--I don’t get the Apple tv thing. It only gets two networks, and they’re ones that I can get over the air for free. Apple, I enjoy following you guys, but you’re missing the point here. The point is to make it possible to drop cable tv, or at least to cut it back all the way to the very basics. Gaining the option of paying again to watch shows I could have tivo’d the first time they were on, on a connection I already have to keep anyway, is not a selling point. I don’t need another way to get ABC. I need another way to get Comedy Central. (Besides, the wii already streams Netflix.) A swing and a miss, Apple.

--Note to granting agencies: it’s one thing to be months late disbursing grant money. It’s quite another to then say that we aren’t allowed to backfill money we fronted to the program while waiting. Grants are supposed to help, not become unfunded mandates. Either be prompt or be flexible; ‘late and strict’ is a terrible combination. Not cool, guys.

--From the 2008 edition (the most current one) of The American Community College, by Cohen and Brawer:

“Sixty percent of the community colleges where faculty are working under [collectively] negotiated contracts are located in just five states: California, Illinois, Washington, New York, and Michigan.” (p. 148)

I did not know that. Food for thought...

--A modest proposal for state legislatures that are getting persnickety about attrition rates in community colleges: either require (and pay for) four years in math in high school or shut the eff up.

--A new definition of “bittersweet”: watching your six year old daughter bound happily onto the bus for the first day of first grade.

--Actual conversation at home:

TG: Daddy, with all those meetings, when do you get your work done?
DD: That is my work.
TG: Really?
DD: Yeah.
TG: Ewwww...

In a follow-up to an earlier discussion, a correspondent wrote:

Do outsiders stand a chance at landing admin jobs on your campus? Most admins on my campus are promoted/drafted from within the ranks of tenure-track faculty with an assumption that they'll serve for a couple of years, get a big pay bump, and then return to their academic positions (which results in a lot of self-serving behavior, poor administration, and acrimony upon return, but it happens anyway). Consequently outsiders, or even non-tenure insiders, are rarely offered a shot at admin jobs. But maybe, hopefully, things are just strange on my campus?

Having been hired as an outsider, I can say that context is everything.

Coming in from the outside as a dean is a unique challenge, since deans’ jobs frequently are built on relationships. (Here I’m speaking of community colleges, where nobody has money to throw around. An R1 with serious cash is another universe altogether.) That’s especially true in tenured settings with superannuated departments; there, a newbie might as well be from Mars. When everyone has history except you, you’re opaque and therefore distrusted. Navigating a setting like that is like trying to start a Faulkner novel in the middle.

If you walk into a context in which several former admins have returned to faculty and are still nursing old wounds, it’s that much harder. I have personally been in situations in which Professor Smith and Professor Jones will not work together for any reason, because Professor Smith’s husband offended Professor Jones’ wife at a social gathering in the 1980’s. When your success or failure is predicated on relationships, and you’re walking into that from the outside, well, good luck to you.

Of course, sometimes the whole point of hiring an outsider is to try to shake up a division or college that has grown stale. I’m not a fan of that; middle managers, which is what deans are, are uniquely unsuited to be change agents. They aren’t high enough on the food chain to have real power or resources, and they aren’t in the trenches to do it themselves. Over time, if a bunch of tenured faculty decide that the untenured dean is a pain in the ass, it isn’t hard to figure out who’ll win.

Inside hires have it easier in many ways. They often carry tenure with them, which at least makes for a fair fight. They have a sense of local history. They’re rarely expected to be change agents, so the standards to which they’re held tend to be more realistic.

The downsides are that they’re often too steeped in local politics to have fresh eyes; they usually lack the comparative perspective that an outsider can bring; and sometimes there just isn’t anyone local who’s both willing and capable. Oddly enough, this suggests that outside hires may make more sense at higher levels -- presidents and vp’s, say -- than at lower levels.

The outside hires I’ve seen succeed have arrived quietly, almost humbly, and have spent time asking questions and listening before trying to make waves. That’s possible only when they aren’t hired to be change agents.

To answer the direct question, yes, outsiders sometimes have real shots, and occasionally even get hired. But when they do, they have a narrower strike zone.

Wise and worldly readers, do outside hires have a good track record on your campus? Do inside hires? Is the variable even relevant?

