Directing my first Teaching American History (TAH) grant in 2003, I had three years to spend nearly a million dollars providing professional development to teachers of American history. What could go wrong?

Plenty, of course. Organizational issues aside, the project faced two challenges. First, given the dollars and the time we had to spend, we simply could not get enough teachers to fill the seats. I have heard over the years TAH grant directors complain about recruitment. "We offer these fabulous programs," they sigh, "but people don’t come."

Program quality could never overcome the structural issue: the teachers in our service area could not consume all the professional development we offer. We had a serious problem of oversupply.

None of the obvious solutions made much sense. We couldn't provide less professional development than the grant proposal promised, or serve fewer teachers. We had to expand our pool of teachers, and expand it quickly.

In New England, with its many districts in a small geographical area, the solution was simple if politically tenuous: invite other districts into a consortium to expand the market for our offerings. We maintained our relationship with our primary partner by providing them with preferred service: guaranteed spots, special privileges, and direct curricular support. Our pool of available teachers tripled, and we seldom had any recruitment issues.

Districts more geographically distributed could achieve the same result through distance learning options. Most higher education partners have that capability already; why not use it?

The second problem had to do with the offerings themselves. The proposal I had been brought in to manage promised a smorgasbord of professional development: institutes, lectures, seminars, and graduate-level courses. We could mix and match as the talents and availability of our historians dictated.

The menu of potential professional development is limited. We asked teachers what they wanted and districts what they would support, and rounded up the usual suspects. But the offerings sometimes sputtered. We filled the seats, and people liked what we gave them, but the self-reported impact on students never satisfied us.

We hit on two solutions, one that any existing grant holder can replicate, and another that has to grow organically out of a proposal from the start.

The organic solution proposes a three-year project that intends to create a specific change in a region. Instead of planning to offer the usual types of professional development organized around a unifying theme, look at what your districts need to organically change the way they teach history.

The first TAH grant I wrote sponsored school-based teams of elementary teachers working together for a year to add flesh to the statewide standards. By the time we finished, a third of the region's elementary schools had gone through the process, and another third had heard detailed reports about the changes.

The second grant supported a research-based induction program for new teachers of American history. Few districts could afford a state-of-the-art induction program, but the TAH grant, coming just as history faculty turned over through retirement, filled that need.

These proposals (and more I have written and received) started from the question, "What do the teachers and districts need to improve history instruction?" rather than "What professional development can we provide teachers and districts?" Districts gladly bought in to these organically conceived proposals. We could explain the grant in a sentence, a sentence that spoke to pressing educational needs.

The other program came almost as an afterthought, when the first grant had an unspent balance. We brought together a group of teachers who had worked with us for years. We asked them to assemble booklets of primary sources that they thought could amplify the richness and meaning of some key documents in American history.

We ended up publishing five booklets—on the Declaration, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Gettysburg Address and "I Have a Dream"—each containing 60 or more primary sources. We distributed them for free to every history teacher in the region. The booklets attracted more money and support, and have been distributed across the state.

The teachers who created the booklets described the work as the best professional development they ever experienced, transformative personally and professionally. And the booklets are used, bringing students closer to primary sources, some obvious and some arcane, than ever before.

TAH grants can provide immense service to students and their teachers. A little creativity makes a world of difference in their success.

One of the most unique and rewarding aspects of Teaching American History (TAH) grants is the opportunity they provide for K–12 teachers to work with college-level historians. Most classroom teachers find themselves isolated from the academic world, and tied to curricula and state standards that often take the complexity and richness out of history. TAH grants provide opportunities for teachers to enrich their historical understandings by connecting them with university professors and current research on historical topics. These connections are extremely interesting and valuable to teachers, but the content and knowledge exchanged in these interactions are not always easily translated into classroom practice. Teachers need ongoing support and structure to help bridge the gap between seminars they attend and their own classrooms.

In the Foundations of U.S. History grant in Loudoun County, VA, we have continually adapted our program to address those needs and maximize the benefits of the relationship between teachers and historians who work with the program. In our first year of the grant, we provided a two-week summer course, with 12 different historians presenting half-day seminars on their areas of expertise. We also included two separate workshops on teaching strategies. During the year, we followed up with our teachers by providing additional workshops, book discussions, and film seminars with various historians, as well as assignments that required teachers to incorporate primary sources into their teaching. This "parade-of-presenters" model had certain strengths. Teachers were exposed to a wide array of historical interpretations and approaches. Like their own students, teachers have varied learning styles; the range of presentation styles from individual historians addressed some of those differences. Readings and workshop materials selected by the professors also introduced teachers to varied sources and perspectives.

