bluuebunny/crossref_metadata_2025 huggingface dataset:
Busing in Southern Cities: Charlotte and Richmond
Authors: Wilkinson J. Harvie
Published: November 2020

It was an ugly, worn, but still functional piece of machinery that stopped by the roadside that fall morning to take Robin Smith to high school. Its coming was part of the early morning rhythm for the Smith family, a half-noticed reminder to Robin’s father, the town dentist, that it was high time to be off. But following that school bus into town was greatly annoying; it made endless stops, as did the cars piled behind it, all thanks to state law. Yet on other, less hurried days, the bus had a faintly endearing quality, reminding Mr. Smith of his own childhood friends and frolics on the way to school. Back then the old school bus had been quite a necessity; not all families owned cars and the new county high school was quite a ways off. Neither the Smiths nor the millions of other Americans riding and honking at school buses in 1954—certainly not the justices of the United States Supreme Court—had any idea that this creaky piece of daily routine would become the flash point of domestic politics in the early 1970s, the symbol of America’s ceaseless attempt to solve its insoluble race problem. Busing, as all races, ages, and classes understood, rubbed the raw nerve endings of American life. It posed the most vicious questions. Must the children of today atone for yesterday’s wrongs? How much must white America compromise its own interests for its mistreated minority? And who should make the compromise: North or South, rural or urban areas, working class neighborhoods or the more affluent suburbs? How much social reform might the judiciary shoulder? To what extent must educational policy be tailored to race? For all such questions, the yellow school bus and its short, hissing derivative— busing—now became the transcendent symbol. Busing made race seem much more complex. But not to everyone. As one student put it: “Nobody’s busing me just so some niggers can get a better deal. I didn’t set up the schools. I didn’t make ‘em like they are. No one I ever knew had anything to do with it.
Woodworking, Prep School
Authors: Bush Sam
Published: November 2020

After a while, I began to feel that studying great art and accomplishment isn’t enough. Writing a thesis about art didn’t seem to be as fulfilling as trying to make the art. I had the special background with Karl together with the exceptionally academic nature of Reed, and then I stumbled onto William Morris, and things began to coalesce. One day I went to Lloyd Reynolds, the great calligrapher and teacher at Reed and showed him pictures of my wood work. I asked him what he thought I should do. He said, “You have a teacher who helped you make this? I think you ought to leave Reed immediately and go to him.” I finished out the year, my sophomore year, but after that meeting I was on my way. I wrote a zillion letters to European craft schools and universities where I could study woodwork, not realizing at that time that further work with Karl was a possibility, and eventually I was accepted at two—Carl Malmsten’s school in Stockholm and the Royal Academy in Copenhagen. I was actually on my way there when I stopped in Pottstown to see Karl and stayed ten years. In the spring Alumni Bulletin of Hill School for 1972, I began an article about Karl in this way— . . . Born in a tiny self-sufficient village at the foot of the Tatra Mountains of Slovakia, Karl Pacanovsky . . . was apprenticed in woodworking at eleven and a half years and took his first job at fourteen; as a journeyman he traveled through much of central Europe. Perhaps most influential were the years he spent building the monumental carved Gothic altars which were the expression of religious faith in his region. . . . Pacanovsky came to the United States in 1944. In twenty-eight years at the school he built a powerful foundation for the philosophy which we embody today. When he retired I merely took up where he left off. His influence still lives in this room. And he’s alive, too. I see him every week or two.
Photography, University
Authors: Curl David
Published: November 2020

I was mainly self-taught. Got a B.F.A. in photography at a university, but that was later. I really began with an eighth-grade science teacher who was an amateur photographer, Herb Coon, at University School, Columbus, Ohio. He said to me, “Photography is something I do that’s fun for me. You might want to learn how.” It was that suggestion, more than anything he taught me, that changed my life. In ninth grade I sold activity and team pictures. In tenth grade, I worked for a local newspaper as a stringer, took pictures of all sports. When I was seventeen, I was substituting regularly for newspaper photographers on vacation— then I covered the whole range of assignments on the Columbus Dispatch. I asked David how he conducted his class. I divide the fifteen students into groups of three or four, ask them to get to know each other. Give them a big card on which they are to write their names and three good things about themselves. I have a camera set up on a tripod and each person is to photograph another one of the group. The camera is a 6 x 7 cm single-lens reflex with a Polaroid back. While some students are taking pictures of one another, the others are discussing a photograph I have given them. I often show them this photograph of a stalk of celery with a new sprout inside. All groups are reacting to the same image although they don’t know that at the time. I ask them to come up with as many thoughts and feelings as they can from looking at that photograph—symbolism, whatever it evokes. That and taking the pictures of one another require about an hour and a half. Then with a break, and a half hour for the small groups to report their reactions to the large group, that is the period, in a class that meets once a week. When they come together in the large group, each person introduces a person they have photographed. They know something about each other because they have read the card on which they wrote three good things about themselves, and they have conversed while taking the picture.
Speech Therapy, University
Authors: Van Riper Charles
Published: November 2020

