CELL Blog | Center for Engaged Learning in the Law

After discussing the value of outlines with several people recently and reading the student comments about them on this blog, a thought occurred to me — would it be useful to have interactive on-line outlining? Interactive outlining means that students could post outlines they were composing for a class on a Web platform (such as Blackboard) and the teacher of that class and other students could provide comments on the outline posts. This type of mutual access might allow information to flow in different directions — to the student who posted, to the prof, and to other students who read the posts. This helps visual students, gives profs an understanding of what is being communicated and allows for mid-course corrections and fill-ins.

Along similar lines, is there any downside to an on-line outline bank for any and all course outlines, provided there is a disclaimer about the accuracy of their content? Outlines could be supplied by both teachers and students, and anyone reading the outlines could “review” and rate them, just like on Amazon, Netflix and Ebay. The bank could be accessed by students as a learning supplement and by faculty as a tool to see how students are organizing their courses.

–Steve Friedland

Monday, February 25, 2008, 06:06 PM –
Posted by Michael Hunter Schwartz

Law professors often say their goal is to produce lifelong, reflective, “self-regulated” learners. And I had a friend, who used to be in charge of training associates for the now-defunct Brobeck law firm who used to say that he wished law schools would produce the kinds of lawyers who “know when they don’t know.” I have always assumed that he figured this skill set would help the law firm save on malpractice claims . . .

But, what do these terms mean? And how do we help our students become such learners? My next two entries will focus on training law students to be expert, self-regulated learners. In this entry, I will describe the characteristics of expert self-regulated learners and provide some evidence that law students can be so trained. In my entry next week, I will discuss what law professors can do to help their students develop these skills.

The Qualities of Expert, Self-Regulated Learners

The experts assert that teachers know expert self-regulated learners when they see them. According to these scholars, an expert, self-regulated learner has the following qualities:

— They are in control of their learning process;
— They understand that failure and struggle are a part of the
learning process for any challenging skill;
— They seek help when they need it and give help when they can;
— They seek opportunities for practice and feedback (whereas
novice self-regulated learners avoid practice and feedback);
— They are problem finders and problem solvers;
— They are constantly reflecting on their learning process both
while it’s ongoing (so they can adapt on the fly) and after
it’s over (to look for ways to learn better on the next,
similar task);
— They focus on mastery, rather than grades;
— They are planful– assessing each learning task and deciding
the best strategies for accomplishing the task; and
— Self-aware, knowing their preferred learning style, knowing
where they best study, and knowing when and for how long to
take study breaks to maximize their focus.

Do you have any students who have many of these qualities or are you such a student?

The experts view self-regulated learning as a cycle consisting of three phases. The first phase is a planning phase in which students assess the learning task, set mastery learning goals and decide upon a set of strategies for accomplishing their goal. The middle phase involves implementing these strategies. The key to success in this phase is called “self-monitoring.” Expert, self-regulated learners constantly self-monitor to determine whether they understand what they are studying and whether they are mentally focusing on the task. If you have ever read something for an hour only to discover that you recall little of what you just read, you know what I mean about the importance of self-monitoring for focused attention. In the final phase, expert learners reflect on the just-completed process. They take in whatever feedback they can get, attributing successes to personal qualities, persistence and strategy choice and failures to insufficient persistence or erroneous strategy choice. most importantly, they plan how they will learn better in the future.

Evidence of the Effectiveness of Training Students to Self-Regulate

Both the University of Michigan and the University of Texas (as well as a large number of community colleges) have successfully created such curricula. My own experiences in creating such curricula at three different law schools are consistent. At one law school, academic attrition went from 18.5% to 6%. At another, attrition went down by 50%. In a study I conducted several years ago, students in an experimental group of students trained to be self-regulated learners, who had weaker entrance credentials (in terms of LSAT scores and in terms of self-regulated learning skills) than a control group of students, not only became more effective at self-regulating their learning, but also achieved higher first year grades.

What makes a textbook preeminent in its field?

