Hafner and Martin would have been (in a hopeful past tense)the least likely people to handle PJC's problems and foreseeably would have caused morale problems.
PJC's payroll has expanded year after year, but faculty's share has declined year after year. When faculty retires, they haven't been replacing them. Instead they have been using that as an opportunity to hire people at WSRE and the like making the possibility of giving all employees, faculty, career service and adjuncts a raise very difficult.
I saw some folk shimmying up to Hafner to further their not central to the mission interests. Our new president (either of the others) will tell you folk to get REAL, and help the community by focusing on what you're suppose to be doing.
Isn't it a surprise that the faculty were ignored in the decision for the new president. Dr. Elliott received the most votes, and he wasn't voted for by one board member. Hafner, who received fewer than anyone but Martin, was nearly our new man. I know Dr. Meadows was many of our second choice candidate, but I'm afraid we're likely to see many more years of the same "us vs them" (Note in his application letter that he will hire professional negotiators and lawyers to negotiate for him and the board) situation, and the faculty will continue to negotiate leftovers. I hope for better, but it's difficult to see sunshine when we are totally ignored in the hiring process. The supposed participation of the campus meetings was a facade and shame on us for buying in.
Any college in the state of Florida would be fortunate to get Dr. Elliot. We send you warm wishes Dr. Elliot. I am glad that the process has been open and that he could see all the factors that come into play.
Getting comments from new, non-tenured faculty members is not a nice thing to do to the faculty member. If you want honest comments, get them from people who have been there at least a period of time.
Isn't it a surprise that the faculty were ignored in the decision for the new president. Dr. Elliott received the most votes, and he wasn't voted for by one board member. Hafner, who received fewer than anyone but Martin, was nearly our new man. I know Dr. Meadows was many of our second choice candidate, but I'm afraid we're likely to see many more years of the same "us vs them" (Note in his application letter that he will hire professional negotiators and lawyers to negotiate for him and the board) situation, and the faculty will continue to negotiate leftovers. I hope for better, but it's difficult to see sunshine when we are totally ignored in the hiring process. The supposed participation of the campus meetings was a facade and shame on us for buying in.
Like us they have differing opinions. It's scary how the chips could have fallen.
I believe that five of the nine board of trustee members do care about the faculty and the role of the college this community. God bless you people for putting what it took in to get the right decision.
For your entertainment After reading this I pictured Dr. Elliott jumping out of his car to recycle road kill.
Published: January 07, 2007 04:12 pm
Elliott: Humbled on Highway 45
Dr. Scott Elliott / guest columnist
If they awarded a prize to the owner of Lauderdale County’s ugliest pickup trucks, I might surely win. I drive a couple old trucks, both of which my wife, Claudia, considers an embarrassment to my family and employer.
Claudia is especially scornful of my ‘77 Datsun, which she often contends “no self-respecting scrap metal business would accept.”
The other day I told one of my colleagues at MCC that I was thinking about selling the Datsun. “Good Heavens,” he pled, “don’t do that! Everyone knows when you’re coming when we see that truck.”
Well, what can I say? I have always tended to get emotionally attached to inanimate objects. Tennis shoes. T-shirts. Cars. They become like old friends to me.
A few weeks ago I had a unique opportunity to put one of my beloved trucks to the supreme test. My daughter, Stacie, called from Florida and offered to give me her 52-inch color television if I would only come get it.
Stacie’s husband is a specialist in a nuclear plant and makes the big bucks. So, they were ready to shed themselves of their antiquated projection model in favor of one of those state-of-the-art plasma, high definition units that hang on the wall like a portrait.
Never one to turn down anything free (except good advice), I determined to make an impromptu trip to Florida during the college’s fall break. I informed Claudia that I was going to drive one of my treasured trucks. “Are you nuts?” she scolded. “Neither one of those rustbuckets would make Quitman.”
