We all want more young people to attend college. Who would argue with that? Politicians and educators at all levels extol the obvious virtues, from enhanced earning potential to a greater satisfaction in life. One increasingly popular way to encourage college attendance is through dual enrollment, in which students take courses in high school for both high school and college credit.
In theory, dual enrollment enables high school students to accrue college credits for very little cost and imbues them with a sense of confidence that they can complete college work. If students can succeed in college classes while still in high school, conventional wisdom holds, they will be more likely to matriculate at the postsecondary level.
In Indiana, dual enrollment is encouraged at the highest levels, with state Education Secretary Tony Bennett maintaining that at least 25 percent of high school graduates should pass at least one Advanced Placement exam or International Baccalaureate exam, or earn at least three semester hours of college credit during high school.
In reality, though, dual enrollment may do more harm than good.
Increasingly, students are turning up at college campuses with an impressive number of college credits, thereby bypassing introductory college courses. The problem is that high school is not college and completion of a dual enrollment high school class is not always a guarantee that students have learned the material. For instance, students earning a “C” in a dual enrollment English class in high school with a high school teacher are exempt from a basic writing course in college. They would immediately be placed into upper-level college classes where faculty members assume a basic skill level the students might or might not possess.
As a result, classes that used to be termed “college-prep” are now seen as college proper. The rationale is that if high schools offer the same psychology class, for example, as colleges and cover similar material, these students should be earning college credit. Dual enrollment proponents argue that high school teachers are trained by a university and follow the same syllabus. In practice, however, courses covered in a high school setting on a high school calendar are often vastly different in practice.
This is not a criticism of high school teachers. Many are excellent educators and care deeply about students. But they often teach more classes than college faculty do, have myriad extracurricular responsibilities, and lack the requisite training that enables college faculty to introduce best practices in the field. In contrast, college faculty members expect a higher level of work from students, including having them study independently, write in the discipline and be exposed to the latest research. They are less likely to offer extra credit, or evaluate students based on an inflated high school norm.
High school teachers and college faculty have different roles, equally important. The line between the two shouldn’t blur.
Even the classroom dynamic is different. High school students, especially sophomores and juniors, are not like college students. A collection of 15-, 16-, and 17-year-olds are normally at a different stage of intellectual and moral development than are college students. Treating a high school student like a college student does not always do them a favor.
It is too soon to know how this phenomenon of early college will play out, but my fear is that students will be hurt. In a rush to adhere to federal and state initiatives, high schools have opened dual enrollment classes to as many students as are willing. What student would not be interested in taking college classes for little cost with their own high school teachers in a familiar setting?
We have a concrete example at Manchester College that shows how this new program may impair students. Manchester admitted a student from a celebrated articulation program between an Indiana two-year college and a high school with a strong academic reputation. This student, as a sophomore in high school, earned a “C” in a “college” English course, which exempts her from our basic English 111 College Writing class. Even though her ACT score indicates her writing skills are deficient, we are limited in what we can do.
Like many students who have already passed a “college” class, she thinks she already has the necessary writing skills to be successful in college. We know she very likely does not. Our willingness to increase student access by accepting transfer credit means that, without taking this student’s credits away, we cannot help her with her writing. Instead, by virtue of an average performance as a high school sophomore, this student will be placed into college classes for which she is unprepared.
Many students who presumably have taken more-rigorous writing classes in high school receive no college credit. They are, however, better prepared to succeed at college.
High schools are looking for willing university partners to sanction classes they are already teaching. Colleges are looking to facilitate transfer students; are no longer differentiating between courses taught at accredited colleges and those in a high school.
Other programs like AP (Advanced Placement) make an attempt, however imperfect, to assess student learning using a standard national examination. Colleges feel better about accepting credits when students demonstrate mastery of material on a recognized exam. However, the percentage of high school students able to do well enough on the AP exam to earn college credit is very small.
