“I’m only human,” the provost said.
        “Human? You’re the provost—that’s an oxymoron.”

 

Those are the last two lines in Costly Affair (#2 in trilogy of love, lies and liaisons.)  The quote makes sense if you’ve spent part of your career in higher education, but if your response was “I don’t get it,” the following will be of interest to you.

The term “provost” has its roots in religious history. Hitler referred to the head of the secret police as the “Provost Marshal”—the Gestapo—his number two person.  From there, it’s easy to see why there’s no joking about the provost.

“Provost” came into vogue in higher education during the 1970’s when public funding began to slide.  Faculty members saw the possibility of financial cuts for academic programs—paranoia reigned supreme—the other vice presidents could out vote the academic vice president.

And so, when I was at Southeast Missouri State University my title was changed from academic vice president to provost.  It was all symbolism so the president could say I had one more vote than the other vice presidents combined.  It made the faculty happy.  I was number two, and when the president was off campus I was in charge.

That’s probably more than you ever wanted to know, but . . .  there’s still more.

As a young administer I never thought much about all of that.  I had learned early to be careful what I said and how I said it.  Being politically correct was not a problem; I knew if I didn’t choose precise words and use them appropriately, I’d be looking for a job.

I rarely put my foot in my mouth, but one Saturday I learned another lesson.  We had developed a series of workshops for the mornings before home football games.  They had gone extremely well with over half of the faculty in attendance.

When I made opening comments, I deviated from my prepared remarks (nothing new for me.)  Making eye contact with a dean, I used him to joke about a point I was about to make.  After my remarks, everyone laughed (a rarity in those days.)

The following Monday I had a breakfast meeting downtown, and didn’t return to my office until about ten.  Unloading my briefcase, I noticed my secretary standing in front of my desk, waiting to make a comment. That being a little unusual, I closed the case and looked up.  “What is it?” I asked.

“What did you say on Saturday?” she said, politely.

I shrugged.  “Nothing special, you typed the outline.”

“You must have said something.  Two faculty members have already called asking to change their early morning meetings to later in the day.  Each one indicated it was something you said.”

I couldn’t imagine what I might have said. Opening my briefcase, I went down my notes; sure enough there it was.  When I referenced the dean, I had deviated, told a short story about a factious agreement we had. “The dean knows he can pass the buck one time to me.”

She had a puzzled look on her face.  “That’s it?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “If the Dean calls before nine that’s a signal he wants me to say no to his request.”

“That’s it,” she said.  “They were coming in to ask you for money.”

I laughed at the time, but then realized people take comments from leaders more seriously than you might expect.  While the comment was in jest, neither faculty member was taking a chance.  Simple as it may seem, it’s important for leaders to realize it’s not only what you say, but how and when you say it.

Have you had a similar experience you’d like to share?