The Archaeology of the Mediterranean World

Teaching Tuesday: Re-imagining the M.A. Thesis

Our department has begun a discussion about our M.A. degree in history. This has led me to think a bit about the potential of a non-thesis M.A. and the nature of the M.A. thesis itself. It seems to me that the M.A. thesis today is neither fish nor foul. Years ago, the M.A. was enough to teach at some universities and represented the mastery of some content and some of the basic research skills of the Ph.D. (Although it is interesting to note that even in the late 19th century, folks regarded the M.A. as a bit worthless. As Philip Katz's recent survey of the M.A. degree in history has recounted). Many Ph.D. programs award the M.A. now, in passing, or designated as a kind of honorable discharge for students who do not make the grade for Ph.D. level work. Other places see the M.A. as a specialized, terminal degree for teachers or even public historians. In general, these two options for the M.A. do not require the completion of the traditional Master's Thesis.

Places like the University of North Dakota, however, who specialize in the M.A. in history and regard is as a stepping stone toward admission into a Ph.D. program, continue the practice of encouraging students to write an M.A. thesis. In general these theses are 70-100 pages in length, make an original contribution to the discipline, and demonstrate a basic mastery of historical methods, academic writing, and vaguely defined "historical thinking". It's a pretty standard approach to the thesis.

The only thing is that these theses are basically exercises in method. At half to a third of the length of a proper dissertation, they often involve far less original research -- our M.A. program is designed to be completed in 2 years. Consequently, a Ph.D. dissertation can metastasize into a book with just the right amount of low level intellectual radiation, the M.A. thesis can rarely produce more than a decent article. To extract a 8,000-10,000 word article, it is common to discard 70%-80% of the material from the M.A. thesis. This seems to me to be a frustratingly inefficient use of time, paper, and intellectual energy. On the other hand, graduate education in history has never been predicated on efficiency. Students are more artisans than assembly line workers.

The real question, however, is not whether that 80% of the thesis that is discarded when a thesis is converted to a scholarly article is a useful component of the process, but whether it is a useful component of the thesis. Most of this material in the M.A. is dedicated to the careful documentation of process. This includes extensive (and frequently over-wrought) historiographic introductions, digressions on method and methodology, and extraneous narrative or interpretive chapters designed primarily to pad out length and show additional competence in the historical idiom. In other words, most of the material in the M.A. thesis is dedicated to documenting the research and composition process in a transparent way. For some students, this material validates their ability to work like a historian, even if the final results of the thesis do not necessarily make a substantive contribution. In my experience, however, and for most students, these pages represent additional editing work, citation work, and busy work which often (but not always) detracts from the overall quality of the main argument in the text by channeling time and energy to less significant exercises. If the goal of the M.A. is to demonstrate basic competence as a historian, the canonical length and standards of a publishable article should satisfy these requirements. Moreover, it would ensure that the student would have the time and energy (especially in a two year degree) to focus attention on the arguments that matter rather than the assorted flotsam that M.A. thesis often attract. Finally, history is a massive competitive field. Finding a job and establishing one's academic credentials are becoming more and more difficult with each passing year. An more professionally oriented M.A. thesis could contribute to a student's developing profession credentials (especially when in a thesis-based M.A. program that is complemented by a non-Thesis M.A. option. The latter could be geared toward professionals in public history, teachers, and others who regard Master's degree as something other than a stepping stone to advanced graduate work in history). So, a re-imagined M.A. would be 8,000-12,000 words of publishable quality work, focused on an original thesis, and bearing the efficiency of prose that marks the best kind of published articles.

Some of the first, M.A.'s produced by Department of History at the University of North Dakota appeared were supervised by Orin G. Libby and appeared in the early volumes of the North Dakota Historical Quarterly. So a re-imagined M.A. thesis could even carry the imprimatur of the father of historical research here at the University of North Dakota.

Richard Patterson and "Archaeological Dig"

I was privileged to hang out with Richard Patterson last week when he visited the University of North Dakota. Rich is a UND alumnus, but prior to his time here in Grand Forks, he was one of the leading lights in the New York City graffiti underworld where he went by Rich2, Provide133, and others. It was fantastic to watch him work and talk at length about the process of creating graffiti in New York in the late 1970s and 1980s.

One of the most striking aspects of our conversations was the process of graffiti production in New York. Far from being a spontaneous work of creativity (or a crime of opportunistic vandalism), graffiti art was carefully planned and choreographed. The process of planning the art was as much, if not more important, than its actual execution. Major works were always done in teams of painters who regularly worked together and sought to exert influence over particular train lines or sections of town.