So far, I’ve used two “preeminent” textbooks, and while I have no idea what that word means to the mysterious committee of trained professionals wielding the power of the Stamp of Preeminence, I can tell you what the word means based on my own experience. Based solely on the two preeminent texts I have been assigned, I have formulated the following 10 criteria for achieving preeminent status:

1. The book must be written either by your professor, by the good friends of your professor, or by the former professors of your professor
2. The book must exceed 1,200 pages
3. At least 750 of those 1,200 pages must be law review articles placed specifically to confuse, rather than explain, the given subject (but that’s okay because the articles were written by the same category of chaps listed in #1, supra)
4. The book must cost no less than (US) $300. Used. (couldn’t find a currency translator, but I’m told $300 is a LOT of ngwee)
5. The book must have a new edition each year making it utterly impossible to use/purchase a used one
6. The book must be hardbound with a blue cover
7. The book must have at least four authors
8. The book must be light on case law and heavy on pages containing naught but sentences ending in question marks while failing utterly to provide any means by which to answer said queries (begging the question: if I could answer the questions, would I really need the course..?)
9. The book must be infinitely and preferably replaceable by the preeminent supplement which, if used instead of said text, will actually get you a better exam grade (…um…or so I’m told…)
10. The book must provide better use as all/any of the following: a yoga block; a paperweight; a giant coaster (suitable for parties); and/or a good bit of kindling for the fire (toasty!).

OK, how close was I to the real criteria??

Interestingly, of the 4 dictionaries sitting on my desk, neither Black’s Law nor Black’s Law Pocket Edition nor even the Official Scrabble Player’s Dictionary define “preeminence.” I had to resort to my $1.99 Webster’s New Pocket Dictionary to find that, in its view, “preeminence” means “outstanding.” (HA! HA, I say! What bloody rubbish!) However, this same dictionary defines “outstanding” merely as “prominent.” And on that basis, I suppose I understand how my books achieved their revered status. I mean, the things weigh a combined 40lbs and could easily double as body armor in most armed-combat situations, so they’re definitely “prominent.” So if that’s the standard, then I can see how they’ve achieved it.

But this is all just my analysis of “preeminence” as applied to legal textbooks. I’m curious if any members of the reading audience are on the mysterious committee charged with wielding the Stamp of Preeminence and, if so, whether you’d be willing to shed a little light into this dark, dark topic. Enquiring minds, empty wallets, and plummeting GPAs most decidedly want to know.

I tried a little experiment the other day in one of my favorite classes: I asked my professor her rationale behind the way in which the course topics had been ordered. She responded, “There isn’t one; I just made it up.”

Relax! She was kidding.

She openly and honestly explained why the course was ordered the way it was, acknowledging the order may seem counterintuitive, but explaining why it’s really quite logical. She also acknowledged areas that could have been ordered in some other way and told us candidly she made the call because the call needed to be made, but that didn’t mean this way was either the correct nor the only way it could have been done.

And I thought, “My God, Toto, look! A question … an answer … a rationale!!!”

In all honesty, I asked this professor such a question because I knew I would (1) get an answer; and (2) get an honest answer that actually made a modicum of sense. Also, I had a theory of my own for the rationale behind the order of the course and my ego was eager to be proven right. (Ego padded? Check.)

But I use this as an example of a larger, more important point: assuming your class understands your rationale for why you’re doing what you’re doing (or not doing) and the order in which you’re doing it is a dangerous game. Of course you, the professor, know your subject inside out and upside down, and it’s understandable to take a lot for granted. But for the other 100 or so people in the room with you at any given time, EVERYTHING is totally new. EVERYTHING. The book, the syllabus, the course, the order of the course: it’s all a total mystery. You cannot possibly over-explain your rationale; but it seems a lot of professors err on the side of not explaining it at all (which is kinda funny given the demand on the students to constantly answer the question, “Why??”).

Not using the book in the order in which it was written? WHY??

Course ordered in a counterintuitive way? WHY??

Repeating material that you’ve already covered? WHY??

Skipping material you never covered? WHY??

Chapter 8 isn’t going to be on the exam? WHY??

None of this makes any sense whatsoever? WHY??

If these questions go unanswered, the risk is that your students will start filling in the blanks themselves. “Professor X is now teaching what we’ve already learned b/c he thinks we’re all idiots.” “Professor Y is skipping chapter 8 because not even he understands it, and that is really scary considering he’s the professor.” “Professor Z has no idea what he’s doing and that’s why we’re skipping all over the place in the book.”

