College-Level-Writing-and-Adjunct-Faculty-Perspectives-from-the-Silent-Majority-by-Scott-Oury

College-Level Writing and Adjunct Faculty: Perspectives from the “Silent
Majority”
--Scott Oury

Because I have been an adjunct advocate for some 10 years now, and written on the
situation, the editors of this book asked me to survey adjuncts and to present their
perspectives on college level writing. First some background. After 23 years teaching
full-time, I have taught part-time for 12 years, mostly at community colleges, and lately
at Amherst and Mt. Holyoke Colleges. However, I have not suffered the adjunct
situation financially or vocationally, since I have retirement funds, a working spouse,
and worked 23 years full-time.
During my full-time career at a large community college in a Chicago suburb, I observed
the growth of our small staff of adjuncts, many from local high schools teaching just one
freshman comp course, and many, recent graduates looking for full-time positions. By
the 80s they outnumbered full-time faculty. I felt for them, offered encouragement, the
use of my office—but I had no sense of the geologic sheer in progress.
Today we are teaching on either side of that fault line. Conditions for writing teachers
have been bad enough, but for adjuncts--700,000 nationwide--they are insufferable. In
British Columbia, however, the College Institute Educators’ Association (CIEA)
negotiated a “historic” agreement for adjuncts: a prorated salary scale, health and
welfare benefits for the entire year, and professional development and severance pay.
Add to these the rights of continuance and accrual: half-time faculty moving into a third
year (with a good evaluation) are considered “regular” faculty with full benefits and the
right to accrue courses toward full-time status. (Imagine.) I suggested to Linda Sperling
(of CIEA) that this must have come from Canada’s great wealth. “Canada cares about
education,” she said. I’ve long thought, and seriously proposed to the Massachusetts
Community College Council (with 4,000 unionized adjuncts), that adjuncts be
encouraged to take a sabbatical en masse, get paying jobs, thus erase the fault line—and
put the rest of us on notice as to the value of their service.
With insufferable conditions, many adjuncts quit the profession, or move from college to
college. At Holyoke Community College in Massachusetts (where I taught for 6 years

and represented adjuncts), about half of the 300 adjuncts each year (at the turn of the
century) left for greener pastures. But for the love of teaching and the thin hope of fulltime work, or at least better working conditions, adjuncts suffer the insufferable with all
the ironies, often with great generosity, and humor.
A word on method. I had a four-part questionnaire sent to 700 adjuncts nationwide, by
the good graces of Patricia Lesko at the Adjunct Advocate. Just over 50 responded.
Statistically the responses are small. However, each of these adjuncts has a wide range
of experience from which their responses come. This, I believe, significantly extends


the relevance of these data. And, of course, one can always extrapolate: these adjuncts,
their experience and their perspectives, are not atypical.
I asked adjuncts whether they were adjusting expectations for college level writing—as
adjuncts, the implication being downward, given teaching conditions. Out of 35
responses, 34 said “no,” one said “maybe,” and nine said that they had to adjust
expectations with reference to students ill prepared for college writing. Seven said their
expectations were higher. Ann T. Parker writes:
No, I haven’t adjusted my expectations because I am an adjunct. I have high
expectations for my students and for myself, and I expect both of us to produce
college level work. To be honest, I really can’t see how being an adjunct would
make one adjust his/her expectations as a teacher of writing.
Another writes:
My expectations regarding college level writing vary with the situation.
Sometimes I want content; by content I mean fresh ideas, which are geared to
problem solutions. When I expect a well written, college level (or graduate level
document) I ask for it in exactly those words.
And another:
My expectations of my students are high. I do not adjust them downward
because I’m an adjunct. In fact, my tutoring in the Academic Skills Center gives
me a glimpse now and then into some full-time professors’ requirements for the
courses I teach, and I notice that some of them require less than I do.

