William Bradley

THE COLLECTED VOICE OF THE VICE PRESIDENT OF ACADEMIC AFFAIRS

Editor's note: For a few brief weeks in 2011, Sherman T. Frankenstein—Vice President of Academic Affairs for the State University of New York at Broadalbin—wrote a column for The Journal of American Colleges and Universities offering up the administrator's point-of-view of issues concerning higher education in the United States. Although his eventual fate remains somewhat mysterious, most agree that he likely had some type of breakdown at some point—indeed, some rumors suggest that after the tragedy that befell his wife, he moved to Mexico to work as a freelance weight-guesser. Although we at the Journal have no knowledge of his current whereabouts, we present his collected columns here, to provide a historical record of some of his final insights and words regarding academia. The first column of the writer who replaced him is also presented, to provide readers with a sense of closure.

Josh Stancheck
Editor, The Journal of American Colleges and Universities

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

On a warm morning last week, I decided that I would take a swim before breakfast. I enjoy physical activity and find that beginning the day with some form of exercise puts me in a relaxed mood conducive to getting work done throughout the day. And though our pool is not quite Olympic-sized—we have to live within our means, of course—it is heated and has a 48" flat screen television mounted at one end so that I could watch an episode of That's So Raven I had saved to my digital video recorder. I enjoy That's So Raven for its family-friendly hijinks and because I am not a racist.

I had just begun to swim my laps—doggy-styling across the pool so that I could keep my head above water in order to enjoy the Disney Channel monkeyshines—when I realized something didn't seem quite right. While I was still enjoying the enjoyment of physical activity and my favorite television program, something still seemed a bit off. I finally arrived at the far edge of the pool and concluded that I needed to figure out just what was going on, so I got out of the pool. I used a towel to dry myself thoroughly, although a few beads of moisture remained (as they almost always do). I then walked over to the pool's thermostat, where a shock awaited me.

Now, one thing that most people who know anything about my pool habits know is that I keep my pool's thermostat set at 70 degrees Fahrenheit year-round, as that is a temperature that I find comfortable and conducive to swimming. I do not use the Celsius scale, largely because this is America and I don't really understand it as well as I understand Fahrenheit, which I find to be simple enough. On this morning, however, the thermostat indicated that the pool was only heated to 66 degrees. I adjusted the thermostat, then went back inside my house to wait for the pool to reach an acceptable temperature so I could continue my swim.

I was not happy with this delay. Although I was able to finish watching the episode of That's So Raven, I was not able to enjoy it thoroughly because I knew I was running late and that my secretary would have to cancel an appointment I had scheduled for that morning with the president of the faculty senate. I knew that she was very anxious to talk to me about some new tenure guidelines I had unilaterally instituted without faculty input and in direct violation of the Faculty Handbook, but now she was going to be cheated out of her opportunity to talk to me because of some mysterious change to my pool's thermostat.

When you think about it, colleges and universities are a lot like a swimming pool. If it's too hot, people can be very uncomfortable—even if you enjoy a hot tub or a Jacuzzi, you might not enjoy swimming laps in one. Similarly, though, too cold can also be uncomfortable—of course, if you're on a college campus, you can always put on a scarf and maybe some mittens to keep warm, or enjoy a cup of hot cocoa. These solutions are utterly impractical for the pool, though. Perhaps those of us who work in higher education should keep these things in mind.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein


One of the nice things about the summer months is that I wind up having a lot more free time to devote to my passions outside of policy revisions and tenure appeals. For example, I like to buy birdhouses at the hardware store, then paint them, then donate them to local charities like battered women's shelters or Doctors Without Borders. The puzzled looks of appreciation on people's faces are all the thanks I need.

I also enjoy reading. A lot of people think books are old-fashioned and worthless in our 21st century culture where everything can be "downloaded" and "read on a screen," but I still think books are neat and that people should read them if they want to do so. My position as a university administrator means that I should really keep my political opinions to myself most of the time, but I will go ahead and tell you that any candidate for political office who ran on a platform that solely consisted of criminalizing books would most likely not get Sherman T. Frankenstein's vote. I'm sorry if anyone is offended, but this is my opinion on that matter.