A key element in painting was the acquisition of paint. The various types of high quality paints that were preferred by graffiti painters were often hard to find in their own neighborhoods. Consequently, they had to go to New Jersey or more affluent areas to get these paints. This could involve trips to multiple locations in search of particular brands and colors needed to make their work distinct. The distinct colors in the art work, then, represented the time, energy, and inventiveness of a particular group of painters.

Another fascinating element of graffiti art that Rich and I discussed was its gradual emergence in mainstream consciousness. He talked about preparing canvasses for the likes of Andy Warhol and Keith Haring and, in retrospect, how they felt exploited by these figures in the art world. Today, of course, graffiti artists have become increasingly clever at promoting and selling their own art, but in the 1970s and 1980s, Rich talked about how their art represented a call for recognition and access to opportunities. Rich and many of the early artists who contributed so much to establishing the artistic cannon for graffiti art were never able to reap any long term benefits of their work.

Despite these disappointments, Rich found other ways to make opportunities for himself. After playing professional basketball in Europe and Asia, he returned to school here at the University of North Dakota where he earned both a B.A. and an M.Ed. He currently teaches in North Carolina and paints only occasionally spending most of his time talking to kids about how to get their lives on track through hard work and discipline.

I was lucky enough to catch him at a moment of weakness and he produce this canvas for my new office. Called "Archaeological Dig", it's done in hand style and captures (only a tiny bit) of the vitality and dynamism that Rich Patterson brings to his art.

For more examples of Rich's amazing work, check out Ryan Stander's Axis of Access. For more on his contributions in particular, check out these two interviews, here and here.

The Flu, The University, and the Department of History

We've recently been barraged by university communications regarding prospects of a serious outbreak of the H1N1 Swine Flu.  This is not the first time that the University of North Dakota has had to deal with an outbreak of the flu.  In 1918, UND endured a particularly tragic outbreak of flu as the campus transformed itself into a base for the Student Army Training Corps (SATC).  Similar to our current situation, the flu crisis was managed by a new university president, Thomas Kane, who had been inaugurated just a year earlier.  Unlike our current leader, Robert Kelley, however, Kane had had a controversial first few months in office including the botched handling of a student drinking case, a flip-flopping attitude toward the tense political situation in the state, and an inflammatory inaugural address that rankled the sensitivities of many longtime university faculty members including the irascible Orin G. Libby.

Louis Geiger's The University of the Northern Plains provides the best summary of the flu's decent on campus in October of 1918.  The university had just re-organized itself to take on the training of over  400 army cadets who greatly outnumbered the small body of regular students on campus.  The campus moved to a quarter system, Davis Hall, Budge Hall, the dinning hall of the Commons, and the Phi Delta Theta Fraternity house were turned over to military use as barracks and headquarters for the cadets and money was allocated for the construction of an Armory. 

Despite what would have appeared to be significant preparations for the arrival of these new students, the university was unprepared for the influenza epidemic when it struck campus in October.  By October 9th, the university had suspended classes and placed the entire campus under a quarantine.  Training and classes for the SATC abruptly stopped as growing numbers of the corp became ill and parts of Budge Hall and the Phi Delta Theta house were converted to make-shift hospitals to serve the increasing number of sick students.  The hospitals, however, lacked proper equipment, toiletries, and bedding making them poorly suited to care for the sick.  Moreover, the Grand Forks community, an important support network for the university, suffered at least as grievously as the university campus.  By mid-October Grand Forks reported over 3000 cases of the flu and on campus 320 of the 470 cadets were ill.  Tragically, 29 of these students would die and Geiger reports that no other university campus had a worse record (p. 298).  In contrast, the Agricultural College in Fargo had far fewer cases and deaths despite having a larger number of SATC students; the quick acting Dean of the Medical School, Harley E. French, took decisive measures to prevent the spread of the flu among campus women (who were organized and housed separately from the SATC).  One died, but far fewer were ill.

The upshot of the flu tragedy on the University of North Dakota's campus was significant. Orin G. Libby, the noted historian, had served as the chair of the University's War Committee and had worked alongside President Kane to bring to make the arrangements necessary to accommodate the SATC on campus.  Libby, whose feathers had been ruffled already by Kane's impolitic speech at his inauguration, placed the blame for the tragic student deaths squarely on Kane's shoulders.   In 1920, Libby joined a group of faculty members including John M. Gillette, perhaps the most well-regarded and influential member of the university faculty during the first half of the 20th century, to call for Kane's removal.  Kane for his part rallied support from Vernon Squires (who would later write the first history of the university) and, perhaps significantly, Dean French of the Medical School.  The precise details of this conflict have been lost, but it attracted sufficient attention from various university stakeholders to compromise in a serious way both Kane's and Libby's ability to serve as campus leaders.  Libby and the Department of History, in particular, suffered at the hands of Kane as they clashed repeatedly throughout the early years of the 1920s (for more the Kane-Libby clashes see my three-part series: Politics and the Presidency at UND: Reflections on the Past at the Dawn of a New Era, part 1, part 2, part 3)

Stay healthy, UND!

