...a series of posts in which a baby boomer, in the process of cleaning out the file cabinets, boxes, and bookshelves in his basement, discovers memories hidden in long-forgotten artifacts, and waxes, if not eloquent...
Nick Manoloff's Spanish Guitar Method, Book No. 1...$1.00...copyright 1935, M. M. Cole Publishing Company, Chicago
I think I was probably about 8 years old...no, maybe 6. My Aunt Selma gave me the old Kalamazoo guitar (which I was to learn later - much, much later - was an early Gibson), and my mother arranged for me to take guitar lessons. My teacher was Mr. Vesey, a man with little patience, and less sense of humor. I didn't remember his name - but my cousin Lissa did, and she always laughed when she said it. She took lessons from Mr. Vesey about 6 weeks later, after I quit. She stuck with it, until, as a young teenager she taught me some of what she had learned at camp (Talking Blues, and the E, A and D chords, so that I could play Gloria). I was 15, and I got serious about folk guitar. Lissa died in February 2010, just 56 years old.
Nick Manoloff's book, according to page 1, is "recommended by THESE GREAT ARTISTS," whose headshots (14 of them) are lined up vertically to the left and the right of the cursively labeled picture of Nick Manoloff himself, wearing a tuxedo and playing his classical guitar in the center of the page. I just scanned those pictures and names surrounding Nick, and I don't even vaguely recognize a single one. How could I? This was published 17 years before I was born. I'll bet Mr. Vesey knew them.
As I flip through the book, my eye lands on page 31, labeled at the top "The Natural Scale in the First Position." There's a pencil note just under the title - "Play up & back," and a humorless bracketing of groups of three to nine notes, each bracket labeled with a penciled date, beginning with the first string - April 15 - and proceeding through the sixth string - May 12.
Lissa died of brain cancer. It was diagnosed almost 10 years earlier as some chronic disease, and the symptoms were treated. By the time her husband insisted on taking her to a specialist, 8 years later, the tumors had infiltrated her entire brain. She was a Nurse Practitioner, an artist, and a wonderful mother of two kids (now both successful adults - and both medical professionals). She had an incredible, sudden, cackling laugh, as abrupt to stop as it was to start. I learned more guitar from her in one afternoon when I was 15 than I did from Mr. Vesey in a month and a half. Although she spent most of her life in New Jersey, and I have lived mostly in Virginia and Minnesota, we talked. Every time we talked, it was as if we were both still living in the brownstone on East 91st Street in Brooklyn...or unscrewing the light bulbs while waiting for her parents to come home.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Baseball and ...Complex Systems Analysis?
Yes, I will admit it, I was getting my hair cut. Which, if you think about, is pretty absurd in itself - that someone with as little hair as I have on my head would be bothering to get it cut.
At any rate, the person who cuts my hair was telling me how baseball-averse she was: how her husband had insisted on taking her to a game (once), how bored she had been, how she had never been willing to watch another game...
...and it got me thinking about how much of what happens in a baseball game is not physically visible (although, to players, or former players, it may all seem palpable) so that while the visible action on the field may appear to be limited to the pitcher and batter, at any particular moment, there is so much more going on.
If you have played, or perhaps simply become a serious fan, you know what I'm getting at: that at any given moment, there are multiple "systems" in play:
And those are just the covert communications among team members. Add in attempts to steal opponent's signs, detect patterns, pre-empt tactics...
While former players spot the "gloves in front of faces" of infielders, and the series of gestures of the first- and third-base coaches, not much of this is terribly obvious to the uninitiated.
So the more I thought about it, the more I was struck by the analogy to systems thinking in an organizational environment: the contrast between official, visible communications channels, and all of the informal channels, supported by friendships and networks of unofficial allegiances; the ways in which some of these channels intersect, or provide counterpoints... I began to picture the "systems archetypes" at play in the organization ("limits to growth," "shifting the burden") and look for counterparts on the baseball field. I began to think about the role of the manager in this light...
...and then, as suddenly as it began, my reverie stopped. My haircut was complete, and my stylist still had no interest in watching a baseball game. I, however, knew the punchline: there's got to be a blogpost in here somewhere.
