Moving to a ‘Lesser’ Institution

The writer is a current president.

I followed a fairly typical career for a woman my age—went to graduate school, got married, had children and faculty positions, got funding, and had a productive academic and administrative career.

Decades ago, after not getting the job for a presidency I wanted more than anything, I was recruited to a different kind of university-based opportunity, where I learned how to run a large organization, do strategic planning, create interpersonal relationships, understand board dynamics, and become familiar with my own strengths and weaknesses.

When personal tragedy struck, I decided to try a new career in industry. When I explained my new job—as a well-paid executive in a huge international company—to my mother, she retorted that she and my father had raised their children to make important contributions to the world. High salaries and industry titles were inconsequential and not comparable to a life of service.

So, you can imagine her relief when I told her that after three years (where they paid me too much to contribute too little), I was unfulfilled with my industry job and would be pursuing a career as a university president.

Was my mother happy? Well, she wondered why was it a university she had never heard of and couldn’t her daughter get a job at a real university—you know, one of the prestigious ones? My father chimed in with suggestions for presidencies at all the universities where he knew I would be the most qualified president.

Here’s what I concluded. Even if one of the best universities in the country asked me to be president, I would decline. As hard as I might work, I was unlikely to do much to advance a top institution. Instead, I wanted to focus on dramatically increasing students’ social mobility and career opportunities, on the research and creative potential of students and faculty, and on increasing a university’s contributions to its local economy.

So, I thought about those institutions that educate 70 percent of America’s students, the majority of first-generation students and underrepresented students. These public institutions are stewards of place with deep roots in their local communities. At these types of universities, I knew there would be a strong foundation, but also an enormous amount of work to do. I surmised that my skill set might be beneficial.

I have now far exceeded the average tenure of presidents. My board has asked me to stay in my role until—well, for a long time. I am fortunate to have found work that is meaningful, joyful, pleasurable, and gratifying. I spend my waking hours with energized young people who want to change the world and are doing just that. Our faculty are deeply committed to the education of our students, and they are engaged in transformational research and creative activity that enables them to solve real-world problems. Our staff understand that their role is to dedicate themselves to ensuring that our university is the university of choice for students, faculty, and staff, and we are deeply involved in the economic and societal engagement of our surrounding communities.

Sure, my job has challenges, but it is hard to frazzle me. Because I am financially secure, I am old enough to be retired, and I work with both a strong management team and an excellent board, I have many luxuries.

When bad things happen—and they do—I remind myself that things could always be worse. They have been a lot worse. Personal tragedy can be a good teacher. I remember that I have been resilient before and I can be resilient again if needed.

But mostly, I focus on the incredible opportunity I’ve been, coupled with the responsibility I have, to make a huge difference in the lives of those we serve.

I think my mother would be proud of me, even at a “lesser” institution.

The writer is a current president.

As a college president, I have been through a significant fire at my previous institution and two back-to-back hurricanes. We all know what it was like to lead during the pandemic.

Two days before Hurricane Helene landed, I closed the college. We were warned that the flooding would be catastrophic. We prepared as much as we could, but we woke up with no power, no water, no internet, no cell service, all the roads blocked, trees down, and we had no way to communicate with anyone. We couldn’t even call 911. The isolation was real.

The infrastructure in our area crumbled. We were in this situation for at least 10 days. We began to run out of food and water. With no other means of communication, we wrote on a big Post-it pad at our Incident Command Center on campus: “I have gone over to check on Building X, be back at 1:00 p.m.” My team and I ran our emergency operations like this for a week. We are still assessing the building damage, and we will continue to do all of this well into the foreseeable future.

As for me, the stress and the pressure are real. I am human, and I grieve along with my team and our community. I just do it in the privacy of my home. My community needs me to be strong and lead through this.