I wonder sometimes whether the administration counts on adjuncts to make up
with time what they think full-timers do with greater expertise. Yet they know
that many adjuncts are as fully qualified as many full-timers.
Tommy McDowell (a doctoral candidate) underscores the thought; he writes that
students from a writing intensive, first-year seminar taught by full-time faculty are then
sent to a research writing class taught by part-time faculty “just for the sake of
accreditation.”
Catherine Daly writes, “. . . I find that I have to continually battle my students by not
ratcheting my expectations down, as they are savvy adults who are accustomed to
bartering.” Waldemar Matias writes: “Yes, I insist on having students write out of their
heart.”
I’m not surprised at their high expectations. Adjuncts I surveyed (120) from ’97 to ’98
and in the fall of ’03 at Holyoke Community College, (MA), on average, had taught
half-time, for 11 years, 5-6 different courses, had 12 years professional experience
within their fields, besides teaching, spent 10+ hours each week preparing to teach, and
20 hours--before the semester began--preparing for each class.
And just for our edification, the psychological impact of their adjunct situation?
Overall, almost one third of the Holyoke Community College adjuncts I surveyed
indicated that teaching as an adjunct affected their personal lives in negative ways. What
about the effect of their adjunct situation on teaching? About 25% of the adjuncts I


surveyed indicated that this affected their teaching as well. They suffer psychologically,
but they teach. As Cathy Matresse writes,
I love what I do in terms of teaching and interacting with students, but every
semester, it’s the same . . . will I have a “full half-time schedule” or will I only
receive one or two classes. If I do get three classes, will one get canceled due to
low registration? How do I explain to my children or to my spouse that I have
three college degrees and usually make a net monthly income of $1,000? How
do I explain it to myself?

And Michelle Mitchelle-Foust has an anecdote:
When I lived at home, I watched my father come home tired, every night of his
life. He worked in the same factory for over forty years. He has nerve damage in
one arm. He has trouble hearing. He has trouble standing on his feet from
standing on concrete for so long. I set myself of goal of educating myself so that
I would not have to suffer in such a position as my father did. I earned a Ph.D. I
published. I won awards. And then I left my program and couldn't find a full time
teaching job. Now I teach at three colleges, six classes a semester, and I've been
doing this for ten years. And I'm starting to suffer physically from the wear and
tear of such a schedule. I have to face the fact that I am not much different from
my father. Teachers are workhorses more than ever. We work 20 hours a day, all
times of the day and night. Our classrooms are often filthy and crowded. Our
college restrooms are unsanitary. America has failed its teachers.
Adjuncts suffer—even after their teaching situation improves. Margaret Loweth writes
that she felt the impact of her long-time adjunct status years after accepting a full-time
lecturer position (TETYC, 1989, Vol. 16, pp. 40-42).
Margaret’s report carries profound implications. If I’m permitted an analogy: grad
schools are sending (and we are welcoming) adjuncts into a deadly conflict with very
little pay and no body armor. Professionally and psychologically those that stay in
service will be casualties. And the longer they stay, the less chance they will have of
making it into the one-third who will be hired full-time (as officers, let’s say, rather than
expendable foot soldiers). Adjuncts get known—as adjuncts, the loyal troops. The
lucky ones are those who leave the service. Should that become the trend that it should
by all ethical and moral standards, our profession would certainly have to rethink itself,
its ethics, its morals, and its values. So far we have had the leisure to remain ignorant—
or simply to ignore. Such rethinking and a mustard seed of faith might indeed move the
mountain.
Conditions are bad in the “war zone;” but you might be surprised at the needs adjuncts
considered most important. “Besides a full-time position and/or decent pay,” I asked,
“what would you need to make your teaching of writing more effective—and

enjoyable?” Out of 29 replies these emerged: “Give me stability,” writes one; “I don’t
want respect. I want a long term contract, say five years.” “A clean classroom with
enough furniture,” writes Jacqueline Fourcade. “Anything that’s not [the state in which
he had a very bad teaching experience],” writes Fred Ekstam. “Not to be called an
adjunct, a term with negative connotations,” writes David Maloof. Another writes,