Have a question? Ask the Administrator at deandad (at) gmail (dot) com.

This article brought back memories.

My first administrative gig was at the same college where I got my first full-time faculty job, so I crossed over without switching institutions. That meant that former colleagues were suddenly on the other side.

I expected some distance, and the occasional awkward moment, and those both happened. I also ran into the brick wall of antipathy toward administration with some, and even some brown-nosing with others. (If you had asked me in advance who would have gone which way, I would have guessed wrong.) Some folks who had previously seemed reasonable were suddenly hypercritical, and some who had previously been cordial were suddenly suspicious.

But to my eternal gratitude, some of the more self-assured ones actually helped me learn the new etiquette on the fly. It was a real kindness on their part, even if it also improved the chances of their own lives being easier.

At one early point, for example, a professor popped in to say hi and pass along something of only passing importance. I was juggling several torches at that point, so without thinking, I pulled a “while you’re here” on him and asked if he could help with something taxing. He was a good sport, but he pointed out that if I made a habit of “while you’re here”-ing people when they drop by, they’ll stop dropping by. If I wanted to ask something of him, I should go to him.

He was right, of course, but I probably would have missed it if he hadn’t taken the time to spell it out for me. I didn’t think of what I had done as ambushing -- it wasn’t planned, for starters -- but in effect, that’s what it was. His congenial, but clear, admonition was a real favor.

At another early point, I made a fairly snarky comment in a department meeting about a course that I hadn’t enjoyed teaching. It was the kind of comment that I had made many times before while on faculty, to no great effect one way or the other. I thought of it as blowing off steam. But another professor let me know later that the same comment coming from a dean had a different valence, and that I needed to keep that in mind when I spoke. She was right. Without meaning to, I had sent a message that some received as What The Administration Really Thinks. I hadn’t intended to act on it, but not everybody in the room knew that. Her hint stuck with me, and has probably saved me untold drama in the years since.

For reasons I’ll probably never fully understand, higher ed doesn’t really train deans. Although we put people through absurdly extended and picky training regimens for faculty jobs -- the research part, anyway -- we don’t train administrators at all. I had to learn Academic Management 101 on the fly, largely through trial and error. (My CAO at the time meant well, but it was really a case of the blind leading the blind.) Traditional management training isn’t terribly relevant, since the culture of higher ed is a creature unto itself, so that won’t save you. And C.K. Gunsalus hadn’t yet published her absolutely invaluable Academic Administrator’s Survival Guide. (Hint to new deans: buy it, read it, read it again, keep it handy.) I’ve been lucky enough to be able to blog my way through some dilemmas, but that option still seems idiosyncratic.

The comments to the IHE piece were mostly incendiary, which is both discouraging and representative of what new administrators will encounter. But for those of goodwill, the occasional hint can go a long way.

A new correspondent writes:

I am thinking of making a change in my career path. I am a non-tenure track, full time instructor, starting my 8th year in this job. While I enjoy my job and it is reasonably stable even in a terrible economy & job market, it is obviously untenable as a seriously-long-term career option. But I really like working in a University community and I want to find a way to stay in that environment.

I have also done some administrative work at this same campus and find that I am reasonably good at it and willing to do it (boring meetings, aside, and yes I know there are lots of those). And the work is never-ending, it seems. So I am considering going back to school and getting an MA (possibly PhD) in Higher Ed Admin from a well-regarded program. Now admitting this to fellow faculty on my campus would be like announcing that I have an undesirable social disease. The relationship between faculty and administrators on our campus is pretty toxic and "switching sides" is typically not looked upon with favor. So I'm here seeking outside input. Good idea/bad idea? Why?

I’m pretty sure the modifier “undesirable” coming before the noun “social disease” is redundant, but never mind that.

Depending on the branch of administration you’d like to enter, your plan might work. In my observation, though, people in those programs are usually already in some sort of administrative position, and are pursuing the credential in order to move up; an assistant director of admissions wants to become a director, say. That way, they can do their ‘fieldwork’ on their own campus.

Higher Ed Admin degrees don’t always get the same level of respect from faculty that degrees in traditional academic disciplines do, but that shouldn’t matter if you’re in, say, Student Services. I’m told that in some regions of the country, this isn’t as true as it is in the Northeast, either, but I’m open to correction on that.

