Bums on Seats (6 page)

CHAPTER 8

1997

He was five minutes late. Even so, Simon stopped at the door, took three deep breaths and psyched himself up before he would enter briskly. He'd picked up these tips at a positive image seminar, chaired by an ex-Cabinet Minister. He grasped the door handle firmly, cleared his throat, set a warm smile and strode confidently into the room. No one else had arrived! Chloe followed soon after and then three other members of the focus group soon after that. He only knew Chloe. They all exchanged formal handshakes, announcing names and functions.

“Chloe Hodgekiss – Principal Lecturer – Economics Faculty.”

“Hugh Jamieson – Accountant – University Finance Directorate.”

“Harold Bellamy – Dean of Mathematics.”

“Natalie Gold – Principal Lecturer – Social Sciences Faculty.”

“Simon McGuire – Principal Lecturer – Business School.”

As befitted his seniority and years, Bellamy took the lead. “Well, the Senior Management Executive Committee has asked us to think of ways of rescuing Pucklebridge from financial penury.” He chuckled at his own exaggeration.

Jamieson, a dour Scotsman who had probably been a dour boy and before that a dour baby, re-joined, “We have an excellent reputation for financial probity. We shall never be destitute or insolvent. It's just that we need a significant, positive cashflow, which is outside the control of the Government. I know you're joking but we need to be careful not to start rumours!”

Bellamy jumped back in. “There, there, Hugh. Let's get down to business. We'd better have a formal structure. Since this is all about economics, I propose we appoint Chloe to be Chairperson.”

Simon was surprised, thinking the Dean would want to control committee politics himself, but said nothing. Natalie seconded the proposal, nobody dissented and Chloe accepted.

She did well: established a spirit of pooled resources, kept order and stopped them digressing or revisiting spent topics. It became clear that extra funds could come from only four sources. Either more students (possible), major endowments from industry or individuals (unlikely), funded research from Government or industry (likely but limited), increases in operating efficiency (likely to result in an equivalent financial snatchback by the Government).

The weight of thinking turned towards solutions that combined those sources. A possibility was funded research, with an eye towards follow-up endowments related to research success. As a variation, Chloe wondered, “Could Pucklebridge buy significant numbers of shares in companies if combined research was pointing towards a money-spinning idea?”

The accountant thought, “Probably not. We're registered as a charity. So we couldn't borrow sizable sums for the purpose.”

Simon decided to declare his hand. He took three deep breaths, cleared his throat and set a smile. “What we want is student income which is outside the control of Government, in other words, overseas students with funding from their own government. And we want lots of them.”

“How would we attract them?”

By making ourselves customer-friendly, so to speak. We'd establish what their government needed and then provide it.”

“How would we do that?”

“We'd find a country in need, which shouldn't be hard. Set up a joint body to establish financial arrangements and co-ordinate academic standards and procedures. Tailor a syllabus for them. Make helpful domestic arrangements to accommodate a block of students from that country. Collect the fees and get on with delivering education.”

Jamieson asked, “How much a student year would the free market stand?”

“I should have thought around £8,000 at least for a tailored syllabus. I reckon we could cope with 200 additional new students in any year. We've established academic and teaching arrangements. We're well blessed with halls of residence. Each student would take three years to go through the course, as UK nationals do now.”

Jamieson, who prided himself on speed of calculation, blinked and informed them, “That's £1.6 million pounds a year. So, £4.8 million over three years from just one annual batch.” He would never know it but he was the last in the room to compute the sum. He continued, “And if we could attract a new batch every year…” He swallowed hard and had a mental orgasm at the sheer joy of the imaginary cash flow.

Bellamy said, “Interesting idea, Simon; wonder why we've not done it already.”

Natalie Gold answered, “Because we're not yet truly customer oriented. Just the thought of having customers, let alone responding to their needs, is felt demeaning. Shops have customers. Academe favours the deserving with tuition, so long as they conform to the learning structure on offer.”