We use fantasy, children’s theater, and creative dramatics to establish these roles and much suggestion and coaching to make them vivid enough so that the child can throw himself completely into them. . . . . . . CLINICIAN: Don’t shoot me when you come in. CHILD: Oh hoh. I’ll thcare you. You be thcared now when I come in. CLINICIAN (lifts two fingers): Like this? CHILD (returning to his own role): Naw. Look, when I thay “Stick ‘em,” up you’ve got to thtick ‘em up like thith. (Demonstrates.) CLINICIAN: Oh, I understand. Let’s start again. CHILD: Stick ‘em up now! . . . Writing in The Western Michigan University Journal of Speech, Language and Hearing in 1978, Charles spoke of the “wretched prose” in most speech pathology journals: . . . In retirement I still read them from cover to cover but with a growing sense of outrage as I picture the furrowed brows of students trying to decode their jargon. The information is always useful, but why must we have to dig so hard for it? Why is it so hard for specialists in the disorders of communication to communicate? It isn’t difficult to write if you really hunger to have your reader understand. . . . This is the way Charles wrote in a handout to prospective students in speech therapy in 1966 when he was a department head: . . . Speech therapy is a new profession, now barely thirty years old. You will be prepared academically and in casework to join this profession whose official organization is the American Speech and Hearing Association. You will be expected to adhere to its code of ethics. We will do our utmost to see that you become a credit to this profession and we will scrutinize you and your work to that end. At the same time, you will find here helpfulness and permissiveness, for we are therapists too. You will get tired but you won’t get bored. You will get frustrated by the challenges we will give you and you may fail at times. . . .
Writing, Elementary School
Authors: Umland Marcia
Published: November 2020

I was born on October 28, 1942, in Washington, B.C., where we were living because my father was in the service. I don’t know exactly what he was doing there. We lived in Washington only six months. We moved a lot, New York, Virginia, Southern California, Nebraska—six months here, six months there. I remember Father studied at Cornell to become an entomologist, so Mother did secretarial work there. Dad was the first in his family to go to college. His father died when he was a teenager. A lot of pride revolved around his Ph.D. from Cornell University both before and after he got it. He finished school when I was in the first grade. I felt his pride in me when I gained academic and leadership recognition in college. I was not expected to do well in college. It was pleasing to surprise everyone, but most of all, my father. By the time I was in eighth grade I had been in eight schools. I remember being new all the time. I made a very poor adjustment at first up in New York. But for three years we lived in a tiny town in Virginia called Holland, where I went to second, third, and fourth grade. I was very shy. I remember the teachers. On the first day there a girl brought me an ice cream bar, and across the classroom sat an Indian boy. We eyed each other a lot. I felt an identity with him because I had been mistaken for an Indian myself. I even made a close friend, Elizabeth Ann Felton—I don’t remember whether she spelled Ann with or without an “e”—I think she became a minister. I remember going to her farm and loving her family. They seemed so stable. In Virginia I wrote a sentimental story. It was the first time a teacher paid attention to me. She told me she wanted me to read it at the PTA meeting. I was very shy, but I did it. As I began reading the paper aloud I got caught up in it and read it well.
Mathematics and Computers, Private School
Authors: Smith Tom
Published: November 2020

At the Park School the projects we do sometimes look a lot like science, and sometimes they don’t look so much like science, but just fun things to do. For example, kids in sixth grade are always writing secret things to one another. That’s a big deal, you may remember. I asked my students to study codes by finding out the frequencies of letters in the alphabet as they are used in English literature. We went to the library and each person got out a book that looked typical to him or her. And in pairs the kids began to count letters. They’d just open up the page and start in. They kept track of how many a’s, b’s, and c’s, and so on. Fine. I didn’t say how many they had to find. At the end of twenty minutes that collection of kids had counted up thousands and thousands of letters. From that data, using calculators, of course, they could figure out what fraction or percentage of the total each letter took up. E’s occurred 21 percent of the time and a’s 15 percent of the time, or whatever. They found that some letters were used much more frequently than others. Based on that, I gave them a coded message where all the a’s were transcribed into another letter, maybe n. I didn’t tell them what the mistermed letters were. I just gave them this coded message. So they counted up the letters in the coded message and found out that 21 or 22 percent of the time the letter q occurred, and so they said, “Oh I’ll bet that’s an e! Let’s put an e for q.” And that was the start. They began to filter out the letters that made sense. It was a treat for them to unlock the code. It was a simpleminded one, but it had its uses. From the teacher’s point of view it was a way to study percent, but from the child’s view it was using percent to unlock some codes.
Soldiering, Army
Authors: Sheffield John
Published: November 2020

