At the library's recent public program on phonics, "Sounding Off," a woman named Mary Floyd promised to provide the library with a list of the 100 most-used words in the English language. In fact, she gave me a list of something called "the High-Utility 500" -- 500 words that various studies have identified as the most used and presumably, most useful words, especially for students in grades 2-12.
For those of you wondering where such things come from, the initial study was called the American Heritage Word Frequency Study (conducted by Carroll, Davies, and Richman), and its findings were cross-checked in studies by Gates, Horn, Rinsland, Green, and Loomer, as well as Harris and Jacobson. Finally, the results were correlated with a 1985 study by Milton Jacobson of 22,000 students in grades 2-12.
Rather than copying the list and posting it at the library, I thought I'd print it here in the newspaper. I find the list interesting, and perhaps you will, too.
Please note that although the following are words your child must know, simply memorizing a list of words is no substitute for either phonics or other "word attack" skills.
With that caveat ...
The First 100 words (in order of frequency): the, of, and, a, to, in, is, you, that, it, he, for, was, on, are, as, with, his, they, at, be, this, from, I, have, or, by, one, had, not, but, what, all, were, when, we, there, can, an, your, which, their, said, if, do, will, each, about, how, up, out, them, then, she, many, some, so, these, would, other, into, has, more, her, two, like, him, see, time, could, no, make, than, first, been, its, who, now, people, my, made, over, did, down, only, way, find, use, may, water, long, little, very, after, words, called, just, where, most, know.
The Second 100 words: get, through, back, much, go, good, new, write, our, me, man, too, any, day, same, right, look, think, also, around, another, came, come, work, three, must, because, does, part, even, place, well, such, here, take, why, help, put, different, away, again, off, went, old, number, great, tell, men, say, small, every, found, still, between, name, should, home, big, give, air, line, set, own, under, read, last, never, us, left, end, along, while, might, next, sound, below, saw, something, thought, both, few, those, always, show, large, often, together, asked, house, don't, world, going, want, school, important, until, form, food, keep, children.
The Third 100 words: feet, land, side, without, boy, once, animals, life, enough, took, four, head, above, kind, began, almost, live, page, got, earth, need, far, hand, high, year, mother, light, country, father, let, night, picture, being, study, second, soon, story, since, white, ever, paper, hard, near, sentence, better, best, across, during, today, however, sure, knew, it's, try, told, young, sun, thing, whole, hear, example, heard, several, change, answer, room, sea, against, top, turned, learn, point, city, play, toward, five, himself, usually, money, seen, didn't, car, morning, I'm, body, upon, family, later, turn, move, face, door, cut, done, group, true, half, red, fish, plants.
The Fourth 100 words: living, black, eat, short, United States, run, book, gave, order, open, ground, cold, really, table, remember, tree, course, front, American, space, inside, ago, sad, early, I'll, learned, brought, close, nothing, though, idea, before, lived, became, add, become, grow, draw, yet, less, wind, behind, cannot, letter, among, able, dog, shown, mean, English, rest, perhaps, certain, six, feel, fire, ready, green, yes, built, special, ran, full, town, complete, oh, person, hot, anything, hold, state, list, stood, hundred, ten, fast, felt, kept, notice, can't, strong, voice, probably, area, horse, matter, stand, box, start, that's, class, piece, surface, river, common, stop, am, talk, whether, fine.
The Fifth 100 words: round, dark, past, ball, girl, road, blue, instead, either, held, already, warm, gone, finally, summer, understand, moon, animal, mind, outside, power, problem, longer, winter, deep, heavy, carefully, follow, beautiful, everyone, leave, everything, game, system, bring, watch, shall, dry, within, floor, ice, ship, themselves, begin, fact, third, quite, carry, distance, although, sat, possible, heart, real, simple, snow, rain, suddenly, leaves, easy, lay, size, wild, weather, miss, pattern, sky, walked, main, someone, center, field, stay, itself, boat, question, wide, least, tiny, hour, happened, foot, care, low, else, gold, build, glass, rock, tall, alone, bottom, walk, check, fall, poor, map, friend, language, job.
You might post this list on your refrigerator, and spot check your children from time to time.
A follow-up to the phonics meeting, by-the-bye, is the formation of a new parents' group called the Core Knowledge Committee. The purpose of this group is to urge the adoption by Douglas County schools of the Core Knowledge Curriculum -- a clearly defined and grade-sequenced body of objective knowledge.
The first meeting of the committee will be at the Philip S. Miller Library, at 7 p.m., Tuesday night, September 1. For more information, call Laurel Iakovakis at 660-9723.
Thursday, August 27, 1992
Thursday, August 20, 1992
August 20, 1992 - Sign language
Some years back, I was eating lunch in a Chicago cafeteria. Suddenly, the whole room was electrified by two people who never said a word.
A woman walked in the front door. At the other end of the room, a man leapt to the top of a table. The two of them commenced a furious argument -- with their fingers.
None of us had a clue what the dispute was about, but it was obviously intense. Everyone in the room fell silent, swinging their gazes back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
Finally, after some 15 emotion-charged minutes, the woman signed a final, unmistakably dismissive gesture, and stormed back out the door. The man turned almost purple, then stiffly resumed his meal.
