2B
Footnotes: Life in the MLB
I
t’s always surprised me
how many classes I have
in the Modern Languages
Building — at least one each
semester since I started at the
University. On such an expan-
sive campus, one on which I’ve
yet to enter a good number of
the buildings, it seems odd to
spend such a great deal of time
in one auditorium.
Sitting in a 400-person lec-
ture halls, I am always tempted
to surf the web, check my texts,
and lose focus on the topic
at hand — education. From
a quick glance around the room, I
would say that I’m not alone in that
respect.
Shelly Schreier and her Golden-
Apple-winning lectures can capti-
vate an audience with the same flare
as a Shakespearean performance, but
I’ve found many professors, through
no fault of their own, cannot.
This isn’t surprising. The profes-
sors at this University weren’t hired
because they are world-renowned
public speakers, or because they have
personalities that fill an auditorium.
They were brought to Ann Arbor
because they are simply the most
brilliant minds in their respective
fields of study.
After delivering a lackluster lec-
ture, many of these doctors of sci-
ence and humanities will head back
to their office and literally change
the world through their academic
exploits.
Why then, do we expect them to
stand in front of a lecture hall and
keep the attention of college students
— perhaps the most easily distractible
demographic in recorded history?
Freshman year, when I was in
Schreier’s Psychology 111 class, I was
concurrently enrolled in an Organic
Chemistry lab. My GSI, who now
works somewhere in the biotech
realm of the Silicon Valley, was not
particularly adept in teaching. Even
so, I remember the class being valu-
able in seeing the practical applica-
tions behind the work we learned in
lecture.
Don’t get me wrong — organic
chem lab is a special kind of Hell
that I wouldn’t wish onto my worst
enemy. Enrolling in the 8:00 a.m.
Friday section of a four-hour lab
doesn’t help either. But, at the end
of the day, you learn a lot and gain
an appreciation for the chemistry
behind basic science.
Similarly, I remember volunteer-
ing in a lab at the medical school
before I had even completed my intro
bio sequence. Thanks to interactions
with one professor and one patient
postdoc, I learned more in some
afternoons than I would in months of
a standard lecture course.
In case any students have missed
the memo, this is one of the largest,
most advanced research universities
in the world.
When I was applying to Michigan,
I remember that some of the smaller
colleges would market themselves
based on their student-to-faculty
ratio or the number of classes under
thirty students. These are all valu-
able measures, but don’t necessarily
assure a quality education. Having
professors on campus doesn’t help
students unless those professors are
truly accessible.
The University could make moves
to reform its current systems. Some
professors should not ever be placed
in front of lecture halls. But that
doesn’t mean students cannot take
full advantage of their expertise in
other ways. It’s up to those individu-
als on both side of the equation — stu-
dents and teachers — to make sure
the University is getting full use of
the $1.3 dollar research enterprise
that has developed over the last 198
years.
Take teachers out of the lecture
halls, and put them back in the labs
where they are more comfortable.
Let students develop meaningful
connections with these experts and,
at the same time, learn in the envi-
ronment where they will eventually
be working.
Professors standing awkwardly on
stage in the MLB doesn’t do anyone
any favors.
Magazine Editor:
Ian Dillingham
Deputy Editor:
Natalie Gadbois
Design Editor:
Jake Wellins
Photo Editor:
Luna Anna Archey
Illustrator:
Megan Mulholland
Maggie Miller
Managing Editor:
Lev Facher
Editor in Chief:
Jen Calfas
Copy Editors:
Hannah Bates
Laura Schinagle
Emma Sutherland
THE statement
COVER BY JAKE WELLINS
B Y I A N D I L L I N G H A M
Wednesday, February 18, 2015 // The Statement
ILLUSTRATION BY MAGGIE MILLER
Becoming a Townie: Living Local
B Y E M M A K E R R
Y
our neighborhood — it’s
more than a street name.
