Author: Michael Morris

TRUE FACT:  Following Tennessee’s stunning 52-49 gridiron victory over Alabama last Saturday, fans of the winning team tore down the goalposts and threw one of them into the Tennessee River.

Although this incident might raise a few bemused eyebrows, it doesn’t come close to delivering the wallop of surprise provided by two notorious campus celebrations of the 1970s.  

In 1970, Paul Samuelson became the first American to win the Nobel Prize in Economics.  The award was announced while his colleagues in the MIT Economics Department were eating lunch in the faculty dining room.  Upon hearing the news, these professors proceeded to riot — upending tables, engaging in a food fight that lasted over an hour, and building a huge bonfire with chairs and drapes that triggered the building’s sprinkler system. 

Campus police arrested 14 professors for vandalism, with 3 of those individuals serving 6 months in jail for assaulting (biting) the officers who were attempting to subdue them.

In the wake of the disturbance, MIT instituted a no-alcohol policy in the faculty dining room that is still in force, 52 years later.   

In a 2004 interview, Samuelson expressed regret that his departmental colleagues had celebrated his achievement in such a destructive fashion:  “I mean, these folks had PhDs from some of the most prestigious institutions on the planet.  I just don’t get it.  You can’t go around biting people.”

A mere five years after the MIT incident, an even more shocking event took place at Seton Hall University in South Orange, New Jersey.  

On September 14, 1975, Elizabeth Ann Seton became the first American-born individual to be canonized by the Catholic Church.  Seton had founded a congregation of Catholic nuns — the Sisters of Charity — in 1809.  

Approximately 30 members of the Sisters of Charity were sitting in an Advanced Theology class on the Seton Hall campus when Seton’s sainthood was announced by the instructor.  According to one witness, “the sisters went absolutely nuts, whooping like a pack of wild coyotes on crystal meth.”

The women burst out of the classroom and ran onto the campus quadrangle, overturning trash barrels and lassoing students with their oversized rosaries.  They did somersaults, cartwheels, and backflips.  Several of them engaged in what is known as “nun-splatting,” in which a sister runs full speed into the wall of a building, and then collapses in a throbbing, pulsating heap.  During the chaos, three gardeners on the school’s facilities staff were temporarily taken hostage and tickled with pigeon feathers until they became incontinent.  

Afterward, none of the nuns could recall doing any of these things.  Nadine Werb, Professor of Nun Psychology at Georgetown University, notes that displays of such frenzied behavior are not uncommon in religious communities.  According to Werb, “the typical female member of a Catholic religious order is a tightly wound bundle of repressed libidinal energy — enough energy to power a Toyota Corolla for a full day at 65 miles per hour.  Every once in a while, some of that energy is unleashed, and all hell breaks loose.”

Wow.  

It will probably surprise no one that “mentoring, committee work, and other campus service disproportionately burden women” at colleges and universities across the country (Chronicle of Higher Education, October 5th online).

But there are exceptions.  

Consider the University of Montana at Missoula.  

Every fall, shortly before the hibernation season begins, the U of M English Department hosts its annual Grizzly Bear Roast.  Featuring Rotisserie Brown Bear, corn on the cob, and candied yams, the Roast has been a department tradition for over 70 years.  

Responsibility for tracking, shooting, and preparing bears for the spit rests exclusively with the male members of the English Department.  

“It’s not fair,” claims Greg Lertz, an assistant professor who participated in his first grizzly bear hunt in the fall of 2021, losing his left arm in the process.  “I had absolutely zero experience with guns before being hired by the University of Montana, and I certainly had never hunted a grizzly bear.  When I came face-to-face with one in the woods last fall, I froze, and the damn thing ripped my left arm right out of its socket and started beating me with it.  Thank God one of my colleagues took the bear out with one shot; he saved my life.”  

Over the years nearly a dozen English professors have died during the hunt, including a few who perished after falling down deep ravines while being chased by bears.  Thus far the most notable fatality has been Grayson Twenge, whose 2006 biography of Vladimir Nabokov won a Pultizer Prize.  Professor Twenge was killed when he accidentally discharged his rifle while stepping out of his Prius at the hunt staging area in the Lolo National Forest parking lot. 

According to associate professor Lance Gepperman, “what makes this males-only tradition so insane is that a number of our female professors are much better than the men when it comes to handling firearms.  Hell, take Arlene.  Three years ago she dispatched both her husband and his mistress with a single bullet.  Granted, the two victims were locked in a tight embrace in bed at the time, so it wasn’t that much of a challenge, but still…”

When asked to comment on the gendered nature of the annual bear hunt, U of M President Seth Bodnar smiled and replied, “this is Montana, my friend, and in Montana we consider men to be the hunter/gatherers.  Every male applicant for a faculty position in our English Department is informed of the expectations that govern the bear hunt.  If a so-called ‘man’ is uncomfortable with those expectations, he should apply for a position at Williams, Princeton, or Berkeley, where baking scones for Sunday salons is the main extracurricular activity of English professors.” 

