Munson Hall could have been part of a movie set for an American campus at the turn of the last century. Its brownstone foundation supported ancient bricks bound together by ivy, red in the fall and green in the summer months. The medium-sized classrooms had been converted into large offices. Mine was in a back corner, complete with a boarded-up fireplace and windows that rattled with the seasonal winds. Just outside my door was the entrance to the building’s single water closet, a place with a very appropriate name. Every day I waved to most of the staff for the Graduate School and for the University Press, located in the basement level, who routinely passed my door on their way to this nearby facility.
Since my office was across the dark-oak paneled foyer and at a distance from the classrooms now serving the administrative needs of the rest of the Graduate School, I did not have direct access to my secretary, Linda, who was part of the pool in the School’s general office. This positioning did lead to a problem in the first week of my being the new Associate Graduate Dean for Research. I had met Linda on the first day; on the second day I could not find her. I thought I recalled what she looked like but was very uncertain about which secretary was assigned to me. It was not until several days later, when Linda changed back to the wig she had worn on my first day, that I realized what was happening. Yes, this was the time when young ladies changed their hair as frequently as they did their dresses. However, this action should be avoided by a pooled secretary with a new boss.
Another surprise was the lifestyle of academic administrators in comparison with those who worked according to the rules of federal service employees. At the end of the day, once the office staff had left the premises at 5:00 p.m., the deans gathered in Mort Appley’s office. He was the Graduate Dean. Gene Piedmont was the Associate Dean for Graduate Student Affairs. The three of us would meet for a small glass of sherry and conversation. Although the campus license covered only drinks served in the Faculty Club and in the bar associated with The Top of the Campus restaurant, it was deemed to be acceptable that collegial conversations were somehow exempt from such mundane restrictions. Occasionally, we would be joined by a financial executive officer, another academic dean or a departmental chairman. Academic life was, indeed, very civilized. At least on the surface. Politics in Academe was another matter.
Constant battles were waged between the Office of the Chancellor of the Amherst campus and that of the President located in Boston. Warfare concerning who was really in control was also waged among the faculty, through its “Faculty Senate,” and the “Administration” – either campus-wide or within the various Colleges. Each Department Chairmen added to the daily salvos. My own engagements primarily involved Warren Gulko, the golden boy of Chancellor Bill Bromery. Warren was the Budget Director for the campus. I was never certain about the reasons for my ongoing feuds with him, but they did occur routinely. They prompted me, finally, to look elsewhere for the continuation of my career.
My professional role was to assist the faculty in obtaining external grant support for their research projects. I had a very modest budget which I could use to stimulate scholarly work in all of the university’s efforts, from the Arts through the Sciences, as well as in the Business School and in the School of Education. I chose to have a Faculty Research Council help me decide who should receive funding for the individual research applications they submitted to my office. It was a challenge to encourage biological scientists to support the work of visual artists who needed funds for their paints and other materials, as well as to obtain the cooperation of social, behavioral and physical scholars.
Since my signature provided the official approval before any application could be submitted for external support from federal agencies as well as from private foundations, I did have an opportunity to learn something about almost everything being studied in the university. Most of the time, I had fun: learning about the interests of the human mind and spirit. It was not fun to learn, first-hand, about the foibles of human nature. However, the events and the results for both instances were usually: “merely academic.”