Monday, September 28, 2020

Are ChE Students as Good as We Were?

This is an editorial in February 1991, CEP (Chemical Engineering Progress).
Written by Mark Rosenzweig.


    Having visited many campuses over the years, and spoken to countless chemical-engineering students at AIChE and other meetings, we don't detect any real change in the eagerness, earnestness, and enterprise of students.  There definitely are, however, differences in how well students are prepared for college.

    To paraphrase Mort Denn, editor of our sister publication, AIChE Journal, and a professor at the Univ. of California at Berkeley, who recently offered some telling reflections on what he has witnessed over the last 25 years:
    The current generation of chemical engineering students — with, of course, some exceptions — cannot communicate effectively.  Faculty members have always complained about students' written and oral presentations, but the deterioration over these last 25 years has been profound.  Skill in communication is closely tied to the way in which an individual formulates and approaches problems, and the failure of schools to emphasize writing has had a major impact on technical education and professional practice.
    Many chemical-engineering departments are trying explicitly to address this problem by superimposing stringent requirements for technical writing in engineering courses; some schools even provide special technical-writing courses.  A survey by CEP (see "Update" in this issue) details some of the initiatives being taken.  At CEP, we will try to do our part in helping engineers improve their communication skills.  For instance, the first of a series of articles on giving a good technical presentation appears in the next issue.

     Unfortunately, the changes go well beyond the loss of proficiency in communication.  Here too, Mort Denn undoubtedly speaks for many educators in pointing up two other key factors:

     It used to be taken for granted by faculty members and students alike that most learning was accomplished by reading difficult material and working through the logical problems.  Today's students, though no less hard working than their parents, do not wish to read; they expect the learning process to consist of doing — problem solving, for example.  They have come to expect a less tortuous path to knowledge, and no such path exists in chemical engineering.

    The reason for this change, many believe, is the "Sesame Street" approach to learning in primary and secondary education.  It assumes that students have limited attention spans and will absorb knowledge only if presented with it in short, sprightly quanta.

    Beyond this, I see another problem with current chemical-engineering students. Mental arithmetic and quantitative estimation were valued a generation ago.  Today, even the concept is foreign to students.  The replacement of the slide rule and analog computer (both of which require an appreciation of magnitudes) by the calculator and digital computer (which do not) has led to a loss of quantitative intuition, and the engineering profession is much the worse for this.  Students value precision in problem solving but typically show an alarming unawareness of accuracy.

     Efforts by engineering schools and by the chemical process industries to deal with the challenges that these changes pose are, of course, welcome.  What our profession is seeing, however, is only part of a far larger problem.  And the signs, so far, certainly are not encouraging that American society is really prepared to come to grips with it.











Interesting to note this was almost 30 years ago.

Mark Rosenzweig is still active in the ChE world and is still writing about how to make students and newly graduated better.  Here is an editorial from 2018
 

Tuesday, March 03, 2020

Promoting Archery As Sport






This is not my story.
I read it and then shared it with my Dad who laughed so hard he was crying.  He could totally relate to most of the story.  I knew then that this had to be saved and shared with other.

This is pure gold.

________________________________

Every kid should do something like this once...but only once. Around age 10 my dad got me one of those little compound bow beginner kits. Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow. Did you know that a 1955 40 horse Farmall tractor will take 6 rounds before it goes down? Tough stuff.

That got boring, so being the 10 yr. old Dukes of Hazzard fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over the place. Keep in mind this was 99.999% humidity swampland so there really wasn't any fire danger... I'll put it this way... a set of post-hole diggers and a 3ft. hole and you had yourself a well.

One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over toward the carport and saw a brand new can of truck starter fluid (ether). Brilliant idea! I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing manner. Let's face it, to a 10 yr. old mouth-breather like myself, ether really doesn't sound flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a 1-pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles). At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little around the ether can, but it all sorta dumped out. No biggie... 1 lb of pyrodex and 16oz of ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker, no? I went back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it too.

Now we're cookin'.

I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the 2-stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk from behind me as the arrow launched from my bow. In slow motion, I turned to see my dad getting out of the truck. UH OH! He just got home from work. So help me, it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking toward me in slow motion with a 'what in the world' look in his eyes. I turned back toward my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the starter fluid can right through the main pile of pyrodex at the bottom.

When the shock wave hit, it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just reflex jerk back from 235 decibels. I caught a half/second glimpse of the violence during the explosion, and I will tell you there was stuff hovering a ft above the ground as far as I could see. It was like a little low-to-the-ground layer of dust-fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and a crawfish or two.

The daylight turned purple. Let me repeat this: THE DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE. There was a big sweet gum tree out by the gate going into the pasture. Notice I said "was." That mother got up and ran off. So there I was, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my Thundercats T-shirt shredded. Dad was on the other side of the carport having what I can only assume was a Viet Nam flashback:

 "ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE, YOUR BRINGIN' 'EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!"

His hat had blown off and was 30 ft. behind him in the driveway. All windows on the north side of the house were blown out and there was a slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 ft over our backyard. The Honda 185's 3-wheeler parked on the other side of the yard had the fenders drooped down and touching the tires.

I wish I knew what I said to my dad at that moment. But I just don't know—I know I said something. I couldn't hear. Heck! I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't think he heard me either...not that it would really matter. I don't remember much from this point on. I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke later...repeat this for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR so dad could beat me some more. Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again. Thanks mom.

One thing is for sure! I never had to mow around that stump again. Mom had been complaining about that thing for years and dad never did anything about it. I stepped up to the plate and handled business. Dad sold his muzzle loaders a week or so later, and I still have some sort of bone growth abnormality, either from the blast or the beating.

Or both.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery. It's good discipline and will teach them skills they can really use — like to get the butt kicking of a lifetime.