THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, September 2, 1994 TAG: 9409010089
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
LENGTH: Long : 135 lines
MICHAEL E. MORRISON - wearing a paisley tie and a pin-stripe shirt with a pen clipped to the pocket - somehow holds onto his coffee and books as he walks into the first class of his school year.
He's a little nervous, like many of the 320 freshmen at Virginia Wesleyan College. But he's not a new student. He's a new professor.
This is Morrison's first day of teaching full time at Wesleyan - or anywhere else. The 29-year-old just earned his doctorate in biology in July from the University of Kansas in Lawrence.
``I'm nervous in a different way,'' says Morrison, a tall man with a mustache and a frequent smile. ``For a freshman coming in the first day, it's the fear of not knowing what's going to happen. There are a lot of unknowns.
``For me, it's not the fear of the unknown as much as it is being in front of the students. It's a lot like being an actor. If you're not a good performer, the kids are going to be asleep in the back of the class.''
Except for the brown-nosers, students don't have to do much the first day - sit there, take notes, stay awake. It's different for the prof. He's got to lay down the ground rules. He's got to make an impression.
There are two things that Morrison wants his students to know. First, he's there for them. ``By setting up a style the first day that you're approachable to students, it will help them later in the semester,'' he says. ``If you shorten that gap, they won't be quite so hesitant to come to you if they have a question.''
Second, he's no pushover: ``Every student knows I'm a new faculty member. To a degree, they're going to try to push me. So it's important to establish some sort of limits. You're not up there to be taken advantage of.''
Like a student who delayed studying for finals until the last minute, Morrison got into a tight jam Monday morning.
He hadn't yet made copies of the syllabuses for his genetics and anatomy courses. He went to the store at 8 a.m. Bad news: The laser printer wasn't working.
So he went to Wesleyan and waited in the long line at the secretary's office to make copies. He had wanted to do one more thing - finish the lecture notes for his second course later in the morning. Too late.
It was already time for the first class: Biology 311, Genetics.
9:30 a.m. Standing near his desk, he clutches his coffee cup almost like a security blanket and sips from it frequently. Otherwise, he looks calm and collected.
He starts off the nice guy, mixing quips and reassurances: ``My office is the little closet underneath the science auditorium. I'm not going to give out my office hours. Basically I'll be there 8 to 5 every day. Feel free to come in whenever you want to.''
Later, some good news: ``I know you're all going to be heartbroken, but we're not going to have lab this afternoon. We're waiting on some chemicals I ordered.''
He reviews the syllabus, and the tough guy begins to emerge. No curved grading. Four exams. And a strict attendance policy. ``I understand there are times when you might oversleep till 11 o'clock or rear-end somebody's car on your way to class. But if you miss more than three (classes), I'm going to take off two points from your final grade.''
Tardiness will also be penalized. ``You were all here before I was, so that's a good sign. Please don't come late. If you're late regularly, I'm going to count it as an absence.''
It all comes down to ``mutual respect,'' he tells them. ``I respect you as a student, and that you want to learn something from my course. But you have to respect me as well. Don't try to cheat or come in here giving me a lame excuse for why you missed an exam.''
The class is quiet. He frequently asks for questions, but there are none.
After a quick breakdown of the branches of genetics - classical, molecular and evolutionary - he lets them go, 10 minutes early. Referring to the lab canceled for the afternoon, he says: ``Go lay out on the beach.
``See you all, Wenzzzzday.''
A few of the 14 students approach him afterward to reschedule the makeup lab or one of the tests.
Chaminie Amarasinghe, a senior biology major, is impressed. ``He definitely fits the Virginia Wesleyan science type teacher. He's here because he wants to teach, not to do research. I think we'll always be able to come to him to talk to him about our questions.''
10:30 a.m. He has an hour to complete his notes and a couple of overhead slides for the next lecture, Bio 102, Human Anatomy and Physiology. ``I'm just as bad as my students,'' he says. ``I'll probably be pulling as many all-nighters as they will.''
But unlike the student whose dog ate his final paper, Morrison has a good excuse for not being further along. He was busy on his doctoral dissertation through July.
Morrison is teaching four courses this semester - two sections of anatomy, one of genetics and the genetics lab. The genetics course is mostly for upperclassmen science majors, the anatomy courses for nonmajors. Yet it's the anatomy course that excites him the most.
``I enjoy explaining the thrill of biology to people who are afraid of biology,'' he says. ``One of my goals is to have the student say after the semester: `Science isn't so bad after all. It isn't a big black box that isn't understandable.' ''
11:30 a.m. Almost every chair is filled in the small classroom. There are 25 students. Morrison starts his routine. He leaves the coffee mug on his desk this time. But he repeats many of the same points, even the same jokes, from the first class (``If you're looking for a business class or underwater basket-weaving, this isn't it.'').
As he did in the first class, Morrison promises to stress the practical applications of the course material: ``What is HIV? How does it affect your body? What does baking yourself out on the beach do to your skin?''
And just like the first time, he calls the roll, warning that it might take him a while to remember names. He passes out index cards and asks the students to write their names, majors (``If you absolutely have no clue in heck, put that down'' ``That's me,'' one voice whispers), hopes for the class and reasons for attending.
Then a quick run-through of biological systems, from skeletal to urinary. More coming attractions: ``Why do you have to go to the bathroom all the time? Why do you have to go more when you drink beer?'' A few chuckles break the silence.
Another biological concept, and that's it. ``Questions? Questions? No? You guys understand everything?'' Apparently. ``See you Wenzzzzday.''
Stephen Foti, a senior pre-law student, comes up to introduce himself and shake Morrison's hand. Foti says Morrison scores points for his honesty, even on the attendance policy. ``He said basically point-blank: `These are the ground rules; three strikes and you're out,' '' Foti says. ``He came across as very easygoing but also very demanding of us and expecting the best of us.''
Just what Morrison wants.
12:30 p.m. Over lunch, Morrison says the morning went pretty much as expected. The students were awfully quiet, but that's OK. ``The real questions on content will come next lecture,'' he says.
With the lab canceled, Morrison's got a free afternoon. Will he go to the beach? Nope. It's back to the office to finish the notes for the next round of lectures.
``The second day is when you begin presenting information,'' he says. ``This is when I really need to know what to say. I'm almost more nervous about the second session.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
D. KEVIN ELLIOTT/Staff
Michael E. Morrison, right, chats with student Stephen Foti after
Morrison finished his first day teaching at Virginia Wesleyan.
by CNB