Monday, May 23, 2016
Books as Decoration
We picked up some used bookcases this weekend, through the miracle of craigslist, and put them in the family room.
Nature abhors a vacuum, so the bookcases had to be populated.
As a former grad student and longtime academic, I own more books than is probably healthy. The pace of accumulation has tapered off over the last few years, but in addition to the bookcase in the living room, there are three full ones in the basement, along with about twenty “bankers’ boxes” of books. My job was to dig through those boxes looking for books that are display-worthy, keeping in mind grandparents, neighbors, and kids’ friends.
It’s more fraught than it sounds.
Some calls are easy enough. The Wife is a dedicated fiction reader with good taste, so her stuff tends to make it. As a non-academic, she missed the whole critical theory/postmodernism thing entirely. That’s mostly good, but it leads to a different sense of book titles. She specifically requested “no embarrassing books.”
Reader, I was offended.
Embarrassing? Embarrassing? Moi? There shall be no room in this house for such rank philistinism!
And then I started unpacking the boxes.
The Marx/Engels Reader? Hmm. Hey, neighbors...
Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the Frenzy of the Visible? Don’t really want to give a synopsis of that one. I can just imagine:
TW: What’s this about?
Me: Visual expressions of female sexuality, especially on film. I remember an extended metaphor about musicals and porn movies.
Me: Well, it doesn’t come with clips. You don’t even want to know her analysis of “Singin’ in the Rain”...
Sexual/Textual Politics? Nooo…
History of Sexuality, Part One? Admittedly, the “Part One” element smacks of comic genius, but The Boy’s friends might have too much fun with that one.
More Sex is Safer Sex? It’s about behavioral economics, but the title is a nonstarter.
The Phenomenology of Spirit? Somehow, “Phenomenology” doesn’t scream “welcome, neighbor!” I kept Minima Moralia downstairs for the same reason.
Gramsci’s Prison Notebooks? Um…
Commodify Your Dissent? Perhaps not.
I don’t remember Walter Benjamin dealing with these issues.
I didn’t scrub everything. Discipline and Punish made the cut -- Foucault, plus lawn care -- as did plenty of substantive stuff with less eyebrow-raising titles. Still, remembering what was considered normal in grad school was a bit bracing.
Wise and worldly readers, do you have serious books you feel obligated to protect civilians from?
Sunday, May 22, 2016
The Summer Shift
Summer teaching is one of the best-kept secrets at community colleges. Many faculty swear that their summer classes are the best classes they teach all year. Every class is different, of course, but for the most part the reasons given are the same.
One is acceleration, and the other is ‘visiting’ students.
Summer terms are usually much shorter than the standard 15 week semester. Seven weeks is pretty standard, though I’ve seen variations involving four or five. Students typically take fewer classes at a time, and focus more intensely on the few they’re taking. From an instructional perspective, that offers a rare luxury. You can build rapport quickly when you see students four or five days a week, and their attention isn’t as divided as it can be when they’re taking five classes at a time.
“Visiting” students are students who are seeking degrees elsewhere (“matriculated”), but are taking classes at the community college over the summer. Often they live locally but go away during the regular semesters; when they come home for the summer, they pick up some classes at the community college. It offers a way to combine the low cost and small classes that community colleges offer with the prestige of the flagship degree.
Visiting students aren’t unique to the summer, but that’s when they’re most common. It’s not unusual for clear majorities of particular classes to be matriculated elsewhere. Lab sciences and various gen eds are the most popular choices; the former because of class size and cost, and the latter for ease of transfer. Even if you’re enrolled full-time at Prestige U, you can typically transfer in a significant number of credits from your local community college and pocket the difference in cost. I can see the argument against doing that in your major, if you’re trying to build relationships with the faculty there, but if you’re a history major trying to knock off a math requirement, that strategy makes a pile of sense.
Financial aid isn’t as straightforward in the summer as in the rest of the year, so the student body tends to skew more affluent. That’s a missed opportunity, given the reality of “summer melt” and the importance of continuity for students who are on the margins. A more robust 12-month schedule could make graduating in two years or less much easier, even for students with developmental coursework. I’d love to see financial aid work more cleanly with a 12-month calendar.
