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It is reasonable to assume that every person who participates in a chemistry
course (or in any other human activity) does so as an individual. That is, each
participant has experiences that differ from those of every other participant.
Such differences may range from very minor (such as sitting in a different part
of a classroom) to extremely significant (such as having a physical limitation
that inhibits the student from experiencing one or more aspects of the course
the same way that most students do).
Two articles in this issue describe situations where student capabilities differed
greatly from the norm. Eisch and Haworth tell the story
of Clifford Haymaker, who was blind at birth yet became a successful organic chemist
and teacher of organic chemistry. They make clear that complete absence of perhaps
the most important sense need not preclude a successful career in a very visual
science like chemistry. Pence, Workman, and Riecke describe
how they redesigned the laboratory component of a course to provide effective
education for a student with limited mobility and a student who was blind. Both
of these articles are extremely valuable as a record of how student disabilities
can be accommodated and overcome. It is instructive to read them and think about
how each of us might modify a course we teach so that students with these or other
disabilities could participate effectively.
The articles described in the previous paragraph relate experiences that were
positive and successful for both students and faculty. It is clear that with an
appropriate frame of mind and proper planning, teachers can provide an environment
where students with major disabilities can learn chemistry and participate effectively
in laboratory work. This is an important message, and I think there are other
implications as well.
In their article about Clifford Haymaker, Eisch and Haworth speculate that
Haymaker was attracted to organic chemistry by “the clear rationality of
three-dimensional atom connectivity within organic molecules” and the fact
that “most organic compounds have characteristic odors that gave him access
to an additional avenue of sense data”. It is quite reasonable that deficiency
of one sense can be partly compensated by using others. Perhaps more important
is the power of a mind that could imagine “three-dimensional atom connectivity”.
This is a capacity that many students of organic chemistry lack. It can be augmented
by visual or tactile models, but still requires mental capabilities that are not
fully developed in most students. Whether or not a student has a recognized disability,
our courses should help the student to use and augment this and many similar mental
capabilities.
At the end of their article, Pence, Workman, and Riecke list general strategies
that can adapt laboratory experiences to students with disabilities. It is interesting
to consider these strategies outside the context of the article, because most
of them apply to all students, not just those with disabilities. For example,
there should be advance preparation for laboratories by both faculty and students,
different approaches should accommodate the diversity of students’ abilities,
choice of a laboratory assistant is crucially important and requires someone who
is “patient, flexible, and adaptable”, safety issues need to be made
clear at the start of a class, and a student should never be depersonalized. It
is not my intent to say that applying these ideas to a student with a specific
disability is trivial. It is not, and it is worthy of our best problem-solving
efforts and greatest creativity. Rather, I propose that we think more often about
these issues as we work with all students, regardless of their abilities or disabilities.
Another important aspect of each case is that the student with a disability
took responsibility for his or her learning and the faculty involved did not abdicate
responsibility for providing an appropriate environment within which the student
could strive to develop individual capabilities. Instead of waiving laboratory
or assuming that a student’s disability would prevent doing any of the work,
an accommodation was made that enabled the student to do as much laboratory work
as possible. An assistant was provided, but the assistant only carried out procedures
as the student requested. The assistant did not comment on the student’s
choice of procedure except when it was deemed unsafe. Thus the student was challenged
and encouraged to develop as many abilities as possible, yet provided with help
as needed to make that happen.
On reading these articles I found myself thinking that the philosophy and practice
of dealing with students with disabilities is far more like dealing with all other
students than it is different. No two students are alike, and the more we can
encourage, augment, and challenge each student’s abilities the better. These
articles challenged me to reexamine my thinking about organizing courses and laboratories,
and I challenge you to reexamine yours. Too often we give up too easily and allow
students to get by with less than their best efforts. Or we fail to provide the
support students need to make their best efforts pay off. Applying the lessons
learned from work with students who are far from the norm in one or more aspects
of physical capability may help us to think more clearly about how we ought to
structure learning environments for all students.

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