[Syna Khanna]: Midterm Portfolio – #2 Plain Language

The Project

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Original):

Click me to see the text:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ulo1nits28jus5AfXND6HYba273-kD3gEfiYGusHq2o/edit?usp=sharing

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Plain Language):

In the summer of 1912, Brooklyn, New York, could be described as peaceful. Maybe “serious” was a better word, but that didn’t exactly fit the neighborhood of Williamsburg. Fancy words like “prairie” or “Shenandoah” didn’t belong in Brooklyn. “Serene” was the best word for it, especially on a Saturday afternoon in the summer. Later in the day, the sun shined into the small yard of Francie Nolan’s house and warmed the old wooden fence. When Francie saw the sunlight, she got the same good feeling she had when she remembered a poem they read in school: “This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld.” The tree in Francie’s yard wasn’t a pine or a hemlock. It had long, pointy leaves that looked like a bunch of green umbrellas. Some people called it the “Tree of Heaven.” This tree could grow anywhere, even in dirty, forgotten places, and it was the only tree that could grow out of cement. It grew strong, but only in poor neighborhoods. If you walked through a fancy neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon and saw one of these trees behind an iron fence, you knew that soon, the area would become a poor neighborhood. The tree showed up first, and then poor immigrants would move in. The old, beautiful houses would be divided into apartments, and you’d see feather beds hanging out of the windows to air out. The Tree of Heaven would start to grow everywhere. That’s the kind of tree it was—it thrived where poor people lived. ​ One of these trees grew in Francie’s yard, and its branches spread over her third-floor fire escape. An eleven-year-old girl sitting there could imagine she was living in a tree. That’s what Francie did every Saturday afternoon in the summer. Saturdays were the best day in Brooklyn. They were the best anywhere! People got paid on Saturdays, and it felt like a holiday, but not as strict as Sunday. People had money to spend, so they ate good food, went out, sometimes got drunk, went on dates, and stayed up late. They sang, played music, danced, and sometimes got into fights because Sunday was their day to rest. They could sleep in—at least until it was time for church. On Sundays, most people went to the eleven o’clock mass at church. A few people went to the early six o’clock mass, but they didn’t deserve much credit for it. These were the ones who had stayed out so late that it was morning by the time they got home. They went to the early mass to get it over with, then went back to sleep all day without feeling guilty. For Francie, Saturdays started with a trip to the junk shop. She and her brother, Neeley, like many other kids in Brooklyn, collected things like old rags, paper, metal, and other junk, and stored them all week in their basement or under their bed. Every day after school, Francie walked slowly, keeping her eyes on the ground, looking for things like tin foil from cigarette wrappers or gum. They’d melt the foil down because the junk shop wouldn’t take it if it wasn’t melted—too many kids had tried to cheat by hiding heavy washers inside to make it weigh more. Sometimes, Neeley found a seltzer bottle. They’d break the top off and melt it for lead. The junk shop wouldn’t take the tops whole, since that would get the junk man in trouble with the soda companies, but melted lead was worth five cents. Each evening, Francie and Neeley emptied the trash from the dumbwaiter in their building. They got to do this because their mother was the janitor. They’d take any useful junk they found—rags, paper, and bottles that could be returned for money. Paper wasn’t worth much, only a penny for ten pounds. Rags were worth two cents a pound, iron was worth four cents, and copper was the best at ten cents a pound. Every once in a while, Francie would hit the jackpot and find the bottom of an old wash boiler. She’d cut it out with a can opener, fold it up, and smash it down to take to the junk shop. By nine o’clock on Saturday morning, kids from all over Brooklyn came pouring onto Manhattan Avenue, the main street. Some kids carried their junk in their arms, others had wagons made from soap boxes with wooden wheels, and a few pushed baby strollers loaded with junk. Francie and Neeley stuffed all their junk into a big burlap bag, each grabbed one end, and dragged it down the street, past streets with pretty names like Maujer, Ten Eyck, and Stagg, but which were really ugly streets. As they walked to Carney’s junk shop, they saw other kids coming back, empty-handed. They’d already sold their junk and spent their pennies, and they teased the kids who were still on their way. “Rag picker! Rag picker!” they yelled. Francie felt embarrassed when they called her that, even though they were rag pickers too, and later, her own brother would probably join in teasing other kids. But she still felt ashamed. Carney’s junk shop was in a run-down stable. When Francie saw the doors wide open, she imagined the big scale inside was welcoming her. Carney, the junk man, had rusty hair, a rusty mustache, and rusty-looking eyes. He liked girls better than boys and would give a girl an extra penny if she didn’t pull away when he pinched her cheek. Because of this, Neeley let Francie drag the bag inside. Carney dumped the junk out on the floor and gave Francie a quick pinch on the cheek. While he weighed the junk, Francie adjusted her eyes to the dark room and noticed the musty smell of wet rags. Carney looked at the scale and told Francie how much he’d pay. There was no arguing, so she nodded, and he began sorting the junk—paper in one pile, rags in another, metals in a third. Finally, he pulled out an old leather pouch from his pocket, counted out some greenish pennies, and handed them to her. He pinched her cheek hard as she said “thank you,” but she stood still. Pleased with her, Carney smiled and gave her an extra penny. Then, in a louder voice, he called out to the next kid in line, joking, “Come on, get the lead out! And I don’t mean junk!” The kids laughed, but it sounded like nervous, lost little lambs. Carney seemed satisfied. Francie went outside to tell Neeley, “He gave me sixteen cents and a pinching penny.” “That penny’s yours,” Neeley said, as they had agreed long ago. She kept her extra penny and gave the rest to her brother. Neeley, who was ten, a year younger than Francie, was in charge of the money because he was the boy. He carefully divided it up. “Eight cents for the bank,” he said. They had a rule that half of the money they earned went into their savings, a tin-can bank nailed to the floor in the darkest part of the closet. “And four cents for you, four cents for me.” Francie tied the bank money in her handkerchief and looked at the five pennies she got to keep, happy that she could exchange them for a whole nickel. Neeley rolled up the burlap bag and tucked it under his arm, leading the way to Cheap Charlie’s, the penny candy store next to the junk shop. The store was filled with greenish pennies by the end of Saturday, thanks to all the junk sales. Because it was mostly a boys’ store, Francie waited near the door while Neeley went in. The boys, all between eight and fourteen years old, wore the same kinds of raggedy clothes and caps, and stood nervously with their hands in their pockets. They would probably grow up looking just like that, only with cigarettes hanging from their lips. Some boys already had their hair cut short for the summer, while others, whose hair was still long and curled at the neck, seemed embarrassed and wore their caps pulled low over their ears. Cheap Charlie wasn’t actually cheap, and his name wasn’t Charlie, but that’s what the sign on his store said, and Francie believed it. Charlie had a board with fifty hooks, each holding a prize. There were a few nice prizes, like roller skates, a catcher’s mitt, or a doll with real hair. Most of the prizes were things like pencils or other cheap items. You paid a penny to pick a number and win whatever was on that hook. Francie watched as Neeley drew number 26. He won a cheap pen wiper. “Prize or candy?” Charlie asked. ​ “Candy, what do you think?” Neeley replied. It was always like that. No one ever won the big prizes, and Francie had never heard of anyone winning more than a penny prize. The roller skates were rusty, and the doll’s hair was dusty, as if they’d been sitting there for ages. Francie dreamed that someday she’d save up fifty cents and buy all the picks at once, winning every prize on the board. It seemed like a good deal—skates, mitt, doll, and everything else for fifty cents. She’d have to bring Neeley with her because girls didn’t usually go into Charlie’s.

