Tom Durrie on free learning in a public school (1966)

Tom Durrie, April 9, 1966

This paper represents an attempt to describe some of the experiences I have had with my class in Williams Lake, B.C. It is an Intermediate Special Class consisting of eleven boys, aged 12 to 15, and two girls, both aged 14. Most of the youngsters in the class have been in Special Classes for about six years. They have all been 'diagnosed' as 'slow learners'. This is my second year with the group.

Through these two years, I have found my way of dealing with youngsters tending toward greater permissiveness and freedom. I have tried to describe the effects and results of this approach. Naturally, my evaluation of the success of this venture is a personal one based on my daily contact with these youngsters over the two-year period. The names used in this paper are not the actual names of the youngsters being described.

Much of the activity of the group, noisy and boisterous as it often is, has been possible because the class is housed in a portable classroom separate from the main school building. We are also grateful to the other teachers and administrators who have regarded our class, though not without philosophical reservations, with interest and indulgence.

Tom Durrie Williams Lake, B.C. April 9, 1966

My special Class in Williams Lake has been described as "unique" and "experimental." It is unique because I have taken what many would describe as a radical approach to dealing with children, an approach which probably would not be found, at least to this degree, in any other classroom in British Columbia. And because it is unique it is called experimental. If it is an experiment, it is only to the extent that life itself is an experiment, for I have tried, not to induce youngsters to follow a program of learning or activities, nor to guide or foster growth in any predetermined direction, but to give them the freedom to discover their own directions and to come face to face with life itself as they meet it daily in its infinite variety.

I have tried to establish for each child the feeling that he as an individual of worth, that I prized and loved him for what he was, and that I wished no more for him that he should be himself. I hoped that he would know that I had an unshakeable faith in his ability to conduct his own life in the best possible way for himself.

Among the reasons I have for departing from traditional methods was the feeling that "slow learners" were having trouble in school for emotional and psychological reasons rather than, if the distinction exists, intellectual reasons. I had often seen infants who were inadequately loved develop more slowly and less fully than those whose needs were more really satisfied. The thwarted infant is too busy using his energy in anger and frustration to learn to talk and walk with much efficiency. The timid, enigmatic faces and awkward bodies of many "slow learners" reminded me of the doughy bodies of such infants.

For a long time I have believed that every individual is best able to direct his own life, and that any external direction was likely to thwart and pervert this natural and constructive drive. I felt that life was good and learning and exploring the world were desirable aspects of living. It seems ridiculous to me that anyone should have to be forced to learn to read since reading is such a  vital form of contact among human beings and that as social beings such communicative contact is natural to us. Perhaps, then, "slow learners" were dull because they were thwarted and frustrated -- too wrapped up in inner suffering to be able to view their environment clearly and effectively. Therefore, I reasoned, it is vital to provide a situation which would be therapeutic, which would enable them to discover and accept themselves as they are. Painful though this self-discovery might be, it would make further growth possible.

In my classroom then, each youngster is free to be himself as he truly is and to direct his own affairs in whatever way he chooses as long as he doesn't harm or unduly interfere with others. My own role is that of provider of material and information, and as a kind of reflective listener. As a provider, I find I must be ready to search out all kinds of supplies and raw materials for building, for art projects, and for reading or study. When the creative urge arises, action must be its immediate outcome.  As an information-giver, I am called upon to answer the questions on and to explain the multitudes of topics that arise when active, curious children are free to pursue whatever interests them. It may be history, anatomy, social problems, psychology, sex, religion, jet propulsion, or banking. Again, the time to answer is when the question, not after the length of time it takes to prepare a lesson. Children are eager to know what they want to know, but if you try to turn a simple question into a "learning situation", by developing the topic beyond their original inquiry you might as well save your breath, they simply don't listen -- and I suspect this is what happens to most of what adults say to children.

As a reflective listener, I attempt to be open and responsive to whatever the children may express to me. As I listen to what they say, I try to put myself in their place. Instead of trying to see things my way, I try to see things his way. This doesn't mean that I have to do as he does or take on his way of thinking for myself, but if does mean that I, as a fellow individual, will give myself without judging, leading or advising to understanding and empathy with the child. Because they do not need to seek my approval (they have it already), and they need not fear my disapproval, they can and do express themselves on any matter they choose and in any manner they choose.

What do children do all day when they can decide for themselves what to do? A typical day might run something like this: The kids usually come into the room as soon as they get to school in the morning and a number of them have a standing race on to see who can get there first. As they arrive, they stand around in the room talking about what they have done, seen or heard since the previous day. By the time the nine o'clock bell rings everyone is assembled in the room or just outside. We have no opening exercises because I discovered long ago that the children paid no attention to them and only went through the motions of listening, reciting and singing because they had to. Life has enough artificiality in it already, I feel I cannot afford to force any more on these youngsters.

