A lengthy campaign to make the big move from the service of mammon to the halls of academe had not gone well until, out of the blue; came a tip to call a guy at this new college in Edison. “His name is Mike Reynolds and he’s the dean of students there.” An interview was set up, and in late July 1966 I met the dean in a residential-looking building marked Center III. It seemed to go OK, and then, noting I was a captain in the Army Reserve, he asked, “What’s the date of your commission?” I told him, and he muttered, “Damn.” Turned out he was a Marine Reserve captain – and that I outranked him by a month! We then went to meet President Frank Chambers, a very impressive man who was clearly committed to the mission of the public two-year college. In the course of things, he elaborated on the master plan and its extensive construction prospectus – at which point I let slip something to the effect that good teachers are a lot more important than mere bricks and mortar. That tears it, I rued, but a day or so later Reynolds called to offer me the position of admissions counselor. It paid just over half of what I’d been making ‘downtown’ but it was a beginning….
An initial enrollment of at least 700 was essential for the college to float financially, and we were still shy of that when, on the second Monday in August I reported in to admissions director Joan Purtell. She briefed me on the criteria for each of the seven majors, explained the procedures we followed, and emphasized that we would not accept the unqualified, save for remedial study. I sat in on some of her applicant interviews, and before long, I was on my own, carrying a full load of, say, nine appointments a day and perhaps as many walk-ins, many bearing on lack of academic preparation. While most were productive, a few others were memorable for different reasons: A persistent candidate went into labor in the waiting room, and thanks to the campus police, made it to the hospital just in time. Even more determined in a way was an attractive thirty-something who lacked the prerequisites for the popular RN major; she shut the door to my office, began unbuttoning her blouse, and calmly announced, “I will do anything – anything at all you want me to do – if you will admit me to the nursing program.” Totally flustered, I blurted, “What I want you to do is take biology and chemistry.”
In mid-September the faculty came “on board” (Dr. Chambers was a retired Navy captain, so campus argot tended to reflect nautical vernacular), and an impressive bunch they were, a blend of distinguished elder scholars like Charles Montrose and James Lorens, and younger types – Charles DiDomenico comes quickly to mind – eager for the fulfilling task of teaching first- and second-year students. Joan, a really good boss by the way, and I had little time to partake of the welcoming festivities since we were busy bringing in late applicants, and constantly topping off filled majors from waiting lists when ‘admits’ decided they weren’t coming after all. The ‘non academic’ admissions crew, who toiled along with us under intense, unremitting pressure, then included the dignified, unflappable Eleanor Gordon, and Anne Potter, whose compassion and thoughtfulness did much to assuage our oft-confused, apprehensive clientele.
Our ‘ta-da’ moment finally arrived when in late September 728 students appeared for orientation and the subsequent onset of classes – a remarkable accomplishment by admissions, financial aid and registrar’s offices, particularly at a time when all acceptance and rejection, and award letters were typed individually, and schedules were hand-crafted by wizard Registrar, Muriel (Willy) Wilhelm – this because our data processing systems then were barely this side of parchment and squeaking quill pens.
Could we, now that the class was in, take a breather? No way; fall meant going to visit all the county high schools for ritual presentations to seniors and getting to know their guidance people, some of whom, unfortunately, were negatively predisposed toward county colleges in general, and ‘Edison U,’ as we’d been dubbed, in particular. (That would change) Also, a number of ‘college nights’ were held for high school students and their parents to hear recruitment spiels by reps from Rutgers, the State colleges, private institutions, and MCC. As well, Joan and were besieged by swarms of our students who now wanted to drop courses or withdraw completely. The ‘whys’ for this are found in numerous institutional studies, not least among them lack of motivation and the belief that a two-year college would be easy. There was one other counselor, but since she was assigned solely to develop various grant proposals, an awful lot of students with problems came to Center III, where indeed many had begun their college experiences.