Acquiescing to those kinds of answers being supplied in lieu of a rationale from you usually leads to a serious disconnect between the students and the professors. Students WANT to respect your expertise and defer to your wisdom, but if those kinds of blanks remain empty, your students will more likely write you off completely and just ignore you.

And that? Is bad.

But all is not lost. Like the story I cite above, I’m happy to report that more of my professors than not supply their classes with all the needed rationales right up front to avoid the gloom and doom alternatives (or at least supply them when asked). When a shift is made mid-course (e.g. we really aren’t getting it and we need to backtrack), most of them explain why they’re going backwards, skipping around, or what have you. And when things don’t make sense but will eventually, they explain that, too (over and over again because you know we never believe you when you say that). And it’s not surprising that these professors constantly make the “Favorites” list among the students.

So if you want to make the “Favorites” list (and I know you do because, of the many things law school lacks, egoism is not one of them), then remember that your course rationales are much like the Great and Mighty Oz: short, bald and ugly though they may be, they still accomplish more good when taken out from behind the curtain.

What are the responsibilities of faculty members to each other? As Gerry Hess aptly demonstrated in an earlier post, there are many faculty members who reach out to others to provide assistance. There are many faculty members who are “silos,” operating independently — and often quite successfully. Then there are those who do not seem to advance the polity. I heard recently of a faculty member who was asked by a student if that faculty member had an outline for a class the student was currently taking with another faculty member. The faculty member readily supplied it, without informing the other faculty member. I was wondering how anyone reading this post feels about that kind of conduct. On the one hand, it may indeed assist the students. On the other hand, it can look like it is undercutting the professor teaching the course. Any opinions out there?

–Steve Friedland

I have been thinking a lot lately about the research on reading cases (studies by, among others, Dr. Dorie Evenson and Leah Cristensen). These studies show that students understand cases better and learn more when:

(1) They read cases with an aim to resolve a particular real-world (at least simulated) problem. When students read with such a purpose in mind, they engage more and analyze the cases more deeply, looking for clues to the resolution of the problem. When they do not have such a problem in mind, they are more likely to read cases on a more surface level; why should they bother to do more? Why don’t we introduce each subject area (e.g., negligence in torts or formation in contracts) with the kind of problem students need to be able to analyze by the end of their study of that subject?

(2) They read cases with prior relevant knowledge. Many (dare I say most?) lawyers start their research on a problem by getting a sense of the big picture of the body of law. When I was practicing law in California, I started by reading what Witkin had to say about the subject area. This prior knowledge creates for legal readers a schema for the body of law, allowing them to make connections between what they are reading and what they already know. As a result, the legal reader not only is more likely to better understand the cases but also more likely to develop new, deeper and more creative understandings. Why don’t we train students to read this way for all their doctrinal classes?

Why not?

I recently had a Contracts II class session go particularly well. Afterwards, I reflected in my teaching journal on what went right. Here is the list of things I think helped:

1. The session focused on a particular skill, identifyimng contractual ambiguities, that law professors expect students to master yet seldom explicitly teach. By providing readings and exercises focused on developing that skill and disclosing the development of that skill as an objective, I allowed the students and me to focus on developing a skill I regardas crucial for practicing contracts lawyers.

2. I pre-disclosed each of the problems I wanted to discuss in class, and asked students to respond to these problems as part of their class preparation. This choice allowed me to use class time for students to work in their small groups on deepening their understanding of their analysis of the ambiguities.

3. I used established small groups so the students were familiar with working with each other, and I assigned explicit roles (each student rotated into a role as a presenter and as a reporter for one of the six problems while the rest of the students served as comentators). We went back and forth between group work on each problem and presentation by one or two reporters.

4. I found ways to take delight in my students’ insights, which was very easy because they did so well.

5. I used multiple methods of instruction, including small group, lecture, law school Socratic, students serving in a role as teachers, etc.

~Mike

“So do you feel like your class is full of whiners?” a professor asked me recently.

“Oh my God, yes!” I responded.

“Why do you think that is?” my professor queried.

My response? Because you let them.

In all fairness to my classmates, the current and habitual state of flux in which our fledgling school operates (and I use that term loosely) could make even Mother Teresa go postal. When they told us in our very first week that “it depends” was the quintessential law school answer, we assumed they referred to answers of substantive law as opposed to answers to questions like, “What day does class start?” But a year and a half later, the hallways still ring with shouts of that most noble epithet, “Give me ambiguity or give me … something else!!” In a culture such as this, legitimate complaints understandably abound; yet we – over-achievers to the core – have found a way to exceed even this lofty threshold with our endless moans and groans.