In terms of employability, you may well find the job market in administration easier than the job market for faculty, depending on discipline. Of course, one rarely-noted reason for that is the dramatically higher turnover rate in administrative jobs. More firing leads to more hiring. (What this suggests about the effects of tenure on faculty hiring, I’ll leave as an exercise for the reader.) Since you don’t have a tenured position anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much about increased risk.

The undertone of the question, though, is about braving public disapproval. Is it worth the opprobrium to pursue an opportunity?

At some level, of course, only you can answer that. But I’ve been in that spot myself, and I can attest that curbing your own ambitions to satisfy the embittered is a losing proposition. They won’t be satisfied anyway -- they never are -- and your sacrifice will gain the world exactly nothing. (If you don’t become the next Assistant Dean, someone else will.) Taken to its logical conclusion, the “never cross over” perspective quickly becomes absurd.

Suppose you do sacrifice yourself on the altar of other people’s crankiness. When your position gets cut, will they defend you?

Academics tend to have been good students, and good students are often people pleasers. But you need to be willing to do what you need to do. If you decide, upon reflection, that administration isn’t what you want, then by all means stay away. But if you think it suits you -- you like the environment, you’re good at it, and you can see the contribution that good administration makes -- then I wouldn’t pay too much heed to the naysayers. Absorb the parts of their critique that could help you do your job better, but don’t let it stop you from trying in the first place. The more thoughtful critics of administration will usually concede that it’s better to have smart administrators than dumb ones; if you have it in you to be a smart one, and the idea appeals to you, I say go for it.

Besides, there’s no law saying you have to work at the same college forever. Getting the credential could help you find work elsewhere, where you would come in already having crossed over; ‘betrayal’ wouldn’t enter into it.

Good luck!

Wise and worldly readers, what would you suggest? Should s/he tune out the naysayers, or is there something critical that I’ve missed?

Have a question? Ask the Administrator at deandad (at) gmail (dot) com.

A student writes:

I failed a class (obtained an F), and was planning to retake it based on the rules of the university. I did, and I received B. However, I was unaware that the retake policies changed (they changed after I entered the university my first semester). The retake policies changed to enable a person to drop a bad grade from a transcript and retake the class.

However, I didn't know this was possible (and I was supposed to do the paperwork during the first week to enact this policy for myself). I was unaware and ignorant the policy had changed. I would really like to have my grade changed, though.

I feel as though I've been wronged, because I came in with knowledge of the policies when I first entered, which was the Fall of 2009. I failed the class in the Fall of 2009, and retook it during the summer of 2010.

I have talked to my advisor (and I'm 23 going on 24 soon), and he said it's not people's responsibility to be hand-holders and notify people. Of course, this was an insult, because I've helped raise children. It seems like he is implying that I'm a child. He also claimed it was my fault to not have done something. I keep thinking that these are arguments that assume I have free-will. Fact is, though, I did not have any determining factors that lead me to reading about the policy changes, as such, I didn't enact upon them.

I rebutted saying that I would have done something if I had known, for I wouldn't have wanted to do something as self-destructive as not filling out the paperwork (which would have helped me in this case to remove a bad grade from my transcript).

He told me to go to the Office of Student Affairs. I've been around that place, and I've been told about how inefficient it is at getting things done. My general belief is that they are going to deny me the ability to fix my grade. Why? I don't know. Life is cruel and society is out to get people, which is something I have come to believe as I get older.

As the Office of Student Affairs will most likely ignore me, turn me away, and call me a fool, I've considered talking to the dean. He seems to be a pretty high-up guy. I'm not sure how feasible it is to visit and directly talk to him. However, I am starting to feel that is what I have to do.

I put in the hard work for the class. I don't know why they won't be kind enough to change the grade.

What do you think I should do?

I don’t know the ins and outs of your particular university, so I won’t comment on that. Instead, I’ll address the general issue of what to do when you’re caught between shifting requirements.

Something I’ve had to learn over the years is that there’s frequently a gap between written policies and their execution on the ground. While that can be a source of endless shenanigans, it can also help address equity in cases in which someone is harmed by unintended consequences.

The spirit of the new rule, it seems to me, is to allow a student to reap the rewards of doing better the second time. You actually did do better the second time. The requirement to fill out the appropriate paperwork seems to me a bureaucratic convenience, rather than a necessary part of the requirement. (I could be wrong on that, not working there, but that would be my first guess.)

