Archive for June, 2005

Young teachers and the rising age of new hires

Day three of the cleanse begins, and I feel quite lethargic.  I’m told that around day five or so, one’s energy starts to pick up as the toxins leave the system.  But it ain’t a lot of fun right now,

By tonight, I hope to have the bulk of my grading finished.  My eleventh year of full-time teaching has come to an end.  Despite the frustration at the plagiarizers, I’m always filled this time of year with a powerful sense of warmth towards my students.  I’ve been fortunate to have a few students take several of my classes, and I’ve come to admire and cherish them and think of them, in a real sense, as friends.  Now they are headed off, and if past behavior is an accurate predictor of the future, very few will keep in touch.  It’s perhaps selfish of me, but I do like hearing from former students very, very much.  The few who do write notes or drop by my office, often years later, make me very happy.

Despite the poor outlook for the California budget, the social sciences division (which includes History) has done quite a bit of hiring for tenure-track teaching jobs in the last few years.  I’ve sat on a couple of hiring committees myself.  This year alone,my division has hired two new sociologists, a political scientist, a psychologist and a child development instructor.   I haven’t met all of our new hires, but I notice one thing about those whom I have seen join our faculty in recent years: they are almost always over thirty, and many are in their forties and fifties.  Indeed, though in terms of seniority, I am in the "middle" of the division, in terms of age, I am still — at 38 — one of our youngest tenured faculty.

Since I was hired in 1994 at the age of twenty-seven, our division has not hired anyone under thirty for a full-time post.  (Gosh, I wonder if my youthful indiscretions sent a message!)  At the same time, I can think of several professors, junior to me in seniority, who were hired after reaching the age of forty.  Mind you, I have no objection to hiring older faculty, many of whom have spent years and years as "freeway fliers" or "roads scholars".  (One of my newly hired tenure-track colleagues taught as an adjunct for almost twenty years at, by her estimation, eleven different Southern California community colleges and two Cal State campuses!)  These new hires bring years and years of experience to the classroom, and I suspect that their students benefit.

But it was not always so.  Many of our most senior faculty (those who are in their late fifties and sixties) have been here for thirty years or more.  Among the "old guard", we have a number of folks who started teaching full-time at the community college while in their mid-twenties.  Of course, thirty or forty years ago, it was rare for a community college to expect a prospective hire to have anything more than a master’s degree.  Today, Ph.Ds are expected, and at the least, one ought to be working towards a doctorate in order to be hired.  That expectation has driven up the average age of our hires considerably.   On the other hand, speaking as one who does have a Ph.D., I can’t say that those of us in the department with that degree are generally better teachers than our colleagues who have only the M.A.! (And I hate the fact that on all official college documents, those of us with Ph.D.s are always called "Dr", while those with MAs are called Mr. or Mrs. or Ms.  It grates.)

I’m so grateful that I was hired at such a relatively young age.  Yes, I do think younger professors can "relate" to their students in ways that more senior faculty cannot.  Ten years ago, I listened to the same music my students did and had a great many of the same interests.  As I’ve aged, the gap between myself and the average age of "the kids" has more than doubled, and with it, I’ve lost some sense of where "young people are at" right now.  But I do think that students need to experience younger faculty members, especially when those professors are passionate and engaged and can connect with those whom they are teaching on a personal level.  That doesn’t mean that those of us who are getting older have any less to offer; indeed, our experience and our wisdom means that we will be able to give to our students a view of the world that a younger person might not have yet developed.  Still, having at least some "young guns" in the department helps keep everyone on their toes.  (Lord knows, I was far more of a troublemaker in 1995 than in 2005!)

Another, purely practical concern:  retirement pensions.  If you hire someone for a tenure track job in her twenties, and that person teaches for thirty-five years, she can retire (thanks to CalSTRS) at about eighty percent of her final salary, if not more.  Pensions are generally based on years of service, which gives a huge advantage to those of us hired young enough to have careers lasting three decades or more.  My new colleagues will likely not spend thirty years building up pension credit, unless they plan to teach until they are seventy!  And while some may have IRAs or other savings, it’s unlikely that someone who has waited years for a tenure-track teaching job will have a substantial nest egg.  Given that local community college districts and the state share the burden of pensions with their employees, it makes sense that administrators would want to hire older faculty who will retire with less generous compensation packages.  That bothers me, even as it makes me grateful once again to have had job security at such a young age.

I’m not a proponent of ageism. I would never urge someone be hired merely because they are young.  But I do think that we need "age diversity" as much as we need ethnic diversity.  When the majority of our hires are old enough to be at least the biological parents of those whom they teach, I think that’s unfortunate.

Two more links: hot teachers and a call for support for Zach

I’m in a linking mood today.  Five posts in one day!  Can you tell I’m procrastinating on grading?

Here’s a great post from Apocalyptic Historian (aka Lisa) about the professor rating sites and "hotness."  It’s a discussion we’ve had here before, but here’s her powerful take:

So a site rating professors on their “hotness” cheapens what we do. And I wonder what students who view that site read into the hotness factor. Do they dismiss it? I assume the “hotness” of a professor isn’t a large impetus for taking a class, but I worry about students like a friend I had in college who assured me that she was going to get an A in one particular course because the professor was a “perv” (her word) and she supposedly gave him what he wanted: she always wore short skirts and sat in the front row. RateYourProfessors.com takes a what is a professional relationship—the student-professor relationship—and situates it in a sexual atmosphere. That the owners and administrators of the site don’t do the same for their sister sites rating teachers, lawyers and doctors just shows how far we have to go in establishing and acknowledging that there must be appropriate boundaries…

Right on.

And thanks to Jonathan Dresner, let me note that Anne Zook links to this appalling story of Zach, a 16 year-old gay teen who has been shipped off to a Love in Action (reparative therapy) camp against his will.  Like so many folks, Zach has a Myspace account with a blog for messages of support.  Let’s swamp this kid in love, compassion and prayer!  How I hope that someday he finds a place like All Saints!  If any of my youth group kids are reading this blog, please say a special prayer for brother Zach and all those suffering with him, and give thanks for the community that embraces you and loves you as God made you to be.

As a Christian who knows firsthand how Christ transforms us, I grieve what is being done in His name to this sweet kid.   I’ve known plenty of folks who went through what Zach is being sent through and are, as we put it, now "ex-ex-gay."  Check out the folks at Ex Gay Watch, and the powerful, moving, and funny "Doin’ Time in the Homo No Mo Half-Way House."  Sigh.  I mentioned last week that I planned on inviting NARTH into my gay and lesbian studies class in the fall.  At the moment, I’m so angry about Zach I’m rethinking that decision.

