Category: Personal (Page 20 of 25)

This past weekend I ventured to Lancaster, Pa., for the first time in nine years. Franklin & Marshall College was celebrating its annual Homecoming, and as a graduate of the Class of 1995, I joined numerous friends at our 10-year reunion.

(What follows is not a pristine op-ed so much as an opinionated summary of events at the request of several colleagues. Click Read More if you’re interested in the rest.)

This past weekend I ventured to Lancaster, Pa., for the first time in nine years. Franklin & Marshall College was celebrating its annual Homecoming, and as a graduate of the Class of 1995, I joined numerous friends at our 10-year reunion.

Superficially, the weekend was a success. Campus looked great, as it often does; I saw friends with whom I reconnected, places full of fond memories, and acquaintances who made me smile. My dorms, apartment, frat house, newspaper office, radio station: all intact, and not much worse for wear. The new buildings and pathways on campus look great, and Homecoming events were well-organized.

However.

My satisfaction was tempered significantly by the annual alumni meeting of my fraternity, Phi Kappa Sigma, where the brotherhood learned about the dire straits the active membership faces—an effect that stems directly from the re-recognition of Greek life last year. Our officers made clear that should the school bar a freshman pledge class this spring, Phi Kap—a 151-year-old organization, the oldest of its kind at F&M, and the third-oldest active chapter of the fraternity—could face extinction. While the national chapter shares blame for the severity of the situation, the assumption here is that the school would cry no tears should the fraternity disappear, the alumni equivalent of rooting for a 38-year-old ballplayer whose team is patiently waiting for his contract to end.

Similarly, those who attended the Class of ’95 Reunion Dinner came away thoroughly disappointed with its execution. For $30 a head, we were brought to what used to be the dining hall and treated to a tiny and inexpensive buffet dinner: gnocchi with sausage, “cheesesteak wraps,” some soup and salad, and a do-it-yourself mashed potato bar. The beer and wine served at the bar hardly made up the cost difference. Let me also throw into the mix the fact that barely half of our class alumni council attended the dinner they organized. I should have followed their example.

By griping to a powerless audience, I am apparently preaching to the choir, too; I heard this weekend about classmates who stopped participating in alumni organizations after tiring of making suggestions that were summarily ignored. Never one to stand idly by, I post this in the hope that people react in a positive manner. I even called the alumni office to request a refund on the dinner. (At least the College Reporter, the campus newspaper, is on an upswing and run by editors who are dedicated and proud.)

As a result, I unfortunately stand by much of my statement from April, however disillusioned and acerbic the tone. F&M remains a beautiful and welcoming school, but it has flaws that endanger the lifestyle and culture that made me proud to have gone there. One would think a bad dinner wouldn’t be such a big deal, but it’s actually a microcosm of the past year, the generic emails and profit-first nature of the campus thrown into bold relief.

At least my trip turned out as expected. Nice trip to school? Check. Show Lancaster County to my (good sport and rather patient) wife? Check. Get a reminder of how the school is treating me as an alumnus and a Greek associate? Big, fat, ugly check. And a check, by the way, is what F&M won’t be receiving from me, since voting with my pocketbook is the most surefire way to get the school to take notice.

I’m off to Italy on vacation until the 25th, blissfully separated from Internet access. The Ideapad (and any email correspondence) will resume upon my return.

Site update: as you can see on the right, I recently (and finally) added my del.icio.us link log to the Ideapad. In addition to the writings that appear in this space, I find, stash and otherwise post links to my del.icio.us feed almost daily, in a wide variety of subjects.

My personal del.icio.us page includes numerous subcategories for readers interested in a particular subject (say, words). The list at right presents the last 10 items as they’re posted. Enjoy.

Franklin & Marshall College is my alma mater. I was a proud and notable member of the student body during my four years in school, running the school newspaper and, as an intern, producing a 200-page book on F&M student life that showcased the diverse and wonderful aspects of the college and local communities.

I was a basically happy student as I earned my Bachelor of Arts in English. I also immersed myself in extracurricular activities: the newspaper and internship mentioned above, as well as radio station DJ, keyboardist in a cover band, professional music writer and, rather significantly, member of Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity. My experiences and growth in each deeply affected my maturation and postcollegiate paths—including, among other things, playing in a cover band with classmates in business school. Some things never change.