While I have seen many arguments in my life, I have never witnessed any so dramatic and eloquent. That was the first moment when I grasped that "signing" -- the gestural speech of the deaf -- was more than just a crude code for the handicapped. It was a rich and marvelously expressive language in its own right.
I recalled that incident when I ran across an article last week (in the July, 1992 issue of Smithsonian) about American Sign Language. The author details the history of sign language, and briefly reviews a body of interesting anecdotes and recent scientific studies that show that sign language is indeed a language.
Here's one of the anecdotes: the football huddle originated in the 1890s, at a school for the deaf. The team needed to talk -- sign -- to each other, without their opponents seeing what they were saying.
Wherever deaf people are found, so is sign language -- although the "dialects" around the world are as unintelligible to people outside the local region as Swahili might be to a Serb.
Where things begin to get really interesting is that deaf babies (raised in households where the adults are always signing) actually "babble" with their fingers. That is, they make experimental, not-quite-random motions with their hands, just as hearing babies coo, buzz, and otherwise tune up their voices.
Whether hearing-impaired or no, all of us go through precisely the same of stages of language acquisition. For instance, many children have trouble with the idea of "pronouns," the concepts behind "he," "she," and even "you," and "me."
Sign language would seem to be much simpler to learn, right? A child can just point to someone for "you," and point to him- or herself for "me."
But young children still learning to sign make the same kinds of mistakes. They point to themselves when the context of the "conversation" makes it clear that they mean "you." Or they point to their moms when they mean themselves.
That suggests that sign language isn't just spatial shorthand, it's conceptual. It has a GRAMMAR. Or as signers themselves put it, signing is "brain stuff."
The language center of the brain is located on the left side. And here's the clincher: When their language center is damaged, say in a car accident, deaf children lose the ability to sign. This is exactly parallel to people who suffer an immense blow to the left side of the brain and ever after, cannot talk.
Signing is speech.
Years after the cafeteria incident, I caught a National Theater of the Deaf's performance of "A Christmas in Wales," by Dylan Thomas. There was a wonderful scene where a group of carolers stood silently outside a lighted house, their hands moving in perfect, silent harmony.
The glory of libraries is that we have captured speech, set it to the page, bound it in buckram, made of it something that can be easily stacked, tracked, traded and trucked.
But how shall we preserve and disseminate the marvelous, evocative fluidity of signing?
A woman walked in the front door. At the other end of the room, a man leapt to the top of a table. The two of them commenced a furious argument -- with their fingers.
None of us had a clue what the dispute was about, but it was obviously intense. Everyone in the room fell silent, swinging their gazes back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
Finally, after some 15 emotion-charged minutes, the woman signed a final, unmistakably dismissive gesture, and stormed back out the door. The man turned almost purple, then stiffly resumed his meal.
While I have seen many arguments in my life, I have never witnessed any so dramatic and eloquent. That was the first moment when I grasped that "signing" -- the gestural speech of the deaf -- was more than just a crude code for the handicapped. It was a rich and marvelously expressive language in its own right.
I recalled that incident when I ran across an article last week (in the July, 1992 issue of Smithsonian) about American Sign Language. The author details the history of sign language, and briefly reviews a body of interesting anecdotes and recent scientific studies that show that sign language is indeed a language.
Here's one of the anecdotes: the football huddle originated in the 1890s, at a school for the deaf. The team needed to talk -- sign -- to each other, without their opponents seeing what they were saying.
Wherever deaf people are found, so is sign language -- although the "dialects" around the world are as unintelligible to people outside the local region as Swahili might be to a Serb.
Where things begin to get really interesting is that deaf babies (raised in households where the adults are always signing) actually "babble" with their fingers. That is, they make experimental, not-quite-random motions with their hands, just as hearing babies coo, buzz, and otherwise tune up their voices.
Whether hearing-impaired or no, all of us go through precisely the same of stages of language acquisition. For instance, many children have trouble with the idea of "pronouns," the concepts behind "he," "she," and even "you," and "me."
Sign language would seem to be much simpler to learn, right? A child can just point to someone for "you," and point to him- or herself for "me."
But young children still learning to sign make the same kinds of mistakes. They point to themselves when the context of the "conversation" makes it clear that they mean "you." Or they point to their moms when they mean themselves.
That suggests that sign language isn't just spatial shorthand, it's conceptual. It has a GRAMMAR. Or as signers themselves put it, signing is "brain stuff."
The language center of the brain is located on the left side. And here's the clincher: When their language center is damaged, say in a car accident, deaf children lose the ability to sign. This is exactly parallel to people who suffer an immense blow to the left side of the brain and ever after, cannot talk.
Signing is speech.
Years after the cafeteria incident, I caught a National Theater of the Deaf's performance of "A Christmas in Wales," by Dylan Thomas. There was a wonderful scene where a group of carolers stood silently outside a lighted house, their hands moving in perfect, silent harmony.
The glory of libraries is that we have captured speech, set it to the page, bound it in buckram, made of it something that can be easily stacked, tracked, traded and trucked.
