Chapter Two

As chancellor, my duties do not extend to student discipline. This is a subject I neither understand nor enjoy -- to me, rules are either followed, or broken, and broken rules receive warnings first, discipline second, and dismissal third. It seems simple, although my colleagues are ceaselessly telling me it is not.

Given the fact that we have a simply ridiculous number of buildings on our campus with a tragically small student body, the reality is that we have far too much room for mischief to occur.

Add in buildings that are not ours to control (not that we even control our own campus in toto,) like the quaint but tumbledown Indian Mill across the creek, and the adjoining grounds and outbuildings of St. Fiacre's Library on the bluff overhead, and you can complain about many things as a student here at Cyrus College, but lack of places to go off by yourself would not be one of them.

Since our campus population is entirely above the age of eighteen, they are, at least as the law sees them, adults, and we are expected by parents and the federal government and by law and precedent to treat them as such, no matter how vividly their behavior shows this is not the case.

The shall we say liberal, progressive ethos of the campus means that fights, as generally understood, are rare. Fisticuffs are simply not the thing here. And sexual assault, while sadly not unknown here, is less frequent than some commentators might lead you think is common on college campuses. Respect for each other, and for the educational process, is paramount. Yes, even among our young adults.

But they do not respect themselves.

This is the great tragedy of youth today. Their entire perspective on life, their own lives, and the possible import of that life when it reaches maturity: well, I think first and foremost of the appalling new practice, one could almost say a habit, of getting one's skin tattooed. And while I do my best not to peer in an inappropriate fashion at the bodily forms of our young charges here, I am forced to see enough of their so-called body art to say that, if one were to get a tattoo, why would you choose the endless array of skulls, flames, and Gothic lettering that seems all the rage? And as for barbed wire . . .

At any rate, tattooing is not against our campus rules, while it might well be in a state governed by philosopher-kings. What is forbidden is smoking indoors, and that is not only for the health of one's lungs and those of others, but for the health of our admittedly decrepit and largely wooden buildings. They have a certain rustic charm going back to their origins in the 1920s, and they would no doubt look quite compellingly attractive in flames, an image I might easily indulge in if I were given to such fantasies. And if you had any responsibility for their upkeep you might just do so.

Our dean of student life, Tamara Rezik, is incessantly coming to President Doone asking for exemptions from this rule or a variation in the usual enforcement for that. Students who are caught in all manner of infractions, or are found making off with campus property, or whose academic records make it clear they have no business either here or in any other post-secondary institution, all find a willing ear and a bleeding heart in Dean Rezik's office. And to date, I have not chosen to exert my influence to sway our president's final decisions in a more decisive, emphatic direction.

The Dean has been here, truth be told, almost as long as I have. And while she has the well-deserved respect of her colleagues -- most of us recall her handling of the Wilkinson situation ten years ago with a mixture of awe and appreciation, a child of a board member who . . . well, we all signed the agreement. Nevermind. What I meant to say was that I think, in our little hermetically sealed environment, we all know each other all too well. And I am certain that my fellow faculty members would not mind seeing a few presidential decrees that turn the direction of the school back towards discipline and decorum.