A Christmas gift

So I wrote in my last post about the need to make sure we carefully steward our profession and make sure it gets the recognition that it deserves, particularly when compared to our colleagues in the world of advancement and development.

And then the New York Times announces that Jane Fried, Dean of Admission at Andover, has been named the new head at the Brearley School, a most prestigious Manhattan girls’ school. It is a good thing for Jane and a good thing for all of us that a school of Brearley’s stature found an admissions dean worthy of a headship.

Don’t get me wrong: I have zero desire whatsoever to be a head. Except for one year, my office has always been in close quarters with the head’s office and I’ve always had good relationships with my heads. So between conversation with and observation of the head, I know it’s not a job for me. A wonderful friend and head once told me if it’s not burning in your belly, don’t pursue it. It’s not worth it. But if I wanted to be a head, I would want to know that I wouldn’t be immediately discounted because I was coming up through the ranks of admissions.

As admissions deans and directors, we work with all sorts of students and families, spanning ages, grades, races, backgrounds and circumstances. After all, any family a head must work with, we worked with first. Like a head, we understand the business side of a school. We manage sizeable admissions and financial aid budgets, navigate Board politics, work with outside vendors and contractors, and closely track institutional revenue and understand its role in the overall budget. We juggle demanding schedules, keeping evening and weekend hours, and are more intimate than we’d probably like with human resource law and policy.

And, like no other than the head, we know the entire school community, programme, curriculum, and campus. No other job than head or admissions dean is expected to know pretty much all there is to know about an institution. Can your third grade teacher speak to your AP offerings and results? Can your accounts receivable clerk detail fine motor skills appropriate for kindergarten? Does your English chairperson know how many varsity sports you offer—and in what league(s) you play? Thankfully, they don’t have to know the answers. But you do! And you, your staff, and the head are probably the only ones who do.

So, I give thanks to Jane and to other admissions directors before her who have made the transition to head for forging the path for those who wish to travel it. Admission dean is a great proving ground for a headship and it is gratifying to see a school like Brearley agrees.

Congratulations, Jane. Thanks for the Christmas gift.

The next generation

What happens if you get hit by a bus this afternoon? Or, more realistically, hit by a Volvo station wagon driven by the parent of a child to whom you denied admission? Is there a member of staff remotely ready to step into the office of the dean or director? If you were to leave tomorrow—via ambulance or of your own choosing after winning the lottery—would there be any internal candidates for your post?

When the Admissions Leadership Council, on which I proudly serve, met this fall in Arizona, we were tasked with thinking about what our industry needs. My thought at the time—and it’s been rattling around my head ever since—is that we are not doing much as an industry to nurture, encourage, and raise the next generation of admissions directors. We do well bringing new hires into the fold and there are some opportunities for directors on the other end, but what about the middle?

For rookies, TABS offers the summer Admission Academy and SSATB has the Admission Training Institute (ATI) just before their annual meeting in September. For those at the director/dean level, SSATB also offers Senior Symposium. There is also the Essex Institute for Enrollment Management and the Crow’s Nest Institute, which are summer programmes aimed at more senior and seasoned professionals.

But what about those in the middle, those at the Assistant/Associate Director level? For them to be successful and able to remain yet move up in our profession, they need their own professional development. If we are not careful to support and treasure those we have, they may get their professional development by changing employers and seeing how things are done outside the gates of your own school and under a different dean.

It is a common cry among admissions directors that our profession needs professionalizing and that we need to demand/earn the respect (and pay!) our colleagues in development and advancement enjoy. One place to start is to take our own middle managers in the office more seriously and do what we can to make sure that we are raising the profile of the profession one assistant director at a time, both within and without our schools. Rather than shrink away, I would imagine they would welcome more responsibility, trust, and opportunity to spread their wings.

It’s a win-win-win. Win #1: you can alleviate someone’s workload (maybe yours!) by entrusting some duties to this person. Win #2: they feel good about being trusted and the opportunities to grow within your operation and may stick around. Win #3: when it’s time for them to move along (into your job or to another school), you have contributed to the next generation of our profession.

Win-win-win!

No (bad) surprises

My last two posts were rather related—the first time I’d done that. And I’m here to tell you that I think this one is now a third in the series. It is not intentional but it is how I’m thinking these days. I must be doing something right, however, as Admissions Quest picked up my blog and highlighted it during the TABS Conference last week in Boston. Thanks, Admissions Quest!

I have been writing about denying admission to candidates—either because they are a bad fit for our schools or because there is far more demand than spaces, and difficult choices have to be made. Saying no is rarely easy and never fun, even when it is the right thing. For my whole career, however, being denied admission is something I have tried not to have come as a total surprise.

Nobody likes bad surprises. Nobody.

Of course, there is a difference between my effort to convey information and feedback that should lead to no surprises and a family’s willingness or openness to hearing said information. Like when we were children, parents sometimes metaphorically cover their ears and wail nahnahnahnahnah (is that how you spell that??) in order to not hear what you are telling them.

There are a number of things we can do. First, while nobody likes to be held to cut-offs, we can certainly publish on our websites or in our materials the range that a typical admitted student might have for a GPA or test score. We can be upfront about the number of applications we expect or have historically received relative to the number of spaces available. We can disclose legacy or sibling policies, the role of athletics in decision-making and even where we place our institutional priorities for enrollment.

We can provide tactful feedback to parents, placement directors or consultants after we have received information or met an applicant that s/he “does not appear to fall within the norms of the typical student” to whom we offer admission. I have gone so far as to contact a family and shared that something I have in front of me indicates that the admissions committee would have a difficult time offering their child admission and give them the opportunity to withdraw from consideration. (And, no, I don’t give a damn about my deny rate that I’m forced to parade in front of those who revel in such petty things. Allowing a family to graciously withdraw and focus their efforts elsewhere is the humane thing to do.)

As I said before, parents can choose to hear none of this. My experience, however, is that they will have heard it, even if only subconsciously at first. I always put some time and space between an unhappy family who has just received a denial letter and when I will respond to their call or email. That time and space typically allows them to calm down, reflect on the admissions process and information they had, and usually (although not always!) admit to themselves that a denial of admission should not have come as a complete surprise to them.

Usually.

Saying No

[Disclaimer: if you’ve never worked for a highly-selective school, you may find this post annoying but take it as a way of seeing that the proverbial grass is not always greener on the other side.]

It is always interesting to me what response—if any—a given post will generate. Needless to say, not much gets posted in the comments section of the actual blog but I do get some feedback from friends and colleagues who email me directly.

The last post about deciding what is best for the student versus deciding what is best for the school got me more feedback than I expected, and from a couple people who have never responded. I wasn’t even sure they read the blog but I guess they do. Several people mentioned it is the hardest part of the work we do.

From my humble perspective, I respectfully disagree.

I had the honor and opportunity this summer to spend some time with the Head Master from Eton College in England and Mrs. Little. We spoke of a number of things, professional and otherwise. But on the topic of admissions, we agreed that our greatest challenges came from explaining to the parents of a perfectly acceptable candidate why their son (Eton being all boys and all) was not being offered admission. Those are the most difficult conversations: when you agree that the applicant is more than qualified, when you can point to no short-coming or area in need of improvement, and simply must blame the numbers. Parents and applicants are left deflated and at a loss. In the end, it would actually have been easier for them if we could point out some flaw or some insufficient score or grade, so they have something to cling to or blame. Or fix.

But the hardest part of this job is when no such flaw or grade exists. The hardest part is when if you had 20 more spaces, the child in front of you is one you would haven taken without hesitation. All you can do is comment to the parent about institutional priorities that have nothing to do with their child and remind them that their interest, in part, stems from the highly selective nature of your school and the cap you put on grade sizes.

