Interviews


Clubs greet and recruit new students upon their arrival.

One by one they squirmed.

For many I was the first American they’d met. Most were older than me. Hearts in throats, one by one they sat in the plush chair and told me their names, followed by an explanation of where they were from: Taiyuan in Shanxi province, Hefei in Anhui province.

I in turn pretended to recognize these places – equivalent to a visitor to America pretending to recognize place names like Missouri or Detroit.

As I assessed each student’s English proficiency I’d smile and nod, they’d smile and nod, and sometimes that was the gist. One woman with particularly low English skills and nervous hands mentioned that her hobby was origami. Desperate to escape our verbal awkwardness, I asked her to demonstrate. Little did I guess how difficult origami would be with quivering hands (and, considering the flapping sound of the paper in the otherwise silent room, how noisy).

Some students pointed at a wall map to indicate the distance they’d traveled for this English program – in some cases over twenty-four hours by train. They spoke different dialects, laughed at each other’s accents, and admired their classmates who were Beijing natives for the clarity of their “standard” speech. Many had left spouse and child to live for a semester in a cramped dormitory with bad heating, no air conditioning and an uncarpeted cement floor. Assigned three or four to a room, they ate dull cafeteria food and shared one phone in the dorm lobby. Such sacrifices inspired me to do my utmost to help them learn.

I didn’t enjoy putting them on the spot with a one-on-one interview, but I needed to assess their conversational fluency. They’d taken English since grade school, but converting head knowledge into practical speaking ability wasn’t automatic. Despite their nerves, a few were eager to exhibit and did well. Others, baffled by my questions, shook their heads, grinned sheepishly and said nothing. Many interchanges occurred along these lines:

“How are you?”
“Twenty-six.”

“Where do you work?”
“Yes.”

My favorite was the woman who kept repeating, “I’m sorry, I can’t stand you” (instead of understand).

I used these interviews and a multiple-choice test to split the students into three sections. Those in the lower two took their placement as a loss of face, but their responses couldn’t have differed more. The lowest approached class with a sense of humor – since their English was poorest they had nothing to lose, which contributed to a fun and healthy learning dynamic. But the middle group soured. Expecting a higher placement, they had trouble swallowing their disappointment. No one in this class owned up to having an English name (a standard practice for English learners in China), and none would accept one. Few participated actively; often they skipped homework. While the upper and lower sections warmed up quickly, this middle group seemed to want to learn to speak English by sitting quietly in their seats.

No wonder, then, that by the end of the semester most of those in the lowest section had surpassed those in the middle. With nowhere to go but up, they’d participated freely for the sheer silly joy of learning a language – consequently growing leaps and bounds.

One of my best students was Tracy, a nineteen-year-old girl who’d been hired as a secretary yet had made it through school with practically no English whatsoever. During the first weeks of our immersion class she was hopelessly lost, needing to be carried along with extra tutoring. About a month into the semester, however, I caught Tracy repeating a tricky vocab word with a clean American accent.

“There!” I said, pointing her out to the class. “Please say that again, Tracy. You see? Say it like she does.” Her language skills, derived from actual conversations, in some ways surpassed those of her book-learned classmates. By the end of the semester her vocabulary still lagged, but she passed herself off with the most natural-sounding speech of them all.


Front gate at Beijing Forestry University.


Clubs recruit new students.

13 Responses to “Interviews”

  1. Ellen Says:

    Oh, English classes! Having *Been There* I’m very excited to read your exploits!

  2. RubeRad Says:

    They spoke different dialects, laughed at each other’s accents, and admired their classmates who were Beijing natives for the clarity of their “standard” speech.

    I find this somewhat surprising. I would have thought that an inflected language (is that the right term?) would allow for much less variation then our range of accents before it became unintelligible.

  3. the forester Says:

    Having *Been There* I’m very excited to read your exploits!

    Pardon my poor memory — you taught in China too? Feel free to leave your own impressions and stories!

    I would have thought that an inflected language (is that the right term?) would allow for much less variation then our range of accents before it became unintelligible.

    My students spoke so fast in Chinese it sounded toneless to me; then I would speak, and they’d correct my tones. The only way I could figure it was that tones were so fundamental they didn’t pay attention to them. Like the way we don’t pay attention to stressed/unstressed syllables in words.