If you read just one book this summer—and as I said, I think you should if you want to—I highly recommend Roberta Smythe's Ain't No Man Gonna Take My Baby Girl Away From Our Mountain Home. Smythe writes of Henrietta Alabaste, a proud, strong woman living in Appalachia at the turn of the 20th century, and how she proudly and strongly defended her family's mountain home against the encroachments of mountain lions, shady land speculators, and railroad barons. Armed just with gumption and a very old rifle, our spitfire heroine is a feminist hero without being overly strident—when she tells the big city banker who wants to marry her nine-year-old daughter, "Git down off my mountain, y'all dirty old snake," if you're anything like me, you'll pump your fist in the air and say, "You go, girl!"

When you think about it, colleges and universities are a lot like Henrietta Alabaste's mountain home—both are places of tradition that can sometimes seem threatened by outsiders. Like Henrietta, I have been in my "home" for many, many years now, using common sense business principles to make decisions that can sometimes be difficult. And every year, it seems like some young, city slicker assistant professor from someplace like Iowa City or Columbia, Missouri comes to our home talking of "shared governance" and "best practices" and "why is a vice president of academic affairs wearing a cravat and monocle in 2015?" It seems like they don't understand our traditions, or our history. And though the law says you can't just chase these ignorant interlopers "off the mountain" with a lip full of chaw and a rifle, sometimes, it sure does seem like the old ways were better.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

One thing I do not enjoy very much is a traffic jam. When I get into my car, my intention is to go some place, not just sit still on the highway craning my neck to see how far into the distance the traffic is backed up. Essentially, I view driving as a way of getting from one place to another place. A destination, if you will. And I do not like it when traffic makes that process take longer than it should.

I was reflecting on traffic the other day, as I was caught up in gridlock that just wasn't moving at all. My wife, Mrs. Frankenstein, had asked me to stop by the grocery store on the way home from campus in order to pick up some root beer. Mrs. Frankenstein had successfully fought off a Mansquito attack in the garden earlier that afternoon, and said that she wanted to celebrate her victory by indulging her sweet tooth. As I too enjoy an occasional glass of root beer, I agreed without hesitation, even though such a sugary beverage isn't really on my diet.

Had I not gone to get the root beer I likely would have taken University Drive to Fulton Street, then Fulton to Isaacson Farm Road, which would lead to our own neighborhood. As it was, though, I had to take the highway to Wal-Mart. Of course, I could have just stopped at the Price Chopper on Fulton Street, but Wal-Mart has the kind of root beer we enjoy—Mug's—at a unit price of 77 cents as opposed to 84 cents at the Price Chopper. I also like to go through the $5 DVD bins they have in two different areas of the store—one in the electronics section, and one towards the front. I have found copies of Forrest Gump and Mortal Kombat: Annihilation in those bins. I enjoyed both films immensely, so am always on the lookout for other bargain-priced cinematic treats.

I tried to distract myself from my traffic-related frustration by listening to the radio, but NPR was playing a rerun of their social issues show Don't Even Go There, which I had heard earlier while hiding in a colleague's office to avoid a meeting with the department chairs. And, I must confess, I don't like most modern music. While I used to be very much in touch with popular music and the youth culture—I played French horn in a Phil Collins tribute band called The Required Jackets in the late 90s—I must say that, with the exception of Pitbull, not much popular music excites me these days. Most of it is too loud, or filthy without any sense of romance or sensuality.

