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Educational policy analysis archives.
n Vol. 3, no. 8 (March 31, 1995).
Tempe, Ariz. :
b Arizona State University ;
Tampa, Fla. :
University of South Florida.
c March 31, 1995
Getting a grip on the good life : essay review of Alan De Young's The life and death of a rural American high school : farewell little Kanawha / Craig Howley [and] Paul Theobald.
Arizona State University.
University of South Florida.
t Education Policy Analysis Archives (EPAA)
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1 of 10 Education Policy Analysis Archives Volume 3 Number 8March 31, 1995ISSN 1068-2341A peer-reviewed scholarly electronic journal. Editor: Gene V Glass,Glass@ASU.EDU. College of Educ ation, Arizona State University,Tempe AZ 85287-2411 Copyright 1995, the EDUCATION POLICY ANALYSIS ARCHIVES.Permission is hereby granted to copy any a rticle provided that EDUCATION POLICY ANALYSIS ARCHIVES is credited and copies are not sold.Getting a Grip on the Good Life: Essay Review of Alan DeYoung's The Life and Death of a Rural American High School: Farewell Little Kanawha Craig Howley ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small Sch ools Appalachia Educational Laboratory; Charleston, WV firstname.lastname@example.org Paul Theobald South Dakota State University email@example.comDeYoung, Alan. (1995). The Life and Death of a Rural American High School: Farewell Little Kanawha New York: Garland. 342 pp. $50.00, hardcover (800 /627-6273) Alan DeYoung's story of the circumstances surroundi ng the birth, growth, and death of a high school in rural West Virginia is an intellectu al contribution of the first order. And Farewell Little Kanawha is certainly one of the best stories to be told by an educational researcher in recent decades. Its strength derives in large measu re from DeYoung's deftness in crossing disciplinary borders. The interplay of economics, s ociology, history (both oral and documentary), anthropology, and biography render this story far m ore compelling than most educational research. DeYoung bases his narrative, in fact, on C. Wright Mills' precept that social science worth doing must interpret the intersection of biog raphy and history. Mills was the wisest and best American sociologist and DeYoung is among a ve ry small contingent of scholars concerned with rural education to embrace his advice.The Work In Brief
2 of 10 To some readers these assets might seem to render D eYoung's enterprise undisciplined, but, to the contrary, Farewell Little Kanawha exhibits a lovely arch-like structure, pillared at both ends by a pair of chapters that, at the beginn ing, lead readers into how the work was conceived and what motives guided its development. And, at the end, meanings emanating from DeYoung's investigations and reflections are eloque ntly tied to earlier themes. The arch itself develops the narrative inherent in the biographies and histories of schooling in Braxton County in the twentieth century. This is artful research inde ed (cf. Eisner, 1995). Chapters One and Two present the warrant for the cr oss-disciplinary approach. This warrant, both in language and logic, is accessible, even as compared, for instance, with John Gaventa's (1980) methodological discussion in anoth er fine work on Appalachia, Power and Powerlessness A thoughtful lay reader can much more easily foll ow the discussion in the present work. Chapters Three, Four, and Five treat, with increasi ngly narrow focus, the settings in which the school that DeYoung calls "Little Kanawha" thri ved, survived, and declined. Each of these chapters presents intersections of history and biog raphy, told in authentic voices. The key biography is that of "K.S.," the superintendent who presides over the consolidation of Braxton County's middle schools (and the further demise of Little Kanawha) during the course of DeYoung's fieldwork. In Chapters Six and Seven, DeYoung recounts the boo ms and busts that shaped schooling in the County. One of us knows something of Braxton County, which presents some of the most stunningly beautiful terrain in the state. But thes e chapters develop the economic, political, and historical disasters that belie the evident landsca pe: timbering to the point of disastrous floods; the coal boom and the coming of the railroads; the cycles of oil and gas booms and busts; and the later big federal works (agricultural programs in a state no longer considered to have a single county with an agricultural economic base; a ten-ye ar Interstate construction boom; and major flood-control dam projects, one of which wiped out an entire village important to Little Kanawha). DeYoung concludes that, despite the appea rance of tranquility, Braxton County presents a credible representation of the repeated dislocations that characterize the Appalachian experience. Chapters Eight and Nine deal with rural school cons olidation in the contemporary era. Chapter eight is appropriately subtitled (adopting the image of