Most colleges willingly accept credits from like institutions because we trust that our courses are equivalent and that our faculty are credentialed. I doubt that same trust applies to high schools. The best service a high school can provide is to prepare students for college, not substitute for it.
The more we try to expedite learning, the more we send students mixed messages about the distinction between a high school and college education. And we cheapen a college education by making it seem accessible to nearly everyone despite the age and ability of the student or the qualifications of the teacher.
Glenn Sharfman is vice president and dean for academic affairs for Manchester College, in Indiana.
One of the main thrusts of what has come to be called "the undergraduate student success movement" is misguided. Yes, we did mean to use the term "misguided." A strong word and a strong assertion, but we have equally strong evidence. Simply stated, higher education institutions in the United States focus heavily on student success programs, but rarely do they have a comprehensive plan to guide those programs. In the absence of a plan, redundancies and gaps occur, and retention stagnates. In short, a program or programs do not a successful plan make.
Of course, making this assertion means that John Gardner, one of this essay’s authors and a key architect in the national student success movement, has to admit that over the years he may not have given the best advice to all people at all times. For about three decades, Gardner has gone around the country telling college educators that their institutions need to adopt or adapt one form of student success program or another. Drawing from his experiences, the recommended program was often a first-year seminar -- a contemporary staple in the American college curriculum that dates back to the 1880s. And, in fact, research does correlate participation in first-year seminars with positive differences in student retention and graduation rates.
At the same time that Gardner was advocating for first-year seminars in particular, he was also advocating for a broader philosophical approach to the first year. He coined the term, “the first-year experience,” and meant it to encompass a total campus approach to the first year, not a single program. Upon reflection, it seems that speaking about one program extensively while at the same time advocating for a collective approach may have fostered a bit of confusion. And today the “first-year experience” can mean anything from a single course to a full-fledged coordinated effort to improve the first year. But it was the single course that gained the most national and international interest.
Gardner himself ran University 101, a first-year seminar at the University of South Carolina, for 25 years, and then helped replicate this course type at many other institutions. Colleges and universities often adopted first-year seminars because they increased retention rates, and thus increased tuition revenue. Educators were hunting for the silver bullet -- the “program” that would bring about miraculous student-saving and money-making results. This search for the ideal program also became subsumed under the language of “best practices.” The idea was very simple: there are best practices out there, they can be identified and replicated with minimal thought given to context, and these best practices should yield the same results everywhere. But retention improvements that resulted from one-shot programs have generally been short-lived and, taken together, have failed to move the national retention statistics in a positive direction.
Fast-forward several decades, and this search has been intensified. A plethora of organizations and consultants now exist to feed the hunger for specific programmatic solutions to the retention problem. Clearly it is time for a change.
Beginning in 2003, with support from several foundations, the Gardner Institute for Excellence in Undergraduate Education launched a process, called Foundations of Excellence in the First College Year -- a self-study and planning process designed to help campuses move beyond “programs” and “best practices” to the development of a comprehensive intentional plan for the first year. Participants in the Foundations of Excellence process are encouraged to answer a fundamental educational question: What does our college or university need to do to provide an excellent beginning experience for all students relative to our unique mission, location, and student characteristics? To answer that question an institution first needs to assess how it is currently performing vis a vis standards of excellence for the first college year. The process provides nine such standards. Finally, once the plan has been created, institutions must implement it.
But implementing a plan is more easily said than done. Our own research on the effectiveness of the institute’s work with 197 institutional participants has found that the two most significant variables that interfere with executing a plan are a change of senior leadership with its resulting destabilizing effects, and the impact of unforeseen budget cuts.
