Literatura académica sobre el tema "Hay War Memorial High School"

Dr. Peter E. Dresel was a highly respected pharmacologist who played a significant role in the development of this discipline in Canada. Peter immigrated to the United States of America from Germany at a very young age. After graduating from high school and serving meritoriously in the U.S. Army during World War II, he obtained his doctorate in pharmacology from the University of Rochester in 1952. After serving in several positions in the university and in the pharmaceutical industry, Peter was recruited in 1956 by Mark Nickerson to join the fledgling Department of Pharmacology at the University of Manitoba. Nickerson's wish to develop Peter into a neuropharmacologist was never fulfilled. Instead, Peter went on to become an outstanding cardiac pharmacologist who trained a number of students, many of whom hold prestigious positions in their field of research. Having helped shape the "Nickerson Era" in Manitoba and having established a name in the cardiovascular pharmacology scene in North America, Peter became the Head of the Department of Pharmacology at Dalhousie University in Halifax in 1976. For the next 12 years Peter showed his superb academic and administrative abilities in shaping a vigorous and productive department.Peter served The Pharmacological Society of Canada in many capacities. He was a Councillor (1966–1969), Secretary (1969–1972), Vice President (1974–1975), and ultimately President (1975–1977). In addition to serving on the editorial boards of several international journals and scientific review committees, Peter was very active in university affairs, serving in the Senate at both the University of Manitoba and Dalhousie. He was also elected President of the Associate of Academic Staff at the University of Manitoba.Peter will be remembered for his unique flair. Despite his flamboyance, he had the unique ability to make his students feel at ease. His wealth of life experiences enabled him to teach his students and colleagues more than just science. He was eclectic and provocative, loyal and compassionate. Peter was never afraid of facing a challenge, nor was he too big to admit mistakes. Above all, he was extraordinarily generous in speaking of the accomplishments of his students and colleagues. Peter Dresel lived his life to the fullest, and helped those who crossed his path to do the same. His attributes will be judged not only through his contributions to science, but also by the enrichment of all who were touched by his influence.It is only befitting to honor Peter Dresel with a Memorial Issue in this Journal, which he served so well as an Associate Editor. The response of former students and colleagues has been overwhelming, and we wish to thank them all for their contributions.

Croatian Memorial Documentation Centre of the Homeland War is a specialized archives and a scientific institution with the mission to collect, arrange, safekeep, professionally and scientifically research and publish archival records from the Homeland War. Apart from these main tasks, the Centre also engages in educational activities by organizing and providing lectures for elementary school, high school, university students and history teachers or by the engagement of its employees at the universities. Speakers will present these activities by giving examples of various types of lectures and describing methodology and contents. The authors present the theory of archival pedagogy and its development in Croatia, as well as examples of good practice in the Croatian archives. In Croatia, in the last couple of years, special attention has been given to archival pedagogy as a potential for the development of archival activities and the modernization of the archives. The Croatian Archival Society has an important role in promoting archival pedagogy and it encourages archivists to participate in educational activities. The authors will present educational activities organized by the Croatian Memorial Documentation Centre of the Homeland War. The Centre aims to follow modern trends in archive pedagogy and education by combining its two main activities - archival practice and scientific research. Special emphasis is given to the use of various categories of the Centre’s archival materials, such as official records, printed material, audio recordings, photographic material, maps, etc. in the lectures. Besides paper records, the Centre has a large collection of digitalized documents which are particularly useful and convenient to use in the lectures. The materials from the Collection of photographs and the Collection of video materials are most frequently used. Dealing with the original archival material, especially when it comes to photographs or video materials, students get the most precise frame of the past on the basis of which they then best develop their own critical thinking. In this way, archival practice illustrates the educational role of archives. Authors also deal with the question how and to what extent does the use of archival materials affect the students' understanding of the topic and inspires them to visit archives and to do their own research which also contributes to the popularization of archives and archival science.

Abstract As a Chinese-medium educational institution, Chung Ling High School (CLHS) in Penang enjoyed an illustrious reputation in the Malayan era. During the fall of Penang in World War II, the deaths of eight teachers and forty-six students from CLHS marked a painful episode in the history of Penang's intellectual community, manifested in their sense of trauma and reflections on the crisis of Chinese education. After CLHS was reopened during the postwar period, the school set up a committee to commemorate the sacrifices of its teachers and students through memorial services, erection of a monument, and publication of tribute books. Applying the theories of French historian Pierre Nora, this article discusses how the ensuing les lieux de mémoire (sites of memory) formed through the sacrifices of CLHS teachers and students, inscribing the plight of literary lineage and cultural severance, which in turn takes on the role of reviving and perpetuating the ethnic Chinese spirit. In this sense, the sacrifices of the CLHS teachers and students as “sites of memory” have become a part of the ethnic community's collective memory. When we examine how war memory texts are constructed, the CLHS tragedy embeds the connections between Chinese education and the ethnic sentiments of the Chinese community during the Japanese occupation.

Dr Norman R. James was a multi-talented, highly accomplished clinician, teacher and innovator broadly recognized on three continents. In the United Kingdom, he served in London's Emergency Medical Service during World War II and was dubbed “England's foremost exponent of regional anaesthesia”. In his native land, he was the first Director of Anaesthetics at The Royal Melbourne Hospital with many innovations to his credit including a serious effort to reform anaesthetic practice in Australia. Dr M. T. “Pepper” Jenkins, the charismatic founder of anesthesiology at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical School, recruited him to Dallas in 1960, where he taught the art and science of anesthesiology at Parkland Memorial Hospital until his retirement in 1974. He died in 1987 and is buried in Winnsboro, Texas. A brief story of his life and career follows.

Teaching about the Holocaust is mandatory in many societies. This prescription is justified by authorities with many reasons: educating pupils for a better understanding of human rights, peace, war, genocide, critical thinking, historical thinking, racism, etc. The Holocaust can carry a very strong moral and emotional charge. But why do teachers choose to teach about it when it is not compulsory? And how do they do this? Which resources do they use? What content is their teaching based on? This case study focuses on three high school history teachers in Quebec and explores their educational objectives in teaching the Holocaust and related pedagogical practices, including a field trip to the Montreal Holocaust Memorial Centre.

In Memory of Helge Grell, 1925 - 2000By Jens Holger SchjørringHelge Grell’s life coincided with some decisive events in the history of research on Grundtvig and Grundtvig’s importance in theology and in the religious and national life in Denmark.When Grell took holy orders in 1940, the year of the occupation of the country by the German Wehrmacht, the depression and confusion over the loss of national independence led many Danes to search for a mobilization of new resources in the Danish people to avoid an internal breakdown. This found expression for example through De danske Ungdomsforeninger (Danish Youth Associations), a particular manifestation being Hal Koch’s famous lectures on Grundtvig and his work for Dansk Ungdomssamvirke (Federation of Danish Youth Associations). In the post-war years the discussion turning on Kaj Thaning’s interpretation of Grundtvig was the point of departure for much debate on the Grundtvigian heritage and in a wider sense the situation of the Danish national church. There was, in particular, Thaning’s protest against tendencies to allow a »pilgrim myth« to determine the understanding of the relationship between created human life and Christianity. Against this Thaning would stress the intrinsic value of created life with his programmatic emphasis on »Man first...«.The last decades of the twentieth century saw, with increasing strength, endeavours being made to apply an international perspective to the interpretation of Grundtvig.Helge Grell lived through all these phases, briefly outlined above, and each one of them came to determine in different ways his work as clergyman, as teacher in many different contexts, as lecturer in Grundtvig circles and participant in their activities, and as Grundtvig scholar. When Helge Grell’s life is considered within such an extensive framework, it becomes apparent that his many activities share an inner coherence. In retrospect, one senses an arch spanning the different aspects of his lifework and combining his practical activity with his work as a Grundtvig scholar. Likewise, when viewed in that light, there is an impressive unity in the books that Grell managed to finish in the last decades of his life, dealing partly with the relation between creator spirit and the spirit of the people, partly with Grundtvig’s travels to England and their significance, and finally with Grundtvig’s folk high school ideas and their realization after Grundtvig’s death.