Off for some quinoa and broccoli for dinner, with organic almonds for dessert.

Some reflections on male-female friendship

I’ve been reflecting quite a bit on the responses to yesterday’s post "All of my best friends are guys."  Keri distinguishes "sisterhood" from feminism in ways that I find useful, especially since I am inclined to use the terms as synonyms!  Altmama has her own response at her place, and I encourage folks to check out her blog.  And Antigone has pointed out the rather unfortunate Ladder Theory site that attempts to explain male-female friendships in a most unpleasant and stereotypical (albeit humorous) way.

I’ve been thinking about my friendships with women.  I’ve blogged before about my friendships with men, and how precious they are to me.  (And how long it took me to be able to trust men and get close to them.)  I don’t blog about my relationship with my fiancee out of respect for her privacy.  I’m honored that hundreds (on a good day, thousands) of folks come to this blog; I have "put myself out there" and attracted a fair degree of animosity for doing so.  (And no doubt annoyed many with my waffling and my hubris.)  I want to protect she to whom I will be married from all of that.  It’s not easy marrying a man like me, you know; she deserves absolute privacy.

Though I’ve mentioned past marriages and relationships, I’ve never written much about my female friends.  It’s true, today I have fewer female (and more male) friends than I did in the past.  As a high school and college student, I was the sort of guy who was uncomfortable around other men, but I had a great many wonderful female friends. (Taking women’s studies classes certainly helped with the ratio!)  The vast majority of these relationships were never explicitly romantic or sexual.   

But the fact that these relationships were "platonic" (in the vernacular sense) did not mean that they were entirely without some degree of longing.   I certainly did have "crushes" on some of these women, almost invariably unrequited.  At least until I left college for graduate school, I was what my friends called a stereotypical NGB  — a "Nice Guy, But"  (I became a less kind person in my twenties, to put it mildly, and lost that label rather quickly.)  I loved having so many female friends, and lord knows, I learned from them.  I would never have ended up doing what I’m doing professionally  had it not been for some exceptionally loving, patient friends who gently guided me towards not only doing gender studies, but doing real work on issues related to women, men, sexuality, and violence.  I’m so grateful for all that they gave me.

Today, I’ll be honest:  I have far fewer female friends than I did in my teens, twenties, or early thirties.  There are a number of reasons for this.  One, I’ve been very intentional about developing friendships with men.  In my limited time for friends, I’ve focused on hanging out with other guys, both  teens (whom I mentor) and peers.    Two, I’ve got little tolerance for friendships with ambiguous boundaries.  Though I’m an absolute believer that a straight man and a straight woman can be dear friends without any romantic tension whatsoever, I’ve found such relationships to be rarer than I had imagined when I was younger.   Human sexuality is an immensely powerful thing, more powerful than I think many folks recognize; the desires of the heart are often equally compelling.  I’ve been fooled more than once into believing that there was no chance of desire emerging in a given relationship, only to be stunned into embarrassment, awkwardness, or worse.

Three, I care about what other people think.  When you’re young, you’re supposed not to give a damn what your wider social circle thinks of your behavior.   But I carry the trust of a great many people: my fiancee, my family, my kids in youth group, my students.  I’ve made some fairly bold claims about how my life has been radically changed since coming to Christ.  My past gives folks plenty of reasons to gossip.  Many of my professional decisions (like teaching a course on gay and lesbian studies) provide grist for rumor mills.  So when and if I’m seen in public by friends or students or kids I work with, having a meal or a cup of coffee with a woman who is not my fiancee, I need to be prepared to explain my behavior.   That doesn’t mean I never go to lunch with female friends and colleagues, I do. I just need to be mindful of what others perceptions are.  When I was younger, I could ignore appearances; I’ve learned how fragile reputation is, and I’m working hard to keep the trust I’ve been given.  None of this means I don’t still have wonderful female friends!  I do, but for all three of the reasons covered here, the number is far smaller than it was in years past.

I do believe a healthy human person needs friends, and needs friends of both sexes, in order to be truly whole.  I don’t believe that sexual desire or romantic attraction inevitably undermines mixed-sex friendship.  I do believe, however, that when we’re young (and sometimes not so young) we lie to ourselves about how powerful and potentially dangerous these forces are.  Few of us come to full adulthood unscathed by the fallouts of such a friendship gone sour.  And without question, past experience has made me warier about forming and maintaining such friendships.  I don’t pretend that my experience has been everyone’s.  Others may find it easy to do what I found quite challenging, and I am sincerely glad for them. 

What does this mean for feminism?  I’m not sure.  My feminism and my faith teach me that women are radically equal to men.  We are not only all worthy of being friends across the gender divide, I believe we are called to form platonic relationships with the other sex in order to become fully human and whole.  Feminism tells me, rightly so, that most of the obstacles to healthy, non-sexual, non-romantic mixed-sex friendship are social constructs.  But experience has taught me that construct or no, though I may have reason not to be fearful, I am called to be wise and to set good, healthy, boundaries.

Thursday links, update, and shagster

It’s day two of my "cleanse."  Today is tougher than yesterday, perhaps because I’m still sorting out the caffeine withdrawal that began on Monday.  The central feature of this cleanse seems to be eating a very restricted diet of organic green vegetables, fruit, and nuts, always in conjunction with the essential "cleanse activator", a potion composed of water, cayenne pepper, lemon juice, and grade B maple syrup.  Go figure.   It’s not half bad, actually, but gosh, I’d love a bagel.  Nine more days to go.

Some links:

Christy has Ten (almost) Tips for Blogging, most of which I have honored, and all of which I recommend.

John at Home, Throne and Altar has been joined by Beau, and she has issued her emancipation proclamation.  A sample:

The truth is, I want to be someone’s wife. I want to be a Mum and bake cookies and stay at home with my kids. This doesn’t negate my educational and occupational achievements . I am a strong, opinionated woman, the sum of my instinct and experience; and exactly who God willed me to be. I will never be meek and genteel, I am a warrior princess with a purpose…

If God has made me as feisty as he has, I have no doubt he is capable of creating a man who can handle me.

I like that last line. 

From the other end of the spectrum, here’s a fine mini-sermon from Father Jake on the Kingdom of Heaven (not the movie), and a longer, and even more excellent homily from the dear Scott Richardson on Christ, the Good Sherpa.  The last five paragraphs are magnificent.