I graduated just about ten years ago from a school consistently in the second tier of American liberal arts colleges (that nebulous “25-to-40” group behind big guns like Johns Hopkins), one with comparatively brutal courseloads and a vibrant Greek system, an obvious foil to long nights of studying. Tired of its secondary role and work-hard-rebel-hard student body, F&M went outside its universe in selecting its current president, John Fry, who had spent several years at the University of Pennsylvania.

Upon his installation, President Fry spoke at length about improving the quality and stature of the F&M education. He talked of increasing alumni donations, particularly the percentage-of-participating-donors statistic that the college surveys cherish. He advocated re-recognizing fraternities and sororities to improve student-faculty and alumni-administration relations. The school maintained an oral commitment to excellent scholastics and students.

What I have seen in recent years seems like the opposite of this commitment. Most crucially, F&M re-recognized fraternities and promptly took action against mine. Six months after its 150th anniversary, the Phi Kappa Sigma chapter house is now alcohol-free (fine) and in danger of expulsion from the community (pretty damn far from fine). I am curious how such a strategy—regardless of the actions that caused the College’s sanctions—is going to improve relations with Phi Kap alumni.

This isn’t just about my fraternity, though. As an emeritus editor in chief of the newspaper, I receive The College Reporter in the mail weekly, and its quality is atrocious. The paper has gone from 16 pages in an average week to 8, and there is little semblance to journalism in any given issue. The paper has gotten visually sloppy and the writing is worse than what I would expect from a good suburban high school. If the paper reflects the caliber of the current F&M student, I am unimpressed.

Campus life doesn’t seem to be what I remember, either, and not in a “those were the days” kind of way. The College Center has lost its focal point as a campus center; student mailboxes have moved and the dining option there greatly altered. Weis Hall, once the nicest dorm on campus, endured issues regarding mold that led to disenchantment and calls for room-and-board refunds (and, if memory serves, some temporary evacuations). Most recently I learned that the traditional outdoor barbecue during F&M’s festive Spring Arts Weekend was canceled—the current dining services contractor would neither honor meal plan credits for a main cookout nor waive its “exclusive catering rights” to allow student organizations to hold their own.

In addition, the College has proven fairly inept at alumni communications. I regularly receive emails sent to “David 38221,” belying the concept that I attended a small, people-first institution. The first reunion email I received welcomed me to my fifth anniversary homecoming instead of the tenth. And alumni staff have inexplicably taken to calling me “Dave,” which while not offensive is more than a little confusing.

This is not the school I remember attending.

I write this piece out of disappointment, not anger. I was a proud F&M alumnus when I graduated, and I used to state my alma mater with pride, not caring that nearly half the people I met hadn’t heard of it. Now, however, I no longer feel that pride. I don’t like mentioning Franklin & Marshall, I don’t enjoy reading the student newspaper, I find the alumni magazine impertinent, and I have no inclination whatsoever to donate my time or money to the school. My current feelings are a long way to fall for someone who had to accept going in that his school was tough on students and relatively unknown—barriers I proudly overcame but no longer appreciate.

I will be at my ten-year reunion this fall, to see the campus, rediscover old friends, and introduce my wife to the happiness I found there. But I won’t be giving to the fundraising drive or going to any events. F&M has lost me for now. I truly hope they can win me back.

I live in a high-profile, high-traffic building in one of Manhattan’s busiest hubs. One would think that the residents of my building had an inkling what to expect, moving as they did into a high-rise buttressed by Union Square Park, a subway station, a bus stop, three bars, a nightclub, a Starbucks and an NYU dorm, not to mention the abundant commerce that takes place in the area.

Instead of rationalization and problem-solving, though, my neighbors are quick and content to dissolve into complaints and nimbyism. I belong to a mailing list (three, actually) for building residents, and this is the discourse that has taken place the past 48 hours:

I live in a high-profile, high-traffic building in one of Manhattan’s busiest hubs. One would think that the residents of my building had an inkling what to expect, moving as they did into a high-rise buttressed by Union Square Park, a subway station, a bus stop, three bars, a nightclub, a Starbucks and an NYU dorm, not to mention the abundant commerce that takes place in the area.

