Someone once half-jokingly referred to a college president as "someone who lives in a big house and begs".
On the other hand, they enjoyed job security roughly on par of that accorded Supreme Court justices and members of the College of Cardinals--or New York Times columnists before Sydney Schanberg.
Now, it seems, they're "dropping like flies". All right, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But I don't think I can recall a time when so many college presidents were fired or pressured into resigning as I've seen during the past year and a half.
The most high-profile of those resignations was, of course, that of Graham Spanier from Penn State University in the wake of the football program's sex-abuse scandals. More recent scandals of other kinds have claimed the presidencies of E.Gordon Gee at Ohio State University and Mary Jane Saunders at Florida Atlantic University.
Then there are those, like Joseph Urgo at St. Mary's College of Maryland, who left because their schools didn't meet recruitment or enrollment goals. That phenomenon is nothing new, as are the ousters over power struggles that took Dennis Trotter out of Hastings College in Nebraska and Teresa Sullivan out of the University of Virginia presidency. Sullivan was later reinstated in response to outrage from students, faculty members and others.
Now, some might argue that Spanier, Gee and Saunders were victims of the Internet and the 24-hour news cycle, as the scandals that brought them down probably never would have seen the light of day in earlier times. But the scandals that claimed their presidencies have, really, the same effect that the power struggles at Virginia, Hastings and other schools had on their institutions.
Although we saw a lot of coverage of the pro-Paterno and pro-Penn State rallies after Jerry Sandusky was arrested, there was a less-publicized backlash against Penn State. Donations to the university dropped considerably, for a time. When that happens to a college or university, it also risks a cut in its state funding (if it's a state-funded school) as well as grants from foundations and the federal government. Also, schools like Penn State that have high-profile sports program have to deal with the loss of prized recruits to other schools and getting blacked out of television coverage of their games.
In other words, the presidents I've mentioned lost or left their jobs because the crises that precipitated them were bad for the school's bottom line. In an age when college presidents are expected to be (and, sometimes, fancy themselves as) CEOs, this is no small consideration. CEOs of major corporations and organizations live in fish bowls: Their every move is scrutinized and they are seen as responsible for everything that happens during an alumni fund drive or a basketball practice. So, the kinds of comments Gee made, or Spanier's response (or lack thereof) to his school's crisis--which may have been relegated to the back section of a newspaper, or not been covered at all--becomes front-page news.
Now, I do not mean to portray the college presidents I've mentioned as victims. They took on their positions knowing, as Jimmy Durante used to say, "Dem's da conditions dat prevail." Still, it's hard to imagine the situations I've described happening under the watch of someone like Robert Maynard Hutchins.
Well, Robert Barchi still has his job--for today, anyway.
18 June 2013
17 June 2013
What Will Happen To Morris Brown?
In previous posts, I discussed some of the difficulties faced by historically-black colleges and universities (HBCUs). Most people who have looked at those schools' problems attribute them to the facts that black students (and faculty members) have access to schools that were previously off-limits and that most HBCUs couldn't build up the sorts of endowments other well-known schools have. But, as I also mentioned, some of the problems HBCUs face have to do with the very circumstances of their formation.
I found myself thinking about those schools and their challenges, again, when I read an article someone passed on to me.
Morris Brown College was founded in 1881 by the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church. The State of Georgia chartered it four years later. During more than a century that followed, it graduated its share of notable people, including Civil Rights activist Hosea Williams and Pulitzer-Prize winning author James Alan McPherson.
But, like other HBCUs, Morris Brown's horizons clouded when schools in the region and nation integrated. Compounding its difficulties was its location: It's in the same neighborhood as Spelman and Morehouse Colleges, long regarded as among the best HBCUs--and among the best liberal arts colleges-- in the country. (Spelman is an all-female school, while Morehouse is all-male.) High-achieving black students who wanted to be in Atlanta would choose one of those two schools instead of Morris Brown.
Of course, other HBCUs faced similar challenges. The ones at Morris Brown were further exacerbated by the fact that it's a private school that was very heavily dependent on Federal student loan money. At Morris Brown, about 85 percent of students were receiving it.
When pots of money are available, charlatans and thieves will come up with ways to get it for themselves. And, no, I'm not talking about the students. I'm talking about Dolores Cross and Parvesh Singh. She was the President of the college from November 1998 until February 2002; he was the college's director of financial aid during that time. On their watch, the college received $3.4million in Federal loan money and Pell Grants in the names of students who were ineligible, never attended the school or who were no longer affiliated with it.
In 2006, Cross pled guilty to one count of receiving illegal loan money. That plea was part of a deal that kept her from being indicted on other charges. Singh pled guilty on one count of theft of Federal funds as part of a deal in which he testified against Cross, who paid $11,000 in restitution.
But they left the school with over $35 million in long-term debt and declining enrollments. That was the major factor in the Morris Brown losing its accreditation (which it hasn't regained) they year after Cross left. Some 3000 students were registered at the school when Cross began her tenure; last year, only 50 remained. When the school first opened its doors 132 years ago, 107 students enrolled.