As applications for the fall 1967 class began pouring in, our review of applicant credentials and related interviews were punctuated by the endless ‘ka-whump, ka-whump’ of massive piledrivers as they pounded home the foundations of Main Hall, some 50 yards distant. (Fortunately the Library had been completed). Surcease from this and the press of applicant evaluation came at midday when Joan would usually dine with the other ‘brass’ and I’d stroll over to the Raritan Hall cafeteria, which dished out surprisingly good chow. The best part was getting to know some of the teaching faculty, a sort of bonding, really; our impromptu gatherings in a small adjacent room were delightfully stimulating, with conversations ranging from profound to humorous. One day an English instructor, a witty, kind of urbane guy, joined the group and he and I hit it off right away, not least when he, noticing that my pipe was empty, proffered his tobacco pouch and said, “Here, try some of mine.” Thus did Larry Cohen and I meet – the beginning of what would become a wonderful friendship.
Right from the get-go, the admissions operation was a year-long pressure-cooker. We often went to the wire to fill certain majors, and conversely took a lot of heat from applicants and their surrogates, seeking acceptance to small, popular majors; calls from sundry politicians were not uncommon, but we held the line, and Dr. Chambers backed us to the hilt. Our colleagues on the instructional side were heard from, too, for with most curricula experiencing attrition, they wanted both abler students, and more of them. A few departments wished to elevate already stiff entrance requirements, while others sought to essentially eliminate them. We in admissions listened, and mostly held firm to what we believed best for the students. How were we viewed by our teaching friends? With a measure of appreciation and understanding, I think, but there did occur an odd aberration when I was approached by a faculty member who said he wanted a job in admissions. Was he going to give up teaching? Oh no, he’d keep that and do admissions parttime, just like me!
As my first complete cycle progressed, we added a modest number of openings at mid-year to make up the fall’s losses, and not ‘waste’ valuable faculty resources. As before, many curricular projections for the fall class were not met until just before classes began, a phenomenon that would continue throughout my 19 years at the College, and lead to the often contentious ‘late registration’ scene, featuring people who’d just applied fulminating because they couldn’t get the courses and times they wanted. (A wag likened these ugly events to the horror film ‘Rollerball’).
Ironically, MCC’s master plan called for substantial yearly increases in the number of students, while every one of our sending-school districts predicted steady declines. This paradox was offset somewhat by sizeable numbers of ‘non-traditional’ applicants – those out of high school for more than, say, three years, many in their 30s, 40s, and even 50s. Gone from memory are the stats on applications evaluated and students enrolled back then, but by the mid-1970s they averaged 6,000 and 4,000 respectively. In any case, by spring 1967, applications were flooding in so fast that a new admissions counselor slot was finally authorized, bringing Fred Hazlett aboard.
It may come across as incredibly naive by today’s lights, but most of us were really fired up by what we were about, and literally couldn’t wait to get to work each day, and as you can imagine, long hours were more rule than exception. What a rare and fulfilling experience to be literally ‘present at the creation’, from scratch, of a new institution of higher learning! Initiative was tacitly accepted, and if something needed doing, we’d go for it, as in, for instance, teaming up with reading specialist Andy Kistulentz to address the emergence of shocking weaknesses in that crucial area. Out of this evolved the reading skills center, and soon, under Bob Urbanski, a hotshot math variant. And while committee assignments took away critical job time, they offered further opportunities to associate with classroom colleagues, and usually dealt with interesting stuff; one of mine was academic standards, about which I knew little, save for having been on the receiving end 15 and more years earlier.
Although serious anti-war activism had yet to reach our campus, as it would several years later (remember “One, two, three, four…?”), a surprising number of male applicants candidly stated they were going to ‘school’ primarily to avoid the draft. One, in particular, a long-haired fellow – in my mind’s eye “The Cowardly Lion” – evoked my scorn as, sweating, groveling, he begged to be admitted to anything as long as it was full-time, credit, and carried a deferment. Still, betwixt ruminating on “judge not” and the emerging conviction that although ‘my’ war had been both necessary and just (really?), this one was neither, I began to mellow – a bit. Anyhow, We admitted the ‘Lion’; he graduated two years later, and transferred to Rutgers.
