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Inquiry-Based Learning
Inquiry-Based Learning
Designing Instruction to Promote Higher
Level Thinking
Third Edition
Teresa Coffman
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American
National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library
Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
1 Teaching with Inquiry
2 Teaching and Student Learning Using Inquiry
3 Integrating Computer Technologies as a Cognitive Tool
4 Technology Integration Models
5 Social Media and Collaboration
6 Digital Citizenship
7 Information Literacy
8 Engaging in Problem-Based Learning
9 Global Connections and Telecollaborative Learning
10 Using Technologies for Assessment and Feedback
11 Engaging Learners around Inquiry with Blended Learning
References
About the Author
Preface
1.
Another random document with
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big boy. You’ll go down farthest. My resignation’ll be in before I start
shooting off my mouth; I figure on that.”
For a long ten seconds Kennedy’s unwinking eyes bored into
blazing Penoch’s. The indomitable little flyer, as if carved out of
granite, stood there and waited. Kennedy threw his cap on the table.
His voice softened, and in a wheedling tone he said:
“What’s all this about, Penoch? Good lord, boy, don’t go off half-
cocked. I ain’t done nothin’ to Shirley or her old man.”
“Not yet, maybe! Why she ever fell for you, I don’t know; but she
has. And if you’ve got any intentions at all, they’re rotten, and I know
it. You couldn’t marry her if you wanted to, and if you could and did,
she’d break her heart in six months. You’re a natural born crook and
you know it. You’re a great guy in some ways; but there isn’t one
gram of honesty in your whole body. You’ll end up broke or in jail, as
sure as there’s a jail left. You never gave a woman in love with you a
square break in your life, or hesitated at getting everything you could
out of any man or woman who got in your power.
“And if you think I’m going to be responsible for getting a kid like
Shirley into any mess with you, you’re crazy! If you get her she’ll
know what she’s getting, and I don’t mean maybe. You’re no more
eligible to wear that uniform or to mix socially with Shirley than I am
to be the Grand Gazabo of Guam. Now, by God, you make up your
mind. You’re going to do one decent thing in your life, and you’re
going to do it within three days, by wiping Shirley off the slate and
staying where you belong. If you don’t, you know what I’ll do. That
goes just exactly as it lays!”
Penoch had been talking in low, deep tones, but every word was
like a muffled bullet. When he had finished, a dangerous human
being was crouched, figuratively speaking, with his back to the wall. I
put in my horn then, having been stricken with an idea.
“Penoch’s right, big boy,” I told him. “As a matter of fact, why the
hesitation? Shirley means nothing to you except a time-passer—a
kid like that.”
“Is that so? How do you know so much?” he snarled.
His eyes flashed to Penoch’s.
“Gone back on me, have you? All right, you lousy little double-
crosser. Watch yourself, and plenty! I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
O’Reilly had covered the space between them in one bound, like
a bounced ball. Suddenly sheer hatred burned from two pairs of
eyes. Kennedy licked his lips, and his smile was mirthless and his
eyes indescribable.
“I said to watch yourself,” he said softly. “I don’t like people that
talk too much.”
“I guess,” I interrupted slowly, “that it may be time for me to do
some talking.”
“Talk all you want to; but you stand the gaff, and don’t forget that,
Peewee!”
The look he threw over his shoulder, as he walked out, left no
doubt about what he meant. O’Reilly’s body relaxed slightly, but his
face remained set and strained.
“I’ve always thought,” he said slowly, “that there weren’t many
bozos in the world I’d hate to have as an enemy as much as I would
Ralph. And now the wad is shot, Slim. I guess I’m in for it. But what
the hell? The fact that I’ve talked to you will be the last straw, as far
as he’s concerned. Shirley or no Shirley, he’s doing a lot of low and
lofty thinking right now. And he’ll have a way figured to get even with
me, if it takes a year, without hurting himself. Three days from now
should be interesting, what? Ho-ho-ho! The skeletons’ll be out doing
a song and dance for all McMullen to watch, eh?”
Now that the die was cast, Penoch was himself again, daring the
world to do its worst. Indomitable, hard-boiled, soft-hearted, he flung
his loud, raucous laughter in Kennedy’s face, so to speak,
challenging him and the universe in general to get him down.
“Why couldn’t you have talked quietly to Shirley,” I asked him.