I remember the year we had more sibling applicants for a particular grade than we had spaces. Forget disappointing, frustrating and/or angering complete strangers. The Admissions Committee had to decide which current families we were going to disappoint, frustrate, and anger. It was a most difficult decision as all the candidates were known to us, at least through their siblings and parents. It was subjective, personal, and heartbreaking. We had to work hard to be objective and reasonable. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was very difficult work and challenging conversations but it was also personally rewarding to be part of a team of colleagues who genuinely and sincerely wrestled with what was best.

That’s what makes it the most difficult job we have to do in our profession: saying no and explaining that no to an otherwise deserving child. When your door says director or dean that is one of things you and only you can do, or should do. You have to look a family in the eye, try and understand, and prepare to take on whatever reaction may come.

As I said in my last post, it’s our job. It’s just not always pretty.

Tricky balance

In this recent post on The Choice, Pamela Horne from Purdue University says that awarding merit aid is about helping the institution, not rewarding the student. It’s nice to see that kind of honesty. It is true at some level, isn’t it? Institutions set aside scholarship funds in order to reward students…whose enrollment benefits the institution.

It’s the tricky balance we aim to strike in admissions and scholarship. Is our job to do what is best for the applicant or for the institution? Sure, it works out great when the applicant who really wants that offer of admission is a student you’d love to enroll or the applicant (and/or their parents) who thinks they are deserving of a scholarship is actually deserving of a scholarship.

That’s the easy work.

But what happens when you don’t think offering admission would be best for the applicant or best for the institution? Or best for both? What happens when what would be best for an applicant—namely to get out of their current situation and into one of our excellent schools—is not what would be best for our school?

On the surface it sounds harsh but the reality is that we are not serving our schools (or our current students for that fact) if we offer admission out of pity, out of false hope, or simply because we like a kid and/or their parents. If that kid is going to struggle, if we are not able to meet their needs, or if we feel we can not be partners with the parents, then we have to say no for the sake of our school. And for the sake of that applicant.

Inappropriately admitted kids are a drain on resources, are taxing to teachers, and can negatively impact the experience of our other students. Furthermore, inappropriately admitted applicants can result in that student having academic if not also personal set-backs. Issues of confidence and self-esteem are quite tender and fragile at certain ages. And when that kid does not return for a second year, we have set them up to move on to their third school in three years. Not healthy. Not helpful.

Who doesn’t want to help kids? Who wishes they could find appropriate homes for all applicants? Who hates being the mean guy or the bad cop? We all do. But we do it because it’s our job.

It’s not always pretty.

St. Andrew's Hong Kong

It’s a beautiful empire (as in British, not architectural style) church, having served the elite of England when they lived in and occupied Hong Kong. The corner stone was laid by Lord somebody and the opening christened by Bishop somebody, etc. etc. You get the picture. It is steeped in history, has an imposing and grand presence, and speaks of elitism.

Is that St. Andrew’s or is that our schools?

What was interesting about St. Andrew’s is that on the inside it turned out to be everything you didn’t expect from the outside. In place of the altar was a large, flat screen monitor and in the side aisles you also had flat screen monitors. In the tradition of great American evangelical congregations, everything was projected—hymn lyrics, bible passages, and even the announcements were pre-recorded with video showing you the way to the coffee afterward.

The congregation was diverse, in every way possible. There were the expected white ex-pats plus the Hong Kong locals. There were ages and genders and everything from coat and tie to sweat pants and tshirts. It was a warm and welcoming group, especially for 8:30am. At the lone point when we had to open a book, I had two thrust at me, turned open to the appropriate page, to be of help to the obvious visitor in their midst.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised as the night before when looking at their website, it was like none other I’d seen. And having spent 22 years in admissions and traveling, I’ve looked at many a church website in a far and distant place. They have four services on Sunday and each had a very detailed description of what would happen, how long the service ran (most helpful as I had Sunday morning interviews scheduled), and who would be in charge. You knew if there were hymns or not, communion or not, coffee afterward or not, etc. They were described as traditional (which turned out to be relative with a monitor in place of an altar!), modern, and progressive. How helpful. How welcoming!

Schools that worry about or even struggle with attrition could learn a lesson from St. Andrew’s. They have gone out of their way to make anyone and everyone comfortable with coming there and comfortable with staying there. They exist with great success (Four services! Oh and they are in a $30mil building campaign, too.) despite their imposing history and exterior. They break the stereotype of colonial Anglican churches and succeed in doing so. Certainly some schools could benefit from doing the same.

Anticipate questions in advance (we all know what they are) and proactively provide the answers thereby making everyone who enrolls feel welcomed and safe. It’s not a bad model for enrolling and retaining students…or parishioners.

Has done vs Could do

If you are a reader of the Wall Street Journal, you know they issue these special “Journal Reports” on a regular basis. The one from last weekend was all about hiring and managing employees. There were a number of parallels in the different articles between corporate America and our schools.

As an exemplum, happy employees equal productive employees. Don’t we all know that happy students also equal productive students? My own headmaster is fond of saying that if they are not first and foremost happy, then they won’t be as successful as they can be in class, on the playing fields and in the residences. When they’re happy, they’re not bored and when they’re not bored, they’re generally not getting into trouble. It’s not to say that we change what we as adults believe and do to make them happy but that it’s important, maybe more so in a boarding school than not, that they are happy.

Another article addressed the tension between high unemployment and companies saying they can’t find the right people to do the right jobs. The author suggested that companies need to widen their search from those who have done that job in the past to those who could do that job. That is, who could do that job with the right training and mentoring. The suggestion was to shift the emphasis from the new hire being able to immediately succeed to the old guard, and what is that old guard doing to help the new hire, especially during difficult economic times.

Sadly, we probably all know a small but wonderful school that has closed its doors in the last two years during these difficult economic times. It was a great school that served a specific niche but it couldn’t keep it together. Enrollment was slipping or there wasn’t any savings (ie endowment) in the bank on which to rely. I wonder if those schools had shifted their emphasis from the quality of applicant (new hire) to the quality of teaching (mentoring and training) if they could have survived. If they had shifted from looking for students who had done the job to those they believe they could do the job—with the right teachers and teaching in place.

On the one hand, it’s a sad commentary on our society and our lack of emphasis on quality education that keeps our schools open. Shouldn’t a truly 21st century country be marked by a free and public education so exceptional that our schools should all close? On the other hand, until then, it’s sad to see those that had to do so.

That is the question

I started my career in admissions in the world of higher education. Admissions at the university level is much more of a profession. There are standards and expectations and even rules. And consequences. And it is taken more seriously by their institutions. Maybe things have changed since then (it was almost two decades ago!) but nobody would be caught standing in front of their table at a fair, or have a bowl of candy on their table, or hand out gifts.

After all, this was about higher education, this was about each student’s own education. Admissions was admissions and not recruitment. It was about the serious business of a student’s future and figuring out where they would be best served. And it would be cheapened by stuffed animals on a table or cute give-aways.

Imagine my shock when I moved into independent school admissions!

All these years later, I’m essentially immune (or numb) to it although this week the topic came up among a group of colleagues, in part because we were at such a quiet programme and were lacking anything better to do or discuss. There were some who were anti-gift and some who were very pro-gift. The majority, however, thought there was a fuzzy, undefined line in there somewhere. Giving away a pen or maybe even a lanyard was okay. Hats were dancing near the line and shirts for many were clearly on the other side of that line.

For me, it raises a question of purpose and value to your recruitment efforts. If you’re a school 2,000 miles away that doesn’t offer a sport a student plays, do you care if your bowl of chocolates brought them to your table and they took a viewbook? Do you really think that giving away a pen or highlighter will make a student apply when they would not have done otherwise? And do you really believe that the free tshirt will confirm an enrollment when the student (and/or their parents!) feels there’s a better fit, albeit a gift-less better fit?

I don’t know. I have my doubts. I do wonder if any school who does such things has ever specifically tracked the success. Is the application rate higher among gift-getters than not? Is enrollment yield better for those sporting the school’s tshirt than those who are not? I’d genuinely like to know.

To gift or not to gift. That is the question.

Plan C

I love my Bose headset. I can’t imagine all my travel without it. I love it so much that I actually wore out the rubber ear cups recently and had to order replacements.