On a very secular note, I have learned this week of Shagster, an English variation on sites like Friendster:

Shagster.net is a site to keep track of your sexual conquests, and give them a rating out of 10 for their troubles.

Once you’ve registered with the site, you can log in and start adding people to your list. You can search the current members database for your past partners, or invite them with a friendly email telling them a bit about the site.

It’s probably not as awful as it sounds, but it does strike me as stunningly juvenile.  I’ll be interested to learn — if it is possible to do so — what the gender ratio will be of the site’s users.  Since I anticipate the site will attract more men than women (I could be wrong) this could certainly skew the results.

Happily, no one can be added against their consent:

Of course due to the nature of the site the other person must ‘consent’ to be added to your sordid list, so we give them the opportunity to decline your request. Once someone has responded to your request you will receive an email informing you which option they chose.

Once someone has consented to being shown on your list, you are also added to their list, and may then view their list at will to see if you spot any familiar faces.

Um, I won’t be consenting — not that I anticipate a request to do so.

This site could, I imagine, be of great interest to two groups: those stuck in perpetual adolescence, and epidemiologists studying the spread of sexually transmitted infections.

And still more plagiarism

I’m giving a final in a few minutes, and have very little time to post.  I will say that yesterday afternoon, I found no fewer than five separate instances of blatant plagiarism among take-home finals for my Western Civilization classes.  The tell-tale signs were all the classic ones:  suddenly "elevated" grammar and syntax, unusually sophisticated vocabulary and concepts. 

I caught all five the easy way: with Google.  By simply typing in key phrases from the papers, I immediately found the Internet sources they had used.   (My smarter plagiarizers at least copy from books that aren’t on the Internet; it’s the "cutters and pasters" whose idiocy deserves the harshest of punishments.)   Given that my students are repeatedly warned (in writing and orally) against plagiarism, it’s not hard for me to flunk them at once.  (This is a subject I’ve posted on before, here and here.)   If they contest the F, I’ll happily turn their finals over to the division dean, and a notation of academic dishonesty will go on their permanent records. If they don’t contest it, I won’t report them — but the F will stand until the course is repeated.

Once again, the culprits were all of East Asian or Armenian ancestry.   I wish that those who cheated via Internet were equally distributed among all ethnic groups!  Let me hasten to say that some of my very best students are of Chinese, Korean, or Armenian descent.   The majority of students from these backgrounds have no less integrity than their classmates.   I want very badly to avoid suggesting that some ethnic groups are more prone to academic dishonesty than others, but the evidence I’ve gathered in years of teaching (and what I’ve heard anecdotally from colleagues) makes it hard to come to another conclusion.

It has become clear to me that some cultures apparently have different standards of attribution and different notions of what is acceptable "borrowing."  This is why I issue my standard explanation of what plagiarism is before a single paper is turned in; if I weren’t clear on the matter, I’d feel more guilty about handing out so many Fs.  I’m told that in some other societies, simply cutting and pasting together the work of others might be considered a sign of respect rather than an attempt to cheat.  I don’t know if that’s true or not, but in any case, I make very clear what basic Western college standards are.  Alas, as of yesterday afternoon, five more students fell woefully short of those standards.

Thursday Short Poem: Candelaria’s “Confessions”

One young poet whose work I’m starting to like is Berkeley’s own Xochitl Candelaria: 

Confessions of a Female

"No" is not a word that we are conditioned to use.
Instead we might laugh or say maybe or thank you or yes.

We also see parts of the crenelated whole
and the whole part as beautiful.

We might start to like your choice
of words and for a while that is enough.

We might think you look a bit rough and want
to teach you the difference between soap and style.

The words "I love you, but" do not amount to a contradiction.
For light has always been both particle and a wave.

We are likely to save small things-bead by bead
fascinated by the intricate daring of the infinitesimal.

Saddled with sharing, we unconsciously lament the loss
of the cliff dwelling where you can lift up the bone ladder.

I may be just an old white boy, but this rings right to me.  In my women’s studies classes, I meet far too many young women "saddled with sharing."   Sometimes, good teaching and good advocacy is about helping them to reclaim a private dwelling where "you can lift up the bone ladder" and learn what it means to say "no."

“All of my best friends are guys”

I always ask my students in the women’s studies class the same question near the end of the semester: “What, in your opinion, is the single greatest obstacle that college women face today?”  It’s not that I want my students to finish the semester dwelling on dissatisfaction, of course, merely that I want them to reflect seriously on what it is that we in the feminist/pro-feminist movement have yet to overcome.

I always get a variety of interesting answers.  Some practical students say lack of financial aid (a problem that knows no sex); others say the danger of sexual assault, or the fear of not being taken seriously as intellectual equals to men.  But by far the number one response this year and each other year I’ve asked the question has been this: the tremendous difficulty of forming good relationships with other women.  For lack of a better term, I call it the “sisterhood crisis.”  Here’s a typical journal entry from this spring:

I know you probably hear this often.  Most of my good friends are guys.  I really really want more girlfriends, you know? But I feel so judged by them, and so competitive with them.  Every relationship I have had with a girl in high school or now in college has been so dramatic.  Guys are just easier, the things that girls get upset about, they don’t.  But my male friends just don’t understand so many things, not to mention the problem of sexual tension always rearing its head and all that. I just want a group of girls to be close to.  I see it in the media all the time, but I don’t have it.

Gosh, if I had a dollar for every young woman I’ve ever taught who ever said “I get along better with guys than with girls”, well, I might not have to teach three classes in the upcoming summer session!  Though many of my female students do report strong, loving, non-competitive relationships with other young women, the majority report quite the opposite.  Some claim not to be bothered by the absence of strong female support in their lives, but a great many do name this sisterhood crisis as their number one complaint. 

Many recognize their own culpability in the “problem.”  When it comes to issues of competition and judgment, many report finding it difficult not to be hostile towards female classmates and peers who violate what ought to be “known rules” of feminine conduct.  (I blogged a bit about this here, in Sisterhood is Easier in Winter.)  Most of my students are aware of how their own insecurities may play a part in the lack of strong friendships with other women.  They are also aware of how a highly sexualized culture reinforces, perhaps even creates, that competitiveness.   Over the course of the semester, we’ve looked at nineteenth and early twentieth-century “girlhood”, and the extraordinary proliferation of girl-centered organizations.  (Girl Guides, Campfire Girls, countless others that have been forgotten.)   Millions of American girls of all social classes came of age a century ago as part of a community of women.  The organizations may have been religious or secular, but they were woman-led and girl-focused.  Very few of my contemporary students belonged to this sort of thing; a semester ago, I asked one class how many students had been “Brownies” or “Girl Scouts”, and only two in a class of over thirty-five women raised their hands.

