Monday morning Dan showered, changed, had his usual two mugs of coffee and headed out of his apartment by 8:00 a.m. for the five-block walk to the 65th Street subway station to catch the G train to Queens Plaza. After a five-minute wait, he boarded the train for the short ride to Queens Plaza, where he walked across the platform to wait for the E train heading to Manhattan. Five minutes later, he boarded the crowded Manhattan-bound E train and suffered the approximately fifteen minute ride tightly pressed on all sides by fellow strap hangers—one of whom had obviously had too much garlic in his dinner the previous night or perhaps in his breakfast. Since moving was not an option, Dan tried to lengthen as much as possible the interval between breaths, and did his best to inhale only when the other seemed to inhale as well. Immediately behind him, a lovely buxom brunette in a tight-fitting business suit pressed against him doubtless out of necessity rather than choice, but he felt mixed emotions at the warmth of her body against his back and the lingering essence of her expensive perfume. The latter would have been intoxicating but for the incongruous and nauseating odor of the young man’s breath directly in front of him. He began to blush, thinking of his girlfriend and trying hard not to dwell on the beautiful woman behind him whose touch was far from unpleasant—especially when the rocking motion of the subway car and curves along the route caused her to repeatedly rub up quite intimately against him. He wondered whether she was as uncomfortable as he while trying not to think what it might feel like had he chosen to face her way rather than towards the man who seemed to have attempted suicide by garlic overdose—and his blush deepened at the thought.
After what seemed an eternity in his subway purgatory half way between heaven and hell which was, in fact, just one slightly longer than usual stop as the subway wormed its way beneath the East River separating Manhattan from Queens, the subway stopped a bit brusquely at the Lexington Avenue 53rd Street station giving him one final unintentional goodbye bump against the poor women behind him. He barely managed to get out of the subway car before the doors closed again with only minor jostling followed by pleas of “excuse me, getting off.” He then proceeded slowly along with the throng of subway riders making their way to the exit, through the turnstiles and up the stairs to a cool, wonderfully bright early September morning in Midtown Manhattan. This was by far the part of the city that Dan loved best, though he generally loved and loathed the city in equal measure. His girlfriend, on the other hand, loved it with all her heart. That is something that would eventually cause them minor problems in their relationship and later major ones in their marriage.
There is no city like New York City, and even most of those who grew up in the city or its surroundings never quite get over the uniqueness of their city that showcases some of the best and worst humanity has to offer. It offers unparalleled cultural, educational, architectural, artistic, commercial and professional opportunities, with the unique richness that only a truly multicultural city can bring to natives and visitors alike, alongside too many pockets of abject poverty, rampant homelessness that includes mentally ill people and addicts. Crime-riddled areas also abound in many neighborhoods where thugs run free in all five boroughs, including Manhattan—not unlike the similar problems faced by most major cities, if less visible perhaps to casual observers here behind a facade of glamor, wealth, beauty and the allure of the city that never sleeps.
Outside, enjoying the fresh, non-garlic-scented air, Dan breathed in deeply, feeling the unmistakable vibe of Midtown Manhattan with its moving mountains of humanity pounding the pavement, impatiently waiting for lights to turn green at street corners or jaywalking. He walked South for two blocks to 51st Street, then East for two additional blocks to 2nd Avenue and the PEMTI flagship school, located in a once-impressive office building that had seen better days but still retained a reasonably elegant facade if one did not look too closely. He went in unimpeded to the main lobby and scanned the building’s directory listing multiple businesses, including several doctor’s offices, insurance agencies and PEMTI on the top floor of the four-story building. There were already numerous people waiting for the elevator whom he suspected must be students given their ages and dress, along with a couple of better dressed older adults. He waited for the next elevator as the first one quickly filled to capacity, and eventually arrived at the fourth floor reception area approximately fifteen minutes prior to his 9:00 a.m. appointment.
“Daniel Amor to see Dr. Green” he told the twenty-something African-American receptionist sporting short hair and a fashionable light purple business suit with a yellow blouse who looked up from her reading material with a friendly smile. “He’s been expecting you,” she said, and picked up the phone to announce him. “Please have a seat, Mr. Amor. Dean Green will be with you shortly,” she added hanging up the phone.
“Thank you,” said Dan as he moved to one of the unoccupied chairs to his right. He noticed that several individuals, most likely students, were sitting on about half of the available dozen chairs with clipboards, writing intently. He wondered whether they were applicants for admission or job seekers.
A few minutes later, a middle aged man approached the reception area and slowly ambled towards Dan. He was perhaps in his late forties, sporting a rumpled yellow shirt with rolled up sleeves and an ugly green tie with brown pants over which a ponderous belly hanged like over-leavened bread escaping a bread pan. He sported a full beard, black plastic-rimmed glasses and longish curly dark brown hair. “You must be Dan” he said, extending his hand as Dan rose to shake it. “I’m Dr. Howard Green.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Dan said, offering him a firm handshake and a smile.
“Come with me. You’ll be shadowing me today and I’ll fill you in on your responsibilities as I work. But we’ll have some time together as well, including about a half hour now before some student and faculty meetings.” With that the man, looking for all the world more like a burned out undercover cop from central casting than an academic or academic administrator, turned and signaled for Dan to follow. Dan did as he was bid, his smile fading. It was not what he had expected, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover, so he quietly followed his new mentor to his office.