a West Virginia writer) "Looking In, Looking Out," because it moves easily from the issues surrounding the consolidation of Braxton County's three middles schools and into the final chapter, where the issues of meaning are related to rural schools generally (and to rura l school consolidations and closures). Farewell Little Kanawha does more, however. It chronicles the essence of t he twentieth-century experience in America, the wholes ale embrace of industrial tenets, the devotion to elite democratic theory, the suburbaniz ation of a nation and its concomitant diminution of both urban and rural life, the evolut ion of formal schooling from a community endeavor intended to promote stability and a modicu m of virtue into a national and increasingly multinational one (principally to bolster economic and military "competitiveness.") Before moving to why we find that DeYoung's work so aptly captures this essence, we asked each other why so very little work of this nature has been don e. Why the Big Picture is Regarded as Dangerous Americans who take charge of the things of the worl d--by virtue of the positions they inherit in the great systems of power--cannot ackno wledge the existence of a rural world. Such an acknowledgement would force them into a fair accoun ting of the costs incurred by their decisions, or, in other words, into a political, ec onomic, and ethical reckoning that they could not survive. The economy (or those who benefit most fro m its machinations) must exclude the
3 of 10possibility that community and countryside possess relevant value. This exclusion is, in our view, a corollary to the logic of the dominant neoclassic al view of economic life, with a teleology of limitless accumulation and consumption. On an indiv idual level people are socialized to achieve ever greater levels of consumption amid neighbors w ith similar aspirations. Anything less, in such a world, constitutes failure. The business of schooling in such a culture, is, we ll, business. Schooling must, under these circumstances, demonstrate that it adds value to in dividuals in the process of developing successful competitors for "the marketplace." This goal seems sufficiently abstract that not too many people object (though perhaps it is true that many educators are among the objectors). The thought that the real interests of individuals and communities might run counter to national aspirations for global economic and military domini on seldom receives serious consideration. There's just not much profit in the thought. Rural life, rural literature, rural history, rural philosophy, and (we note with some irony) even rural educational research are among the endea vors that are marginalized. This circumstance is so familiar that it is comic. Many of the great American writers have been "regional" writers. When William Faulkner began his international rise to fame, not one of his novels was still in print in the United States. Of course, part of what has happened in the twentieth century is that the value of the humaniti es has declined. They have become (in the prevailing view) a pointless adornment of the elite Who really cares anymore about literature? about philosophy? about history? None of them is a very certain mechanism for accumulating wealth or indulging expensive consumption. Our point, however, is not so much about the declin e of the West and its institutions of intellect. Rather, we find that local circumstance-call it "sense-of-place"--inspires people to make meaning and to give meaning to life. The demis e of local places contributes to the fact that literature, philosophy, and history have so little hold any longer over the imaginations of Americans. The locality to which we refer need not be rural, of course, but rural localities, exactly as DeYoung demonstrates in Farewell Little Kanawha embody the idea of "place" much better than the placeless suburbs, and maybe somewh at better than the cosmopolitan metropolis. (But we observe that the great urban writers drew g reat sustenance from their habitual places-like Walt Whitman with Brooklyn and Manhattan.) The marginalization of rural America is not only a cultural but an economic and political travesty (see Daniel Kemmis' Community and the Politics of Place ) that reflects the dilemmas of American life generally. It has only been within th e last decade that American historians (following European precedent, incidentally) have b egun to look to the countryside for leverage on such questions as the nature and origins of capi talism or the catalysts of universal literacy. Important (if neglected) questions in education nee d the purchase that an understanding of rural circumstances provides. Thus we come to Alan DeYoung's Farewell Little Kanawha a wonderful piece of educational research that smoothly and accessibly t akes the reader back and forth across the intellectual chasm that divides the business of sch ooling (however fictitiously) from the business of economics and politics. This work accomplishes t his feat, we think, precisely because it is rooted in local matters. But because Farewell Little Kanawha is rural educational research--it is so catalogued by the Library of Congress--it stands a good chance of being regarded as marginal. These are the reasons such stories are rare. They a re dangerous. But this work will hasten the day when the educational research community und ertakes more "border crossings," when it begins to understand that education (and even schoo ling) is something quite different from the generic function of adding value to human capital ( cf. DeYoung, 1989). Dilemmas of Schooling and Superintendency