In rebuttal, I asked a mechanic friend of mine if he thought the Datsun could survive such a sojourn. He kind of scratched his head and gave me a funny look as if to query, “How many college degrees did you say you have?” Then he speculated, “It might make it if you check the oil every half hour.”
That didn’t sound like a ringing endorsement, so I opted to drive my, er, newer Ford pickup. The odometer on it has only flipped a time or two versus the Datsun, which probably has more miles on it than a space shuttle.
But heck, I wasn’t going to let common sense get in the way of me watching ESPN on a big screen. So, off I went, rubber bands a winding.
And I proved Claudia dead wrong in her prediction, making it to within five miles of Buckatunna before breaking down. There I was, sitting on the side of Highway 45 turning the key over and over to no avail.
About the time I was ready to start hoofing it, another vehicle pulled up behind me. Out stepped a slender young man of about 20, who kindly asked, “Can I help you?”
“Help me?” I silently cringed. “I just hope you don’t shoot me. I don’t even know you, and it’s the year 2006. A body can’t afford to render help to a stranded motorist anymore, and you don’t accept any, either.”
While those were my hidden thoughts, my mouth instead uttered, “Well, the thing just flat quit on me. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. You know anything about cars?”
“A little,” the young man replied. “I work on my own.”
To make a long story short, over the next hour, the young man crawled up under my truck to try to discern the problem, and subsequently transported me to Waynesboro to buy a new fuel filter to replace the one obviously clogged from my rusty gas tank. He then drove me back to my vehicle and installed the filter himself, ruining what appeared to be a fairly new shirt while lying on his back on the roadside as other cars sped past.
Finally, he got the truck cranked again, and then followed me to a nearby garage where a mechanic advised me to pray a lot as I headed back north.
Well, I never got that coveted 52-inch projection color TV set. I’m still watching bowl games on the same old 27-incher that we’ve crammed into our particle board entertainment center.
But I did receive a blessing that day far more precious than any television. God restated for me what it means to be a true Good Samaritan. You see, the extraordinary young man who came to my rescue obviously didn’t know me from boo. In fact, driving that old truck and wearing yard-work clothes, I’m must have looked like something out of Deliverance.
Yet, he was willing to give me the shirt off his back – literally. So, I was compelled to ask him before we shook hands and parted, “Young man, you didn’t know who I was when you stopped to help me. For all you knew, I could have been some crazy person and done you great harm. Therefore, I’ve got to ask you, why in the world did you stop?”
“I had no choice,” he answered.
“What do you mean?” I pressed.
“You needed help,” he reiterated. “I had no choice.”
An answer as poignant as anything one might have gleaned from a classic novel of a zillion more lines. As we continued to converse, it became clear that the young man was guided by a power far stronger than himself. Moreover, he was obedient to that authority. In extending a helping hand to a total stranger, he had the faith to be more concerned about doing what he felt was right than what might have been safe or prudent.
Ultimately, we were headed in opposite directions, he to a little town called State Line and me back to Meridian. Spiritually, our paths were just as polar. At least, that’s how truly humbled I felt. The times in my life that I’ve had the opportunity to do for someone else what that young man did for me are sadly legion.
My old Ford did limp back to Lauderdale County. I immediately went into the house and dialed information. A few minutes later I was speaking to a mother who, like her son, didn’t have a clue who I was.
“Hello,” I stammered. “My name is Scott Elliott. You don’t know me, ma’am, but I’ve just called to tell you what a wonderful son you have. Can I tell you what he did for me today?”
Like her son, the woman was not surprisingly happy to make time for a person in need. Of absolution.
Dr. Scott Elliott is president of Meridian Community College.
14 comments:
All of us need to me there and be sure to invite 3 people to come along with you. Our presence is significant.
Hafner and Martin would have been (in a hopeful past tense)the least likely people to handle PJC's problems and foreseeably would have caused morale problems.
PJC's payroll has expanded year after year, but faculty's share has declined year after year. When faculty retires, they haven't been replacing them. Instead they have been using that as an opportunity to hire people at WSRE and the like making the possibility of giving all employees, faculty, career service and adjuncts a raise very difficult.