In reflecting on our first year, though, we recognized some weaknesses. While teachers demonstrated improved content knowledge about the topics we covered in the institute, they were still missing some of the big picture ideas and themes that tied those topics together. With the "parade" approach, teachers didn't have the ongoing interaction with historians who presented or the opportunity to ask questions that would help make connections with later presentations. Even though we included a session on historical thinking skills, teachers continued to have difficulty articulating what those skills are and how to develop them in their students. In classroom observations and in reading teachers' primary source activities and curriculum units, we noticed that many still struggled with integrating primary source analysis and historical context in thoughtful and constructive ways. We realized that we hadn't provided enough opportunities to fuse content and strategies. We decided we wanted to develop more consistency in the program and provide more of an opportunity for teachers to benefit from a closer collaboration with historians.

For the second year of our grant project, we created a Lead Historian role, which was filled by a George Mason University professor, Dr. Christopher Hamner. Instead of two new speakers each day of our Summer Institute, Hamner gave several lectures, interspersed with a handful of guest professors. With this model, Hamner was able to build connections and trace themes among the lectures and historical periods. We also identified key components of historical thinking that Hamner emphasized in his presentations, so that teachers would have an opportunity to practice and reinforce these skills before trying to teach them to their own students. Hamner modeled the use of primary sources and helped teachers see how they could use a few sources to get students to think about historical issues in a critical way, a way that both addressed and went beyond the standards for which teachers are responsible.

The teachers connected with Hamner not just because his lectures on historical topics were engaging, but because he shared his own experiences and thoughts on teaching. He described techniques he's used with his own students, and he modeled for them reflective teaching practices in examining the results of using various strategies with his students. He made it clear that the challenges he faces with graduate and undergraduate students are not unlike the challenges experienced by K–12 teachers. In those two weeks, the teachers developed a relationship with an academic historian. They learned new content, and they gained confidence in their ability to teach history more effectively based on his model. By inviting several guest presenters, we still maintained some of the valuable benefits of bringing multiple perspectives and interpretations to the discussion.

Subsequent to the Summer Institute experience, Hamner continued his involvement with the teachers in the program. During the year, he led three book discussions, and in those discussions continued to emphasize some of the core themes and ideas from the summer. As teachers developed lesson plans and primary source activities, he provided feedback and helped teachers shape their historical understandings and teaching strategies.

Evidence from our observations and evaluation measurements indicates that the lead historian model has had a positive impact on teachers' knowledge and practices. In an assessment at the end of the Summer Institute, teachers demonstrated significant improvement in content knowledge and historical thinking skills as compared to their performance on a pre-assessment. Through classroom observations and reading teachers' reflections, I've had the opportunity to see many of the skills being put to use. Teachers are selecting high-quality primary sources, they are asking more thoughtful analysis questions, and they are helping students focus on big ideas and themes, rather than just lists of details and "essential information" required by their standards.

In addition to the measurable gains in knowledge and skills, we've noticed a less tangible, but equally impressive, increase in teachers' enthusiasm and confidence as their relationship with Hamner evolved. While part of this can be attributed to his personality, I believe this is a replicable model. Teachers benefit from this kind of investment, interest, and feedback from a college-level professor. It adds to a sense of feeling valued for what they do, and it encourages them to aspire to a certain type of thinking and teaching.

The benefits are also reciprocal; Hamner has expressed that his work in the Summer Institute was the most rewarding teaching he's done. It required him to reflect on and evaluate his own teaching practices, and he also benefited from the suggestions and strategies presented by teachers. He's used his experiences with TAH to reshape his own college-level teaching over the past semester.

As we prepare to launch our third cohort, we're still improving the program to build on the successes of the lead historian model. Throughout the Summer Institute, we've built in times to discuss teaching strategies in connection with the content that is being taught, instead of in isolated seminars. We've used Hamner's input to develop new assignments that focus more closely on historical research and primary analysis. We have added additional opportunities for teachers to meet individually with Hamner to discuss their culminating projects throughout the year, and believe that these discussions are important opportunities for teachers to develop their thinking on historical topics. We also plan to include Hamner in some classroom observations. In addition to providing feedback to teachers, this will provide him an opportunity to be more closely connected with the realities of teachers' classrooms.