But how shall we preserve and disseminate the marvelous, evocative fluidity of signing?
Thursday, August 13, 1992
August 13, 1992 - Patron confidentiality
The year was 1981. A man named John W. Hinckley, Jr. tried to assassinate President Ronald Reagan.
Within days, an enterprising writer for Newsweek called the Jefferson County Public Library to find out what kind of books Hinckley, a one-time resident of Evergreen, might have checked out. Anything on guns? Anything linking him to violent, left-wing organizations?
At that time, Colorado didn't have what librarians in other states call a "patron confidentiality law." In brief, there was nothing to stop libraries from telling anyone who asked what anyone else was reading.
So by the end of 1981, several librarians got together with a lawyer to draft House Bill No. 1114. It was signed into effect by Governor Richard Lamm on March 22, 1983.
This law, "Concerning Privacy of Library User Records," is the sort of thing most library users don't think about. At first, it all sounds kind of pointless and stupidly inconvenient.
For instance, when library staff calls a woman to tell her that the book she reserved has come in, her husband might take the call. He might ask, "What's the book? I'll tell her it's in." Or maybe the man is standing at the circulation desk and asks, "Is anything in for my wife?"
Seems harmless enough, right? Helpful, even.
But according to the law, we can't say. Why? Well, there are several reasons. For one thing, it's a class 2 petty offense, punishable by a fine of up to $300 per occurrence.
For another, it's really none of the husband's business. The book might be, "How to Throw a Surprise Birthday Party." Or it might be, "How to Divorce Your Abusive Spouse Without Him Knowing About It."
There's an interesting twist to the Colorado law. Most laws in other states just protect privacy about specific books. For instance, the public library can't tell you who had checked out a copy of a book by Jerry Brown -- or Jerry Falwell. (This stops people on either side of an ideological fence from engaging in "fishing expeditions" or witch-hunts.)
The Colorado law specifies that "a publicly-supported library or library system shall not disclose ANY record or other information" (emphasis mine) "which identifies a person as having requested or obtained specific materials or service or as otherwise having used the library."
So with very few exceptions, ("the reasonable operation of the library," "upon written consent of the user," or "Pursuant to subpoena, upon court order, or where otherwise required by law") public libraries aren't supposed to divulge even that you've got, or have ever had, a library card.
To reflect this overriding respect for privacy, our computer system is specifically designed to forget what people check out -- as long as they return the items they have taken. (Our computer system is very, very good at remembering who didn't bring something back at all.)
And if you return a book that's damaged, the computer can, for a brief time, remember who to bill for it.
But if you bring back a book when you're supposed to, and it's in good shape, the only thing our computer system remembers about any particular title is how many times it got used, and what DATE the book was last checked out. This information is useful to us as we decide which books to keep, and which need to be cleared out to make way for new growth. Books that don't get used, ultimately don't get saved.
As a librarian in the age of automation, I am very much aware of the kinds of abuses computers might be turned to. Electronic snooping -- whether it be into your purchasing patterns, the background of your casual associates, or the books you read -- is precisely as ethical as a neighborhood peeper in the bushes, and as welcome.
At the Douglas Public Library District, we deal with the issue first by requiring only the patron information we need (your address, and an identifying number NOT your social security I.D.); second, by being very careful to erase any other information regarding your library use; and third, by reminding our staff that they are not to discuss what you're reading with anyone but you.
Protecting your intellectual privacy is not just the law. It's the right thing to do.
Within days, an enterprising writer for Newsweek called the Jefferson County Public Library to find out what kind of books Hinckley, a one-time resident of Evergreen, might have checked out. Anything on guns? Anything linking him to violent, left-wing organizations?
At that time, Colorado didn't have what librarians in other states call a "patron confidentiality law." In brief, there was nothing to stop libraries from telling anyone who asked what anyone else was reading.
So by the end of 1981, several librarians got together with a lawyer to draft House Bill No. 1114. It was signed into effect by Governor Richard Lamm on March 22, 1983.
This law, "Concerning Privacy of Library User Records," is the sort of thing most library users don't think about. At first, it all sounds kind of pointless and stupidly inconvenient.
For instance, when library staff calls a woman to tell her that the book she reserved has come in, her husband might take the call. He might ask, "What's the book? I'll tell her it's in." Or maybe the man is standing at the circulation desk and asks, "Is anything in for my wife?"
Seems harmless enough, right? Helpful, even.
But according to the law, we can't say. Why? Well, there are several reasons. For one thing, it's a class 2 petty offense, punishable by a fine of up to $300 per occurrence.
For another, it's really none of the husband's business. The book might be, "How to Throw a Surprise Birthday Party." Or it might be, "How to Divorce Your Abusive Spouse Without Him Knowing About It."
There's an interesting twist to the Colorado law. Most laws in other states just protect privacy about specific books. For instance, the public library can't tell you who had checked out a copy of a book by Jerry Brown -- or Jerry Falwell. (This stops people on either side of an ideological fence from engaging in "fishing expeditions" or witch-hunts.)
The Colorado law specifies that "a publicly-supported library or library system shall not disclose ANY record or other information" (emphasis mine) "which identifies a person as having requested or obtained specific materials or service or as otherwise having used the library."
