These days are bleak ones in higher education, and there’s nothing like a pandemic to make them seem more dire. But Luther College has a distinct history to remind us that we will get through this.
 
In December of 1968, a wicked flu descended on campus just after Thanksgiving and the decision was made to send everybody home. The Pioneer yearbook contains a photo and a dismal pun how “finals just flu by” that term.

I learned of this bit of history from the very first graduate of Luther I ever met—Nancy L. Jones (class of 1969), with whom I worked at the University of Iowa. It was Nancy who told me of a job vacancy in the English department at Luther, which led to my hire in the fall of 1990. She told me the story about how at the end of her fall senior term, students were told they could simply take the grade they had earned, or talk to the Professor in each class to discuss taking an exam long distance. In 1968, long distance meant REALLY long distance!

But there is even more history about the manner in which the College kept track of students during a crisis. As recounted by emeritus professor, Marv G. Slind in his book Luther College Goes to War, during WWII the history professor Chellis N. Evanson devised an inventive way to keep track of all the Luther students who had enlisted. Evanson circulated a newsletter under the ingenious name “Scuttlebutt,” which spread the word about deeds and whereabouts of the Luther students who were battling in various fronts.
 
It was an inspired tactic, even though the military establishment wasn’t too pleased to see these mimeographed sheets going all over the world reporting on what certain platoons and brigades were up to! Weston Noble would often talk about the newsletter, and according to him, it was an instrumental tool for keeping the soldiers connected to the College, which is why so many of them came back to Luther after the war to finish their degrees.

Isn’t that the most important thing for all of us to embrace during this topsy turvy semester of long-distance learning and cancelled plans? To stay in touch. To keep our pulse on how one another is faring. For myself, I was a bit overwhelmed by the shuttering of campus, and felt decidedly saddened, particularly for seniors. I was skeptical to hear the phrase “long-distance learning” tossed about with such aplomb, as if the whole enterprise were as interchangeable as a piece of bread.

So I went to the workshops and learned how to use “Google Hangouts” and “VoiceThread” and then, with details that would make anyone’s brain hurt, how to use the exam function on KATIE, Luther’s digital learning platform. To bolster my spirits, the first thing I posted to my course site was a “Song for the Day!” (It was “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult). I may be taxing my students’ patience by revealing so many selections from my quirky music collection, but I figure it will be a welcome module to press as they wearily open their computers with their breakfast cereal or waffles. 

Everything I’ve read about hooking us up together on-line covers the technical features of what software to use, how to record the sessions, what percentage of a grade a particular quiz will “count.” I long for the days when students could just visit a professor’s office and talk about taking a final and mailing it in by the deadline, everyone adapting to the news that they had to be off campus for awhile. I have to trust that the modern technology will prove to be just as flexible.

Evanson’s inspired newsletter reminds us that it is not technology that will save us, but rather, the deep connections we feel toward those we’ve left and want to see again. I did the math this morning on how much time it would take to have a 15-minute conference with each of my students once a week. If my stamina can keep up, that seems to me to be a worthy use of the time, and the first question to ask is:  HOW ARE YOU DOING? The students will be feeling their own measure of distress and discombobulation during these days—trying to schedule some paid work if they can get it; possibly watching out for younger siblings at home; squeezing the life out of their own lowly bandwidth. Of course I will turn our attention to the course at hand, in my case Paideia and Creative Writing—what writing students are doing; how they commented on the discussion topics on particular forums. It is good to have work to distract us in times of stress.
 
Mostly, I will remind students of the three best pieces of advice I ever got regarding how to live when times were hard:  follow a routine; break time into manageable units; when the choice is between doing something or doing nothing, ALWAYS do something.

I might also remind them that the very best exams are the ones that strengthen our spirits and made our hearts more tender. In writing this column, I reached out to Nancy Jones to ask her to check on the facts about that semester in 1968. In the midst of that reconnection, I was reminded that on my very first day in Decorah, in the summer of 1990, I attended the funeral of one her mentors, Dennis M. Jones, a dearly beloved English professor who was instrumental in my hire. I watched that morning how Nancy grieved at the loss of her former teacher, and I learned something right from the start about the bonds that people carry inside them for the dear ones they’ve met and worked with at Luther College. That is what matters this spring—that we remember how much we mean to one another. That we follow the “scuttlebutt” of our off-campus days and weeks; that we all return at the end of this skirmish to tell the tale, wave to our mates, and remember that the web that holds us together is one strand the virus cannot harm. Soli Deo Gloria. Come back soon!

Nancy K. Barry has taught in the English department for thirty years, is the author of “Lessons from Cancer College,” and held the Dennis M. Jones Distinguished Professorship from 2016-2018.