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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 3, 1975)
If page 4 daily nebraskan 1 1 V i "'1 ! ! Labor Day is past, the long weekend is over and gone. After a week of false starts for most, the College Game is in full swing. Some of us know the rules by heart; some haven't yet realized the rules exist. v We have discovered many ways to play, but of all the available game plans, only two guarantee winning. One involves using the rules for a few years; the other requires buying them for life. For the rest of this shorter-than-usual week, this space will be devoted to examining the rules of the College Game. Barring such unforseen circumstances as the resignation of yet another top administrator, we hope to present a sort of primer on the game, to be followed by brief refresher courses as space permits during the rest of the semester. If'.ihis all begins to seem vague, remote and philosophical (and therefore rather boring), consider the following example, drawn , from the real life experiences- of one of our close acquaintances: , You have registered for a special section of an introductory sociology course designed, you were told, for a small number of students-the purpose being to provide that rare commodity, personal attention. ... On the first da. of class, you discover that more than 150 people have signed up for toe special section and the department, blind to this, has kept 1 rnnm assignment, a cubicle designed for the 35 persons you thought the class would be limited to. All other sections of the course are closed. What do you do? A. Drop the class. B. Complain at the department office. C. Stay, making no comment, hoping you can snag a front-row seat the next time the class meets. D. Same as C, but banking on a back-row seat. (Thursday's editorial will examine these choices as possible moves in the game.) Rebecca Brite innocent byslohdsfi yjk goes to Europe; T jtf o ve might sensation hJ Neighbor becomes By Arthur Hoppe My neighbor, Mr. Crannich, has become an overnight sensation. He claims he actually went to Europe this summer. Vine Street Irregulars Yossarian wants assist put back in assistahtships By Michael Hilligoss "You look a bit glum," I said to Yossarian as we found a table in the warm, red glow at Cliffs. Without actually giving an affirmative reply, my informant related that a few Vine Street Irregulars were unable to return to graduate school this fall. "Their assistantships were terminated," he said with a sign, "not because they were poor students but becausei they were poor teachers." 1 I told Yossarian I didn't understand what being a good teacher had to do with getting financial aid for graduate school if an individual was a good student. "It has little to do with getting it initially," he said, "but it often ha3 everything to do with keeping it." He explained that a student is "awarded" a teaching assistantship (or "TA") primarily on his academic potential as a scholar, but that the yearly renewal of the "award" frequently depends more on his performance as a teacher, especially in departments that are sensitive to enrollments. Unfortunately, Yossarian noted, a grad student can't always do justice to his own coursework and his teaching duties at the same time. It's difficult for him to do an outstanding job as both scholar and teacher if he is required to take at least nine hours of graduate work while also being required to assume full course responsibility for as many as six credit hours in freshman and sophomore level classes. "While most grad students feel quite a responsibility for the classes they teach, they also tend to put their own coursework ahead of the classes in importance," Yossarian concluded. "This problem really becomes serious when the graduate student who is a capable scholar has neither aptitude nor appetite for teaching." he said. " Although freshmen sometimes may find themselves taught by inexperienced TAs, Yossarian observed, the TA funding system allows the "regular" faculty members to afford something they really want-the prestige of a graduate program. The department needs to have as many lower level courses and labs taught as cheaply as possible so that the senior faculty can devote themselves to teaching graduate courses. The TA provides the financial slack in what would otherwise be a very expensive program and, at the same time, provides the resident raw material that enrolls in the department's ego-conscious graduate program. "Is there a solution for the TA's dual and often conflicting commitments to both teaching and scholarship?" I asked. Yossarian noted that the answer may lie in allocating a few part-time teaching jobs to each department in a program supervised by the university's personnel department while also allocating a few part-time "assistance" grants to each department in a program monitored by the Graduate College. Yossarian said an individual who is hired as a part-time teacher should be qualified to teach and should receive the full benefits of university employment. The job should be advertised and filled in accordance with equal opportunity rules. "Given the level of pay, the part-time nature of the job and its university connections, it should be obvious that most applicants will also be potential part-time graduate students," Yossarian observed. On the other hand, he proposed, a student who is awarded an "assistance" grant should be required to do only that-flsjj- rather than assume full course and lab responsibi lities. The main criterion for renewal of the grant, should be outstanding performance as a scholar. Yossarian suggested that the best way to get some creative solutions to the TA problem is to start talking about them with the rml who can mir. u. ri Invite your dean out for a cup of coffee," he counseled. "Most deans actually enjoy talking to a student once in a while." "I will," I said, and thanked him for reminding me that a dean is someone a student should feel free to talk to. What with deflated dollars, inflated prices and a recession here and there, it seems preposterous that any American would consider going to Eruope. But Crannich says it was "a wonderful experience. As he tells it, his first thrill came when he stepped aboard the giant 747, which, of course, was empty except for 27 Arabs in first class. x "You must be making a mistake, sir," said the stewardess. "This aircraft is going to Europe." "So am I," said Crannich with determination. "That's funny," she said. "You don't look like Henry Kissinger." At London's Heathrow Airport, Crannich told the immigration officer he was an American. "Would you please spell that, sir?" said the officer icily. But when Crannich showed him his passport, the officer threw his pen in the air, embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks as a passing duchess knelt at his feet sobbing, "Have you brought any bundles for Britain?" Crannich says he managed to find a room in a Soho '' hotel with private for only $70 a day. The bath was on the next floor down, he says, but it was very private. And at Buckingham Palace they changed the guard for him three times in 15 minutes, Even though," he says, " they all looked alike to me." He also enjoyed Paris, though he had trouble adjusting to the solitude in the Louvre. But he had a marvelous lunch . on the Champs Elysees for $32.12. "There must be some mistake," he said sternly to the elderly French waiter after checking tie bill. "Your addition is correct!" But the old man could only rub his hands and reply in a choked voice, "Lafayette, he is here!" When Crannich stopped by the American Express to pick up his mail, the clerk, brushing cobwebs from his hair, immediately said, "Here's your letter, Mr. Crannich. It's the only one we've received in six months." His fame spread. By the time he reached Rome, he regretfully had to decline a private audience with the Pope, who, he says, kept knocking at his door. m "I was too busy haggling with the flea market vendors, he explains. "They kept happily demanding that I chest them. "All in ail, it was a rewarding experience and I highly recommend that another American go to Europe some time," says Crannich, summing up his trip, "national debt or no national debt." - 11 uuuoieu nc u rciuiy gone iu &.uiu I FT. .!.. f did, that is, until he held a garage sale. He sold his two-car garage for $14,672 including the two cars it contained. "Now if I can just sell my house and my shirt," he says, "111 be back where I started' (Copyright Chroniclt Publishing Co. 1975) ID UfE A CWSS, -PLWSE. ; vou worn HUH? THfitS swai. A si Picr ft CMP am cm. ADD fifOY CLASS Y fni A 9 ? : ' V 1 ALL I OF THEM C if vnu . l mm mm MjfAj,. r -WONDER IF IT$ TOO LflTE TO 6ETMY i r