In the ten years I’ve been teaching women’s history at PCC, I’ve seen half-a-dozen different women’s organizations come into existence.  Every couple of semesters, someone notices that we don’t have a campus group that focuses specifically on women’s concerns.  We have groups for every ethnic affiliation; we have groups for pre-law and pre-med students; we have a dozen different competing Bible studies.  (To put it mildly, the body of Christ at PCC is, um, divided.)  But though women are 56% of the student body, we have never managed to have a women’s group survive more than three consecutive semesters.  Time and again they begin (I’ve helped start four myself) with high hopes.  Guest speakers on topics ranging from rape to reproductive rights to fighting sweatshop exploitation are invited.  Attendance starts out high, then gradually dwindles until the group is left with three or four devoted young women who do all of the work.  Meanwhile, the students who were attending start to drift off to other groups, especially ethnic-oriented clubs. 

On a diverse campus like ours, the tendency for young women to identify with their ethnic group first and their sex second is overwhelmingly powerful.  I’ve seen a great many young Latinas, for example, pick membership in MEChA over involvement in a woman’s group.  They’ve been raised with a sense of obligation to their “race”, as it were, but not to their sisters.  (Many are told, quite bluntly, by the knuckleheads in these groups that “feminism is for white girls”.  I’ve had that phrase reported back to me dozens of times.)  When I point out that a Latina (or any woman) is far more likely to be assaulted or harassed on campus because of her sex than because of her ethnicity, my students look at me in near-bewilderment. The notion that sex discrimination is a greater problem in contemporary Southern California than ethnic discrimination is one that they haven’t considered. And the refusal to recognize the primacy of sexism over racism helps keep “sisterhood” from developing in an organized, cohesive fashion.

Ultimately, though, it’s going to take more than clubs to address the sisterhood crisis.  Individual women, in individual ways, are responsible for taking steps to reach out to each other and form supportive relationships with a few other women.  I always assign my students to have coffee or lunch with three other students from the class over the course of the semester.  Many procrastinate and do it grudgingly; some do it with enthusiasm, however, with excellent results.  I am always stunned by how many of my students report that this was the first time that they had sat down to talk to another woman outside of class since they arrived on this campus!

As I’ve written before, I’ve struggled in the past with my own relationships with men.  Today, thank God, I have a number of dear male friends.  I realized that being an effective advocate for men and an effective teacher of “men’s studies” required that I actually like individual males!  The same is true, I believe, for young feminists:  I think the term feminism encompasses many things, but I’m adamant that one can’t be a genuine feminist if one doesn’t like women!  Wanting to advocate for women in general while not forming genuinely close friendships with other individual women isn’t, I think, authentic feminism.

I’ve got a couple of students who want to start another woman’s group on campus next semester.  I’m rooting for them, but in all honesty, I’m not that optimistic.

Getting ready to clean

My campaign for healthier living, a leaner body, and a faster marathon time begins tomorrow with the start of an eleven-day cleanse.  I spent two hours this afternoon at a couple of different health food stores, stocking up on the likes of organic kale, quinoa flakes, and carrot juice.  I’ve never done a cleanse for more than three days, so this ought to be quite a challenge. 

Since I won’t be able to have either caffeine or analgesics during the eleven days, I went off coffee yesterday.  (My last dose of caffeine was a nice big sugary 32-ounce Coca Cola after Sunday’s marathon, purchased at a Taco Bell off the 5 freeway on the drive back to Pasadena.)  I’ve only had a slight headache as a result of this withdrawal, but I feel sluggish and irritable.  I’ve put off grading student finals until later in the week as a result.  My kids don’t need to be penalized as a result of my grouchy detoxing!

I think I’m having quinoa flakes with organic cranberries for breakfast tomorrow.  I’ll report.

A longer meditation on the gay and lesbian rights movement

After my post last week about teaching my Lesbian and Gay American History class once again, Rick Shenkman at the History News Network asked me to consider a post on the topic of the future of the gay rights movement.  Rick wrote:

Given the many backward steps taken this year–states amending their
constitutions to restrict gay rights and codify in the basic law a
prohibition on gay marriage–is the gay rights movement in danger?

Many keep pointing out that young people are much more open to gay rights than older Americans, so the trends are reassuring.  But once these
constitutions get amended, it is very hard to change them again.

Much has happened since I last taught my course on gay and lesbian history in the fall semester of 2002.  On the one hand, we’ve seen sudden, dramatic, exciting progress: the “Massachusetts Miracle” that has resulted in thousands and thousands of legal marriages, the elevation of the openly gay Gene Robinson to be a bishop in the Episcopal Church, and the Supreme Court decision in Lawrence v. Texas (particularly considering the breadth of Justice Kennedy’s opinion) are excellent reasons for celebration.  But we’ve also witnessed significant setbacks, particularly in last November’s election, when state after state passed constitutional amendments limiting marriage to a man and a woman.  We now face the prospect of a national marriage amendment.   It’s widely believed, accurately or not, that opposition to gay marriage played a vital role in the reelection of President Bush.  From the standpoint of those of us who are committed to full inclusion for gays and lesbians in every area of American society and culture, that’s troubling news.

Last November, I wrote this post at my blog and Cliopatria after the election: Perspective after Disappointment. Rather than paraphrase, let me just quote from myself:

Few folks remember that the very first time gay and lesbian issues were on the ballot, those of us fighting for GLBTQ equality were soundly defeated.  The story is well told in Dudley Clendinen and Adam Nagourney’s magisterial Out for Good: The Struggle to Build a Gay Rights Movement in America.  In June 1977, reacting to a modest human rights ordinance adopted in Dade County, Florida, former beauty queen and Christian activist Anita Bryant mounted a campaign called, slyly enough, Save Our Children.  Bryant and her SOC called for the repeal of the ordinance, which was the first in the country to grant protection in housing, public accommodations, and employment to people based on their “affectional or sexual preference.”

Today, we think of Miami-Dade County as a fairly liberal part of Florida…  In any event, Miami-Dade was far more conservative 27 years ago.  When Bryant’s referendum to repeal the human rights ordinance went before the voters, the anti-gay forces won 69%-31%, carrying every section of Miami except for Coconut Grove.  Even Jewish liberals in the beach areas voted against the ordinance.

