As you read the following, keep in mind that I’m a professor of 32 years standing. I get academia. I know where the bodies are buried. I understand procedures and policies.
My son, age 16, is homeschooled. He is a high school junior.
Recently, we enrolled him in an algebra class at a local junior college, and therein lies a tale.
From the top: It took 6 (six!) visits to the college just to get him enrolled, after applying for admission and submitting all the paperwork on the website. That’s because on each visit we were told something different about what it would take to get him admitted and registered. I won’t bore you with the details, except to observe that each time, a person behind a desk told us, with great authority, exactly what we had to do, and each time the next person told us something different when we went back. For the most part, the experience was one of parking on the dark side of the moon, walking 15 minutes, waiting in line an hour or so, listening to a minor functionary pontificate, realizing that today wasn’t going to be the day it all got done, then walking 15 minutes back to the car.
The website of the institution was especially entertaining. It promised all kinds of help, but didn’t deliver it. The classes had different prerequisites than the ones listed, the required paperwork was different than what was shown on the website, the “practice tests” shown for evaluating a student’s preparation for a given course turned out to be utterly non-predictive about the actual placement exams, etc.
But, after getting a different story each time we went in, we eventually did manage to get my son enrolled. Of course, he had to take a bizarrely timed section of the algebra course, because all the others were full. He barely managed to get into the one he did.
Then the fun really began. The textbook was $170 (!?!?!?). The instructor was, by turns, sullen and abrasive, a full timer who plainly needed to consider early retirment if teaching is so unpleasant.
After getting about three weeks into the class, my son developed a medical condition that required surgery, surgery that could be delayed a couple of weeks, but couldn’t wait till the end of the semester. The recovery time for the surgery was expected to be 1 or 2 weeks. Up to that point, he had been to every class, done every bit of work on time, and was doing well. We asked the professor to make an exception to her usually draconian attendance policy, since the surgery was unavoidable, but he would be able to do the work at home on schedule and keep up during the recovery process.
She absolutely refused, saying silly things like, “If I make an exception for him then I have to make one for everyone else.” I assume she means all the OTHER students in her class who are having unavoidable surgery that semester, but who are doing fine in the class and will keep up during recovery? I’m sure there is a very long line waiting for her to make such an exception for them, too.
I could not help but reflect that at the private university where I teach, I do everything possible to actively help students succeed, particularly students who have demonstrated a desire to succeed, and the ability and work-ethic to do so. I am not unusual in this regard. I found myself wondering when my son’s professor had lost her desire to actually help students learn, assuming she had it sometime.
Also, I wondered about the influence of disability laws in education, which require schools to do everything possible to help disabled students succeed. I guess temporary disability doesn’t count.
The main factor in operation is simple: the career and working circumstances of my son’s professor are not affected a bit by her attitude as a teacher, nor her unwillingness to make reasonable accomdations to help students succeed. She has a union. She has tenure. She would probably have to deliberately run over a student in the parking lot to get fired, or even disciplined. To her, it just doesn’t matter.
On the other hand, at my private university, we have a strong service orientation, because our students are our customers, as well as being our product. It matters to us that they succeed, not that we just jump through all the required hoops with them.
This is not to say that all teachers in public institutions have this negative attitude towards teaching and their students. I personally know many who have fine attitudes towards their students and teaching, but to the extent that they do, very little in the way of the institution’s function is responsible for it. They do a good job only because they are internally motivated to do so.
It’s also very interesting to compare the differences between private and public colleges’ admissions offices.
So: the next time you’re considering government funded healthcare for everyone, think about the comparative experience of attending a community college and a private one, and ask yourself which one you would like to characterize the responsiveness of your health care providers.
