical look. Heather, however, knew just
what he meant:

Heather: That 's what it seems like we are doing in here is taking taglines and
adding them in so that people know that we know what we are talking
about. Diverse learners, inclusion, inquiry, model—based reasoning,
Love & Logic — you know what I am talking about, right?

Cindy: Yeah, the thing is, I want to mention them and I can use the words but
then I can 't think of something that is an example of it. How would I
actually use it in my classroom?

Heather: Cindy, it ’3 just teacher education talk. You need those kinds of things
in there.

Heather’s description—“it’s just teacher education talk”—of interns’ use of “State
taglines” neatly summarizes her approach to teacher education coursework. As presented

in previous chapters, the worlds of TE and the school had characteristic ways of working.

197

Heather, more than any other intern in the study, explicitly identified those differences
and developed techniques to keep them worlds apart. That she was able to do so while
experiencing great success in both worlds raises questions about the roles that teacher
education coursework and field experiences should and do play. In this discussion, I
highlight Heather’s techniques for keeping the worlds distinct and then use those
techniques to contrast the TE and school-based experiences for the interns. I will
conclude by using Grossman, Hammemess, and McDonald’s (2009) distinction between

“pedagogies of enactment” and “pedagogies of reflection and inquiry” to understand the

 

disproportionate influence of cooperating teachers on intems’ practice and beliefs. 3' .
“Based on a true story, I guess The Story of Heather

Heather had, by everyone’s account, an extremely successful internship. From the
beginning, her mentor, Ken, raved about how well she was doing, how far ahead she was
of any intern he had worked with previously, and how masterful she was in front of
students. When the time came for her first formal evaluation at the midterm of the first
semester, Ken was prepared to give Heather scores of “3” (accomplished) with, perhaps,
a few “4’s” (expert teacher) on the evaluation categories. He argued that “in a lot of ways
she is better than a lot of teachers I know with many years of teaching experience. If
someone walked into her room while she was teaching, I don’t think they would think she
was an intern or call her a novice or beginner.” Hee-Sun, however, convinced him to

6619’

lower his marks to (novice) or “2” (beginning teacher) in order to be able to note
growth over the year. She admitted, however, that “when I was filling out the monthly

evaluations for Heather, I had checked some as ‘accomplished’ too, but then I had to

change them because I wonied about being able to show growth.” Clearly, Heather’s

198

cooperating teacher and field instructor were impressed from very early on with
Heather’s ability to perfomi in the classroom. At the end of the year, both continued to
describe her in glowing terms.

In her teacher education courses, Heather was also a top performer, viewed as
conscientious and dedicated by course instructors. Her grades were excellent, but more
than that, she seemed like the kind of intern who (as her TE Science instructor said) “gets
it. And even when she doesn’t get it, she gets that she doesn’t get it.” On the assignments
I had access to, I never saw feedback from course instructors that was less than very
positive, and she reported receiving 4.03 across both classes in both semesters. Her TE
Professional course instructor did have some concerns, however, but they were not about
the quality of her work on which “she always did exactly what was asked as well as she
possibly could” —even requesting and completing re-writes if the grade was not what
Heather desired. Despite success on assignments, Cathleen suspected that Heather never
“really connected” with the class or with her—an intuition that “troubled” Cathleen
because she suspected that Heather had great potential as a teacher. “I just don’t think she
ever got beyond being a student in TE Professional. She just did what she needed to, to
get her A and be done.”

This troubling lack of connection did not, however, trouble Heather; the
separation between her TE and teaching responsibilities was the result of strategies she
actively employed. For example, while the journals represented an important connection
point between State field instructors and the interns, for Heather they were:

a waste of time. I mean, honestly, I usually do them for the week on Monday. But

you have to write them for two days a week, so I usually write it on Monday for

Monday and Tuesday . . . I haven’t even taught on Tuesday yet and I am making
up something that we did. And usually it’s all based on real stuff. But not

199

 

necessarily. Based on a true story, I guess. It might be based on something that

happened last week, but I kind of know what needs to be put in those.

(Interviewer: What do you mean?) I know what she is trying to see out of it, like

how we’re developing some problem that we had and how we think about that.

And a lot of times I think about an issue that I have with the practice of teaching

and I’ll pretend that something happened that day that has happened before and I

write about it. I think that I am still benefitting in that I’m thinking about the

problems of practice, things like that. . . . They are really good fabricated journals.

In Heather’s admission that she often used her imagination to write her journals,
we see how separate Heather sees the practices of TE and teaching. In TE, from
Heather’s perspective, they want her “to think about problems of practice”—whether
those problems of practice are exactly problems of her practice is a secondary
consideration. It is the thinking that matters. In many ways, Heather’s experience proved
her right. Hee-Sun often complimented the thinking that she displayed (“It seems to me
that you are becoming seriously aware of the difference between you as a successful
science leamcr and your students who mostly have not had successful experiences in
science”) or used the journal to evaluate Heather (“1 am really enjoying reading your
journals and seeing your progress!”). Hee-Sun viewed Heather as “very reflective,”
based, in part, on her assessment that “when you read her journals, you can tell that she is
considering the ideas from State in her teaching.”

The story holds for course assignments as well, which always required students to
connect their field experiences to the ideas in class. On occasion, Heather would, just as
with journals, invent experience to better fit the assignment. On her inquiry report (a
major assignment on which she received the highest grade and positive feedback), she
recalled how a change in her mentor’s plans meant that she would be unable to teach the

lesson as she had planned for the assignment. Rather than re—write the plan, she simply

“wrote about the half that they (her students) did do and made the rest of it up.” Her

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analysis of how the inquiry lesson went (a successful analysis in terms of her grade and
feedback) was based in part on data she imagined. Likewise, in TE Professional, the most
important assignment required interns to select a “case”—a student or students with
whom the intern was not experiencing success—and work systematically through an
intervention and analysis of that intervention. Heather worked hard at her school
placement; she had initiated several interventions with students in her class outside the
scope of this assignment. Rather than begin a new case for the assignment (as was the
course expectation), Heather simply wrote about one of the interventions that she was in
the process of working on. She did not “make up” data, but she would write about things
as though she were following the steps of the assignment, portraying it more
systematically than it really was. For example, she wrote about possible interpretations of
her student’s behavior, the interpretation she found most compelling, and then described
the intervention design based on that interpretation. In reality, the intervention had been
in progress for many weeks before the assignment began and the multiple interpretations
and rationale for interpretation occurred after the intervention had already been selected.
Recall the feedback from Cathleen:
You begin with a balanced description of worthwhile problems, then analyze each
of these problems with care and insight. Next, you turn to stakes and alternatives,
carefully mapping out your thinking for the reader about what’s going on, why it
matters and what you might reasonably do to address it. You then reflect on your
implementation, which highlights the ways your teaching is becoming more
responsive to individual student needs.
It could hardly have been more positive. Heather clearly understood what the assignment
was asking her to do.

