The day I found myself on Google Scholar

I have never considered myself a writer, a researcher, or an academic.  Although I do a lot of writing, have started to develop a research agenda, and am a doctoral candidate, none of the above labels have ever really come to mind when I think about myself and the work I do.  I still struggle to explain to family and friends what, exactly, it is that I do all day.

But, I feel slightly more academic today because I just found myself on Google Scholar.  I'm not the Bryce Bunting with a ball valve patent (he lives in Georgia and owns a manufacturing business--I know that, in part, because he emailed me once and introduced himself as the "other" Bryce Bunting.  Oddly enough, we are both from Utah), I'm the one that comes up a little down the list with an equally uninspiring entry for an academic paper ("Understanding the Dynamics of Peer Mentor Learning") published in the most recent special edition of the Journal of the First-Year Experience & Students in Transition.

The study explores what undergraduate peer mentors learn through their experiences mentoring first-year college students.  It's been a bit of a journey as well.  The data were collected in 2004, led to a conference presentation in 2005, a pretty shoddy draft of the article was written shortly thereafter, and the manuscript was rejected by a journal in 2009.  In 2010 we got serious about getting it published and started the hard work of revising the manuscript.  After about six months of work we submitted the article for publication in May of 2011.  In August we were asked to "revise & resubmit," which we did.  The article was then finally accepted for publication in December of 2011.  Three more revisions later I received my copy of the finished article just yesterday.  I never realized how much work goes into scholarly writing.  It's been an eye opening experience for me, but one (strangely enough) that I hope to have again.  I never thought I would be saying that, particularly when I graduated as a PE major six years ago.  

So, somehow, today I feel like I should be acting a little smarter and more scholarly to justify my existence on a search engine that uses the word scholar.

What does it look like when higher education gets it right?

If you are one of six people who occasionally read this blog, you have probably picked up on the fact that many of my posts are critiques of things I have observed.  I've felt guilty about this recently and been wondering why I am so cynical (some might way negative) at times.  I'll never escape my desire to provide commentary on what I see as shortcomings of society, systems, programs, etc.; however, I have made a conscious effort to try and look for the good a little more often (if for no other reason than that it helps me offer more thoughtful critiques of the "less than good" I see).  

On that note, a couple of days ago I read about the BYU New Horizons Orchestra and was struck with the thought "this is the sort of thing that should be happening a lot more often."  And, I felt better knowing that I had, at least for a moment, allowed myself to acknowledge something good in the world.

The New Horizons Orchestra is sponsored by the BYU School of Music and provides seniors in the community surrounding BYU with the opportunity to learn to play a stringed instrument (or, in some cases, to relearn to play one of these instruments).  This fact alone (i.e. that BYU is providing a great service to the local community) would be enough for me to trumpet this program as worthwhile and beneficial.  However, the other great thing about the orchestra is that it provides opportunities for music education students to hone their craft as they direct and conduct these orchestras.  Students get real laboratory teaching experiences, but with motivated, mature learners who aren't likely to present the behavioral challenges that might come up in a real classroom of pre-pubescent kids trying to learn to play the cello (although they'll need that experience, it's probably better if it comes a little later on, after they have had success teaching a pleasant 75 year-old woman who smiles a lot).  Finally, the orchestra is also providing research opportunities for both faculty members and students in the School of Music.

So, in the context of this small orchestra, made up of white-haired folks from around the Provo-Orem area, you can see each of the major missions of higher education being fulfilled:

1.  Teaching -- Students in the School of Music get an invaluable field experience that builds their confidence and provides opportunities to connect and apply principles and pedagogical strategies from their coursework.

2.  Research --  Because of the unique make-up of the orchestra (senior members and student conductors), there are multiple unique research questions that can be explored in this context (e.g. how do senior learners progress from novice to capable instrmentalists?  How does this process differ from the way young musicians learn to play?  How does bringing seniors and young adults together in a learning environment impact their perspectives of one another?  etc.).

3.  Service -- The university provides a service to the local community that both improves the lives of orchestra members and improves the public's view of the university and it's place in the local community.