A life of service to others ended on March 26, 2009, when professor emeritus George A. Warp of the Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs of the University of Minnesota passed away at age 95. George was born on June 12, 1913, in Northfield, Ohio, and graduated from Bedford High School in Ohio. Prior to being associated with the University of Minnesota for the past 60 years, he graduated from Oberlin College, Case Western University, and Columbia University, earning degrees in political science, public administration, international administration, as well as law. George served briefly as a political science faculty member at the University of Minnesota, where he met and married his late wife, Lois, in 1940 before entering the U.S. Navy following the entry of the United States into World War II. His service in the Pacific theater led to his postwar appointment as a civilian advisor under General MacArthur in Japan from 1946–1948. Upon completion of that assignment, George returned to the University of Minnesota in 1948 as a professor of political science and served first as associate director and then director of the graduate program in public administration in the department's Public Administration Center until 1965 when the center became a self-standing unit of the College of Liberal Arts. He remained director through 1968 when the center was succeeded by the School of Public Affairs and recreated as the Humphrey Institute of Public Affairs in 1978 as a collegiate unit named as a memorial honoring the late vice president and Minnesota's senator. George served as a professor and chair of graduate admissions until his retirement in 1982.

N.S. Korotkov was born in 1874 in the city of Kursk. In 1893, after graduating from high school, he entered the medical faculty of Kharkov University, transferred to the medical faculty of Moscow University, which he graduated in 1898 with a degree in medicine with honors. In 1900, N.S. Korotkov became a supernumerary order of a surgical clinic for a term. Further N.S. Korotkov became a doctor of the sanitary unit of the Iberian Red Cross community. For participation in this trip N.S. Korotkov was granted the right to wear the honorary sign of the Red Cross, and in 1902 he was awarded the Order of St. Anne of the III degree. Nikolai Korotkov again works as a supernumerary, since 1903 - a regular intern at the surgical clinic of Professor A.A. Bobrov, then a supernumerary resident at the surgical clinic of Professor SPPedorov of the Imperial Military Medical Academy.In 1904, in the St. George community of the sisters of mercy of the Red Cross Society, a sanitary squad was formed to be sent to the Russian-Japanese war, NS was appointed as the senior physician. Korotkov. Systematically listening to the vessels in the wounded, the young surgeon discovered five regular phases of changes in sounds during compression of the brachial artery with a Riva-Rocci cuff, which later formed the basis of his proposed method for determining blood pressure (Korotkov method). November 8, 1905 N.S. Korotkov for the first time made a historical report “On the issue of blood pressure research methods”. At the end of 1905, he left Petersburg for his parents in the city of Kursk. In 1908, N.S. Korotkov successfully passes the examinations for the degree of doctor of medicine and leaves for Siberia in the mines of the Lena gold mining association for the position of doctor at the Andreevsky hospital. In 1910, N.S. Korotkov defends his doctoral thesis on the topic: "The experience of determining the strength of arterial collaterals." Since 1914, N.S. Korotkov worked as a senior physician at the Petersburg Clinical Hospital. Peter the Great, and with the outbreak of World War I, a surgeon in the Charity House for Wounded Soldiers in Tsarskoe Selo. After the Great October Revolution until the death of N.S. Korotkov served as chief physician at the Mechnikovsky hospital in Petrograd. Nikolai Sergeevich died on March 14, 1920 and was buried in the Theological Cemetery of St. Petersburg. The exact burial place of N.S. Korotkova has not been established, in 2011 a cenotaph was installed on the site of the Military Medical Academy. The Korotkov method was the only official non-invasive blood pressure measurement method approved by WHO in 1935. In honor of N.S. Korotkova is named the street in St. Petersburg, the city hospital of Kursk, the Memorial Society in St. Petersburg.

