Human resources

Appeals court returns retaliation case to lower court

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In reversal, a federal appeals panel rules a lower court erred in dismissing a Hofstra University graduate student's retaliation lawsuit.

Diary of a snowstorm (essay)

2 p.m.

Dear Campus Community,

I imagine you have heard by now that the National Weather Service has issued a winter storm warning, noting the possibility of considerable snowfall for our region beginning this evening. However, because of differing weather models, which call for anywhere from a dusting to more than a foot, we cannot accurately predict the university’s course of action at this time. This might amount to only a minor weather event.

We will make an announcement regarding tomorrow’s classes and operations by 6 a.m. Please stay tuned for email updates.

Thank you for your attention. Enjoy your evening.

Best wishes,

Jack Valtraides
Acting Director of Campus Safety, Facilities Management, Transportation and Emerging Auxiliary Enterprises


***

3:40 p.m.

Dear Campus Community,

Updated Weather Service models are predicting more significant snowfall than earlier reports. Some are calling for upwards of a foot of snow. Still, there is a very good chance that this storm will amount to only a modest total, so we can assume for now that classes and operations will be on a normal schedule tomorrow.

Thank you for your patience.

Best,

Jack Valtraides
Acting Director of Campus Safety, Facilities Management, Transportation and Emerging Auxiliary Enterprises


***

4:15 p.m.

Dear Colleagues,

As you can see, the snow has already begun, well ahead of predictions. This may indicate that snow totals will exceed projections or, perhaps, that the storm will depart the area earlier than expected.

Again, we will update you regularly regarding campus operations and tomorrow’s schedule.

Please drive home safely.

Best,

Jack Valtraides

 

***

 

6 p.m.

Everyone,

We now have approximately two inches of snowfall and are bracing for a major event. The latest Doppler model suggests we may experience as much as 12-18 inches by morning. But hey, this is New England, and we hearty types are used to it. Typical winter around these parts.

Please stay tuned for updates and possible cancellation notices.

Jack Valtraides


***

8:15 p.m.

Folks,

A quick storm update. Snowfall totals are now predicted to exceed two feet. Visibility is zero, and major highways are closed. Looks like I’m stuck here on campus for the duration. At least I’ll be able to attend to emergencies should they arise. I bet those of you who made it home are happy.

Jack


***

9:50 p.m.

Hey, people.

The storm brought down a small tree, which hit a transformer and knocked out power to campus. Normally, utility crews would already be on the scene, but it’s just too darn sloppy out there. Repairs will have to wait until at least the morning. Thanks to generators, some buildings are running with limited power. Still, it’s plenty cold in my office, in case you care.

Jack


***

11:18 p.m.

Hey.

The blizzard rages on, and I’m still freezing. It’s not like I can sleep, anyway, because I don’t have a cot in my office. Even the groundskeeper from "Rudy" had a cot, for cripes sake. So I’ve spent a good bit of time wandering through the semi-lit academic buildings for kicks and giggles. By God, those faculty offices are a wicked mess. What’s wrong with you people? How about spending some of your ample free time (like, you know, the whole summer) tidying things up? Would it kill you?

Dang it’s cold in here. Maybe some of you who lost power know what I’m talking about.

Jack


***

1:03 a.m.

Nothing much going on except a few crazy frat boys running around half naked throwing snowballs at each other. Must be smashed. Bet their parents are really proud. Rite of passage, my keister. In my day, the only rite of passage was joining the Marines. Today’s generation? A bunch of spoiled, self-important brats. Hey, but they pay our salaries, right?

In case anyone gives a damn, we still haven’t made a decision about tomorrow’s classes and work schedules. Yeah, as if you’re all awake reading this.

Did I tell you dilettantes how friggin’ cold it is in here?

J


***

3:12 a.m.

So I managed to scrounge up a small space heater, which is barely enough to keep my toes warm. But heck, who am I to complain? I have a steady job, and I make a decent living serving you people. Oh yeah, I make the big bucks and have the plush office and perks like you upper management geeks. Not. Hope you’re warm and snuggly in your McMansions, dreaming of your ski trips and fancy dinners and “conferences” in exotic places. I’ll just stick around here and take care of campus. No worries. Sleep tight.

And for the record, we still haven’t heard about tomorrow’s schedule. Are we closed? Can anyone make a decision?


***

4:31 a.m.

Anybody awake yet? Are we closed or not? (As if we don’t know.) No, let’s give it another hour and a half. Maybe by then the sun will be shining and it’ll be 70 degrees, and the birds will be singing and sugar plum fairies will be prancing around campus. And I won’t be stuck here anymore, freezing my hind to the bone. Yup, I’ll wait. I have nothing better to do.

Have I told you how much I love this place?


***

5:57 a.m.

Dear Campus Community,

Due to the severity of the overnight snow storm, the university will be closed today. All classes are canceled. Essential personnel should report to work as scheduled. Please stay tuned for additional email messages, and be sure to consult the university’s website for updates.

On a personal note, it’s been a pleasure keeping everyone apprised of our situation during the night. I enjoyed working with each and every one of you over the past couple of years, and I wish you all the best. I am officially announcing my retirement and heading to Boca.

All this is someone else’s problem now. God I hate snow.

Yours,

Jack Valtraides
Former Acting Director of Campus Safety, Facilities Management, Transportation and Emerging Auxiliary Enterprises

Mark J. Drozdowski is director of university communications at the University of New Haven. This is the latest installment of an occasional humor column, Special Edification.

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Appeals court: HR administrator's controversial op-ed not protected speech

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Marymount enlists students to "mystery shop" its offices to improve service

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To measure and improve the quality of student services, Marymount University administrators enlisted students to act as mystery shoppers and critique its offices.