It might be easy to view this as a simple case of academic dishonesty, as a

situation in which a student thwarted instructors’ attempts to create authentic assignments

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to reduce her workload. I do not have any evidence that suggests other interns engaged
the assignments in quite this way, so I would not claim that this kind of work is prevalent
or common in State’s program. However, one must not forget that Heather was
successful in her high school classroom, in many ways the most successful intern in this
study. She was not a lazy teacher; just the opposite. She was always prepared, organized,
creative, and conscientious. She did, however, have a very real sense that what was
required of her in TE was of such a different ilk than what was required of her in her
teaching, that they were best handled as different entities.
The Differences between TE and School—Based Practices

When one looks at the practices that interns engage in and the support that they
receive in these two different sites, Heather’s conclusions, if not her strategies for coping,
seem reasonable. When intems worked with their school-based mentors in their school
placement (detailed in Chapter 4), they did so in different ways and on different tasks
than with their TE-based field instructors and course instructors (Chapter 5). I summarize
these interrelated contrasts below.
The Task Orientation of the Field vs. the Idea Orientation of TE

When we look at what interns are spending their time focused upon in these two
sites, there is a distinction between tasks and ideas. When interns were in school and
taking the role of teachers, their days were filled with getting things done—writing unit
calendars, making copies of worksheets, designing PowerPoint slides, grading papers,
tutoring students, and teaching lessons. In that flurry of activity, mentors’ helped the

interns get these things done. Mentors and interns did not talk about writing unit

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calendars; they wrote unit calendars together. They did not talk about handling angry
parents; they approached that parent as a pair.

TE, particularly the courses, took a different stance. Teaching, from TE’s
perspective, must be more than a set oftasks to accomplish ——one must make principled
decisions, analyze the results of those decisions against those principles, and reflect on
the process. When teacher educators in State’s program assisted interns, it was on these
reflective and analytical tasks. In class, interns were supported in connecting their
experiences to theoretical ideas and taught how to collect and analyze data. Field
instructors structured experiences in post-observation conferences and journals in which
interns engaged in reflection on their work.

On occasion (as described in Chapter 4), mentors did work in more “meta”

conversations about the work they were accomplishing; they might state a general rule

for working with students (“you have to let kids know the consequences of their action or

you will appear arbitrary to them”) or, more rarely, appeal to a principle that interns

might remember (e.g., keeping things visual when presenting). But even these relatively

rare occurrences had a different tenor to them from the meta-conversations encouraged in
TE. They never appealed (as did teacher educators) to ideas or principles developed from

research or from literature on teaching. I have no examples where cooperating teachers or

interns made connections from their experience to the kind of concepts found in
educational journals; in other words, never did I see a mentor or intern say “This
experience we just had was an example of concept X” or “So if we apply principle Y,

what kind of approach might we take?”

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Likewise, the work that interns did with teacher educators rarely, if ever, involved
accomplishing a task together. When asked, interns reported that they never planned a
lesson with their field instructor or course instructors, never made up a test together,
never co-taught a lesson, and never met parents as a pair. Help from teacher educators
was (in Chad’s words) “one level above that” or, from Grossman et al. (2009), more
focused on “learning about” teaching than on accomplishing the tasks of teaching (p.
275). Field instructors would ask interns after a lesson to identify whether it was “inquiry
or application,” rather than design an inquiry or application lesson with the intern.
Teacher educators would provide assignments that asked interns to use a framework to
design an intervention with a troubled student and provide feedback on that written
design, rather than enact that intervention with the intern. lntems recognized the degree
to which tasks were not accomplished when working with teacher educators. The classes
held on State’s campus and the evening meetings held with field instructors were
considered valuable or therapeutic by many of the interns, but with the caveat that they
took time away from, in Cindy’s words, “all the things I have to get done for teaching.
It’s hard to focus sometimes (in Friday classes on campus) when I’m thinking about
what’s going on (in school) while I’m gone and what I’ll have to do when I get back on
Monday.” Teacher education, despite its benefits to Cindy, was not where she got the
things done she needed to do to teach.

Heather’s separation strategies expose the dangers in this gap between tasks of
teaching and ideas of teaching. As Heather realized that it was her ideas about teaching
on which she would be evaluated by her TE course instructors, the conveyance of those

ideas needed not be, in her view, encumbered by the realities of her practice. When she

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justified. her strategies by saying “I think that I am still benefitting in that I’m thinking
about the problems of practice, things like that,” the dichotomy she sees is clear—in TE,
they are worried about my thinking, not what I am actually doing. When Heather
counsels Cindy on the use of State “taglines,” one hears in that dismissive tone the
relative lack of value she places on the ideas and thinking being promoted in TE.
Support in Real—timejor Teaching vs. Support for Planning and Reflection

Not only was there a distinction between what interns did with those in their

ecology (tasks vs. idea), when interns worked on those tasks varied as well. As I

 

described in Chapter 4, the support that interns received from their cooperating teachers
often had a real-time component to it. Cooperating teachers would “step in” to assist their |
interns when things were going poorly, “direct intems’ attention” in ways that helped
interns notice things they might be missing, and “smooth things over” in order to reduce
the complexity an intern might be facing.

Teacher educators did not participate in the moment of teaching; instead, they
relied on interns’ representations of their teaching written, read, and commented upon
well after the event had occurred. Even field instructors, who were present in the moment
when observing, waited until the post-observation conference to offer feedback,
correction, or help. When interns planned a lesson or intervention using a structure
provided by teacher educators (as for a course assignment), they did so in a less in-the-
moment way than they might plan with a mentor; interns would write the lesson, send it
electronically to their course instructor, and then wait for feedback from the instructor.

With their cooperating teacher, planning for a lesson occurred as they sat together, in

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moments when mentors could pull out a lab handout or set of notes that the intern could
use during the rest ofthe planning session.