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait.”1 1John Milton, Sonnet 19 The COVID-19 Pandemic has brought out most of the best (and some of the worst) in us. Much has been said, shared, even sung about health care workers as frontline heroes. Whether we indeed form the frontline, or man the last line of defense, due credit is being given to all “front-liners” – essential-service workers, drivers and delivery personnel, security guards, the military and police who literally serve in the trenches of this invisible war. Indeed, it is heartening to read the inspiring messages, hear the encouraging words, listen to the uplifting (sometimes funny) music and songs, witness the moving memes and cartoons, watch the refreshing dances and tributes, and receive the healing blessings and prayers on various media and social media platforms. Indeed, we are motivated to continue to work, so that others may safely stay home. Some of us have even been called upon to die, so that others may live. But so much less is and has been said about those who make our battle possible, who selflessly and silently took it upon themselves to clothe us with personal protective equipment, feed us, transport us, and even shelter us as we engage the unseen enemy. It is these heroes I wish to thank today. I certainly cannot thank them all, but I sincerely hope that those I do mention will represent the many others I cannot. Early on, my brother Elmer Lapeña and his Team Twilight group of “golfing enthusiasts and friends” (“company owners, executives, managers, engineers, technicians, entrepreneurs, and expats in the electronics, semiconductor, metalworking, automotive, aerospace, and packaging manufacturing industries”) responded to the call for better protection for frontliners with door-to-door deliveries of Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) to over 40 hospitals in the National Capitol Region, Rizal, Cavite, Laguna and Batangas including the Philippine General Hospital (PGH).2 On a personal note, Elmer and my sister-in-law Annette were closely monitoring our situation, going out of their way to obtain difficult-to-find PPEs for my wife Josie and myself, and our respective Departments of Family and Community Medicine (DFCM) and Otorhinolaryngology (ORL) at the PGH. For her part, our very dear friend Gigi Bautista Rapadas organized Project #HelpCovid19Warriors(HCW), to “go where the virus goes” and “help where help is needed and requested,” harnessing donations from ‘family, friends, and friends of friends” to procure PPE (as well as disinfectants, even canned goods) that were distributed “from Metro Manila to the provinces: Tuguegarao, Bataan, Bulacan, La Union, Nueva Vizcaya, Cavite,” moving from hospitals and health centers to correctional institutes.3 It is because of them that our PGH Department of ORL obtained very expensive but essential respirator hoods for added protection from aerosolized virus when conducting airway procedures, in addition to head-to-foot PPEs for use of the PGH DFCM in attending to PGH staff at the UP Health Service. Meanwhile, without fanfare, our dear friends Popot and Agnes (also my DLSU ’79 classmate) Lorenzana provided cooked meals for 1,000 persons daily. Working with on-the-ground social workers and with the 2KK Tulong sa Kapwa Kapatid Foundation, their Feeding Program “A thousand meals for poor communities” reached Payatas, Talayan, Pinyahan, Smokey Mountain, Maisan, Bagong Silang, Old Balara, Tatalon, Sta. Teresita, Sampaloc, and Sta. Ana, among more than 50 other communities. They generously responded to my wife’s request to provide meals for her community patients of the Canossa Health Center in Tondo. They have also provided meals for hospital staff of Amang Rodriguez Memorial Medical Center, the Medical City Hospital, Veterans Memorial Medical Center, Dr. Jose Fabella Memorial Hospital, Dr. Jose Rodriquez Memorial Hospital, Quezon City General Hospital, the San Lazaro Hospital, Valenzuela City Emergency and Lung Center of the Philippines. They continue this service which to date has provided for more than 32,000 meals, with corporate partners and private individuals joining the effort.4 Other De La Salle University (DLSU) College ‘79 batchmates who wish to remain anonymous obtained board approval of their endorsement to channel all the social development funds of their Maritime Multipurpose Cooperative for the next 3 years to the Philippine General Hospital. Adding their personal funds (and those solicited by their daughter and nephew), they took on the daunting task of sourcing and proving Powered Air Purifying Respirators (PAPRs) for our use. Another DLSU batchmate has been providing PPEs to various hospitals including PGH through their family corporation, Nobleland Ventures, Inc. Even their high school batch ’75 of Saint Jude Catholic School has donated boxes and boxes of PPEs to the PGH and other hospitals. Other DLSU ’79 classmates Bel and Bong Consing, and Timmy, Joy (and Tita Linda) Bautista have personally donated PPEs and funds for our COVID-19 operations, while classmate Fritz de Lange even sent over sweet mangoes for us to enjoy with our fellow frontliners. Generous donations also poured in from La Salle Green Hills (LSGH) High School ’76 friends Cris Ibarra, Norman Uy, Class 4E, and batchmates Tito and Pepper who wish to remain anonymous, as well as Menchit Borbon and her St. Theresa’s College Quezon City (STCQC) - Section 1 classmates. We even received overseas support from my LSGH 4B classmate Bingo Pantaleon from Yangon; my mom Libby, brother Bernie and Lilli, and friend Soyanto from Singapore, and sister Sabine from Germany. And how can we forget the regular frozen food deliveries of Jollibee chicken drumsticks and home-made Bulgogi and Tapa from our dear friends Ed and Aning Go? Perhaps the most touching gifts of all came from my eldest and youngest daughters Melay and Jica, who lovingly prepared and delivered much-appreciated meals to us, and middle child Ro-an, who with our son-in-law Reycay serenaded us with beautiful music that was appreciated by no less than Vice President Leni Robredo and featured by the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra.5 Their musical fund-raising campaign started with another haunting piece featuring my sister Nina and brother-in-law Kiko.6 As if that was not enough, Ro-an bakes cookies to raise funds for our ongoing COVID-19 operations at PGH, while Melay and Jica keep asking us what we want to eat next. These three count among those who have least, yet “put in everything ” from what little they have.7 These are but a few examples of those known personally to me- my family and friends. And there are many more. In the same way, every other doctor and front liner will have their own stories to tell, of friends, family even mere acquaintances who have come out of the shadows to help, to care, to share in whatever way they can, in fighting this battle with us. Let this be their tribute as well. Those of us who serve in the Philippine General Hospital have been called People Giving Hope.8,9 I believe that we do give hope because others give us hope in turn. I like to think that the inscription in the PGH lobby “They Also Serve Who Care and Share” honors these others in a special way who go over and beyond the call of duty. With apologies to John Milton, our heroes go way over and beyond “they also serve who only stand and wait.”

