MIAMI UNIVERSITY the Graduate School Certificate for Approving The

MIAMI UNIVERSITY The Graduate School

Certificate for Approving the Dissertation

We hereby approve the Dissertation

Rebecca Howard

Candidate for the Degree:

Doctor of Philosophy

______Co-Director Dr. Kathleen Knight-Abowitz

______Co-Director Dr. Sally Lloyd

______Reader Dr. Elizabeth Mullenix

______Reader Dr. Kathleen Johnson

______Graduate School Representative Dr. Sheri Leafgren

ABSTRACT

A PEDAGOGY OF ONE’S OWN: BRICOLAGE, DIFFERENTIAL CONSCIOUSNESS, AND IDENTITY IN THE TRANSLEXIC SPACE OF WOMEN’S STUDIES, THEATRE, AND EARLY CHILDHOOD EDUCATION

by Rebecca Howard

This work employs the mechanism of differential consciousness to create a bricolage of content and structure. It examines the intersections of feminism (as it has been brought into the academy through women’s studies), theatre, and early childhood education, particularly as they work together to create a personal and professional identity that defines, and is defined by, a unique pedagogy of transdisciplinarity. Specifically, it is designed to address six primary points:

1. It provides an exemplar of how to employ differential consciousness as a mechanism for constructing a bricolage of narrative, research, and theory. 2. It demonstrates the application of feminist theory through specific disciplines into a transdisciplinary discourse. 3. It advocates for and furthers a transdisciplinary conversation in relation to the social, cultural, political, and academic intersections of early childhood education, women’s studies, and theatre. 4. It adds to the body of historical knowledge of women in the academy through the stories of Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward. 5. It offers, by blending the stories of Hill and Ward with my own, a cogent example of the ways in which biography can be contextualized to provide inspiration for non- traditional career paths. 6. It challenges early childhood educators and caregivers to embrace feminism, it challenges feminists to more thoroughly ally with early childhood education, and it challenges both to expand their thinking about the function of gender roles in educational settings, and demonstrates the application of performance theory to this process.

A PEDAGOGY OF ONE’S OWN: BRICOLAGE, DIFFERENTIAL CONSCIOUSNESS, AND IDENTITY IN THE TRANSLEXIC SPACE OF WOMEN’S STUDIES, THEATRE, AND EARLY CHILDHOOD EDUCATION

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to the Faculty of

Miami University in partial

fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Educational Leadership

Rebecca Howard

Miami University

Oxford, Ohio

2010

Dissertation Co-Directors: Dr. Kathleen Knight-Abowitz and Dr. Sally Lloyd

Rebecca Howard 2010

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 Introduction Genesis of Project; Jack of All Trades

5 Chapter One Bricolage

Methodology, Method, Theory, Definitions

37 Chapter Two History, Context, Politics

Women’s Studies and Feminism—History, Disciplinary Influence, Institutional Issues, Epistemology

Theatre and Feminism—History, Theory, Practice, Performance, and Performativity

Feminism and Early Childhood Education—History, Politics, Professional Development

87 Chapter Three Contemplations

How differential consciousness, transdisciplinarity, and bricolage create intersections of theory, pedagogy, performativity, and identity; and how these intersections function in an individual sense, within my own and others’ professional lives

Profile One—Patty Smith Hill Profile Two—Winifred Ward Profile Three—Self

138 Chapter Four Connections

What are Little (Gender “Normal,” Heterosexual) Kids Made Of: Performing Gender and Heteronormativity in the Dramatic Play Area: An exemplar of a translexic inquiry

158 Chapter Five Conclusions

How can an understanding of these intersections impact each of these disciplines and the professional identity and development of individuals within these fields

170 References

185 Appendices A: Western College Program Senior Project excerpt 208 B: Oxford Early Childhood Center Parent Handbook 229 C: Miami University Early Childhood Coursework History 233 D: Chapter from Master’s Thesis

iii

DEDICATION

The smiles and hugs from the kids at the Oxford Early Childhood Center over the years are the reason that I came back, and the reason that I remain committed to ensuring that we hold adults responsible for creating the best spaces, both physical and emotional, for them to grow. This work is dedicated to all of the children who have passed through my life over the last thirty-two years, as well as to the individuals whose commitment to feminism remains strong and the talented people who have accompanied me on my theatrical journeys, whether onstage, backstage, or in the classroom.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Several years ago, I was having dinner with a friend on my 47th birthday, and I was telling her that I was considering pursuing a Ph.D., but that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go through with it. She asked me why I was hesitating, and I told her that one of the biggest reasons was that, by the time I finished, I would be over 50 years old. She paused, briefly, and then said, “Well, you’re gonna be 50 anyway, you might as well be 50 with a Ph.D.” I couldn’t really argue with that. As I sit here completing this work, now a couple of years past that half century mark, I am grateful to my friend, Susan, for reminding me that, often times, the only barriers to accomplishment are the ones we construct in our own minds and hearts. Throughout this process, there have been other barriers, delays, complications, and trials, and there have been times when modifications and compromises have been made, but, when all is said and done, the task has been accomplished, but only with the help and support of family, friends, and colleagues. I am deeply indebted to Kathleen Knight-Abowitz for her willingness to shepherd me through this project. Her text suggestions, insights, and critical questioning helped to shape my direction and keep me honest. I am equally grateful to Sally Lloyd, who agreed to co-chair my committee and challenged me to create the best work possible. I also appreciate the time and attention by the rest of my committee in reading early drafts of this complex work and providing useful feedback for improvements. My staff at the Oxford Early Childhood Center went above and beyond the call to help me find the time for coursework, research, writing, and re-writing. In particular, Kris Jacobson, whose friendship and professional skill made OECC a reality 24 years ago and keeps it going today, gave of her time to keep the program running smoothly whenever I needed to wear a different hat. Finally, my family has been an endless source of unqualified love, nurturance, and support. My mother has encouraged me all of my life to live true to myself, and I have tried to pass that on to my daughter, whose maturity and humor make things easier. But most of all, my amazing partner, Ann, has believed in me and gifted me with 19 years of joy, love, and gentle critique. Thanks to everyone who has pushed me, believed in me, listened to me, challenged me, and endured me. You’re all invited to the party…

Introduction

When I was ten years old, my father and I were having a conversation about my interests and abilities (probably in response to the “what do you want to be when you grow up” question), and I was telling him about all of the different things I liked to do and felt that I did well, including academics (especially history, social studies, and reading/literature), sports (mostly baseball and football, though I secretly longed to be a roller derby skater), creating things both useful and artistic (employing such diverse materials and techniques as carpentry, music, photography, drawing, etc.), and, I’m sure, several other things I don’t remember anymore (I vaguely recall a circus clown phase). He listened patiently to my catalog, and then looked at me and said, “have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Jack of all trades, master of none?’” I had heard it, but hadn’t really thought about what it meant. Once we were clear on the meaning, he said, “Be careful—don’t be that. Pick one thing that you like and can do well, and learn how to do it better than anybody else.” My father was not one to give advice, so I had a tendency to weight any advice from him with more gravitas than others. And since he was my hero, I generally tried to do anything he did, or anything he told me I should do. I’m sure I made a valiant effort to follow his advice, but I recognized by the time I was in high school (where I had also added acting, auto mechanics, and Indy car racing to the list) that the idea of singular specialization was not liberating or empowering for me, even if it was possible, which was highly doubtful. I’m sure this was one of the factors contributing to my decision to leave college after one year (where I was majoring in theatre with a minor in music performance)—because I had graduated from high school and entered college with no clear direction or intent (even though I loved theatre, I wasn’t really sure it was an actual career choice), I was having difficulty understanding why I needed to be there. My academic and professional development has continued on a trajectory of multiple interests and lines of inquiry. Early Childhood Education has certainly been the primary basis of my professional identity, maybe even enough to reassure my dad somewhat, even though, interestingly enough, “teaching” was never on my list as a kid. But it has always coexisted with several other things from that list, especially theatre

(including acting, directing, playwriting, and technical production, some of which I’ve even gotten paid to do), literature (as a children’s library assistant), and carpentry (home renovation and repair, which has saved me and some of my friends a lot of money in labor costs over the years). Even as an educator, I have spanned ages and fields of study, from pre-K through fifth grade, where I have facilitated growth in every developmental area from letter recognition to music appreciation, and on to college, where I have taught courses in Theatre, Women’s Studies, Educational Leadership, and Interdisciplinary Studies (this last one, in particular, engaged me in an interesting range of topics, including Comparative Dramatic Literature, Women and Theatre, Children and Creativity, and a course covering children as creators and consumers of culture, reflected in the toys that are marketed to them). Along the way, my professional identity and performance has been intricately interwoven with my personal one. I do what I do, and I do it the way I do it, because of who I am and how I position myself in the world. At this point, I am sure there are those who would question the appropriateness of including this personal reflection in an academic work as profound as a dissertation (profound in terms of its importance in the structure of the academy, not necessarily as a work of deep inspiration, wisdom, or broad significance, though I hope the final product contains something of value to others besides myself). However, anyone who has worked with me on this project, or listened to me talk about it for more than five minutes, understands the significance of this prolegomenon—namely, that my dissertation is designed to reflect not only the scholarly results of my academic inquiries, but my personal journey as well. I cannot, and will not, separate the two. The theoretical grounding for such a journey can be found in the concept of the bricoleur, first described in a research context by Claude Levi-Strauss, as articulated primarily within the boundaries of qualitative research. As defined by Denzin and Lincoln (2005), The qualitative researcher as bricoleur, or maker of quilts, uses the aesthetic and material tools of his or her craft, deploying whatever strategies, methods, and empirical materials are at hand . . . If the researcher needs to invent, or piece together, new tools or techniques, he or she will do so. (p. 4)

The first time I read this passage, I joyfully realized that this describes very accurately not only my approach to research and scholarship, but to home repair as well.

I was also gratified to read Denzin and Lincoln’s explanation that Lévi-Strauss considers the bricoleur a “Jack of all trades, a kind of professional do-it-yourself” (p. 4). Eureka! If only my father were still alive, I’m sure he would be relieved to learn that my broad range of interests could be academically justified by a scholar as respected as Lévi- Strauss (well, once I explained to him who Lévi-Strauss was). One of the important considerations in the framing of this project is the issue of what it contributes to a body of knowledge beyond my personal and professional development. I believe that this work can be of interest to a variety of readers, from early childhood educators to women’s studies instructors, from theatre practitioners to feminist historians, and from sociologists to qualitative research theorists. It is my intention that each reader will find something of value that will challenge her/him to move beyond a single disciplinary perspective or methodological approach. Though my specifically focused research questions are addressed in chapter one, I think it is helpful to give the reader a brief road map of the six primary items that I hope readers will take away from this work (each of these will be described and explained in greater detail in the body of the work): 1. It provides an exemplar of how to employ differential consciousness as a mechanism for constructing a bricolage of narrative, research, and theory. 2. It demonstrates the application of feminist theory through specific disciplines into a transdisciplinary discourse. 3. It advocates for and furthers a transdisciplinary conversation in relation to the social, cultural, political, and academic intersections of early childhood education, women’s studies, and theatre. 4. It adds to the body of historical knowledge of women in the academy through the stories of Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward. 5. It offers, by blending the stories of Hill and Ward with my own, a cogent example of the ways in which biography can be contextualized to provide inspiration for non- traditional career paths. 6. It challenges early childhood educators and caregivers to embrace feminism, it challenges feminists to more thoroughly ally with early childhood education, and it challenges both to expand their thinking about the function of gender roles in

educational settings, and demonstrates the application of performance theory to this process. I have no doubt that every reader will bring their own perceptions and expectations to this material, and will, through that process, discover new questions and challenges. I do not expect that everyone will agree with my process, my analysis, or my conclusions, and I think this is one of the most valuable aspects of this work: it has the potential to spark discussion, debate, and further inquiry. I look forward to participating in some of these conversations, and hope that they will engage feminism with early childhood education, theatre with feminism, and early childhood education with theatre in interesting, provocative ways. I embark upon the journey of this dissertation with the joy of discovery, the eagerness to share what I have learned, and an appreciation for the many gifts my father gave to me—unfortunately, career advice wasn’t one of them. I have no doubt my father is looking down upon me now, shaking his head and smiling, and admitting he was wrong—a Jack-of-all-trades isn’t such a bad thing to be, after all.

Chapter One: Bricolage

Methodology, Method, Theory, Definitions

In this dissertation, the concept of the bricoleur informs and is informed by the practical employment of the differential consciousness articulated by Chela Sandoval as a key strategy to enact her methodology of the oppressed. According to Sandoval (2000), Differential consciousness represents a strategy of oppositional ideology [the powers of which] can be thought of as mobile—not nomadic, but rather cinematographic: a kinetic motion that maneuvers, poetically transfigures, and orchestrates while demanding alienation, perversion, and reformation in both spectators and practitioners. Differential consciousness is the expression of the new subject position called for by Althusser—it permits functioning within, yet beyond, the demands of dominant ideology . . . It retroactively provides a structure, a theory, and a method for reading and constructing identity, aesthetics, and coalition politics that are vital to a decolonizing postmodern politics and aesthetics, and to hailing a “third wave,” twenty-first-century feminism. (pp. 43, 44)

The coupling of bricoleur with differential consciousness provides the framework for the structure and content of this dissertation, fully realized through a third concept, that of a translexic interchange of forms and academic traditions. Translexic is a neologism growing from this project, which refers to a process and practice of informational, intellectual, reflective, and reflexive interchange that creates a form that is greater than the sum of its parts. Moving beyond the dialectic notion of discursive argument (often binary in nature) that seeks to reveal a knowable truth, a translexic exchange encompasses layered voices, subjectivities, and forms in a process that seeks to reveal, create, discover, nurture, and embrace a fluid understanding of multiple, situated, subjective realities, rather than the truth of any one reality. Through this process, a translexic interchange simultaneously creates and is created by an entirely new discursive and conceptual space. In the successive sections, I will further explicate this bricolage of form and content, as well as delineate the particulars of my leading question, and the theory, methodology, and method that I will employ in this journey. Before proceeding, however, I feel it is important to articulate specific definitions of three key terms that are at the heart of this work: “feminism,” “early childhood education,” and “theatre.” All of these terms are fundamental to this work, but are terms that often have indistinct, situational, or disputed definitions. The definitions that I include for these terms are those that have grown from my interpretation and employment of those terms in my

personal and professional development, and are the definitions that apply throughout this work. Feminism: One of the earliest definitions I remember seeing for this was the paraphrasing of a quote (attributed to Rebecca West in 1913) on a bumper sticker— “people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat, or a prostitute.” I also remember the first college course I took that was specifically about feminism, mostly because the professor berated me for my declaration that I had been “born a feminist.” My intended meaning was that feminism was something that seemed to come as naturally for me as breathing. The professor, however, indignantly pronounced that feminism was not something that one could be “born with,” because it was crucial to understand it as a political identity that one must accept and deploy with purpose and intent. On the other hand, my Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language (2001) removes almost any personal investment from the equation, defining feminism as “1. the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men. 2. (sometimes cap.) an organized movement for the attainment of such rights for women. 3. feminine character” (p. 708). I’m not quite sure what that “feminine character” refers to, but I am sure that Webster’s does not intend it to indicate the “personal is political” idea that gives feminism its subjectively individual flavor. Practice, political identity, doctrine, movement, character, anti-doormat—how can one thing be so many things at once? For me, this plurality is at the heart of any definition of feminism, because its importance is not only social, cultural, and political, but reflects that intensely personal aspect as well. With that in mind, my personal definition that will be used in this work is as follows: Feminism (n): Any consciously realized recognition of the function of discrimination based on interlocking oppressions of gender, race, class, sexuality, etc., that is employed by an individual or group of individuals who articulate feminism as a political aspect of personal identity, and who purposefully embrace such an identity in active challenges and/or disruptions of those oppressions, whether through intellectual, political, cultural, and/or social actions.

It is also important to keep in mind that, even though I am using “feminism” in a broad sense, I am cognizant of the fact that there is no single, monolithic type of feminism.

When I use the term “feminism” without standard qualifiers (such as liberal feminism, cultural feminism, second wave feminism, U.S. third world feminism, etc.), I intend it to represent the broad concept of feminism as theory and practice, rather than a specific approach to feminism that differs from one person to another or from one setting to another. My own identification as “feminist” has evolved as I have matured and as the culture has changed. I believe that, with the advent of postmodernism and “third wave” feminism in the late 1990s, the discrete categories of “liberal,” “cultural,” “materialist,” etc. have lost some meaning. I have always resisted limiting myself to a single modifier when describing my identity as feminist, though I suppose my epistemological and political expressions, and therefore the shape of my scholarship, were initially most aligned with the definition of “materialist” feminism as described almost twenty years ago by Jill Dolan, who explains that materialist feminism “deconstructs the mythic subject Woman to look at women as a class oppressed by material conditions and social relations” (Dolan, 1991, pg. 10). This is the feminism that first influenced my scholarship as an undergraduate, and the legacy of that influence will no doubt be apparent in this work. Early childhood education: The National Association for the Education of Young Children (NAEYC) has been attempting for over twenty-five years to create a common set of goals, standards, and terminology for those who work with “young” children. While their intentions are admirable, not everyone agrees with their determinations of what those commonalities should be, or whether they should be the only ones making those determinations. Regardless, their definitions, guidelines, and standards are now generally accepted as the leading ones in the field. One of their determinations with which I most take issue is the definition of what ages are covered by the term “early childhood.” As far as the NAEYC is concerned, “early childhood” refers to the ages from birth through third grade (NAEYC, 1997). This has become the prevailing framework for states such as Ohio and teacher education programs such as the one at Miami. The state of Ohio used to offer teacher certification for pre-K and a separate certification for elementary teachers working with grades K-6. In 2000, the state (and, therefore, Miami) eliminated the pre-K certificate, combining it

into a more general “early childhood” certification that follows the NAEYC definition, and limits the elementary part of the certificate to K-3 (Miami, 2000). My objection to this move is that it has resulted in teacher education curriculum that is still focused primarily on K-3, with little consideration for the distinct differences and needs of children younger than that. As a result, teacher candidates who wish to work with preschool age children do not currently receive, in my opinion, a thorough enough grounding in the specifics of working with that age group. In addition, those who want to work exclusively with elementary age children find themselves limited to kindergarten through third grade, requiring a second certification if they wish to be licensed to teach 4th-6th graders (this perception is developed in much greater detail in chapter 2). Even though pre-K and K-3 are now lumped together, there still seems to be a difference in perception of the relative value of the two, with K-3 seen as more “legitimate” and “real school,” while pre-K is often dismissed as simply “preschool” (which means, literally, “before” school), “nursery” school, or “daycare” (which is still, in many people’s eyes, the equivalent of glorified babysitting). I think this is one of the reasons that the teacher education curriculum has remained focused on K-3, because there is a lingering feeling that dealing with children younger than five years doesn’t actually require more skill than a typical mother has, which doesn’t require any specific training (this also says a lot about our attitudes toward mothering, but that is another topic for another dissertation). Perhaps there is a belief that, by combining the two, it will add legitimacy to the pre-K part, but at least for now, it still seems to simply marginalize it. Clearly, I have some very strong feelings about the problematic nature of this distinction. The valuing of pre-K as distinct from K-3, however, is not the primary focus of this dissertation (it could probably, in fact, be a dissertation on its own), but it is important in clarifying how I will use this term. For the purposes of this dissertation, I will use the term “Early Childhood Education and Care,” abbreviated as ECEC, to refer specifically to programs and individuals working with children from birth through age five years. By adding the “and care” part, this term also serves to consolidate the notions of “education” and “care” into one concept that does not distinguish between the two, asserting that “preschool” and “daycare” are not necessarily different things, and should be valued equally. I will use the term “Early Childhood Education” (ECE) to refer to the

institutionalized academic discipline that prepares some ECEC professionals, and which actively elides the “care” part of the equation in the interest of scholarly legitimacy. Theatre: I realize this term seems self-explanatory, but my usage of it will be quite specific and bears explanation. The term “theatre” can essentially be used to refer to any aspect of three basic levels of involvement. Professional theatre is that which is undertaken by those whose primary commitment is to work for which they are paid. This encompasses Broadway, regional companies, and “road” companies. Academic theatre is also professional, in the sense that faculty and production specialists get paid for their work, but is distinct in that it takes place primarily within school settings, including elementary, middle, and high school as well as universities. The third level, which I term avocational, refers to involvement by individuals who probably are not paid for their efforts, but participate in community or other “amateur” productions because they simply love doing theatre, and either can’t or choose not to make it their profession. For the purposes of this proposal and dissertation, my use of the term “theatre” refers specifically to academic theatre, and, even more specifically, to academic theatre at the college or university level (if I intend it to mean something different, I will qualify it as such). In addition, I have chosen to utilize the British t-h-e-a-t-r-e spelling convention, rather than the American t-h-e-a-t-e-r spelling; they are, basically, interchangeable, and the choice in academia seems, at this point, to be one of personal preference. Definitions and back story in hand, the remainder of this prologue will include the following parts: Part One will define and explain the genesis of the leading questions that will guide this project; Part Two presents the theoretical foundations upon which my inquiry is built; Part Three articulates the methodology and methods that frame the approach and reflect the method used in the process of information collection; and Part Four describes the narrative structure that the dissertation will follow.

PART ONE: LEADING QUESTIONS As a student pursuing an Interdisciplinary Ph.D., I was required to submit, as part of my application, a more specific topic description than would generally be expected for an incoming student to a traditional doctoral program at Miami. In that application, I stated my research interest thus:

My proposed course of study is directed toward the consideration of the development of disciplinary pedagogy in the academy, and how this development has been influenced by the evolving methodology and theories of feminist pedagogy. The most visible avenue for this interaction is through the growth of Women’s Studies programs and departments over the last forty years. In order to pursue this inquiry, it is necessary to fully integrate curriculum theory, through Educational Leadership, with feminist theory, through Women’s Studies. The ultimate goal is to consider the translation of feminist theory into the pedagogical discourse of curriculum development in specific disciplines (for which I will be using the examples of Theatre and Early Childhood Education, the two disciplines with which I have the greatest personal and professional experience).

As I have progressed through the program, I have maintained a commitment to an integration of Women’s Studies, Theatre, and Early Childhood Education, but have shifted somewhat the focus of that commitment to include more of an emphasis on the ways in which feminism represents an epistemological foundation for the lived experiences of individual women in specific disciplines in the academy and as professionals outside the academy. I have also chosen to ground this consideration primarily in Early Childhood Education, utilizing Theatre as a comparative field and as an example of how multiple epistemological and theoretical positions can intersect in creating a unique perspective. Women’s Studies and feminism serve as the differential mechanism that bridges these fields. I came to this topic through my own lived experiences as an Early Childhood Educator (since 1978), a theatre practitioner (since 1975), a university theatre instructor (since 2000), and an adjunct instructor in Women’s Studies (since 2001). However, it wasn’t until I began teaching in Interdisciplinary Studies in the fall of 2000 that I was able to understand the complex integration of these different aspects of my professional self as being connected through the common thread of feminist theory and praxis. Having lived and worked in a college town since 1978, I had always had friends and acquaintances (including parents of children in my care) who were part of the university faculty and/or administrative staff in each of these departments, many of whom identified as feminist. I had also completed both an undergraduate (B.Phil. Interdisciplinary Studies, with a minor in Women’s Studies, 1992) and master’s degree (M.A. Theatre, with a focus in directing and playwriting, 2000) at the same university, both times with coursework in Women’s Studies. In addition, I had entered into a committed relationship

with my current partner in 1990, when she was still the Director of Women’s Studies with a joint appointment in Psychology. Through this multiplicity of perspectives, I began to realize that feminism was more apparent in some disciplines than others, and that individual women who identified as feminist were openly accepted in some disciplines, while virtually absent in others. Specifically, I realized that the influence of feminism was far more overt in academic theatre, not a field that is particularly “feminized” in a significant sense, than in ECEC, which is one of the most highly “feminized” fields in U.S. culture. This seemed to me a curious contradiction, and planted the seeds for what has evolved into the proposed topic of my dissertation. To begin more directed inquiry into this topic, I approached it initially through a simple literature search. Whether in computer or print databases, the combination of the terms “feminism” and “theatre” can yield hundreds of articles and books over the last thirty years; combining “feminism” and “early childhood education,” on the other hand, uncovers only a handful of articles and even fewer books. This seemed to confirm my suspicion that, on an overt level, “feminism” is far more suspect in ECEC than in theatre. Literature in hand, I then began an investigation of the historical beginnings of each field, and how they progressed both within and outside of the academy, noting at which points feminism became (or didn’t become) a recognizable and valid (though not uncontested) part of the pedagogy. I then looked at the pedagogical and theoretical practices and writings emerging from each field, also with an eye toward identifying transparent or subversive feminist references and influences. What finally began to emerge for me was a picture of theory and pedagogy that directly reflected the institutional politics of teaching, and the ways in which feminism as a pedagogical or theoretical position was potentially embraced or rejected (or driven underground), at least partly as a result of political trends, both in the culture at large and within the academy. Through all of this reading, investigation, and reflection, one of the things that stood out the most for me were the personal experiences of women in these fields, some claiming “feminist” as part of their identity, others not claiming it but embodying it in their practice. Feminism, in this sense, becomes much more than an abstract idea—it is a unifying theory that is cogently explicit in the lives of individual academics, or implicitly

in the consideration of the influences of and on women academics. In other words, for many academics, feminism is an explicit commitment to theory, pedagogy, and politics that guides the form, style, and function of their teaching and scholarship. However, even women academics who do not identify or directly employ feminist theory, pedagogy, or politics in their daily work have been influenced by the presence of feminism in the academy. This may be a direct and welcome influence, such as the employment of teaching strategies pioneered or supported by feminist scholars (such as student-centered learning, service learning, inclusiveness, qualitative research practices, non-traditional curriculum materials, etc.), or an indirect involvement with practices and policies implemented through the efforts of feminist faculty and staff (such as on site child care, parental leave policies, revised promotion and tenure criteria, etc.). My understanding of this dynamic began to coalesce especially in response to the writings and experiences of two women: Patty Smith Hill, who was one of the most influential scholars (and practitioners) of ECEC at the beginning of the twentieth century, even though her path to academe was unconventional; and Winifred Ward, who began her academic career with an undergraduate degree in Oratory in 1905, completed a Ph.D. in Education 1918, and then pioneered the field of Children’s Theatre. While neither Hill nor Ward necessarily identified as “feminist” (a term which wasn’t in wide use in the United States, especially in academia, until after both had finished their professional careers), their lives and work reflected the commitment to social justice and equity that grew out of the “first wave” of feminism in the mid-late nineteenth century. In addition, their different paths into and through academia embody the limitations and (sometimes contradictory) opportunities that women faced (and still face) in university hierarchies that don’t always value the needs and experiences of young children as legitimate concerns worthy of attention, or that don’t always respect the field of theatre as more than an academic “frill.” The stories and experiences of these two women, along with many others such as Jill Dolan, Gaile Cannella, Lisa Goldstein, bell hooks, Cherríe Moraga, Patti Lather, Anna Bryan, Chela Sandoval, and countless others, has deepened my commitment to creating a work that combines the academic considerations of feminist theory, pedagogy, and epistemology with the personally cogent realities of individual women who embody

these intersections. With this in mind, I have revised my “research” inquiry into the following, suggesting a directed inquiry that is not bound by traditionally rigid research traditions but which, nonetheless, pursues a focused, scholarly process. 1. What is the evidence that suggests or reveals the ways in which feminist theory, methodology, and pedagogy has been embraced, challenged, or rejected in Theatre and Early Childhood Education? What institutional role has Women’s Studies played in introducing, supporting, or complicating feminism in these disciplines? 2. How do the experiences of women with multiple subjectivities both within and outside of the academy reflect, challenge, or problematize the role of feminism in these disciplines? How do the examples of Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward, as scholars whose professional paths extended beyond their academic “homes,” resonate with my professional journey? 3. How can one employ techniques of bricolage and differential consciousness to engage feminist perspectives and theories from multiple disciplines, and coalesce them in an integrated scholarly work? I believe that these questions grow from one to the next in a logical sequence, and that it is not possible to address any one of them without considering the others.

PART TWO: THEORETICAL FOUNDATIONS

The elements of this project have a varied history in terms of research. Feminism, the unifying element, has accumulated over the last forty years a rich, broad, and deep body of scholarship that spans disciplines and reflects a wide range of opinions and approaches. Theatre, of course, has been a presence in Euro-American culture for three millennia, and feminist interpretations, perspectives, histories, and critiques of theatrical production, texts, and scholarship were some of the earliest iterations of academic second-wave feminism (Messer-Davidow, 2002; Dolan, 1991). Compared to theatre, Early Childhood Education and Care, as a recognized profession and academic discipline, is still in its infancy, yet has, nonetheless, managed to compile an impressive body of

work on its history, pedagogy, and curriculum over the past 150 years. However, feminism and ECEC seem, on the surface, to have barely been introduced to one another. Even though each of these elements is rich in scholarly tradition, I have been unable to identify any work that combines the three, especially since there is very little published about feminism and ECEC. I have also been unable to find anything comparable to what I am proposing, i.e., comparing disparate disciplines through a bricolage of theory and method while focusing on the impact of layered subjectivities or orientation on specific individuals within those disciplines. What is required, therefore, is the identification of a theory and methodology for bringing these elements together, recognizing and understanding the complexities of each while facilitating movement between and among them. I believe I have found such a strategy through the integration of the concepts of bricolage and differential consciousness. The theory, methodology, and method for this project all reflect the notion of the bricoleur, who creates a bricolage. For this section, the bricolage is in the blending of several theoretical traditions into a foundation that has more meaningful application for this inquiry than any single tradition has alone. This bricolage is grounded in the work of Chela Sandoval, in her book Methodology of the Oppressed (2000); more specifically, I will draw primarily from Chapter Six, “Love as a Hermeneutics of Social Change, a Decolonizing Movida,” in which she provides her own theoretical bricolage that underpins the power of employing differential consciousness. In this chapter, Sandoval explicates a theoretical space of opposition, resistance, and change that exists beyond the constraints of traditional academic language, but which can become a powerful tool to enable academics and activists to move through and beyond historical and cultural linguistic and ideological ways of knowing. In the construction of this theoretical space, Sandoval draws from the work of Barthes in his conceptualization of the “third meaning,” from Derrida’s explanation of “différance,” and from Hayden White’s discussion of the “middle voice of the verb.” All of these elements are brought together by Sandoval as a bricolage that supports her concept of differential consciousness as the methodological action that makes possible substantive decolonizing social change, or “theoretical and political ‘movidas’—revolutionary maneuvers toward decolonized being” (p. 141). It is important to keep in mind that “decolonized” in this

context does not refer just to the actual geographic, political colonization of a country or population, but is extended to include colonization of thought, identity, and epistemology. All three of the approaches that Sandoval employs share a desire to understand and theorize a space of potential change as something that exists in relation to binaries or oppositional forces, and, through this relation, creates or discovers a “third space” through the employment of differential consciousness. According to Sandoval, Differential consciousness is linked to whatever is not expressible through words. It is accessed through poetic modes of expression: gestures, music, images, sounds, words that plummet or rise through signification to find some void— some no-place—to claim their due. This mode of consciousness both inspires and depends on differential social movement and the methodology of the oppressed and its differential technologies, yet it functions outside speech, outside academic criticism, in spite of all attempts to pursue and identify its place and origin. (p. 140)

Barthes uses the example of falling in love and being in love to explain his understanding of this “third meaning,” which is “that which always haunts any other two meanings in a binary opposition” (p. 144). For Barthes, the relational space that two lovers experience creates a linguistic and psychological state of being and knowing that can “function as a ‘punctum,’ that which breaks through social narratives to permit a bleeding, meanings unanchored and moving away from their traditional moorings—in what, Barthes writes, brings about a ‘gentle hemorrhage’ of being” (p. 141). Sandoval connects the experience of this breaking through as being recognizable as a site of resistance. She explains, To fall in love means that one must submit, however temporarily, to what is “intractable,” to a state of being not subject to control or governance. It is at this point that the drifting being is able to pass into another kind of erotics, to the amplitude of Barthes’s “abyss.” It is only in the “no-place” of the abyss that subjectivity can become freed from ideology as it binds and ties reality; here is where political weapons of consciousness are available in a constant tumult of possibility. (p. 142)

The description of Barthes’s “drifting being” in an “abyss” reminds me of a phrase I have heard several times in the past (and even have on one of my favorite t- shirts), but which I now understand with a completely new meaning: “not all who wander are lost.” This phrase helps to explain that, by developing new perceptions and exploring

new spaces, we can discover meanings in being and knowing that extend beyond superficial facts and responses. We can also reveal multiple, layered meanings in language; for example, we tend to think of an “abyss” as a place of despair, danger, and isolation, but by breaking through into a third meaning, it becomes possible to reconceive an abyss as a space of possibility and discovery more in line with the second definition given the word by Webster—“anything profound, unfathomable, or infinite” (p. 9). Another iteration of this concept of a space that arises from, yet transcends, linguistic and conceptual binaries is Derrida’s notion of différance, which “represents an infinitely extending, internally controlling yet unruly power” (p. 147). According to Sandoval, for Derrida, the realm of this power “will only be expressed through developing a ‘new tongue,’ one conceived ‘outside the myth of the purely maternal or paternal languages’ that belong ‘to the lost fatherland’ of dominant Western thought,” but which can “be generated only while one is in the grip of ‘affirmation,’ . . . apart from negativity” (p. 147). This affirmation adds concepts like “faith” and “hope” to Barthes’s “love,” all in the service of “calling for a new world order that can defend against the binary oppositions that ground Western philosophy” (p. 148), and, I would argue, most of Western thought, culture, and politics. Sandoval connects Derrida’s ideas to political possibility by explaining: . . . when oppositional ideologies . . . are enacted strategically and differentially as tactics, each becomes dialectically interrelated in what Derrida (describing différance) says is the “structure of interlacing, a weaving, or a web” that allows “different threads and different lines of sense or force to separate again, as well as being ready to bind others together.” There are profound coalitional possibilities in the kind of bringing together proposed here . . . This is because enactment of differential social movement—of the methodology of the oppressed—necessarily creates new modes of resistance, new questions and answers that supersede those that went before; for it is, above all, a theory and method of oppositional consciousness that belongs to no single population, no race, gender, sex, or class except for the subordinated who seek empowerment. (p. 152)

Finally, Sandoval incorporates Hayden White’s discussion of the “middle voice of the verb” as illustrative of the differential interactivity that becomes possible in the restructuring of language. Sandoval describes this “middle voice of the verb” as a “now archaic verb form . . . employed in ancient Sanskrit and Greek” that “has disappeared from all known living languages. It is a verb form, neither active nor passive, in which

the subject’s speech acts both ‘backwards’ on the subject as well as ‘forward’ on its object (as in the oath ‘I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth’)” (p. 148). White’s work focuses on the interplay of “modes of understanding,” which can be a basis for “a mediation ‘between contending ideologues’ who regard their own positions as what is real, and of their opponents, whose positions are viewed as ‘mere ideology’ or as ‘false consciousness’” (p. 154). For example, feminism in the academy is often viewed in this manner, as “mere ideology” that is not as valid or valued in the same way that more traditional (i.e., “real”) forms of learning and scholarship are. What White is advocating is similar to Sandoval’s idea of “differential consciousness”—a means of moving and shifting among ideologies (or “tropes” in White’s schema), by “think[ing] modally.” According to Sandoval, “White’s work indicates that this ability to think or act modally is not possible without the simultaneous recognition and application of the ‘third’ middle voice of the verb, which can itself be considered a specific mode of consciousness” (p. 155; emphasis original). This third, middle voice of the verb provides the “‘metatransitive relationship between an agent, an act, and an effect,’ ‘metatransitive’ because these three bodies work across one another to simultaneously affect the others” (p. 155). Sandoval’s explanation and discussion of the work of Barthes, Derrida, and White all help to illustrate and support her thesis that differential consciousness is both a theory and a method (or “technology”) for enacting oppositional strategies that do not get mired in their oppositional position, but can be employed as a dynamic means for individuals and groups to both transform and be transformed by a new space for theory and action. For the purposes of this dissertation, it provides an articulated theoretical framework for understanding how, and why, I choose to work as a bricoleur: This framework creates room for working with theories, ideologies, and actions that can be in relation with one another, not just those in opposition to one another, and, through those relationships, generate a unique, dynamic space. Such a theoretical framework functions to also account for my resistance to placing myself within any one theoretical tradition. The bricolage of this dissertation weaves together elements of several traditions, including historical and biographical

analysis, performance theory, critical race theory, and queer theories of being and knowing, with feminism as the unifying thread. It also describes the interaction among the varied elements of my professional identity, helps to explain why those elements are not easily compartmentalized, and shapes the questions that ground this inquiry. Sandoval’s “differential consciousness,” evocative of the work of Barthes, Derrida, and White, is the foundation for the methodology that grows from the multiple layers of my life and my scholarship.

PART THREE: METHODOLOGY AND METHOD

Methodology The project I pursue in this dissertation is not one that can be represented by statistical data, but depends in large part on “personal” and non-numerical data, such as information from personal stories, historical texts that provide a context for the dimensions of specific disciplines, and analysis of texts in relevant fields. Differential consciousness proceeds from theory to practice by providing a means to move among a bricolage of four key methodological approaches: narrative/portraiture, feminist, transdisciplinary, and translexic. Each of these contributes a specific approach to data and information collection, analysis, and presentation that combine to create a unique, “third” space of methodology. Differential consciousness allows for the seamless navigation of these integrated methodologies.

Narrative/Portraiture Narrative inquiry, via history and facilitated through a modified form of portraiture in a conceptual analysis that emphasizes the relation of the researcher to the topic and subjects of research, provides a cogent methodological basis for the creation of a work that blends the personal with the professional, and the scholarly with the prosaic. Narrative inquiry and portraiture are closely related in intent and approach to data collection, with particular emphasis on the relation of the researcher to the topic and subjects of the research.

Narrative research is grounded in the social sciences, and is focused on the lived experiences of one or more individuals. Chase (2005) explains that narrative research has flourished since it began to be formally articulated in the late 1980s, but that it is still evolving with “multiple methodologies in various stages of development, and plenty of opportunities for exploring new ideas, methods, and questions” (p. 651). She also notes that narrative research, in its contemporary form, is often seen as a diffuse term that “routinely refer[s] to any prosaic data (as opposed to close-ended or short-answer),” but that she is interested in a more focused definition for narrative inquiry as “a particular type—a subtype—of qualitative inquiry.” She goes on to define “contemporary narrative inquiry” as …an amalgam of interdisciplinary analytic lenses, diverse disciplinary approaches, and both traditional and innovative methods—all revolving around an interest in biographical particulars as narrated by the one who lives them. (p. 651)

Building on this, feminist narrative research foregrounds the voice of the subject rather than the interpretation of the researcher. The “data” that is collected are in the stories told by the subjects. For the purposes of this project, the subject voices telling those stories are those of Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward. By approaching their personal and professional writings as narrative stories that exemplify their life and work, it is possible to create a bricolage of experience and history that intersects with my own narrative. From a methodological perspective, there is some overlap with other qualitative forms, such as autoethnography, feminist ethnography, autobiography, and oral history, but for the sake of clarity and specificity, I have chosen to utilize “narrative” inquiry as my model. One of the non-traditional approaches to narrative inquiry that I will employ in this project is in the source of the narrative—utilizing the writings, letters, and diaries of Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward as source documents to conduct a form of “textual interview,” and blending that with my own personal reflections and autobiography. Portraiture is a methodology growing from critical race theory that is, as described by Moss (2007), a “flexible methodological approach that is a combination of storytelling, knowledge creation, mutual autobiographical construction, artistic expression, scientific endeavor, individual reflexivity, and community building” (p. 382).

She observes that portraiture has not been widely integrated into feminist work, but that it “has tremendous potential to contribute to enriching feminist research if done sensitively through a recognition of contingency, context, and specificity” (p. 383). In its critical race applications, it serves as a vehicle for creating and revealing intersections of communal identity and strength, as in Dixson’s (2005) employment of jazz as a method for articulating commonality within Black experience, or for understanding the role of race in the interactions between teachers and students in the classroom, as in Harding’s (2005) work with the co-construction of narrative. This dissertation provides an opportunity to explore the potential that portraiture has for feminist-based inquiry. The elements of portraiture defined by Moss are evident throughout this work, from the epistemological foundations critiquing the creation of knowledge and the autobiographical construction that become mutual with historical reflection, to the stories of children in the dramatic play area and the attempt to locate a feminist identity within the communities of academic Theatre and Early Childhood Education and Care. Feminist One of feminist theory and methodology’s greatest strengths is also, potentially, one of its greatest weaknesses: the reluctance of its adherents to codify it with specific definitions, rules, and intent. Some feminists are notorious for feeling uncomfortable about any attempts to create epistemological or methodological paradigms that might result in constructing new boundaries around knowledge production, because to do so would be to simply replace the hierarchic, patriarchal paradigms feminists have been trying to dismantle with new ones, even if those new ones are kinder and gentler. Feminists have had a significant impact in a number of specific disciplines and interdisciplines, as well as the academy at large, by contributing to the expansion of valued knowledges that include previously marginalized voices. But this has also been one of the major points of critique against feminist theory and methodology—that it is too fluid, too subjective, too diffuse to ground meaningful research that is validated and accepted in either academic institutions or public policy (Blee, 2002; Elam, 2002; Messer-Davidow, 2002; Westkott, 2002; hooks, 1994).

One way that some feminists have responded to this challenge is to write exhaustively, not just about specific research projects, but about how those research projects are situated within a larger body of knowledge production and social contexts. There is no “how-to” book on feminist research, but there are books and articles that present various perspectives on issues, questions, challenges, and approaches to feminist research. One such volume is The Handbook of Feminist Research, compiled by Sharlene Nagy Hesse-Biber. Despite its name, however, it does not much resemble the archetypal image of a “handbook.” It is not prescriptive, with checklists and detailed instructions. It is descriptive, however, with a wealth of exemplars and reflective, theoretical pieces that provide the reader not with a detailed map that assumes a single, fixed destination, but with a general sense of direction and suggestions for a journey that may not end up where you thought you wanted to go. Many of us who consider ourselves feminist researchers and practitioners have learned to embrace uncertainty as a dynamic, transformative location that allows us to perceive oppressive power relations and hierarchies, and to identify personal and professional strategies to intervene in or subvert those forces that colonize the mind, body, and spirit. For me, this is one of the most important aspects of feminist research— the fact that, in a sense, it goes home with me at the end of the day. I don’t mean that I constantly struggle with or think about the specifics of a research question on a minute- to-minute basis without respite, but that I carry with me at all times the reason that I approach research the way I do. In other words, I am conscious of the fact that, for me, the way I do research is not separable from the way I do life. I suspect that many feminist researchers share this fundamental grounding. Keeping in mind, therefore, that “the basic tenets” of feminist methodology are not as fixed as they may be in other approaches, what I will offer here is what I perceive to be the foundational tenets of my feminist methodology, which are drawn from and influenced by my readings of other feminist researchers. The following are threads that seem to weave through the work of feminist researchers from a variety of disciplinary traditions. They are bulleted, but not numbered, as they are not to be taken as being presented in any type of hierarchical ordering of importance. • Rejecting hierarchies of epistemology and the colonization of truth claims

One of the earliest, and most fundamental assertions of second-wave feminist theorists (along with poststructuralists and postmodernists in other fields such as Sociology, Philosophy, and Literature) was to challenge the belief that there is one “way of knowing.” In 1986, Mary Field Belenky, Blythe Clinchy, Nancy Goldberger, and Jill Tarule published Women’s Ways of Knowing: The Development of Self, Voice, and Mind. In 1990, Patricia Hill Collins published Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment. These volumes, along with numerous other articles and publications by women such as bell hooks, Sandra Harding, Nancy Hartsock, Liz Stanley and Sue Wise, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, and Donna Haraway, to name only a few, articulated a challenge to traditional epistemologies based on the Enlightenment assumption that there is a knowable Truth, and that there is one model of knowledge production that can be universally applied. These challenges were grounded in the counter-assumption that, not only are traditional knowledge models based exclusively on a male experience, but, additionally, on a Euro-American male experience. Haraway, Harding, and Kum-Kum Bhavnani suggested the employment of “feminist objectivity,” which asserted that simply including women in the research process was not sufficient, and that a different research approach was necessary to incorporate the reality of women’s lived experiences and ways of knowing as unique and of value. As described by Hesse-Biber (2007), this position “asserts that knowledge and truth are partial, situated, subjective, power imbued, and relational. The denial of values, biases, and politics is seen as unrealistic and undesirable” (p. 9; emphasis original). Sandra Harding suggested the concept of “strong objectivity” as the implementation of feminist objectivity. According to Hesse-Biber, Harding critiqued “the traditional, or positivist, concept of objectivity because its focus resides only on the ‘context of justification,’ of the research process—how the research is carried out and making sure that the researcher’s values and attitudes do not enter into this process” (p. 9). Lorraine Code proposed in 1991 a different way of characterizing an alternative approach to claims of objectivity, which she termed “mitigated relativism.” She described this as offering “freedom . . . from the homogenizing effects of traditional

objectivism, in which differences, discrepancies, and deviations are smoothed out for the sake of achieving a unified theory” (p. 320). Whether it was framed as “strong objectivity,” “mitigated relativism,” or another label, what was being articulated was an attack by scholars and intellectuals on the fundamental assumptions of knowledge and truth that had formed the basis for traditional models of Euro-American scholarship, research, and social policy. In 1992, Patty Lather described this period of the late 1980s and early 1990s as “a dizzying and an exciting time in which to do social inquiry.” She detailed this process thus: [C]ontemporary intellectuals work within a time noteworthy for disturbing the formerly secure foundations of knowledge and understanding. In what is sometimes coded with the term “post-modern” or “post-structural,” foundational views of knowledge are increasingly under attack. It is a time of the confrontation of the lust for absolutes, for certainty in our ways of knowing . . . It is a time of demystification, of critical discourses that disrupt the smooth passage of what Foucault (1980) calls “regimes of truth.” This is not to substitute an alternative and more secure foundation, what Harding (1986) terms a “successor regime,” but to produce an awareness of the complexity, historical contingency, and fragility of the practices we invent to discover the truth about ourselves. (p. 88)

Feminists embraced these challenges and built upon them, but did not claim exclusivity to them or suggest that feminists were the only ones with a vested interest in destabilizing such knowledge foundations. Critical Race theorists, Queer theorists, post- positivist social science researchers—all recognized the possibilities. But feminist researchers, who were usually located in various disciplines and were frequently also engaged in Critical Race, Queer theory, etc., were major figures in translating this challenge throughout academia. Of course, there were (and still are) critics to these new approaches. Scholars and researchers who were deeply invested in disciplinary models that value what Lincoln and Cannella (2004) refer to as “methodological fundamentalism” (p. 7) were not inclined to abandon the models that they believed would produce the most valid research. In particular, critics questioned whether or not these new models simply created a type of epistemological relativism, in which it would not be possible to actually “learn” anything with certainty. They also suggested that, by inserting personal values into the research process, feminist researchers could only produce work that had little or no meaning

beyond the narrow focus of the research. Feminists countered these arguments by pointing out that relativity doesn’t automatically equate with meaninglessness, and that all researchers insert personal values into their research already, but may not recognize or admit it. They argued that revealing the research bias could actually strengthen the results, by providing a greater understanding of the process by which those results were obtained and interpreted, which would help to ensure that the results could be made applicable with more integrity (Brooks, 2007; Kaufman, 2007; Leckenby, 2007; Leckenby and Hesse-Biber, 2007). The issues of relativism, diffusion, and objectivity are still cogent ones for feminist researchers, and every individual researcher must accept responsibility for accounting for them. This work is vital for feminist researchers to engage with, and for more reasons than simply challenging the academic status quo. As noted by Helen Longino (2007), “Feminist scholars have been especially concerned with excessive limitation and the ways in which analyses of reason, truth, and experience have been used to delegitimize women’s cognitive abilities and performances,” which makes the case for these challenges being a political (and professionally expedient) project. She goes on to suggest that feminist researchers in various disciplines have “struggled with the concepts of reason, rationality, truth, objectivity, and experience in an effort to legitimate feminist knowledge projects without running afoul of familiar philosophical obstacles or newer ones posed by postmodernist challenges to philosophical orthodoxy” (pp. 548, 549). The more these struggles are revealed and articulated in multiple disciplines and fields, the more acceptable such inquiries will become, and the better able junior scholars will be in pursuing and embracing feminist theories and methodologies. In this project, epistemology is positioned as growing from a multiplicity of perspectives and experiences, creating an epistemology of differential consciousness that shifts among these locations. In this sense, one must become comfortable with the idea of meaning and truth derived from a foundation that shifts with the experiences and interpretations of the individuals being studied, as well as those of the one doing the studying. The foundation shifts, but does not crumble. It is grounded in the other elements of feminist methodology—reflexivity, variations in disciplinarity, intersectionality, and relational/reciprocal practice.