It wasn't until I was sitting at my computer typing out this post that I made the above connection (i.e. that the New Horizons Orchestra was bringing together teaching, research, and service all in one place).  But, it seems like an excellent example of what should be happening in every department on a college campus.

What if course registration was like buying a book on Amazon?

I just finished reading Charles Duhigg's very interesting book, The Power of Habit.  In Chapter 7 ("How Target Knows What You Want Before You Do") he relates the story of Andrew Pole, a data expert who helped Target develop a process for identifying which of its customers were pregnant, sometimes before their families even knew (This NY Times article by Duhigg essentially tells the same story).  Target then could mail customized books of coupons featuring the exact products a pregnant woman would be shopping for at that point in her pregnancy.  It's a story that is both fascinating (what kind of statistical genius comes up with this stuff) and slightly disturbing (what else does Target know about me?).

Although Duhigg's method is very sophisticated and allows Target to market to customers in ways many companies cannot, the practice of collecting and analyzing data which illuminates customers preferences and habits is not all that new.  I have been listening to Pandora since 2004 and, at this point, I rarely hear a song I don't like (even if it is a song I haven't heard before).  Pandora knows what I like because it has analyzed my likes and dislikes for the last 8 years and it can recommend songs to me that I will like, but wouldn't have been aware of otherwise.  Similarly, Amazon tracks my purchases, compares them to their vast database and then suggests other titles I might be interested in.  In some sense (theoretically), everyone wins in these situations--I make better choices and am more satisfied with my purchases, listening choices, etc. and the company makes more money (because I am more satisfied and more likely to make future purchases).  So, what might this mean for institutions of higher education?

I typically hesitate to transfer business practices to educational settings because of what I see as very different value systems at work in the two areas; however, Target and Amazon may have something to teach higher ed, particularly those who are involved in enrollment and registration processes on their campuses.  While higher education isn't "selling" a product to students in the traditional sense, it is true that students "purchase" a particular type of experience which is provided by an academic institution.  This experience is multi-faceted and includes a host of sub-experiences including co-curricular and extra-curricular activities, a residential experience (in some cases), and many others; however, at the core of the educational experience "purchased" by students are courses.  Students pay for the right to enroll in, attend, and complete courses.  And, ultimately, these courses lead to graduation (disclaimer:  what I have just described here, clearly, ignores the learning we hope occurs for students on a campus and is a good example of what John Tagg has termed the instruction paradigm.  I don't espouse this paradigm and do value learning; however, from a purely economic perspective, students at the vast majority of institutions are indeed purchasing courses, rather than paying for learning.  I say this because students can buy a course and eventually graduate, without learning very much at all).

One of the problems facing many institutions is the lack of a clear path from admission to graduation and the resulting problem of time to graduation measures which are much higher than we would like.  This is particularly true at institutions like mine where students are given nearly complete freedom to "purchase" whatever classes they wish and in whatever sequence they wish.  Of course, that is an over generalization and there are some constraints placed on registration choices (e.g. prerequisite courses, limited enrollment programs); however, in most cases (particularly in a student's first few semesters) they have very limited guidance and even less constraint when it comes to course selection.  Not surprisingly, students often make poor choices when it comes to course registration--choices which (a) they are not satisfied with and (b) delay time to graduation.

Institutions, long ago, developed a human solution to this problem and began hiring academic advisors to provide students with assistance in making these decisions.  And, clearly, these advisors have an important role to play on campuses (and one that extends far beyond the mechanics of course registration).  However, the impractical "loads" of most advisors, coupled with the lack of mandatory advisement on many campuses (yes, these two issues are linked) means that very few students receive the type of advisement we would hope for.  No technical solution could or should ever replace the human and high-touch work that advisors do, but in today's economy the chances of an institution hiring more advisors isn't good.  Consequently, technological interventions are becoming more and more of a necessity.  This is where Amazon and Target might be able to help.

