Ellen Simpson had told everyone she was ready to retire. She wanted to pursue her hobbies and spend more time with her grandchildren and travel. But the truth was Ellen had not willingly walked away from her job and career. She had been pushed away from it and over the edge of a cliff that was of her own making. And all because she had finally developed a backbone.
Okay, maybe she had that backbone all along, but in her almost thirty years as a non-tenure-track university professor, she'd never used it until the incident with Alma.
“I thought I'd earned enough good will — good karma — on campus that it would be okay. Obviously, I thought wrong,” she had told Art, her best man-friend and longtime colleague, the one who always had her back.
He shrugged in agreement then said, “Karma can be a bitch."
Ellen HAD spent her career trying to do the right thing but mostly by being the epitome of a “team player” and the consummate diplomat, traits she’d once prided herself on. But during her last year of work, Ellen had decided those traits were forms of cowardice and weakness, which was part of the reason she had dared to fight back against her new dean who was summarily humiliating and degrading most of his non-tenured faculty and staff, especially the female ones.
Ellen, like almost everyone else in the college, had seen it happening but no one, herself included, had dared complain. She had even personally experienced the dean's insults and tirades and done nothing to defend herself. She’d taken her licks and hoped it would get better — and maybe she even thought down deep that somehow she deserved it.
But Ellen’s mind changed the day the dean presented the university's diversity award to Alma, the school’s sole Native American employee who served as a counselor for particularly troubled students.
“You’re like our college’s John Wayne," the dean had said after he'd read aloud Alma's bio, which referenced her efforts to raise awareness of her Poarch Creek tribe's local heritage. "You’ve got The Duke’s same ‘Whoa, take 'er easy there, Pilgrim’ touch with these wild Indians.”
The audience was stunned into silence and Alma’s own expression was a mixture of disbelief and horror. The dean was oblivious.
When Alma left the stage, she headed straight out the back door of the auditorium. Ellen followed after her, finally finding Alma in the bathroom where she was dashing water onto her face and taking deep gulps of air. Alma was not hurt. She was furious as she turned to Ellen and said, “We gotta do something about him.”
The next day, Ellen and Alma reported the John Wayne statement and several other of the dean's infractions to personnel and the ombudsman’s office. For a brief while, the two thought their complaints might make a difference. But instead of censuring the dean, Alma and Ellen became the targets of scrutiny. For months after, though, they kept trying to at least make someone higher up acknowledge that something was wrong with the dean. And all the while other employees who had faced the dean’s wrath and ridicule were changing jobs or retiring, anything to get as far from him as possible.
When word of their efforts reached the dean, he became even more hostile toward Ellen, giving her scathing performance reviews and making not-so-veiled threats about her precarious position as a non-tenured employee.
Eventually his actions and the administration's lack of action took a toll. Alma, who was early in her career, found a position at another university and Ellen announced her retirement.
When she gave the required letter of her announcement to the dean, he read it and smiled – a reptilian smile.
***
Three months into Ellen’s retirement, Art called.
“Have you heard the news? About him?" he said as soon as she picked up.
“No, but I don’t know if I want to hear it,” Ellen replied.
“Yes, you do,” Art said. “He’s been fired as dean... for drinking on the job, not for how he treated people, but he’s gone.”
Ellen wanted to smile, maybe even gloat, but she couldn’t muster any real sense of relief or sweet revenge.
“So, when is he leaving?” she asked.
“Well, he’s not exactly leaving. He’s going back to his old faculty position...”
Ellen felt it all shatter — her spirit, her heart, her faith in karma.
— Katjack
Okay, maybe she had that backbone all along, but in her almost thirty years as a non-tenure-track university professor, she'd never used it until the incident with Alma.
“I thought I'd earned enough good will — good karma — on campus that it would be okay. Obviously, I thought wrong,” she had told Art, her best man-friend and longtime colleague, the one who always had her back.
He shrugged in agreement then said, “Karma can be a bitch."
Ellen HAD spent her career trying to do the right thing but mostly by being the epitome of a “team player” and the consummate diplomat, traits she’d once prided herself on. But during her last year of work, Ellen had decided those traits were forms of cowardice and weakness, which was part of the reason she had dared to fight back against her new dean who was summarily humiliating and degrading most of his non-tenured faculty and staff, especially the female ones.
Ellen, like almost everyone else in the college, had seen it happening but no one, herself included, had dared complain. She had even personally experienced the dean's insults and tirades and done nothing to defend herself. She’d taken her licks and hoped it would get better — and maybe she even thought down deep that somehow she deserved it.
But Ellen’s mind changed the day the dean presented the university's diversity award to Alma, the school’s sole Native American employee who served as a counselor for particularly troubled students.
“You’re like our college’s John Wayne," the dean had said after he'd read aloud Alma's bio, which referenced her efforts to raise awareness of her Poarch Creek tribe's local heritage. "You’ve got The Duke’s same ‘Whoa, take 'er easy there, Pilgrim’ touch with these wild Indians.”
The audience was stunned into silence and Alma’s own expression was a mixture of disbelief and horror. The dean was oblivious.
When Alma left the stage, she headed straight out the back door of the auditorium. Ellen followed after her, finally finding Alma in the bathroom where she was dashing water onto her face and taking deep gulps of air. Alma was not hurt. She was furious as she turned to Ellen and said, “We gotta do something about him.”
The next day, Ellen and Alma reported the John Wayne statement and several other of the dean's infractions to personnel and the ombudsman’s office. For a brief while, the two thought their complaints might make a difference. But instead of censuring the dean, Alma and Ellen became the targets of scrutiny. For months after, though, they kept trying to at least make someone higher up acknowledge that something was wrong with the dean. And all the while other employees who had faced the dean’s wrath and ridicule were changing jobs or retiring, anything to get as far from him as possible.
When word of their efforts reached the dean, he became even more hostile toward Ellen, giving her scathing performance reviews and making not-so-veiled threats about her precarious position as a non-tenured employee.
Eventually his actions and the administration's lack of action took a toll. Alma, who was early in her career, found a position at another university and Ellen announced her retirement.
When she gave the required letter of her announcement to the dean, he read it and smiled – a reptilian smile.
***
Three months into Ellen’s retirement, Art called.
“Have you heard the news? About him?" he said as soon as she picked up.
“No, but I don’t know if I want to hear it,” Ellen replied.
“Yes, you do,” Art said. “He’s been fired as dean... for drinking on the job, not for how he treated people, but he’s gone.”
Ellen wanted to smile, maybe even gloat, but she couldn’t muster any real sense of relief or sweet revenge.
“So, when is he leaving?” she asked.
“Well, he’s not exactly leaving. He’s going back to his old faculty position...”
Ellen felt it all shatter — her spirit, her heart, her faith in karma.
— Katjack
All University administrators who are fired "go back to their first love - teaching." Their poor students. - opelikakat
ReplyDeleteJust what I needed: a little brush with Evil today. It's good to be reminded! One wonders what was really GOING ON inside the dean's mind. Maybe not much. Maybe he hadn't been able to access his own self for years and was running on empty stereotypes. Good writing about a brave fight! ---Macoff
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