Vol. 73: Not-so-great expectations

Advice for freshly minted university presidents

Stop me if this sounds familiar.

         Last August Kerry Walk, president of Marymount College in Manhattan for the previous eight years, assumed the same position at Philadelphia’s University of the Arts, a venerable institution whose constituent schools have produced artists, performers, composers, and designers since 1876. Upon her arrival, Walk exuberantly declared, “UArts’ mission, to advance human creativity, has never been more important or more compelling than it is today.… Artists and creative thinkers are at the forefront of innovation and meaningful social and economic change." To aspiring young artists and musicians whose career preferences leave them at risk of starvation and homelessness, Walk offered this reassurance: “Calm down, you’re going to be employed! The Philadelphia area is an arts and culture powerhouse, and there are tens of thousands of jobs in the region’s $4 billion creative economy. The arts rule!”

         This past May 31, after ten months on the job, Walk announced that UArts would close its doors for good within a week, due (long-term) to dwindling enrollment and financial shortfalls and (short term) to the revocation of the school’s accreditation. Or was the accreditation revoked because the closing was announced so abruptly? This appalling mystery remains unsolved.

Liz Magill’s mistake

         —A year earlier, Liz Magill, provost at the University of Virginia, was hired as the ninth president of the University of Pennsylvania. Like UArts, Penn is a venerable Philadelphia institution, but unlike UArts, it’s a school known not for producing sculptors and ballerinas but lately for churning out hedge fund managers, who possess more money than they know what to do with, strong opinions about education, and no educational credentials whatsoever. Notwithstanding its not-for-profit status, Penn is currently the biggest business in Philadelphia, with an annual operating budget of $4.4 billion and 7,800 different endowment funds worth a total of $21 billion. No wonder Liz Magill was excited when she arrived from Virginia.

       “Living here in the world-class city of Philadelphia, working with you to make Penn even more extraordinary, this will be the honor of a lifetime,” she announced upon her arrival. Then she elaborated:

         “I have a lot more to learn, which I will do in the coming weeks and months. What have I seen so far? Twelve extraordinary schools, each internationally acclaimed and attracting students from every corner of the world, collected on a beautiful urban campus; proudly in and of Philadelphia, one of the greatest cities in the world; a place that works to be a good neighbor, citizen, and partner in West Philadelphia and in Philadelphia; a place that excels at so much, and yet is not the least bit self-satisfied, which means its people are innovative and willing to take risks. It is a place that is committed— deeply— to making a difference in the wider world through research and teaching. And, finally, at the foundation of all this, Penn is a place with deep-seated values that reflect respect for all and a sincere commitment to service, to diversity in all its forms, and to creating conditions where all can thrive so we can as a Penn community have our greatest impact on the world.”

         Well, she got at least one thing right: She had a lot more to learn. This past fall Magill fell afoul of Penn’s aforementioned hedge fund alumni over some issue of importance to them— I think it had to do with her reluctance to worship their golden calf— and before you could say “moral clarity,” Magill was O-U-T after less than 18 months in the Penn president’s office.

Hardnosed realism

         And the moral of these stories is (choose one) ….

A)  If you know what’s good for you, avoid Philadelphia.

B) Not-for-profit organizations aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

C) Good university presidents, like good editors, keep their bags packed.

D) If forced to choose between art and money, universities understand their priorities.

E)  All of the above.

         Granted, cheerleading may be the prime requirement for a university president these days. But the two above-named presidents might still be with us if they’d injected a dose of hardnosed realism into their opening remarks. Since I expect to be offered a university presidency any day now, I’ve been working hard on my inaugural address. I offer my latest draft here in the hope that other college presidents may find it useful.

Ideal compensation package

         To the trustees, faculty, staff, donors, alumni, and long-suffering sports fans of (___________) University:

         Oh, wait— did I forget the students?

         It’s an enormous privilege to assume the presidency of this internationally esteemed university. (___________) is a great institution, and (___________) is a great city, known throughout the world for its great  (___________). My arrival today is the culmination of my lifelong ambition. And I would feel that way even if the university’s speechwriters hadn’t told me to say so.

         My lifelong cross-disciplinary scholarship stands at the intersection of three fields that define our modern world: knowledge, power, and greed. To sit in the president’s office on this beautiful campus, drawing an extortionate salary and enjoying free housing, meals, medical coverage, life insurance, sub-market loans, and a presidential peephole where I can ogle coeds cavorting in the shower, has been a dream I have cherished ever since I first heard of this school last month.