Virtually ever campus has an online registration system and, feasibly, could track student's registration choices.  Additionally, campuses know where students are from, how many AP/IB/Concurrent Enrollment credits they brought with them, what their major is, their age, marital status, and probably many other pieces of demographic data.  Additionally, campuses know how long it takes students to graduate.  What if the Andrew Pole's on our campuses could, first, identify the most efficient pathways to graduation on their campus and, more importantly, identify the unique pathways for particular types of students (e.g. engineering majors, non-traditional students, or History Teaching majors with minors in coaching)?  The wisest campus leaders would also find ways to determine how to balance time and learning outcomes such that these ideal paths take into consideration both time and quality of learning (through analysis of learning outcome data and other evidence which helps determine how much and how well students are learning).

But, identifying these paths alone isn't enough to change student behavior; campuses need to find ways to use this data to inform student decision making at the very time they are making the decisions.  At each step along a student's path to graduation (e.g. first enrollment as a brand new first-year student, 5th semester, etc.) unique and specific suggestions could be made within the registration system so that a student logging in to register for classes sees a "students like you have registered for . . . " message at the very moment and in the very electronic space where they will be making their "purchase."  However, when we say "students like you" we really mean students like you who also have had a good experience on our campus and graduated in a relatively short amount of time (so, maybe we're lying just a bit, but it's for the greater good).

Could it be done?

A new way to exploit college athletes

Image appearing in the 5 April Equity Express Email

Intercollegiate athletics are a controversial topic in higher education on a number of levels.  And, like just about any other part of the academy, athletic departments have their problems.  One common critique of the current big-time college sports system is that student-athletes who are members of prominent teams at high-profile schools are exploited in that their success on the field, in the pool, or at the ballpark brings huge financial gains for others (e.g. their coaches, their institutions, or the governing body that "protects" them).  For a couple of good reads on these issues see Murray Sperber's Beer and Circus and William Rhoden's Forty Million Dollar Slaves.


Yesterday I saw a new way to exploit college athletes and, ironically, it came from an organization who claims to "speak up for students."  The Education Trust sent an email yesterday to what I am assuming is a very long mailing list.  In the body of the email was the image at right, which compares the University of Kentucky's point total from their National Championship win with their six year graduation rate. Clearly, it was a clever and timely move that was effective in communicating a key message for The Education Trust (i.e. There is a problem with the graduation rates in American institutions.  I agree, those of us who make our livings in higher education need to find a way to ensure that more students graduate from our institutions.  What I do object to, however, is The Education Trust's use of an individual institution and further, 15 members of a single athletic team at that institution, to promote their agenda.  By linking the institution's graduation rate with the men's basketball team, Education Trust seems to imply that the basketball team also has a low graduation rate and that the members of the team are poor students.  Of course, not every reader of the email will make those assumptions, but the design and tone of the message seem to imply it.

I don't have any idea what the graduation rate for John Calipari's team is.  And, it's quite possible it is close to the institution's rate (if not lower); however, for The Education Trust to throw the entire team under the bus seems uncalled for.  Additionally, although I have no data to back this up, I wouldn't imagine that UK's graduation rate is all that different from many other teams in the recent NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament, so, to single out one institution seems shady as well.

As much as I agree with the mission of Education Trust, they owe the University of Kentucky as well as the members of the men's basketball team an apology.

The search for institutional identity: Who are we and where are we going?

"Before you can be a positive part of change or a facilitator of change, you have to be really sure of what you believe personally. . . .  It is important to clearly understand and to be guided by our values and beliefs if we hope to operate beyond what could be described as a superficial level."

I read this statement about a month ago in a trimmed down version of a dissertation study conducted by Garry McKinnon a number of years ago in Alberta, Canada.  It seemed insightful at the time and I made a note to write a post about it, but then life happened and the post never did.  However, since reading McKinnon's study I have been reminded--at least three times--of the way in which personal values impact administrative leadership in higher education.  I'll comment on those three experiences below.