4 of 10 West Virginia, unlike most states outside the South operates only county school districts and has done so since the depression compromised th e very existence of public schooling. The State Department in this preponderantly rural state takes very little interest in the circumstance of ruralness. To this day officials of the Department rejoice in the fact that they have just 55 county districts with which to contend. This stroke of "lu ck," combined with an endless economic and political "crisis" (the result of natural resource development), seems to have produced a very centrally organized state system of education. Loca l districts have (in comparison with small, independent districts throughout much of the nation ) little latitude to develop uniquely responsive educational settings. The state cannot s upply the largesse needed for such latitude, and, in any case, regulations prohibit a wide range of involvement by local citizens. In fact, though funding is inadequate in West Virginia, the state is one of the most equitably funded in the nation (Hughes, 1992). This conclusion, however may depend on a degree of deception not possible when there are hundreds of small districts since aggregation of finance data to the level of 55 counties (from 900 schools statewide) probabl y obscures wider variation. The bulk of school funding in West Virginia comes from the stat e and so it is no surprise that county boards often feel abused. Talk continues in West Virginia, interestingly, about "regionalizing" services like schooling--apparently 55 districts is still to o many. West Virginia, for these reasons, was an excellent site for DeYoung's research. The contest between local concerns and the logic of a generic, one-best system with its goal of adding value to human capital, is not likely to be much sharper anywhere else in the nation. In part this is true because the local culture of West Virginia communit ies persists (though it is under heavy assault from "information vectors"--media, transportation, economic marginalization). And West Virginia exercises a hold on people precisely becau se it is different from the homogenized and pornographic national culture that increasingly cho kes the entire nation. To be sure, DeYoung is careful to affirm the West Virginia difference as p ositive, and he shows how interpretations of Appalachian otherness as pathological have their ro ots in racism and other attempts at deflecting blame to the victims of misused power. DeYoung demonstrates that the people he encountered understand the differences that exist. They remain committed to their places despit e the seductive behavior of the national culture. One man in Braxton tells DeYoung a charact eristic story, poignantly mixed of equal parts pride, dignity, regret, and care for communit y and family. "J.B." says, Well, you know, I come back in '82, my boy graduate d from high school in '83, went to the Marine Corps. He's still in the Ma rine Corps, and I don't even know him, so to speak. You get home on the weekends, or every second weekend. My boy he growed up and I didn't know him...We done things together, but I still really didn't know him. So I missed out on a lot. Like I w as talking to a lady up there today. Her husband worked for United Coal Mines. Graduated from high school; her and her husband both...They've got two small boys. Well United Coal Mines over in the county shut down. He went to Kentucky. Studying in Kentucky for submining now. She's telling me this morning, it's about three hou rs away. I forget which town she was telling me it was in, but he was going to commu te back and forth every other weekend, or every ten days, or whatever. I said don 't do it. You take your kids, you take yourself, you go down there and you find you a place to live. "Well, it's only three hours away" (she said). I said, "It might as well be ten." (p. 126) The superintendent of schools in the County, "K.S., is the pivotal character in the story of Farewell Little Kanawha It was he who facilitated the consolidation that in so many other rural places is a trial by fire for incumbent superintend ents. Indeed, just a few years previously, a long-time superintendent in neighboring Calhoun Cou nty was driven from office by a concerted effort to defeat a consolidation scheme (a scheme t hat nonetheless eventually prevailed).