Again, Pitbull is the exception, and when you think about it, higher education is a lot like Pitbull's song "Wild Wild Love." As Pitbull raps "Not only am I a client, I'm the player president/ The globe is my backyard, baby it's evident," well, I think of our students, who are both customers and, in some ways, the leaders of our institutions, being prepared for excellence in a 21st century global economy that in many ways begins in their own backyards. And when he adds "You want it, you need it/ All over your body," I like to imagine that he is talking about the way our students both "want" and "need" to be sprayed down with the education we impart to them. I think these are useful lessons for us to remember, so I can't be too upset about the traffic jam that led to this epiphany.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

Every so often, Mrs. Frankenstein and I like to take an evening off, go out to for a nice dinner, and then perhaps go see a movie or some form of live theatre. Although our preference would usually be to see a mime troupe, sometimes it can be hard to find a mime troupe performing, and on the occasions that we can't we will often go to see a musical or perhaps a film about children solving mysteries or senior citizens trying to get back into the dating world. We don't find ourselves attracted to the films the critics say we ought to watch—if we only saw the films A.O. Scott or Richard Roeper recommended without reservation, we might never have learned to appreciate some of the younger Baldwins or Kate Beckinsale.

We went out on one such "date night" just last week. Things had been a little stressful for both of us. I had been in several meetings to argue the merits of a recent cost-saving plan I had drafted that my faculty critics dismissively labeled the "fire all the brown chicks plan." This was not a completely fair assessment of the plan—in fact, the point was simply to get rid of some of the more recently-hired faculty. It just so happened that departments had recently been hiring a lot of women who happened to be of a... well, shall we say ethnically urban persuasion. I want to be clear that I am in no way a racist—as I have mentioned before, I sometimes cancel meetings with faculty leaders in order to stay home to watch That's so Raven—but our school is facing a budget shortfall next year. We can't get rid of tenured professors—well, we could, but we'd have to show cause and that might take a while. Our only other option is to either fire newer faculty or suspend the current facilities upgrade plan wherein we are gold-plating the seats in the athletic department's private walk-in humidor. Clearly, difficult decisions have to be made sometimes.

As I picked away at my Moons Over My Hammy, I was only half-listening as Mrs. Frankenstein told me about her day—how she and the other ladies at the Club planned their annual member-guest scramble tournament, how the Mansquito had apparently built a nest on the roof of the pool house, how the lead-paint removal in my home office was going. Although the plan had been to take a night off and just relax, I found that I just couldn't stop thinking about the issues and conflicts plaguing our campus.

This, I think, is what a lot of faculty members don't understand about university administrators—they think that just because they only work for the nine or twelve hours a week that they are in the classroom, that means the rest of us have similarly cushy jobs. In fact this is not the case. While the English professor may be able to go home and cozy up with a work of literature and a glass of cognac, I often have to think about school while I'm enjoying my cognac. It is true that I am paid better than the adjuncts who do most of the teaching in our English department—they make, on average $11,000 per year as opposed to my $265,000—but I also sometimes have to work 30 or 32 hours in any given week. And that's not even counting the dinners and cocktails with trustees and other donors.

I suppose if I had one piece of advice for my fellow administrators, it would be to give ourselves permission to relax, get away from work every once in a while, and just enjoy our lives. As I sat across from Mrs. Frankenstein and listened to her talk about her day, I promised myself I would try to do just that. And then, later that night, the Mansquito attacked and almost killed me, and while recovering in the hospital, I reaffirmed my commitment to not devote my entire life to work.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

Before commencing with this week's column, I should clear something up from last week, as several readers who sent emails or left comments seemed confused—yes, I was attacked and almost killed by Mansquito. No, I'm not dead. I don't want to waste too much time belaboring this—this is a column about higher education administration, for the love of Mike! But I appreciate everyone's concern. Hopefully, we won't have any Mansquito trouble in the future.