At any rate, the person who cuts my hair was telling me how baseball-averse she was: how her husband had insisted on taking her to a game (once), how bored she had been, how she had never been willing to watch another game...
...and it got me thinking about how much of what happens in a baseball game is not physically visible (although, to players, or former players, it may all seem palpable) so that while the visible action on the field may appear to be limited to the pitcher and batter, at any particular moment, there is so much more going on.
If you have played, or perhaps simply become a serious fan, you know what I'm getting at: that at any given moment, there are multiple "systems" in play:
- Between the pitcher and the catcher
- Among the infielders
- Among the outfielders
- Among the manager, coaches, the batter and base runners
- Among the manager, the pitching coach, and bullpen coach
And those are just the covert communications among team members. Add in attempts to steal opponent's signs, detect patterns, pre-empt tactics...
While former players spot the "gloves in front of faces" of infielders, and the series of gestures of the first- and third-base coaches, not much of this is terribly obvious to the uninitiated.
So the more I thought about it, the more I was struck by the analogy to systems thinking in an organizational environment: the contrast between official, visible communications channels, and all of the informal channels, supported by friendships and networks of unofficial allegiances; the ways in which some of these channels intersect, or provide counterpoints... I began to picture the "systems archetypes" at play in the organization ("limits to growth," "shifting the burden") and look for counterparts on the baseball field. I began to think about the role of the manager in this light...
...and then, as suddenly as it began, my reverie stopped. My haircut was complete, and my stylist still had no interest in watching a baseball game. I, however, knew the punchline: there's got to be a blogpost in here somewhere.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Interesting SMEs
Plumb your experience for a moment: what are the strangest or most interesting experiences you've ever had working with a SME?
- Discovering that your SME - a genius in his field - could not write a complete sentence.
- Being told by an editor (after submitting a completed course) that approximately 50% of the content sent by the SME drew major hits on Safe Assign (i.e,, appears to have been plagiarized - from 8 different sources).
- Having 90% of a completed course submitted to you in a single spreadsheet - that's content for 10 week-long units, in a 50-column spreadsheet.
- Having a SME for a history class tell you that she would be out of the country for 2 weeks while teaching Fashion Design to the Saudi royal family.
- Having the scripts for 90-minutes of model role plays dictated to you over the phone because the SME is "blocked" when he sits down to write. (Thankfully, I had access to audio recording and transcript capabilities.)
- Holding a remote course review meeting with a SME who is sitting in a hospital emergency room, waiting for a diagnosis on her husband.
- Having a SME completely disappear for two weeks in the middle of your project - with no warning, no responses to phone calls or e-mails.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Working with SMEs: A Simple Idea?
Those of us who work in roles like instructional design, or project management, or interactive design, or for that matter, any process-oriented role, may occasionally forget what it feels like to be labeled a "subject matter expert" (SME). We have our own ways of framing their contributions: we talk about the "content" or "material" our SMEs provide or about "tapping into their knowledge and experience," or perhaps sometimes about their tendencies to go too deeply into "esoteric aspects" of a subject. We may think of our roles as primarily asking the right questions, or perhaps providing a framework. Most of us also try to put ourselves in the position of the end user of our "product" - the student, the employee, or more generically, the learner. All may be worthwhile aspects of conceptualizing the design and development of learning experiences from our own point of view. But what about the viewpoint of the SME?
During the past two years of developing courses and other "learning experiences," I have been fortunate to work with about 30 different individuals cast in the role of subject matter experts. And they were different. No two really were alike. Like any self-respecting instructional designer, of course, I have my process, my methods, my questions. But over the last 15 months or so I have been increasingly intrigued by the view from the other side of the bridge. What is it like to be them?
So increasingly I have slowed down my initial process. I have inserted some nonjudgmental steps into the opening phases, all with a definite purpose, of course, but all with the ulterior motive of getting to know my SME. In the past, I was too often surprised, halfway through the development process, to find that my SME wasn't as good at conceptualization as with details, or vice versa, or just didn't write very well. Or, in some remarkably delightful situations that my SME was extremely creative in some way, or in fact, a better writer than I am. If only I had known at the outset.
