Novelist Teaches Neuroscience

Imagine how it appeared to the medical students. Their Neuroscience and Human Behavior Lab Instructor was merely a novelist from off the street and without even the most basic of degrees, let alone a doctorate as held by the other teachers.

I had befriended a neuroscientist several years ago and would sit in on his classes, sneaking into the medical school. When the new Neuro section-head was assembling his staff for the year, word had gotten to him about my knowledge of neuroanatomy and function.

“You’re that guy who taught himself all about the brain?”

I laughed, knowing the hyperbole was apparent, but the sentiment accurate.

“How would you like to teach neuroscience?”

What luck to have an individual like this educator, willing to eschew convention and deciding to investigate me in hopes of cultivating new teaching talent. He challenged my knowledge for two months, as I presented to him a two-hour lecture twice a week. In the end, he decided to support my nomination.

“Who is this guy?” was the general sentiment of the committee.
“Why is his name a number?”
“Will the students respect him?”

Eventually, I was given a probationary period to prove my mettle. Day one of lab, I did my thing. Three students requested to be moved to another classroom for fear of not being taught the appropriate material.

“He wears shorts and a baseball cap,” they said. “And he pronounces amygdala like they do in New Jersey.”

By the second lecture, they retracted their request; and word got around that I was the guy to have in lab. Students began sneaking into my lab, recording my lectures, passing around my material. The student union perfunctorily voiced their opposition to my standing until the union’s president had me as a substitute, and he too, retracted the complaint. My teaching had eclipsed most concerns.

When Thomas Jefferson created the University of Virginia, In addition to designing an architectural landmark—an Academic Village that wouldn’t shy away from the sciences—he did so with the idea that matriculation was irrelevant. He intended UVA to be a place to attend for learning sake. While in beautiful Charlottesville, I was swept away by the historic sentiment of the founding fathers. Though quite educated men—many with advanced degrees—it was their advanced abilities that helped them to excel. Their ignoble family credentials would have hampered their ascent in England. Even Washington would not have risen above the rank of captain. American circumstances made credentials second to ability.

Current trends often have students prioritizing the degrees nearly to the exclusion of command of the information. As such, fallacious credentials abound. Institutions pandering to the paper over the information litter the internet, watering down the achievements of those with hard-earned degrees truly reflecting acquired skills.

Granted, to pursue the Jeffersonian concept of education means one must have the financial recourse to be a person of leisure and learn for learning’s sake. But I imagine, in the future, Human Resources will rely less on the applicant’s credentials and develop interviews that truly distinguish the abilities of the candidates.

Gone will be questions: “So what are your shortcomings?”
“Well, gee; sometimes I just don’t know when to stop working and call it a day. I warn you: hire me and my tennis game may suffer.”

Just as with those who excel in any field, the best educators love to teach. Though, clearly, one can have a degree and a desire to learn, the desire is what drives excellence. Great teachers love the information, they love to impart the concepts, they love having intellectual soldiers bringing new approaches to the material edifying the teachers themselves.

As a writer, I balance the teacher-student duality. I, too, am greatly inquisitive. I do my homework prior to creating my characters and scenes. I researched specifics of law and military to create authentic moments in Drawers & Booths, even when the scenarios are couched in humor. (I’m sure my diligence is a reason the book has been added to some New York AP curriculum.)

My first year as a walk-on Neuroscience and Human Behavior teacher certainly has provided me with great fodder for my next novel. Most importantly, it has given me the pride felt by competent teachers. I salute those who aspire to be competent as an ends. May all our rewards be byproducts of quality endeavors; and may quality endeavors bring us great rewards.