• Reflexivity Reflexivity is a term that has been used by qualitative researchers in general, and feminist researchers in particular (Buch and Staller, 2007; Fine, 2007; Hesse-Biber and Piatelli(b), 2007; Leavy, 2007; Reay, 2007; Stewart and Cole, 2007; Wylie, 2007). It is one of the conceptual tools that feminists use to frame the challenge to objectivity and truth claims in a directly applied manner. It is based on the rejection of epistemological claims to knowledge and truth described above. Simply put, it refers to the practice of a researcher reflecting on her/his position in relation to the research question, the research subjects, and the research results, but it is reflexive in that it is taken as consciously automatic—you don’t have to think about initiating it, but you do have to think about what it uncovers when you do it. It is predicated on the acceptance of acknowledging and valuing difference between researcher and subject. As described by Piatelli and Hesse-Biber(a) (2007): Reflexivity can be an important tool that allows researchers to be aware of their positionalities, gender, race, ethnicity, class, and any other factors that might be important to the research process . . . Reflexivity also reminds us of the important role difference plays in our research project as a whole. Difference enters every facet of our research process. It guides the projects we select, informs the questions we ask, and directs how we collect, analyze, write, and interpret our data. Differences should be explored and embraced, for ignoring and disavowing them could have negative effects on your data and overall project. (pp. 143-144)

Clearly, this is not something that will be embraced by the researchers who reject the validity of difference, or who believe that it is possible and desirable for researchers to be objective and detached from their subjects. It can also create difficulties if a researcher is so reflexive as to become “stuck,” afraid to proceed because the differences seem overwhelming and unending. The challenge to feminist researchers is to practice reflexivity in a way that creates connection through difference. This emphasis provides for an understanding that difference can be a dynamic force for meaningful connection in research relationships, and not a barrier. This is particularly important in research that uses interviews as data, where the researcher is in dialogue with the one being interviewed. Reflexivity in this situation not only helps to create connection through difference, but also serves to keep

the researcher mindful of how that connection is affecting the interview. It is also important, however, for research projects that rely on quantitative data collection, because it aids the researcher in recognizing how her/his values, attitudes, ideology, and epistemology is guiding the collection and interpretation of that data. As I explore disciplinary histories and, especially, individual biographies throughout this project, I have positioned myself as an “interviewer” who is actively embracing the meaning of my own experiences in relation to the information and individuals I am considering. Throughout this work, my own position, intent, and interpretations have been shaped in response to this reflexive process. • Intersectionality Intersectionality grows directly out of the practice of reflexivity and the rejection of epistemological hierarchies. First articulated by Kimberle Crenshaw in her 1989 critique of legal doctrines of antidiscrimination in race and sex, “intersectionality” is described by Dill, McLaughlin, and Nieves (2007) as “grounded in feminist theory, asserting that people live multiple, layered identities and can simultaneously experience oppression and privilege . . . Intersectional scholarship is interdisciplinary in nature and focuses on how structures of difference combine to create new and distinct social, cultural, and artistic forms” (p. 629). Not only does this definition reference the importance of interdisciplinarity, but it also echoes Hesse-Biber’s articulation of the assumptions accompanying reflexivity—that there is value in difference. The implications of intersectionality for feminist research are profound. It assumes an ability to not only recognize layers of identity, but the willingness to respect them and incorporate them into research relationships. It weaves through not only personal identity, but professional practice as well. It lays bare the constraints and institutional psychology that support or reject research models and projects by revealing the status hierarchy inherent in those institutions. It also foregrounds the importance of recognizing the complexity of identity and context for those who are the subjects of research. This places an ethical demand on the researcher to account for that complex subjectivity. Researchers who are deeply committed to positivist, empiricist research methodologies would undoubtedly believe that too much emphasis on intersectionality

would create too many uncontrollable variables that render research results useless. Even if they recognize intersectionality, they would most likely assert that it is still possible to study one element in isolation and derive meaningful data. I believe that an understanding of intersectionality is not negotiable in feminist methodology. At least not in mine. It is a necessary component of reflexivity, and is, in my opinion, necessary to the production of ethical, honest, meaningful research. In this project, this is evident in every chapter, but perhaps most directly in Chapter 3, which considers the personal and professional histories of two academics, relating them to each other and to my own position and development. In each case, consideration is given to the “multiple, layered identities” of the subject, revealing how such layering created the conditions that allowed each to pursue a unique path in academia. • Relational and reciprocal The final “tenet” that I will discuss is one that is most important in research that involves interactions with human subjects, whether as individuals or a community, and especially, though not exclusively, with research that utilizes direct contact through interviews or observation. This tenet assumes a commitment on the part of the researcher to ensure that the subjects of the research are not simply perceived as a means to an end, but that they are active participants in the process and are entitled to benefit from the relationship. The word “relationship” is an important one here. By understanding research as a relationship that is mutually beneficial and respectful of the humanity of both the researcher and the subject, feminist researchers are working from a space of care and mutuality in which personal/professional/political are interdependent, rather than one of detachment and self-service. Of all of the “tenets” discussed here, I suspect this is the one that generates the most resistance and critique from those engaged in more traditional methodologies. It even has been questioned by feminist researchers, who are concerned about the insertion of the personal voice of the researcher into feminist scholarship. Jill Dolan, in her very personalized work Geographies of Learning (2001), explains her position on this issue in the first chapter: Using the personal voice has become a contentious issue, especially in recent feminist scholarship. Some critics suggest that the personal devalues scholarship, marking it as confessional and singular, individual and unique, blurring a border

between the intellectual and the therapeutic. My intent, here, is not at all to confess or to posit my experiences as a singular truth, but to ground my narrative in specific anecdotes that I think might, in fact, be widely recognizable to other faculty, informative for activists, and compelling for students . . . I can’t imagine writing a project like this one without sharing my personal investments in the structures of knowledge I’d like to revise. (p. 21)

From a structural standpoint, every chapter in this project employs a bricolage of personal and professional voice and experience. By making research and scholarship personal, relational, and reciprocal, the results of that research have the potential to be genuinely transformative for all concerned. These characteristics are recognizable in every aspect of this work, but most especially in the treatment of the stories of Hill and Ward as they exemplify multiple subjectivities and intersections with my own story. Even though my “subjects” are not living, I still experience a strong relational component with them as professionals and as individuals with whom I have interacted through their personal papers and scholarship. The “reciprocal” part of this relationship lies in the potential for gaining a broader audience for their work. Transdisciplinary If one accepts that traditional knowledge structures exclude the full and equal participation of people from different backgrounds and orientations, and that knowledge is not experienced or created by all people in the exact same manner, then it becomes necessary to move beyond the traditional disciplinary boundaries that are, essentially, the gatekeepers of those knowledge structures. This disciplinary travel can be guided by multidisciplinarity, interdisciplinarity, and/or transdisciplinarity. The differences might seem subtle, semantic, and unimportant to disciplinary scholars, but they are actually three distinct ways of moving across, through, and beyond disciplines. Of these, “interdisciplinarity” is the term that has most entered into use (and misuse) in the academy (Kitch, 2007). When I was teaching and advising in the School of Interdisciplinary Studies, one of the most contested areas of the program involved the different approaches to defining the multi/inter/trans concepts. In explaining it to students using the framework I had evolved for understanding the differences, I used the example of researching the

economic politics of baseball. Utilizing each of the three approaches, I illustrated it with the following structure: 1. Multidisciplinarity (a.k.a Crossdisciplinarity)—Using this approach, I would work with individuals, or gather information, from different disciplines, such as Economics, Sociology, Political Science, and Sports Studies, to consider the issue from multiple angles. I would then compile the information collected, compare it, and draw conclusions based on my interpretation of the information. If it were a group project, my disciplinary colleagues would each bring their specialized information to the table, and we would collectively share that information and generate conclusions. 2. Interdisciplinarity—With this framework, I would be constantly cross- referencing information I was collecting from different disciplines as I was collecting it, so that what I was learning from Economics would influence how I looked at the information from Sociology, which would change how I interpreted information from Sports Studies, which would take me back to Economics to ask a new question. This process would also potentially generate the need to incorporate new sources, such as Theatre to discuss public performance, or Geography and Architecture to understand stadium design and planning. In this case, the disciplinary boundaries are still identifiable and distinct, but there would be fluid movement between and among them in a fully integrated fashion. 3. Transdisciplinarity—This is the form that is the most difficult to truly implement in traditional academia. From this perspective, I would be generating an entirely new way of thinking about baseball, in which disciplinary boundaries were transformed into an integrated epistemology, enhanced by differential consciousness, that would make it impossible to consider the economics without simultaneously considering the sociology, which could not be separated from the public performance, which depends on the architecture, and so on. In this framework, “sociology” and “economics” are mutually constructed elements. Other scholars will have other definitions, perspectives, or explanations of multi/inter/transdisciplinarity, of course. But the thing that they share, which is also one of the “tenets” of feminist research, is a belief that rigid disciplinary boundaries are a manifestation of traditional, patriarchal, oppressive epistemologies, and, as such, need to

be challenged. Feminists don’t necessarily call for an elimination of disciplines (though some do), but most advocate, at a minimum, that disciplines engage in self-critical theorizing and open up their “borders.” As a site of institutional power, unquestioned disciplinary boundaries serve to reify a mentality of colonization and condescension (Blee, 2002; Kitch, 2007; Messer-Davidow, 2002). Critiques of these challenges to disciplinary conventions (especially to inter- and transdisciplinarity) are generally framed around the observation that one of the primary functions of disciplinarity is to produce scholars with a deep, thorough, and well- supported knowledge of their field, and that such an “expert” orientation is not possible when disciplinary boundaries are diluted. (I think this is similar to my father’s “Jack-of- all-trades” admonishment.) Even though many feminist researchers would possibly object to the possibility of “mastering” any field (on the grounds that, in a traditional (patriarchal) sense, such an expectation assumes that there is a fixed, unchanging body of knowledge to learn, and that it can be learned in a linear fashion with a clear end point) it is important that inter- and (especially) transdisciplinary researchers remain mindful of their responsibility to make sure that they are not just “tourists” who are gathering scraps of information without fully understanding their meaning or context. It is possible, but it is hard work, especially for transdisciplinarians. Working in a transdisciplinary frame requires resourcefulness, creativity, commitment, and patience. Sally L. Kitch (2002) uses a musical metaphor to defend transdisciplinarity: “The transdisciplinary researcher can be compared to an orchestra conductor who is not expert on every instrument but, rather, on the way the instruments work together to produce various sounds and effects” (p. 129). Given my background in theatre, I prefer to compare it to a director, who must have a fundamental knowledge of all aspects of production and is responsible for weaving those elements together to create something new, something that is greater than the sum of its parts, which doesn’t wholly exist in the parts themselves. This is akin to my process in this work, and describes the bricolage that emerges from transdisciplinarity: by thoroughly researching the different elements necessary for this analysis of women’s studies, early childhood education, and theatre, I am, in effect, constructing a production of varied technical components into a complex performance through differential consciousness.

But it is important to recognize that both of these metaphorical musical and theatrical transdisciplinarians depend, to a certain degree, on the work of specialists— instrumentalists who are experts on their instruments and composers who generate the score, actors and set designers and lighting technicians who have technical skills and creative abilities—and that is a significant element of inter/transdisciplinary work. It won’t replace disciplinary silos (at least not anytime soon—think of the chaos it would generate in libraries and bookstores), but will make them more accessible and will work in concert with them to open up new ideas and spaces for scholarship. When considered in relation to differential consciousness, transdisciplinarity is not simply an option—in my opinion, the only way to thoroughly practice an effective deployment of differential consciousness is through a transdisciplinary approach, in which oppositional, complementary, and disparate fields of study are brought together in the creation of a unique knowledge structure. In this respect, transdisciplinarity can be seen as an exemplar of the Sandoval’s bricolage of the third space, différance, and the middle voice of the verb. In relation with transdisciplinarity, differential consciousness becomes both a methodology and a method. Transdisciplinarity is most evident in this work in Chapter 4. Shifting differentially among elements of feminist theory, performance theory, history, and child development, and integrated with lived experiences, a transdisciplinary framework produces a unique analysis of the function of gender in dramatic play areas. Translexic As I explained in the introduction, “translexic” is a term that I have generated to assist me in understanding the interaction among the vocabularies and discourses that intersect in this project. A translexic methodology not only embraces the differences in ideological and disciplinary discourses, but seeks to bring those differences into direct relation with one another in a manner that creates a totally new discourse, one which values the truths of each of its parts and reflects back upon those parts in dynamic interaction. For this project, differential consciousness and transdisciplinarity provide the basis for the movement among ideologies and pedagogies, while a translexic approach to that movement creates the articulation and translation necessary for those ideologies to

exist in meaningful relation. In order for a researcher to work with a translexic understanding, it is necessary to have a fair degree of fluency with each of the discourses in order to comprehend that meaningful relation (much like the metaphorical director with the production elements of a performance). In one sense, a translexic researcher is thus a sort of discursive Jack-of-all-trades. Whereas transdisciplinarity provides the framework and the pedagogical mechanics, and bricolage the epistemological context, the actual language employed is translexic in nature. While this exists throughout the work, the most obvious example is in Chapter 4, with the interrogation of the shifting use and meaning of the word “performance.” Method The methods employed in this project are those that I have determined to be most beneficial in gathering the type of informational data that will best inform my interpretations, observations, and reflections. These methods can be organized into three areas: literature analysis, history, and critical/personal reflection. Literature analysis does not refer to a standard literature review. Rather than simply categorizing texts and describing their content and value, it is necessary for this project to consider the relevant literature in relation to several dimensions, including historical, disciplinary, professional/vocational, performative, and popular. Historical analysis will examine primary and secondary sources that cover the history and evolution of feminism, Women’s Studies, theatre, education (particularly, but not exclusively, early childhood), and child daycare. These sources are not limited to published books and articles, but will also involve other texts such as personal and professional correspondence, diary and journal entries, and departmental communications. Disciplinary analysis refers to texts that describe or represent the theory and pedagogy of specific disciplines. These texts will be considered not only for the meaning of the content, but will also be examined structurally to interpret the ways in which they represent the types of writing styles that are representative of each discipline. Professional/vocational analysis refers to journals, web sites, and textbooks that indicate the range of topics and forms that are made available primarily to individuals working in specific professions outside of, or as an adjunct to, university scholarship.

Performance analysis refers primarily to theatrical texts that reflect a feminist presence or influence in drama as literature and/or production. It can also, however, apply to texts outside of theatre and drama that use the concept of performance (or performativity) as critical or analytical tools, as well as to actual theatrical productions. Finally, popular analysis refers to the consideration of texts that are intended for a general audience, such as children’s books, magazine articles, print advertising, etc. It is in this category, especially, that the definition of “text” will be expanded to include other types of media such as theatrical performance, music, and artifacts (for example, toys, games, and elements of theatrical production). History specifically considers historical texts in relation to personal experiences, to give a more comprehensive picture of the way in which “history” is more than reportage or chronicle, but is reflective of the intersection with actual lived experience. One of the things that can be revealed through such an analysis is the historiography of a field; i.e., the way in which history is presented, potentially identifying whose experiences are included in those histories, whose are left out, and who benefits from the representation. History, in this project, provides the venue for locating the personal within the institutional. Specifically, I will use this approach to examine the academic disciplines of Women’s Studies, Theatre, and ECE, investigating the history of each as well as their trajectories of evolution in the academy and their relationships to feminism. This is also utilized in the process of accessing archival documents and materials for Hill and Ward, and considering the ways in which personal and professional histories are recorded, preserved, and conveyed or interpreted. Critical/personal reflection, through narrative inquiry and portraiture, supports the blended nature of this project as a creative as well as an academic one. Reflection is not about generating a broad data set, but is a means of providing depth to the narrative, experiential aspect of the project. The concept of “reflection” is more descriptive of the way in which I will consolidate and interpret the information gathered, rather than categorizing and coding. “Critical reflection” entails opinions and conclusions that I draw from my research and scholarship pertaining to issues in a more public or professional sense, while “personal reflection” refers to the way in which I process those issues in terms of my sense of self and identity.

PART FOUR: STRUCTURE The final aspect of this prologue is a brief discussion of the structure and format of this work. In keeping with the concept of the bricolage, the final form is a blending of styles. One of the foundational components of this work is that it is not just a critical or analytical presentation of information. I deeply believe that the value of this work for myself and for others will be in the thorough, explicit integration of the personal with the professional. With that in mind, the final form of this project includes creative elements along with more traditional analytical and critical forms. The terms that I will be mindful of in constructing this project are the following: The project is reflective, meaning that it will incorporate my informal thoughts and language, as well as integrating my reflections on my work as a university instructor and early childhood educator. It is creative in that it will include illustrative examples and journalistic-style description. It is circular, which refers to the organization and progression of the text. Since the project originated with my personal experiences, the dissertation has begun with my story, touches upon elements of it throughout the other sections, and returns to it at the end. All of this reinforces the concept of a journey that doesn’t necessarily proceed in a linear fashion, but comes back to itself in order to continue on or begin again. Finally, it is critical and analytical, referring to the elements of the writing that are more recognizable as traditional “academic” scholarship, but also referring to a different conceptualization of the terms that allow them to be part of the creative and reflective elements. In addition to the blending of styles, there is another important structural element of this work that challenges conventional dissertational formatting. This element, the use of inset text boxes, can be interpreted as a type of meta-structure that is, in this case, revealed and utilized to clarify and illustrate the ways in which, for example, bricolage, differential consciousness, or feminist theory/epistemology are inherent in this work. In other words, the content of this work functions as the primary informational convention,

but I will also use inset text boxes as a space for comments and observations that highlight points where the structure or content illustrates an aspect of the theory, epistemology, or structure of the work. In addition, these text boxes will also be used as a type of “note” to make explicit the presence of For example, this paragraph, information or structure that directly relates to, or describing the meta-structural commentary, would be grows from, the leading questions, in a manner that is considered an element of feminist inquiry, as it reveals less likely to disrupt the narrative flow of the passage. the mechanics of the work. Since Chapter Two presents a fairly straightforward critical history, and Chapter Five, as a summarizing chapter, incorporates the points that would appear in these notes explicitly in the text, the majority of these inset text boxes will be used in Chapters Three and Four. In these chapters, the narrative addresses the leading questions and employs the elements of bricolage, differential consciousness, and translexic discourse in a more implicit manner, and the text boxes will thus be used to make explicit the utilization of these elements and the presence of material that addresses the leading questions. Clearly, this project is important to me in a personal and political sense as well as in a professional and academic one. By adopting the persona of a bricoleur, utilizing differential consciousness and translexic discourse as a strategy, and employing meta- structural commentary, it is possible to weave together experience, reflection, and analysis into a conceptual and discursive tapestry with which any Jack-of-all-trades can relate.

Chapter Two: History, Context, Politics

Women’s Studies and Feminism— History, Disciplinary Influence, Institutional Issues, Epistemology

Theatre and Feminism— History, Theory/Practice, Performance/Performativity

Feminism and Early Childhood Education— History, Politics, Professional Development

Preface This chapter provides an interpretive contextualization for the historical evolution of the fields of Women’s Studies, Theatre, and Early Childhood Education. My focus is on presenting my interpretation of salient historical points, intersections, contexts, and occurrences that illuminate the ways in which these three fields reflect the influence of feminist theory, practice, and pedagogy in the academy. This will serve to prepare the ground for my integration of these fields with each other, and provide the historical context for understanding the personal and professional lives of Patty Smith Hill, Winifred Ward, and myself. Since much of the history of Theatre and Women’s Studies have been thoroughly researched and published by other scholars, the first two sections of this chapter will be fairly brief. The section on the history of Early Childhood Education and Care, on the other hand, will be somewhat more extensive since the perspective I am bringing is not reflected as broadly in the current literature, and since more of the emphasis of this work rests in ECEC. The final section weaves together the histories of Women’s Studies, Early Childhood Education, and Theatre as they have evolved at Miami University.

Women’s Studies and Feminism— History, Disciplinary Influence, Institutional Issues, Epistemology

When I took Intro to Women’s Studies (WMS 201, shorthanded as “201”) as an undergraduate in 1991, it primarily centered on introducing students to the political and institutional inequities experienced by women in the patriarchal power structure of the United States, both historically and in a contemporary context, as well as providing an introduction to the various versions of feminist theory employed by academics and activists. Since the professor teaching the course was a philosopher and political scientist, much of the course material drew from legal and theoretical sources. Ten years later, the first time I taught Intro to Women’s Studies, I began with this same approach, though I brought my own affiliation with popular culture, education, and the arts to the course materials, and incorporated a much greater emphasis on the intersectionality of gender, race, class, and sexuality. While teaching the course over the following two

academic years, I continued to adapt and evolve the approach and the course materials in minor ways, though the history portion of the course remained focused on the history of the women’s movement, the history of feminist activism, and the history of legislation. After a three-year hiatus, during which time I was teaching various Interdisciplinary Studies courses and several sections of an education course focused on the social foundations of American schooling, I returned to teaching 201. This time, I undertook a major overhaul of my syllabus, searching for ways to more fully center the focus on the student experience of the material, which caused me to think more critically about both the content of the course and the context in which Women’s Studies is taught. As I was preparing material for the first few weeks of class, I realized that one thing that I had not been taught, and had therefore not been teaching, was the history of Women’s Studies itself. I had begun reading a great deal about Women’s Studies as a field, some of it historically reflective, but much of it through a critical lens that asked some very pointed questions about institutionality, inclusiveness, pedagogy, and influence on other disciplines. I have no doubt that I was behind the curve on this dimension, but, nevertheless, I experienced an “aha” moment of realization that Women’s Studies had been around long enough as an organized, focused academic field that it actually had a history, with a recognizable depth and breadth of development beyond anecdotal origin stories. It seemed only natural to me that this history should be taught as part of the basic 201 package (though I was working with little guidance, the revisions I incorporated worked nicely with the revisions to the course that the program was discussing to address the changes to the university’s liberal education requirements). Developing this segment of the course provided me with the impetus for delving further into this rich history, helping me to envision a deeper understanding of the way in which the history of Women’s Studies as an institutional entity has influenced, and been influenced by, the presence of feminist theory, pedagogy, and politics in the academy. My thinking on this was heavily influenced by ideas such as those presented by Jane O. Newman (2002), who writes When we fail…to challenge both students and ourselves to theorize alterity as an issue of change over time as well as of geographical distance, ethnic difference, and sexual choice, we repress and refuse to confront not only the “thickness” of historical difference itself, but also the dimensions of what is perhaps the most

pressing issue in Women’s Studies today—namely, the impact on its fundamental critical task of the gradual institutionalization of the field as an academic discipline, a development fueled, I would argue, by our (self)implication in a narrative of progress whose hero(in)es inhabit only the present. This image of progress tends to legitimate—even as it masks—the absorption of the field’s and our energy into the traditional mechanisms of mass instruction, administrative bureaucracy, and, in particular, the trap of a kind of quick and competitive knowledge production that can be measured only in the currency of the late postmodern academic realm: publication. (p. 145)

Equally important as the history itself is the way that this history has been reported, described, critiqued, analyzed, represented, and reflected upon. Many of the founders of Women’s Studies courses and programs grounded their efforts, at least in part, in a critique of disciplinary, pedagogical, and institutional power structures in academe. Growing from this, it has become a field marked by self-critique and reflexivity (or, as Gloria Bowles notes, “Women’s Studies remains a particularly self- critical discipline” (Bowles, p. 462)). This critique has produced a copious amount of scholarship and publication regarding the history of the field (e.g., Messer-Davidow, 2002; Wiegman, 2002; Howe, 2000). Within these histories, it is evident that, as a field, Women’s Studies seems to have resisted the recounting of its history in the date-driven or linearly narrative manner that traditionally typifies institutional histories. This is not particularly surprising, since even those in the field who were trained as historians were initially drawn to Women’s Studies and feminist pedagogy as a way to challenge such linearity (Sklar, 2000). As a nascent field, Women’s Studies was intent on challenging just about everything hierarchical or linear in academe, with the conviction that such traditional approaches left out more than they reported, or reported with a strong bias reflecting their Euro- American, patriarchal origins. As Women’s Studies attracted more disciplinary scholars looking to work beyond the confines of their disciplines, it also became more inculcated into the institutions those scholars were critiquing, leading to challenges as well as support. Westkott (2002), for example, in her description of the evolution of the Women’s Studies degree program at the University of Colorado at Boulder, explains, As Women’s Studies programs began to emerge, however tenuously, at colleges and universities, they became embedded in bureaucratic structures, which had the

potential to hinder their purposes as well as to assist them. Although college- curriculum committees or administrators may have questioned, changed, or even blocked courses on women and gender, for example, bureaucratic structures such as interdisciplinary course rubrics and individually structured majors also facilitated curriculum development. Many Women’s Studies directors and faculty learned how to play the contradictions of bureaucracy as an art form, working the system to establish their programs and courses of study. (p. 301)

Through this process, Women’s Studies opened itself up to the same critiques that feminist scholars and political activists had been leveling at those traditional disciplines, namely that there was an emphasis on the experiences of heterosexual, middle- and upper middle-class white women that marginalized lesbians, working class women, and women of color. For African-American scholars such as Beverley Guy-Sheftall (1991), much of what goes on [in the academy] reinforces the problematic and erroneous notion that the normative human experience is white, Western, male, Christian, middle-class, and heterosexual. A deep sense of alienation is likely to plague students whose own identities are different from what they’ve been led to believe is the norm by the texts they read and the Eurocentric values they are encouraged to embrace. Students who represent this dominant majority—and they’re fast becoming a minority in many educational settings—have difficulty seeing the world and their place in it differently. (p. 27)

It is possible to replace the word “student” with “faculty” in the above paragraph and retain the import of the sentiment. In addition, “academic feminists” were criticized for abandoning their activist roots, generating the “theory/practice” debate that has persisted for nearly thirty years. Even though this debate is certainly not limited to women’s studies, the positioning of women’s studies practitioners with politically focused feminist activists brought a unique pressure to bear on scholar-activists who were at the heart of the efforts to establish women’s studies within the academy. Ellen Messer-Davidow recounts an early organizing conference from 1971 in which this tension was clearly articulated. She describes the work of Roberta Salper and Marilyn Salzman-Webb that grew out of this conference as targeting the practical dilemma facing academics who wanted to maintain a commitment to political activism. According to Messer-Davidow, Salper and Salzman- Webb both understood that the “problematic was the structuring of the social formation— its society/academy divide, its occupational precincts and positional hierarchies, its group antagonisms and individual rivalries. They understood that societal and academic

institutions, though managing different arenas of activity, worked together to reproduce this structure” (Messer-Davidow, 2002, p. 88). Feminist academics, in attempting to establish a space for students to challenge, confront, and potentially alter the gender dynamics of both the university and the society at large, were repeatedly confronted with oppositional dualisms even as they sought to reject them. The “slash” mentality (referring to the creation of relational vocabularies by using the / in between terms to reinforce the either/or nature of the concepts in question) made it difficult to make professional headway while remaining politically active. Many women perceived their work within the academy to establish women’s studies as their primary political activity, even though it extended beyond the university not through direct community organizing or legislation, but through the influence it had on the political and social consciousness of young women students. For example, Myra Dinnerstein (2000), the first director of the Women’s Studies program at the University of Arizona in 1975, explains that, for the women who were advocating for the establishment of the program, “[a]t this stage, when we were all involved in professional careers, the university became the site of our activity. Establishing a feminist program, creating a curriculum, and offering students a new way of thinking about the world was our political work” (p. 293). This type of “political” work was not always validated as such by others, who criticized professional scholars for being insular and out of touch with the non-academic world (Messer- Davidow, 2002). Even though these differences have often been contentious and alienating, they have also created a dynamic tension within the field that has consistently demanded a style of reflexive self-critique that was not generally characteristic of traditional, more established disciplines, including those that had produced the faculty who were developing Women’s Studies as an interdisciplinary field. Messer-Davidow also notes that one attempt by women’s studies advocates to bridge the “society/academy” slash was in the creation of “Women’s Centers” that were located on campus but extended through outreach into the surrounding communities. Invariably, however, these centers, if they remained in operation, became limited to campus activities, as university administrators rarely were willing or able to provide financial resources to serve the non-university community on an ongoing or broad-based basis. In addition, faculty and staff were faced with the reality of the limitations of the

physical, emotional, and psychological energy required to build and maintain community outside the university while pursuing tenure and promotion in institutions whose P&T policies did not value such projects. Many women, such as Kathryn Kish Sklar, challenged these policies. Sklar (2000) explains that she and several of her colleagues “did not support women’s studies as a way of advancing ourselves within the university. On the contrary. We identified with the oppositional stance of those who had been and were still making trouble for the university by insisting that it become more humane and diverse” (p. 141). But there was often a price for such a challenge. Sklar, one of the central figures in the formation of the Women’s Studies program at the University of Michigan in 1972, was also instrumental in convincing the history department to create a tenure line for U.S. women’s history, and continued to teach the course she developed while the department searched for, and eventually hired, someone else for the line. In order to continue to pursue her passion for women’s history, Sklar had to accept a position at UCLA, which meant an extended separation from her husband and children, who remained in Ann Arbor. It is conceivable that many women would not have been willing or able to make this sacrifice, and may have muted their external (and possibly internal) political activism in order to secure their future as academics with tenure in existing departments (since it would be several more years before there would be more than a handful of opportunities for tenure-line appointments specifically in women’s studies). Another point of contention arising out of the disciplinary and administrative structure of academic institutionalization was the recreating of disciplinary status hierarchies within women’s studies programs. As they attempted to achieve recognition, and, therefore, access to institutional resources and support for their own research interests (necessary for tenure), many women’s studies advocates placed an emphasis on the type of scholarship that was already validated in the academy (Howe, 2000; Dinnerstein, 2000). This type of “serious” scholarship was seen as occurring in departments and programs that depended on empirical data or numerical certainty (such as mathematics and the “hard” sciences, where women have been traditionally underrepresented), complex theory (e.g., psychology, philosophy—again, fields in which women have struggled to create an influential presence), or historical longevity and

canonical responsibility (e.g., most of the Humanities, including history and English and American literature and composition, fields where women had begun to establish more of a presence). In such a climate, disciplines that were not considered “rigorous” had always struggled for acceptance and resources (Dolan, 2001). This included fine arts (with creative and performative components that can not be quantified), teacher education (especially as it became dominated by women, therefore relegating it to the realm of “women’s work,” which was perceived as not intellectually based), and many of the social sciences (especially those that focused on human welfare, family dynamics, and domestic preparation, such as home economics). Given the hierarchical demographics, it is not surprising that most of the “Founding Mothers” of women’s studies came from fields that had gained institutional validation but were also generally more supportive of women faculty: primarily History and Literature. Of the 30 women whose essays appear in Florence Howe’s book, The Politics of Women’s Studies: Testimony from 30 Founding Mothers, 20 of them hold primary degrees or focus their primary teaching and publication in these two fields. The other ten represent anthropology (4), economics (1), mathematics (1), education (1), psychology (1), or non-disciplinary affiliated scholarship or activism (2) (Howe, 2000). Rather than fully recognize and challenge these hierarchies that excluded women, or politicize the marginalization of work that was largely done by women within the academy, early women’s studies programs often reified these marginalizing structures in the pursuit of recognition as a “serious” discipline (again, this will be discussed in much more detail in the ensuing sections). Myra Dinnerstein (2000), for example, discusses the struggle for resources at Arizona, and that, in order to try to secure more funding, they “felt that it was important to let the campus know that women’s studies was a serious field by bringing in scholars with established reputations as speakers” (p. 301). To this end, they “decided that it would be a good political move to have an important person from outside the university—a former president of the Modern Language Association [Florence Howe]—visit our campus as a way of increasing our legitimacy with university administrators” (p. 302). The definition of “an important person,” or “scholars with established reputations as speakers,” is clearly intended, in this case, to mean someone from a field that administrators recognize as academically valid—not an artist, or a

preschool teacher, or a home economics instructor, or a feminist theorist whose work was published only in feminist journals. The argument could be made that, without accepting these hierarchies, women’s studies programs and departments would never have gained enough of an institutional footing to survive. It could also be argued, however, that, by reifying these institutional status hierarchies, women’s studies programs and departments ran the risk of becoming co-opted by them (Messer-Davidow, 2002; Wiegman, 2002). The founding circumstances of women’s studies, as with many disciplinary and interdisciplinary histories, have not remained unchallenged as the programs have grown, however, and the existence of women’s studies within the academy continues to evolve and shift, particularly in response to a growing emphasis on broader gender and sexuality studies, and to the dwindling economic resources that many universities are experiencing (Wiegman, 2002; Robinson, 2002; Elam, 2002). In addition, as a reflexively self-critical field, women’s studies has, especially in the last fifteen years, embraced the challenges to its own hegemony and, in the most dynamic programs, actively sought to welcome scholars and artists from a broader range of disciplines and interdisciplines. Many programs, however, continue to be dominated by scholars from the Humanities, as can be gleaned from perusing the websites of a sampling of schools with nationally recognized women’s studies programs, where core and affiliate faculty in the Humanities (especially English and History), routinely outnumber the social sciences, education, arts, and physical sciences/mathematics by a large margin (Duke University; University of Virgnia; University of Cincinnati; University of California, Berkeley). Obviously, some of this remains a question of scale, as English and History are two fields in which women have gained near parity, which increases the likelihood of greater participation. But if we consider the percentage of women professors from these disciplines who choose to affiliate with women’s studies, the numbers advantage remains questionable, as both Theatre and Education are fields that also have a high number of women professors, but an apparently lower overall percentage that affiliate with women’s studies (this makes some sense regarding Education, as feminism is not as pedagogically present in the field, but Theatre has a strong feminist presence—these points will be further developed later in this chapter). The question remains, how successful have women’s studies adherents been at expanding the academy’s vision of disciplinary validity and women’s

participation, and what has been the impact that women’s studies has made on integrating feminist theory and pedagogy into specific disciplines? The experiences of disciplinary scholars such as Sklar, Dinnerstein, Guy-Sheftall, and others choosing to work in an interdisciplinary program has become the primary vehicle through which feminism has traveled to or been shaped within other disciplines. Women’s Studies did not invent feminist scholarship, but through the process of engaging feminist scholars from discrete disciplines into a multi- or inter-disciplinary discourse, it has influenced the way that feminist theory and pedagogy has traveled back into those disciplines. Jill Dolan (2001) describes this dynamic at UW-Madison: By the late eighties and early nineties, the [Women’s Studies] program was well respected and highly considered on the UW campus. Such approbation hastened the program’s shift from outsider status to insider, as more and more women groomed in women’s studies moved into positions in the university’s higher administration. These women facilitated a proliferation of feminist discourse throughout the institution, as women’s issues moved closer to the center of larger institutional and disciplinary concerns. (p. 123)

Scholars such as Nona Glazer (2000), however, perceive a much less significant influence. She writes, “feminist scholarship has not yet produced an intellectual revolution, one that is integrated into the curriculum across disciplines. How much feminist scholarship has changed the disciplines has been debated: for example, some sociologists think that anthropology has undergone tremendous change because of feminist scholarship, but feminist anthropologists are skeptical” (p. 342) The journey of feminist scholarship into, within, among, and from disciplinary epistemologies, politics, and pedagogies is one of the key elements that is addressed in this dissertation. By examining and comparing the fields of Theatre and Early Childhood Education, it is possible to begin to discern the reasons for, and the effects of, the relative presence or absence of feminist scholarship within those disciplines and throughout the lives of the scholars and professionals who identify with them.

Theatre and Feminism— History, Theory, Practice, Performance, and Performativity

Theatre, as a practice and a profession, predates women’s studies and organized feminism by several centuries. As academic disciplines, Women’s Studies was not “born” into the academy until the late 1960s, while Theatre had been introduced in American universities by the mid 19th century (albeit often as extracurricular entertainment, such as Harvard’s Hasty Pudding Club in 1844, or limited to the study of classical dramatic works). However, it wasn’t until the 1960s, with the advent of Performance Studies and the expansion of professional preparation, that Theatre departments became widespread institutional entities. Even though drama courses and degree programs were introduced at Brown University in 1868, the University of Iowa in 1920, Yale University in 1925, and Howard University by 1919, at many universities they were often an affiliated field in English or Speech departments (more about this at the end of this chapter). The evolution of the modern “Theatre Department,” including its often contentious relationship with Performance Studies, coincided with the rise of Women’s Studies and various other interdisciplinary programs that grew out of the politically-inspired renovations of American universities during the “culture wars” of the Civil Rights, Women’s Liberation, and Vietnam War era (Roach, 2004; Jackson, 2002; Steadman, 1991). This coincidental development contributed to the early connection between academic theatre and feminism. In Europe, Canada, and the United States, professional theatre, beyond its purely entertainment aspects, has historically often functioned as a site for social protest and political commentary, from the satire of Aristophanes to the social commentary of Shakespeare to the culturally critical work of Shaw, Ibsen, and O’Neill (Shimko, 2009; Richards, 2005; Dromgoole, 2001; Steen, 2000). As Emily Mann (2002), a playwright and Artistic Director of the McCarter Theatre Center, explains, “From Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Shakespeare to Kushner, Marc Wolf, and Adrienne Kennedy—from poetic drama to documentary theatre—the great plays of an age are invariably the political plays of the age” (p. v). The theatrical canon present in academic theatre at mainstream universities and colleges through the 1950s, however, often focused on the classic nature of these works as literature or traditional performance rather than on their activist potential. This canon also focused almost exclusively on the writings of white male playwrights, ignoring or dismissing the often politically charged

work of writers whose demographic profile did not reflect that of the almost exclusively white and usually male English faculty teaching these canonical texts (Jackson, 2004; Dolan, 1991; Case, 1983). With the influx of students into American universities in the 1950s and ‘60s, the increasing separation of Theatre departments from English and Speech, and the challenges to traditional performance and production pedagogy and practice introduced by Performance Studies, more women, people of color, and socially liberal men began to appear as faculty. Many of these new, usually young, professors and graduate teaching assistants supported challenging the canon and began to introduce more works by marginalized writers into the classroom and onto the stage (Jackson, 2004; Bennett, 2003). Many of these new faculty were bringing with them experience with amateur or ad hoc production companies who were experimenting with performance as social critique and political activism, companies that were often formed by like-minded individuals who did not see their experiences represented on professional stages or in theatre textbooks. By the mid-1970s, there were hundreds of small, community-based companies representing various identity groups, such as African-American, feminist, lesbian, lesbian-feminist, gay, Chicano/a, Latino/a, Hispanic, Asian-American, physically disabled, working class, etc. (Brockett, 2003; Steadman, 1991; Leavitt, 1980). This plurality of discontent with traditional theatre found its way into theatre departments, as well as into academic institutions in a larger sense, as identity studies began to reflect the changing demographics of universities (Messer-Davidow, 2002; Chinoy, 1996; Sisley, 1996; Van Erven, 1988). It was this same plurality of discontent that was simultaneously drawing women from traditional disciplines to the multi- and inter-disciplinarity of Women’s Studies, making it possible for scholars who identified as feminist to find or create community both outside of and within their disciplines (Blee, 2002; Zimmerman, 2002). Performance Studies departments and programs that had made headway with challenging the canon and embracing change were finding common ground with feminists who were creating politically-based performances. The shared emphasis on social/political activism made it possible for many feminist performance scholars to make significant contributions to academic theatre theory and critique by the mid- to late 1970s, which

was also challenging traditional theatre programs (Steadman, 1991). Shannon Jackson observes that, The emergence of Performance Studies in the United States was enabled, albeit unsystematically, by these adjacent movements in feminism, multiculturalism, theory, cultural studies, as well as disciplinary critiques, canon wars, and a host of concurrent debates. While such movements spurred a variety of curricular reforms within and outside theatre departments, Richard Schechner’s discourse targeted the field and departmental structures of theatre itself. As such, the phrase “performance studies” often served as a touchstone for a larger epistemological shift that promised or threatened to transform theatre’s institutional status in the US academy, one that promised or threatened to transform the epistemological and political status of the arts and humanities more generally. When Schechner told the ATHE [Association for Theatre in Higher Education] membership to consider performance beyond “the enactment of Eurocentric drama,” he echoed the anti-canonical arguments that were circulating in other disciplines. (p. 23)

These new feminist scholars, whether in Performance Studies or more established Theatre departments, were not always embraced eagerly, however, either by the theatre traditionalists or, ironically, by the new women’s studies programs, who, as described in the first section of this chapter, were struggling to justify their legitimacy as a “real” field of scholarship. In their desire to establish themselves as “serious” academics, many women’s studies faculty, either intentionally or subconsciously, marginalized women from Theatre and other Fine Arts (Dolan, 2001). This is one of the primary critiques of early women’s studies programs mentioned in the previous section of this chapter: that, in their desire to solidify their presence as an institutional entity, they were recreating the academic elitism that gave preference to high theory over performance, production, or community application. In other words, they were not always practicing the inclusiveness that they were preaching. Jill Dolan provides a poignant example of this dynamic in her book Geographies of Learning (2001). She describes her experiences as a young scholar at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in the late 1980s and early 1990s: In Theatre, I quickly became fully enfranchised; Women’s Studies seemed a [sic] elite club in which only seniority counted . . . theater studies, I have to say, was something of a curiosity in a Women’s Studies Program that despite its commitment to interdisciplinarity, tended to value the knowledges of disciplines such as English, history, the languages, social sciences, and hard sciences over “the arts.” Too many times, one particular senior professor in Women’s Studies publicly dismissed my own home discipline. My scholarship in performance

theory (before the popularity of performativity) and my preference for poststructuralist thinking somewhat alienated me from some faculty in the program’s core. (p. 125)

Dolan’s experience suggests that the marginalization of the arts that was present in many universities (more detail about this later in this chapter, in the discussion of theatre at Miami University) had found its way into Women’s Studies. To further the irony, some theatre scholars who were working from a feminist perspective also found resistance within Theatre departments built on a more traditional foundation because their work was often seen as too theoretical or because it challenged the historical canon. In many disciplines, scholars articulating theory from postmodern, poststructural, feminist, or other “new” epistemological frames came under fire for generating work that did not fit neatly into the pre-established institutional “silos” of knowledge production. In other words, It [was] easy to attack critical theory derived from identity studies, because it’s so explicitly connected to larger social movements that force an acknowledgement of changing cultural patterns. The entry of identity area studies into the academy in the late seventies, with women’s studies and African American studies, helped change institutional demographics in ways that made it more difficult to consider the academy as an ivory tower, safely cordoned off from the diversifying populations of the United States itself. (Dolan, 2001; p. 49)

In spite of being sometimes marginalized by women’s studies programs and resented by theatre departments, feminist theatre and performance theorists, historians, and practitioners persisted and found community and professional identity. One of the main reasons for this was because even the most unwelcoming women’s studies programs were still creating, by their insistent presence, a climate that made feminist scholarship possible within the academy. Regardless of the lack of support demonstrated by programs such as the one at the University of Wisconsin for Theatre (or Performance Studies) as a discipline, Women’s Studies helped to facilitate the solidification of feminist scholarship in academic theatre. The visibility of feminist theory and pedagogy in Theatre is evident in two ways. One, the Association for Theatre in Higher Education (ATHE), one of the leading professional organizations for academic theatre, had a Women and Theatre focus group by 1974, which had grown vibrant enough to sponsor its own pre-conference by 1980. This group hosted often heated debates, particularly on the

relationship between theory and practice (Case & Reinelt, 1991). The group is one of ATHE’s largest, providing support and community (though not always comfortably) for feminist scholars (Armstrong and Juhl, 2007). In addition, the American Society for Theatre Research (ASTR), an organization focused to a greater degree on theatre research and scholarship (in relation to ATHE’s greater emphasis on pedagogy, theory, and practice) (Cima, 2006), is deeply supportive of feminist scholarship. Even though ASTR was slower to bring women into the organization than ATHE (ASTR did not have a woman president until 1997, forty-one years after its founding, while ATHE’s founding president in 1986 was Beverley Byers-Pevitts, and ATHE’s forerunner, the American Theatre Association, elected Vera Mowry Roberts as president in 1973 (Williams, 2007; ATHE; City University of New York)), they now provide a solid foundation for feminist theatre historical research and scholarship (their current president and vice president, Rhonda Blair and Stacy Wolf, are well known feminist scholars) (ASTR). The second point of evidence for the visibility of feminist theory and pedagogy in theatre is that feminist work in performance studies and history have helped to frame the tension that is occurring in many Theatre departments, which sometimes find themselves struggling to produce graduates who are capable of both scholarship and production. Many departments have found themselves in an either/or position: they can either focus on a full production schedule that trains actors and technicians for jobs in professional companies, or they can be history/theory/performance studies departments that produce academics, a dynamic tension that had already become the subject of professional journal articles over fifty years ago (Culbertson, 1951; Thompson, 1950; Kernodle, 1949). Feminist theatre faculty have had an influence on both sides of this equation: Feminist academics have contributed to the body of scholarship available to theoreticians, historians, and performance scholars, while feminist directors, writers, and technicians have raised new questions about the cultural implications, ethical issues, and practical process of production (Armstrong and Juhl, 2007; Aston, 1999; Solomon, 1996; Case, 1996; Case & Reinelt, 1991; Dolan, 1991; Steadman, 1991; Austin, 1990). Reflecting on the role of feminism in theatre in the new millennium, Jill Dolan posted a blog entry in 2007 in which she discusses a panel she had attended at an ATHE conference that was organized to consider “The Future of Feminist Scholarship.” She

describes the comment by Gwen Alker that “the effects of feminist scholarship have been ‘omnipresent and subterranean,’ and that the institutionalization of the field…means that it has ‘solidified’ as a method and ‘infiltrated’ the field as a viable approach.” Dolan speculates about the positive and negative connotations of this “institutionalized status,” and agrees with panel attendee Meghan Brody that “feminism is being subsumed by its own interdisciplinarity.” She offers the questions that this panel discussion generated in her: “What does this mean for the future of the field? Why do we feel the need to name feminism explicitly in our work? On the other hand, why don’t we? How and why might we bring feminism back to the surface of critical thought in performance?” Ultimately, she is impressed by the commitment of the younger women graduate students who organized and spoke at the panel, who seem to have reassured her that feminism is still a vital force in theatre and performance. Even so, she ends her blog post with the following caution: The academy is, of course, a place of commodification, in which scholars continually seek out the next cutting edge on which to make their reputations and their contributions to contemporary thought. Feminism, some might say, had its moment. But if we truly believe in the importance of a critique that seriously considers gender, race and ethnicity, sexuality, class, and other identity markers as viable sites of cultural generation and critique, feminism needs to be continually reinvigorated as a method and a movement.

As is evident in Dolan’s reflection, the relationship between theatre and feminism, though sometimes contentious, has an established history and a vital presence in the academy, and this connection has fed back into Women’s Studies, which has been an important factor in the institutionalization of this relationship. The shared legacy of political activism and social critique of Theatre and Women’s Studies has made it possible for them to evolve together in a symbiotic, though not always amenable, institutional and pedagogical relationship.

Feminism and Early Childhood Education— History, Politics, Professional Development

Whereas Theatre, as an academic discipline, has made ample space for feminist historians, theorists, and performers, Early Childhood Education (ECE) generally 52

speaking, has not (remember that “ECE” refers to the academic discipline that trains teachers, not the professional practice that involves teaching and caring for children, referred to in this work as Early Childhood Education and Care, or ECEC). This is not to say that there are no feminists in ECE or ECEC, but that, as a discipline and a profession, feminist theory and pedagogy has not acquired the same degree of acceptability and visibility as it has in Theatre. Both fields are constantly struggling with the tension between “academics” and “practitioners,” and both are somewhat marginalized in the hierarchy of “serious” scholarship: Theatre because of its position in Fine Arts (devalued in the academy because it is seen as grounded in creative performance, not serious scholarship); ECE because of its position within schools of Education (devalued in the academy because it is perceived as a feminized field and affiliated with vocational training, which, again, is not legitimized as serious scholarship) (Labaree, 2004; Cannella, 2002), and for its affiliation with “nursery” school (in other words, not “real” school). (These tensions and comparisons will be further expanded at the end of this chapter.) Both also share a history of social critique and activism, though the legacy of that history has taken each on a different path. The education and care of children under the age of five years emerged in the late nineteenth century on two fronts. One was as “nursery” school, following on the success of kindergarten advocates, which grew as an experiment on college campuses to a) provide kindergarten teacher candidates and “Home Economics” majors the opportunity to gain practical experience with young children; b) provide Education and Developmental Psychology faculty on-site research opportunities; and c) provide the children of faculty (and sometimes upper-middle class community members) an educational experience outside the home without the perception that their mothers were inadequate or neglectful. The other front was the “day nurseries” (later known as “day care”), which arose from the social reform movements of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, with the intention of providing nutrition, hygiene, and citizenship instruction to children of low-income families (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Michel, 1999; Ranck, 1999). Given the complexity of this schismatic evolution, and its relevance to an understanding of the position of ECE in higher education and its relation to feminism and women’s issues, I will provide a more extensive history of this trajectory.

It is my contention that the schism that has historically existed between the definition and comparative value of “day care” and “preschool” (which used to be, and sometimes still is, referred to as “nursery school”) is one that is deeply embedded in the economic disparity between the lower and middle classes, and is highly racialized. This division has its roots in the social reform movement of the mid- to late-nineteenth century, and persisted for nearly a hundred years. Social reformers were interested in improving conditions for the poor, some because they believed it was simply the right thing to do, others because they believed it was necessary to invest in the training of skilled workers, reliable manual laborers, and, above all, good citizens (Apple, 2004). As the U.S. moved from an agricultural to an industrial economy, it became increasingly important to create a cheap, patriotic labor pool. This “labor pool,” by necessity, required housing in proximity to the manufacturing areas in which they were employed. As urban neighborhoods overflowed with low-wage workers who did not have the extended family support systems that were more typical of smaller, more rural communities, the children of those workers often were left with unreliable neighbors, older siblings, or to care for themselves, often on their own, frequently in the streets (Michel, 1999). Many educators and social reformers recognized that these children needed supervision as well as basic health and nutrition, and, to some extent, training in basic living skills to increase the likelihood that they would grow into useful American citizens and laborers (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Rose, 1999). Public school and “free” (i.e., philanthropic) kindergartens were one proposed solution to this problem, but only for children four or five years and older; day nurseries became a possible remedy for younger children. Both kindergartens and day nurseries, though, were segregated, always along racial lines, and often along religious ones (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Michel, 1999; Rose, 1999). There is disagreement as to the year and location of the “first” day nursery in the United States, but there is general agreement on the purpose of the nurseries and the profiles of the individuals who started them. In most cases, day nurseries were established through the social concern and philanthropy of privileged women who wanted to “save” the poor, neglected children of indigent or irresponsible mothers (Auerbach, 1998; Michel, 1999; Rose, 1999). Michel describes two of these “origin narratives” (both set in New York, one in 1854 and another in 1863), pointing out that

their commonality is “infused with the combination of noblesse oblige, pity, and sense of women’s particular responsibility for children that has come to be known as ‘sentimental maternalism,’ in which the ‘shock of discovery moves upper-class women to action.’” She goes on to explain that: These two accounts, while tracing the origins of child care to the nineteenth century, display patterns that characterize the dynamics of the child care movement throughout its history. Both tell stories of individual acts of benevolence that create public philanthropies rather than political initiatives that result in public provision. Both focus on institutions organized by middle and upper-class women rather than on informal arrangements devised by wage- earning women themselves. And both are concerned primarily with the well-being of children—children’s interests—rather than the prerogatives of women— women’s rights. (p. 13) Not surprisingly, these discussions of “firsts” in organized child care are centered on the experiences of Euro-Americans (whether native born or immigrant). There is generally little discussion in the historical literature about the existence of “plantation nurseries” in the slave-holding Southern states, which had been consistent fixtures on the larger plantations long before wealthy women in the North expressed their concern over the children of immigrants and the working poor. As described by Lascarides & Hinitz (2000), in the plantation nurseries, “the children—one to seven years old—were tended by one or two women too old to work in the fields. They were assisted by the older siblings [or cousins] of the infants” (p. 496). They further explain that,

Plantations with more than twenty slaves had nurseries located near the “big house” and supervised by the mistress of the house. The nursery (“nurse house” or “chilluns’ house”) was an enlarged cabin, with a sleeping room and a room for playing and eating. The mothers carried their infants in the cradles—made of boards, not more than two by three feet—in the morning and took them to their cabins at night. (p. 496). Besides the plantation nurseries, and even though there had been a few examples of day nurseries in the United States prior to the Civil War (e.g., the nursery of the Philadelphia House of Industry in 1798, the Boston Infant School in 1828, and the Nursery for the Children of Poor Women in the City of New York in 1852), and regardless of the disagreement over the “official” founding of the day care movement, the significant spread of the day nursery didn’t occur until after the Civil War ended in 1865 (Michel, 1999; Ranck, 1999). Not surprisingly, this coincided with the establishment of

settlement houses that provided assistance to poor families. As noted by Elizabeth Rose, however, “by defining day care as a charity for women who were driven into the labor force by economic desperation, these philanthropic reformers attached a stigma to day care that it still carries today” (p. 5).

The quality of care in the day nurseries was unregulated, non-standardized, and highly variable. As physicians, social welfare workers, and community members became critical of the lack of sufficient attention to cleanliness, diet, and health management in many of the programs, some communities began to develop basic nutrition, sanitation, and supervisory standards for the centers. These standards helped to improve the conditions at many facilities, but inspection and enforcement were often inadequate (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Michel, 1999; Rose, 1999; Auerbach, 1988).

By the 1920s, the Kindergarten Movement had begun to have a significant, positive impact on the perception of early education as important for young children, and this increasingly became of interest to middle class mothers and academics who understood the potential value of organized group experiences for children below the age of five, but who were repelled by the reputation and economic class connotations of the day nurseries. The response was to establish the “nursery school,” which offered the same opportunities as the day nurseries for social interaction and supervision (allowing mothers to be occupied elsewhere without being made to feel guilty for abdicating their motherly duties), but which were designed to emphasize “education” for young children, not just “supervision” (Michel, 1999; Ranck, 1999; Rose, 1999; Auerbach, 1988). Initially, some of the nursery schools also proposed to adhere to a social welfare ideal, promising to serve the children of lower class families as well, but the limited hours were often incompatible with work schedules, and the more affluent parents who wanted to send their young children to school were not accepting of the potentially disagreeable (i.e., distasteful) interactions with poor children (Rose, 1999; Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). As explained by Michel (1999), the leaders of many nursery school programs were quite explicit in their desire to distance themselves from the day nurseries, worried that “association with these ‘custodial’ institutions would not only discourage the middle- class clientele they were hoping to attract but would also cast suspicion on the lofty educational benefits nursery schools purported to offer” (p. 113). 56

The biggest difference that supported the day care/nursery school oppositional perception, however, was arguably the initial impetus and inspiration for each. Whereas the day nurseries grew out of a social reform mentality, nursery schools came about as a response to the increasing influence of a “scientific interest in early childhood” which “arose from a new emphasis in the sciences of biology, physiology, psychology, and medicine” (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; p. 295). The progressive education movement, interestingly, shared both a social reform objective and a scientific interest in childhood, and educators such as Patty Smith Hill exemplify the ways in which these influences were made to work in concert, rather than in competition (more detail on this will be covered in the next chapter). One of the effects of these new sciences was to establish the idea that there were many aspects of life (including parenting) that required the assistance of “experts” in order for people to be able to succeed. The implications of this division were profound: Designed to provide an educational experience for middle-class children in an era when childhood seemed increasingly complicated, nursery school convinced some affluent parents that they needed the help of trained experts to raise happy, well-adjusted, independent children. Day care in the nursery schools was not a matter of charity, but of privilege: parents were willing to pay in order to give their children the benefit of nursery school training. Thus a two-track system of care for young children took shape: affluent children would receive carefully designed educational care in nursery schools, while working-class children would receive only custodial care in charitable day nurseries. (Rose, p. 100) The operators of the day nurseries were not completely opposed to the nursery school concept, as many welcomed the integration of education and child development ideas into their programs. However, their usually limited philanthropic funding made it difficult to hire women with “teacher” training, or to invest in the types of educational materials necessary to implement a “curriculum” (Auerbach, 1988; Ranck, 1999; Rose, 1999). Most of the initial nursery school programs were privately funded endeavors financed by people who were interested in child development (or wanted education for their own children), but within a few years, nursery schools took many forms, including “private for-profit schools, welfare-related and charity nurseries, laboratory nursery schools, and parent-cooperative nursery schools” (Lascarides & Hinitz, p. 296).