The replacements came just in time for my recent trip to the UK. There were instructions on how to remove the old cups and insert the new ones. Right cup, done. No problem. Snapped right into place. Left cup? Not so much. I tried and tried and while it would gingerly stay in place, it didn’t take much to knock it off, sometimes frustratingly down into the mechanics of my plane seat.

If you don’t own a Bose product then you may not know they are one of those rare companies known for their unparalleled customer service. Since I had gotten the right cup to work with no problem it was obvious to me that there was something clearly deficient with the left cup. So upon arrival in San Francisco last week, I took my headset to the Bose store expecting one of two plans:

Plan A: they would have a set of replacement cups that included both a good right and a good left cup and I’d be on my way.

Plan B: knowing Bose, if they didn’t have the pieces I needed, they would just give me a new headset for free. They’re that kind of company.

So I proudly showed Trevor at the Bose store how I’d successfully attached the right cup but how there must have been something wrong with the left cup. I demonstrated how quickly it would pop right off. Trevor, instead, had his own ideas and introduced me to Plan C: Trevor, with little effort, manages to successfully install my previously considered deficient left cup. Certain he’d only done so to the level of my own previous limited success, I gave it a pull. But this time it stuck.

Damn it.

I looked sheepishly at Trevor and thanked him for his time and assistance, and packed up my headset, getting ready to leave the store with my head hung low. His response? With a big smile and friendly energy, he said, “Hey, that’s what we’re here for!”

Now later that same day I had what was probably my fourth or fifth skype conversation with a father in Bahrain. He had lots of questions. Actually, his wife had lots of questions but she kept making him contact me for the answers. With each additional conversation, I noticed he got more sheepish, like a guy who thought he was lacking a working left cup when all he was lacking was the ability to install it.

So when he thanked me profusely at the end of our chat that afternoon, apologized again for “bothering” me and letting me know he thought we were done with these skype calls, I simply said to him, “Hey, that’s what we’re here for.” As we signed off, I could see him sit up a bit, smile, and thank me with a bit of relief that he truly wasn’t bothering me.

Thanks for the excellent line, Trevor. It’s good to be reminded.

Refuse to Sell

With age comes many things: wisdom, perspective, patience. And updated prescriptions for your glasses. Yes, after going almost blind looking at all those Excel spreadsheets of funnel data and financial aid amounts in preparation for my September Board meeting, it was evident I needed an update! So in between all the events of Association Weekend (i.e. homecoming) I made a dash to Toronto yesterday for some new frames and lenses.

Now that was an interesting experience. I sought the advice of sophisticated Toronto friends (who wear glasses, needless to say!) and they sent me to what ended up being the centre of hip, progressive, and fashionable eyewear. Well, there are three things you don’t associate with me! After doing battle with them over the fact that I wasn’t going to be busting out some “geek chic” black frames, circa “Leave It To Beaver,” I put the owner on the phone with my friends who had sent me there. I don’t know what they said but I ended up with a pair they refer to as “retro banker”. They’re different but not so different that I wasn’t uncomfortable with buying and wearing them.* Being hip certainly comes with a pricetag.

During the earlier negotiations I pulled out some frames I thought were more “me” and they pulled out their “refuse to sell” policy. Even when I exclaimed it was my face and my money and they should sell me what I wanted, they referred to their policy and explained they refuse to sell a pair of frames they felt were not appropriate, were not attractive on me, and would not reflect favorably on their business. Interesting. Who turns away revenue? Isn’t it a “buyer beware” and take the cheque kind of thing??

Who turns away revenue? We do. As I drove back to campus to chat up some more alumni, I realized that my whole career has been spent executing a “refuse to sell” policy. If I don’t think that my school and the applicant are a good match, I’ll deny him or her admission, regardless of the parents’ readiness to spend the money. Like those crazy people at the eyewear store, I am not offering admission when I think it’s not appropriate. It may be hard to see the revenue walk away but if we’re doing our jobs with integrity, then we do, in fact, refuse to sell.

Our jobs are to look after the best interest of our institutions and look after the best interest of our applicants, not unlike how those crazy eyewear people were looking after me—and looking after themselves.

*For those going to Saudi Aramco in two weeks, I think you’ll get to “see” me there with them. I “look” forward to it. Puns intended!

Demand & Reward

At SSATB this week, Pat Bassett, President of NAIS had some interesting things to say. He always does. I like to hear him speak. But, then again, so did the person who introduced him!*

Among the many interesting things he had to say, he said our schools really needed to wrestle with what are the skills and values that the 21st Century will demand and reward. I love that question and I would love to think about it and wrestle with it. I would love to have my school consider it and make it the topic of a faculty roundtable. It challenges our pasts and makes us ponder the future.

But, unfortunately, it is the wrong question.

Sad as it may be, our colleagues in the university admissions offices sit squarely between what programs and experiences we choose to offer and the very skills and values that the 21st Century will demand and reward. The reality those of us in school administration must face (versus those in school classrooms or those big thinkers like Pat) is that at the end of the day, the vast (vast!) majority of parents are not shelling out independent school tuition to a school without an impressive and mission-appropriate university placement list. Until the likes of the universities our parents envision for their children start to demand and reward those 21st Century skills and values in the admission selection processes, we will not be teaching or nurturing them, lest we do so at our peril.

This whole line of thought is similar to the one I had when NAIS was in Boston a number of years ago. Ruth Simmons, the president of Brown University (the first African-American named president of an Ivy League institution), charged us with what we should be doing to prepare students for the likes of Brown and all of higher education. She spoke so passionately and interestingly about diversity (in all its forms) that I raced back to my hotel room and logged onto the Brown University website. I was so excited and curious to see their application materials and how the criteria and questions therein reflected this important skill set and perspective their president valued. Call me an admissions geek.

Crushing disappointment followed by anger were my emotions as I noticed that standardized test scores, generic college essay questions, class rank, and gpa’s were still all of import to Brown University’s admissions committee. Nothing on their website or in their materials asked applicants about their experience with diversity, contributions they have made, lessons they have learned, perspectives they would bring to the Brown community. I actually sent her a letter. I never heard back.

We know the world is a changing place and whether you work with kindergarten or upper school candidates for admission, we can’t imagine the demands that will be placed on them or the life they will inhabit. We want to give them all that we can to make them the best prepared they can be, as has always been our tradition in independent schools. It’s a good and noble and valuable tradition.

But it comes with a high price tag, particularly in this economy. And unfortunately, it leaves us having to instead ask ourselves what are the skills and values that the 21st Century university admissions office will demand and reward.

Sad.



*If you weren’t at SSATB, I had the honour of introducing Pat. My remarks included a porn reference. I'll leave it at that.

Who are these people??

Greetings from SSATB in Phoenix. For those of you not here, apologies this post may be conference-centric. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the fact that the most popular workshop I’ve attended in the last two days was called “Keep the Job. Lose the Stress”. The room was literally standing-room only. People were seated on the floor in the aisles and piled up at the door, peeking and listening in. Now, I was in this session because I have to renew my Canadian work papers this school year and I thought it a good idea to have a back-up plan in case the Canadian government decided it would have no more of me.

What was fascinating was the number of very seasoned and very respected colleagues who were in this session. One was a past winner of an SSATB award and another I know has been at his school over 20 years and enjoys full enrollment! And then there’s the sheer volume of people in attendance, ranging from rookies to seasoned professionals. What are we to make of this?

Heather Hoerle has gone on this international listening tour through the US and Canada as she has ascended to her post. A great idea I think and my understanding is the tour has made 14 stops so far. In the opening session, she shared with us what she has learned and heard from her far-flung tour of member schools. The very first thing she mentioned was a call from the membership to invest in the test and be sure it is the best it can be.

Who are these people??

