The old military man smiled at the nervous South Dakota schoolboy, a signal that the question was just fine. Troy smiled, too. It was the first time he’d ever talked to a real-life hero from World War II, a man who had marched in the Army infantry in Europe. The boy would never forget it. But the talk wouldn’t have happened without high-tech wizardry in the classroom.
Troy was sitting in a school in the tiny town of Viborg (population: 763); the veteran was 250 miles away in Pierre, the state capital. They were linked by a digital network that allowed them to see each other on big-screen televisions and talk in real time. The network is a glimpse of the American school of the future, where classrooms transcend walls. It is already the status quo in South Dakota, a state that is far-flung but no longer remote. Its school system is now considered the most wired in the nation, with a computer for every 3.5 students.
Deep in the heartland, that sense of connectedness seems even more vital now. The forum on World War II was convened in the last days of August, back when the biggest enemy in this stretch of prairie country was thought to be a rival football squad from a neighboring South Dakota town. Notions of mortal fear and national heartache seemed safely tucked away in history. But on the morning of Sept. 11 the Viborg students sat staring at computer screens in a shellshocked daze, trying to learn whatever they could about the terror being unleashed on America. “Oh, my God,” shouted one of the students in a high-school computer class, 16-year-old Ryan Williamson, as he read the latest, astonishing news on the Internet. “The Pentagon was just bombed!” The other students gasped. Soon news flashed across their screens that the Empire Mall in Sioux Falls would be closed as a precaution. The fear was coming closer to home.
In the weeks since then students have used computers to learn about anthrax, Afghanistan, Al Qaeda. They have created PowerPoint presentations that pay tribute to fallen New York City firefighters, including a computerized collage of mournful songs and images of the heroes against a backdrop of the American flag.
But the technological changes in American education go far beyond students’ surfing the Net during computer lab. In what is perhaps the most liberating move, teachers and students no longer need to be in the same place. This differs from the original method of taking a class from television–the old “Sunrise Semester”–because the technology is two-way. Students can ask questions directly of the teacher. The teacher, meanwhile, can even shush a class. The French teacher in Mitchell, say, can spot a student in Mud Butte talking out of turn to a classmate, and lay down the law. In rural regions with tiny schools, “distance learning” is a lifeline to broader course offerings and topnotch teachers.
Around the country, nearly a million students are now taking some classes in this fashion, according to John G. Flores, the executive director of the U.S. Distance Learning Association. But no state has pursued this approach with the vigor of South Dakota. “They’re in a league by themselves,” says Flores. “South Dakota is clearly at the head of the class.” All the schools in the state–public, private, tribal–are now connected to one another in the Digital Dakota Network, so that people 300 miles apart can sit and have a face-to-face conversation at any time. The network was completed last year after a massive four-year wiring and installation project that connected more than 400 buildings in a state that stretches more than 75,000 square miles. On the open market, the project would have cost at least $100 million. That was prohibitively expensive for a state with total revenues of only $700 million. So South Dakota relied on prison inmates for cheap labor.
It was the state’s governor, William Janklow, who saw distance learning as a unique opportunity for little towns and schools in South Dakota to survive in a rapidly changing world. In the mid-1990s, he led a campaign to wire every school in the state together for videoconferencing, and to bring the Internet to every state-government office and every library. He alleviated concerns that the project was too extravagant by extracting corporate donations, especially from telephone and computer companies, to pay for a good chunk of it. “It’s virtually impossible to find all the teachers in all the subjects in all the places you need them,” says Janklow. This is especially true in the remote parts of the state: “Getting teachers to move to those places is nigh on impossible.” So now students in even the smallest South Dakota schools can take classes like French or calculus, even if there isn’t a teacher of those subjects to be found for hundreds of miles around.
The colorful and outspoken Janklow, a Republican known in the state as “Wild Bill,” also started a campaign to teach the teachers about the uses of technology. He rejected the standard idea of sending teachers to special classes at night and on weekends. They’re too tired from working all day, he reasoned, so they don’t pay full attention. Instead, Janklow started a “technology immersion” program, where teachers spend a month in the summer learning about computers. The state pays room and board for teachers to attend, gives them a $1,000 stipend and sends another $1,000 to the home district of each participant, to be used as administrators see fit. Nearly 3,700 teachers have participated–about 41 percent of the state’s staff.
Wendy Christiansen, the vocal-music teacher for kindergarten through grade 12 in Viborg, found that the immersion program virtually guarantees that even nontechnically minded people can learn about computers. At the traditional workshops, she says, people are sent home to practice after being taught a skill, often to find they’re just too busy. “But when you’re there eight hours a day, five days a week, and that’s all you have to do, you can really dive in and learn what you need,” she says. The immersion training has helped her learn new ways to incorporate technology into music classes, such as PowerPoint demonstrations that capture students’ attention.