When our truckload of recruits stopped in the small parking lot just outside the headquarters building of the Detached Enlisted Men’s List at Fort Eustis, Virginia, during World War II, I saw Sheffield nonchalantly resting his elbow on the laid-down tailgate of another army truck. To me he looked an exotic, swarthy skin, dimpled chin, and long sideburns, back in the days when most Regular Army sergeants wore their hair butch style. In his gray-green fatigues, he was a mustachioed Spanish don. I was frightened. Not my kind. For the last two weeks of my new life I had been sensing that I was square, and he was obviously all rounded and loose. We had to jump down from the truck. Calculating the distance to the ground, I wondered if with backpack and heavy duffle bag I would be able to land gracefully. I made it without stumbling, but the jolt to my spine unnerved me further. Sheffield didn’t line us up and call us to attention as I expected, but simply said, “O.K., you guys, follow me to the barracks.” He took us to the first building in the row and said, “I’ll be back in an hour to show you how to make your bunks. In the meantime, draw your blankets and sheets at the supply room.” In those first minutes at a permanent post, every act and word struck me in the face as the beginning of a series of actions that might end with my death in battle. At the time, I had no idea that Sheffield understood that most of us were feeling as awkward as we ever had in our lives. Not until months later did I realize that without clock or written schedule, Sheffield was timing our lives so we would learn at a pace we could handle. He had absented himself so we would have time to examine our digs, use the latrine, stretch out on our mattresses, and renew our courage. He was not a proper non-commissioned officer trying to break our spirit so that we would thoughtlessly obey all commands, including the one to advance under fire.
Hierarchic Interactions: The Evolutionary Process
Authors: Eldredge Niles
Published: November 2020

Organisms—biology begins with organisms, and indeed a great deal of the history of biology is a trek through progressively finer subdivisions of organisms. When “forefronts” of biology are listed these days, nearly all concern the molecular biology of intracellular (and intraorganelle) physicochemical processes—and quite rightly so. But the ontology of units larger than organisms, while not wholly neglected, is at least as difficult a problem. Organisms are by far the easiest of biological units for us to see, to probe, to conceptualize as “individuals.” But, in the present context, organisms pose a unique problem all their own: they constitute the only class of individuals to be found in both the genealogical and ecological hierarchies. Consider the confusion that permeates even the recent explicitly hierarchical literature: ecology and evolution (as in the quote from Valentine that stands at this chapter’s head) are generally seen as separate areas of inquiry, but the choice of the higher-level individuals to be incorporated into one’s hierarchy very much depends upon one’s point of view. Below the organism level, of course, the distinction between the somatic and germ lines (i.e., in multicellular organisms) once again ensures a clean separation of the elements of the two hierarchies. Hence the conclusion (Eldredge and Salthe 1984) that there must in fact be two independent, yet parallel and interacting, process hierarchies that together combine to yield evolution. Organisms, as members of both hierarchies, threaten to muddy the picture. It is possible, of course, to distinguish between the economic and reproductive functions of organisms, as I have done at length in the preceding chapter. Physiologists, after all, have long been telling their students that reproduction is the one physiological process not essential to the survival of an organism; thus, it is no surprise that it is invariably the first such process to be dispensed with when the organism is stressed. It is easy to distinguish the economic from the reproductive functions of the vast majority of organisms, but in many vertebrates, most especially Homo sapiens, sexuality has clear economic implications, obscuring the distinction between the two hierarchies perhaps even more.
Public Subsidies for Private and Public Education: The Dutch Case
Authors: James Estelle
Published: November 2020

The possibility of “privatizing” education and other quasi-public services has been widely discussed in the United States today, and in other chapters of this volume. Policies such as a voucher or tax credit system, which would give public subsidies to private schools, are examples of privatization proposals. Many people feel that such policies would bring variety, choice, consumer responsiveness, and greater efficiency to our schools. Others fear that they would increase social segmentation, damage the public schools, and enable wealthy people to receive a better education for their children privately, but (partially) at the public expense. To expore these issues, this chapter examines the experience of the Netherlands, a country which, in effect, has had a voucher system in education for many years. In Holland, education and most health and social services are financed by the government but delivered by private nonprofit organizations, often religious in nature. As shall become evident below, the Dutch educational system avoids many of the possible pitfalls of privatization. This is due partially to particular mechanisms the Dutch have adopted to avoid these problems, which could conceivably be replicated here, and partially to broader structural features of the Dutch educational system and its role within society, which could not readily be replicated. The chapter proceeds as follows: The first section summarizes the historical background of the public-private division of responsibility for education in the Netherlands. The policy of privatization is seen as a response to diverse tastes about education, stemming from basic cultural (religious) differences, in a political setting where no one group was in a position to impose its preferred product variety on the others. This is consistent with a hypothesis I am testing in a multicountry study: that degree of reliance on private provision of quasi-public goods is positively related to cultural (particularly religious and linguistic) heterogeneity in democratic societies. It also is relevant to the discussions, found in several previous chapters, of why families choose private schooling.
“Private” and “Public”; Analysis Amid Ambiguity in Higher Education
Authors: Levy Daniel C.
Published: November 2020