So the day begins, or rather, evolves without a formal beginning. Now that the weather is fine, three or four boys may start out with a friendly and earnest game of marbles. Another small group may get to work excitedly on a model car that some lucky soul has been able to afford. Two or three studious types will pull their desks together into some corner and settle down for work on arithmetic or language. In another corner you may find Billy holed up with a book for the day. Comic books are well-loved, and if someone brings a stack of them, they will make rounds throughout the day. If all activities were quiet ones, the day would be as smooth as butter. But, as likely as not, one of the two girls, very much teenagers, has brought her favorite records which she _must_ play at full volume. Joe decides to make himself a wooden rifle and commences sawing and hammering full blast. Mike, who had a rough weekend at home, lets loose his anger with volleys of loud bragging and knocking desks around, eliciting cries of protest from those offended. In the midst of this, Danny and Jerry may tear through the room, one in hot pursuit of the other, knocking into the model-builders and jiggling the needle from its path on the record. The situation, though a bit rugged on the nerves at times, gives the kids a chance to find out what they are really like and just what it takes to live with other individuals.

Such conflicting interests as these are problems which have to be dealt with. As I have lived with and observed these children over the months, I have seen their approach to problems change. At first, they fought and squabbled constantly. Some of them begged me to "make us behave", but I knew they didn't really want this. They resented being told what to do. They were simply lost souls, loosed from their hated moorings but unable to set a course to steer by. The only way they seemed to be able to deal with problems was with violence. Consequently the stronger and louder youngsters usually had their way and the smaller ones fought among themselves and wept. But gradually I think they learned that it is more satisfying to help another person than it is to dominate him; that it is more rewarding  to cooperate with and sympathize with others than it is to have one's own way. Youngsters who a few months ago spent every day in bitter, violent and hateful fighting now fight no more. Jerry, who was known around the school as a tough little fighter with perpetual chip on his shoulder, said to me recently, "The one thing I don't want to do in life is fight." Where, in September and October, a group of boys would hurl invectives at each other and provoke a fist fight or mercilessly pick on some underdog, they will now engage in a hilarious, noisy and thoroughly friendly game of tag, or they may be found huddled up in the back of the room talking about their plans for the future. They are happy kids, full of interests in and affection for each other.

If the girls' record-playing interferes with someone's studying, he will now either simply go elsewhere to study or ask the girls to turn it down. If Joe's hammering and sawing get to be too much, he may be asked to quit or to hurry up and get it over with. Above all, I find that as problems are created by conflicting interests, there is now a willingness to see the other fellow's point of view, to regard him as a person worthy of consideration, not just an annoying object to be hated and removed. In my opinion, no amount of disciplining by authority, or lecturing or fatherly advising could have produced growth in human relations like this.

So the day continues. Activities and groupings change freely whenever the need arises. I may spend some time helping with a model, sharing the enthusiasm and excitement as the tiny automobile takes shape in its awe-inspiring perfection. John is yelling for help in figuring out an arithmetic problem. He will try on me every devious means he has used on other teachers to wangle the solution, but he knows that I will only attempt to understand what he is saying and that my understanding will somehow help him to understand and feel able to solve the problem himself. I find that if I try to explain or try to lead him to the solution, however subtly, I will only convince him that he is incapable of doing it himself. So part of our conversation may run something like this:

John: I can't get this one Me: This problem is especially hard for you. John: Yeah, it says, "Bob took $5.00 to the store and bought $3.55 worth of school supplies. How much did he have then?" Oh, I know, you would add, wouldn't you? Me: You think you might have to add to find the answer.  John: No, I guess you would have to divide.  Me: It looks to you now as though you should divide. John: Yeah, that's it. Divide $5.00 and $3.55.  Me: If you divide $5.00 into $3.55 you will get the answer.  John: No, you can't do that.  Me: That's not possible, is it?  John: Tell me how to do it.  Me: You would just like me to tell you how to do it, wouldn't you?  John: Oh, I guess I'll have to figure it out myself.

And nine times out of ten, he will figure it out for himself. And his satisfaction is deep and quiet. His is the satisfaction of accomplishment, not of manipulating another person, or of winning praise or avoiding disapproval.

Next I may be called upon to hold Mike on my knee and read to him. He is a big boy, aged thirteen, but he has a deep need to be loved and given attention. Before he came to my class he was an incorrigible bully, straight F student, and a constant behavior problem at home and school. He used to make loud, bragging threats to the other boys and then "chicken out" if anyone called his bluff. Now he is much less obnoxious, and less of a "chicken" than he used to be. He is a serious student and his achievement has risen several grade levels in the past few months. And mike, like the others, talks about himself honestly and realistically. "I don't know why, but I'm sure scared of high places." Fears, which were previously kept hidden by layers of defenses, gradually come out into the open to be talked about, accepted and dealt with. Paper tigers lurking in the murky recesses of the mind are seen for what they are in the light of love, acceptance, approval, and self-esteem.

