Ripon College Days

Dear Auntie,

I read your column every week with interest and have been impressed by your witty and pithy responses to the ethical issues raised.  You usually are dealing with student issues; let me give you a real life issue from my experience when I was dean of faculty.  Each year I worked out contract figures and gave them to a secretary to type up. She returned them to me to sign.  I probably should have checked them for accuracy, but never did, and sure enough, one year a blooper was made.  We provided a contact to a professor for five thousand dollars more than should have been.  He quickly signed and returned the contract.  It was some weeks before I discovered the error, but thought little of it as it was so clearly a clerical mistake.  I called the professor in and apologized for the error and assured him he would receive a corrected contract right away.  He informed me that a contract is a binding agreement, and he had signed and returned it.  Moreover he would be an ally [and a powerful one] forever and would work very hard to deserve the additional compensation that had been provided.

As I have never believed that the law and ethics are the same (thus I am a teacher, not a lawyer), I had no difficulty refusing the offer and insisting on the new contract.   He did not pursue legal action.

My questions are: was I just unwilling to pay for my own mistake? Does legality overcome what I at least saw as justice? Should I have moved to get the professor fired on the grounds of corruption and low ethical standards? What is Auntie Ethica's read on such a situation?
 


Dear Former Dean,
 
Auntie would like to thank you, first of all, for your attention to the column, and hopes that she can provide some insight into the described ethical concern. That said, she would also like to thank you for inviting her into the murky past of Ripon College history and finance-she hopes you haven't invited her to dance on any toes.
 
The answer is simple: Each of you should have approached 25 faculty and asked for a $100 donation from each of them towards your professor's salary. Then you would simply have had to explain the measures he €"and you-would take in the upcoming year to make up for that $100. You both would have done plenty of photocopying that semester, but at least you, your professor and those fifty donating faculty would be square.
 
However, assuming that you both have more important things to do than do mail runs for West Hall, let's think of some alternative options:
 
--You could have taken the fall yourself, or blamed and fired your secretary, and/or you both could have taken pay cuts to satisfy your contractual requirement. No guilt there.
 
--You could have borrowed from SMAC or One-Funded from Student Senate. I'm certain that if your professor agreed to open for Lucky Boys Confusion for SpringFest, the student body would have happily supported his art, and your budgeting crisis would have been safely averted.
 
--You could have added a very brief "Just kidding!" in Magic marker on the contract and initialed it, or perhaps just have used White-Out on the final zero of the salary amount. Auntie's no lawyer, but no one can compete with the "I had my fingers crossed!" argument, even in court. Playground rules.
 
Ethically, morally, and realistically, Ripon College is a small institution that can ill-afford to make five-thousand-dollar mistakes. Auntie imagines, ideally, that faculty, staff and students all operate under that assumption, and are more than willing to cooperate and support each other through lean years and clerical errors. Auntie doubts that most professors are interested in padding their own paychecks at the expense of their colleagues'. This isn't to say that Ripon cultural norms dictate ethical standards, but your professor should have understood, as clearly as anyone, that money-hungry people don't work for Ripon College. Take that as you will.
 
Let's take another example. Let's assume we're shopping in Wal-Mart and come across a ceiling fan with a box marked $49.98. The sticker it's sitting over is marked $.05, and the shopper demands the fan for a nickel when she gets up to the counter. If the cashier sells the fan for $.05, he'll lose his job and the company fifty bucks.  If he refuses, the customer yells, makes a scene, but ends up buying the fan at a slightly lower price than normal to make up for the inconvenience.
 
Auntie won't cite Wal-Mart as a shining example of ethical standards (no judgment, just no endorsement,) but Wal-Mart seems to have the idea right. Everyone knows that you can't buy a ceiling fan for the price of a gumball, and your professor shouldn't-and won't-- rake in the big bucks over a clerical error.
 
Auntie, like you, is most concerned with the professor trying to "buy you off." The logical response would be to ask your professor two questions-first, if he's willing to work harder for five thousand dollars, does that mean he's not putting in very much effort right now? Second, will he support you (as an ally) only if you pay him? That's a lackey, not an ally.
 
Auntie would not have gone after his job. He didn't prove himself to be terrifically ethical, but if that bit of his character was revealed as a result of your error, you should dismiss any case against him once the new contract is signed. Auntie does hope that you took him out to dinner on your own dime as a goodwill gesture (to sweeten the ceiling-fan deal), but you don't owe him any more than that.
 
In some ways, this was probably a blessing. You've learned to read everything that comes across your desk more carefully, and you know who NOT to look to for genuine support or an Ethical Leadership proposal. It's been quite the teaching experience.
 
Just in case you haven't learned your lesson, however, Auntie also has to update her contract for next year. She'll leave it with your secretary.
 
 

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