5 of 10 K.S. is perhaps Braxton County's most successful na tive son, and he holds one of the longest running tenures (nearly 20 years) in a stat e where the average incumbency is under two years (vigorously bucking the national trend). Any way one looks at the Little Kanawha story, it seems that K.S. is doing a remarkable job. Unlike m any West Virginia superintendents, K.S. received his doctorate outside the state, at the Un iversity of Kentucky. Most superintendents in the state bear allegiance to West Virginia Universi ty. K.S. saw the wider world and came back to Braxton County for some reason not disclosed by DeY oung. But it is clear that K.S. sticks around because West Virginia exercises a hold on hi m that is similar to the hold it exercises on his neighbors. The biography reported by DeYoung in Chapter three demonstrates the similarity of K.S.'s story and everyone else's. It would thus be too easy to paint K.S. as a villain in the Littl e Kanawha story, though DeYoung does admit that "K.S. became an agent of the state" (p. 301). But DeYoung, whose own views differ sharply from th ose of K.S., harbors great respect for this man whom he would probably number among his friends : Counter to literature on rural school superintenden ts in other case studies...K.S. was a key change agent in his rural but economically ma rginal county. [His] agency cannot be understood as either a passive or villain ous one. Rather, it was an active, calculative, and philosophically informed one. (p. 301) DeYoung claims that K.S. sought to empower children to move into a national economy and society. Elsewhere in the book, however, K.S. m akes it clear that his view of the purpose of education is perhaps more complex. He says, The pursuit of happiness should be preceded by acad emic preparation and several experiences that enrich and stimulate the mind, cau sing the individual to develop his own sense of self-satisfaction and fulfillment. Usi ng the hillbilly dream is a cop-out and causes impoverishment and dependence.... A cult ure of non-work, non-study, and non-responsibility does little to advance the h uman race.... Education is the catalyst or the empowering elixir that allows optio ns to be available to the "good old boy" that can free him of caretakers and transfer p ayments. (pp. 296-297) DeYoung realizes that K.S.'s dilemmas differ from t he ones that trouble scholars; and he does not abuse K.S.'s confidences. The fact is that the social, political, and economic forces that shape the history of the County and the biographies of its citizens also make certain eventualities more likely than others. Consolidation is one of those more certain eventual ities in West Virginia these days. Finance and administrative convenience, as K.S. wou ld surely acknowledge, argue against retaining small schools: Practically speaking, K.S. knew that only by consol idating the three old schools could he get out from under impending school renova tion costs that would bankrupt the system. (p. 287) But the reason that finance and administration are so compelling is a twisted one. It is definitely not that large schools are cheaper to op erate as the result of alleged economies of scale, as DeYoung rightly concludes in his succinct review of relevant literature. State regulations and standards, however, render extant schools--in Braxt on County, West Virginia as elsewhere in rural America--increasingly substandard. Good educa tion might, practically speaking, still take place in such buildings, but the combination of sch ool regulations (based on the large-cut pattern of the one-best scheme of schooling), safety regula tions regarding such things as lead-based paint and asbestos, and the American penchant for "techno logy" (and for technologizing dilemmas in
6 of 10the quest for unattainable solutions) combine to ma ke necessary the abandonment of old buildings. Renovation as compared to new constructi on is prohibitively expensive; the cost-benefit analysis (when social costs to communi ties are excluded) does not work out. New construction is the only acceptable alternative The hitch, in West Virginia and in most poor and rural communities, is that new constr uction just is not feasible with local revenues. Not that rural citizens--as is so often c harged--fail to properly value education. Local income and wealth just do not provide an adequate t ax base, though rural communities typically make a tax effort that is proportionately greater t han suburban and urban communities. So the state steps in, as in West Virginia, and