A few words about veterans: Many of them, some who had served before Vietnam, and a lot more who fought in that unfortunate war, chose MCC, and virtually all of them excelled, for having mastered military bureaucracy, they had little difficulty with academe’s variant. They soon formed a chapter of Alpha Sigma Mu, a nationwide vets’ fraternity, and I signed on as advisor. It was a wild ride at times because they played as hard as they studied, but my association with these men over the years was a high point: what determination, ingenuity – and humor! (A sidebar: Thanks to Continuing Ed. Dean Jerry Shindelman, I had the rare opportunity.to create and give an evening course known to some as Applied Psychology I, but listed in the catalogue under “HIS-223 U.S. Military History”. What a grand trip!)
Just for fun, here is a snippet of culture past as cited, in part, in “Announcement 1966-67”
STUDENT DRESS
For Men
Classes and Informal Parties – Trousers, sports shirts, sweaters, loafers
Receptions and Concerts – Suits, ties
Dances- Formal: Dark suits, dinner jackets
Informal: Suits, sports coats, shirts, ties
For Women
Classes and lnformal Parties – Skirts, sweaters, blouses, dresses, loafers
Teas, concerts, receptions – Hats or veils, heels, purses, gloves, suits or dresses
Dances – Formal: Dressy dresses, cocktail dresses, evening gowns
Informal: Dresses, street clothes, stockings, flats
Fast-forward to Spring 1968: about 300 of our first class graduated; Mike and Joan left, the former replaced by Bill Foose. Fall 1968: Another tete-a-tete with Dr. Chambers, wherein he and Foose offered me the top admissions job, and soon thereafter, financial aid. As I got up to leave, he smiled and said, “By the way, I happen to agree with you about the relative worth of teachers and buildings.” How about that!
Looking back, I’m pleased, proud even, that we in Admissions & Financial Aid got it done – and well – meeting ever-increasing enrollment projections year after year; coming up with the first EOF program in the State; providing judicious financial assistance to the needy; and most of all, through very individualized counseling, helping tens of thousands of the young and not-so- to find themselves. Still, as the saying goes, “It ain’t just the work, it’s the people.”, and we were blessed with the best. Here are some who served on the “Dream Team” during the early going, (with start year in parentheses):
Anne Potter (’66) moved to Counseling Services, then after a stint in PR, managed the new fangled word processing unit; Fred Hazlett (’67), became admissions director at Brookdale; counselor Frank Moore (’68), was soon snagged by Princeton; Dorothy Loper (’69), a former teacher and superb counselor, went on to head Open College; Genevieve Appleby (’67), was our venerable lady of the cards; Rosemary (Rocky) Lucanegro (’67), top-notch boss of our non-Academics, and my secretary – she who introduced the mini-skirt to the fold; Fred Hertrich (’69), outstanding financial aid administrator, later contract manager, long esteemed statewide as the Mr. Chips of Political Science; Joyce Mitchell (’69), the pied piper of EOF; Warren Kelemen (’70), whose subsequent meteoric rise took him to the very top; (Fred and Warren, I still miss our lunches); Bobbie Greene (’72), who would star in Continuing Ed leadership roles; Beth Pasture, (’72}, Fred’s whiz financial aid assistant; Ray Niederoest (’74), an MCC grad who, with BA in hand, returned to help his alma mater – and a host of indispensable work-study students.
My thanks to. you, and others to come, for all you did – and to you, Frank Chambers, for giving this 36-year-old with no relevant experience a chance. The journey was occasionally bumpy, but MCC did good things for me, mostly because, kind of like the military, it truly mattered, in ways ‘Wall Street’ inherently did not, at least to me. It was indeed a calling.