Homework Assignment (Original):

Because teachers are employed by public school districts which rely on local and state funding (we will discuss school funding in class (14)), teacher contracts are necessarily political and subject to the vagaries of economic conditions. Teaching is a stable job with a good deal of job security, but teacher pay is not high when compared to other college graduates. Nationwide, the average public school teacher salary for the 2018-2019 school year (the most recent for which we have data) was $61,730, according to the National Center for Education Statistics, although there is considerable variation by state. You can see where each state ranks here if you are interested (optional): Teacher salary in every state 2018 Read this brief to see more detail on teacher pay relative to other college graduates.

Homework Assignment (Plain Language):

Teachers work for public schools, which get their money from local and state governments. Because of this, teacher pay can be affected by politics and changes in the economy (we will discuss school funding in class 14). Being a teacher is a stable job with good job security, but teachers don’t make as much money as many other people with college degrees. In the 2018-2019 school year, the average public school teacher salary in the U.S. was $61,730, but it can be different depending on the state. If you’re interested, you can see how much teachers earn in each state here: Teacher salary in every state 2018. You can also read more about how teacher pay compares to other college graduates.

Project Description 

The purpose of this project was to make it easier for readers to understand the text by replacing difficult words with easy words (“plain language”). For this project, the assignment was to rewrite a given excerpt from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn with plain language, and also to pick a homework assignment from another class and rewrite it using plain language.

Documentation 

Step 1:

Step 2:

I discussed what was hard to understand and what could be changed to make the text easier to read with my partner in class.

Step 3:

Step 4:

Step 5:

I rewrote the instructions using plain language. I looked up synonyms in a thesaurus for some words during this process.

 

Reflection Questions

1. What is the theme of the work?

The theme of this work is plain language—which is text made of simple phrases which are easy to understand for the readers.​

2. How is that theme particularly expressed through the modality of the week?

The theme of plain language is expressed through the modality because I rewrote the texts which may be difficult to understand using easier words which most people are familiar with.​

3. Which elements of the work are beautifully/wonderfully/perfectly expressed through the modality?

The element of the work which is wonderfully expressed is the overall meaning of the readings.

4. Which elements are lost or inexpressible through the modality of the week?

​The element of the work which is partially lost is the tone of the readings, specifically the tone of the excerpt from A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, because some replacements of words may have altered the overall feel which is delivered to the readers of the passage.

5. Who does this project exclude? Who would not be able to interact with this work? Who is this modality not accessible for?

People with Dyslexia may be excluded from this project as it may be difficult for them to read the passage and the homework instructions.​

6. Now that you’ve identified who is excluded, what is one way you could remix this piece to include another population?

​In order to make this piece more accessible for those with Dyslexia, I could add images with the text and more spacing to make it visually easier to read.