One of the most influential purposes of the nursery schools was to provide opportunities for teacher training and research. University education departments quickly 57

saw the value of establishing on-site facilities that gave their students and professors ready access (Labaree, 2004). This development marks a shift in the type of “training” that became valued differently in day care and nursery school, and begins to illuminate the problematic nature of ECEC in higher education: In the early years of nursery school development, teachers were trained by apprenticeship in an existing facility. Normal schools later developed nursery teacher training departments. However, these often were under the auspices of departments of home economics or child care, rather than education. It is for this reason that up until the present time, nursery school teacher education is found in departments of family science and consumer studies, child development, and human services, as well as in schools of education. (Lascarides & Hinitz, p. 296)

The university nursery schools reflected the segregation that existed in the universities themselves and that of U.S. culture in general. Predominantly white schools served white children and trained white teachers, but there were also nursery schools and teacher training programs at several of the Historically Black Colleges and Universities, such as Spelman, Alabama State Teacher’s College, and Hampton Institute (Lascarides & Hinitz, p. 515-516). With the beginning of World War II, the schism between day care and nursery school (and the de facto segregation of them) shifted dramatically, at least for a while. Middle class white women found themselves entering the workforce out of financial necessity or because they were encouraged to enter the workforce by the federal government and wartime industries, who need laborers to replace the men who had entered the armed services (Michel, 1999; Rose, 1999). At the same time, African- American women who had been working at low-paying jobs were able to find factory work that paid at a much higher rate. As described by Rose, the view of war work as a new opportunity for women, rather than a measure of patriotic self-sacrifice, was particularly typical of African-American women, who were able to earn higher wages and work in better jobs during the war than ever before. One African-American woman told an interviewer, “My sister always said that Hitler was the one that got us out of the white folks’ kitchen.” (p. 163)

Since many of these new workers had small children at home, it became necessary for the federal government or private corporations to create policies and programs that helped to establish and/or facilitate day care centers (such as the Lanham Act Community Facilities between 1943-1946, and the Kaiser Child Service Centers run 58

by the Kaiser shipyards in Portland, Oregon (Michel, 1999; Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). The traditionally-structured “nursery schools” were not generally set up to accommodate the scheduling requirements of shift work, so the emphasis drifted more toward the “day care” model. This began to erode the stigmatized distinction between the two, though this new image did not last once the war was over, when the men returned to the factories, working class women (particularly African-American) were displaced into lower-paying work, and middle class women were again expected to stay at home with the children (Rose, 1999). The prosperity of the post-war years saw the beginning of the “baby boom.” But, even as women were having children at a more prolific rate than ever before, there was increased pressure for middle class women to remain in their comfortable new suburban homes while raising their comfortable new suburban children (Friedan, 1967; Teaford, 2008). Even with this pressure, however, many women were embracing the “new ethos of consumption” which created “a growing demand for their labor”: Women’s claims about how wage work and day care could benefit families became more widely accepted in the postwar period, lending a new legitimacy to day care. As more women began to see wage work as a part of their adult lives, the recognition of day care as a permanent need of normal families grew, the gap between custodial and educational modes of child care narrowed, and women started to speak of day care as a right rather than a charity. Although many voices still linked day care to poverty and family pathology in the 1950s, changes in conceptions of women’s work, children’s needs, and public responsibility for families were gradually transforming day care’s meaning. (Rose, p. 181)

By the 1960s, there remained little doubt that both lower- and middle-class children could benefit from organized group programs. Even though there still were (and have always been and will probably always continue to be) concerns from social conservatives that children who are not in their mother’s care will suffer emotional and psychological harm, the prevailing findings of the lab schools, social science researchers, and economists was that quality early childhood programs were not only necessary, but beneficial (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Ranck, 1999). This cleared the way for the establishment of one of the most enduring federal programs ever devised—Head Start. Growing out of President Lyndon Johnson’s “War on Poverty” initiatives, the Head Start program was a response to a belief that “the government should take a

proactive, extensive role in eradicating the negative effects of poverty on children’s development,” and that “the developmental course of children, including their intellectual development, could be vastly altered through timely intervention” (Lascarides & Hinitz, p. 402). Even though it has undergone challenge, revisions, and cutbacks in response to changes in administration policies and public attitudes, Head Start has had an enduring presence in American culture for over forty years (Michel, 1999). Numerous studies have confirmed its basic efficacy and cost-efficiency, even though there has also been some contestation of some of the findings, and, through the years, other studies have pointed to inadequacies in some iterations of the program (Lascarides & Hinitz, pp. 413- 417; also see Hymes, 1979; Richmond, Stipek & Zigler, 1979; Zigler & Styfco, 1996; Currie & Thomas, 1999; Love et al., 2005). With the success of Head Start and the proliferation of day care and preschool programs and facilities in the last half of the twentieth century, public policy and attention has focused on the discussion of ECEC regulations, standards, and professional training. Except for Head Start, there are no federal standards that regulate early childhood programs on a national level (and even the federal Head Start standards were established more as “goals” than “binding regulations” (Michel, p. 247)). There is currently a great deal of variation from state-to-state in terms of licensing requirements and teacher/caregiver training and certification. The National Association for the Education of Young Children, the largest professional organization in the United States, has attempted to promote the standards it has developed as a model for national regulation, but their certification is still voluntary and disputable in its effectiveness (Cannella, 2002; Goldstein, 1998). Most states have adopted some common minimum standards for health and safety of early childhood facilities, but there is still a wide variation on the topic of teacher/caregiver certification. From over thirty years of experience and observation, I have come to believe that one of the most significant evolutions in the field has been the practical elimination, in terms of large group-based programs, of the schism between “daycare” and “preschool.” Even though the public perception is still, for many, that the two are very separate, the practical reality is that most “preschools” now have extended hours, while “daycare” generally includes an educational component. Many university-based “lab schools” have

closed under the weight of the administrative costs, or morphed into “on site child care” facilities that are open to all university employees, not just faculty (even though, in cases like Miami’s, most unclassified staff cannot always afford it). Many states have adopted the same licensing requirements for all programs, regardless of whether they call themselves “day care centers” or “preschools.” In Ohio, for example, both types of programs have to meet the same building, health, fire, and safety codes; staff:child ratios; and space and equipment requirements; both must provide “developmentally appropriate” educational experiences, not just supervisory care; and both have to adhere to the same guidelines regarding staff certification, including Head Start programs, which since 2003 must be licensed by the Ohio Department of Job and Family Services (Ohio Department of Job and Family Services). There may be some distinction in the type and quality of the educational component, or the way it is implemented, and there are still some preschool programs that have limited hours, but the reality is that there is much less distance between the two than ever before, and “educarers” (either certified teachers in day care settings or day care workers who are implementing structured curricula) are becoming the face of ECEC. This last point is where the “professionalization” of the field has become a topic of discussion and concern, and where the history of the schism between supervisory care and education becomes crucial in understanding the tensions that currently exist around this issue and illuminate the need for an increased investment by feminist theorists and practitioners. There is no question that ECEC is a highly “feminized” field, and, as such, is work that has been devalued as “women’s work.” This work is further stigmatized and “ranked” in terms of status between those who provide “care” and those who provide “education.” As described by Enid Elliot (2007), The skill and thoughtfulness needed to work with very young children and their families is clearly not recognized by the larger society. Listening to the infant- toddler caregivers with whom I spoke, the complexity of their work is made clear . . . In our society, money is often equated with the value we place on a job and childcare is not a highly remunerated profession, but the real issue here is the need for recognition of the valuable contribution that caregivers make in our society. (p. 43)

Even though there has been a blurring of the line between “day care” and “preschool” in terms of program regulation and structure, and regardless of the increased presence of “educarers,” there still exists within the profession and the culture at large the valuing of “teaching” as more important, and requiring more training and skill, than “caregiving.” The reasons for this are complex and multiply situated, but are basically rooted in two social constructions. The first of these is the public encouragement of respect for teachers as authority figures, which is engrained from an early age (even though this exists in tension with the low status of Teacher Education in disciplinary hierarchies—I will return to this notion later in the chapter). The second is the veneration of women-as-natural-mothers, leading to a socio-cultural imperative that equates “caring and nurturing” with “women’s work,” which has historically been devalued because it is a “natural” activity (and women’s “natural” activity of nurturing, which is seen as contributing primarily to the family, is not valued the same as men’s “natural” activity of production and protection, which is seen as contributing to both the family and the community) (Canella, 2002; Michel, 1999; Ranck, 1999; Fraser, 1994; Berry, 1993; Held, 1993; Noddings, 1984; Chodorow, 1978). Even though much of the work on mothering and caring has remained largely disconnected in a direct sense from ECE, feminists in various Humanities and Social Science fields have been analyzing, critiquing, and theorizing about the connection between mothering and cultural/socio-economic status for some time. Examples of this work include psychologists Nancy Chodorow (1978) and Carol Gilligan (1982), who began de/re-constructing Freudian theories of mothering, family dynamics, and identity; political theorist Nancy Fraser (1994), who described a vision of a “caregiver parity model” (referring to parenting tasks) in a postindustrial society; and philosophers such as Alison Jaggar (1989), who theorized an alternative epistemology that re-valued the function of emotion in women’s familial and professional roles, and Virginia Held (1993), who contributed a specifically feminist perspective on the “ethic of care” developed by educational philosopher Nel Noddings (1984, 1995). But these critiques and analyses were generally not connected to the structure, implementation, or socio- cultural function of teacher education or professional caregiving, or to the ways in which the cultural construction of mothering and nurturing influenced the evolving approach to

professional development for “educarers” (I will return to this trajectory in the discussion of Patty Smith Hill in chapter 3). Michel (2009) comments on this disconnect by observing that women’s historians (many of whom are, presumably, feminist, as evidenced by the representation of historians in women’s studies) tend to “examine female participation in the labor force without asking how mothers dealt with their children while they were on the job,” and that those who research and write about the histories of children and families “detach child care from maternal employment and compartmentalize it (along with education and other aspects of children’s lives outside the home) instead of conceptualizing both activities as an integral part of daily life.” She concludes that It is almost as though both mothers and children become different selves once they are outside the family—that their identities are somehow discontinuous. Yet both mothers’ work and children’s care outside (or inside) the home are intrinsically linked to each other and to the lived experiences of families. (p. 7)

The trend toward professionalization seems, in one sense, to be counter to the conflation of teaching with mothering, moving toward a model that emphasizes “education” equal with, or more important than, “caregiving,” evidenced by increased calls for certification and post-secondary education (Ranck, 1999). As more states require higher levels of certification for early childhood professionals, more Colleges of Education are implementing training programs to provide these certifications. At institutions like Miami, however, these new certifications are often not specific to pre-K, but are tacked on to existing K-3 teacher education programs, with little provision for the unique developmental needs of children from birth to five years (an observation based on review of course syllabi and discussions with EC students and faculty). This process of certification also tends to marginalize low-income women, who have historically comprised a significant part of the labor force in ECEC (Elliot, 2007). This is one of the dimensions on which feminists, particularly within Women’s Studies, have been strangely silent. Feminist engagement with ECE within the academy on a national level has been largely centered on three fronts: working toward greater equity in promotion and tenure standards for female scholars who also bear the brunt of childrearing responsibilities; pushing for broader parental leave policies; and advocating for access to on site child care

for university faculty and staff. The last two items have been successfully achieved at a number of colleges and universities, while the first is still wrapped up in the morass of institutional politics governing P&T standards and guidelines, with varying degrees of success depending on the institution. However, one of the things that is missing from this list is activism related to working conditions, access to education and training, and pay equity for ECEC professionals, the overwhelming majority of whom are women (scholars such as Gaile Cannella, Radhika Viruru, Lisa Goldstein, and Mindy Blaise are notable for their exception to this oversight). I suggest that one of the main reasons for this absence is because feminist scholars have been willing to assert their voices on the first three issues because they benefit directly from them and experience the results first hand, and they are able to because such assertions and advocacy have been complementary with their work as Women’s Studies faculty. It is not unusual or necessarily negative for advocacy to grow out of self-interest, and I am not suggesting that feminists are wrong to push for policies that benefit them as working professionals. I am suggesting, however, that the willingness to place advocacy in concert with a commitment to feminist political activism, one of the organizing principles of early women’s studies programs, should carry with it a responsibility to consider the broader impact of such advocacy, beyond the boundaries of self-interest. For example, it is important to recognize that the issues facing ECEC professionals are not immediately visible to those outside the field, and that it falls, therefore, on the women who are working with the children of those academics to advocate for themselves, or to create alliances with feminists within the academy. In other words, I believe that the feminist academics who seek out quality child care and/or preschool should accept responsibility for understanding their own position of privilege in relation to the ECEC professionals who are providing that care and education, and extend their advocacy in alliance with those professionals. These alliances are important because, as is typical of working class labor relations, those who most need the advocacy have little time, energy, or power to pursue it. No doubt there are those who would suggest that union representation (ECEC workers are not currently covered in a general sense by any specific union) would provide the voice these workers need. That may be so in some cases (particularly for those who are

working for the large national chains, such as KinderCare and La Petite, or in on-site centers of large corporations with significant financial backing), but would inevitably force small, independent providers out of business, and would still do little to address the issue of the absence of feminist activist voices advocating for ECEC professionals and programs from within the academy. Additionally, the ongoing professional development opportunities for ECEC teachers and staff that I have been able to locate as an administrator (at both the local level and in the session listings for national conferences), in the instances when it addresses one’s professional identity and performance, tends to focus on issues of stress management, pay equity, workplace dynamics, and certification, not on the development of a discourse of advocacy for one’s self and coworkers. Besides economics, social and cultural politics also play a role in the absence of overt feminist voices in ECEC both within and outside of the academy. Many of the early prominent and influential proponents of ECEC pedagogy, such as Anna E. Bryan and Patty Smith Hill, were aligned with John Dewey and the Progressivist movement in education. Hill, in particular, extended her ECEC explorations to the newly formed Soviet Union, where she traveled to observe the workings of the state-supported ECEC programs and reported that they were effective, efficient, and worthy of further study to determine whether they would be importable to the U.S. (Hill, 1936). As conservative politicians in the U.S. reacted to the growing spectre of Communism, Progressivist philosophies and pedagogies became suspect. With the advent of the McCarthy hearings and the subsequent Cold War, there was an increasing sense that young children needed to be protected from anything that appeared to carry a political agenda (Michel, 1999). As second-wave feminism emerged in the 1960s and ‘70s, challenging traditional notions of culture and politics, it coincided with a reemergence of Progressivist pedagogies and political activism designed to destabilize the comfortable conservatism that had come to characterize post World War II America. Many early childhood programs, which had maintained many vestiges of Progressivist approaches to education and development, began to embrace feminist ideals of multiculturalism, inclusiveness, and student-directed inquiry (Cannella, 2002). By the 1980s, however, the new conservatism ushered in by Ronald Reagan and groups such as the (so-called) Moral Majority built on the legacy of the McCarthy era to

exert pressure on educators and caregivers to remove any suggestions of political (i.e., “liberal”) influence on young children (Cannella, 2002; Michel, 1999; May, 1988). Of course, this ignored the fact that such pressure was, itself, politically motivated, and that all pedagogical choices are, ultimately, political in terms of the cultural messages they convey (Cannella & Viruru, 2004). Regardless, I believe that ECEC, as a field, avoided an overt affiliation with feminism in order to not alienate conservative policymakers responsible for funding Head Start and education programs at public universities, or to avoid the risk of inflaming public backlash arising from the perceived political intentions of the Women’s Movement. Obviously, the multiple and complex influences on the politics of federal funding, teacher education programs, and social responses to child care are far too extensive to be covered in a portion of a single chapter (indeed, they could be the subject of a full dissertation or book—in fact, Sonya Michel’s 1999 book is an excellent resource for anyone wishing further information and analysis on the funding and social issues). My hope here is to have provided enough of a basic introduction to these issues to facilitate an understanding of the ways in which ECEC has developed in relation to feminism, and how this relationship is reflected by and intersects with Women’s Studies and Theatre in a socio-cultural, academic, and personal way.

Early Childhood Education, Theatre, and Women’s Studies at Miami

And this brings us back to those tensions and comparisons of ECE and Theatre as marginalized disciplines introduced at the beginning of this section, intertwined with Women’s Studies as the three have evolved at Miami University. As is evident from my foregoing discussions of each, all three exist within the academy in general with a fair degree of diminished status, as none is perceived as “academically rigorous” in the larger university hierarchy. The following discussion will provide a thorough consideration of the position of ECE, and compare it with Theatre, then integrate the two with Women’s Studies, as exemplified at Miami University. As a profession, ECE occupies a low-status position within a low-status academic division. Schools of Education have struggled within the academy to move beyond the perception of glorified vocational training. Before the Civil War, there were very few

programs or Normal Schools specifically designed to prepare teachers, with the result that, frequently, communities and private schools would hire anyone with a general classical education, seminary graduates, or no degree at all but a passion for teaching (Labaree, 2004). Even when Normal Schools did begin to appear on a wider scale, either as independent entities or connected with a college or university, they were, according to Labaree, the equivalent of “the community college of the late nineteenth century, easily accessible and thus lacking in distinction” (p. 24). (This statement also says a lot about our perceptions of community colleges, but that is a topic for another paper.) ECE struggled to achieve even this low level of opinion, since it wasn’t until the latter half of the twentieth century that early childhood courses and degree/certification programs were brought into Education Schools on a broad scale. The evolution of ECE coursework through the twentieth century reflects not only the problematic nature of Education Schools, but of the daycare/nursery school schism previously described. This evolution is cogently demonstrated by a close reading of the Miami University course catalogs (a table showing the progression of ECE courses is contained in Appendix C). It is clear from the catalogs that, as work with young children has shifted from the notion of “care” to that of “education,” the location of that training has shifted between “Home Economics” and “Teacher Education.” One can follow the course of that evolution, and see how that correlates with the shifting national attitudes toward “day care” and “preschool,” attitudes that seem to suggest that the work of people who provide supervision for young children is considered as less skilled, and, therefore, less respected and valued than that of individuals who provide education. My theory is that this difference in respect is supported by the location of “teaching” in the Education Department, while “day care” has been historically located in Home Economics. The data drawn from the Miami course listings graphically demonstrates the shift from Education to Home Economics, and back again. This shift has occurred basically in four phases. The first phase, from 1930-1969, exemplifies the acceptance of education for children as beginning in kindergarten. As noted earlier in this chapter, until the 1930s, programs for children outside the home were primarily seen as a “necessary evil” for those poor unfortunates who had to work and were unable to care for their own children. “Nursery schools” didn’t really come into the public consciousness until the

1920s, and eventually found their way onto college campuses as lab schools. At this point, teacher education programs began to consider the care and education of children below kindergarten age (which was initially considered as for four- and five-year olds) (Rose, 1999; Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). Miami clearly reflected this trend, offering courses that combined kindergarten training with that for children under the age of four. The second phase began in 1969 with the opening of Hanna House, Miami’s version of the “lab school” model for pre-K. At that point, the responsibility for training pre-K professionals was equally shared between the Education and Home Economics Departments, which could both use Hanna House for research (through Teacher Education) as well as practical experience with child development models (for Home Economics majors). This shared responsibility continued through the third phase, which began in 1988 with the establishment by the State of Ohio of the Pre-K certification that could be attached to the Bachelor of Science in Education degree. In my opinion, what is especially significant about this phase is that, by designating a specific “Pre-K” certification, it seems to demonstrate a belief that the years before kindergarten are a distinct period of development that is grounded as much in “education” as it is in “care.” The fourth phase, however, marks the loss of this shared responsibility. In 1998, the State of Ohio changed its licensure standards, removing the pre-K “certification” from the B.S. degree, replacing it with a license that is granted for “Early Childhood,” which the state defines as referring to children from 3 through 8 years of age (Miami University, 2000). While this new approach to credentialing seems to reinforce the notion that “education” is valid for pre-K children, it may actually do more harm than good in many ways. Even though the training is supposed to cover children as young as three, the fact is that (according to early childhood education majors and teacher education faculty with whom I have spoken), the courses that are offered are not specific to pre-K in most ways, resulting in a K-3 curriculum that has simply been changed in title to include pre-K, without much change in content. It seems to me (and to many ECEC professionals with whom I have discussed these points), that there is a lot that happens between the ages of 3-5 that is intense, profound, and uniquely different than what happens between 5-8. By “dropping down” the license designation without specifying content for 3-5, we are in danger of losing some of the most important aspects of

development for those ages, potentially providing an incomplete education for teachers wishing to work with children in that range. In some important (and ironic) ways, we seem to be returning to the schism between “day care” and “education,” though now we have marginalized the ages from birth-3 instead of birth-5 (though, as I noted above, I don’t think the 3-5 range is actually being addressed as distinct from the 5-8). This is demonstrated by the fact that the Child Care Administration, Infant & Toddler Caregiving, and Infant/Toddler/Preschool Field Placement classes are the only ones left in Family Studies and Social Work (the new home of the family studies and child development portions of the former Home Economics department), while the only Education classes specific to pre-K are “intended for Child Care professionals” and offered only on the Hamilton and Middletown (regional) campuses as part of the A.B. degree requirements (the only exception to this is EDT 272, Intro to ECE, which is for EC pre-majors as well as A.B. students). Miami’s coursework today is, clearly, still somewhat unfocused in regards to the preparation of early childhood professionals, and will remain so until there is some agreement as to where the responsibility lies for training early childhood professionals, and whether that training is focused on “teaching” or on “caregiving.”

As interesting as is the progression of the coursework itself are the ways in which that progression can be interpreted as having been influenced by attitudes throughout the university and in the culture at large. Those influences are categorized into the following groupings: 1) Miami University history before 1930 in relation to general curriculum; 2) ECE course offerings before 1930 in relation to a larger cultural context; and 3) the political structure of the university before 1930 in relation to the development, support, and implementation of courses specific to ECE (many points in this discussion will also be relevant to the progression of Theatre and Women’s Studies courses as well). Clearly, any one of these questions could form the basis for a lengthy paper—for the purposes of this discussion, however, I will offer a fairly limited summary of my thoughts, observations, and reactions. 1) University history before 1930 in relation to general curriculum The Miami Archives hold course catalogs that go back to the earliest years of the University, which first began offering classes in 1824. When looking through these

catalogs, what stood out the most for me was just how much Miami has historically reflected the status quo in terms of curriculum and society. Its reputation as a “public ivy” seems rooted in its earliest days. The course offerings at Miami seem to suggest that the assumption of the founders was that the students were going to be the Midwestern version of the East Coast Ivy Leaguers, comprised exclusively of young, white men who were interested in filling their predestined role within the educated elite, either as inheritors of the family interests or by pursuing a career in the clergy or as an educator. Preparation for any of these choices was through a “classical” education, spent studying Greek philosophy, Roman history, Latin, Mathematics, and the Bible (Ellison, 2009; Thelin, 2004). Also similar to Ivy League schools, Miami’s enrollment during and immediately after the Civil War declined considerably, to the extent that the University actually closed in 1873 to avoid bankruptcy, and did not open again until 1885 (Ellison, 2009; V.E. Elliot, 2004). By the time it reopened, Miami’s mission and curriculum shifted to accommodate the demands of a growing middle class dealing with industrial, technological, and social innovations that required more diverse training options. One of the biggest changes was in the nature of gendered work, especially in regards to teaching. Once considered a vocation acceptable only for men (or male ministers), teaching, especially of elementary age children, was quickly becoming a woman’s job (Solomon, 1985). Miami responded to this demand by creating the School of Education, known initially as the Ohio State Normal College, in 1902. According to the brief historical piece available on the website of the School of Education, Health, and Society, . . . the Ohio legislature authorized the establishment of an institution “to provide proper theoretical and practical training for all students desiring to prepare themselves for the work of teaching.” From the beginning, the program dramatically changed the character of the university by accepting the first women students and students of color. Women constituted well over three fourths of the Division’s first students, and in 1905, Miami University’s first African American student, Nelly Craig, earned her degree in teaching. The Division rapidly grew in both size and function. It enrolled 90 undergraduate students in 1903, over 200 in 1911, 735 in 1930, and 2000 in 1960. (Miami University, Education, Health, and Society, 2007)

One of the most interesting notes in the catalog from the 1904-05 school year is under the section for “Entrance Requirements.” There seems to be a clear understanding

that many qualified teacher candidates may not have been able to actually graduate from high school before attending the Normal College. While high school graduates who had taken certain courses as part of their secondary schooling (including, for example, Beginning Latin, Algebra through progressions, Caesar, Plane Geometry, and Physics with Laboratory work) would be admitted “without condition,” the catalog includes a statement suggesting that those without such coursework could still pursue a degree at the University: “Teachers of experience and maturity are admitted to this course as special students, but must satisfy the admission requirements before receiving the diploma” (1904-05 catalog, pg. 102). Over the next few years, students could take such courses as Elementary, Educational and Genetic Psychology; History and Principles of Education; Psychology and Child Study; and Principle of Teaching and the Method of the Recitation. By 1909, the Normal College offered teachers the option of specializing in Public School Music (Theatre or Drama was not presented as an option for teacher candidates) or Domestic Science, the latter apparently conceived as “Manual Training,” which included Agriculture and what would later become Household Economics. By 1913, these two divided into separate specialties (with Agriculture eventually becoming part of “Industrial Education”), and each had course requirements that included only a few general teacher education courses. For those general teacher education students, the 1915 catalog explains the following “organization of courses”: (I) The Principles of Education, including Psychology, Principles of Teaching, History of Education and Educational Sociology; (2) Practice Teaching, including observation, conference, plan-writing and class-room teaching; (3) School Organization, including The Elementary Course of Study, School Room Management, School Law; (4) Content and Method, under which will be found an alphabetical listing of the courses. (1915-16 catalog, pg. 129)

Up to this point, there was no specific focus on early childhood education or early childhood development. As Teacher Education and Home Economics became distinct fields, however, there is some evidence in the catalogs of the schism that would develop within the idea that education for young children was distinct from the care of young children. The McGuffey Laboratory School (the University’s K-12 school) opened in

1910, in part to provide a training ground for teacher education candidates. The 1911-12 catalog includes the following course description for Psychology and Child Study: A study of the nature of sensations, percept [sic], images, memories, feelings of relationship, feelings of meaning, judgments, emotions, feelings of willing; the nature of mental life as a whole; the functions of mental states; the structure and action of the nervous system . . . Child-study: A brief survey of the periods of development in the life of the child; children’s instincts and their functions in the process of education; the development of intellect, of the moral nature, and of motor control; heredity and abnormalities in children. (1911-12 catalog, pg. 103)

This is clearly a generalized development course, with little specificity for early childhood beyond basic developmental stages. There isn’t an EC-specific course until the 1923-24 catalog, when Kindergarten Theory and Observation was introduced and described as “a study of the fundamental principles involved in teaching children of the pre-school age; a study of kindergarten curricula and methods” (pg. 123). At this point, “pre-school” was the same as “kindergarten,” and referred to four year olds, not toddlers or infants. In the 1924-25 catalog, Home Economics (as Household Economics had become known), first included a course on Child Care (changed to “Child Development” by the 1927-28 catalog), described as “a study of the hygiene of maternity and infancy. The development, physical, mental and spiritual, of the child, the influence of heredity and environment and the responsibility of society toward the child” (pg. 152). These two courses, developed near the same time, demonstrate the divergent attitudes about the education and care of young children, and how those attitudes would be played out over the next several decades as Teacher Education and Home Economics attempted to negotiate the line between care and education, and who should accept responsibility for facilitating the training of early childhood professionals. 2) ECE course offerings in relation to a larger cultural context As mentioned above, it wasn’t until the mid-1920s that any course content specific to ECE was included in either Teacher Education or Home Ec. There seems to have been a rich tradition in this region of attention paid to public education in general, and teacher education in particular, from a very early point. Obviously, the concept of teacher education was one that evolved throughout the nineteenth century, and this region seems to have been, in many ways, a leader in that evolution, as evidenced by the wealth of Normal Schools and education pioneers in the area (e.g., McGuffey, Lyman Beecher,

Oxford College for Women) (Venable). One of the leading innovators of teacher education, Teachers College at Columbia University, was founded in 1893 (Columbia), so the development of the Ohio State Normal College at Miami nine years later seems in- line with the trends current for the period. However, as David Labaree points out, the late nineteenth-century saw an increasing demand for “certified” teachers to fill the growing public school movement, and many universities saw the establishment of Normal schools as a profitable way to meet this need. What I find interesting, though, is that the innovations that happened at Columbia in relation to kindergarten and pre-K education from the inception of the Teachers College did not come to Miami until much later. For example, by the time Miami’s Normal College opened, Columbia already had a specific program, with coursework, established for nursery school, kindergarten, and first grade education. Patty Smith Hill was at Columbia by 1905, where she was debating with Susan Blow about the value of Froebel, as well as establishing a neighborhood nursery school program (Snyder, 1972; Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000) (more about this in the next chapter). Hill had gone to Columbia from Louisville, Kentucky, where she had been the head of the Louisville Kindergarten Association, suggesting that there were progressive people interested in the care and education of very young children in the region. I would speculate that at least some of the difference is that, even though Miami was progressive in some ways, there may have been a politically and socially conservative influence in the area that impacted the ways in which its curriculum developed (an idea that I will develop further in the next section on the political and social structure of the university and community). I suspect that, even though it had become generally accepted that women could be teachers of young children without damaging their reproductive capacity (as long as they stopped teaching once they married), there was still some reluctance on the part of social conservatives to pursue anything that might further threaten the patriarchal family structure. I wonder about the possibility of “learned ladies and gentleman” feeling that it was bad enough that young women were working, but that it would be even worse to suggest that young children could benefit from nursery school programs that would take them from their mother’s

care for several hours a day (also suggesting that mothers who wanted to be away from their small children were not good mothers). If it weren’t a socially acceptable thing to do, then it certainly wouldn’t be a socially acceptable course to offer. Even when Child Care was offered in 1924, it was as a facet of “good” mothering. The course description for the Kindergarten Theory and Observation course of 1927 refers to “the pre-school” child, but this is simply a reference to the prevailing attitude at the time about the function of Kindergarten, which was for four- and five-year olds, and was seen as being a preparatory stage before entering “real” school in first grade. Even “nursery” schools of the time were primarily intended for four-year olds, even though no nursery schools actually existed in the Oxford area until nearly forty years later. The first mention of anything having to do with “nursery” education is in the 1937-38 catalog, when the first Early Childhood Education course appears, described as a “study of the nursery, kindergarten, and primary schools in relation to contemporary life in order to develop an appreciation of present-day procedure” (pg. 149). This description, by the way, didn’t change for several decades. The absence of the nursery school in the course offerings reflects the absence of a nursery school at the University. Even though Miami established a campus lab school (McGuffey, which was opened in 1910) within 8 years of the founding of the Normal College, Miami’s nursery school program, Hanna House, wasn’t established until the 1960s (Ellison, 2009). Besides the brief mention in the 1924 Home Economics course on Child Care (later Child Development), and possibly some mention of infant/toddler development in the Psychology courses, children under the age of four simply did not figure into any equation of coursework or practice at Miami until well into the second half of the century. When I began my ECEC career in Oxford in 1978, Hanna House had, since its inception, accepted only four- and five-year olds. This didn’t change until the 1980s, when they began a program for three-year olds. This is in contrast, for example, to the University of Chicago, which began as a cooperative group formed in 1916 by faculty wives who wanted to “participate in war work [and] found that they could take turns supervising each other’s children and thus have time to help with the needs of World War I” (University of Chicago), which included infants and toddlers. As a lifelong, third-generation resident of western Butler County who has witnessed and

experienced the strong socially conservative presence in this region, I have no doubt that, for many area residents, having children under the age of four placed in the care of people other than their mother or a close relative (excepting, of course, nannies for those who could afford them) would have been considered irresponsible and unacceptable, as was the notion of women working outside the home unless they were poor enough to have no other choice (in which case, they couldn’t afford child care anyway). Again, if caring or educating children under four years of age was not seen as an acceptable practice, then teaching people how to care for or educate other people’s infants and toddlers would have also been perceived as irresponsible and unacceptable. 3) The political and social structure of the university and community before 1930 in relation to the development, support, and implementation of courses specific to ECE Through the early years of the nineteenth century, the total student enrollment of the University was lower than the number of students that would have been enrolled twenty years ago in a single section of, for example, the course on Western Civilization. This small student body was mentored by an even smaller faculty and administration. In addition, these students and teachers were living in a fairly isolated area. Oxford, as a town, existed only because of the University (the “Mile Square,” the main business/civic area of the Village of Oxford, was not laid out until 1810, a year after the university was chartered, and the town was not incorporated until 1830) (Ellison, 2009; V.E. Elliot, 2004; Havighurst, 1996). Unlike the University of Cincinnati (or most of those Ivy League schools Miami modeled itself after), there was not an established community in existence before the state of Ohio granted the parcels of land that became Miami, except for a couple of inns/saloons for travelers (unless you count the Indigenous population that had been very effectively removed by 1795, that is—but then, the state legislature clearly didn’t think they were worth counting). In other words, students who came to Miami found themselves in a rural area that was accessible only by foot or hoof until a rail station linking Oxford with College Corner and Hamilton was built in 1859, meaning that their entire lives, academic as well as social, were played out in a very small community (Ellison, 2009; V.E. Elliot, 2004; Havighurst, 1996). In essence, the University was the community for students and faculty alike.

This sense of close community is evidenced in the course catalogs, which have always been called the Miami Bulletin, conveying a feeling of not just course listings and graduation requirements, but general news and broad information about life at the University. For several decades, the Bulletin listed the names of every student who was enrolled, and also included information about alumni and what they were doing. It also included the names of all Board of Trustee members, administrative personnel, and faculty, as well as information about Oxford. Additionally, the course listings not only included the course description, but the name of the instructor(s) who taught it, a practice that persisted until well into the 1950s. This last observation, I believe, is indicative of the conflation of personality with curriculum that has to have had significant influence on the types of courses that were offered, and the way they were taught. This could be quite important in terms of understanding why (or why not) specific courses were developed or offered. As programs evolved (including Teacher Education and Theatre), new course work could only be incorporated if there was a faculty person who was passionate about the topic and advocated for its inclusion. This may help to explain why EC courses existed at Columbia University and the University of Chicago long before they did at Miami—Patty Smith Hill brought her passion for Kindergarten to Columbia with her, and was supported by a more progressive administration who encouraged that passion, while Chicago enjoyed the progressive legacy that had been left by John Dewey (who had moved to Columbia shortly before Hill) (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). In addition, New York City and Chicago were likely a more welcoming demographic for this work, especially that of Hill, which was grounded in the type of social justice work being pioneered in Chicago by Jane Addams of Hull House. The most nationally reputable educator at Miami historically had been William Holmes McGuffey, an ordained Presbyterian minister who preached on Sundays and believed that solid Christian values were the key to academic and personal success (Ellison, 2009; Havighurst, 1996). His McGuffey readers, first published in 1836, while innovative in their organization, were solidly rooted in Puritanism, combined with a “Cavalier manner…and practical optimism” (Havighurst, 1996, chapter 5, para. 22). Ellison (2009) explains that the McGuffey readers were “filled with an evangelical Protestant ethos,” and that “[i]n these teachings, McGuffey,

Miami, and the Presbyterian church spoke as one” (p. 32). The combination of this strong evangelical influence in a geographically isolated and socially tight community that was built around the university suggests a conservative culture that may have been resistant to social or academic innovation that challenged traditional gender roles. The popularity of the Readers, along with McGuffey’s presence on Miami’s faculty when he first developed them, and the evangelical values attached to them, may have contributed to, or solidified, the approach of the administration and faculty as they moved toward the establishment and organization of the Teacher Education curriculum. At Miami, even though the profession of primary and secondary teaching was increasingly attractive to women, the coursework in the State Normal College, then Teachers College, and finally School of Education was dominated by male professors, except, of course, in Home Economics. Along with state licensing standards that have always emphasized preparing teachers for the public schools, this helps to explain why the little focus that did exist on very young children was in Home Economics. These various influences at Miami seem to have left little room for the development of a serious consideration of the value of education for very young children, or the recruitment of faculty members who expressed passion for pursuing such a course. It is no wonder, then, that ECE has struggled to establish a respected presence in the university, since it has struggled for so long to find a unified home, and continues to struggle to be recognized as a legitimate academic discipline. Even as enrollment at Hannah House increased in the 1980s and ‘90s, along with a surge in EC majors as a result of the changes in licensing standards and viability of pre-K as a career choice, ECE at Miami still occupies a contested and uncertain terrain between the departments of Teacher Education and that of Family Studies and Social Work. Many of these same trends can be seen in the journey of the Theatre Department at Miami, which pursued a similar search for an institutional home and for academic recognition, a journey that is also not uncommon for the field. I have not spent as extensive an amount of time researching the University archives for Theatre course listings as was spent on ECE, so the following history is briefer and more general. Even so, it is possible to glean from it the tenor of the evolution as it reflects that of ECE and Women’s Studies.

Before I expand the following discussion, let me begin with a simple declarative clarification: along with Women’s Studies and Early Childhood Education, academic Theatre, whether as history, theory, acting, or technical production, is as intellectually rigorous as any other discipline, particularly if we define “rigorous” as meaning a cognitive pursuit that fully engages intellectual effort, analysis, and thorough research with a product that contributes to a greater body of knowledge and enriches experience. I do not believe that it is credibly disputable to suggest that any of these fields do not adhere to this definition. Also as with WMS and ECE, however, the product and process of that scholarship doesn’t always look the way that people in other disciplines think hard scholarship should. What I will be discussing in this section is not the reality, but the perception that has persisted since theatre programs gained strength in the academy. As a Fine Art, Theatre (along with Music, Visual Arts, and Dance) is often relegated to the nether regions of Liberal Arts programs, necessary to prepare the “well rounded” curriculum required of Liberal Arts, but underfunded and often not respected as “serious scholarship” or requiring much effort. Theatre has been, and is still, sometimes seen as a vocational pursuit that doesn’t require any real skill—after all, if you can talk, you can act, and all those production elements are just overrated housekeeping (collecting props and furniture and costumes, painting walls, turning on lights, etc.). As early as 1953, Norman Philbrick was pondering the state of theatre and drama program descriptions with the observation that, In these typical pronouncements on the intentions of drama programs one notes that there is a tendency to make a distinction between scholarly experience and artistic accomplishment. Is it nonsense to suggest that the two can be correlated so that a student may develop both interests to the limits of his capacity? Is it true that the achievement of proficiency in a technical skill must be accomplished at the expense of scholarship? (p. 94)

Fifty six years later, the lingering stain of this perception was still evident in the actions of the administration at Washington State University, who responded to the budget crisis by eliminating the Department of Theatre and Dance (along with the major in German and the department of community and rural sociology). Even though numerous programs and departments around the country are being eliminated or cut back, what is telling about this particular choice is the rationale given by the administration.

The reasons given for the elimination of German and rural sociology was that the German program awarded only four degrees in 2008, and the rural sociology program had no majors and brought in no research monies. The reason for eliminating Theatre and Dance, however, was because officials said that “professors in theater have too little time for research” and that the program lacked “visibility and impact” (Wilson, 2009). Apparently, Washington State administrators believe what Philbrick was cautioning against—that art and scholarship cannot peacefully coexist, since those pesky productions take up the time that serious scholars would be spending in labs and libraries on research that could potentially generate grant money. One has to wonder, however, that if the program lacked “visibility and impact,” why was the school in the midst of a $500,000 renovation to the theatre space when it eliminated the only two programs that routinely use the facility? In much the same way that many women’s studies practitioners attempted to assert their validity by re-creating institutionalized paradigms of legitimation (as described in the first section of this chapter), theatre scholars have also attempted to address the marginalization of theatre by emphasizing the rigors of theatre scholarship and research, sometimes in ways that replicated a sense of intellectual and academic elitism. Williams (2007), for example, in his description of the early years of the American Society for Theatre Research, mentions that, from the organization’s founding after World War II until the 1970s, doctoral students who wished to join had “to be recommended by a member” in response to the desire on the part of many of the founding members to construct “the society as an elite of serious scholars.” Williams also comments on the organization’s emphatic emphasis on the conjoining of the word “serious” with “scholarship,” which he observes as “surely redundant, performing some anxiety about academic legitimacy, perhaps understandable in an academic culture in which the theatre did not have full citizenship” (p. 31). The situation for academic Theatre in general is further complicated by its dual origination between English and Speech (see, for example, Held, 1950 and Winship, 1950). Even though these two programs were always closely intertwined and many universities maintained them as connected entities, at Miami, both Speech and English were separate departments early on, with English the location for the study of dramatic

texts, and Speech lending support for student-initiated, “extracurricular” theatrical productions. In 1905, Loren Gates was hired as “Professor of Dramatic Art” in the Department of Speech, where he also served as the first director of the “Theatre Program.” Besides teaching courses in dramatic literature, he worked with Ye Merrie Players, a student honorary that became, in 1911, the “producing organization for the Department of Speech” (Griffith & DeFrancesco, 2010, para. 1). Gates served in this capacity until 1941, when Homer Abegglen took over. Abegglen, who served until 1966, shepherded the creation of the Master of Arts in Theatre, which was first awarded in 1967, and saw the Theatre faculty grow to five members by the time he retired. Donald Rosenberg took over the helm in 1966, and over the next 26 years, he ushered in the establishment of a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre to supplement the major in Speech. Most importantly, however, he was on hand when Theatre achieved independent departmental status in 1984, closely followed by the Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in 1985 (Griffith & DeFrancesco, 2010). In much the same way that ECE coursework was made possible by passionately committed individuals, so, too, the Theatre program was founded on the dedication of individuals who stayed over the long term. The prolonged tenure of Theatre program/department leaders during the first 87 years (with each serving an average of 29 years) has not, however, been maintained. Since 1992, there have been 4 successive department chairs, serving an average time of a little more than 4 years (Griffith & DeFrancesco, 2010). Even though the program was expanding during this time, with the hiring of additional faculty and expansion of the programs on the branch campuses, the turnover in leadership may reflect, at least in part, the evolution of college/university administration policies in general and national trends in career mobility. Beginning in the late 1970s (which coincided with the appearance of Women’s Studies programs and the expansion of ECEC as a profession), academic theatre became an increasingly viable professional choice, as feminist, critical race, and cultural theorists began to challenge the notion of professional preparation as limited to production or teaching dramatic literature, and performance studies challenged the concept of production itself. The focus began to shift from preparing theatre professionals to preparing theatre scholars, pursuing careers as historians, dramaturgs, and performance theorists, whose employment would not be with theatre companies, but

with colleges and universities (Dolan, 2007). Miami, along with many other post- secondary institutions, found themselves struggling to define themselves as either production departments or theory/history departments. This struggle reached a climactic moment in 2001, when the BFA degree was deemed no longer viable, and was reinforced in 2005 when the summer theatre series, which had been a vibrant community connection as well as an intensive training ground for actors and technical students, was discontinued due to budget and staffing concerns (Griffith & DeFrancesco). I’m not suggesting that Miami’s turmoil was due to the frequent changes in leadership, but that the shift in administrative policies nationwide that began to shorten the term of service for department/program heads coincided with the struggle of Theatre departments to define themselves, and, because of this struggle, the lack of consistency accompanying such frequent changes may not have been helpful. I am also not suggesting that Miami’s experience is typical of most other departments in terms of the efficacy (or lack of it) through these shifting patterns of leadership. This nationwide change in the perceived function of the “department chair” (or program director) within colleges and universities may be based, at least in part, on two factors: One, that frequent turnover of departmental/program administration keeps a program more vibrant and brings in potentially new faculty with each change, and; Two, the position itself can serve as a professional stepping stone, rather than an end point. Though not impossible (as evidenced by the 19 years-and-counting tenure of department chair Alan MacVey at the University of Iowa, for example), it is much less likely that, in the twenty-first century, a department head will hold that position for the majority of her/his academic career (which is generally true of many professions in a shifting, global economy that demands greater mobility in response to volatile economic and business conditions) (Fox, 1996; Swoboda, 1989). In this respect, Miami reflects this national trend, but the question still remains: is this always a good thing? Even with the shifts in leadership and negotiations of scholarship and production, and despite situations such as that at Washington State, academic theatre in general, as well as at Miami, continues to thrive. As B.A., M.A., and Ph.D. programs evolve, they may prove to be the answer to the scholarship/production issue, as more departments find ways to negotiate the physical, intellectual, creative, and discursive spaces that bring

together professional production training with academic preparation. At the same time, B.F.A. and M.F.A. programs will continue to support students who are specifically interested in performance and technical careers (or in providing performance and technical instruction). As for the question of shifting leadership through shorter, fixed terms of appointment and whether or not it is a good thing from an administrative standpoint, in the case of Women’s Studies, the answer would seem to be “yes.” As a program that didn’t even appear until near the final quarter of the twentieth century (which is true for all programs in the United States), Women’s Studies (WMS) at Miami University has always had a stated policy of a firm five-year term for the Program Director. For WMS faculty, this is not simply a means of maintaining vibrancy, but also reflects a feminist commitment to “sharing the load.” The WMS program at Miami grew out of a simultaneous movement of activist students and discontented women faculty. In the early 1970s, several members of the Association for Women Students (AWS), a group that had been present on campus since 1912 (shortly after women were first enrolled), began to advocate for increased discussion surrounding the issue of sexual assault and rape (Abrams, 1993). This activism continued, increasing in intensity through the mid-1980s, when a conflict with the administration over the staffing of the student escort service resulted in an AWS-led sit-in at the administration building. They were supported by many (though not all) of the women faculty who had also become increasingly active in attempts to form a WMS program. As can be found in the course catalogs, faculty members in various disciplines, including Religion, Political Science, Psychology, and Classics, had been offering women-centered classes as early as 1971 (Ellison, 2009; Abrams, 1993). As the number of women increased in these and other disciplines, greater effort was made to create social networks for women on Miami faculty and staff, as well as to generate activism to challenge university policies. For many, most of whom were junior faculty who were often the only women in their respective departments and who had not yet established research and publication records, this activism was facilitated through the development of new courses. Because of their standing, getting the administration and senior faculty to accept these courses as academically rigorous was difficult. As described by Abrams,

All these factors led to most established professors and university personnel to not take the courses seriously. At that time, it was also difficult to get feminist research and developing ideas to be considered as legitimate work. According to Jo Heimsch of Academic Affairs, Women’s Studies “has had in the past the reputation of being a softer study; that these issues aren’t important so therefore it wouldn’t matter how many books you wrote, how much research you had done, it wouldn’t be as important as some other issue, because this was a non-relevant field, in some people’s minds.” Because of all these impediments, developing courses, teaching them, and having them respected was a true struggle. The struggle many of these professors had to face fostered a community of people involved and interested in women’s and feminist issues. (15)

This marginalization and often active disdain that brought women together energized their desire to legitimize their work through the institutional recognition of program status. By 1978, there were 15 courses with over 700 students enrolled, and this was the first year that a transcript notation of a WMS certificate was available, through the newly designated WMS program, which was still not a fully organized entity. One of the conditions for the establishment of a fully recognized “program” was that it would not take up any additional resources from the College of Arts and Science. The women faculty who were committed to the WMS ideals did not let this deter them, and the first “directors” of the program, Rebecca Lukens from English and Judith deLuce from Classics, essentially volunteered their time and effort (with the only concession being a course release) (Abrams, 1993). By 1980, a WMS minor was approved, followed by the WMS major in the early 1990s and a graduate certificate shortly afterward. At this point, the program has a full time director (through a joint appointment and 5 year release from the home department), 9 core faculty (only one of whom has a full time appointment exclusively in WMS, with the rest joint appointments), and 48 affiliate faculty, whose appointments are in other departments but who teach cross-listed or core courses for WMS (these numbers do not reflect the most recent affiliate additions that have occurred during this school year but are not yet posted on the web site) (Women’s Studies Program, 2010). The demographics of Miami’s WMS faculty reflect not only the legacy of the “founding mothers” of the field mentioned earlier, but also reinforces the lack of engagement with Theatre and ECE. Of the 57 total WMS faculty at Miami, slightly less than half (26) are from English (20) and History (6). There is only 1 affiliate from

Theatre, 1 from Music, 4 from Education (3 from Educational Leadership and 1 from Educational Psychology, but none from Teacher Education and none with a specialty in Early Childhood), and 1 from Family Studies and Social Work (also not a specialist in Early Childhood). The remaining 24 faculty represent Geography, Political Science, Classics, Zoology, Communication, Philosophy, Comparative Religion, Foreign Languages, Latin American Studies, Psychology, Kinesiology and Health, Interdisciplinary Studies, American Studies, Sociology and Gerontology, and Black World Studies. This is clearly a diverse group of scholars representing an impressive range of disciplines and fields, but it is also clearly still overrepresented by English and History (even as a percentage of women in those departments). Even though the WMS program has advocated for increased access to child care and compensatory family leave policies, they have not addressed the cost of the university-sponsored (though privately owned) campus child care center, or advocated for the wages of the educarers employed by the facility (whose wages do not cover the cost of care at the center, even with their minor employee discount, according to conversations with current and former employees of the facility and examination of the facility’s pricing). On the other hand, the program has increasingly demonstrated support for the arts, providing sponsorship for visiting artists and performers, inviting performance work in their symposia, and welcoming representatives from theatre, music, and visual art events as classroom speakers. Additionally, more WMS faculty are integrating arts issues into their course syllabi. But the question still remains as to why there are not more Theatre, Music, and Art faculty seeking affiliate status with the WMS program, since there are an increasing number of women being hired in these disciplines? Clearly, the WMS program at Miami, as with other programs and departments in the United States, continues to struggle with issues of disciplinary hierarchy, faculty recruitment, and institutional legitimacy and access to resources. My intention in this analysis is not to criticize the program, as I know from first hand experience that the faculty and staff who operate it are dedicated, caring, and politically motivated individuals who are striving to maintain a vibrant, inclusive curriculum. I do believe, however, that there is still work to be done, and that recognizing weaknesses and challenges is important in the process of confronting them.

Conclusion This chapter began with a discussion of the history of Women’s Studies programs and trends nationwide; continued with a consideration of the evolution of Theatre from its roots in English and/or Speech; and progressed through a thorough presentation of the complex factors effecting the development of ECE coursework over the last century. Bringing this back around, I offered a more specific history of the progression of these entities at Miami, working in the other direction from ECE to Theatre to WMS. Throughout this material, it is evident that there are many points of intersection, especially in terms of how these disciplines responded to common social and institutional influences. Some of these intersections include the re-forming of the university in response to the social changes of the 1960s and ‘70s, leading to institutional challenges to disciplinarity and opening up new fields of study (women’s studies) while revising old ones (Theatre, ECE); reconsiderations of the interplay between theory and practice as all three fields seek to prepare students for future careers; and the shifting presence of feminism as each field either embraced or rejected feminist theorists and critiques of gender hierarchies. This chapter stands as a practical example of the mechanics of differential consciousness, as the histories, evolution, and trajectories of three different fields progress throughout the chapter. For example, a close reading will reveal that social influences and political policy created similar dynamics for each field, defining the place of ECE in education, instigating activism in women’s studies, and creating opportunity in theatre—it is the function of differential consciousness in translexic discourse that articulates this relationship. The common thread that weaves through and connects these accounts in bricolage is the presence of feminism, either in the center or on the periphery of each: for example, Jill Dolan’s experiences with women’s studies and theatre at the University of Wisconsin; the critique and analysis of mothering by feminist historians and cultural theorists that reveal (or miss) the social and political influences on the care and education of young children; and the marginalization of theatre and early childhood education in the university hierarchy. All of these elucidate an understanding of the historical beginnings and contemporary evolution of three fields that grows richer in

concert than in isolation. This richness extends the conversation in each field in a new direction, one that is possible only in a transdisciplinary context. In the next chapter, we will see how social and institutional conditions and influences have played out in the personal and professional lives of specific individuals, as a means of demonstrating the ways in which women scholars in Early Childhood Education and Theatre negotiate identity and innovation from a marginalized location. The lens for compiling and presenting this information depends heavily on a feminist framework, creating a bricolage of locations, ideologies, intentions, and interpretations.

Chapter Three: Contemplations

Profile One—Patty Smith Hill Profile Two—Winifred Ward Profile Three—Self

The line of my personal and professional identity and mission extends back over an entire century, in a translexic conversation across time that connects me through and to numerous women who have pursued their This chapter marks the beginning of passions and created for themselves spaces of the use of the annotations described acceptance, power, and change in a climate that was in Chapter One to illuminate and illustrate the leading questions and often more challenging than welcoming. A small methodology. Much of this chapter exemplifies the presence of sampling of women whose work inspires and reflexivity, and intersectionality, two of the key points of feminist reassures me include contemporary academics such methodology that I employ in my work. Both of these points as Jill Dolan, Chela Sandoval, Gaile Cannella, and emphasize the importance of bell hooks; writers such as Dorothy Allison, Barbara recognizing the relationship of the researcher to the subject, as well as Kingsolver, Maya Angelou, and Paula Vogel; the layering of identity for researcher and subjects. performers and artists such as Ani DiFranco, Sweet Honey in the Rock, P!nk, Augusta Savage, and Maya Lin; and educators who are personal or professional acquaintances, such as Sue Bartow, Sally Harrison-Pepper, Judy Jarvis, and Ann Fuehrer. But among the lengthy list of inspirations, there are two women whose life and work especially resonate with my own: Patty Smith Hill, an early childhood educator who laid the foundations for many of the pedagogical tenets that underpin the way young children experience formal and informal education in the United States, and Winifred Ward, a little known college Speech professor who pioneered the integration of theatre with early childhood. Patty Smith Hill: kindergarten teacher, university professor, non-traditional student, and educator-as-advocate Even though Patty Smith Hill died ten years before I was born, the story of her professional development and her ultimate influence on early childhood education and teacher education exemplify the embodiment of a commitment to an ideal that I find inspirational. Her story also demonstrates how one can create a new space for professional growth and achievement by bringing together threads of experience and a multiplicity of interests and skills.