I saw some folk shimmying up to Hafner to further their not central to the mission interests. Our new president (either of the others) will tell you folk to get REAL, and help the community by focusing on what you're suppose to be doing.
Tuesday morning, it's scary eeeeeee. Boo!
Isn't it a surprise that the faculty were ignored in the decision for the new president. Dr. Elliott received the most votes, and he wasn't voted for by one board member. Hafner, who received fewer than anyone but Martin, was nearly our new man. I know Dr. Meadows was many of our second choice candidate, but I'm afraid we're likely to see many more years of the same "us vs them" (Note in his application letter that he will hire professional negotiators and lawyers to negotiate for him and the board) situation, and the faculty will continue to negotiate leftovers. I hope for better, but it's difficult to see sunshine when we are totally ignored in the hiring process. The supposed participation of the campus meetings was a facade and shame on us for buying in.
The forum comments for Hafner are in. 50% are very unfavorable. So to you I say in part "FOR SURE" and "EMBARRASSING."
But I'm pleased with the pick.
Any college in the state of Florida would be fortunate to get Dr. Elliot. We send you warm wishes Dr. Elliot. I am glad that the process has been open and that he could see all the factors that come into play.
Getting comments from new, non-tenured faculty members is not a nice thing to do to the faculty member. If you want honest comments, get them from people who have been there at least a period of time.
Leopold is new, yes?
Perhaps long time (not super) adjunct from the way it looks
Full time person--instructor
But he didn't give an endorsement
Isn't it a surprise that the faculty were ignored in the decision for the new president. Dr. Elliott received the most votes, and he wasn't voted for by one board member. Hafner, who received fewer than anyone but Martin, was nearly our new man. I know Dr. Meadows was many of our second choice candidate, but I'm afraid we're likely to see many more years of the same "us vs them" (Note in his application letter that he will hire professional negotiators and lawyers to negotiate for him and the board) situation, and the faculty will continue to negotiate leftovers. I hope for better, but it's difficult to see sunshine when we are totally ignored in the hiring process. The supposed participation of the campus meetings was a facade and shame on us for buying in.
Like us they have differing opinions. It's scary how the chips could have fallen.
I believe that five of the nine board of trustee members do care about the faculty and the role of the college this community. God bless you people for putting what it took in to get the right decision.
You other people can bless yourselves.
FYI
http://tampabay.bizjournals.com/tampabay/stories/2008/04/07/daily48.html
Thursday, April 10, 2008 - 11:44 AM EDT
Lars Hafner named to top post at Manatee Community College
Tampa Bay Business Journal
For your entertainment
After reading this I pictured Dr. Elliott jumping out of his car to recycle road kill.
Published: January 07, 2007 04:12 pm
Elliott: Humbled on Highway 45
Dr. Scott Elliott / guest columnist
If they awarded a prize to the owner of Lauderdale County’s ugliest pickup trucks, I might surely win. I drive a couple old trucks, both of which my wife, Claudia, considers an embarrassment to my family and employer.
Claudia is especially scornful of my ‘77 Datsun, which she often contends “no self-respecting scrap metal business would accept.”
The other day I told one of my colleagues at MCC that I was thinking about selling the Datsun. “Good Heavens,” he pled, “don’t do that! Everyone knows when you’re coming when we see that truck.”
Well, what can I say? I have always tended to get emotionally attached to inanimate objects. Tennis shoes. T-shirts. Cars. They become like old friends to me.
A few weeks ago I had a unique opportunity to put one of my beloved trucks to the supreme test. My daughter, Stacie, called from Florida and offered to give me her 52-inch color television if I would only come get it.
Stacie’s husband is a specialist in a nuclear plant and makes the big bucks. So, they were ready to shed themselves of their antiquated projection model in favor of one of those state-of-the-art plasma, high definition units that hang on the wall like a portrait.