I've learned to look for signs of talents, skills, interests, preferences, or just "special characteristics" as early as possible. I've learned to ask questions - not just about the subject matter - but also about the SME's working preferences. Most importantly, I've learned to observe those less obvious personal habits, those clues to what makes them productive, because these, I find, provide the greatest leverage points.
And this is my simple idea: if my SME is productive, I, and the rest of the team, will be productive. Increasingly, that is my focus: how can I help my SME become productive?
During the past two years of developing courses and other "learning experiences," I have been fortunate to work with about 30 different individuals cast in the role of subject matter experts. And they were different. No two really were alike. Like any self-respecting instructional designer, of course, I have my process, my methods, my questions. But over the last 15 months or so I have been increasingly intrigued by the view from the other side of the bridge. What is it like to be them?
So increasingly I have slowed down my initial process. I have inserted some nonjudgmental steps into the opening phases, all with a definite purpose, of course, but all with the ulterior motive of getting to know my SME. In the past, I was too often surprised, halfway through the development process, to find that my SME wasn't as good at conceptualization as with details, or vice versa, or just didn't write very well. Or, in some remarkably delightful situations that my SME was extremely creative in some way, or in fact, a better writer than I am. If only I had known at the outset.
I've learned to look for signs of talents, skills, interests, preferences, or just "special characteristics" as early as possible. I've learned to ask questions - not just about the subject matter - but also about the SME's working preferences. Most importantly, I've learned to observe those less obvious personal habits, those clues to what makes them productive, because these, I find, provide the greatest leverage points.
And this is my simple idea: if my SME is productive, I, and the rest of the team, will be productive. Increasingly, that is my focus: how can I help my SME become productive?
Sunday, November 6, 2011
An American Pioneer
Like nearly everyone else in this economically strapped environment, I have a healthy respect for the accomplishments of Steve Jobs - what he did for the human use of technology, what he did for anyone who ever worked for Apple or bought Apple stock, and what he did for himself and his own legacy.
For every Steve Jobs, though, there are probably a hundred, no - a thousand pioneers who don't make it to Apple's level of corporate success. I've got one in particular in mind, because what he did for the human use of video technology, and for anyone who ever worked with him or for him, exceeded by a million fold anything he ever did for himself.
Eugene Grayson Mattingly was a video pioneer. Dating back to open-reel video tape, Grayson put his creative and eminently practical talents to work every day to help organizations and individuals learn, communicate, accomplish their goals, and achieve their own successes. With his unique and often quirky blend of technical expertise, practical economy, and unerring sense of effectiveness, Grayson turned so many of us "working Joes" into heroes in our organizations.
Unlike Jobs, though, Grayson never resorted to heavy-handed, ego-driven, genius-driven insistence. He couldn't, of course. As a consultant, he won over his clients by showing them how they could be successful; they had to agree to spend the money to hire him. Of course, it didn't help that he charged only what he thought was reasonable. He knew he could and would deliver exactly what he promised. He didn't need to overcharge to cover for likely overruns or unanticipated problems; he had the vision of the solution so clearly in mind that he rarely missed the mark in estimating. And he never took advantage of a client's ignorance.
Mattingly Productions will be remembered for its reliable, effective, and surprisingly creative work with non-profits, not-for-profits, government organizations, and yes, corporations.
Those of us who have been privileged to work with Grayson himself will never lose that sense of his surprising talent, remarkable humility, and warm and caring humanity. We have been unbelievably lucky to have known him.
For every Steve Jobs, though, there are probably a hundred, no - a thousand pioneers who don't make it to Apple's level of corporate success. I've got one in particular in mind, because what he did for the human use of video technology, and for anyone who ever worked with him or for him, exceeded by a million fold anything he ever did for himself.
Eugene Grayson Mattingly was a video pioneer. Dating back to open-reel video tape, Grayson put his creative and eminently practical talents to work every day to help organizations and individuals learn, communicate, accomplish their goals, and achieve their own successes. With his unique and often quirky blend of technical expertise, practical economy, and unerring sense of effectiveness, Grayson turned so many of us "working Joes" into heroes in our organizations.
