Book Companion:

Library and Information Center Management,
Seventh Edition

Nobody Ever Tells Me Anything

Anthony Datto read the handwritten note he found in his mailbox from the principal of the high school at which he had been employed as head of the school media program for one month. He left the faculty mailboxes and walked down the hall to the office. His curiosity was piqued as he glanced at the words again-"Would you drop by my office at your earliest convenience? There is a matter I would like to discuss with you."

Since her secretary was not in the reception room, he marched directly to the doorway of the principal's office. Mathilda Panopoulos was wading through a batch of papers as he tapped gently on her half-opened door. "You wanted to see me, Miss Panopoulos?" he said, his face cheerful.

She interrupted her scanning of the documents and waved him to take a chair.

"I understand that Dr. Dellaquila asked you to do some work for her," she began, right off, without a greeting. Datto was startled to catch a note of annoyance in her voice. An inwardly feverish but outwardly calm desperation possessed him. He waited for her to speak again. "I wish she'd tell me when she asks one of my people to do something," she added in the same flinty tone. She put her pencil with a bang on the desk.

The young man raised his eyebrows with a gesture of deep concern. He could see that every muscle of her face was drawn tense. He offered no reply. "Didn't you learn anywhere along the line that a subordinate has an obligation to keep a supervisor informed about what's going on?" she flamed out indignantly. "You can imagine my consternation last night at the school committee meeting when the superintendent announced to everyone that you were looking into this question of merit increases, and I knew nothing about it. You were obligated to tell me."

There was a heavy and prolonged silence as Datto scrambled through his mind, trying to recollect the details of the event that had apparently triggered this violent reaction. Panopoulos put her arms on the desk, interlocked her fingers, and leaned forward, her eyes glinting with rage behind her thick spectacles. She was tapping with her foot on the carpet. He felt like a naughty school-boy. His first defensive impulse was boldly to deny any involvement. But instead he essayed to give an account of what had occurred, with an affectation of bewildered simplicity.

"The other day-Friday it was-when Dr. Dellaquila was in the building, she stopped by the media center. I hadn't seen her since you took me over to her office last spring, when you interviewed me for the position. She seemed interested to know how I was getting on. In the course of our discussion the topic of merit increases and performance evaluation came up, and she told me about the teachers' reactions-"

"Can you speed this up?" Panopoulos cut his recital short. She had a habit of hurrying people when they were speaking. Datto felt a wave of irritation engulf him, but he persevered, keeping his voice steady. "I offered to do some research on the topic for her." It was a lie; she had asked him to do it. And then he added, with a subdued laugh: "After all, we librarians are trained to do research for people!"

"Get on with this," the principal dictated, in a somewhat less severe tone. She sat back in her chair, crossed her legs, lighted a cigarette, and smoked herself into a cloud.

Hoping the gentler tone and the more relaxed manner meant that her anger was abating, the young man pressed on less apprehensively. "Well, it's just that," he said under a crawling canopy of smoke, trying to arrange himself easily on the hard chair. "I offered to give a report to Dr. Dellaquila on what I could find out about the pros and cons of merit rating plans and performance evaluations that could be used in a school setting-for teachers. I've heard about the controversy from some of the teachers. And Dr. Dellaquila confirmed it. She seemed most anxious for me to put something together for her. She said she thought a media specialist should undertake this sort of assignment. She really wants me to do this research for her." A special emphasis marked the last sentence: it was true; she had wanted him to do it, and she had initiated the request.

The principal sprang up from her chair and began to perambulate with swift, precise movements about her spacious office. But she did not speak. The walls of the room were hung with various pictures and sketches, chiefly unframed. She stopped and gazed absently at a Modigliani print. (Datto thought it odd that she would hang a Modigliani in her office-Modigliani with his struggle against bourgeois ideas. But he let that pass. He had not noticed the reproduction the two other times he had been in her office: once during his interview, and once two weeks ago when he had asked about the LMC budget. No problem those times, he recalled.) She let a long moment pass before speaking. "You had Friday afternoon and yesterday to tell me about this," she said to the painting. The media specialist took thought. But before he could speak she turned toward him. "You are not to do it," she commanded, moving her head slowly from side to side in a firm negative. "You've got enough to do. You're new. You're feeling your way in your job." This item of news penetrated his heart like a stab. "But I promised Dr. Dellaquila I'd do it." His eyes were full of appeal. "I told her I'd do it on my own time."

