A moment later, a young woman of perhaps 18 or 19 was shepherded in, with the secretary announcing “This is Tenisha, Dr. Green.”

“What do you want, Tenisha,” He responded, looking at the young black woman dressed in jeans and a faded T-Shirt in nondescript pastel colors.

“I’m sorry to bother you, dean, but I need subway fare to get home tonight.” The woman looked at Dr. Green intently, in neither a pleading nor a demanding tone, looking down from time to time as if embarrassed.”

“You need money for a subway token? Why are you coming to me? What do I have to do with that?”

“I don’t know who else to ask,” she answered, scrunching up her nose as if the answer should be obvious.

“You did not know that you would need money for a subway ride back home when you came in just now? What happened? Did you lose your purse on the way here? Get mugged?” His tone was sarcastic, and unnecessarily hurtful to Dan’s ears.

“No”, I just did not have enough money for two tokens.

“I’m not made of money. I don’t have a slush fund for students who can’t afford to pay for their transportation. Why don’t you walk home?”

“It’s too far. I live in Brooklyn and it would take me hours to walk home after my classes.”

“Well,” he retorted, still in a sarcastic tone and louder voice than necessary, “That’s something you should have thought about before coming, don’t you think? That’s why you have student loans, or maybe you need to get yourself a job.”

“I have a job”, she said, defiantly. Anger now tinging her voice. “I just don’t have the money for the subway fare today. I have never asked you before.”

“No, you haven’t, maybe because you’re new. But others do every day. I am not your piggy bank. Why don’t you go see your admissions counselor? His salary depends on your coming to school regularly. Mine does not.”

“Please,” she pleaded for the first time. How am I supposed to get home?

At this Dan could no longer be just an observer and pulled out his wallet, offering her a $5 bill. “Here—and get a sandwich or snack for lunch too, OK?”

“NO!” Exclaimed Dr. Green as the girl extended her hand towards Dan’s offered bill. “They have to understand that they can’t just panhandle every day.” With that the girl pulled back her hand as if stung.

“Just this once,” Dr. Green continued, “I will help you out. I won’t give you any money, but,” he stopped and reached under his desk pulling out a plastic bag, “here—take these cans and bottles. The corner deli across the street will take them and give you back the deposits. There’s more than enough here for a token. That’s a lot of money. But I’ll do this just this once.”

The girl reached out for the proffered bag, taking it and giving a very quiet “Thank you” while turning towards the door.

“Wait a moment, Ms.” Dan said. “Please take this and when you go to return the cans and bottles get yourself a sandwich,” he said offering the $5 still in his hand to her. You can’t learn on an empty stomach. Go on, please take it. Maybe someday when I forget my wallet home someone will do the same for me.” She looked up into his eyes with a thin smile and took the money, once again saying “Thank you” and holding Dan’s eyes for a moment. Then she walked out of the office.

As soon as she walked out, Dr. Green got up, walked to the door and closed it, returning to his seat. “Don’t ever do that again!” he said to Dan with barely suppressed anger in his voice. “You don’t know these kids, but you will. They will bleed you dry like leeches if they think you an easy mark. If you do that in Queens, you’ll never get rid of them.”

“Sorry, Dr. Green” Dan said. “But that girl did not seem a leech to me—just a desperate young woman who seemed caught between a rock and a hard place. You said she had never asked before—I might take a similar though gentler tack if anyone repeatedly asked for carfare.”

“You will learn the hard way.”

“You’re probably right, and I’m sorry if I overstepped here—she is not my student and this is your office. I apologize for that. But I noticed she was wearing very well-worn clothing that was spotless. And she was clean, well-groomed and bright eyed—not the usual panhandler profile in the streets whom I also, frankly, avoid and very seldom give money to. If I said nothing I know I would not sleep tonight—and that, if you want to look at it from a purely selfish point of view on my part, is well worth $5 to me.”

“Fine Dan,” Dr. Green sighed, while rifling through a desk drawer for a file that he pulled out and placed atop his desk, then continued. “It’s your money, but know that these kids and most of the teachers will walk all over you if you let them.” He then handed Dan the file which Dan opened and began thumbing through.

“What I just gave you is a list of some of the forms you should use for various tasks in case your predecessor did not leave you such a folder. You can keep these as originals and make copies of each for your routine use. I developed these myself, and, though they are not official forms, you may find them useful.”

Dan noticed various forms titled “Teacher Evaluations,” “Behavioral Issues,” “Formal Reprimands,” “Lesson Plans,” “Student Suspension,” “Book Orders,” “Requisition Form” and several other one-page forms for dealing with routine matters. “Thank you, Dr. Green” he said after quickly thumbing through these.