Given the task-orientation and immediacy of interns’ field experiences, there were
considerably fewer opportunities for looking ahead or looking back than one might think.
lntems (with one exception) did not regularly debrief for long (more than five minutes)
with their mentor after a lesson or at the end of a day. Instead, the exchanges were brief,
much like the exchange described earlier in which Vince reminds Tammy to make sure
that she keep things visual when presenting information to students. lntems and mentors
did not spend time analyzing or replaying lessons, reconsidering decisions, or talking
about rationales for why interns made particular instructional choices. That kind of talk
came only with the field instructors or in course assignments. At least on the surface, the
rationale is simple: there was another lesson to be taught tomorrow, papers to be graded,
students to be tutored, and those priorities took precedence over significant amounts of
time for debriefing or reflection.

Kimberly and Bonnie were the only exception. In the first few months of school,
they spent close to 30 minutes at the end of every day reconstructing the lessons they had
just taught, critiquing them, and thinking about changes they might have made. Only after
the lessons had been thoroughly discussed would they turn to tomorrow’s plans. I can
only speculate on why this intern pair might have been different, but I suspect that
Bonnie clocked more hours than other mentors in her classroom. Vince, Frank, Shannon,
and Michael were all coaches or extracurricular event coordinators; Ken had a young
child for whom he was primarily responsible for after school child care coordination.

They were all committed teachers who worked hard and made themselves available to

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their interns, but their time was limited and interns and mentors used that time to get the
tasks done for the day. Bonnie, on the other hand, stayed after school every night until
almost five o’clock tutoring students, but also working in her classroom. Kimberly stayed
with her and the time together hanging out, talking, and working together may have
opened up space for them in the schedule that permitted them the freedom to spend some
time looking back with a lessened sense of urgency about getting ready for the next day.

Heather’s ability to manipulate her journal entries and coursework also highlights
the temporal differences between TE and her fieldwork. Ken kept close to his classroom
during the day and commonly used, many of the real-time assistance techniques I detailed
above. While some mentors left the classroom for long stretches, he rarely did and never
constrained his involvement when he was present. Recall an earlier example in which
Ken and Heather discussed getting a video demonstration up and running and the
alternatives they might attempt if it failed while Heather was teaching—her work with
Ken had an in-the-moment quality. Conversely, Heather did not feel constrained to the
present when writing her journals or completing assignments. She could pull an example
from several weeks before, but write about it as though it occurred this Tuesday to make
a point and without sanction. Likewise, she could reconstruct the weighing of alternatives
and decision-making to fit the systematic process required for a course assignment. The
work required of interns in TE lacked immediacy and Heather exploited that
characteristic in strategies for keeping TE separate from the field.
Being a Teacher in the Field vs. Being a Student in TE

lntems in the field took on the physical characteristics of teachers—they embody

teaching —-while in TE, they remain student-like in their physical and social

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F:—

 

 

characteristics even as they talk, write, and read about teaching. In addition, cooperating
teachers as part of their assistance to interns include some “meta-talk” about the use of
space, students’ physical bodies, and the interns’ use of their own body and voice; rarely
did teacher educators discuss these things.

This might not be surprising given the geographic constraints of TE. Course
instructors meet with interns at the university; none of the interns in my study ever had
visits from course instructors to their school classrooms. No matter how interns might
describe their settings, course instructors did not know interns’ space, interns’ students,
or even how the intern taught. These things could, at best, be imagined through the
constant flow of information provided by journal writing, other assignment, and
classroom discussions. Furthemiore, course instructors were expected to teach 20 interns,
each with a unique physical setting and unique students—it is not surprising, then, that
course instructors might focus on ideas that transcend any one intern or context. (Not to
mention the fact that teacher educators were charged with preparing teachers to teach
across many different curricula and in many different school systems, as their graduates
might find jobs across the country.) The result, however, of this idea-oriented approach is
that, in a physical sense, interns did not need to look and act like teachers when in teacher
education classrooms. Interns sat and talked when and where they were directed,
ironically just as students in interns’ classroom might do. To the degree that teaching is
“kinesthetic-conceptual” work, to the degree that the physical acts of teaching are
connected through the body to the ideas of teaching promoted by teacher education, this
separation of the body and mind intentionally or unintentionally enabled by the structure

of TE coursework is a problem.

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I."
A.

 

Heather, like all the interns, dressed and carried herself differently in the TE
classroom than in her own classroom. Her dress was casual when on State’s campus,
usually involving athletic gear that reflected her interests in basketball, and she was a
consummate multi-tasker, checking email (both personal and from Vincent High),
reading the news, and even paying her bills online while class was conducted. At
Vincent, she always dressed and acted professionally just as Ken did, her phone was
turned off, and I never saw her check email or attend to something outside of the school
setting. Cathleen worried that Heather “never got past being a student.” It might be that
Heather interpreted her TE experience as one that, in fact, encouraged her to remain a
student in both embodied and intellectual ways.

Pedagogies of Enactment, Reflection, and Investigation

Our views of teaching over the past several decades have evolved from an
emphasis on teacher characteristics to a focus on teachers’ behavior to more

recent cognitive views of teachers as decision-makers and reflective practitioners.

Teacher education has responded to this final turn towards the cognitive by
shifting its focus from skills to knowledge and reflection. While clearly both of
these are essential to the work of teaching, we want to argue that teacher
education should move away from a curriculum focused on what teachers need to
know to a curriculum organized around core practices, in which knowledge, skill,
and professional identity are developed in the process of learning to practice. . . .
We argue that teacher educators need to attend to the clinical aspects of practice
and experiment with how best to help novices develop skilled practice. Taking
clinical practice seriously will require us to add pedagogies of enactment to our
existing repertoire of pedagogies of reflection and investigation. (Grossman,
Hammemess, & McDonald, 2009, pp. 273-274)

These differences for interns between the world of TE and their school-based
placements would only be of academic interest (in the'pejorative sense) were it not for

the findings reported in Chapter 3. For the interns in this study, their teaching and their

beliefs about good teaching are shaped profoundly by their mentoring teachers’ practices.

As intems begin their practice, they mimic their mentors and follow the scripts mentors

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write by example. And even as the scripting is pulled away and interns move toward a
more independent practice, interns rely on their mentors’ patterns of practice to shape the
kind of teaching they try. Those that are “successful” in enacting this practice experience
a corresponding shift in their beliefs that align them more closely to their mentors than
when they entered, and those who are less successful leave the internship with an abstract
and vague sense about the kind of teaching they would like to do. In most cases, the
mentors’ teaching does not match the reform-based interests promoted in the State’s TE
program. In other words, the highly influential practice of mentors—the single force in. an
intern’s ecology seemingly most responsible for shaping the practice an intern engages in
and believes—is outside the control of teacher educators and is, at best, benign in
relationship to the messages of the teacher educators and, at worst, may even work
against teacher educators’ beliefs. Even granting that this study cannot speak to the
influence of teacher educators and mentors on future practice (since interns were only
followed as interns, not new teachers)—and while not surprising (given that the literature
shows little effect of teacher education on practice)—it should trouble teacher educators
that the teaching strategies and practices promoted in teacher education coursework and
by field instructors were rarely practiced.