When a well-bred Yale alumnus like William F. Buckley, Jr., sardonically suggests that his alma mater donate itself to the state of Connecticut (“To tell the truth, I don’t know that anything much would happen.”), some conventional assumptions require reexamination. Chief among these is the much ballyhooed distinction between “private” and “public.” Analysis reveals serious ambiguities. We lack an agreed-upon notion of what defines our types. Different observers define the private-public split by different criteria. In fact, criteria are usually implicit and fuzzy, but even when they are explicit and clear, they vary. What defines a private institution for one observer does not do so for another. And the problem goes beyond this definitional conflict. As will be shown at least for higher education, no behavioral criterion or set of criteria consistently distinguishes institutions legally designated private from institutions legally designated public. Surely this volume’s chapters, on both schools and universities, arrive at no such criteria; instead, as discussed below, several provide evidence of increasing private-public blurring. In a desperate attempt to reassert its distinctiveness, the U.S. private higher-education sector has recently rebaptized itself “the independent sector.” The new nomenclature, while it brings private higher education under a terminological umbrella widely used by the U.S. nonprofit world, contributes nothing to definitional clarity. It is simultaneously intended to legitimize the private sector’s claim to the public dollar (by downplaying privateness) and yet to distinguish that sector from the public sector by emphasizing its autonomy from government. The first aim, of course, undermines the second. Looking abroad seems to frustrate yearnings for clear definitional usage. England, for example, long noted for its paradoxical labeling of private and public secondary education, offers an ambiguous picture at higher levels as well. All the universities, even those financed over 90% by the government, form what is still frequently called the autonomous or private sector, distinct not from public universities but from the technical sector of higher education (which is consensually considered public). Increasingly, however, one hears England’s universities identified as public.
Medical Care, 1860–1900
Authors: Rothstein William G.
Published: November 2020

During the latter part of the nineteenth century, few changes occurred in drug therapy and the treatment of nonsurgical disorders, which comprised the bulk of medical practice. Major improvements occurred in the diagnosis and prevention of infectious diseases and in surgery, which was revolutionized by the discovery of anesthetics and antiseptic techniques. Dispensaries and hospitals continued to expand as providers of health care in urban areas, with dispensaries playing the larger role. Hospitals assumed a significant educational role. The number of physicians increased at a rate comparable to the growth in population in the latter part of the nineteenth century. The 55,055 physicians enumerated by the census in 1860 increased to 132,002 in 1900, about 175 physicians per 100,000 population at both dates. Medical schools graduated enough students to assure a reasonable supply of physicians in almost all towns and villages in the country, although urban areas continued to have more physicians per capita. The physician who began practice in a large city entered a highly competitive profession. He usually started by caring for the tenement population, perhaps augmenting his income by working as a dispensary or railroad physician or assisting another practitioner. His earnings were low and he had few regular patients. Eventually he found a neighborhood where he was able to attract enough patients to establish himself. Competition from other physicians and from pharmacists and dispensaries remained a problem throughout his career. A physician who chose a small town or rural area, where most of the population lived, had a different type of career. Rural families were poor and the physician’s services were low on their list of priorities. Professional relations reflected this fact. Established physicians often greeted the newcomer by sending him their nonpaying patients. Once the rural physician established a clientele, he had less difficulty keeping it than an urban physician. The stability of rural populations enabled him to retain the patronage of families from one generation to another. The rural physician worked longer hours than his urban counterpart and had to be more self-reliant because of the absence of specialists and hospitals.
Medical Care, 1900–1950
Authors: Rothstein William G.
Published: November 2020

