Letter to the Editor: A Few Simple Things Trinity Can Do To Market Itself To The Outside World Better

To the Editor: I have a hot marketing concept for Trinity. Here's how it goes: We're a college in a city. The latest thing in cities is "edge cities"‹towns on the fringe of a metropolitan zone, miles from the center-city. Put the two together and you get: Edge College! The latest thing in urban colleges! We may be in the middle of the city, but as colleges go we're, like, far out! The slogans fly out of the wind machine: College at the Cutting Edge; Liberal Arts With a Lot of Extra Stuff; A College on the Edge of Not Being a College! Seen from the outside, Trinity glows. Across from the campus rises the Learning Corridor, an achievement with great promise for Trinity and Hartford‹kudos to Evan Dobelle. Many new academic programs proclaim the creativity and dedication of many faculty. Heck, even TCCTR does some good things. There's construction everywhere, glitzy publications, foundation grants pouring in, honorary degrees bestowed by the bushel, blizzards of press releases, road trips and parties for favored faculty. All in all, fast times 'neath the elms. U.S. News and the trustees are snowed. Move a little closer, though, and one discovers that most of this, even the good stuff, occurs at the edges and on the surfaces. Trinity is like a centrifuge; no sooner does anything new appear, good or bad, than it's spun off to the margins. All the shots are rim-shots, all the growth occurs at the periphery. Meanwhile the center slumps. The center of any liberal arts college is liberal education: the daily learning experiences of students, the shared vocation of faculty as liberal educators. Therefore , if Trinity is moving, it's backward. Many faculty define themselves more as scholars serving professional communities than as educators serving the college community. Students have to battle to get into key courses. Departments schedule two-thirds of their courses on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Faculty take leave after leave with never a question asked about the effects of their leaves on students or colleagues. The First-Year Program‹last refuge of general education at Trinity‹goes begging for seminar instructors. Trinity employs more adjunct instructors than any other college of our alleged quality. Seniors have trouble finding faculty willing to write recommendations for them; faculty refuse to help Admissions with recruiting (too menial, too time-consuming). Incredibly, no senior officer of the college systematically watches over the educational experience of students. (Sources for each of these assertions available upon request.) If the center is strong, growth at the edges is healthy. But if the center is weak, growth at the edges further depletes it. The sum gets to be less than the parts; the branches flourish while the roots wither. This is a formula for short-term success only. The decentering of Trinity started 30 years ago, when the college suddenly renounced its all-maleness, its insularity, its prescribed curriculum. Amen to that. But never strong in self-esteem or leadership, the college pitched out baby with bathwater: it disinvented itself as an all-male insular college without firmly deciding to retain its character as a college. Poor country cousins of Trinity‹schools like Middlebury and Colby‹underwent equally dramatic changes but managed to reinvent themselves as colleges. Today they outrank us in academic selectivity and reputation. Still not sure what it wants to be, Trinity becomes, by default, Edge College, multiplying novelties around a hollow core. Is there a remedy? Absolutely. It lies in a simple question, provided it's a sincere question: "How will the educational experience of students be affected?" The question must get a satisfactory answer when courses are scheduled, when buildings are planned, when financial aid budgets are set, when diversity issues are addressed, when new programs are proposed, when faculty request special leaves, when pay raises are determined. As things now stand this question is seldom posed. Make it the key question in every important decision-making process at Trinity, and the college again becomes a college. On the Quad Bishop Brownell gestures in the direction of the passageway recently cut through Northam. Is he pointing to the world beyond the college, or to the hole in the center of the college? Sincerely, Eugene E. Leach Professor of History and American Studies

Letter to the Editor: A Few Simple Things Trinity Can Do To Market Itself To The Outside World Better

To the Editor:

I have a hot marketing concept for Trinity. Here's how it goes:

We're a college in a city.
The latest thing in cities is "edge cities"‹towns on the fringe of a metropolitan zone, miles from the center-city.
Put the two together and you get: Edge College! The latest thing in urban colleges! We may be in the middle of the city, but as colleges go we're, like, far out!

The slogans fly out of the wind machine: College at the Cutting Edge; Liberal Arts With a Lot of Extra Stuff; A College on the Edge of Not Being a College!

Seen from the outside, Trinity glows. Across from the campus rises the Learning Corridor, an achievement with great promise for Trinity and Hartford‹kudos to Evan Dobelle. Many new academic programs proclaim the creativity and dedication of many faculty. Heck, even TCCTR does some good things. There's construction everywhere, glitzy publications, foundation grants pouring in, honorary degrees bestowed by the bushel, blizzards of press releases, road trips and parties for favored faculty. All in all, fast times 'neath the elms. U.S. News and the trustees are snowed.

Move a little closer, though, and one discovers that most of this, even the good stuff, occurs at the edges and on the surfaces. Trinity is like a centrifuge; no sooner does anything new appear, good or bad, than it's spun off to the margins. All the shots are rim-shots, all the growth occurs at the periphery.

Meanwhile the center slumps. The center of any liberal arts college is liberal education: the daily learning experiences of students, the shared vocation of faculty as liberal educators. Therefore , if Trinity is moving, it's backward. Many faculty define themselves more as scholars serving professional communities than as educators serving the college community. Students have to battle to get into key courses. Departments schedule two-thirds of their courses on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Faculty take leave after leave with never a question asked about the effects of their leaves on students or colleagues. The First-Year Program‹last refuge of general education at Trinity‹goes begging for seminar instructors. Trinity employs more adjunct instructors than any other college of our alleged quality. Seniors have trouble finding faculty willing to write recommendations for them; faculty refuse to help Admissions with recruiting (too menial, too time-consuming). Incredibly, no senior officer of the college systematically watches over the educational experience of students. (Sources for each of these assertions available upon request.)

If the center is strong, growth at the edges is healthy. But if the center is weak, growth at the edges further depletes it. The sum gets to be less than the parts; the branches flourish while the roots wither. This is a formula for short-term success only.

The decentering of Trinity started 30 years ago, when the college suddenly renounced its all-maleness, its insularity, its prescribed curriculum. Amen to that. But never strong in self-esteem or leadership, the college pitched out baby with bathwater: it disinvented itself as an all-male insular college without firmly deciding to retain its character as a college. Poor country cousins of Trinity‹schools like Middlebury and Colby‹underwent equally dramatic changes but managed to reinvent themselves as colleges. Today they outrank us in academic selectivity and reputation. Still not sure what it wants to be, Trinity becomes, by default, Edge College, multiplying novelties around a hollow core.

Is there a remedy? Absolutely. It lies in a simple question, provided it's a sincere question: "How will the educational experience of students be affected?" The question must get a satisfactory answer when courses are scheduled, when buildings are planned, when financial aid budgets are set, when diversity issues are addressed, when new programs are proposed, when faculty request special leaves, when pay raises are determined. As things now stand this question is seldom posed. Make it the key question in every important decision-making process at Trinity, and the college again becomes a college.

On the Quad Bishop Brownell gestures in the direction of the passageway recently cut through Northam. Is he pointing to the world beyond the college, or to the hole in the center of the college?

Sincerely,

Eugene E. Leach
Professor of History and American Studies