The first occurred a little over a month ago when I listened to Michael Bassis speak at an ePortfolio conference at Westminster College.  Bassis' tenure will be ending this summer, so he was particularly reflective and self-revealing in his remarks, which was incredibly refreshing.  And, his values were clearly evident in both the substance of his remarks (the value of integrative learning experiences and the necessity of institutional features that promote and facilitate this type of learning) as well as the way in which he interacted with those of us attending the session.  I remember, specifically, his response to one question (I, actually, don't remember the question) from an attendee which was "I don't know," followed by a long, pensive pause.  Eventually, I think he tried to articulate some kind of answer, but his clear humility and recognition that some questions don't have clear or quick answers were on display.  Additionally, his frequent references to his colleagues (and it was clear that he viewed them as such, as opposed to underlings or subordinates) and their good work was evidence of his emphasis upon collaboration across campus.  Finally, the fact that Bassis has created his own ePortfolio, describing and demonstrating the degree to which he has achieved the College Wide Learning Goals he expects students at his institution to achieve, was remarkable.  His personal values are not only clearly articulated in this video welcome to his ePortfolio, but visible across the various artifacts included in the ePortfolio and, more importantly, evident in the way Bassis has approached his presidency.  Westminster College has been transformed over the last ten years because Bassis has worked to make meaningful changes and made sure that his work has been aligned with a grander vision.  What's even more impressive is that, from what I can see, the vast majority of his campus--both faculty/administrators and students--have embraced that vision and made Bassis' values their own.  This has meant that Westminster College has been on a journey towards a clear destination, a destination which influences key decision-making at all levels of the college from admissions, to individual departments, to far-reaching initiatives like the decision to incorporate ePortfolios and College Wide Learning Goals for all students.

The second experience isn't quite as cheery.  A little over two years ago my campus made the decision to implement a first-year initiative that would (a) require students to complete core general education requirements and (b) assign every incoming freshman student an upperclassman peer mentor.  Although I was nervous at that time about how feasible it would be to provide seats in high-demand courses for 5500 students and, even more, be able to provide mentoring support to that many students, I have been pleasantly surprised with how well it has gone and how an "everybody's in" approach has allowed us to provide support to students who would never have received in an opt-in program.  However, as with any new large-scale initiative, there have been hiccups, frustrations, mistakes, and times when we wanted to cry "Mulligan." Also, not surprisingly, there have been a few students and parents who haven't been pleased with things (although it has been a much smaller number than I would have guessed).  And, a small percentage of these disgruntled folks have sent emails or made phone calls to university administration.  To make a very long story short, two years later the university has made the decision to back off its original intention to (a) require students to complete first-year requirements during the first year (its almost all I can do to even type an oxymoronic sentence like that) and (b) ensure that every student has a peer mentor.  For me, this is a clear case of identify diffusion at the institutional level.  As a campus community, we are relatively unsure of who we are and what we value (e.g. Is mentoring that important?  Does everyone need a mentor?  Is general education all that critical?  Should we really require anything of students?), yet from what I can see not all that concerned about it because we have no problem changing the tone of the message we send students on a nearly annual basis (i.e. "Everyone can benefit from a mentor" and "All students should be involved in a first-year writing course during their first year" to "If you want a mentor, great, but we won't really care if you don't" and "Just complete the requirement at some point before you graduate and we won't bother you").  I love my campus and its founding ideals, but honestly I worry sometimes whether we'll ever get where we think we are going.  If our stated message continues to be "expected but not required" (that is language pulled directly from official statements handed down from campus administration), students will hear a much different message.

Finally, a happy ending from an Inside Higher Ed article this week describing how Defiance College President Mark Gordon opens his home to students for weekday study halls, basement ping-pong games, and weekend classic movie nights (his wife also deserves credit for sending a personal letter to each incoming student with a coupon for a free home-cooked meal--what's more, if a student takes her up on her offer and comes for dinner, they receive a standing invitation for dinner for the rest of their time at the college).  While none of these things is evidence that students at Gordon's college are receiving a good education, it is a clear signal of his personal philosophy towards his presidency--Defiance College is a "family" who look out for one another, personal relationships with students matter, and a campus administrator is never too busy to have conversations with students.  Of course, Defiance is a small school, so this sort of involvement with a president would not be possible on some campuses, but the point is that Gordon knows what type of campus he wants and is doing very personal things to try and help that happen.