During the first half of the twentieth century, both mortality rates and the incidence of infectious diseases declined, due primarily to public health measures and a higher standard of living. Developments in surgery and drug therapy improved medical care and increased the amount of specialization among physicians. On the other hand, fewer physicians were available to care for the sick because of a decline in the per capita number of medical school graduates. The urban poor continued to receive most of their care from outpatient departments in public and private hospitals, while a growing number of the middle classes became paying inpatients in private hospitals. Hospitals expanded their educational activities to include internships and residency programs. In the first half of the century, physicians became less accessible to much of the population. The number of physicians per capita decreased substantially from 1900 to 1930 and remained at that level until 1950. The greatest impact of this decline occurred in rural areas: between 1906 and 1923, communities of under 5,000 population experienced about a 25 percent reduction in the physician-population ratio, while cities of 50,000 or more experienced a decline of less than 8 percent. Young physicians especially preferred the cities. In 1906 in communities of fewer than 1,000 persons, the proportion of graduates from 1901 to 1905 who practiced in those communities exceeded the proportion of all physicians who practiced in those communities by a ratio of 1.17 to 1. By 1923 in the same size communities, the proportion of graduates of the classes of 1916 to 1920 who practiced there compared to the proportion of all physicians who practiced there dropped to a ratio of 0.58 to 1. Thus rural communities changed from locations preferred by younger physicians to locations avoided by them. The same ratio in cities of over 100,000 population increased from 0.99 to 1 in 1906 to 1.36 to 1 in 1923, which indicated the growing popularity of large cities for young physicians. Several factors accounted for the preference of physicians for towns and cities. Urban physicians earned more than rural ones and had greater opportunities to Specialize.
Graduate Medical Education
Authors: Rothstein William G.
Published: November 2020

Graduate medical education has become as important as attendance at medical school in the training of physicians. Up to 1970, most graduates of medical schools first took an internship in general medicine and then a residency in a specialty. After 1970, practically all medical school graduates entered residency training in a specialty immediately after graduation. Residency programs have been located in hospitals affiliated with medical schools and have been accredited by specialty boards, which have been controlled by medical school faculty members. This situation has led to insufficient breadth of training and lax regulation of the programs. The internship, which followed graduation from medical school until its elimination after 1970, consisted of one or two years of hospital training, usually unconnected with any medical specialty. It was designed to provide gradually increasing responsibility for patient care, supplemented by formal teaching in rounds and seminars. In practice, as George Miller observed in 1963, it was “virtually impossible to find an internship [program with] a graded and sequential course of study leading to relatively well-defined goals.” This was also the finding of several surveys of interns and physicians. A 1959 survey of 2,616 interns found that the two most frequently cited deficiencies of internships were lack of “sufficient review and criticism of your work with patients,” cited by 47 percent, and “adequate instruction in the application of scientific knowledge to patient care,” cited by 34 percent. A 1952 survey of 6,662 graduates of the medical school classes of 1937 and 1947 and a later survey of over 3,000 interns and residents produced similar findings. Formal instruction during the internship was usually casual and unsystematic. Stephen Miller's study of one university hospital found that interns spent only a few hours per week in formal lectures and conferences and on rounds. In teaching on rounds, “the visiting physician does not prepare a lecture or other teaching material. He simply walks onto the ward and responds to patients and their problems with opinions and examples from his own clinical experience.” The educational value of rounds therefore depended on the illnesses of the patients and the relevant skills of the physicians.
Compaction and Forging of Porous Metals
Authors: Kobayashi Shiro , Oh Soo-Ik , Altan Taylan
Published: November 2020

Powder forming, once considered a laboratory curiosity, has evolved into a manufacturing technique for producing high-performance components economically in the metal-working industry because of its low manufacturing cost compared with conventional metal-forming processes. Generally, the powder-forming process consists of three steps: (1) compacting a precise weight of metal powder into a “green” preform with 10–30% porosity (defined by the ratio of void volume to total volume of the preform); (2) sintering the preform to reduce the metal oxides and form strong metallurgical structures; (3) forming the preform by repressing or upsetting in a closed die to less than 1% residual porosity. Powder forming has disadvantages in that the preform exhibits porosity. Because of this porosity, the ductility of the sintered preform is low in comparison with wrought materials. In forging compacted and sintered powdered-metal (P/M) preforms, where large amount of deformation and shear is involved, pores collapse and align in the direction perpendicular to that of forging and result in anisotropy. However, repressing-type deformation, where very little deformation and shear are present, does not lead to marked anisotropy. A low-density preform will result in more local flow and a higher degree of anisotropy than will a preform of high initial density. These anisotropic structures can lead to nonuniform impact resistances of the forged P/M parts. Also, in forming of sintered preforms, materials are more susceptible to fracture than in forming of solid materials, and the analysis is of particular importance in producing defect-free components by determining the effect of various parameters (preform and die geometries, sintering conditions, and the friction conditions) on the detailed metal flow. In this chapter, the plasticity theory for solid materials is extended to porous materials, applicable to the deformation analysis of sintered powdered-metal preforms. In characterizing the mechanical response of porous materials, a phenomenological approach (introducing a homogeneous continuum model) is employed. For the finite-element formulations of the equilibrium and energy equations based on the infinitesimal theory, the following assumptions are made: the elastic portion of deformation is neglected because the practical forming process involves very large amounts of plastic deformation; the normality of the plastic strain-rates to the yield surface holds; anisotropy that occurs during deformation is negligible; and thermal properties of the porous materials are independent of the temperatures.
Application of Quantum-Mechanical Methods to Simple Inorganic “Molecules” of Relevance to Mineralogy, and to Oxide Minerals
Authors: Tossell John A. , Vaughan David J.
Published: November 2020

