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Cattywumpus

Mr. Whitson taught sixth-grade science. On the first day of class, he gave
us a lecture about a creature called the cattywampus, an ill-adapted
nocturnal animal that was wiped out during the Ice Age. He passed around a
skull as he talked. We all took notes and later had a quiz.

When he returned my paper, I was shocked. There was a big red X through
each of my answers. I had failed. There had to be some mistake! I had
written down exactly what Mr. Whitson said. Then I realized that everyone
in the class had failed. What had happened?

Very simple, Mr. Whitson explained. He had made up all that stuff about
the cattywampus. There had never been such an animal. The information in
our notes was, therefore, incorrect. Did we expect credit for incorrect
answers?

Needless to say, we were outraged. What kind of test was this? And what
kind of teacher?

We should have figured it out, Mr. Whitson said. After all, at the very
moment he was passing around the Cattywampus skull (in truth, a cat’s),
hadn’t he been telling us that no trace of the animal remained? He had
described its amazing night vision, the color of its fur and any number of
other facts he couldn’t have known. He had given the animal a ridiculous
name, and we still hadn’t been suspicious. The zeroes on our papers would
be recorded in his grade book, he said. And they were.

Mr. Whitson said he hoped we would learn something from this experience.
Teachers and textbooks are not infallible. In fact, on one is. He told us
not to let our minds go to sleep, and to speak up if we ever thought he or
the textbook was wrong.

Every class was an adventure with Mr. Whitson. I can still remember some
science periods almost from beginning to end. One day he told us that his
Volkswagen was a living organism. It took us two full days to put together
a refutation he would accept. He didn’t let use off the hook until we had
proved not only that we knew what an organism was but also that we had the
fortitude to stand up for the truth.

We carried our brand-new skepticism into all our classes. This caused
problems for the other teachers, who weren’t used to being challenged. Our
history teacher would be lecturing about something, and then there would be
clearings of the throat and someone would say “Cattywampus.”

If I’m ever asked to propose a solution to the crisis in our schools, it
will be Mr. Whitson. I haven’t made any great scientific discoveries, but
Mr. Whitson’s class gave me and my classmates something just as important:
the courage to look people in the eye and tell them they are wrong. He
also showed us that you can have fun doing it.

Not everyone sees the value in this. I once told an elementary school
teacher about Mr. Whitson. The teacher was appalled. “He shouldn’t have
tricked you like that,” he said. I looked at the teacher right in the eye
and told him he was wrong.

By David Owen, published in Life, October 1990. From: http://www.xs4all.nl/~jcdverha/scijokes/12.html

Thanks to Jeff.