I don’t blame your advisor for reacting the way he did; at some level, students have to be responsible for keeping up with the rules. But advisors, typically, are not empowered to make changes (or overrides) in cases like these. Their job is to help you understand where you stand within the rules as written.

Typically, someone with a title like “Dean of Students” would be the one to see. She would have the authority to override certain requirements based on her professional judgment. Keep in mind that she isn’t obligated to do so; her authority to do so is discretionary. As such, your argument to her should be based on substantive fairness.

If you were actually trying to get a professor to change a given grade, the advice would be different. But since you aren’t contesting the grade you received the second time -- you’re only contesting what gets recorded where -- this is a properly administrative question.

When you make the appointment, bring as much documentation as you can. What was the policy when you enrolled? What did your advisor tell you (or not tell you)? What extenuating circumstances can you document to show that you were not reasonably capable of keeping up with the changes?

Since you’re asking for a dispensation, rather than the enforcement of a right, be sure to present your request appropriately. Deans are people too, and going in guns-a-blazing is unlikely to help in this case.

Good luck!

Wise and worldly readers, what would you advise the student to do?

Have a question? Ask the Administrator at deandad (at) gmail (dot) com.

As regular readers know, I’m kind of obsessed with questions of structure in American higher education. I’m working on a book on the subject now, and I keep bumping into a series of suspicions that I can neither prove nor disprove.

I don’t know if anyone has done a serious study of this. If someone has, I’d love a reference. But if not, here’s an idea for an enterprising Ed.D. student looking for a dissertation topic...

Nationally, there are two popular funding models for community colleges. (Yes, there are infinite minor variations within them, but in general terms, this is true.)

1. The state provides a subsidy, and tuition/fees provide the rest.

2. The state provides a subsidy, the county or other local entity provides a second subsidy, and tuition/fees provide the rest. (Sometimes a service area will comprise multiple counties, but the concept is the same.)

Based on my admittedly limited observation and experience, I have a couple hypotheses about differences between the two systems.

1. All else being equal, cc’s in state-funded systems are likelier to add bachelor’s degree completion programs than cc’s in county-funded systems.

2. All else being equal, cc’s in county-funded systems will be funded at higher levels than cc’s in state-funded systems. Although there are several reasons for this, competition will be a major one.

3. All else being equal, cc’s in county-funded systems will have much more highly-charged debates about the residency status of undocumented students than will cc’s in state-funded systems. (This is because of the tuition premium for out-of-county students.)

4. All else being equal, credit transfer between cc’s and four-year state colleges will be smoother in state-funded systems than in county-funded systems. (That’s because he who pays the piper calls the tune.)

By “all else being equal,” I’m referring primarily to the population density and wealth level of the area. In other words, the relevant comparisons would be between cc’s in demographically similar areas. Such distinctions as rural/suburban/urban or wealthy/poor will obviously swamp the more subtle differences I’m trying to isolate.

Does anyone know of any good empirical work already done on any of these questions? Alternately, does anyone have some good counterexamples?

A new correspondent writes (edited for anonymity):

I have spent the last [many] years as [an academic administrator] at a faith-based private school. I interviewed [recently] for the academic dean role at a community college. Supposing I were to continue down this path, what are the biggest challenges I'll face in transitioning from a liberal arts college environment to a community college environment? I realize I don't know much at all about workforce development or how to hire a good welding instructor but it seems that much of the core task (recruiting, scheduling, assessing, troubleshooting) remain the same.

What would you advise in terms of getting one's bearings as quickly as possible?

It’s a great question, but to answer it, I’ll have to shift the terms a bit.

I’ve never worked in a faith-based institution, so I can’t speak directly to that particular angle. Some of them are relatively loose in their religious identification -- I’ve heard it said that Notre Dame would recruit Satan himself if he could catch a pass -- and some are quite rigorous in their adherence to a particular religious identity. If you’re coming from the latter, you should expect a degree of culture shock in moving to an open-admissions public institution. Depending on region, you may well find a level of diversity of styles among students and staff that will far surpass what you’ve seen before. That affects things like what you can take for granted, what’s acceptable material for jokes, and what variables you have to consider when making decisions.

