Up here in Vermont, we've been following the debates in the press about the merits and drawbacks of three-year colleges and accelerated bachelor's-degree programs. Our interest was acute because we were already building our own program, and we could fairly judge who was getting it right and who was way off the mark, having been there, too.
Last fall, The Chronicle ran an article about the progress of several colleges and universities on their three-year programs. And over the past two years, the discussion about three-year programs has reached the mainstream press. Last summer, The Boston Globe ran an article about the rise in popularity of summer sessions. Newsweek featured "The Three-Year Solution" on its cover and published an essay by Sen. Lamar Alexander, a Republican from Tennessee, that called for a restructured and shortened undergraduate curriculum, and The New York Times got a pile of letters after running an article called "A 3-Year Degree: Can Less Be More?" Although the details differed, all of the articles deemed three-year programs appropriate only for "motivated students" willing to pack eight semesters' worth of academic credits into six semesters, and do an awful lot of homework.
No college seems to be moving toward wholesale change—that is, creating a genuine year-round institution by adding summer semesters instead of compressing the work into traditional fall-spring ones. And why not? Just this past May, Stephen Joel Trachtenberg and Gerald Kauvar wrote in a Times commentary, "Switching from four to three years would be simple; it would mostly be a matter of altering calendars and adding a few more faculty members and staff."
Well, I can tell you from here, that's not the half of it. Over the past three years, my college has reshaped itself from a traditional two-semester college to a full-on, year-round, residential college, teaching three semesters in a 12-month period, with three- to five-week breaks between them. And it was not "simple." It was nerve-racking for everyone, and there was—and still is—a level of risk that small, tuition-driven colleges normally avoid. (With 117 students, my institution, Sterling College, may well be the smallest residential liberal-arts college in the nation.)
When we took the official plunge a few years ago, we didn't have models to emulate or even studies that examined—rather than opined on—the possibilities and potential pitfalls of heading into this unknown territory. What we did have were a fearless academic dean, a vice president who doubles as the financial-aid officer, a detail-oriented comptroller with a narrow comfort zone, and a faculty willing to listen and to act. Even more important, we had an environmentally focused curriculum well suited for summer study. We graduate naturalists, conservation ecologists, outdoor leaders, and, in our sustainable-agriculture major, farmers and agriculturalists. So about half of our coursework takes place outside the traditional classroom. If we're going to teach agriculture in northern Vermont, we reasoned, we really should be up and running in the summer.
So with that fateful decision, we stepped into the unknown, with some real concerns about the fiscal implications. At the time, we had a lucrative rental deal in place with a children's summer camp that rented the Sterling campus every summer, and we were loath to give up that income until we knew we could make it up with summer registrants. Although our students knew that we'd been developing a stand-alone summer agriculture semester, we wouldn't have any firm idea until November, at registration, how many students might sign up for the new, now official, summer schedule. Then we waited.
How did it all come together?
Well, our first two summer semesters were a learning experience for everyone. The first small trial run, in 2007, was attended by four students, who lived in tents in a cedar swamp; the second by 14 students, who had slightly better accommodations. By the third summer, though, we had grown to 24 students by including coursework from across the curriculum. After that, we bet on needing our whole campus back. We budgeted for 40 students for 2010—and ended up with 60. We were stunned, and not as ready as we might have been. Now we expect that many or more for 2011.
The main lesson we learned is that the first requirement of a year-round curriculum is a summer semester that is seamlessly integrated with the fall and spring semesters. We wanted a year-round college where all our students could move in and out of the third semester—whichever semester it was for them—without interrupting the flow of their studies.
With that in mind, we shaped the summer differently, by creating two five-week terms with a week's break between them. Combined, they make a 12- to 15-credit semester. Individually they are ideal for the sort of intensive field experiences—near and afar—in which Sterling students engage. Independent studies with a faculty adviser are becoming popular, as are classes shaped in response to student requests. Transfer students, who often lose credits moving from one college to another, find that the year-round curriculum allows them to move without interruption toward their degrees. There are now 16 students finishing their sixth semester in a row, and, by their own testimonials, all are thriving.
Economically, there have been two welcome results thus far. Because the college now gets paid three times a year instead of twice, it generates significantly more income from the same population of students. And because we can freeze tuition and fees for students who remain continuously enrolled, there are cost savings of $5,000 to $8,000 over the eight semesters leading to a B.A.
Still, we worry about student burnout; we worry about faculty burnout; we worry about our ability to adequately plan and sequence our courses while maintaining a high level of flexibility. We worry about whether students will continue to be drawn to the intensity of the rich academic and social environment that marks the year-round experience. And now we worry whether the federal government will ultimately be partners in higher-education innovation, or inhibitors, by eliminating the summer Pell Grants for year-round students.
From a president's perspective, however, I can offer some brief reflections to my colleagues, in case this year-round college idea actually catches on and others are tempted to embark on the winding path that, I'm relieved to say, broadens instead of narrows as one proceeds.
First, understand that when you take a college from a two-semester schedule to a year-round one, anything that isn't completely upended is at least tweaked or altered. And I do mean everything: every administrative function, every schedule, every process you thought you had down pat. Your institutional mind—your own and everyone else's—must be able to constantly readjust to the emerging, slightly off-kilter reality. For instance, when you conduct the final faculty meeting of the year, you realize that the next meeting is in three weeks. When you talk of the academic year—or the fiscal year—you have to think in terms of three semesters, not two, and about what all of that means. And in May, when your mind expects the summer break, there won't be one.
When your comptroller pointedly reveals to you what it means, exactly, to bill parents three times a year instead of two, you must be very understanding. When you learn that your publications and Web site all need to be changed immediately, offer to help. When your accrediting agency seems suspicious, be patient and a little wary. When the maintenance department ... when the auditors ... when faculty individually and as a whole ... when board members ... .
Just remember that everything will change. You'll need to contribute what advice and answers you have with great humility, because in the short run, at least, you won't know what you're doing, where you are going, or what shape you will be in when you get there.
If we can help, just call.
