Spring Break
3/8/2007
While some head to beaches, I'm spending this week's spring break on an exciting archeological expedition. I have not, repeat not, located the Jesus family tomb. Instead, I'm happy to report that I've struck wood—under all the *@^&!? formerly on my desk.
Now please don't jump to conclusions. Much of that *@^&!? was carefully crafted strategically useful *@^&!?, some forwarded to me directly by respected peers, colleagues, and dare I say it, even superiors. Yet in this Lenten season I must Confess: The feeling of Exhilaration I experienced as I Pitched it into the recycle bin, then exchanged my full bin for another, then another, was Unparalleled.
Reminded was I of Kafka's aphorism: What is laid upon us is to accomplish the negative; the positive is already given.
Mind you, I did save some of it. A little.
Meanwhile we're in the season of hiring new faculty for next year. I love this part of the job. For one thing, for each position, I get to meet with 3-4 really terrific people, whom my faculty colleagues have culled from many, many applicants and usually dozens they've met or spoken with personally. I learn so much from these people. Earlier our students got to meet them, to see them in action teaching, and to weigh in with their recommendations. Ultimately in a small college like ours, I feel like every single hire is crucial, and it's an absolute moral imperative to find someone brilliant, fascinated with her/his field, open to thinking about the big, enduring questions in our liberal arts and sciences context and in terms of Dominican's distinctive mission, and someone who loves—really loves—students.
All of our faculty do research, produce scholarly or creative works, and contribute to the vitality of their academic disciplines. But they do it in dialogue with their colleagues, and with our students. Scholarship and teaching are complementary, not contradictory.
And so we're hiring some new colleagues, new teachers. And we're getting the ones we want. I just sealed the deal with one today. He's so excited to be coming here that he wished he could start now. I think the commitment from our people to depth, to quality, to community and to making a difference, is just so palpable that other people just find themselves wanting in on that. It's the real deal and for faculty who love what they study, and who love to share that with others, it's an ideal place to be.
Another thing I get to do this week is write letters for current faculty who are being reviewed. Part of that process is reading comments from students about their experiences with these teachers. It's just so gratifying. Here are a few of the many glowing student comments about the four faculty colleagues I'm reviewing this week:
While I'm doing desktop archaeology and other fun stuff, some of my colleagues are leading students on a variety of alternative spring break service trips to places like Nazareth Farm in rural West Virginia. These kinds of experiences, I hope, become practice sessions for a pro-bono lifelong lifestyle we want our students to adopt—that is, to give away one's expertise to others, so that one's education is not just another exercise in narcissism but rather an opportunity to expand one's sense of not only what but also who matters. Pro-bono. Give it away for the common good. It's not just for lawyers any more.
And then along the way this week I find myself, continuing my arguably tasteless decapitation theme from my previous blog entry, reading a wonderful little new book by Robert Olen Butler called Severance. Here's the premise: "After decapitation, the human head is believed to remain in a state of consciousness for one and one-half minutes. In a heightened state of emotion, people speak at the rate of 160 words per minute." Thus, our author concludes, each head could utter 240 words in those 90 seconds. I rather doubt that this is anywhere close to accurate, but it's fiction, and I go with it. What would one say in those 90 seconds? And so Butler writes essays, each exactly 240 words in length, imaginatively construed as the final utterances of such famously decapitated figures as Medusa, Cicero, John the Baptist, St. George (and in a separate entry the Dragon he slew), Anne Boleyn, Marie Antoinette, as well as lesser-known figures as Jacob (American slave beheaded by his owner), Angry Eyes (Apache warrior beheaded by Mexican troops), Agnes Gwenlan (factory girl beheaded by an elevator) and, one of my very favorites, a chicken, beheaded in Alabama for Sunday dinner in 1958. Our Chicken concludes this way:
While some head to beaches, I'm spending this week's spring break on an exciting archeological expedition. I have not, repeat not, located the Jesus family tomb. Instead, I'm happy to report that I've struck wood—under all the *@^&!? formerly on my desk.
Now please don't jump to conclusions. Much of that *@^&!? was carefully crafted strategically useful *@^&!?, some forwarded to me directly by respected peers, colleagues, and dare I say it, even superiors. Yet in this Lenten season I must Confess: The feeling of Exhilaration I experienced as I Pitched it into the recycle bin, then exchanged my full bin for another, then another, was Unparalleled.
