I kept two plastic cannons on a shelf in my office at SMU.  Each was two inches tall, and made of flexible green plastic.  The wheels turned and the gun barrel went up and down.  They became known as Dr. Reynolds’ cannons.

But wait: these were key props when I introduced the musical term “canon.”  I would hold them up in front of the class and say “Here are two plastic cannons: two—count them.  Please note that there are 2 “n’s” the word “cannon” as in . . . “go boom!!”

Then I’d introduce the Baroque musical form known as a “canon” which, by the way, has one “n.”  Students might ultimately mess up the definition of “canon” on a test, but almost never misspelled the term.

Mnemonic devices work.  It doesn’t matter which sense they trigger: sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch.  The image of a professor holding up two plastic cannons was enough for students to sort out a common spelling confusion between “cannon” and “canon.”  I liked to think it created a bit of “warm fuzzy” for the topic itself—imitative counterpoint isn’t always the easiest thing for freshman music majors to grasp.

Props stay in a student’s mind, too.  While auditing a course at the Cox School of Business in the early 1990s, I experienced a clever use of prop on a regular basis: a Professor of Accounting would wear whatever gear or logo represented the company whose case was at issue that day.  If it were Disney, then he’d pop on Mickey-Mouse ears.  If the case concerned a financial situation in a Honolulu resort, he’d sport a tropical shirt and flowered lei.  Class content stayed deadly serious, but somehow his “outfits” served to keep each case accessible.  And, to this day, memorable.

Wear, show, or demonstrate whatever it takes.  The goal is that the material sticks and strengthens the student’s overall understanding.  And, as we all know on the Circle of Scholars, that’s one of the great benefits of viewing academic subjects through the arts!