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What textbooks on world history are used in American public schools?

North County High SchoolAdvanced Placement United States History—2014-15School Year Summer AssignmentA People’s History of the United Statesby Howard Zinn http://northcountyhs.org/.../APUSH-SUM-ASSIGN-2014-15...http://www.nationalreview.com/corner/382400/new-war-over-high-school-us-history-stanley-kurtz“Authored by Peter Wood, President, National Association of Scholars; Stanley Kurtz, Senior Fellow, Ethics and Public Policy Center; Jane Robbins, Senior Fellow, American Principles Project; Emmett McGroarty, Executive Director, American Principles Project Education; Larry Krieger, Retired AP Teacher and Author; Ronald Radosh, Adjunct Fellow, The Hudson Institute, Prof. Emeritus of History, The City University of New York; and Dr. Sandra Stotsky, the letter to Cargill reads, in its entirety:"We, the signatories of this rejoinder, have been among the leading critics of the redesigned Advanced Placement United States History (APUSH) standards issued by the College Board in October 2012. Our substantive criticisms of the new APUSH Framework are a matter of record. We have come together to issue this statement out of concern that the College Board has issued a misleading and inadequate response to those criticisms, apparently in an effort to forestall corrective action by the Texas State Board of Education.Our criticisms have covered nine main points: (1) The new APUSH attempts to impose national standards that will inevitably circumvent state standards and local control. (2) It is a detailed curriculum deceptively put forward as a mere framework. (3) It is ideologically slanted in favor of progressive interpretations of American history. (4) It gives short shrift to or omits important topics. (5) It purports to train students to be “apprentice historians” without laying a solid foundation in historical knowledge. (6) Its emphasis on documentary sources lacks many seminal documents. (7) It falsely presents itself as flexible for teachers. (8) It fails to provide teachers with adequate preparation materials. (9) It was written and reviewed by committees dominated by individuals hostile to traditional American history and fails to gives serious attention to American exceptionalism.”

How has your political views changed during your lifetime?

I was raised in a most unusual milieu—the American South during segregation. My political views were set quite early. I’ve added extensively to my outlook over the decades, but it’s all been of a piece and consistent with the original view.I was born in Seguin, Texas, in the summer of ’49, four years after the end of World War II. The town is significant, as it was the choice of my Tips forebears as a place to settle in 1849 when they arrived from Germany. They chose Seguin, a town roughly 30 miles east and slightly north of San Antonio, for another significant reason—the town was roughly equal parts Mexican (named for Juan Seguín’s father), Anglo and German—it had a reputation for being able to get along. The family felt they would benefit from exposure to Americans and Mexicans in ways unavailable had they moved to a strictly German community like Fredericksburg or New Braunfels.After the Civil War, Seguin was the first city in the South to open a trade school for former slaves. Apparently, my ancestors volunteered there, as blacks started taking family names in the years following Emancipation, and the (originally) Dutch name Tips is used by black families in Texas and New York.One of my fondest memories ages 4 to 6 was of walking (by myself, at least the last couple of years) the five blocks west across downtown from my grandmother’s house to the “Ranger Station,” a one-room smithy shop in a ramshackle wooden building easily close to a century old on a rocky bluff over Walnut Creek. The smith was a black man with a full, thick head of snowy white hair. I’m pretty sure my dad told me he was in his 80s and had been there “forever.” [I imagine his father learned blacksmithing at the trade school, and this man learned the trade working side-by-side with his dad.]He would not let me enter the shop. But I could stand in the doorway (big enough for a large wagon to enter). He’d show me everything he was doing and keep up a congenial dialogue of explanation. It was magical.My mother was a Lee, of the Lees of Virginia, with two signers of the Declaration of Independence and a famous Confederate general. Only she was a member of a branch that moved to Mississippi in the hopes of getting rich on cotton only to become sharecroppers during the Great Depression. They lost the farm when my mother was 8 or 9. From that point forward, she never had a store-bought toy nor store-bought outer clothes. From age 11, when not in school, she worked long days with a hoe in her hands or picking cotton.My earliest political memory was of mom dandling me on her knee and cooing, “God made each and every one of us, and He doesn’t play favorites.” Only, just before I started first grade, we moved to the Dallas suburb of South Oak Cliff.Ours was just about the first house finished on the block. One summer day before I started school, a lone carpenter showed up to work on the house across the street. In tow was his son about my age. I grabbed my next younger brother and we went over to play. At length my mother came out in the front yard and hurriedly called us home. Once inside, she told us we could not do that; we could not play with black children.