A journalism student at Highlands, writing about a pair of students who had applied for work with the Albuquerque Police Department, said, “Before being considered, they must put in 400 hours of field work.” Then the writer added, “Those 400 hours are roughly equivalent to three college degrees.”


     Where did all these figures come from? The writer clearly meant clock hours as opposed to credit hours, and thereby drew an erroneous conclusion, by assuming that one reaches the 400 hours by multiplying by three the number of credits a student earns for a baccalaureate degree.
     Unfortunately, many observers of education are under that same misconception and thus we hear, “Teachers are overpaid,” “teachers get three months off a year,” “professors work only 12 hours a week.”
     The recent firings and denials of tenure at Highlands have added to the verbal free-for-all regarding the merits of Highlands’ faculty. A recent letter to the editor gave 14 as the number of classroom hours a week for professors, calling it the lowest total in the state.
     Far from it. Quite simply, Highlands faculty teach among the highest loads, 12 credits, with major universities such as the University of New Mexico having nine credits as a common load. Major research universities often require six contact hours a week. The norm for junior and community colleges is five courses a week.
     With 12-credit teaching loads, it’s easy to understand why many people assume Highlands faculty finish up their few classes, jump into their MacJaguars and drive to their MacMansions in Santa Fe’s Las Campanas resort. Oh, would that this were the case! In academe, the 11th Commandment is: “Thou shalt not confuse hours with credits.” Generally, in order to earn three credits, a student needs to spend 45 hours in class. And if students devote an hour of study for every hour in class, the college investment is great.
     The college professor here typically teaches four courses for a total of 12 contact hours a week, for 15 weeks. The amount of preparation and grading contributes substantially to their workload. That’s the usual picture for college professors.
     For public school teachers — there from 8 to 4, five days a week — well, there just aren’t enough hours, and that’s before factoring in sponsorships, various duties, games, proms and other activities.
     But back to the hallowed Highlands halls:
     Some members of the lay public see only the obvious, the time spent in class. It’s not as if a university consists of thousands of interchangeable parts, in which Prof. A can perform the duties of Prof. B. It’s not as if professors learned their job in a day, never work outside of class, and never look back at the end of the day. Small colleges like Highlands have fewer classes to distribute among the small number of faculty, and as a result, many professors find themselves teaching four distinct preparations.
     A while back, a provost (they used to be called deans), frustrated over not having been able to reach a professor at work by phone, issued an infamous 8-to-5 memo insisting that all faculty be available during normal business hours. On the surface, that seems fair — though punitive — as long as nothing else is expected.
     Yet, some of the fallout included this from a long-time professor: “Is this all you’re asking of us? If so, then none of us ever needs to read a book or grade a paper outside our shift in this factory.” Think about it: It seems like a good deal, never having to take the job home. But academe is not the same as a factory, in which the only basis for assessing a person’s worth is how long he or she performs in front of students, or, more importantly, how many students are in the class. Highlands’ braggadocio generally consists of the size of the graduating class or the increases in enrollment. But education is not really a quantifiable commodity, even if the New Mexico Legislature thinks otherwise.
     The degree to which a good prof inspires students is tough to measure, especially when higher-ups want something you can put on a tote board.
     My joy in joining the Highlands faculty in 1971, the beginning of a 28-year stint, came in observing countless others enthusiastically performing their duties — well beyond what their contracts specified. They sponsored clubs and organizations; they got escorted to their next class as they fielded whatever question curious students may have had; they got involved in projects well past “factory hours,” tutored their students, guided them, advised them. They invested time during evenings and weekends, not because an administrator required it, but simply because they loved their jobs.
     Certainly there have been and will always be an element of faculty that’s aloof, inaccessible and less than competent. We always hear about them. But it’s rare that faculty at the higher end get due recognition. We have more than merely anecdotal evidence of how successful Highlands alumni have been. Obviously the professorial staff is doing something right.
     I believe that in most colleges, where there’s mutual trust and respect, and where ethnicity or pigmentation work neither for nor against the instructor, faculty members go way beyond what’s in the contract.
     And that’s the kind of institution Highlands needs to continue to be.

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