Moving along—I was watching a football match on the television while recovering from the Mansquito attack, and I was struck by what good idea helmets are. Helmets, for those of you unfamiliar with the technology, are basically really hard hats that protect the head from injury. You might wear one while riding a motorcycle. Or when going out to your monster-infested pool house. Or, obviously, when playing football, where other men are liable to crush you and perhaps cause serious brain trauma, if precautions aren't taken. I think helmets are a very good idea, and I think that we in the business of higher education should probably think hard about helmets, and how wearing them could be considered a metaphor for what we do. When you think about it. My doctors say I need to take it easy. I lost a lot of blood.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

I had hoped to devote this week's column to discussing the economic realities of running an institution of higher learning, and why it is vital that university administrators learn how to hypnotize students in order to better persuade them to take out student loans in order to pay for their college educations. For without the students and their loan money, what is a university? I submit to you that it is not much more than some very old buildings, some musty-smelling books, and state-of-the-art athletic facilities. We would do well, I think, to remember that students are the lifeblood of the university, and that none of us are going to be taking ski vacations in Aspen if we don't get them to fill out those FAFSA forms.

Alas, due to overwhelming response to my last couple of columns, my editor is insisting that I answer reader questions about a subject that, so far as I can tell, has no bearing on how best to run a university like a business (which I thought was the entire point of this column). It would appear that readers really want to hear more about Mansquito. Despite my efforts to write a substantive column about higher education, it would seem that you the reader have questions about the attack. "What the hell is a Mansquito?" one reader asked. Another wanted to know, "Mansquito? What are you talking about?" Still others asked, "Do you mean mosquito? Or a man?" And others wrote, "Whoa whoa whoa—back up, back up, back up. Did you say Mansquito?"

Frankly, I'm a bit perplexed by the surprise. Perhaps it's a regional thing, but where I live in upstate New York, the Mansquito is quite well-known. Once a human by the name of Ray Ericson, Mansquito was involved in a shootout with law enforcement personnel that resulted in him being exposed to a swarm of genetically-altered mosquitos. In fact, due to their radiation-induced deformities, these insects were able to transform Ericson into the Mansquito, so-named because he seemed to be half-man, half-squito. While many believe—likely due to a fictionalized biopic made about his life and adventures—that he was killed years ago, the people of Broadalbin, New York know that he has been buzzing around here ever since then, building nests in pool houses and occasionally draining cattle of all of their blood.

When you think about it, college faculty are a lot like Mansquito—ever thirsty, sucking the very lifeforce out of the university. Although the Mansquito was something new and innovative—a force of creative disruption in his monstrosity. Whereas faculty tend to resist anything groundbreaking and new, preferring the same old same old because once they get tenure they feel like they're done with work. Say what you will about Mansquito—he may be violent and disgusting, but he doesn't sit in the faculty lounge eating brie and sipping chardonnay with all of the other Marxists. On that note, I should close. This Mansquito bite on my arm is throbbing, and it looks like it's oozing again too.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

There's something wrong. I'm so thirsty. Mrs. Frankenstein brings me my Hawaiian Punch and while it always looks good, it never satisfies. I crave saltiness. Something more substantial than corn syrup and sugar. In many ways, I feel like my situation is much like the situation of the student who pays to attend school and is then forced to sit through a literature class that won't help him get the skills he needs for the jobs of the 21st century. Why should I be forced to endure an unsatisfying beverage? Why should he have to write a paper about "The Wasteland?"

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

New technologies offer so much potential. Massive open online courses can bring the classroom to anyone, anywhere in the world. Competency-based education asks the student to demonstrate knowledge rather than a willingness to waste time on material she already knows. Yes, technological innovation will make everything better. Science will save us all.

But what if it doesn't? Oh God, what if we have misplaced our faith? What if reason and innovation, unmoored from decency and human morality, has created something grotesque?

Oh my sweet Savior, what is this protuberance that grows from my face? This never used to be here. And where is Mrs. Frankenstein? Bedelia, my love...?

Dear God, permit me to wake from this dream. Say this isn't happening. Not to me. Not to us. Bedelia...

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

The Voice of the Vice President of Academic Affairs
by Sherman T. Frankenstein

(Editor's note: There will be no Sherman T. Frankenstein column this week. Instead, we present to you this classic column from our archives.)