Introduction Throughout the early and mid-twentieth century, cadet training was a feature of many secondary schools and educational establishments across Australia, with countless young men between the ages of 14 and 18 years of age undergoing military training, ostensibly in preparation for service in Australia’s armed forces upon their coming of age. Unlike earlier in the century, when cadet training was mandatory for all males within the relevant age range, during the Second World War cadet detachments could only be formed and maintained by secondary schools for pupils attending those schools. Additionally, the Australian Army provided so little financial support to school cadet detachments during the conflict that schools had to rely on the parents of their pupils to purchase their sons’ not inexpensive cadet uniforms, with a result that only a limited number of schools could afford to maintain a cadet detachment, and almost every schools that could do so made enrolment in their detachments voluntary for their pupils. Counterbalancing these material obstacles, however, was the threat of the ongoing conflict and the demands for trained soldiers both overseas and within Australia, which resulted in school cadet training becoming increasingly popular between 1939 and 1945, with many schools across Australia either establishing new cadet detachments or expanding their existing cadet detachments in order to contribute to their nation’s war effort. Not only did the Second World War increase the number of cadet detachments among educational establishments, but cadet training became more diverse and varied both within and between schools. Owing to their preoccupation with maintaining both the Australian Imperial Force and a defence force against a potential invasion of Australia, the Australian Army’s supervision of and contribution to cadet training became more sporadic than it had been in peacetime. As a result, school headmasters became increasingly powerful in their discretion to direct the cadet training that went on at their schools, with the Australian Army providing little to no input to or supervision of the day-to-day training at the myriad of cadet detachments across the nation. This state of affairs allowed schools, and the educators who ran them, an unprecedented amount of freedom to enact their own idealised version of military training through their cadet detachments, resulting in a diverse range of training syllabi, organisational practices, and uniforms. Unlike in other nations such as New Zealand, Australian schools’ cadet uniforms were not issued by the Australian Army, but instead were designed and purchased by the individual cadet detachments, with the Australian Army only providing official recognition and partial funding for the designs. Under this system, Australian schools designed a diverse range of uniforms for their cadet detachments, tailoring them to suit their individual conceptions of what cadet training should contain and how a cadet detachment should appear. This resulted in cadet detachments clad in uniforms that reflected the ideals of the schools to which they were attached, with the training practices and identities of a school reflected in the design of its cadet uniform. This article will examine two prevalent influences behind the design of Australian school cadet uniforms during the Second World War – the competing prioritisation of smartness and practicality, and the range of identities and loyalties which schools attempted to inculcate in their pupils. In the process, it will be argued that these variations in cadet uniform designs reflect the diversity of practices and ideology within male secondary education in Australia during the 1940s. Uniforms for Purpose Despite the limitations imposed by wartime shortages, a school’s priorities for their cadet training could still be expressed through their design of uniforms. For many, the range of priorities can be summarised as a split between smartness and toughness. Some establishments designed their cadet uniforms on traditional ideals of rigid sartorial orderliness, tailoring them to be pleasing to the eye when paraded in public. Others disregarded smartness in favour of hard-wearing uniforms more suited to rigorous physical training under a variety of climactic conditions, emphasising comfort and durability above appearance. Schools did not openly state that their choice of uniform was motivated by a desire to have their cadets appear impressive on the parade ground. However, many voiced their praise for their cadet detachments’ appearances in public parades. One example of this can be found in the June 1940 edition of Terrace, the magazine of Christian Brothers’ College Gregory Terrace, in which the cadet training column finished by proudly declaring that “the appearance of the cadets and their military bearing called forth expressions of praise from all who saw them marching in the Corpus Christi procession at NC” (“G.T. Corps Jottings” 5). Similar evidence of a school’s prioritisation of smartness and presentability in their cadet training can also be found in numerous contemporary descriptions of cadet training by the cadets themselves. One anonymous pupil at Sydney Church of England Grammar School described the hardships that the school’s cadets faced in maintaining their uniforms – a khaki combination of woollen slouch hat, tunic with brass buttons, brown leather ‘Sam Browne’ belt and trousers with a blue stripe down each leg. In a lengthy poem describing many aspects of school life, the pupil’s ‘Song of Shore’ described how “of each cadet the heart is set on being clean and smart; A fleck of dust, a speck of rust, will break his sergeant's heart” (‘A Song of Shore’ 131). These demands for cleanliness and smartness weighed heavily on a cadet, with the author lamenting how “he cleans his boots, he cleans his belt, he cleans his bits of brass: his Brasso goes to chapel and his Kiwi into class; but still they say, ‘Put it away! To Friday drill you go!’ And button-sticks in period six are dangerous things to show” (‘A Song of Shore’ 131). Given that this context of uniform maintenance is the only description of cadet training in this poem, the emphasis placed on sartorial orderliness at schools such as Sydney Church of England Grammar School was clearly strong enough to eclipse all other aspects of training in the eyes of those subjected to it. Uniforms designed to visually impress, however, often wore out quite quickly under the harsh conditions of cadet training. One cadet at Geelong College noted how after an afternoon of instruction on the school oval in “a comfortable spot in the rain and wind … my well-tailored uniform is sopping with either sweat or rain according to the consistent weather of these parts. My chin-strap has lost all its flavour and generally I feel most inefficient” (“Chank” 31). The short life of stylistically-prioritised uniforms was often exacerbated by the difficulty of obtaining replacement items of clothing under wartime conditions. In 1941, the cadet uniforms of Hale School, Western Australia – presented in fig. 1 and consisting of slouch hat, woollen khaki tunic, Khaki drill breeches and tall leather gaiters – had been reduced in number and quality to such an extent that one boy described the process of selecting uniforms at the beginning of each year as “scramble day”, when, “after trying on various clothing you begin to wonder how many deformed people were in the corps before you” (“Lance-Corporal” 96). The cadet elaborated by lamented how “pick[ing] out the right hat is like winning the Charities, and all you can do is to hope for the best next year” (“Lance-Corporal” 96), and “on being issued with your hat badge you will say confidently, ‘Well, at least this must fit.’ But don't be optimistic; it is sure to have the clip missing” (“Lance-Corporal” 97). The shortage of serviceable uniforms became so acute that by 1943 the annual ‘Cadet Notes’ article in the school’s magazine The Cygnet announced that “it would be greatly appreciated if Old Boys who have any part of a uniform, would make it available” (“Cadets” Cygnet 20). This sentiment was echoed the following year by an anonymous cadet’s cartoon (fig. 2), highlighting the deplorable state of the school’s cadet uniforms after so many years of use, with frayed hems, baggy seams, and, most significantly, a severe shortage of sizes which fitted the average cadet (“Uniforms for ‘B’ Company” 74). This, when compared with the formal photographs of cadets published by the school in an earlier edition of the Cygnet, seen in fig. 1, gives a clear indication of the disparity between the image that schools intended to project and the and that which cadets perceived. Fig. 1: Hale School cadet uniforms as presented by the school in 1939 (“Officers and N.C.Os.” 55) Fig. 2: Hale School cadet uniforms as perceived by a cadet in 1944 (“Uniforms for ‘B’ Company” 74) For many schools, however, the ideal cadet uniform was simple, easily-maintained and durable, often drawing inspiration from contemporary, rather than traditional, military uniforms. When designing a uniform for their newly-established cadet detachment in 1939, Brisbane Boys’ College stated categorically that “the first consideration was smartness” and that “the preservation of that smartness will be the duty of every cadet” (“Cadet Corps” 41). However, while other schools chose stiff and heavy woollen cadet uniforms, the committee appointed by the College to decide on a uniform opted for a light combination of felt hat, khaki drill jacket, and shorts, “similar in design to that of the Darwin Mobile Force”, a new Australian Army formation created the previous year intended to defend Australia’s northern coastline from invasion, “which looked so smart when that force marched through the city early in the year” (“Cadet Corps” 41-42). When further explaining their choice, the College argued that “shorts, we consider, are more serviceable for the Queensland climate” (“Cadet Corps” 42). Brisbane Boys’ College was not the only establishment to be impressed by new military formations and their heralding of a new form of warfare. Newcastle Boys’ High School’s cadet uniform deviated from those of other schools’ cadet detachments by including a navy blue beret in place of the ubiquitous felt ‘slouch hat’. This choice of headwear, coupled with the School’s unusual decision to replace the normal khaki items of clothing with a field grey battledress-style jacket and slacks, was so similar to that worn by the armoured divisions both in Australia and Britain that when the Newcastle Sun published a picture of four Newcastle cadets wearing their new uniforms, they jocularly warned their readers that “these are not members of the Tank Corps” (“High School Cadet Corps” 7). Evidently, while some schools opted for a more traditionally smart design for their cadet uniforms, others chose to emulate more modern military uniform designs, even to the point where their uniforms lost all similarity to those traditionally worn by cadet detachments in Australia. It was not through the emulation of contemporary Australian Army uniforms that schools implemented practical uniform components in place of stylish ones. When several independent Roman Catholic schools in New South Wales applied to form cadet units and intended to adopt cadet uniforms in a variety of colours with brimless, forage cap headdress, Australia’s Military Board directed Captain McConnel, the Staff Officer Commanding Senior Cadets for New South Wales, “to invite schools again to reconsider the uniforms they have submitted with a view to their adoption of the Australian Hat and Khaki materials” (McConnel 1). McConnel acknowledged that “particular uniforms are not stipulated”, but claimed “khaki to be most suitable and economical for field training while the Australian Hat gives greater protection from the sun”, which was a factor of “considerable importance” as “work in the open is one of the main objects of cadet training” (McConnel 1). However, despite McConnel’s emphatic pleas to the institutions to reconsider their