So with very few exceptions, ("the reasonable operation of the library," "upon written consent of the user," or "Pursuant to subpoena, upon court order, or where otherwise required by law") public libraries aren't supposed to divulge even that you've got, or have ever had, a library card.
To reflect this overriding respect for privacy, our computer system is specifically designed to forget what people check out -- as long as they return the items they have taken. (Our computer system is very, very good at remembering who didn't bring something back at all.)
And if you return a book that's damaged, the computer can, for a brief time, remember who to bill for it.
But if you bring back a book when you're supposed to, and it's in good shape, the only thing our computer system remembers about any particular title is how many times it got used, and what DATE the book was last checked out. This information is useful to us as we decide which books to keep, and which need to be cleared out to make way for new growth. Books that don't get used, ultimately don't get saved.
As a librarian in the age of automation, I am very much aware of the kinds of abuses computers might be turned to. Electronic snooping -- whether it be into your purchasing patterns, the background of your casual associates, or the books you read -- is precisely as ethical as a neighborhood peeper in the bushes, and as welcome.
At the Douglas Public Library District, we deal with the issue first by requiring only the patron information we need (your address, and an identifying number NOT your social security I.D.); second, by being very careful to erase any other information regarding your library use; and third, by reminding our staff that they are not to discuss what you're reading with anyone but you.
Protecting your intellectual privacy is not just the law. It's the right thing to do.
Saturday, August 8, 1992
August 5, 1992 - Highlands Ranch birthday
The Highlands Ranch Library opened on August 12, 1991. At that point, we didn't even have a sign for the building. In fact, we hadn't done any formal advertising at all, so didn't expect to see much of a turnout.
We were hoping to use the week between our actual opening and the official opening (featuring Colorado's First Lady, Bea Romer, reading stories to children) to iron out any procedural kinks.
But on that first day of operations, the Highlands Ranch Library accounted for 10% of the business throughout the entire library district. So we ironed out the kinks on the spot.
The location of the library -- in the convenience center kitty-corner from the Highlands Ranch Recreation Center -- quickly proved to be just about ideal. To be successful, a library really ought to be located along the usual lines of traffic -- for cars, and for kids. University Avenue, just south of C-470, sees plenty of both.
By the end of the month -- and a very short month it was -- the Highlands Ranch Library had accounted for a little over 13% of all the circulation activity throughout the district. In the last six months of 1991, the new Highlands Ranch Library accounted for 15 percent of the library's business (and remember that it didn't open until half way through August).
So how's it doing lately? In the first six months of 1992, Highlands Ranch racked up 21.7% of the district's circulation. And thanks to the contribution of the Highlands Ranch location, use of the library district overall has jumped by 46 percent over last year. (The national increase in library use was about three percent.)
In raw numbers, From January through June, 1992, Highlands Ranch checked out 72,758 library materials to our patrons, out of the total of over 335,939 items checked out at our other automated libraries. Figuring the Highlands Ranch population at roughly 15,000 people, that's as if everybody in the area checked a little more than 4 books per person.
In short, the library has enjoyed good, solid use, from the day it opened to every day since -- yet another sign that Douglas County citizens place a high value on books.
But enough numbers. Now for some ... dates!
If you'd like to stop by the Highlands Ranch Library to help celebrate its first birthday, post the following schedule some place:
On August 12, 7 p.m., I will be doing some storytelling at the library (featuring my own, slightly askew version of "The Frog Prince.") There will be a Birthday Party with cake and games. In addition, the Highlands Ranch Library will be offering Cookies and punch at the following times: Monday, August 10, at 10:30; Tuesday, at 10:30 and 4:00; and Thursday, August 13, at 9:30 and 10:30.
My compliments to the patrons of Highlands Ranch, my appreciation to the staff of the library, and finally, my sincere wishes for a happy first birthday, Highlands Ranch Library! May you see hundreds more.
We were hoping to use the week between our actual opening and the official opening (featuring Colorado's First Lady, Bea Romer, reading stories to children) to iron out any procedural kinks.
But on that first day of operations, the Highlands Ranch Library accounted for 10% of the business throughout the entire library district. So we ironed out the kinks on the spot.
The location of the library -- in the convenience center kitty-corner from the Highlands Ranch Recreation Center -- quickly proved to be just about ideal. To be successful, a library really ought to be located along the usual lines of traffic -- for cars, and for kids. University Avenue, just south of C-470, sees plenty of both.
By the end of the month -- and a very short month it was -- the Highlands Ranch Library had accounted for a little over 13% of all the circulation activity throughout the district. In the last six months of 1991, the new Highlands Ranch Library accounted for 15 percent of the library's business (and remember that it didn't open until half way through August).
So how's it doing lately? In the first six months of 1992, Highlands Ranch racked up 21.7% of the district's circulation. And thanks to the contribution of the Highlands Ranch location, use of the library district overall has jumped by 46 percent over last year. (The national increase in library use was about three percent.)
In raw numbers, From January through June, 1992, Highlands Ranch checked out 72,758 library materials to our patrons, out of the total of over 335,939 items checked out at our other automated libraries. Figuring the Highlands Ranch population at roughly 15,000 people, that's as if everybody in the area checked a little more than 4 books per person.
