Showing posts with label admission dean. Show all posts
Showing posts with label admission dean. Show all posts

Friday, September 11, 2009

Elephant in the Room

The Choice, a New York Times blog about college admission, has begun a series of answers to questions posed to HarvardҀs Dean of Admission, Bill Fitzsimmons. Those of us who have worked in the field for more than a few days will probably know how to answer the questions from nearly 900 respondents. WhatҀs remarkable is that even though there are dozens of books, articles, websites, counselors, and other methods purporting to reveal the ӀsecretsԀ of college admission, the questions and assumptions are the same as they have always been.


The admission process is the elephant being discussed by the blind men: each one ӀknowsԀ what heҀs feeling׀a tail, an ear, a leg׀but no one knows the whole thing. Some insist that most spots in a Harvard class are reserved for wealthy donors or legacies; others believe that the deck is stacked against public school students (Interestingly, Fitzsimmons, himself a Harvard alum, is from a blue collar background). Another demands to know that applying for financial aid will have no impact on a studentҀs chances, yet another asks how HarvardҀs process can Ӏreward diversity without committing a type of reverse discrimination.Ԁ The tone of the questions ranges from Harvard-induced bliss at having been accepted to outright skepticism, with some dark rumblings from fringy types about why Harvard Ӏgives awayԀ so many seats to Ӏforeign bornԀ students.


Underneath all these comments are two questions that vary according to whether you have a child of college-going age or not: ӀHow can my child reach the inner circles of wealth, connection and power?Ԁ and ӀWhy canҀt Harvard [or other appropriately big and powerful school] fix everything thatҀs wrong with our social system?Ԁ These are both unanswerable and mutually exclusive, which is what makes college admission so much fun.


Ultimately, however, the pleas to Fitzsimmons add up to what used to be addressed to philosophers: ӀHow shall we live our lives?Ԁ Parents of second graders want to know how to plan lives that will result in Harvard attainment; a high schooler worries that if she leads an ӀauthenticԀ life she may be disadvantaged by someone who has polished and ӀcreatedԀ hers; those without Harvard genes lambaste a policy that seems automatically to reward those who have them. We want answers that will assure us that life isnҀt random but has some direction and meaning. But in expecting ӀHarvardԀ to provide those answers, we avoid the more difficult task of wrestling with them ourselves, which is why philosophy is so hard.


Of course, one big mistake is to assume that only Harvard can address those questions. As college counselors and admission officers never tire of saying, the ӀbestԀ college is the one that will challenge you appropriately, open your eyes to new ways of thinking, and help you develop and broaden your talents as you take your place in the world ahead. Plunging full-on into college life will be rewarding no matter where you are.


A true story: While I was in the Amherst admission office, one of our tour guides told us that her parents had pressured her mercilessly to apply to Harvard even though she wanted to attend Amherst. They had never heard of Amherst and insisted that Harvard was the place sheҀd go. After much haranguing, they finally prevailed upon her to visit Harvard and take the tour. At the end, a visitor asked the tour guide, ӀIs there anything youҀd change about your Harvard experience?Ԁ The guide replied, ӀI would have gone to Amherst.Ԁ The rest, as they say, is history; hers, anyway.


Despite our best efforts, college admission remains an enigma wrapped in a mystery stuffed in an elephant. We just need to remember that weҀre dealing with flawed human beings and human systems. But Americans expect answers, not more questions: Socrates was executed for being annoying, remember--he wouldnҀt last ten minutes in an admission office. And no matter what answers Fitzsimmons gives, they wonҀt be the ones questioners are looking for. Even Harvard canҀt supply those.


A version of this essay appears on the NACAC blog, Admitted.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Keeping Secrets

IҀm not a sociable traveler. When IҀm on a plane or a train I would really rather read or sleep than chat with the person next to me. ItҀs not that IҀm antisocial generally, itҀs just that these are times when I can focus on catching up on that biography of Edison or back issues of The Atlantic IҀve been meaning to read. I relish being out of touch. But even more, to be honest, I usually just canҀt work up any interest in a strangerҀs life, and canҀt imagine why someone else would be interested in mine.

This posture became particularly important when I was an associate dean of admission at Amherst and then a college counselor. Telling someone youҀre a college admission officer is like revealing youҀre a doctor׀the other person always has something for you to diagnose right there in public.

ӀOh really?Ԁ he says, ӀMy kid has a 3.2 GPA and a 28 ACT score. Where should he go to college?Ԁ He might as well ask to have his appendix taken out right in the exit row. And of course it doesnҀt stop there:

ӀWhat do you think about Gabbler College?Ԁ
ӀShould my kid use that Common Application? What is that, anyway?Ԁ
ӀCan a middle class family get financial aid anymore?Ԁ
ӀIf my kid plays womenҀs soccer, will that help her get into Bigbucks University? My uncle-in-law went there, will that help?Ԁ
ӀI heard that Pyrex College is a real party school. Is that true?Ԁ

Personally, IҀd rather take out my own appendix than have one of these interactions. I found a kindred spirit while on vacation recently. In her excellent novel, Admission, Jean Hanff Korelitz puts her main character, Portia Nathan, through an excruciating dinner party where she has to defend the college admission process to a particularly aggressive and disbelieving guest (who, of course, has a child soon to be applying to college).

Portia has been introduced as an associate dean of admission at Princeton, so thereҀs no escaping the grasp of her clueless fellow guest:

Obviously tipped off, [Diana] made for Portia immediately, taking the other half of a too-small sofa in the living room and leaning right in. Within moments, Portia was in possession of Diana Halsey BennetҀs entire resume, and JohnҀs sister was already moving on to the unnaturally engorged resume of her daughter, Kelsey (field hockey captain, class secretary, treasurer of the literary magazine), who sat on the other side of the living room, looking׀to her credit׀horribly embarrassed.

The evening goes on like this for Portia as she tries to enjoy the meal with her loverҀs family. Finally, she more or less gives up:

ӀOh IҀm sure your job is very hard.Ԁ Diana shrugged, looking as if she were sure of no such thing. She was also looking peevishly at her daughter, as if the looming social diminishment she anticipated were all the girlҀs fault. ӀBut let me ask you something. Why do you even ask, on the application, where parents have gone to college? I mean, if youҀre going to penalize the kids for having parents who read the newspaper and take them to Europe. IsnҀt it better not to ask at all? I mean,Ԁ she said, utterly missing the point, Ӏthe less you know, the more level the playing field. ThatҀs what I think.Ԁ

Portia looked sadly at the now empty wineglass in her hand. She could not remember, really, drinking it, let alone how it had tasted, but she saw that it had been red, and she very much wanted more of itŀ.

How many times have we as admission officers or college counselors looked into that wineglass, hoping for a hailstorm or sudden pyroclastic flow to interrupt the moment? Particularly painful is the fact that we can see the other personҀs point but realize that no matter how we respond he or she will be convinced weҀre keeping the secrets to ourselves. The truth is out there, says our Mulderian seatmate...Better to say youҀre a ventriloquist or a shepherd or a Mafia hit man. Then you can read in peace.

A slightly different version of this blog entry appears in Admitted, the blog of the National Association for College Admission Counseling.