Dean of Discipline: Tales of Old-School Punishment

by Allen Bare

  At the end of the trip, my new house was waiting for me to move into, thanks to Zeb Kesselman (as the president of Emberley College had urged me to call him). I had told him I'd found the house I wanted, but couldn't make an offer until the sale of my Pennsylvania house was arranged. "Not to worry, lad," he said, and a few days after I got back from my interview, I learned that the college had purchased the house on my behalf and would be happy to resell it to me at the same price whenever I found that convenient.

  "But you'll lose interest income while the money is tied up," I protested.

  "Don't worry about that. We'll charge you a reasonable rent from now until you buy the house, and that will make up for the interest. Emberley seldom loses on its investments," he added, "and insofar as this is an investment in Jim Bradley, I'm sure our record is in no danger."

  My furniture and other possessions were already in the Oregon house when I got there, unloaded from the moving van that preceded me under the competent supervision of Al Frayne, Zeb's all-purpose assistant. I was pretty busy during the three weeks before the beginning of classes, putting up shelves, unpacking and sorting all the books, records, tapes, and CDs I had sent from Pennsylvania, and generally getting things in order. There was also some furniture to buy; I had the essentials, but the new house was bigger than the old one, and I needed stuff to fill it up. I found some great old pieces in the local antique shops at prices that didn't cut too deeply into my cash supply.

  Zeb Kesselman and Fred Mudge, the academic dean, were the only two members of the Emberley administration I'd ever met, and the faculty was still completely unknown to me. But I had an office in the administration building that I also had to move into-a larger, more elegant office than I'd ever had before, even in my wildest fantasies of college-administration triumph-and while I was busy with this, the dean and president set about remedying my lack of acquaintanceship. One or the other was always wandering in with someone in tow.

  I didn't by any means meet the whole faculty, but enough to get the general impression that they were pretty much the same mixed bag you find on most campuses-scholars, teachers, optimists, pessimists, introverts, extroverts, men, women, old, young-Emberley had 'em all. Much as I'd taken to Zeb and Fred, I was a bit relieved to learn that the entire campus community wasn't in the same age group. At 45, I had no interest in becoming the baby of the family.

  Indeed, as I soon found out, not even the administration building was an old geezers' clubhouse. Larry DiFiori, the Bursar, was at least a few years younger than me, and the administration also included two women. One was Frances Potter, a tall Englishwoman in her early fifties, who coached the tennis, field hockey, and basketball teams, and held the title of Director of Athletics. She had big shoulders, strong legs, sandy hair just beginning to gray, a jolly manner, and a loud, booming, upper-class British caw that went with it. It had become something of an inside joke to refer to her as "the Games Mistress." Far from being offended by this sobriquet, Frances agreed that it fit her shockingly well. Hockey, at which she had starred in her youth, was her true love, though the basketball and tennis teams did well enough to prove that she had not neglected other athletic disciplines. Still, hockey was Emberley's most successful sport; we were, I learned, a perennial power on the northwestern small-school circuit.

  "Awfully glad to have you on the side," she said to me when we were introduced. "You'll keep the gels in order, I daresay."

  "Well, that is my job," I said carefully. "I hope I'll be able to do it without too much, er, severity."

  "Nonsense, young man," she retorted. "Twelve of the best, that's what they need, most of 'em. It does them a world of good. It did me," she added with a wink, at the same time clapping me soundly on the shoulder." This was her exit line, as she left the office immediately-to my great relief, for I had no idea how to respond.

  The other woman in the administration was Connie McHugh, Director of Counseling. Her office dealt with student problems of the academic and personal kinds, and we would, to some extent be working together, since disciplinary problems are often related to these. We arranged a time, the week after my arrival on campus, to explore areas where our duties might intersect. If I hadn't lost all interest in romance for the foreseeable future, I would probably have been trying to take some of Connie's time regardless of duty, for she was a lovely, petite, dark-haired woman ten or twelve years younger than me, whose intelligent eyes and ironic smile told me immediately that she would be a pleasure to talk to.

  Still, I approached our interview with some caution. I was a little worried that, because our jobs committed us to dealing with students in more or less opposite ways, she might see me as a kind of natural enemy. So I began with a little speech to the effect that, while firmness was unquestionably required in matters of student discipline, I hoped to be sensitive to those cases where the problem might lie deeper, and require a gentler approach than that for which the Dean of Students' office was best known. I said that I'd like to confer with her whenever I encountered such a case.

  "I have no doubt we'll be conferring frequently," Connie said, with a pleasant trace of the South in her accent, "but if experience is any guide, I'll be referring more cases to you than you will to me." I looked puzzled, as indeed I was. "There are several ways for a student to get in trouble at Emberley," she said. "One, she can commit a 'crime,' like petty theft, vandalism, or public drunkenness. That kind of offense is referred to the Campus Disciplinary Board, on which both you and I serve ex officio. There are also three faculty, who rotate from year to year, and one member of the senior class selected by the administration. The student doesn't vote, but she can serve as an advocate for the student point of view. You may be amused to know that the students refer to this person as the 'trusty.' If the board finds a student guilty of an offense, and it isn't severe enough to warrant dismissal, they remand her to you for punishment. If the offense has a psychological dimension, of course, she's also assigned to me for counseling."