We have also learned from successes. Over 95 percent of the campuses with which we have worked report implementing action plans. An independent analysis of Foundations of Excellence found that campuses that implemented the plans to a self-reported “high degree” recorded significant first-to-second year retention rate increases -- an aggregate 5.62 percentage points or 8.2 percent higher over four years as reported by IPEDS. Institutions that did not implement their FoE action plans experienced a 1.4 percentage point decrease in retention -- in other words, if you don’t implement the plan you have, you seem to get attrition. To plan is not enough. The executed plans included a combination of changes in institutional policies, a renewed focus on pedagogy in first-year courses, and particular programs -- yes, programs -- that were intentionally selected to address the unique needs of the institution and its students. For example, institutions connected their learning community offerings with their evolving core curriculums to maximize the success of both efforts; orientation programs were expanded to include and serve previously underserved and/or completely unserved populations such as low-income and transfer students; and oversight offices and/or committees were created to intentionally connect previously disparate pieces so that learning opportunities were not left to chance.
In conclusion, our experience leads us to convey that while programs are necessary, unless they are conceived and carried out as parts of a whole, they are not sufficient. What we believe is that institutions need to undertake a thorough planning process focused on excellence in the first year. Appropriate programs and best practices can then organically emerge and/or be modified, executed, assessed, and refined in context.
Institutions cannot fulfill their potential for improving student success without a comprehensive vision for excellence in the first year. Thus, we encourage you to recognize that the future of our students is too important to leave to chance. Instead, we hope you and your institution will become more intentional and deliberate in the way you commit to first-year excellence. In the process, you will be contributing nationally as you act locally to create the change and foster growth that our students and country require.
John N. Gardner and Andrew K. Koch
John N. Gardner is president of the John N. Gardner Institute for Excellence in Undergraduate Education and distinguished professor emeritus and senior fellow at the National Resource Center for the First-Year Experience and Students in Transition, at the University of South Carolina.
Andrew K. Koch is vice president for new strategies, development, and policy initiatives of the John N. Gardner Institute for Excellence in Undergraduate Education.
Leading a college or university today is more challenging — and more important — than ever. It's no exaggeration to say that the future of the American economy rests with how well our postsecondary system educates our young adults.
Severe shortfalls have meant that in nearly every state and college system, budgets are being stretched and cut in ways that few have seen before. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation can't fill those budget gaps, but we and our partners can spark the discussions and research necessary to help find the best way forward.
Today, Complete College America (an effort supported by the Gates Foundation and four other national philanthropies) is inviting all governors to take theCompletion Innovation Challenge. The 10 governors with the most innovative and inventive proposals to significantly boost college completion in their states each will receive a $1 million grant. The idea is to encourage state leaders to enact real change and lasting impact by helping them take on big ideas, like performance funding, revamping developmental education and exploring new delivery models – even in these tough economic times.
Some of you may be chuckling right about now. "Sure," I can hear you say. "We’ll focus on these things just as soon as we figure out how we’re going to keep the lights on."
Things are bad out there, it's true. California is poised to carve $1 billion out of the state university system, reducing its support to 1998 levels. Michigan is reducing student financial aid 61 percent. Even steady South Dakota, home to one of the lowest unemployment rates in the nation, was forced to hike tuition 4.6 percent to help cover its cuts. We understand that these are tough times. No one supports drastic reductions in education funding, especially when we know that education is the key to our nation’s long-term economic recovery. But that is also the primary reason completion is more important than ever. Because if not now, then when?
Forecasters predict that by 2018, at least 63 percent of American jobs will require some sort of postsecondary credential or skill set. In terms of sheer numbers, employers over the next seven years will need to hire 22 million workers with college-level skills, yet the U.S. will produce just 19 million of them over that time – and that’s before these budget cuts are taken into consideration.
To simplify it further: if current trends continue, the education level of the average American worker is projected to decrease for the first time since 1940, when the Census first began tracking it.
The deficits governors and legislators are wrestling with are long-term problems disguised as a short-term crisis. It's true that the recession has exacerbated these shortfalls, and federal stimulus backfill is gone, leaving a gaping hole. But the root causes of this problem are structural. Many state spending plans have locked in substantial annual increases, and there is simply not enough economic growth in either the short or long term to maintain the status quo. Even when the economy recovers, the problems will persist because costs will continue to grow.