They mulled over Simon's proposition for another thirty minutes and considered no other.

Bellamy took the lead again. ‘Well, Chloe, I think you've led us well at this first meeting.” Simon groaned inwardly at the patronising old twit. He continued, “I suggest that you and Simon carry on the good work and draft an outline report for the Senior Management Executive Committee.” So that was why he'd proposed Chloe for the Chair. He was work avoiding in the finest old-style university tradition, thought Simon.

“I'm sure we'd be delighted Dean,” she responded, “any final points from anyone?”

There were none. Chloe got to her feet. “I'll produce some notes for comment, thanks for coming.” The others went, leaving her with Simon. “Let's go to my office then you can give me more details.” He wondered how much to say.

They stopped at the vending machine. He produced some change. “Lemon tea, please,” she said. Simon opted for black coffee.

In her office, Chloe opened a cupboard and produced biscuits. “Well, what else can you tell me? Which country do you have in mind? She was very direct, he thought. There was little point in him shilly-shallying.

“Do you know Luke Nweewe?”

“Yes, I've met him. So you're thinking of Zombek?”

“He comes from the ruling tribe. His father is President. An uncle is Minister of Education. Luke is one of my post-grad students, but also a friend. He talks to me of his country's needs.”

She surprised him by saying, “They're in a typical economic evolutionary bind.They can tick over nicely as an agrarian society. Everyone's well fed, reasonably housed and happy on the land. But there's all that mineral wealth still to exploit. The surrounding countries envy it. If the Zombekians don't sort it, their neighbours will foster reactionary groups from rival Zombekian tribes and there'll be bloody power struggles. In the background there'll be European and, perhaps, American corporations waiting to pick up the juiciest pieces. So the Nweewes, the present benign, ruling tribe want to speed up progress from their own resources. Bloody good luck to them, I say.”

“Wow, that was impressive Chloe!”

“Not really, my PhD thesis was “Comparative Economic Patterns of Emergent African Countries” and I only finished it three years ago. Moreover I managed to get sponsorship for a month's visit to Zombek and saw the reality of it all.”

“Right! Well, you're obviously sympathetic, Chloe. Can we draft a proposal to the Senior Management Executive Committee as a report from our focus group? What do you think?”

“You need to do more work with Luke Nweewe first. How interested in Pucklebridge University would they be? How much funding would they commit? Exactly what syllabus would they want delivering to how many students? What difficulties might we encounter? What support would be available? … and so on.”

Simon was impressed with her instant analysis. He knew a lot of the answers but now was not the time. And he was seeing Luke in half an hour. “Let's meet again in a week and I'll have more for us to go on. Perhaps we could talk over dinner somewhere?” he added speculatively.

She kept a perfectly straight face. “I'll give you a ring a bit nearer the time.”

Twenty minutes later the MGB screeched to a flamboyant halt in The Dragon car park. The disco building prompted memories of his frantic encounter with Josie. He thought he might arrange an encore, but resolved to check his life insurance first.

The bar was nearly empty. The publican smiled bravely behind the silent cash register. Luke again sat at a corner table with two pints at the ready. He pushed one across the table. “Hi Simon, get yourself outside of that.”

“How goes it, Luke?” Simon attacked the drink with the zeal of a camel preparing to trek to a distant brewery.

“Everything's fine, I've looked forward to our meeting. You look as if you're winding down,” he added shrewdly.

“It's relief, really. I thought there might be resistance at the Focus Group, instead of which our idea was welcomed. In fact the university accountant has probably accorded me the honorary status of friend. His first ever! Chloe Hodgekiss chaired the meeting, the Dean of Mathematics was supportive and I'm to draft a proposal to the Senior Management Executive Committee.”

“Well done! Great! Same again?” He picked up Simon's glass and approached the landlord for refills. The publican brightened noticeably and offered Luke the bar meals menu as well. When Luke declined, he returned to contemplating his mortgage and suicide.