Summer offerings tend to vary by location, too. Brookdale is on the Jersey Shore, where summer tourism is a major industry. That means that plenty of students try to work as many hours for pay as they can during the summer to help offset the cost of the rest of the year. That can tend to depress summer enrollments, especially in high season. In areas with less distinctly seasonal economies, that’s less true.
I like to think of summer as a series of object lessons for community colleges. What could happen if we made the transfer mission more conspicuous? What could happen to completion rates if we weren’t wedded to the fifteen-week semester? (Hint: they go up dramatically.) What could happen if we had more economic diversity among our students?
The political dialogue about transfer, to the extent that it exists, doesn’t include the “visiting” student taking a few classes over the summer, but it should. It’s an easy, low-cost, sensible way to improve on-time completion rates at low cost, and it doesn’t require any dramatic changes to what we’re doing now. Some students have figured that out, but more could, and four-year schools could -- if they were of a mind to -- include summer cc offerings as ways to lower costs (and therefore discount rates) and improve degree completion. We’re happy to take their calls. Hint, hint.
In the meantime, though, we’ll keep working with the students who are enterprising enough to find us, and hoping for the financial aid system to catch up with reality. Summer courses are wins for everyone, even if we almost never talk about them.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
This one is a little wonky, even for me. But the subject matters.
Robert Kelchen did a great piece Thursday looking at various ways that people measure state funding for higher education. If you want to make it sound high, for instance, you don’t correct for inflation; if you want to make it sound low, you do. And including enrollment figures can change the picture dramatically: a five percent funding increase looks good until you realize that it has to cover twenty percent more students. Check the piece out.
From a community college perspective, I’ll add a few more qualifiers.
The usual way of measuring enrollment is FTE’s, or full-time equivalents. That’s the total number of credits taken divided by 15 for a semester or 30 for a year. The idea is to aggregate part-time students into full-time students. So if you have two students taking six credits each and one student taking three, they’d equate to one student taking fifteen. It’s a way to correct for different mixes of full-time and part-time across institutions or sectors. And in terms of teaching, it’s mostly right.
But in terms of institutional cost, FTE tends to underestimate for community colleges and overestimate for elite schools.
That’s because costs don’t aggregate proportionally with credits.
For example, a student taking fifteen credits can’t take two classes in the same time slot. But two students taking six credits each absolutely can. “Peak” times in a community college can be much busier than an FTE count would lead you to think. That impacts instructional cost -- professors can’t be split, either -- along with the need for parking, library space, and the like. A single student taking fifteen credits will necessarily spread them out over the week, but a collection of part-time students won’t. The peaks are higher and the valleys are lower.
In back-office terms, every single student -- headcount, not FTE -- has to have a transcript. Part-time students (six credits or more) are eligible for financial aid, so the demand for financial aid staff and time is higher than an FTE count would suggest. Students struggling with personal issues often attend part-time precisely because of those issues; those same students place greater demands on support services than raw numbers would lead you to think. If you only scale based on FTE count, you’ll fall short. When funding is based largely on FTE, whether directly through tuition or indirectly through operating subsidy, that shortfall matters.
For support services, what we call “unduplicated headcount” matters. That’s the number of actual people who take classes. It doesn’t always move in tandem with the FTE number, either; over the past couple of years, we’ve seen FTE drop but unduplicated headcount remain almost constant. The economic recovery has made it easier to students to work more hours for pay, so they do, and more of them shift to part-time enrollment to make it possible. That means just as many bodies on campus, but fewer credits apiece. Some costs drop, but many don’t.
We know that from the perspective of the “completion agenda,” it would be ideal if more students were full-time or more. (Financial aid defines full-time as taking 12 credits, though it takes 15 credits per term to graduate in two years.) And we’re working on ways to nudge students who are able to do that, to do that. But many just aren’t in a position to do that, for various personal reasons. We don’t have the luxury of a Guttman Community College to say “full time or nothing,” so we do what we need to do to meet the students where they are.
