|
![]() |
||
"It's a Wonderful Life" - CU-Denver's John Mays, the Accidental ProfessorYou might call President's Teaching Scholar John Mays the accidental professor. "I never thought I'd teach," says the Denver campus civil engineering professor, with a remnant of Texas in his voice. Mays' father built farm-to-market roads in southeast Texas, and John thought he'd take over the business after he earned his civil engineering degree from Lamar University in Beaumont. But fate had other ideas. A month before graduating in 1955, the engineering department chairman called Mays and tried to recruit him to teach some undergraduate courses. Mays said he was on his way to Korea. His chairman talked to the draft board and reported to Mays: " 'we both think you'd do more for your country if you taught than fought!' " Mays taught
statics, drafting, and surveying And that's how Mays became the second engineering faculty member on the fledgling Denver campus in 1967. In addition
to teaching, Mays worked part time for the Bureau of Reclamation for
18 years, which provided "worlds of practical experience" that fed
both his research and teaching. His work for the bureau's stress analysis
group included responsibility for computer programs and some work in
nonlinear analysis Mays also served as department chair in the early days of the Denver campus but says, "I'm glad I discovered that I wasn't an administrator and got back to the classroom, where the fun was!" Mays has seen two major developments force shifts in engineering education: sputnik and computers. "With sputnik, the idea of teaching engineering took a dramatic turn," because there were no existing samples to refer to. The field became more engineering physics. Computers have made engineering tasks quicker and easier, but they've posed a different challenge for educators. "It's difficult to know at what point you quit teaching principles and when you use the computer." Mays still believes in understanding engineering principles, because otherwise "you get in great trouble." When asked to speculate on the nature of engineering training when his new granddaughter reaches college age, Mays answers, "I think there'll be more learning at home with computers." In the next breath he adds that, although he recently developed a distance education course, he still believes that the classroom environment is the best for learning. "One thing I value very much," he says passionately, "is people contact. The people that have an influence on my life. I don't think there's any way that can be handled except one-on-one, and certainly, at the graduate level, that will remain." Mays also has lived out his concern for people in his role as a President's Teaching Scholar. An early initiative of the President's Teaching Scholars Program (PTSP) was to have teaching scholars mentor an assistant professor in the same, or another, department or college. The goal was to help junior professors succeed professionally and win tenure. Mays, who belongs to the first group of teaching scholars, saw value in the idea. The first year of the PTSP, Mays mentored an assistant professor of computer science, Gita Alaghband. "She was doing very well in her research, but there seemed to be some trouble in her teaching reports," Mays remembers. They visited several of each other's classes, talked about teaching, and discovered Alaghband's teaching wasn't the problem. Instead, the problem was certain students who were trying to intimidate her in class and manipulate her outside of class. Mays helped Alaghband learn to handle the students and encouraged her to experiment with some different techniques in the classroom. A couple years later, Alaghband won the Denver campus teaching award. She now chairs her department. "That was a wonderful experience," Mays recalls. But not all mentoring relationships are so perfect. Mays temporarily served as mentor in a less-successful mentoring situation. Successful mentoring, he says, requires that both parties trust each other and believe in the value of mentoring. If the mentoree doesn't think he or she needs help, mentoring won't succeed. Although Mays has informally mentored other faculty, he says he may take on another, formal assignment before he retires. As he talks about the people who influenced his own life and career, it's clear that mentoring is Mays' way of giving back, of living the lessons taught by his more informal mentors. He names former dean Paul Bartlett as an influential guide who taught him lessons in organization and persistence. Lloyd Cherry, who simultaneously served as undergraduate professor and Sunday School teacher, "had a great balance between his working at the university and his responsibility to other people," a balance Mays emulates. Roy Biser, a teacher at Lamar, mentored by virtue of his "excitement and concern for students." Biser would arrive in the classroom early and simply pace back and forth, as if winding up his energy for the class; Mays would arrive early just to watch him pace. Family members also mentored: his father taught "moral and Christian standards"; his mother taught "regard for life and tenderness"; and his wife taught "enjoyment of life." Mays' teaching style borrows from all these sources and more. "I'm a mimic," he confesses. Although he always knows exactly what he wants to accomplish in a class period, he doesn't know exactly how he'll achieve those goals. His ability to improvise and find the analogy or approach that communicates effectively is hinted at in an anecdote he tells about a former student. At the end of a class period, a student at the back of the room asked if Mays would answer a question for the entire back row. Mays said he'd decide once he heard the question. The student then asked, "Were you ever a Southern Baptist preacher?" Mays laughed and said, "No, but I guess I preach engineering." Mays loves
the classroom and exudes a passion for sharing what he's learned about
engineering and life with his students. "I wish I could find a more
effective way of transferring what I've learned," he says. "Young people
tend to If his career were fictionalized, Mays says it would belong to the genre of romance or adventure. "I love life, and I never know exactly what the day will bring, but I want to make the most out of every day and the most out of every class." Mays, who has seen multiple productions of The Christmas Carol, cites "I love life" as his theme song. "I get up in the morning singing that song. . . . It's the most satisfying thing I know to walk into a class and teach."
The Best of Times and the Worst of TimesThe hardest
teaching Professor John Mays ever did was to take over a graduate architecture
course from the original professor ("who really fouled up" Mays' solution: reserve the classroom for the hour preceding class and turn it into a combination math tutoring class and review session for the previous class periods. He also allowed students to retake their exams until they had mastered the material. His most memorable class moment came before another group of architecture students. (He no longer teaches future architects, since their program is now independent from engineering.) It was the
end of the term. "I told them, 'There's not much in life that's free,
but this is.' I said, 'Put down your pencils. Don't take any notes.
Just listen and watch.' I was feeling extra good that day. I was all
over the boards on all sides, and I had chairs I'd jump up on and write
on the board, talking about some advanced stuff When the period was over, the entire class rose from their seats and applauded.
Fundamentals of
Teaching
|
|||
Communiqué, a publication about the President's Teaching Scholars Program, is published twice per year by the University of Colorado. Copyright ©1997 - 2002 The Regents of the University of Colorado, a body corporate. Program Director: Mary Ann Shea 360 UCB, Boulder, CO 80309-0360 Phone: (303) 492-4985 E-mail: MaryAnn.Shea@Colorado.EDU |