So, while a campus community is made up of many more people than an individual campus leader, that individual, including their values, vision, and identify, will do much to determine where the ship sails and what path it will take.

What does it mean when we say we are advocates?

Yesterday morning I was in a meeting attended largely by academic advisors on my campus.  One of the items on the agenda was a report on a sub-committee's year-long efforts to develop a vision and mission statement for the campus advising community.  Aside from my generalized lack of confidence in the ability for these kinds of sterile statements to produce meaningful change on a campus (especially when they are created by stakeholder groups with very little power, like academic advisors, and not a priority for central administration), I was intrigued by one of the "goals" outlined in the document:  "Advocate for student success."  


Statements like that, while nice-sounding and politically correct, are fraught with challenges because of the lack of a shared understanding of what is meant.  For example, what do we mean when we say we "advocate for" students?  And, what is "student success" on a particular campus?  I'm not sure that anyone in the room yesterday could have provided a clear answer to either of those questions.  Consequently, I have very little hope that the vision and mission statements shared yesterday will have any real impact on the advising that takes place here.

Advocacy has become, in recent years, a buzz word in student support and first-year experience circles.  This makes sense--the FYE movement and the focus on providing student support services both came about, in part, because of a clear need to provide students with resources (both human and otherwise) that they could access to move through higher ed more productively.  However, there is danger when these "advocates" confuse advocating for a cause and advocating for an individual.  Let me explain, when I advocate for an individual person, my interest is in finding a way for their voice to be heard.  I plead their case, argue for their hopes or wishes, and act on their individual behalf.  In essence, I do and say the things they would do themselves.  My advocacy is helpful because of my position in an organization or access to particular people or dialogues.  Advocacy for a cause, while similar in many respects, involves support and defense of a set of values, assumptions, or philosophical ideals.

From this perspective, there may be times when advocates find themselves in situations where advocating for an individual would come into conflict with a cause.  In my experience, this is a situation academic advisors find themselves in quite often.  Here's a composite story to illustrate.  It is October and students on campus are busy registering for classes for the upcoming winter/spring semester.  A senior student makes an appointment to meet with his academic advisor to discuss his graduation plans.  The student is in a bind:  he is planning on graduating in April and has one more general education class to take; however, the class is not offered during the winter semester.  He made the advising appointment to request that the requirement be waived so that he can graduate on time and complete the internship he has been accepted for this summer.  What to do?

Advocating for the student would mean making some kind of formal request that the institution make an exception to its policies for this individual student.  Advocating for student success could, however, mean something very different and run counter to the student's wishes.  If I believe that student success on my campus means a rich and diverse general education experience, then I'll be inclined to hold students accountable to having that kind of experience before they graduate.  And, anytime campus personnel (be it advisors, faculty members, or anyone else) hold students accountable, there is some chance that the student will be upset or angry because their wishes haven't been met.

 So, when someone says that they "advocate for student success," does that mean advocating for a particular type of educational experience (e.g. deep learning, breadth of experience, service, etc.) or advocating for students' own interests?  Of course, those two don't have to be mutually exclusive and we hope that they aren't.  However, until a campus can be clear about what "success" is and what it means to have the "Anywhere U experience" we will continually find ourselves in situations where our efforts to be advocates put us in double binds.

How good does someone have to be to earn a free pass when they're bad?

Earlier this week, one of the top stories in Provo, UT (where I live and work) was the Provo School District's suspension and planned termination of a popular football coach at one of the local high schools.  It is a sad story on a number of levels:  at least one person (and probably more) will likely lose his job, students and athletes at the school will have to deal with a number of distractions for the rest of the academic year, community members are upset, and public education (especially athletic departments at public institutions) has been given another black eye.  As I watched things play out over the last week, I couldn't help but think back to the Penn St. sex abuse scandal that dominated the media a few months ago.