The more fundamental shift, though, will be from the world of private institutions to the world of public ones. I’ve made that shift myself, and I can attest that it took a while to adjust.

As public institutions, community colleges draw funding from the public and are accountable to it. They’re government agencies, subject to all manner of regulation and mandates. In some states, they’re also heavily unionized, which is a difference of such degree as to be a difference of kind.

I’m a fan of the community college sector, obviously, but it has its quirks.

At the most basic level, you’ll be dealing with a much more transient and diverse population of students, and a much more diverse population of faculty and staff. By ‘diverse’ I’m not primarily referring to race or ethnicity, but to outlook. You’ll have atheists and Christians and Jews and Baha’i; veterans and leftists and poets and engineers; activists and cynics and alcoholics and miracle workers. You’ll have to consider fairness to all, which in practice often means junking a substantive conception of The Good in favor of a procedural one.

If you’re in a collective bargaining environment, that’ll be even more true. You’ll find yourself bound to perfectly absurd procedures and settlements simply because of an infelicitous turn of phrase that nobody noticed before in an obscure corner of the contract. You’ll settle for fourth-best outcomes because the first three each violate somebody’s pet issue. You’ll have to address each issue as a potential precedent for future issues, which sometimes means acceding to objectionable or even silly outcomes in present cases. (It’s even more frustrating in reverse, especially in a statewide system: you can’t do perfectly sensible action A because someone at another college in the system grieved action B a few years ago, and the overly-broad language of that settlement is binding on you. It can be utterly maddening.) At a really basic level, you’ll have to give up on the idea of ‘managing’ in any recognizable sense, and instead imagine at least four parties to every discussion: yourself, the union leadership, the written contract, and the unwritten contract. It’s much more about diplomacy than about calling shots.

The trick is in looking at the situation as a puzzle.

In the private college setting, authority is often limited to a few key players. But in a public college, it’s wildly -- sometimes dysfunctionally -- overgrown. It’s everywhere, and therefore nowhere. Your job is to bring clarity to confusion, the better to allow people to focus on their actual work.

Paradoxically enough, doing that often involves doing the precise opposite of what might work in a private setting. Instead of Making a Splash (and luring donors by doing it), you’re much better off starting out slowly. Go on a listening tour, take things under advisement, and when you have to make decisions, decide first how to decide. (Hint: the more you can confine your decisions to processes rather than outcomes, the better off everyone will be.) That might sound like doing nothing, but it’s more like calming the waters. I’ve never seen a public institution that didn’t have significant internal drama. That drama typically diverts energy from the actual mission of the place. It also leads to still more legalistic hair-splitting, which, in turn, spawns drama of its own.

If you can establish confidence that you care more about the overall climate than about ‘winning’ this battle or that one, you may be able to gradually redirect the college’s energy from internal politics to actually teaching students. That will require patience, and humility, and a really finely honed sense of the absurd. (I use the safety valve of the blog for the occasional venting, so I don’t have to vent on campus.) If you can get to the point where you can have candid discussions with the union leadership about some of the more baroque consequences of the contract, you may be able to reach agreements on work-arounds that reduce the absurdity. That’s a real contribution. Over time, you may even make meaningful progress bushwhacking through the legal underbrush; your successors will thank you.

One admin’s perspective, anyway.

Good luck!

Wise and worldly readers, especially those who’ve made similar jumps -- what would you suggest?

A new correspondent writes:

I have been away from the academic world for a while, and have been made an offer to use the local community college as a means toward reintegrating myself into the university environment, with hopes of transferring fairly rapidly to a liberal-arts college or university. The quick transfer would be most desirable to me as I already have a number of disparate credits under my belt from my years as an academic dilettante, and would think it best to be able to search the various faculties at the college from which I intend to matriculate for those professors with whom I share similar interests and ideas before I declare my specialty. Thus, I wish to ensure that kindred spirits will be advising my thesis and recommending good graduate or professional programs to me—and likewise me to them.

I have attempted to make applications to these B.A.-granting colleges before, only to be stymied by the volume of paperwork, particularly as such “paperwork” becomes increasingly computerized. Thus, the bureaucratic assistance hopefully provided by the community college would be of great benefit to me.