uniforms, only two of the eleven schools chose to alter their uniforms to suit the Military Board’s recommendations. The remainder either compromised by retaining their forage caps but adopting McConnel’s recommendation of using khaki material for their uniforms, or, as was the case with Marist Brothers’ High School, Darlinghurst, wrote in response to McConnel’s letter stating that they found “no reason for altering the design initially submitted”, and persisted with their application (Frederic 1). This case demonstrates that while dispassionate logic could motivate schools to design practical uniforms resistant to the wear and tear produced by strenuous outdoor cadet training in the Australian climate, these considerations were often outweighed by the subjective ideological motivations behind educators’ desires to adopt attractively smart cadet uniforms that were expensive and ill-suited to physical training. Evidently, educators’ personal desires to make their cadets, and as a result their schools, appear impressively smart and orderly were a powerful motivation behind not only their choice of uniform but also their support for cadet training in its entirety. These motivations could and frequently did outweigh practical considerations, to the point where the appearance of a cadet detachment, and thereby that of the cadet detachment’s school, was considered more important than the training it provided. Uniforms as Identity The division between concepts of cadet training held by the Australian Army and the highly diverse forms of training practiced by individual schools extended beyond differences of opinion over the relative merits of smartness and practicality expressed by cadet uniforms. A cadet uniform not only reflected educators’ intentions regarding the contents of their training, but also reflected the values of the group identity they wished to immerse their boys in, and the overarching group to which this identity owed its loyalty. The best example of uniforms reflecting a cadet detachment’s loyalty can be seen in the widespread adoption of uniforms that emulated Australian Army uniforms almost exactly. Although Australian cadet detachments were not issued with official Service Dress uniforms until 1945, many detachments’ uniforms emulated the Service Dress’s design and material down to the ubiquitous wide-brimmed ‘slouch hat’ or ‘Australian hat’ worn by the Australian Army in both the First and Second World Wars. Brother RJ McCartney, “the nominal C.O.” of the cadet detachment at Christian Brothers’ College Ipswich, specifically described his detachment’s uniform to the Queensland Times in 1944 as “similar to that issued to Army personnel” after declaring that “the training [cadets] receive will be most useful to them should they join one of the fighting forces later” (“95 Boys” 2). The popularity of this design cannot be attributed solely to the arguments made by the Military Board for its practicality, and the symbolic power of these uniforms raised the cadet detachments from insular, extra-curricular organisations to a unified whole, connected to the Commonwealth’s war effort through their uniforms and the martial identities they espoused. Fig. 3: A contemporary drawing of Brisbane Boys’ College cadet badge from 1939 (“Cadet Corps” 42) Not all Australian educational establishments, however, chose to emulate the Australian Army uniform in their cadet detachments’ uniforms, with many adopting uniforms that emphasised school or local identities above national identity. Most schools expressed their local identity through the implementation of school colours in their hat bands or ‘puggaree’ or designed insignia for their cadet uniforms based on school insignia. The cadet detachment at Brisbane Boys College adopted a badge that was nearly identical to the College badge, seen in fig. 3, albeit with a crown in place of the book (“Cadet Corps” 42). This alteration brought the design into alignment with common practice in military insignia, but it could also be viewed as symbolic representation of the difference between the College and the cadet detachment – whereas the College’s primary objective was to educate, the cadet detachment’s objective was to instil a sense of patriotism and duty. The most prominent examples of schools deviating in this manner can be found among Presbyterian schools, many of which chose to emphasise their Scottish ancestry instead of their Australian nationality. One such school was Scotch College in Claremont, Western Australia, where in August 1939, after “several unsuccessful attempts to secure a uniform dress for the cadets”, “the corps fitted out with uniforms which made the boys look like trained soldiers … which consisted of a Cameron kilt, with a kangaroo-skin sporran, a khaki tunic and glengarrie [sic]” (“Cadets” Scotch 16), which gave the detachment the appearance of a highland regiment of the British Army. After being issued with their new uniforms and instructed on their wearing, an event that was satirically recalled later that year by a cadet asking the headmaster what was worn beneath the kilt, the cadets were addressed by the school’s headmaster Mr Anderson, who “mention[ed] the fine example set by our predecessors, which example, he knew, we would endeavour to live up to” (“Cadets” Scotch 16). A similar uniform was worn by The Scots College, Sydney, prior to and during the Second World War. The College’s cadet uniform, shown in fig. 4, was just as rife with Scottish motifs as the uniform of Scotch College, including a kilt which one anonymous cadet described as “eleven yards of pleats, folds, buckles, buttons and straps all mixed up” (“C.S.R., IVa” 91). The Scots College’s uniform incorporated more colonial aspects than their West Australian contemporary’s uniform, however, with the glengarry and khaki tunic replaced by a Blancoed-white pith helmet and dark green standing-collared jacket with hooks and eyes that, according to the anonymous cadet, “were typically scotch”, in that “they would not give in” (“C.S.R., IVa” 91). Despite the free issue of Service Dress by the Australian Army in 1945, the College maintained its distinctly Scottish cadet uniform, albeit with the pith helmet replaced by a glengarry cap. So strong was the College’s prioritisation of its colonial ancestral identity above any contemporary Australian national identity that the Sun newspaper described them as “Black Watch juniors” when publishing a photograph of them parading “in support of the War Loan Campaign” in October 1941, seen in fig. 4 (“Black Watch Juniors” 3). Although these schools formed the minority in espousing divergent local identities above a centralised national identity, is these exceptions to the broad consensus which reflect the diverse nature of not only cadet training but secondary education within Australia in the first half of the twentieth century. Furthermore, this diversity was only revealed due to the refusal of the Australian Army to issue free uniforms to cadet detachments, with the resulting absence of a centralised identity leading to a vacuum in which schools decided upon an identity with which to imbue their pupils through the medium of cadet uniforms. Fig. 4: The Scots College cadets parading through Sydney, as presented by the Sun (“Black Watch Juniors” 3). Conclusion The Australian Army’s refusal to issue a free, standardised cadet uniform to secondary school cadet detachments prevented many educational establishments from establishing their own cadet detachment. However, this policy allowed those schools that did establish a detachment to clothe their members in a manner that they believed would align with the school’s unique conceptions of both what cadet training should consist of and how a cadet detachment should be presented to the world. As a result of this freedom, Australian secondary school cadet uniforms were influenced by a wide range of practical and ideological factors, with a diverse range of uniform designs reflecting an equally diverse range of thinking around cadet training. Some schools preferred a cadet uniform to be tough and suited to strenuous outdoor use under harsh climatic conditions, with Brisbane Boys’ College modelling their uniform after the recently-formed Darwin Mobile Force and incorporating shorts and a wide-brimmed Australian hat of the type recommended by the Australian Army for its value in shielding its wearer from the sun. Other cadet uniforms, such as those adopted by many Roman Catholic schools in Sydney, emphasised sartorial orderliness and visual splendour, incorporating unusual colours and forage caps to showcase their cadets and their school while emphasising their institutions’ individuality, against the Australian Army’s recommendations for durability and practicality. Similarly, a school’s cadet uniform could reflect its ideological objectives, revealing the identity it aimed to immerse its pupils in. The wide range of schools’ cadet uniform headdress alone, from ‘slouch hats’ to glengarry and forage caps to pith helmets, reveals the many split loyalties and ideals held by Australian schools during the Second World War between imperial, national, local, and religious identities and ethos. However, despite Australian Schools’ diverse and meticulously curated choices in cadet uniforms, cadets’ contemporary descriptions of their uniforms reveal that the intentions behind the uniforms’ designs were often entirely lost on those who wore them. Many cadets overlooked the lofty educational and ideological intentions behind their educators’ choices and instead only took note of their ridiculous, impractical, and uncomfortable aspects. This difference in perception, with educators praising and pupils decrying their cadet uniforms, reveals the performative nature of the entire uniform design process, with schools designing their cadet detachments’ uniforms not for those wearing them but for any third party who might view them. As such, schools’ overtures regarding the practicality, smartness and identity of their uniforms were not the result of the schools’ established practices, but the values with which the schools wished to be associated, with cadet uniforms acting as the medium through which these values would be communicated to the wider world. Images “Black Watch Juniors in City Parade.” The Sun 10 Oct. 1941: 3. “Officers and N.C.Os. of the Cadet Corps, 1939.” The Cygnet: Hale School Magazine 19.3 (June 1939): 55. “Uniforms for ‘B’ Company. Only Two Sizes 2 Large OR 2 Small.” The Cygnet: Hale School Magazine 14.4 (June 1944): 74. References “A Song of Shore” The Torch-Bearer: The Magazine of the Sydney Church of England Grammar School 43.2 (1 Sep. 1939): 130-131. “Cadets.” The Cygnet: Hale School Magazine 13.3 (June 1943): 19-20. “Cadets.” The Scotch College Reporter 32 (Dec. 1939): 16-17. “Cadet Corps.” The Portal: The Magazine of the Brisbane Boys’ College Dec. 1939: 41-43. “Chank”; “A Day in the Ranks.” The Pegasus: The Journal of The Geelong College 37.1 (June 1946): 30-31. “C.S.R., IVa”; “A Bonny Wee Scotsman.” The Scotsman: A Record of The Scots College, Bellevue Hill, Sydney 32.3 (May 1946): 91. “G.T. Corps Jottings.” Terrace: Quarterly Review, Published by Christian Brothers’ College Gregory Terrace, Brisbane, Queensland 3.2 (24 June 1940): 5. “High School Cadet Corps.” The Newcastle Sun 4 June 1940: 7. “Lance-Corporal”; “Scramble Day.” The Cygnet: Hale School Magazine 13 (5 June 1941): 96-97. “95 Boys Receive Training in School Cadet Corps.” The Queensland Times 21 Aug. 1944: 2. Memoranda Brother Frederic to Captain McConnel. “Cadets – Educational establishments – Approval to form senior cadet detachments – Roman Catholic schools.” 7 April 1941. Australian War Memorial, Ref. AWM61 426/2/176. Captain McConnel to Director CBC Waverley, CBC Lewisham, CBC Darlinghurst, MBC Darlinghurst, MBC Randwick, MBC Kogarah, MBC Parramatta, MBC Church Hill, DLSC Ashfield, DLSC Marrickville, HCC Ryde, SJC Hunter's Hill. “Cadets – Educational establishments – Approval to form senior cadet detachments – Roman Catholic schools.” 13 March 1941. Australian War Memorial, Ref. AWM61 426/2/176.