The legacy of Patty Smith Hill is largely one of unrecognized accomplishment as a scholar and educator. Most people who have heard of her know her as the lyricist for “Happy Birthday to You” (originally entitled “Good Morning to You”), which was a short ditty written by Patty and her sister Mildred as part of a book titled Song Stories for the Sunday School, published in 1893 (Hill & Hill, 1899). She promoted a philosophy of Progressive kindergarten accessible to all; she promoted the training of kindergarten teachers in a university setting; she promoted social service programs to assist families and communities through economic hardships; she promoted the acceptance of early childhood as an academically valid field of study; but she did not promote herself as an individual worthy of note. Ironically, however, nearly as many people have been influenced by the work and scholarship of Patty Smith Hill as have sung her song. Her tireless work to bring kindergarten into the mainstream of American life and to have early childhood education recognized as a field worthy of scholarship has been largely overlooked. Regardless, most It is interesting to me that feminist historians, particularly education Americans who attended kindergarten in a public historians, have not done more to recognize the work of Hill. I believe school have experienced first hand Patty Smith part of this lack is due to the devaluing of early childhood education as a Hill’s enduring legacy, a Progressivist-influenced significant field of scholarship, even within feminism. pedagogy with its emphasis on free play, blocks, arts and crafts, and hands-on, experiential learning that Hill advocated to replace the rigid Froebelianism that dominated the early U.S. kindergarten movement and the traditionalist pedagogy that characterizes much U.S. public education (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Brosterman, 1997; Snyder, 1972). While exploring the life and career of Patty Smith Hill (through early childhood texts, newspaper articles, and her extensive personal papers housed at the Filson Historical Society in Louisville, Kentucky), I found myself pondering several questions inspired by her social, cultural, and educational context. How did her childhood experiences influence her professional interests? How does her career as an educator of young children (and an educator of teachers of young children) speak to the professional possibilities available to women of her time? Why was her kindergarten philosophy, heavily influenced by Progressivism, able to retain its influence in public schools after

Progressivist was effectively supplanted by a more traditional curriculum? How was she able to attain the rank of full professor at one of the most prestigious universities in the country without a college degree, and how did her status as a woman affect her acceptance as a scholar? And, perhaps most importantly, what can we learn from her life and work that could be helpful for early childhood educators, particularly those with a feminist orientation, a century later? My pursuit of these questions is motivated by professional exigency and a sense of personal affiliation with her life and work. I have been an early childhood educator for thirty years, and, like Hill, have worked “both ends” of the educational spectrum, from pre-K to university teaching. It is unfathomable in this day and age to imagine someone without a college degree (or even just a Bachelor’s degree) being able to attain any university rank beyond guest artist or lecturer. My professional path to this point has been an unconventional one, and as I pursue a Ph.D., I find myself increasingly drawn to Hill’s example as someone whose unconventional professional position led to significant contributions to the education of young children, an influence that is in danger of losing the recognition that its generator deserves. As a feminist educator, I am also committed to appreciating, acknowledging, and preserving the work of the women before me—those whose efforts, sacrifices, and compromises made it possible for me to stand where I do now, surveying a landscape of possibilities and choices that they could only imagine. To this end, a contextualized reflection on the work of Patty Smith Hill is, I believe, an endeavor that has value across time, generations, and disciplines. Patty Smith Hill was born in 1868 in Anchorage, Kentucky, just outside of Louisville. Her parents were passionate people who instilled in Patty and her siblings the importance of education, the value of play, and the necessity of advocating for others. Her father, William Wallace Hill, was born in Bath, Kentucky, graduated from Centre College in Danville, Kentucky in 1833, and earned a doctorate of Theology from Princeton University in 1838. He dedicated his entire life to ministry and education, which took the Hill family from Kentucky to Missouri to Texas. Her mother, Martha Jane Smith, was William’s second wife (his first died in childbirth), and was born in Pennsylvania, but as an adolescent moved with her brother to live with their Aunt and Uncle Grimes on their plantation in Danville. Martha Jane was intent on learning and

passing along education to others, evidenced, for example, by the fact that she taught the slaves on the Grimes plantation to read and write (Snyder, 1972). Hill’s parents were committed to their children’s education; her father is reported to have told his daughters to understand the value of a good education, and that it was, “a tragedy for women to marry for a home. Don’t live with law kin! Don’t even if you have to live in a hollow tree!” (Lascarides & Hinitz, p. 260). Hill and her siblings experienced a significant degree of freedom growing up on the grounds of Bellewood Female Seminary, the private girls’ school that her father founded and ran near Louisville. The school became known as a haven for young women that offered a “broad and varied curriculum” and “responsible freedom” (Snyder, 1972, p. 236). The initial success of the school enabled William and Martha Jane to provide their children (eldest child Mildred was quickly joined by Mary, Wallace, Patty (born in 1868), Archibald, and Jessica) a childhood rich in exploration, experimentation, experiential learning, and family connection. Martha Jane’s strategies for managing her children’s time proved to be one of the most formative factors in developing Patty’s eventual philosophy of education. While at Bellewood, the Hill children enjoyed an outdoor playground equipped with blocks, barrels, wooden planks, and other paraphernalia for building and imaginative play. They also had a large indoor playroom at the top of one of the house’s attic rooms for rainy or cold days, a carpenter’s shop with tools that the girls were encouraged to use as much as their brothers, a hen house, and an extensive area of woods and streams that the children were free to A point that should be of particular interest to feminist explore on their own. When it was time for the historians and biographers is Hill’s exposure to an ethic of children to come in, Martha Jane hung a red flag from education for women that was unique not only for the time, but the playroom window as a signal (Snyder, 1972). for the place. The movement to provide greater educational This atmosphere of organic discovery and learning opportunities for girls and women provided the fertile ground for Patty’s first six years, was supported to a far greater degree in the northern states than which would eventually become the age range that in the South (Solomon, 1985). was the focus of all of her professional efforts. These idyllic early days were not to last, however. Much of the rest of Patty’s childhood and adolescence was a series of moves, economic hardships, and health

concerns. William closed Bellewood in 1874 when he felt called to return to ministry, and the family moved from Anchorage to Fulton, Missouri, then to Sherman, Texas in 1877 when William’s health began to fail and his doctor suggested a milder climate. In 1879, the family returned to Fulton in order for William to consult his physician, but his health declined rapidly and he died in Fulton. The family then returned to Texas to prepare for a move back to Louisville, but that move was delayed for nearly a year when the entire family, with the exception of Mildred, came down with typhoid fever. When they had all recovered sufficiently, they completed the move to Kentucky, but Patty had a relapse of typhoid that kept her bed ridden for six months. The family experienced a period of extended financial difficulty without William’s income, but eventually regained some stability when Wallace was able to find work (Snyder, 1972). Martha Jane remained committed to her children’s education, a goal that had also been an important one for William, who had always told his daughters to never be dependent on a man for support, and to understand the value of a good education (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). With this commitment, Patty graduated valedictorian of her class from the Louisville Collegiate Institute in 1887. Whether she had hoped to attend college is uncertain, and it is not likely, given her family’s financial hardships, that her family would have been able to afford a college education for her. What is clear is that her interest in children met with a confluence of circumstance that brought her own progressive childhood experiences together with 3 intersecting forces: Froebel’s German kindergarten; Anna Bryan’s challenge to the Americanized interpretation of Froebel; and the financial support of several prominent Louisville citizens to establish one of the first free kindergartens in the U.S. Along with intersectionality, the Understanding the context of the idea of contextuality is important in understanding the reasons that an kindergarten movement that Hill became a part of in individual is able to develop a the United States near the end of the 19th century particular personal and professional identity and pursue a chosen career requires an understanding of the significance of the path. This is a point where it is beneficial to utilize a form of ideas of Friedrich Froebel, and the ways in which differential consciousness as a reader to shift between Hill’s story his kindergarten philosophy was imported and and Froebel’s context. interpreted in the United States.

Friedrich Froebel was born near Oberweissbach, Germany in 1782. He lost his mother at a young age, and his father was a clergyman and strict disciplinarian who had expended minimal attention on his youngest son. Norman Brosterman (1997) observes that, “Froebel’s yearning for motherly love was to be a significant motivating factor in the creation of kindergarten and helps explain the worshipful, almost sacred, position young women were assigned in the system’s administration” (p. 14). Patty Smith Hill, writing about Froebel in 1909 (when she had already become established as a major figure in the development of kindergarten theory and practice), describes the German kindergarten as “the educational blossom of Idealism—a philosophy freighted with inspiration, enthusiasm, optimism, and devotion” (Hill, 1909, p. 30). She also addresses the gendered aspects of his life and work: As we read the record of his remarkable insight into the ponderings of the maternal This observation by Hill reflects a heart as it responds to the helplessness of sensibility that is consonant with infancy, we conclude that he must have had feminist theory and practice, though a larger endowment of feminine than labeling Hill a “feminist” isn’t masculine traits. However, by the time this really possible, as the only organized “feminist” identity at the conclusion is drawn, we discover another time she was writing was focused side to his character in his life as a soldier, primarily on women’s suffrage. in his devotion to the life of hardship and Regardless, as feminist scholars toil with the boys at Keilhau, when the have embraced other historical strong masculine elements of his nature are women who did not call themselves “feminist” (such as Virginia Woolf, clearly demonstrated. Georgia O’Keeffe, and Zora Neale We forget that while his followers of Hurston), Hill should be accorded the present day are almost exclusively the same recognition and critical women, his first colleagues were men fired consideration. In this vein, Hill’s by the enthusiasm of his educational ideas, description of Froebel reflects a somewhat essentialist view of which they discussed around the campfires gender, which is not unusual of the wars for independence. Literally they considering her background and her left all and followed him as he revealed to profession, but which still asserts an them the ideal of the education of the future emphasis on women’s experiences in the light of the philosophy which they as “othered” from that of men. held in common. (p. 31)

As an adolescent, Froebel lived with his uncle, whose kindness served to create a sense of “harmonious balance” for the young man. This sense of balance, combined with his deep reverence for nature and the workings of God, forever characterized his life and

work, and ultimately was the foundation for his establishment of the kindergartens that became synonymous with his name. According to Brosterman (1997): Harmony, unity, and the reconciliation of opposites are the concepts that formed the theoretical and practical underpinnings of the kindergarten . . . [t]he idea of the essential unity of nature and life under God, although a mainstay of German Romanticism and of the philosophical idealism that dominated intellectual discourse in Northern Europe during the first half of the nineteenth century, appears to have blossomed naturally in Froebel due to his own inclinations and the circumstances of his upbringing. (p. 16)

Froebel went on to enroll in the University of Göttingen, where he studied physics, chemistry, mineralogy, and natural history. His fascination with crystals and the geometric symmetry of the natural world is evident in his approach to educating young children, especially in the formation and presentation of the “gifts” that were the foundational materials of his kindergarten. Froebel’s basic method involved presenting a specified sequence of materials that were designed to inspire children to connect with their environment in an immediate, sensory manner that, if channeled appropriately, would lead them to a deeper understanding of the conceptual complexities of the world (Brosterman, 1997; Manning, 2005). For Froebel, such exploration and unification was the essence of symbolic education, which he believed was the most effective way to open a child to the wonder of divine unity and purpose. Froebel’s ideas were revolutionary at a time in which the education of children under the age of seven was seen as unnecessary and wasteful (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Manning, 2005). As important as it was to Froebel to educate young children, it was equally important to him to educate others, especially mothers, as teachers in his new methods. When Froebel died in 1852, his kindergarten had become a dynamic new model for the education of young children and was embraced fervently by others who saw in it the possibility for potentially enriching the lives of children regardless of class. These new ideas were initially brought to the United States in 1856 by Margarethe Schurz, who had studied with Froebel in Keilhau and who had moved to the U.S. with her husband, who was to be a minister in Watertown, Wisconsin. Watertown already had a substantial German-speaking population, and Margarethe, a young mother herself, wanted to share Froebel’s gifts with the other German immigrants in the community (Snyder, 1972). At this time, kindergartens were not publicly funded or endowed, so were considered private

entities that required payment from the parents who wished to enroll their children (although the payment was sometimes nominal or subsidized to preserve the egalitarian spirit begun by Froebel) (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). Even though Margarethe died only a few years later, the impact of the German kindergarten was immediate and profound, embraced by educational and social reformers across the U.S. Chief among these reformers was Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, who established the first private English-speaking kindergarten in Boston in 1860. Moving the idea further into the realm of social service, Susan Blow, with the support of Peabody, was able to convince William T. Harris, superintendent of the St. Louis public school system, to include kindergarten as an integrated component of the district’s schools in 1873. By this time, the Froebelian ideal had become more rigidly codified and didactic, and this was the neatly ordered kindergarten that burst into public consciousness at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876 (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000, pp. 245-247). The system that was demonstrated in Philadelphia became an attractive model for social reformers, particularly those working in large urban areas, who were promoting the necessity of early training of young children in order to turn them into productive (i.e., fully assimilated) citizens by saving them from the dangers of street life and the marginally adequate “care” of the day nurseries available at the time. The day nurseries had been one of the early attempts to provide for the needs of the working poor (who were mostly recent immigrants), especially mothers who had to work low-paying jobs to feed their children but did not have the extended family and community networks that they would have had in their small villages of origin (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). Social reformers viewed the new kindergartens as an appealing alternative to the day nurseries, which were often inadequately funded and staffed, and understood that, to be truly effective and innovative, they would have to be publicly funded and made available to all residents, regardless of class (and race, though this would be handled differently in different locations, with some communities allowing children of color to attend with white children, while others established segregated programs for African-American children). Public acceptance of these programs hinged on the ability of the “kindergarteners” (a term which originally referred to teachers and supporters, not the students) to show that such an education was structured in a clearly defined manner that

produced children who were clean, respectful, and able to demonstrate self-control. This imperative is one explanation for an “Americanized” kindergarten pedagogy that was much more controlled and teacher-centered than the one Froebel had initially established. As explained by Manning (2005), the “dogma Froebel so despised was being preached by his disciples. This behavior opened the Froebelian movement to criticism from other influential educators of the time” (p. 375). Froebel’s original idea to offer a series of carefully designed materials in a particular sequence for children to explore with an evolving sense of wonder and interest became interpreted to be rigidly controlled by the teacher, who decided when to introduce the materials and how to use them. In this way, social discipline would lead to self-discipline, and learning could proceed on a predictable and measureable path. The “Americanized” Froebel appealed to educators (and legislators) who saw in it an effective and efficient method for assimilating the growing immigrant population, as well as helping to homogenize public school students across class lines (Manning, 2005; Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Michel, 1999). The year Hill graduated from the Louisville Collegiate Institute was the same year that Anna Bryan had arrived from Chicago to be the director of the Louisville Free Kindergarten Association (LFKA). Anna Bryan had been working at the rigidly Froebelian Chicago Kindergarten Association, where she had become acquainted with the philosophy of John Dewey. When she accepted the position in Louisville, it was with the understanding that she would be free to design the curriculum as she wished, and that there would be a teacher training component incorporated into the program as well (Snyder, 1972). Hill was one of the first five students accepted into the LFKA teacher training program. Coming to the kindergarten movement without having directly experienced the rigidity of the Americanized Froebelian schools, and stepping into Bryan’s critical training program, Hill was in the right place at the right time to begin developing, along with Bryan, a radically new approach to kindergarten. This approach sought to return to Froebel’s original ideas about the importance of organic unity and symbolic education, implemented through the sequential interaction with the materials he created in combination with free exploration and discovery, rejecting the teacher- centered, highly structured and didactic curriculum that had become typical of “American” Froebelianism. The new approach of the LFKA emphasized free play and

organic discovery, using a wider range of materials (influenced, no doubt, by the experiences Hill had enjoyed as a child at Bellewood), many of which were still based on Froebel’s “gifts” (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Hill, 1915). By 1889, Bryan had returned to Chicago, naming Hill as her successor at the LFKA. Over the course of the next several years, Hill and Bryan continued to pursue professional development opportunities, traveling and attending lectures in Chicago, New York, and Massachusetts, and Hill continued to incorporate their findings into the LFKA curriculum. Hill and Bryan were making a wide range of contacts in the Progressive education circles of the time, and their Louisville method began to grab the attention of others in the field. The event that most helped bring this to fruition was the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago, where Hill was invited to demonstrate the new model that she and Bryan had been developing in Louisville. Intrigued with the potential for this new model and the way in which it seemed to mesh with his theories, John Dewey visited Hill’s program in Louisville, where he was so impressed that he invited Hill and Bryan to come to Chicago to study with him for a summer. Hill later “claimed that reading a Dewey monograph and studying with Dewey influenced her view of creativity in children’s artwork, the movement toward free play rather than the structured work of the U.S. Froebelians, and her approach to music. She gave up many of the traditional practices, on the principle that teaching involved creative thinking” (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000, pp. 261-262). But Hill’s work in Louisville was not simply All of these experiences and influences formed, for Hill, her own pedagogic or limited to one group. Her commitment type of bricolage, that brought together the work of Froebel, to social service, and her belief in the power of early Dewey, and Bryan with her own childhood experiences and parental education to intervene in cycles of poverty and guidance. Her subsequent personal exclusion, led her to a determination to include the and professional paths are a direct result of this blending of influences children of Louisville’s poorest families, going so far with the circumstance of her geographic and historical location. as to insist that her teachers follow her example of, if necessary, calling at the homes of children in order to help them get ready and make their way to school (Snyder, 1972). She also was responsible for responding to the influence of the Northern Presbyterian Church to ensure that kindergarten was available to the African American children of Louisville as well as the white children, and got several of

her teachers involved in encouraging the “Louisville Education Association [to] ‘invit[e] the Louisville Colored Kindergarten Association to become a branch’” of the LEA, which convinced the “public schools in Louisville [to begin] providing classroom space for both black and white kindergartens in the same building” (though not necessarily in the same room—Louisville wasn’t quite ready for that level of integration) (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000, p. 262). Even though comments made by Hill in some of her later correspondence reveals the contradictions of her attitudes on race (Hill, c. 1942), undoubtedly shaped by growing up in the South during Reconstruction (a point to which I will return later), she continued to pursue issues of inclusion and social justice throughout her life. Hill’s professional reputation as a scholar was spreading, not only through her immediate work at the LFKA, but also with her deep involvement in the International Kindergarten Union (IKU), the first professional organization in the United States dedicated solely to promoting kindergarten as a necessary step in formal education and providing a venue for teachers to share ideas, debate pedagogy, and support each others’ efforts. It was during the convention of the IKU in Brooklyn in 1900 that Hill began to articulate her critical challenge to the ways in which Froebel was being implemented in the U.S. in a much more pointed and specific manner (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). It is clear that Hill was not advocating a rejection of all things Froebelian, but was calling for a reconsideration of the ways in which his “gifts and occupations” were being used. In a speech at this gathering, Hill explained her feelings: Now there is a larger, greater and more inspiring Froebel than this which we find in his theory rather than his practice—his principles and ideals rather than his methods . . . This ideal of self expression and creativity seems to have possessed Froebel more than any other . . . This is the great Froebel, the Froebel that education can never outgrow, the principle upon which all true Froebelian methods must be based whether they agree with those detailed methods used by Froebel or not. In conclusion, let me ask, are not any sound methods which are the outgrowth of keener insight into and new interpretations of these divine ideals of Froebel equally, or even more truly Froebelian than some of those used by Froebel himself more than half a century ago? (In Snyder, 1972, p. 250)

After Anna Bryan’s death in 1901, Hill continued the work she had begun to develop with Bryan in Louisville, and proved herself a dynamic speaker and advocate for

a new interpretation of Froebel. The critical break with the Froebelians came in 1904, when Hill took the LFKA exhibit to the St. Louis World’s Fair. According to Lascarides and Hinitz (2000), Miss Hill . . . claimed that classroom activities should be interesting to the children, have authentic value for the children, and take place in a democratic classroom setting. Children were encouraged to interact with their classmates and utilize personal initiative. This was the beginning of the debate between the conservative and progressive factions in the kindergarten movement, which continued at Teachers College. (p. 262)

Staging this exhibition in the “backyard” of Susan Blow, the preeminent proponent of Froebel in American public schooling, was a direct challenge to the rigid Froebelianism that had dominated the kindergarten movement discourse up to that point. This exhibit, and Hill’s articulation of its pedagogy, drew the attention not only of Susan Blow and the strict Froebelians, but also that of Dean Earl Russell of Teachers College, Columbia University, in New York City. Teachers College was itself a fairly new endeavor, an “experiment” that attempted to move beyond the “methods model” of teacher education that prevailed in the traditional Normal schools. Teachers College was an innovative example of a new emphasis in employing research and theorizing in education. Hill’s invitation to lecture at Teachers College in 1905 was a timely reflection of the direction of the University’s attitudes, as it coincided with the arrival of John Dewey as head of the Philosophy department and psychologist Edward Thorndike, who was “starting a wave of interest in learning and measurement” (Snyder, 1972, p. 257). Not coincidentally (from Russell’s point of view), Susan Blow had also accepted a position as lecturer at Teachers College in 1896, and was well known and respected by teachers and colleagues as a true Froebelian (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). Russell was committed to the value of “open conflict of honest minds in the pursuit of truth,” and, to this end, “searched for faculty members of divergent points of view” (Snyder, 1972, p. 77). Russell initially invited Hill to participate in a series of ten lectures with Susan Blow over a two-week period on the topic “New Trends in Kindergarten Education.” He knew that the combination of Hill and Blow would be a dynamic one, and he was not disappointed. The lecture series quickly became a demonstration of the fact that, even though the two women had quite different approaches

and beliefs, each had tremendous respect for the other. Before the two weeks were finished, Dean Russell insisted that the two women offer a joint course for the entire semester. They both agreed, and from October through December they took turns presenting lectures on kindergarten methods and theories. Hill later remarked, at a memorial service for Blow in 1916 at the IKU Annual Meeting in Cleveland, that At the closing class hour, when Miss Blow and I were bidding farewell to the class we had taught in common, one of the class rose to speak for herself and her classmates, saying that the greatest thing they had learned from the semester’s work was that women holding diametrically opposed views could work together with mutual respect, fair play, and friendliness. (International Kindergarten Union, 1916, pp. 113-114)

Hill’s reputation as a scholar grew from that moment on, and she wound up spending the next thirty years at Columbia, receiving a promotion from lecturer to Assistant Professor and Head of the Department of Kindergarten Education in 1910, then quickly moving up to Associate Professor, culminating in earning the rank of Full Professor in 1922 (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; Snyder, 1972). Within the space of fifteen years, this woman from Kentucky, without formal education beyond high school, self- taught in psychology, physiology, and philosophy and deeply invested in the value of art, music, dance, and theatre in education, had managed to achieve a professional status and respect that many would envy, one that would be virtually impossible to attain in the university of today without an advanced degree. This is the point which brings us to one of the central issues of this reflection: to speculate how Patty Smith Hill’s position as a woman in the early 1900s shaped her professional identity, exemplified the limitations of the possibilities for professional achievement for women of the time, and determined that, even though hailed as an innovator, she has not historically been identified as a scholar, either by educational historians or feminist academics. During her thirty years at Teachers College, Hill was an avid supporter of students, both male and female, who wished to pursue teaching not just as a classroom experience, but also as a potential site for generating new research and theoretical paradigms. Her ability to facilitate this is evidenced through the work produced by several students while under her advisorship (e.g., A.B. Hill & Van Alstyne, 1930 and

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Langdon, 1933). One of the most interesting aspects of this work is its obvious reliance on embracing the quantitative methodology that was being promoted by Thorndike and others, and which was becoming a crucial element in the definition of work that was considered “scholarly.” Hill understood the efficacy of such models in validating the work of early childhood educators as on a par with other academic departments within universities. For example, in her Introduction to Experimental Studies in Kindergarten Theory and Practice, for which she served as editor, she wrote, “The Kindergarten Department of Teachers College was not only at liberty to study the kindergarten problem from the standpoint of experiment and investigation, but was under the necessity to do so, if the kindergarten was to be placed on the same basis as all other departments” (Hill, 1915, p. 6). In her own work, however, she relied more on intuition and experience to frame her research questions and a more narrative style of writing that foregrounded theory with observable cause and effect (Hill, 1942; Hill, 1933, April 16; Hill, 1932; Hill, 1912; Hill, 1908). It is possible that this difference between her work and her students’, along with her gender, her lack of an advanced degree, and her commitment to a field that was not widely recognized as one that produced “serious scholarship,” contributed to her own endeavors being seen as important and influential, certainly, but not necessarily “scholarly” in the same way that the work of, for example, Dewey, Thorndike, and Hall was perceived. There can be no question that Hill was a “serious scholar.” She clearly articulated a set of research questions that are specific and compelling (Hill, 1915). But her choice of setting for her research may also have limited the acceptance of that work as “social welfare” instead of “scholarship.” She implemented her research projects at the Speyer School in Manhattanville, which served low-income children from the neighborhoods surrounding Columbia, rather than solely at the University’s Horace Mann School, which primarily served the children of higher-income Columbia faculty and administrators, and which was strictly Froebelian in its approach. Her commitment to the Manhattanville project was lifelong, and, upon her retirement in 1935, she incorporated her Manhattanville work with the Federal Emergency Nursery School Program that she had become involved with, which was designed to provide care and education for the children

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of low-income neighborhoods and employment opportunities for teachers during the Depression (Snyder, 1972; Hill, 1933, November 19). Even though this work was supported, admired, and respected by her colleagues, it fit an academic paradigm better as “social service” rather than “objective scholarship.” In addition to the shape of Hill’s research and scholarship, her position as not only a woman, but also as a woman in early childhood education, defined her relationship to the academy. When Hill noted that Froebel’s “followers of the present day are almost exclusively women,” she was identifying one of the greatest strengths, and greatest liabilities, for women as teachers of young children (Hill, 1912, p. 30). By the time Hill began training with Anna Bryan to become a kindergarten teacher, the viable (i.e., popularly acceptable) professional possibilities for middle class white women had been rather narrowly proscribed for many decades. Even as these women had access to a greater range of schooling options, the idea of their education opening up career aspirations was in tension with the expectation that they would ultimately find fulfillment as wives and mothers (Ranck, 1999; Acker, 1995; Again, this is a central point of feminist Solomon, 1985). Within this tension, teaching was inquiry—recognizing and revealing the seen as an acceptable way for young Christian women ways in which the personal and professional choices of women have to serve their faith without allowing them to step too historically been defined and constrained by phallocentric culture. In particular, far away from the domestic role of nurturer and feminist educators must account for the confluence of teaching with nurturance caregiver. This is not to say that teaching was the and mothering as essentializing women’s experience and limiting only choice, or that women couldn’t create women’s socio-economic potential. opportunities to pursue other interests if they had This is also an example of a enough ambition and fortitude. And, of course, poor transdisciplinary critique—Hill’s experiences, as described in this and women were finding employment as domestic preceding (and subsequent) paragraphs, are rich with critical observations and workers and in factories, especially those that analysis that could be drawn from psychology, sociology, history, produced “domestic” goods such as “textile and other economics, political science, and manufacturing industries” (Solomon, 1985, p. 17). anthropology, as well as education. When these fields are brought together But for women of Hill’s social status, teaching in a translexic discourse, it creates an example of transdisciplinary, narrative was not only an acceptably nurturant option, but also portraiture. one that provided an outlet for creative and

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intellectual drive. This acceptance had been slow in coming, however: as Solomon (1985) notes, School teaching had little status at the time women began to enter it: men who lacked alternatives taught school, and some college youth might teach intermittently before turning to business or a profession. Yet only slowly were women accepted as teachers. Although they were seen as suitable instructors of small children, public prejudice kept them out of more advanced teaching in many places. . . . But by the 1830s, a significant shift in rhetoric accompanied approval of female schoolteaching. Horace Mann cited woman’s tenderness, gentility, and patience as qualities contributing to her success as a teacher—qualities usually associated with a good mother. (32)

This association between teaching and mothering became a blessing and a curse for women who sought careers as educators. Casting teaching, especially of younger children, as an extension of motherhood made it much easier for women to find respectable work, but it also ghettoized this work as a feminized field (see chapter 2). Given the patriarchal structure of U.S. culture, work that was considered acceptable for women was not work that was valued as highly as men’s work, in either a social or an economic sense.

When Patty Smith Hill entered the teaching profession, and even as she became such a strong advocate of kindergarten and nursery school education and research, it was within a context in which that work was never likely to be accorded the same status as the intellectual work of men. Even for men who pursued research or framed philosophy that was specific to young children and their education, such as Dewey and Hall, their status as men automatically conferred upon them a greater assumption that their work was “scholarship,” grounded in an objectively intellectual and scientific tradition (Solomon, 1985). While the accomplishments of women such as Hill and Bryan opened the doors for greater professional opportunities for other women, it also served to validate the field of early childhood teaching as a “naturally” feminine one, thereby restricting those professional opportunities at one and the same time (Goldstein, 1998; Acker, 1995).

It is also possible that Hill’s position as a woman in a feminized field is one of the factors that contributed to her Progressivist-influenced kindergarten pedagogy becoming the dominant paradigm for kindergartens (and, later, nursery schools), even as

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Progressivism became subject, by association, to the backlash against Communism and Socialism (Apple, 2004). By the 1930s, conservative Americans had begun to react quite strongly to the perceived threat posed by the “success” of the Communist revolution in Russia, and American industries feared the intrusion of labor unions that were growing out of socialist movements in the U.S. and abroad. I believe it is possible that conservative politicians (including school board members) began to suspect that Progressive education, even though it complemented some aspects of conservative policy (such as the training of immigrants to become productive citizens), was putting an undue emphasis on manual labor as being equal in importance with intellectual development, which could ultimately jeopardize the class system that was such a deeply entrenched aspect of American capitalism (Apple, 2004). The new kindergartens, however, were able to be accepted regardless of their Progressive influences, possibly due in part to the perception of this age group as one most in need of nurturance and “mothering,” traits which had become noticeably absent from the Americanized Froebelian model that was characterized by rigidly structured cognitive tasks. Combined with the reactive rejection of many things that were perceived as “German” after World War I, the Froebelian model would have seemed less desirable than the perception of the “new” kindergarten as nurturing, caring, and anchored in American values of mothers as natural teachers of young children (Manning, 2005). Hill’s devotion to humanitarian efforts later combined with another factor that, possibly, caused her reputation as a scholar to be further marginalized. This factor was her desire to see early childhood education, from infancy through kindergarten, gain value in an international sense as well as in the U.S. Along with other members of the IKU (which became the Association for Childhood Education in 1930, signaling a broadening of effort and intent to “merg[e the] interests” of “nursery-school, kindergarten and primary teachers” (Hill, 1942, p. 1971), Hill began to travel to other countries to observe, consult, and share information about techniques and methods. The trip that seemed to have impressed her most was the one she made to Soviet Russia in 1929. Her sense of social justice and economic equity for mothers and children found a comfortable home in the Soviet nursery programs she observed under the guidance of Vera Fediaevsky, whom Hill convinced to write a book for English speaking audiences about

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the innovations of the Soviet system. In her Introduction to Fediaevsky’s work, Hill expressed her opinion that, “[n]o matter how one’s political or economic conceptions of society may be at variance, it cannot be denied that in Soviet Russia babies and little children are considered worthy of the best the State can bestow upon them at any cost” Fediaevsky, 1936, p. xiii. Emphasis original). Had Hill, who died in 1946, survived to the time of Joseph McCarthy, her “Communist sympathies” would have undoubtedly made her suspect. As it was, it is possible that her death before this period merely resulted in her contributions as an educator and scholar being downplayed in the public. Hill’s innate intellect and ambition allowed her to achieve an academic rank and teaching position that was still rarely available to any white woman (and available to black women only within black contexts, and to poor women only with the most extraordinary support and good fortune). She was a fairly prolific writer during her career, and, through her writing, her insight and intellect are apparent. After her retirement, Hill continued to write numerous columns and articles for professional publications, as well as for the New York Times, where she seemed to be motivated to bring her ideas and insights to a broader audience. Some examples of her writing for the Times are a short piece extolling the virtues (and limitations) of Froebel in April of 1932, on the 150th anniversary of his birth (Hill, 1932); an article from April of 1933 clarifying the role of the teacher in Progressive schools as one of “guidance” (Hill, 1933, April 16); a December 1933 article explaining the importance of the Federal Relief program to assist in the establishment and operation of nursery schools (Hill, 1933, December 3); and a particularly indignant letter to the editor in 1939 expressing her shock and “amazement” that New York City was The intersectionality that will be considering eliminating kindergarten from the evident in this section is not only grounded in the personal with the public schools due to budget cuts (Hill, 1939). professional, but also in a critical inquiry into the intersections of race, Hill’s enduring legacy, however, is not class, and sexuality in her life and work. limited to her accomplishments as an academic or This section also most clearly her devotion to humanitarian and social service demonstrates the value of narrative ideals. For her life and work to truly have portraiture that is premised as a textual “interview” utilizing primary meaning and provide inspiration to early source documents such as letters and articles. childhood practitioners of today, it is necessary to

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consider her not just as a scholar or a humanitarian, but as a woman and as a person with flaws and contradictions arising from her place in a specific historical context and serve to humanize her. In order to examine her life closely past childhood, it is necessary to return to the few primary sources that still speak to her personality, character, and personal relationships. One of the most interesting and bothersome gaps in information about her personal life is that little consideration has been given to it. It is possible to glean from some of her remaining letters that she was obviously very close to her family, especially her sister Jessica, and that she remained in contact with a few former students. Beyond that, there is scant evidence from which one can piece together whether she had any close personal relationships beyond family or students. There is evidence that she had a very close friendship with another teacher from Louisville, Alexina Galt Booth, who had also wound up at Teachers College while Hill was there. This evidence consists of a rather lengthy letter that Booth dictated to her nurse in 1954, corresponding with Frances Gwinn (who was writing her master’s thesis on Hill), in which she expresses obvious admiration for Patty, concluding with, “I only wish I could tell you what a whole person Miss Patty was—her tremendous range of interests in all kinds of people, of course of every phase of interest in children . . . I could go on for the rest of a life time—with illustrations!” (Booth, 1954, p. 5). Booth also included a handwritten note at the bottom of a 1931 letter that Hill had typed to Eliza Hannan (a former student of Hill’s at Columbia who was by then with the Kindergarten-First Grade Education Department in Louisville), which says “And my love to you and Allene!” (Hill, 1931). But perhaps the most intriguing document relating to Booth’s closeness with Hill is her Last Will and Testament, which she originally created before Hill died in 1946. Booth willed her possessions to her niece, $100 to another niece and a cousin, $1000 each to two grandnieces, and $1000 to Patty Smith Hill (Booth, n.d.). There is no mention in the will for the reason for this bequest, but the fact that Hill is the only one not in Booth’s immediate family to be included would seem to suggest that Booth had a particularly compelling reason for wanting to leave such a sum to her friend. The collection of Hill’s papers at the Filson Historical Society in Louisville is quite extensive, with over 1400 separate pieces. In all of this history, however, there is

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nothing that speaks to her personal life after her childhood, until the few pieces of correspondence that was saved from her later years. As a prolific writer, and someone who had a reputation for having a kind and generous disposition as well as an engaging, dynamic personality, the lack of personal correspondence or memorabilia from 1887 until the early 1940s seems odd, to say the least. It is impossible, of course, to know for certain the reason for this, as it is not possible to know the exact reason that she never married. One obvious avenue of speculation is that she was one of the great number of women educators who formed primary intimate relationships only with other women (which may or may not have been sexual in nature), but who could not be open about these relationships because of the stigma that began to be attached to them as the concept of “homosexuality” emerged in the early 20th century. It is also, of course, possible that she was simply a very private person who did not wish to share her personal life with others, for various reasons, and so any personal memorabilia remained with the family rather than be included in the archive materials. It is also not unreasonable to imagine that she simply did not have intense personal relationships outside of her family and a few close colleagues, devoting her time and energy instead to her work. One of the most interesting, and disturbing, aspects of her personality is the evidence from some of her later correspondence that points to a woman who was very conflicted in her feelings about issues of race. As previously mentioned, she was a strong advocate for creating educational opportunities for African American children as well as white, and her influence was crucial in convincing the Louisville public schools to offer space for “colored kindergartens” in the same buildings with the white kindergartens. This apparent commitment to racial equality becomes more obvious as a “separate but equal” mentality growing out of a Kentucky childhood during Reconstruction, however, in light of her comments in a letter to Ilse Forest (the letter is not dated with a year, but it was most likely written sometime between 1940-1943). In this letter, Hill explains that, after she and her sister Jessica, with whom she was living, had both begun experiencing debilitating illness, she . . . decided to give up dependence on white ‘lady helpers’ & secured the cutest little coal black midget you can imagine. She is about the size for human beings that our little Prince was in dog society. She is a good little dependence so far, knows little, but learns fast, clean as a new pin outside & underneath & just

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graduated from the local colored high school. I like them black as coal, polite as a basket of chips! Suppose I am southern to the backbone, but they are ‘comfortable’. [Underline original]

As someone who admires and deeply respects the work of Patty Smith Hill, it was quite difficult for me to confront this side of her personality. I have always tried to keep a humanizing perspective on people I admire and wish to emulate, and am careful about investing my “heroes” with unreasonable expectations of nobility and infallibility, but found myself struggling with this writing that “humanizes” her in a pretty distressing way. This is not the same as discovering that she hated small animals or chewed her fingernails or was a bad tipper, or any of a hundred other petty traits that all humans suffer from. I suppose it could be the equivalent for some people of finding out that she was, indeed, a lesbian, but in my book, that would only add to my admiration of her. I have come to accept that, as much as this attitude strikes me in a fundamentally disturbing and distasteful way, and is not one that can (or should) be “rationalized” by her historical context and upbringing, her conflicted bigotry is, nevertheless, an important part of the person who was Patty Smith Hill. As historians and academics, we can’t pick and choose the traits that we want to invest our subjects with, even when we wish to be inspired by the person who embodies those traits. In the final analysis, Patty Smith Hill will remain for me a figure that inspires with her dedication, intellect, drive, and humility. She is also, now, for me a whole human being, a woman with contradictions, flaws, and weaknesses in character. In other words, she is as human as the rest of us, myself included. I will not overlook her clearly deeply ingrained bigotry, but I can continue to draw inspiration from her life and work. After all, she believed, as I do, that “The world moves forward on the feet of little children” (McNulty, 1964, p. 16). Considering her life in the richest manner possible, which includes the way in which history has (or has not) integrated her personal and her professional personae, is necessary in understanding the influences that contributed to her becoming the scholar that she was, and helps to explain why her life resonates with mine. This is also the case with Winifred Ward, whose personal and professional life mirrors Hill’s in many ways, but also differs significantly in others.

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Winifred Ward Winifred Ward was born in 1884, three years before Patty Smith Hill graduated from Louisville Collegiate Institute. Sixteen years apart, they both entered a world in which women were offered more opportunities than ever before for education and professional satisfaction, though these opportunities were still frequently constricted or stigmatized by a fear that educated women would become, and would inevitably create, masculinized women who rejected prevailing notions of femininity and lead to the destruction of the nuclear family (Solomon, 1985). Resisting these pressures, both Hill and Ward forged professional careers that significantly impacted the lives of young children and young teachers. Even with the similarities, the differences in their circumstances of birth and geography were substantial. While Hill was very much a child of the “border” South (living in Kentucky, Missouri, and Texas—states that were not actual members of the Confederacy, but with populations that gave ample sympathy and support to the Confederate cause), Ward grew up in a small Iowa town, a childhood which was complemented by periods of time spent in her mother’s home town of Washington, D.C., which was to greatly impact her opinion of small town life. Ward’s father, George, was born on a Wisconsin farm, and received his law degree from National University in Washington, D.C. (where he met his future wife) in 1880. Taking up residence in Iowa, he became a civic leader, serving as mayor, member of the school board, county attorney, and on “numerous civic committees.” He was described by Winifred as a “quiet, but self-assured man dedicated to his work, and devoted to his family, whom he guided with firmness and kindness” (Guffin, 1975, pg. 2). Her mother, Frances Allena Dimmick, was considered by Ward to be a “dominating force in [her] early life.” Ward described her mother as …large and capable, able to do well anything she undertook, but preferring always the big things. She was a most excellent cook, but detested such phases of house-keeping as dusting and dish-washing—which early fell to our share. In bringing up her children—three girls and a boy—she insisted upon instant and absolute obedience, which I failed to appreciate then, but for which I have since been glad. She did not rule with an iron hand, however. We were allowed to do what we pleased to a larger extent than most children were, and consequently we had more occasion to use our judgment…

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She was often jolly and fascinating, however, and so attractive to look at, with her fair hair, gray eyes and charming expression, that I rather pitied the other girls whose mothers were so much less interesting. She played the piano exceedingly well, too, and it was from hearing her that I came to love so much the best of music. (Ward, 1918, pg. 1)

Ward’s perspective on her early years are illuminated in the 1918 paper quoted above, attributed to her for an English IV class at the University of Chicago, the year that she completed her Ph.D. The paper, titled “My Environment,” discusses her hometown of Eldora, the influence of the evangelical church leaders, the emotional distance of her parents, and, most strikingly, the glowing descriptions of her experiences visiting relatives in Washington, D.C. In this narrative, her parents are presented as a couple composed of stark contrasts: a bold, outgoing, confident mother and a quiet, deliberate, slow-spoken yet eloquent father. Typical for the time, Ward notes that her father “always let my mother manage the house as she chose, and took almost no share in governing us, although he sometimes said a deciding word” (pg. 2). Both of her parents were deeply involved in the community, though Ward was aware that her mother “seemed to belong to it [i.e., the town of Eldora and surrounding community] less than did my father, who had been reared on a Wisconsin farm and so liked the rural aspects of the place” (pg. 2). Her mother’s cosmopolitan background and demeanor seems to have had a significant impact on the young Winifred. She writes with enthusiasm about their visits to relatives in Washington, D.C., at times for up to two months at a time in the winter, when they missed school. Her excitement at being in Washington is clear: A whole new world opened before me! The beautiful public buildings, the great markets, the strange, foreign people I saw on the streets, all filled me with wonder. And then the jolly times we had at my grandfather’s home, with my lively little grandmother and the aunts who were so full of fun and so ready to make clothes for my dolls! In the years when we did not go to Washington, they sometimes came to visit us, and always out of their faintly scented trunks, which held so many pretty clothes and presents and candy, there came the atmosphere of the beautiful city. (pg. 6)

It is not difficult to imagine that these excursions to D.C. in her youth contributed to her lifelong love of travel, taking her as an adult to the British Isles, Scandinavia, western Europe, Mexico, the Soviet Union, and Hawai’i. It is also not difficult to suggest

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that her discontent with the small-time life of Eldora, evident in this 1918 paper, led her to seek career opportunities in the Chicago metropolitan area. One of the things she seems to have disliked the most about Eldora was the narrow-mindedness of the “church class who looked with disapproval on any form of amusement except church socials” (pg. 4). However, while rejecting the narrowness of the evangelicals, she still embraced whole heartedly a religious grounding that was informed by exposure to a number of denominations. Her mother was a leader in the Universalist church until it closed for lack of members, at which point young Winifred had “a strong feeling that I ought to be more religious, and by that I suppose I meant orthodox. For must not all religion be found in the church?” She goes on to describe her intense church-going schedule resulting from this realization: Accordingly, having some friends who were Methodists and others who were Congregationalists, I entered upon a regular orgy of church going. By starting at ten in the morning, I could manage two Sunday schools, two churches and a Junior League, and I suppose if time schedules had permitted, I should have filled the remaining hours of Sunday. I drew the line at revival meetings, however. I could not believe that dancing, card-playing and theatres were the source of all evil, and moreover, I never knew whether to stand or remain seated when the evangelists asked how many were saved. I knew that if I stood, all the church people would think, “She has no business to be standing, she goes to dancing school.” Yet I couldn’t believe, either, that I was a lost soul. So, under the circumstances, I felt much better if I stayed away. (pg. 4)

Ward’s devotion to an open-minded religious conviction is evident throughout her life, though it is also apparent that her early experiences with the expectations of “appearances” (i.e., what “all the church people would think”) would continue to shape her social interactions and personal relationships. I will return to this idea further on. The intense support of open-minded parents, blended with a balance of discipline and responsible freedom, is a characteristic that Ward and Hill both shared. Such support may have been instrumental in encouraging both women to pursue career paths that enabled them to become leaders in their fields without taking a back seat to traditional marriage, which neither of them pursued. Another thing that both women share is a bounty of writing about their professional lives and achievements, but little about their personal lives.

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In Ward’s case, there is a great deal that was published by her about her philosophy and practice of Creative Dramatics, as well as articles, theses, and a dissertation written by others about her work. The details of her professional career are well documented and fairly straightforward. By the time she wrote the “My Environment” paper in 1918, she had already been employed as a teacher/coach from the time she completed her diploma course at the Cumnock School of Oratory in Evanston, Illinois in 1905. She spent two years back in Eldora, coaching “declamation contests,” before accepting a position in the public schools of Adrian, Michigan, in 1907. In Adrian, she coached “public speaking contests, direct[ed] the senior play; [taught] reading in the upper grades; coach[ed] girls’ basketball; and conduct[ed] calisthenics once a week for children in the primary grades” (Guffin, 1975, pg. 6). In 1916, she enrolled in the University of Chicago, majoring in English. She received her Ph.D. in 1918, graduating with honors, and was contacted by the head of her alma mater, the Cumnock School of Oratory, who remembered her as one of their most promising students. Ward said the letter she received offering her the position of instructor and assistant professor was one of the greatest moments of her life, and she happily joined the faculty. Two years later, the Cumnock School became the Northwestern University School of Speech, and Ward remained there until her retirement in 1950 (Guffin, 1975). She immediately began to develop the concept of Creative Dramatics, a method for introducing school children to the dramatic potential of literature and the power of oratory in personal expression. She began instructing speech students in the techniques she was developing, and in 1924 accepted a position with the elementary schools of Evanston, Illinois to be the supervisor for creative dramatics in the curriculum of all of the public schools. This position she also held until her retirement in 1950. But she didn’t limit her passion to the schools or to her university career—in 1925, she joined forces with Ralph Dennis, the eventual dean of the School of Speech at Northwestern, and Alexander Dean, the head of theatre at the university, to found a community-based children’s theatre in Evanston. The initial impetus for the theatre was twofold: to give the children of Evanston exposure to high quality theatrical offerings, and to provide a practical training ground for the Northwestern Speech students. In 1925, Ward’s two

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passions, the elementary schools program and the children’s theatre group at Northwestern, joined in sponsoring The Children’s Theater of Evanston, one of the pioneering children’s theatre companies in the United States (Northwestern University, 1996). Ward served as director of the organization until her general retirement in 1950, and in 1944 founded the national Children’s Theater Conference (Guffin, 1975). For Ward, these two entities, Children’s Theatre and creative dramatics, were the two sides of a necessary coin for children’s creative expression. As she described in the 1957 second edition of Playmaking With Children (originally published in 1947), Children’s theatre and creative dramatics are two different aspects of child drama, the first formal, the second informal. There is no conflict in ideology between them; rather, they complement each other. Children’s theatre is primarily for child audiences; creative dramatics is primarily for the children who participate…. The purpose of children’s theatre is to provide dramatic productions for child audiences which will offer them the joy of watching stories come alive; develop in them standards of taste; give them an understanding of life values drawn from the human experiences they see on the stage; and open the way for an appreciation of the art of the theatre. In addition, children’s theatre plays, if well done, inspire children to achieve higher standards in their creative dramatics classes. (pgs. 12-13; italics original)

Even with her clear passion for Children’s Theatre companies, her first calling was in the integration of creative dramatics as a normal part of the elementary school curriculum. Since she was not trained as a teacher, her understanding of the pedagogy and theory that grounded creative dramatics evolved as she explored, read, and tried different approaches. Her initial and enduring belief, regardless of how the mechanics and theory grew, was that, “Drama comes in the door of the school with every child” (Ward, 1960, pg. 1). As she explains in a pamphlet titled Drama With and For Children, published by the United States Department of Education in 1960, creative dramatics could serve an integral part in the valuing of creativity that she believed many teachers had come to embrace. According to Ward, With the increasing emphasis in education on creative thinking and the development of individual powers, a way of using the child’s natural love for the dramatic has developed which is not only suited to the classroom but has remarkable potentialities for his personal development. It is based on his own free, informal play, but guided into an orderly creative process by an imaginative teacher. (pg. 3)

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Ward’s self-directed education into classroom teaching was influenced and informed by a circle of friends and I do not think it is purely coincidental that colleagues who were classroom teachers, as Ward, Hill, and I share an affinity for, and were influenced by, many of the same well as a very broad exposure to the writings theorists and practitioners. This is pretty of a variety of figures central to education much the point of including these portraits in this work—to demonstrate that points of theories and pedagogies, leading to a commonality and intersectionality can be found even among individuals of very moderate philosophy of teaching and different backgrounds, but that by employing differential consciousness in learning that rejected extremes. Like Patty considering these points, it is possible to discover value and inspiration that can Smith Hill, she was particularly influenced bring meaning to the professional journey by the writings of John Dewey, though she of many others. did not have the benefit of personal contact with him, as Hill had. She also credits a writer who was a significant early influence on my personal philosophy, Viktor Lowenfeld, whose writings on art education placed heavy emphasis on the importance of classroom teachers finding ways to not diminish the natural curiosity and creativity of young children. She also mentions the works of Johan Huizinga, an historian and cultural theorist who published a foundational work on play theory, and places great importance on the role of immediate experience in children’s education, which she supports with references to the “educational theories of Rousseau or Pestalozzi, Froebel or William James, Dewey, Kilpatrick, or any of the contemporary educationists” (Ward, 1957, pg. 18). The way she put these theorists to use is evident in her description of the “principles of creative dramatics” that clearly guided her thinking (my apologies for such a lengthy excerpted quote, but on this matter I feel Ward’s words, in their totality, are important in accurately and completely conveying her approach): 1. Most modern educationists—those who are neither extremists in the narrow “three R” kind of education nor in the so-called “progressive” methods— agree with John Dewey that education is not merely preparing a child for his future life. It is giving him the chance to live richly now in the belief that this is the best preparation for the future. They believe that the whole child should be educated, not just his mind; that he should be developed to his highest potentialities both as an individual and as a social being; that he grows, not from having knowledge poured in by the teacher but rather from participating in activities that challenge his deepest interest and highest powers. 2. Those who make the curriculum should take into consideration the child’s natural interests. They should use these interests, guiding and directing

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them so as to bring new growth, and steadily widen them by exposing him to new interests. 3. A child learns best what he experiences. Whether one reads the educational theories of Rousseau or Pestalozzi, Froebel or William James, Dewey, Kilpatrick, or any of the contemporary educationists, he finds an insistence on the importance of experience. In fact, though we still may see in too many classrooms a dependence on verbal symbols, it is safe to say that leaders in the elementary field have long since accepted the idea that book-learning means little unless it can be related to the child’s experience. Classroom experiences need to be planned carefully to give the child new understandings. The school should “seek to provide children with experience in sensing and attacking problems, appropriate to their age and maturity, so that their actions are based on creative thinking, on enlightened self-interest, and on a scientific approach to problem-solving.” [quoting a statement by the Winnetka (Illinois) public schools] 4. What children learn should have real meaning for them. Most children promptly forget facts which do not seem important to them. When they can use what they learn they are more likely to retain it. This is the basis of learning a thing when the need arises. Purpose is a powerful factor in education, and purpose is present when children understand the reason for what they are expected to learn. 5. Children should be given the chance to help plan what they do, to practice choosing, to originate. Dewey, however, strongly criticizes the feeling on the part of some teachers that they should never initiate experiences for the children. “The fear of adult imposition has become a phobia,” he writes in Education Today. “It means preference for an immature and under-developed experience over a ripened and thoughtful one.” 6. Every child should be given a sense of adequacy based on self- confidence. Even the most limited child has something to offer. It is the school’s business to help him find it and by encouragement to see to it that he develops a sense of adequacy. Along with many of the more gifted children, he probably is in need also of the development in emotional and social maturity that will help him in working with other children. 7. Attitudes and appreciations should be valued above skills and facts. Important as the latter may be, they cannot compare in significance with attitudes, which are the moving force of life. 8. Children should be educated not for the status quo but for a civilization that changes so rapidly that their best preparation is living democratically in the classroom, growing constantly in resourcefulness, taking part in the planning and carrying out of worthy projects, and developing their power of creative thinking to understand their country and the world. 9. Our children should be educated for democracy. Since we believe that democracy is the highest form of government yet devised by man, an active loyalty to it should be fostered in every child. This means developing a sense of responsibility along with the freedom that belongs to a democracy. It means creative thinking, courage to speak out for one’s convictions, concern for the

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welfare of others, a respect for their rights, and an effort to keep free from prejudice. Shane and McSwain strongly emphasize this need, and then go on to say, “Last, and decidedly not least in importance, the development of an awareness of the deeper meanings of democracy should prompt in each boy and girl the desire to extend an outreaching hand of friendship to others in building a more humane, friendly, and international culture than preceding generations have achieved.” (Ward, 1957, pgs. 17-19)

It is not difficult to imagine, after reading Ward’s principles, that, had she and Hill ever had the opportunity to meet, there would have been much agreement between them. This is particularly evident in the emphasis that both placed on the importance of experiential learning as advocated by Froebel and Dewey, among others. It is also evident that both shared a tremendous passion for their work and a fundamental respect for children as individuals with rights and responsibilities. Ward’s passion for the importance of creative drama in the educational lives of children was mirrored in her commitment to the importance of well-crafted theatrical productions for child audiences, and she fervently believed that production companies dedicated to mounting high-quality works for children (not just one play a year by adult companies) were crucial in developing well-rounded citizens. In the 1950 revised edition of her Theatre for Children (originally published in 1939), Ward explains that the “[g]reatest of all reasons for a children’s theatre is the never-ending joy it can bring to the boys and girls.” She further states that, beyond the fundamental joy it brings, theatre for children serves a deeper community purpose: Woven into the fabric of nearly every play for young people are ideals of loyalty and courage, of honesty, good sportsmanship, and justice. Because such ideals are made concrete in characters the children love, and because these characters hold the sympathy of the audience throughout a plot in which good and evil clash, it is inevitable that something worthy must come of it…. Without vicarious experiences any individual, whether child or grown-up, would lead a very narrow existence. The craving for new experiences, many of which would be impossible in reality, is a universal characteristic. Most of us are hemmed in by horizons which would be limited indeed if they could not be pushed out by the stories we read, the plays and moving pictures we see, and the people we meet. A children’s theatre is a way of bringing new and delightful experiences to boys and girls—experiences which broaden interests and bring about a finer understanding of people. (pgs. 34-35)

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Whereas Hill pioneered an enduring pedagogy, Ward was instrumental in inventing an entire field of educational interaction and experience with and for children. Unfortunately, her vision of Creative Dramatics as a cornerstone of classroom experience was not to endure. Public education in the United States has long suffered from a contentious relationship between education Essentialists who adhere to the “three Rs,” generally considering everything else to be “extra-curricular,” and educators who follow a more Progressivist-inspired pedagogy that values the depth of personal growth afforded by integration with the arts or “vocational” education (referring to practical education that prepares students to step into a specific career, rather than a liberal arts or college prep education) (Apple, 2004). When budget concerns are added to the mix, the arts tend to lose out, and all too often, vocational education has become a dumping ground for students considered not “college-worthy” (who will be assumed to be seeking careers that emphasize manual labor or mechanical aptitude). Similarly, though there are still a number of vibrant children’s theatre companies in existence (typically in larger cities), they tend to not have the same degree of financial backing that “adult” companies receive, and, in my opinion, they certainly don’t receive the same degree of respect from the general population (or from many theatre professionals, for that matter) as “real” theatre. Children’s theatre is certainly still alive and well (as can be attested to by any of the thousands of children who have participated in or attended performances by companies such as the Missoula Children’s Theatre, a national touring company, or Lexington Children’s Theatre in Kentucky, or any of a dozen others), but not on the scale that Ward envisioned and worked towards. Based on her autobiographical writing, journal entries, and published texts, which all encourage exploration, it is clear that the little girl who thrived on her family excursions to Washington D.C., and who felt limited by her rural surroundings in small- town Iowa, placed a great value on the broadened Another reason I chose these two women to profile is because of this horizons that theatre could offer children, and contrast—Hill afforded an obviously believed that it was important for all opportunity to consider a critical reflection on intersections with race, people to share her desire for worldly experiences while Ward provides a deeper reflection on class issues. and a rich tapestry of personal contacts. This leads to another interesting comparison between Ward and Hill—whereas Hill advocated

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social justice and racial equality but still had some vestiges of ingrained racism to contend with, Ward believed in equal opportunity for all but carried some class bias in terms of access to those opportunities. Clearly concerned about appearances (the “what would people think” mentality), Ward was described by one former student as “[a]lways pretty, meticulously groomed, coiffed, and dressed in feminine fashion, she has never been sissified or effeminate” (quoted in Guffin, pg. 42). Besides the concern with “femininity,” which I will return to later, this student clearly remembers Ward as someone for whom appearances mattered a great deal. The way that this concern translates into a particular class consciousness is revealed in her trip diary resulting from her visit to Moscow in 1936 for a children’s theatre festival that was part of the International Youth Day celebration. One entry details a visit to the engine room of the ship they were traveling on before reaching the Soviet Union: I was glad to know that conditions down there are no longer those of “Hairy Ape” days [referring to the Eugene O’Neill play depicting the class struggle of coal stokers on steam ships]. No stoking of coal, no filth and grime. The men down there—and there were a good many—seemed perfectly contented and self respecting, glad to show us what they were doing—not at all the dregs of society I had imagined from O’Neil’s [sic] play. (Moscow diary, Saturday, August 22)

Ward had clearly familiarized herself with class issues, but apparently at least partly through her venue of choice, the theatre. The fact that she references The Hairy Ape, a highly stylized social commentary, as representative of working class life, demonstrates a lack of accurate knowledge with the actual lives of working class people. She had been raised in a comfortable middle-class environment, had traveled extensively to visit her comfortable middle-class relatives in Washington, and had a successful and comfortable middle-class career as an academic. There is nothing in any of Ward’s writing to indicate that she moved outside of her socio-economic comfort zone to interact directly with working or lower-class people, though she contributed generously to several charities and wrote of her desire to make quality theatrical productions accessible through civic-based companies to all children, regardless of income level or family background. In addition, even though there is nothing in her writing specifically addressing race, and nothing to indicate that she had much interaction with people of color, in her interview

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with Jana Guffin she spoke movingly of the memorial service that Northwestern’s president arranged for Langston Hughes (Guffin, 1975). She was not just impressed with the performance aspect of the event, but conveys a sense of respect for Hughes’s work and makes no mention of being uncomfortable at the service. On the other hand, there is also nothing in any of her writing that indicates advocacy for civil rights issues or an awareness of the question of access or adaptation for children of color with her Creative Dramatics curriculum. In other words, there is nothing to indicate that she was overtly racist, but the absence of commentary by her (especially regarding the content of Creative Dramatics) suggests that she may have been ignorant of issues of racial oppression and discrimination. Her attitudes regarding class issues were much more clear. The most telling part of the Moscow trip diary is her description of her impressions upon arriving in Moscow and visiting Red Square for the first time: But what impressed me the most was that all the people on the streets were peasants. All badly dressed, with either kerchiefs tied around their heads or berets. No hats at all. The men wear caps, most of them with visors, and some wear [boots?]. It gave one a strange feeling. No middle class people at all—and no upper class, to all appearances. One keeps thinking, “Where are the others?” It is hard to realize that there just isn’t a middle class. The guide says “There is only one class now.”—Maybe—but for how long?—She herself isn’t at all well dressed, tho [sic] not badly. We like her a lot. She seems eager to make things pleasant for us. She is a loyal little soul, and I’m sure U.S.S.R. is the better for her. …I was struck by the forward looking aspect of the country. It seems young, earnest, loyal to an ideal! It is as if everyone were sacrificing personal comfort for this country. (Moscow diary, Tuesday, September 1)

This passage supports the suggestion It is also another example of a woman that Ward struggled to separate issues of whose story has value for feminist scholars and educators, but whose (apparently) class status from outward appearance. The conservative social and political views problematize her potential for woman who was “always pretty, consideration in a feminist context, whether for theatre or education scholars. meticulously groomed” and “coiffed” However, if feminists truly value challenges to hegemonic epistemology, we clearly put a lot of stock in a person’s socio- must be willing to accept the challenge of cultural and economic value being reflected valuing, and validating, the experiences and histories of individuals whose views by their wardrobe, and seems to have been are not as complementary with contemporary feminism as we would like uncomfortable interacting with a class to imagine.