Unlike Jobs, though, Grayson never resorted to heavy-handed, ego-driven, genius-driven insistence. He couldn't, of course. As a consultant, he won over his clients by showing them how they could be successful; they had to agree to spend the money to hire him. Of course, it didn't help that he charged only what he thought was reasonable. He knew he could and would deliver exactly what he promised. He didn't need to overcharge to cover for likely overruns or unanticipated problems; he had the vision of the solution so clearly in mind that he rarely missed the mark in estimating. And he never took advantage of a client's ignorance.
Mattingly Productions will be remembered for its reliable, effective, and surprisingly creative work with non-profits, not-for-profits, government organizations, and yes, corporations.
Those of us who have been privileged to work with Grayson himself will never lose that sense of his surprising talent, remarkable humility, and warm and caring humanity. We have been unbelievably lucky to have known him.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Other Source of Productivity
When I arrived at the office this morning it was with heightened concern that this time, I was not going to be able to complete the development of this latest course. Now, just hours later, I am returning home energized - even though the course is still not quite done. What accounted for this difference?
By way of background, we're talking online course development: content provided by a subject matter expert (SME), media developed by interactive designers (ID), an editor to catch the problems, and a project manager (PM) to clear the roadblocks. All that yours truly the course developer (CD) needs to do is to pull it together - and yet, in this case, that seemed unusually difficult.
Not the PM's fault - she had gone above and beyond to clear the way, even pitching in to find some innovative alternatives. Not the ID's fault - plenty of willingness and readiness there. Certainly not the SME's fault; this one may be the best, most productive, most inspired I've ever worked with. So what was the problem?
Somewhere between 8:15 and 9:05 a.m. I figured it out: I was not going to get the rest of the way on my own. There was too much complexity still left to simplify, too much detail still left to grind through. Somehow from the inside of this ego-centric, prideful, too self-confident soul, the cry went out for help.
By 10:00, I had reached out to Course Materials, Media, Editors, maybe even my 10th grade English teacher. Somehow, miraculously, by 4:30 pm, every one of them had come through. The ID came to my desk with a technical specialist, the editors asked the right questions, and I found that my PM had anticipated most of them. I left the office at 6:30 pm - not done yet - but I could see it from where I was.
I haven't changed my mind about the focus, determination, and sense of responsibility that one must bring to the job. All of those have to be there. But I've resolved not to forget the critical importance of the willingness to ask for help.
I am really looking forward to finishing the course tomorrow...
By way of background, we're talking online course development: content provided by a subject matter expert (SME), media developed by interactive designers (ID), an editor to catch the problems, and a project manager (PM) to clear the roadblocks. All that yours truly the course developer (CD) needs to do is to pull it together - and yet, in this case, that seemed unusually difficult.
Not the PM's fault - she had gone above and beyond to clear the way, even pitching in to find some innovative alternatives. Not the ID's fault - plenty of willingness and readiness there. Certainly not the SME's fault; this one may be the best, most productive, most inspired I've ever worked with. So what was the problem?
Somewhere between 8:15 and 9:05 a.m. I figured it out: I was not going to get the rest of the way on my own. There was too much complexity still left to simplify, too much detail still left to grind through. Somehow from the inside of this ego-centric, prideful, too self-confident soul, the cry went out for help.
By 10:00, I had reached out to Course Materials, Media, Editors, maybe even my 10th grade English teacher. Somehow, miraculously, by 4:30 pm, every one of them had come through. The ID came to my desk with a technical specialist, the editors asked the right questions, and I found that my PM had anticipated most of them. I left the office at 6:30 pm - not done yet - but I could see it from where I was.
I haven't changed my mind about the focus, determination, and sense of responsibility that one must bring to the job. All of those have to be there. But I've resolved not to forget the critical importance of the willingness to ask for help.
I am really looking forward to finishing the course tomorrow...
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Figuring It Out...
What does it mean to "figure something out"?