The typical explanations—the divide of theory and practice, the intellectually
weak curriculum of teacher education—do not work here. Practice was at the center of
the work of the teacher educators in the university, and the curriculum and assignments
offered were rigorous and relevant. So why did schools and mentors dominate? Can the
kinds of work that interns engage in these two different worlds (Chapter 4 and 5) help us

understand this phenomenon?

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if. :

 

Grossman, Hammemess, and McDonald (2009; see also Grossman & McDonald,
2008) argue that teacher education of late has been dominated by an emphasis on
pedagogies o/re/lection and investigation, but have lacked a pedagogy of enactment.
This shift toward the former, they argue, occurred as teacher educators and researchers
emphasized the more cognitive components—“heady work” in Grossman and

McDonald’s (2008) words—viewing teaching as conceptual and intellectual. Reflection

 

and investigation (defined broadly) are part of that emphasis. Pedagogies of enactment, ,4.
on the other hand, account for the fact that “teaching, at its core, is an interactive, clinical
practice, one that requires not just knowledge but craft and skill” (Grossman & J
McDonald, 2008, p. 189). A key component of these pedagogies of enactment is the
opportunity for novices to engage in “approximations of practice” which “include
opportunities to rehearse and enact discrete components of complex practice in settings of
reduced complexity” (Grossman, Hammemess, & McDonald, 2009, p. 282). An
overemphasis on reflection and investigation, they argue, has contributed to a teacher
education in which student teachers learn more about teaching than they do the abilities
and skills need to teach. While Grossman, Hammemess, and McDonald (2009) propose a
change in the pedagogies of university-based teacher education (a point I will return to
shortly), the distinction between the pedagogies of enactment and the pedagogies of
reflection and investigation can be useful in explaining why the school-based fieldwork
seems to swamp the influence of teacher education.
Pedagogies of Reflection and Investigation in TE
The world of TE that interns encountered, both in courses and through field

instruction, was filled with a pedagogy that supported and encouraged reflection and

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investigation. In courses, interns learned how to systematically inquire into their own
practice——-selecting problems, identifying alternative explanations, and designing and
analyzing interventions. Following the idea-orientation of their instructors, interns were
asked to connect their school experiences to ideas, theories, and frameworks they read
about or discussed. While intended to promote a more thoughtful and reflective kind of
teaching, interns tended to learn about teaching rather than how to enact a certain
instructional skill in a specific classroom. When at the end of the internship Cindy (in this

chapter’s opening vignette) lets her classmates know that she “can use the words” of

 

inquiry but still does not know “how (she) would actually use it in (her) classroom,” one
can sense how far from enactment she might be. Likewise, field instructors use of
joumals to evaluate interns (even informally) centers on the ability of interns to produce
texts that are thoughtful and reflective rather than evaluating on the description of the
enacted practice or, in the case of Heather, occasionally imagined practice. In the world
of TE described here, it is the thinking about teaching that is promoted and evaluated
most.

There is nothing wrong with a pedagogy of investigation or reflection. Indeed,
teacher educators, who are charged with helping interns take their concrete experiences
from one year of teaching and learn from them about what to do in other classrooms in
other settings in other times need to help interns learn both to theorize and to look
carefully at what actually happened in their classrooms.

Pedagogies of Enactment in Schools
When being taught with pedagogies of enactment, new teachers would have the

opportunity to practice taking on the role and practices of the teacher rather than the

212

 

student. As I have described and similar to the findings of Grossman, Compton, et al.
(2009), rarely did interns have “opportunities to rehearse and enact discrete components
of complex practice in settings of reduced complexity” when interacting with members of
their ecology most closely connected to teacher education (Grossman, Hammemess, &
McDonald, 2009, p. 282). On the other hand, interns encounter “approximations of
practice” in their schools. Each of the three variations of real-time assistance that mentors
provide for interns as they teach (stepping in, directing intems’ attention, and smoothing
things over) acts to reduce the complexity and risks of teaching for the interns, thus
allowing them to “rehearse and enact” instruction. When Kimberly’s students begin to
herd toward the door before the bell has rung, Bonnie steps in and directs students back
to their seats. Without Bonnie’s intervention, students might have developed a pattern of
cutting short Kimberly’s instructional time. Bonnie prevents that from happening, keeps
Kimberly from “paying” for her mistake in the future, and provides Kimberly with a
humorous way of diffusing a situation like that if it occurs again. When mentors direct
interns’ attention, they help interns make sense of, in James’ words, the “blooming,
buzzing confusion” of the classroom. Students around the room are talking, working,
laughing, flirting, on-task, off-task, and even missing; cooperating teachers make sense of
that chaos more quickly than an intern might, can detect when the noise in the comer is
cause for concern, and in directing attention to some issues and not others, allow the
intern to “practice” resolving the issue even if they were not yet skilled enough to detect
it quickly. Finally, by smoothing over potential problems by, for example, standing next
to the talkative student, cooperating teachers keep the complexity of the classroom lower

than it would be were they not there. lntems still rehearse and enact the role of the

213

teacher, but they do so with a few less things (that talkative student and whoever he or
she might disrupt) to worry about.

Furthermore, the task orientation of the work that interns and their mentors do
also served to approximate the full practice of teaching that an intern was learning to
enact. When Chad and Frank wrote a test together, Chad was engaging in the practice of
writing assessments but with a reduced complexity and less risk; If Chad were to suggest
a problem entirely inappropriate for the quiz, Frank would notice that and provide
support for Chad in selecting a different problem, or when Chad makes a good.
suggestion, Frank can affirm that decision quickly. As interns complete the daily tasks of
teaching with their mentors (e.g., planning, writing email to parents), they do so in ways
that approximate the practice they will engage in on their own as teachers.