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The actual office was a cluttered, small, windowless room approximately twelve feet long by 12 feet wide—not too different from his own but for the lack of a window facing a hallway. A battered desk was located directly in front of the door, about four feet from the rear wall. Two plastic chairs with metal frames not much better than those one finds in a typical food court at a mall were placed in front of the desk and a well-worn leather high back chair behind it. Book cases ran all along one wall, and a filing cabinet similar to the one in Dan’s office was placed at right angles with the desk for easy access by the desk’s occupant. There were piles of papers and books everywhere with little room to move in the tight space.
“Have a seat,” Dr. Green commanded, pointing to the nearest plastic chair across from his desk while sitting on his leather chair. He then interlocked the fingers of both hands behind his neck and reclined on his chair. “So.” he continued after staring intently at Dan for what seemed a long time. “You are the new Dean of the Queens school. Is this your first brush with the proprietary business school market?”
“Yes it is,” Dan said quickly. “It is not a path I had contemplated taking until I saw the advertisement in the Times and decided to apply. I’d been considering an academic posting, but in a traditional college or university setting.”
Dr. Green smiled. “So you wanted to be an academic and ended up at PEMTI, eh?”
“That’s about it” Dan said.
“Well, the academy this is not.” Dr. Green scoffed with a wan smile. “But we do what we can for our students. I want to get some things straight out of the box since you’re a newbie at this and I’ve been around the block a few times in the proprietary market. You must understand that this is first and foremost a business, and that you can never take your eye away from what impacts the bottom line or you’ll be terminated quicker than you can say bye-bye.”
“I have no problem with sticking to a budget or generating revenue for the school as long as I know that the students are being well served. I won’t have to be terminated if I find that is not the case—I’ll gladly quit,” Dan responded not attempting to hide his annoyance. “Increasing profits is fine with me, as long as the product provides a good return on investment for the students. If it does not, I won’t be a part of it.”
Dr. Green said nothing as Dan spoke, but simply stared at him with the same wan smile. “We’ll see,” was his only response once Dan had finished speaking. “For now, let me try to give you a basic idea of what you’ll be required to do. You are lucky in that you have a decent Director to work for at the Queens school as far as they go, and that you also have a pretty stable slate of teachers there. Also, your enrollments are within acceptable limits and the support staff has also been fairly stable, thanks in no small part for Marvin’s leadership style which is for the most part supportive of his managers. And he treats his staff decently. So they’re relatively happy with their lot and you don’t have too many serious issues to worry about immediately.”
“That’s good to know,” Dan noted, grateful for that assessment.
“Having said that, this is a tough business. We cater to the lowest common denominator as students go. Many choose the business school only because they need to work or study to keep the welfare checks coming, and school is easier than actual work. At least half of the students are here just to scam the system—even the ones who actually want an education. They will take out student loans they never intend to repay—just like any other credit they may have had in the past, if any—and will take advantage of the federal and state grants that pay the majority of their tuition. This is as true for the Queens school in general as it is for the rest of our schools and for the whole industry. We are basically being subsidized by the government and by student loans that nearly half of the students have no intention of repaying. And that is the perpetual sword hanging over our heads, as the government can cut off our ability to qualify for guaranteed student loans and grants any time if the default rates become excessive—and they will judge what that means—usually around a 50-55 percent student default rates.”
“I had no idea about any of this,” Dan said.
“Of course not. Nobody outside of the industry does. Moreover, the State Education Department (SED) does not in general think very highly of our industry so they can be a real pain in the ass when it comes to periodic audits or turning down new course proposals. You have to make sure that your teachers keep up their lesson plans and that these contain reasonable, relevant information. That is a major part of your job. Many if not most of your teachers will likely be a lazy lot and they will delay that part of their jobs as long as they can get away with it. You have to make sure they keep their lesson plans current and that you review and keep them on file regularly. I suspect you’ll have issues with a number of your teachers—even ones who are actually pretty decent in the classroom based on conversations with your predecessor. If you don’t crack the whip and stay on top of them, they will walk all over you and do the least amount of work they can get away with—and writing lesson plans is not a favorite part of the job for any of them.”
“Since you mention the faculty,” Dan interjected, “how and how often do we evaluate them, and do we have students evaluate them regularly?”
“That’s actually up to you, Dan. If you have the time you can evaluate them annually, quarterly or any time you damned well please. SED does not much care about that—as long as their credentials check out and they have current lesson plans on file in your office during an audit, that’s all they will want to see. Student evaluations are irrelevant, as are your class observations—except in cases where you have suspicions about what’s going on in a classroom or want to build a case against a given teacher. As you know, they are employed at will and can be fired at any time with or without cause. But you have to beware firing anyone in a protected classification as they will likely sue or file charges of discriminatory firing regardless of fault or galloping incompetence. The white males you can chuck out the window for no reason and nobody will care—but watch out for just about everyone else. I personally don’t evaluate my teachers unless I have a problem or suspicion of a problem from one of them—including too many student complaints.”
“I see,” Dan said, not really seeing at all and having no intention of following the advice on evaluating faculty only as a risk management protocol.
Just then, a young woman peeked into the open door and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Green. But there’s a student here insisting to see you.”
“He rolled his eyes and asked,” What is it about?”
“She won’t say but says it’s urgent.”
“Fine, send her in.” Then, looking at Dan, “It never ends.”
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