I’m not doubting what she’s heard but I’m wondering from whom. The colleagues I talk to are worried about the recession, meeting unrealistic enrollment goals, fighting back the flood of Chinese interest, and figuring out how to maximize financial aid. They are jockeying for respect and resources from their head and board, and trying to be heard by their administrative colleagues. And based on my experience today, they are a bit nervous about their job security, despite their accomplishments. Not a one of them is questioning the validity of the SSAT test. But that’s just my personal network.

SSATB: is it a testing organization with admissions professionals or an admissions organization with a test? I think there is a challenge going forward to finally wrestle this question to the ground. Can it be both? Maybe. But it better know which is the dominant personality and, for now, it seems to me that we have never craved more than we do at this moment a national voice of advocacy and expertise.

In 500 words.

As I start this post, I expect it to be short because I’m not sure what to think of this article from the Wall Street Journal about changes in admissions essay questions to elite MBA programmes. I’m really just sharing. Some of the questions are interesting and even the formats can be intriguing, like the school that wanted the response limited to a tweet. (I guess they assume any MBA applicant worth their trouble has a Twitter account and “tweets”.)

There is some noted concern that paid consultants influence their essays although that’s not much of a stretch from our own concerns that parents influence the essays that we read. I like the essay topics that are grounded in the mission of a school better than the generic ones about challenges, role models/mentors, and what should we know about you. I just spent the last half an hour looking for some good examples from independent schools and what I found was that most of us now have our applications and questionnaires hidden behind logins and online applications. But that’s another topic.

One school did make a nice statement about itself but then followed it up with the pedestrian “how will you contribute?” question. It started well enough but the actual question could be copied and pasted from most other applications. On the other hand, how much does it matter?

I hope they are out there but I don’t really know any colleagues who place so much emphasis on the essay that it can sway a decision one way or the other, despite all other measurable evidence to the contrary. If that is true and the essay can’t win admission for an otherwise weak candidate or deny admission to an otherwise strong candidate, then why bother?

I always read the essay and it is actually one of the first things I go to when reviewing a candidate. But I admit it’s not going to make a paradigm shift in my thinking or decision-making. It is just interesting.

So why require it? I don’t quite know.

Meet Erin

Interesting post this week in Jacques Steinberg’s blog at the New York Times, “The Choice: Demystifying College Admissions and Aid” about campus visits. (If you don’t follow Steinberg’s blog, you should. I’ve added it to the sidebar here. You should also read his gripping book, "The Gatekeepers.") As anyone who has done this work for a while knows, what happens in higher education eventually trickles down to independent schools. Following “The Choice” has proven to be a forewarning of things to come.

The most recent post was written by Lily Altavena about the somewhat unexpected consistency of campus visits this summer. Going to a campus and checking your gut for the right elusive “fit” is still a sacred part of the process, seemingly unhampered by the uptick in plane ticket fares or prices at the pump. I have certainly seen the same in my own experience this past year. As I prepared year-ending stats last week (yes, just a fortnight before we start with year-beginning stats!), Ridley College had a 27% increase in campus visits in 2010/2011. It certainly makes me wonder—if not actually assume—that the campus visit is even more important at these more tender ages. After all, at Ridley we start boarding at age ten. How can a parent enroll their ten year old in a school they have never seen? And when possible and affordable, I would imagine we get more visits featuring both parents instead of maybe the more typical one-parent/one-student combo on the college tour circuit.

Last summer I read somewhere (I tried earnestly to find you my source to quote but I can’t) that 77% of college-bound students listed the campus visit as the most influential factor in their decision. I don’t suppose that surprises much of anyone. No matter how much we spend on marketing materials, websites or plane tickets around the world, nothing confirms a student and family’s choice more than the proverbial “gut feeling” they get from a visit. It’s actually maddening how little control we have in the end when the gut can override an expensive, expansive and sophisticated marketing and yield campaign.

So my office started thinking about this at the start of the summer. We know those 2012 families visiting early are going to be key and we wanted to cement their interest in Ridley before school started in the fall and they had to make decisions about where to file applications. But how could we take an essentially abandoned campus and make it memorable? How could we get them more than just interested but actually excited about coming to see us, sometimes with both temperature and humidity at 90%+!?

Each summer we hire a recent graduate to work in the office and give all our tours (and stuff envelopes and fetch Starbucks and take inventory of our brochures and do data entry and…). Since we have only one tour guide all summer, we decided to generate some excitement and anticipation among our visiting families. We created a video that was emailed out to families before their visit introducing Erin and hitting some of our key messages. We thought if they felt they knew her, it’d make the connection both more immediate and more authentic.

We won’t know until a year from now if we saw uncommon yield success among those families but certainly the feedback we received was most positive. Families—and, more importantly, prospective students—felt they had a connection to both Ridley and to Erin before they even stepped foot on campus. We were excited to welcome them and they were excited to be here. And by having information about Erin and about Ridley before their visit, it shaped their questions and heightened their enthusiasm.

Meet Erin here.

The D-Word

Friends were visiting from Washington, D.C. this weekend. Actually, it was my first admissions boss ever and her husband although she long ago stopped being my boss but thankfully has remained my good friend. But you can still feel free to blame her for my presence in our profession—she encouraged me!

This was their first visit and so I took them on the obligatory tour of campus—after, of course, the obligatory visit to Niagara Falls. While touring, she commented on the stately grandeur of our d*rms (see, I can’t even type it out!). It was at this point that I struck with the precision of a rattle snake and corrected the error of her ways. “They’re houses,” I exclaimed, and went on to explain Ridley’s residential commitment and philosophy as the largest boarding programme in the province. Being a true and traditional boarding school, you approach your residential program with the utmost seriousness.

Now my friend has since left the world of admissions (it IS possible apparently) and is in project management for a real estate development corporation. Part of her work involves overseeing apartment complexes throughout the mid-Atlantic. As we continued on our tour of Ridley she explained to me that her company is very clear on their expectation that those who live in the apartments are considered residents, not tenants (the T-word). In doing so, they send a message, if only a reinforcing one amongst themselves, about how they do business and how they treat and engage their customers.

These little rules might seem silly or trivial but, in my experience, they aid in creating a mindset and an approach to our work that helps dictate our actions and priorities. At a previous school where I was director, we implemented an internal office motto of “Families First” to remind ourselves that walk-ins, late arriving appointments, and telephone calls were all our top priority and not an interruption to our day or our duties. Our enrollment did not allow us to roll our eyes at any of these people and instead we needed to embrace them. And from my perspective as the objective outsider who had joined this office, it worked. I saw a decidedly different—and better—outlook from the staff and how they approached some of our more challenging prospective families. And, even more importantly, it was reflected in the numbers.

The famous organizational guru Stephen Covey and author of the The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People coined the phrase, “Start with the end in mind.” If we think houses not d*orms, and residents not tenants, then we just may shape the thinking of our staffs and our colleagues towards our enrollments ends.

And wouldn’t our schools (if not the world) be a better place if everyone thought as we did??

No Salesman Sundays

There is a car dealership in the GTA (that’s Greater Toronto Area for my American friends) that has blitzed the radio airwaves with a new campaign. And if the goal of such a blitz is to create chatter about your business or product, they win! Everybody is talking about this ad—and the concept behind it.

This car dealership has introduced No Salesman Sundays. The dealership will be open and there will be a skeleton staff on hand to distribute keys and the like but they promise not a salesman will be found. They won’t be lurking behind SUV’s, jumping out from between cars in the parking lot, offering a coffee and their friendship, or any of the other things one pictures when they fear the gauntlet of buying a new car.

But you will be able to roam the lot and sit in the cars, look at materials, and take test drives, all at your leisure and all without the hungry eyes of a salesman following you around the joint. Come and go as you like, stay as long or as little as you like. I’m almost tempted to go just to see if they garner a crowd or not. Even if they don’t, the pitch is certainly the hot topic of mid-August.

What would this look like at our schools? Do we throw out some pastries and coffee on a Sunday morning, unlock all the buildings and classrooms and labs, and then walk away? Maybe we staff some teachers around to answer questions but we promise prospective families nobody will be asking questions of them, not the least of which is their name and email address.