In short, the library has enjoyed good, solid use, from the day it opened to every day since -- yet another sign that Douglas County citizens place a high value on books.
But enough numbers. Now for some ... dates!
If you'd like to stop by the Highlands Ranch Library to help celebrate its first birthday, post the following schedule some place:
On August 12, 7 p.m., I will be doing some storytelling at the library (featuring my own, slightly askew version of "The Frog Prince.") There will be a Birthday Party with cake and games. In addition, the Highlands Ranch Library will be offering Cookies and punch at the following times: Monday, August 10, at 10:30; Tuesday, at 10:30 and 4:00; and Thursday, August 13, at 9:30 and 10:30.
My compliments to the patrons of Highlands Ranch, my appreciation to the staff of the library, and finally, my sincere wishes for a happy first birthday, Highlands Ranch Library! May you see hundreds more.
Wednesday, July 29, 1992
July 29, 1992 - phonics 2
Two weeks ago, I wrote a column about "Hooked on Phonics," the heavily advertised audiocassette and flashcard series that claims to be able to teach anyone to read in just 30 days.
The public response to the column was surprising -- greater than for any other column I have ever written. The day after the column was published, I got seven phone calls between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. alone.
The responses were also remarkably consistent. Most of the people I talked to thought that:
* The library should buy extra copies of the "Hooked on Phonics" program. As a self-described "grandmother" put it: "take the money from children's videos -- libraries are supposed to be about reading."
* There is a pendulum in public education, that swings toward phonics, then away. That same grandmother said the reason for the swing was very simple: you can sell a lot more new textbooks if there's a hot "new" reading method to justify it.
* Phonics is essential in the instruction of reading. I got several calls from people who said they grew up in the period of the "look-say" approach (recognizing words by their shape, rather than by their sounds) -- and still had reading problems because of it. I also got some calls from people who had been taught with a heavy emphasis in phonics, and appreciated it.
I heard from a fair number of teachers as well. One of them teaches science in a Littleton middle school, and remarked that she had found it necessary to teach rudimentary phonics in her science classes so the children would be able to read scientific nomenclature.
Another teacher expressed the concern that I had put out some misleading data about "whole language." She was even kind enough to lend me some school materials on the subject. One of the books, "A Research Base for Whole Language," gives this definition: "Whole language is a set of beliefs about how reading and writing are learned and how that learning can best be supported by teachers. In whole language instruction, all the systems of language (graphophonics, syntax, semantics, and pragmatics) are kept intact or 'whole' as students read and write. As a result, students are able to focus on the meaning of text."
It is clear from this -- and from many other articles I have read about whole language -- that phonics (or "graphophonics") was never meant to be excluded from reading instruction.
But as I have written before, there is a tendency for people to mix up educational methods and curricular content. I doubt if anybody really cares if their children get phonics instruction through workbooks or from contemporary children's literature -- so long as they get it.
I submit that when the old phonics drill sheets got tossed out, many teachers were never given anything to replace them with, or shown how to provide some kind of orderly and comprehensive introduction to this crucial element of reading instruction. The abandonment of the method has lead -- in at least some schools, or some classes within those schools -- to the loss of the content.
So what does all this have to do with the public library?
First, I have decided to purchase two more copies of "Hooked on Phonics," bringing the total number of copies in the system to five, essentially one for each branch. We will change the loan period for these items to one month. The library won't be buying any more of them.
Second, I have compiled a list of the many other materials we have that parents can use to teach their children to read, or to supplement the teaching their children already receive at school. Some of these materials may well be better for you and/or your child than the "Hooked on Phonics" program. (I'm hoping to redistribute the demand for phonics information among the entire library collection, instead of letting it bunch up on just one title.)
Third, the library will sponsor a free public program at the Philip S. Miller Library on August 4, 1992, from 7-8:30 p.m. At that meeting, I'll pass out a bibliography of DPLD materials on phonics, and introduce the main speaker, Les Simonson.
An instructor for over 25 years, Dr. Simonson has taught elementary, junior high, graduate, and post-graduate level classes. A phonics advocate, he wrote his doctorate on the subject of learning to read. Dr. Simonson will talk about how to tell if your child might need some phonics help, and give a brief overview of the principles of phonics.
The name of the program will be, "Sounding Off: Reading and Phonics."
The public response to the column was surprising -- greater than for any other column I have ever written. The day after the column was published, I got seven phone calls between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. alone.
The responses were also remarkably consistent. Most of the people I talked to thought that:
* The library should buy extra copies of the "Hooked on Phonics" program. As a self-described "grandmother" put it: "take the money from children's videos -- libraries are supposed to be about reading."
* There is a pendulum in public education, that swings toward phonics, then away. That same grandmother said the reason for the swing was very simple: you can sell a lot more new textbooks if there's a hot "new" reading method to justify it.
* Phonics is essential in the instruction of reading. I got several calls from people who said they grew up in the period of the "look-say" approach (recognizing words by their shape, rather than by their sounds) -- and still had reading problems because of it. I also got some calls from people who had been taught with a heavy emphasis in phonics, and appreciated it.
