WESTERN SKIES - September 27, 2005

*** COMMENTARY: FUNNY BABY SALLY ***

ERIC WHITNEY: As we touched on earlier in the show, there are a lot of different ideas out there about what does and doesn't work in education. For perspective, we offer this commentary by Lucy Bell, who spent several decades in the classroom with kids before retiring.

LUCY BELL: School has started. Soon teachers and students will be stressing out over CSAPs and test scores. We all want learning to be successful. But how do we measure success? Is it really quantifiable?

I learned to read by following the adventures of Dick and Jane and Sally. Mother and Father were the prototype of Ward and June Cleaver. Mother was the ultimate homemaker in her spiffy shirtwaist dress and crisp apron. Father went, often in a rush it seemed, to a nameless job that required a suit, hat and briefcase.

My father ran a service station. His mechanic attire was grease-stained and he never owned a brief case in his life. My mother, clad in jacket and jeans, pumped gas and cleaned bugs off windshields in the North Dakota wind. This disparity in life styles didn't bother me. I grew up an avid reader and became a teacher.

My first job in 1961 took me to a small western town. I found my old friends, Dick and Jane, still ready to thrill first graders with the first two words they would read: "Oh, look."

I never questioned that the children of ranchers, Native Americans, and oil-well roustabouts would not find Dick and Jane as fascinating as I had. The children sat circled around me, dutifully calling out the words. But where was the enthusiasm? Why weren't they in a hurry to get to the last punch-line page.

Finally, I had confidence that the reading group malaise would end. Coming up was one of the funniest stories in the book. Titled "Look and See," it told the story of Baby Sally, when the curly-haired mischief-maker got into her mother's face powder. This one couldn't fail.

The next morning I could hardly wait for reading to begin. With a big smile on my face, I asked the motivating question: "Have any of you ever done something that you shouldn't have?"

I was answered by solemn faces and uneasy squirming.

"I mean," I said, still smiling broadly, "Maybe getting into something of your mother's?"

Donna Lone Wolf furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes at this. Jeffrey looked guilty, but still no one volunteered an answer.

"Well, today, Baby Sally is going to do something funny. Let's see what she does."

The four-page story began. Sally on tiptoes getting into the powder. Spot and Puff watching Sally whiten Tim's furry face. By this time I was chortling. On page four Dick entered to observe the commotion. The powder was upside down on the floor and I was just short of hysterical.

Still, the class had not responded. But there was a ray of hope. I noticed a smile coming to Holly's lips, and her eyes were sparkling.

"Bless you, little rancher's daughter," I thought to myself.

I called on her, my smile bigger than ever, "Holly, do you have something to say?"

She nodded with enthusiasm, and announced to the class: "Your front teeth look just like my horse's teeth!"

I shut my mouth and moistened my dry teeth. And then, we all laughed, a real laugh. It was funnier than Baby Sally.

Every child learned to read that year. It didn't require test-taking skills or even culturally appropriate materials. Then, as now, the student-teacher relationship was everything.

WHITNEY: Lucy Bell is a retired teacher and writing consultant in Colorado Springs.

And that wraps up this edition of Western Skies. Stephen Raher is our associate producer, Delaney Utterback is the IT wrangler, Lindsey Patterson helps out with the website. I'm Eric Whitney, thanks for listening.