“Decent pay would be great” [but she would like to work with] very small numbers (say
5) intensively approaching writing from their perspective . . .”
Along with humor, irony, and outrage, came heartfelt pleas to facilitate good teaching:
smaller classes, more intensive focus on writing skills, students prepared for college,
communications with administration, inclusion in departmental matters, and
administration that didn’t gloss over ill-prepared students and tough grading in order to
bolster enrollment and finances.
How generous, how forgiving. One writes that in order to spend time with students she
extends office hours to 5 or 6 a week, but teaches half time at a second school where she
must send students to the writing center.
I asked another set of questions: “Is college level writing defined differently at different
campuses? Are you required to teach writing according to a set standard?” Adjuncts are
in a particularly good place—places, actually—to answer the question, many having
taught at several campuses. With few exceptions respondents wrote that the definition
of college level writing differed little from college to college. Jim Whitney’s writes:
Although there are different standards at different colleges, the overall expected
quality is comparable. Standards are increasingly being tied to rubrics with
relatively minor stylistic differences between institutions. One college division
has adopted a common writer’s handbook with a uniform set of standards for all
courses, whereas others have left the details to individual instructors’ judgment.
Shannon Riggs, having taught
at five institutions all over the US, one in Canada, and at one online
university . . . found the standards to be very similar with no significant

differences. There were some local "hiccoughs," such as when I taught in Hawaii
and had to address the issue of whether or not to allow "Pidgin English" in
papers for a college composition course.
I have taught at seven schools over the past 37 years, five part-time. Standards have
been consistently those that might be found in dozens of handbooks. I have observed
that prescriptions for “correct” grammar, punctuation, and citation are the standards
most rigorously applied, and that adherence to correct grammar, mechanics, and the
strictures of the five-paragraph essay too often define “college level” writing.
College level standards, then, seem to be similar across institutions, though they are
often assumed or presented generally. Interestingly, standards don’t seem to vary
between community colleges and 4-year schools. Jean Anderson Embree writes that
freshman composition courses were thought to be “’easier’ in the community college—
and they are amazed to discover that though the courses are less expensive, they are not
easier. We try to keep the levels approximately the same.”
But matters more crucial than generalized standards come into play with a second,
related question: “Are you required to teach writing according to a set standard?”
Twenty-three of thirty-six respondents said there were no standards; and many said there
were no rules, no guidance—often no communication. If little or no communication
exists between departments (full-time faculty and department chairs) and part-time


faculty, how can standards be instilled or enforced? (I beg the question for now as to
whether—given the high standards that adjuncts set for themselves—standards and rules
are needed, especially for adjuncts.) Adjuncts are rarely invited to department meetings,
rarely supervised beyond a yearly evaluation, if that, seen perhaps at the beginning of
the year (or of their career), perhaps for an adjunct faculty meeting. Beyond hiring,
adjuncts are not much attended to. Enforcing even general standards under such
conditions is, if not impossible, unlikely. (Yes, exceptions exist, but they appear to be
rare. A Pulitzer Prize winning journalist I know taught for years at a Chicago college
without ever seeing an administrator.)