As noted in the introduction to this text, much can be learned through the application of both quantum-mechanical calculations and experimental techniques to simple molecules that contain bonds of the type found in the important groups of minerals. One reason for this approach is that calculations at a higher level of quantum-mechanical rigor can be applied to such simple systems. This approach will be illustrated with reference to the SiO, SiO2, Si2O2, Si3O3, and SiF4 molecules. Attention will then be turned to the major oxide minerals MgO, Al2O3, and SiO2 and the binary transition-metal oxides of Ti, Mn, and Fe, with some brief discussion of the series of transition-metal monoxides (MnO, FeO, CoO, NiO) and complex oxides (FeCr2O4, FeTiO3, etc.), and of the problem of the calculation of Mössbauer parameters in iron oxides (and other compounds). Although silicon monoxide, SiO, is not an important component of minerals, it is an important chemical constituent in interstellar and circumstellar space and an important starting material for the gas-phase synthesis of silicates from components of the nebula (Day and Donn, 1978). The structure, energetics, and spectral properties of SiO have been calculated by a number of different methods. The Si-O bond distance calculated using ab initio Hartree-Fock-Roothaan SCF methods at the 6-31G* basis- set level is 1.487 Å (Snyder and Raghavachari, 1984), slightly smaller than the experimental value of 1.5097 Å (Field et al., 1976). A near Hartree- Fock limit basis set and limited configuration-interaction calculation has given the slightly better value of 1.496 Å (Langhoff and Arnold, 1979). This study also gave a bond dissociation energy of 8.10 eV, compared to an experimental value of 8.26 ± 0.13 eV (Hildenbrand, 1972), and a bond stretching frequency of 1248 cm- 1 , compared to an experimental value of 1242 cm-1 (Anderson and Ogden, 1969). Even more highly correlated calculations give a bond distance of 1.515 Å and a stretching frequency of 1242 cm-1 (Werner et al., 1982). The 6-31G* basis-set Hartree-Fock-Roothaan calculation also gives an almost exactly correct bond-stretching frequency after the standard correction factor describing correlation effects is applied (Hehre et al., 1986).
Applications To Geochemical Problems
Authors: Tossell John A. , Vaughan David J.
Published: November 2020

In this, the last major chapter of the book, we turn our attention to the applications of modern electronic structure models and concepts to more general geochemical problems; namely, those described by Goldschmidt as being concerned with the “distribution of elements in the geochemical spheres and the laws governing the distribution of the elements” (see Preface). The majority of minerals and rocks originally formed by crystallization from melts, and so the first section of this chapter is devoted to considering the nature of melts (and glasses), structure and bonding in melts, and the partitioning of elements (particularly transition elements) between the melt and crystallizing solid phases. The classic work of Bowen (1928) led to the recognition of particular sequences of crystallization and crystal-melt reaction relationships in the silicate melts from which major rock types form, as enshrined in the “Bowen Reaction Series.” Attempts were also made to explain the incorporation of particular elements into particular mineral structures using simple crystal chemical arguments, notably as laid down in “Goldschmidt’s Rules” (Goldschmidt, 1937). Such concepts are reappraised in the light of modern electronic structure theories. The other major realm of formation of minerals and rocks, and the most important medium of transport and redistribution of the chemical elements at the Earth’s surface, is the aqueous solution. The molecular and electronic structures of aqueous solutions, their behavior at elevated temperatures, formation and stabilities of complexes in solution, and the mechanisms of reactions in solution are all considered in the second section of this chapter. The surfaces of minerals (or other crystalline solids) differ from the bulk material in terms of both crystal structure and electronic structure. A great variety of spectroscopic, diffraction, scanning, and other techniques are now available to study the nature of solid surfaces, and models are being developed to interpret and explain the experimental data. These approaches are discussed with reference to a few examples of oxide and sulfide minerals. Although relatively few studies have been undertaken specifically of the surfaces of minerals, many of the reaction phenomena that occur in natural systems take place at mineral surfaces, so that such surface studies represent an important area of future research.
The Carbon System and Several Useful Procedures
Authors: Walker James C. G.
Published: November 2020