“I, too, have good news, Simon. I now have approval at the highest level. We want two hundred entrants to your Business School this coming September. The funding is in place. Additionally, we have a contingency budget to smooth any difficulties.”

Simon savoured his drink and digested the news. He voiced his final reservations. “Are you sure our university is best for you? And do you feel I'm the best one to facilitate all this?”

“Simon, I'm here at Pucklebridge, aren't I? A new university is more flexible than the old ones. Your Business School is perfect for us. It's got a good track record and well qualified teaching staff. There's academic stability aimed at solid education. You don't go in for faddy disciplines like some of the old universities. On the other hand, you're not so stuffy as to thoughtlessly turn aside commercial propositions a little outside of past precedent. You've got ample halls of residence to help shepherd our young people through a foreign domestic climate. In short, it's perfect for us. And as for yourself,” he continued, “you're idealistic about education, clever and hard working. I know this, Simon, I've seen for myself. You're willing to seek practical solutions to operational problems and you're in the right place at the right time. Finally, you've got more contacts than you appreciate. Yes, you're fine for us!”

Simon felt a warm glow. Was it the ale? Never! Was it the glowing reference? Possibly! Was it the mental image of his penthouse emerging from the mists? There was just an outside chance! “Luke, thanks for all that. I'm not irresolute. I guess I just needed confirmation. This is what I propose to do:

“One – Draft a modified three-year business studies degree syllabus, which assumes that on graduation the holder will immediately occupy a junior management position in some enterprise in your country. It will have more emphasis on practical economics than usual. I shall seek help from the Faculty of Economics. There will also be great emphasis on human resource management. The entry standard will be A levels accumulating to 14 points.

“Two – Draft a report to the Senior Management Executive Committee based on delivering that syllabus to 200 new students a year for three years, starting this September. The report will include proposed fees, a teaching structure, costings and administrative arrangements. These arrangements will specify that we establish a joint panel to oversee the effective operation of the project programme. Of course, crucial activities relate to accreditation of the proposed students, delivery of the learning, assessment of student progress and some measure of independent audit. We shall have to apply more thought to these matters.”

“Simon, that's all we could possibly have asked of you so far. Terrific! When you've drafted the syllabus, email me a copy and I'll transmit it to our Ministry of Education. I'll initiate immediate consideration. That way you'll be going to your committee on an informally accepted basis. Would you like another beer?”

“I'm driving, but how about you?”

“No thanks, I'm driving too. When do you expect to do your drafting?”

“I promised Chloe Hodgekiss, our focus group chairperson, I'd have a draft report in a week. I can produce a draft syllabus in two days. It just means modifying sections of our general- purpose syllabus. It's all on computer.”

“Well, I guess that about wraps it up for now, then?” Luke drained his glass.

They left shortly afterwards. The publican finished jotting with a biro on his clipboard, walked across, lifted the empties and wiped the table. He didn't look ecstatic. He'd just calculated that what he needed was two hundred alcoholics with the funds to drink in the bar all day. Two hundred greedy gourmets, to eat off his à la carte restaurant menu all evening. And two hundred energetic nutters with perforated eardrums to buy drinks and snacks, and dance in his disco until dawn. It didn't seem much to ask, really. But fate always seemed to deny him the reasonable.

Simon drove home feeling a bit low. It was the aftermath. He'd lifted himself for the main game, now there was intensive work. The phone was ringing when he walked in.

“Sonia Greenberg here, Simon. How are you?”

“Hello, fine thanks, what a nice surprise!”

“Simon, I knew you were stuck on the research article, so I've done a bit more computer analysis. I've separated out the male from the female responses.”

“That's very helpful, Sonia. Any interesting results?”

“Yes, several noticeable differences. I reckon you could discover some useful conclusions. Simon, if it would be a help I could pop the stuff round to you?”