“Tried to,” he boomed absently. “She wouldn’t even listen. She’s
nuts, I tell you, and the old man likes him. He’s given them a long
song and dance about his automobile business in Los Angeles, and
all that stuff. If I went to the old man and told him, there’d be hell to
pay; the truth would come out that I had peached on him, and then
my neck would be chopped neatly. Whichever way it’s done, there’ll
be the same result when I expose him. I’m sunk myself.”
“Right now,” I ruminated, “he may not be satisfied with just
smearing your reputation and having you tried for that mine salting
business, at that. Struck me he’d love to throttle you.”
“I guess he would,” Penoch said calmly. “He served five years for
manslaughter in Virginia once.”
I went to bed early. I hadn’t had much sleep for three days, so at ten
o’clock in the morning I was still pounding my ear commodiously. I
was awakened by long, lean, drawling Tex MacDowell.
“Take a peek at the paper and then arise and shine,” he told me.
“We start for the Gulf of Mexico in exactly one hour.”
One peer at the headlines, that took up half the front page,
awakened me as thoroughly as a pail of ice water would have.
“Laguna In Ruins!” the paper screamed in letters big enough to
put on a signboard.
Within a moment I had the details. One of those tidal waves,
estimated as at least a hundred feet high and two miles in width, had
swept in from the Gulf. Doubtless the result of a volcanic eruption on
the sea floor. According to the meager reports available, every
house, structure and living thing existing in the portion of Laguna,
within a half mile of the beach, had been doomed by that vast crush
of water. The remainder of the town, back farther from the beach,
had been inundated; but houses were standing, and many of the
people had escaped alive. The low country—marshy ground, a lot of
it, anyway—was under three feet of water, and Laguna, as well as
small settlements along the beach, which had likewise been
demolished, was a marooned and ruined little city. Telegraph lines
down, railroads washed out, telephones useless, and at least one
thousand people dead or washed out to sea.
“We go over to patrol the Gulf for survivors,” Tex said tersely.
“Donovan Field ships will ferry food and water and medical supplies
down. We leave in an hour. Get a move on!”
All I could think of, as I made passes at my whiskers and leaped
into my clothes and gulped some food was this—how must it feel to
look up and see millions of tons of water about to fall on you? A ten
foot wave in a storm makes me feel like an ant bucking a steam
roller.
Four men were to be left at the field for patrol. Six ships were
warming up, as I ran out on the field. The roar of the half-dozen four
hundred and fifty horsepower Libertys fairly shook the earth, and
their propellers send clouds of dust swirling upward. As I approached
the line, a car tore into the airdrome. There was Shirley, her hair
blowing in the wind, as she streaked down the road toward the ships.
As I got closer, I saw her fling herself out of the roadster and
make a beeline for none other than Kennedy. Penoch O’Reilly was
standing near by, his face a study.
“Kennedy going down?” I asked him, noting meanwhile that
Shirley and Kennedy were holding hands.
“Begged to,” boomed O’Reilly. “He’s got guts, all right, and a
craving for excitement.”
“How’s he acting—toward you, I mean?”
“Doesn’t speak. Hardly speaks to anybody. I think he’s afraid
some of the rest are wise to him.”
Just then I saw Shirley lean forward, as if to kiss him good-by. He
looked around almost furtively and held her off. Mr. Ralph Kennedy,
for the moment, was very unsure of his ground. As Penoch and I
passed him on our way to our ships, his eyes rested on us for just a
moment. They were passionless, but when his face was serious the
meanness in it seemed to be intensified. Funny what an effect eyes
too close together can give. Add that mouth—and my imagination—
and perhaps you can see what I mean. Somehow, I shivered.
A moment later I was in my ship, giving her the last look-over, as
she strained against the wheel-blocks. Oil pressure, air pressure,
rotations per minute, battery-charging rate, temperature—all were O.
K. Captain Kennard was already swinging out on the field; I being
Number Two followed him, and the others took up the parade in their
proper positions. One by one we took off, circling the field for altitude
in single file. At a thousand feet the C. O. zoomed, and I slid in,
twenty-five feet behind him, twenty-five feet to one side, and ten feet
higher than he. Tex MacDowell came in on the left, and the others
followed, until a V of ships, three on one side and four on the other,
turned eastward and thundered their way toward the Gulf.
Much happened during our days at Laguna; but that has nothing to
do with Penoch O’Reilly and Ralph Kennedy. Anyway, twenty
minutes later we were all back in the air, carrying packages of food
and water, put up to float. Each of us had a sector assigned. We
went roaring out over the open Gulf, spotting survivors who were
floating on improvised rafts or clinging to planks. Kennard’s ship,
with Jack Beaman at the radio key, was flashing information to San
Antonio. Soon the Donovan ships would be coming in, carrying
supplies.
