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I, Guilfordian, February 17, 1981
Editorial
Guilford's family
In the spirit of trivia, someone starts to name married couples on
the college staff. Suddenly, it occurs to someone else to tabulate
the results. As they run out of fingers, they mutter "Wow," shrug
uncomfortably, and the conversation turns to how many hours of
sleep people are averaging per night
Apparently, many feel that people have been merely shrugging
their shoulders for too long and failing to really address the issue.
There is an unusually high proportion of couples on the college
staff. This reflects a discontinued policy which encouraged the
hiring of husbands and wives.
The problem is a difficult one to get a handle on Most of us know
several couples on the faculty, and count some of them as close
friends and mentors How does one weigh the cost against the
benefits of this hiring practice?
There are those who argue that the staffing pattern at Guilford is
justifiable on the grounds of guaranteeing "equal opportunity."
Presumably, these argue that the practice of hiring couples is in
line with the Quaker tradition that recognizes the contributions
both men and women can make.
It is not at all clear to me, however, that the mentioned
commitment leads to the hiring of spouses. Employing a person
more on the basis of their credentials and less according to the
employment status of their spouses would be a more effective way
to guarantee that competent qualified men and women are given
an opportunity at Guilford
Some defenders of the hiring of couples also argue that the
college's willingness to employ husbands and wives has enabled
Guilford to attract faculty of a higher caliber than it could otherwise
afford. There is some truth to this. However, "wheeling and
dealing" to get competent faculty sets a dangerous precedent, for
it "normalizes" a decision making style that does not rely on
rationality, but on personal influence and patronage. No one should
be naive enough to think that most bureaucracies are free of
influence peddling and political string pulling, but to undermine
the principles of logical decision making in such a blatant fashion
and defending it under the guise of "Quaker values" is not
something that should be allowed to continue Such shallow,
short-sighted, and self-serving defense raises questions about how
much confidence we can have in any of the administrative
functionings.
The suspected results is that the policy making network has
become a convoluted morass. The tendency to make loyal allies and
intense enemies on personal grounds is strong enough at a small
college to warrant careful attention, and the addition of a familial
variable can only further knot the tangle.
I agree with Bruce Stewart that the possibility of conflicts of
interest should no longer be ignored. A system of rigid criteria and
challenges which would encourage people to disqualify themselves
when a conflict of interest might exist is the best way to bring
credibility back to the system. The first step, recognition of the
problem and encouragement of the questioning of such conflicts of
interest, will do a lot to domesticate the sacred cow.
As the crisis hits the small college in the coming years, its chance
for survival and growth lies in its ability to make clear sighted,
rational decisions. Failure to establish a logical basis for making
these decisions runs counter to the college's interests.
Editors Dole fas ley, Jim Shields
News editor Barbara Phillips
Features editor John Mottern
Layout editors Steve Harvey. Susan Ide
Sports editor Mike Van Wagner
Business manager Mary Merritt
Circulation Frank Merritt, Mary Merritt
Copy editor Carolyn Welty
Notebook editor Sue Hubley
Writers Edwin Boss, Ston Givens,
Isa Cher en, Mark Gurley
T.he Guilfordion reserves the right to edit all articles, letters, and artwork for
taste, veracity, and length. The dead line for all copy is 3:00 p.m. on Satur
day preceding the Tuesday of publication. Material may be left on the office
door in upstairs Founders, or mailed to Box 17717. The opinions expressed
by the stoff are their own and not necessarily those of the paper or of
Guilford College.
Jim Shields
Editor
Slapping those
By Constants Erving
The more alert and verbally
selective of you may have
noticed a few embarassing mis
takes in my column in the past
three weeks.
In the January 27 issue, a
well-meaning and possibly
more tasteful proofreader than I
took my sentence, "I feel as
though I'd just passed a mill
stone," and untwisted it into,
"I feel as though I'd just passed
a milestone " Why? It was a
poor but honest pun that ought
to have been left alone. After
all, I feel my readers have the
right to hate my work on its own
merits.
Worse, in the February 10
issue, when I wrote "Learning
. was generally proscribed for
women and minorities," some
one incorrectly altered it to
"prescribed " There is a great
deal of difference between
"proscribed," meaning, "pro
hibited," and
meaning, "recommended."
This is no trifling blunder,
fellow literary fussbudgets; it
completely reverses the mean
ing of the phrase. I found the
alteration somewhat distress
ing, and felt no better after
proscribing myself two aspirins.