To my mind, a reasonable first-approximation of a funding formula would start with a “cost of doing business” number that covers some basics, and would then look at both FTE and unduplicated headcount. (By basics I mean costs that don’t really scale: every college needs a president, a library director, and a registrar, for example.) Then we could look at rewards or incentives on top of that -- per-graduate bonuses, say. Ideally, it would also track or offset increases in health insurance costs, which are the 800 pound gorilla of higher-ed finance. We’d also build in some room to experiment with other models until we find something more sustainable.
If we got really ambitious, we’d even look for funding parity across sectors. Dream big.
Kelchen’s point is that depending on which measure you choose, you can change the story you tell about funding (going up or down) and still be correct. He’s even more right than he gave himself credit for.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
With Friends Like These…
North Carolina is considering a bill to require five public universities there, four of which are HBCU’s, to reduce in-state tuition to $500 per semester. The reason offered is to make education more affordable for low-income students, though the bill does not provide any increases in state aid to offset the substantial loss of tuition revenue.
I won’t pretend to understand the racial politics of North Carolina in any sort of nuanced way. HBCU’s face issues that are unique to them, and I’m not an expert on those. I’ve never worked at one.
But I’ve worked in public higher education administration for the last thirteen years, and I know a frontal assault when I see one. This is a frontal assault.
It’s all the more frustrating for its disingenuousness. If you’re serious about improving access for low-income students, you have several options. You could invest in scholarships. You could increase operating aid to the colleges the students favor. (The key word there is “operating,” which is the most valuable, and hardest, kind of money to replace.) You could streamline and smooth the transfer process from community colleges. You could invest in student support programs, whether targeted or broad-based. If you’re farsighted and ambitious -- hint, hint -- you could support experiments in different structures and business models. That could involve anything from competency-based programs to expanded Prior Learning Assessment to stackable credentials to heaven knows what.
And none of those strategies are mutually exclusive. You could combine, say, increased operating aid with support for targeted interventions and programmatic innovation. That way, you could address both the urgent need of the present -- students who can’t wait five or ten years for your innovations to bear fruit, if they do -- and the need for a sustainable long-term model. Take a page from the SNHU playbook and run multiple business models simultaneously, in parallel.
What you don’t do is send universities into accelerated death spirals.
Regional publics (including HBCUs) tend to be run pretty frugally on a good day. Taking a third or more out of the operating budget in a single shot is an extinction-level event.
Just thinking about the steps involved gives me a headache. You’d have to declare financial exigency and develop a (fast) layoff plan that would both save enough to keep you afloat and still keep enough to provide some semblance of a program. You’d have to raid reserves or endowments, if any, to pay severances. You’d also have to shore up your legal defenses, because lawyers would start circling. The AAUP would almost certainly censure you, ironically enough, for doing what had to be done to keep the place open. Student protests could get ugly. I’d expect community protests, too, and some heated discussions with donors. I don’t know if the faculty there are unionized, but if they are, expect plenty of issues on that front, too.
Then I’d expect to see some sort of badly inadequate attempt at restoration, in which you’d get back far less than you lost, and you’d be “held accountable” for trying to get back to the -- let’s not forget -- relatively frugal status quo ante. Meanwhile, the underlying tensions of the original business model remain unaddressed, and the physical plant gets neglected.
Or, some of them would just close.
I don’t disagree that the public higher education business model needs serious rethinking. But where I differ from the scorched-earth crowd is in what mathematicians call “order of operations.” You don’t burn the old model down until you have a new one ready to take over. You don’t replace a flawed-but-necessary something with nothing. First you develop the replacement and make it good enough to draw interest away; then you let the old model go. Skipping a step, which is what North Carolina is proposing to do, amounts to abandoning people in terrific need. I assume the sponsors of the bill are smart enough to know that, and are choosing to do so deliberately. I’ll let the sociologists figure out the extent to which the attack is rooted in racism, libertarianism, classism, and/or whatever else, but it’s clearly an attack, and it would likely be fatal to the universities involved.
No, thanks. I’ll go with the Southern New Hampshire strategy over the North Carolina strategy, given the choice. The students are too important not to.