“But, mom…” She would not address the objections I raised… refused to discuss the matter. It was my first major conundrum in life, made all the more perplexing by her subsequent behavior…My mother was a fun-loving, easy-going, exceptionally charming woman. Once I was in school, she headed up every canned-food drive (common in those days) for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I’d help her distribute the goods. We’d walk up the sidewalk to a black apartment to usually a cool reception; only, soon, my mom and the lady of the house would be at the kitchen table hooting and hollering like old times, while I was out in the living room playing with the children of the family. I developed some suspicions about my mom, indeed, her whole family, that would not be confirmed for almost sixty years.My dad was Central Texas German, but with an Irish grandmother whose own grandfather had fought with Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto and with a mother who was French. We were Texans, by God, and don’t you forget it.He’d been a captain in the Army Air Corps during World War II after losing his deferment as the sole support of his mother, with two brothers already serving. My grandfather, a pursuit pilot in World War I, had died in a training accident in ’40 teaching RAF pilots combat maneuvers at nearby Randolph Air Field. He had to sell the family business.Because my dad was an excellent typist, he spent the war as head clerk to a colonel stationed at Hickham Field in Hawaii. After the war, like all of his peers, he stayed in the Reserves in order to collect the extra $35 a month. And like most of them, he was called up. My earliest memories are of Albuquerque, where he was billeted on some nuclear mission. He spent a year in Morocco. I don’t know if it was Albuquerque or Morocco, but he was commandant of a base with nuclear weapons.When he was called up for Korea, he had to sell the family business a second time, to the same gentleman, who this time insisted on a five-year non-compete clause to prevent losing all the customers he’d purchased as he had the first time. Not being able to live, after being released from service, in his home town irked my dad for decades. He tried working as an accountant, but soon we bopped to Houston and then Dallas.I loved my neighborhood in South Oak Cliff. I loved my friends. I focused on school work and play with my buds until sixth grade, when Kennedy ran against Nixon. My parents did not tip their mitts. (It was not until Johnson-Goldwater I discovered that both were dyed-in-the-wool Republicans, a rare thing in the South.)The funny thing was, with the great majority of my classmates being from Democratic families, they’d go down the school corridors between classes chanting in unison, “Nixon! Nixon! He’s our man. Kennedy belongs in the garbage can!” Southern Democrats had no use for Catholics, even from their own party. The funny thing was, the more I paid attention, the less I liked Nixon and the more I liked Kennedy… the Democrat!And that year, the first black family moved into our neighborhood. Before I knew it, I was white-flighted out of my neighborhood, but not to the other Dallas neighborhoods where my friends fled. No, dad spotted a little town an hour north, twenty minutes north once Interstate 35 was completed shortly after we moved, and that was the attraction. My dad had been in insurance and real estate, and he spotted Lewisville as the epicenter of a coming growth boom.The city limit sign, posted after the ’60 census, boasted something like 3586 souls. I soon found out that they were mostly related to each other and that their parents, often both, worked as furniture assemblers or grocery store butchers or owned a service station. My first day of 7th grade, first period, Jesse Peters had his switchblade confiscated for carving his initials into his desk, and Leland Davenport had his Zippo confiscated for setting his desk on fire.I went home and pleaded with my mother, “Please, please get me out of this place. I’m going to DIE!” She just chuckled and assured me I’d be fine. I was one bitter little bugger. I would wait out my sentence in hell—screw ALL these people—and bolt away to college as soon as I could.I was resentful as hell toward my father. It was his racism that had landed me in this purgatory. Why couldn’t we live side-by-side with black people? Go to school with black kids? God doesn’t play favorites!!! Remember?It was another fifty years before I had my suspicions about my dad disconfirmed.The two big political influences in my teen years were Martin Luther King, Jr—everything he said in those years went straight to a spot in my brain that instantly stamped it TRUTH—and Hugh Hefner—I never missed an installment of his Playboy Philosophy, which basically claimed the government had no business getting involved in personal morality or consensual sexual activity (of which I was yet to have any).At 14, a seminal and galvanizing event occurred. I was in freshman Spanish when a commotion could be