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system different from the one she knew. Such discomfort with Communism is not particularly alarming or unusual for the time, and seems to reflect what appears to have been Ward’s generally conservative political identity (she notes in a couple of letters that she voted for Nixon in 1960 and was “no great devotee” of John Kennedy, though she was reconsidering after being impressed by Kennedy’s commitment to supporting arts programs). What is more telling about her observations, perhaps, is the way in which they reinforce her emphasis on appearances. But, besides her upbringing in an evangelical small town, what were the factors influencing her concern with what people think? This is where the intersection of her professional life with her personal life becomes significant in understanding her position as an unmarried woman in the academy in the first half of the twentieth century. There is copious documentation of the details of her professional life; however, there is very little other than her 1918 English paper that discusses the details of her personal life. Even her detailed “trip diaries” are mostly descriptive of the places she visited, with little mention of her traveling companions. As noted with Hill, this is a curious omission from a woman who seems to have saved nearly every scrap of paper that passed through her hands, and who lived in a pre-computer era in which personal correspondence was a primary means of communication between women. One detail that we know about Ward’s personal life is that her longest relationship, outside her immediate family, was with her friend Hazel Easton, whom she met at Northwestern, where they both had rooms at the Greenwood Inn boarding house in Evanston. In 1920, they moved into a room at Greenwood together, and in 1930, they bought a house together, where they lived for 45 years, until Ward’s death in 1975. The only piece of information in the Ward archive relating to this lifelong relationship is from the notes written by Easton for a speech that she gave in 1977 for the Illinois Theatre Association, which was announcing the Winifred Ward Scholarship Fund. Easton writes: She and I lived together for 55 years. We were quite different in temperament but we had like interests and so we were compatible. We both loved people, we both enjoyed the theatre, we both were fond of traveling and we both had a [saving?] sense of humor. We had fun. (Easton, 1977)

It is tempting to speculate that Ward and Easton were not just “friends,” but were one of hundreds of female couples in academia who may have been intimately involved

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in a romantic relationship (with or without physical or sexual activity), but were stigmatized into silence because of what “people might think.” At the time Ward and Easton met, there had already been a tradition of unmarried, educated women co-habitating, particularly at the new women’s colleges, where such relationships were often known as “Wellesley marriages.” Until the 1920s, it was often fairly openly acknowledged that these “marriages” were exactly that—not only full domestic partnerships, but often physical and romantic as well. But these relationships were often trivialized as insignificant “crushes” that were simply a sign of female immaturity, until the growing field of psychology managed to pathologize any sexual activity of women that was not heteronormative. In other words, even though the behavior didn’t change, the public perception of it did, and pressure mounted on women to adhere to normative standards or leave academia. As Lillian Faderman notes, “in the half-century between 1920 and 1970, female same-sex love was widely vilified in America. Perhaps it had come to be seen in a new light because of the successes of earlier generations of feminists had had in opening professions to women and making them full citizens. Women’s changed status might mean that those who wished to could now more easily be totally independent of heterosexual arrangements” (pg. 161). These fifty years described by Faderman This history is important to contextualize were the first fifty years of Ward and Easton’s a significant intersection that I share relationship. It is not difficult to imagine that with Ward—I am mindful that I do not have to hide my personal relationship two women who found themselves compatible with another woman in academia, largely because of the experiences of on many dimensions and who enjoyed each women like Ward and Easton. Even though they were not overt, and did not other’s company would discover that sharing a openly challenge the narrow-mindedness of the time, their persistent presence house would make them suspect in the eyes of a helped to create a culture of acceptance. public (and university administration) becoming I also doubt that Ward would have identified as feminist, but, again, this increasingly concerned about the influence of does not preclude the possibility that her story has value for feminist scholars. independent (i.e., unmarried) female professors on impressionable undergraduates. This is true even though “conventional domesticity” would have been difficult to manage for a full time academic with teaching, advising, and research duties (a situation which is still challenging for many women and, increasingly,

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men who wish to be involved with their families with any depth). According to Faderman: In fact, only 11 percent of female professors were married in the 1920s; many of them continued to live together in long-term relationships. But such a life had become much less comfortable than it was in earlier eras. Academic women who did not marry were suspect. They were besieged in all directions, even by those they might have assumed would be protective. For instance, in 1922, the journal of the American Association of University Women published a critical, even snide article about unmarried female faculty members, who were accused of presenting an “air of single superiority toward the commonplace of being married and bearing children, which Herr Freud might define as a defense reaction.” In the same vein, a speech given later in that decade by Clarence Little to the National Association of Deans of Women criticized unmarried female college administrators who “threw off the normal biological inhibitions of gender” and were “pseudo-masculine.” He called them “amazon” types (using the nineteenth- century euphemism for those who were suspected of sexual inversion), and he more than hinted that they were dangerous to students and should be eliminated from college administration. …The academic woman who could happily have made her life with other women was actively discouraged…the female couple in academia became much less commonplace…Women in intimate relationships with other women, whether students or faculty members, knew they had to hide what was central to their lives if they wished to remain at their college. (pgs. 245, 251)

It is important to note at this point that there is so little information available about Hazel Easton that it is not even clear what her occupation was, though one reference in the papers of Robert S. Breen of Northwestern refers to a tribute by Gertrude Breen to “colleagues Hazel Easton and Winifred Ward,” suggesting that Easton either also worked at Northwestern or worked closely with Ward in some capacity. Whatever Easton’s occupation, it’s no wonder that women like Hill and Ward chose not to retain their personal correspondence in their archival papers, especially if there was anything in that correspondence that might have suggested a relationship more intimate than friendship. It is particularly poignant in Ward’s case, since she actually lived with her primary companion (Hill lived either alone or with her sister her entire adult life). If the relationship was a devoted, yet purely platonic, friendship, it is disturbing to imagine how much Ward and Easton must have structured their lives to counter the suspicions of colleagues. If the relationship was more than that, and I believe there is evidence to suggest it was, then it saddens me to think that they felt compelled to hide the nature of

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their relationship from posterity. For a woman such as Ward, who was so intensely concerned with appearances, it makes sense that she would work at keeping up the appearance of comfortable, middle-class “normalcy,” which also sheds new light on her former student’s observation of her as always being dressed in a “feminine” manner, though her demeanor was never “sissified or effeminate.” It would seem that, whatever the nature of their relationship or the intensity of the pressure to be perceived as “normal,” Ward and Easton were able to share their lives for over five decades, and one can only hope that these were contented and fulfilled years of personal and professional harmony. From an educational standpoint, the legacies of Ward and Hill are similar, yet with a profound difference. Both pioneered fields that are still in existence, touching hundreds of thousands of children over the years. Ward is still remembered for her contributions to children’s theatre, which continues to enrich the lives of children, but not to the extent or in the form she envisioned. Hill, on the other hand, revolutionized early childhood education in a manner that still dominates Kindergarten and pre-K pedagogy, yet there are few who know of her life or work. I believe this is at least partially due to an irony of scale: children’s theatre has a smaller “footprint” in our culture than does kindergarten, and so the work of its founders circulates and is remembered within a smaller professional environment. In other words, children’s theatre “belongs” to Winifred Ward, but kindergarten is so pervasive that its history has been diffused, and Patty Smith Hill has become one of many early childhood educators. Both women stand out for me, however, as examples of scholars who resisted being pressured into domestic “normalcy” and worked between, through, and across disciplines and fields to merge personal passions with professional identity. I have learned much from them and others like them, and can only hope that my life and work do honor to their examples. I keep in mind the two quotes that inspire me from each: Hill’s “the world moves forward on the feet of little children,” and Ward’s “drama comes in the door of the school with every child.”

My Story

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There are several things that I have in common with both Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward: parents who supported critical questioning and allowed for a fair degree of freedom and encouragement to explore many interests; creating a career path that was non-traditional and personally meaningful; a professional life that was centered on a feminized field; primary personal relationships with women; a deep appreciation for and involvement in fine arts; and a love of working with and for children. But the differences are important as well, particularly as they reflect the ways in which some of the elements of my life were made possible through the work of Hill and Ward (and countless others lost to history). As I have been writing about Hill and Ward, I have been reflecting on the ways in which our lives are documented—what types of things we save, what is saved by others, and what types of things we decide to share or to keep private. I am especially aware of the ways in which the idea of “documentation” has changed in a computer-generated society, and that the course of my personal and professional history has bridged that transition. If a life is measured in paper, then my childhood is fairly well documented; however, I have kept far less than either Hill or Ward that would tell the story of my adult life. However, much of the minutiae of my life is retained to a far greater degree in email archives, either on my own computers or on servers at Miami University (I recently migrated files to a new laptop, and discovered that I had saved over 5000 email messages), and in numerous computer-based document and institutional data files. It makes me wonder about the future of biographical archiving and scholarship. Rather than working through boxes of dusty papers, I can imagine scholars fifty years from now combing through computer file after computer file for information, from school records to graded papers, emails to memos, lecture notes and Power Point presentations, rough drafts of articles or other word processor documents, and a broad range of official personal records such as employment history, bank accounts, birth and death records, and news clippings. In some ways, our ability to control the information that is left about our lives is much less than in Hill and Ward’s time. With this in mind, what follows is my construction of the way I would tell my story, in a manner that would be possible for a future scholar to construct from available records, both paper and computer based, with

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added personal information perhaps a bit more revealing than Hill or Ward was willing to share. I was born on December 2, 1957 in Hamilton, Ohio, the youngest of three children born to Robert Don and Edna Maxine Howard. From the time I was a small child, I remember my mother telling me that I was “unexpected but not unwanted.” They had apparently had some difficulty conceiving my sister, born two and a half years before me, and had not expected to be capable of having any more. The reason I mention this is because I think the fact that I was not planned meant that I was not accompanied by any vicarious expectations about the kind of person I would be. They already had the requisite son and daughter, so, even though I was a girl, there was not the same imperative for me to fit the picture of a “girly” daughter, since my sister was plenty feminine for that role. Good thing, as it turned out, since I was a tomboy from the time I could walk. My parents tried very hard to be more “progressive” in terms of their parenting than either of them had experienced growing up, and were determined to provide us with the solid middle-class upbringing that neither of them had enjoyed as children. They both came from working class families that had managed to weather the Great Depression through hard work and “making do” with the little they had. My father was born in Hamilton in 1922, the third child and the only son in a family of four (not including the older brother he would have had if he had not died in infancy). His mother, Carol O’Hara, was diminutive and fiercely proud of her Irish heritage. His father was a professional firefighter who died at the age of 52 due to complications from an injury he sustained on duty. My father dropped out of high school to support his mother and younger sister, and didn’t manage to earn his diploma until he joined the Army. As was true of many men of his generation, he never talked much about his military service. He was awarded two Purple Hearts, one for being shot in the back during the battle of Attu in the Aleutians in 1942, and the second for taking a three inch long piece of shrapnel in his forearm while fighting at Okinawa in 1945. He was also awarded the Bronze Star for his service at Okinawa. After the war, he returned home to the job he had begun, following in his father’s footsteps as a firefighter for the Hamilton

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Fire Department, a job that he kept for twenty-five years, retiring with the rank of Lieutenant. He had met my mother, Edna Maxine Webb (who has always hated her first name and preferred to be called “Mac”), before he left for the Army, but didn’t propose to her until he was discharged. My mother came from a much larger family than my father— she had three older brothers, one younger brother, and two older sisters (as well as a brother who died as an infant—a fairly common occurrence for the era). Her parents had a solid marriage that lasted for over fifty years, literally until “death they did part.” My mother’s childhood was spent mostly around Oxford, where she attended Miami’s McGuffey school for one year, but moved to Stewart Elementary because, according to her, McGuffey was racially segregated (which she didn’t like) and had a “lot of kids with money who looked down on us because we didn’t.” By the time she was in high school, her family had moved to a farm near Reily, and she graduated from Reily High School as salutatorian (even though it was from a class of only nine students, she was still always proud of this accomplishment). Until she married my father, she worked various retail jobs in Hamilton, and then became a full-time homemaker until just before I began kindergarten. She then began as a volunteer with United Cerebral Palsy of Butler County, and began to work full time for them after I started school. When UCP became part of the Butler County Board of Mental Retardation and Developmental Disabilities, she moved to the Middletown workshop as floor supervisor, where she worked with physically and mentally impaired adults who received wages for various tasks for which the workshop contracted. She retired from this job after two decades, due to a back injury that made it impossible for her to continue. She eventually received a Worker’s Compensation settlement for the injury, which has continued to compromise her mobility. For a number of reasons, including lack of finances as well as lack of a supportive environment, neither of my parents even considered attending college. No one in either of their parents’ families had ever attended college, and there was no expectation that my parents or their siblings would, either. This was one of the things that my parents were determined to change for their children. We all grew up with the expectation, but not

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excess pressure, to attend college. My brother was the only one of us who managed to do so in a traditional timeline, however. When I graduated from Taft High School in 1976, I was 12th in a class of 474 and had every intention of going to college, mostly because I didn’t really know what else I would do. I looked at several colleges, and even briefly considered joining the Army (but thought better of it, realizing I was fascinated by the routine and the technology, but could not reconcile that with the military aspect). Until my junior year, I was sure that I was going to be a music performance major. But in my junior year, I got heavily involved in theatre, and felt like I was home. Theatre gave me a means of expression that allowed me to lose myself, becoming any character I wanted. I also discovered an advantage to having really bad eyesight—when I removed my glasses, I couldn’t make out any faces in the audience, so was able to become completely absorbed in the world of the play. And interestingly, my nerves were much less when I was in character than when performing with the orchestra. When playing music, any time I had a solo, I would shake so badly that my French Horn had an unintentional, and unavoidable, vibrato, which was not always desired. When acting, however, I didn’t feel as much that I was being judged as myself, but as the character I was playing, and so was a lot less nervous. Theatre became, for me, a lifeline that kept me grounded, kept me focused, and kept me in school. The more intensely personal nature of this All teenagers have traumas to account differs from what is available about Hill and Ward, and I think the reason contend with, and many families have their is important and culturally based. In Hill dysfunctions, but my particular traumatic and Ward’s time, personal disclosure was not as acceptable as it has become in this dysfunction grew from my father’s lifelong era of reality television and the erosion of personal privacy. It also, however, grows battle with bipolar disorder (combined with from a feminist commitment to give voice to the experiences of girls and women, paranoia, undoubtedly compounded by post rather than perpetuating hierarchies of shame or embarrassment. Additionally, it traumatic stress disorder from his military addresses the position of many feminist service), and my mother’s panic/anxiety researchers that personal disclosure is important in recognizing potential bias in disorder. Since neither of my parents were the research. I am interested in hearing how readers respond to such disclosure, particularly demonstrative or had learned particularly whether it challenges a sense of an “academic comfort zone.” how to be emotionally open, much of their struggles were not explained to us. As my father’s condition deteriorated after he

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suffered a life-threatening case of smoke inhalation (his heart stopped and was restarted three times in the ambulance), my mother finally could not cope, and she was concerned about the effect it was having on us. She separated from him during the summer before my sophomore year, and I was asked whether I wanted to go with her or stay with my father at our house. I chose to stay with my father, who was my primary attachment. That was a mistake. His instability and suspicion was too much for a 15 year-old to comprehend, and I moved in with my mother after a month. My mother filed for divorce, but it was denied on insufficient grounds, and I came to refer to the next year, my sophomore year in high school, as the “zombie year,” which accurately described my level of functioning as I tried to deny or process what was happening. A couple of weeks before my junior year began, while I was at band camp, my father could no longer fend off the demons inside his head. He shot himself in the temple. Obviously, such an occurrence is a “signature” event, and became a focus of my emotional makeup for several years after. Oddly, however, once I was able to process the initial grief, it freed me from worrying about what was going to be happening at home while I was at school, and that’s when theatre became such an absorbing endeavor for me. By the end of my junior year, when it came time to look at colleges, I was no longer focused on music, but was looking at schools with high quality theatre programs. I only made one application, which was accepted: Webster College (now Webster University), near St. Louis, which had a Theatre Conservatory program that allowed undergraduates to work with a resident professional company, the St. Louis Repertory Theatre. I enrolled at Webster as a Theatre major, with a Music performance minor. I also enrolled in a week-long course that took place before the semester began, and which was one of the most transforming experiences of my life. It was designed as a mini-“Outward Bound” type of experience, involving a week of hiking, camping, rock climbing, spelunking, and other skills challenges. I had begun to have trouble with asthma in high school, and even though I was still very active and athletic, I was concerned about my ability to manage my breathing through the week. The first day, we hiked one mile to our campsite after a day of rock climbing, and I barely made it to the site, wheezing heavily. I told the instructor that I thought perhaps I should go back, because I was concerned I would hold up the rest of the group. She asked the rest of the

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group how they felt about it, and they encouraged me to stay, saying they didn’t mind making whatever adjustments we might need to accommodate my condition. I was very touched that this group of strangers was willing to change their experience to help me, and, as it turned out, my asthma did not continue to be a problem. Three days into the week, we had a ten-mile hike, and I was the first one to walk into the cave at the end of the trail. That experience taught me about perseverance, and showed me that I was tougher than I realized. It was a very important lesson. The other thing I remember from that first week before school is that we met on the grounds of the elementary school that was affiliated with the college education department. We were inside for part of the orientation, and I remember thinking that I had never seen a school like it before. The building was like a regular school building, but the hallways and walls were FULL of children’s artwork, and there were no desks, but tables and chairs in groups or in a circle. The instructor who had helped me with that first hike was part of the teacher education faculty, and was affiliated with the school, and she explained that it was a non-traditional program. I was only in the space for a short time, but it made quite an impression on me, for reasons that didn’t become clear until years later. By the end of the first semester at Webster, I realized that, while I knew a lot of stuff, I knew very little about the person I was or wanted to be. I told my mother during Christmas break that I wanted to quit school, and, to my surprise, she agreed that it was a good idea. I don’t know if she really believed that or if she was just being supportive, but I appreciated that she didn’t argue with me. Two of my friends from high school were moving to New York City the following fall for school, and I decided to use the money I had gotten from my father’s life insurance policy to go with them. I spent ten months in Manhattan, and even though many people might think it was a waste of money, it was another important and positive experience for me. I grew tremendously during my time there, but also realized that (unlike Winifred Ward or Patty Smith Hill), I never wanted to live in a big city, and decided to return to Ohio in June of 1978. I moved back in with my mother, who had remarried, and after living in her finished basement for two months, she told me that I needed to get a job and either move out or begin paying rent. It was exactly the appropriate thing for her to do, and I soon learned that I was ill-prepared for

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the job market. Even so, I managed to eventually find the job that set me on my career path. Years later, at the time I had the idea for what would eventually become the Oxford Early Childhood Center, I had been enrolled in classes with the intention of completing the undergraduate degree I had left unfinished nine years earlier. Before opening OECC, however, I had learned the craft of teaching “on the job,” similar to the concept of an apprentice learning from a master craftsperson, and similar to the way in which Patty Smith Hill learned through her work with Anna Bryan. I was employed as the teacher of the pre-Primary unit of the Oxford School for Young Children, a small, private, alternative school. The woman who began the school had an education degree and Ohio teaching certificate, and had been a teacher in the Dayton Public Schools for several years. In 1978, she had become dissatisfied with the pedagogy and bureaucracy of the school system in Dayton, and wanted to begin a school that was grounded in a Progressivist-influenced philosophy. Even though I had not, up to that time, considered teaching as a career, I was drawn to the ad for a teaching assistant. The minute I walked in the door, I knew I had found a place and a profession that was right for me. I was reminded of that lab school at Webster, and began to recognize why that environment had felt so right. The owner of the school “took me under her wing,” so to speak, and within three months asked me if I wanted to be the teacher for the Pre-primary group. When I expressed reluctance due to my lack of training, she told me that she believed teachers are born, not made, and that she was willing to supervise my education-through-experience. Having nothing to lose, I agreed—a decision that turned out to be the right one. During those next few years, I got the most intensive, broad-based, challenging education available. The effects of my experience there were profound and literally life altering. Having received a traditional education from the Hamilton Public Schools, I was immediately impressed with the possibilities of an alternative. Working at the school challenged me to ask questions, try new things, and alter my view of education in America. I firmly believe that learning in an actual teaching environment, through supervision, self-motivation, and direct classroom responsibility, is the most effective way to learn not just the mechanics, but also the craft of teaching.

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By the time my employer had decided to close the Oxford School for Young Children, I had developed the skills and the confidence to move forward with my own vision, focused specifically on the years before age six. At the time, the only qualifications required by the state to be an administrator of a licensed day care program were a high school diploma and two years experience working in a day care or nursery school. Within two years, the laws had been amended to require either an Associate or Bachelor degree (the CDA did not yet exist), which had to have included at least 12 semester hours of coursework specifically in early childhood education. Those of us who had become administrators before the implementation of the new laws had a five-year grace period in which to secure the required education. I found myself in the position of having to return to school or face the possibility of being unqualified to remain as administrator of my own school. I had no desire to enter the teacher education program at Miami, as I knew my alternative (feminist) philosophy of education would clash with the traditional teacher training pedagogy employed by the University. This is the point at which my story During my first teaching job, I had made the becomes an exemplar of differential acquaintance of Karl Schilling, who was the consciousness as it functions in the life of a Jack-of-all-trades. Assistant Dean in the School of Interdisciplinary Studies (also known as the Western College Program, or WCP). After meeting with him, I decided to apply to the program, realizing that, through the WCP, I could choose the early childhood education classes that I felt would be the most compatible with my needs and philosophy without having to go through the entire teacher education certification coursework (at that time, the Teacher Education Department had not developed the “cohort” structure that currently limits the rigidly prescribed EDT course offerings only to members of the accepted cohort, due to the heavy enrollment of students wishing to pursue certification). This proved to have been, for me, an effective and appropriate format for my continued professional development, and is part of the process that has made me the educator that I am. Having returned once again to higher education in pursuit of a Ph.D., I am observing the course of professionalization in my field with a more critical eye, with the realization that it is becoming increasingly difficult for young teachers to build a career following the same non-traditional (and interdisciplinary) path

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that I traveled, a path that was pioneered over a century ago by women like Patty Smith Hill. Before pursuing the Ph.D., though, I had decided to change direction a bit, and in 1995 sold the Oxford Early Childhood Center to a former employee, using some of the money to support the children’s book and toy store I had opened a year earlier. Retail in a small town, especially once Walmart moved in, was not a tenable pursuit, however, and after four and a half years, I closed the store and had to decide what path to take next. In those four and a half years, I had not only become more involved with the local community theatre, but had also become a parent. I decided that an advanced degree was the next logical step to working somewhere besides Lowe’s for the rest of my life (which is where I had taken a job to maintain an income). In 1998, I applied to the M.A. program in Theatre at Miami, with an emphasis in directing and playwriting. I completed that degree in 2000, and began teaching the following year at Miami, with a Theatre Appreciation course at the Middletown campus and a course in the Western College Program on children and consumer culture. For the next five years, I continued to teach at Miami, mostly at Western, but also in Women’s Studies and Theatre. In 2005, I began the process of pursuing an Interdisciplinary Ph.D. in Educational Leadership and Women’s Studies, and I also found myself again the owner of the Oxford Early Childhood Center. Before saying more about my return, however, I would like to step back and give a little more history about OECC’s founding and guiding principles. The following is excerpted (with modifications, noted in brackets) from my senior project written to complete my B.Phil.: [While taking classes through Western, I had also decided to pursue a minor in Women’s Studies.] In this context, I found myself, in the Spring of 1986, in a class entitled “The Role of Women in a Transform(ed)ing Society,” and was writing a paper on the history of daycare/early childhood education. Working from a feminist perspective, I was formulating the possible structure of a program that would incorporate an individualized educational component (to meet the developmental needs of the children), as well as a reasonably flexible schedule (to meet the needs of working parents), AND would take place within a philosophical framework that would place great emphasis on not perpetuating ideas of sexism, racism, and classism that are a firmly entrenched part of the American psyche. Having known for several months that the owner of the school was not planning to continue after the 85-86 school year, I had been thinking of alternatives that would take into account my as yet unfinished degree while valuing my

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experience. Needless to say, the options were quite limited. It was within this set of circumstance that I found myself staring at the ceiling on a March morning, [realizing that I had been writing about the school that I wanted to bring to reality, and that this was as good a time as any]. The story of the Oxford Early Childhood Center is largely the story of alternative education for young children in contemporary American society. The center has been influenced and hampered by the ways in which we, as a society, perceive the importance of early childhood programs. It has been my goal, from the outset, to structure a program that deals with economic realities as well as educational theory and practice. [Occasionally], this has necessitated a certain amount of idealistic compromise while adhering to fundamental principles...not always an easy task. But after [23] years, I feel confident in saying that we have managed to do just that with a fair amount of success.

That senior project included an extensive consideration of the factors involved in starting OECC, and rather than recreate the entire narrative here, I have included a relevant excerpt from the senior project as an appendix to this project. One of the things that hasn’t changed much in 23 years is our fundamental philosophy. This is the first page from our Parent Handbook, and it is essentially the same as when I first wrote it in 1986 (the entire handbook is also included as an appendix). It also borrows from the philosophy statement written by Bobby Starnes, my first employer at the Oxford School for Young Children, and was added to in small ways by the other two owners of OECC, Megs Metz and Debbie Imhoff: The Oxford Early Childhood Center offers a comprehensive developmental program for young children combined with the scheduling flexibility of a quality day care environment. The program at OECC is based on the belief that all of the children in our care deserve, at a fundamental level, the following:  Respect  Unconditional love  Consistent expectations  Positive behavioral management  Developmentally appropriate cognitive experiences  Rich opportunities for self-directed learning and creative expression  An environment that is safe, secure, and conducive to social, emotional, cognitive, and physical growth

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OECC’s goal is to provide a setting filled with rich experiences to help foster self- esteem, creativity, and maximum growth in early childhood. A child’s early years are the most vital time for the establishment of patterns of learning, social interactions, and self-concept. From eighteen months through the early elementary years, a child learns more, and learns faster, than at any other time in her/his life. It is Even though I wasn’t aware of impossible to exaggerate the importance of a it at the time I wrote this positive, educational, social, and creative statement, it is possible to see experience during these years. the clear intersections with the The staff of the Oxford Early Childhood Center philosophies of Hill and Ward. know that children respond best in an environment that is deeply committed to and concerned for the child as an individual human being with a unique set of learning modes, levels of skill, interests, background, and goals: in this environment, differences are recognized and highly valued. The atmosphere at OECC reflects the need for children to move and explore, discover, create, work and play, and to be alone or involved with small or large groups. It is colorful and filled with children’s work. It is a place that “belongs” to the children, designed for their convenience, safety, and age-appropriate development. The program at OECC is more than just quality day care: we provide a comprehensive educational experience for young children, based on a well- defined curriculum philosophy which encourages self-directed learning that takes advantage of a child’s natural curiosity and desire to explore. Learning in this environment is something that occurs naturally, facilitated by a wide range of developmentally appropriate materials and teachers who understand the needs of the children in their care and respect the variety of learning styles the children possess. We encourage children to learn anything they are ready to learn when they have the desire, interest, and academic and emotional readiness to encounter a new topic or skill. We understand that the most meaningful learning is that which comes from within an individual. This applies not only to academics, but to social and behavioral skills as well. The most important “work” of children is play, and the schedule and structure at OECC provides ample opportunities for free play, whether alone, with other children, or with the classroom teachers. Adults here are looked to for help and guidance, but are not considered the source of all knowledge and wisdom. Children are encouraged to develop confidence in their own ability to solve problems through individual and group efforts, identify strengths, admit mistakes, and accept responsibility for their choices and behavior. As teachers, our responsibility is to help them through this process, to ensure the safety and well-being of all the children in our care, and to give them unqualified love, patience, respect, and understanding as they become self- directed learners.

While the philosophy of the center hasn’t changed substantially in 23 years, I have, in the way in which I have continued to evolve, personally and professionally. Having

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returned to the center 5 years ago, I have discovered that much of what grounded our founding is still sound, though I now have a much deeper understanding of the theoretical underpinnings that make it work. Much of that theory has been informed by feminism, and is made richer by the integration with theatre and performance studies. I have also realized on a fundamental level that the three guiding “disciplines” of my life, Theatre, Women’s Studies, and Education, are not separable in my life or my work, and that the line between the personal and the professional is not as concrete as many people would like to believe. One of the things for which I am most grateful is the fact that, fifty years after Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward, I am able to maintain my personal lifestyle in a relatively open manner, with my partner of 19 years, who is a tenured professor at Miami (originally tenured in Psychology, she now is the only faculty member with a full-time appointment in Women’s Studies). Not only are we able to live true to our selves, but our relationship, while not sanctionable in the state of Ohio as a legal marriage or civil union, is recognized by the university as eligible for domestic partner benefits. I am intensely aware of the fact that we are able to be who we are because of the sacrifices and struggles that were endured by women such as Hill and Ward. I am also grateful to my parents, who gifted me with strength of character, commitment to a high ethical standard, and an insistence on compassion and understanding for those who don’t have the same access to resources that I have been given. They also taught me the importance of giving and of hard work. And even though my father was not able to withstand the devastation of his mental illness, he was one of the gentlest, kindest, and most caring people I have ever known. I have long since let go of my anger at his death, and now am sorry only that he never had the chance to know my partner and daughter. I’m sure he would be surprised at my choice of career, and I’m also sure that he would be proud and pleased that his Jack-of-all-trades has found a professional direction that is fulfilling, brings me joy, and gives me a way to use all of my interests and abilities. I’m pretty sure he’d like the Ph.D., too. My mother does.

Conclusion

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The stories of Hill, Ward, and myself demonstrate multiple sites of intersecting similarity, and also illustrate the path that has made it possible for me to integrate the varying facets of my interests, passions, and expertise (besides the excerpts from my senior project on Early Childhood Education, I have also included as an appendix a chapter from my thesis, which considers feminist critiques of Shakespeare, as an example of how I have been integrating feminism into Theatre as another dimension of the bricolage that is my professional identity and the differential consciousness that provides the mechanism for it to function). The bricolage of our individual narratives most clearly address questions 2 and 3 of my leading questions, specifically “how do the examples of Patty Smith Hill and Winifred Ward, as scholars whose professional paths extended beyond their academic ‘homes,’ resonate with my professional journey,” and “how can one employ techniques of bricolage and differential consciousness to engage feminist perspectives and theories from multiple disciplines, and coalesce them in an integrated scholarly work?” Hill and Ward both entered career paths with distinct directions that took an unexpected turn, and their experiences form a bricolage of narrative portraiture. For Hill, her humble beginnings as a Kindergarten teacher apprentice would not be expected to prepare her for a career as a full professor at one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Likewise, Ward’s lack of apparent interest in, and subsequent limited experience with, young children would not seem to have provided fertile ground for her eventual combination of Speech with the creation of a revolutionary means of dramatic participation for children. Both women moved beyond the expectations and limitations of their respective fields to pursue a professional passion that neither would have likely predicted when they began. Though Hill’s passion remained rooted in the experiences of young children, she was able to carry that beyond the kindergarten classroom into higher education, challenging herself and her students to reconceptualize the way we teach and the way young children learn. Ward’s passion for Speech and the power of drama to enhance people’s lives found an unexpected home when she discovered the power that drama can have as an instructional tool and enriching life experience for young children, a theatre demographic that had been largely overlooked. Their determination and ability to perceive and pursue new avenues of interest and inquiry have helped shape my

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understanding of my own journey through theatre and early childhood education, particularly as I find myself challenging old paradigms and exploring new frameworks for articulating those challenges. In addition, through this work, I have discovered the power of speaking through and with a translexic, conceptual vocabulary that can be tailored to effectively construct the transdisciplinary models that make the most sense to me. Feminist theory and pedagogy have taught me to identify meaningful knowledge structures where they exist, and to believe that I have the power to create new ones where they do not. Utilizing the conceptual mechanics of differential consciousness has made it possible for me to occupy a shifting space of pedagogy, language, knowledge, and experience, and bricolage has given me the theoretical technique for bringing it together. The following chapter is a cogent, concrete example of how this evolution can coalesce into scholarship that depicts, and depends upon, differential consciousness, feminist theory and methodology, and a fundamental transdisciplinary grounding.

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Chapter Four: Connections

What are Little (Gender “Normal,” Heterosexual) Kids Made Of: Performing Gender and Subverting the Status Quo in the Dramatic Play Area

An exemplar of a translexic inquiry

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(Note: This chapter has been accepted for publication in the collection, Children Under Submission: Play as Curriculum, edited by Drew Chappell and published by Peter Lang.)

Story One: Casting Call One of the greatest joys of being an early childhood educator is that you get to play at work. One of the advantages of being the owner of the facility is that you can choose to play whenever you get the urge (under the guise of checking in with the staff). Not long ago, I had the urge to spend some time with a group of eight 3 to 5-year olds. It was near the end of the day, when the children have free play while waiting for their parents to pick them up. I had noticed earlier that three children, all girls, had been playing “house” off and on over the course of several days, sometimes with one or two of the boys, but mostly just with each other. I sat down at a table, child-sized in height but large enough to accommodate four small chairs, initially with the intention of simply observing. It wasn’t long, however, before the three girls, who seemed interested in continuing the game, joined me. As they were choosing “roles,” I asked them if I could play and what I could be. One of them said I could be “the mom.” Fully intending to model the disruption of the assumed roles of the standard “script,” I said, “I have to be a mom all the time—can I be something else?” One girl suggested I could be the “little baby” (not to be confused with the “old baby,” which was her part). The second thought I could be the “puppy,” which I recognize as a coveted character in the domestic dramas of these children, so I was quite honored. However, since recent knee surgery makes it difficult for me to crawl on all fours, I could not meet the physical demands of the role and had to decline. The third girl (the most cognitively and socially mature of the group), picked up on the more direct connotation of what is oppositional to “mom,” and eagerly said, “you can be the dad!” I responded that I thought I could handle that, but was drowned out by the other two girls saying, “she’s a girl—she can’t be the dad.” The third girl countered, “yes, she can,” causing the others to reconsider and agree to cast me as the dad. I never got to fully realize the role, however, as parents arrived at that point, but the important part had been put in motion—the script had been introduced, critiqued, and rewritten with new rules. Performing Play

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One of the staples of Early Childhood Education and Care (ECEC) settings has long been the “dramatic play” area, especially in pre-K environments (where it was at one time better known as the “housekeeping” area). Traditionally, dramatic play areas are equipped with dolls, dress-up clothes and props, child-size “kitchen” furniture and toy “appliances,” and other materials and equipment that constitute the immediately recognizable accessories necessary for young children to negotiate, recreate, and make sense of the domestic reality they experience in the home, the social reality they are part of in school and with friends, and the narrated reality they see on television. This narrated reality, of course (at least in the United States), is defined by the material standards and expectations of a Euro-American, middle- to upper-middle class, and assuredly heterosexual sensibility, and for many children, it is reflected in and reinforced by (and vice versa) the domestic and social. There is little dispute about the value of dramatic play in children’s development. It enhances social skills, language acquisition, fine- and gross-motor development, logic/reasoning/problem solving processes, creativity, and identity, to name just a few (Ary-De Rozza & Payne-Jones, 2004; Freeman and Brown, 2004; Sternberg, 2004; Rosen, 1974; Sutton-Smith, 1967; Piaget, 1962; Vygotsky, 1976). This chapter is particularly concerned with aspects of identity that are reflected, expressed, and occasionally challenged as children participate in “dramatic” play, especially those aspects that influence a child’s understanding of their own and other’s gendered bodies. Perhaps more than any other location in an early childhood classroom, the mise en scène of the dramatic play area and its materials reflect the values and “norms” of the culture that is most This paragraph, and many that follow, are examples of a dominant. Though class and race/ethnicity are translexic discourse—it blends language derived from theatre, inextricably interwoven with gender and sexuality, for feminist theory, and education to create a differential vocabulary the purposes of this chapter the focus will be on the that can only be fully understood latter, in consideration of the question of how gender in this particular context. It also provides a cogent example of the identity and the foundations of sexuality tend to be use of bricolage and differential consciousness. very narrowly defined in traditional ECEC classrooms, and in what ways those definitions limit the full development of a sense of self, especially for children who do not experience their gender identity as falling within those narrow

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parameters. The visible (or, for children who are visually impaired, the “physically experienced”) manifestation of this identity is the physical body, including the way in which it is clothed, decorated, regulated, and mobilized. It is through interaction with the physical environment, social contact, and cultural images that children are introduced to, and rehearse, their identity scripts and their embodiment (Blaise, 2005; MacNaughton, 2000; Alloway, 1995). Approaching this topic as a site of “performance” offers an illuminating perception of gendered, heteronormative behaviors that children encounter in the course of their day outside of the home, especially those centered in the theatrically sounding “dramatic” play area. The tropes of dramatic play spaces are grounded in a cultural grand narrative that preferences and encourages predictable gender responses. By interpreting this narrative as a “script” that children “perform” through purposeful and/or subconsciously rehearsed choices, it is possible to understand the potential for positioning the dramatic play area as not only a site for reinscribing normativity, but also a site of resistance, offering children the space to develop notions of gender and sexuality that are more closely aligned with the way they actually experience their own sense of a gendered self, which may or may not coincide with the assumptions and expectations of the broader culture and of their more immediate social milieu. With such a performance- based approach, children are better able to alter these cultural scripts, or to create brand new scripts that exist in alignment with, or counter to, the grand narratives of the dominant culture (Thorne, 2004). Child Development, Dramatic Play, and Gender Scripts The little girls in the opening scene of this chapter demonstrate these cultural scripts in production, in both their initial rehearsal of and their ultimate challenge to the grand narrative. Their “casting” process is based primarily on their understanding of the biological expression of what constitutes a “boy” or a “girl,” and the ways in which feminine or masculine behaviors and actions are supposed to “match” the female or male physicality of the body. The two younger girls, who are in what Piaget would term a “pre- operational” stage of cognitive development, are rigidly bound to the simplicity of an either/or understanding of the world (Thomas, 2000; Piaget, 1962). Children in this stage are generally practicing the process of categorizing the world, and see the

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categories as discrete and clearly defined, even if those definitions do not always reflect the actuality of the child’s world. For example, if you ask a group of four-year-olds how to tell if someone is a boy or a girl, there’s a very This is an example of one of the ways in which a dynamic relationship between good chance that one of the most common feminism and early childhood education can benefit each other in a mutually responses will be, “boys have short hair and girls constructive manner. ECE theorists and have long hair.” This response will occur even practitioners can gain a significant depth of understanding of the function of when there are boys with longer hair and/or girls gender in child development and in the importance of the physical environment with shorter hair in the group. The ability of pre- on the expression of gender and identity by using a feminist analytical lens. K children to create nuanced categories in which Feminist scholars are increasingly attending to the importance of early boys might have long hair and still be boys is childhood in the formation of gender limited, because their process of creating those roles, and can benefit from an EC- informed analysis that considers the categories is rooted in concrete binaries that are number of children who spend a significant amount of time in group care. defined by the images and messages they absorb. Women’s Studies could play a pivotal role in integrating these perspectives in a On rare occasions, you might encounter a child meaningful discourse that benefits from who has been more attuned to the actual physical institutional support. binary of “a boy has a penis and a girl has a vagina,” but since those attributes are not readily visible, they don’t carry the same cognitive weight for immediate categorization. Many psychologists and early childhood educators believe that these concrete binaries are crucial to a child’s development of a “healthy” gendered identity that is directly tied to a corresponding physical body, and that the blurring of these categories will lead to gender confusion (known clinically as “Gender Identity Disorder” in extreme cases, a diagnosis that still exists in the DSM-IV, the diagnostic “bible” of clinical psychology and psychiatry). This belief is at the foundation of traditional ECEC curricular and classroom environment guidelines, which relies heavily on developmental psychology (Dahlberg, Moss, and Pence, 1999; Canella, 1997). An example of this can be found in one of the most common tools for evaluating the quality of an ECEC program—the Early Childhood Environment Rating Scale-Revised (ECERS-R). This instrument consists of a number of categories that are rated on a numerical scale of 1-7, with seven reflecting the highest quality. One of the categories included in this instrument, not surprisingly, is “Dramatic Play.” In states such as Ohio, it is a requirement for all licensed ECEC programs (whether they call themselves “day care” or

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“preschool”) to include provisions for dramatic play, preferably in a specific, defined area, and the ECERS-R is recommended (though not required for licensure) as a valid tool for assessing the quality of these areas. The ECERS-R reflects this emphasis on dramatic play, explaining that, in order to achieve a perfect “7,” a program must accept and reflect the belief that, [S]ince children are developing gender-role identity during the preschool years, they require concrete examples of dress-ups that are associated with being men or women. Thus, two or three gender-specific examples of dress-up items are required (such as ties, hard hats, or shoes to represent men’s clothes; purses or flowery hats for women’s). More generic clothing, such as sweatshirts or running shoes, can also be provided, but these do not count as gender-specific dress-ups. (Harms, Clifford, & Cryer, p. 49)

This description not only exemplifies the overt influence of a specific branch of developmental psychology, but also reveals what is, arguably, a generation gap in terms of fashion and occupations. Besides the fact that women in hard hats are increasingly common and visible, especially on road repair crews, one only has to spend a short time in a high school or college classroom to notice that “men’s” shoes (presumably meaning box-toed and heavy-soled), and even ties, are not necessarily as gender-specific as they once were, and young women rarely wear the ubiquitous “flowery” hats that were already out of style for their parents’ generation. The description of such props seems to be drawn straight from Dick and Jane, reflecting assumptions about gender stereotypes that are heavily influenced by a middle- to upper-middle class sensibility, and which transmits to children storybook notions about gender that do not necessarily reflect the reality of their lived experiences—in essence, the script of the grand normative gender narrative. The implications for the steadfast adherence to these outdated stereotypes on an embodied identity are profound, especially for children whose gender does not fit neatly or cleanly into one of the approved binary categories. Even though it is probably true that “most” boys exhibit certain behaviors and “most” girls exhibit the opposite (e.g., aggressive, physical play for boys versus verbal, social play for girls), there will always be children who fall outside these expectations, or who adhere in some ways but not in others (Blaise, 2005; Thorne, 2004; MacNaughton, 2000). For young children, transgressing these gender boundaries is seen as more acceptable for girls (“tomboy” is generally not a pejorative term for pre-adolescent girls) than for boys (“sissy” is never a

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compliment, no matter the age of the boy in question), but neither is encouraged past adolescence as a permanent facet of acceptable social behavior or an acceptable socialized body. The ECERS-R description of the types of materials that should be available to young children reflects the ways in which a child’s body is defined as acceptably male or female. In the description, the icons of femininity and masculinity (even if they are One of the tenets of feminist methodology foregrounded in this project is the rejection updated to reflect a more contemporary of hierarchies of epistemology and the colonization of truth claims, and this section reality) provide the physical props for the demonstrates that challenge. The primacy of developmental psychology has largely gone gender script that is approved as “normal” unchallenged in ECE, though the handful of and “healthy” by developmental EC theorists working from a feminist perspective, most notably Gaile Canella, psychologists and traditional early childhood have raised serious questions about not only the theory, but also about the educators. But it is not the only script out institutionalization of the epistemology and the way in which this epistemological there (MacNaughton, 2000), and this sets up position, codified through the Developmentally Appropriate Practice one of the most interesting paradoxes in (described below) of the NAEYC, has been ECEC. disseminated into a colonizing presence in the field. On the one hand, early childhood educators and caregivers have, for the last thirty years or more, accepted the importance of diversity and inclusiveness in ECEC curriculum and materials. The wealth of picture books available to represent a broad range of ethnicities, religions, lifestyles, cultural practices, holidays, physical abilities, and non-sexist gender roles is testimony to the success of the commitment to multiculturalism evident in ECEC. This commitment is foundational in the position of the National Association for the Education of Young Children (NAEYC), perhaps the leading professional organization for early childhood educators and caregivers, in the latest revision of the Developmentally Appropriate Practice in Early Childhood Programs (often shorthanded as DAP), a document that many states, agencies, and boards of education have adopted as setting the standards for determining the quality of an early childhood program. As noted in response to a concern that DAP does not accommodate a variety of cultures, the authors note that, “Most important, the classroom must be a welcoming environment that demonstrates respect and support for all children’s cultural and family backgrounds” (Copple and Bredekamp,

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2009, p. 332). Presumably, this would include children from different gender and sexuality backgrounds as well, and sexism is often one of the most noted forms of discrimination that teachers and caregivers are frequently told to be aware of and actively counter. On the other hand, dramatic play materials that are structured according to the ECERS-R guidelines would seem to encourage the perpetuation of gender role stereotypes and physical reflections of traditional “male-ness” and “female-ness.” Even if the teacher encourages (or at least doesn’t actively discourage), for example, boys carrying purses and girls wearing hard hats, children by the age of three have already begun to associate certain props with certain cultural expectations, especially if they spend any time watching television or if they live in a household where such associations are the norm for that family. Including these props in a traditional dramatic play area, accompanied by other familiar icons of adult role modeling, such as a toy sink, stove, and refrigerator (items which the ECERS-R also wants to see present in the classroom), makes it difficult for them to be viewed in any way other than with all of their gendered connotations. Children certainly have agency to make choices about how to use these materials, but adults are capable of (and responsible for) shaping those choices and framing the context in which those choices become accepted as positive or negative ones. If these iconic props are to be included in a dramatic play area, one way to maximize the potential of these iconic props to appeal to children of all gendered possibilities, and to thereby address the paradox of encouraging diversity with the limitations of traditional gender roles, is to “neutralize” the props by de-contextualizing them from their mainstream affiliations, allowing the children to create the meaning that they need for them to have. The following story illustrates this potential. Story Two: Red Flag Rather than a single “dramatic play” area, at Oxford Early Childhood Center we accommodate the children’s need for dramatic play by making props available in various areas of the room, at all times, and with different types of contextualizing experiences and information. Earlier this year, we brought in a box of fabric, clothing, and accessories and allowed the children to create whatever combinations they wanted. Since

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none of the clothes were “traditionally” male or female in an immediately recognizable sense, combining them with large pieces of non-specific fabric made it necessary for children to bring meaning to their play defined only by their need, not by the limitations of the materials. One of the pieces of clothing in this odd collection was a top that had been part of a Halloween costume that was originally intended to be a “Bratz” character (a hyper- feminized yet supposedly more “urban” response to Barbie® dolls). The shirt was a lavender, velour-type fabric with long sleeves made of a soft netting material that flared at the wrist. It was a very soft shirt, which gave the opportunity for a heightened tactile experience. The only child who showed any interest in this top was a three-year-old boy, who liked the color but mostly loved the texture. Over the course of the five days that this collection was made available to the children, he chose this shirt every time he had the opportunity. Since the collection did not include any Bratz dolls, and since it was not part of a traditional dramatic play area, the only context he and the other children had for the shirt was as a tactilely interesting fabric that was a nice color and felt good to wear while he was playing with his favored box of cars and trucks. No one derided him for wearing a “girl’s” shirt, since no one else had the context for naming it as such. In fact, one of the older (after school) boys mentioned that he thought it looked kind of like the shirts knights wore in pictures (albeit not generally lavender or with quite the same flair to the sleeves). In this instance, the potential for judgment of non-acceptability came not from the other children, even the older ones, but from adults who would see a boy wearing such a shirt as a red flag (or, in this case, a lavender flag), signaling the fear that wearing such a garment would, inevitably, mean this boy would turn out to be gay. Fortunately, neither his teachers nor his family were alarmed by it, and he eventually lost interest in the shirt. Whether or not he turns out to be gay won’t be known for several more years, any more than we will know if his propensity for playing with cars will make him turn out to be a mechanic. Froebel, Dewey, and Hill: Progressivism, Kindergarten, and Housekeeping In order to understand the stability of the dramatic play area as a fundamental aspect of ECEC and its influence on the bodies and sensibilities of young children, it is

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helpful to understand the historical context that solidified it as a cultural and educational trope. The origins of dramatic play in education are not mystical or difficult to identify, but the process of codifying it as such an integral and recognizable part of ECEC is an interesting one to follow and helps to explain the implications for dramatic play on the development of a gendered and sexualized body. Until the nineteenth century, children’s play was generally seen as a frivolous waste of time or a necessary part of preparing for adulthood, even when their “games” were often what we would recognize today as “dramatic play.” In other words, children typically acted out the experiences of the adult world that dictated their lives and destinies (Makman, 2004). Even with the Victorian invention of “childhood” as a distinct phase of life and the recognition that play served an inherent function that should be valued and nurtured, children’s play still focused on emulating adults or recreating the real world around them in miniature (hence the Victorian fascination with realistic, detailed doll houses) (Formanek-Brunell, 1998; Burton, 1996). For very young children, even imaginative fantasy play has frequently been a reflection of what they know, or what they hear, or what they are trying to understand. For example, fighting off imaginary monsters, which may appear to adults as fantasy play, is probably less about fantasy and more about coming to terms with the manifestations of genuine fears and insecurities, which are very real to a three-year old (Ary-De Rozza and Payne-Jones, 2004; Vygotsky, 1976). The earliest structured educational This consideration of Froebel, which program for very young children grew from the was also present in the section on Hill, exemplifies the transdisciplinary and work of Friedrich Froebel (1782-1852), whose intersectional nature of this work. This history is important to an establishment of the kindergarten was heavily understanding of Hill’s experiences as well as to an understanding of the influenced by Pestalozzi (1746-1827) dynamics of dramatic play in the pre- (Brosterman, 1997; Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000; K classroom. It is also repeated here because this chapter, as noted at the Makman, 2004). During Froebel’s time in beginning, appears independent of this dissertation in a book about children Germany, education was a decidedly male- and play. centered activity, for both students and teachers. Froebel’s emphasis on structured, active movement and engagement with the environment was accepted as appropriate for young boys, who were generally the only

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children allowed to attend school in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries. By the time the kindergarten movement had come to the United States in 1852, formal education for young girls had found growing acceptance, as had education for the poor, and it was increasingly the purview of women teachers (Solomon, 1985; Snyder, 1972). With the establishment of free, public kindergartens in the U.S. by 1873, the “kindergarteners” (as the teachers were known) had been forced to address the dilemma of gender in education: physical activity and enthusiastic exploration were acceptable for boys, but girls were still expected to be delicate and passive. One of the most notable and influential of American teachers to embrace the liberatory model of Froebel was Patty Smith Hill. In 1887, Hill was working with Anna E. Bryan, who had been trained in the Chicago Free Kindergarten program that was heavily influenced by the philosophy of John Dewey. It is this progression, from Froebel to Dewey to Hill, which led to the inclusion of dramatic play as a staple of kindergarten and, especially, pre-k programs. An integral part of Dewey’s theories of education rested on the recognition that education should be meaningful to all segments of society, not just those who were destined for college and/or lucrative careers in business. Under Dewey’s model, children should be engaged in “manual education” (what we would (mis)label today as “vocational” training), in addition to traditional academic subjects, as a way of preparing all children to become equal participants in a democratic society (Dewey, 1916). For older children, alongside studies of math, science, and reading, this would include engaging in activities such as farming, machine operation and repair, building trades, food preparation, etc. For young children, these activities would be manifested through gardening, using tools, building with blocks, playing with kitchen utensils, etc. Hill began developing, along with Bryan, a radically new approach to kindergarten, one that sought to blend Froebel’s original ideas about the importance of organic unity and symbolic education with the Progressivist model of a less teacher- centered, more child-centered curriculum of free play with a wider range of materials. Hill later “claimed that reading a Dewey monograph and studying with Dewey influenced her view of creativity in children’s artwork, the movement toward free play . . . and her approach to music. She gave up many of the traditional practices, on the principle that teaching involved creative thinking” (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000, pp. 261-262).