Teaching and Lecture Thursday

Two quick posts today rolled into one.

First, a Teaching Thursday must read: Anne Kelsch's thoughtful post on the Cost of a Cheap Education.  Her post is a critical response to a recent article in Washington Monthly which speculated on the disruptions to American systems of college and university education if it became possible to offer "College for $99 a Month".  Anne's post is a call to reconsider the purpose of higher education in the U.S. Join the conversation by posting a comment! Or, if you have a bigger idea, drop me a line about authoring a post on Teaching Thursday.

Second, if you haven't succumbed to media saturation, then you probably know that Michael Fronda of McGill University will be speaking today at 4 pm, in the East Asia Room of the Chester Fritz Library.  His talk is entitled "Anarchy, Rivalry, and the Beginnings of the Roman Empire".  A small reception will follow the talk.  My sense is that there will be a good crowd on hand, so, it wouldn't hurt to come early, just in case.  The talk is sponsored by the Department of History, The Department of Political Science and Public Administration, and the title sponsor is the Cyprus Research Fund.  The talk fits into the goals of the Cyprus Research Fund by working to introduce students and faculty to cutting edge research in the study of the Mediterranean World.  Complementing, Prof. Fronda's talk will be a preview exhibition of photographs taken the Pyla-Koustopetria Archaeological Project''s Artist-in-Residence, Ryan Stander entitled Topos/Chora.  For information on how to contribute to the fund and support these and other events both in Cyprus and in North Dakota, check out our support page.

See you at the talk!

Friday Varia and Quick Hits

A gaggle of links on a balmy Friday afternoon.  (As my wife would say, this is cricket weather).

• Introducing the work of Daniel Sauerwein, UND M.A. and Ph.D. student and blogger extraordinary:
  • Civil War History 
  • Frontier Battles (a colonial history blog) 
  • Military History Blog
• For any of my coastal friends out there, if you want to get a feeling for where I live, read this guys blog, which has not become syndicated (so to speak) at The Awl.
• For another view of my colleagues, go over to the Institute for Philosophy and Public Life Why? Radio Show page and listen to the last three episodes:
  • Paul Sum: My faculty mentor during my first year at UND.
  • Mark Jendrysik: My "go to" guy for all things political theory related.
  • Crystal Alberts: The center of the Working Group in Digital and New Media.
• Another colleague rapidly achieving rock-star status is our Civil War historian, Eric Burin, who will appear in PBS's History Detectives on Monday night at 8 pm (CST).  Here's more.
• For all my UND Faculty readers out there (and everyone else as well) go check out Teaching Thursday as you put the finishing touches on your Fall 2009 courses.
• If you don't already, you should follow me on Twitter.

Some exciting announcements next week (well, maybe not this exciting, but still).

Making the Professional Office

There has been quite the stir around here this past few weeks as the Department of History's new office space in O'Kelly Hall is being prepared, and the last of us in Merrifield Hall are anxiously awaiting access to our new digs.  Much of the buzz about our new space has centered on the idea that it must look "professional".  Whenever there is any conversation surrounding professionalism in the discipline of history, I'm interested -- as both my History 240: The Historians Craft and my graduate historiography class have a section on the development of the discipline of history as a profession. 

Like many academic professions, history has always had an awkward relationship with the professionalization process.  We have the requisite institutional components: the American Historical Association, the American Historical Review, et c. which all have esteemed and glorious pedigrees.  (For example, the AHA was actually founded by an act of congress).  On the other hand, unlike archaeology (for example) or other professional disciplines (like Law), history does not have frame the values and standards of the profession precisely in terms of ethics.  There are, of course, ethical statement surrounding matters such as plagiarism and practices of employment, but these are rather universal rules that would be more or less at home in any academic profession.  What I am trying to say is that history has few professional standards that are distinctive or unique to history as discipline.  There is no professional obligation to belong to the AHA, there is no professional certification processes, there is no accrediting body for department (although departments do evaluate one another periodically), and there are no formal standards for what constitutes a B.A. or M.A. or even Ph.D. in history (outside of what the universities provide and what is expected for accreditation of the university and graduate program in a very general way).  Moreover, as P. Novick has made abundantly clear, debates over issues of methodology and capital "T" truth have produced more conflict than consensus.