Finally, part of approximating the practice of teaching involves embodying the
role of the teacher. Just as learning to play the piano requires putting one’s fingers on the
keys (Lampert, 2005) or learning to be a physical therapist requires manipulating
patients’ bodies (Rose, 1999), being a teacher involves physical and bodily dimensions
that can be approximated through pedagogies of enactment. In the school sites, interns
were expected to take on the physical persona of a teacher —to dress like a teacher, move
around the classroom like as an authoritative figure, to give directions to students—all
before they necessarily believed themselves to be a teacher or were recognized as such by
the students in the classroom. They could rehearse that persona, modify it until it felt
right to them, again without the risk that as they did so they would face failure. When an
intern mimicked her mentor by borrowing a joke, imitating body language, or repeating a

phrase, she enacted a practice not quite as complex as the one she might in a few years

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when the jokes, movements, and sayings would be entirely her own. Likewise, mentors
helped them reduce the complexity of this physical and bodily work as they counseled in
the moment or provided advice shortly after teaching.

While Grossman et a1. (2009) primarily focused on the role that instruction at the
university might play in providing these approximations, the idea is helpful in thinking
about why the experiences that mentors and schools provide might be so powerful in
shaping interns. By viewing the work that mentors did with their interns, not as the
inevitable result ofa practical apprenticeship, but as the result ofa pedagogy of
enactment with identifiable characteristics, we may begin to see our way out of the
theory/practice divide that had plagued teacher education for too long (Korthagen &
Kessels, 1999). Grossman, Compton, et a1. (2009) propose a continuum of authenticity in
approximations of practice. It ranges from less authentic tasks in which novices
participate narrowly in the practice being approximated to more authentic approximations
in which the practice is more fully participated in by the novice in closer to real-time
fashion. All points along this continuum are useful and can be seen in the work of interns
in schools. When Chad assists Frank in writing a quiz, he is participating narrowly (Frank
writes most of the questions), less authentically perhaps than he might later, but it is
participation. When Kimberly teaches a lesson but receives an assist from Bonnie in the
form of quieting a talkative student, it is a more authentic approximation in that Kimberly
is fully participating in most of the components of the teaching and is doing so in real-
time. Bonnie’s help simply reduces the complexity by a small amount.

Still left somewhat hazy in Grossman and colleagues’ conceptualization of

pedagogies of enactment and in my analysis here is the relationship between pedagogies

21.5

 

 

 

of reflection, investigation, and enactment. Teacher educators might reasonably argue
that investigation and reflection are part of teaching, part of the practice that teachers
should enact. Consequently, the kinds of activities State teacher educators included in
their courses are pedagogies of enactment—an enactment of a practice more richly
defined than what is typical in schools. This line of thinking bears further investigation as
teacher educators continue to struggle for what might be an appropriate balance between
or integration of clinical and intellectual views of teaching and the pedagogies required of
teacher educators.
Opportunities and Challenges

I wish to end by considering the opportunities and challenges that this study
presents to teacher educators. Over 20 years ago, Cohen (1988) considered the question
of why, after nearly a century of school reforms, teaching in school rarely reflected the
more “adventurous” ideals promoted by reformers. Likewise, Kennedy (2005) found little
evidence when she looked inside classrooms that attempts to reform teaching had made
much progress. In science education, reform documents from important policy
organizations (NRC, 1996, 2000) have called for significant restructuring of the kind of
teaching and learning occurring in schools to emphasize inquiry and conceptual
understanding, but large scale sampling of science classroom across the country suggests
that little has changed (Weiss, Pasley, Smith, Banilower, & Heck, 2003).

And we can understand these results in light of this study. Despite entering a
science teacher education program of high capacity that espoused reform-based
principles, five of the six interns in this study rarely, if ever, engaged in a teaching

practice that matched with what they had been taught in teacher education. lntems were

216

 

highly influenced by their mentors, mimicked them, sometimes successfully and
sometimes not, but the teaching practice they engaged in during the internship closely
followed that of their cooperating teacher. Cooperating teachers use pedagogies of
enactment (consciously or unconsciously) with interns in the field; they structure
authentic experiences for interns to engage in and provide the support necessary to reduce
the complexity and risk to a level that interns can practice their mentors’ practice. At least
in the case of the reproducers, they do it well enough that interns manage to acquire that
practice in almost all regards. The issue is: What practice? Not the one that reformers
envision. When one wonders why reform efforts have not seemed to take hold, it is fair to
ask whether part of the answer is that novice teachers have never been taught in a way
that promotes enactment of those refomis. Most of the interns in this study may have
been taught about reform-oriented teaching. But when they were taught to enact teaching,
it was by their mentors and their experiences in the field, and the reforms that teacher
educators desired were rarely present.

It may be that teacher educators have taken on a Sisyphean task—attempting to
prepare novices to engage in adventurous teaching and then sending them into the field
where those reform-oriented practices are socialized away. But if we can begin to
understand how practice is learned, if we can begin to understand the process by which
cooperating teachers are teaching interns, we may be able to better structure experiences
in teacher education that get closer to affecting the enactment of practices by novice
teachers. I report here on two promising ideas from the literature, neither of which use
explicitly the term pedagogies of enactment, but who represent promising possibilities for

designing approximations of practice.

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Promising Attempts at Pedagogies ofEnactment in Teacher Education

In an effort to help novice science teachers engage in reform-based science
teaching, Windshitl, Thompson, and Braaten (2009) have developed a series of “tools”
that novice teachers can use in support of teaching practices. For example, they have
designed a protocol and rubric that supports students in evaluating student work and
making decisions about instruction based on that information. The core of their teacher
education curriculum centers on helping teachers learn to use the tools, practice with
tools, as well as learning about the tools in more conceptual ways—this work can be done
in teacher education classrooms. Even when preservice teachers head into the field—
whcre they are unlikely to encounter mentoring teachers who engage in these practices—
the tools themselves act to provide real-time support and feedback as these novices
engage in authentic tasks of teaching. These are not reflection tools and are not designed
only to help them think better about teaching, though that may occur. For example, the
rubrics for evaluating student work can be used in the moment of assessment to help the
novice make sense of his or her students’ ideas, thereby reducing the complexity of the
task. Windschitl et a1. (2009) report that novice teachers using these tools make some
progress toward using these more “ambitious” pedagogies. Their work serves as a well-
developed example of what a pedagogy of enactment centered on approximations of
practice might look like in the university setting.