heard in the hallway minutes before class was to be over. A senior who helped in the principal’s office scurried in with a worried mien, leaned and whispered to our teacher, an ardent Conservative Democrat. He beamed. “Oh, maybe nothing’s wrong,” I thought. Minutes later, when the bell rang, as we filed out, he chuckled, “By the way, kiddies, your president has been shot.”I had never experienced such depth of hatred. Oh, several times already, towns people had called me “nigger lover” to my face when they suspected my parents were Republican (back in those days, one dared not put any bumper stickers on the car or yard signs on the lawn—but then, if you didn’t put Democratic ones up, you were suspect).With the KKK also active in the Deep South and committing atrocities, it suddenly hit home why my mother had been so distraught at my brother and I playing with that black boy—harm might well have befallen him and his father. She did not want to discuss it because she did not want to tell us how ugly the world actually can be at such a tender age.It wasn’t getting any less ugly. My sophomore year, we learned we would be integrating the following year. Teachers were urging resistance. Taking a test in one class, I went to the window to sharpen my pencil. The teacher walked over, put his arm around my shoulder and pointed to a young black male coming into view down the street. “That’s the kind of nigger trash that’s going to be going to school next year. What do you think about that?” I ducked his embrace and went back to my seat, where I glowered at him.I was young, but there was no escaping taking a stand in those days. The most memorable instance had come a couple of years earlier visiting family in Mississippi. I went with a cousin quite a bit older into a Delta town, where he was joined by a friend. They chatted, when suddenly the friend blurted, “Look at that nigger buck walking down the sidewalk.” Then, right in my face, “I wouldn’t walk across the street to spit on a nigger…”I hoped my cousin would intercede, but I wasn’t sure of his politics. I knew I was being forced to declare. All at once I realized I had a clean way out, “neither would I,” I remarked perfectly honestly. It seemed good enough for that young tough, and he went back to chatting with my cousin. My heartbeat slowly returned to normal.And so my politics was formed at this time in this crucible. As a Lockean lover of liberty, I was a liberal, in the unambiguous usage of the time. Progressivism had not yet revitalized to renew its phony claim on that label, originally stolen by Franklin Roosevelt when he dared not run for the presidency truthfully after progressivism had taken a huge black eye over Prohibition.And so, I marched off to college, mere days after my graduation, a libertarian, radically liberal. It was the Summer of Love, 1967, and I couldn’t wait to wade into politics.But before we go there, I had two years of integration to go through to finish high school. I arrived fall of my junior year expecting to have to take a stand again. There was only one other classmate from a Republican family—all the rest, Southern Democrats, more properly known as Conservative Democrats. Instead, it all went seamlessly. My classmates openly welcomed our new students. Half a dozen were in our class, and the story was the same in the other classes. There was never an untoward event, and the teachers who’d been urging resistance kept their mouths shut. Obviously, there had been some considerable planning on the part of the student body, but I hadn’t heard of it. All of a sudden, my classmates didn’t seem like such clods to me.I had just ridden one of the great tidal waves in American history, but what exactly went on was a mystery to me for another 41 years.The day after graduation, someone casually mentioned that one classmate had been Catholic. “What! I know a Catholic!?” It was a shame I’d missed the chance to know him better. Once in Austin at the University of Texas, I wasted no time getting into the thick of things. Because I had a notion that publishing might one day be a good career field for me but wanting nothing to do with journalism school, I volunteered for the school paper and was accepted as an editorial page editor writing a weekly opinion column, which put me right in the thick of the political ferment of the times.At meetings to plan rallies and resistance, the “soshes” outnumbered us libertarians three or five to one. Indeed, it was a matter of years before I could reliably tell political stripes apart. I was shoulder-to-shoulder with individuals who could recite Gramsci or Guevara or Mao or Fanon. Half the professoriat was radicalized, and I was assigned Marcuse and Brown and Freud and Marx.At first, we were all brothers in arms. Then my take became “politics makes strange bedfellows.” Finally, it became, “you’ve got your politics; I’ve got mine.” Fortunately, that occurred before I had to read Derrida, Foucault or any of the other postmoderns.But I got restless early on. I had been raised WASP in a sea of other WASPS. While the three black girls in our class had readily socialized, the three boys had not. I felt I had not known anyone different. In typical Charles Tips “anything worth doing is worth overdoing” fashion, I hitchhiked to New Orleans, went