"What!" She fired the word at him like a bullet. "If you're going to spend your own time on school matters, you should spend it on matters pertaining to the library."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say: "Must you speak to me in this uncivilized fashion?" But he discreetly forbore. Consequences of challenging her at this time began to shape themselves vaguely in his mind. Clearly it was not the time. He could perceive that she was a person who was accustomed to having her own way.

A long silence followed. She was the first to break it.

"I tell you what, though," she announced, in a voice not quite so terrible. "I'd like you to come up with some way of evaluating your staff and assigning them merit increases. I think that would be a good thing for you to be doing. It'll keep you busy, and we need it. We don't have anything right now. Increases are automatic." She paused, and continued: "And I want to see forms and hear the advantages and disadvantages of different systems. I also want to know your thoughts on tying performance appraisals to merit increases. Somebody told me there was a problem there."

Datto felt the blood coloring his cheeks. He was extremely uncomfortable. He heard what she was saying, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of the superintendent. "What about Dr. Dellaquila?" he asked, dropping all his previous reserve like a garment. "Who will tell her?"

"I'll take care of that," responded the principal with acerbity, snubbing out her cigarette. She had moved back to her desk now, and was sitting on the corner, looking down upon him. "This isn't the first time she's pulled a stunt like this. I'll see her Thursday. I've been appointed to an ad hoc committee she's also on to look into the matter of merit increases and faculty evaluation."

She coughed discreetly. Then she said: "We also need a policy manual for the media center and job descriptions. I've been told that job descriptions start with job audits. I'd like you to find out about job audits and tell me what we'd have to do and what the final outcome would be. As far as a policy manual for the media center is concerned, I have no idea what they cover or consist of. Your job would be to tell me, and then to suggest how we might get one going. I have a feeling we'll be asked to do them." She laid a sneering emphasis on the last sentence.

The media specialist began to feel curiously self-possessed. He was determined that her arrogance was not going to paralyze his powers of speech or intimidate him any further. "I'd like to make sure I understand exactly what you'd like me to do," he began in a new brave tone. "You'd like me to-"

His sudden gust of audacity was quickly extinguished by her words and by her glance.

"Do I have to do it for you?" she snapped. "You had no trouble knowing what Dr. Dellaquila wanted." (Curious phrasing, he thought. Did she know that Dr. Dellaquila had requested him to do the work?) She returned to her chair and wheeled it close to her desk, twirling her wrist until she could see the face on her watch. "Look," she pronounced impatiently, "I have lots of work to do. Come up with the things I want and show them to me in a month." Then she bent her head down and confronted her papers. Datto rose, bid her good-bye, and hurried away. Panopoulos grunted, without looking up.

As he traversed the length of the corridor to the media center, Anthony Datto reflected on the events that had brought him to this unhappy pass.

Pritchard, with a population of 50,000, is a community of strong social and economic contrasts. Until the mid-nineteen hundreds, it presented an almost feudal pattern of wealthy merchants and factory hands, with several gradations between these extremes. It occupies 15 square miles on the shore of Lake Tiemblo, and because of its location astride major rail and highway facilities is a center of industry and shopping. In "upper town" streets are broad, quiet, and tree-shaded; the homes are tall and heavy and look like battleships, each anchored in its private sea of grass. "Lower town," along the water's edge, is a district of crowded brick and frame structures of varied heights, an occasional old residence having had its ground floor pressed into commercial service. In the center of town are the usual cluster of banks, stores, and office buildings; shopping centers are sprinkled throughout the various neighborhoods. The city also boasts an excellent public library of 380,000 volumes, and a state-supported university with an enrollment of 14,000 students-which coincidentally is Anthony Datto's Alma Mater.