Obviously, financial misdeeds seem incredibly benign juxtaposed with sexual abuse of children; however, there are some interesting parallels.  Both stories seem to illustrate a more general archetypal pattern of the fallen sports hero.  These stories contain a number of common elements.  First, the hero (usually a player or a coach, although in some communities some kind of athletic administrator may rise to this position) emerges through his (I use that pronoun intentionally here because I can't think of a fallen sports hero that isn't a male) consistent on-field success, contributions to the community (e.g. mentoring of young athletes, improved community morale around a winning team, charitable work, etc.), and general likability or charisma.  Note that this rise occurs over a number of years as in order to be considered a hero (rather than a one-season wonder) the character must establish an athletic dynasty, build a following in the community, and demonstrate (especially to those critics of traditional athletic culture) a level of integrity and commitment worthy of others' admiration.

The conflict in the story comes when the hero falls.  Although losing seasons may be part of this fall, losing alone isn't enough to qualify a narrative as a fallen sports hero story, because at their core, these are stories of betrayal and lost hope.  As much as we love our teams, we don't feel betrayed when they lose (in fact, the most die-hard fans increase their loyalty when losses pile up--do you know any Cubs fans?), just disappointed, frustrated, or maybe even angry.  Heroes fall when something disturbing happens in the overlapping space between their personal and professional lives, and we as their admirers are forced to confront a discrepancy between their actions and our idyllic image of them as societal models.  They break the law, mistreat individuals in their personal life, or in some other way act counter to the values we have previously believed they exemplified for us.  And, we are left feeling betrayed, hurt, and wondering if there is any good left in the world.

There are at least two typical responses at this point in the story.  First, athletic skeptics (and new believers who were once skeptics of athletics) use the fall as justification for their beliefs that athletics has nothing positive to contribute to the world (e.g. "All successful coaches cheat and lie and hot-shot players are entitled jerks who take what they want").  The other response, which is the more interesting one of the two, takes the form of praise for all the hero has done for the community and a profession of faith in the innocence and continued goodness of the hero.  This type of response is evident in a statement made by prominent author Stephen Covey, in support of Provo's current embattled sports hero:

"I believe in Coach Louis Wong. He is so much more than just a football coach. He represents Timpview      and he stands for excellence. He is as fine a man and leader as I know."

Another example from the hero's attorney:

 "What Lou did for the school and community went far beyond the field of play.  What he did is what we want our educators to do — care about the kids who are entrusted to their care, to help them, to teach them to make the right choices, to be team players, to cooperate and to work for what they get." 

While much of what is contained in these statements is probably true--I don't doubt that the coach really did care about students and players or that he possesses tremendous leadership skills--they make no attempt to address the wrongdoing.  Instead, they seem to imply that, because of the hero's long record of good deeds and established reputation as a good citizen, it isn't possible that he could be guilty as charged.  The same type of response was apparent in the Penn St. scandal as well when Paterno supporters criticized his termination by providing long lists of his good deeds (again, supporters rarely addressed the validity of the actual charges, just provided character references and expected that to be enough to clear him).  Beneath all of this rhetoric seems to be a belief that heroes', through their good deeds and exemplary lives, earn "free passes," that society is then obligated to accept as payment for wrongdoing.  

I don't know whether Louis Wong is completely innocent, just naive, or guilty.  We'll probably never know, and to give him any one of those labels would probably be overly simplistic.  However, it would be helpful if more of us were willing to admit that our heroes are usually both heroic and flawed as evidenced in this statement from Bob Gentry, interim Superintendent for the Provo School District:

"It’s extremely gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.  I know Coach Wong personally, and I think he’s a good man. I personally think he didn’t have criminal intent, but he made mistakes and we can’t ignore those mistakes." 


What would really be heroic in all of this would be for everyone involved to be completely honest about mistakes that were made.  That would include Wong as well as the former principal at the school, district officials, parents, assistant coaches, and anyone else involved.  But, that would be a fairy tale.