Within this administrative neglect of adjuncts lie several factors that undermine the
pretense of upholding standards: the sheer number of adjuncts (along with their transient
teaching lives) makes neglect the rule; administrations are certainly happy to have
adjuncts teach—so cheaply—over half of the student body, and to save even more funds,
leave adjuncts largely unattended. I imagine administrations know that adjuncts teach as
well as full-time faculty, and as I’ve observed consistently in my long career, are happy
so long as no problems arise. At the bottom line they cause less fuss than full-time
faculty, and are very easily managed when the need arises. Does a full-timer—last week
or day before classes begin—need an extra class, or a course to replace one with failed
enrollment? No problem; which adjunct course have you got in mind? Adjuncts are a
boon, a windfall, a pot of gold.
At the large community college at which I first taught, several hundred adjuncts teaching
in the evening school were supervised by two administrators.
However, rules and standards do come into play within the delicate professional/social
interactions of new graduates, new adjuncts, and veterans seeking full-time work (about
half in the survey I mentioned above). One slip, one criticism, one cross word, failure
to adhere to rules announced or implied, is enough to derail an adjunct’s career track. AZ
writes: “In general, few speak out--look at us, not wanting to publish our names! This is
of course just a reflection of the larger situation nationwide. The mood is, “shut up and
run in place.” To up the irony, adjuncts have slim chances of being hired at their home
school. During several good years at Holyoke Community College, I did the numbers
on the hiring of in-house adjuncts, from the reserve of 300 adjuncts (full-time faculty
numbering just over 100). And Holyoke CC, bless it, did hire quite a few in-house
adjuncts. Chances were 1 in 45 during a good year; the past few years have not been
good.
Rules, contact, and “guidance” also come into play when it comes to keeping students.
As one respondent put it, “Colleges lie about rigorous standards”; if teachers enforce
them, “they hang you over the flames and side with students because they want the
dollars.” That seems a radical statement, but anecdotal evidence suggests otherwise.
Jim, a former CEO, now adjunct, found that the

major difference between schools to be a function of the administration in
charge. By this I mean that if the administrator is young and out to make a name
for him/herself, there is considerable pressure to get the numbers up in the form
of increased enrollments, fast turnaround of grades, and the like. If the
administrator is “mature” (secure in the position), the emphasis has been on


“stability.” Students must be made/kept happy; grade disputes are to be settled
quickly and to the satisfaction of the student; faculty are expected to score well
on student evaluations, etc.
In a second e-mail Jim provides a telling anecdote:
One relevant anecdote that comes to mind concerns students for whom English
was a second language. Written components of examinations were virtually
incomprehensible and the resulting grades were a disappointment to the students.
Their complaints to Administration resulted in my being advised that future
exams should be designed in such a fashion as to evaluate the student's command
of content rather than the ability to communicate!
Another long-time adjunct put it succinctly: for underperforming students she found
herself under administrative pressure to pass “paying clients.” In a second e-mail she
adds:
When I’ve worked for private colleges I have on occasion been pressured to
retroactively (three years later!) change a student’s grade (and he still didn’t
deserve better than a C-minus—he never mastered comma splices because he
didn’t do revisions!) as well as to reduce demands on the student. In fact, I think
my insistence on revision cost me an appointment . . .
Unfortunately, sometimes administration sets the rules, for reasons other than academic
standards.
Increasingly it seems, and in concert with administration—students set standards, those
students who arrive unprepared for college level writing. A number of respondents
mentioned that they had to adjust expectations downward—or fail their students. Chuck

Whitten writes that he seems to have “no guidelines whatsoever at either school,”
colleges in California where he teaches;
The problem lies with the students themselves. They are simply not prepared to
write at the college level. There are far too many students who are not just
functionally illiterate, they are incapable of communicating any of their thoughts
in writing. Most have no concept of what constitutes plagiarism, thus, if I grade
students based on their ability to properly credit the sources of their information,
most would fail, not only individual papers, but entire courses.
He then remembers a worst-case:
I recall an incident a few years ago in which a student was doing acceptable
homework, but when asked to write in class, he simply wrote apparently random
words with random "dots" representing periods. I questioned him concerning his
writing skills, and determined that his mother "helped" him a great deal with his
homework. He had no conception of syntax or grammar. I explained that it was
highly unlikely he was going to pass the course in light of his skill level. He
asked, "How did I graduate from high school?" I replied simply, "I don't know."