I heard from a fair number of teachers as well. One of them teaches science in a Littleton middle school, and remarked that she had found it necessary to teach rudimentary phonics in her science classes so the children would be able to read scientific nomenclature.
Another teacher expressed the concern that I had put out some misleading data about "whole language." She was even kind enough to lend me some school materials on the subject. One of the books, "A Research Base for Whole Language," gives this definition: "Whole language is a set of beliefs about how reading and writing are learned and how that learning can best be supported by teachers. In whole language instruction, all the systems of language (graphophonics, syntax, semantics, and pragmatics) are kept intact or 'whole' as students read and write. As a result, students are able to focus on the meaning of text."
It is clear from this -- and from many other articles I have read about whole language -- that phonics (or "graphophonics") was never meant to be excluded from reading instruction.
But as I have written before, there is a tendency for people to mix up educational methods and curricular content. I doubt if anybody really cares if their children get phonics instruction through workbooks or from contemporary children's literature -- so long as they get it.
I submit that when the old phonics drill sheets got tossed out, many teachers were never given anything to replace them with, or shown how to provide some kind of orderly and comprehensive introduction to this crucial element of reading instruction. The abandonment of the method has lead -- in at least some schools, or some classes within those schools -- to the loss of the content.
So what does all this have to do with the public library?
First, I have decided to purchase two more copies of "Hooked on Phonics," bringing the total number of copies in the system to five, essentially one for each branch. We will change the loan period for these items to one month. The library won't be buying any more of them.
Second, I have compiled a list of the many other materials we have that parents can use to teach their children to read, or to supplement the teaching their children already receive at school. Some of these materials may well be better for you and/or your child than the "Hooked on Phonics" program. (I'm hoping to redistribute the demand for phonics information among the entire library collection, instead of letting it bunch up on just one title.)
Third, the library will sponsor a free public program at the Philip S. Miller Library on August 4, 1992, from 7-8:30 p.m. At that meeting, I'll pass out a bibliography of DPLD materials on phonics, and introduce the main speaker, Les Simonson.
An instructor for over 25 years, Dr. Simonson has taught elementary, junior high, graduate, and post-graduate level classes. A phonics advocate, he wrote his doctorate on the subject of learning to read. Dr. Simonson will talk about how to tell if your child might need some phonics help, and give a brief overview of the principles of phonics.
The name of the program will be, "Sounding Off: Reading and Phonics."
Wednesday, July 22, 1992
July 22, 1992 - Doomsday Book
I'd like to brag a little about "Doomsday Book," the recently published offering by science fiction author Connie Willis (who happens to live in Greeley, Colorado).
Right there on the page headed "Acknowledgements," she writes, "My special thanks to Head Librarian Jamie LaRue and the rest of the staff of the Greeley Public Library for their endless and invaluable assistance."
I met Connie shortly after I took my first library director job in Greeley five years ago. But I already knew who she was. Years before, I had read one of her first science fiction stories, called "Fire Watch"--a haunting time travel piece, set in war-time England.
But in 1987, Connie was hard at work on "Doomsday Book," her second full length novel. This was the story of Kivrin, a young historian from the year 2054, with an interest in traveling back to the Middle Ages.
Kivrin gets her wish--but instead of landing (through time travel technology) outside the Oxford, England of the year 1320, she discovers that she has been deposited at the beginning of one of the most horrible periods in history, the days of "the Black Death."
Instants after her arrival, she falls ill--precisely as, back in 2054, a new super-disease springs up, perhaps through the time "drop."
Even if you're not a science fiction fan, this is a hard book to put down--my wife read it straight through my birthday, pausing only for an occasional cup of coffee.
I have an unusual perspective on, and interest in, this book, in large part because I watched Connie write it. She did all of her writing right there in the Greeley Public Library--and an impressive amount of research to boot.
As she wrote, Connie posed some hard-to-answer questions: "How do I describe the speech of the people of the Middle Ages?" That took her into the field of linguistics. "How do I describe the interior of a middle ages house?" That took her into archaeology. "How do I describe the spread of the plague?" That took her into all kinds of historical documents. All in all, it gave our library quite a work-out.
In the five years it took Connie to write the book, she did more research on the Middle Ages than, I'm sure, many post-graduate students do while writing their doctoral theses.
But how did I rate the acknowledgement? Well, (this is the bragging part), I personally provided even greater assistance than just tracking down old church liturgies and historical data.
Every time I saw her, I asked, "Is it done yet?" I feel this helped to keep her on track, much as a persistent, "Are we there yet?" from the back of the car brings a kind of focus and intensity to a long drive.
And one day--I'll never forget this--I gave her a brownie, right there in the library. Shucks, I knew she was working hard. Of course, this isn't the kind of thing they teach you in library school. Sometimes, you just have to go with your gut instinct: break a rule, reach out to the writer, provide a little encouragement.
And then, one day just before last Christmas, I heard a heavy thump at my door, and a quick ring of the doorbell. It was UPS, and to my delight, they had dropped off the freshly typed, completed manuscript of Doomsday Book. I raced through it, then called Connie to congratulate her.