Youngstown State limits adjunct hours

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Indiana Supreme Court upholds firing of tenured professor

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Titles are everything (and nothing) in higher education (essay)

Higher ed, as the casual observer might divine, is awash in titles. We have directors and managers, assistants and associates, fulls and interims. We’re well-versed in vice. Titles mean everything, which is another way of saying they mean nothing.

I’m reminded of that “Cheers” episode in which Rebecca, the bar manager, gives Carla and Woody, barmaid and barkeep, respectively, contrived, bombastic titles because the establishment can’t afford to award raises. They’re thrilled beyond comprehension, sporting their titles like badges of honor and quickly forgetting the corresponding lack of pay.

Back here in collegeland, titles work much the same way. I once went from assistant to associate director of nail clipping, or some such activity, with no raise or change in duties. Nor did I suddenly outrank colleagues and demand they do my laundry. I did, however, have to get new business cards and amend my email signature. For that, I gather, I was supposed to feel professionally elevated and compelled to clip more nails.

Some titles are more self-evident than others. Presidents, we intuit, preside, just as chancellors chancel. An associate vice president is an aide to someone who aids the president. That individual is, technically, an administrative assistant, known in previous generations as a secretary. We don’t use that term anymore because it’s demeaning. Plans are under way in Washington, in fact, to create an “administrative assistant of state” cabinet position.

Provost also is a peculiar title. On most campuses, it denotes the chief academic officer. The equivalent abroad is pro-vice-chancellor, not to be confused with the anti-vice-chancellor, normally the faculty senate president. Some institutions add “academic vice president” to “provost” just to belabor the issue.

Using that logic, we could have a “president and august chief toastmaster” to head up the joint. Did you know that the University of Pennsylvania didn’t have a president until 1930? The campus was led by a provost, owing, ostensibly, to the university’s Scottish heritage. Actually, the phenomenon was the result of 72 failed searches over the span of 190 years.

Endowed positions provide yet another level of titledom. You can be the Ethan Allen Professor of the Ottoman Empire, certainly a distinguished chair, or perhaps the Anna Graham Professor of English Syntax or the Ben E. Drill Professor of Immunology. Some endowed designations have fallen out of favor, such as chairs tied to Enron, Big Tobacco, Arthur Andersen (not the accounting firm but the unfortunate chap who happens to share its name) and Pee Wee Herman. Nonetheless, endowed chairs provide incumbents incalculable prestige in the academy, enviable salaries, and slush funds for research, conference presentations and similarly frivolous junkets.

The longer the faculty title, the more clout it conveys. Having the Dr. Edmund and Ms. Fanny Fitzgerald Exalted Professorship in Midwestern Maritime Studies is clearly superior to the mundane associate professor moniker. Yet among administrators, the opposite holds true: president beats vice president, which in turn beats assistant vice president, which thoroughly trounces assistant to the assistant vice president. More modifiers equate to lower status on the admin org chart.

There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. Thanks to enterprising fund raisers, some non-teaching roles now carry fancy titles of their own. Donors can attach their names to deans, band leaders, coaches and, coming soon to a university near you, their favorite student-athletes. Imagine the country club bragging rights when you announce you’ve established the Duncan Dervish Endowed Power Forward Position, the proceeds of which, naturally, do not attend to the player himself. Naturally.

To manage these ever-elongating titles, the academy has come up with a series of initialisms. We have the CEO (borrowed from private industry, along with the salaries), the CFO, the COO (bloodless, usually), the CIO (which, somewhere along the way, lost its AFL), the CAO (which can be either the chief academic or advancement officer) and the CDO (relating to development or diversity, and never the twain shall meet). Lots of chiefs inhabit our universities, which is chiefly the reason why tuition continues to outpace inflation.

Titles even trickle down to students, beginning with freshmen, who are, for the sake of gender clarity, no longer known as freshmen. “Freshperson” never caught on, likely because of the suggestion of social impropriety, and “freshpeople” sounds like the latest boy band. So we went with “first-year student,” newbies who are subjected to freshman orientation and freshman seminars.

Each institution has its own titular culture, which can be confusing to those outside its gates. When a visitor comes to campus — say, a job candidate interviewing for a title of his own  — we introduce ourselves by stating our titles and expect that person to know exactly what we do. “I’m assistant director of procurement operations,” you announce confidently, only to discover a flummoxed gaze in return. “I buy stuff,” you add. He’ll catch on.

We’ve grown entitled to our titles, forever chasing shiny new ones that bring luster to our resumes and fill us with a sense of pride and purpose. We look askance at those whose title pursuits seem downwardly mobile, even though they might have had good reasons — such as more money or better working conditions or a shorter commute — for their descent.

After we retire, we cling to our titles, often adding “emeritus,” Latin for “no longer on the payroll,” as a suffix. In an age when “personal branding” has become all the rage, we covet things that easily identify and position us. Titles confer worth, or perhaps validate it. They have become a form of currency.  They define our existence.

And yet, they don’t. Titles come and go; intrinsic value persists. Case in point: I tried giving my dog Brady a new title, executive canine, to see if he would stop stealing dirty underwear from the laundry pile. We emblazoned his new title on his bowl and fastened a sign on his crate.

I even wrote a press release for the family newsletter touting his appointment. He did strut about with a more dignified air, but, alas, his malfeasance continued. Stripped of his title and standing, Brady has found legitimacy on his own terms.

He’s a consultant.

Mark J. Drozdowski is director of university communications at the University of New Haven. This is the second installment of an occasional humor column, Special Edification.

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