Jean Anderson Embree, teaching 40 years at various schools, provides one possible
explanation for students now a factor in lowering the standard. Since she started
teaching, semester weeks have been reduced from 18 to 14 or 15. Also, students in the
California system must be given “permission to fail,” which allows them to try a certain
level with any chance to pass, even if they test poorly. The result: they often take the
class two or three times. (In Massachusetts where I teach I’ve had not a few students
who had taken freshman comp two or three times.) Jean writes,
The result is that my students in a given writing class are simply not coming in at
a par with those I had in the 70s and even the early 80s. So I've had to teach to a
slightly lower standard, giving them less material. I try to stretch (I have this
visual of me with arms out reaching to the extremes in each class, muscles tense)
to help and encourage students at "both ends," and certainly my reputation as a

teacher has continued to be very good. But the situation disappoints me. We
need more money and more time in the classroom with fewer students, or we'll
continue to move ever so slowly downhill.
“I dream of the day,” Catherine Daly writes, “that only students who can write an
English sentence gain entrance to college.”
I asked another question: “Does your (perhaps tenuous) adjunct status make it tough not
to adhere to the ‘rules,’ spoken or unspoken, of your department?” Of 30 responses, just
5 said, “yes,” that it was hard to adhere to the rules—but for various reasons: “Public
relations are a tough gig for an adjunct who wants to adhere to the rules,” writes Cathy
Matresse. Another couldn’t bring up issues in class as full-time faculty can. And
another writes, “Absolutely: I can’t get paperwork in, or make meetings.”
But 25 respondents (of 30) said “no,” it was not difficult to adhere to the rules—often
for reasons humorous, ironic, supporting their high expectations for students, and (as
discussed above) due to administrative neglect. Several said there were no rules, and no
communications (as with the previous question), no communication for 6 years, for one
adjunct. Another is “too busy to know what the rules are.” Another works within a
“loosey goosey” department without communication with part-timers. Another has no
idea if there are any rules since she is excluded from faculty meetings (and this, I
believe, is widespread through lack of invitation and time constraints). External rules, it
seems, are just short of a joke given circumstances and the high standards by which
adjuncts characteristically teach.
One respondent found the rules reasonable and easy to adhere to.
I’m afraid two responses became favorites, emblems of the ironies and of the high
expectations apparently typical of adjuncts. One writes: “No [rules are not a problem],
because I’m old and cranky—and was a technical editor and writer—schools think that’s
cool.” Catherine Daly writes, “It is much easier to avoid [the rules]”; her “standards are
more rigorous.”
The news from Lake Woebegone is bad, especially so in that the messengers have long
experience on the job, job experience elsewhere, and experience in related industries.
Adjuncts’ assessment of college level writing is that the level has declined over the past

several decades, and is currently low. Perhaps this assessment is made more dour due to
adjuncts’ high expectations for students. In any case the view is dim, and made dimmer
by several factors. Administration (but for entrance testing and grades) doesn’t seem to
have the resources to track writing performance, especially with classes taught by
adjuncts. Failing grades and repeated attempts at freshman composition don’t seem to
function as wake up calls. Though standards seem relatively uniform, whether assumed
or stated, enforcing—even communicating—them appears to be a lost cause. Add to
that the drive to keep students—even underperforming students—at all costs (actually to
take in and keep these students to reduce costs) drops college level writing standards
further. And even further: students are allowed to repeat (and repeat) courses for which
they, obviously, aren’t prepared; these courses, obviously, are not prepared to deal with
their needs. But enrollments are enrollments; recycling pays.
From the adjunct perspective, and taking actualities into account, the current "college
level" seems to be students struggling upward from sub college level performance. But
community colleges, at least, are now regularly testing incoming students for writing
ability and assigning a significant proportion to developmental courses just below full
college credit. (In the 80s at the college where I taught, all incoming students were
tested with a writing sample, holistically graded. Forty percent were sent to
developmental courses in writing. Apparently, if California colleges are any register, the
percentages are currently higher, and community colleges are no longer alone. Jean
Embree writes:
In California currently, over 40 percent of students admitted to the State College
and University levels are referred to remedial ("developmental") English classes,
and in the Community College system, the figure is more than 50 percent.
Four-year colleges and universities have begun to recognize the problem, even elite
Eastern schools such as Amherst and Mt. Holyoke, which have instituted writing
intensive courses. Mt Holyoke offers about 20 sections of first-year writing intensive
seminars, and is now in a three-year, Mellon Grant study to identify and serve students

