Why Mr. Weaver was both the best and the worst physics teacher ever

Given all the physics education stories I've told, I'm surprised I haven't written about this before. Granted, it was a while ago (pre-9/11), so my memories (and associated emotions) aren't nearly as strong. But it's worth writing, so non-Rosemead High School students get a taste of where I was coming from upon entering Harvey Mudd College.

In 1999, Mr. Weaver was a late-50s man who, by his own admission, was a burned-out mechanical engineer that had somehow ended up in teaching. I don't know if he started teaching right after college, or if he had been a practicing engineer until the aerospace layoffs of the 1970s or 1980s.

He bore a disturbing resemblance to Hannibal Lecter. Appearance-wise, not so much; he had a full head of hair, always parted to the left, and was less physically imposing than Lecter. But he did have these blueish-gray eyes, at once piercing and vacant. More than his appearance, his soft, vague, enervated tones made one think of Dr. Lecter.

It's not just me and my unhealthy fascination with serial killers, real or fictional. The Lecter-esque quality has been confirmed by multiple classmates. His language was not nearly as eloquent or energetic as Lecter, but was filled with these vague, straight-faced quirks of speech.

Anyway, this was how AP Physics B shook out. The first day, Mr. Weaver stood in front of class and gave a brief lecture about general things about this class. I honestly don't remember what he talked about, but some of it went over my head. I think he sprinkled a bit of statistics in there, and I would not take that [excellent] class until next year with -- and I'm not joking -- Mrs. Flaws.

During the next 180 or so days of instruction, there wasn't a single lecture. Not a one. He'd assign homework by writing it on the board. But, if memory serves, he wouldn't address the class as a whole again (barring, say, a fire drill).

So all of my introduction to physics was self-taught. I was helped along by the competitive pressures (some would say harassment) of a precocious Vietnamese student who was probably two or three years ahead of the rest of us in both math and science. (Contrary to expectations, he didn't major in physics -- he went the med school route, which I believe has been more financially and personally profitable than a physics trajectory, anyway. Huy, if you're reading this, you're welcome.)

We did have labs, and to his credit, Mr. Weaver did show us how to use the air track and other equipment. But only if we cared enough to ask.

Needless to say, without management, classroom management fell apart. The seniors were the first casualty -- a lot of them stopped doing homework. Seniors and juniors would use the class (after lunch) as a second lunch hour, sitting cross-legged on the tables in circles to eat. After telling one of my students the story of this class, he asked, "Wasn't he worried about getting caught by the principal?" The answer had to be no, which I suppose demonstrated the systemic nature of the problem. My personal experience indicates that there was more attention paid to the slipping of the word "necrophilia" into the school newspaper, or illicit trips to the In-n-Out burger during classroom hours, than to physics instruction.

So yeah, almost no one cared. I remember doing a lab in which I was doing error analysis while the rest of the group was watching American Pie. I do remember generating some messed up system of error analysis; this is also the class where I taught myself Excel.

He did grade the homework and labs submitted, and did give tests.

Around second semester, some of the seniors started to realize that they were failing this course, and that an F in this (and other) courses could jeopardize their admission to various colleges. "Ruh roh!" (I think that's a direct quote from Mr. Weaver.) I don't know if he pity-passed anyone, but it was mildly amusing to see someone try to muscle through E&M and optics, having paid zero attention to any of the preceding physics.

Also, at some point, he dyed his hair brown. He then disappeared for a couple weeks. When he came back, we learned he had married a Japanese woman. Weird.

Yes, he was the worst physics teacher I'd ever known. He wasn't hostile; he wasn't ignorant. He was simply a non-factor. He demonstrated all the fucks he didn't give before the meme existed.

I don't know if people in those classes hated physics. It could be argued that they are actually more positive about physics than average precisely because it was less instructional, and more food-centered.

So my preparation for physics going into Harvey Mudd College was, well, less than adequate. And it probably did contribute to the disconnect between what I thought physics was and what it actually was.

But maybe he was a secret genius, and a master teacher. Maybe he knew that no one could get through a physics degree without a great deal of self-motivation. And I, being tested by the crucible of a nearly worthless teacher, learned to learn on my own, and passed this life test of self-learning.

Or maybe he was a useless piece of crap protected by seniority, union rules, a relatively inactive parent pool, and the fact that he didn't commit any actual crimes while teaching.

So to all of you who had legendary teachers that set you on the path to learning, I applaud you and celebrate your good fortune or the blessings of a good zip code. But for the rest of you, please don't use a bad teacher as an excuse for poor knowledge or hatred of a subject. Our wisdom and understanding are shaped by our experiences. But we do have agency of our own, and sometimes discover different and important things about ourselves when forced onto more lonely, less familiar paths.