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Professor Barry McDonald writes

Silver spoons and standing ovations

Extramural students are something special. They are more worldly-wise and more varied than their campus-based counterparts and their powers of persistence are extraordinary. Family circumstances, illness, the cost, a new job, the start of a new relationship or the end of an old one: those who make it through to graduation have resisted many 'outs'.

In recent years, there has been one former student who, in a sense, will always be with me. Carl McCann was in many ways a typical extramural student. He started his university studies -- not at Massey and not very successfully -- in the 1950s; but came back to them in the 1980s when he was in his 60s, and he took the opportunity with both hands. He was never a top student. Indeed, in many ways, he was a marginal student (he signed off one letter as "Your plodding student") - but he loved what he studied as he explored worlds that had previously been beyond his reach. Late in 1994, Carl enrolled for what he believed would be the last paper for his degree. He then asked if he could be exempted from the March on-campus course. He had cancer. He was desperately disappointed - he could taste failure when he passionately wanted to graduate.

That year we had adjusted the points value of papers, as we do from time to time and, on looking through Carl's record, I found that over 45 years he had actually accumulated enough credits for his degree and he did not need that last paper; he could graduate in May. He got that advice on Christmas Eve and it was, he said, the best present he had ever received. He knew he was dying, but he was determined to be here for graduation.

It then became clear that he was very seriously ill and would not be able to realise his dream of walking across the stage. So the Vice-Chancellor approved the degree on behalf of Council, the certificate was signed by the Chancellor on a fleeting visit to town, and it was sent to the family - all within a couple of days. They had the scroll framed, presented it to Carl and, in the few days remaining to him, that scroll was a major focus for Carl and those at his bedside.

I mention this as background because Carl was a character in many ways. At the end of each on-campus course (and he attended many over a decade), Carl would stand, taking the unwary lecturer by surprise, and embark on a speech of thanks on behalf of the class. We soon realised that this was no set piece - it was always there and always polite, but it varied in length and enthusiasm. Sometimes it was a short speech, followed by shuffling and an embarrassed silence. On other occasions he would make his speech and then lead the class in a round of applause for the lecturer. On a few rare occasions, the speech would be long and enthusiastic; he would ask the class to join in the applause and, as they started to clap, he would wave his arms and urge them to their feet in tribute to the brilliant tuition they had received.

Among a small, and may I say select, group, this soon became known as a 'Carl McCann Standing Ovation' - jested about, perhaps, but gently, and only a little because the recipients were usually quite pleased themselves and became more so over the years, as they listened in the corridors or inquired how their colleagues had fared in the McCann appreciation stakes.

But there was another informal rating system issued by a student - a woman of a certain age, as the French would say. Some of those who taught her would receive a small parcel in the mail, usually after the exam results were out so there could be no suggestion of impropriety. In the parcel would be a silk-lined box and a silver spoon, which might vary in size and style, but always came with a brief, polite handwritten note of appreciation.

Silver spoons, too, were always discussed in hushed tones among friends, so it was never quite clear who had received spoons and who had not. But one young colleague, unaware of the background or conventions, arrived at the Common Room one day to find a group that included Colin Davis, then Professor of History, who was a Yorkshireman with a Yorkshireman's sense of humour. Our new colleague was bemused, perplexed even, but also rather pleased with himself. "I have just received a silver spoon from a student who liked my course," he proudly announced. He was rather taken aback when Colin appeared from behind his paper and said: "Very impressive, but have you ever had a Carl McCann Standing Ovation? That's the real test."

In the 2000 calendar year, about 48 per cent of Humanities and Social Sciences enrolments on the Palmerston North Campus are extramural students, and a number of the enrolments counted as 'internal' are in fact postgraduate distance students enrolled for block courses. Next year, extramural students will account for more than half of all enrolments.

For Carl, as it so happens, working towards an arts degree could only be its own reward. Others will find what they learn invaluable in their working lives. Studying towards an arts degree endows students with interpersonal and generic skills of research, analysis, critical thought and coherent writing that transcend discipline, translate across time and place, and give flexibility in employment. You might also argue -Êas I do -Êthat the value of higher education rests as much in having an educated society as it does in the employment and enjoyment that accrues to individuals.

As their lives are enriched, so are ours.