whose writing proficiency puts their college careers at risk. These are schools, which
for years assumed that all their first year students—could write, that is, acceptable
papers.
What can we say? High schools should send us students who can write. Yes—try
reading papers from four or five classes meeting five days per week, 40 students per
class—an impossible job. Society, the home, should do a better job promoting literacy
and writing—in spite of parents working two jobs and the invasion of visual and aural
media. A number of factors militate against gaining writing literacy before college.
A college education is no longer for the educated, literate elite; it’s for anyone willing to
make the effort. Open admissions and the acceptance of the GED at most community
colleges, guarantees reward for that effort. Many of our community college students
(some four-year students as well) are having their first crack at a college education,
sometimes the first in their family. From grade school on up it’s a battle, and a battle,
also, for those who still haven’t picked up literacy from their college-educated parents.
We get the casualties. They’re on board, on our hospital ship. It’s no use saying that


they shouldn’t be here. We have little or nothing to do with how they come on board;
we have everything to do with the minds they will have developed and lives they will
lead after they leave.
AZ presents the situation in poignant terms:
The sad thing is that the students want an education, but have been so poorly
prepared that they argue with you about, for example the rule, "If a person is late,
they must check in at the office." They totally are unaware of grammar or
sentence structure, and basically cannot read or write at 10th-grade level. (I have
worked extensively with high school students). In general, they are not prone to
trust the 'adult' world, which makes matters worse. Once they see you are giving
100%, they come to class more regularly. Still, their lives are so complex—and
their trust so shattered—that they are really cold to the idea of learning. They
don't recognize authority—and are often quite rude or forward. It tells me more

about their home-life than about them. They are, at the core, good people who
have been short-changed.
Allison McNeill, in a long e-mail, which she calls “a side note,” describes the problem
facing us, and offers some suggestions.
I have come to believe that although the tradition of higher education was once
for the elite, in order to have a truly equal, truly compassionate society, higher
education can neither remain for the elite nor for the attitudes left from that era,
which continue to govern how we approach the development of courses,
curricula and acceptance of students. . . . So, yes, we have a tremendous
problem in that students arrive woefully unprepared to write at college level. But
turning them away is not the answer. If administrations want students who
"deserve" their degrees when they graduate (as well as, imagine, actually have a
true education!) then they should stop dumping them into writing classes of even
18 students and more; they should quit punishing them by putting them in
remedial classes (that stigmatize them and that some faculty "hate" teaching).
Faculty must quit talking in the halls and offices degradingly and derisively of
their students (fortunately not all do this, but those who do must stop!); faculty
must stop expecting unprepared students to fail (and even must stop thinking of
and calling them unprepared). Instead, administrations and teachers alike must
make deep and drastic changes in how we take them in. Schools are still acting
as though little has changed, as though they will receive prepared students—yes,
they have created remedial classes, but that is like preparing bandages for
wounded who must drive through a fire zone to get to their destination instead of
changing the route . . . Once departments and higher up administrations
recognize we neither have the society of old nor the educational system of old,
then perhaps we can let institutions evolve and adapt to the way things are and
thus reduce stress and anxiety and failure for all.
Adjuncts have given us a sharp, realistic assessment of our wounded. Many adjuncts are
fresh from our increasingly sophisticated graduate schools; and others have significant
real world experience in their fields, and long, varied teaching experience. They are

equipped for the operations needed, and equipped to share their much needed expertise.
Jean Anderson Embree writes:
Adjunct teachers at the beginning of their careers need all the help they can get
from experienced teachers and sometimes fall short. But there are adjuncts out
in the trenches who could teach the full-timers a few things. Yet there seems to
be little or no attempt to take advantage of our expertise or to give us any
recognition. Sad, isn't it?
Yes, sad, and unfortunate for all of us. The task is huge; we need all the insight and
assistance we can get. Adjuncts have experience, and insights, to share. We must invite
them to share, forsake our tenuous privilege, value these professionals we brush by each
day—and advocate for their full inclusion into our profession before the entire
profession finds itself working under the conditions adjuncts have suffered for over three
decades.