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Easily Overlooked, But Important
The Aspen Institute just issued a “playbook” for community colleges looking to do “transfer” well. (The report has ‘vertical’ transfer in mind, rather than ‘lateral’ or ‘reverse’ transfer.)
I think I’ve used my quota of quotation marks for today.
Anyway, the report looks closely at six community colleges, including my erstwhile employer, Holyoke CC. It draws on lessons from all six about ways to make vertical transfer more visible and successful, but I was struck that it mentioned a key one only briefly and in passing:
Faculty from receiving institutions participating in program reviews.
At most community colleges, departments or programs are on a review cycle. (Liberal Arts is a program; English is a department.) Every x number of years, each program or department has to do a fairly detailed report examining how well it’s doing what it’s supposed to be doing.
I didn’t realize that the longstanding Holyoke practice of requiring the presence of external evaluators from transfer-receiving schools on program reviews was considered unusual. Apparently it is, but it shouldn’t be. I consider it the academic equivalent of having local employers on advisory boards for career-focused programs. The employers know what they want in future employees; presumably, the faculty know what they want in future students.
The feedback proved incredibly useful in several cases, because it got around the problem of limited expertise. Nobody is a subject matter expert in everything. In the case of a program that fell outside the disciplinary training of the dean or anyone higher up, it can be easy for incumbent faculty to circle the wagons and declare that they’re practically perfect in every way. Hell, they may even believe it. But bringing in people from the same discipline who have taught the students who were products of the program provided a welcome reality check. In a few cases, those reality checks occasioned some fairly significant changes. I might not know the ins and outs of Nuclear Basketweaving well enough to judge, but the professor from the university Nuclear Basketweaving program does; if she says something isn’t right, it probably isn’t.
The process wasn’t always smooth or conflict-free, but that’s to be expected. And the point of it -- better preparing students for the next step -- was hard to dispute. Nobody likes to hear bad news, but the peers from outside were generally quite good about phrasing recommendations as ways to make strong programs stronger. We sometimes had to prep them with some discussion of per-student funding levels and the realities of open admissions, but that was only fair.
The reality check worked in reverse, as well. Folks who came in with preconceived ideas about the rigor of community colleges were often positively surprised by what they found. In my perfect world, four-year schools would invite disciplinary colleagues from community colleges to sit in on their program reviews, but that’s not up to me.
There is a cost involved: we typically paid modest stipends along with local travel costs. But for the establishment and maintenance of faculty-to-faculty relationships across institutions, it was well worth it.
The entire report is worth reading, but I probably would have highlighted that piece a bit more than it did. It’s low-hanging fruit, easy, cheap, and effective. I just didn’t know it was unusual.
Monday, May 16, 2016
The Other Legacy of the For-Profit College Boom
The New Yorker has a pretty good piece on the students stranded by the abrupt closures of for-profit colleges. It mentions the students who are withholding loan payments for programs taken at the Corinthian Colleges, which both closed and showed evidence of fraud. And it ends with a heartbreaking profile of a former student who’s trapped in low-wage limbo, waiting for final judgment on loans he won’t be able to repay, and yet rightly wary of going back to school after what happened to him the first time.
As far as it goes, it’s quite good.
But I was disappointed that it didn’t follow through on the photograph that led the article. The photo showed some fired faculty loading boxes of their stuff into their cars, presumably never to return. When the college closed, they lost their jobs. The same is likely true of staff and administration.
Coming on the heels of Burlington College’s closure, I couldn’t help but think about the other legacy of the for-profit college boom: former employees cast adrift.
For a while in the late 90’s, and again in the late 00’s, for-profit colleges accounted for a disproportionate percentage of academic hiring. (I was part of the first wave.) That happened for two reasons: for-profits were growing, and non-profits weren’t hiring. If you were on the market at a particular time and place, you may have had a choice between a sustaining job at a for-profit, and adjuncting at a non-profit. In that context, the glib equation of “for-profit” with “exploitative” was questionable at best.
Some of the people I worked with at DeVry should have been snapped up elsewhere, and would have been in a more rational world. Many eventually were, and when we meet now, we tend to use verbs like “escaped.” One who retired semi-voluntarily expressed his envy that, in his words, I “found a hole in the fence.” It was a difficult place to work in the best of times, and the best of times are well behind it. At least it’s still open.