My favorites include: (1) the school-wide state of mutiny whenever more than one assignment is due in the same week; (2) the audacity of demanding Litigation majors wear courtroom attire 4-hours per week during Trial Ad (which takes place, oddly enough, in a courtroom); and (3) the affront to those having to adjust their dinner schedules to accommodate one evening class per week.

While I don’t speak enough psycho jargon to get to the true Freudian core of whining as a social skill, I can tell you that, just as with small children, letting big children get away with a bad behavior only makes the behavior worse. When complaints like those above are raised, the usual responses include (but are not limited to): cajoling, ignoring, nodding, and encouraging.

Why!? Why on God’s green Earth would one entertain as legitimate the complaint of a future lawyer affronted by the concept of wearing a suit to court?? Why would one cajole the tears of a future patent attorney who runs the risk of malnutrition for want of knowing how to feed herself in between class times?? And why oh why oh why would professors, themselves licensed attorneys, adjust the due dates of assignments to accommodate those operating under the delusion that practicing attorneys never, ever have more than one assignment due in the same week??

It seems like these responses from professors to students follow the same logic as between parent and child: here, take this lollipop and go away so Mommy can get her law review article written. But we’ve all met kids raised like that (I hear they turn into whiny law students, but that could be mere rumor) and at this stage of the game, it’s just silly and counterproductive to continue the pattern. It sets everyone up to fail: the students will flop in the real world when the staggering realization of deadlines, fiduciary duties, inflexible senior partners, and even less flexible judges sets in; the school will fail when the legal community realizes it’s churning out whiny toddlers instead of polished, professional lawyers; and students with legitimate complaints will be met with a proverbial lollipop instead of a genuinely concerned ear.

So the next time a litigation student whines about having to wear a suit one night of his life for the next 10 weeks, do everyone a favor: look him dead in the eyes and shout, “ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS!? GROW UP!!” (or…you know…something to that effect)

My seat in the back corner of every class provides a wonderful perspective from which to observe (and now comment on) legal education and its impact on students. From the cheap seats, the behaviors and responses of the class are visible, as is the effectiveness of the person in the front of the room. So for those desperately interested…

WHAT WORKS

1. Telling It Like It Is

Whether it’s a case everyone knows is bunk; a statute so convoluted Scalia himself couldn’t make sense of it; a controversial bit of Con Law; or the latest psycho-babble emanating from the administration, nothing seems to keep a class engaged like telling it like it is. Professors who skirt controversial topics and constantly seek backdoors away from the glaring truth get ignored and their message(s) dismissed. Every time Professor X bolts from Roe v Wade or Dean Y (oh why oh why oh why) filibusters her way out of even the most simplistic logistical questions, the rest of the class is spent whispering about why we never seem to get a straight answer and who they think they’re kidding. On the other hand, professors and administrators who tackle the good, the bad, and the ugly head-on win not only the respect, but more significantly the attention of those they seek to teach. Some do it with wit and sarcasm; some with good humor; and some with poise and professionalism. And each of them, regardless of the method, wins the respect and attention of their classes. It may not seem like much, but from where I sit, even the most brilliant professor will fail to impact a class who’s ignoring him.

2. Keeping It Real: The Problem Method

Although the problem method is subjectively my favorite method, its effectiveness can be seen objectively as well. In most lectures, about ½ the class spends at least ½ their time browsing the net. But in a class taught exclusively through problems, 99% of the eyes face forward. Even those claiming to dislike the problem method can’t deny it comes in handy. Come finals time, there are 250+ hypos and their answers waiting to be studied. If you’re lucky, the author of the hypos and of the exam will be the same person, giving you a double-advantage. And you’ve probably paid attention in most of the classes (well, at least more attention than you paid in most of your other classes) because you didn’t want to chance missing an answer on one of the problems. This real-time, real application of theory to fact-pattern is, to me, the most effective manner in which to learn and, at least from my bird’s eye view, it holds the class’s attention better than any other method.