One assumes these people
had good intentions, but this
was a bit like helping an old
lady halfway across the street. I
do appreciate the effort, but I
feel capable of making enough
such mistakes without assis
tance.
In the broader sense, we all
get such "help" from time to
time. A friend told me of when
she was learning to walk; "I
was doing just fine until my
sister tried to help me stay up
by holding my hand. She knoc
ked me off balance, I fell down,
cut my head on a record bin,
and had to have stitches." (It
seems music made a deep
A glowing report
surreptitiously kicking a young
man who had fallen asleep in
his chair.
Indeed, there were several
lights flashing on that part of
the complex panels that sur
rounded the large room. Twea
dle continued, "some of our
people are in jobs new to them,
after a very minor radiation
release last week. I'm sure the
others will soon be back, glow
ing with health, ha-ha. The
Nuclear Regulatory Commis
sion is investigating, and all is
well."
Somewhere in the room be
hind us a voice said "Ohmi
god!" A group of engineers
began frantically working
switches and buttons.
My acolyte notices the activi
ty, and asked Tweadle, "What
about safety adjustments
you've said you made since the
Three Mile Island accident?
Will they really work?"
impression on her at an early
age. Sorry.)
That, for me, is the archety
pal "Some Help" episode. With
minor variations, we can all fill
in our own: the three-year-old
who wipes up his own spilled
milk while holding another full
glass, the fourth grade teacher
who tells us about the Mo-Jave
Desert, the swimming instruc
tor who almost drowns us, the
sixth grade teacher who teaches
us the pronunciation of the word
"mis-cheevy-us," the guidance
counselor who nearly keeps us
out of college entirely. Time
after time we are swept over by
the oversized paw of misguided
assistance.
It is hard to know how to react
On one hand, one is touched by the
thought behind the disastrous deed; on
the other, one very much wants to run
after the klutz with a heavy blunt object.
to such abortive acts of kind
ness.
On one hand, one is touched
by the thought behind the
disastrous deed; on the other,
one very much wants to run
after the klutz with a heavy
blunt object.
One is torn between, "I need
all the friends I can get," and
"with friends like that, who
needs enemies?"
One would like to say that
well-intended harm is less
harmful because it was backed
by beneficient thoughts, but
often it is just as unpleasant to
cope with as the most spiteful
attack. In fact, since "kind
ness," is less well meant, it
does its damage less efficiently
and is often only messier. But I
am wandering into distractions.
John Ciardi in, "Someone
"Certainly, certainly," said
Tweadle, who was looking be
hind us and apparently begin
ning to sweat. "The chances of
being killed in a nuclear acci
dent are less than the chances
of being killed by a meteorite."
My acolyte continued, "I've
read that your containment
dome here would crack from the
pressure that actually develop
ed at the Three Mile Island
plant during the accident there,
and would thereby release huge
clouds of radiation."
"I think it's time to go back,"
said Tweadle, pushing us
through the door out of the
control room. "Don't worry.
That kind of thing can never
happen again " Men in radia
tion suits had come into the
control room and were gestur
ing toward the reactor room.
"I thought that's what you
said last time," said my acolyte.
Had a Helping Hand," one of
the cleverest poems in his very
clever children's book, "You
Know Who," puts it thusly:
Someone Had A Helping Hand
Someone I know had a help
ing hand.
He was helping himself to beat
the band.
Yes, he was being a help to me:
He was picking the pears out of
my tree.
I wanted to help him do it up
brown.
So I took my saw and sawed it
down.
He fell from the tree right onto
his hat.
"Not why," he said, "did you
do that?"
"That tree," I told him, "was
very tall.
I was afraid, sir, you might fall.
"With your sack stuffed full of
my pears - do you see?
I wanted to help you down from
the tree.
"For helping me was so kind of
you
That it made me want to help
you, too."
John Ciardi,
You Know Who,
J.B. Lippincott Co.
Copyright 1964
From page 1
"Everything's under con
trol," responded Tweadle, as
two engineers dashed past him
in the direction of the front
gate. His smile had become a
little lopsided. "The next thing
I know, you'll be talking about
meltdowns, ha-ha."
"Speaking of which," inter
rupted my acolyte, "have your
safety systems been tested?"
"Soon" said Tweadle. "I'll
meet you at the visitor's cen
ter." He turned and sprinted
for the exit. I looked around for
Abdul, but he had already left
maybe to make a deal for some
spare fission products that were
just lying around giving off heat
and gamma rays.
My acolyte grabbed me by
the clerical collar and began to
run after Tweadle. "Come on,
boss" she said. "Let's get out
of here before the meteorites
hit."