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Virtual Office Hours, 24/7

I’ve heard many a student excuse for missing class: flu of one type or another, early escape to Mexico the day before spring break, the old high school’s homecoming, even a stint in jail. But recently one surprised me, not so much in its originality — a car fire, though that was a new one — but in the evidence offered.

Terry is a grad student at my university who drives 130 miles each week from Interlochen Arts Camp to Grand Rapids for a night class. One Monday he e-mailed that a car problem might result in his absence the next day. Attached to his text was a series of numbered digital photographs taken just hours before: No. 127, his car, smoking alongside the highway; No. 128, from 20 yards further back, the burning car, flames engulfing the left side; No. 142, a firefighter, gazing at the blackened shell; and No. 143, in a creative denouement, the burned-out car being hoisted by a wrecker.

Clicking through Terry’s sheaf of jpegs was a welcome diversion from the steady stream of more mundane e-mails that fill my day, and the break prompted reflection on the Internet’s effect on daily academic life. Ask most faculty about the general impact of computers on their teaching and you will still hear more reports of in-class technology disasters than grumbles about e-mail; of electronic malfeasance (everything from easy plagiarism to text-messaging during an exam); of fears about being replaced by online instructors; or, if they are virtually savvy and have authored their own online curricular materials, of having their intellectual property appropriated by the university.

But read a batch of evaluations by current students, and you will find complaints about Professor Luddite never answering e-mail. Who cares anymore about seldom-kept office hours? Faculty are now expected to be on-call electronically — if not quite 24/7, like transplant surgeons, then certainly far more than under an old paradigm that assumed availability to students only during class and office hours, scheduled or by appointment. It is e-mail, finally, that is the main engine behind ever-burgeoning demands.

Not so long ago you could display your techno-awareness just by printing an e-mail address on a syllabus. Want to impress your students today? You’d better send immediate answer to e-mails arriving sometime during Jay Leno’s monologue. (They’re probably watching Jon Stewart or playing online poker, but that’s a topic for another essay.) Outside readers of Professor Luddite’s course evaluations, though, should interpret student gripes skeptically. Or do I alone receive late-night messages from students posting second messages sent at 2:32 a.m. anxiously asking whether I had received the first, sent at 11:45 p.m.?

Even the most ordinary academic tasks have taken on new levels of complexity. A once-innocuous instruction, “Your final paper is due in my office by 5 p.m.,” now unleashes floods of e-mails with attachments, all bearing pleas to assure the senders that you received the papers. My answers often generate subsequent messages of “thanks” and requests for final grades. And recently I have had to warn students that the university’s spam filter, which has spared me thousands of offers for penny stocks and generic Viagra, may also weed out their messages from Yahoo or Hotmail.

“Be sure to make a copy of your essay,” my teachers from another century sagely advised. Occasionally I inflicted eye strain on those last-century academics via faded typewriter ribbons that have happily dissolved into the past. Today, I print off student texts on a networked laser printer, texts that are visually sharp, however fuzzy the thinking.

If I’m distracted, though, or if I’m tired, there’s a chance that otherwise-convenient attachments will be virus- or worm-ridden, making life hell for days, even weeks. Student codes drone on about punishments for plagiarism. To my mind purveyors of malicious computer code (however innocent they may be) also deserve draconian treatment. Caning might be sufficient, though confiscating the offender’s X Box would be more effective and better fit the crime.

As student e-mails grow more frequent and address increasingly trivial matters, professors are less able to keep up with the volume. I don’t personally know any faculty who use instant- or text-messaging with their students — “DO WE ND 2 RD CH 6 FOR QZ 2MORO?” — or who print their cell phone numbers on a syllabus. I suppose some of my Gen X colleagues might. Like enthusiastic young professors at small colleges who say, “Here are my home number and address. Drop by anytime to talk,” they’ll learn to regret it.

The effect on faculty life of this new communications urgency can be felt across many arenas, even those that serve as escapes from the ever-growing demands of student-consumers.

Fifteen years ago the most animated discussions at faculty cocktail parties were about computers. Simply mentioning your new “machine” would override the usual academic gossip. Now I envision hosting a party with a laptop visible on a table: conversation bubbles, Pinot Noir flows. ... How long, I wonder, before someone asks about wireless access and decides to check her e-mail?

Even brief escapes to professional conferences have been spoiled by new pressures to monitor overstuffed virtual mailboxes. For several years now at Modern Language Association conventions, technolust combined with an obsessive need to “check in” has shortened lines at the bars but created long queues at e-mail kiosks. At least the wireless Internet currently available in most hotels has improved the electronic comfort level. One can loll on a king-sized bed, cocooned in the hotel’s terry cloth robe, sipping coffee while fielding queries from anxious students and e-mailing friends at the same conference. Or, if you are in certain trendy disciplines, you can “attend” a conference online — though that would force you to stay home, deprived each night of turndown service and the before-bed mint.