We have 115 CCT cameras on the 108 acres of Ridley. I foresee some sort of prep school version of “Sell This House”. We secretly record their reactions and commentary on the security cameras, play it back for all to see, and then run around trying to fix what we think were legitimate criticisms. And then invite them back.

Could be fun I suppose. But who has time for fun?

I was a vegan.

I’m fresh off a visit to see friends in San Francisco. If you haven’t been, that’s a city with an unmatched coffee culture, at least unmatched in North America. On Saturday, we went to the Saturday coffee place, which, for a non-coffee drinker like me, renders me clueless as to why it can’t also be the Monday to Friday coffee place. Or at least also the Sunday coffee place. (And yes we went somewhere else entirely different on Sunday.) See: aforementioned unmatched coffee culture.

Here’s the exchange between the barista and me:

Me: I’d like large non-fat latte and a small Pellegrino.
BD*: Would you like any pastry with that?
Me: No, thank you. Just the drinks.
BD: The pastries are amazing here. It’s what we’re known for.
Me: They look mighty good but I think we’re fine, thank you.
BD: Dude, I was a vegan before I worked here.

Stage direction: Cut to me walking away with a cinnamon roll dripping with caramel sauce and a blueberry muffin the size of a hubcap.

Now you might think I got snookered into some excellent salesmanship. And maybe I did but his hair that suggested the lack of shampoo and scissors, the tattoos running up and down his arms, the clothes fresh from the Salvation Army runways of Paris, and his quintessential vegan absence of any body fat or muscle (i.e. lanky) all seemed to validate his story. If it wasn’t true, he sure as heck looked the part. Welcome to San Francisco.

The brilliant guys at TargetX who advises colleges and universities on admissions always encourage tour guides to think, “Stories, not statistics. People, not programs.” BD could have told me how popular his pastries were or something about how supposedly healthy I’d find the blueberry muffin (program/statistics) but instead he made it personal, authentic, and he made the connection (people/stories). And I walked away with two seriously large pastries, both in size and price. Plus my drinks.

There’s got to be a lesson there somewhere.

*Barista Dude

I'm sorry.

22,000 people thought they’d won the American Dream. And they had. But erroneously. And then the U.S. State Department shook them on the shoulder and awoke them from their dream and took it all away. It broke my heart to read this article in the Wall Street Journal. There’s a bit of a pit in my stomach for these people.

And then I remembered when I was the U.S. State Department. In a previous school in a previous time (with previous technology), we used to send a congratulations note from the headmaster a week after each candidate’s offer of admission. But those letters were run on the same day as the offers of admission—just post-dated. I don’t recall the circumstances (no doubt having suppressed them) or the details, but one year we changed our mind about a student after we’d run the letters, and we pulled their offer and instead sent a denial.

But we failed to pull the follow up letter from the headmaster.

You can imagine my utter confusion when I returned to my office one afternoon to a very excited voicemail from this student’s mother. She was completely baffled but didn’t care because their family dreams were realized and for reasons unknown we’d changed our mind and offered her son admission. Seemingly from the headmaster no less!

What can you do? It took a bit of time to figure out what happened and then I had to call the mother immediately before they told every neighbor, grandparent, and classmate. In the end, it still was not a good match and despite our mistake we had to hold true to what we believed was best for this boy, which was not to offer admission. It was one of the lowest and most difficult points of my admissions career. Proud dream maker had just become humbled dream killer.

I owned the mistake. I apologized endlessly. I explained what happened. I wrote a follow up note to both parents and kid. When I read about the 22,000 immigrants and conceived this post, I was going to title it “Not Proud”. But that’s not fair. I remember how I felt and can only imagine what those in the State Department are feeling this week.

For the boy in Philadelphia back in the 1990’s and for these 22,000 immigrants today, I’m sorry.

Just be.

Maybe it’s the fact that our school years have all come to a close and we’re all just a wee bit exhausted, but I have talked to more colleagues in the last month who seem to be teetering on the edge. And apparently I’m seemingly one of them as the chaplain recently called me into his office out of concern and to inquire how I’m doing. I thought I was doing fine. Best I not reflect too much and discover otherwise!

We seem tired from the year but also tired from what we perceive to be battles with heads, boards, faculties and even our own staffs. We’re restless, looking longingly on the other side of the fence to see if the grass is actually greener over there. There certainly have been an uncommon number of late spring director changes to invite curiosity. Upon closer inspection, however, it doesn’t seem to be. Even schools, directors and offices that appear from the outside to have a perfect admissions life really don’t when you peel back the cover. The diversity is never right, athletics is never happy, and/or the financial aid budget was never sufficient.

And then there are our schools. They seem restless as well, looking at colleagues and competitors down the road and thinking it’s seemingly better there. They appear to raise more money, generate more ivy league-bound graduates, and have deeper waiting pools. They appear… It’s not that our schools shouldn’t always strive to be better but they sometimes do so absent of taking an accounting of all that is good and actually going well. Goals are admirable but goals don’t negate the success and accomplishments of today. Or they shouldn’t.

What is going on? Why can’t we just be? Why can’t our schools just be? Hopefully the hallways empty of students and faculty and the slower pace of summer that comes with warmer, longer days will result in a quieter pace, a reflection on all that is good and promising in our lives and in our schools, and newfound optimism and enthusiasm for 2011-2012.

Chocolate Fudge Brownie

Hello from the Essex Institute, a wonderful (and rockin’) professional development opportunity for anyone in prep school admissions. I highly recommend it but just don’t let your spouse or head see where we stay.

This evening they made us do one of those hideous “get to know the person to your right and introduce them to the group” exercises. Actually, it was about a decade ago when I met my dear friend Pam McKenna from Hopkins Schools at the Essex Institute. We immediately bonded over our mutual loathing of such exercises. “I’m not here to make friends!”

Well, Drew Lineberger from St. James School had to introduce Craig from The Linsly School. This school is apparently the only boarding school in West Virginia (shocking!) and one of only two independent schools in all of WV. When this was pointed out, someone shouted out (was it you Shelia, from Packard Colleagiate??), “What’s your point”??!! Through the cloud of martinis, merlots, and beers, the question was actually quite valid. What was the point that they were the only boarding school in West Virginia?

Actually, I was next to Drew and my job was to introduce him. In our chat beforehand, he mentioned he had two kids. I asked him “who cares”? I told him that it was all about differentiation and that having two kids was nothing special. He then went on to tell me that he had two cats (I’ve forgiven him). Their names were “Ben” & “Jerry”. Bingo! Who cares he has two kids. Shortly after my introduction of him, someone across the table had two kids—of the same age! I elbowed Drew, hard!

Nobody will remember his kids—or the kids of the person on the other side of the table—but I bet you they remember “Ben” & “Jerry”. And who cares if you’re the only boarding school in all of West Virginia? Big whoop. Tell me something I care about and then I’ll remember your school.

Who cares about being unique. It’s all about being memorable and valuable. If you’re the only boarding school in a state/province that doesn’t care about boarding schools, what good does it do you? Being different doesn't fill schools or beds. Having value does.

On the other hand, do you think those two cats at St. James could fetch me some Chocolate Fudge Brownie or maybe some Cookie Dough??

No means no!

For those who don’t know me personally: I have no children. I’m just putting that out there as those who do have children may read this and think I don’t know about what I’m talking. And I may well not. This is just an opinion blog. My opinion.

According to a Wall Street Journal article, tomorrow ads will run across the country calling for McDonald’s to retire Ronald and blaming McD’s and its marketing machine for our nation’s obesity woes with children. Wasn’t McDonald’s also the target of the woman who was surprised that her coffee was hot when she placed it in her lap? When did McDonald’s start to take the blame for adults abdicating responsibility? (And I’m no great defender of McDonald’s. I’m a Wendy’s guy. Frosty anyone?? (Sorry, Mike.))