3. Assign What You Teach and Teach What You Assign

Not much gets the Facebook pages up and running faster than informing your class you’re about to waste an hour (or two or three) of its time teaching what they didn’t read and/or skipping everything they did read. Assign what you plan to teach. Teach what you’ve already assigned. Really, it seems pretty simple. Unless your course goal actually is for me to vastly improve my online Scrabble skills, in which case please, carry on. (Did you know “biotites” is a word??)

WHAT DOESN’T WORK

1. What A Coincidence: I Can Read, Too!

Tonight I’ll spend 4 hours reading the manner in which the Supreme Court interprets words written by men long since dead and convolutes them into fitting the predominant political spin. Tomorrow morning I’ll arrive in class with a book that looks like a flamingo bled all over its pages and a meticulously kept outline now spanning 60+ typed pages. And what will happen? My professor will read back to me precisely what I just read. No application. No problems. No debate. Just tell the story back to me the way the supplement told it to her. And I think to myself, “Gee, what a coincidence, I can read, too!” In frustration, my brain clicks off. A quick scan of the room confirms I am not alone and all at once, Facebook tells me 3 people just invited me to another game of Scrabble. And it begs the question: is knowing that “Qi” is a word worth the $30k I pay for a legal education? “Objection, Your Honor: qi.” Sustained.

2. War & Peace is a Novel, Not a Power Point Slide

This one really speaks for itself, but just to drive the point home… If the font for any given slide has to be smaller then 14-point, the class will do one of three things: (A) ignore everything you say while trying to read the slide; (B) ignore the slide while trying to listen to what you’re saying; or (C) boggle the minds of competitors by not only knowing that “qi” is a word, but that it can also be PLURAL! Q-I-S. Enough said.

3. Discuss This: Why 30-Second “Group” Discussions Are Pointless

The professor says: “Turn to your neighbors and discuss the essential components of contract formation for the next 30 seconds.”

The students hear: “Turn around and tell your neighbor that “ngwee” is also a word and if they don’t like it, they can take it up with The Official Scrabble Players Dictionary people.”

The students turn to each other and say:

“I wonder how many ngwee (the monetary unit of Zambia) this course is costing me.”

“Dunno, dude, but it’s a royal pain in my qi (the life force inherent in all things).”

THE END.

I just completed a Small Group Instructional Diagnosis with one of my colleagues. I’d read about the SGID process but had never experienced it until today. My colleague is an experienced educator who is in her first year of teaching Legal Research and Writing at Gonzaga. She wanted to gather formative feedback from her students that went deeper than the end-of-the-semester numerical and narrative student evaluations.

Last week, my colleague and I met to plan the SGID process. She agreed to produce a document that divided her (17) students into groups of three or four. We discussed the types of feedback she hoped to gather and I drafted the following handout.

***
Small Group Feedback to Professor ________

The purpose of this activity is to provide feedback to Professor ______about your learning and her teaching. In your small group, please address the four questions below. For each question, please record one or two responses on which the group reaches consensus. You have about 10 minutes to do so.

1. What aspects of Professor _______’s classroom teaching are most effective for you?

2. Evaluate the Writer’s Workshop. As a result of the Writer’s Workshop are you better able to diagnose and remedy problems in your own writing?

3. What aspects of Professor _______’s teaching are least effective for you?

4. What suggestions do you have to enhance Professor_______’s teaching and your learning in this class?
***

Earlier this week, my colleague described the SGID process briefly to her students. Today, I observed the first half of her class and then facilitated the SGID process for the final 25 minutes of class. Students spent 10 minutes in their small groups. Then in a large group sessionwe listed on a whiteboard the responses on which the students had consensus. One of the students captured the list on a computer and emailed me the results. An hour later, my colleague and I discussed the SGID process and results.

My colleague appreciated the confirmation that many aspects her teaching were working well for students. She also welcomed the students’ thoughtful suggestions about how the course could be even more effective for them. As she left my office, she was planning how to implement several student suggestions and how to explain her rationale for several of her teaching methods.

The SGID experience gave me hope. The students were insightful, respectful, and professional. They took the process seriously, welcomed the opportunity to provide formative feedback, and worked well cooperatively. Likewise, my colleague was insightful about her own teaching decisions, respectful of her students as learners, and professional in her approach to developing as a teacher. She really gets that the bottom line is not our performance but our students’ learning—our performance is relevant to our students learning—but our performance should not be an end in itself.