We eat lunch together in the room these days, commenting on what we have to eat and what we like and dislike, sharing with each other something a little special -- marshmallow cookies or bites of dill pickle. The kids find out that others have tastes different from theirs but just as important to them. Every experience like this pushes the horizon a little bit and reveals the world as a friendly and warm place where Mike or John or Jerry can have importance and ability as an individual. Self-esteem is, to me, the key to ability. And it cannot be thought, it must be discovered.

The afternoon goes along pretty much as did the morning. Individuals and small groups busy themselves with their own affairs. What if big fifteen-year old John is lying on the floor playing with a toy truck and making loud truck noises? He is living out his own fantasy life, he must never have been free to do it before. Playing trucks is terribly important to him and I know he will not grow beyond this stage until he is free and able to live it out. If Sally tells me in emotional terms how much she hates her mother, I can best help her by listening, by putting myself in her position. "Yes, I see how it must feel to be you," is what I say to her in effect. And seeing how it is to be her, I find she is a person worthy of love and esteem. Finally, when her hate is expressed openly and found to be acceptable, Sally will begin to see that she has other feelings for her mother as well, that her mother is a person with feelings too, and that there are possibilities for understanding and love. If I had given Sally advice or tried to point out to her that she should look for her mother's good qualities, she would have reacted defensively. She would have felt that I didn't understand. She would have gone on hating, now adding me to her list.

What the children say is: "Love me as I am and for what I am!" They are not to be denied.

The end of the day usually brings much farewell hand-shaking, back-patting, hugging as the children set out for home. The warmth and affection that passes between is not a sign of dependence; in fact, I find the youngsters far more independent than they were previously. Many of them have friends and belong to groups outside the Special Class. They will confidently set out for town or on an errand where before they would have needed support and assistance. Their affection is simply the warmth of fellow living creatures for each other.

I have heard a great deal lately about developing coordination, kinesthetic control, and visual perception in "Slow Learners". I have seen many exercises which are designed to develop these traits in children deficient in them. A year ago, I felt that my children lacked coordination, that their physical development was slow, that they lacked "tone." To my amazement, I have watched the youngsters develop and practice their own coordination "exercises." From the simplest chasing games and hammering, through setting up their own obstacle courses for running and jumping, tracing pictures, and using chisels, to inventing games of their own, requiring a high degree of coordination, guiding toy cars over board "highways" and following diagrams of instructions. I dare say if I had planned and administered a course of exercises to my class it would have been virtually ineffective; but what I am discovering is that there is order in self-direction, the body and the mind will develop themselves in the best possible way if only they are given the freedom to do so. I am continually amazed at the power and resources which are within each individual. I would hesitate to make any statements about a child's ability, intellectual or otherwise, because I don't think we can know with any certainty at all what capabilities are deep within him, waiting like the seeds in the frozen ground to be warmed into growth by love an acceptance.

For eight years I felt that all the teaching I was doing was pretty much a wasted effort, because I did not see in my pupils any real change or growth. I could not feel that they were personally involved in learning. True, they went through all the motions, did their homework, passed their tests; but I knew that most of everything I had taught would be forgotten soon after the dismissal bell rang at the end of June. I occurs to me now that the reason was that I couldn't stop "teaching" long enough to listen to the kids and to myself. It was an artificial situation. I was going through the motions of teaching and the children were going through the motions of learning, and no one was getting anywhere.

My experience this year has taught me that "teaching" is at best useless and unnecessary. Every individual has within him powerful drives toward growth and self-enhancement. It is urgently important to him to explore, discover, and move about in the world he lives in, but if we frustrate his basic nature, he will react defensively and destructively. If long division has no personal significance to him, he will not learn it - not really - no matter how hard they "teach it" at him. All I am doing is keeping him from being active in ways that are important to him. When long division becomes necessary to him, he will learn it in the most efficient way, and he will remember it as long as he needs to -- unless, of course, my "teaching" has forever turned him against learning of all kinds.

The youngsters in my class actually do very little academic school work. They are much too busy growing and living. There are two or three who have stuck with their books fairly consistently, and where this has been motivated by a genuine desire to get ahead in school and not just because parents are putting on pressure, there has been real progress. Some of them have shown a significant rise in achievement even though they have done no "school work" whatever all year. Others have remained at about the same level and a few have gone down slightly. However, who is to say that this would not have happened had I been "teaching" them all year. And there is the inescapable fact that Achievement Tests, like Intelligence Tests, measure only the ability to write that particular test in the myriad conditions, inner and outer, under which it was given. No, what my children are learning cannot be measured by tests. They are learning that life is a process of growing and becoming, and of learning. They are finding out that they can deal effectively with reality, and that they can make decisions, and that they are responsible for their actions. They are learning some of the millions of scraps of information that make up "an education." Above all they are learning to live life with joy and vigor, and to face its limitless possibilities with confidence and enthusiasm.