It’s difficult to overestimate what a crushing blow this was.  In 1977, the organized gay and lesbian rights movement was eight years old, dating its emergence from the Stonewall Riots of June, 1969.  (Yes, there was a very small movement long before Stonewall, but not in the public eye and not in much position to influence legislation.)    In the eight years prior to the Miami-Dade debacle, gays and lesbians had taken their first steps on to the public stage.  Dozens of U.S. cities had held their first gay pride parades; several had passed anti-discrimination ordinances.  In Massachusetts, Elaine Nobel had become the first open lesbian elected to public office when she became a state legislator in 1974.  (Too many of my gay and lesbian friends still believe the martyred Harvey Milk was the first open homosexual elected in America.)  As always happens to a civil rights movement that enjoys initial success, a sense of inevitability arose; most gay and lesbian activists in the mid-1970s would have had every reason to anticipate uninterrupted progress.

But the history of civil rights in America is not one of instant reward.  Emancipation Proclamations have a way of being followed by Jim Crow laws, as it were.  Who could have imagined that it would take a full century, from the 1860s to the 1960s,for the fifteenth amendment to be enforced in much of the South?  From a historian’s vantage point, it cannot be surprising that after the successes of the mid-1970s, the movement ran into a formidable roadblock in 1977. 

Then, as now, the opponents of gay and lesbian rights were what we still call today “the religious right.”  Indeed, it could be argued that the rise of modern Christian conservatism was linked to virulent opposition to the small, early achievements of those struggling for gay and lesbian equality.  Led by figures like Anita Bryant and stoked by their Miami triumph, the religious right had a number of striking successes later in 1977 and 1978 repealing human rights ordinances that protected gays and lesbians.   In the spring of 1978, voters in other liberal cities like Eugene, Oregon, and St. Paul, Minnesota, repealed gay rights ordinances  by margins of better than 2 to 1.  As far as religious conservatives were concerned, gays and lesbians had been beaten, and beaten soundly, at the ballot box.  The “moral counterattack” was in its ascendancy, and gays and lesbians had every imaginable reason to fear the end of their movement.

After several post-Stonewall years of toleration, in 1977 articles in national magazines and newspapers reflected a growing public antipathy towards gays and lesbians.  Arthur Schlesinger Jr. wrote in the Times: “Gay used to be one of the most agreeable words in the language.  Its appropriation by a notably morose group is an act of piracy.”  In Out for Good, Dudley Clendinen and Adam Nagourskey note:

“Under the boldface headline ‘Enough! Enough! TV is Killing Us with Gays’, the Atlanta Constitution’s Sunday Magazine published a prominent opinion piece by Amy Larkin, its former ‘Dear Amy’ advice columnist, railing against the gay invasion of the private lives and home spaces of decent people. ‘I don’t hate homosexuals, or think their sex life is my business’, Larkin began,’but I’m tired of their coming out of their closet and into my living room.’”

Gosh, that could have been written by some of my more right-leaning friends in 2005, not 1977!

Yet for all of its power, the religious right was not able to permanently derail the movement for gay and lesbian equality.  As I noted in my obituary for Ronald Reagan exactly a year ago,  the future president played a key role in helping the gay rights movement to its first significant post-1977 success: the defeat in November, 1978 of the California Briggs initiative, which would have barred openly gay or lesbian schoolteachers from the classroom.  That victory reversed an eighteen month long string of defeats for gays and lesbians, and reminded those on both sides that the fight was far from over.

Honestly, I think that today we’re in a situation remarkably analogous to that of 1977-78.  We can look back on some remarkable recent triumphs, and at the same time, be sobered by some huge disappointments.   Then, as now, the gay and lesbian movement is divided between those who are worried about “trying for too much” and “overreaching” and those who are convinced that win or lose, we must push on towards ultimate victory.  (That tension between moderates and radicals is found in every successful civil rights movement.  We need Martins and Malcolms; we need Lucy Stones and Susan B. Anthonys.)  But what our history tells us is that whatever our pace, and whatever our temporary setbacks, success will come.   

One difference between the late 1970s and the mid-00s is that gays and lesbians in America can look abroad to see great successes as well.  Countries ranging from Canada to New Zealand to Denmark to, rather surprisingly and delightfully, Spain, have moved towards gay marriage.  Relatively conservative Switzerland just this weekend gave gays and lesbians full equality with heterosexuals under the law, though the Swiss are unwilling to use the term “marriage.”  Thirty years ago, Americans were leading the movement; today, we are well behind our brothers and sisters to the north, in Western Europe, and in parts of Oceania.

Many young gay and lesbian activists today, like activists for other causes at other points in history, have expected too much too soon.   They expect success to come in an uninterrupted flow, with few obstacles on the road to full and total inclusion in public life.  But no civil rights movement has that kind of story.   African-Americans waited a century between the end of the Civil War and the end of Jim Crow; women in this country waited three quarters of a century between the Declaration of Sentiments and the passage of the nineteenth amendment.  Gay and lesbian public activism has a history, but not one nearly as long as those.  In the thirty-six years since the Stonewall riots, we’ve come an astonishingly long way.  Who would have predicted legal gay marriage in an entire state by 2004?  Who would have predicted that the default position of many conservative opponents of marriage equality is support for domestic partnerships?

Ultimately, I’m immensely optimistic about the long-term future of the gay and lesbian rights movement.  It’s not going to be an easy struggle, and it’s not going to be without its heartbreaking disappointments, often of the scale of those we suffered last autumn at the polls.  But history shows us that voters change their minds, and it shows us that no civil rights movement has ever failed in the end.  We must remember that, and study our own history for comfort and for example.

Journals, and the stories of Djamila, Beth, and Julia Ann

I’m back in the office, feeling a little stiff but otherwise fine.

I’ve been busy reading my final batch of journals from my women’s history class.  I’ve assigned journals since I began teaching the course a decade ago, and have found them to be immensely useful.  (In the old days, I assigned four or five entries a week; now I assign only two.  Oh, how our standards grow more lax!) As I read the journals, I’m awed — as I always am — by the extraordinary diversity of my students’ lives. 

This semester, I had a crowded class: 39 women and 4 men.  (Some years, I have had more male students; my record high was 10, my record low was 1.)  The women range in age from mid-teens (I have one high school student in class) to mid-forties. (My record on the high end was a woman in her seventies, who headed back to college after being widowed, and immediately enrolled in a women’s studies class.  Sheesh, did she bring a lot to the table.)