As Jim Crow segregation came to define black Americans’ place in the nation by the end of the nineteenth century, American memory also became largely segregated. African Americans continued to hold Attucks in high regard, but his name was invoked far less frequently in mainstream popular culture and historical scholarship. As white America all but abandoned its concern for the basic welfare and rights of black citizens, a black hero like Crispus Attucks had little chance to enter the heroic pantheon of the nation. School textbooks, mainstream popular culture, and white Americans in general virtually erased Attucks from the story of the American Revolution. African Americans kept his memory alive in history books, public commemorations, and memorial acts like the naming of children and community organizations.

The Oxford Handbook of Clinical Specialties covers each of the 14 core medical specialties encountered through medical school and Foundation Programme rotations. Packed full of high-quality illustrations, boxes, tables, and classifications, it is ideal for use at the direct point of care, whether on the ward or in the community, and for study and revision. Each chapter is easy to read and filled with digestible information, with features including ribbons to mark your most-used pages and mnemonics to help you memorize and retain key facts, while quotes from patients help the reader understand each problem better, enhancing the doctor/patient relationship. With reassuring and friendly advice throughout, this is the ultimate guide for every medical student and junior doctor for each clinical placement, and as a revision tool. This new edition has been reordered to follow a logical progression through the specialties, starting with an examination of the subjects of obstetrics, gynaecology, and paediatrics before moving on to ophthalmology, ear, nose, and throat (ENT), and dermatology. Orthopaedics and trauma are explored, leading through to emergency medicine, pre-hospital emergency medicine, and anaesthesia. Psychiatry and general practice are discussed before moving on to eponymous syndromes, and the book is rounded off by a new final chapter on doctors’ health and performance. Key references are flagged throughout, and included in a separate online resource.

John D’Emilio is one of the leading historians of his generation and a pioneering figure in the field of LGBTQ history. At times his life has been seemingly at odds with his upbringing. How does a boy from an Italian immigrant family in which everyone unfailingly went to confession and Sunday Mass become a lapsed Catholic? How does a family who worshipped Senator Joseph McCarthy and supported Richard Nixon produce an antiwar activist and pacifist? How does a family in which the word divorce was never spoken raise a son who comes to explore the hidden gay sexual underworld of New York City? Memories of a Gay Catholic Boyhood is D’Emilio’s coming-of-age story in which he takes readers from his working-class Bronx neighborhood to an elite Jesuit high school in Manhattan to Columbia University and the political and social upheavals of the late 1960s. He shares his personal experiences of growing up in a conservative, tight-knit, multigenerational family, how he went from considering entering the priesthood to losing his faith and coming to terms with his same-sex desires. Throughout, D’Emilio outlines his complicated relationship with his family while showing how his passion for activism influenced his decision to use research, writing, and teaching to build a strong LGBTQ movement. This is not just John D’Emilio’s personal story; it opens a window into how the conformist baby boom decade of the 1950s transformed into the tumultuous years of radical social movements and widespread protest during the 1960s. It is the story of what happens when different cultures and values collide and the tensions and possibilities for personal discovery and growth that emerge. Intimate and honest, D’Emilio’s story will resonate with anyone who has had to chart their own path in a world they did not expect to find.