offers t o fund fully any construction plans that meet its specifications. And, these days, in West Virginia, "economy of scale" is the rubric under which the new construction game is played. This is an old game (Stephens, 1991) and, moreover, the state's economy of scale standards are utter fabric ations, which it has never even bothered to defend (Purdy, 1992).Little Kanawha's Contribution Persisting in the place where you live, with the pe ople you love, and discovering and cultivating the meaning in those relationships (hab its that Americans are losing at an alarming rate) arguably constitute the meaning of life; but in the world created by the engines of conspicuous consumption (Veblen, 1979/1899), knowin g what life is all about has become as inapplicable as literature (cf. Berry, 1990). What can one say of a civilization in which the iss ue of living the good life has become irrelevant? Not much that is good. The reason for this state of affairs, in part, is t hat national schemes of schooling are questionable enterprises all around the globe. Ever ywhere, such national schemes look remarkably--eerily--the same (Meyer, Kamens, & Bena vot, 1992). It is not difficult to see why. Since the eighteenth century, and especially with t he rise of the natural sciences as the intellectual toolkit for remaking the world in the interest of accumulating wealth, knowledge has become universalized. At least for the present, for mal schooling is the implement for diffusing such knowledge. Nearly everyone believes that capit al (actual wealth) proceeds significantly from human capital (transportable knowledge, skills and habits temporarily accumulated by individuals in the workforce). The sorts of knowled ge, skills, and habits required to foster capital accumulation are everywhere nearly the same sort be cause limitless economic growth is both end and means for the world system (for a while longer anyway, but now more than ever). Capital--which used to be understood as inclusive o f the tools of production--is ever more transportable and ephemeral. Financial markets are increasingly sensitive to one another precisely because capital can wander the world electronically But human capital is rapidly becoming equally transportable in the form of software. The sort of abstract, technical "knowledge" that supports limitless economic growth--knowledge of ho w to execute a procedure--is exactly the sort of "universal" knowledge that can be captured in software. The truth is that this sort of knowledge does not need all that many human beings to develop it, keep it, or use it. Increasingly, therefore, humans confront an inhuman system of production and knowledge. The emerging "postmodern" circumstance (in our view the postmodern is just another development within modernism) will sooner or later usher in a crisis for national systems of schooling. Instead of needing more schooling, peopl e will need less; instead of needing greater access to schooling, nations will have to reduce su ch access. But the need for "education" (as distinct from schooling) will persist. Education, u nlike schooling, must deal cogently at its center with questions about the good life. When education fails, as Hannah Arendt (1968/1954) pointed out, the world of humans and their artifacts inevit ably fails. Instead of cultivating universalized functions (and the debased meanings associated with
7 of 10them), education will have to cultivate particulari zed meanings, and quite probably, the particularized local functions that follow those me anings. DeYoung does not make this critique explicit in Farewell Little Kanawha but it is implicit throughout. And DeYoung does characterize the prevailing, and increasingly dysfu nctional and unjust, intentions of schooling aptly. According to him, Contemporary American public institutions, includin g schools, stand in opposition to [a high regard for one's place on earth]. It is their intent to create knowable and predictable people across entire nations and econom ies, not regional ones. (p. 292) The world we think we know--the one in which the ph rase "global village" is understood as making sense--is a creation so recent we can rem ember the one that once prevailed. One of DeYoung's contacts reminds us of this world and its nearby meanings: My grandmother, when my mom was growing up, lived s even miles up the road here. Nobody in the family worked [i.e., held a reg ular job]. There were no wage paying jobs for anybody to work at. Yet, they raise d eight kids and put them through school. And I have recollections in the early 1950s There was no power in the house, there was no natural gas, (they) cooked on w ood stoves, had a nice comfortable clean house. They lived a very simple l ifestyle and went to bed at 8:00...