“Call me Howard, Dan. We’re going to be working together so no need for formality.”

“Thanks, Howard.” Dan replied, noting the offer had not been made initially while Howard had used Dan’s first name from the start. He smiled at what he took to be a simple mind game to show dominance, or perhaps just insecurity on the other’s part. He had noticed that his staff seemed to refer to him as either Dr. Green or Dean Green, and his smile broadened further as he considered that his colleague would likely take Dan’s smile as pleasure for being recognized as an almost-equal. Nevertheless he did not really dislike the man for other that his treatment of the student, but then again he had a hard time really disliking anyone—something friends had sometimes ribbed him about.

“Am I free to create my own forms if I find the need, or do I need to get approval?

“You can do whatever you think best. No approval is ever needed unless you want to fire or hire someone—the Director gets the final say on those decisions—or if you want to spend any money, always a challenge unless dealing with routine office supplies. And don’t even think about asking for anything useful, like a computer. If you want such luxuries, you’ll need to buy your own. We don’t have a discretionary budget as such—all requisitions have to be approved by the Director.

Dan noticed there was no computer on Howard’s desk and did not mention that Marvin had promised he’d have one on his desk by tomorrow, along with a printer. He had no wish to stoke the other’s insecurity if that was, in fact, at play here and not just simple arrogance.

“Howard, I notice in the forms you gave me that there is a form for student suspensions. What type of due process are students given if they are suspended or expelled—or have a grade grievance, for example?”

Howard laughed, then responded “No such thing, Dan. If you want to set up a grievance process, that’s up to you, but you’d just open up a can of worms. Who would you ask to participate? How would you schedule it? No. All you need is the form as to suspensions or expulsions. Just make sure you mark down a reason with details as to the circumstances of the transgression—almost always behavioral issues—and have the student sign it. If they won’t sign it, threaten them with expulsion. They will always sign then as they don’t want their dole dollars affected.”

“What about grade grievances?”

“What about them?” Howard retorted. “The grade is the grade. They don’t get to debate that. Now, if you think the teacher has done something wrong, you can look into it and request justification for the grade, but the student is never involved in that process. I usually tell them I’ll look into it and then get back to them that the grade is appropriate.”

“Do you actually look into it?” Dan asked, suspecting what the answer would be.

“Maybe two or three times in the five years I’ve been here when I had my suspicions about the teacher involved. The word gets around that the grades are not subject to challenge. Problem solved.”

“What If I look into it and find the faculty member did not award a fair grade?”

“Then you change it on the transcript. You are the keeper of the transcripts—we have no registrar. If you don’t agree with a grade if you actually decide to look into the matter, just give the student whatever grade you want. Nobody will know or question it, and it is YOUR signature on the official transcript. Teachers just submit the grades to you.”

This conversation was making Dan more and more uncomfortable, and red flags were popping up in nearly every discussion in his mind. But he just said, “I See.”

Howard looked at him intently for a moment then smiled and responded, “You are over-thinking this Dan. This is not a college. You are in charge and have basically unlimited power to do whatever you believe to be right or expedient. These students are not going to challenge your decisions beyond the school level, which means you and Marvin. As long as he backs you up, your word is law. If he doesn’t, you won’t last long anyway. So be careful what waves you think you can make. Tread softly and test the waters before diving in.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Thanks, Howard. I appreciate your counsel and will take it under advisement.”

“Good, now leave the folder here and I’ll show you around. But my first appointment of the day will be walking in soon, so sit tight.” Howard said. And, as if on cue, the receptionist walked in with another student in tow. This time it was a male.

“Dr. Green, this is Deshawn. He is here on a referral from Mrs. Smith, his typing teacher, for behavioral issues.”

“Thanks” Howard said. Then, addressing the student, he snapped “Come in, Deshawn.”

The student was dressed in baggy pants with the crotch extending down to his knees and army boots. He sported a black T-shirt with “Fuck You” written on it in red, dripping letters as if brushed on with a paint brush dipped in blood. He also sported a large diamond stud earring through his right nostril and a second larger diamond on his right earlobe. He walked in and pulled back the chair next to Dan, ignoring him, while glaring at Howard.

“What do you think you’re doing, Deshawn? I did not give you permission to sit. Stand there and look at me when I talk to you. And wipe the damned attitude from your face or this won’t go well for you.” The young man took his hand away from the chair and stood still, but the glare remained.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Yah,” he answered. “The white bitch that teaches typing didn’t like me talking to the white girl next to me during class.”