Approaches towards the formal learning of piano playing with respect to musicianship is one that demands the understanding of musical concepts and their applications. Consequently, it requires the boldness to immerse oneself in performance situations while trusting one’s instincts. One needs only to cultivate an amazing ear and a good understanding of music theory to break down progressions “quickly”. Like an alchemist, one would have to pick their creative impulses from their musical toolbox, simultaneously compelling their fingers to coordinate with the brain and the music present to generate “pleasant sounds”. My exploration leading to what will be considered Keyboard Musicianship did not begin in a formal setting. Rather it was the consolidation of my involvement in playing the organ at home, Sunday school, boarding school at Presec-Legon, and playing at weekly gospel band performances off-campus and other social settings that crystalized approaches that can be formally structured. In fact, I did not then consider this lifestyle of musical interpretation worthy of academic inclusivity until I graduated from the national academy of music and was taken on the staff as an instructor in September, 1986. Apparently, what I did that seemed effortless was a special area that was integral to holistic music development. The late Dr. Robert Manford, the then director of the Academy, assigned me to teach Rudiments and Theory of Music to first year students, Keyboard Musicianship to final year students, and to continue giving Piano Accompaniment to students – just as I have been voluntarily doing to help students. The challenge was simply this; there was no official textbook or guide to use in teaching keyboard musicianship then and I was to help guide especially non-piano majors for practical exams in musicianship. What an enterprise! The good news though was that exemplifying functionalism in keyboard, organ, piano, etc. has been my survival activity off campus particularly in church and social settings.Having reflected thoroughly and prayerfully, it dawned on me that piano literacy repertoires were crafted differently than my assignments in Musicianship. Piano literacy repertoires of western music were abundant on campus but applied musicianship demanded a different approach. Playing a sonata, sonatina, mazurka, and waltzes at different proficiency levels was different from punching chords in R&B, Ballard style, Reggae, Highlife or even Hymn playing. However, there are approaches that can link them and also interpretations that can categorize them in other applicable dimensions. A “Retrospective Introspection” demanded that I confront myself constructively with two questions: 1. WHAT MUSICAL ACTIVITIES have I already enjoyed myself in that WARRANT or deserve this challenging assignment? 2. WHAT MUSICAL NOURISHMENT do l believe enriched my artistry that was so observable and Measurable? The answers were shocking! They were: 1. My weekend sojourn from Winneba to Accra to play for churches, brass bands, gospel bands and teaching of Choirs – which often left me penniless. 2. Volunteering to render piano accompaniment to any Voice Major student on campus since my very first year. 3. Applying a principle, I learnt from my father – TRANSFER OF LEARNING – I exported the functionalism of my off-campus musical activities to compliment my formal/academic work. 4. The improvisational influences of Rev. Stevenson Alfred Williams (gospel jazz pianist), Bessa Simmons (band director & keyboardist) and at Ghana Broadcasting Corporation, Mr. Ray Ellis “Afro Piano Jazz Fusion Highlife” The trust and support from lecturers and students in the academy injected an overwhelming and high sense of responsibility in me which nevertheless, guided me to observe structures of other established course outlines and apply myself with respect to approaches that were deemed relevant. Thus, it is in this light that I selected specific concepts worth exploring to validate the functionalism of what my assignment required. Initially, hymn structures, chords I, IV, V and short highlife chordal progressions inverted here and there were considered. Basic reading of notes and intense audiation were injected even as I developed technical exercises to help with the dexterity of stiff fingers. I conclude this preface by stating that, this “Instructional guide/manual” is actually a developmental workbook. I have deliberately juxtaposed simple original piano pieces with musicianship approaches. The blend is to equip learners to develop music literacy and performance proficiencies. The process is expected to compel the learner to immerse/initiate themselves into basic keyboard musicianship. While it is a basic book, I expect it to be a solid foundation for those who commit to it. Many of my former and present students have been requesting for a sort of guide to aid their teaching or refresh their memories. Though not exhaustive, the selections presented here are a response to a long-awaited workbook. I have used most of them not only in Winneba, but also at the Callanwolde Fine Arts Center (Atlanta) and the Piano Lab (Accra). I found myself teaching the same course in the 2009 – 2013 academic year in the Music Department of the University of Education, Winneba when Prof C.W.K Merekeu was Head of Department. My observation is that we still have a lot of work to do in bridging academia and industry. This implies that musicianship must be considered as the bloodline of musicality not only in theory but in practice. I have added simplified versions of my old course outlines as a guide for anyone interested in learning. Finally, I contend that Keyboard Musicianship is a craft and will require of the learner a consistent discipline and respect for: 1. The art of listening 2. Skill acquisition/proficient dexterity 3. Ability to interpret via extemporization and delivery/showmanship. For learners who desire to challenge themselves in intermediate and advanced piano, I recommend my book, “African Pianism. (A contribution to Africology)”

It is a privilege to be able to share with you a few moments of reflection on William Dale Phillips, a good friend of mine and of many in this audience (Presented at a plenary session of the XVth International Conference on Magnetic Resonance in Biological Systems, August 14-19, 1994, Veldhoven, the Netherlands). Bill Phillips was a pioneer in the use of magnetic resonance for determination of protein structure. Although a major portion of his scientific career was spent in industry, primarily at EI du Pont de Nemours and Co. in Wilmington, Delaware. Bill also spent time in service to academics and the federal government. He most recently served as Associate Director for Industrial Technology in the Bush Administration’s Office of Science and Technology Policy. He was 68. The cause of his death was cancer of the prostate. I first met Bill Phillips in 1979 when George Radda, in whose laboratory I was working, suggested that I contact his good friend regarding a position at Washington University. Phillips had recently moved from DuPont, where he had been Assistant Director of Research and Development, to Washington University in St. Louis where he was Charles Allen Thomas Professor and Chairman of the Department of Chemistry. Bill had been given the task of rebuilding the department. I was immediately struck by his vision and sense of commitment. This was a person who got things done. I was hooked. In many ways Bill’s move to St. Louis was a return home to his beloved Midwest. He was born in Kansas, City, Missouri and grew up there graduating from high school at the age of 17 in 1943. During the war he served in the U.S. Navy V-12 program achieving the rank of Lt. (jg). After the war he returned to the Midwest and in 1948 he received a B.A. in chemistry from the University of Kansas. Following his undergraduate education, Bill left the Midwest again, this time for a long sojourn to the east coast. First stop was MIT where he studied physical chemistry (focusing on the vibrational spectroscopy of organic molecules). He received his Ph.D. in 1951. It was at MIT that Bill met Esther Parker, a Wellesley College student, better known to her friends as “Cherry”. Married in 1951, Cherry was a loving partner assisting Bill in his many adventures.

Abstract Between 1917 and 1919, the armed services made sports and athletic training a central component of military life. Millions of enlisted men participated in organized sports at domestic training camps and behind the front lines in France. On playing fields at home and in Europe, “narrow-chested clerks made three-base hits on the same ball teams with college athletes and lean-visaged philosophers learned how to use their fists,” boasted Scientific American. At Camp Devens, one could see Walter R. Agard, a former Amherst College Greek instructor, spar with light-heavyweight champion “Battling” Levinsky (aka Barney Lebrowitz). “Uncle Sam has created not only an army of soldiers,” one writer observed, but “an army of athletes.” Sportswriter Albert Britt suggested that every high school and college construct memorial lists alongside the playing fields-these would bear the names of the soldier athletes who had made the ultimate sacrifice. “Let their memory be an inspiration,” Britt declared, “to bodily fitness and clean, hard sportsmanship for every boy who comes after.”

“I’ll Never go to School with a Nigger!” Dickie, an eighth grader in my social studies class, shouted vehemently as we began to discuss the Brown v. Board of Education case prohibiting segregation in public schools that the Supreme Court had decided a year before, in 1954. Dickie was right; he never did, dropping out of school two years later, before his Virginia public high school began desegregation. I was flabbergasted and appalled by Dickie’s assertion, only gradually coming to realize that my new profession, teaching, was heading on a rocky road to improvement. In September 1955, as a new, navy bride, I began teaching in still segregated Deep Creek High School serving the predominantly low-income white community of the Dismal Swamp in southeastern Virginia. Prepared as I had been by the mushy adjustment curriculum of my Indiana public schools (lots of attention to my deficient social skills, not much to strengthening my intellect), I had zipped through college. I added the teacher training sequence after I became engaged in order to have a saleable skill when I married on graduation day. My five education courses, most of which I thought academically and professionally worthless, required that I memorize the Seven Cardinal Principles, still the reigning dogma, and I did, believing they represented the fuzzy thinking I associated with public education. I lived in a totally white world, never having had a black friend, fellow student, or teacher. Under Virginia law at that time Deep Creek High School was also a totally white high school world, though surrounded by a black community. The drop-out rate was high: 140 students in eighth grade but only 40 high school seniors. When Dickie made his assertion about segregation, I was astounded both by the language and by the sentiment. We did not use such a term in my household, and, innocent that I was, I thought the Supreme Court had decided the year before in Brown v. Board of Education that public schools could not be legally segregated by race.