One of the nice things about the summer months is that I wind up having a lot more free time to devote to my passions outside of policy revisions and tenure appeals. For example, I like to buy birdhouses at the hardware store, then paint them, then donate them to local charities like battered women's shelters or Doctors Without Borders. The puzzled looks of appreciation on people's faces are all the thanks I need.

I also enjoy reading. A lot of people think books are old-fashioned and worthless in our 21st century culture where everything can be "downloaded" and "read on a screen," but I still think books are neat and that people should read them if they want to do so. My position as a university administrator means that I should really keep my political opinions to myself most of the time, but I will go ahead and tell you that any candidate for political office who ran on a platform that solely consisted of criminalizing books would most likely not get Sherman T. Frankenstein's vote. I'm sorry if anyone is offended, but this is my opinion on that matter.

If you read just one book this summer—and as I said, I think you should if you want to—I highly recommend Roberta Smythe's Ain't No Man Gonna Take My Baby Girl Away From Our Mountain Home. Smythe writes of Henrietta Alabaste, a proud, strong woman living in Appalachia at the turn of the 20th century, and how she proudly and strongly defended her family's mountain home against the encroachments of mountain lions, shady land speculators, and railroad barons. Armed just with gumption and a very old rifle, our spitfire heroin is a feminist hero without being overly strident—when she tells the big city banker who wants to marry her nine-year-old daughter, "Git down off my mountain, y'all dirty old snake," if you're anything like me, you'll pump your fist in the air and say, "You go, girl!"

When you think about it, colleges and universities are a lot like Henrietta Alabaste's mountain home—both are places of tradition that can sometimes seem threatened by outsiders. Like Henrietta, I have been in my "home" for many, many years now, using common sense business principles to make decisions that can sometimes be difficult. And every year, it seems like some young, city slicker assistant professor from someplace like Iowa City or Columbia, Missouri comes to our home talking of "shared governance" and "best practices" and "why is a vice president of academic affairs wearing a cravat and monocle in 2015?" It seems like they don't understand our traditions, or our history. And though the law says you can't just chase these ignorant interlopers "off the mountain" with a lip full of chaw and a rifle, sometimes, it sure does seem like the old ways were better.

Sherman T. Frankenstein is the Vice President of Academic Affairs at SUNY-Broadalbin. The opinions expressed in his columns are his own.

Greek Goddysey!
By Scotty Cushing III

Hola, academics and academettes! Welcome to the Journal of American Colleges and Universities' newest regular column, Greek Goddysey! I'm Scotty Cushing III, president of Sigma Alpha Epsilon at Arizona State University and nephew of JCAU editor Josh Stancheck. Basically, when Uncle Josh told me that I could have my own column to write about my college experience and Greek Life, at first I was like, "Sounds gay." But then he said it would pay $175 a week, and I was all, "Sweeeeeeeet!" And he said I could write about whatever college students care about—Dave Matthews Band, Hot Pockets, snorting Aderall, the best lighting and angles for dick pics. And I was just, "Sign me up, Uncle Josh!"

In the weeks to come, I'll write about all that stuff and more. For next week's column, I plan to have a thorough write-up of ATO's epic Tour de Franzia at last weekend's Rasta Pasta party. "No Angel Hair, No Cry," bros! But in the meantime, Uncle Josh told me after I introduced myself I should be sure to thank my predecessor, Sherman T. Frankenstein, for the hard work he did for this publication. And he wants me to assure the loyal readers that there is no such thing as a Mansquito. Whatever that means. Anyway, thanks Sherm! Wherever you are! Holla at y'all next week! Keep it off the hook and sick y'all!

Scotty Cushing III is a third-year-senior at Arizona State University and president of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity.

William Bradley is the author of the essay collection Fractals, forthcoming in February from Lavender Ink. He lives in Tiffin, Ohio with his wife and cat