The routines developed in previous chapters can be used to simulate a variety of interesting systems in geochemical dynamics and global change. In addition to these routines are devices and procedures that can make easier the process of developing and debugging a simulation. I shall present several such procedures in this chapter, including the management of input and output files, particularly files of starting values, the definition of mnemonic names for variables, a graphic subroutine that provides a runtime view of the progress of a calculation, and the specification of complicated histories by means of a table. These are procedures that I find helpful, but because working with a small computer is a personal matter, you may not find them helpful. By all means, develop your own procedures or modify mine. As an application of these computational helpers I shall also introduce the carbon system and the equilibrium relationships among the species of carbon dissolved in natural waters. Carbon dioxide plays a key role in climate, in biological processes, in weathering reactions, and in marine chemistry. I shall next describe how the partial pressure of this gas in the atmosphere may be calculated. Because there is a rapid exchange of carbon dioxide between ocean and atmosphere, we must consider the fate of dissolved carbon. Carbon dissolved in seawater takes part in fast chemical reactions involving the species dissolved carbon dioxide H2CO3, bicarbonate ions HCO-3, and carbonate ions CO=3. The concentrations of these species are governed by equilibrium relationships (Broecker and Peng, 1982).
The Great Transformation: 1970–1985
Authors: Brint Steven , Karabel Jerome
Published: November 2020

During the 1970s, the community colleges were finally able to realize the vocationalization project that visionaries in the junior college movement from Koos to Gleazer had favored for almost half a century. Since the 1920s, as we saw in Chapters 2 and 3, the advocates of junior college vocationalization pursued their project in the face of persistent student indifference and occasional overt opposition. But in the early 1970s, a complex concatenation of forces—among them, a changed economic context and an unprecedented degree of support for vocational education from key institutions—including private foundations, the federal government, and business—tilted the balance in favor of the vocationalizers. A key factor behind the sharp increase in vocational enrollments at the community college, we shall argue, was the declining labor market for graduates of four-year institutions. But the objective change in the structure of economic opportunities for college graduates was not, as the consumer-choice model would have it, the sole factor responsible for the shift in junior college enrollments; indeed, the impact of such objective changes is, of necessity, mediated through subjective perceptions—perceptions that, we shall attempt to demonstrate below, tended to exaggerate the economic plight of college graduates. Moreover, the community college itself, driven by a powerful organizational interest in expanded enrollments and in carving out a secure niche for itself in the highly competitive higher education industry, actively shaped its economic environment by pursuing those segments of its potential market—in particular, adults and part-time students— most likely to enroll in occupational programs. By almost any standard, the rise in vocational enrollments during the 1970s was remarkable. Between 1970–1971 and 1979–1980, for example, the proportion of A.A. degrees awarded in occupational fields rose from 42.6 percent to 62.5 percent (Cohen and Brawer 1982, p. 203). With respect to total enrollments (full-time and part-time) the picture was similar: between 1970 and 1977, the proportion of students enrolled in occupational programs rose from less than one-third to well over half (Blackstone 1978). In the midst of a long-term decline in the liberal arts, Cohen and Brawer (1982, p. 23) observed, “occupational education stands like a colossus on its own.”
Some General Properties of Morphogenetlc Systems
Authors: Thomson Keith Stewart
Published: November 2020

J. Maynard Smith (1983) has written that “although we have a clear and highly articulated theory of evolution, we have no comparable theory of development.” I would turn this statement around somewhat and say that until we have a general theory of development we are unlikely to be able to derive a complete theory of evolution. This does not mean that a theory of evolution is wholly contained, in some reductionist sense (see Chapter 2), within a theory of development. However, if developmental processes play a major role in determining the modes and tempi of introduction of new variation at the level of the individual organism, and if they also have roles in upward and downward causation to other focal levels in the hierarchy of evolutionary mechanisms, then at least some of the rules of variation must be contained within the rules of development. If we are to progress in evolutionary biology beyond the study only of the contingent, and of unique empirical events, we will need a general theory, and part of that theory must derive from theories of the developmental processes that drive the introduction of variation. From developmental theory we will be able to make new general statements about how variation can be introduced at the phenotypic level. Although we still lack any such general theory, we can begin the process by using the preceding discussions at least to propose some general properties of developmental systems. The properties and processes of morphogenesis form an extremely complex system. Perhaps the hardest parts to grapple with are those “whole-organism” properties by which any given region of the developing embryo responds to field phenomena created by and expressed within the organism as a single whole rather than as a collection of isolated units, each with their own independent problems, mechanisms, and histories. Although these are vital questions (no pun intended), relatively little experimental work is being conducted in this area for obvious conceptual and technical reasons. Reductionist, functionalist approaches tend to make one concentrate on the parts rather than the whole.
Protoctista
Authors: Lowenstam Heinz A. , Weiner Stephen
Published: November 2020