Instead of rationalization and problem-solving, though, my neighbors are quick and content to dissolve into complaints and nimbyism. I belong to a mailing list (three, actually) for building residents, and this is the discourse that has taken place the past 48 hours (emphases added):

Message: “Does anyone have any suggestions about how to stop the breakdancers from their nightly performance – blasting their stereo – at the south end of Union Square Park? I have tried calling repeatedly both 311 and directly to the 13th precinct, only to be told some variant of ‘we’re too busy’ each time.”

Reply 1: “Let me add my exasperation at the noise that those of us facing 15th St hear from the clubs. … Is there nothing to be done?”

Reply 2: “What’s particularly bad (besides the crowd noise and honking taxis) from Irving Plaza on East 15th Street are the tour buses of the performing groups, which are (illegally) kept running for long stretches. I’ve called 311, the police arrive, the crowd disperses, the police leave…and the crowd comes back. The police do nothing about the buses! And they do nothing about the loud bass thumping coming from INSIDE the club, though closed doors and walls! We can’t keep the bedroom window open in the spring and summer.”

Reply 3: “I add my voice to the roar about the buses, diesel fumes, and screaming drunks on the sidewalk, plus the bass from Belmont Lounge on Sunday ‘night’ — which truly doesn’t let up until 4 AM; it’s unreal.”

Now for the reality check. This is New York, and this is a busy, busy area of New York. This city will always have—should always have—clustered bars and jumping nightclubs and hubbub in public spaces. I’m not a bargoer, a clubgoer, or a breakdancer, but I believe in each entity’s absolute right to be and do.

While I’m not a fan of the noise outside my window, I accept it as my home’s burden, and explore solutions for my own personal happiness (City Windows, for example). What I don’t do is whine to 100 neighbors I don’t know, nor do I complain publicly. The last thing I want is for my building to generate a reputation as a bunch of, say, thankless whiners, and have the city’s public servants (police, fire, mail, government) lose interest in currying its favor.

Folks, if you don’t like it, do something about it on a level you can control. And keep my mailing address’s good name out of it.

The instant I saw the Segway a few years ago, I said, “That would make an amazing one-person golf cart.” I spent an evening brainstorming it and even tried to contact Segway, but they wouldn’t take outside developers’ calls. But I knew it was the perfect use for a motorized, nimble machine.

And I was right, damnit.

Meeting with Clarins France this week, returning on Sunday. I should be checking email periodically.

I slipped this in mid-post last month, so here it is for the record:

David Wertheimer began his post-MBA career at Clarins in January 2005. As Director, Internet Marketing, David oversees the online initiatives for Groupe Clarins’ United States properties. Groupe Clarins, an international skincare company, is composed of nineteen subsidiaries in 150 countries, with close to six thousand employees and sales of over $900 million.

I have been at Clarins for one enjoyable, eye-opening week. I anticipate exciting and useful growth (both for Clarins and within my own knowledge and experience) in the coming months.

So here I am in the student lounge at NYU Stern. In an hour I’ll have my last class here—an anticlimax, as I completed my major classes and assignments two weekends ago. Tonight is the last session of a marketing elective I took in the part-time program. By 9 p.m. I will truly be finished with school.

The denouement is rather nice. I had lunch with a classmate today, then met with my marketing professor to talk about my new job, which starts in January: I am the new director of Internet marketing for Clarins, where I’ll be the online evangelist and strategist while I learn about consumer product marketing. It’s a great chance to build upon my career to date and leverage the marketing and strategy work that became my main focus in business school.

As if that weren’t enough, tonight’s class centers around Mountain Dew’s “Do the Dew” campaign, on which my wife has worked extensively. The case study we read is all about her executive creative director, who I have met several times and who is truly a master of his craft. I find it appropriate that my time in school—an undertaking conceived and encouraged by my wife—concludes with my learning more about her line of work. After two years of patience and paying the bills, she deserves some extra attention.

I am pleased and proud to report that my MBA has already had a direct and positive impact on me: what I know, how I think, who my friends are, and where life will take me. In many ways I will miss being in school, but I am ready to move forward, and the path that lies ahead is full of promise. Wish me luck.

As noted below, I’m off to China until November 26. I will be checking email sporadically and, if I’m proactive, I will post some photos and essays as I go.

Happy Thanksgiving.