Ethnically, these 39 women and 4 men represent are extraordinarily diverse.  About a third are American-born “whites” (which is higher than the campus average of less than 20%).  In addition to native-born Latino/as and Asians, I’ve got students from Mexico, Armenia, the Philippines, El Salvador, South Korea, Poland, China, Vietnam, and Hong Kong.  I’ve got a couple of African-American students as well.

What this means is that our classroom discussions are often extraordinarily revelatory for many of my students!  For example, at the end of the semester, I always ask my students to tell me what lecture or topic was most memorable to them.  This term, almost a third of the women in the class wrote entries about my lecture on the intersection of tampons and cultural history.  One young woman (from El Salvador) wrote:

“Until your class, I thought tampons were designed only for women who had given birth.  That’s what my mother told me when she explained why I should never use them.  I’m amazed that it took me until I was 20 to know different.”

Another student, a blue-eyed Southern California native, wrote on the same subject:

“I couldn’t believe it when you said that some cultures believed tampons took your virginity.  My mom gave me tampons when I was twelve.  I wouldn’t have believed you, Hugo, if other girls in the class hadn’t said you were right.  It’s so amazing to me how my culture blinds me to how other women my own age were raised.  I still have a hard time not judging cultures that I think keep women ignorant about their bodies, but I’ve learned to be better about watching what I say.”

In my early years of teaching this course, I often let class discussions get out of hand.  In 1996, I foolishly allowed an abortion debate to take place (after realizing how divided my class was on the issue.)   It ended in tears and in several students walking out.  I made a huge mistake by emphasizing debate (which wasn’t healthy) over the sharing of experiences and values (which is).  In discussion, I don’t allow my students to criticize one another’s sexual choices, and I don’t allow them to demean other cultural perspectives.  That sounds easy enough, like PC pablum, but when discussing issues that hit so close to home for almost all of us, it’s often very difficult to enforce.

It’s at moments like this that I can’t imagine teaching anywhere other than a community college in an urban area!  I think back over the students I’ve had in my women’s studies classes over the years who’ve taught me so very much about what true diversity is.  Each year, I meet new students who force me to reconsider my own beliefs, and who challenge their classmates to become both more aware and more compassionate.

I think of Djamila, a young Pakistani-American Muslim woman who took my course in spring 2002, less than six months after 9/11.  She wore a head scarf, and called herself a proud feminist.  She wanted to be a civil rights lawyer (before 9/11, she had wanted to be an OB/GYN!) She talked with her classmates about reconciling feminism and Islam, she talked about modesty and sexuality and faith; she was the former student who last year sent me a link to Mohja Kahf’s Sex and the Umma blog at Muslim Wakeup.  I had many other students in the class write entries about what they learned from Djamila.

I think of Beth, who took my class in 2001.  Beth was engaged to be married to a young pastor the semester she took my class.  A vivacious, thoughtful, extroverted and attractive young woman, Beth was, in her words to the class one day, “24 and never been kissed.”  Her own belief about sexuality was quite strict; she’d been raised in a Fundamental Baptist home.  She had no problems calling herself a feminist, but she also wanted to wait until her wedding day to have her first kiss.  Because she was willing to do so, she sat with a group of gals from the course for an hour after class one day, talking with them about her own sexual ethics, about her plans for the future, about her faith, and of course, about her feminism.  She had no intention of staying at home after she was married, mind you; her belief that all physical intimacy of any kind should be confined within marriage was linked to her own desire to be a high school teacher and sports coach.  (She was a fine athlete).  Many students wrote about how challenged they had been — in  a good way — by Beth.  Two weeks after the semester ended, I went to Beth’s wedding.

And then there was Julia Ann, who took my class back in 1998.  Julia Ann is her real first and middle name, and she was and is a fairly well-known porn star.  You can “google” her name if you like, but the content you will find is decidedly adult, hence, no link. I’m comfortable using her real name (Djamila and Beth are pseudonyms) because Julia Ann is a public figure who has been open not only about her sexuality and her profession, but about her return to college in the late 1990s.   I did not know who she was (not ever having been up on the big names of porn), but a couple of weeks into my class, she came to talk to me in office hours and talk about her career.   She was enjoying the class immensely, she said, but wanted to know when and if the subject of porn was going to come up; she was concerned that I might take a hard, inflexible, “anti-porn” line.  I told her it would come up later in the semester, and asked her if she’d feel comfortable talking to the class about her experiences.  She said she’d think about it,as (quite understandably) she rather enjoyed the anonymity that came with sitting in class in sweats and a ball cap, just another (very bright and talkative) student.

Eventually, there came a day when she did “open up” to the class.  It came spontaneously, taking even me by surprise.  She was gentle and warm and funny; she talked about the risks and rewards of her profession.  She called herself a passionate feminist.  She assured her classmates that she wasn’t “recruiting” anyone, that indeed, she thought it was a rare woman who, in her words, was in the right place emotionally and physically to do the work she did.  Many of the students didn’t know what to say, and a few looked disgusted, but I’m happy to say that many of them did talk with her at length and ask her thoughtful, interesting, appropriate questions.  I got many journal entries about Julia Ann that semester!

I’m so grateful for the Djamilas, the Beths, and the Julia Anns I’ve had in class. They were atypical students, of course, but in the ethnically, chronologically, economically, religiously, and sexually diverse student body we have here in the community college, I don’t know what a “typical” student looks like.  Though my women’s history course is first and foremost that, an opportunity to focus on women’s history, it is also a forum in which to learn about the many faces of feminism.  Perhaps it’s because I’m embued with kneejerk liberalism, but I’ve generally been insistent that feminism (or pro-feminism) is, ultimately, a label each person must choose for herself or himself.  It’s a big enough label to encompass a Djamila, a Beth, and a Julia, even though some of my readers might wish to exclude one, two, or all three of these exceptional young women from the ranks of those who may rightly be called by that term.  But these three women — and countless others like them whom I’ve met in ten years of teaching this course — have taught me what it means to live out an authentic feminist life.  Best of all, they’ve taught their classmates.  I’ve been so grateful for the opportunity to witness all of that.

Marathon results and a note about gender and age

It’s finals week, and I have papers and journals a-plenty to grade in the days to come.  I’ve learned that if I really want to make progress, I need to go to a coffeeshop (away from campus, the computer, and students knocking on the door) and plough through the stacks of papers and notebooks.

