GUEST COLUMN: "High school revisited?"

The end of the period approaches, and the lecture's obviously going to run a minute or two over. Now I don't like classes ending late either. We have places to go, people to see and 10 minutes isn't always enough time. But I'm not prepared for the mass exodus around me, the books slamming shut at exactly 11:50, the chatting about last night at Smoke's. The professor raises his voice so the few who remain seated can hear him. When my friends in Wharton poke fun at those of us who "couldn't get into Harvard" (read: those of us in the College), I'm a staunch, outspoken defendant of the liberal arts and sciences. But finally I've seen the light. This semester I enrolled in Astronomy 3: The Solar System, taught by Professor Richard Rees. I'll admit it up front. I didn't choose this course purely for fun. With all the math and computational linguistics I've done, the College still believes I have to prove my scientific acumen. Bitter and irritated, I certainly wasn't keen on the idea of signing up for a large lecture. Still, I do want to graduate. So I resigned myself to the large class size, knowing that at least the material might be interesting. I walked into class the first day, skeptical, but willing to learn. Rees is an intelligent, well-spoken individual. He obviously cares about his students, and wants to share his passion for what he studies. This is something I respect deeply. I feel this passion too, not for stars specifically, but for language and for learning in general. Rees is motivated, opening his office many hours each week to perplexed students. Though I wasn't eager to enroll in his course, his sense of humor and enthusiasm have enriched the material immeasurably. It's too bad the rest of the class is comatose. I looked around a lot during the first week, desperately seeking someone, anyone, with a pulse. And yes, there are a few. But the vast majority of students present only a sea of empty faces, plainly communicating their boredom. Rees makes jokes. "Radioactive dating," he says. "It's not like dinner and a movie with a lump of uranium." I snicker. Two people in the front row giggle. The rest of the room stares blankly, and these are the polite ones. The others pull out the crossword puzzle. They draw their 70th Donald Duck in the margins of the tablets where they're supposed to be recording the professor's pearls of wisdom, and they pass notes. Finally, they begin to talk. Yeah, I've been spoiled. But I see this and I begin to wonder what's going on. Okay, so this is a class that fulfills the General Requirement, and most of the students taking it don't want to be here. But do their attitudes about academics really reflect the majority of my classmates'? Are we really just airheads, thinking only about the next party? Let's not forget that the administration is equally at fault in fostering a culture of slackers engaging in "bulimic scholarship," in the words of one professor. The recent decision to make all of Penn's schools fund themselves by enrolling more students and have fewer tenured faculty teach them spells the death of academia here. Forcing schools to find their own funding perpetuates the trade school mentality already so prevalent at Penn. Wharton and Engineering have wealthier alums, and will therefore find funding more easily. The College will wither and fade, and we're happy with this. Let Harvard, Yale, or Princeton carry the academic banner. We're happy to produce people who play with bonds, who produce nothing real. Penn students are very good grade getters. Pre-professionalism abounds here, and learning doesn't matter one iota. You need the 4.0, but not necessarily the knowledge that should accompany it. We smile and pat our friends on the back when they manage to ace a test without studying. When we graduate we'll get very good jobs, taking our places as the leaders of society. And that's a pretty scary thought. If my classmates in Astro 3 are society's future investment bankers, I can handle it. But if they're the politicians, academics or doctors, I'm not sure it's a society I want to buy into. Get a clue. Professors aren't here for your health. If you just don't care, if it's a class you don't want to take, don't show up. Don't waste my time with your high school antics, because that's not gonna cut it here. Passing notes? Doing the crossword puzzle? It's real nice that your parents foot the bill -- and I assume they must, because if you were paying for this yourself, you'd care a little more. You'd show up to class because you wanted to actually learn something. Penn has become a glorified suburban high school with a much higher price tag. We pass notes in class. When the figurative bell rings, we jump out of our seats and towards freedom as quickly as possible. And when we're unhappy that the grades we received reflect the amount of effort we expend, rather than the amount of effort we wish we had expended, we remind professors regularly that we pay their salaries. You have every right to choose to not learn, to skip class and have coffee with your friends. More power to you. Enjoy it. But do us all a favor. If you really don't care, don't come. Have your chats elsewhere. It's wonderful that we get to see Al Gore and Tom Stoppard, but start showing a little respect closer to home.