The book is now available, in paperback, from your local library, and all the better bookstores. I even have mine personally inscribed by the author. Connie wrote, "Yes, it's done, damn it! One lousy brownie and a lot of kibitzing..."
Hey, it's all part of the service.
Right there on the page headed "Acknowledgements," she writes, "My special thanks to Head Librarian Jamie LaRue and the rest of the staff of the Greeley Public Library for their endless and invaluable assistance."
I met Connie shortly after I took my first library director job in Greeley five years ago. But I already knew who she was. Years before, I had read one of her first science fiction stories, called "Fire Watch"--a haunting time travel piece, set in war-time England.
But in 1987, Connie was hard at work on "Doomsday Book," her second full length novel. This was the story of Kivrin, a young historian from the year 2054, with an interest in traveling back to the Middle Ages.
Kivrin gets her wish--but instead of landing (through time travel technology) outside the Oxford, England of the year 1320, she discovers that she has been deposited at the beginning of one of the most horrible periods in history, the days of "the Black Death."
Instants after her arrival, she falls ill--precisely as, back in 2054, a new super-disease springs up, perhaps through the time "drop."
Even if you're not a science fiction fan, this is a hard book to put down--my wife read it straight through my birthday, pausing only for an occasional cup of coffee.
I have an unusual perspective on, and interest in, this book, in large part because I watched Connie write it. She did all of her writing right there in the Greeley Public Library--and an impressive amount of research to boot.
As she wrote, Connie posed some hard-to-answer questions: "How do I describe the speech of the people of the Middle Ages?" That took her into the field of linguistics. "How do I describe the interior of a middle ages house?" That took her into archaeology. "How do I describe the spread of the plague?" That took her into all kinds of historical documents. All in all, it gave our library quite a work-out.
In the five years it took Connie to write the book, she did more research on the Middle Ages than, I'm sure, many post-graduate students do while writing their doctoral theses.
But how did I rate the acknowledgement? Well, (this is the bragging part), I personally provided even greater assistance than just tracking down old church liturgies and historical data.
Every time I saw her, I asked, "Is it done yet?" I feel this helped to keep her on track, much as a persistent, "Are we there yet?" from the back of the car brings a kind of focus and intensity to a long drive.
And one day--I'll never forget this--I gave her a brownie, right there in the library. Shucks, I knew she was working hard. Of course, this isn't the kind of thing they teach you in library school. Sometimes, you just have to go with your gut instinct: break a rule, reach out to the writer, provide a little encouragement.
And then, one day just before last Christmas, I heard a heavy thump at my door, and a quick ring of the doorbell. It was UPS, and to my delight, they had dropped off the freshly typed, completed manuscript of Doomsday Book. I raced through it, then called Connie to congratulate her.
The book is now available, in paperback, from your local library, and all the better bookstores. I even have mine personally inscribed by the author. Connie wrote, "Yes, it's done, damn it! One lousy brownie and a lot of kibitzing..."
Hey, it's all part of the service.
Wednesday, July 15, 1992
July 15, 1992 - Hooked on phonics
I've got a dilemma.
Some months back, I started hearing the radio ads for the "Hooked On Phonics" kit -- a combination of booklets, cassettes, and flash cards that was supposed to help kids and/or adults learn how to read in just 30 days.
I directed my staff to buy a copy, thinking that people might want to examine the product before spending the money for it themselves.
Well, no sooner did we get it, than it suddenly had a big list of reserves attached to it. One of the policies I established when I got here was that when four people have requested an item, I buy another copy. That way, people don't have to wait so long for popular titles.
So I bought more Hooked on Phonics packages, bringing the total to three.
Yesterday, I discovered that we now have 20 reserves on the three copies. According to my usual policy, that means I should pick up a couple more. But I find that I'm having second thoughts about it.
The main reason I'm balking is the price: "Hooked on Phonics" sells for $179.95. The district has already spent over $500 on the kits. If I bring the total to five copies, I will have spent almost $900 out of the audiovisual line item, or about 2.5% of the entire AV budget on just one title.
It happens that a lot of people have been asking for more audiovisual materials -- mostly books on tape, but also children's videos. The average unabridged book on tape runs about $20. For every Hooked on Phonics kit the library buys, we can't buy about 9 books on tape. That bothers me.
On the other hand, public libraries should be as responsive as possible to public interests. There's a strong, continuing interest in Hooked on Phonics. According to a May 20, 1991 article in Newsweek, the kits were introduced in 1987, and had sold over 400,000 copies as of the Newsweek piece. So Hooked on Phonics isn't just a trendy little bestseller. It's got some staying power.
On the third hand, Hooked on Phonics is clearly designed to be an instructional, almost curricular tool. Is the library stepping directly into the public school territory here? Shouldn't the schools be providing this kind of item, through the District Media Center, for instance, which is available for use by the public right now?
