Scrambled Sentences: A Puzzle Worth Solving
by
Brannon Heath

Midway through the first semester of Legal Methods, my students seemed overwhelmed. I was demanding corrections on a closed universe memo and a start on the open memo; other professors had accelerated the pace of classes to make up for holidays; exams loomed in students' peripheral vision.

We needed a respite. We had worked earlier in the semester on a "Lisa-Lenny" annulment problem, which I had used to teach case briefing, synthesis, and client counseling. Now I called on the "Lisa-Lenny" problem again. I wrote a 12-sentence paragraph. Then I scrambled the sentences, putting a number 1 through 12 next to each sentence and leaving space between the sentences. I then copied these scrambled sentences for each member of the class. I also took four copies and cut them apart, separating each sentence. I put each cut-up copy in an envelope labeled Group 1, 2, 3, or 4.

When students arrived, I divided them into four groups and explained that they were going to solve a puzzle. I reminded them of Lisa and Lenny. After giving each student a copy of the scrambled sentences, I gave one envelope to each group. The assignment was to take the cut-up sentences and put them in order. As a further incentive, I told the students that if their group succeeded in laying out the cut-up sentences in the correct order before class ended, that group could leave.

As I moved among the groups, my modest expectations grew. One group reviewed the substantive material, trying to find the elements necessary for an annulment. Another group searched for the topic sentence of the paragraph. Yet another argued which sentences comprised the middle of the paragraph. I critiqued as I moved from group to group. If, for example, two sentences were in the correct order or the topic sentence and conclusion were correct, I would tell the group. If a group foundered or meandered, I gave support or directions.

With about seven minutes left, one group solved the puzzle. With gleeful smiles the group members swung their backpacks onto their shoulders and departed. The other groups continued to shift the sentences, calling me to check whether they had solved the puzzle. When class ended, the other groups continued to work until finally they had to go to their next class.

"Scrambled sentences" was a big hit. It provided a respite, and much more: a review of substantive material and the opportunity for heated discussions on paragraph organization, logic, flow, transitions. It even lingered; in the next class, students argued that the order I had created in the puzzle was flawed.

I used the exercise again the next semester, but for a different purpose. I used substantive material from a brief we were writing. This time, I numbered the sentences in their correct order and cut them apart. What students received, therefore, was a copied sheet with a paragraph "correctly" ordered and numbered and a cut-up sheet for the groups to reassemble. Only one small group concluded early that the order was correct. Other students thought the order might be correct, but did not argue their convictions or yielded to assurances by more vocal classmates that I could not possibly have given them the correct order.

Part of what I had hoped to demonstrate this second time was that while collaboration could be very helpful, students must ultimately make their own decisions and must believe in their own theories and research. It was a gamble. I knew some students might be angry and feel "tricked," but I was bothered by the wholesale acceptance of theories expounded by some of the more boisterous members of my class. Although a few students muttered, others felt validated. Because the material provided insights into the brief required at the end of the semester, I believe all students forgave me for "tricking" them.

This "scrambled sentences" exercise could be helpful in teaching thesis paragraphs, rule proof, elements analysis, and exam answers. Or perhaps it could simply provide that needed respite for shell-shocked students.