Our model demonstrates some of the benefits of collaboration, as well as some of the challenges that continue to face us all as history educators. Changing teaching practices takes time and continued support. Sitting and listening to a professor's lecture can be interesting and engaging, but that rarely translates directly into substantial change in K–12 classrooms. It is not an automatic process. Teachers need the opportunity to revisit and reinforce the skills and content they have learned. They need feedback and support as they incorporate primary sources and develop analysis tools. This requires a sustained commitment from historians and teachers. The resources provided by the TAH grant help to support that relationship and help make possible real change in both K–12 and post-secondary history education.

On more than one occasion, teachers participating in our Teaching American History (TAH) project have speculated that one reason their middle school students often have trouble understanding historical texts may be because they have not yet developed the ability to imagine the past. Because they are young their experience is limited and many have yet to discover museums, historic houses, or other places of historical interest. In addition, the historical past is not immediately evident on the surface in New York City, where it is often difficult to see through the many layers of changes in the landscape and the built environment.

As a museum educator, I have been encouraging teachers to bring the tools of art history and material culture studies to their classrooms by presenting works of art and architecture, photographs, and historical artifacts to students. In this way, the definition of the primary source is expanded beyond the written word to include the visual and the tactile; the historical source material available for consideration and evaluation is greatly increased; and students are offered the possibility of a sensory as well as intellectual encounter with the past.

In periodic visits to art museums, historical collections, and historic houses in New York City, as well as in a series of after-school workshops, our group of middle school teachers has explored a range of art and artifacts with an eye toward conducting similar explorations with their students. Teachers are learning a process of investigation that involves observation, deduction, speculation, and interpretive analysis to uncover the meaning of art and objects.

The technique, standard in museum education, is simple and direct: It asks students (or anyone seriously approaching a work of art) to begin by describing the object, to analyze its structure, to consider the circumstance of its creation, and only then to propose an interpretation of the meaning of the piece.

Here are the basic guidelines for exploring a work of art or artifact of culture:

1. Sensory experience is at the heart of our interaction with works of art or artifacts of culture. Observe the piece for at least one full minute—this is surprisingly long for many students.

2. Take note of your first response. Aesthetic response is personal and often emotional. It deserves our attention. Here students can register their reaction and then set emotion and opinion aside.

3. Describe the work. Make note of the obvious in neutral language, e.g. "seated female figure in green dress, landscape background . . ." This constructs a visual/verbal inventory that serves to focus our viewing. It is especially important in conversational settings with students because we cannot assume that we all see the same things. Articulating the description brings everyone to a kind of consensus about what is being looked at.

Articulating the description brings everyone to a kind of consensus about what is being looked at.

4. The formal elements of a work of art or artifact of culture constitute the language by which it communicates. Analyze the piece by examining the use of line, shape, color, form, composition, format, medium, etc.

5. Consider the context where the work would originally have been seen; the purpose it might have served; the physical condition in which the work has survived; when, where, and by whom the piece was made; and the title. All of these conditions contribute to the meaning of an object.

6. Make historical connections. How does the piece connect with the broader historical context? Young students exercise their chronological thinking here to contextualize the piece at hand. Recalling contemporaneous events and issues, students consider how the object relates to the larger historical picture. Steps five and six often require additional research outside the object itself.

7. Reevaluate your response. Has it changed? Has it become more nuanced? Is it possible to appreciate the work on multiple levels (intellectual, emotional, historical)? Close reading of objects deepens our understanding of the historical past and teaches us to consider the evidence before forming opinions.

This process has been developed primarily for group conversations, the principal mode of teaching in the museum context. In the classroom or on a self-guided museum visit, teachers may have their students work individually or in small groups to create a written record of their investigations. This allows the students to choose the object of their investigations, either from the museum collection, a museum's online resource, or a collection of photographs or reproductions.

Whether in the classroom or the museum, requiring students, even reluctant artists, to draw their chosen object serves to slow down their observation process and forces them to notice all the aspects of the piece from overall structure to fine details. In this way, they are firmly grounded in the actuality of the object before advancing speculation about its function, meaning, or historical significance.