South Dakota parents, too, have watched with some amazement as their children have come home with impressive computer savvy. David Williamson, who manages a contingent of seed salesmen around the country, has relied on the computer expertise of his son, Ryan, for help in his business. “I’m from the generation that isn’t quite sure how to handle these computers,” says Williamson, 49. “But from what Ryan’s learned, he’s helped me get through a lot of things on the computer. He’s been a real help in my work, so I’m grateful he’s learning what he is.”
The information pipeline that connects South Dakota schools relies mostly on a connection of telephone wires that bring high-speed, broadband lines–T1 circuits–into the schools. While the standard telephone can move 54,000 bits a second, a T1 circuit can move 1.54 million bits a second. Those bits cover just about every aspect of learning. On the Viborg school Web site, for example, the assignments are listed daily for each class. A student who stays home sick can check to see what is being covered that day and what homework has been assigned.
When it comes to computer use in the classroom, the school forbids e-mail, chat rooms and pornographic sites. Some students naturally see the rules as merely a challenge to overcome. Not long ago, one high-school boy thought he could surf some sites without being caught. At the end of class, he downloaded some forbidden material. But instead of clicking on save as, he accidentally clicked on the wallpaper feature, which pastes downloaded material on the screen. That explained why Irene Benson, the computer teacher, walked into a classroom one morning to see the image of a naked woman on a computer screen. The boy lost his computer privileges.
Technology has transformed every aspect of learning in Viborg, even the most basic skills once taught by decidedly low-tech methods. In a class once called Home Economics (it’s now Family and Consumer Science), every eighth grader must spend 24 hours caring for a computerized baby doll. The goal is to show that raising a child is an overwhelming responsibility better handled many years down the road. Like the genuine article, the baby cries at all hours and needs to be changed, cuddled, burped and fed. It is up to the “parent” to decide what is needed. When the right choice is made, the baby starts to coo. The parent wears a bracelet that activates the response of the baby doll. The next day, the teacher can discern from the computer’s record-keeping how the parent performed.
John Anderson, a 14-year-old “parent for a day,” could not keep from yawning at school after his night with the baby doll. Its crying had kept him up at all hours, he complained. Before that, he couldn’t concentrate on his homework, since the baby was so demanding. And he couldn’t even enjoy watching his favorite television shows. There was too much racket. “I can tell that I’m not ready to be taking care of a baby, that’s for sure,” says John. The lean, sandy-haired boy decided he’d stick with some milder pursuits: playing football, riding bulls and surfing the Net.
More than a century ago, this rough-rider country was famous for wagon-train pioneers, those adventurous souls willing to follow a new path to a better life. The pioneer trail of the 21st century leads through cyberspace. The Dakotans are leading the way again.
title: “Next Frontiers” ShowToc: true date: “2023-01-11” author: “Miguel Garcia”
This issue of NEWSWEEK launches a series: four special reports focusing on how technologies and inventions will transform the way we live. In this issue we look at nine tech cities–places like Akron, Ohio; Barcelona, and Campina Grande, Brazil–which have built their new economies with hard work and innovation. Over the horizon, the jobs of the future include “bioinformatics,” a field that scarcely existed a few years ago and is already a magnet for talented young workers. We’ll also introduce you to your next business card, passport, virtual secretary and credit card. “Life After B-School” profiles ambitious young grads who are creating new business models based on hard science. And “The Next New Thing” offers a first look at Microsoft’s information Tablet. It’s never been more important to think ahead. And in this first installment of our new series, we let you know what’s next.
title: “Next Frontiers” ShowToc: true date: “2022-12-25” author: “Michael Buggs”
This issue of NEWSWEEK launches a series: four special reports focusing on how cutting-edge technologies and inventions will transform the way we work and live. In this issue we look at 10 tech cities–places like Akron, Omaha and Tulsa–which have built their new economies with hard work and innovation. Over the horizon, the jobs of the future include “bioinformatics,” a field that scarcely existed a few years ago and is already a magnet for talented young workers. We’ll also introduce you to your next business card, passport, virtual secretary and credit card. “Life After B-School” profiles ambitious young grads who are creating new business models based on hard science. And “The Next New Thing” offers a first look at Microsoft’s information Tablet. It’s never been more important to think ahead. And in this first installment of our new series, we let you know what’s next.
title: “Next Frontiers” ShowToc: true date: “2022-12-14” author: “Judith Hill”
Advances in technology are also remaking how we use our leisure time when we leave the house. Last-minute trips and long-awaited adventures are just a few keystrokes away. Choosing flights, booking hotels, checking out other tourists’ reports on resorts or cruises–it’s the rare vacationer now who doesn’t consult the Internet, and we offer a guide to some of the best sites. And America’s love affair with the car will only deepen: new navigational devices, sensors that cater to your every whim and need, and an array of entertainment options will turn cars into rolling living rooms.
Large and small, these advances are changing and enriching our private lives.