As we got out over the water, I turned to look at George Hickman,
pointing downward. He’s big and blond and nerveless; but his face
was strained, and there was the closest thing to fear, that I’ve ever
seen in his eyes.
As for me, I was one jump ahead of a fit. Down below, flashing
along between carcasses of human beings and animals, were what
seemed like untold hundreds of fins, cutting the water and feeding on
their prey. Six times we swooped low to drop food and water to those
poor wretches down below us. We could almost look into sharks’
eyes, and time after time the flash of a white belly announced
another mouthful.
Remember this, too. If we came down in the water, we could float
two hours. There was not a single serviceable boat to rescue a soul.
I flew six solid hours that day, as did every one of the others. It
was just before the last patrol, and getting dusk, when I ran into
Kennedy for the first time. Our landings hadn’t synchronized before.
“God!” I heard him mumble in an unutterably tired voice. “This’ll
drive me nuts! I can’t even swim, if I come down.”
“No difference, my boy,” Jimmy Jennings told him with an attempt
at jauntiness. “None of us could swim over a mile. Who thinks he
could make five hundred feet through that forest of fins?”
And he was right. It seemed as if every shark in the Atlantic
ocean had come to the picnic. But there were still unexplored
sections, little towns along the shore which needed help, and on we
went. Twenty Donovan ships were ferrying supplies; one came in
almost every ten minutes. God knows we were willing to fly until we
dropped. Those poor devils down in the water will haunt me to my
dying day, I guess.
The sun was setting, when I turned around from a spot ten miles out
in the Gulf, my last package dropped and my patrol over. My twelve-
cylinder Liberty had never missed a lick, and I remembered saying
over and over to the rhythm of the motors:
“If you’ll only keep it up—if you’ll only keep it up—”
My ears were ringing from a day’s bombardment; my face was so
sun-burnt with sun and wind that it was sore as a boil, and I was
more tired than I’ve ever been in my life. Two other D.H.’s, one a
mile to my right and the other on beyond, were coming home across
the vile, befouled water.
I was two thousand feet high, and land was six or seven miles
ahead, when Hickman grabbed me with a grip like a vise. My heart
did a backflip, and I turned as if I’d been shot. He was pointing to the
right. In a second I had swung my ship and was flying wide-open
toward that middle D.H.
It was coming down in a shallow dive. The propeller was turning
as slowly as a water-wheel. One look was enough to tell me that the
motor was dead, and that only the air-stream was moving the stick.
Two of the boys were going to the sharks.
I was diving now, motor full on. I don’t know why. I guess I had
some wild idea that I could help them out. The other ship was
heading for the falling D.H., too. We ranged alongside it almost
together. The pilot in the crippled plane was Ralph Kennedy. The
man in the third ship was Penoch O’Reilly.
Everyone was flying alone, except me, for two reasons. One was
to leave more room for supplies to drop; the other was to conserve
manpower as much as possible. I had George along to work the
radio. We’d reconnoitered some outlying towns on the trip.
It seemed a year before the ship hit, and I was thinking at top
speed, searching for some possible method of saving Kennedy. He
could float for two hours; then he’d be sunk—
Just before the ship hit the water I let out a wild yell, which I
myself couldn’t hear. Right ahead of Kennedy was a huge, partially
submerged thing floating. It looked like a bunch of logs tied together.
I guess he never saw it.
The ship crashed into it with its undercarriage. Just what
happened I don’t know, because the water rose in a geyser, and I
couldn’t see for a moment. But what I saw, when the water subsided,
was plenty.
It seemed that the ship had been crumpled completely. It had
turned on its back. Kennedy was invisible. The fuselage had broken
in half, the wings crumpled back, and the motor, of course, was
under water. That little heap of wreckage would become water-
soaked in a few minutes. It would sink in a quarter of an hour,
instead of in two hours.
I guess I was shaking a little. I remember Penoch, circling and
circling. Kennedy had not come to the surface.
“Knocked out and drowning—maybe a mercy,” I was thinking, and
four fins, circling, sent cold chills up and down my back.
Then he came to the surface. He struggled weakly to climb up out
of the water, but it took him a full two minutes. Even then he was
partly submerged. Suddenly the sight of those fins set me crazy, I
guess.
“I’ll give him a chance to drown, at least!” I fairly shouted at them;
and the next second I was pouring machine-gun bullets into the
shadowy green monsters, and they were floating, dead, on the
surface of the water.