It had (and has) its issues, which is why we gravitate to prison metaphors. But it also took in a generation of academics that nobody else would. It was a port in a storm. As more of those ports close, the storm only gets stronger.
It’s easy to write the sins of the organization onto the individual employees, but it’s also a category mistake. The faculty there -- myself included -- resented and resisted attempted management intrusions into, say, grading decisions. (Part of my decision to escape was based on not wanting to do that. I can say with a straight face that I never did.) We took our teaching seriously, as did the students. Many of us simultaneously taught at various non-profit colleges and universities in the area, partly for money, partly for a different environment, and partly for validation. Most of us would have accepted, eagerly, offers from traditional institutions if they had been offered.
Monday’s piece in IHE about ever-increasing discount rates suggests, among other things, that the for-profits aren’t the outliers that many academics like to think they are. They’re the canaries in the coal mine. Many of the little ports in which academics have taken shelter are looking unsustainable. The folks who’ve worked at Burlington College aren’t in any better shape now than those who worked at Corinthian. And I don’t think Burlington College will be the last.
For-profits were especially susceptible to boom-bust cycles, since they drew their revenue entirely from enrollment. But an awful lot of smaller private colleges aren’t really that different, and their discount rates suggests that they’ve hit, if not exceeded, the highest tuitions the market will bear.
I don’t really have a happy ending to this one. I just hope that hiring committees at the few places that are still hiring won’t hold past resourcefulness against candidates. They worked honestly, hard, and (often) well. It’s not their fault that they’re left to pack their things for anonymous headline photos.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
It’s graduation season, which means that college graduations, program graduations, pinning ceremonies, and the like are upon us. I’ve been through enough of them at this point -- from the varying perspectives of participant, spectator, and platform party -- to have some comparative, if opinionated, perspective.
I’ve already written about graduation speakers, so here I’ll just focus on the ceremony.
First, the regalia. I’m very pro-regalia. Yes, it’s sort of silly, but it conveys the message that the day is special. Also, gowns are quite forgiving; not to brag, but I still fit in the gown I wore in 1997. I’m a fan of the faculty and administration wearing gowns in the colors of their doctoral institutions, since it makes for a more interesting visual palette than a sea of uniform black (though black can be slimming). And the moment when the students move their tassels from right to left is lovely.
Name reading. I’ve seen ceremonies with multiple readers, and ceremonies with single readers. The best ones, I think, are male/female pairs, which the readers switching off. Varying voices keeps the audience from getting bored. My favorites have been when the name readers come from the faculty. Given the point of the enterprise, it makes sense that faculty should have a speaking role at graduation. And when you have pairs of faculty doing it, they can plan so when one person’s student comes up, the other can read the name, so the one whose student it is can give a hug or a high-five.
Selfie sticks. No. Just, no.
Strutting up the walkway. I say, go for it. By the time we get to the students walking, they’ve already been listening to various speakers for a while, and everyone is a little antsy. The point of the day is celebration, and some exuberance straining against the boundaries of the ceremony is to the good. Live a little. The same goes for enthusiastic cheering sections for individual students. No air horns -- that’s just gauche -- but some coordinated cheers are morale boosting for the student and comic relief for everyone else.
Pledge of allegiance/national anthem. I’ve seen ceremonies in which everyone removed their caps and held them on their hearts, like baseball caps. I’ve also seen ceremonies in which the caps stay on. I don’t know the “rule,” but each place seems to have its own variation. At the Culinary graduation last week, I noticed the chefs kept their chef hats on during the pledge. I’m not sure what the “rule” is there, either. I’ll admit that I have to fight the urge to yell “Play Ball!” at the end of the anthem. I don’t remember ceremonies featuring either the pledge or the anthem before 9/11, so the issue didn’t come up.
Cap decoration. For faculty and administration, no. For students, yes. My favorites are either the purely celebratory or the clever. At this point, you’re a college graduate; show some wit. At Brookdale’s celebration, one student had the chemical structure for caffeine on her cap. That’s how it’s done.