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The reason that this progression matters to the shape of dramatic play in contemporary ECEC settings is because Patty Smith Hill eventually took her approach, including her commitment to dramatic play, to Teacher’s College at Columbia, where she was in charge of developing the curriculum for training early childhood teachers (Snyder, 1972). Her model of teacher education and kindergarten instruction provided the basis for the familiar structure of kindergarten and pre-K classrooms in most areas of the United States today (Lascarides & Hinitz, 2000). The “manual education” aspects of Progressivism translated in the ECEC classroom to what we refer to now as “dramatic play,” complete with blocks, utensils, tools, dolls, and the “gender-specific” clothing that the ECERS-R is so fond of. In Hill’s time, though, the emphasis on “gender specific” experiences was conspicuously less than it eventually became. The boys and girls in Hill’s classrooms were encouraged to share all of the experiences available to them—girls built structures with blocks, and boys gave baths to the baby dolls. This began to change by the 1930s, when Progressivism became suspected as being in alignment with Socialism and Communism, and some of the more Progressive elements of education were discarded. Early childhood programs, including nursery schools and daycares as well as kindergartens, were able to retain those vestiges of Progressivism that emphasized play and exploration, as long as they became more socially codified along lines of gender, class, and ethnicity (Holland, 2003). In other words, young children could continue to play and explore as long as the materials and expectations reflected the Euro-American, gender specific, heterosexual, middle- and upper class sensibilities that had come to dominate U.S. politics, culture, and curriculum. Through this process of curricular and social evolution, children’s bodies were increasingly regulated in accordance with new discoveries in science and psychology that reified traditional notions of gender and sexuality, as a way of reassuring white, middle- class Americans that their values and desires were safely entrenched as the “norm” for the country. The dramatic play area became one of the most reassuring locations for the perpetuation of this mindset, and the materials and choices available to children became codified to ensure the status quo. Story Three: Little Boxes

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Thirty years ago, as a young teacher and administrator of the pre-primary program in a Progressivist-modeled private school, one of my tasks was to facilitate the process for obtaining a license under the newly established state requirements for day care and preschool programs. One of the rules that had been adopted was the articulation of the necessary types of spaces and materials that had to be part of the curriculum. One of these requirements was a “dramatic play” area, the new name for the “housekeeping” area traditional to ECEC programs. The first licensing inspector I encountered was dismayed that we did not have a specifically designated dramatic play area, and even more dismayed that we didn’t have the recognizable tropes of such an area, especially a toy sink/stove/refrigerator, dolls, and “dress up” clothes. My challenge was to make the case that we highly valued dramatic play, and that we also highly valued creativity, and were very purposeful in our approach to facilitating both. I pointed out the blocks and puppets and fabric at various locations throughout the room, and told her the following story to make my point. At one time, we had possessed a sink/stove/refrigerator unit that had been donated to us, and we put it in the room with the three and four year-olds and carefully observed the children playing with it. Even though we placed no unreasonable limitations on how they could use it, with few exceptions the sink was always only a sink, the stove a stove, and the refrigerator a refrigerator, and the children used them to construct predictable domestic scenarios, using the blocks as food and the fabric as blankets. After we removed the unit, we replaced it with two sturdy, medium-size cardboard boxes that contained thick, heavy cardboard cylinders that had been used to hold the old-style roll paper used in copy machines of the time. The first day I put them out, the children found ways to use them that still met their needs for domestic re-creation, but did not limit them to a single way of doing so. They stood the cylinders on end and placed a box on top of them, open side up, which became their “sink.” When they turned the box over, it was a “stove,” and placed on end, it was a “refrigerator.” The cylinders were “milk cartons,” “glasses,” “salt shakers,” “rolling pins,” and many other things. The most interesting part, however, was observing their play over the course of a few days to see them begin to use these materials in imaginative ways, moving beyond the predictable scripts of re-creative domestic play. The boxes became ships, and the

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cylinders telescopes as they imagined themselves pirates on the high seas. Another time, the cylinders were a stethoscope, x-ray machine, and medicine container as they played hospital. The next day, the boxes were racecars and the cylinders the tools to fix them. In each of these scenarios, the puppets, fabric, and some of the art materials were brought in to serve whatever function they deemed necessary. Removed from the rigidly defined context of specificity, the children also found their way past predictable gender roles. Girls were pirates and doctors and mechanics, and boys were nurses and fathers who bathed and fed their puppet babies. It was this experience that convinced me of the value of non-traditional dramatic play. The inspector was persuaded, and we got our license. Since then, with my own facility, every time I’ve had a new One of the greatest hurdles when mounting inspector, I’ve gone through the same challenges to traditional pedagogies is the translation necessary to help others understand routine of explanation, using the same your intentions. This is where the mechanics of differential consciousness have a distinctly example, along with new ones that I have practical application—I know that few people acquired over the years, all supporting the use the same conceptual language that I do (which has nothing to do with intelligence, but, idea that “dramatic play” has potential rather, with personal experience and the construction of knowledge), so in order to beyond the confines of traditional convey my meaning, it requires that I develop a translexic vocabulary that I can shift within to pedagogy. I also throw in a few references fit the circumstances. I believe that we all do this to varying degrees in our daily lives, but to Patty Smith Hill and John Dewey. I still perhaps not as consciously or purposefully. don’t have a defined dramatic play area, or gender-specific dress up clothes, or a permanent stove/sink/refrigerator, but I do have a license. Challenge, Change, and the Performance of Gender In order to fully appreciate the dramatic play area as a performative site of resistance, it is necessary to have a working definition for the intersection of play and performance. According to Henry Bial (2004), who is referencing the work of Richard Schechner, one of the pioneers of performance studies, In performance studies, play is understood as the force of uncertainty which counter-balances the structure provided by ritual. Where ritual depends on repetition, play stresses innovation and creativity. Where ritual is predictable, play is contingent. But all performances, even rituals, contain some element of play, some space for variation. And most forms of play involve pre-established

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patterns of behavior. Hence, as Schechner writes, “one definition of performance might be: ritualized behavior conditioned/permeated by play.” (p. 115)

In this sense, play and performance are intricately related and interwoven. The definition of performance offered by Bial and Schechner could also be posited as a compelling definition of the activity in a traditional dramatic play space: “ritualized behavior conditioned/permeated by play.” The ritualized behavior of dramatic play that is defined by traditional materials is evident in the re-creation by children of the domestic This sentence is illustrative of the functionality of bricolage, the employment scenes they see and experience—in performance of differential consciousness, and the definition of translexic discourse and terms, dramatic play functions as a mimetic transdisciplinary analysis—it brings together multiply situated vocabularies and presentation of actions and behaviors that reify concepts into a unique discursive and dominant social constructions of gender, theoretical position. sexuality, class, and race/ethnicity. Performance theory provides us with the framework for extending the notion of a performance “text” as something not limited to an actual written script (Kirshenblatt- Gimblett, 2004; Worthen, 2004). Specific emphasis on the body in performance art also enables us to understand the immediacy of performance in the dramatic play area, where children, like performance artists, can base their characters “upon their own bodies, their own autobiographies, their own specific experiences in a culture or in the world, made performative by their consciousness of them and the process of displaying them for audiences” (Carlson, 2004, p. 71). Utilizing this focus on “consciousness” in the act of performing one’s life experiences allows us to envision intervention in traditional dramatic play spaces by moving children away from the characters that society tries to script for them, and into the conscious enactment of their own gendered bodies. In addition, feminist performance theorists such as Peggy Phelan, Elin Diamond, Kate Davy, Jill Dolan, and Sue-Ellen Case, for example, provide a means for further focusing performance critiques on questions of gender and sexuality, especially in relation to dominant hierarchies and ideologies. Theorists working in disciplines other than Performance Studies have also made foundational contributions to the field in general, and to this analysis in particular. The “ritualized behavior” and “pre-established patterns of behavior” that Schechner and Bial

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speak of are reflected in the work of Judith Butler. Her groundbreaking essay, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” was written nearly twenty years ago, but is still a foundational work in the canon of performance theory, particularly as it relates to gender. Butler’s revolutionary suggestion was that gender is a construct that is culturally scripted and “performed” through repetition, grounded in the cultural narrative that created and perpetuates it. She also suggests that understanding the performative nature of gender is the key to creating new possibilities for embodying gender. She writes, If the ground of gender identity is the stylized repetition of acts through time, and not a seemingly seamless identity, then the possibilities of gender transformation are to be found in the arbitrary relation between such acts, in the possibility of a different sort of repeating, in the breaking or subversive repetition of that style. (pp.270-271)

As feminist theorists, poststructuralists, cultural theorists, sociologists, psychologists, semioticians, and others have posited strategies for subversion of these cultural gender narratives, the focus has primarily been on the awareness of adults as active agents who are reconstructing these performative gender acts with intent and forethought. But perhaps the most meaningful subversion may be when adults intervene in the topoi of that grand narrative in the daily experiences of children. Adults are primarily responsible for the construction of and access to most of the spaces and contexts in which children play, especially in facilitating dramatic play. When adults intervene, with intent and forethought, in the arrangement and materials of children’s play spaces, it can either be a function of control and regulation or an opportunity for exploration and liberation. When we provide children with rigidly defined materials in a context that supports the use of those materials in alignment with the status quo of the cultural script, we are deciding for them not only what they should play with, but how they should play with it, leading them through the “stylized repetition of acts” that define the “acceptable” embodiment of gender. Watching children in a traditional dramatic play area, these ritualized behaviors are readily apparent. Some of these ritualized behaviors include:

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• Girls and boys “dressing up” in “gender appropriate” clothing, like the “flowery hats and purses” for girls or the “hardhats and ties” for boys described in the ECERS-R guidelines • Actions that reflect an unquestioned correlation between gender appearance and gendered behavior, such as girls taking their purses shopping or wearing flowery hats to parties, and boys wearing their hardhats or ties as they go off to work • The rigidity of family roles, such that boys are always “dad” or “brother” and girls are always “mom” or “sister” • The enactment of family gender roles that recreate a heteronormative imperative—i.e., girl and boy as mom and dad, never mom and mom or dad and dad • The enactment of family gender roles that emphasize a “nuclear” family model which rejects extended families, step families, same-sex parent families, or single-parent families If we accept Bial’s assertion that “play stresses innovation and creativity,” then it is possible to argue that the traditional “dramatic play” area, with its dependence on pre- defined cultural topoi and material icons, may not really be “play” at all, since “innovation and creativity” are not the primary components of an activity that embodies “ritualized behavior” as it encourages children to recreate their domestic lives. Perhaps it would be more accurately descriptive to call a traditional dramatic play area a “dramatic performance” area. In this sense, then, the redemption and reclamation of the dramatic play area as a space with the potential to maximize children’s ability to challenge the status quo may lie in repositioning the emphasis on the “play” part, thereby restoring innovation and creativity to the process. In order to accomplish this, however, it is necessary to reconceptualize the way the dramatic play area is perceived, arranged, and equipped. As discussed earlier, one of the strategies for this reconceptualization is to not only broaden the creative content of the materials themselves, to make them less recognizable as discretely defined, gendered objects, but to also subvert the context in which those materials are made available. By removing the referential tropes of the context, the

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materials lose the immediacy of their “normal” definition, providing a conceptual space for children to create their own meaning. But what of the ECERS-R assertion (based on the dogma of developmental psychology), that gender-appropriate dramatic play materials are required for children to “develop[ ] gender-role identity in the preschool years”? If we subvert these dominant paradigms, are we putting our children at risk for psychological or sexual confusion? I am not aware of any definitive empirical studies that have proven the stability of gender role identity related to dramatic play materials. I am aware of theories growing from the observation of intersexed children over the last fifty years, such as the response to the work of Dr. John Money. Dr. Money counseled the parents of an infant boy, whose penis had been removed after a botched circumcision in infancy, to raise their son as a girl, with all of the attendant accessories of femininity. He believed that, with sufficient commitment on the part of the parents, they would be able to raise a daughter who was confidently socialized as a female. After questions were raised about the accuracy of his reporting and his methodology (which is still, however, validated today by many physicians) (Chase, 2003), it became apparent that the boy in question had never developed a firm identity as either male or female. More recent studies of intersexed and transgendered children seem to suggest that gender-role identity is not as neatly coincidental with biological sex as our cultural narrative supposes (Fausto-Sterling, 2000). I have also never conducted my own empirical study, but for thirty years I have been subverting the dramatic performance area consistently and intentionally, and of the hundreds of children who were in my care and The shape of this particular analysis is only have now reached adulthood, I am not aware of possible because of the experiences, epistemological reflection, and bricolage of even one who has suffered from any type of intersectionality that is specific to my circumstance. This is an important point of gender confusion. I have seen them grow into non-traditional, feminist-based inquiry: non- confident men and women who, for the most quantitative, individually specific critique and analysis can generate innovative part, have a broader conception of what it means pedagogy and theory that does not depend on the ability to be recreated in its original form to be a man or woman in our culture, and seem in order to have value or influence practice. to have a comfortable relationship between their embodied gender and their gender-role identity that is not clouded by ambiguity or

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conflict, regardless of how closely aligned they eventually were able to identify, both physically and psychologically, with the traditional roles of the grand narrative. My professional experience and research lead me to suggest that what we can draw from these observations is that, given the freedom to explore, interpret, experiment, and rehearse their own gender performances and those of the culture around them, children will develop a confident conception of their own gender identity that embraces what “feels” right to them, meaning that it aligns with their physical embodiment of their gendered identity. As an educator, an academic, and a parent, this feels right to me as well. Story Four: Make Room for Daddy Just last week, I noticed one of the four-year old boys standing next to one of the shelf units that are used to store blocks, dinosaurs, and other larger items. This particular little boy generally exhibits gendered behaviors that would traditionally be considered as “normal” boy behaviors—he talks excitedly about the farm machinery and implements he watches his father use, he often wears a John Deere cap and t-shirts with various superheroes or sports themes on them, he is physically boisterous, he likes to play with blocks and cars and trains—he is, in most ways, what many people would refer to as a “typical” boy (meaning, of course, that he ably performs the reassuring scripted narrative of traditional gender). On this particular day, he had collected an interesting array of items on the top of the shelf unit—a couple of small cars, a baby doll, a piece of fabric, and some dishes and utensils (and even a dinosaur). I observed him for a few minutes as he wrapped the doll in the fabric, used the utensils to “feed” the baby from the dishes, and then turned his attention to the cars, which he rolled in a circle around the doll. He then picked up the doll and removed the fabric, which he appeared to use as a washcloth or towel to clean the doll’s face. At this point, he noticed me watching him. He clearly became more self- conscious, but did not stop his play; instead, he glanced at me every few seconds as he continued tending to the baby. I smiled at him, and made it obvious that I wasn’t just watching him, but was looking around the room to see what the others were doing as well.

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As I was preparing to return to my office, I stopped by the other side of the shelf unit, and asked him if he was having a good time. He simply said, “yes.” I asked him what he was doing, and he said, “just takin’ care of the baby and fixin’ the car.” I nodded, and asked him if he was the baby’s friend, or dad, or teacher. He replied, “the dad.” Before I left, I said to him, “I think you’re going to be a really good dad some day, if that’s what you want to be.” He said, “yeah, I know,” and continued on. None of the other children in the room were reacting to his activity; there was no judgment, no teasing, and no snickering behind his back. In this room, this boy was free to figure out how being a boy can mean taking care of a baby as well as fixing a car. I am confident that, whether or not he chooses to be a dad someday, he will make that choice because it is a choice, and it’s the best choice for him because he will have made it knowing that it’s not the only choice available to him. He will have written his own life into the script the culture has given him, the same way the little girls at the beginning of this chapter will have explored different possibilities for their characters.

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Chapter Five: Conclusions

How an understanding of these intersections can impact the pedagogy of specific disciplines and the professional identity and development of individuals within these fields

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Value of this project As I stated at this outset of this work, there is little available literature related to feminist considerations of early childhood education and care, and nothing I could find that uses bricolage and differential consciousness as an articulated, practical, analytical framework. This project aims to address both of those gaps, by presenting a transdisciplinary consideration that weaves together three seemingly disparate fields into my own cohesive personal and professional identity. Besides the articulation of the unique methodology, method, structure, and epistemological basis of the project, I also included two examples of how this approach works in a research context: through historical narrative portraiture that demonstrates the intersections of my work with women who were pioneers in their own fields (Hill and Ward), and in the development of a transdisciplinary analysis of a specific research question (the construction of gender in dramatic play). Though there is undoubtedly room for improvement, I believe that I have accomplished what I set out to do, and in the process have discovered nuances and strategies that I did not foresee. For example, employing the “annotation” technique in Chapters Three and Four enabled me to maintain a narrative flow in the content, yet still highlight the meta-structure of the work. This added another dimension to the value of the project, as an overt exemplar of how to use bricolage, differential consciousness, and feminist methodology in the construction of a non-traditional dissertation. My hope is that this may be of value to future students who are interested in negotiating new approaches to dissertation research and writing. I also believe there is a more specific value to the content of Chapters Three and Four to other theatre and ECE scholars, as well as to ECEC and theatre practitioners. Chapter Three constructs a portrait of two women whose work has had significant influence over various aspects of early childhood and dramatic theory and practice, but whose stories have not been sufficiently articulated in the research literature, and demonstrates the importance of doing so by weaving them with my own personal and professional narrative. As mentioned at the beginning of Chapter Four, my work on gender and dramatic play has already been accepted for publication in an edited anthology, which will add not only to the body of work on dramatic play and child

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development, but will also have value as a feminist ECEC project and as an exemplar of the application of performance theory outside of theatre. I think that the primary way in which this work could be improved is in the integration of theatre in a more thorough and profound manner. Due to limitations of time and financial resources, it was necessary to trim this component back from its initial position in the project, which was a practical choice, but is not the choice I would have preferred to make. It is my hope that I will be able to return to this aspect of the project at a later date. Personal Reflection When I set out to create this work, my intention was to interrogate the factors and influences that characterize the development of a transdisciplinary, translexic, feminist project, grounded in historical inquiry and demonstrating the evolution of a personal and professional identity that functions through differential consciousness. By weaving together the histories of Women’s Studies, Early Childhood Education and Care, and Theatre, and then describing how these histories are made relevant and immediate in the lives of Patty Smith Hill, Winifred Ward, and myself, I have provided the foundational context for understanding the genesis and significance of the application of performance theory and feminist methodology in the generation of a scholarly work (i.e., a consideration of the function of gender in dramatic play areas). But this is certainly not where this work ends. First, there are multiple ways that this transdisciplinary, translexic way of life functions for me on a daily basis. The clearest example of this is in my continued work with young children at the Oxford Early Childhood Center. After reading more about the work of Winifred Ward, we have adapted her Creative Dramatics curriculum for our purposes. Ward believed that it was important to introduce children to “classic” stories that were well-crafted and had broad appeal (i.e., those from the children’s literature canon, meaning fairy tales and folk tales of Northern European origin, or “foreign” stories that had been popularized in Europe). In this multicultural era, however, such stories as Cinderella, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin, while still valued for their cultural provenance, do not cover the heritage of many children. And tales such as Little Black Sambo, one of the stories she recommends in Playmaking with Children as one that was still very popular in 1957,

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would be extremely problematic (to say the least) to introduce into a preschool classroom. We are also a society that now values exposing children to stories from varied cultures to a greater degree than in Ward’s time. Therefore, employing Ward’s Creative Dramatics in a contemporary setting which values diversity means shifting the content of that curriculum. In Ward’s time, the “catalog” of children’s books was still rather limited, especially compared with today, in which children’s book publishing is one of the most extensive in an industry that has grown beyond imagining in the second half of the twentieth century. (In 1947, there were 357 publishers (all kinds of books); by 2006, there were over 85,000 (Poynter, 2008)). In today’s market, there is easy access to high quality children’s books depicting a variety of cultures, topics, lifestyles, and values, through libraries, bookstores, and online vendors. Considering this, selecting books to use for children to enact can be guided by a broader set of criteria. This is one of the ways that my teaching choices are shaped by the deep intersections of feminism, theatre, and child development, and how I utilize the mechanics of differential consciousness to travel among these fields. When planning one of these activities, my selection of the text is obviously a conscious choice, but it is guided by that “translexic” discourse that occurs for me in an almost autonomic manner, wherein reflexivity, developmental appropriateness, and performativity communicate seamlessly. For example, one of the first texts I chose for this activity was a book from 1966 titled Are You My Mother?, by P.D. Eastman. It involves a small bird that hatches just after his mother leaves to find food. He falls from the nest, and then sets off on a search to locate his mother, asking every animal and object he encounters, “are you my mother?” My thought process in selecting this book involved the following simultaneous (and only partially conscious) considerations:  Children generally find this book very funny and poignant, which makes it enjoyable to act out.  It has several roles, most with a single line, but a couple that require no talking, always an important option for less extroverted children.  The main role has a repetitive line, so even a very young child can manage it.

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 The text is at a fairly early reading level, so one or more of the older children (who were in attendance since we were doing this activity after the arrival of the after school kids) can serve as the “narrator,” further de-centering the teacher from the event.  Even though the main characters are gendered in the story, the story is not about the gender, so the children won’t feel constrained to keep it that way. (Even though the bird is looking for the “mother” of the title, the children in the group seem to interpret it more as a “parent,” evidenced by the fact that, the first time we went through it, the child who took that part was a boy.)  The variety of the types of the characters allows for a lot of different interpretations in voice and movement, especially of the mechanical “characters,” (boat, car, airplane, steam shovel), creating a rich performance experience.  The setting is relatively non-specific in a cultural sense (no dwellings, generic landscape, and vehicle styles that, 40 years later, have lost some of their identifiable context), making it easily accessible to all of the children in the group, including ethnicities representing Euro-American, East Indian, and mixed-race (Euro- and African-American), and to children from the wide range of socio-economic demographics in our group (from children whose families are below the federal poverty line to those from upper-middle class families).  The setting also entails a variety of “locations,” allowing for movement throughout the classroom that lets us spread the kids out, rather than asking them to stay close together on one “stage” (making behavioral management much simpler). It’s difficult for me to fully explain the way these multiple “conversations” occur in my planning process. Even though I can list them separately upon reflection, at the time, all of these ideas and considerations took place in a simultaneous, cohesive discourse. This is part of what I mean by the term “translexic”: a vocabulary and a “grammar” that can only exist in the confluence of the varied lexicons of feminism, child development, and theatrical performance/production.

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This translexic discourse also occurs outside the classroom. For example, two years ago I directed a production of Free to Be…You and Me for the local community theatre. This is a children’s show that features a series of stories and musical numbers that encourage audiences to reject the limitations of traditional gender roles and cultural stereotypes. The published script calls for a cast of 6 adult performers, but I decided early on that I wanted to involve children as well as adults. We wound up with a cast of 35, ranging in age from 7 to 61. Clearly, a “children’s” show, especially one that concerns gender issues, lends itself rather obviously to the multiplicity of perspectives that I have been discussing, but I employ it even in productions that aren’t specifically for children. For example, the next show after Free to Be that I directed was Quilters, a musical that is not really intended for young children. In a case such as this, the translexic conversation is going to be more heavily focused on the feminist and performativity aspects, but the “child” part is still in the mix. This show is also a series of scenes and musical numbers, but ones that demonstrate the experiences of Euro-American women who were “pioneers” and “homesteaders” in the late nineteenth and early-twentieth century on the Great Plains, for whom quilting was not only a practical skill to provide warmth and cover for their families, but was also one of the few acceptable art forms available to allow them to express themselves. These experiences cover multiple age spans, including childhood experiences. While rehearsing, we spent a great deal of time considering how one’s childhood experiences shape the adults we are, and also how we “embody” our selves at various stages of our lives. As a director, the choices I made to assist my cast in developing their parts were shaped by all of the facets of my experience, facilitated by the mechanism of differential consciousness. Additionally, I wound up being in the cast for this production, and used the same translexic, differential process as an actor to inform my performance. There are multiple further examples of the ways in which these discourses shape my choices, decisions, and actions, particularly in regards to my teaching a variety of courses at Miami, encompassing Women’s Studies, Theatre, and ECE, but I will limit this discussion to one particular course that I team-taught as a Visiting Instructor in the Western College Program. The course, conceived by Gail Dellapiana (who came from a

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graphic design and architecture background), was an Interdisciplinary Fine Arts course, and the topic we chose to focus on was Children and Creativity. Our goal in this course was to help students understand the origins of creativity in childhood, and how their innate creativity is shaped and either enhanced or stifled as they matured. Throughout the semester, students created a variety of visual art works, and also put together puppet shows and visual media presentations. I had the opportunity to “lecture” on several topics, but the one I most enjoyed was on the topic of the history, evolution, and cultural significance of children’s picture books. Generating a presentation on a topic such as this exemplifies the height of differential consciousness, giving me the chance to use performative skills (reading picture books as the images are projected on the screen), child development and early childhood cultural knowledge (to explain how children interact with these texts at various ages, developmental levels, and in different regional or cultural contexts), articulated through feminist theory and pedagogy (particularly in the non-traditional structuring of the format of the presentation and the immediacy of engaging the students in discussion as it progressed). Again, what makes this more than a simple multi- or interdisciplinary task is the way that these elements function through a differential mechanism and with a conceptual discourse that embraces and generates layered meanings and a language all its own in the development of the work. Professional Implications and Vision But working this way as an individual is limited. Is it possible to utilize these methods to have an impact on the individual fields? I believe the answer is yes, it is possible, but the likelihood is slim, particularly in ECEC, since feminism is a key component of this bricolage, and, as has been addressed, ECEC has not been especially welcoming of feminism as a theory or pedagogy. Regardless, there are some suggestions for ways in which each of these fields could foster a broader likelihood that some of the benefits of this approach could be embraced. Many of these suggestions are appropriate across a range of institutions and programs, while others reflect a situational context that is specific to programs and policies that are similar to those at Miami.

Women’s Studies:

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 Mindfully create a more welcoming atmosphere for scholars from the Arts and ECE, as well as other fields that are thinly represented in Women’s and Gender studies departments and programs. This is partially a matter of recruiting beyond Humanities and partially a larger question of continuing struggles to make a place for women in traditionally male-centric disciplines, but it also requires a consideration of the question of why faculty members who identify as feminist choose not to affiliate with Women’s Studies. Is it due to a misunderstanding of the commitment, or a disagreement with the structure, or a perception that there is not more of a place for arts and education faculty in the program?  Advocate for broader access to childcare and for the working conditions of ECEC professionals. This requires moving beyond the consideration of whether or not childcare is available for faculty with children, but whether it is affordable to all staff and whether the employees of the campus facility are fairly treated and compensated. It also necessitates considering the field in a broader context, and understanding the policies that shape access to various care settings within and outside of the university.  Become an active participant in efforts to assist ECEC professionals in learning the language of advocacy. This is not about paternalism or “speaking for” someone else, but about creating opportunity for ECEC professionals to learn from the experiences of feminists in various fields, including the academy. This could, for example, take the form of professional development workshops hosted by women’s studies faculty to offer ECEC professionals the chance to consider their position as professionals in a field that is culturally undervalued.  Encourage a deeper integration of feminist pedagogy and epistemology with ECE. This could be accomplished through alliances with the National Association for the Education of Young Children and the Association for Childhood Education International, and through the establishment of an Early Childhood focus group within the National Women’s Studies Association. It can also become manifest through a more direct affiliation with Teacher Education and Family Studies coursework.

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Theatre:

 Validate children’s theatre as a legitimate branch of theatrical theory and production that is worthy of serious research and resource allocation, and make it part of the regular production season beyond a school touring performance. This may include creating productions and campus programs that involve children directly in theatre; conducting workshops for pre-K, primary, and secondary educators to explore ways of integrating theatre into their classrooms; or ensuring that at least one high quality production of a university’s main stage or second stage season, utilizing the full technical resources of the department, is appropriate for children, in addition to touring productions that visit local schools.  Embrace the potential for differential consciousness as a mechanism for helping to bridge the theory vs. production mission of academic theatre departments. It is not necessary to assume a contradictory or contentious relationship between the two, and a feminist iteration of differential consciousness could provide an effective tool as departments negotiate this relationship.  Coordinate with teacher education programs to provide learning opportunities for early childhood and elementary majors to integrate theatre and performance into their classrooms, and to create a certification for theatre teachers throughout pre- primary, primary, and secondary education. A closer relationship with Women’s Studies could help to facilitate this goal through cross listing of courses and support for revision of Teacher Education curriculum.

Early Childhood Education:

 Value an apprentice model of professional development and recognition. This point is crucial in understanding the particular difficulties created for ECEC professionals with limited economic resources, and the undervaluing of work that is traditionally seen as “women’s work.”  Include pre-K administration in Educational Leadership or Educational Administration. By retaining pre-K administration in Family Studies, it reifies the

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lack of respect for the field by differentiating it from the administration of “real” school, especially since many public school systems are incorporating pre-K components into their programs.  Offer specific pre-K certification with early and frequent supervised classroom experience and encourage the revision of state licensing standards to value experience and non-degree professional development opportunities. The value of direct classroom experience is not limited to pre-K teacher candidates, but is particularly cogent since traditional teacher education curricula do not always provide sufficient grounding in issues specific to pre-K.  Create certified specializations for theatre, music, and fine arts. This is another area where there seems to be an assumption that, for example, as long as you know some songs and finger plays, you can teach music. While it’s true that all EC educarers can incorporate music, drama, and art in their classrooms, it’s also true that individuals with specialties in these areas can bring a depth of understanding and richness of experience beyond the basics. This is a tough sell, however, because these areas are at risk of being eliminated from primary and secondary education as well, due to budget cuts and the pressure of No Child Left Behind on academic accountability.  Recognize and value the contributions and existence of feminist theory and pedagogy in EC classrooms, and provide educational opportunities to further explore this integration. An effective inroad for this may be through an emphasis on the feminist explorations of the ethic of care, which foregrounds the nurturing aspects of this feminized field (and which may, therefore, be less threatening than a focus on curricular changes or challenges to the established icons of ECEC practice, such as developmental psychology and developmentally appropriate practice).

These suggestions obviously require the efforts of many people in diverse areas. I’m sure there are people in each of these fields who would welcome such changes, and have no doubt that differential consciousness and translexic discourse could provide the foundational mechanism for moving forward.

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Further research Besides the work on gender and dramatic play, the process of researching and constructing this dissertation has created for me several new ideas on additional research and publication possibilities. Chief among these is in relation to the life of Patty Smith Hill, who I believe is a good candidate for further biographical work. Her story has been deeply inspirational in my own life and work, and I have no doubt that it would be of interest and inspiration to others as well. In addition, as a woman in a marginalized area of a marginalized discipline, who pursued a non-traditional path through the academy and had a lasting influence on an entire field, her story should be embraced by feminists, historians, and ECEC theorists and practitioners. If time permits, I hope to pursue a more in depth consideration of her life for publication. There is also great potential for a further exploration of the application of differential consciousness as a methodological tool in a broad range of disciplines and inter-disciplines, in both a theoretical and practical manner. In particular, I believe there is potential to develop this as a new approach to theatrical production, which could be especially innovative as a mechanism for directors to shift among various cultural, social, political, and creative locations in developing a vision and a rehearsal process. I will give this further consideration and experiment with an articulation of this technique on my next directing project, which will be sometime in the next season. There is also, clearly, tremendous potential for further work that integrates gender development, early childhood practice, and performance theory. I have already begun to incorporate some of this work into a lecture that I have provided over the last several semesters as a guest in the Sociocultural Studies in Education course. The lecture topic regards issues of sexuality that teacher education majors may face in their classrooms, and I have been able to use my work on gender and dramatic play as an example of a potential point of contention and intervention for classroom teachers. Particularly in this area, a greater engagement with queer theory would be in order. Even though much of this dissertation is consonant with critique and analysis grounded in queer theory, I have not evolved a sufficiently confident familiarity with the evolving tenets and application of queer theory to feel comfortable claiming it as an epistemological or theoretical base. I

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plan to continue my exploration of queer theory and employ it in a more explicit and informed manner in future work. On a daily basis in my professional life, I will continue to embrace the work and personal examples of women such as Hill and Ward, and to appreciate the paths they pioneered that have made my work possible. I will also continue, with a respectful nod to my father, to be a Jack-of-all-trades. Or, maybe that should be a bricoleur.

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Appendix A

Western College Program Senior Project excerpt

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Part Two: Transformation in Progress

Nuts and Bolts

There have been those who have said that the reason I was able to get the center going and keep it going was because I was too stupid to know I couldn’t do it. In a sense, they are correct: if I had had the time to step back and really consider everything that was involved, I probably would have sensibly concluded that I would have been better off becoming a plumber. The fact that I am not a plumber (at least not professionally; I have certainly handled my share of backed up toilets over the last five years, though), and that the center is educationally and financially sound, is testimony to the possibility that human beings may, occasionally, miss out on some pretty terrific things by being so “sensible”. The factors that combined to make the center a success were/are (in no particular order): 1) a local market that suffers from an appalling lack of quality child care arrangements; 2) a partner who was willing to share a vision and work for very little for a couple of years; 3) a work experience that had shown me that one person could make a difference; 4) a bargain mentality and a mechanical aptitude that saved us lots of money; and 5) a strong belief that I had something important to say about the way we educate young children, and that there were people out there who would listen to me say it. This confluence of circumstance produced the Oxford Early Childhood Center, which was conceived and developed to be a transformative alternative that (as our ad copy puts it), “effectively combines a comprehensive developmental program with the scheduling flexibility of a quality day care environment”. From the outset, the center has functioned as a sum that is greater than its parts. Initially conceived as primarily addressing the issue of the education/supervisory schism, it became clear to me early on that the fundamental program philosophy was equally crucial to making the center a true alternative. There were many elements interwoven in my personal philosophy of education (see Appendix 1), and many of these found their way into the fundamental philosophy of the center. I realized, though, that other basic aspects of my personal philosophy were appropriate to my teaching style, but did not need to be implemented by other staff members with quite the same intensity. The diversity of the staff has always been one of the strongest aspects of the program, and I hope that others who have worked at the center have taken with them a satisfying amount of growth and discovery. Before going on to consider more of the “people” factor of the center’s growth, I would like to pause for an account of the nuts and bolts of the center’s beginnings, focussing on the five factors mentioned earlier. Some of this will, undoubtedly, overlap with the particulars of the “people” factor to be discussed later, but that interconnectedness is part of what makes the program what it is. In the spring of 1986, there was only one licensed day care center in the Oxford area. It was an unfortunately typical example of supervisory care, with the maximum number of children, minimum number of staff, and a general lack of attention to the developmental priorities of children (this statement is not based solely on my own opinion: many of the parents who talked with me about other options and subsequently enrolled their children in our facility expressed variations on this basic theme of inadequacy). The other options in Oxford at the time represented the other side of the

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schism: there were 2 parent co-ops (nursery schools), with limited days and hours and a strict parental participation requirement; a nursery school program run by the city, also with limited scheduling options; and a university-sponsored pre-school that served as a lab experience for teacher education students and was also somewhat restrictive in terms of the ages of the children they served. All of these programs combined served approximately 25% (my own estimate) of the children in the area who had one or both parents working outside the home. Most of the others requiring care for all or part of the day found themselves in the homes of relatives, friends, or private sitters. The quality and consistency of these arrangements was often questionable. Given this situation, the issue of need was clear and simple: Oxford obviously needed, and could well support, an additional facility. Having made the decision that it was worth trying, I was fortunate in being able to convince Kris, a good friend and co-worker, that it was a good idea...or, at any rate, it was an idea that merited attention and further exploration. We were both in the position of deciding what to do when the private school where we had been working was scheduled to close at the end of the 1985- 86 school year. Neither one of us was particularly interested in another teaching position, since we were familiar with the other schools in the area and had no desire to compromise our idealism to accommodate their lack of vision. It seemed preferable to try to give life to our own vision and keep our ideals intact. Idealism in place, practicality reared its formidable head. We needed money, and we needed a facility. Since both of us had been idealistically working for next to nothing for several years, “savings” was not an option. I had approached the owner of the school where we had been working with our idea, and she agreed that it was workable and that her buildings and property would suit our needs. She wanted us to buy it outright, but when it became clear that bank financing was not possible (due to her asking price and our financial situation), she agreed to rent it to us. It was at this point that I made a fairly major error in judgment, which eventually led to some hard feelings and legal tangles. Both of us (myself and the owner), were eager to get things settled: I wanted to be able to have the new program up and running by the start of the next school year (income, you know), and she was preparing to move to Boston to finish her doctorate. In our mutual haste, we talked too much of possibilities and not enough of practicalities, and the result was a misunderstanding regarding the terms of the rental agreement. The figure we had discussed was what would be possible with the center AT CAPACITY, and I knew very well that figure was not possible AT OPENING. My understanding was that, as we reached capacity, the rent would increase accordingly. Her understanding was that she needed money, and she thought that I had agreed to that figure from the outset. By the end of 1986, we wound up renegotiating the lease. Fortunately, I had been able to find an attorney who understood my position and was willing to help me muddle through the mess at a modest fee. The major lesson I learned from this episode was twofold: first, GET EVERYTHING IN WRITING, clearly and completely, and, second, DON’T TRUST BUSINESS TO FRIENDSHIP, especially when money is involved. Financing was probably the biggest initial hurdle we faced. My mother was willing to sign a second mortgage on her condominium, and another acquaintance agreed to co-sign to insure sufficient income. As a result, I was able to borrow $10,000 from an

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independent finance company to get us started. All of that initial $10,000 went to the owner to cover the first couple of months rent and give us possession of all of the furnishings and materials in the building. Operating expenses for the first few months were covered by advance tuition payments from a handful of parents who were wonderfully supportive and generous. Without this assistance from my mother and the others, my business naivete may have been our undoing. I have learned a lot as a result, but not all of the lessons have been about savvy business practices; on the contrary, one of the most important lessons I carried from this rocky beginning was to explore all options, no matter how outlandish they may seem, and to never be afraid to ask for help. There are a lot of generous and supportive people out there, but you have to be willing to go to them. As I learned this difficult lesson, Kris and I were simultaneously dealing with a physical facility that was in need of extensive cleaning and upgrading to bring it up to a level of safety and sanitation that we felt was necessary to operating an acceptable early childhood program. Even though the buildings had already been in use as a private school, the main building that we intended to use for the children had never been completely finished when it was constructed 5 years earlier. Most of the work left undone was considered by the owner to be cosmetic rather than structural (e.g., taping and finishing the drywall, staining the exterior, covering the plywood floors, etc.), but we considered them priorities in demonstrating a basic respect for the people who would be using the space. Since our financial resources were already limited, we became quite adept at discovering inexpensive, though often labor intensive, methods of renovation and recovery. For example, traditional types of floor covering such as carpeting, tile, etc., were out of the question. Our solution was to secure several large, oddly shaped pieces of good used carpeting at the local university’s surplus auction, then cut them to cover angular spaces in areas that benefitted from the visual and auditory “softening” of carpet. The rest of the floor space was painted with dark brown floor enamel, which provided a reasonably durable, aesthetically acceptable surface. After financing and facility, the next hurdle to overcome was the licensing process. The state of Ohio had recently adopted an extensive set of rules and codes governing the licensing of day care centers and home care providers, and there was an accompanying trail of paperwork required to work through the process. The easiest part was the Plan of Operation (see Appendix 2), a multi- page document in which the license applicant is asked to outline in detail the expected schedules, use of space, plans for maintenance, etc., along with the developmental aspects of the program. Since I had been administrating the Pre-primary unit of the school for some time, I already had a good idea of what we were expecting and how we planned to go about it. Writing it up in the state’s format was more time-consuming than difficult, and I was able to submit it early in the summer of 1986. With that in place, it should have been easy to have our license and open in full operation by that September. Or so we thought... Before we could have our official licensing inspection, we had to submit approval forms for three other areas: a food service license or exemption from the Butler County Department of Health; a fire inspection approval from the city of Oxford; and a building approval from either the local or state building department. Since Oxford did not have an approved building inspection process, we had to contact the state agency in Columbus to secure our building approval.

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Since we had planned to have the children bring their own lunches, the food service exemption was easy to secure. We were familiar with the local fire inspector, who was pleased with the clean- up we had done to the building, but he couldn’t give us his approval until we had the building approval. That’s where we ran into difficulty. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say that dealing with a state agency and local contractors can be a very hairy procedure. It took some time to identify, contact, and arrange a visit from the appropriate people in Columbus (those who have experienced state beauracracy will know what I mean, those who haven’t can probably imagine). When we did manage to get everything arranged, we discovered that our fire alarm system was not up to code (everyone seemed a little confused as to how it had been previously approved for use as a school, but that didn’t help much with our immediate situation). Bringing the system up to code at a reasonable cost became a nightmare of contractor delays, supply problems, and rescheduled inspections that kept us unlicensed for an additional six months. During this time, we managed to get by with a group of children whose parents were aware of our predicament and did all they could to help out. With support, luck, and perseverance, we managed to see it through, and were granted our license in April, 1987. Since Oxford is a college town and operates largely on an academic calendar, we were not able to realistically begin building the program until the following fall. We were able, though, to establish enough of a summer program to keep things going and begin to generate some effective word-of-mouth business. As we made our way through the second year and enrollment increased (Appendix 3), we realized that it would be advisable to move the program to another facility. Fortune smiled, and we found a building that was closer to town, had a large but manageably- sized play yard, and just enough space to meet our needs. The rent was also less than half of what we had been paying. The building itself was a house with a large addition, and had been constructed with large, open spaces, nice woodwork, and the perfect size and number of rooms to lend itself to adaptation as a non- institutional environment for young children. Even though it meant going through the licensing and inspection process all over again, things were made somewhat smoother by the newly- approved city building inspectors and my new-found ability to deal firmly with contractors. The money for the move came from re-financing my mother’s mortgage at a lower rate, which did not require a second co-signer this time (the business was doing fairly well). So by the fall of 1988, the center was operating at a new facility at approximately 75% capacity. It was at this point that I felt I was finally able to relax a bit and say to myself, “It really is going to work...” The People Factor: Staff During the first year, the “staff” consisted of Kris, myself, and my mother as occasional substitute. Until we were licensed and able to expand, we could not afford any additional paid help...in fact, we could barely afford ourselves. We had decided early on that in order to meet the needs of working parents, it was necessary to offer hours of operation from 6:00 a.m. - 6:00 p.m. (the town’s other major employer after the university is an electrical parts manufacturing plant which operates on shifts that begin at 6:30). In order to meet everyone’s needs, we wound up working 50 hour weeks, not including planning time and hours spent over the weekends on the continuing physical maintenance and finish work. That was, to say the least, a stressful period. You can

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imagine our relief, then, when we were able to hire a part-time teacher the next fall. As plans were made to move the program after that second year, Kris decided that it was time for her to move on. We had been open from the beginning about the fact that she perceived the program as my dream, and that she was eager to help get it started but was not committed to it in the long term. We had judiciously agreed at the start to keep her name off of anything that might lead to legal or financial hassles when she left, so that made the practical aspects of her leaving easier. Even though I certainly regretted her going in one context (she happens to be an excellent teacher and an asset to any program), I did not begrudge her the desire to strike out on her own...I understand that need very well. I am fully cognizant of the fact that the program may not have become operational without her support and willingness to work very hard for very little, and I am grateful to her. With Kris’ leaving and growing enrollment, I found myself hiring two new full- time teachers and two part-time assistants to handle the before- and after-school care. The physical and emotional stress of the first two years was beginning to show, and I knew I could not continue to work 10-hour days, especially beginning early in the morning. The budget was tight, but the sleep was worth it. I consider myself fortunate over the last five years to have found generally quite reliable and competent people. There have been difficult exceptions, of course, but for the most part, everyone has worked out very well. Our turnover rate may seem high when you look at it on a percentage basis (it averages approximately 30% a year), but there are a number of extenuating factors that must be considered to understand that our turnover process is, in fact, very good. First, it needs to be remembered that Oxford is predominantly a college town on a seasonal schedule, and since our enrollment turns over every summer and again in the fall, staff availability and requirements fluctuate accordingly. With such a small staff, even one person leaving seems to represent a large percentage turnover. Most importantly, turnover within the school year is practically non- existent. It is crucial to the children’s sense of security to maintain consistent staffing, and I feel we have largely succeeded in doing so. I believe the primary reason we have been able to find the people we have is my policy of looking for people from non-traditional educational backgrounds. Since so many aspects of the program are based on non-traditional lines of pedagogy and practice, it has been my experience that people with elementary ed. or early childhood certifications from traditional teacher education or family studies departments tend to have some difficulty adapting to an alternative environment. Though this is certainly not always the case, it is true that I have had the most success with psychology majors and others who have had some experience or training in child development outside of traditional programs. (This is why I have some concern about the recent push for certification of people who work with young children: the programs that are currently in place to provide this certification are typically limited in their scope and emphasis. I fully agree that training and education are a vital part of developing qualified, inspired, and dedicated professionals in the field, but I am concerned that those qualifications are being narrowly defined along those traditional lines.) Even the most inspiringly alternative people can have some difficulty adjusting to new ideas, and this has been the main area of friction (though minimal) that has occurred between myself as an administrator and those with whom I work and/or have supervised.

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Since my commitment to the program has been understandably strong since we started, I have to confess to having had some difficulty over the years tempering my passion on some issues while standing firm on others. There are several issues that are critical to the foundation of the guiding philosophy of the center (such as violence, creativity, discipline, and sexism/racism) that are absolutely crucial to maintaining the integrity and commitment of the program, and these, while open to discussion and suggestion, are not likely to change. Even though I know that I have a somewhat strong personality, being “in charge” is something that has never come easy for me. Initially, it was very difficult for me to find the middle ground between being overly directive yet conveying the importance of specific issues. While some of the practices of the center have never been problematic for new people (e.g., our discipline policy that emphasizes natural consequences and forbids any form of physical punishment), other policies have been difficult for some people (e.g., in particular, our policies on creativity and competition). As I hired more new people, I found myself feeling quite uncomfortable with the amount of time I seemed to be spending explaining the same thing over and over. I finally realized that the staff size, while perfect in terms of adult-child interaction and insuring consistency within the program, was awkward in terms of the process of becoming acquainted with the “little things” that are not really so little (i.e., all the “- isms” and why coloring books are not included in any aspect of the program). In my attempts to give other staff members a feeling of autonomy, I had not been firm enough in stating the inherent expectations of the program philosophy. It was at this point that I came up with the Staff Guidelines handbook (see Appendix 4), which clearly and concisely expressed specific policies that are central to the fundamental program philosophy. I made it a point to hand one out to anyone who was interviewing for a position, and began to state firmly at the outset that there were some issues that people might find challenging, but were important enough to have found a permanent position in the stated program goals. I also discovered that it seemed beneficial to make sure that new staff members felt that, during the “get acquainted” process, I did not consider it a negative thing for them to take a while to get the hang of it, and that I hoped they would not take it personally when I or other staff members made suggestions or gave reminders. The idea of taking things personally touches on another topic which has been a source of introspection. Again, due to the nature of the center as intimate and people-centered, I think it has been difficult to find the line between personal and professional interactions. I realize that this is problematic in varying degrees to every business, but I think it is more so in this instance. Since much of the program challenges many of the things that most of us have grown up with as traditionally correct, there is a measure of self-reflection that occurs on a very personal level for most people. Along with that, details of an individual’s personal life become slightly more important as they effect the rest of the staff (for example, if one person is absent for any reason, it effects everyone else; it’s not as simple as accepting that some paperwork might not get done that day). In addition, there is a basic openness and honesty that is part of the territory with small children, further adding to the feeling of personal involvement with those around you. All in all, the lines between personal and professional become somewhat blurred. In most ways, this is a very positive thing. Since this profession is not a high- paying one, there is a degree of dedication and commitment required that has to come

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from a strong personal sense of priorities. It also demonstrates to the children that personal interactions are an important aspect of being part of a group, and are worthy of attention from adults as well as children. On the other hand, it also makes it difficult for some people to be comfortable with the distance necessary to maintain an understanding that we are not parents of the children in our care, and that professional and personal growth need not conflict. I have noticed over the course of the last five years that I have begun to separate myself more from the other staff members on a personal level than I used to. I’m not altogether comfortable with this myself, and am not completely clear as to why this is so. On the surface, I know it has something to do with two particularly difficult interactions that have occurred in the last three years, and my feeling that both of these interactions may have been made difficult by the fact that I considered both individuals to be friends as well as co-workers. In both cases, the individuals involved were going through some personal transformation and questioning that was prompting some major changes in their lives. In one case, this involved a profound change in her domestic circumstances that was painful and complicated. In the other case, the woman in question was confronting some basic issues of autonomy and self-esteem. I have come to believe that their work at OECC was encouraging some aspects of this questioning process, and that our relationship as friends/co-workers/employer-employee created a complex dynamic. Ultimately, I think this dynamic may have contributed to an expectation from both of them for an impossible combination of subjective reinforcement and objective detachment from me as an individual and me as OECC. All in all, both situations were unusually difficult and resulted in the individuals separating themselves from the facility. I have struggled coming to terms with the level of responsibility I have, personally and professionally, in both cases. I realize that I am not responsible for their feelings, and that it is not my job to play armchair analyst. I can’t help but feel responsible to some extent, though, for not being able to make things smoother for them. The ground between personal and professional has, apparently, been difficult for me, too. Parents Generally speaking, parent response to our program has been overwhelmingly positive since we opened. Especially supportive are the parents who have a genuine understanding of the things that make us different from many other programs, and enroll their child(ren) specifically for those reasons. We also experience support from parents who may not engage our philosophy at a deeper level, but nonetheless recognize that their children are experiencing something positive and safe. There are, of course, a few individuals who have not been satisfied. I have often said that the center is right for every student but not for every parent. By this, I mean that the flexibility built into the program philosophy allows for all types of learning styles, levels of social interaction, etc., but that there are parents who may be uncomfortable with specific aspects that don’t agree with their perceptions of how to deal with children. The few parents who have been unhappy with our style have been those that I would describe as somewhat overprotective. In these cases, the child has been typically reserved, and exhibited a solid grasp of how to gain attention and receive reinforcement for withdrawing or “pouting”. These are not behaviors that we encourage as positive: one of our most important goals is to foster positive self- esteem and help children find their “voice” - in other words, to stand up for themselves in effective,

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positive ways and to express their emotions constructively and honestly. Children who have been overly-protected or catered to often have difficulty intervening on their own behalf in social situations, and turn to adults to do it for them. There are certainly situations in which it is necessary for adults to actively intervene, but by and large we encourage children to attempt to handle situations on their own before coming to an adult. Even children who have not previously been expected to do this generally learn to do so in a matter of time, but it has been the case that parents were not happy with what they perceived as unkindness directed toward their child. In one instance, we were able to discuss the issue with the parents and come to a mutual understanding of our respective goals and positions. In this particular case, the child in question soon developed a less adult-centered capacity for confronting situations, and the parents later expressed their recognition that it had helped make things easier at home, too. In the other two cases, the parents chose not to contact us about their uneasiness (even during the parent conference that semester, which may say something about the problem to begin with), and we subsequently had no clues about their unhappiness with the situation and had little power to work with the problem. In between the dissatisfied and the unquestionably thrilled, we have dealt with a range of questions, worries, misunderstandings, and suggestions that have been, for the most part, well- intended and well received. I have to admit that one of the major frustrations I have experienced in my role as director has been the nitty-gritty that accompanies the aforementioned list. One of the most difficult lessons for me to internalize was that Lincoln (or whoever) was right: you really can’t please all of the people all of the time. This in particular touches on that fuzzy line between personal and professional. Having invested so much of myself on a personal level into the program, it required some serious rethinking to put complaints and criticism in perspective. At this point, I would say that I think I do that fairly well now...well, most of the time, anyway. One of the unfortunate effects of expansion has been a slightly reduced intimacy with as great a number of parents. I have tried to make myself available, but I realize that some people have difficulty mentioning problems that they may be experiencing. I became particularly aware of this after receiving the Parent Evaluation Forms (see Appendix 5) that were mailed to as many of the parents as we could find who have had children enrolled in the facility since it opened. I originally conceived the idea of these forms in the summer of 1991 as an evaluative means of including parent input in this project. I was so pleased with the results, though, that I plan to include the forms as a regular part of our year-end conference process every spring. I chose to use a number-rating system on the forms to make it less time-consuming and simpler for the parents. I also included response space for those who wished to write more specifically about particular items, and was appreciative of the number of comments that were included. I was also mildly surprised to note the number of minor concerns that people raised, particularly concerning the physical facility. Being made aware of specific concerns allowed us to examine them or explain them, whereas without the remarks we might never have known that people were experiencing any dissatisfaction. For example, a few people expressed concern over the cleanliness of the inside spaces. This prompted a staff discussion over how clean is clean, and what we could do about the perceptions that had been expressed. We concluded that a spic-and-

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span sterile environment is not really desirable in a space that is to be used to its fullest by children, and that a perception of “unclean” might have more to do with neatness than with actual sanitation. We have always tried to maintain an essentially sanitary facility, but realized that a sense of basic neatness in certain areas (e.g., puzzle and book shelves, chairs under tables, etc.) could be better facilitated by the classroom teachers. We also considered the possibility that some people may equate “clean” with what I refer to as “catalog toys” - high-priced, shiny materials prominently displayed. We have a fair number of “high-tech” items, but only ones that have a broad range of potential usage, are reasonably priced, and are not commercialized (I am not interested in selling children on the desirability of Disney or any other logo-oriented manufacturer; children do not need cute visuals to hold their interest if an item is truly usefully designed). We are a very well-equipped facility, but if parents are looking for glitz, they will be happier elsewhere. When I was a teacher-in-training, I think I probably underestimated the importance of regular communication with parents in a formal manner. I was used to informal discussions with parents as they picked up or dropped off their children, and still consider that to be the most effective form of conveying daily thoughts about the children in my care. As an administrator dealing with a slightly larger program, I have learned that it is important to realize that it is not possible to touch base with the same frequency with parents who are late to work, or carpool with a neighbor, or who pick up and drop off at times when the teacher is not available, or who simply are not as intensely interested in their child’s day. We have always employed a system of written reports at the end of the first semester and conferences at the end of the second, and this is an important step in maintaining communication. We also encourage parents to schedule conferences if they feel a need, and will do the same if there is a particular issue or concern on our part. Additionally, we have two after-hours “events” during the year (a Scare Party in October and a Movie Night/Potluck in May), which encourages parents to spend time at the facility on a more entertaining basis (the children prepare special activities for both events). This strategy of multiple forms of communication has seemed to work very well for us. I realize that, even with the evaluation forms, some people are never going to express their concerns, and in those cases there is not much we can do to help. I guess it’s all part of the nitty-gritty. Children In many ways, this is the most difficult section to write about. Not because I don’t feel I have much to say about the children - just the opposite; there is so much to say that it is hard for me to decide what to include and what to leave out. The children are, of course, the reason...the reason for doing what I do and keeping it going. I am not being self-sacrificing, denying that I get a tremendous enjoyment from working with young minds, but one of the reasons it is so enjoyable for me is because of the strength of my convictions about the importance of early educational experiences for young children. I really do believe that (as our handbook states), “From eighteen months through the elementary years a child learns more, faster than at any other time in the educational experience” and that “It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of a positive educational experience during these years”. “Positive” is the operative word here: in order for that early experience to be positive, it must, in my opinion, adhere to these guidelines:

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 It must accommodate children individually AND personally, to give value to each child’s experiences and desires;  It must encourage children to understand that learning is something that they do for themselves, not waiting for a teacher to show them and approve;  It must provide an environment that is designed for and responsive to the needs and levels of the children who use it, enabling them to find the tools they need to learn what they are ready to learn when they are ready to learn;  It must empower children to believe in themselves as strong individuals who are considerate of the feelings of others;  It must facilitate creativity in all its forms, including, but not limited to, expression through artistic creation; critical thinking and problem solving; individual modes of learning, etc.;  It must provide an atmosphere in which it is safe to explore positive as well as negative feelings;  It must allow for each child’s range of needs, desires, limits, and abilities;  And it must provide ample opportunity for just plain fun.