There was not one single, solitary thing that could be done to
save him. Two minutes more, and his frail life-raft would be sunk.
There was no time to fly back and get something to which he could
cling and drop it to him. He couldn’t swim.
I fairly froze in my seat, as a great mass of water rose from the
sea. As it cleared, I saw the tail of Penoch’s DeHaviland, high in the
air, less than ten feet from Kennedy. The next second Penoch was
clambering up on the wreckage of his own ship. A few seconds later
he was stripped to his underwear, and swimming toward the crippled
Kennedy.
As the little devil was towing his enemy I came to myself. I circled
watchfully above the water, and machine-gunned an approaching
shark. As I did that my stunned brain got working. I don’t think I’m
either better or worse than the average. I’m franker, that’s all. If I had
been sitting in my ship, while my deadly enemy was dying a sure
death, I would have been conscious of a sense of relief.
Penoch O’Reilly had landed to give him two hours more of life; it
seemed a certainty that at the end of two hours, Penoch, too, would
go down to the sharks, with the man who had almost ruined his life.
Then and there that squat, little figure, ho-ho-ho-ing at life, grew
into a giant, towering above ordinary mortals, as far as I was
concerned.
“There must be some way,” I kept telling myself over and over as
I circled them. Maybe I hypnotized myself into an idea. I gave a war-
whoop of relief. Anything was better than one hundred per cent.
hopelessness.
Kennedy was hurt. That was apparent. Penoch had to drag him
up on the fuselage, and then the reserve man lay there as if he were
completely out.
I made wild motions to Penoch; he nodded. He was standing up,
a small white figure, his feet far apart to brace himself against what
fate had in store. As I sped for land, I almost thought I could hear him
laughing that deep-toned, Rabelaisian laugh, flinging his challenge to
the gods, a small white speck in the dusk.
A moment after I had landed, I’d told my story. Tex MacDowell
and Sleepy Spears were in their ships in two seconds less than
nothing, and we were off. When we arrived, Penoch had the upper
left wing detached, and Kennedy was on it.
From there O’Reilly started his heartbreaking journey, a full mile,
pushing that wing slowly through the water, his legs kicking tirelessly.
Kennedy, partially recovered, was using the vertical fin as a paddle
to help. Three airplanes cruised round and round over the ugly
water, and not a shark got within our lines. Every second was a
strain, for the sharks could come up from below and get Penoch, but
they did not. With so much dead meat in the sea, I guess our outfit
was entirely too suspicious for them to bother with.
It was ten minutes after dark when Penoch and Kennedy
staggered up on the beach. Kennedy collapsed. When I got out of
my plane, I was swaying like a rubber lamp-post, and before Penoch
had been taken care of and got back, I had eaten and fallen on a cot,
fully dressed, but dead to the world.
Strange as it may seem, I didn’t see either of them next day. Our
flyings came at different hours, and when one was on the ground the
others were in the air. And at three in the afternoon, when I landed, I
found that Penoch and Kennedy and Pete Miller had started back for
McMullen. Kennard, Sleepy and Tex and I started home at five
o’clock. There were Donovan ships available, and there’d been
another bandit raid in our territory. The patrol was needed on the
river.
I saw Penoch in the mess-hall, at dinner, and sat next to him. We
were all ready to drop, and hadn’t even washed. Kennard went to
sleep over his soup. Sleepy Spears gave up after the meat course,
and stumbled out to bed.
“Where’s Kennedy?” I asked Penoch.
“In at Shirley’s—for dinner,” he said tersely and, as our eyes met,
I guess our thoughts were the same.
“Then what you did for him had no effect, eh?” I finally asked him.
“How’d he act?”
“Avoids me.”
“I see. Come clean, Penoch. It must have been a temptation to
leave him down there, even if you figured you’d have a good chance
of saving him.”
Penoch buttered some bread thoughtfully.
“I just couldn’t; and I’d never thought of that wing gag. Just had
an idea that there ought to be some way out—”
“So you tossed a few sharks right out of your mind, eh?” I
interrupted.
“Oh, hell, I didn’t think of anything, except how nice it would be if
he was dead. Well, old-timer, he’s sure slapped me in the face
tonight by going back there. Shows what he is. Hell, I’ve been doing
things for him all my life, and he’s willing to blackmail me. Guess I
was a damn’ fool back over the Gulf, eh? Well, there’ll be excitement
about in a few days, I guess. Better get some sleep tonight. Ho-ho-
ho!”