The next technological wave promises podcasting of our lectures and discussions, and some schools have already contracted with Apple’s iTunes. “Our students are digital natives,” says one University of Missouri official. “We seek to meet our students where they are and iTunes is the interface with which most of our students are already familiar.”

Where once it seemed students would be content only when they could park their cars inside the classroom, today they want faculty (and the knowledge conveyed in their classrooms) as available as 24-hour cable.

Of course, regular e-mailing between faculty and students fosters overfamiliarity, chipping away at the deference many academics used to take for granted. A dean at Georgetown recently told The New York Times that the tone students often take in e-mail is “pretty astounding, with a familiarity that can sometimes border on imperative.” (He may have meant “impertinent,” but no contemporary university administrator would dare use that term, holdout from the British Empire that it is.) One might also argue that annual tuition in excess of $25,000 fuels a sense of student entitlement. In this world, faculty are the “servants”; but the trend is not limited to private universities and pricey colleges.

This e-mail frazzled academic can rationalize one consolation. When my students receive nearly immediate e-response, they are at least one step away from the impersonal world of much university education. The contact may be virtual, not face-to-face, but the effects can still be impressive. If your college uses a program like BlackBoard, try the online chat option for real-time “conversation,” especially near a paper due date. After one of these sessions you’ll see a marked improvement in the quality of work submitted.

Late-night virtual office hours are not so bad occasionally when you are at home and sipping on a beer. And however tempted I am to curse an ever-full e-mail box, I often wonder how we managed without it. How else would I have been able to stay in contact with a student who recently missed several classes because she and her teammates were busy winning the NCAA Division II basketball championship? Talk about athlete-students. She e-mailed me about the course on the very afternoon of her final game.

Yet unrelieved e-communication with our students eats into time we need for intellectual recharge, thinking and writing. Enticing digital waters can also drown us. Be it from the clutter of my study or from the comfort of a high-end hotel, every time I respond to student e-mail during “off hours” I may be writing the script for my own obsolescence. How long, I wonder, before a collective of ambitious Ph.D.s in Calcutta is both willing to teach all my classes online and to remain available 24/7 fielding queries about the next day’s assignment — like the revolving “Mikes” who help resolve my wireless network problems? Is this the end of the virtual path upon which I blithely trod?

Such musings, I suppose, are born less from genuine fear than from computer fatigue, despite my new LCD screen. Yes, our students are now and will remain “digital natives.” But I’m confident that, much as we try to “interface” with them, we won’t easily surrender the face-to-face pleasures of the seminar room and the office. After all, how else could I have witnessed Terry, when he actually did find his way to class that Tuesday night, regaling his peers with fresh prints of his fiery adventure — from Nos. 127 through 143.

Rob Franciosi is professor of English at Grand Valley State University, in Michigan.

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Comments

Welcome...!

It appears that Rob is realizing that the world is changing (again). In 1998 when the Online programs began to take off, we also began to recognize that the emerging millienial generation were beginning to follow the lead of the 60’s professors now in charge and shucking the industrial revolution’s trade unionist concept of the 40 hour week. This dastardly millenial generation is now seeking the structure and value systems that the 60’s generation abandoned and are finding new and exciting ideas and combining them with the values of “thinking” on a 24/7 basis. Recognizing this, the “Rob’s” of this current world are amazed that the millenials are demanding that they to learn the new language (text and other languages not yet devised) and be available on a 24/7 basis.

My suggestion to the “Robs” would be to think beyond the millenials and challenge them to new ideas, values, and structures not yet devised and “lead” rather than “gripe and follow” this dynamic generation they have spawned!

Churchill (remember him?) had it right:"the further back you look...the further ahead you can see!

Edward Winslow, A retired Business Professor, at 8:40 am EDT on May 2, 2006

Great suggestion, Edward

It’s so good, in fact, that we should invite all the “Robs” of the world to gain the benefit of your vast wisdom by emailing you for advice whenever they feel the need. Naturally, you’ll be available 24/7 to reply prommptly to their requests, right?

Steve LaBonne, at 9:10 am EDT on May 2, 2006

Steve...