to the Seafarer’s International Union hall and signed up for the Harry Lundeberg School of Seamanship. Next thing you know, I’m flown to San Francisco and put aboard the S. S. Steel Executive bound for Pusan, Korea.I spent three years off and on hopping freight ships, and you could not get farther from WASP culture. I sailed with crews from Baltimore, Mobile, New Orleans, Houston, Long Beach, San Francisco and Seattle. Crews consisted of every race and nationality you could imagine. I spent good chunks of time in many countries and, in port, I palled around with Germans, Danes, Yugoslavs, Liberians, Spaniards, Chinese… you name it.It was a great education. But it was also more. It was confirmation that my mother had been thoroughly correct—there is no differentiating people by externalities. But moreover, it was eternally amazing how well the crews functioned in such a confined living arrangement. The crews could not have been more diverse, but it always worked… to the point I decided that the age-old suspicion of others is a mistake in need of correcting. We will reach our optimum as a species once we embrace our great diversity.But three years of bopping around the world put me graduating during the Watergate imbroglio. Slowly it dawned on me… hey, Nixon was the progressive back in ’60, Kennedy was, like me, the civil-rights loving, supply-side liberal [true sense of the word]… the only one ever elected president from the Democratic Party.By 2003, it was clear that California was headed in the toilet. I’d met my wife and raised three sons there. We decided it was time to move and Texas was the place. I wanted the glorious hills around Austin, but my wife insisted we be closer to her elderly parents in Kansas. So, we ended up in the same county where I went to high school, a place I thought I’d never return, a county that had been eighty percent Democrat in my youth and was now flipped to eighty percent Republican.We chose the school carefully, so that our middle son, going into his junior year, would have a top-notch baseball program. That put us here in Flower Mound, my old school district. And we were off to a baseball game in South Oak Cliff that next summer. I recognized that we were a mere five minutes from my old childhood house. I dragged my wife and son there.I knocked on the door. A black woman older than me answered. “Yes?”“My name is Charles Tips. I lived in…”“Come in,” she demanded.It was suddenly old-home week. She introduced me glowingly to her daughter and grandson (who had my old bedroom). At length, after asking about my father’s health, she inquired, “Do you know about your daddy?”“All I know is he moved us away in ’61 when blacks started moving in.”“You need to know. You see that dining room table right there? He sat there two nights a week for months. New people would bring their purchase contracts and home insurance contracts to him, and he would sit there with his ruler and his ballpoint pen [my dad alright] and strike through line after line and write new terms in the margin. His rewrites were never challenged. He saved every one of us a ton of money and a ton of grief, and he never asked for a nickel. When you see him next, tell him we all still think of him and wish him the best.”Well, I was dead wrong about dad. People in my parents’ generation were tight-lipped.My mother had passed away more than a decade earlier, but her youngest brother, Uncle Joe wanted a ride to Starkville to visit his brother John who was ill and didn’t seem like he would make it.That gave us eight hours there and eight hours back to talk, and Joe was the one talker in the family. What I learned was that on the farm they worked in the Mississippi Delta, they had been the only white family for miles around. All their hunting buddies and fishing buddies… black. All their “aunts” and “uncles”… black. Their “grandparents,” the elderly couple that lived on the backside of the farm with their “forty acres and a mule”… not just black but slaves in their youth.No wonder my mother had volunteered to head every canned-food drive. It was the only way she could socialize with blacks in the South of the ’50s! No wonder she had counseled my brothers and me over and over never to judge anyone on any basis other than their actions.In 2007, it was time for my 40th class reunion.Lo and behold, four-fifths of my classmates, the sons and daughters of racist Conservative Democrats, were now Republican!!! the same percentage as the county as a whole. The more I listened, the more I realized, the growth of the Republican Party in the South had been a generational thing. My Baby Boomer generation, in school at the time of integration, wholly rejected the old Democratic politics. In the South, you demonstrated your lack of animosity toward other races by joining the GOP, and that’s what they did.Afterward, my wife gave me holy hell. “How did you lose track of these people!? These are some of the greatest people I’ve ever met! Start inviting them over.” And I did. And she was right, and I had been wrong for four decades.But there’s your explanation for one the great schisms in US history as an entire generation broke with its parent generation.And there you have my personal political odyssey, still a hardcore libertarian after all these years.