  "Also? Not either/or?"

  "One of the primary lessons we try to teach here is that a student is responsible for the consequences of her behavior-and if the rulebook says those consequences include a spanking, that's exactly what she gets. Even if some kind of personal unhappiness led her to commit the offense, she has to learn where what happens when she lets her unhappiness run her life. The counseling may help her find a better way to handle it in the future, but being unhappy doesn't excuse what she's done in the meantime."

  I nodded. "I see."

  "OK," Connie said. "Number two on my list of ways for a student to get into trouble: she can commit an academic offense-cheat on a test or plagiarize a paper. Those offenses are handled the same way, by the Campus Disciplinary Board, joined by the Academic Dean."

  "What I'm used to," I said, "is that academic offenses have academic penalties, like flunking a course."

  "That's how they're treated on most campuses," she said. "But the Emberley approach is that an academic offense is just as much a crime against the community as any other form of theft. Instead of handling the case himself or herself, the faculty member brings charges before the Disciplinary Board, so that all cases are tried in the same court. That way we avoid the problem if inconsistent standards and every student knows exactly what to expect if she cheats. I should also mention that the student has often used these techniques in the past to flunk out of another college. A student doesn't always cheat because she wants a good grade-she may want and expect to get caught. It's often a way of saying 'to hell with school.' At Emberley she finds out that the consequences can be a good deal more painful and embarrassing than a failed course and a half-hearted lecture from her father."

  "This is pretty new to me, but . . . well, I guess it makes sense."

  "Number three, an Emberley student can also get into trouble through ordinary academic non-performance. I don't mean just poor performance. If a student's problems are purely academic, we can help her without, invoking "spanctions
." But at least 90% of poor academic performance at Emberley is really non-performance. The paper doesn't get written, the book doesn't get read, the test doesn't get studied for. Most of the time it's a simple lack of discipline."

  "What happens in those cases?"

  "Generally, the faculty member refers the student to my office. We give her an appointment and hold an interview to find out what's going on."

  "What if she doesn't come in?"

  "Oh, she'll come in, all right, because she knows that if she doesn't she'll find herself in your office the next morning."

  "Ah. So what happens in this interview, generally?"

  "We talk to her about her study habits and set some goals for her. She has to come in regularly and show us, as well as her professors, that she's improving. If she does, fine. If she doesn't . . ."

  "Don't tell me. Straight to the lair of the dread Dean of Students."

  She grinned. "And may the Lord have mercy on her bottom."

  I grimaced. "A disciplinary dean is never the most popular guy on campus," I said. "I've gotten pretty used to that. But the way the job is done here at Emberley, they're going to run when they see me coming. I'm not sure I'm ready to have an entire student body thinking of me as a monster."

  Connie laughed. "It isn't that bad. Harvey Jordan actually made quite a few friends among the students-though I admit they were mostly juniors and seniors who'd learned to stay out of trouble. Remember, the student understands that you're just as much an instrument of school policy as the paddle in your hand, and she won't take the punishment personally."

  "I don't see how it could be much more personal."

  She laughed again. "Well, sure, but you know what I mean. She knows you aren't punishing her for personal reasons. You don't have to be fierce-you can take a line like 'Dear me, I certainly wish this wasn't necessary, but I'm afraid you've brought it on yourself.' After all, that really is how it is, and the students are smart enough to understand that."

  I managed a grin of my own. "One thing I promise not to say is 'This hurts me more than it hurts you.'"

  "I certainly hope you won't tell any such lies. I've been on both ends of that paddle myself, and I know the truth." Seeing my startled look, she added, "Oh, yes, I'm an Emberley girl myself; guess I should have told you. It's at least fifteen years since my last paddling, but I want to tell you it's not something you forget in a hurry."

  "I imagine not," I said, trying very hard, in the interest of keeping things professional, not to picture the scene. I wasn't entirely successful. "What about your experience on the other side?"

  "I think that story will have to wait," she said. "At least for now. But there's one other thing we should talk about. Did you know that when you administer discipline, I'm your official assistant?"

  "Huh?"

  "I guess you didn't. Well, I don't mean that I have to stand by and hand you the paddle or anything like that. But there are occasions when a girl panics and refuses to take her punishment. I don't doubt that you're strong enough to subdue any of our students," she said with a smile, "but to avoid such problems as accidental injury, it's best to have someone you can call in. Usually I just have to show up, and the kid sees there's no point in fighting and gives up. When Harvey first became dean he used to have his secretary come in, but after I took over the counseling office, he asked me to be his backup. If things get lively, it's better if the second person is also an officer of the administration, especially if she's a woman."

  "OK, that sounds wise," I said. "But how does it work if you aren't there all the time?"

  "The way Harvey and Fred have done things, all punishments take place at two times of day: nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. I never schedule meetings at those times, and I make sure I'm always in my office. All you have to do is pick up the phone, and I'll come right over." Since her office was diagonally across the hall from mine, I could see that this would work well enough.