I used to think, or at least imagine, that "figuring out" was a logical, rational, sequential process - that if you knew the process, you were just a few predictable steps away from knowing the answer. Kind of like an accountant's work: Give me the receipts, give me the expenses, and I'll tell you how much money you made. And for many formulaic, predictably presented problems, that's probably true.
Actually, that's what I feel like I spent most of my formal schooling learning to do - to "figure out" problems that fit, or almost fit, some recognizable pattern. I'm not complaining. For most of the routine or standardized tasks that I have gotten paid for in my life, those patterns and formulas served me pretty well.
But what happens when a problem is presented more amorphously? When the shape, size, type, features, whatever, don't seem to fit a recognizable process?
As a teacher, I probably shied away from the truly incomprehensible. Yes, I've learned to ask a series of open questions and listen, but in the past, it was usually with the idea that I would eventually see a logical pattern. Of course, that pattern doesn't always "emerge."
Lately, though, I have been reading a surprisingly eye-opening little book that might just offer a more powerful description of what "figuring it out" really means. Gerd Gigerenzer, a researcher from the Max Planck Institute, wrote this little book a few years ago: Gut Feelings: The Intelligence of the Unconscious.
Yes, I'm aware that others - notably Malcolm Gladwell, Daniel Pink, and even some researchers at my alma mater have been generating some interest around these ideas in the last few years. But I'm intrigued with Gigerenzer's insistent efforts to help me see all of the ways in which human beings demonstrate better judgment and higher levels of success when they make good use of perceptual and semi-logical shortcuts.
These shortcuts all make intuitive sense: rules of thumb, the gaze heuristic, the "less information is more" approach. Gigerenzer weaves a story of research results that at the same time seem totally illogical and intuitively exactly right. I'm wondering how much of what I have taught helped others understand what they could really do; I'm concerned that, instead, I might have emphasized exactly the less powerful ideas, and maybe obscured the more productive approaches.
How do you "figure things out?" How much of our real human capability is scientific logic, and how much is a miraculous set of "shortcut" capabilities learned through observation and experience?
What do you think?
I used to think, or at least imagine, that "figuring out" was a logical, rational, sequential process - that if you knew the process, you were just a few predictable steps away from knowing the answer. Kind of like an accountant's work: Give me the receipts, give me the expenses, and I'll tell you how much money you made. And for many formulaic, predictably presented problems, that's probably true.
Actually, that's what I feel like I spent most of my formal schooling learning to do - to "figure out" problems that fit, or almost fit, some recognizable pattern. I'm not complaining. For most of the routine or standardized tasks that I have gotten paid for in my life, those patterns and formulas served me pretty well.
But what happens when a problem is presented more amorphously? When the shape, size, type, features, whatever, don't seem to fit a recognizable process?
As a teacher, I probably shied away from the truly incomprehensible. Yes, I've learned to ask a series of open questions and listen, but in the past, it was usually with the idea that I would eventually see a logical pattern. Of course, that pattern doesn't always "emerge."
Lately, though, I have been reading a surprisingly eye-opening little book that might just offer a more powerful description of what "figuring it out" really means. Gerd Gigerenzer, a researcher from the Max Planck Institute, wrote this little book a few years ago: Gut Feelings: The Intelligence of the Unconscious.
Yes, I'm aware that others - notably Malcolm Gladwell, Daniel Pink, and even some researchers at my alma mater have been generating some interest around these ideas in the last few years. But I'm intrigued with Gigerenzer's insistent efforts to help me see all of the ways in which human beings demonstrate better judgment and higher levels of success when they make good use of perceptual and semi-logical shortcuts.
These shortcuts all make intuitive sense: rules of thumb, the gaze heuristic, the "less information is more" approach. Gigerenzer weaves a story of research results that at the same time seem totally illogical and intuitively exactly right. I'm wondering how much of what I have taught helped others understand what they could really do; I'm concerned that, instead, I might have emphasized exactly the less powerful ideas, and maybe obscured the more productive approaches.
How do you "figure things out?" How much of our real human capability is scientific logic, and how much is a miraculous set of "shortcut" capabilities learned through observation and experience?
What do you think?
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