Consider another example. The work of Ben Dotger and his Parent/Caregiver
Conferencing Model (Dotger, 2009; Dotger & Smith, 2009) highlights how
approximations of practices might embody teaching in ways similar to the work of the

field. In Dotger’s work, preservice teachers engage in simulated parent-teacher

218

 

 

 

conferences with trained actors portraying parents who have a variety of concerns about
their son or daughter. The actors are given detailed interaction protocols that provide
directions on body language, facial expressions, body positioning, as well as triggered
responses that the actor should say if the preservice teacher responds in a particular way
(Dotger, 2009). Because these events are video-recorded and standardized (in that each
preservice teacher can talk to the “same” parent), instructors can use the events to guide
analysis in ways that one could not given a “real” parent interaction; interaction can be
slowed down, preservice teachers can “look” at themselves, they can compare notes with
each other and with the instructor, and so on. In other words, they can reflect on their
practice, but do so coupled to a lower-risk, simplified enactment under the influence of a
teacher educator. In addition, this work highlights the embodied nature of parent/teacher
interactions. Even though the preservice teachers know that the person before them is an
actor, they confront their physiological response to confrontation, control the use of their
tone of voice, and read the body language of the person before them. One student, Peter,
was struck in reviewing his encounter by the smirk on his face and its impact on the way
the parent reacted to him; “I’m pretty sure that he picked up on that because he kind of
looked at me; I could tell by the look in his eye” (Dotger & Smith, 2009, p. 170). Peter
became aware of his body and expression but also more attuned to the nonverbal
reactions he receives from the parent.

One could imagine the ways in which this kind of work might be expanded to
approximate and embody core instructional practices in addition to teachers’ work with
parents. An actor could be trained to present as students with behavioral or emotional

problems or respond to a written prompt as a student with a learning disability might;

219

 

actors might be led by a preservice teacher in a group discussion of content, might be
“pressed for understanding” or present particular misconceptions in conversation. In each
case, teacher educators could limit the complexity of the situation to a level appropriate
for the teacher’s development, allow the teacher to rehearse practices that teacher
educators’ desire, while still encouraging reflection and inquiry through the use of the
videotaping and debriefing.
Final Thoughts

The seeds for this study were sown in one of my earliest experiences as a teacher
educator. Having taught interns for a full year (a course similar to TE Science), I began
receiving requests from interns for letters of recommendation on their behalf. Having
more time than good sense, I told them all that I would write the letters, but wanted to
come see them teach first in order to make my letters more meaningful. Not all the
interns took me up on the offer, but three did. In fact, my best three students—the most
thoughtful, reflective, and studious of the bunch—scheduled me to come visit at a time of
their choosing. Because they knew I was coming and because I thought they knew what I
was all about, I expected to see lessons overdone with the kinds of teaching I promoted in
class—student-centered inquiry, active learning, addressing student misconceptions and
the like. I was not na'i've enough to think they taught this way on a regular basis, but
expected they would be putting their best foot forward.

It now comes as no surprise to me what .I actually encountered. I scarcely saw
evidence that they had ever attended my class. The lessons I saw were carefully planned
(they were putting their best foot forward), and, because they were smart and

conscientious people, the lessons went well in the way that most lessons throughout a day

220

 

in school come off with few hitches—well done, but quite traditional. At the time, it was
jarring. Did my teaching really have so little impact that they could not do or did not
know what I would want to see?

I see that situation now through the lens of this study as a problem of pedagogy. I
knew my students to be thoughtful and reflective because that is what my teaching
encouraged them to be and they were good students. It did not, however, support them in
enacting the practice that I was promoting.

I am more hopeful now. By shifting some (but by no means all) of the effort that
teacher educators and researchers have made toward developing pedagogies that
encourage investigation and reflection toward the development of those that treat the
clinical aspects of teaching as seriously, we as a field may make some progress toward
preparing new teachers who are thoughtful and technically ready. But there are many
unanswered questions. What kinds of approximations of practice can be done in teacher
education classrooms that would promote desirable practices in the field? What are the
core practices that teachers need when they leave a teacher education program—that
would prepare them to start well and continue to improve? What kinds of relationships
with teachers in the field might teacher educators develop that would allow for the
cooperating teacher placements that work in conjunction with teacher education? In other
words, there might be ways to shift the field and teacher education from pedagogies that

compete against one another to ones that work in concert.

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APPENDIX A
Intern Interviews (Before school year begins)

OUTCOMES
General visions of good teaching
1. Dreams and Goals (adapted from Newman, 2000) — Why did you choose teaching over
other professions? Who influenced you in making your decision? How did that influence
occur? Why did you choose to be a science teacher?
2. Do you have former teachers that have influenced the kind of teacher that you want to
be? Can you tell me about them? What about them do you want to emulate or avoid?
3. Can you describe for me what you think good teaching looks like?
0 If description doesn’t seem science specific, ask: Does good science teaching look
different in any ways?
0 Probes: Is there anything else that stands out to you? Anything else you think is
important?

Focal components of instruction:

4. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: How would you describe the classroom
management style that you would like to have? What kinds of classroom management
strategies will you use/emphasize? Why? What are the classroom management challenges
that you think will be greatest during your internship? Why?

5. INQUIRY: Do you plan on using “inquiry” to teach science during your internship?
What does inquiry mean to you? (If any emphasis or importance placed on inquiry —
Why do you think it is important to use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages on using
inquiry? If no or little emphasis — why won’t you use inquiry? Advantages and
disadvantages of inquiry)

6. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION (from BouJouade, 2000): Describe in
your own words the role of the teacher in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your
own words the role of the student in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your own
words how learning occurs.

222

 

APPENDIX B
lntem Interviews (2"d and 3rd interviews)

OUTCOMES
General visions of good teaching
I. Can you describe for me what you think good teaching looks like?
0 If description doesn’t seem science specific, ask: Does good science teaching look
different in any ways?
0 Probes: Is there anything else that stands out to you? Anything else you think is
important?
0 To what extent have you been able to do that kind of good teaching? Why or why
not?

Focal components of instruction:

2. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: How would you describe the classroom
management style that you have? Would like to have? What kinds of classroom
management strategies do you use/emphasize? Why? What would you like to have? What
are your greatest classroom management challenges? Why?

3. INQUIRY: Do you use “inquiry” to teach science? Why or why not? What does
inquiry mean to you? (If any emphasis or importance placed on inquiry — Why do you
think it is important to use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages on using inquiry? If
no or little emphasis -— why won’t you use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages of
inquiry)

4. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION (from BouJouade, 2000): Describe in
your own words the role of the teacher in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your
own words the role of the student in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your own
words how learning occurs.

 

Ecology of Interaction

ST-CC
5. Tell me a little about what it is like to teach in this school? Strengths? Struggles?

ST — (CT—CC)

6. Describe your cooperating teacher as a teacher. What are his or her strengths and
weaknesses as you see it? What kinds of things do you try to do like him or her? What
kinds of things do you try to do differently?

7. How do you see your cooperating teacher’s role in the school? How do you think
parents view him or her? Other teachers? Administrators?

