My campaign for provost
Note: This was the piece that made me known in Duke as a troublemaker. One thing that was a bit strange about Duke. Aside from the Cameron Crazies at basketball games there was no humor, no zaniness that you expect to see on a college campus. It was dull and joyless, kind of grim actually. I chafed.
A little background. In 1998, Duke's president announced a new "national search" for a provost. But everyone knew she was going to choose between one of two internal candidates.
About that time I had a meeting with one of the two inside candidates. I was asking for money for a project. He asked how much. I said, "I need 56K for salaries and 18K for equipment." He said, "So that's 84K you need." I paused. I thought to myself, "This tahmpter (Yiddish for dummy, literally someone dull and dense) can't even add two figures in his head, and he's going to be a provost?" That's really how I think by the way. I didn't correct him.
I walked back to my office thinking that even I would make a better provost than this guy. His only talent was his "ability" to use doublespeak. And I thought, "Hey why don't I write something up about me being provost that makes fun of my inability to bullshit like he does?"
Duke Dialogue October 1998
My campaign for provost
by Stuart Rojstaczer
When our administration formally announced that Duke would "conduct a national search" for a new provost, I was glum. I want the job, and after all, what are my chances of being selected as provost when there are surely many better-qualified candidates than myself that can be found at other universities?
But then I remembered a student newspaper interview with the chair of the provost search committee that stated a December timetable for creating a short list for the position. My hope that I would be selected rose meteorically. After eight years as a professor, I've finally gotten the hang of translating the language of university "Adminspeak." It's a curious, Orwellian-based language that seems to have permeated most universities in this country.
In Adminspeak, what is said is commonly the opposite of what is meant, non sequiturs that contain words and phrases like "synergy," "cutting edge," and "world class" commonly pepper the content of speeches, and euphemisms are employed whenever possible. For example, when an administrator talks about programs that "show great promise" or "are reaching their full stride," I now know that this means that these programs are considered to be in need of serious repair. When an administrator announces a policy of "selective excellence," I now understand that budget cuts are going to take place in many academic departments.
Since it is impossible to conduct a viable national search for a provost over a period of three months, I understood that Duke's announcement of a national search was really an announcement for a local search. My mood brightened. Instead of having to compete with tens of thousands of potential applicants, I would have to compete only with a few colleagues in my own university. Given my improved odds, I'm ready to throw my hat in the ring. After all, my odds of being selected have got to be better than winning the next multiple-state, Power Ball lottery. With this epistle, I formally announce my candidacy for the next provost of Duke University
My qualifications are particularly suited to the job. I understand this university about as well as anyone. I can dress reasonably well if required, and can engage in witty cocktail conversation. In particular, I note that the search committee is looking for someone to bridge all of the schools at Duke. I think that I have everyone else beat hands down on this bridging issue. I have held appointments in Arts & Sciences, School of the Environment, and School of Engineering.
As for the medical school, I note that my sister-in-law is a doctor, I give blood regularly, and have frequently asked for the advice of the medical staff. With regard to the business school, I can say that I've spent some time on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, and although my personal investment skills have led me to an unfortunate tendency to buy high and sell low, I know that my goal should be the exact opposite. My connections to the law school are admittedly very weak and consist mainly of some lawyer jokes (e.g., What do sperm and lawyers have in common? They both have a one in a million chance of becoming a human being.), but given the dishonored state of the legal profession, I argue that distance from the Law School is a good thing.
O f course, let's not forget the Divinity School. Although I must confess that my knowledge of the New Testament is virtually non-existent, I do have the ability to quote from the Old Testament in both English and Hebrew. This ought to be worth something to those in Divinity.
The only area where I have a significant deficiency is that while I can translate Adminspeak, I seem to possess a nearly complete inability to speak the language. If someone were to give me a canned speech full of Adminspeak, I probably could recite it with conviction. But I worry what would happen if I had to extemporize. In anticipation of my being selected as provost, I've tried to practice by having a friend ask me some typical questions that I might have to field in such a capacity. Below is a transcription of one of our coaching sessions.
"OK, Stuart. Let's start you off with an easy one. How much does teaching count in the tenure decision?"
"It accounts for very little. Research is king, but many faculty still take an interest in teaching."
"No! No! You've got to say something along the lines of 'All of our professors are excellent instructors. Tenure is granted to excellent teachers who are also excellent researchers.'"
"But all of our professors aren't excellent teachers. Some are. Some aren't."
"That's not the point. Accentuate the positive. Let's try another one. Suppose an alumnus strikes it rich in a $200 million lottery, and a year later you appoint him to be a member of the Board of Trustees. A reporter asks, 'Is the appointment related to his new wealth?'"
"Clearly, his wealth is a factor. But he is a fine, upstanding man to boot."
"Don't you know anything about the art of denial?"
"This is hopeless."
"More than you realize, Stuart."
I'm afraid that my selection as provost would mean a profound change in our administration. We would have an administrator who actually says what he means. As radical a transformation as this might be, I think that we can handle it. Don't you?