My questions are these:

1. All the institutions to which I would desire to transfer are private; knowing that each college may have different policies in this regard, is it most likely that the credits gained at the community college will carry over? It is not that I personally would mind retaking classes in Western civilization, Shakespeare, or rhetoric, or gaining an additional year in which to do my investigative work, but rather that my wallet would.

2. Even if the credits are not likely to carry over, would the evidence of current academic activity nevertheless incline the admissions personnel at the B.A.-granting institution to look upon my application for study more favourably?

3. Most generally, is taking classes at a community college an advisable way to progress toward my above-stated purposes, or would you recommend something else?

You will note that I have not specifically named any of the colleges involved herein, as I’m not certain that the specifics are yet relevant; if they are, though, I can gladly provide them. As for myself, though, it may help to note that I would be considered a non-traditional student, being 30 years of age. Those concentrations which would most interest me are philosophy, literature, and languages, all of which I’ve been studying autodidactically for over a decade. I have published poems and essays, worked as an editor, am bilingual, and have finally come to the decision that it would likely be best for me to make my career in academia.

(In a followup, he noted that he’s American and writing in the American context; the English spellings are for reasons of his own. I asked because I can only answer within the American context.)

I feel ethically bound to warn you that full-time positions in academia in the areas of philosophy, literature, and languages are hotly contested, and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future. While the decision to take that path is your own, I would strongly advise avoiding heavy debt burdens to do it.

That said, I’ll take a shot at each question in sequence, and then ask my wise and worldly readership to help fill out (or correct) the picture.

1. Will the credits transfer? Given that you’re looking at private colleges, the answer will vary from college to college. I can imagine two effective ways to get specifics here. One, if you already know which four-year schools you’d target, would be to talk to them directly. With which cc’s do they have “articulation agreements”? From which cc’s do they take transfers? What are their expectations or requirements for transfer students? It’s common, for example, for them to take certain courses but not others; if you know that when you start at the cc, you can build your schedule to maximize transferability.

If you were targeting public colleges or universities, this would be somewhat easier, since many states have statewide policies or agreements on transfer credits. But private colleges can set their own policies.

You’ll also need to be very specific in your questions. Sometimes a college will “take” certain courses, but it won’t count them towards your degree program; instead, it will assign them “free elective” status. “Free electives” are where credits go to die. Beware.

The other way would be to go to the cc you have in mind, and ask to speak to the transfer counselor. (This person is usually connected to the Admissions office.) Ask about the cc’s recent record of transfers to the colleges you have in mind. How many students went? How many credits were accepted? What are the quirks of admission to each?

Obviously, these approaches aren’t mutually exclusive, and you may be well advised to do both.

2. Is a fresh start likely to improve your chances of admission? If your previous experience was an an “academic dilettante,” then probably. Nothing proves the ability to succeed like a record of success. If you can build a convincing story to the effect that you lacked focus at 18, but you’ve gained life experience and a sense of what you want since then, and your record at the cc shows talent and drive, you should be a very compelling candidate. (Of course, if you do poorly at the cc, that won’t help.) A couple of years at or near a 4.0 should put to rest any misgivings about ability or focus. At cc tuition levels, they should also take the edge off your loan burdens later. Some private colleges even have scholarships specifically for transfer students, so you could conceivably finish with a prestigious degree at a very deep discount. In this market, that’s a pretty good deal.

3. Is a community college a good starting point? It may well be, though again, not every cc is the same. Do some legwork. Does your particular one have a good record of transfer? Does it have enough of the courses you would need? Are you willing to forego the joys of dorm life? (At your age, that may be a blessing.) On the flip side, are you comfortable saving thousands of dollars and having small classes?

If you can honestly answer ‘yes’ to each of those, then yes, it may be a very good option.

Good luck!

Wise and worldly readers, what would you add (or correct)?

Have a question? Ask the Administrator at deandad (at) gmail (dot) com.

The nieces came to visit this weekend. The older niece is three, and the younger one is five months.

The glory of an infant niece -- I’d imagine grandkids work the same way -- is that you get all of the cuteness, without the hard labor. When Younger Niece made the untoward digestive noises they make at that age, I could look at my brother without guilt. And when you’re a few years out of having an infant around, a little one makes a great nostalgia trip.