Reminded was I of Kafka's aphorism: What is laid upon us is to accomplish the negative; the positive is already given.
Mind you, I did save some of it. A little.
Meanwhile we're in the season of hiring new faculty for next year. I love this part of the job. For one thing, for each position, I get to meet with 3-4 really terrific people, whom my faculty colleagues have culled from many, many applicants and usually dozens they've met or spoken with personally. I learn so much from these people. Earlier our students got to meet them, to see them in action teaching, and to weigh in with their recommendations. Ultimately in a small college like ours, I feel like every single hire is crucial, and it's an absolute moral imperative to find someone brilliant, fascinated with her/his field, open to thinking about the big, enduring questions in our liberal arts and sciences context and in terms of Dominican's distinctive mission, and someone who loves—really loves—students.
All of our faculty do research, produce scholarly or creative works, and contribute to the vitality of their academic disciplines. But they do it in dialogue with their colleagues, and with our students. Scholarship and teaching are complementary, not contradictory.
And so we're hiring some new colleagues, new teachers. And we're getting the ones we want. I just sealed the deal with one today. He's so excited to be coming here that he wished he could start now. I think the commitment from our people to depth, to quality, to community and to making a difference, is just so palpable that other people just find themselves wanting in on that. It's the real deal and for faculty who love what they study, and who love to share that with others, it's an ideal place to be.
Another thing I get to do this week is write letters for current faculty who are being reviewed. Part of that process is reading comments from students about their experiences with these teachers. It's just so gratifying. Here are a few of the many glowing student comments about the four faculty colleagues I'm reviewing this week:
Has a stunning intellect and clarity of mind… consummately fair… really wants us to get something from his class…. He is challenging, passionate about the material…. Willing to ensure that you learn the material, rather than just pass a test…. A tremendous teacher… you can tell she wants us to understand and succeed…. Real world experience takes the class to another level because she relates her experiences to what we do in class.My favorite part is always when a student says, "this was my favorite professor at Dominican." And this time as at other times, several different faculty members got that highest compliment.
While I'm doing desktop archaeology and other fun stuff, some of my colleagues are leading students on a variety of alternative spring break service trips to places like Nazareth Farm in rural West Virginia. These kinds of experiences, I hope, become practice sessions for a pro-bono lifelong lifestyle we want our students to adopt—that is, to give away one's expertise to others, so that one's education is not just another exercise in narcissism but rather an opportunity to expand one's sense of not only what but also who matters. Pro-bono. Give it away for the common good. It's not just for lawyers any more.
And then along the way this week I find myself, continuing my arguably tasteless decapitation theme from my previous blog entry, reading a wonderful little new book by Robert Olen Butler called Severance. Here's the premise: "After decapitation, the human head is believed to remain in a state of consciousness for one and one-half minutes. In a heightened state of emotion, people speak at the rate of 160 words per minute." Thus, our author concludes, each head could utter 240 words in those 90 seconds. I rather doubt that this is anywhere close to accurate, but it's fiction, and I go with it. What would one say in those 90 seconds? And so Butler writes essays, each exactly 240 words in length, imaginatively construed as the final utterances of such famously decapitated figures as Medusa, Cicero, John the Baptist, St. George (and in a separate entry the Dragon he slew), Anne Boleyn, Marie Antoinette, as well as lesser-known figures as Jacob (American slave beheaded by his owner), Angry Eyes (Apache warrior beheaded by Mexican troops), Agnes Gwenlan (factory girl beheaded by an elevator) and, one of my very favorites, a chicken, beheaded in Alabama for Sunday dinner in 1958. Our Chicken concludes this way:
I can hear a muttery cluckering and it is like when I broke at last from the eggy wall and into the light and a fluff of feathers hovered near and made this same sound but this muckery wuckering is vast, this at last is the hen who fills the sky, and I am rushing now along the path and the clucking is for me and it is very loud and a great wide road is suddenly before me and she is beyond and I crossSo why did the chicken cross the road? And what would you say with your 240 words? Write that in your essay when you apply to Dominican University. I'll look forward to reading it.