(Now) when the power goes off for 30 minutes we think we're going to die (p. 328) One of our favorite (marginalized, regional) writer s is Wendell Berry. In his wonderful book The Hidden Wound Berry makes explicit the implicit educational conn ection in (informant's moniker) recollections: the essential cultural discrimination is ... betwee n the superfluous and the indispensable .... Granting the frailty, and no dou bt the impermanence, of modern technology as a human contrivance, the human being who can keep a fire in a stove or on a hearth is not only more durable, but wiser, closer to the meaning of fire, than the human being who can only work a thermostat. (Be rry, 1990, p. 76) Anecdotal Conclusions Is Wendell Berry inapplicable? We think he is quint essentially applicable, and we offer an anecdote in evidence. We've argued about whether to include this anecdote here, because it seems self-serving, though it is not. It reports so mething that surprised us and tends to confirm a faith that human beings are indeed interested in fa shioning wise decisions about the meanings and purposes of education. The two of us became acquainted through another joi nt project. It involved the development of a short synthesis piece for a govern ment contract; the topic was the educational implications of the philosophy of Wendell Berry. Wh ether or not Berry was actually a philosopher, we knew, was debatable, but we also kn ew the debate would seem obscure to our colleagues in education who easily regard "the midd le school concept" and "inclusion" as de facto philosophies. By these lights, Berry could ea sily be counted as a philosopher. We also knew we were breaking the rules, but we felt this was ju st good work to do because something relevant to the purposes of rural schooling seemed timely gi ven coeval hyperbole devoted to the National Education Goals. We were surprised when the work became the most wid ely requested publication among many developed by the publisher that year; and it h as remained among the publisher's most
8 of 10popular titles ever since. We conclude, on this perhaps scant evidence, that m uch of what passes as important for educational improvement is trivial and that much of value goes untested because it is so at odds with the prevailing wisdom about adding value to hu man capital. We also hazard the guess that most people who work in rural schools know this to be the case, even if they get very little chance to acknowledge it to themselves and others. Alan DeYoung's Farewell Little Kanawha is research that goes to the core of the issues relate d to becoming educated Americans with a grip on the good life. References Arendt, H. (1968). The crisis in education. In Between past and future: Eight exercises in political thought (rev. ed., pp.173-196). New York: Viking Press. (O riginal work published 1954)Berry, W. (1990). The Hidden Wound San Francisco: North Point Press. DeYoung, A. (1995). The Life and Death of a Rural American High School: Farewell Little Kanawha New York: Garland. Eisner, E. (1995). What artistically crafted resear ch can help us understand about schools. Educational theory 45:1, 1-6. Purdy, D., (1992, February). [Testimony on House Bi ll 4157 before WV House of Delegates]. Unpublished manuscript, Charleston, WV.Meyer, J., Kamens, D., & Benavot, A. (1992). School knowledge for the masses: World models and national primary curricular categories in the t wentieth century Washington, DC: Falmer Press.Hughes, M. (1992). The fair share dilemma: Property Wealth, Per Pupil Revenue and Resident Ability To Support Public Elementary and Secondary Education in West Virginia 1991-92. Charleston, WV: West Virginia Education Fund. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 356 119)Kemmis, D. (1990). Community and the politics of place Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press.Mills, C. W. (1959). The sociological imagination New York: Oxford University Press. Stephens, E. R (1991). A framework for evaluating s tate policy options for the reorganization of rural, small school districts. Charleston, WV: ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small Schools and Appalachia Educational Laboratory. (ERI C Document Reproduction Service No. ED 332 855)Theobald, P. (1992). Rural philosophy for education : Wendell Berry's tradition. Charleston, WV: ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small Sch ools. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 345 930)Veblen, T. (1979). Theory of the leisure class New York: Penguin. (Original work published 1899)