I can’t complain about yesterday’s Rock n’ Roll Marathon.  I did run my slowest time ever on a paved surface: 3:54:36.   That’s a twenty-five minute drop from my “average” time of just a couple of years ago (forty-one minutes behind my PR), and in that sense, it’s disappointing.  I felt fine for most of the race, just sluggish, as if I couldn’t get my legs to turn over any faster.  That, I suppose, is what I get for all the weight I’ve gained and all the speedwork I haven’t done! (Oh, how I wish all of those 800 meter-repeats I did back in 1999 still counted for something!) This summer, Lord willing, I’ll drop some weight, do some speed workouts, and run some shorter races.   I’ve got tentative plans to do the Long Beach Marathon in mid-October, and if I take these steps,  I think I can run that a bit faster than I did San Diego yesterday.

I did want to point out that women constituted a majority of the finishers of yesterday’s race; according to the website, 8044 men and 9069 women finished within the alotted seven-hour time period.  I’m told that this has become the case at a number of large urban marathons, and that’s a fascinating development.  (Men are still a clear majority at the smaller, more trail-oriented distance events that I usually prefer.)   The number of young women running is heartening as well: in a sport often dominated (numerically, at least), by folks old enough to remember Watergate, significantly more women in their twenties finished the race than their forty-something counterparts.  The same was not true for men.  Here’s some quick number-crunching from the Rock n’ Roll website:

Male finishers, 18-29: 1634
Male finishers, 40-49: 1947. 

Female finishers, 18-29: 3246
Female finishers, 40-49: 1688

I mean, wow.  That tells me something about the future of the sport I love!  Of runners in their forties, more men finished than women, despite the fact that there were more female runners than male runners in the overall race.  But among runners under thirty, women outnumbered men almost two to one!

I lack the will to visit every other marathon website and see if what we saw in San Diego yesterday is reflective of a pattern across the nation.  But I see no reason to see the San Diego race as remarkably anomalous.  It leaves me wondering several things, however. Where are all the young men? Why are there more men in their forties running than guys in their twenties, when the opposite is true for women?  What will this mean for marathoning and other endurance activities in future generations?

Obviously, “older” women had cultural and social obstacles to running that younger women don’t.  A gal in her twenties cannot remember a time when women weren’t running marathons; anyone over forty is old enough to remember that the women’s marathon only became an Olympic event in 1984.  (The winner of that race, Joan Benoit Samuelson, gave us all a pep talk before yesterday’s run.)  The increased emphasis on women’s sports in recent years has paid tremendous dividends for women under thirty, apparently, in ways that may not have been true for those two decades older.  Some women in their late forties would not have seen Title IX implemented until after they had left high school; younger women today may take access to athletics for granted.

But while this may explain why so many young women are doing what their older sisters and mothers didn’t, it doesn’t explain why there are so many fewer young American men marathoning.  Is it the discipline involved?  Marathoning doesn’t offer a quick pay-off; there is no equivalent here of a touchdown, a slam-dunk, a cool skateboading trick.  There is pain and sacrifice for months and months, culminating in an event that tests the will as much as anything else. Does that seem strikingly unappealing to a generation that would rather play Grand Theft Auto? 

Off to grade, rest my sore muscles, and contemplate a summer of high-intensity training.

The reading list, and away for the weekend

It’s Friday afternoon, and I don’t have much time to post.  My fiancee and I were up in Northern California last night for a family high school graduation; tomorrow, we head down to San Diego for Sunday’s Rock n’ Roll Marathon.  Lots of time on planes and in cars.   Not much computer time.

In response to queries about my reading list for the Lesbian and Gay American History class I’ll be teaching , here’s the tentative list:

A Desired Past:  A Short History of Same-Sex Love in America, Leila Rupp.  Short is right, but it works.

To Believe in Women: What Lesbians Have Done for America, Lilian Faderman.

Out For Good:  The Struggle to Build a Gay Rights Movement in America, Dudley Clendinen, Adam Nagourskey.

I’ll be using excerpts from other texts as well, such as Rictor Norton’s over-the-top but fascinating The Myth of the Modern Homosexual: Queer History and the Search for Cultural Unity and Jonathan Katz’s marvelous Invention of Heterosexuality.

I’ll also try and bring in guest speakers again.  Last time I taught the course, I brought in two men I’m proud to call friends:  Richard Godbeer of Miami (Florida), formerly of UC Riverside,  who wrote the important Sexual Revolution in Early America and pastor Jerrell Walls of Christ Chapel of the Valley, a leading figure in the gay Pentecostal movement.  I’ll hunt up some other good folks as well.

Four years ago, I tried to get a speaker in from the secular reparative therapy movement.  Most of my students were very interested in hearing from the “other side,” and I talked to a couple of folks affiliated with NARTH (which is headquartered not far from here, in Encino). Despite my promise that they would be treated fairly, they declined to come into what they felt would inevitably be a hostile environment.  Perhaps this time, I’ll be able to convince them to come in. 

Then again, perhaps I ought not to try.  Sometimes, I wonder, if inviting someone from the reparative therapy movement to my course isn’t a bit like inviting a Klansman to speak in an African-American History class!   As a straight man who teaches this course, I owe it to my queer students to be scrupulous about protecting them from those who would attack them in the classroom.  At the same time, they deserve to hear — in a safe and civil setting — a thoughtful, reasonable explanation of what reparative therapy is.  It surely is not irrelevant to the curriculum!  Ultimately, I’m going to let my students in the fall of 2005 “make the call” for me.   In 2001, the vast majority of my students (many of whom were GLBTQ) wanted NARTH to send a representative; if my next batch is equally willing, perhaps I’ll press the invitation again.  I’ll make sure that those students who are uncomfortable attending will be given an alternative assignment so that they won’t be penalized if they aren’t willing to sit through a NARTH presentation.

For those who are curious, by the way, this will be my fourth time teaching the course.  Though I never asked my students to publicly disclose their sexual identities in class, a great many did choose to do so.  In rough terms, I’d say that 60% of the students who took the class were female, 40% male.  About a third openly identified as GLBT, another third eventually identified as “straight”, and still another third chose to keep their identity to themselves.  I certainly had more “out” lesbians than gay men, and I’m not sure to what to attribute that.  Frankly, I had expected the opposite, but given that Pasadena City College is about 56% female, it shouldn’t have been surprising to me.