Yep!! The only delays in response would be the continued icthyological research that beckons in my old age. Then you would need a cell phone and text msgs. {;>)

Edward Winslow, A retired Business Professor, at 10:15 am EDT on May 2, 2006

Use an asynchronous discussion board to reduce email

Your suggestion about using the synchronous (same time, any place) chat tool in Blackboard (or any course management system) for “virtual office hours” is an excellent one. This technique was pioneered by online educators about 10 years ago.

Another technique developed by online educators is to create an asynchronous (any where, any time) discussion board just for student questions. Call it Ask the Professor or Questions About The Course, and include an introduction along these lines: “If you have any questions about course mechanics, assignments, due dates, and so forth, post them in this board. If you think you know the answer, feel free to respond to your fellow students’ questions. I will respond to all questions within 24 hours.”

This technique has been introduced to hundreds of campus and distance faculty at RIT with great success. It radically reduces the amount of email that faculty receive from students, allows all students in a course to see faculty members’ responses to questions of common concern, and helps to develop a stronger sense of community in the course.

Even with a Questions About the Course discussion board, students will still email faculty with a wide variety of questions and concerns. The key to making this technique work is to refrain from directly answering all but the the most personal or confidential emails from students. When a student sends an email with a question about the course, simply ask them to post that question in the Questions About the Course board (or, especially at the start of a course, copy and paste the question into the board). Over time, most students will become “trained” to post their questions to the board, not email the professor.

Michael Starenko, Instructional Designer at Rochester Institute of Technology, at 10:15 am EDT on May 2, 2006

I don’t answer around 75 percent of the student e-mails I get. Examples: “What grade did I get?” “What did we go over in lecture?” I certainly don’t check e-mail at night anyway— my work day is over then. Why should I?

I also never accept student papers by e-mail. Grading on line is too slow and I don’t want my department to bear the cost of printing the paper up.

The principle here, if I remember my psychology courses right, is called “extinction.” Enough benign neglect, and the annoying behavior drops away.

I still manage to get good student evaluations.

TBD, at 10:25 am EDT on May 2, 2006

Taking a break

I thought I would take a break from grading assignments that have been submitted online. I have stopped answering email late at night and have instead cautioned my students to learn a little patience. The more they try this instantanious stuff the slower I get. I get slower mostly because I have more through which I must wade to find the core issue or question being asked. After years of using this gadget, I can barely face myself and turn it on at night. It has increased the communication I have with all students, but I have nmot seen any improvement in the content of their work. It has become another layer that someone hopes woudl revolutionize instruction. Our Ipod generation is not trained to learn either auditorily or visually and has come to think life is one big survivor challenge or the next idol spinnoff. Little realization that whatever most of us will accomplish will be the result of hard work distributed over time.

When I get those, 2:30 AM “did you get my last message at 11:30″ messages, I usually write back and tell them it was blocked by the virus checking software and the campus network refused to deliver it. It keeps them busy for a while.

mdg, at 11:25 am EDT on May 2, 2006

I do all this stuff—answer student email 24/7 (I check email about 20 times a day anyhow), maintain a website and message boards for my classes, etc. It isn’t a burden—its part of the structure of academic work: we don’t punch the clock, except for classes, but the trade-off is that we work all the time, whether at our own research or dealing with students. It’s like housewifing in that respect, or farming.

What’s important is to get the general public, including students, to recognize that. We’re now getting lots of pressure on “accountability” and “assessment.” The subtext is that They—the trustees, the regents, the taxpayers, the government, the accrediting agencies—see us as bums who only work for the 9 or so hours a week we teach and get 4 months of vacation every year. So, we’re urged to do all sorts of busywork of the sort K-12 teachers do to prove that we’re really working.

The thing to get across, though I wish I knew how, is that the sort of diffuse work we do 24/7, while we’re teaching and when we’re on “vacation” is real work. Most people don’t get it because they have to punch the clock, work under close supervision in restricted areas. They resent us for not having to put up with that. It’s important though to get across that we’ve made a trade-off that they might not want to make—we work all the time and are always on call.

H. E. Baber, Working 24/7 is fine at University of San Diego, at 11:25 am EDT on May 2, 2006

Well, How About 19/6?

Let’s see, I’m old (and I’m experiencing the ageism that is rampant in higher education today). I’m a single father of two sons who have flown the coop. During most of my life I have gotten along quite well with less than five hours of sleep per 24 hours. In the words of my friends, I don’t have a life. Therefore I am quite available for the proverbial 24/7 to interact with my students in class, during office hours, at lunch, and on-line.

Hell, I love it. Given my rather negative initial expectations (of eight or ten years ago), it’s amazing how effective and efficient one can be in that venue.