9 of 10 About the AuthorCraig Howley Director ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small Sch ools Appalachia Educational LaboratoryPhone: 800-624-9120 email: firstname.lastname@example.org http://www.ael.org/erichp.htm I've written about, studied, and lived in rural pla ces. (It's debatable whether or not I still live in a rural place, but the local chamber of commerce says I do, given that our house sits 2 miles north of I-64).Culture, politics, economics, and history concern m e. I wish schools were better at promoting 'the life of the mind' (whatever that is; finding out is part of the adventure) among everyone. And I think there are reasons they don't, but these reaso ns constitute more than just inattention or foolishness. Culture, politics, economics, and hist ory suggest reasons. Literature (fiction) may be a much better guide to true education in rural places than the sorts of poor studies we educationists sponsor. Check out We ndell Stegner's Second Growth (circa 1950) or Annie Proulx's The Shipping News (circa 1990) and even E.M. Forster's Howards End (circa 1920). These folks have preserved something we have tried desperately to abandon, but can't actually escape. The wonder is that, though these b ooks (and many more) treat the dilemmas of rural life, they also deal with the idea of a true education more universally. Now, that's fun because it's not easy. In particular, novels don't lend themselves to translations as cookbooks. Teaching well is the most difficult work in the wor ld. We make a great mistake with attempts to make it easy or happy. Happiness is not a worthy ai m for education, nor is getting and holding a good job.Copyright 1995 by the Education Policy Analysis ArchivesEPAA can be accessed either by visiting one of its seve ral archived forms or by subscribing to the LISTSERV known as EPAA at LISTSERV@asu.edu. (To sub scribe, send an email letter to LISTSERV@asu.edu whose sole contents are SUB EPAA y our-name.) As articles are published by the Archives they are sent immediately to the EPAA subscribers and simultaneously archived in three forms. Articles ar e archived on EPAA as individual files under the name of the author and the Volume and article number. For e xample, the article by Stephen Kemmis in Volume 1, Number 1 of the Archives can be retrieved by sending an e-mail letter to LI STSERV@asu.edu and making the single line in the letter read GET KEMMIS V1N1 F=MAIL. For a table of contents of the entire ARCHIVES, send the following e-mail message to LIST SERV@asu.edu: INDEX EPAA F=MAIL, that is, send an e-mail letter and make its single line read INDEX EPAA F=MAIL. The World Wide Web address for the Education Policy Analysis Archives is http://seamonkey.ed.asu.edu/epaaEducation Policy Analysis Archives are "gophered" at olam.ed.asu.edu To receive a publication guide for submitting artic les, see the EPAA World Wide Web site or send an e-mail letter to LISTSERV@asu.edu and include the single l ine GET EPAA PUBGUIDE F=MAIL. It will be sent to you by return e-mail. General questions about ap propriateness of topics or particular articles may be
10 of 10addressed to the Editor, Gene V Glass, Glass@asu.ed u or reach him at College of Education, Arizona Sta te University, Tempe, AZ 85287-2411. (602-965-2692)Editorial Board John Covaleskiejcovales@nmu.edu Andrew Coulson email@example.com Alan Davis firstname.lastname@example.org Mark E. Fetlermfetler@ctc.ca.gov Thomas F. Greentfgreen@mailbox.syr.edu Alison I. Griffithagriffith@edu.yorku.ca Arlen Gullickson email@example.com Ernest R. Houseernie.firstname.lastname@example.org Aimee Howleyess016@marshall.wvnet.edu Craig B. Howley email@example.com William Hunterhunter@acs.ucalgary.ca Richard M. Jaeger firstname.lastname@example.org Benjamin Levinlevin@ccu.umanitoba.ca Thomas Mauhs-Pughthomas.email@example.com Dewayne Matthewsdm@wiche.edu Mary P. McKeowniadmpm@asuvm.inre.asu.edu Les McLeanlmclean@oise.on.ca Susan Bobbitt Nolensunolen@u.washington.edu Anne L. Pembertonapembert@pen.k12.va.us Hugh G. Petrieprohugh@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu Richard C. Richardsonrichard.firstname.lastname@example.org Anthony G. Rud Jr.email@example.com Dennis Sayersdmsayers@ucdavis.edu Jay Scribnerjayscrib@tenet.edu Robert Stonehillrstonehi@inet.ed.gov Robert T. Stoutstout@asu.edu