Higher education systems and campuses are going to have to be smarter with the resources they have. No more nibbling at the edges in an attempt to wring efficiencies out of a higher education model built in a different era. I believe we are nearing a watershed moment in American higher education. We can either keeping doing things the way we’ve always done them, with less money and diminishing success. Or, we can make the bigger structural reforms we need – strategically and smartly. Realistically, this is our best option for long-term success.
American postsecondary schools spend an estimated $2 billion on remedial programs in which half the students don’t finish. Between 2003 and 2008, American taxpayers spent an estimated $9 billion supporting first-year students at four-year colleges and universities who never returned as sophomores. When we’re spending billions on programs that don’t result in graduates, it’s easy to see how completion relates to our current budget issues.
When we talk about "completion" at the Gates Foundation, we're speaking about creating a postsecondary system that addresses fundamental issues by being smarter with its dollars and by offering programs that fit the lives and needs of today’s student. It’s a system where access and quality go hand in hand, where one is not sacrificed for the other.
Many higher education leaders already understand this. Valencia Community College, for example, posts graduation rates that are 15 percentage points above its peer institutions, despite receiving no more – and no fewer – resources. How do they do it? President Sandy Shugart says they stopped spending so much money and energy trying to get "butts in the seats" and instead began "seeing the college through the eyes of the student."
As a result, the leaner administrative processes allowed the college to invest far more of its resources into counseling and career services, which in turn helps get students to degrees and drive up completion rates.
When Melinda Gates launched our Completion by Design initiative last fall, we asked for groups of reform-minded college presidents and postsecondary leaders to step forward. Scores of them did, despite the tough economic times and the fact that the project seeks nothing less than the total redesign of a community college system.
A total of 27 cohorts applied for Completion by Design, representing 139 colleges from nine states. Collectively, these institutions educate nearly 1 million full-time students, or about 23 percent of all enrollments at public two-year institutions.
In October, when we announced the first wave of digital Next Generation Learning Challenges, we were hoping $20 million in potential funding would energize entrepreneurs, technologists and educators to tackle high-enrollment, low-completion courses such as developmental education and "gatekeeper" courses. Again we were amazed by the response – 600 submissions to the initial RFP, representing well over 1,000 organizations.
These examples tell us that, especially in these lean budget times, there is a real thirst in higher education for new models, new thinking and smarter ideas. And that’s one reason why the foundation is excited to support Complete College America’s Completion Innovation Challenge. It provides those reform-minded governors and leaders another important avenue for resources and support.
Complete College America is a national organization whose sole mission is to work with states to increase the number of Americans with college degrees or certificates. They have both the policy expertise and campus-level experience to know the challenges you face and how you can mitigate or overcome them.
Dramatically improving the nation’s completion rate can seem daunting and impossible. It’s understandably hard to consider retrofitting the airplane you are flying when two of its engines are aflame. We hear you.
But there is a reason why necessity is the mother of invention. And higher education, if it’s going to meet the needs of students and the nation’s economy, is in need of innovation and invention.
Hilary Pennington is director of education, postsecondary success and special initiatives for the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation.
When college presidents and other higher education leaders talk about federal policy these days, the most common theme is dismay at proposed new regulations from the Department of Education. But a close second is the inadequacy of data from the Education Department’s Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS) for evaluating anything.
This is a problem that has vexed us for years, and it's time for us to do something about it.
Every sector is affected. Colleges with many students transferring out to other colleges complain that even when those men and women graduate from the second institution, they still count as failures for their first college.
Universities with large numbers of entering transfer students know that even when they graduate they will not count as successes anywhere in IPEDS accounting. Juniors entering with degrees from community colleges will not help the statistics of their new university when they receive a B.A. or B.S.
Colleges with large percentages of part-time and commuter students know that they normally take longer than six years to graduate. Everyone reminds each other that a large percentage of Americans graduating from college now have credits from more than one institution, often more than two institutions. Many people taking courses at community colleges do not intend to complete degree programs.