But back to marketing to kids. Where do parents take some responsibility? Don’t we all know parents who limit the hours and content of their children’s television? That works, right? If they want to watch more tv or be on the internet, the answer is No. And No means no. I had a colleague in Philadelphia whose family had two computers (one for each son) and they both sat in the living room, where there was no tv at all. Both faced outwards so mom and dad could see what was on the screen at any time. Her sons are fine young men, went on to excellent colleges, and are making their mark in the world now. Saying “no” did not kill them.

And isn’t this all part of what we do and say at our schools? We hold higher standards, starting with the admissions office but then through to academic honesty, acceptable behavior and dress, and personal integrity. We require dress codes and participation in sports. At boarding schools there are curfews and rules about visiting residences. And for the most part, we are pretty successful in our endeavors and our kids have graduated to play meaningful roles in the national and international establishment.

I may not have children but I have worked in education for 21 years. One thing I have learned is that our students will generally rise to wherever we set the bar. When we expect little of them and set it low, they will act accordingly. When we offer them respect and confidence and set the expectations high, they will generally reach those heights. In our schools that latter attitude says to kids, Yes means Yes!

No doubt McDonald's knows what it is doing when it uses characters to advertise food and places toys in the bottom of a bag as an incentive to chow down. After all, they exist to make a profit for their shareholders. But when do we as adults and parents and educators boldly claim that we know what we are doing too, and that we do it in the best interest of our children and students? It our responsibility to set that bar high, higher than it is set by McDonald’s or anyone else.

Let’s give Ronald a break.

Her name was Karen.

Her name was Karen. She was a showgirl. Okay, no, not really. But now you have Barry Manilow playing in your head. Haha!

Actually, her name was Karen. She’s a United Express flight attendant. And she’s the best flight attendant (FA) I have experienced in a long time. As you know, when you fly into a hub airport, the FA does one of three things. Often, it’s nothing. Sometimes it’s to tell you to check the monitors when you land for connecting gate information. And sometimes they interrupt work, sleep, reading and conversation to read off connecting gates for ten minutes over the PA.

But not Karen. Karen went row by row and provided tailored information to each individual passenger with a connection. She also inquired if each passenger was familiar with Dulles International. When not, she gave detailed directions on how to navigate the terminal upon arrival. From my advantage, I saw lots of smiles and thank you’s for Karen’s tremendous service and hospitality. I certainly appreciated it and was in awe.

The cost to United Airlines for this remarkable service? $0.00, that’s what. The cost to Karen? Maybe less time thumbing through her special “Royal Wedding” edition of People magazine. And the benefit to Karen? Also none. This was one of those 20 row planes that only has one FA. Nobody but us passengers (i.e. customers!) to witness and appreciate her efforts. No colleague or supervisor for whom she was putting on a show. It was Karen just being Karen.

So if you’re a loyal reader of this blog and my musings (thank you, if you are!), you know what is to follow: a question with no answer. The question: How do we identify and hire the Karens of the world? What question can we ask, either of the candidate or their reference, to learn who is a Karen and who is not?

Whether they are on the road, out on tour, standing behind the table at a fair, or behind closed doors in an interview (or serving alone in an airplane cabin), trust is a key component with our staff and in our operations. Much of their work is done in solitude. Our people are our best admissions tool and no website or viewbook or social media endeavor can reverse the effects of a bad staff member. We need to treasure and nurture the good ones, but we have to first figure out how to identify and hire them.

Hey Karen! If you’re reading this, there’s a job for you in Canada.


And on a personal note: Congratulations to Shelia Bogan from Dublin School on her move to NYC and to day school admissions. The likes of boarding schools—and NYC!—will never be the same. It’s a lucky school that will benefit from her aversion to sleep and her addiction to work. Congratulations also to my former colleague and friend Emily Surovick (a Karen if there ever was one!) at Chestnut Hill Academy. Emily is expecting her second child and leaving our profession to be a stay-at-home mom. They are unlikely to find someone with as much poise, style, grace and dedication as Emily. She’s a class act and it was a privilege to work alongside her for a year.

A Year Later

A year ago this week, I ran off my plane in Hartford, rode impatiently on the bus to the Hertz lot, and drove slightly more than 55mph to the Apple store at the Holyoke Mall in Massachusetts. I bought my first iPad. (At that point, we didn’t have them in Canada yet.) With the help of my school tech guys on the phone and the Apple folks in the store, we got it up and running and then downloaded some Ridley photos and video. Next stop: Eaglebrook Fair!

For the first time ever (and most likely last!), I was cool, hip, tech-savvy and cutting edge. Mine was the only iPad in the whole room. Students flocked to my table to play with the iPad. They were utterly fascinated as many had not yet seen one. They had only just come out. But more so than the students, the other admissions directors were spellbound. It took me half an hour to get out of the fair before everyone who wanted to had seen the iPad and how I was using it. It was fun to talk with colleagues about its potential and the strategy my office had for it.

Fast forward to this past week and Eaglebrook 2011. There was a…um….herd? flock? murder? gaggle?...of iPads at the fair. My moment of coolness and being cutting edge was very clearly in the past. Oh well. I took home leftover materials; my table was not so popular, so cool.

Now not that I can take credit for the iPad movement but I am happy to have shared my iPad with colleagues during and after last year’s fair. I think we need to do more of this. I find a disturbing trend towards hyper-competition. If we remember our work is to serve students and schools then we should be willing to help each other out since by doing so we’re helping students and schools.

After eleven years at Chestnut Hill Academy in Philadelphia, I was still the new kid on the block when I left. Admissions directors in the Philadelphia market measure their tenures in decades, not years. The result was a group of seasoned professionals and close colleagues who’d been around long enough to have seen it all. Little rattled this group. You win some. You lose some. Life goes on. I miss that level of support, encouragement and mutual respect. That level of professionalism.

By helping and encouraging one another (or at least not purposely getting in the way!), we elevate the standards of our profession, serve the schools we claim to love, and help students end up in the environment and programme that best suits them.

If that isn’t what it is all about, then I don’t know.

Bulletin Boards

I’m in the middle of redesigning and launching a new website at my school. But isn’t everyone? If you’re not, then it means you’ve probably just done so in the last 48 months. It’s incredibly time consuming and made even more so by the number of other voices that get to weigh in on the look, content, navigation, and photos. I could write about the perils of websites or viewbooks designed by committee but there’s not enough alcohol on this plane to get me through it.

Instead, I find myself putting school websites into the same category as bulletin boards (and, accordingly, dating myself). If you’re an admissions director reading this and are breaking out in a sweat over the haunting memory of bulletin boards, then you were watching “Friends” when each Thursday the show had a new episode, not now when you can see repeats ten times a day across three different channels. I remember a time in my career when “bulletin board memo to faculty” was on the checklist before every open house.

Bulletin boards—like websites—are great ideas…at first. Teachers, coaches, activity leaders all are excited about sharing what they are doing, bragging about the accomplishments of their students, and letting their not insignificant egos become manifest on cork. What background paper will go on the bulletin board and where’s a stapler when you need one once you’ve picked out your border? There’s label making and headings and titles to be printed out and put up.

Fast forward to June. The background paper is torn and full of staple holes, the pretty border is wilted and flopping down, and the only thing left on the board is what hasn’t miraculous fallen down since September. All the enthusiasm and plans and energy and joy around the bulletin board quickly fell to the side back in the fall as students returned to school and the year got under way. Then multiply this by how many bulletin boards your school had/has.

So, as we design this new website and as expected, I hear from those enthusiastic colleagues around campus who have great plans and want to make sure they get a “button” on the website and not one of those lousy, buried L4 buttons. Their program should link right off the homepage. What’s ironic is they don’t share my skepticism (and certainly not my righteous indignation) when I point out the fact that on our current website their section hasn’t been updated since October…October 2009!

So beware your website doesn’t become a 21st century bulletin board. And just like those Greeks and their gifts, beware teachers and coaches bearing enthusiasm and promises.

...shall much be required.