When Morris Brown lost its accreditation, its students were disqualified from Federal student loans and other forms of financial aid. Even if Morris Brown reclaims its accreditation, it will face an uphill battle because changes made in 2011 to the Parent Plus loan program could prevent significant numbers of students' parents from borrowing the money--which, under the terms of its regulation, can be used for other school-related expenses besides tuition.
According to the article I linked in my second paragraph, Morris Brown turned down a bailout offer from Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed. According to Anne Aaronson, a lawyer for the college, the bailout would have paid off the school's debt but wouldn't provide any operating funds. She claims that there is a "better offer on the table" though Reed--and others--wonder who would make a "better offer" to a school that declared bankruptcy last year.
For more than a century, HBCUs like Morris Brown have served, in spite (and, in some cases, because) of their flaws, an important role. But now it may be time, as Marybeth Gasman has suggested, to focus on one or two programs and become the best at it or them, become a community college or to simply give its campus to one of the other HBCUs in Atlanta. Or, as she also suggests, the campus could be re-purposed altogether.
Adopting any of her proposals would mean, if nothing else, that Morris Brown would not have to deplete itself in competition with Spelman, Morehouse or any number of colleges and universities that aren't historically black.
With all due respect to Morris Brown and other HBCUs, their situation begs a question: If Condolezza Rice--who was the Provost at Stanford University before she became George W. Bush's Secretary of State--were to return to academia, would she go to a place like Morris Brown--or even Spelman or Morehouse?
I found myself thinking about those schools and their challenges, again, when I read an article someone passed on to me.
Morris Brown College was founded in 1881 by the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church. The State of Georgia chartered it four years later. During more than a century that followed, it graduated its share of notable people, including Civil Rights activist Hosea Williams and Pulitzer-Prize winning author James Alan McPherson.
But, like other HBCUs, Morris Brown's horizons clouded when schools in the region and nation integrated. Compounding its difficulties was its location: It's in the same neighborhood as Spelman and Morehouse Colleges, long regarded as among the best HBCUs--and among the best liberal arts colleges-- in the country. (Spelman is an all-female school, while Morehouse is all-male.) High-achieving black students who wanted to be in Atlanta would choose one of those two schools instead of Morris Brown.
Of course, other HBCUs faced similar challenges. The ones at Morris Brown were further exacerbated by the fact that it's a private school that was very heavily dependent on Federal student loan money. At Morris Brown, about 85 percent of students were receiving it.
When pots of money are available, charlatans and thieves will come up with ways to get it for themselves. And, no, I'm not talking about the students. I'm talking about Dolores Cross and Parvesh Singh. She was the President of the college from November 1998 until February 2002; he was the college's director of financial aid during that time. On their watch, the college received $3.4million in Federal loan money and Pell Grants in the names of students who were ineligible, never attended the school or who were no longer affiliated with it.
In 2006, Cross pled guilty to one count of receiving illegal loan money. That plea was part of a deal that kept her from being indicted on other charges. Singh pled guilty on one count of theft of Federal funds as part of a deal in which he testified against Cross, who paid $11,000 in restitution.
But they left the school with over $35 million in long-term debt and declining enrollments. That was the major factor in the Morris Brown losing its accreditation (which it hasn't regained) they year after Cross left. Some 3000 students were registered at the school when Cross began her tenure; last year, only 50 remained. When the school first opened its doors 132 years ago, 107 students enrolled.
When Morris Brown lost its accreditation, its students were disqualified from Federal student loans and other forms of financial aid. Even if Morris Brown reclaims its accreditation, it will face an uphill battle because changes made in 2011 to the Parent Plus loan program could prevent significant numbers of students' parents from borrowing the money--which, under the terms of its regulation, can be used for other school-related expenses besides tuition.
According to the article I linked in my second paragraph, Morris Brown turned down a bailout offer from Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed. According to Anne Aaronson, a lawyer for the college, the bailout would have paid off the school's debt but wouldn't provide any operating funds. She claims that there is a "better offer on the table" though Reed--and others--wonder who would make a "better offer" to a school that declared bankruptcy last year.
For more than a century, HBCUs like Morris Brown have served, in spite (and, in some cases, because) of their flaws, an important role. But now it may be time, as Marybeth Gasman has suggested, to focus on one or two programs and become the best at it or them, become a community college or to simply give its campus to one of the other HBCUs in Atlanta. Or, as she also suggests, the campus could be re-purposed altogether.
Adopting any of her proposals would mean, if nothing else, that Morris Brown would not have to deplete itself in competition with Spelman, Morehouse or any number of colleges and universities that aren't historically black.
With all due respect to Morris Brown and other HBCUs, their situation begs a question: If Condolezza Rice--who was the Provost at Stanford University before she became George W. Bush's Secretary of State--were to return to academia, would she go to a place like Morris Brown--or even Spelman or Morehouse?
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