Fall begins, and the email arrives: “Dear Faculty, welcome to the 67th annual blah, blah, blah. So-and-so won this award, so-and-so had a baby, don’t forget your new copy codes (sorry they come with fewer actual copies), have a wonderful new academic year.”
There’s nothing wrong with the tradition of a fall kickoff email, but as a composition professor, the ones I’ve most often received have struck me as missed opportunities for something … more. What if, rather than transactional (dean writes to faculty members; faculty members read and hit “delete”) the messages were relational (dean and faculty members write to each other)? What if the messages offered genuine reminders of the attributes and behaviors both sides, administrative and professorial, most need from each other to accomplish their common goals?
Luckily, I was able to find an associate dean -- as it happens, my own -- who was willing to attempt this experiment with me. Here is our first attempt at a new-and-improved “Dear Dean/Dear Faculty” sequence -- the sort of thing that could be posted to a common wiki or team site and thus become a living document, not something forgotten by the time Labor Day looms.
Eek, this makes me more vulnerable than I expected!
1. I’m overwhelmed a lot. All of us faculty members are. Teaching takes a lot of energy -- sometimes I feel as though there are a million grabbing hands all over me, like I'm in a Walking Dead rerun. This is why sometimes, when I see you walking down the hall, I avoid eye contact -- it is stupid, it sets an unfriendly tone, it probably makes you feel unwanted and invisible. But I get afraid you are going to ask me to do something I don’t have time to do, and that I won’t know how to say no.
2. Treat us like the talent. You know me -- I’m the person who told a job candidate that “don’t be a diva” was my faculty mantra -- so this might sound surprising, but hear me out. Think of when we were job candidates. Think of all the efforts you took to put us through our paces, all the show-offy stuff we did to earn that slot away from hundreds of hopefuls. You were excited, then, about us -- what we could do, what we could bring. We are still those people -- competitive, vital, exciting. Remember to see us that way, even though we’ve become familiar. Don’t let familiarity breed contempt.
3. Don’t hold grudges. Nothing is more tempting when you are in a position of power, and nothing is more fatal to community. You will never hear the truth about something in your management style that is landing wrong -- no matter how often you claim to be “open to feedback” -- if word gets around that you grip onto grievances. If, on the other hand, you wipe the slate clean between rounds (mixed metaphor), nothing will earn you longer-lasting respect.
4. Be inspiring. By necessity, a lot of our relationship is quotidian. My schedule isn’t working. You need a copy of my textbook order. My request for sabbatical was approved or it wasn’t. But when you can, if you can, I’d love for you to remind me of the bigger picture. When a student writes you to express satisfaction, can you take a minute to forward that on? If a tough meeting goes well or something exciting is on the horizon, can you share that? If I know something motivating and positive is likely to come out of your mouth … well, let’s just say I’ll always make eye contact for that.
While I can imagine some of my administrator colleagues shaking their heads at me for being so naïve, your openness makes me want to take this leap with you.
1. We’re happy you’re back. Seriously, we’re like excited dinner party hosts -- all the hard work and planning have come down to this, when you and your students finally meet and the magic unfolds! So this may sound like a little thing, but when you stop in to pick up your mail this week, please don’t ask all the office staff if they “did anything fun over the break.” And if you do, understand that we’re all going to roll our eyes a little bit. Most of the staff didn’t get a break. Most of us have been here day in and day out, plugging away all summer long to get things ready for you.
2. Be flexible. Centralized scheduling put your class that in that creepy biology lab with all the taxidermy birds. Your partner’s work schedule has changed and that morning class is now going to pose some challenges. Your semester leave request was denied -- again. Believe me, I get it, and I want to help you with all of this. But sometimes the answer is going to be no. We can’t swap your room with the one down the hall because there’s another course going into it in two weeks. I already canceled two other classes so your morning section would have enough students. Your project wasn’t supported because a dozen of your colleagues also put in great proposals and there just wasn’t enough money for them all. There’s almost always a bigger picture, and very few of the decisions I get to make are simple or come without some trade-offs. So I need you to be flexible and forgiving if things don’t break your way. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to balance things out the next time around.
3. We play for the same team. Almost everyone at the college -- the janitors who reset the classrooms each night, the admissions staff and advisers who field countless questions from students and parents, the managers of the bookstore, the staff at the testing and tutoring centers, the administrative assistants and everyone in between -- takes great pride in the role they play in the educational mission of the institution. I know you know this, but sometimes you seem to forget. Be respectful of your teammates: respond to communications in a timely manner, meet key deadlines and be gracious when people ask for your assistance.
4. Keep me in the loop. I know you’re overwhelmed, and that your focus is often on just getting through the next bit of grading. But the more you can keep me informed about your plans -- and potential problems -- the easier it will be to find ways to support you. I’m always going to try to find a way to make things work, but you’ll increase the likelihood of our collective success if you give me time to plan, so give me a heads-up whenever you think something has the potential to come my way.
5. Be excellent. It sounds both simple and grandiose, but it’s really the bottom line. No amount of hard work and planning on anyone’s part matters at all if you and your students don’t excel. My job as an administrator is to nurture and support this success in all the ways I can, but often it’s simply going to come down to your own passion and drive to do extraordinary things. If this is going to work, we both have to bring our A games, and we’re going to have challenge everyone around us to be the very best they can be, too. Let’s do it!
In a higher education landscape in which administrators and faculty are too often posited as enemies -- or at least not as natural friends -- a simple exercise like this can promote mindfulness, connection, empathy and reciprocity. And that, we’d argue, is the best way to start the year.
Nicole Matos is a Chicago-based writer and associate professor of English at the College of DuPage. She is the author of three chapbooks of poetry: Oxidane (BlazeVox Books, 2014), The Astronaut’s Apprentice (Dancing Girl Press, 2015) and Skate/Glove (with Carlo Matos, Finishing Line Press, forthcoming 2016). Follow her on Twitter @nicole_matos2.
Sheldon Walcher is associate dean of English and academic ESL at the College of DuPage.
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