    It’s difficult for an American high school kid to figure out which syllable in “syllable” is stressed — until you say “syl-LAB-le” and “syl-lab-LE” aloud for them. Or take a word like “photographer” — we take the stressed/unstressed pattern for granted, unless we hear some numbskull say “pho-to-GRAPH-er.” So the stress pattern is deeply associated with the word itself. Yet a southerner can still say “photographer” with a thick drawl, a Bostoner can shrill the o’s, and a British person can still drop the final -r. Mandarin accents varied consonant/vowel pronunciation while keeping the same tonal patterns.

    At least that was my understanding. I’ve probably oversimplified it.

  4. Ellen Says:

    Oh, no. I taught English in Bosnia.

    I’ve got my own crazy English class stories (some of them have been blogged here - and now I only wish I had recorded more of them…)

  5. the forester Says:

    I’ve got my own crazy English class stories (some of them have been blogged here - and now I only wish I had recorded more of them…)

    Cool, thanks for sharing. Too bad the the comments are turned off. On a quick scan I already enjoyed the phrasal verb rebellion and the tomcat stories. And no prearrangements in Bosnia — funny!

    Bosnia or China, I’m sure you’ll be able to relate to the stories that’ll appear here. ESOL is ESOL — fodder for many laughs!

  6. RubeRad Says:

    Like the way we don’t pay attention to stressed/unstressed syllables in words.

    I’m sure the native speakers reproduced the proper tones without conscious effort, just like we stress syllables naturally — and even unconsciously “know the rules”, so that we properly stress new words when we read them.

    Try listening to a Turk speak english though; I was always struck by how, even when their pronunciation is good, their English sounds scrambled because they consistently mis-stress syllables.

  7. the forester Says:

    their English sounds scrambled because they consistently mis-stress syllables.

    One of my pet peeves is when pop/Top 40 hits mis-stress syllables just to make words fit the meter. Cringe. Those songs make hundreds of thousands of dollars, but the lyricists can’t be bothered to rewrite awkward lines?

  8. Nick Anderson Says:

    I’m sorry, I can’t stand you! That’s hilarious!

    I’m fascinated by the attitude of the middle group. I would have thought the bottom group would have been most discouraged (I would have been very discouraged if I was in that situation).

    When I was in Ukraine we had a GREAT translator, he spoke really great English with only a little accent. The one thing that really gave him away though was when he pronounced certain words he was unfamiliar with. My favorite was “disciples” pronounced DISS-ip-lays.

  9. the forester Says:

    The one thing that really gave him away though was when he pronounced certain words he was unfamiliar with. My favorite was “disciples” pronounced DISS-ip-lays.

    It’s funny when we do the same thing with our own language. One of our tech support guys at work keeps referring to a computer user’s sheem instead of scheme.

    I once embarrassed myself by making fun of an NFL coach who protested bad ref calls, repeating that they were a debacle, a debacle! “What a dumb jock!” I laughed. “He just humiliated himself on national TV!” My coworkers looked at me in confusion. “It’s DEB-a-cle,” I said, rhyming the word with oracle. Uh, no; they informed me it really was deb-OCK-el, prompting me to call them crazy as well. Only later, when I looked it up in a dictionary to make sure, did I realize who the idiot was. “Dumb jock” would have been flattery — I was just dumb!

  10. RubeRad Says:

    I remember the day (I was in grad school; I was about 25 at the time) I discovered that “MY-zzled” is not a word; in particular, it is not an accepted pronunciation of “misled”. Misled is one of many words I must have read way before I ever heard it used, and it just got into my head sounding something like “weaseled”. I busted it out in normal conversation with some other grad students, and they’re like “What are you talking about ‘MY-zzled’?” I couldn’t understand why such well-educated people would be unfamiliar with such a common word, so I explained “MY-zzled, you know, like ‘deceived’, or ‘misled’”

    And then the lightbulb clicked on…

    Don’t get me started on whether “infrared” rhymes with “flared”

  11. RubeRad Says:

    Actually, now that I think back a little more, I seem to recall I had to spell it for them “MY-zzled, you know m-i-s-l-e-… Ohhhhhh”

  12. the forester Says:

    Hey, I like MY-zzled. Reminds me of bamboozled — very appropriate. I vote it in.

  13. RubeRad Says:

    did I realize who the idiot was

    I believe the first such occurrence for my #1 was to pronounce this as “EYE-dot”. Although perhaps this doesn’t count, since if you look close, it’s not actually a possible pronunciation.

    Does this effect have a name, like other linguistic error patterns do (spoonerism, for instance)?

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