Why aren't IQ tests used for college admissions?

I can give you a detailed answer, but let me give you a personal one which illustrates the point: at age 18 yrs, being the eldest son in my family and ready to go off to university, my IQ was about 137 at the time; my brother's IQ, who was 4 yrs younger, tested out as 188. I went on to work hard and received 3 BS Degrees, with highest honors in: Theoretical and Applied Science; Pre-Medical Sciences and Mechanical Engineering with a minor in Electrical Engineering and Computational Mathematics. From there I went on to receive my Masters in Applied Science in Energetics Engineering, as well as a Masters in Cultural Foundations of Education from New York University, also both with highest honors before matriculating into a research PhD candidacy at Rutgers University in a self-directed interdisciplinary program as a Research Fellow in multiple engineering, mathematical and science disciplines all geared around Remote Sensing (Satellite) Technology and Big Data Algorithm Analysis. From there I went on to form the first ever satellite-based agricultural commodities trading investment platform utilizing algorithmic matrix analyses of historical yields and real time satellite observations to predict crop yields, which I did at Rutgers under CIA and USDA grants, and got me noticed by Wall Street, and led me to the President's position and retirement at age 43 yrs. From whence I dedicated myself to government service as a Goodwill Ambassador to the PRC for the US Dept. of Commerce and the US Chamber of Commerce ans served in the Reagan Administration as liaison advisor on energy and security issues with the US Congressional Advisory Board on the same.My brother dropped out of high school without earning his diploma, but I give him credit with getting his GED after he joined the USMC. But got a medical discharge after getting a DUI citation for driving his new car through barricades onto an unfinished highway overhead bypass and dropping it to the ground 50 ft below and totally screwing up his back, face, arms and shoulders in the crash. He was lucky the military chose not to give him a dishonorable discharge, which they could have under the circumstances.He went on to live on a partial disability pension from his "service" (he only just completed basic training) and eventually became a postman in the USPS. By no way am I demeaning the fine men and women who work for the USPS or other such quasi-governmental agencies.Lord knows where we would be without our mail being delivered in the efficient way it is and at the low cost it is done at compared to other nations. So please don't label me as an elitist snob, if you knew me you'd realize I am nothing like that. The reality is I was grateful for the gift God gave me and chose to use it as well as I could. But my point is: here was a person with the IQ of a genius-at age 14 yrs-who could have gone on to become a brilliant scientist, doctor, engineer or even a musical composer or artist, etc. Instead, he wasted away his gift and if it were not for enlisting in the US military, would not have even received his GED high school equivalent diploma. In his case, IQ was no more a relevant indicator of his educational ability or the depth of his motivation to achieve the highest level of success in whatever his pursuit may be. It meant nothing. It still does.We have seen the world blessed by extraordinary people with IQs in the range of 110-115; US Presidents with IQs slightly higher, like President John F Kennedy for example. And many, many people who have used perseverance and absolute dedication to a goal to achieve success, where another who was a genius with an extraordinary IQ achieved nothing. Why? Because having "native" intelligence is not an indicator of much more than having "a leg up" on the ease of processing information and learning at a faster pace than someone else-thing of it as a student who has the newest PC with the fastest processor around 2.85 clock speed, the largest DRAM around 16MB and all the programs needed to do most any application. And on the other side of the study table, a student using a hand-me-down PC that was still running -86 processor, have 4mb of RAM and a clock speed somewhere south of 0.85. But the student with what someone else would consider to be the inferior computer, churned out the best research, most thorough well-thought out and conceived papers and projects, and aced ever subject they took, whilst the other student with the flashy computer didn't go to class, never did study assignments, failed to meet project and paper deadlines, and studied so little they only barely passed their courses with a C average.THAT is why colleges do not take IQ results into consideration-they look at what a student does with what they have and the drive they have "inside" to do their best.I am fortunate to have two children who are each brilliant in their own ways. My daughter is the oldest by almost 4 years. She skipped her last year in high school and went directly into a SUNY early entry young scholars program, from whence she excelled with all A's in their honor's program and is now studying at Syracuse University on a prestigious academic Chancellor's scholarship. Now in her 3rd year, she is a top student in their prestigious iSchool, and this summer is off to Israel to do a technology internship she won