Outdoors/Indoors. Outdoors offers potentially infinite seating, and allows for little kids to run around when they’re bored. That said, outdoors also means you’re at the mercy of the weather. Heat and humidity don’t go well with multiple layers. At Holyoke we used a huge wedding tent for a few years after the fire marshall said the gym was too small. The tent had its virtues, but the acoustics were terrible and we had to keep our fingers crossed that there wouldn’t be lightning, since it wasn’t grounded. One year a small swarm of bees made its way onto the platform, which added some suspense to the proceedings. If you’re holding the event on a soccer field or something similar, there’s a very real danger of mud. That’s a nuisance for high heels, but a disaster for wheelchairs. Also, port-a-potties are gross. I’m a fan of indoors, where you have air conditioning, real bathrooms, flat/dry floors, and a decent sound system. If it’s a nice day, you can always have the post-ceremony reception outside.
Saturday or Sunday ceremonies. Not a fan. By the end of the semester, the faculty and staff are fried. Have the decency to hold the ceremony on a weekday.
Tight controls on tickets. If you can avoid it, avoid it. Community college students are sometimes the first in the extended family to graduate from college, and the extended family wants to see it. This should be encouraged. (As a frustrated student once put it, “YOU tell Grandma she can’t come!”) If that means springing for a larger venue, as Holyoke did, or having two separate ceremonies, as Brookdale did, then do it. Yes, there’s an upfront cost, but the goodwill generated in the community is powerful. And when little kids cheer their parents as they walk across the stage, well, if you don’t like that, there’s just something wrong with you.
The shoes! Watching the variety of footwear as students walk across the stage is always fun.
That said, I’ve advise students against flip-flops. Show at least a little effort. If the ceremony is outdoors and it looks like rain, you might want to go with flats. (See “mud,” above.)
Finally, length. As with the advice for graduation speakers, brevity is your friend. If a ceremony drones on for too long, people start to leave, and the students towards the end get shortchanged. Besides, the chairs are uncomfortable and the gowns are hot. Shoot for no more than two hours total.
Wise and worldly readers, what would you add?
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Thursday was “Scholars’ Day” on campus. That’s a day for faculty and staff to do presentations for their peers on things they care about. For me, it’s a rare chance to see faculty in their natural habitat, doing what they do really well.
I was heartened to see that the faculty-led panel on Open Educational Resources (OER) was standing-room-only. Even better, two of the professors who had used OER in their classes this Spring reported improved course completion rates, one by double digits. In a survey one professor conducted in two sections at the end of the semester, fewer than half of the students said they “always” buy assigned textbooks, and 16 percent said they never do. Apparently, when more students actually have the material, more of them do the reading. And when every student has the material from day one, fewer fall behind.
Much of the discussion centered around ancillary materials -- tests, quizzes, worksheets. Commercial publishers now are starting to build ancillary materials to supplement OER textbooks. Get the book for free, but pay, say, $25 for other stuff to round it out. I had to admit being impressed at the ingenuity of the publishers.
At first, it struck me as cynical exploitation, if not open violation of Creative Commons. But when other faculty expressed concerns about the workload involved in generating entirely new ancillary materials from scratch, I started to see the appeal. In a perfect world, all that stuff would be free, and it sounds like Open Stax is starting to develop it. But a student who gets the book for free and pays $25 for ancillaries is still getting a better deal than one who pays $200 for a bundle with an online code she can’t resell.
Details aside, though, the level of faculty interest was encouraging, and the reports from the early pilot sections ranged from mixed to generally positive. Student results were encouraging, and student survey feedback was strongly positive. We may be on to something.
I had been tasked with making some opening remarks. The professor who introduced me just went with “go to it, Dr. Reed.” Not the most florid intro, but it would make a great title for an autobiography.
From the “left-handed compliment” department: this week The Boy was falsely accused of plagiarism by his English teacher because his paper seemed too good.
He’s that good. The Boy can flat-out write.
To be fair, he’s growing up in a house in which it’s not unusual for dinner conversation to turn to the merits of the Oxford comma. (I’m pretty dogmatically “pro.” Luckily, my President is, too, so we’ve decreed that the accreditation self-study shall use the Oxford comma.) We read and write a lot, and we’ve talked to the kids like adults pretty much from the beginning.