Never one to turn down anything free (except good advice), I determined to make an impromptu trip to Florida during the college’s fall break. I informed Claudia that I was going to drive one of my treasured trucks. “Are you nuts?” she scolded. “Neither one of those rustbuckets would make Quitman.”
In rebuttal, I asked a mechanic friend of mine if he thought the Datsun could survive such a sojourn. He kind of scratched his head and gave me a funny look as if to query, “How many college degrees did you say you have?” Then he speculated, “It might make it if you check the oil every half hour.”
That didn’t sound like a ringing endorsement, so I opted to drive my, er, newer Ford pickup. The odometer on it has only flipped a time or two versus the Datsun, which probably has more miles on it than a space shuttle.
But heck, I wasn’t going to let common sense get in the way of me watching ESPN on a big screen. So, off I went, rubber bands a winding.
And I proved Claudia dead wrong in her prediction, making it to within five miles of Buckatunna before breaking down. There I was, sitting on the side of Highway 45 turning the key over and over to no avail.
About the time I was ready to start hoofing it, another vehicle pulled up behind me. Out stepped a slender young man of about 20, who kindly asked, “Can I help you?”
“Help me?” I silently cringed. “I just hope you don’t shoot me. I don’t even know you, and it’s the year 2006. A body can’t afford to render help to a stranded motorist anymore, and you don’t accept any, either.”
While those were my hidden thoughts, my mouth instead uttered, “Well, the thing just flat quit on me. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. You know anything about cars?”
“A little,” the young man replied. “I work on my own.”
To make a long story short, over the next hour, the young man crawled up under my truck to try to discern the problem, and subsequently transported me to Waynesboro to buy a new fuel filter to replace the one obviously clogged from my rusty gas tank. He then drove me back to my vehicle and installed the filter himself, ruining what appeared to be a fairly new shirt while lying on his back on the roadside as other cars sped past.
Finally, he got the truck cranked again, and then followed me to a nearby garage where a mechanic advised me to pray a lot as I headed back north.
Well, I never got that coveted 52-inch projection color TV set. I’m still watching bowl games on the same old 27-incher that we’ve crammed into our particle board entertainment center.
But I did receive a blessing that day far more precious than any television. God restated for me what it means to be a true Good Samaritan. You see, the extraordinary young man who came to my rescue obviously didn’t know me from boo. In fact, driving that old truck and wearing yard-work clothes, I’m must have looked like something out of Deliverance.
Yet, he was willing to give me the shirt off his back – literally. So, I was compelled to ask him before we shook hands and parted, “Young man, you didn’t know who I was when you stopped to help me. For all you knew, I could have been some crazy person and done you great harm. Therefore, I’ve got to ask you, why in the world did you stop?”
“I had no choice,” he answered.
“What do you mean?” I pressed.
“You needed help,” he reiterated. “I had no choice.”
An answer as poignant as anything one might have gleaned from a classic novel of a zillion more lines. As we continued to converse, it became clear that the young man was guided by a power far stronger than himself. Moreover, he was obedient to that authority. In extending a helping hand to a total stranger, he had the faith to be more concerned about doing what he felt was right than what might have been safe or prudent.
Ultimately, we were headed in opposite directions, he to a little town called State Line and me back to Meridian. Spiritually, our paths were just as polar. At least, that’s how truly humbled I felt. The times in my life that I’ve had the opportunity to do for someone else what that young man did for me are sadly legion.
My old Ford did limp back to Lauderdale County. I immediately went into the house and dialed information. A few minutes later I was speaking to a mother who, like her son, didn’t have a clue who I was.
“Hello,” I stammered. “My name is Scott Elliott. You don’t know me, ma’am, but I’ve just called to tell you what a wonderful son you have. Can I tell you what he did for me today?”
Like her son, the woman was not surprisingly happy to make time for a person in need. Of absolution.
Dr. Scott Elliott is president of Meridian Community College.
E-mail him at selliott@mcc.cc.ms.us
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