March-April 2005

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Faculty Forum: When Retirement Equals Eviction

By Vicki F. Sharp

After thirty-four years of teaching at California State University-Northridge, I decided in September 2004 to enter FERP (which rhymes with burp), short for the Faculty Early Retirement Program. I would teach one semester and write and travel the second semester. My decision was motivated by jealousy. My husband, Richard, who was already in the program, lay in bed watching television and reading as I went off to work. I looked forward to joining him in his self-scheduled semiproductivity. Unfortunately, I failed miserably to anticipate the ramifications of my decision.

I didn't expect a gold watch or a trip to Tahiti for my service to the university, although either would have been nice. What I got were two plaques, one saying I was awarded emeritus status and the other commemorating my many years of service. In addition, I received an eviction notice.

Ever since the construction of the education building, I had occupied an office overlooking the mountains. My husband's office was located next door. I expected with the start of the FERP program that we would lose the luxury of side-by-side personal offices and most likely be required to share a single office. But I did not expect to be booted from the building.

After receiving an e-mail informing me of my eviction from the manager of academic resources (a.k.a. fall guy or hatchet man), I requested a meeting with him. I was concerned about my expensive belongings, electricity units, math materials, and computer equipment and what would happen to them during the move. I also wanted to know if, instead of having to move, my husband and I could share my present office with another colleague, freeing up two offices for other uses.

It was at this point that I discovered that there was more to the move than just the need to free up office space. The administrators wanted the new faculty to have the "better offices." It didn't matter that to accomplish this task they needed to inconvenience double the amount of people. Not only did the FERP professors have to be kicked out of their offices to facilitate this plan, but the people already in the complex that would receive the FERP professors also had to relocate. I left my meeting with the manager of academic resources feeling unwanted and as if all my professional accomplishments were unappreciated by my administration.

Four days before the university started fall classes, the FERP professors received another "please be advised" e-mail message. In this message, we were told that our personal belongings had already been moved (code word for dumped) somewhere in the 3101 complex. Everyone was to be segregated on the third floor behind door 3101. The administration built a wall two days later. I think they were worried that we might contaminate the other people.

On my first day at my new office, I walked down a hallway filled with all sorts of equipment, including monitors and printers, piled on the floor. Boxes were stacked to the ceiling. I turned and stepped on an apple someone had left behind, which seemed symbolic in a grand-scale biblical way, but I couldn't figure out exactly what it meant. My office was located at the end of another dirty hallway, the entrance lined with file cabinets, hanging wires, and more boxes.

After four weeks, I still hadn't unpacked all the boxes. They were too heavy for me to lift. Because of the lack of space in my new office, I met with my students in the hallway. One colleague had to try five times before she could find me.

My colleagues and I were short on morale. What happened to the beautiful San Fernando Valley State College, the precursor to CSUN, where civility existed? In the 1970s, it was an honor to enter the FERP program. FERP participants were seen as the elderly statespeople of the department. And they filled an important role as well, mentoring the young professors and helping when needed.

On reflection, I still love CSUN. I love it because I met my husband here, and we are celebrating our thirty-fifth year of marriage. I love it because I still enjoy teaching my students. I love it because of my wonderful colleagues, teachers, and principals in the field, and past memories of orange groves. I am no longer unhappy about how I was eased into retirement. I am happy that I woke up to reality: I will not teach forever, and everything comes to an end.

Vicki Sharp, professor emeritus at California State University-Northridge, is the author of over thirty-three books and numerous articles on the use of computers in education. She is now a computer consultant and trainer in southern California. Academe accepts submissions to this column. (Read the guidelines.) The opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the policies of the AAUP.