So, from the perspective of history as a discipline, there is some irony that we are being moved into "more professional" offices.  The appearance of professionalism and professional substances should not in this case be confused with the real thing in the eyes of the public.  Even if all of our offices are a lovely blue color and the floors clad in state-of-the-art carpet squares, we will still represent a cross section of the motley "professional" agglomeration that is the discipline of history.

Another concern, of course, is that the days of the traditional, homogenized, professional identities are on the wane more generally.  The University has recently unveiled a series of new "branding" words which include "innovative", "creative" and "entrepreneurial".  In today's economic and professional climate, these words evoke the opposite of blue walls and carpet tiles.  In fact, the corporate interpretation of "professionalism" has fallen into deep repute as "perp walks" and congressional hearings increasingly involve individuals decked out in uniforms associated with the professional world.  The teetering global economy challenges the traditional white-collar standards of professionalism as the traditional professional styles come to be associated with unethical or even illegal behavior, mismanagement, and violations of the public trust.

Ironically (perhaps), the saviors of our current crisis and the bastions for innovation, creativity, and the entrepreneurial spirit are the free-wheeling tech start ups with their chaotic, open offices, hipster presentation, and decentralized, bi-coastal, workspaces.  Carpet squares give way to graffiti art and mismatched furniture.  The future of American professionalism is not in institutional colors and homogeneity (specifically designed to promote the public trust and to hide the obscure and sneaky white-color criminals), but the bright, chaotic, informal spaces of tech start ups whose office space reveals the flexibility, edginess, and dynamism required to stay ahead of the current curve.  (See for example, Twitter Headquarters, Apple, Craiglist, Friendfeed (recently acquired for an undisclosed amount by Facebook), et c.)

As universities remain one of this country's greatest assets, and there is optimism that universities will also contribute significantly to finding solutions for future economic, social, and technological problems.  The intellectual life, opportunities to experiment, and innovation cultivated in American universities represent an important and powerful impetus for global creativity.  So, it is reasonable to wonder whether the iconic models of professionalism represent the way forward?  This question is all the more salient for a profession such as history which has always cultivated a dynamic professional foundation

To put this question another way, can we afford to paint over creativity?

Friday Varia and Quick Hits

Just a gaggle of quick hits for your enjoyment:

• News came this week that John Mering has passed away.  Mering taught in the Department of History from 1968-1970.  He received his Ph.D. at the University of Missouri which had strong ties to UND.  A UND History alumnus served as Missouri's president from 1955-1963 and had already produced Louis Geiger, one of the most important faculty members in the Department of History and at the University in the postwar period.  Mering taught 19th century U.S. history at UND before moving on to the University of Arizona in 1969.  He was replaced by Thomas Howard, an IU graduate who would serve on UND's faculty for many years.
• Last month the Princeton Review released its various lists.  The University of North Dakota appeared on two of the better known; it ranked 18th on the list of the top party schools and 5th on the list of schools where students study the least.  While on the surface, these are not particularly promising areas to receive high marks.  But when we look at our peer institutions on this list, it is really quite striking.  First, the top 20 party schools list is made up 3 types of institutions: major state universities (Penn State (1), Florida (2), Georgia (4), West Virginia (6), Texas (7), Wisconsin (8)).  In any other context many of these schools would be good schools to find as one's peers.  These schools have powerful Division 1 sports traditions, stand as the "flagship universities in their respective states, have good academics and graduate programs, have Carnegie Basic Classificiation of Research University/Very High Research (UND, West Virginia (6), Ohio University (5)and UCSB (10) have basic classifications of Research University/High Research)  , and have large and vibrant student bodies.  In fact, the top 10 party schools are all at least 50% larger than UND.  The second group of schools are the three liberal arts colleges: Union College (NY), DePauw University (IN), Sewanee: The University of the South (TN).  These are all competitive and well-established liberal arts colleges with student bodies under 2,500.  Again, if this were any other list, it would be an honor to rank among these school.  Some of the same observations can be applied to the list of schools where students study the least.  To my mind, the real issue is not whether our students study enough (many clearly study plenty) or whether they party enough, but how did it happen that UND ranked in these categories?  Princeton review bases their rankings on a survey conducted through their website by students (as well as information from the university administration).  So, it's not just that someone thinks UND is a party school, but someone cared enough to participate in a survey that produced these rankings.  The student willingness to participate in a survey must account for something and it seems like this energy could be parsed and analyzes in a positive way.  After all, it's not every day that UND ranks among the school on this list in anything.
• My parents are in town and we visited Chuck Kimmerle's fantastic exhibit at the North Dakota Museum of Art called "An Unapologetic Landscape."  It was fantastic!  Kimmerle, who is also the University photographer, was able to capture both the clear, sharp, and vivid qualities of North Dakota light as well as the subtle and austere character of the North Dakota countryside.  It's a must see for anyone interested in landscapes.
• The fourth test in the Ashes started this morning and before I got out of bed, England was 42/3.  By the time I was done this post, England was 72/6 at lunch.  A good start for Australia.