This kingdom is denned by exclusion, in that its members are neither animals, plants, fungi, nor prokaryotes. They comprise eukaryotic microorganisms and their immediate descendants (Margulis and Schwartz 1988). Of the 27 phyla that make up this kingdom, no less than 17 contain members that form mineralized hard parts. Although the vast majority of Protoctista are microorganisms, their smallness does not in any way imply an inability to control their biomineralization processes. On the contrary, many of the mineralizing Protoctista form very elaborate and complex structures. D’Arcy Thompson was one of many natural scientists who was both intrigued and fascinated by their skeletal morphologies. A perusal of his book On Growth and Form shows beautifully illustrated examples of protoctist skeletons and the text reveals a rare insight into some of the forces that govern their structure-forming processes. In the Radiolaria, for example, Thompson (1942) concludes that “the symmetry which the organism displays seems identical with that symmetry offerees which results from the play and interplay of surface- tensions in the whole system: this symmetry being displayed, in one class of cases, in a more or less spherical mass of froth, and in another class in a simpler aggregation of a few, otherwise isolated, vesicles” (p. 723). Although elegant and simple, physicochemical processes of interfacial chemistry are not sufficient to explain the complex, genetically controlled morphologies of many radiolarian species. Skeletal morphology is most likely the product of the delicate interplay between biologically controlled and physicochemically controlled processes (Anderson 1986). This is a recurring theme in biomineralization. Not all the protoctists are expert mineralizers. In fact they exhibit the whole spectrum of mineralization processes, from uncontrolled to finely tuned. Within the foraminifera and testate amoeba, among the Rhizopoda, are examples in which this wide diversity is found even within an individual phylum. They both contain species that construct their tests entirely out of organic materials or organic materials reinforced with mineral grains scavenged from the environment. They also contain species in which the test is mineralized by the organism itself, and at least in the case of the foraminifera, this can occur both intracellularly and extracellularly (Lowenstam 1986).
Evolution of a Thermal Disturbance
Authors: Goody R. M. , Yung Y. L.
Published: November 2020

The thermodynamic equation for an ideal gas is where ρcv6 is the internal energy per unit volume and hR is the radiative heating rate. For the sake of clarity we omit diabatic terms additional to the radiative heating. We may expand the left-hand side of (10.1) and write it in the form of an enthalpy equation, and cp is the specific heat at constant pressure. The left-hand side of includes both internal and potential energy, d is the dynamic heating. If the vertical coordinate is pressure, ∂p/∂t = 0 and all terms in d tend to zero as the velocities tend to zero. Solutions to (10.2) in conjunction with the equations of motion, the equation of continuity, and the gas law are the matter of dynamic meteorology. In this chapter, we look at a single aspect, namely the coupling between radiation and dynamics as expressed by the thermodynamic equation, (10.2). We shall use the methods of perturbation theory. Assume the existence of a basic, steady-state (suffix 0) for which This basic state could be a state of radiative equilibrium or a state dominated by dynamic transports.
Introduction
Authors: Freeland Richard M.
Published: November 2020

This book began as an exploration of a paradox in the history of American universities. In the twenty-five years following World War II, the student population served by these institutions became more diverse and the societal purposes they served became more varied. Yet, during the same period, universities themselves became more alike. The contradictions were easy to observe. It was obvious that the academic and social backgrounds of students—and consequently their needs, skills, and interests—became more heterogeneous in the postwar years, yet the undergraduate curricula of universities increasingly stressed highly academic subjects, especially the arts and sciences. Similarly, universities pursued a well-documented trend toward greater involvement in practical affairs and social problem solving in the 1950s and 1960s, while also adhering to a narrowing focus on doctoral programs and research in the basic disciplines. I wanted to understand the forces, both internal and external to campuses, that promoted this puzzling conjunction of converging characteristics and expanding functions. I also wanted to assess the academic and social consequences of this pattern. The decline of institutional diversity was only the most startling of a number of apparently inconsistent developments associated with an era of historic growth among universities. Almost as curious was the fact that, while expansion occurred mostly to accommodate increased demand for college education, institutional attention to teaching diminished, as did concern about the undergraduate curriculum. Meanwhile, graduate programs, whose chief function was to train college teachers, tended to slight preparation for instructional work and to nurture research skills. Indeed, as growth intensified academia’s role in socializing the nation’s youth, universities dismantled the programs of general education that were the primary vehicles they had created for that purpose. More broadly, the active involvement of universities in the definition and resolution of social problems went hand in hand with the consolidation of an academic value system quite remote from most Americans. Even the increasing heterogeneity of the student population was not free of contradiction. Academic leaders claimed credit for making their institutions more democratic during the postwar years by reducing traditional barriers to admission—including those of income and race.