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.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, June 6, 2011
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??
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
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.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
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.
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.
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