“Positive” means a lot... Rather than try to discuss the children that have enriched my life over the years on a general or abstract level, I think it might be clearer to talk about a few specific children who exemplify the importance of the above issues. The representative narrative sampling that follows is accurate in everything but each child’s name; those I have changed in the interest of confidentiality. 1. TOM I have chosen to begin with a child who probably typifies what might be referred to as an “average white, middle class, Norman Rockwell” kind of kid. He also typifies the demographic majority for young children in Oxford: predominantly white, male, and middle class. Tom was 3 when he started at the center. His parents enrolled him because they wanted him to have a socializing experience (at the time, he was an only child). They enrolled him for 3 afternoons a week, and his schedule has remained basically the same for the last 2 ½ years. He is enthusiastic about learning, but could not be considered “gifted”. He is generally cooperative, easy-going, and gets along well with all of the other children. Other than the extraordinary fact of being the best Tom he can be, there is nothing that would stand him out from the crowd. One of the local misconceptions about our program is that we mostly have “gifted” kids; our average intellectual capacity is not much different than most other programs, however. This misconception springs, I believe, from two things: first, we do have a number of “faculty” children who are more likely to have a literature-rich home environment (this enrollment statistic is mostly due to word-of-mouth and the fact that Miami University is the town’s biggest employer); and second, the fact that children who enter kindergarten or first grade from our facility are usually “performing” at or above grade level (to those who measure such things). Tom is a perfect example of the ability behind the second factor and what it says about the success of the program. We never push a child beyond what he/she is capable of and willing to learn, but we also refuse to hold a child back when he/she expresses an interest in developing new skills, even if that skill hasn’t fallen into the “appropriate” category for that child’s age. In other words, we simply let children learn. In an atmosphere that is responsive and open, children are

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capable of acquiring skills in a meaningful way with lasting retention. When a group of four-year-olds, for example, all spend their time pursuing the alphabet at the same rate and in the same order, only a few of them are really going to “get it”. If that same group of four-year-olds is allowed to discover the alphabet in their own time and in an order that has meaning for them (with moderate assistance and sometime guidance from a non- intrusive teacher), almost all of those four-year-olds will internalize the alphabet in a much more efficient and effective manner. 2. BENJAMIN Whereas Tom illustrates our average, easy-going, basically cooperative kind of kid, Benjamin stands out in my memory as a child who was intellectually advanced beyond the norm for his age (he was 5 when he started at the center), but exhibited some severe emotional and behavioral difficulties that were not easily handled. As a child with unique problems, Benjamin represents another one of the strong points of the program: with an emphasis on individualized and personalized interaction, we are better able to effectively respond to most behavioral problems than would be possible in a large, group-centered program. (The only limit of our willingness to accommodate behavioral difficulties is if a child poses a direct, violent threat to the other children in our care.) In Benjamin’s case, a turbulent early childhood that centered around an apparently less-than optimal divorce procedure seemed to have contributed to the development of a pattern of behavior that was extremely disruptive to any activity going on around him. He routinely focussed on drawing attention to himself in generally negative ways, and seemed to derive reinforcement from hurting or manipulating others. He had a well- formed sense of what was “right” and “wrong”, but rarely displayed any genuine sense of remorse or regret for his unacceptable actions. On the other hand, he also had a great capacity for being sensitive, gentle, and caring, particularly around younger children and animals. The year that Benjamin spent at OECC was, I believe, very helpful in encouraging him to begin to recognize the importance of the positive aspects of his personality. Often, I find so-called “difficult” children the most exciting and rewarding ones with which to work. Their strong personalities can be empowering to them and others if they can learn to channel their energy in a positive and constructive manner. I’m not sure I could confidently say that we got that far with Benjamin, partly because he was only with us for a year and partly because our interactions with his mother were sometimes strained. I don’t presume to be able to analyze his mother’s state of mind, but it seemed to me that she was generally resistant to any suggestion that Benjamin’s behavior was truly problematic. In one instance, he had tried to kick another child who was walking a few feet away from where he was swinging: it was in no way accidental, as we watched him stretch his legs as far as they could possibly reach just as the child walked past while pointing the toe of his shoe at the child’s head. He also acknowledged that this was his intention when we questioned him about it. When we talked to his mother, she maintained that he was “just in that large-muscle stage” when physical movement was important. We agreed that he was, indeed, in a gross-motor stage, but that didn’t have much to do with intentionally trying to kick another child in the head. Whenever Benjamin was having trouble managing his behavior, we employed a

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number of strategies to help him out. For example, during a two-week period in the spring, we developed a ‘modified’ behavior-modification technique to give him an immediate, visual record of his daily progress. I do not generally choose to employ traditional behavior-mod techniques except in specific cases, for a specific purpose, and for a limited period. I also do not believe in encouraging children to adjust their behavior in order to win a “prize”, though it is necessary to provide the child in question with a tangible means of processing her/his progress in a concrete manner. In this particular instance, I divided each day into easily distinguished and manageable periods (for example, Story Time, Outside Time, Lunch Time, etc.), and asked him to help me evaluate his behavior after each period. We had already established a list of behaviors that were to be the focus of his energy (for example, Hurting Others, Talking During Quiet Time, and so on). If we both agreed that he had acceptably managed his behavior for the period in question, he put a check mark in the appropriate box. At the end of the day, we added the checks, and if they equaled the number we had agreed he would try for that day, he wrote “YES” in the box for that day. There was never anything taken away from him if he didn’t manage his behavior, and it was made clear to him and the others that this was part of his work for the week, and as such did not earn him any special privileges that were unavailable to the rest of the group. The chart merely gave him an immediately recognizable, visual record for him to check his progress. The chart proved very effective for the short term, but I would not have continued it on a regular basis: to do so would have, I believe, conveyed the message that I did not believe Benjamin was capable of controlling himself without constant help. As it was, he was able to focus on his behavior for a period that was long enough to keep him focused for some weeks afterward. This approach to behavior management is in line with our general discipline policy of reinforcing natural consequences for acceptable and unacceptable behaviors. If children are encouraged to internalize responsibility for their own behavior by experiencing the natural consequences of those behaviors, they will be better able to develop a sense of responsible autonomy for making decisions and respecting the rights of other people. If they constantly have their behavior monitored for them and experience punishment or rejection, they will be more likely to become “people pleasers”, engaging in behaviors or activities with little regard for their own sense of responsibility. When I think about Benjamin, I remember the genuinely warm and caring person who peeked out past the hurt on occasion, and feel a pang of regret that we were not able to manage a more effective communication with his mother. I hope he is able to find a positive outlet for his strength and willpower some day...it will take him far. 3. MELISSA When I speak of “the -isms”, I am referring to those patterns of thought and action that reinforce, subliminally or obviously, behaviors which reflect a biased or judgmental attitude toward people who are different from the prevailing white, male, middle class American “norm”. In particular, I am speaking of racism, sexism, and classism, three areas that are directly addressed by the structure of our basic program philosophy. Awareness of the “-isms” is crucial to fostering tolerance, acceptance, and appreciation of individual difference. The problem with the “-isms” is that, in a Liberally “enlightened” town like Oxford, it is sometimes difficult to get people to understand the depth, complexity, and insidiousness of attitudes that we grow up with. Simply being careful not to use

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degrading epithets does not get to the root of the matter, even though words are an important place to start. I have had many a tense discussion over my “pickiness” about identifying some of those more “invisible” manifestations of bias. As an example of the importance of this issue as it pertains to sexism (to select a specific topic), Melissa comes to mind as an argument for the necessity of picky. I have been asked, more than once, why we don’t have (and have never had and never will have) a “doll” or “housekeeping” area. I have explained, more than once, my feeling that gender-specific clothes (like dresses and ties) do not do much for a child’s imagination, though they do facilitate role-playing and encourage children to mimic adults, including the full range of sexist behaviors and attitudes. I have also noted that defined household items (like toy stoves and refrigerators), again do little for the imagination but define the parameters of dramatic play. Children certainly need the time and space to assimilate experiences from their home environments, and to reconcile the messages that they receive about “appropriate” gender behavior. Supplying them with the tools of the dominant power structure does not help them question those messages or seek alternatives. On the other hand, a box full of brightly colored material, non-gender specific clothes (such as t-shirts and some hats), cardboard cartons, and gender-neutral stuffed animals (all located in an “Imagination Area”) grant children the broadest possible range of expression, discovery, and dramatic opportunity. Sexism is, without a doubt, one of the most pervasive forms of bias children of all ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds encounter. From the day they are born (and even before), they are showered with diapers that have buckles for boys and bows for girls; toys that teach girls to be passive and boys to be active; dolls that emphasize unnaturally thin bodies and long hair as a female ideal and equally unnatural muscular bodies as a male ideal; movies that lead them to believe that the most important thing in life is coupling up with a member of the opposite sex because you can’t be happy by yourself; and on and on... I am adamantly picky about the fact that OECC is one place where they can grow and interact and discover the substance of their own gender identity without the sexist subtext. And it is children like Melissa who remind me just how important that is. One day last year, I had been engaged in a research project regarding the relationship of mechanical aptitude to gender. I was becoming somewhat depressed about how bleak the picture still is for women in non- traditional occupations, and was questioning whether or not we could be truly effective against the onslaught of Little Mermaids, Barbies, Teenage Mutant Ninja Chauvinists, and all the other insults to female ability and strength. Sitting with a group of children, I looked at Melissa’s far-from-frilly play clothes, her happily smudged face, and the ribbon perched precariously in her hair, and listened to her tell me, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a teacher...or a baseball player...or football player.” Or anything else you want to be... It’s moments like those that get you to come back to work the next day, after you thank her parents for doing a good job, too. 4. LAUREN Growing up does not come easily for all of us. For a variety of reasons, from early abuse to overprotectiveness to apparently innate shyness to who knows what else, some children just seem to have a greater degree of difficulty adapting to different situations and/or adjusting to changes in themselves or their surroundings.

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Such was the case with Lauren. Lauren began at the center when she was almost three. Besides needing a consistent place for her while they worked, her parents recognized the importance of early socialization experiences beyond the two or three other children she had known in her playgroup. Many children have trouble warming up to a new situation, but for Lauren it didn’t seem to get much easier with time. For several weeks, she was unusually quiet and seemed extremely fearful of the other children. She was extremely bright and verbal, and enjoyed individual activities with the teacher, but whenever she was free to choose her own activity, she would play exclusively by herself. During outside time, while the others were running and playing, Lauren would stand off to the side near the fence, where she began to wear a circular path in the ground that showed where she paced while watching for her parents to arrive. It didn’t take long to recognize that Lauren’s problem was a little more extensive than could be accounted for by normal separation anxiety. The teacher for Lauren’s group was new that year, and we had many discussions about the course of action we should employ. We also communicated with her parents every day, letting them know how she did and how we were handling the situation. Basically, we approached her with a consistently positive message along the lines of, “I know you’re upset/worried/afraid/etc., and want to be with your mom or dad right now; it’s okay to feel the way you do, and you will see your mom and dad after school. Until then, I believe that you are strong enough to let yourself do things that are fun and will help you feel good. If you want, I will help you find things that feel good to do, but you need to remember that I have to be with the other kids, too, so if you want me to help, you will have to spend some time with the others, which would be a terrific thing! If you really need to feel sad, though, we will set up a space in the hallway where you can sit by yourself and be sad.” (This was not said in a “punitive” manner, and was not suggested as such; it was explained to her that if she needed to spend that much time being sad/scared/worried/etc., it made it hard for the other kids to have fun if she was in the room; hence, her own space.) At first, her time in the hallway was limited only by her choice; gradually, we began to set limits on the amount of time she was spending there by asking her to rejoin the group, eventually leading her out after just a short time with a gently persuasive hand. Using this strategy of reinforcing positive feelings and activities while encouraging self- confidence, we began to notice some improvement in her attitude and willingness to participate in the room. It still seemed to be extremely slow going, and I finally decided to explain to her parents that I did not feel comfortable making further judgments about her behavior. I suggested that they consult with a local agency which specializes in diagnosing a range of behaviors, problems, abilities, etc. I assured them that we were willing to cooperate with whatever was decided would be in Lauren’s best interests, whether that meant altering our approach or withdrawing her from the program. Looking back, I think it was one of the most difficult and rewarding conferences I have ever had with a child’s parents. I was aware that extreme fearfulness and withdrawal can be symptoms expressed by a child who has experienced a severely traumatic or possibly abusive situation, and had kept this in the back of my mind since Lauren had entered. I was also confident that she had not experienced anything like that with her parents, but I had to wonder about other possibilities. During the conference, I tried to stress our feeling

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that the limits of our expertise precluded any further assumptions or conclusions on our part, and that we hoped that there was nothing unusual to be found. Experience seemed to indicate that another opinion might be a good idea. Her parents responded very well. They were obviously concerned and more than a little worried that their daughter was experiencing difficulty, but I think they recognized that her behavior was not exactly typical. They contacted the agency I had suggested (the Children’s Diagnostic Center in Hamilton) and arranged the appropriate interviews. The CDC sent the assigned case worker to our facility to observe Lauren for a day and take note of the interactions she had with the staff and other children. After a lengthy process of interviews and evaluations with Lauren and her parents, they expressed their opinion that Lauren, while somewhat more fearful than other children, was basically doing fine. They suggested that, for some reason they, too, were unable to discern, Lauren seemed to be having a more stressful experience as she worked her way through the stages of developing autonomy. They also expressed their opinion that she should stay at the center through the school year, and that we should continue to handle her the same way we always had. By the following fall, Lauren was through her difficulties and facing the school year with confidence and smiles. It had been reassuring to hear that the people at the CDC believed we had handled the situation competently, and it also felt good to have the support of Lauren’s parents throughout the process. Nothing, though, was more rewarding than the Scare Party that October (around Halloween, the children and staff concoct a brief “show” to entertain parents and friends). The year before, Lauren’s group had done a “monster dance”, which basically involved them painting paper bags and dancing, jumping, wiggling or staring while music played in the background. Lauren had decided she did not wish to participate, even though she didn’t have to talk or even move if she didn’t want to. We were not surprised with her decision. The following year, however, the group she was in had memorized a brief story-rhyme that they recited and acted out. Even though I knew Lauren had come a long way, I was still surprised to see her on Scare Party night, standing up there with her group, not only reciting the poem, but saying it with a strong, clear voice. I still get that shivery feeling when I think about it. Thank you, Lauren, for believing in yourself...and thank you, Lauren’s parents, for believing in Lauren and in our ability to serve her needs. 5. TONY At the risk of sounding sugary, I can say that I honestly believe that every child brings to the world their own special gift, whether it be a capacity for intelligence, a particularly well- developed athletic ability, an engaging sense of humor, a knack for numbers, an especially effective hug, a sensitivity to animals, or a million other particular possibilities. Every child’s gift is something to be cherished, nurtured, and encouraged. For Tony, that gift is an ability to express himself through art. I have known Tony since he was 18 months old, and it was apparent even at that age that he enjoyed manipulating materials and creating unique arrangements. By the time he was 4, his parents and I had mutually acknowledged the realization that he probably possessed more than a “typical” artistic ability, and we all agreed that it was important enough to actively encourage. At the center, “active encouragement” wasn’t much different than the way we encourage all the children to create things from their imaginations in ways they enjoy. The only noticeable difference in our approach with Tony was the frequency with which we talked

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with him specifically about his drawings and creations. We tended to ask him to tell us more about the content of his creations, and about aspects of his process that he found particularly enjoyable. His parents reinforced his ability at home, understanding the importance of NOT giving him coloring books but supplying him with materials and opportunities and encouragement. Tony’s mother worked in Oxford, his father in one of the surrounding cities, and they lived in a small town in a largely rural area somewhat south of Oxford. When Tony was old enough to begin first grade (until then, kindergarten was not compulsory in Ohio and his parents wanted him to stay with us), they decided that they could not afford the only private elementary school in Oxford, and their work schedules would not enable them to enter him in the Oxford local schools. The public school in their community did not have an especially stellar reputation, particularly for their art program, and they expressed some concern about what would happen to his ability and interest. We discussed the possibility of enrolling him in some type of private art program, but there weren’t any available in the area at the time. Miami University offered a Saturday art class that was facilitated by art students, but even though he enjoyed the activities, he was soon bored. After his public school experience got under way, his mother called to ask if I had heard of any other programs yet. Their uneasiness with the system was being validated, and she said that Tony was feeling academically pressured and artistically unchallenged. I still was not aware of any offerings other than the Miami classes, and I asked her to keep me informed of his progress. Two weeks before our summer program began, she called again and asked if we had room for Tony with the older group. I was glad that we did have a space, and was looking forward to spending time with Tony again. During the summer, I generally try to develop a “theme” for the older (age 6 - 9) kids, and that summer’s theme was immediately identified for me. Along with Tony, there were two others who had expressed a special interest in drawing, so we spent the summer talking about Art. We spent the first week talking about different types of commercial art (e.g. magazines, books, greeting cards, studio photography, etc.), performing arts (music, dance, etc.), and visual/tactile arts (painting, sculpture, etc.), and relating these areas to what we referred to as “personal art” (that which is done for the enjoyment or experience of the artist). Needless to say, personal art became the focus of our energies. Each child contributed to a definition of the form or value of personal art, and we made a list of the types of techniques or processes we would try during the course of the summer. The next two months were spent talking about color, texture, light and shadow, movement, and perspective. All of this was done to accommodate each child’s level of interest and ability, and the emphasis at all times was on enjoying the process as well as the results. Overall, it was one of the most enthusiastically engaged units I have ever done with the kids. Tony, in particular, seemed relieved to be able to explore and develop his interests at his own pace and in his own way. His parents have since found a program run by a local community arts council that is broadening his ability in a positive way. They have also worked their budget around to enable him to attend the private school across the street from the center, so now I get to see him every morning and afternoon. I do not take credit for Tony’s ability, but I do believe that we have had a hand in

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helping him value his own gifts and find positive, effective ways to express them and share them with others. I also feel that, as with academics, our biggest strength lies in the fact that we let children grow to their fullest by giving them encouragement and the room to help themselves. Creativity is crucial to self-direction and independence, and it is not limited to an artistic ability such as Tony’s. As important as it is for Tony to learn about the intricacies of artistic techniques, it is equally important for him to learn how to resolve conflicts positively, find solutions to problems that he encounters, and use his imagination. A month or so after Tony started at the school across the street (where several other OECC “alumni” attend), I asked his mother how he was doing. She said that he liked it a lot, and that one of his teachers there had commented, “Tony seems to be very good at finding ways to work things out when a problem comes up with another child...you know, come to think of it, a lot of those OECC kids seem to do that well.” You bet. Creativity, self-directed learning, sensitivity, confidence, responsibility, tolerance...these are all aspects of the fundamental program philosophy at OECC that make a difference in the lives of the children, parents, and staff. It is a philosophy that is put into practice on a daily basis, and is reviewed, considered, and altered as needed. It is a program that is dynamic in its focus on the children and as responsive as possible to the needs of the parents. It is, I believe, adaptable to children across a wide socio-economic and cultural spectrum. And it works.

Part Three: It Works

Successes and Problems

I have come to feel very satisfied with the general success of the center, both as a business and for the effectiveness of the program philosophy. The business success can be accounted for by a combination of common sense, hard work, a ready market, and a good reputation. I am certainly proud of this aspect of it, but I think I am prouder still of the evidence that the program philosophy works and is appreciated. The key to the program success is, I feel, the emphasis on child-centered, self- directed learning within an environment that encourages creativity and is committed to meeting the needs of the children. The center reflects the children who are there; no one is seen as a statistic, a commodity, or raw material to be molded in an adult image. Individual freedom is respected and prized, but not blindly or with no regard for social relationships and societal context. Specifically, this means that children are respected for their uniqueness, desires, and abilities, but with attention to the fact that they are growing up with other children in a society that too often defines acceptability in terms of conformity to standards that privilege some at the expense of others. The fact that our program is committed to addressing these inequities as a natural part of the learning experience is central to its effectiveness. In practical terms, the successful application of this commitment is dependent on the specific policies that have evolved as the program has grown. Of these specific

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policies, there are three that I believe are the most crucial. First is the policy of emphasizing and fostering creativity as a distinct and fundamental aspect of learning and development. Creativity is not defined here just as unlimited freedom of expression, but as the process of discovering, uncovering, and unburdening each child’s creative potential from cultural constraints that intrude upon us from an early age. For example, we will not give the children access to coloring books or stencil patterns that present children with adult-made pictures to be colored in. As it states in our staff handbook, “Even if they color the tree purple, it is still someone else’s tree” (see Appendix 4). The strength of my commitment to this policy has been influenced primarily by three sources: 1) my former employer, Bobby Starnes, who demonstrated by her own commitment how important it is to ask questions; 2) Lowenfeld and Brittain’s Creative and Mental Growth, in which they eloquently express the creative restrictions that are inherent in coloring books; and 3) Susan Striker’s Anti-Coloring Book series, which presents children with visual and conceptual frames to provide them with a starting point for their own expression. I stated earlier that the policy on creativity is often the most difficult one for new staff members to see as important. The most common response I get from adults is, “It’s just a coloring book; it’s not that big of a deal. Didn’t you have them when you were a kid?” Yes, I grew up with coloring books, and it took me some time as an adult to rediscover my creativity and make the connection between artistic creativity and other forms; and it is this connection which, I feel, is the most vital aspect of creativity in its broadest sense. It is also this connection which many adults have the most difficulty understanding, even though the consequences are far- reaching. As artist Jenny Holzer explains: “One thing that art making can do is to prepare children for living. They can look at what’s around them and see what scares them the most and what’s most wonderful. After portraying the worst, maybe they can cure it, make their own utopias. Art gives you absolute freedom to tell the truth and to improve your reality. It’s a good foundation for activism. Being critical, analytic, alert and rapturous should be taught at a very early age. Look hard at what’s there. Expose it and change it.” (in Ames, p.44) In terms of creative restriction, our goal is very definitely to expose it and change it. I think we do that very well. The second crucial policy is the one that has evolved regarding violent play. Initially, we expressed to the children that violent play (playing war or “bang-bang you’re dead” games) was unacceptable inside because of the noise level, but that they could do it outside as long as it didn’t get dangerously rough. Watching them play, however, I was increasingly disturbed with the intensity and direction of the games that were being played, and Kris and I had many discussions attempting to uncover the source of our discomfort. On the one hand, we could see the value of having an active outlet for aggressive feelings that did not cause any direct harm. Again, my own childhood experiences came to bear on this interpretation: I remember playing war with my neighborhood friends, and managed to use the games as a means of gaining understanding about the mortality of combat. In our discussions, it was this last point that eventually stood out to get us to change the policy such that any games that involved weapons, killing, or fighting became unacceptable anywhere, inside or out. What we began to realize was that the societal influences had changed substantially since we were

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children: as we played war, “Combat” was on TV, showing GI’s in Europe during World War II who were not enjoying the experience and who were dying every week; additionally, we had the example of the first “living room war” that was sending graphic pictures from Vietnam into our homes and consciousness. Children today, however, have their violent play defined by G.I. Joe, He-Man, and other cartoons that depict human (or human- like) characters engaged in violent situations in which bombs go off, super- weapons are fired frequently, and people are kicked, punched, and otherwise battered about, and yet NO ONE EVER DIES. That was an important realization. Children today do not see the consequences of violence in the popular media. They see “good guys” (who are predominantly light-skinned, muscular, and overwhelmingly blonde males) regularly beat the “bad guys” (you can fill in the description) using an amazing array of weaponry but not really killing anyone. Even war for children today is the sanitized reporting of the Gulf War, during which American TV was flooded with the glorious victories of our forces but somehow missed most of the devastation that afflicted hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children. Coupled with the fact that toy guns today are strikingly realistic, it is no wonder that children are killing each other in record numbers because they are “playing” with guns that they often don’t think are real, or because they have not internalized a strong enough sense of just how deadly guns are. Overall, we felt the case was made for justifying the argument that the children in our care were going to have at least one place in their lives where violence, even as fantasy, was not going to be encouraged as an acceptable outlet for aggressive feelings. We also realized that, in fact, it would have been hypocritical to allow violent play in light of our fundamental position that it is unacceptable to hurt other people, physically, verbally, or when pretending. Interestingly, even though I know that not everyone who has a child at the center agrees with this perception, this policy has not been a source of complaint or conflict. I think it must be hard to argue that it’s somehow okay to encourage children to hurt others, even pretending. It doesn’t seem to make much sense. The third policy that stands out as one of our strengths is also, oddly enough, one of our problems. This is the fact that the program enrollment is, by design, limited, and will remain so. The reason for this is my belief that a key aspect of a positive early experience is the stability and intimacy of being part of a relatively small group in a facility that is not overwhelming in its size. In order for children to feel that the school is truly “theirs”, they must be able to be familiar with all of the teachers, all of the building, and most of the other kids. This is simply not possible in a large facility that “warehouses” children. It is also necessary for the teachers to have the time and space to get to know each child as well as they possibly can, and to be comfortable with every child’s family situation. Parents have often remarked that the center seems large enough to provide the necessary social experiences and developmental materials for their children without seeming impersonal and institutional. The problem is, that with limited enrollment which is generally at or near capacity, we do not have as much flexibility to accommodate schedule changes as we did when we first opened. This has been most problematic during the school year for the older children who attend before and/or after school: if the public schools are closed for snow days or conference days, we are not always able to make space available for those children during the school day. It is a problem that we are still struggling with. The only other thing that I see as a genuine program weakness is actually rooted not

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in the program itself, but in the demographic composition of the Oxford area. This is the issue of cultural and socio-economic diversity. Even though the activities and materials are intentionally representative of a broad range of lifestyles, beliefs, and cultural experiences (and are presented as a naturally assumed part of the curriculum and facility), the same diversity is not represented to the same extent in the children who attend. Oxford is a predominantly white, middle- and upper- middle-class, well-educated university town, and our enrollment reflects this composition. At the present time, we have one African-American student, one Asian student, and two bi-racial students; the rest are European-American. The average family income at the center is approximately $37,000/year. This is certainly not my idea of diverse representation, but I have to confess that I am at something of a loss as to ways to effectively and realistically address the issue. We do offer scholarships to try to make sure that money is not a prohibitive factor, but the amount we can use for scholarships is limited and not all people are willing to apply for one. I think we could probably do more to promote the scholarships, but then we face the problem of absorbing the cost in a way that would not increase the cost for everyone else. Since we are not a non-profit organization, it is not realistic to expect people to contribute to a scholarship fund unless it is not directly connected with the center, a process with which I am not familiar enough to facilitate. (The reasons for our for-profit status have little to do with profit and more to do with IRS requirements for qualification for non-profit status.) In terms of ethnic and cultural demographics, it has been suggested that we could relocate in a more diverse area of the county, but I don’t think that is necessarily a good solution either: quality child-care is needed in Oxford, too, and I think that, in some ways, it may be just as important to challenge the privilege of the children here in order to plant the seeds of change in their minds as well. Overall, it is a complicated issue, and, as I said, is the most problematic aspect of the program. The only other significant difficulty with which we contend is one that is an issue for the entire field of early childhood programs. That is the economic tension that exists between equitable income for employees balanced with reasonable program cost for parents. I know that the center is successful in a business sense, but like all businesses we are affected by societal economic factors such as recessions and unemployment rates. In this aspect, I do experience the limitations of a modest income and the frustrations of not being able to afford a benefit package for my employees. Part of this is due to the size of the business, part is due to an uncertain national economy, and part is due to the more abstract issue of the societal value that we place on early childhood occupations and day care as a service for young children. The lack of understanding and sensitivity to this issue on a federal level is evidenced by our current administration’s belief that year-end tax credits for middle-income families is a sufficient solution, even though it does nothing to help families that are struggling to meet expenses on a week-to-week basis. It is also evidenced by the low status that is still attached to early childhood workers, and by the fact that there is still a debate about whether or not women with young children should be working. Until these issues are addressed in an effective manner on a national level, the economic realities in the daily lives of OECC employees are going to remain problematic.

Will it Work Anywhere Else? In a nutshell - yes, I believe the program at OECC is adaptable to a broad range of

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circumstances and locations. I have to say “believe” because I have no way of proving this claim by way of practical application, but there are a number of components of the program that are arguably supportive of this idea. First and foremost, the emphasis on responding to the needs of the children and parents lends itself to adaptation in a number of ways. The important thing to remember is that these responses can occur within the context of the fundamental program goals without compromising those goals. I am referring specifically to the discipline, creativity, competition, and “-ism” guidelines that frame the environment and activities at the facility. In a different cultural or socio-economic context, the equipment and physical environment can be altered and adapted to reflect the needs and lifestyles of the families involved without sacrificing the commitment to the above guidelines. The second argument for effective adaptability is the adherence to a philosophy of self-directed learning that is evidenced, again, by the environment and activities with which the children are involved while at the center. By focusing on materials that are meaningful and relevant to the lives of the children, it is possible to recreate in any location experiences that enable children to grow and learn according to their own interests and abilities. Third, the program size is critical to its success here and potential success elsewhere. I genuinely believe that children learn best in an environment where they feel secure and special. They thrive on familiarity, consistency, and trust, which can only happen in a group that is small enough for the teacher to know each student, yet large enough to give everyone ample opportunity to make new acquaintances and form lasting relationships. In an extremely large facility (which I would define as one that serves more than 4 groups of children with a maximum of 14 in any one group), children run the risk of getting lost in the crowd, or having their needs met only nominally by a teacher who must manage several other children. A program that is too small, on the other hand (i.e. one that has fewer than 10 children at a time), is not generally able to provide a sufficient range of experiences and possibilities to meet a child’s full potential. Also, a too-small program can be difficult if a child is not able to form satisfactory peer relationships because of the limited enrollment. This last assessment should not be taken as a general criticism of home-based care programs, however. Even though many home-based programs (as well as many centers) are inadequate and incompetently run, many others are conducted in the homes of people who understand clearly the need for quality, consistency, and variety, and see to it that these needs are met in positive and creative ways. It is also true that, due to a number of factors including parental situations, it is sometimes preferable for a young child to spend her/his non-parental time in a more family-oriented environment with a small number of siblings and/or friends. I believe this is particularly, though not exclusively, true of children who have not experienced a positive family atmosphere, or who may have encountered an exceptionally abusive situation. I also believe, however, that under the right circumstances and with the right teacher, a center-based program such as ours can be adapted to meet these needs very well.

In Conclusion

It should be more than clear at his point that I believe, to the very core of my being,

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that the program at OECC is important, effective, and valued by those who are involved with it. It is not infallible and immutable, because it thrives on the vitality of the human spirit, and humans, especially young ones, are dynamic beings who need to experience growth and change in a supportive, challenging, and responsive atmosphere. Even though the manifestations of the program goals vary to meet the needs of each new group of children, their parents, and the teacher, the fundamental program philosophy of tolerance, individuality, responsible freedom, creative potential, critical questioning and general respect for others and the environment forms the essential core of an educational experience that is committed to addressing the needs of the children in the context of today’s world. My personal growth over the last six years has been, to say the least, profound. I am grateful that I have had the opportunity to make a fundamental difference in the lives of the children in my care, and I am proud of what I have accomplished. I don’t claim any gift of inspiration or expect to receive anything for my efforts beyond the light in the children’s eyes and the satisfaction of knowing that I have done a good job. I believe I am a good teacher, and I hope that I have made a positive difference in a way that will come back to these children in the future. When people ask if I think what we do really matters, I respond, “You bet I do...I think it’s important now, for these children at this point in their lives, but I also hope that we are planting the seeds that will be useful down the road, too, as these children find themselves asking questions about their lives and their place in the world.” I think this understanding of the importance of “planting seeds” has come to me through my own experiences of confronting difficult memories and finding value in small messages that I received from teachers as I was growing up. One of the things that helped me get a grasp on this idea was a passage from a rather obscure book, entitled Ransack, written by a local factory worker (among other jobs) named Mike Henson: “They say you never forget a thing. That anything that happens to you or anything you do leaves a mark, and you’ll remember it in some part of you, whether you know it or not, and it’ll be a part of you. And whatever you do gets filled up with all these things so that you do some things without really knowing why you’re doing them and what went into them. But it all comes out, and what you have to do is work and watch, and dig and scratch and it all comes out and when it does you can take hold and do something about it.” I am grateful to the teacher who introduced me to this book, and left his mark. I am trying to do the same for the young minds in my care, so that some day they, too, can “take hold and do something about it”, whatever “it” may be.

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Appendix B

Oxford Early Childhood Center Parent Handbook

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5115 College Corner Pike Oxford, OH 45056 513-523-2826 www.oxfordearlychildhoodcenter.com

PARENT HANDBOOK

Revised 11/01/2009

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CONTENTS:

Program Philosophy/Licensing Statement……………………………………………………...1 Groups and Schedules...... 5

Financial Information……………………………………………………………………………………..6 General Information ...... 8

Parent Visitation, Participation, Conferences...... 8 Parent Roster ...... 8 Dress/Extra Clothes...... 8 Birthdays...... 8 Toys from Home ...... 8 Outdoor Play ...... 9 General Emergency...... 9 Medical/Dental Emergency ...... 9 Incident Reports...... 9 Lunch/Snack...... 10 Communicable Disease Policy/Medication Administration ...... 10 Safety Policy...... 12 Field Trips ...... 12 Sign-in Sheet/Student Pick-up...... 12 Behavioral Guidance and Management...... 13 Extreme Behavior Problems ...... 13 Toilet Trainig ...... 13 Child Group Transitioning...... 14 Separation Problems ...... 14 School Delays/Cencellations...... 15 General Policies ...... 15 Non-Discrimination Policy...... 16

Required Forms checklist (all must be submitted before beginning attendance unless otherwise noted): __ Enrollment Form __ Registration/Medical information Form __ Medical Statement/Immunization Record (not required for school age children __ Tuition Contract

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PHILOSOPHY The Oxford Early Childhood Center offers a comprehensive developmental program for young children combined with the scheduling flexibility of a quality day care environment. The program at OECC is based on the belief that all of the children in our care deserve, at a fundamental level, the following:  Respect  Unconditional love  Consistent expectations  Positive behavioral management  Developmentally appropriate cognitive experiences  Rich opportunities for self-directed learning and creative expression  An environment that is safe, secure, and conducive to social, emotional, cognitive, and physical growth

The mission of the Oxford Early Childhood Center is to provide every child with the ability to problem solve, think independently, and grow to be a compassionate and creative person who cares about the well-being of others and the environment. OECC’s goal is to provide a setting filled with rich experiences to help foster self-esteem, creativity, and maximum growth in early childhood. A child’s early years are the most vital time for the establishment of patterns of learning, social interactions, and self- concept. From eighteen months through the early elementary years, a child learns more, and learns faster, than at any other time in her/his life. It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of a positive, educational, social, and creative experience during these years. The staff of the Oxford Early Childhood Center know that children respond best in an environment that is deeply committed to and concerned for the child as an individual human being with a unique set of learning modes, levels of skill, interests, background, and goals: in this environment, differences are recognized and highly valued. The atmosphere at OECC reflects the need for children to move and explore, discover, create, work and play, and to be alone or involved with small or large groups. It is colorful and filled with children’s work. It is a place that “belongs” to the children, designed for their convenience, safety, and age-appropriate development. The program at OECC is more than just quality day care: we provide a comprehensive educational experience for young children, based on a well-defined curriculum philosophy which encourages self-directed learning that takes advantage of a child’s natural curiosity and desire to explore. Learning in this environment is something that occurs naturally, facilitated by a wide range of developmentally appropriate materials and teachers who understand the needs of the children in their care and respect the variety of learning styles the children possess. We encourage children to learn anything they are ready to learn when they have the desire, interest, and academic and emotional readiness to encounter a new topic or skill. We understand that the most meaningful learning is that which comes from within an individual. This applies not only to academics, but to social and behavioral skills as well. The most important “work” of children is play, and the schedule and structure at OECC provides ample opportunities for free play, whether alone, with other children, or with the classroom teachers. Adults here are looked to for help and guidance, but are not considered the source of all knowledge and wisdom. Children are encouraged to develop confidence in their own ability to solve problems through individual and group efforts, identify strengths, admit mistakes, and accept responsibility for their choices and behavior. As teachers, our 211

responsibility is to help them through this process, to ensure the safety and well-being of all the children in our care, and to give them unqualified love, patience, respect, and understanding as they become self-directed learners.

A Note About Curriculum

Following is a brief outline our extensive approach to curriculum theory and methodology that we utilize, based in a solid belief in the value of experiential learning that is, above all, content and process oriented. Content and process refers to an approach that emphasizes the development of cognitive, social, emotional, and physical skills that grow from multi-layered experiences that foreground the process of learning, rather than focusing on a homogenous, narrowly defined, goal-oriented product. A process oriented curriculum facilitates this type of learning by ensuring that the children are offered open-ended learning opportunities in an environment that is rich in resources and support for ongoing exploration and application of skills. The specific “tasks” within this curriculum vary in form not just from one child to the next, but from one group to the next. Groups are composed of children who are at developmentally similar places, and the children receive a balance of individual, skill-specific learning opportunities and group based, social or content oriented experiences. All of the children who attend OECC are monitored and “assessed” on a regular basis, so that we can best identify and facilitate developmentally appropriate tasks and goals. The balance between individual and group experiences is based on the generalized groupings, and then on the individual dynamics and needs within those groups. UNICORNS are generally engaged in group experiences that are either designed to allow each child to approach a common task in an individually meaningful way, or as a cooperative unit. In the Unicorn room, you are likely to see projects on the wall that are based on a common theme or tactile material, but are different in their execution and final “product.” Most of their work on language acquisition, social relationships, motor skills, cognitive skills (e.g., color recognition, counting, alphabet, shapes, etc.), and emotional development occurs through social interaction. The primary job of the teacher in this regard is to make sure that the children are closely supervised and regularly assessed, assisted when necessary, and presented with tasks and experiences that will help to facilitate and guide their growth. “Product” for a Unicorn is almost always secondary to the process, so the types of things these children bring home are likely to be fewer in number and, perhaps, somewhat less “identifiable” in intent. RAINBOWS are typically at a developmental stage where they are ready for more of a balance between group and individual experiences, but the main emphasis is still on the learning that occurs within the social dynamic of the group. In the Rainbow room, you will also see content and tactile group projects, but may notice that some of these projects become more specific in terms of the cognitive content. In addition, depending on individual readiness, some children may begin to engage in slightly more structured skill-specific tasks, such as writing letters or numbers, or doing higher-level sorting of shapes and colors. Rainbows will bring home the group art projects they make, as well as a limited number of skill-specific tasks, and, depending on the child, independently produced creative works that may not appear to have significance from an adult perspective, but are highly relevant to your child’s development as a self-directed, motivated learner who is exploring a range of materials and activities. SUNSHINES begin to see the balance shift a bit further toward individual, skill- specific learning tasks. Group experiences and content exploration still provide the 212

critical foundations for their learning, but they are developmentally ready to pursue more individualized, personalized skill acquisition. The projects you will see in the Sunshine room are likely to reflect a direct emphasis on language skills, and the children in this group are more likely to bring home papers that adults tend to recognize as “school work,” along with an abundance of independently motivated and produced creative works. At OECC, we do not believe that cranking out a bunch of “work” sheets can in any way accurately reflect, promote, or enhance effective learning. Such sheets can be a valuable supplemental tool when used appropriately and meaningfully, but we will not engage the children in busy work. We understand that, often times, parents feel that such sheets are “proof” that their children are in an educational setting and are actively engaged in learning, but we believe that, too often, such worksheets are overused and do not actually reflect the needs and abilities of the children who are required to produce them. If you ever have any questions about the types of tasks your child is engaged in, or feel that you are not getting sufficient information about your child’s activities while at school or developmental progress, please talk to your child’s teacher, the Program Director, or the Executive Director and we will be happy to offer clarification and accept feedback. We also ask you to please remember that, even when it appears that the children are “just playing,” they are engaged in play with a purpose, and the teachers here are trained to utilize that purposeful play to further your child’s development. Again, if you would like clarification about the developmental aspects of your child’s play, please ask. We also have available some articles and writings that help to highlight the importance and function of play in a child’s growth, and would be happy to share them with you on request.

A Note About Creativity

An emphasis on the development and expression of creativity is one of the core elements of the OECC philosophy. We believe all children are born creative and strong individuals. OECC encourages each child to express her/his creativity, and thus her/his individuality, in as many ways as possible. We are dedicated to providing an environment that facilitates each child’s exploration of her/his own creative instincts. When a child’s faith in this inherent creative ability is encouraged to grow and expand, the resulting increase in self-confidence and willingness to accept new challenges is apparent. Creativity is not limited to artistic ability, but encompasses a wide range of problem solving skills, interpersonal interactions, and expression of feelings and needs. We encourage individual drawings, paintings, and artistic “creations.” A child’s original artwork is more beautiful and meaningful than any pattern or coloring book could ever be. Structured activities that teachers present to the children will not involve coloring sheets or other adult-produced templates that children passively “fill in.” Please treat your child’s drawings and creations with respect. Remember that it is a part of her/his imagination. If your child wishes to tell you about something he/she has made, please listen with acceptance. Often, children draw, paint, or manipulate material simply for the tactile experience. This does not mean that the product has no meaning, however. Hanging your child’s artwork in a prominent spot at home (such as the refrigerator or a bulletin board) is a wonderful way to let them know you value and appreciate their creativity. During the course of a typical day, children will produce a variety of “creations” that they wish to save and share. Over time, of course, the quantity of work can become overwhelming, and parents often feel a need to reduce the number 213

of items that require storage. While we recognize the need for such “culling,” we ask that you consult with your child before throwing anything away when cleaning out the cubby each day. Children will not be significantly attached to everything they create, but it is unwise and potentially humiliating to your child to make judgments about what work you think is most “valuable.” A child’s attachment to her/his work is usually based on a set of criteria that does not reflect an adult aesthetic—please take this into consideration, and ask your child before disposing of any work.

A Note About Communication

To provide a comprehensive and positive early experience, communication is vital. We strongly encourage you to take an interest in your child’s daily experience, and ask her/him to tell you about the day. But don’t be discouraged or overly concerned if your child does not seem to be willing to go into depth or detail about her/his activities— children naturally go through phases when they are less openly communicative, and this is not generally cause for alarm. If you have any questions, concerns, or problems, please talk with your child’s teacher, or with the Program Director or Executive Director. The informal and inviting nature of OECC is dependent on adequate communication between school and home, and we value parent feedback. We are partners in creating an enriching environment for your child, and we thank you for being a part of this.

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LICENSING STATEMENT The Oxford Early Childhood Center is licensed by the Ohio Department of Job & Family Services to operate a program serving a maximum of 35 students at a time. The students may consist of a combination of the following (not exceeding the 35 student limit): no more than 19 School Age children (kindergarten and above); 20 Pre-Schoolers (3 years-kindergarten); and 7 Toddlers (18 months-3 years). The student/staff ratio and maximum group size will never exceed 7:1 for Toddlers, 12:1 for Pre-Schoolers, and 14:1 for School Age. The program is licensed to operate Monday through Friday from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. (summer hours are 6:30 a.m. to 5:15 p.m.). A copy of the license is posted above the cubbies in the Sunshine room, as are inspection reports and complaint investigation reports. The Center has on file a copy of the laws and rules that govern child day care in the state of Ohio; these rules are available for review by parents upon request. The ODJFS has available a toll-free number which any person may use to report a suspected violation by the Center of Chapter 5104 of the Revised Code or Chapter 5101:2-12 of the Administration Code. Refer to the Center’s license for further information. The Center’s licensing record, including, but not limited to, compliance report forms from the department and evaluation forms from the health, building, and fire departments that inspected the Center, is also available upon request from the department.

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GROUPS AND SCHEDULES The UNICORN GROUP (Toddler Enrichment) is available for children ages 18 months to approximately 3 years old. Parents may choose Full Time (5 days/week) or Part Time on a full- day or half-day basis (with a minimum of 2 days/week). Due to staff considerations, there may be some limitations for this group regarding the availability of the early morning or late afternoon times. Please ask the teacher or Program Director for details.

MORNING: AFTERNOON: 6:00-9:00 Free Play 1:30-1:45 Story/Music/Circle time 9:00-9:15 Story/Music/Circle time 1:45-2:15 Content/Project 9:15-10:00 Content/Project 2:15-2:45 Outside/Large Muscle 10:00-10:30 Wash Hands/Snack 2:45-3:15 Wash Hands/Snack 10:30-11:00 Outside/Large Muscle play 3:15-3:30 Story/Music/Circle time 11:00-11:30 Story time/Wash Hands 3:30-6:00 Free Play 11:30-1:30 Lunch/Rest

The RAINBOW GROUP (Preschool) is for children 3 years of age. Scheduling options are the same as for the Unicorn Group. For all groups, it is necessary that those who desire a half-day schedule must choose their period of time (up to 4 ½ hours) wholly between the hours of 6:00 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. OR 12:30 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. In other words, a “half-day” cannot overlap morning and afternoon sessions.

AFTERNOON: MORNING: 6:00-9:00 Free Play 1:30-1:45 Story/Sharing time 9:00-9:15 Story time 1:45-2:15 Content/Project (group) 9:15-10:00 Art/Music (group) 2:15-3:00 Outside/Large Muscle 3:00-3:30 Story/Circle time 10:00-10:15 Wash Hands/Snack 10:15-10:45 Content/Project (individual) 3:30-4:00 Wash Hands/Snack 10:45-11:30 Outside/Large Muscle play 4:00-6:00 Free Play 11:30-11:45 Story time 11:45-1:30 Wash Hands/Lunch/Rest

The SUNSHINE GROUP (Kindergarten Prep) is available to children 4-6 years during the school day, and children up to 11 years before and after school. Since the children in this group are generally preparing for primary school experience, it is suggested that those who are not already attending kindergarten sign up for a Full Time-Full Day schedule if possible.

MORNING: AFTERNOON: 6:00-9:00 Free Play 12:30-1:00 Quiet play 9:00-9:20 Story time 1:00-1:30 Chapter book/Sharing 9:20-10:00 Music/Art (group) 1:30-2:30 Language/Math (individual) 10:00-10:15 Wash Hands/Snack 2:30-3:00 Outside/Large Muscle 10:15-10:45 Science/SocialStudies (group) 3:00-3:15 Story time 10:45-11:30 Outside/Large Muscle play 3:15-3:45 Content Project 11:30-11:45 Story time 3:45-4:15 Snack/Quiet play 11:45-12:30 Wash Hands/Lunch 4:15-6:00 Outside/Free Play

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FINANCIAL INFORMATION Rather than a yearly tuition fee, payments will be made IN ADVANCE on a Monthly or Weekly basis (special arrangements may be made for Quarterly (13 weeks) payments—contact the Executive Director for details). We do not offer drop-in care—all schedules must be confirmed in advance, and you are responsible for making timely payments to keep your space reserved. If you need to change your child’s schedule, it must be a “permanent” change for the remainder of the semester (or summer session), and will be dependent on availability. If the change involves a reduction in days/hours attended, you will be held responsible for continuing payments on the space as it was initially reserved unless/until we are able to fill that space. All parents/guardians must turn in a signed Tuition Contract before a child can attend. A $40.00 NON-REFUNDABLE DEPOSIT is required to secure a space. In determining rates, FULL DAY is no more than 9 hours, while HALF DAY is up to 4 ½ hours (4 hours for summer session). An additional charge of $8.00/hour will be billed for any Full Day children who are in attendance more than 9 hours. Our yearly schedule includes 3 “emergency days.” These emergency days will only be used in cases of dangerously severe weather, emergency building issues (such as broken water pipes, furnace malfunctions, etc.), or other unforeseen occurrences that would make it necessary to close in order to ensure the safety of the children and staff. There will be no refunds given for these days. In the unlikely event that we would need to utilize more than three emergency days, refunds or credits will be figured accordingly. CURRENT RATES (AS OF AUGUST 25, 2009) *Full Time (5 days/week) FULL DAY HALF DAY Unicorn group $175.00/wk $90.00/wk Rainbow/Sunshine group $165.00/wk $85.00/wk Part Time (<4 days/week) Unicorn group $50.00/day $35.00/day Rainbow/Sunshine group $45.00/day $30.00/day *Families with more than one child enrolled FULL TIME will receive a 10% discount for the second child and 15% for a third. BEFORE/AFTER SCHOOL HOURLY RATE: $6.50/hour Parents must pay $65.00 IN ADVANCE (due by the end of the first week of the month) for each month in order to hold the space. At the end of each month, actual hours will be computed, and the extra amount will be added to the next monthly payment. Financial assistance may be available for families in need. We realize that childcare is, next to housing, the single largest expense for most families, and we will do what we can to work with you if you encounter difficulties making payments. It is also necessary, however, to keep in mind that the staff here are providing for their own families. As a small facility, we are committed to making every effort to pay our workers as equitable a wage as possible, which necessitates negotiating the balance between wages and tuition. Given this situation, it is essential that payments be made regularly and ON TIME. Any account that is two weeks late will incur a late fee of $15.00 for every week that it is past due. Any account that is 30 days past due will be cause for dismissal from the program. Any account that is 90 days past due will be turned over to our collection agency. Clients will be responsible for all collection and legal fees arising from late or non-payment of account.

