I chatted recently with Mr. Kevin Lee, master bricklayer, as he repaired a brick wall adjoining Textor Hall. Mr. Lee was using recycled brick from a building that had been demolished somewhere else in the region. The brick had originally been made in a now-closed manufacturing plant in the nearby town of Horseheads. The distinctive HH emblem could be clearly seen on the side of each brick before it was laid.

I was especially interested in the periodic placement of bricks that were discolored and twisted. Mr. Lee said these bricks -- known as "clinkers" -- were not made that way on purpose, but had been put in the kiln at an odd angle or baked too long.  Use of these bricks on Ithaca College walls creates a distinctive mosaic of texture and difference that I had noticed the first time I set foot on campus. I asked Mr. Lee if it was common to use these in constructing brick walls. 

"I've laid brick around the country and in other parts of the world," he replied. "I have never seen these bricks used in construction. They are usually discarded."

I walked back to my office thinking about the use of such a variety of bricks as a parable on diversity at Ithaca College.  Tolerance of diversity implies a willingness to use every brick as a way of making the fullest use of the complete range of available materials.  Celebration of diversity implies a positive appreciation that the wall with clinkers is aesthetically superior to a wall composed solely of bricks that are even in color and smoothness.  But the true embrace of diversity means getting away entirely from the concept of a "normal" brick.  Before talking with Mr. Lee, I had assumed that the clinkers were an intentional expression of artistic sensibility. If anything, I believed, it must take greater artisanal skill to make a clinker than to make a smooth six-sided brick. In talking with Mr. Lee, I lost my uninformed innocence about clinkers -- will I ever look at these walls the same way again?

The phrase "all humans are made in God’s image" is one that many of us hear so early and so often in life that we become insensitive to how radical a proposition that is. Can we see in everyone we meet not just someone who merits our tolerance, not just someone who deserves our respect, but someone who is beautiful and uniquely perfect?

Which I suppose makes us a community of magnificent clinkers.

Starting any new job can be daunting, but assuming the presidency of a college comes with its own distinct challenges. I didn’t want to walk into this job totally blind, so before I left my previous position as chief academic officer at the University of St. Thomas, I asked the university’s long-serving president, Father Dennis Dease, for a little presidential advice.

Father Dease told me to be ready for a significant increase in my sense of responsibility, with all that might entail, and he cited a fairly unnerving personal example. He had moved into the president’s house, across the street from campus, on the day before his presidency began. At five minutes past midnight, his eyes sprang open from a deep sleep and he realized that he was now in charge. If anything went wrong -- anything -- it would be his responsibility!  Suddenly very much awake, he ran to the window and looked across the street at the campus to be sure it was not on fire. Despite his fears, there was no blaze to be seen, and Father Dease was eventually able to get back to sleep.

My mentor’s luck was better than mine. My brand-new campus caught fire on July 2, one day after I became president.  An annual community fireworks display held on campus added a new kind of device this year, one that amounted to fireballs attached to parachutes.  That, combined with an unexpected shift in the wind, set fire to (among other things) the green roof on our brand new business building and a spectator’s car!  Not an auspicious start to a new presidency.

I have made a note to myself that my inauguration celebration, to be held next spring, will not include fireworks. Father Dease would approve.

I have been asked a number of times, “What is it like to be the new president of a College?”  My impression is that it is a lot like any other experience of moving to a new city and a new job.  With better furniture.

The first thing that happens is your IQ is sliced in half.  Things you could do just a few weeks ago, in another city and on another campus, are suddenly a mind-boggling ordeal. Diving headfirst into a new city and job, surrounded by so many new people and places, can be pretty disorienting. Befuddling, even.

Fortunately, this is a transitory problem -- every day is marked by fresh successes.  On day two I was able to find my parking place on campus.  On day three I understood for the first time directions I was given on how to get to a meeting in another building (hard to go anywhere if you don't know the landmarks). I had a major triumph during my second week on campus -- someone asked me for directions and I was able to answer (I might have even been right)!

That was also the week I was finally able to remember new passwords for everything from my ATM card to logging into the IC computer network to accessing my e-mail and my calendar.  I still don’t know my phone numbers either at work or at home, but I am sure that will come in time. 

There are compensating advantages to all this drastic change. It's a time of rapid learning, and I'm taking in as much information as I can squeeze out of every encounter.  Life is richer when nothing is routine, and I'm sure I'll have no shortage of memories from my first eight weeks in Ithaca.

Hopefully my phone number will be among them.