“In fact, Deshawn, you were harassing the students around you and cracking jokes while Mrs. Smith was trying to deliver her lesson.”

“She don’t teach shit, man. She just sits there and barks out letters --F-F-F-F-U-U-U-U-C-C-C-C-K-K-K-K all class long. What kind of shit is that?”

“It’s a beginner’s typing class, dimwit. The drills are intended for you to learn touch-typing.”

“What I gotta learn me no fucking typing for? That’s not what I’m paying you for!”

“Let’s get one thing straight. One more obscenity and you’re gone for good. I’m sure your parole officer would love to know that—and I’m also sure that Neo Nazi, Bubba, you were shacking up with in the Tombs is eagerly awaiting your return—no doubt he misses whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he takes you from behind every night without the courtesy of a reach-around.”

Deshawn, enraged, hissed back, “You can’t talk to me like that. I make more in a day than your sorry ass does in a month—I guarantee you that. Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that? Do you know who I am?”

“I know exactly who and what you are. A petty drug dealing thug and a two-time loser heading back to the Big House any time I decide he’s violated his parole. As to paying my salary, unlike you, I actually pay taxes and subsidize your sorry ass being here wasting MY money while you pay nothing—the federal and state governments pay for your ride to help you avoid prison and you are allowed federally guaranteed student loans you have no intent of ever paying back to boot for the rest of your tuition and living expenses. And one more unsolicited word from you will get you suspended for a month. Two will get you Expelled.”

“You . . .” Deshawn began.

“That’s one word. Suspension for a month effective immediately. Care to go for Expulsion and parole violation?”

Deshawn said nothing, just glared at Howard with pure rage in his eyes that he was having obvious trouble restraining as Howard took out a blank suspension form and pushed in in front of Deshawn with a pen atop.

“Sign the form at the bottom and date it. Then print your name below your signature on the space provided. You’re suspended for thirty days starting today. When you return, you will not be wearing that T-shirt or causing any problems in any of your classes. This is your second strike and second suspension. The third time’s the charm and you’ll get the booby prize—expulsion and a trip back to Bubba’s house. Clear?”

Deshawn looked at the form, then at Howard, and signed it in blank. Then shuffled out of the office without a word.

Once he was gone, Howard turned to Dan with a smile and said, “And that, Dan, is how it’s done. I’ll fill out the form later. This one’s a tough nut to crack but he’s at the point of no return in thirty days so I can expel him the next time and PEMTI gets to keep the full tuition with no partial refund possible. I’ll also get a statement in writing from Mrs. Smith later just in case I do have to expel him so that I can contact his parole officer and get him sent back to jail—it is unquestionably where he belongs as he is an unredeemable lowlife.”

“Aren’t you afraid for your safety when you challenged him like that?” Dan asked.

“No, not really. He does not want to go back to jail. And he’ll actually respect my tough guy persona much more than he would a weak, bleeding heart trying to understand his pain and excuse his past conduct as rooted in the vestiges of slavery, racism, or any number of other countless facile ways of excusing the inexcusable. Deshawn is a thug—however he got there is not my concern. He is what he is and will always be the same with one of two predictable outcomes: a life in and out of prison or an early violent death at the hands of other identical thugs. Either way, not my concern and not my mission to change what he is—that only he can do. But he won’t because the path of lawless self-indulgence is always easier and often much more rewarding than getting a real education and working your way through the rat race in the law-abiding world. He has never been a part of that world and wants no part of it. And he’s right about one thing—he’ll make more in a good day selling drugs and through his gang activity than I do in a month—all tax free and while living on the dole. God Bless America, man,” he finished, laughing.

“Still, Howard, what if he attacked you?”

“Well, we have the metal detectors at the door for a reason. He’s not likely to have a weapon on him and I have other means of defending myself I’ll keep to myself in addition to the button under my desk that will summon building security. If I press it, they will run in with guns drawn in less than two minutes. In five years, I only had to use it once. But it’s a reassuring backup. And, by the way, you have the same button under your desk, though I doubt Marvin would have mentioned it during your preliminary walk through as it is not something the average applicant would consider a selling point--unless they are veterans of the proprietary business school business, that is.”

Howard was certainly right about that, Dan thought. It might have given him serious pause about taking the job. The metal detectors themselves which he knew about were far from reassuring during his initial interview.