I will admit I have stringent written requirements for the nature of students’ office hours and on-line communication with me, but once they get used to my expectations and understand I’m serious about them, we’re off to the races. For example, I don’t have TBD’s problem of examining and not responding to 75% of my e-mail messages. My students know better than to ask such questions in the first place ... and they know when their grades will be available ... and they know they will receive them by e-mail, of course ... and probably with a very short personal note.

I teach mathematics, statistics, and management “science,” but each year I teach a research methods course for arts management graduate students. As you might imagine, they have many on-line questions about the substance of our course, but our interaction in cyberspace is so extensive, we all learn a great deal from each other about movies, plays, music, the arts, etc. After the first week or so of the term, very few of my students are surprised if they happen to get an immediate response from me at, say, 2 a.m. ... and even if I’m on vacation on Hawaii when it happens.

In recent discussions of this topic, several InsideHigherEd respondents have said something along the lines of “Hey, it’s 5 p.m. and I’m out of here. They’ve got all of me they’re going to get until tomorrow.” Ah, teaching as a job ... I must admit I’ve never understood that concept. If it were a job, they’d have to pay me a Hell of a lot more than they are.

RWH, at 12:00 pm EDT on May 2, 2006

Time to set some boundries

When did it dawn on you that choosing this vocation (and it is clearly a vocation, not just a job) wasn’t 9 to 5? Was it the first time you had to abandon your family immediately after Christmas to attend an MLA Convention across the country, or was it turning down your wife’s request to walk on the beach so you could finish grading term papers?

If I end up with students face to face in my office hours, which I do keep, there’s something wrong with the course. I run almost all my courses through web-ct where I post the syllabus, course materials, articles of interest, and any “news” I need to communicate. I can even send a blanket message to them. The students can chat among themselves through web-ct. My students in Spanish civ review 400 slides with commentary and my filmmaking students can coordinate their shoots with their partners. My burden has been reduced substantially. Now I spend my office hours reading e-mail and responding!

E-mail is a godsend. You just haven’t handled it right. You need to set boundries for the students to e-mail you. Put it in your syllabus and mean it. The 24 hour rule is a good one. If an administrator asks you about student criticism, you show him/her your syllabus.

I answer dumb student questions with a curt: Read the syllabus on web-ct.

I love for students to e-mail their papers and scripts. That way they have no excuse for not meeting deadlines. It’s a two way street.

I recommend you use the 200% image feature in Word. That way you don’t have to print their papers at all. And since you’re an English prof, use red highlighting to comment on papers and then send it back to them via e-mail.

Now I can say, “Why didn’t you e-mail me if you weren’t coming to class? Why didn’t you e-mail me your paper on time?” Press your advantage.

I welcome intelligent, late night e-mail. When have I ever gone to bed before midnight as I write a paper for the next conference, prepare my lecture, or edit my first feature film? I just leave my e-box up. Better to dispatch steadily than to end up with a mountain of messages later. You don’t have to write an epistle.

Oh, and I DO give out my cel phone number and home phone. It’s not so naive as you might think. No calls before 9 a.m. or after 9 p.m. unless it’s an emergency. I have to be on call for technical problems with camera equipment and editing issues in the Digital Lab. Nobody has abused the privilege so far. And they can always leave a message on my cel phone.

There’s a quick fix for student overfamiliarity or rudeness via e-mail. When you reply nicely to the student, carbon copy the chair of your department and/or the associate dean of the college and/or student affairs with the student’s message below. It seems to have a magical effect on the student’s behavior.

In my experience, most people just want a little recognition. Be brief. Be direct. Be sincere. They will love you for it.

If you’d ever been a mother, you’d find multitasking doesn’t have to be overwhelming.

And don’t sweat the student evaluations. Relax and they will too. Your publications are probably of greater interest to your university any way.

With all good wishes

NJM

Nancy Membrez, Assoc Prof of Spanish Lit, Culture, Film, & Digital Filmmaking at University of Texas at San Antonio, at 1:30 pm EDT on May 2, 2006

I am available to students a lot, with live chats before tests, online hours every week, emails being answered usually within 2 hours, etc. But oneline discussion boards — how do I cope with 4 classes, 300 students, and classes where the discussion boards are getting 500-1000 or more postings every week? And these are quality posts — not “I agree” kinds of posts. Each person wants ME to reply to their postings. And write articles, books, be on five major committees, chair of a major committee reviewing the major, even have a personal life with my family?

Enough is enough....I am drawing the line and actually listing on future syllabi that students should expect e-mail replies during specified hours, that discussion boards are conversations primarily between students and not between individuals and only me, etc. I have trained them to accept too much from me without respecting common courtesy and need to pull back some. Students need to learn that important questions are not good to be asking in the wee hours of the day the paper is due. Chances are — they had the question a lot sooner but chose to do other things than to ask it. And if they didn’t — well, that’s life too. And if no one else has taught them these things — then I guess I will be the first.