ST—CT

8. Describe your relationship with your cooperating teacher. Things that work well? Not
so well?

9. Do you get help in your planning and teaching from your mentor? How does that
work?

223

 

10. Do you get feedback from your mentor? What’s that like? How helpful is it? How do
you decide if you are going to use the feedback or not (or do you always use it)?

ST —US and ST—(US—CC)

l 1. Describe your relationship with your field instructor. Things that work well? Not so
well?

12. Does your field instructor seem to understand your school? Why or why not?

13. Do you get help in your planning and teaching from your field instructor? How does
that work?

14. Do you get feedback from your field instructor? What’s that like? How helpful is it?
How do you decide if you are going to use the feedback or not (or do you always use it)?

ST — (CT—US)

15. Does what you talk about with your cooperating teacher align with what you hear
from your field instructor? What are the biggest similarities? What are the biggest
differences?

16. What do you do when you have differences between your cooperating teacher’s
advice and the field instructor’s advice? How do you make those decisions?

ST — TE

17. How helpful or unhelpful do you find the TE Professional courses? Why? What
aspects are helpful? What aspects aren’t helpful? Same questions for the TE Science
courses?

18. Do you get help in planning and/or teaching from you course instructors or from the
course meetings? How does that work?

19. Do you get feedback from your course instructors? What’s that like? How helpful is

it? How do you decide if you are going to use the feedback or not (or do you always use
it)?

ST — (CT—TE)

20. Does what you talk about with your cooperating teacher align with what you hear in
your teacher education courses? What are the biggest similarities? What are the biggest
differences?

21. What do you do when you have differences between your cooperating teacher’s
advice and the teacher education’s courses advice? How do you make those decisions?

ST — (US—TE)

22. Does what you talk about with your field instructor align with what you hear in your
teacher education courses? What are the biggest similarities? What are the biggest
differences?

23. What do you do when you have differences between your field instructor’s advice
and the teacher education’s courses advice? How do you make those decisions?

OUTCOMES REVISITED
24. What have been your greatest accomplishments so far this year? What have been your
greatest struggles?

224

 

25. How do you feel about teaching as a career right now? Do you see yourself teaching
next year? How about longer term?

26. Any other questions or comments?

 

225

 

APPENDIX C
Interview - Cooperating teacher (early)

Background

1. How long have you been teaching? At this school?

2. Where did you go to college? Major? Teacher Certification? Masters degrees?

3. Experience as a cooperating teacher for seniors or interns? Any training as a mentor?

Teaching Philosophy

4. How would you describe yourself as a teacher? What are you strengths? Areas you’d
like to improve upon, if any?

5. What do you enjoy about teaching? Not enjoy?

6. Why did you decide to go into teaching? Was it a good decision? Anything you regret?

Focal components of instruction:

7. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: How would you describe your Classroom
management style? What kinds of classroom management strategies do you
use/emphasize? What are the classroom management challenges that you typically face?
8. INQUIRY: Do you ever use “inquiry” to teach science? What does inquiry mean to
you? (If any emphasis or importance placed on inquiry — Why do you think it is
important to use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages on using inquiry? If no or little
emphasis — why don’t you use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages of inquiry)

9. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION (from BouJouade, 2000): Describe in
your own words the role of the teacher in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your
own words the role of the student in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your own
words how learning occurs.

Ecological Interactions

CT—CC

10. Tell me a little about what it is like to teach in this school. Good things? Struggles?
l I. How do you see your role in the school community?

CT—TE

12. Tell me a little about you previous experience working with STATE seniors/intems?
What do you think went well? What were the challenges? What did you enjoy/not enjoy?
13. How did you feel about the Opening Institute? What was helpful? Not helpfiil?

CT—US

14. When you mentored interns in the past, what was your interaction with the field
instructor like? What went well? What were the challenges?

15. This year, your intern’s field instructor is . Have you worked with
them before? If so, can you tell me about that?

 

CT—ST
16. Why did you decide to be a mentor this year?

226

 

17. Prior to the year starting, did you have any contact with your intern? What was that
like?

18. What are your impressions of your intern so far? Things he or she seems good at?
Concerns you have at this point?

19. Any other comments?

1;—

227

APPENDIX D

 

Interview - Cooperating teacher (late)

Impressions of Year

I. So how do you think the year has gone with your intern? What have been the l
successes? What have been the struggles?
2. How would you describe you intern as a teacher? What are his or her strengths and l
weaknesses?

3. What are some ways in which the intern is similar to you as a teacher? Different from l
you?

Focal components of instruction:

4. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: How would you describe your intern’s classroom
management style? What kinds of classroom management strategies do he or she
use/emphasize? What are the classroom management challenges that he or she faced?

5. INQUIRY: Do your intern ever use “inquiry” to teach science? If yes, can you give me ,
a few examples of lessons that used inquiry? Do you think inquiry was used successfully -~.
by the intern? Why or why not? What do you think about the use of inquiry to teach
science? Advantages or disadvantages

6. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION: Was your intern able to respond to
student’s ideas in his or her instruction? If so, can you give me a few examples of the
kind of thing he or she would do? Was it successfully done by the intern? Why or why
not?

 

Ecological Interactions

CT—ST

7. How would you describe your relationship with your intern? Strengths? Weaknesses?
8. How did you communicate with your intern? Provide feedback? Suggestions? How
was that generally received and responded to by the intern?

9. Are there things that you think your intern learned from you this year? How do you
think that happened?

10. Anything you’ve learned this year in working with your intern?

CT—CC and ST — (CT—CC)

l 1. Has this been a pretty typical year for you at your school? Any big changes or
differences from past years?

12. How has your intern done in terms of interactions with the school? Students?
Parents? Other teachers? Administrators?

CT—US and ST — (CT—US)

13. How has your experience working with the field instructor gone this year?
Successes? Challenges?

14. Could you describe your interactions with the field instructor?

15 . How would you describe your interns’ relationship with his or her field instructor?

 

228

C T~——TE and ST -— (CT——TE)

16. What has your interaction with STATE (outside the field instructor) been like this
year?

17. How much do you know about what your intern does in his STATE classes? Do you
talk about the things they do in class? Assist with assignments he or she has completed?

18. What’s your impression of the STATE courses? What ways are the helpful to the
intern? Not helpful? Things they should emphasize more? Less?

19. Would you be a cooperating teacher again? Why or why not?
20. Any other comments?

229

 

APPENDIX E
Interview — University Supervisor (early)

Background
1. How long have you been a field instructor?
2. What’s your teaching background? How long? What subjects? What schools?