That may account for competence. The flair is all his. And I have the same sort of pride that other parents have when a kid has a great fastball or a nasty three-point shot.
Meanwhile, The Girl is obsessed with the “Hamilton” soundtrack. At breakfast last week, she asked me if Hercules Mulligan was a real person. That’s a tough one before the first cup of coffee.
A correction to the post earlier this week about IPEDS graduation rates: I should have referred more specifically to IPEDS-GR. It’s the headline number, but IPEDS as a whole contains far more than the headline number. Thanks to Tod Massa for clearing that up.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Good for the Soul
On a day when you’re just a little crabby for all the silly little petty reasons that people get crabby, there is no faster cure than listening to a mother of four talk triumphantly about her return to college and the example she set for her kids, two of whom are in the audience, beaming.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Barack Obama is a College Graduate
Barack Obama didn’t show up in IPEDS statistics as a college graduate. That’s because he transferred before graduating. I’d say he’s done okay for himself.
I love the #CountAllStudents campaign. It’s an effort to share anecdotes of students who attended both community college and a four-year college, eventually graduating from the latter, but showing up in the official numbers of neither. Students who fit that profile are far more common than most people realize, and missing them can lead to terrible policy decisions.
Normally I’d object to something entirely anecdotal, on the grounds that it’s, well, entirely anecdotal. But the statistics have been out there for a while, and people keep ignoring them. Maybe anecdotes will help the numbers break through.
For example, according to the National Student Clearinghouse Research Center, roughly 46 percent of bachelor’s degree grads in America in the last ten years have significant numbers of credits from community colleges; 65 percent of those have at least three semesters.
For context, 46 percent is almost exactly the percentage of undergrads in America who are enrolled at a community college at any given time.
In other words, the percentage of undergrads at cc’s and the percentage of bachelor’s grads with significant cc credits are almost exactly the same.
That report came out over a year ago. The political discourse barely noticed.
If community colleges were actually the barriers to success that some folks insinuate, I’d expect to see their representation among bachelor’s degree grads to be much lower than it is.
The #CountAllStudents campaign gives both names and stories to explain what looks like a contradiction. If you take “too long” to graduate -- meaning more than 150 percent of “normative” time -- you won’t show up in grad rates. If you transfer prior to completing the associate’s, you won’t show up in either school’s grad rate. If you reverse transfer prior to completing the associate’s, you won’t show up in the grad rate. But in every case, you will show up in that population-level number of total college graduates.
The population-level number gives a much truer picture of the performance of the sector as a whole, though it doesn’t do as much to measure the performance of any given school. That’s because people move. Hampshire County, Massachusetts doesn’t have a community college in it, but it has people with associate’s degrees. They came from somewhere. Hunterdon County, New Jersey is the same way (though much more expensive). And even in places that have community colleges, people don’t necessarily live where they went to school. If the point of tracking these statistics is to isolate a given institution, it may not work well. But as a snapshot of the sector as a whole, it captures a truth that’s too easily lost when you just look at school-by-school grad rates.
If anecdotes help make the point more effectively, bring ‘em on. Barack Obama is a college graduate, whether he shows up in any school’s numbers or not.
Monday, May 09, 2016
Tips for Graduation Speakers
I’ve attended my fair share of graduation ceremonies over the years. In fact, arguably more than my fair share, since DeVry did three ceremonies per year. I’ve seen some good ones, and some regrettable ones.
Having been to plenty, both on the dais and in the audience, I have a few tips for those poor souls saddled with the no-win task of being the graduation speaker.
If you have it in you, be funny. If you don’t, don’t.
Inspirational quotes, aren’t. Don’t.
Unless you are a Hugely Famous Person -- Barack Obama, say -- nobody is there to hear you. They’re there to cheer for their loved ones. Make room for that by not taking up too much.