Set boundaries, folks!

Kate, Soc Science Prof, at 1:30 pm EDT on May 2, 2006

It’s a lifestyle thang, you wouldn’t unnastand....

One interesting characteristic of the Millenials is their immersion into the online world and their lack of distinction between online and F2F relationships. It’s not that they can’t see the difference, but that online interaction has become just one more medium (like letters and telephones) through which they develop and maintain their relationships with others. The Internet is losing its capital letter.

Now, certainly many are clueless and/or entitled, but many of them expect that you will answer a 3am email within the hour just based on past experience with many other online and hybrid relationships. Rather than whinge about them, educate them about your own communication patterns & preferences. Help them understand why, for a person of your age and/or communication habits, not responding to email immediately isn’t like giving them the cold shoulder in the hallway.

Joe Clark, at 3:20 pm EDT on May 2, 2006

More on E-Mail

When I taught webcourses (which I enjoyed very much), I did check the courses 20 times a day. I just do not feel obligated to give face to face courses this type of treatment. If you put in a good day’s work, which I think I do (four days a week at school, 10AM till about 5PM, another day [Friday] used for class planning), it’s only sane to take the evening for yourself—which I do also. I (and I suspect many others) need this away time to reinvigorate ourselves for the next day’s work with our students. Often my evening’s activities consist of in-depth reading that informs my classes anyway.

As someone who has published quite a lot at teaching colleges, I also consider my research an essential part of my activities. I never feel guilty about vacations because I use them to write. Because we PhD academics are generally underpaid relative to other professions, I wouldn’t feel guilty if I did nothing during them.

I consider taking evenings off part of the “good boundaries,” we need to observe to keep our lives sane.

TBD, at 4:55 pm EDT on May 2, 2006

Working 24/7

Personally, it never “dawned” on me that an academic career meant working, if diffusely, 24/7—I always knew it would and wanted it that way. My idea was that if I didn’t like a job enough to do it all the time, I didn’t want it at all. If a job is such that you can work at it you can knock off at 5pm and then not think about it it isn’t good enough—at least for me.

But back to my original point: how do we get it across to the Powers and to the general public that we do real, fulltime work?

Academic work is one of the few remaining jobs that haven’t been subjected to industrial discipline—to the paradigm of work for a restricted number of hours under supervision with a sharp division between work time and non-market time, and between the workplace and the home (coffee shop, park, library, convention hotel lobby bar, or other places where academics do work). Right now an increasing number of professional jobs are being forced into that paradigm and there’s evidence that this not only makes work less satisfying to workers but also that it isn’t even efficient.

H. E. Baber, University of San Diego, at 10:50 am EDT on May 3, 2006

Easy

“how do we get it across to the Powers and to the general public that we do real, fulltime work?”

Produce students who are not illiterate and receiving A’s despite their illiteracy.

JBM, at 3:10 pm EDT on May 4, 2006

There is nothing to be afraid of

24/7 availably is not required nor is it expected of professors. An easy way to emphasize this to students would be to write in your syllabus that student emails after 5pm will not be responded to until the following day and emails received on the weekend will not be responded to until Sunday evening or Monday morning...it’s all about boundaries.

This brings me to my next point DO NOT BE AFRAID technology can be scary, but when the proper parameters are set it works for you not against you. I use AOL to do online reviews for exams. Because of this I have had far more students seeking assistance and I have seen a steady increase in test scores. This also works well for me because I can do it at home...in front of the TV or while writing a paper myself.

Set parameters and then use the technology to make your life easier not harder.

Reebecca, at 10:15 pm EDT on May 8, 2006

I’m astonished that most responses to this piece don’t register the good humor and assume the writer is asking for advice. Online readers apparently need to slow down and read more carefully.

JEC, at 10:45 pm EDT on May 13, 2006

dizzyingly true

rob, this year, i was one of those new young (adjunct) teachers at the small colleges that you write about. I gave out my address and e-mail and said ‘drop by’. and, just as you predicted, i regretted it. but at least, i consoled myself as i counseled students who dropped by, my student evaluations would glow about my incredible accessibility. and they did — up to a point. ’she took too long to reply to e-mail’ three read. ’sometimes as long as a week!’ so, will the dean who told me, when discussing salary, ‘you really work only one day a week’ mind telling the students that I had the other six days off?

a.c., at 4:45 am EDT on May 26, 2006

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