Teaching Philosophy

3. (If previous teaching experience) How would you describe yourself as a teacher?
What were you strengths? Areas you would have liked to have been better at, if any?

4. What did you enjoy about teaching? Not enjoy?

5. Why did you decide to go into teaching? Was it a good decision? Why did you decide
to leave teaching (if relevant)?

Focal components of instruction:

6. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: How would you have described your classroom
management style? What kinds of classroom management strategies did you
use/emphasize? What are the classroom management challenges that you typically faced?
What will you/ have you emphasized about classroom management to interns?

7. INQUIRY: Did you ever use “inquiry” to teach science? What does inquiry mean to
you? (If any emphasis or importance placed on inquiry — Why do you think it is
important to use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages on using inquiry? If no or little
emphasis - why don’t you use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages of inquiry). What
will you/ have you emphasized about inquiry to interns?

8. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION: (from BouJaoude, 2000) Describe in
your own words the role of the teacher in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your
own words the role of the student in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your own
words how learning occurs. What will you/have you emphasized about student learning
to interns?

Ecological Interactions

US—CC

9. What do you know about the intern’s school placement site? What strengths does it
offer as a site for learning to teach? What challenges?

US—TE

10. (If experience as a field instructor for STATE) Tell me a little about you previous
experience working with interns as a field instructor? What do you think went well?
What were the challenges? What did you enjoy/not enjoy?

11. What kind of guidance and direction do you have from STATE in how your field
instruction?

US--CT
12. When you field instructed interns in the past, what was your interaction with the
cooperating teacher like? What went well? What were the challenges?

230

fl

13. This year, your interns’ cooperating teacher is . Have you worked
with them before? If so, can you tell me about that?
14. Based on your interaction so far this year, what are your impressions?

US—ST
15. Did you know your intern prior to this year? If so, could you describe that

relationship?
16. What are your impressions of your intern so far? Things he or she seems good at?

Concerns you have at this point?
17. Any other comments?

231

APPENDIX F

Interview — University Supervisor (late)

Impressions of Year

1. So how do you think the year has gone with your intern? What have been the
successes? What have been the struggles?

2. How would you describe you intern as a teacher? What are his or her strengths and
weaknesses?

Focal components of instruction:

3. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: How would you describe your intem’s classroom
management style? What kinds of classroom management strategies did he or she
use/emphasize? What are the classroom management challenges that he or she faced?
4. INQUIRY: Do your intern ever see your intern use “inquiry” to teach science? If yes,
can you give me a few examples of lessons that used inquiry? Do you think inquiry was
used successfully by the intern? Why or why not? What do you think about the use of
inquiry to teach science? Advantages or disadvantages

5. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION: Was your intern able to respond to
student’s ideas in his or her instruction? If so, can you give me a few examples of the
kind of thing he or she would do? Was it successfully done by the intern? Why or why
not?

Ecological Interactions

US—ST

6. How would you describe your relationship with your intern? Strengths? Weaknesses?
7. How did you communicate with your intern? Provide feedback? Suggestions? How
was that generally received and responded to by the intern?

8. Are there things that you think your intern learned from you this year? How do you
think that happened?

9. Anything you’ve Ieamed this year in working with your intem?

US--CT and ST — (US—CT)

10. How has your experience working with the cooperating teacher gone this year?
Successes? Challenges?

11. Could you describe your interactions with the cooperating teacher?

12. How would you describe your interns’ relationship with his or her field cooperating
teacher?

US—CC and ST — (US — CC)

13. From your experience with the intern, how did his or her school placement site
influence his or her internship?

14. What are you impressions of his or her school as a site for learning to teach?
Strengths? Weaknesses?

us—TE and ST — (US—TE)
232

 

15. What kinds of guidance or support did you get from STATE in your field instruction?
What was helpful? Not helpful? Why?

16. How much do you know about what interns do in their STATE classes? Do you talk
about the things they do in class? Assist with assignments he or she has completed?

17. What’s your impression of the STATE courses? What ways are the helpful to the
intern? Not helpful? Things they should emphasize more? Less?

18. Any other comments?

233

 

 

APPENDIX G

Course Instructors

Background

1. How long have you been a course instructor?

2. What’s your teaching background? How long? What subjects? What schools?

Teaching Philosophy

3. (If previous teaching experience) How would you describe yourself as a teacher?
What were you strengths? Areas you would have liked to have been better at, if any?

4. What did you enjoy about teaching? Not enjoy?

5. Why did you decide to go into teaching? Was it a good decision? Why did you decide
to leave teaching (if relevant)?

Focal components of instruction:

6. CLASSROOM MANAGEMENT: (If previous teaching) How would you have
described your classroom management style? What kinds of classroom management
strategies did you use/emphasize? What are the classroom management challenges that
you typically faced? This year in your course, what kinds of things did you talk about or
emphasize about classroom management?

7. INQUIRY (If a science teacher): Did you ever use “inquiry” to teach science? What
does inquiry mean to you? (If any emphasis or importance placed on inquiry — Why do
you think it is important to use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages on using inquiry?
If no or little emphasis — why didn’t you use inquiry? Advantages and disadvantages of
inquiry). What will you/ have you emphasized about inquiry to interns during your
course?

8. USING STUDENT IDEAS IN INSTRUCTION: (from BouJaoude, 2000): Describe in
your own words the role of the teacher in the teaching/learning process. Describe in your
own words the role of the student in the teaching/ learning process. Describe in your own
words how learning occurs. What will you/have you emphasized about student learning
to interns during your course?

Ecological Interactions

TE—ST

9. Did you know the intern prior to this year? If so, describe your relationship with them?
10. What kind of teacher do you think your intern is? What are his or her strengths and
weaknesses? What kinds of things do you base your answer upon?

11. How did you communicate with your intern? Provide feedback? Suggestions? How
was that generally received and responded to by the intern?

12. Are there things that you think your intern Ieamed from you this year? How do you
think that happened?

13. Anything you’ve Ieamed this year in working with your intern?

TE—CC
14. What do you know about the intern’s school placement site? What strengths does it
offer as a site for learning to teach? What challenges?

234

 

15. In what ways, if any, were you able to relate course content to their field placement
sites?

TE—CT
16. Describe your experience working or interacting with the intem’s mentor this year, is

any. For example, at meetings or through course assignments?

TE -- US
17. Describe your experience working or interacting with the intern’s field instructor this

year, if any. For example, at meetings or through course assignments?
18. Any other comments?

235

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