As far as humor goes, keep it safe. Families are there, children are there, and people have baggage far beyond your comprehension. DO NOT make jokes about student loans or jobs. Seriously. Don’t do it. Safe subjects include cute kid stories, cute pet stories, and very mild self-deprecating anecdotes. You’re going for G-rated here. This is not the place to figure out if you were meant to be a standup comic. This is not the place for “edgy.” A previous college of mine stopped inviting graduation speakers when the last one ended his overly-long speech with a joke that ended with the punchline “you don’t sweat much for a fat lady.”
Don’t do that. Just, don’t. The same applies to ethnic jokes, sex jokes, drug jokes, political jokes, and topical jokes. Don’t do impressions. If they’re remembered at all, they’re remembered negatively. Respect the occasion.
If you are a political figure, and you feel the need to say “I would be remiss if I didn’t mention…”, go ahead and be remiss.
It’s not about you. It’s about the students and their families. Let them have their time. They’ve worked for it -- often, much longer and harder than you would guess -- and they’ve earned a moment. Let them have their moment, and enjoy watching the elated faces and the hugs when it’s over. Speeches may get old, but those never do.
Sunday, May 08, 2016
In Which I Consider Resorting to a T-Shirt Cannon
Subtlety hasn’t worked. I may need to resort to more drastic measures.
Last year I wrote at some length about a report showing that the “death of the humanities” narrative is exactly wrong when applied to community colleges; recent statistics showed that humanities majors are the fastest-growing majors in the two-year sector.
Nobody noticed, except those of us who actually staff classes.
This year I’ll try again, perhaps more directly. As an update to the report shows:
The number of associate’s degrees conferred in academic disciplines classified by the Humanities Indicators as being within the humanities rose from 2013 to 2014 (from 338,688 to 347,735; a large majority of the associate’s degrees counted as humanities were in “liberal arts” and “liberal studies”). This continues a trend extending back to 1987. From that year to 2014, the number of degrees increased by an average of 4.3% per year, though growth in the most recent two years has been slower than average.
“This continues a trend extending back to 1987.” It’s worth looking at the charts. Even the social sciences -- my own academic home -- are finally gaining some ground, though admittedly from a more modest base.
Okay, one might say, the charts are pretty good. But why do they matter?
They matter because they fly in the face of so many assumptions people make about higher ed, both from within and from outside.
First, and at a basic level, they expose the assumptions behind the “death of the humanities” narrative. To make a “death of the humanities” argument, you have to exclude the entire two-year sector. Most of the folks who make that argument do exclude the two-year sector, but without acknowledgement and seemingly without thinking; it just doesn’t occur to them to look. I’ve never seen a principled argument for making that move; it simply doesn’t occur to them that they’re making a move at all. They are, and they should have to answer for it.
Second, they demonstrate that, as I’ve argued here serially, “transfer is workforce.” Humanities majors at community colleges generally intend to transfer for four-year degrees and often beyond. Many of the best-paying jobs require a bachelor’s degree or more. Given the steadily-increasing cost gap between two-year and four-year schools, the financial argument for transfer is getting stronger, and students are responding rationally. Politicians who look at “workforce” programs (that is, terminal associate’s or certificates) as “real” and transfer programs as “fuzzy” or “indulgent” miss the point. There is a cold, hard rationality to doing a transfer degree first, and students know it. STEM fields are great, but they aren’t the only option.
Third, graduate programs in the humanities need to take note. Too often, they extrapolate from their own past -- 1970 is usually taken as the Golden Age, though statistically it was more of an outlier -- and assume some variation of the “beautiful loser” pose. Meanwhile, their students need work, and humanities at community colleges are in their fourth decade of growth. A few forward-looking types are starting to try to talk sense to graduate programs -- hat-tip here to Paula Krebs for the New England Cross-Sector Partnership, which I’ve taken as a template for the Brookdale-Princeton partnership -- but given how long these trends have been going on, the stage of development of these partnerships is embarrassingly early.
The coalition of people predisposed to ignore this trend is broad and deep. But that doesn’t make the trend any less true. I’m thinking maybe it’s time to resort to more drastic measures -- parades, t-shirt cannons, skywriting. The humanities are healthy and growing at community colleges. And that’s a good thing. Let’s acknowledge it, fund it, and train for it.