First Person

Just Stay No

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By J. Norman

As an admissions officer, I have found many opportunities for professional advancement. Unfortunately, taking those positions has usually involved relocating to a new city.

Moving around got easier once my children headed off to college, but no matter how easy, after several interstate moves, I wanted off the train. Eager to return to my hometown in the Midwest, I accepted a job as an admissions director at a nearby college and silently promised myself I would not leave home again.

Three years later, while attending a national admissions conference, I had a chance meeting with a former colleague who made me an offer that, in hindsight, I should have refused. He had recently taken a position as associate vice president for enrollment services at a medium-sized private college just a few hours' drive from my hometown. The college was looking for a new admissions director, and he felt I would be ideal for the job.

Several months later, after a campus interview, numerous phone calls, and some great perks, I found myself packing up once again. I had been swayed by the college's location in a lovely small town. I also liked the idea of working for my friend, who had been a colleague and mentor so many years ago. I knew him back when I was new to the field and the ranks of admissions directors were dominated by men. Earning an M.B.A. in the early 90s had helped propel me from jobs at the assistant level in admissions to a directorship. By now, I was well seasoned, having served as an admissions director for nine years. That broad experience was the primary reason my friend had recruited me so vigorously.

It's probably clear by now that this story is not going to end well. My friend, now boss, was in charge of admissions, financial aid, and the registrar's office. During my interview, he had talked openly of the problems facing the admissions office, which was in dire straits. And he had delayed my starting date almost three months so that many of those problems would be resolved before I came on board. For that I was thankful.

Both my boss as well as the senior vice president for student affairs had assured me that the problems were history and that the remaining concern was the same one faced by any admissions office: increasing enrollment.

At most colleges, the freshman class is locked in no later than April of each year. By June preparations are usually under way to recruit the fall class for the following year. So I was more than a little surprised and dismayed when I arrived on the campus in late May to learn that the college was still working feverishly to bring in the fall freshmen who would begin classes in just three months. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.

An online enrollment system had only recently been added and presented clear technological problems for the staff, which consisted of four admissions professionals, two data-entry clerks, and a receptionist. None of them had ever worked in admissions before coming to the university, and all had been employed for less than a year. The director's job that I took had been vacant for almost two years.

Things quickly went from bad to worse. As I began to put new procedures in place, the staff began to balk. They had become accustomed to doing pretty much as they pleased. Next, after just a month on the job, I was told that a new document-management system was to be instituted in the admissions office in late July. It would require weeks of training for all staff members and would lead immediately to a paperless office.

While I embrace the use of new technology, I was very concerned that the new system would pose tremendous problems for the staff and for prospective students. We were already under pressure to bring in a fall class. It hardly seemed the time to send the staff off for training.

The stress began to take its toll. Within weeks, three of the admissions staff members had resigned, and I was admitted to the hospital with stress-related heart palpitations.

Could things get any worse? Yes they could. My friend and colleague who had brought me on board was abruptly terminated. I had been on the job just two months. There is an unwritten rule in higher-education administration that when the person who hires you leaves the institution, you are on your way out, too.

Fearing for my job, I returned to work -- against doctor's orders -- and plunged back into the task of registering students. It was August, and we were swamped and short-staffed. Students lined the corridors to fill out forms and get a campus tour. Phones were ringing constantly. Our online registrations were backed up. And in the midst of all of that, the few remaining staff members I had were trying to comprehend the new data-management system. It was hot outside, and everybody seemed to be in a bad mood.

Clearly this recipe for disaster was created long before I arrived on the scene. Not being a quitter, I thought that with my experience, dedication to students, and work ethic, I could make a difference. So I trudged onward, working 14-hour days and weekends.

Nearly five months after my boss was axed, I was called in to the senior vice president's office, told that I was not meeting expectations, and fired.

I suppose there is more than one moral to this story. Here are some that come to mind:

• Lesson 1: Heed your inner voice. Mine was telling me to stay put, but I chose to ignore it.

• Lesson 2: Ask good questions to ferret out a full picture of the job and the department. As I reflect on the interview process, I can see some red flags I should have paid more attention to, such as staff members' grumbling.

• Lesson 3: Find a few allies. In many jobs, it's not what you know but whom you know. I had been so consumed with the day-to-day operations of the office that I neglected to build strong relationships in that close-knit college community. So when things got tough, there was no one to speak up for me.

• And finally, Lesson 4: Watch your back. Internal politics in higher education can be fierce at all levels of the bureaucracy.

It may be that I walked into a lose-lose situation that would have required a magic wand and several miracles in order to be successful. Whatever the lesson to be learned from this devastating experience, one thing is for sure: Never again will I place myself in a situation so ripe for adverse results.