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ADDITIONAL SCHEDULE/FINANCIAL ISSUES In order to keep costs down, it is very important for staff scheduling that parents adhere to the arrival/departure time they have requested. In this regard, we have experienced difficulty with three problem areas: PROBLEM AREA #1: Parents who have requested an arrival time before 8:30 a.m. then fail to notify us and fail to show up. We schedule and pay staff on an “as needed” basis, determined by the number of children scheduled to be in attendance at a given time. If you request an early arrival time and then don’t show up, it may cause us to be paying a staff person for time that is not necessary. This also applies to departure times. Please drop off and pick up your child as scheduled, and notify us if there is a change. Any parent who repeatedly puts us in this situation will be charged the hourly wage for the additional staff person. PROBLEM AREA #2: Parents who arrive to pick their children up after 6:00 p.m. We are licensed for operation only until 6:00 p.m. All children must be gone from the building by that time. Please arrive BEFORE 6:00 so you will have time to help your child gather her/his belongings and leave the building in time for the last staff person to close the facility. Additional charges for overtime will be assessed accordingly: a flat rate of $50.00 per child will be charged to any family who is late more than one time. Late is defined as anything after 6:00 p.m. If you know you are going to be late, please call—it may save you a late fee. These conditions do not apply when there is a medical emergency or if the child stays during a parent- teacher conference. PROBLEM AREA #3: Parents who fail to notify us when their child will be absent on a regularly scheduled day. This is especially important on days when Talawanda has cancelled school, because we typically have a number of after school children requesting care on those days, and we need to know the expected attendance of our full and half day children in order to determine if there are spaces available. It is also essential that parents of children who typically ride the bus to our facility (including morning kindergarteners and after school children) notify us if your child will not be getting off the bus at OECC. If we are expecting your child on the bus, and he/she does not show up, we begin the process of calling parents at work, school officials, bus drivers, etc., until the child is found. This is for your child’s safety. COUNTY SUBSIDY INFORMATION: We are contracted with both Butler and Preble counties to provide care for low-income families. Each family requesting this assistance must apply with the appropriate county agency, which then reimburses us for the cost of care. Please be aware that the counties place restrictions on how many and what types of hours they will cover. If you wish to enroll your child for hours which are not covered by the county, or if county coverage is suspended for any reason while your child is in attendance, YOU ARE FINANCIALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY AMOUNTS ACCRUED THAT THE COUNTY DOES NOT REIMBURSE. Your signature on the Enrollment Form indicates that you have read the financial information, and agree to accept responsibility for timely payment of tuition and fees, as well as accepting all provisions described above.

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GENERAL INFORMATION Parental Visitation, Participation, Conferences Parents have unlimited access to the center and may visit at any time, and should notify the administrator upon entering the premises. Though not necessary, it is requested that parents notify the teacher or Program Director if they wish to meet with them or visit at length to insure a minimal disruption of the day’s activities. Parents are encouraged to make daily contact with the staff and to display an interest in the child’s environment. Though parents are not routinely included as part of the daily program, there are opportunities for all parents to participate in special activities (plays, parties, etc.) scheduled throughout the year. In addition, if any parent has a particular skill or talent that he/she would be willing to share with the children as part of the Group Content time, please let the teacher know. We welcome such involvement, as long as it does not create difficulties for your child. Individual conferences to discuss your child’s progress with her/his teacher can be scheduled as desired. Teachers will give all parents the option to schedule a conference at the end of the school year in May. It is also possible to schedule a conference with the Program Director or Executive Director to discuss any concerns regarding the program content, facility, safety, or staff. Parent Roster Parents have the choice of having their name included on a roster of children enrolled at the center. This roster is available ON REQUEST to all parents of currently enrolled children. Dress/Extra Clothes Students should dress in old clothes that are comfortable and easily cared for. It should be assumed that children involved in many creative and play experiences throughout the day will end up in less-than-clean clothes. DO NOT send your child to school wearing clothes that you value. Please make sure that your child’s shoes are comfortable, sturdy, and safe. Plastic shoes and “flip flops” are extremely inadequate for developing feet and motor skills and are the source of many falling/tripping accidents, and are not allowed at school. If your child wears sandals during the warmer months, please make sure they fit properly and do not fall off easily. Each child should have a complete change of clothes that can be kept in their cubbies in case of an accident. This applies to children of all ages—accidents are not limited to not making it to the bathroom on time. Spills and “messes” can also make a child’s clothing uncomfortable to wear. Birthdays Birthdays are very important to young children. It is a time when they are not only the center of attention, but have the opportunity to share something very special with their classmates. While it is not required, most children enjoy bringing a treat from home to share (individually wrapped or contained items are best, as our food service license exemption does not allow us to prepare any food item, including cutting a cake). We discourage anything too elaborate or sugary, and will be happy to offer alternative suggestions. Please let us know a day or two in advance of the celebration so we may be prepared. Toys From Home

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Children should not bring toys from home. They are a constant source of distraction and dispute. This facility is very well equipped with non-violent, developmentally appropriate materials, and toys from home are not necessary. If your child has a special item that he/she wishes to share with others, check with your child’s teacher about the specific sharing policy for that group. Please do not bring any item, even for sharing, that will not fit in your child’s cubby. This policy does not apply to storybooks and rest time items. Even thought the center is also well stocked with books, stories from home can offer a greater variety and help a child feel special without causing disputes over possession and use. Blankets and stuffed buddies for use at rest time are always welcome. We discourage children from clinging to these items during the active part of the day, but having them available for rest time can often be a calming experience. If your toddler is in the habit of using a pacifier, we strongly encourage leaving it at home. Pacifiers are not only a sanitary issue, but are not conducive to developing the language skills so crucial to your child’s development while at school. Outdoor Play Our center provides time in the schedule every day in suitable weather for outdoor play for children who attend 4 or more consecutive hours. Our policy is to have outside play in weather 32 degrees or higher (including the wind chill factor). Please dress children accordingly with appropriate hats, coats, mittens, etc. We will not go outside in rainy or icy weather; instead, we will plan on indoor large muscle play, such as dancing to music, fun exercises, bean bag games, etc.

General Emergency A general emergency is defined as any threat to the safety of children due to environmental situations or threats of violence, natural disasters, loss of power, heat, or water. In the event of tornado, severe weather, or terrorist alert, we will take cover in the basement until conditions are clear. In case of fire or other emergency requiring evacuation of the building, children will meet at the large tree at the south end of the playground, where attendance will be taken from daily attendance sheets to confirm that everyone has been safely evacuated. In the event of loss of power, heat, or water service, parents will be notified to pick up their children if service cannot be restored within one hour. Medical/Dental Emergency In the event of accident or illness requiring emergency treatment, center personnel will be responsible for contacting the parent/guardian and/or local emergency personnel. A qualified staff member will administer first aid if necessary and remain with the child until he/she can be released to the custody of the parent/guardian. If emergency transportation is required before the parent/guardian can arrive, the Executive Director, Program Director, or senior staff member will be responsible for calling 911. Incident Reports The center shall complete an incident report, providing a copy for the parent(s) and one for the child’s permanent file, for incidents that may include (but are not limited to):  Illness which requires first aid treatment  Accident which requires first aid treatment  Injury which requires first aid treatment 220

 Bump or blow to the head  Emergency transporting  Unusual or unexpected event which jeopardizes the safety of children or staff

Lunch/Snack We are not licensed to prepare and serve lunch. Full day children should bring a lunch from home. Half-day children who are on the premises during lunch may wish to bring a small snack to eat with their friends. All foods should be in durable containers labeled clearly with the child’s name. In most cases, a “cold pack” or sealed thermos is sufficient to keep perishable foods fresh until lunchtime. Our Department of Health license forbids us from preparing any type of foods. This includes peeling fruits. We prefer not to microwave lunch items, but if it is necessary, you must send the food in a microwaveable container. We are legally required by the state to monitor and supplement lunches that do not provide the following:  1 serving of a PROTEIN source (beans, nuts, cheese, meat, tofu)  1 serving of a CARBOHYDRATE source (bread, crackers)  1 serving of a CALCIUM/MINERAL source (milk, yogurt, cheese)  1 serving of a FRUIT (fruit juices qualify ONLY if they are 100% fruit)  1 serving of a VEGETABLE You can use 2 fruits or 2 vegetables instead of one of each Please do not send in sugary foods such as snack cakes, candy, sodas, puddings, jellos, or high fat foods such as chips, as they are not included in the state guidelines. Please save these types of foods for “at home” treats. An item that counts for one source cannot also count for another unless there are 2 complete servings of it. For example, one slice of cheese cannot be both a PROTEIN and a CALCIUM source. Please be sure your child has a complete, healthy lunch every day. We should not have to supplement a child’s lunch, and if forced to do so, we will charge $1.00 for each supplemental item. The mid-morning snack is supplied by the parents. Full day children should pack something extra in their lunch for this snack time, and Half-day children should bring a small snack. The center does supply a mid-afternoon snack for children present at 3:00 p.m. Please inform your child’s teacher if your child has any food allergies or special dietary considerations. If your child has a specific or modified diet (due to physical or personal reasons), please let us know the specifics of said diet in written form. Communicable Disease Policy/Medication Administration Increased exposure to a variety of communicable conditions is a fact of group experiences with young children. Many recent studies indicate that this is not necessarily a bad thing (i.e., children exposed to many things at a young age have fewer absences when they begin public school), but we still ask for your assistance in keeping the spread to a minimum. A copy of the center’s policy for the management of communicable diseases is included in this handbook. There are certain conditions (e.g., fever, diarrhea) for which the state requires us to send a child home. Minor illnesses (e.g., coughing, runny nose) are left to the discretion of the staff. We realize that illnesses are often (if not always) a major inconvenience to a parent’s work schedule, but we ask parents to please understand that if there is reason to suspect that a child is ill (whether or not a fever is present),

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sending that child to school can affect and inconvenience many others. It can also make the child in question extremely uncomfortable and miserable. We will post notices on the front door when there are identifiable or suspected illnesses going around. Please be considerate of your child and other parents and children by noticing symptoms of possible communicable disease and making arrangements to keep your child at home. Also, please remember that if your child wakes up with a fever, it is symptomatic of a possible communicable illness. If you give your child medication to lower the fever, it does not get rid of the illness, and the child could still pass it on to others. Center personnel will administer medications only if the appropriate form has been filled out by the child’s parent/guardian or physician. Under no circumstances will any medication be administered without written (or, in the case of emergency, verbal) authorization of the child’s parent/guardian or emergency personnel. All appropriately approved medications will be given/administered by adults and stored in the proper containment box. COMMUNICABLE DISEASE MANAGEMENT POLICY: Children who exhibit symptoms of mild illness (e.g., lethargy, mild cough) will be encouraged to rest and will be observed to note if condition necessitates notification of parent/guardian. A child will be sent home if he/she exhibits any of the following: a) Diarrhea (3 or more abnormally loose stools within 24 hours) b) Severe coughing (causing the child to become red or blue in the face or to make a whooping sound) c) Difficult/rapid breathing d) Yellowish skin or eyes e) Redness of eye, obvious discharge, matted eyelashes, burning or itching f) Stiff neck (with elevated temperature) g) Temperature of at least 100°F when in combination with any other sign/symptom of illness h) Untreated infected skin patches (unusual spots or rashes) i) Unusually dark urine, grey/white stool j) Sore throat or difficulty swallowing k) Vomiting (more than one time or when accompanied by any other sign/symptom of illness) l) Evidence of lice, scabies, or other parasitic infections

A child will be isolated and observed for worsening conditions if he/she exhibits any of the following: a) Unusual spots or rashes b) Mild cold symptoms c) Infected skin patches

The following procedures will be used for isolating a sick child: a) Upon identification of a child suspected of an illness, a cot will be placed in an isolated spot. The child will be placed on the cot and given a blanket for use until he/she is discharged to a parent/guardian. b) The Program Director is responsible for notifying the parent or guardian. If the parent or guardian is not able to come to the center to take charge of the child,

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the center may discharge the child to the person who has been designated by the parent or guardian. c) An adult shall be within sight and hearing of a child who is isolated due to illness. No child is ever left alone or unsupervised. d) After the child has been discharged, the cot shall be sanitized with an appropriate germicidal detergent. The blanket shall be promptly removed and laundered before being used by another child.

All staff members shall familiarize themselves with the communicable disease chart located on the office door. The center personnel will administer medications if the appropriate form has been filled out by the child’s parent/guardian or physician. No child can self-administer medications from home. All personnel will adhere to the hand washing and disinfection procedures outlined in the instructions posted above the sink in the Rainbow room. Staff members are responsible for recognizing when a personal illness should exclude them from contact with children. In such instances, or when the Program Director determines a staff member should be excluded due to illness, the staff member will remain away from the center until condition warrants return. If children are exposed to a communicable illness, parents will be notified verbally and by posted notice on the front door. Center will have medical records available for emergency personnel if need arises. Safety Policy INSPECTION OF FACILITIES/MATERIALS: Teacher or teaching assistant shall check all toys, furnishings, and outside play equipment daily to ensure a safe environment, and shall remove any broken, hazardous, or damaged objects, and will notify the Program Director of any equipment that is in need of repair or replacement. Field Trips At this time, we do not take the children from the premises. All field trips are “in-house.” Sign-In Sheet & Student Pick-up All students will be supervised at all times. To help us, please remember to tell your child’s teacher that you are dropping off or picking up your child. DO NOT allow children to enter or exit the building without an adult to sign them in and out. Students may be released only to parents or guardians (or authorized representatives). Any special arrangements for other persons (must be 16 years or older) to pick up the child must be made in advance, and must be in writing (except in cases of emergency, when verbal authorization is acceptable). Any person picking up a child (other than parent or guardian) must show picture ID if not known to center personnel before the child will be released. Unfortunately, situations exist which require us to have written authorization from the custodial parent if the child is to be picked up by the parent not having legal custody. A copy of the court order showing custody is required for our records. A child will not be released to a non-custodial parent if there has been no confirmed communication from the custodial parent authorizing pick up.

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Until children leave the premises, the rules of the center apply. Children often display confusion over “who’s in charge” when both parent and teacher are present. If you are experiencing difficulty with your child’s behavior at pick up time, please indicate to the teacher present that you would like some assistance. Also, please do not encourage your child to “stay and play longer.” They need to understand that it is time to go when their parents arrive. Behavioral Guidance and Management Stopping negative, disruptive, or destructive behavior, though important, is not always the prime concern of disciplinary measures. Every child must learn the difference between freedom and license, and that with privileges come responsibilities. Discipline must be firm, positive, consistent, and loving. It must be made clear that it is the child’s behaviors that are unacceptable and not the child as a person. The use of any kind of shame techniques is seen as negative methods of discipline and is never used at OECC. The use of any form of physical punishment is specifically prohibited, as is the use of food as a reward or punishment. Whenever possible, discipline will take the form of natural consequences for an unacceptable action (e.g., if you throw sand you have to go away from the sand area). When natural consequence is not so obvious (e.g., it is not an acceptable natural consequence to strike a child who has hit someone else), the child may be given a “time out” period, during which they may be seated and rest their hands and heads on the table for a short period (never longer than three minutes), in order to give them some time away from the activity that was causing the difficulty. The center is not to be used as a disciplinary threat or consequence for behavior that occurs at home; likewise, behaviors that are disciplined here are not to be added to or continued when the child goes home. The teachers and directors are always available to discuss problematic behaviors or circumstances that may affect your child’s behavior. These discipline rules apply to all employees on the premises. In addition, all employees are subject to the specifications of Rule 5101:2-12-22 of the Ohio Administrative Code regarding Child Care Center Rules regarding Child Guidance and Management, a copy of which is available in the school office. Extreme Behavior Problems Any child who behaves in a manner that causes recurrent disruptions to our daily schedule or is a danger to the health and safety of the other children on a constant or regular basis may be deemed “incompatible” with the program and subject to dismissal. Unacceptable behavior includes, but is not limited to, repeatedly hurting others (including teachers), extreme temper tantrums, biting, or refusal to stay within the boundaries of the school grounds. As professionals, we are here to help parents and students through the difficult stages of early childhood, and will make every reasonable effort to help children with behavior problems. However, if a child does not make progress in learning acceptable behavior, monopolizing the teacher’s time or endangering the other children, then it is unfair to those other families who are also paying tuition. The procedure for notifying parents of an incompatible child is as follows: 1. Verbal notice of problem (can be informal or formal conference or by phone). We will discuss options to curb behavior.

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2. Written notice—parent will be issued a written statement of unacceptable behaviors. 3. Second written notice will result in dismissal of the child from the center.

Toilet Training Many of the children in our care will be going through toilet training. This is one of the most important and often stress-filled developmental tasks that children and parents face. It is the one thing of which children have complete control, and it is usually fruitless (and almost always frustrating) to attempt to train a child who is not emotionally (or physically) ready. We ask parents to remember that, even if a child seems thoroughly trained while at home, it is not unusual for her/him to initially have frequent accidents at school. There are many more distractions while at school, and it can be difficult for children who are in the early stages of toilet training to be consistent with recognizing when their bodies are signaling them that they need to go. If, after a few weeks, a child is still having frequent accidents at school, it may indicate that he/she is not quite emotionally ready to be fully trained. In these cases, we will discuss with parents how they would like to proceed. If parents are interested in advice on techniques that we use or are familiar with, please ask and we will be happy to make suggestions. Every family approaches this task differently, and we do our best to accommodate and support techniques that parents prefer. However, we do have a few restrictions on what we can and will do while children are in attendance. Some of these restrictions are influenced by practicality and state licensing regulations, while others reflect developmental and philosophical tenets of the program.  Under NO circumstances will we use food as a reward for toileting.  We can use either disposable or cloth pull-ups, but if you prefer your child to use cloth pull-ups (or “real” underwear), we strongly suggest including vinyl overpants to help minimize the number of clothing changes. Whatever you use, please be sure to keep your child’s cubby stocked with multiple changes of clothing, as well as plastic bags to hold wet or soiled clothes. If there are not enough clothes in your child’s cubby and we have to use extra clothing belonging to the school, these will also be sent home with the child to be laundered and returned.  We do not use potty chairs, even if supplied by parents. The state licensing regulations are very strict about the use of potty chairs, which must be thoroughly cleaned and sanitized after each use and stored out of reach of children when not in use. We do not have the room to store potty chairs, and feel that, in general, it is an unnecessary sanitation risk. In addition, we strongly believe that children who are trained to use a potty chair are not necessarily “toilet trained.” It is nearly impossible to expect to have a potty chair available when not at home, and we feel it is advisable to have children become comfortable with using a standard toilet in order to be fully “trained.”

Again, please remember that this is a developmental stage with which we have a lot of experience, but that doesn’t mean we have all of the answers. Please communicate with us regularly during this time, and we will keep you regularly informed of your child’s progress. Child Group Transitioning

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At the discretion of the staff, and in consultation with parents, a child will be transitioned from one class to the next when the child is both age ready and developmentally ready. Parents will be notified at least one month in advance that their child will be transitioning to a new room soon. In order to make the transition smoother and less scary for the child, the teachers will provide opportunities for the child to spend time in the new classroom for a short time each day during the week prior to the move. During the week following the transition, teachers from both the old room and the new room will review the child’s progress and provide a daily update to the parent. Parents are encouraged to communicate with their child’s teacher frequently during the transition and provide feedback for how they feel the child is responding to the new situation. Following these guidelines will help to ensure that the transition is an exciting time for the child, and minimize any potential anxiety. Separation Problems Children often have difficulty leaving their parents when entering a new situation, after vacations, or during certain developmental phases when attachment issues become more significant. It is perfectly normal and healthy and will usually work itself out after only a few days if handled appropriately. We employ the following procedure and urge you to support our efforts. IF YOUR CHILD IS HAVING A SEPARATION PROBLEM, PLEASE REMEMBER: 1. Speak to your child in positive terms. If you act as though you are concerned about leaving your child, he/she will assume there is something to fear. 2. Bring your child to the center for a visit with the teachers before leaving her/him for the first time. 3. If your child should begin to cry, remember it is perfectly normal and will subside soon after you leave. Be assured that if the crying lasts longer than is healthy or normal or is caused by serious problems, we will call you. 4. Help your child hang up her/his coat. Give the child a hug and kiss and assure her/him that you will return when it is time to go. 5. Leave. Please do not pick your child up if he/she clings to you. The teacher will pick your child up and allow you to leave. Please leave quickly since your continued presence will only intensify the child’s reaction. As you leave the building, check the window to see if your child is waving to you. If so, look as cheerful as possible and wave back.

We do not take these problems lightly. We understand that they are painful for both the parent and the child. We take much time helping the children work through these difficult times. The teacher will comfort the child and reassure her/him that you will be back after school because you love and miss her/him as much as he/she loves and misses you. Most children will stop crying before the car is out of the driveway. Try not to worry while you are gone. Please be assured that if there is a serious problem, we will call. And, of course, you may call us, and we will be happy to give you reports over the phone.

School Delays/Cancellations/Vacations In the event of inclement/severe weather, such as icy roads or excessive amounts of snow, OECC may be forced to close for the day or proceed but with a delayed opening.

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In the case of severe weather, we urge parents to tune to local radio or television stations for the latest updates on school closings. We do not follow the Talawanda School District for closings, so we may be open on many of the days that the public schools are closed. In the event that the Talawanda schools close for a snow day after you have already dropped off your Before School child at OECC, the policy is as follows: We will try to accommodate as many Before/After School students as we can as long as we maintain our licensed student:teacher ratios and total number of children. If the preschooler ratio begins to reach its limit, then we will call parents to pick up their school-age children. All spaces on Talawanda snow emergency days are on a first-come, first-served basis. We encourage parents of Before/After School children to have a back up plan for childcare, as our “spare” spaces are extremely limited. OECC will be closed on the following days:  Memorial Day  Summer Break—closed during the week containing the 4th of July  Labor Day  Thanksgiving Day and the Friday after Thanksgiving  Winter Break—closed December 24th-January 1st. Reopen on the first weekday following the New Year.

General Policies 1. No child shall ever be left alone or unsupervised. 2. Children shall be signed in and out daily by the adult who picks them up. 3. A fire drill shall be held monthly. 4. There shall be immediate access to a phone: one in the office, one in the Sunshine Room, and one accessible to both the Rainbow and Unicorn rooms. 5. A copy of the plan stating staff responsibilities and action during fire and weather emergencies is posted on the wall near the sink in the Rainbow room. 6. A childcare staff member shall immediately notify the Executive Director and the local public children services agency when the staff member suspects that a child has been abused or neglected. 7. If an employee is experiencing a problem at the center, including but not limited to, conflict with another staff member or parent, questions of discrimination in hiring or child admission policies, safety concerns, etc., the employee shall request a meeting with the Program Director or Executive Director to discuss the issue and seek resolution. 8. No spray aerosols shall be used at the center.

Non-discrimination Policy With the objective of recruiting and retaining qualified employees consistent with position requirements, and to ensure that all employees, applicants, and clients be treated without discrimination, the Oxford Early Childhood Center has adopted the following non-discrimination policy: It is the policy of the Oxford Early Childhood Center to give equal employment opportunities to all qualified persons and to provide that all individuals be recruited, hired, assigned, advanced, compensated, and retained on the basis of their qualifications and performance, and that all applicants and employees are treated

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equally in these and all other areas without regard to race, color, religion, sex/gender, marital status, age, sexual orientation, national origin, or physical ability (ADA act of 1990, 104 Stat. 32, 42 U.S.C. 12101etseq.). All selection processes and admissions procedures shall be available to all qualified persons who seek such services without respect to race, color, religion, sex/gender, marital status, age, sexual orientation, national origin, or physical ability (ADA act of 1990, 104 Stat. 32, 42 U.S.C. 12101etseq.). The Executive Director, Program Director, and all other supervisory personnel responsible for hiring and implementing admissions policies must take all necessary action in the elimination of possible discrimination towards employees, applicants for employment, and clients of the Oxford Early Childhood Center. Responsibility for seeing that this policy is continuously followed and consistently implemented has been assigned to the Executive Director. Inquiries, comments, or complaints regarding the policy or suspected violations of the policy shall be directed to the Executive Director.

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Appendix C

Miami University Early Childhood Coursework History

229 HEC (Home Economics) EDU (Education) CATALOG HCS (Home Economics and Consumer EDT (Teacher Education) Sciences) EDM (Educational Media) YEAR FCS Family and Consumer Sciences) EDP (Educational Psychology) FSW (Family Studies and Social Work) 1904 Education division known as Ohio State Normal College—no course prefixes 11abc Elementary, Educational and Genetic Psychology (“The 04-05 course concludes with a study of a standard text on Child Study and critical reports on some of the researches on mental development.”) 11a Psychology and Child Study (“Child-study: A brief survey of the periods of development in the life of the child; children’s 11-12 instincts and their functions in the process of education; the development of intellect, of the moral nature, and of motor control; heredity and abnormalities in children.”) 1915 Education division known as The Teachers College EDU 151 Psychology, Including Child Study (Same course 15-16 description of Child-study as above.) Same as above, with addition of EDU 110: Psychology and 16-17 Adolescence (“for those preparing to teach drawing, industrial arts, agriculture and home economics in high schools”) Same as above, though EDU 110 course title changed to Psychology: 18-19 Child-Study and Adolescence, though still described as for high school teachers. EDU 151 same course title and description as before EDU 291 Kindergarten Theory and Observation (“The course includes a study of the fundamental principles involved in teaching 23-24 children of the pre-school age; a study of the kindergarten curricula and methods.”) HEC 341 Child Care (“A study of the hygiene of maternity and infancy. The development, physical, mental and spiritual, of the child, the influence of heredity and environment and the responsibility of 24-25 society toward the child.”)

(Home Economics is based in The Teachers College, along with Industrial Education and Public School Music.) HEC 341 Child Development (same course 27-28 description) 30-31 EDU 152 Psychology of Childhood EDU 281 Play Materials for Young Children 31-32 EDU 292 Kindergarten-Primary Curriculum

EDU 110 Psychology: Child Study & Adolescence (“especially for students preparing to teach home economics”) EDU 252 Kindergarten Methods 37-38 EDU 281 Play Materials for Young Children EDU 292 Kindergarten-Primary Curriculum EDU 372 Early Childhood Education

EDU 372 Early Childhood Education 39-40 EDU 455 Kindergarten Methods

EDU 331 Child Development EDU 372 Early Childhood Education 50-51 EDU 433 Child Development (“course at this level requires 12 hours in the departments of education, special methods, and school administration, 6 hours of which must be in advanced courses”)

Course catalogs begin to differentiate between Educational Foundations (Teacher Education), Guidance and Measurement, and Educational Psychology

EDU 372 Early Childhood Education 52-53 EDU 415 Methods of Teaching—Kindergarten EDP 433 Advanced Child Development

230 This marks the opening of Hanna House (the “lab school” for 3-5 year olds), and the shifting of pre-K to the Department of Home Economics HEC 341 Child Development 69-70 HEC 482 Nursery School Organization & Development EDP 433/533 Child Development 70-71 EDP 435/535 Child Study Lab 71-72 EDT 372 Early Childhood Education HEC 482/582 Organization & Development of Child Care Programs EDT 472/572 Early Childhood Education 76-77 HEC 483/583 Child Care Administration EDT 473/573 Affective & Creative Experiences with Young Chidren HEC/EDT 494/594 Field Experiences with Young EDT 474/574 Cognitive Experiences with Young Children Children 77-78 EDM 424/524 Storytelling 78-79 EDT 472/572 Early Childhood Education HEC/EDT 494/594 Field Experiences with Young EDT 473/573 Facilitating Affective & Creative Experiences with Children Young Children EDT 474/574 Facilitating Cognitive Experiences with Young Children

1988 was the beginning of the Pre-Kindergarten Education certificate, which was a “new certification area for the State of Ohio” for students pursing a B.S. in Education, a program that was “co-administered by Home Economics and Consumer Sciences in cooperation with other departments” in SEAP 88-90 HCS 281 Child Development HCS 382 Infant & Toddler Caregiving & Supervision EDT 472 Early Childhood Education HCS 482 Organization & Supervision of Child EDT 473 Facilitating Affective & Creative Experiences with Young Care Programs Children HCS 483 Child Care Administration EDT 474 Facilitating Cognitive Experiences with Young Children HCS/EDT 494 Field Experiences with Young

Children

90-92 Same courses as 88-90, but HCS departmental designation changed to FCS (Family and Consumer Sciences) Same courses as 88-92, with addition of Special Education major in Educational Psychology, with courses EDP 430 Assessment and Educational Planning for Early Childhood Special Education: Birth—age 3; EDP 431 Assessment and Educational Planning 92-94 for Early Childhood Special Education: Ages 3-5; and EDP 458/558 Current Methods for At-Risk Multi-Handicapped Infants & Children 94-96 Same courses as 88-94, with addition of FCS/EDT 419 Supervised Teaching (age 4 or below) pre-Kindergarten Public

96-98 Same courses as 88-96, but FCS departmental designation changed to FSW (Family Studies and Social Work)

1998-2000 catalog marked a major shift from certification standards to licensure standards, eliminating pre-K certification (exclusively age 5 and under), replacing with Early Childhood Education license (ages 3-8). Catalog intro. reads: “Teacher certification program and major at Miami are currently undergoing substantial revision of degree requirements because of new licensure standards mandated by the Ohio Department of Education. Details of program requirements and course descriptions are not available at press time. Students enrolling at Miami first semester 1998 or later will be admitted to these programs under new licensure standards”

00-02 First catalog with pre-major/ cohort structure. Courses are divided into “blocks” CONTENT/PROFESSIONAL STANDARDS BLOCK: MTH 115-116 Math for ECE Teachers NSG/PHS 232 Health Issues of Children & Youtn EARLY FIELD BLOCK: ART 308.E Child and the Art Experience for Early Childhood EDT 272 Early Childhood Education MUS 266 Basic Music Skills and Teaching Technique for EC PHS 281 ECE and Physical Education LITERACY BLOCK: EDT 315.E Language Arts and Child Literature EDT 346.E Reading Instruction in EC EDT 473 Facilitating Affective and Creative Experiences with Young Children CONTENT INTEGRATION BLOCK: EDP 432 Assessment and Educational Planning for

Children Ages 3-8 EDT 317.E Science in EC 231

EDT 318.E Math in EC EDT 417.E Teaching Social Studies in EC EDT 474 Facilitating Cognitive Experiences with Young Children PHS 245 Personal Health and Pedagogy for EC Teachers SUPERVISED TEACHING: EDT 419 Supervised Teaching (8 weeks Primary and 8 weeks pre- Primary) RECOMMENDED ELECTIVES: RECOMMENDED ELECTIVES: FSW 482 Organization and Supervision of Child EDT 448.E Reading Practicum for EC

Care Programs EDT 494 Field Experiences with Young Children FSW 483 Child Care Administration 02-04 Same courses as 00-02, with EDT 448.E (Reading Practicum in EC) moved from Recommended Elective to Literacy Block. ADDED TO LITERACY BLOCK:

EDT 473.E Integrated Curriculum I: Literacy, Play, Arts, and Behavior ADDED TO CONTENT INTEGRATION BLOCK: EDT 474.E Integrated Curriculum II: Content Areas: Organizing and Planning the ECE Learning Environment Pre-Major and A.B. (Early Childhood) program offered following courses: EDT 272 Intro. to ECE FSW 283 Intro. to Child Care Administration EDT 273 Pre-K Integrated Curriculum I (for Child Care professionals, FSW 382 Infant & Toddler Caregiving and ages 0-5) offered only at Hamilton & Middletown Supervision EDT 274 Pre-K Integrated Curriculum II (for Child Care professionals, ages 0-5) offered only at Hamilton & Middletown

Same courses as 98-04, but with complete removal of any Recommended Electives, which means no FSW courses connected even 04-06 peripherally to B.S. (ECE) licensure program. However, the Field Placement courses were instituted on the Hamilton and Middletown campuses to facilitate a new Associate’s degree program that is designed to be accessible to working ECEC professionals. FSW 293 Field Placement—Infant/Toddler Setting FSW 294 Field Placement—Preschool Setting

06-08 Same courses as 98-06

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Appendix D

Chapter from Master’s Thesis

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Chapter Two:

“I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak:” The Discourse of Doomed Survivors in Shakespeare’s Othello and Vogel’s Desdemona

The quote from the title of this chapter is spoken by Emilia in Othello, but could also be seen as a fitting commentary and guidepost for approaching Vogel’s text: like Emilia, Vogel refuses to charm her tongue, speaking the possibilities that exist not only for Emilia, Desdemona, and Bianca, but for a variety of women in many of her works. The quote can also be applied to the other women in Shakespeare’s text, providing an opening for a discussion of feminist critiques of Othello as well as the transition from Shakespeare to Vogel. The three sections of this chapter will cover the following points: a brief discussion of the development and current state of feminist criticism of Shakespeare, with specific commentary on Othello; discussion of the issue of voice and discourse in Shakespeare in terms of the women characters (primarily Desdemona and Emilia); and consideration of the role of voice and the disrupting of the discourse in Vogel’s version. Throughout this chapter, the guiding image is that of the doomed survivor: individual women who are using the tools available to them within the social context of the play as it is presented by the both of the authors, doing everything they can to survive in the world of the play, without denying that they will most likely be unsuccessful in their attempts. As Ruth Vanita states, “Desdemona [in Shakespeare] foresees her death but fights for her life with every means available to her. She tries to find allies.”i The notion of allies is crucial to the relationships in both texts: Paula Vogel’s re-visioning of Shakespeare’s tragedy acknowledges, addresses, and re-views the complexity of the lives of the women of Othello, but does so in a manner that preserves the major themes of female voice and alliance as primary strategies for survival in both worlds.

Section One: Shaping the Discourse—the Development of Feminist Criticism of Shakespeare

Feminist criticism of Shakespeare became a field unto itself with the 1975 publication of Juliet Dusinberre’s Shakespeare and the Nature of Women, the first volume to use an acknowledged feminist approach in the consideration of Shakespeare’s works. In the preface to the second edition of this work, published in 1996, Dusinberre acknowledges the “anger” underlying many of those early critiques, and notes that in the intervening twenty years, feminist inquiry has become “more confident, easier with itself, less angry and more cooperative than it was for any of us in the first decade of its existence.”ii As with newly developing feminist inquiry in many fields at the time (early to mid-1970’s), many of those early efforts focused on challenging patriarchal assumptions of women’s roles, and trying to claim a positive ground for representations of women in what may be thought of as a reactionary model of criticism. In the reactionary model, the emphasis was on defining the basis of the inequity and emphasizing the presence and re-evaluation of the female subject in contrast with historically dominant criticism, which tended to overlook or marginalize women as objects.iii In 1980, a collection of essays, titled The Woman’s Part: Feminist Criticism of

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Shakespeare (edited by Carolyn Lenz, Gayle Greene, and Carol Thomas Neely) was published, marking the growth of lines of feminist inquiry specific to Shakespeare. In the introduction to this volume, the authors explained the challenges feminist literary critics faced in confronting this new territory:

Whether they explore the plays as historical documents, aesthetic creations, or psychological revelations, they find they must reassess not only the text but also the critical language and procedures they use and the traditions they have absorbed: the historical context, the sources and analogues, Freudian and post-Freudian psychological models, and New Critical methods and assumptions. They find that they must, in a sense, create a tradition for themselves.iv

As this tradition evolved, one of the early criticisms of its direction was the tendency to over-simplify the argument, either vilifying Shakespeare as a misogynist or hailing him as a proto-feminist.v This dimension of the field has changed considerably in the last twenty years, considering multiple complexities in terms of the works themselves and in reference to the author himself. By the late nineties, the critical approach is much more varied. As Fran Dolan writes: “Much of the interesting work lately is moving beyond praise or blame for the heroines, as well as beyond groundless speculation about how Shakespeare felt about women, and tired debates over whether Shakespeare was conservative or radical, misogynist or feminist, in order to locate Shakespeare and his representations of women in his cultural movement rather than our own.”vi By moving away from simplistic polemical arguments, feminist analyses have begun to confront Shakespeare’s texts in a much more complex, revealing, and interesting manner. One of the more interesting components of this evolution is the development of feminist criticism that is rooted in a theatrical tradition in addition to (or rather than) a literary one. The impact of this aspect is profound in our understanding of, and approaches to, Shakespeare in a performance context. Dusinberre, again reflecting on the changes in the field since her work first appeared 20 years ago, notes:

It would not be possible now to discuss any of Shakespeare’s plays without reference to theatrical performance. Twenty years ago the emphasis in the academy on reading rather than seeing Shakespeare’s plays allowed a sense of stability to surround his texts which cannot now survive either an awareness of the infinite variety of theatrical performances, or an awareness of the unstable nature of the texts themselves. The notion of an authoritative edition has given way to an understanding of texts modified by performances and by other material considerations.vii

It is in performance that the interpretation of the text by the director/designers/actors is shown to be paramount in revealing, concealing, supporting, or subverting the meaning of the text. This combined literary/theatrical approach can be seen to underlie much of the critical work specific to Othello. Questions regarding the active or passive agency of

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Desdemona, combined with the immediacy of performance effects (particularly in relation to the use of voice and silence) and emphasis on centering the women as subjects in the text, form the basis for contemporary critical writing on Othello. Carol Neely, writing in 1980, noted that, “Whatever view critics take, discussion of [Desdemona] is virtually an afterthought to the analysis of the men. Emilia and Bianca are still more neglected and are invariably contrasted with Desdemona.”viii Nineteen years later, the bulk of critical commentary centers on the women, though Emilia still takes a bit of a back seat to Desdemona for most critics (though Neely notes that “Emilia is dramatically and symbolically the play’s fulcrum”).ix Desdemona’s passivity, and, in particular, her choice to apparently refuse to implicate her husband as her murderer as she is dying, provide the primary avenue of discussion for many critics. The early scenes provide us with a view of a Desdemona who is outspoken within her submissiveness: she defends herself before the Senate, convincing them to let her go with her husband to Cyprus; she holds her own with Iago when he meets her on the dock upon her arrival; and she repeatedly insists that Othello consider Cassio’s situation. As the play progresses, she becomes less assertive and more willing to passively accept her husband’s tirades and accusations. This is the point upon which much critical attention has been focused: how can Desdemona become such a passive agent as her life becomes more endangered? The structural considerations of voice and vocabulary in this respect will be discussed in Section Two. In this section I will consider the question of subjectivity, which, as suggested by feminist critic Emily Bartels, lies in identifying the complexities of choices and responses as a subject in the context of the play, creating a space where multiple avenues of behavior exist, where women are allowed

to be actors: to speak out through, rather than against, established postures and make room for self-expression within self-suppressing roles. Under the cover of male authority, women could modify its terms and sanction their moves without direct resistance. They could be good wives and desiring subjects, obedient and self-assertive, silent and outspoken. (419)x

The tension and ambivalence created in the spaces between these poles also creates the possibility of a dynamic subject position. Bartels goes on to explain that “gestures of submission paradoxically enable the expression of desire, showing female figures who inhabit their subjectivities, who are able to seem as well as be and, consequently, be as well as seem.”xi This approach is one which imbues Desdemona with a more active agency, even as it seems progressively more passive. Bartels continues this line of inquiry by considering that Desdemona’s increasing passive response is not due to a change in her, but in “the circumstances which surround her—circumstances that force her, not to give up her voice, but to redirect it. Once Othello decides that she is a whore, her gestures of obedience cease to have any meaning and any power to safeguard her speech.”xii Bartels’ work, positioning Desdemona as a product of a cultural context and presenting her as a subject who is making choices based on an understanding of her active position as a woman surviving in a male-dominated world, is an example of the interesting work mentioned earlier by Fran

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Dolan which is reshaping the perceptions of Shakespeare’s heroines through a feminist lens. The emphasis on performance is evident in the work of critics such as Lena Cowen Orlin, who points out the importance of what the audience knows as opposed to what the characters know. She reminds us that Othello has no reason for jealousy other than those things which Iago has told him, but that the audience sees other insinuations, for example, “[Desdemona’s] banter with Iago at the dockside, her advice to Emilia not to learn from her husband, her vow to make Othello’s bed ‘a school, his board a shrift’ (3.3.24), her willow-scene speculation about Lodovico [which] invit[es] each (male) member of [the audience] to share Othello’s doubts, to associate himself with Othello in questioning the nature of this woman and the nature of women” (186).xiii It is in a performance context in which such an observation becomes most apparent, as the audience is made visually aware of the physical presence of specific characters in specific locations, and in relation to one another. The same is true of the subtleties and implications contained in the “willow scene” (Act IV, scene iii: see Appendix F) in which the relationship between Desdemona and Emilia becomes more developed. Historically cut from many productions, it is now generally understood as crucial in presenting insight not only into Desdemona and Emilia as individuals, but also as women with dichotomous class status forming a mutually supportive relationship. Without the “willow scene,” the female characters remain little more than flat representations of virtue or vice. Rochelle Smith explains one aspect of the significance of this scene as follows:

That we seem unable to see Desdemona except through the eyes of the other characters may be a consequence of our rarely seeing her alone. Throughout the play, Desdemona is continually observed, and her speech and actions are continually interpreted to us. Act IV, scene iii is one of the few times in the play when we are allowed to watch Desdemona’s performance without the frame of Iago’s commentary; it is the only time when our view is unmediated by the gaze of the men who surround her. In this most private and intimate moment, she sings a willow complaint. (313)xiv

Again, in a performance context, this becomes even more compelling as the audience experiences the actual physical and psychological presence (and absence) of Iago. Smith points out that the Willow Scene most likely represents the first time a character sang a willow complaint (which can also be thought of as a love song) on stage, even though references had been made to them in other plays, and female characters did begin to sing on stage more after Desdemona first did so. She also explains that female singing at the time seems to have been strongly equated with sexuality, and goes on to propose, “With Desdemona’s song [. . .] both the dramatic context and the manner of performance suggest that Shakespeare is drawing here on the association of female dramatic singing with a seductive sexuality [. . .]” (317). By contextualizing the importance of the song to the audience of the period, Smith points out the complex associations conveyed in this scene.

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The importance of placing this scene in a performance context is supported by Eamon Grennan, who points to the significance of the flow from speech to song that Desdemona is given in the scene, explaining, “Peculiarly affecting in the theatre, such seamless transitions between song and speech show that even in the ‘performance’ of singing Desdemona is never out of touch with the naturalness of normal speech” (280).xv But the scene is not just about a song. It is also about the relationship between the two women, who are sharing an intimate conversation as Emilia helps Desdemona prepare for bed. Again, there is significance in cadence, rhythm, and tone that can only be conveyed fully in performance, demonstrating that:

The rich harmonies of this conversation [. . .] resolve the different values of the two women into complementary chords. Although they seem to value things differently (and to value different things), their speech nevertheless suggests that they can share, unthreatened, with one another their respective senses of the world.xvi

This critical emphasis on considering the women as subjects, and valuing the particulars of the performance aspects of the play, provide a superb example of the changing state of critical attention to Shakespeare’s heroines that has been greatly influenced by feminist theory. By shifting the focus of the lens to the women, feminist critics have provided fresh insights into the complexities and potentialities of the work.

Section Two: Controlling the Discourse—the Importance of Voice in Othello

The willow scene provides a compelling point of entry for considering the importance of voice in a feminist critique of Othello. Like Grennan, Lucille Fultz focuses on the thematic and structural significance of language and voice in the play, and the manner in which speech is used to demonstrate the manipulation of power and individual agency in desire:

Othello is at one level a dramatization of the mechanism and failure of language, a dialectic between reality and ‘invention’ [. . .]. Language in Othello is, then, not merely a dramatic vehicle or tool; language is the element of thematic concern. Language confirms, indicts, and convicts [. . .] The structure of any play resides, in large measure, in the words of the characters. The structure of Othello resides in the words of the character who simultaneously has control of her or his own discourse and the discourse of others [. . .]. In short, Othello is about the failure or fulfillment of desire through the loss or adroit use of discursive power. (191-93)xvii

Controlling the discourse is the structural vehicle that Shakespeare employed to show how power shifts in the pursuit of desire. Particularly when considering the relative positioning of the women in the text, the structural and thematic use of speech and language can not be overstated. The evolution of Desdemona’s speech is fairly easy to trace and critique, from assertive to

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panicked to passive as she gradually recognizes the apparently hopeless peril in which she has been cast in Othello’s jealous imagination (hopeless in large part because she is incapable of knowing about Iago’s machinations, and is therefore unable to recognize or subvert it). The notion of controlling the discourse is most evident, however, in Emilia’s language progression, culminating in her impassioned speaking out before she dies. Shakespeare was clearly a writer who used words deliberately and carefully, and it is no accident that he made significant use of specific words in specific ways. In Othello, he uses some variation of the word “speak” (i.e. “speaking,” “speaks, “speech,” “say,” and “talk”) over 125 times. As significant as the total usage is the distribution and placement of these words: besides the distribution between characters (Othello 35, Iago 40, Desdemona 23, and Emilia 24), it is particularly useful, especially in Emilia’s case, to note the placement of these words in the text: seventeen of Emilia’s twenty-four references to speech come in the space of 62 lines in Act V, scene ii. Grennan argues:

From her mistress’s death until her own, it is Emilia’s speech—its content and its unsuppressible existence—that dominates the stage. [. . .] The sheer fact and presence of her voice is what constitutes the dramatic and theatrical experience at this moment, opening Othello’s action to the world. [. . .] She claims her right to speak, defying her husband, men, religion, the world [. . .]. The subject here being her right to speak and the nature of her utterance, her speech is fully performative (even “meta- performative”): she is, at this moment, all speech.xviii

Her declaration, “I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak” clearly marks the point at which Emilia takes control of the discourse. Wresting control of the discourse does not save her life, however—in fact, it incites Iago to murder her in a desperate attempt to silence her accusations. But power is not simply about controlling the discourse, or using it to one’s advantage, and it is on this dimension that a feminist approach to the text may provide a different interpretation.xix The fact that Emilia speaks so assertively, whatever the ramifications, is evidence of her claiming her position as self-determined subject, which is at the heart of a feminist reading of power dynamics in social and personal contexts. As Neely suggests, Emilia ultimately “rejects the wifely virtues of silence, obedience, and prudence which are demanded of her,” and, in so doing, reinscribes the meaning of her position.xx

Section Three: Disrupting the Discourse—Vogel’s Re-vision

Voice and desire are central themes in both Shakespeare’s and Vogel’s representations of the women of Othello. Vogel, however, re-visions Shakespeare’s text, challenging the assumptions that critics and observers have historically made about the women in the play, and foregrounding language and desire in an effectively transgressive manner.xxi She complicates the characters in a way that moves beyond early feminist approaches, exemplifying “the shift [. . .] from discovering and creating positive images of women in the content of the drama to analyzing and disrupting the ideological codes embedded in the inherited structures of dramatic representation.”xxii This approach has been the object of negative criticism from some feminists and lesbians, who believe

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feminist writers should write only works that portray women in positive, supportive roles. One writer, in fact, characterizes Vogel as “the most woman-hating lesbian writer today.”xxiii Such comments have surrounded not only the reception for Desdemona, but also for Baltimore Waltz and How I Learned to Drive. Jill Dolan responds to such comments thus:

These complaints miss the power and poignancy of Vogel’s writing: through her command of theatricality and her nuanced critique of social systems, each of her plays writes a solid, wry, biting satire of the ideologies that deny full sexual, emotional, and political expression for women, lesbians, and gay men. Vogel’s plays inevitably begin with sex, as the foundational (if sometimes foolish) interaction of social and political life.xxiv

Like Jill Dolan, there are other feminist critics who applaud Vogel’s work, and a few have begun to publish critical articles about her plays. Only one such extensive academic article is currently in publication regarding Desdemona—Sharon Friedman’s article for New Theatre Quarterly, published in May of 1999.xxv In this article, Friedman writes of the significance of voice, and the connection of language and physicality:

Using bodily presence and ribald language in place of whispering asides, delicately expressed confidences, and plaintive ballads (e.g., Desdemona’s song in the willow scene), these familiar female characters, central to our most cherished narratives and cultural paradigms, speak in a forbidden language, and disrupt the categories of their representation—the twin images of the virgin/whore dichotomy and the faithful handmaiden— linked to their gender and class status. Vogel produces multiple and shifting identities as she dramatizes, among various postures, a whoring Desdemona, a spiritually monogamous Bianca, and a sassy Emilia, who does not invariably understand and support the lady she serves.xxvi

Jill Dolan and Friedman both identify the feminist/lesbian emphasis in Vogel’s work on desire and sexuality as coexisting in a practical and theoretical plane with issues of gender, class, and race (see Chapter One). In many ways, Paula Vogel’s version of the women in Othello presents a perfect example of a work that could, arguably, have only been written in the context of contemporary feminist inquiry. The critical perspective developed since the mid-1970’s is quite visible in Vogel’s work, and whether the chicken or the egg came first, or whether the theory and the practice have been mutually informative, the result is a work that cogently demonstrates in text and performance what the critics have been writing about. Fran Dolan’s assessment of the state of feminist Shakespearean criticism could also apply to feminist deconstructive revisions, like Vogel’s, of Shakespeare’s work: “Liberated from the obligation to defend and admire the heroines, critics [and playwrights] are also exploring the way that the heroines share the limitations of the worlds the plays depict, and the ways in which they are as capable as male characters of

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abusing what power they possess.”xxvii Vogel’s women are complex, at times irrational, and, above all, survivors. Moreover, they are characters who could still believably exist in Shakespeare’s text: by enhancing the dimensionality already suggested by the Bard (in the all-important willow scene), Vogel’s creations inhabit a context that is fluid and believable, a context in which their conscious use of speech and choices of action (or inaction) mesh thoroughly with a feminist reading of Shakespeare’s text. Vogel has disrupted the discourse by exposing it, redefining it, and then bringing it all back together to its original conclusion. Even though they are still doomed, in Vogel’s hands Desdemona and Emilia are active subjects, building a relationship based on an instinct for survival and a shared (though often contradictory) discourse.

i Vanita, Ruth. " 'Proper' Men and 'Fallen' Women: The Unprotectedness of Wives in Othello." Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900. 34.2 (1994): 341-46. ii Dusinberre, Juliet. Shakespeare and the Nature of Women. 2nd ed. New York: St. Martin's, 1996. xxx. iii There were several primary works in the 1970's that influenced the evolution of feminist inquiry across disciplines; naming them all would require a dissertation-length work in itself. Some representative examples of some of the most influential are: Simone De Beauvoir's The Second Sex, translated and published in English in 1953 (New York: Knopf); Mary Daly's Beyond God the Father: Toward a Philosophy of Women's Liberation (Boston: Beacon, 1973) and Gyn/ecology: the Metaethics of Radical Feminism (Boston: Beacon, 1978); Andrea Dworkin's Woman Hating (New York: Dutton, 1974); Shulamith Firestone's The Dialectic of Sex: the Case for Feminist Revolution (New York: Bantam, c1970); Lucy Lippard's From the Center: Feminist Essays of Women's Art (New York: Dutton, c1976); and Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar's collection, Shakespeare's Sisters: Feminist Essays on Women Poets (Bloomington, IN: Indiana UP, c1979). iv Lenz, Carolyn Ruth Swift and Gayle Greene and Carol Thomas Neely, eds. "Introduction." The Woman's Part: Feminist Criticism of Shakespeare. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois, 1980. 7. v An excellent brief presentation of the evolution of feminist Shakespearean criticism is in the Introduction to Shakespeare and Gender: a History, by Deborah Barker and Ivo Kamps (London: Verso, 1995). Another consideration of note is Richard Levin's 1988 article "Feminist Thematics and Shakespearean Tragedy," (PMLA: Publication of the Modern Language Association of America. 103:2 (1988). 125-38.) vi Dolan, Fran. "Recent Critical Approaches to Shakespeare's Heroines." Shakespeare's Unruly Women. Georgianna Ziegler. Washington, DC: Folger Shakespeare Library, 1997. 93-101. vii Dusinberre, xviii. viii Neely, Carol Thomas. "Women and Men in Othello: 'What should such a fool/Do with so good a woman?' " in Lenz, et al. 212. ix Neely, 213. x Bartels, Emily C. "Strategies of Submission: Desdemona, the Duchess, and the Assertion of Desire." Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900. 36.2 (1995): 417-33. xi Bartels, 420. xii Bartels, 428. xiii Orlin, Lena Cowen. "Desdemona's Disposition." Shakespearean Tragedy and Gender. Shirley Nelson Garner and Madelon Sprengnether, eds. Bloomington, IN: Indiana UP, 1996. 171-92. xiv Smith, Rochelle. "Admirable Musicians: Women's Songs in Othello and The Maid's Tragedy." Comparative Drama. 28.3 (1994): 311-23. xv Grennan, Eamon. "The Women's Voices in Othello: Speech, Song, Silence." Shakespeare Quarterly. 38.3 (1987): 275-92. xvi Grennan, 279. xvii Fultz, Lucille P. "Devouring Discourses: Desire and Seduction in Othello." "Othello:" New Essays by Black Writers. Mythili Kaul, ed. Washington, DC: Howard UP, 1997. 189-204. xviii Grennan, 290-91.

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xix This is not to presume that there exists a monolithic feminist point of analysis. See chapter four for a more detailed discussion of the types of feminist theory that shape a critical approach. xx Neely, 232. xxi The assumptions I speak of are those that construct a paradigmatic model of Desdemona that has been dominant in Western culture until the advent of feminist criticism has helped restructure the picture. That Desdemona is, in the words of Janet Overmyer, "young, innocent, sweet, naive, and trusting" ("Shakespeare's Desdemona: a Twentieth Century View." The University Review. 37 (1971): 301-05). See also Fran Dolan's critique of critic A.C. Bradley as representative of a dominant critical view that equated passivity with femininity and activity with masculinity (97). xxii Hart, Lynda. ed. Making a Spectacle: Feminist Essays on Contemporary Women's Theatre. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan, 1989. 4. xxiii This remark was from lesbian playwright Carolyn Gage, during a casual workshop/discussion regarding lesbian playwriting at the National Women's Music Festival, Ball State University, Muncie, Indiana, June 1999. xxiv Dolan, Jill. "Paula Vogel's Desdemona (a play about a handkerchief)." Amazon All Stars: Thirteen Lesbian Plays. Rosemary Keefe Curb, ed. New York: Applause, 1996. 437-40. xxv Friedman, Sharon. "Revisioning the Woman's Part: Paula Vogel's 'Desdemona'." New Theatre Quarterly. 15.58 (1999): 131-41. xxvi Friedman, 133. xxvii Fran Dolan, 98.

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