When conducted in a disciplined yet free-flowing and open-ended fashion in the hands of an experienced teacher, this type of engagement with art and artifacts empowers students to enjoy the materiality of the past, develop their powers of reasoning, make critical historical connections, and furnish their historical imaginations. It encourages students to propose possible alternative meanings and to develop the ability to hold multiple, sometimes contradictory interpretations simultaneously. This method provides authentic contact with art and artifacts and teaches close reading of objects, thereby engaging students in the type of work historians do on a daily basis.

At the very least, aesthetic experience can spark excitement and curiosity in students. Many times, teachers have remarked to me that a particular student who is not normally engaged in the classroom was very responsive to a work of art or more generally to the excitement of a museum visit.

A few years ago, I had an experience that forever convinced me of the value of this work. I was working with a group of 4th-grade students in a series of classroom visits in which we had looked at, considered, and discussed a variety of works in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. With the goals of sparking their curiosity, introducing the idea of connections between art, history, and culture and developing their critical-thinking skills, we looked at projected images of art and artifacts from Ancient Egypt, colonial America, and the modern period.

On a class visit to the museum, students were eager to encounter the real thing in person. As we made our way to our destination, Romare Bearden's six-panel collage entitled The Block, I could feel the excitement mounting. As the children seated themselves in front of the work on the floor there were murmurings of recognition among the students who remembered seeing photographs of the piece in their classroom. As I was about to invite the students to look quietly at the work, 10-year-old Leticia, who was normally very quiet in class, raised her hand impatiently, bursting to say what was on her mind. "I think art is about ideas," she said. "It's about the ideas the artist has—and those can change. And it's about the ideas we have when we look at it." This is precisely the lesson I wish to share with my TAH teachers and their students.

In the fall of 2007, I had the good fortune to be invited by Alex Stein of the U.S. Department of Education to speak at the Teaching American History (TAH) Grant Project Coordinators' Conference in New Orleans, LA. To the audience of more than 750 participants, I told a story about an intriguing personal research experience inspired by a vague reference in an old annual report.

My talk began with a suggestion for making connections to information through documentary research; it concluded with a plea for making connections to people. In many ways, the transformation of my message in that presentation is reflective of my experience with the TAH program.

Since the program began, my team at the National Archives in Washington, DC and I have enjoyed being involved with dozens of grant-supported initiatives—colleagues from urban, rural, large, and small districts, and everywhere in between.

In our workshops, whether on-site, off-site, or by videoconference, we have introduced participants to the vast resources of the National Archives, extending across all of American history. From exploring George Washington's notes on the first printed draft of the Constitution, to the canceled check for the purchase of Alaska; from hand-drawn maps of Civil War battlefields, to photographs taken by Lewis Hine of child laborers, and much more, our participants have gained, to some degree, a deeper understanding of other times and places. By studying documents, they have made meaningful personal connections to past lives, eras, and events.

And interestingly, we have found that the TAH program has enabled meaningful personal connections in the present. Before the TAH program began, it was rare for us to run into a familiar face at a large conference of historians or educators. But in the past few years, it is commonplace to attend individual conference sessions and see a friend—or at least the friend of a friend. And the conversations that uncover these connections are great fun! They often begin with "Hey! Don't I know you?"

Communities of history educators certainly existed before the TAH program began—in schools and universities, in museums, in historical societies, in archives and libraries, and elsewhere. But before TAH, while some partnerships existed, it was uncommon for members of one community to interact on a regular basis with members of the others. And it was even less common for members of the various groups to know about the resources and expertise of the other. That has certainly changed.

My colleagues and I often comment that we feel much more connected to colleagues in the field as a result of the TAH program—we know this is in part due to the ease of email, listservs, and blogs. But, mostly it is because we work with so many more teachers and our counterparts in other archives, libraries, and museums on a regular basis. When we encounter a group with a particular interest—the presidency, for example—we love playing the role of matchmaker, introducing them to our colleagues in other institutions such as the White House Historical Association or one of the Presidential libraries.

My colleagues and I also often acknowledge how gratifying it is to learn how many other kindred spirits there are in this world. I think we knew in our hearts that there were others who loved history and documents, and sharing them as much as we do—we just never imagined how many! This program has helped to build an extraordinary community of learners, and I am thrilled that my team and I are a part of it!

"These documents are too hard for my students."
"But this topic is never on the Regents."
"My Assistant Principal doesn’t want me to spend time on that"

When we began our Teaching American History (TAH) grant, our effort to immerse participants in recent social history was often met with friendly, but firm resistance. Indeed, the refrains we heard from middle and high school teachers in New York City echoed the very gap between university-based historians and K-12 history educators that our TAH program was designed to bridge.