Yet six-year graduation rates from the first point of entry are the only figures we seem to have for evaluating completion success. IPEDS data are not useful for management purposes, but they can be outright dangerous for policy making, particularly if leading to conclusions that whole segments of our country can be written off as not college-worthy. The figures are least reliable for low-income populations who do have to “stop out” some semesters, who are more likely to attend part time, more likely to need time for pre-college courses because of weak high schools, more likely to transfer, and more at risk.
So, rather than leaving this for the U.S. Department of Education to fix, I am challenging colleagues in higher education to design an alternative system that is more valid, reliable, and useful.
My institution, Heritage University, in the Yakima Valley of Washington, is one of the institutions fully committed to creating opportunities for a region’s underserved, low-income, largely minority and almost entirely first-generation-college population that, by and large, has not been well-prepared by local high schools. Until my arrival last summer, Heritage’s founding and only president, Kathleen Ross, had for 28 years been building an inspirational learning environment with thousands of success stories from that population. Many of those graduates are not only productive citizens but also leaders in the Pacific Northwest, reaching goals no one would have imagined possible for them before they came to Heritage.
Most Heritage students, to be sure, do need pre-college developmental work; almost all have to hold jobs; many have to “stop out” for a semester from time to time. Some 70 percent are women, many of them single parents determined to raise their families up out of poverty. Graduation figures in the IPEDS data for those who entered at the start of the last decade look miserable at first glance, something like 18 percent in six years. A certain portion of that deficiency derives from Heritage having had in its early years an enrollment policy a bit too close to open enrollment for a college with high standards.
The history of Heritage has been, in effect, a search to understand which students can be remediated to do rigorous college work and which, despite a high school diploma and a respectable grade point average, lack the academic skills and work ethic to succeed. As a consequence Heritage, now with much time-tested data at its disposal, is advising a number of applicants in other directions; is developing stronger pre-college modules for those with ability and commitment to succeed; and is investing in robust advising to complement academic rigor.
One might hope that Rich Vedder, who in a recent Forbes blog post suggested Heritage might best be shut down for wasting Pell Grant dollars, would reconsider that conclusion and decide that Heritage is actually a very good Pell investment in America’s future.
For if he and others study the data more closely, they'll also learn that of those students who actually matriculated as full-fledged freshmen between 2003 and 2005 -- that is, students who had completed any necessary remedial work -- the 8-year graduation rate was 41 percent, not including those who transferred to another college. Of those who successfully became sophomores at Heritage, the graduation rate was 81 percent. Of those who became juniors, as well as those who transferred in as juniors from community colleges, the graduation rate was 81 percent. In each of those last three data sets, Heritage University compares quite favorably with other colleges that have comparable populations. Hundreds of other colleges, moreover, have good stories to tell if they can use metrics that are truer to and more relevant to actual performance than are the IPEDS data.
So Heritage is now developing a metric to assign to every entering student -- based on credits transferred, remediation needed, and planned full-time or part-time schedule -- a predictive graduation date, a benchmark against which success can be measured, with a factor also to account for those known to have transferred to another college.
This is the time, however, to challenge all of us in higher education -- the presidential associations, those who oversee accreditation, and other higher education organizations -- to come together to propose an alternative to IPEDS, or at least a parallel system, that colleges and universities themselves find useful for management and that policy makers can trust.
It must account for transfer patterns, for differential rates of progress among low-income populations, for developmental needs of students, and for the wide array of kinds of institutions in American higher education. It is complex but it is doable. It will give all of us a better system for measuring completion success rates.
John Bassett is president of Heritage University, in Yakima, Wash.
That special day in May has arrived. The students in their graduation robes assemble by the administration building or the stadium or the largest parking lot on campus. They mill around, excited that they’re about to leave the place where they spent the last four or more years, and anxious over the same state of affairs. A few administrators walk by in their regalia, the band or sound system starts up, and soon everyone will march.