Queer History and the pitfalls of self-righteousness

As of this morning, the fall class schedule for Pasadena City College is finally online.  First, let me invite all of my students who read this blog to consider enrolling in my History 24F (scroll down) course:  Introduction to Lesbian and Gay American History: A survey of Queer American History from the 17th century to the present, with special attention to the 20th and
21st century gay rights movement. 
It will meet Mondays and Wednesdays at 1:35PM, folks.

I’m not crazy about the subtitle I gave the course.  I had all of five minutes to come up with it last month, and would have perhaps written something more elegant with more time.   I was clear that I wanted to use the term “Queer”, however.  When I first taught this course (back in 2001), I decided not to use the word that is today the standard descriptor for work in the field of gay and lesbian studies.   Some folks, I was afraid, would find the word too radical; others (especially of an older generation) would only know “Queer” in its pejorative sense, and be mystified as to why it would be used in a course outline.  I’ve changed my mind since, largely because I’ve come to see the terms “gay and lesbian” as both more limiting and historically more problematic than “Queer”.

When I first taught the class, I expected outrage from the community.  I got very little.  I got a couple of nasty anonymous phone calls and e-mails, but nothing like what I had anticipated.  No one from our conservative Board of Trustees complained.  I’ll confess, I experienced a mixture of relief and disappointment.  The relief was linked to the hope that the community wasn’t reacting because they saw nothing significant to which to react.  Perhaps Pasadena has become, on balance, progressive enough to be utterly unfazed by a course on Queer History at the community college.  Perhaps those who were troubled by such a course felt that it wasn’t worth their time or their effort to publicly complain.  (Many folks did speculate, of course, about my sexuality.  Maybe all of those marriages were a sham?  Maybe that fondness for trendy clothes means something?  Heck, the only folks who didn’t question my sexual orientation were my gay friends!)

All of this silence was disappointing, of course, because (as my posts this past week have made clear), a small but not entirely insignificant part of Hugo just spoils for a good old-fashioned row!  In this sense, it was probably for the best that I didn’t have to defend the course to anyone.  Everyone missed out, thankfully, on what (at least back in 2001) would have been a self-righteous tirade about tolerance, inclusion, and justice.   I suspect some of my more conservative colleagues decided not to give me the satisfaction of an argument, and that was probably for the best.  (I mean, I wouldn’t have hit anyone, for Pete’s sake, but I would have climbed rhetorical heights with gusto.)

This time around, I’m not “spoiling” for a quarrel.  If complaints and questions come, I pray that I’ll deal with them gracefully and tactfully.  I hope I’ll have compassion for those who are troubled by what they see as the “ongoing slide of our culture into the moral abyss”, and who see courses such as this as “hastening the decline of a once-great society.”  Rather than tease or lampoon these folks, I hope I’ll be a polite listener.  Above all, I’m praying that if trouble does come, God will preserve me from the sins of smugness  and self-righteous certainty.  I’m prone to those faults, never more so than when I fancy myself an intellectual and pedagogical crusader for justice!  I pray that I always remember that doing gender or Queer studies work is not about me, it’s about telling the story of the marginalized, the abused, the exploited, the feared, the hated and the ignored.  I’m not teaching Queer History to be cool or edgy, I’m teaching it because it needs to be taught, and it will be taught most effectively when I get my own ego out of the way.  As some of my critics, friends, and students know well, that isn’t always as easy a task as it ought to be!

Thursday Short Poem: Betjeman’s “Guilt”

Sometimes, a poem can measure how far one has come in one’s life.  Many years ago, I loved this poem because it (especially the devastating second stanza) nailed my life perfectly: The lives I live make life a death/
for those who have to live with me.
  Lord, how that was once true, and God, how I tortured myself with useless guilt, lacking the willingness to climb out of my own chaos.

All these years later, it’s still my favorite poem by the late poet laureate of England, John Betjeman:

GUILT.

The clock is frozen in the tower,
The thickening fog with sooty smell
Has blanketed the motor power
Which turns the London streets to hell;
And footsteps with their lonely sound
Intensify the silence round.

I haven’t hope. I haven’t faith.
I live two lives and sometimes three.
The lives I live make life a death
For those who have to live with me.
Knowing the virtues that I lack,
I pat myself upon the back.

With breastplate of self-righteousness
And shoes of smugness on my feet,
Before the urge in me grows less
I hurry off to make retreat.
For somewhere, somewhere, burns a light
To lead me out into the night.

It glitters icy, thin and plain,
And leads me down to Waterloo-
Into a warm electric train
Which travels sorry Surrey through
And crystal-hung, the clumps of pine
Stand deadly still beside the line.

I don’t know what sort of light Betjeman found in the end.  I know what sort of light came to me, quite without my deserving it, and I know how it changed everything.

Above all, despite my myriad imperfections, I don’t drive home these days reflecting on a double or triple life.  That’s a blessing if there ever was one.

Three embarrassments

I’m not usually one for starting lighthearted memes, but here goes:

1. What’s the one book you are most embarrassed to admit you’ve read and enjoyed (as an adult)? No question: Bridges of Madison County. I picked it up in the spring of 1993 (when everyone was reading it). I read it in the North Campus student center at UCLA, while I was supposed to be finishing my prep for my qualifying exams. I read it in one sitting, and burst into tears halfway through. One of my students (I was a TA) came over to ask if I was all right; I nodded and pointed wordlessly to the book. I re-read it a few years later, expecting to laugh at myself, and found myself in tears all over again. There’s a point at which sentimentality trumps good taste, and my affection for this book is surely proof I’ve crossed that line.

2. What album are you most embarrassed to admit you bought as a teenager? Well, I’ve never admitted this on the blog, but I spent most of the 1980s as a devoted fan of the Scorpions. That’s embarrassing enough, but rock bottom was hit in the early to mid-1980s when I developed a real devotion to Dokken (often credited with starting the ’80s glam-metal revival that culminated years later with the likes of Poison.) My high school girlfriend was in love with Don Dokken, and, I believe, tried to be one of his groupies. The Dokken debut album, Breaking the Chains is still, I must confess, one of my favorite albums of the era.  You can listen to samples on the Amazon site, and shake your head ruefully.

3.  Celebrity you’re most embarrassed to admit you had a crush on in your youth:  As a kid, I was a devoted fan of Little House on the Prairie.  Did I get a crush on Melissa Gilbert or Melissa Sue Anderson?  Oh no.  At age ten, I had a thing for Mrs. Ingalls, Karen Grassle.  “More coffee, Charles?” was about all she ever got to say, but cripes, she said it well — and I loved that hair.

Discuss amongst yourselves.