  "You've been doing this job for . . . ?"

  "Six years now."

  "Seen a lot of paddling’s in that time?"

  "Hundreds. Well, scores anyway. Why?"

  "Well, I was just kind of curious. Was there ever a time when you thought 'This isn't working. This is just plain wrong?'"

  She pondered for a minute, shook her head. "Never," she said. "I don't know how it would be if I hadn't been there myself, more than once. If I'd never felt that paddle, I might think the poor kid was being tortured, but I know better. It hurts-it hurts like hell-but it's no more than you can take, and on top of that, it's no more than you deserve."

  "That what you thought at the time?"

  "Hardly!" She grinned. "I thought I was bein' half-killed for no reason at all, and I yelled fit to break the windows!" Her accent grew more southern as she recalled her youthful days. "But eventually I got smarter, and they do too." She gave me a serious look. "I can understand how you might have doubts about it. That does you credit. But it's the right thing to do-don't worry."

  I went back to my office thinking, Damn, I'm going to enjoy working with this woman.

  The freshmen arrived on the Emberley campus the Wednesday after Labor Day. (Emberley still followed the leisurely old-fashioned academic calendar, with classes after Christmas and a break between semesters in late January.) The rest of the students were due the following Monday. I was introduced at an orientation session in the auditorium. I could tell by the leery looks some of the girls gave me that their friends or older sisters had explained my role in the Emberley drama, though smirks and whispers elsewhere in the crowd suggested that not everyone had gotten the story. I spoke briefly, explaining that it was my job to enforce the rules, that we took rules very seriously here at Emberley, and enforced them strictly, but that any student who made it her business to know the rules and to follow them would have a pleasant and profitable academic career. Each of them had been given a copy of the rulebook, and I advised them to spend part of the day or the evening studying it, because, starting from tomorrow morning, no one would be allowed to plead ignorance.

  I spoke calmly and pleasantly enough, but avoided excessive smiling. No point in sending a mixed message. This was fairly effective; when I finished, the leery ones looked even leerier, and the smirkers and whisperers appeared somewhat sobered.

  That night the freshman dorms were quiet. The dorm housemothers found a joint or a bottle going around here and there, but they simply confiscated these and called the students' attention to the rulebook, which would, from the dawn of the morrow, govern their lives. Just about all the entering students knew how the rules were enforced-that was why their families had to force them to come-but a few had apparently been tricked. Two students were waiting to see me when I arrived in my office the following morning.

  I invited them to come into my office and talk. They introduced themselves as Beth Capodistria (the lanky, black-haired one) and Ronnie Savitch (the plump, sandy one). I welcomed them to Emberley and asked what they had come about. "Well, it's this business in the rulebook about punishment," said Beth.

  "Yes?"

  "Well, I mean, it says 'corporal punishment.'"

  I agreed that that was what it said. I also pointed out that the agreement they had signed and submitted with their applications used the same phrase.

  "You mean, it isn't some kind of misprint?"

  "Misprint? For what?"

  Ronnie leapt in. "Well, for, like 'cardinal punishment,' or something like that, something that means serious."

  "Oh, it is serious," I told her calmly.

  "No, that's not what I mean, I mean, this sounds like-well, some of the other girls said you punish students physically."

  "They're perfectly correct."

  Both girls put on outraged faces. "You can't be serious! This is the twentieth century! That's barbaric!" and so on. They ran on at considerable length, each interrupting the other, to tell me how outrageous this benighted policy was, and how they couldn't believe that a respected
academic institution, and so forth and so on. I didn't tell them to be quiet, but, while they were talking, I slowly opened the desk drawer, took out the paddle, and laid it on top of the desk. Both freshmen ran out of breath at the same time. "You're shitting me" said Beth-but in a voice so weak and tiny I didn't bother to rebuke her bad language. The paddle was an impressive sight: 18 inches of polished walnut, a good four inches across and a half-inch thick. Explosive contact with generations of bare Emberley bottoms had done nothing to dull its sheen-in fact; it was amusing to think of the paddle as having been continually repolished by these encounters, though I doubted that was likely.

  I watched the two girls turn white, and then red as they worked out in their minds just how the paddle would be used. "I'm outta here," said Ronnie Savitch. "No way am I staying in this nuthouse another minute."

  "That's your choice," I said. "However, you won't be permitted to remove your belongings from the campus until you've spoken to President Kesselman. He's in his office. Shall I take you up there now?"

  "We can find our own way, than you very much," said Beth, with a touch of hauteur. I accompanied them out to the hall and watched them start up the stairs. Zeb, I knew, was about to give them what he called his "facts of life" talk. This was, he had told me, something he did at least a dozen times during freshman orientation and several more times during the fall semester, until each and every incoming student had either packed her bags and departed, or submitted herself, with more or less good will, to the Emberley regime. The president's talk often involved a conference, by telephone, with the young lady's parents, in addition to his own skilled presentation. Submissions outnumbered departures, he said, by at least fifty to one.