home about us peter's writing pictures contact us sitemap
From the first semester, the Community Meeting gradually lost its place as the main decisionmaking body of the college. In 1972, majority rule replaced consensus. Meanwhile, the committees gained power, either bringing yea-nay decisions to the Community Meeting, or making decisions themselves. ``In 1973...a system of governance by dorm lobbies rather than the central meeting was attempted. But this proved too fragmentary, and the 1974-1975 academic year saw a return of the Community Meeting to a position of at least nominal significance.''[17] These dorm lobbies were interest groups that brought their caucuses to Community Meetings, which retained final say on most matters, since most matters affected the entire community rather than only one hall.[15]
One issue decided by the Community Meeting was the problem of pets. Students, though eager to get cats and dogs, did not have the time or energy to care for them, and often the animals defecated inside. The custodial staff at one point refused to clean up after the mess, and the Community (by consensus) decided that the pets would have to go.[1]
Yet nonheirarchical decisionmaking certainly did not disappear with the gradual disempowerment of the Community Meeting. There were just over 10 committees, including a steering committee to coordinate the other committees. [SEE FOOTNOTE] With equal numbers of faculty and students on each committee, this meant about one-third of students were on committees, and faculty were on an average of two committees each.
In a student-centered educational institution, [the faculty] chose, most of them, to surrender a great deal of their development in areas other than teaching, advising, and administration. Those who didn't so choose either left, or lost the respect of their colleagues. There was indeed a right way to behave for Johnston faculty which partially tempered the entrepeneureal tone of the campus. Faculty might manage to change their academic fields in mid-stream, but if they didn't ``do their fair share'' of teaching and governance, they were ostracized....
Perhaps the most common opinion concerning Johnston College on the main campus, held especially to those who were generally friendly to the enterprise, was that Johnston simply couldn't cull its own. ``You guys kept too much deadwood -- that's what hurt you more than anything else'' -- the quote is from President Douglas Moore in 1981, and he was the last of a long line to say much the same thing. And many Johnstonians agreed.[17]
In fact, only once from 1969 to 1979 was a faculty member fired by the Community. Aside from the trauma that such a firing put the Community through, the History attributes this low number to two factors: first, ``a combination of direct confrontation and discreet counseling led a number of faculty -- we calculate eight in the first five years -- to resign''; second, because of the ``almost continuous conflicts with the University over the proper number of faculty positions'', Johnston feared that any fired faculty might not be replaceable by professors better matched to Johnston's unique environment. Yet the History seems at the same time to feel that these reasons became a rationalization for the inability to fire one of their own. [SEE FOOTNOTE]
Nearly every visitor that came to study the college during its first year -- and there were over two hundred -- warned that faculty would burn out from the overload of teaching, governance and planning. But by and large they did not, because they felt a proprietary commitment to the institution. Faculty saw themselves as the ``owners'' and makers of the college, not as employees, and so seemed able to expend great amounts of energy without suffering exhaustion.[17]
Another interesting issue is hiring procedures.
Hiring procedures were less academic than personal. There was no required paper presentation, for example. Candidates met with most of the faculty and at least twenty students during a typical two-day interview. Academic style and personality were considered more valuable than a major intellectual pedigree.
In 1974-1975, the Academic Policy Committee dealt with the issue of appearances of transcripts. Should all classes count the same towards graduation, despite some obviously taking far more time to complete than others? Simply the frame of the discussion here reveals a whole lot more than the History has let on. Apparently classes, or ``class equivalents'' were considered a reasonable unit of learning. In an interview, I found out that, in fact, 32 courses had previously been required for graduation.[16]
The problem was solved...Johnston courses could be assigned units but not credits in order to avoid basing graduation on earning a fixed number of credits. Units would be assessed using the Carnegie method: each hour in class would entail two hours' work outside the class, or more. A four-unit class would mean 160 hours of work per semester; a three-unit class would mean 120 hours, and so forth. Contracts should specify just how much actual time a student would devote to the class. In this way outsiders reading transcripts and Johston people reading graduation contracts could use the hours as a guideline.
The Academic Policy Committee in 1974 ``discussed and gave its tacit consent to this policy without ever taking a formal vote. But that was of secondary importance at Johnston. The hours system did become a common feature of contacts, though it was not in universal use.''
The one thing the new hours practices did allow was the renegotiation of contracts to avoid WIPs. Thus, a student who completed most of a 4-unit course could renegotiate the contract to 3 units. Several faculty ``were opposed to it on the grounds that it undermined the original contract. Students in effect could fulfill whatever portion of the contract they wanted, and receive credit for it.'' [SEE FOOTNOTE]
That conflict was never formally resolved. ``There was no institution-wide authority to force conformity on an issue. In theory the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor had the legal power to do so, but in practice that rarely happened. Those faculty who disliked this policy simply ignored it, or made their understanding of contractual obligation clear to their students.''
It is finally our conclusion that the political structures of Johnston provided several vital functions: they gave students (more than faculty) a place to practice political skills; they provided for a discussion of crucial campus issues...Individual persons, whether administrators, faculty, or students, were the fundamental center of authority -- in the classroom, in the inauguration of programs, with outside groups, even in community meetings. It was not a place where committees laid down policy and community members docilely complied. Johnston politics finally proved a useful training ground, but not the vital center of the community. McCoy's conviction that persons, not society, came first, was borne out in his college's style long after he departed.