So where are the faculty?
“Sorry,” a veteran professor from the English department told me the day before, “but I never show up for these things.” When I ask why not, he just shrugs. He’s taught there for over 25 years. A few other professors respond similarly. The point is, they’re not alone. I’ve taught at three different schools, and faculty attendance at commencement has always been dismal. This year, I was the only faculty member in my department to show up at graduation, and I find that -- let’s be kind and say “puzzling.” Why would you spend years helping your students and then refuse to attend the culmination of all that hard work?
Yet to ask that of most faculty seems to annoy them. They’re independent-minded and don’t like being told what to do, or even be questioned.
“Look, it’s no secret that I’m not exactly a fan of the administration here,” a colleague of mine tells me. “This is my way of flipping them off.” He’s not an evil guy, and this is his rationale for staying away from graduation, year after year.
“But you’re mainly hurting the students,” I reply. “When they’re ready to graduate and none of the faculty show up, what do you think that says to them?”
He shrugs, and the conversation ends there.
Another non-attending teacher puts her hands on her hips when I ask her. “The students don’t show up, so why should I?”
This observation is partly true, so I choose my words carefully. “How about for the students who do show up?”
Another shrug. That seems to be a popular response.
“Hey, I work for my students during the school year,” a colleague from a previous school once told me. I didn’t answer this point, mainly because I’d heard about his terrible teaching evaluations and recognized a self-serving argument when I heard one. “I’m too busy grading finals,” a history professor from the same school told me.
“It’s just too big,” says another faculty member. “I might show up to see the students I taught, but I don’t really feel a part of this...” he searches for the right word “...undertaking.”
In fact, many institutions have both commencement exercises and individual school convocation ceremonies and departmental parties to see off their graduates. But attendance isn’t great at those events, either, and anyway, that’s still not a compelling reason for staying away from graduation.
At one institution where I taught, any faculty who didn’t own their own gowns were obliged to pay for their own regalia, and that was the reigning reason for poor faculty attendance -- until the administration waived the fee, and faculty still stayed away.
At some schools, attendance at graduation is written into the faculty contracts. I gather this measure is necessary because otherwise, faculty representation would be pitiful. Why this should be so, I still can’t fathom. I didn’t enter this profession for big bucks or prestige -- if I had, I would’ve been misinformed -- but because I liked teaching and research. For all its pious platitudes, graduation still celebrates those aspects of academe.
It was many years ago, but I still recall the day I got my doctoral degree: an overcast afternoon that never quite rained. My department was, to put it charitably, ill-represented. My dissertation adviser arrived late and grumpy. I heard him telling another professor that the only reason he showed up was to hood someone -- “and I’m sorry I came because it looks like rain.” At my undergraduate commencement, a few of the faculty from my department came, but none stayed around afterward, though my father asked me to point out some of my teachers.
So I show up at graduation, part of a small cadre. “Hey, professor!” shout a couple of students who see me in my gown. I get a lot of handshakes and a few hugs. With a few, I discuss plans for after graduation, though a handful just want to chat. After the ceremony, some parents want to take pictures of the graduates alongside their professors, which is hard to do without faculty attending.
One student asks me point-blank, “Where are the other professors?” All I can do is shrug -- sympathetically. When it’s over, I pack up and leave the school, still a little emotional, though I’m usually not that type. I’m proud for the students. I’m also upset at my colleagues.
Professors instruct in all sorts of ways. This method is called setting a bad example.
David Galef is an English professor and the creative writing program director at Montclair State University. He also writes dispatches from U of All People for Inside Higher Ed.
Most of the action in American educational policy happens in the states. Their governments are primarily responsible for elementary and secondary education, and the vast majority of students in the United States attend public institutions that are also funded and governed primarily at the state level. So any efforts to improve the interaction between the public schools system and higher education, and to ease the transition of students from one to another to ensure their academic success, will live and die largely at the state level.