While most teachers expressed personal interest in our lectures, readings, and primary documents, they were uncertain about the utility of such content for their students. During our first summer institute, when teachers were asked to create curriculum, many retreated into familiar territory, developing activities far afield from what we had covered at the content-rich school year seminars.

While eager to foster the intellectual growth of participants, changing what happens in classrooms is where the rubber hits the road. In this case, the rubber represented nearly a million dollars in federal funding and huge investments in time and energy from professional developers, school administrators, and teachers.

With generous input from our program evaluator Dr. William J. Tally and our colleague Frank Poje, a veteran teacher, we set out to close the gap between what teachers learned in our professional development and what they taught their students. Over the past several years, we’ve learned many lessons, but two stand out:

First, articulate clear historical understandings—big ideas and questions about U.S. history—that will engage both you and teachers over the course of three years. Good historical understandings help us think like historians and make connections among past events and between past and present.

Second, provide a variety of compelling documents that are accessible to students. A good mix of documents can reveal a range of viewpoints, present different types of evidence, or pose a historical problem to be investigated.

Previously, we had organized seminars around a loosely-defined theme (e.g. foreign policy) and set of related topics (e.g. Westward Expansion, 1890s Imperialism, World War II), yet struggled to choose from the volume of available materials. As history educators Nikki Mandell and Bobbie Malone have observed, "Knowing that a class must study the American Civil War or Ancient Rome does not, by itself, tell us what students should know about that topic."

We decided to reshape our foreign policy year to focus more narrowly on “America Goes to War.” Specifically, we wanted to examine:

• the ideas that have led the nation into war and have shaped how the U.S. has fought its wars
• the perspectives of other nations and people that change and enhance our understanding of war
• the impact of war abroad on U.S. society and politics at home

During our World War II seminar, for example, we explored the 1st and 3rd of our historical understandings by juxtaposing official articulations of why Americans needed to mobilize for war with the actual experiences of soldiers and homefront workers. Readings on Roosevelt’s "Four Freedoms" speech, along with posters and newsreel footage, conveyed the ideals the U.S. government communicated to motivate support for the war: the need for racial equality and unity; the emphasis on femininity among women who took industrial jobs; the value of democracy and freedom for people around the globe.

In contrast, Dr. Roscoe Brown, a veteran of the famed African American army air unit the Tuskegee Airmen, gave a compelling talk about his experiences in the segregated military, while the documentary Rosie the Riveter Revisited conveyed the voices of “real life Rosies” whose lives bore little resemblance to government propaganda messages about women performing war work.

When it came time for teachers to create activities during the summer, we equipped them with a set of primary documents designed to support our historical understandings. Already armed with the historical understanding about the impact of war abroad on U.S. society at home, teachers analyzed:

• a photograph of black and white workers leaving a Beaumont, Texas, shipyard in 1943
• "Beaumont to Detroit: 1943,"a poem by Langston Hughes decrying wartime violence against African Americans
• a "United We Win" government poster promoting interracial cooperation on the job
• a Pittsburgh Courier editorial explaining their "Double V" campaign for victory over fascism abroad and victory over racism at home

Embracing these documents, teachers designed activities through which their students can explore gaps between idealized propaganda messages and the lived experiences of diverse Americans, and the ways that support for the war effort became linked to African American demands for full equality.

As one participant shared, "I am more determined than ever to make the time to use documents and aim for a richer experience for my students. Simply covering the material may get you to the end but does not usually yield much understanding or generate much passion from anyone involved."

Nikki Mandell and Bobbie Malone, Thinking Like a Historian: Rethinking History Instruction (2007), 24.
Rosie the Riveter Revisited (Clarity Films, 1984)
John Vachon, "Workers leaving Pennsylvania shipyards, Beaumont, Texas," photograph, June 1943, Farm Security Administration, Office of War Information Collection, Library of Congress.
Langston Hughes, "Beaumont to Detroit: 1943," from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes (Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1994).
Alexander Liberman (photographer), "United We Win," poster (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office for the War Manpower Commission, 1943); from National Archives, “Powers of Persuasion: Poster Art from World War II"
"The Double V Campaign," Pittsburgh Courier, 28 March 1942, 6.