in a competitive program through her school.My son is finishing his junior year, is working toward being an Eagle Scout, is 3rd Dan Black Belt in Taekwondo, wrestled varsity since his freshman year, made National Honors Society as a sophomore, and National Global Language Society too and has consistently been on the Principal's high honors list. He was a Rotary International "Road's Scholar", and this year, was chosen to represent his high school as the only leadership recipient of an award to attend Boys State for our county.Unlike his sister who concentrated only on her studies, he is all over the place between academics, sports, leadership, community service, etc. He is president of both the USO club and the Mock Trial Club. And as I sit here writing, he is off competing, having taken his school to their highest level they have ever achieved in the school's history in Mock Trial competition; having eliminated all their county opponents, the Westchester County's champion team and are now are in the State Regional competition, with back-to-back-to-back competition in three criminal trials before a real judge today. If they win, they go to the state capital to compete in the finals. He is only 16 yrs old.I couldn't be prouder of both of them. But they are completely different. My daughter is very religious and much involved in high school and college with that. She was President of her youth group where we worship, and now at Syracuse works with one there too. As a sophomore she was the first to be the Event Planner for their annual TEDx presentation, whose theme was "Glitch" and how we all go through life having to face unexpected glitches which either side track us, through us off course, delay us, or cause us to stop in our tracks to examine who we are and where we are going. In her own way, she is very accomplished and polished and extroverted in the areas of life which interest her.My son, since he was 7 yrs old has wanted to attend West Point and make a career in the military...to preserve and protect the US Constitution and our Bill of Rights, which at an early age he acknowledged had made this country great and given us as individuals and as a nation so many this privileges and opportunities, regardless of who we are or where we come from, to rise up to the very top to the pinnacles of greatness. He loves his country, and this is where he wants to devote his energies and dedicate his life.Already, he and his sister have one first cousin who recently graduated 19th in her class at the USN Academy at Annapolis. With another accepting his nomination to attend there beginning this June. Another first cousin graduated Georgia Tech, another the University of Georgia and graduate school at Georgetown University. Both work either within government or for it: one as an analyst with the CIA, another working on "games theory" with a major US defense contractor for military applications. And my niece who graduated Annapolis already was sent off on a full scholarship to study in London for her Masters.My daughter originally wanting to become an ambassador and enter the US Department of State in Foreign Service; although now she wants to do Big Data Analysis and Cyber Security instead. The point is: each child is unique in their own way; with their own talents, strengths and goals. The difference isn't in their intellect-both have higher than average IQs-it is their desire and drive which sets them apart. And their individual goals which steer their studies and the direction of their lives.Interestingly, when I asked my son-at about 8 or 9 yrs old-why he wanted to go to West Point and into the Army, he posited a question back to me: "who" he said, "do you know who was an Admiral and became President of the United States?" I thought about it for a moment, and although history wasn't one of my strongest suites in school, I couldn't think of any. So I told him, "I don't know. Who?" He replied not one. But then educated me that we have had several Generals from the Army who were; starting with George Washington who is the reason we have the United States of America today. Followed by President Grant who helped preserve the Union. And President Dwight D, Eisenhower who helped save the world during WWII from the Nazis. He also referred me back to my history books and I discovered that "the most frequent military experience is Army/Army Reserve with 15 presidents, followed by State Militias at 9, the Navy/Naval Reserve at 6 and the Continental Army with 2 presidents serving. Eight presidents served during World War II, while seven served in the military during the American Civil War."I went back and asked him if he wanted to be the President of the United States someday? And he looked at me and said, "who knows, my future will take me where I lead myself", and walked away.I don't know if studying and working so hard to be a well-rounded leader is what he started out to accomplish, but already at 16 yrs old he has at least shown me he "has the right stuff" if this is truly his path to travel to find his destiny.I hope you forgive me for indulging my pride in my two wonderful children, but they are the reason I continue to work toward better understanding and a better world for us all to live in: for our generation, for theirs, and posterity. Thank you for you patience and support!

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