But (on the fourth hand?) the Media Center doesn't currently own Hooked on Phonics. In fact, the current emphasis on so-called "whole language" seems to have all but eliminated phonics as an instructional approach -- at least in some local schools. The Douglas County School District may be reluctant to buy a pricey program that flies in the face of current trends -- and that some educators have already disparaged. (The Newsweek article quoted one education expert who said, "As instructional design, this really stinks." Another said, "I think it could be rather discouraging" to spend so much money and then fail. Shanahan, the developer of the program called these criticisms "sour grapes ... We can teach people to read in 30 days. They can't teach them in 12 years.")
So if people want to teach their children in ways that the school system doesn't endorse, where can they go to find what they need? The public library seems like a reasonable alternative.
I did some checking around, and found that neither the Arapahoe Library District nor the Aurora Public Library has any copies. (They do, however, have "Hooked on Polka.") The Pikes Peak Library District doesn't carry Hooked on Phonics, either.
The Denver Public Library, interestingly, has 34 copies. All but two of them are checked out.
Our own copies have been checked out since we got them. That's another problem -- the program is designed to be used over 30 days. For items that people are waiting for, our maximum checkout period is 2 weeks. So if the library really wants to meet the demand, we not only have to buy more copies, we should probably extend the checkout period for each one -- which further reduces its availability.
The patrons I've spoken with about it, say Hooked On Phonics works best with young children, even preschool children. Older kids find it a little boring. But the people that check it out are actually using it, not just previewing it for later purchase.
It appears that there is something of a groundswell of parental support for phonics. The School District might want to take note. In the meantime, I'm still pondering the precise line of demarcation between public library materials and curricular support materials. If you've got some thoughts on the matter, give me a call (688-8752), or send something to the paper.
Right now, this one is a puzzlement to me. I'd appreciate some advice.
Some months back, I started hearing the radio ads for the "Hooked On Phonics" kit -- a combination of booklets, cassettes, and flash cards that was supposed to help kids and/or adults learn how to read in just 30 days.
I directed my staff to buy a copy, thinking that people might want to examine the product before spending the money for it themselves.
Well, no sooner did we get it, than it suddenly had a big list of reserves attached to it. One of the policies I established when I got here was that when four people have requested an item, I buy another copy. That way, people don't have to wait so long for popular titles.
So I bought more Hooked on Phonics packages, bringing the total to three.
Yesterday, I discovered that we now have 20 reserves on the three copies. According to my usual policy, that means I should pick up a couple more. But I find that I'm having second thoughts about it.
The main reason I'm balking is the price: "Hooked on Phonics" sells for $179.95. The district has already spent over $500 on the kits. If I bring the total to five copies, I will have spent almost $900 out of the audiovisual line item, or about 2.5% of the entire AV budget on just one title.
It happens that a lot of people have been asking for more audiovisual materials -- mostly books on tape, but also children's videos. The average unabridged book on tape runs about $20. For every Hooked on Phonics kit the library buys, we can't buy about 9 books on tape. That bothers me.
On the other hand, public libraries should be as responsive as possible to public interests. There's a strong, continuing interest in Hooked on Phonics. According to a May 20, 1991 article in Newsweek, the kits were introduced in 1987, and had sold over 400,000 copies as of the Newsweek piece. So Hooked on Phonics isn't just a trendy little bestseller. It's got some staying power.
On the third hand, Hooked on Phonics is clearly designed to be an instructional, almost curricular tool. Is the library stepping directly into the public school territory here? Shouldn't the schools be providing this kind of item, through the District Media Center, for instance, which is available for use by the public right now?
But (on the fourth hand?) the Media Center doesn't currently own Hooked on Phonics. In fact, the current emphasis on so-called "whole language" seems to have all but eliminated phonics as an instructional approach -- at least in some local schools. The Douglas County School District may be reluctant to buy a pricey program that flies in the face of current trends -- and that some educators have already disparaged. (The Newsweek article quoted one education expert who said, "As instructional design, this really stinks." Another said, "I think it could be rather discouraging" to spend so much money and then fail. Shanahan, the developer of the program called these criticisms "sour grapes ... We can teach people to read in 30 days. They can't teach them in 12 years.")
So if people want to teach their children in ways that the school system doesn't endorse, where can they go to find what they need? The public library seems like a reasonable alternative.
I did some checking around, and found that neither the Arapahoe Library District nor the Aurora Public Library has any copies. (They do, however, have "Hooked on Polka.") The Pikes Peak Library District doesn't carry Hooked on Phonics, either.
The Denver Public Library, interestingly, has 34 copies. All but two of them are checked out.
Our own copies have been checked out since we got them. That's another problem -- the program is designed to be used over 30 days. For items that people are waiting for, our maximum checkout period is 2 weeks. So if the library really wants to meet the demand, we not only have to buy more copies, we should probably extend the checkout period for each one -- which further reduces its availability.
The patrons I've spoken with about it, say Hooked On Phonics works best with young children, even preschool children. Older kids find it a little boring. But the people that check it out are actually using it, not just previewing it for later purchase.
It appears that there is something of a groundswell of parental support for phonics. The School District might want to take note. In the meantime, I'm still pondering the precise line of demarcation between public library materials and curricular support materials. If you've got some thoughts on the matter, give me a call (688-8752), or send something to the paper.
Right now, this one is a puzzlement to me. I'd appreciate some advice.
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