In their own words
Kermit Cook

Kermit Cook graduated from Dartmouth College in 2000 with a major in engineering sciences. After graduation he worked in management consulting for two years at McKinsey & Co. in Boston. Kermit is a 2003 St. Louis corps member, and he taught physics to juniors and seniors at the Gateway Institute of Technology.

October 18, 2003

As I'm grading papers, I can still hear Jason's words from this afternoon's meeting. "I'll do it." I'm not sure yet how we will make it happen, but I do know that we must find a way for him to master physics. At least now he seems to have taken the first step. I began the year as a special education teacher, but I switched roles after just two weeks when one of the school's physics teachers resigned unexpectedly. Given my background in science, the principal asked me to fill the position. I knew that I needed to develop a plan, and I didn't have much time. I sought out the advice of Mrs. Rice, a master physics teacher who has become my mentor, and under her guidance I hit the ground running. My students were designing their first labs by day two. I'm confident that with my planning and hard work, and with my students' enthusiasm and drive, we will achieve our class goal for the year: mastery of Newtonian physics. Most of my students are on track, but not all.

One student I am particularly concerned about is Jason Blandino. Jason has been quiet from the first day I met him, when my welcome handshake seemed to catch him off guard. He struggles with the mathematical foundation necessary for success in physics, and he never speaks up or asks for help. Most students are now comfortable presenting their work in front of the class, but Jason remains unsure of himself. When I checked his Individualized Education Plan, it revealed a "Specific Learning Disability," and there were no additional details. To compound problems, Jason misses school regularly, and he rarely completes his assignments. At this point, while the overall class average is close to 80 percent, Jason only has a 32 percent, by far the lowest grade of all of my students. Today's meeting in the special education office was planned to discuss Jason's classes. Jason sat quietly and stared down at the table while the assistant principal looked over his progress report grades. She said, "At this point, he is failing all but one class. Jason, you have to earn these credits if you're going to graduate. Do we need to change your schedule?"
"I don't know," Jason whispered back, still staring at the table. My assistant principal looked at me and posed the question directly. "Can Jason handle physics, or should we pull him out of your class? I can switch him into a self-contained class where he would at least be able to earn a credit." I looked at Jason, sitting with his head tilted down. I decided that we had to find a way. We could not lower our expectation just to allow Jason to get through school. "He can definitely do it," I said. Jason's eyes rose and met mine. "We need to do a lot of work and, Jason, you have to make a commitment, but we can do it." Jason's head rose a little, he nodded, and he said in a voice that sounded more determined than I had heard before, "Yeah, I'll do it."

March 30, 2004

Jason slid a sheet of notebook paper towards me and pointed to a force diagram just below the center of the page. "How does this look, Mr. Cook?" I walked from the board where I was writing the notes for that day's class in order to look at his paper. "Good. You have the force from the man pushing the box in the correct direction, and you remembered gravity and the normal force. But there is one more force that I would expect if the box is sliding along the ground."

"Oh, yeah. Friction." Jason pulled the paper toward him and slowly added a line pointing to the right from the center of the diagram. While his analysis is still not perfect, the quality of Jason's work has definitely improved. Soon after that October meeting, I arranged with his cousin to drive him to school early in the mornings. At least three mornings a week, Jason arrives at 6:45 a.m. so we can work before class. I had noticed the sketches in his notebook, so we leverage his artistic ability by focusing on graphing and diagramming physical events. At the beginning, he would bring in blank homework assignments, and we would start from the first step. But, over time, his confidence grew, and soon he was completing the work on his own and coming in ready for me to check it. He has even started to ask a few questions when groups present their work in class.

Despite this progress, there were certainly challenges along the way. In February, his apartment building was condemned, so he moved in with his grandparents while his parents searched for a new home. Still, Jason arrived early with his notebook in hand. He is not yet a "master physicist," but he is moving in the right direction. In today's lab, the class used Newton's third law to design human catapults. Although he didn't come up with his group's design, Jason did draw a clear force diagram showing how it works. He is definitely on his way.

September 7, 2004

Here we are, already at the beginning of a new school year. Jason smiled and shook my hand as he walked into the classroom today. He barely looked like the same student that I had first met a year earlier. "Good morning, Mr. Cook. I'm back, but just for the first semester."
"Yes, I know, Jason. Welcome back." Jason had not passed the first semester last year, but his hard work had paid off by June. I remember turning to his paper as I graded our final exam, the Force Concept Inventory. Throughout the second semester, Jason had been passing, but barely. He needed a strong score on this exam to pass for the semester. Despite my confidence in Jason, I felt a tinge of nervousness. The FCI is a tough test used by high schools and colleges to assess understanding of Newtonian mechanics. A score of just 18 out of 30 represents mastery, and the average score is closer to 14. I checked off Jason's correct answers and counted with anticipation — 11, 12, 13, 14. He got a 14 out of 30. Not yet a physics master, but better than many students, and strong enough for him to pass for the semester with a 65 percent. I have had dozens of students earn A's and achieve mastery on the FCI, but Jason's 65 percent still makes me smile. Now, at the start of a new year, Jason is ready to tackle the first semester of physics again. On his way out of class today, he stopped to hand me his student survey" and said, "Kinematics is easy, Mr. Cook. I'll get it no problem this year."
"Sounds good, Jason. I'll be here early again if you want help." That night, as I read through the student surveys, my eyes fell on Jason's answer to question 16, "Who is your favorite teacher, and why?"
"Mr. Cook is my favorite teacher. He believed in me, and now I know Physics."

Note: Some names have been changed in order to protect the privacy of individuals.

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