If you live within walk-
ing distance of Hatcher, you’re
most absolutely a student, and
you almost certainly have posi-
tioned yourself based on the net-
work in which you frequent.
You live on Packard? You like
a good party more than anything.
Hill and Tappan? You’re a Ross
kid.
Kerrytown? Hipster … or engi-
neer.
Landmark? Zaragon? Frat star.
Or … maybe not.
When I was deciding where to
live, it never felt like a decision at
all. Yes, I chose to live in a cer-
tain neighborhood with a certain
group of people, but off-campus
housing feels a lot less like a ratio-
nal decision and a lot more like a
confusing blur of houses, apart-
ments, and questionable land-
lords that all ends with you living
in an overpriced closet.
As enrollment rates increase
and the number of on-campus
rooms remains the same, fresh-
man more often than not end
up being forced to explore Ann
Arbor for the very first time as
they search for a place to live the
following year. For the freshmen
and upperclassmen who scramble
to find off-campus housing, they
are reaching out to landlords,
talking to residents, visiting hous-
es in different areas, and usually
start by deciding: apartment or
house?
Apartment seems to be the
easier option of the two. Houses
are complicated, while apart-
ments frequented by students are
glorified dorms.
These “glorified dorms” how-
ever, are remarkably unpopular
among non-student residents.
Townies are often angered by
expensive, blocky buildings that
neither meet the city’s announced
goal of increasing affordable
housing downtown nor the desire
to preserve Ann Arbor’s unique
character. For every apartment
building that goes up in an effort
to target students, local resi-
dents are almost always quick
to respond. They challenge the
proximity of the building to their
parks and neighborhoods, full of
fear and foreboding for the future
of Ann Arbor.
The tension between residents
and students is not uncommon,
but is particularly apparent in a
college town with such vibrant
and diverse experiences in the
city and on campus.
So let me tell you a story.
The day I was born, while
I was still at the hospital, my
eight-year-old brother and father
bought me a bear. I, creatively,
named him Barry the Bear. My
brother had had a similar bear
named Fuzzy, given to him when
he was born, that he loved and
that can be found in my parents’
living room, all torn up and worn.
My bear is there too, but he isn’t
worn … actually, he looks entirely
untouched. Exactly the way it had
been given to me.
Instead, in my bedroom here
in Ann Arbor, you will find a flat-
tened out, greenish Alligator, who
I also very creatively named Allie
the Alligator, laying on my bed.
He has stains everywhere and
his cloth teeth have wrinkled and
torn over the years.
Barry was special to me. And
because he was special, I wanted
to take care of him. I didn’t take
him with me outside, or to day-
care, or on the bus, or with me to
college. But Allie, who was just
a meaningless alligator, came
everywhere with me.
Ann Arbor is special as well.
And while my place is not to say
what is right for this city, nei-
ther fearing change and desir-
ing things to stay the same nor
rushing to capitalize on students
desperate for nearby housing
with poorly thought out buildings
seem like strategies the constitu-
ents in this city — both students
and residents — desire.
The truth is, we all have a lot to
lose. The University has a lot to
lose if the essence of Ann Arbor
as a town is harmed, as do the stu-
dents. And residents, who know
and love Ann Arbor’s character,
would undoubtedly feel an impact
if the University was unable to
bring such a large and diverse
group of young adults to the city.
The University enrolls over
43,000 students each year, and
they all have to find somewhere
to live.
In the process each student
will make some decisions that
say a lot about him or her, wheth-
er they realize it or not: where
you live, what kinds of people
you choose to support, who you
decide to live with. But you will,
ultimately, call Ann Arbor your
home. And in doing so, you join a
much larger community, one that
isn’t included in those enrollment
numbers, that is worth exploring.
Off-campus housing just may be
your chance to do so.
IT’S A BIRD,
IT’S A PLANE
IT’S...
THE LITERARY
ISSUE
COMING NEXT WEEK!