“But please don’t get the wrong idea, Dan” Howard continued. “Deshawn is not our typical student and you do not have to worry about a meeting like this very often—maybe once a year or so on average. Most of our students are slackers who ended up coming to us looking for a quick fix—a short program that could get them a first or a better job in an office environment. There are the scammers and thugs—but the average community college is no different in that regard. And faculty members there actually have to go through real due process before being able to effectuate any form of punishment, unlike here. In many ways, I’d much rather be an administrator or even a teacher here than in the typical community college. Their students are marginally better there—but only marginally—and they have their fair share of thugs gaming the system too. And the salaries are also only marginally better for teachers and most administrators alike, though their benefits rock in comparison to the benefits of our teachers and office staff here. The faculty and academic administration at a community college get about the same benefits that you and I do here but only a select few in our organization get. And for administrators, the vacation time is comparable to ours. Red tape here is basically non-existent for you and me, while it drowns the typical college administrator, especially at low-level community and technical colleges of both the public and private variety. So don’t let the seedy side of our business get you down—you’ve got to put it in perspective.”

“But community college have standards very different from our own both for the faculty credentialing and rigor as far as SED is concerned, no? And they have to contend with accrediting agencies like Middle States and the other regional accrediting bodies, as well as specialized accreditation for some of their programs, isn’t that so?” Dan queried.

“That’s true, Dan. But for students who are really interested in learning and picking up marketable skills at either a community colleges or here, we actually do a better job of providing training that get students real jobs. We are not saddled with the politically, turf-driven battles about inclusion of often completely worthless liberal arts and humanities courses as half of the curriculum. If you want to learn bookkeeping to be able to work at a small business as a bookkeeper, for example, you’ll need to spend two years at a community college taking mostly unnecessary and irrelevant courses in the liberal arts and humanities in order to get the AAS degree when only maybe 18-24 credits are actually directly related to the accounting major. You could take those credits in nine months and be done but for the core requirements that have nothing to do with the major. Basket weaving, music appreciation, poetry, creative writing, anthropology and psychology courses may be fun, but what do they have to do with bookkeeping? On the other hand, we can offer a bookkeeping program in twelve months that includes valuable skills in basic computer operations, business math, finance, economics, and business communications that are very relevant to the jobs available for individuals with solid office skills and no degree beyond a high school degree or equivalency diploma. And we offer real job placement—not just the trapping of job placement so many colleges provide for students with no marketable degrees that qualify them for the exact same jobs they could have had out of high school. That is fraud, yet many accuse our industry of fraud—despite the fact that our students are trained for existing and emerging jobs, and get those jobs generally while theirs are trained to do little more than they could with a high school diploma after two years of study and are forced to take mostly irrelevant coursework when it comes to job training or retraining.”

Dan knew enough to know there was more than a grain of truth to Howard’s statement as he had long lamented the veering away from the practical education that was originally a primary mission of community colleges. They once prepared students for work. Now they largely serve as feeder schools to four year colleges and universities where students could often have gone in the first instance and been better served. He also knew the reasons, though not as intimately as he would discover later in his career: training blue collar workers and even office support staff required labs, equipment and supplies that are expensive to obtain and maintain and could only serve limited numbers of students in each lab, whereas one could put 100 students or more in a lecture class at a highly effective per-student cost with no additional support than chalk, erasers and perhaps a transparency projector in the classroom. So turf issues aside, community colleges—always under-funded—changed their mission from primarily training workers to preparing students to pursue four year degrees that provided little by way of employable skills.

Changing tack, Dan said, “I don’t disagree with you, Howard. But even though I’ve been on the job for less than a half day, I wonder whether we are doing all we can to provide intensive, short courses at a reasonable price. I’d much rather see short three month programs than a 12-month program that for many entry-level support jobs may be overkill.”

Howard again smiled benignly, “That may be, but remember that this is first and foremost a business. Short courses don’t bring in the money that longer courses do. So longer courses are going to be preferable. And, in any case, the shortest program we offer is six months here, and it beats two years of largely irrelevant coursework at a community college for students who need to get job skills quickly. They may pay more for a nine- or twelve-month course with us than a two-year community college associate’s degree—they do in fact--but they will be able to get real jobs that they cannot get with a typical AS transfer degree. And, since the vast majority of our students qualify for PELL and TAP grants, guaranteed student loans and even state incentives for some students, it is a relative bargain.”

Dan did not respond, but was still unconvinced and knew he would work to add at least one three-month certificate program with the greatest possible flexibility for students that could get them good jobs as soon as possible in the emerging computer-assisted clerical and data entry fields of the 1980s. He was sure that was the right path to take and would not easily be dissuaded from pursuing it. He would just have to find a way to make it palatable to the organization.

Without further discussion, Howard rose from his chair and said, “Let me give you the grand tour, and then we can break for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Dan replied, rising to follow his colleague out of his office.