A dear friend’s son is blessed to be both an incredible scholar and an incredible musician. Accordingly, he was looking for that rare combination of a superior conservatory and scholarly academics. This is not common. Most conservatories focus on music, to the ignorance of scholarship and most the top academic colleges in the country do not offer conservatories worthy of his talents. So they had to do some research and uncover the appropriate but short list of options.

They were kind to bring me along the journey with regular updates of campus visits, family conversations, and new discoveries. What I learned through this journey is that the world of auditioning for conservatories has its own set of admissions standards and practices.

For example, none of these institutions will divulge how many spaces they may have for trumpets, as an example. They will happily cash your application fee check and let you go to the expense of coming out for the audition, but feel no obligation to let the 150 applicants know there are only two trumpet spots this year.

My friend’s son, however, was talented and smart enough that it didn’t matter. He got a number of offers of admission, including to his first choice. You can imagine the excitement in the household. All those years of practicing and lessons and music camps (say nothing of miles logged in the car by mom and dad to get to all these places!) finally paid off.

But wait.

Here is something else the conservatories don’t tell you or share in their materials or on their websites: financial aid is allocated relative to the institution’s needs, not that of the family. So if you play a popular instrument, like the piano, then your kid is a dime a dozen. You fill out all your paperwork and blindly apply for the assistance your family’s finances indicate you need only to find out what you need is not a consideration. They’ll happily pony up some aid to meet their own needs but if they think your kid can be replaced with a rich kid, then it’s buh-bye.

There’s an ethical irony here insofar that if you are one of these elite conservatories with excellent academics who churn out the next first chair of the Boston Pops, then I suppose you can do as you like, as your wait pool will always be deep and your applications many. On the other hand, if you are top dog in your profession or your peer group or your industry, are you not obligated to set the standard higher, not obligated to be above such things?

So we’ll close with a little scripture this Sunday morning for your consideration and the consideration of conservatory admissions offices: For everyone to whom much is given, of him shall much be required.

iAdmissions

The newest edition of Fortune magazine lists the world’s most admired companies. The top four, in order, are Apple, Google, Berkshire Hathaway and Southwest Airlines (see a related post from 2010 here). Not particularly surprising to see them all at the top of the list. They are certainly leaders in innovation, thinking and profit-making in their respective industries.

As discussed on Morning Joe last week with Fortune’s editor-in-chief, the other attribute these companies share is founders and/or CEOs who are tremendous risk takers. They are all out-of-the-box thinkers and willing to throw caution to the wind in pursuit of their vision. They perceive the future in a way the rest of us are desperate to grasp.

Doesn’t sound like our industry, does it? Prep schools are not really risk-taking places and with few exceptions, there aren’t many schools that could literally afford to accept risky behavior from their admissions director. But our work has evolved in so many ways and there are certainly some industry leaders. I would imagine the names coming into your head right now are the names of which I’m thinking, too.

Somebody had to be the first to try having a school website, the first to see the future of Facebook and create a school page, the first to harness Skype to conduct an interview, the first to take an iPad to a fair, the first to create a school app.

And we haven’t lacked for out-of-the-box thinking either. Concepts like enrollment management, net tuition revenue, and geodemographics have all been introduced to our industry since I joined it. Remember when we had more financial aid than demand? Someone had to first think how best to maximize it and spread the wealth when we started to finally run short (due to our own fault as tuition increases outpaced cost of living increases for over a decade).

What’s next? I can assure you I haven’t a clue. But it’s inspiring to be in the game and see the big thinkers wrestle with how we make our offices and our schools more successful, more efficient, and more committed to serving students. It’s exciting to consider how we stay current, relevant, and at the front of the pack.

My guess is it’ll be somehow associated with an Apple product. iAdmissions? It beats boarding-licious!

A Case Study

Have you been following this great tale of mission, honor and integrity? In short, BYU basketball has been successful in ways never seen before at BYU. Historical success one might say. They recently reached their highest ranking in 23 years.

But its star center broke the BYU honor code by having premarital sex with his girlfriend and when he willingly confessed to the athletic director and his coach, they turned him in. The university suspended him from the team for the balance of the season while they determine if he will be allowed to even remain a student. And the team has subsequently suffered…greatly.

The response? Impressive. The player, the teammates, the coach and the athletic director are all supporting the university’s decision. More than supporting it, they are defending it. And they are all supporting the player. The honor code is clear and any student who enrolled there did so willingly agreeing to it. And when the suspension is over, coach and teammates alike have publicly stated they will welcome the player back.

Isn’t it suppose to be this way? This whole thing could be a case study. School has transparent mission and expectations. Admissions articulates them clearly and with pride. Students and parents choose to embrace them and enroll. Students, as they are want to do, make mistakes. School responds in line with who they say they are. Everyone is in agreement. Student learns a lesson.

I wish I lived in Utah. I’m inclined to buy BYU season tickets right now.

Picnic, anyone?

It’s been a tough few days. I discovered an applicant family was being dishonest and unethical in their dealings with various admissions offices, essentially trying to pit one against another. It’s always sad when this happens, particularly when seemingly decent kids become the victims of unfortunate adult behavior. It is the topic of another post for sure but at some point we have to consider what it is about the prep school admissions process that leads parents to make these poor choices.

What was affirming in the midst of all this, however, was the collegial relationship amongst the admissions directors involved. One had a suspicion and contacted another in a non-accusing way to make an inquiry. That colleague responded not the least bit offended. A third was brought into the conversation. Together we compared notes and collectively understood what had happened. Together we allowed our personal and institutional relationships to overcome and rise above the immediacy of the situation. We all knew applicants come and go, and that the bonds between colleagues had to endure beyond them.

Recently on the plane (shocking, I know) I was reading an article about the psychology of mobs, like the ones at an English football game, whose rush to the sidelines have crushed others to death. The author was comparing human behavior to that of ants, noting that people are individualistic but that ants are profoundly social. We work to our own best interest; ants employ a collective intelligence.

Thank goodness our profession is essentially one of ants, that we have the ability to work collectively and beyond our individual (or institutional) needs. We’re in it for more than that. We’re in it for the social good. It makes me proud. See you at the next picnic.

Cube-a-licious

I was visiting friends in Tampa when we drove by an office furniture store and the big poster on the side of the building said their office furniture was cube-a-licious. Okay, that nailed my funny bone. And to their credit, I have—on and off—thought of them numerous times in the last six weeks. Cube-a-licious. teehee That’s clever!

Then last week while in Africa, I was traveling with a colleague from another Canadian boarding school I hadn’t seen since we were both on tour in China back in the fall. Although she’s never been to my school she told me it stuck in her head after she overheard me tell a kid that skeet shooting was one of our 70+ activities. That simple fact has kept Ridley in the forefront of her mind.

Skeet shooting and cube-a-licious: interesting what rattles around in one’s head. When our schools share more in common than they don’t, it seems rather important to find something that’s uniquely yours. Maybe it’s a tagline/motto or an uncommon activity or something else. But whatever it might be, it seems it’s important that it’s memorable.

After all, doesn’t everyone remember “Where’s the beef?” or “Just Do It.” or “Got Milk?”?

And don’t try and beat me to it—as soon as I post this, I’m filing trademark papers for “boarding-licious™”!

35,000ft over the Atlantic

I had to be in Africa on Wednesday. I had to leave Tuesday evening to get there on time but couldn’t leave any earlier as I had a VIP visitor on campus on Monday and Tuesday. My “go to” airline, United, flies my exact route…six days a week. Yup, Tuesday is their off day. So I flew Lufthansa for the first time.

Now in 2010 I flew 149,137 miles (tracked on www.flightmemory.com). I am hardly a novice flyer. But on Lufthansa, I couldn’t figure out how to work the seat, where to plug in my Bose headset, or how everyone but me seemed to have socks and eyeshades. “This shouldn’t be rocket science,” I thought, too embarrassed to ask for help while subtly checking out the actions of fellow passengers for the clues I craved.