         I’m grateful for the confidence the trustees have expressed by signing me to an ironclad two-month contract, with an option to extend it two more weeks by mutual agreement. I’m especially grateful that they’ve placed my entire salary in escrow, thus sparing me the need to kidnap one or more of their children and hold them hostage in an abandoned warehouse until we reach an equitable severance agreement.

         Since I feel humbled to be here, I will keep my remarks short, especially since my parking meter has almost expired.

Where are the stockholders?

         In my previous career as an editor, I often heard it said: A good editor treats every issue as if it’s his first, and his last. That is, you want the excitement of your first day on the job but also the uncompromising honesty of your last day, when you have nothing to lose. And at this university, your first day could also be your last! So let me be brutally honest about the challenges we will face together in the hours ahead.

         Our beloved institution, which I have admired ever since I got hired last week, is at a critical turning point. Or maybe it isn’t. But if you doubt that it is, why would you listen to me when you could be watching re-runs of “Columbo”?

         Let me briefly spotlight the challenges before us— briefly because, as you can understand, I have other pressing obligations, like checking the flights to Rio de Janeiro.

— This university lacks stockholders. In a not-for-profit, nobody has their life’s savings tied up in the place. That means nobody cares urgently about its survival, and anyone can leave at any time, myself included. And you wonder why I demanded an Uber account in my compensation package? Our only real stakeholders are the folks whose names grace our campus buildings. Unfortunately, they feel this gives them the right to dictate what goes on inside those buildings.

— We have hundreds of tenured professors who can’t be fired, no matter how weirdly they speak or behave. Many of them suffer from dementia and incontinence. They enjoy job security, yes, but are they happy? Au contraire, they’re required to interact with people they can’t stand from morning ’til night, for the rest of their lives. It’s a lose-lose situation for everyone but me: I can skip out any time, except after midnight now that Amtrak has curtailed its late-night train schedule.

— Our campus is overrun with students whose synapses haven’t yet grown together. They’re clueless about the relationship between actions and consequences. Yet these self-centered twerps represent humanity’s only hope for meaningful change. If that doesn’t depress you, what have you been smoking?

— We’re also plagued by parents who think our exorbitant tuition and fees entitle them to treat education as a commodity, and who moon me when I insist that it’s a sacred calling.

— Then there are those swarms of wealthy donors, who— well, you know what they say: Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em!

— Let’s not forget our perpetual infestations of alumni, most of whom couldn’t be admitted here if they applied today. But they keep hanging around here anyway. Don’t they have jobs?

Our global community

         To address these challenges, I offer nothing but blood, toil, tears, and sweat, or at least three out of those four, depending on how long I last here. In any case, I look forward to getting to know the global (___________) University community— our diverse alumni, parents, and supporters all over the world, whom I look upon as potential friends and, more important, prospective employers.

         Let me assure you that, working together, we can build a bright future for this university in the days and weeks ahead. As for next month, I’m not so sure. That’s why I have chosen to decline the ornate trappings of the presidential mansion and to take up residence instead in the Red Roof Inn near the airport, the better to facilitate my getaway when things go south, as they inevitably will.

         Let us conclude by joining hands for the singing of “Hail to Our Alma Mater.” Well, to your alma mater, anyway.

My real-life role model

But seriously….

         When it comes to inaugural addresses, my role model was a young rabbinical student named Joy Levitt, who back in the ’70s ran a monthly Friday evening seder program that my daughters attended as Hebrew school students at Society Hill Synagogue in Philadelphia. At the first seder, Joy introduced herself thusly:

         “My name is Joy Levitt, and I’ll be leading these monthly seders for the rest of the school year…. if they haven’t fired me.”

         When I checked the other day, Joy had just stepped down after 25 years as chief executive of the Jewish Community Center of Manhattan, in which role she built that institution into one of America’s most prominent Jewish centers. She was the first female president of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association. In 2010 she was named one of America’s 50 most influential rabbis.

         There’s something to be said for lowering expectations.

Enjoy Dan Rottenberg’s new memoir, The Education of a Journalist: My Seventy Years on the Frontiers of Free Speech. You can also visit his website at www.danrottenberg.com