On the Firing Line in Education

by Adoniram Judson Ladd

HAVE THE SCHOOLS BEEN DISCREDITED BY THE REVELATIONS OF THE WAR?

From School and Society, April 5, 1919

Knowing that I was about to publish a book on education in which the Great War, now happily closed, was not taken as the point of departure, a friend said to me one day, in substance, "Aren't you taking undue risks just now in putting out a book on education that isn't based upon a program of reconstruction? Haven't all our so-called educational principles been dis-credited? Shall you get any readers if you do not admit educational failure thus far, and proceed to discuss a change of front, made imperative by recent revelations?" And the editor of a well known educational journal, in asking me for an article, recently, said, among other things, "I should be glad to have an article upon some phase of reconstruction after the war, educational, social, philosophical, as you may like. Here is the next great battlefield of the future, and if the educational forces do not redeem themselves here, it is my opinion that we shall become a greater laughing stock than we have ever been before."

To both of these statements I desire to take exception. To be sure, the war has taught us many lessons bearing upon education; to be sure, it has revealed shortcomings, limitations, and weaknesses. But it seems to me that it has also made clear that we have been working along right lines. Our fundamental educational principles have not been dis-credited. There is no far-reaching educational failure to admit, nor is there any serious shortcoming from which the educational forces of the country have to redeem themselves. "Laughing stock," does the gentleman say? Oh no! Far from it! Let us not get panicky! Some weaknesses brought to light? Certainly. But in the analysis, later to be made, let us see if, for the most part, they do not but demonstrate the soundness of our educational principles and the far-sightedness of our educational leaders together with the short-sightedness of the present critics, in that had suggested recommendations been followed these weaknesses would not have existed. Let us give here but one illustration, and that briefly. We all admit that the medical examinations for the war found too many physical defects, and too many men thereby incapacitated for efficient military service. But would not the results have been very different if, during the last generation, the suggestions and strong recommendations of educators relative to physical education in our schools been acted upon by the public? Ah! The fault was not with educational principles; they were sound. The educational forces of the country knew what was needed, but a parsimonious public would not follow intelligent leadership. We could say, all along the line, "I told you so," if we felt so inclined. Instead of being the "laughing stock" we could—if the matter were not too serious—throw the laugh upon the other fellow. The purpose of our schools has never been to produce soldiers at the drop of the hat, and so they have never been blighted by military training. (May it never come!) Their task has been to produce men and women of character and purpose and ideals—men and women of initiative who could become anything called for by an emergency. And nobly have they succeeded, as evidenced by the successful prosecution of the war.

In view of all that the United States has done to assist in bringing the war to its successful close, from the adoption of the selective draft down thru the management of the training camps, the operation of the railroads, conservation of food and fuel, to the knitting of a pair of socks and the sale of a thrift stamp, what shall be said of the success or failure of our schools? Every man, woman, and child in this gigantic work, from President Wilson down to the colored bootblack who saved his nickels to buy a stamp, or to the little girl who voluntarily went without her sugar, has been a product of the schools. Thru the instruction, the discipline, and the training given in those schools, they became the men and women who could rise to the emergency and do the things needed. And they did.

No college or university or professional school ever taught Mr. Wilson how to be President of the United States during these troublous days; nor Mr. McAdoo how to manage the railroads; nor Mr. Pershing all about war; nor any local worker how to lead the Red Cross work, any more than the lower schools have taught the boys who went into the trenches how to use the gas mask and how to go without food; how to shoulder arms and how to march. But the schools all along the line did help to give them ideals, did train them in team-play; did instil into them the principles of democracy and the love of country, so that when the need came they arose as one man to repel the foe. And the study of arithmetic, geography, and grammar; of chemistry, physics, and medicine; of Latin, Greek, and history has, in each case, made its contribution to the preparation of home workers, soldiers, scientific experts, financial managers, and statesmen—has helped to make each an individual of initiative.

Under the guidance of our educational leaders, following principles that they had workt out, the schools of the country were moving quietly along, each one of the 750,000 teachers doing faithfully the work at hand day by day. We had never thought of war as a possibility for us, and of course preparation for it had not been made, in the slightest degree, a part of the work of the schools. But when war, with all its horrors, was finally forced upon us and we needed statesmen and scientists and military leaders to guide and direct, they were at hand in the graduates of our colleges and universities—broadly trained men capable of assimilating, or learning, or in other ways gaining quickly, the specific form of efficiency needed in the particular activity assigned. And when we needed soldiers they were at hand in the person of our boys of the schools, both common and high, from every nook and corner of the land—boys and men who merely needed direction and leadership, capable of at once falling into line and quickly taking on the professional phase of their training. Could we have asked our schools to do more? The supreme test had come, and it was being met in a manner gratifying to all. The boys and the girls, the men and the women, on the farm, in the store, in the home, in the workshop, in the schools and colleges, have responded "Here am I. Show me what you want me to do, and I will do it even unto death." It was done, and they did it. The schools had nobly demonstrated their efficiency.

To be sure, all this was not done without making mistakes. Not all the products of all the schools were able to rise to the occasion and to be depended upon in our hour of need. When the great national search-light was trained upon the product of the schools, seeking leaders of infinite variety and number, and likewise hosts of followers to do definite and difficult things, many deficient ones were discovered—some deficient in mental caliber, some weak in moral fiber, some lacking in physical stamina. And right here is to be seen the only serious failure of our schools. Not every boy, not every girl, had been made as efficient as could have been desired. But, happily, in our great numbers enough were found to do even the stupendous work at hand, and to do it well. In spite of moral lapses, not a few, in spite of instances of mental incompetence, far too many, and in spite of physical handicaps, distressingly large—in spite of all this, I say, the United States surprised the world with the quickness with which we pulled ourselves together, and with the marvelous efficiency with which we mobilized all our resources. Many losses of course there were—losses of men, losses of days, losses of dollars. But when all is said and done, the losses were slight when compared with the accomplishments. Credit to whom credit is due! But because of these losses unthinking men immediately began to criticise the schools. They should have been trade schools, or industrial schools or military schools—any kind of schools that they were not. And how clearly it was being demonstrated, we were told, that the time formerly spent on music and drawing, art and literature, algebra and geometry, history and Latin, had all been wasted! How much better it would have been if, instead of these "frills," the children had been given "practical subjects"! (Practical. Save the mark. One is tempted here to go off on a by-path and discuss the topic, "What is Practical?") Thus the criticism of the unthinking—of the laymen who went off at half-cock.