I found my airline seat all at once familiar but foreign and found my predicament humiliating, frustrating, depressing, maddening…memorable.

And then I thought about our prospective families and their first visit to our campuses and offices. It’s just visiting another school, right? It should be rather familiar. But I imagine it can also feel rather foreign. What do we do to make our guests’ experience go well? Go memorable, in a good way?

Surely we have the big things covered like visitor parking and good signage. Right? How about a comfortable place to sit that allows a family to be together? And after a possible long ride, is it obvious (to them, not us!) where to find a bathroom or something to drink? Are we careful not to use school-specific acronyms or lingo? What is an OR after all? At my school, it’s an Old Ridlean. To the outsider, it’s nothing more than a reminder that they’re an outsider.

I knew within two minutes of taking my seat on that A340-300 that I was out of my element and my comfort zone, even though flying is perfectly routine for me. It would have been a great help and comfort if a flight attendant had come over and subtly whispered to me, “Is this your first time flying Lufthansa? If so, let me know if you have any questions. I’m here to help.”

Thankfully United is taking me home from Africa. But when I return to campus, my staff will be discussing a, “I’m here to help” perspective with our guests.

(By the way, I found my kit with eyeshade and socks eight hours later when I packed up to deplane!)

You Asked For It!

Okay, I’m taking a break from admissions blogging and meeting the manifold demands of my friends/readers: a post about travel! So, to my fellow travelers—for business or for pleasure—here are some of my key bookmarks. These resources are the backbone of my travel planning.

www.xe.com/ucc
Basic exchange rate calculator

www.seatguru.com
Only to be used when you and I aren’t on the same flight—don’t take my seat!

http://blog.tsa.gov/
This is where I learned I don’t have to take my iPad out of my briefcase. And they’re funny, too!

www.flyertalk.com
The online Bible for maximizing your hotel, car rental, airline, credit card accounts. Warning: it’s addictive!

http://blogs.wsj.com/middleseat/
Scott’s most recent post about the best day of the week to buy a plane ticket is currently the #1 article read on the Wall Street Journal’s webpage.

https://www.americanexpressfhr.com
Use this service 2-3 times a year and it will have paid for itself in free extra nights, free meals, etc.

www.tripadvisor.com
You have to be savvy to not be taken in by someone with an axe to grind or an owner posting about their own business but there’s a lot of good stuff there.

www.zagat.com
Don’t know where to eat in the big city? These guys can help.

Favourite airline alliance: www.staralliance.com
Favourite airline: www.singaporeair.com
Favourite hotel group: www.starwoodhotels.com
Favourite hotel chain: www.peninsula.com or http://www.starwoodhotels.com/stregis/index.html

May your hotel rooms overlook the mountains and not the dumpsters, may your flights find you in the exit row if not an upgrade, may your rental cars not have been last driven by five guys going to a Dead concert, and may your journeys always bring you home safe to what’s important.

The Fat Lady

Today I went to the regional finalists auditions for the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. It was rather inspiring to see these young, talented people so clearly full of hopes and dreams. It was also, honestly, a bit intimidating. How they put themselves out there for everyone else to judge is beyond me. It’s very raw, intimate and personal, even on a stage in front of an auditorium full of amateur judges—and three professional judges.

Each candidate came with a repertoire of five arias. The first one they sang was of their own choosing, presumably the one with the most difficulty while still showcasing their strongest talents. For the second number, the three judges elected what they wanted to hear of the remaining four choices, often asking for only a certain section of the piece. Although they know not what they will be asked to sing, these artists determine their own repertoire so presumably they’re comfortable with any of the judges’ choices.

Their talent, their career ambition and their dream are all focused with laser-like precision: I want to be a mezzo-soprano at the Met! It struck me as the antithesis of what we ask of our applicants. I bet a lot of those candidates on the stage today belting out Puccini or Mozart couldn’t begin to work their way through a high school chemistry lab or a textbook for advanced functions. But they don’t need to; that’s not where their laser is focused.

But we expect that. We expect our applicants to be across-the-board capable and strong. We don’t forgive a failing grade in one subject as long as they have laser-like focus and success in another subject. We want strong students across the curriculum and they better also come with a special talent or passion or skill because just being smart isn’t good enough. If you can’t make a team, cut the auditions for drama, or write for the newspaper, you may find yourself doing the doggy paddle in the wait pool. Good grades in all subjects isn’t enough for your local admissions committee. What else you got to offer?

When is it okay to pursue one thing at the expense of all the others? I don’t know. It’s not even university, is it? The first year or two of university is filled with required 101 this and 101 that. We’re still being stretched and not yet allowed to focus. I guess it really comes at graduate school when you can finally hone in on that MBA or M.Ed. or counseling degree. But why is that finally deemed the appropriate time?

All I can guess is that the talent and passion and vulnerability I saw today would most likely not have been possible if those young people were not allowed their passion and their laser-like focus. You don’t get that talented and you don’t get to be a finalist for the Met when you’re trying to be equally good at everything.

But why don’t we nurture that? Instead, we just deny admission to that.

Welcome, Heather!

So Heather Hoerle at NAIS is our new leader of SSATB. Congratulations to the search committee. None of these volunteers imagined the firestorm of this fall when they kindly agreed to serve on the board of our professional organization. They have all put in more hours than they ever planned or desired. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

I imagine this will be like taking the cork off the bottle that holds hostage the genie. Or I hope it is. Heather has been the lone voice crying in the admissions wilderness at NAIS, an organization that gives little regard to our industry or the work we do. (Do you know, for example, that in its training for new heads, NAIS provides no time for admissions but two days for development??)

It is a challenging time in our business. Some smaller schools are closing due to decreasing enrolments and medium-sized schools are scrambling, with immeasurable pressure on the admissions office but little additional resources or manpower to deliver. Meanwhile, we are top-heavy with a number of senior members of our fraternity recently retired, announcing retirement this year, or contemplating retirement. And/or wishing the balance in their TIAA-CREF accounts would have let them retired when they had planned.

Demands for financial aid are growing, technology makes us feel like the hamster running on the wheel to nowhere, and everyone at our school looks to us to save the financial day. In my two decades in admissions there has never been a greater need for national leadership and voice for our work and our people. Let us hope that unshackled from NAIS that Heather can be just that beacon.

Welcome, Heather. We have been waiting for you.

Ahhh...Vacation!

Happy New Year to everyone! I hope you got to enjoy some time away, if not geographically then at least from your office, desk, co-workers, in-box, email account, headmaster, etc. I’m writing to share a lesson I’ve already learned on my first day back in the office.

What I did this Christmas break that I’ve probably never done before in my career is truly and earnestly stepped away from work, mentally and physically. When in Canada I did not stop by the office and did not check my mail. I put an away message on my email and was (relatively) disciplined about ignoring it. And even when I did check it, I let about 99% of the messages go unanswered until last night or this morning.

So, into the office I strolled this morning with a certain cloud of dread hanging over my head. There are two immediate international trips to finalize, another the first week in February, and a big luncheon with the headmaster in mid-February to execute. And then there is the meeting with the chairman of the Board next Monday. GASP! What was I thinking doing nothing about all of these things for the last ten days??!!

So after saying hi to everyone, meeting briefly with the headmaster and catching up with my staff, I sat down to desk and email with a very specific “to do” list for the day. There were things that I was going to do today, come hell or high water, no matter how late I stayed.

Wasn’t there a previous marketing campaign of the U.S. Army that went something like, “We do more by 10am than you do all day”? Well, today I’m an army of one. What I set aside the day to hopefully accomplish I had done by lunchtime. This is work I had started and stopped before break with little to show for my efforts.

Amazing what some time away—mentally if not physically—can do to clear out the cobwebs, re-charge the batteries, and focus the mind. The world didn’t end because I ignored email for a week and the mountain of mail awaiting my arrival was hardly arduous. It’s a good lesson learned. I bet I got more accomplished this morning than I probably would have if I’d tried working halfheartedly on it over break.

Me: an army of one! Well, for today at least.