Abstract That fall, back at MIT, Worden was test-driving Solectria V on Memorial Drive when Catherine Anderson brought a classmate, Anita Rajan, out to watch. Rajan had been born in England to Indian parents. She had gone to school in Algeria and Florida, where she’d been valedictorian of her high school class. At MIT, she was studying electrical engineering. She’d known Catherine Anderson since they had been freshmen, and through her had learned about the solar racing team.

Abstract While willing to employ dramatic scenarios to advance their aims, patriotic and civic activists spent most of their energies inventing traditions that were more than one-shot episodes. Like religious devotion, loyalty was to be inculcated through repeated observance-in some cases daily (as in Pledging Allegiance in schools), in others occasionally (playing the National Anthem at athletic events), in still others annually. The “high” Cold War encouraged efforts to patriotize the American calendar and occasions at which such usages had previously been exceptional. Many patriotic practices which may seem to have grown up with the country are of surprisingly recent vintage. Although Americans, it is argued, have long reverenced the state in what sociologist Robert N. Bellah labeled a “civil religion;’ they entered the Cold War lightly equipped with occasions for so doing. July 4, Memorial Day, and Thanksgiving were old enough to be time-honored, but the patina of age brought with it a degree of secularization. National days became occasions for leisure more than patriotic reflection.

Between 1940 and 1970, Harlan County, Kentucky lost seventy percent of its black population due to industrial decline. Accompanying the estimated five million other African Americans who were migrating out of the Deep South, this generation of coal kids migrated to urban cities in Northern, Midwestern, and Western regions of the U.S. This chapter analyzes the ways in which the adults in Harlan County prepared their youth to adopt to a migratory mindset, one in which children understood leaving home after high school was inevitable. Central to this analysis is their decision-making process that factored in gender, institutions, jobs, war, politics, and higher education when choosing destinations and forming the mechanisms that undergirded this massive out-migration. The chapter also focuses on the forming of the post-migration diaspora, particularly the emergence of this group’s diasporic consciousness. Though they were uprooted from home at a young age, thousands of African Americans still consider these post-industrial Appalachian communities “home.” Using the Eastern Kentucky Social Club reunion and the Memorial Day weekend pilgrimage as examples, this chapter offers an in-depth treatment of black place-making, collective memory, and archive.

Abstract Johannes Müller was born in Koblenz on 14 July 1801, and his life reflects the shifts of nineteenth-century politics as a seismograph records the earth’s motions. Since his untimely death in 1858, students and historians have been turning his life into contrasting stories. Müller’s father was a cobbler who wanted his son to become a saddle maker, but even these simple facts, formulated in different ways, have become the starting points for contradicting tales. In his memorial address for Müller, Emil du Bois-Reymond called Müller’s father “a shoemaker in good circumstances, “ whereas the more liberal Rudolf Virchow described Müller as “the shoemaker’s son. “1 In his history of the Berlin University, Max Lenz represented Müller senior as “an honorable master shoemaker. “2 In the late twentieth century, the medical historian Johannes Steudel called Müller’s father “a reputable master craftsman, the owner of a large leather-working shop, “ whereas the historian of science Nelly Tsouyopoulos depicted Müller as a “son of the working class [Handwerkerklasse]. “3 According to preference, even this basic information from Müller’s students has permitted the creation of a different father, either a well-to-do artisan or a humble cobbler. Putting the students’ statements into their own words, historians have told the stories they wanted to tell. Müller’s social origin is highly significant, since his fear of poverty and respect for his Prussian mentors would give him a conservative outlook inimical to some of his students. But historians have represented it varyingly, and it is not easily defined in modern terms. Müller’s father worked with his hands but earned enough to send his son to the Koblenz Gymnasium, an elite high school designed to prepare students for university study.

This chapter is about how to word recall questions effectively. An example of why this topic matters occurred just days before the opening of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. At that time, a New York Times headline proclaimed that “1 of 5 in New Survey Express Some Doubt About the Holocaust.” The Times article’s lead paragraph described the finding in greater detail (emphasis added): . . . A poll released yesterday [sic] found that 22 percent of adults and 20 percent of high school students who were surveyed said they thought it was possible that Nazi Germany’s extermination of six million Jews never happened. In addition to the 22 percent of adult respondents to the survey by the Roper Organization who said it seemed possible that the Holocaust never happened, 12 percent more said they did not know if it was possible or impossible, according to the survey’s sponsor, the American Jewish Committee. . . . Reactions to this finding were swift. Benjamin Mead, president of the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors, called the findings “a Jewish tragedy.” Elie Wiesel, a Nobel Laureate and concentration camp survivor, conveyed shock and disappointment: “What have we done? We have been working for years and years … I am shocked. I am shocked that 22 percent … oh, my God.” Similar headlines appeared across the country. In the months that followed these reports, many struggled to explain the finding. Some blamed education, as a Denver Post editorial described: . . . It’s hardly surprising that some Americans have swallowed the myth that the Holocaust never happened… . [E] ither these Americans have suffered a tragic lapse of memory, or they have failed to grasp even the rudiments of modern history… . Such widespread ignorance could lull future generations into dropping their guard against the continuing menace of ethnic intolerance, with potentially devastating consequences… . To this end, the public schools must obviously do a better job of teaching 20th century history, even if it means giving shorter shrift to the Civil War or the Revolution. . . .

The alternative methods of evaluation are interest subject because of their presence in the Romanian educational system from the beginning of the educational stages until the last cycle of studies conducted by each person. I consider that the topicality of the theme is in its usefulness and applicability in the educational context regardless of the stage or cycle we refer to, alternative assessment methods being more and more common and used in the observation and evaluation of students. They have the main benefit of knowing the individual and their behavior, skills and abilities, and not just the ability of memorize or learn. The idea of alternative evaluation has become important, precisely because I appreciated the situations in which students was subjected to evaluation using these methods that offered them the possibility of organization, creativity and ingenuity. A reference example could be from a high school discipline, namely Language and Literature, in which the evaluation could consisted also in the elaboration of a work portfolio that included several optional individual activities. In addition, in the academic environment, the idea of portfolio or summative assessment is much more common because the marks obtained in the seminar count to the final grade, and here is the opportunity for the student to recover the score while for the exam has only one chance or more in case of arrears). Practically, assessment can be regarded as a complex process through which the student's level of training is measured, but this is an indispensable process from the perspective of the didactic framework which involves both scientific training in the evaluation and discipline field as well as a an extra effort to reduce, as close to the minimum as possible, the subjectivism in the appraisals it usually makes.