There’s something wonderful about the way a baby nuzzles her head into you when you’re holding her and she’s falling asleep. The distinctive baby noises -- the snorts and grunts and coos -- bring it all back. At one point, all of the adults were just starting at the baby in her Gymini on the floor. TW was the first to notice that we were doing it; it was so natural that we didn’t even realize we were doing it.

The Older Niece immediately bonded with The Girl, and they quickly resumed being partners in crime. They treated us to some live, improvisatory theatre, in which The Older Niece played a princess, and TG played, variously, a kittycat, a dog, and a monster. In the way that kids always have, they gathered all the adults into a room to watch, announced the ‘play’ with fanfare, and made up the plot as they went along. (“I know! You be the princess, and I’ll be a doggy!” “Okay!” “Woof, woof! (pant, pant)”) They finished to applause each time.

Even TB got in on the act, being a gracious host and doting on the baby. He valiantly volunteered to air-mattress duty without complaint, and held the baby gently when he got the chance. TB and TG put aside their occasional low-level conflict altogether, acting as hosts and role models. TB got to feel like an adult, and TG got to be older than somebody, which doesn’t happen very often. They made us proud.

It wasn’t all smooth, of course. My sister-in-law had loaded her itouch with games for her kids; now TB and TG want me to do the same. (“Fruit Ninja” is the current favorite.) I may never get it back. And after a few days of sleep deprivation, even the best of us can get a little snappy.

But seeing the kids step up like that was wonderful. They were mature, sweet, welcoming, and utterly themselves. And getting a baby-fix without having to change a single diaper is a pretty good deal.

Now it’s back to reality...

Who’s qualified to teach college level math?

This isn’t limited to math, but I’ll start there because it’s concrete. Similar issues arise in any number of other disciplines.

According to some in the math department, you either have a master’s (or higher) in mathematics, or you do not. Engineering isn’t math; computer science isn’t math; physics isn’t math; mathematics education isn’t math. The folks who hold this view claim that they’re upholding standards, and preventing a slow but presumably inevitable slide towards perdition.

At the topmost tier of the discipline, I suppose there may be something to the argument. But I have a hard time with the claim that a physicist or electrical engineer lacks the subject matter expertise to teach College Algebra. It just lacks basic plausibility.

The issue is real because sometimes the classes in areas like physics or engineering don’t fill, and we have tenured faculty who need to “make load” (meaning, have a full schedule). When people can fill in gaps in loads with classes from other disciplines, it’s easier to hire and keep them. When they can’t, the economic burden of their light loads has to be made up elsewhere.

I’ve seen similar issues in other disciplines. Does a Ph.D. in comparative literature qualify someone to teach English? Does a Ph.D. in American Studies qualify someone to teach history? (Put differently, if we insist on disciplinary purity, we couldn’t run, say, women’s studies. The faculty for that teach primarily in departments like English, psychology, and history. The enrollments don’t justify a ‘pure’ full-time hire.)

Depending on the rules of the regional accrediting agency, local culture, past practice, and the issues that individual departments have, I’ve seen each of these questions answered in different ways.

The argument from ‘purity,’ I think, is based on fear of a slippery slope. But it fails to acknowledge the often-arbitrary nature of disciplinary boundaries -- quick, is “modern political thought” history, philosophy, or poli sci? -- and the very real economic costs of specialization for staffing. If the physicists can only teach physics and nothing else, then I have to hire no more than enough to cover the lowest likely enrollments for the next few decades. If they can fill in gaps by teaching math, then I can hire a little more aggressively and not worry as much.

On the other side, I have to acknowledge that the fear of the slippery slope isn’t entirely unfounded. I remember having some teachers in high school who simply lacked subject matter competence in what they taught. It led to some embarrassing moments in the classroom. Gym teachers teaching Health were always crapshoots, but it wasn’t limited to that; I clearly recall my high school American History teacher trying to claim that the Missouri Compromise was when Missouri was divided in half. Um, no. Depending on how far ‘out of position’ an instructor is teaching, the odds of content-matter screwups can increase.

Wise and worldly readers, how does your campus draw disciplinary boundaries? Can a physicist teach math? A comp lit scholar teach English? Should they be able to? In the absence of a really bright line from the regional accreditor, I’m looking for a position I could defend that would respect subject matter competence without reifying disciplinary boundaries and/or locking unsustainable costs into place for decades to come.