FOLLOW-UP:  University Life contacted the Human Resources Department at the University of Montana and confirmed the accuracy of President Bodnar’s assertion concerning the English Department’s application process.  

Trisalyn Nelson’s recent article, “10 Ways to Rebuild Department Culture,” is a valuable resource for those wishing to infuse their departments with a renewed sense of community in the aftermath of COVID (Chronicle of Higher Education, September 26th online).  

However, if you really want to attain a level of camaraderie that is the envy of your colleagues, consider the following five suggestions:

—  At least once a week lead your department faculty on a march around the campus, loudly repeating a self-promoting chant.  For example, here’s a favorite of political scientists at the University of Arizona:

OH ME, OH MY

WE BE POLI SCI

WE’RE COOL, NOT CRUEL

DAMN RIGHT WE RULE THIS SCHOOL!

Can’t get it out of your mind, can you?

—  At the beginning of department meetings, employ intense icebreakers to establish lasting bonds (e.g., “Let’s go around the table and have each person tell us a little bit about their first sexual experience with a willing partner.  Fran, why don’t you start?”)

—  Hold monthly slumber parties where department members consume vast quantities of sangria and use burner phones to make harassing calls to despised high-level university administrators (“Hello, Dean Fryzell?  You suck!”).  Make sure to invest in a high-quality voice-distortion device.  (You can get one online for under $40.)

—  As the Fall semester draws to a close, have your department put on a Nativity play for the entire campus, with every department member on stage for the Bethlehem manger scene at the end.  To ensure inclusion and avoid controversy, replace the Three Wise Men with Muhammad, Buddha, and Tom Brady (in uniform, presenting the Baby Jesus with an autographed football).  

—  Nothing brings people together like a common enemy.  On behalf of your department, sue your school’s Board of Trustees.  The specifics of the lawsuit don’t matter, but insufficient parking, malfunctioning vending machines, and stale dinner rolls in the faculty dining room are all fair game.  Pick any grievance that works for you.

Your colleagues are waiting.  Start leading.  

 

 

 

 

 

The Chronicle of Higher Education recently republished a very helpful essay, “How to Make the Most of an Academic Conference,” by Thomas J. Tobin (September 23rd online).  As valuable as this piece is, it fails to include a number of suggestions that can transform a merely good conference experience into a truly exceptional one.  Accordingly, University Life encourages readers to take the following recommendations out for a spin:

—  Go to the zoo.  That’s right, the zoo.  There’s nothing better than skipping a day of conference sessions to make time for a zoo visit.  Zoos are great; don’t let the objections of wildlife activists deter you.  If there isn’t a decent zoo in the city where your conference is being held, don’t attend the conference.  On the other hand, the San Diego Zoo rocks, so attend every convention you can find that meets in San Diego, even if the convention has nothing to do with your field or discipline.  You won’t regret it. 

—  If your conference has an awards luncheon or dinner, make sure to attend.  When the basket of bread is passed to you, place one roll on your plate and dump the remaining ones into your conference tote bag.  Try to be inconspicuous, but don’t sweat it if someone sees you.  Secretly, they’ll admire — and envy — your chutzpah.  

—  After a plenary session, go up to the featured speaker and ask her or him to autograph your neck with a Sharpie.  

—  Some conferences have silent auctions to support graduate student travel stipends or other worthy causes.  On the bidding sheet for a signed copy of a book by a noted author, write “I’ve read this and it really sucks.”

—  When you’re presenting at a panel session, place a small waste basket and a roll of toilet paper next to you in clear view of the audience.  Announce that “I had a tray’s worth of spoiled shrimp cocktail at the reception last night.  Those of you sitting up front might want to move back a row or two.”

—  If your conference begins with a high-profile public acknowledgment of the indigenous peoples whose land is now occupied by the host hotel, sit in the front row while dressed as John Wayne in “The Searchers” and stare with great intensity.  Your sense of humor will be appreciated.  

—  As the chairperson goes around the room asking individuals why they chose to attend this particular session, respond that “attendance is required by my detox program and parole officer.  By the way, it feels really hot in here.  Is anybody else sweating up a storm?”

—  Assemble a three-course dinner from the complimentary Twizzlers, Jolly Ranchers, and fun-size Snickers provided by publishers at their display booths.  Celebrate later with a feast in your hotel room as you watch reruns of “Friends” while relaxing in bed.  Don’t forget those dinner rolls you saved from lunch!

— Back to the Silent Auction.  Find an elaborate, handmade, one-of-a-kind item donated by an attendee and write on the bidding sheet, “what the hell is this?”