I knew then that he had fully made up his mind, that he’d
considered everything, and was ready to go. And when that crisis
was passed with Penoch O’Reilly, he feared not man, devil or
circumstances. Right at that moment he figured that the Army was a
thing of the past and that the world was waiting to be bucked by a
man in disgrace. The tougher it was, the louder he’d laugh.
The next day we both saw Kennedy at breakfast. He greeted us
with a straight stare, said, “Hello,” in his customary breezy manner,
ate with relish, and was absolutely himself. His eyes were as cold a
green as ever, except for that surface shine that came when he
laughed. He told a good story about Noah and the Johnstown flood,
indulged in his reminiscences of the Columbus raid and likewise the
Galveston flood, in all of which he had participated with considerable
gusto.
I just sat there and watched him. That clear-cut, hard face and
those fishy eyes made as impenetrable a mask as I’ve ever seen.
“The hell it’s a mask!” I finally told myself. “He just hasn’t any
feelings that can’t be expressed in a grin or a laugh or a snarl. He
couldn’t hate anybody real hard any more than he could like anybody
very much. Except himself.”
At lunch he came breezing in with:
“Well, well, the good old feedbag’ll be fastened round my snoot
pronto. The meal ain’t been cooked that I can’t clean up by myself.”
He shook out his napkin, grasped his fork firmly and started in at
the salad. His eating was not a pronouncedly delicate proceeding. It
was audible for miles around when he wasn’t trying to act unnaturally
elegant; and I believe that in a straight contest Kennedy’s eating
anything could drown out my snoring.
“By the way, Peewee, my lad, how about a bit of poker at
Shirley’s Old Man’s house tonight? I was given instructions to ask
you and Slim to come out. Sheriff Trowbridge’ll be there, too. Come,
and bring your checkbook, because it’s my night to howl!”
Penoch just looked at him. Kennedy stared back with a mirthless
smile.
“Risk a few nickels!” he gibed. “I ain’t seen your game for years.
How about it? Shirley’ll be glad to see you both, she said. She ain’t
had much time—”
“Yes, I’ll go.”
Simple, those words. But I knew as surely as I knew that I was at
the table that Penoch’s deliberate interruption was a threat. He
stared straight at Kennedy, and the implication in his statement was
plain for me to see. That poker game that night was to include some
unscheduled fireworks. Shirley and her father were to hear some
hitherto unknown episodes in the lives of Ralph Kennedy and
Percival Enoch O’Reilly.
“Fine! A good time’ll be had by all,” Kennedy came back. “You act
as though you’d been invited to risk your life, or attend your own
funeral. Heh-heh-heh! Didja hear him say that, boys? Peewee don’t
think any more of a nickel lost at cards than he does his left eye.”
There he sat, gibing at the man who had saved his life. It was
apparent to any one that there was a deadly undercurrent in the
conversation between the two. I saw Kennard and Tex and the
others looking at them speculatively.
Directly after the meal I put it up to Penoch.
“You’re going to lay your information on the line tonight, eh?” I
asked him.
“Right. And my resignation’ll be written. He doesn’t intend to back
away from Shirley. I can see that. Maybe what I say won’t change a
thing; but she’ll go into it with her eyes open.”
“Damn’ funny, at that,” I said in considerable bewilderment. “I
don’t see why a girl—any girl—could mean so much to Kennedy that
he’s willing to run the risk of exposure as a criminal. I—”
“He doesn’t think I’ll go through with it,” rasped Penoch. “Well, I’m
going to take a nap.”
He strode away, his short legs twinkling through the dust, toward
his tent. He didn’t sleep, though, because I peeked in a few times.
He wrote reams of letters, setting his house in order, as it were,
before he moved out. And he didn’t seem so downcast. In fact, the
devil-may-careness of his face had increased, and there was hard
recklessness there. He had taken his hundredth knockout blow from
fate; and he was still standing erect, unbeaten.
It was a long and tough afternoon for me. Kennedy flew a patrol,
and then took a long time dressing for dinner. At the meal he was in
excellent form, holding the floor continuously with ribald tales, which
were good. And Penoch O’Reilly, his eyes bright, seemed strung to a
high nervous pitch. His roaring “Hoho-ho!” rolled forth continuously,
and he and his enemy fought a silent battle of eyes beneath the
laughter. I was depressed and silent, but possessed with such
infinite hatred and repulsion when I thought of Kennedy that I could
have stuck the bread-knife in his throat and enjoyed it.