Treasures from Moving Merrifield

A second post today, but be sure to read today's main post.  I was chatting with our Department Chair, Kim Porter, in her former office and couldn't help but notice this on the back of a bookshelf:

She had asked Gordon Iseminger about it and he suggested that it might have been done by Charles Carter.  His speciality was Near Eastern Languages, with a particular focus on the Hittites, but he worked to identify and translate the fragmentary hieroglyphics inscription held by the University Archives.  It could have also been done by either of the subsequent ancient historians at the University of North Dakota: Linda Ricketts who wrote her dissertation on Ptolemaic Egypt or Walter Ellis, my immediate predecessor, who also worked on the same period.

So what does it say?

Is it a curse on anyone who dares to move the Department of History?

UPDATE:

Chuck Jones of the Institute for the Study of the Ancient World, Near Easternist, and digital librarian extraordinary, identified the drawing as "a sketch of one of the reliefs at Yazilikayathis which depicted Tudhalyia IV in the embrace of his god":

And thought that it was likely to be Charles Carter's work.

The Merrifield Move

It's finally happening.  After all the bluster and delays, the department is finally moving from its long-held place in Merrifield Hall to O'Kelly Hall.  As my colleagues are slowly being moved out of their offices, I've been able to sneak in and get some final pictures of the offices before they are lost to us forever (how's that for dramatic?).

It will also give me a chance to add some little odds and ends that I had meant to include in other posts about Merrifield, but had not for various reasons.

First, this note greeted me on my return from Europe:

 

As the days past the "faculty still in Merrifield" became less and less true as they moved, one by one.

One of the great offices on campus has been until recently occupied by Han Broedel our Early Modernist.  It has a bathroom, for one thing:

It is also, almost certainly, Orin G. Libby's former office from the day that Merrifield opened in 1928 until his retirement in 1944.  I am basing this idea, Pausanias like, on a passage from Elwyn B. Robinson's autobiography:

"Dr. Libby had two rooms for his office, side by side at Merrifield #221 and #223, with a door connecting them. The first was larger than the other with a toilet, important to me [Elywn B. Robinson] because of the frequent, urgent bowel movements [Robinson had serious problems with his digestive track nearly his entire adult life. ed.]. It had Dr. Libby's desk, a worktable, and a lot of bookcases. The other room, #223, had bookshelves to the ceiling and a worktable. Its door to the hallway was not used. From the books on the shelves, I believed it was a workroom connected with Dr. Libby's editorship of the North Dakota Historical Quarterly. That publication of the State Historical Society was suspended for lack of funds in the Thirties, so the room was not much used. A folding army cot was set up there, and I would lie down and rest between classes."

The door linking the two offices was not used in recent times, but was still there, to the left of the tall bookshelf:

Dr. Iseminger, the most outspoken opponent of the move from Merrifield, has vacated his office.  He had been in his office since the mid-1960s.  His office was famous for a number of reasons.  First, he still pounds out missives on an old manual typewriter, so the office had a particular sound.  He also had a massive philodendron plant that crept around the top of the overflowing bookshelves.

Finally, the office preserved some of the original flooring in Merrifield Hall. The local rumor is that this was the surplus battleship decking installed as cost cutting measure (and perhaps salvaged from the 15 odd battleships scrapped at the end of World War I in accordance with the Washington Treaty including, ironically, the USS North Dakota (which wasn't officially scrapped until 1931)).  Whether the floors were actually old battleship decking or not is relatively unimportant.  They are funky:

The move from Merrifield Hall is pretty sad.  The building was tied to the Department of History since its inception.  Moreover, by moving our department we will be separated from the departments most closely allied with the study of the past: English, Philosophy and Religion, and Languages.  But we've been promised a better future in our new digs in O'Kelly Hall including upgraded office space, better classrooms, and easier access to the Memorial Union food court. 

It's still hard not to think that this isn't an end of an era.  For more of my tribute to Merrifield Hall see: Check out Room 215, Room 217, Room 209,  Room 300, the hallways of Merrifield, and even Merrifield Graffiti.

To Fargo 2