Your next conference can be forgettable or memorable.  It’s up to you.  

The Chronicle of Higher Education reports that “at least 14 residential students at the College of Wooster, in Ohio, have been exposed to or bitten by bats since the start of the fall semester” (Daily Briefing, September 9th). 

For University Life readers of a certain age, this story will undoubtedly bring to mind the strange saga of BITEMAN, the Bucknell University professor who terrorized the campus community in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania for more than three years in the early 1930s.

Harold Stumb, an assistant professor in the History Department at Bucknell, had been turned down for tenure in the spring of 1932.  When informed of the decision by the chair of the tenure and promotion committee, an enraged Stumb attacked him, biting him on the neck during the struggle.  Police went to Stumb’s home later that day to arrest him for assault, but found that he had abandoned the residence, having left a handwritten note that simply said, “I will bite again.” 

Indeed, less than a week later, the biting resumed.  These incidents typically took place late at night when a faculty member, administrator, or student was walking alone across campus.  Stumb, wearing a cape and mask, would approach the victim from behind, bite quickly, and flee.  

Between April 1932 and December 1935, 28 people were bitten, none seriously.  Stumb would always leave behind a reprint of one of his scholarly articles at the scene, upon which he had scrawled the message, “This alone should have earned me tenure.”

Professor Stumb, by then known as “BITEMAN,” was apprehended on December 4, 1935 when police tracked his footprints through the snow from the scene of a campus biting to a makeshift shelter on the banks of the nearby Susquehanna River.  A jury found him guilty of “disrespecting tenure and promotion decisions,” as well as non-consensual biting, and sentenced him to life in prison at the Lewisburg Federal Penitentiary, where — ironically — he died from the bite of a rabid rat in 1969. 

Inspired by the BITEMAN trial, artist Bob Kane and writer Bill Finger created the comic-book character Batman in 1939.  At Stumb’s funeral 30 years later, Kane delivered the eulogy, noting that “in his own, peculiar way, Harold Stumb was a crusader for justice.  He sacrificed his freedom, and ultimately his life, on behalf of tenure-track faculty everywhere.”

In 2006, Stumb was granted tenure posthumously by Bucknell University, following a comprehensive investigation of his case by a committee of the American Association of University Professors.  

The Chronicle of Higher Education recently devoted two articles to the challenge of engaging college students in class participation (“Rethinking Participation,” September 8th online; “The Question of ‘Cold Calling’,” September 12th online).

Such attention is sorely needed.  It’s hard to avoid despair when students stare at you with an expression that says, “I’d rather have an impacted wisdom tooth extracted through my urethra than offer a comment on the assigned reading.”

Well, help is on the way.  In July Rutgers University became the first school in the nation to establish the cabinet-level position of Vice President for Management of Class Participation.  (It’s also the first university to have an Associate Provost for Pronoun Oversight.)  

The Vice President coordinates all research at Rutgers that explores the concept and dynamics of participation.   Among the findings reported so far:

—  Can aroma motivate participation?  In seven sections of Introductory Microeconomics this fall, the tantalizing scent of applewood smoked bacon is being circulated throughout the classroom via the air-conditioning system every time a student asks a question or offers a cogent comment.  Preliminary results indicate that male participation is 40% higher in these sections than in scent-less sections.  However, female participation has not been affected.  In response, investigators are examining the impact on this population of a fragrance that evokes avocado salad containing saffron and pine nuts.  

—  Is there really no such thing as a stupid question?  Alas, researchers have found that students frequently ask stupid questions.  Even worse, many of these questions are irredeemably stupid (e.g., “Are Cheetos orange when they grow in the wild?”).

—  But just because a question is stupid, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the student who asked the question is stupid, does it?  Unfortunately, it usually does.  Sorry. 

—  Irredeemably stupid?  Yep, pretty much. 

—  What is the most effective way to manage the participation of students who talk too much?  Drone-administered tranquilizing micro-darts.  This is 97% effective for students weighing less than 240 pounds.  

—  Is it ethical to use electric shocks, delivered through desk seat cushions, to increase participation in class discussion?  Yes.

—  Should breathing, coughing, and perspiring be considered class participation?  Usually not, except in situations where the instructor wants to start off with a very low bar for grading participation. 

You may contact the Rutgers Public Information Office for copies of the full reports of these studies.  

The Yale Daily News reports that the school’s endowment recently dropped from second place to third among institutions of higher education, trailing Harvard and the University of Texas.  Yale’s endowment of $42.3 billion amounts to $2.9 million per enrolled student (Yale Daily News, September 1st online). 

Yale President Peter Salovey, looking visibly distressed, held a press conference on Wednesday in which he announced a number of measures to stabilize the university’s finances.  The most prominent ones include:

—  Discontinuing Pheasant Phridays in the University’s dining halls.  (“Most of the students eat only half a pheasant at most, resulting in an incredible amount of waste,” says Salovey.)

—  No longer distributing original Gutenberg Bibles to all freshmen at orientation.  Used paperback copies of Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People will be provided instead. 

—  Ending the tradition of giving a Tesla to every faculty member who is promoted to the rank of full professor.  These individuals will now have to choose between a Toyota Camry and a Honda Accord, with no guarantee of receiving their preferred color.   

—  Phasing out the practice of providing fraternity members who are arrested for public drunkenness with free legal counsel from a professor holding an endowed chair at the Yale Law School.  Untenured faculty from the University of Connecticut Law School will be recruited for this purpose on an as-needed basis. 

—  Instituting a $5 co-pay for weekend helicopter service to Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, and Dubai.     

—  No longer serving Chateau Cheval Blanc 1947 at wine-and-cheese receptions for the lacrosse and corn-hole teams.  

—  Prohibiting students from filling large trash barrels with cash and setting them on fire on the New Haven Green “just because they can.”  

—  Converting the majestic Sterling Memorial Library to a high-end condominium community (Eli’s Landing).  

—  Building Connecticut’s largest cannabis dispensary (Inhale, Yale) on the campus quadrangle.

—  Installing Britney Spears and Celine Dion as Artists-in-Residence at the 64,000-seat Yale Bowl.  They will perform three times a week from May through October for the next five years.  

“My solemn pledge to all of you: we will refuse to play second fiddle to some dust-covered cowboy school whose main contribution to Western civilization has been its recipe for three-bean chili.” — Peter Salovey  

 

 

With professional conferences gradually returning as in-person events in the Not-Yet-Post-COVID Era, adjustments are being made.  For example, in November the American Evaluation Association will use “a coding system for badges to share social distancing and interaction preferences with other attendees (i.e., one color to signify you are ok with shaking hands, one color to request social distance, etc.).”

This strategy is now being adopted by a number of colleges and universities across the country as the fall semester is about to begin.  Leading the way, by a wide margin, is the University of Kentucky, where faculty will be able to affix a variety of colored ribbons to their shirts, blouses, and blazers to communicate crucial information.  

Here are their current choices, with more to come:

RED:  If you touch me, I will hurt you.

BURNT ORANGE:  Don’t breathe on me.

DARK OLIVE:  I refuse to teach online courses.

NAVY BLUE:  I have never eaten lunch in the faculty dining room, and I have no intention of ever doing so.  Don’t invite me. 

ORANGE:  Student evaluations of my courses are invalid.

INDIGO:  The terms “intersectionality” and “lived experience” are my personal triggers. 

EBONY:  I consume a lot of grilled red meat, and it’s okay if you’re not okay with that.   

MAROON:  My pronoun preferences are “zephron,” “flasen,” and “snisk.”

GREEN:  I believe the Big 10 conference should only contain 10 schools. 

TEAL:  Masks are required in my classes, but underwear is optional. 

BLUE:  In my 15 years on the T & P Committee, I have never voted in favor of a candidate’s promotion to full professor. 

GRAY:  I think monkeypox should be called “monkeypox.”

MAGENTA:  I don’t floss. 

PURPLE:  Not sure how I feel about reparations. 

TURQIOISE:  I’ve never met a dean or provost I liked.

The impact of the ribbon system on campus climate will be assessed by a task force of the University of Kentucky Faculty Senate at the end of the semester.  

 

 

 

IS THE COURSE TAUGHT ONLINE? 

⇓

YES

⇓

THE COURSE SUCKS

No Joke:  On August 1st the University of Notre Dame became a “cashless retail environment,” with most purchases requiring either a credit or debit card (Notre Dame News, July 25th).  

Not to be outdone, rival Catholic powerhouse Georgetown University has announced that on September 1st it will transition to a prayer-based payment system for everything but tuition. 

According to Georgetown President John DeGioia, Catholic students will recite either the Lord’s Prayer or a Hail Mary in front of voice-recognition devices located at check-out counters across the campus.  Non-Catholics can choose either a generic prayer (e.g., “Hello, God…”) or an irreverent limerick that references the Pope in some fashion (e.g., “There was a Pontiff name Francis…”).  

“By the end of 2025,” says DeGioia, “we should be able to erect a prayer-based power plant at Georgetown that fully meets our institution’s energy needs without relying on fossil fuels.  This is the best kind of win-win: fighting climate change while saving souls.”

NOTE:  Every retail establishment will offer an Express Checkout Lane for customers not currently stained by mortal sin.  These individuals will recite an abridged version of the required prayer (e.g., “Our Father, who art in heaven…Amen” or “Hail Mary, full of grace…goodbye”).  As President DeGioa puts it, “at Georgetown, we’re all about incentivizing virtue.”