Mathilda Panopoulos, known as "Tilly" to her friends and colleagues but usually styled "Tilly the Hun" or just "the Hun" by her detractors, is a native of Pritchard. She was born in "lower town" 60 years ago of Greek immigrant parents, and holds a bachelor of arts degree in English, earned at night from a nearby state college. She has spent 35 years in public education in the town: 7 years as a junior high school English teacher; 4 years as an English teacher at the high school; 3 years as head of the high school English department; and 21 in her present position. She is a controversial figure, and has a reputation for being direct and gruff. Her knowledge of the technical aspects of her job is admitted by friend and foe alike; however, her strong-mindedness, dictatorial tactics, and attempts to dominate her teachers and staff have made her many enemies. She is a person of such strength of personality that few people have ever crossed her-including students, whom she controls with an iron hand. She is not a "progressive" educator in any sense of the word, and vehemently resists what she calls "undigested novelties" and "frills and fripperies" in teaching methodologies. Many parents appreciate her traditionalist approach, but others clamor for change. Two recently elected school board members have announced their intention of "ridding the high school of Tilly Panopoulos"-to which she replies, with a defiant shrug, "Let them try. They'll get the fight of their lives."

Few would deny that Amanda R. Dellaquila was the proper choice for the position of superintendent of schools when it opened a year ago. A woman of 38, who came to this part of the country from a school district 2,000 miles away, she possesses in addition to a doctorate in education two master's degrees: one in education and the other in English. Widely acknowledged to be an educator of the highest professional standing-as well as being in great demand as a speaker, she has published two books on education and numerous articles-she is a woman of unassailable integrity. Many times she has reminded her principals, department heads, and teachers to regard her as their "colleague with special responsibilities." Her office is always open to anyone who has a complaint, a suggestion, a grievance, or who "merely wants to chat." She enjoys talking informally with people-teachers, students, parents, and others-when she meets them in the hallways, or in the stores, or anywhere. She has made a habit of submitting proposed policies and rules to teacher organizations for study and suggestions before submitting them to the board for adoption. While teachers' recommendations are not always accepted, enough have been to assure them both individually and collectively that she is genuine when she says she wants a democratic school system. Rumor has it that she "tolerates" Mathilda Panopoulos, having tried many times to engage her in meaningful dialogue only to find her "hopelessly set in her opinions." As one wag quipped, "She came here saying, like Will Rogers, that she never met a person she didn't like-then she met Tilly the Hun!"

Anthony Datto was born 25 years ago in a village some 40 miles from Pritchard. He graduated from library school a year and a half ago, and served a one year stint as an assistant media specialist in a middle school media center prior to assuming the post at Pritchard High.

The Pritchard School District has under its jurisdiction approximately 4,000 young people from kindergarten through grade 12, and includes four elementary schools (K-6), two junior highs (7-9), and one high school (10-12). The board consists of seven members elected by popular ballot for three-year terms. Each school has a library or media center, which is headed by a professional librarian.

It was at the Monday night meeting a week ago-board meetings are held every Monday night and attendance by principals is mandatory-that the topic of merit increases and performance appraisal was introduced by one of the two new members who started their terms at the beginning of the school year. He inquired about the wage and salary policy, and how teachers are evaluated. The superintendent stated that this was an area she herself was anxious to investigate, because for all practical purposes salary increases were automatic and equal "across-the-board." The committeeman registered surprise. "You mean that good performance is not rewarded and poor performance not punished?" he said. "It is unthinkable to automatically give everyone the same percentage. Industry has developed ways of identifying good people. Surely some of these techniques will work for education." In the ensuring discussion, the superintendent reminded the group that it is difficult to identify good and poor teachers, adding that she was always on the "lookout for effective ways."

"This seems hard to believe," was the committeeman's response. "Parents certainly know who the good teachers are, and so do the kids."

After an additional brief discussion, during which several questions and comments were aired, including a few by members of the professional association, who always attend the meetings, a motion was made that an ad hoc committee-to consist of one school committee member, one principal, one member of the professional association, and the superintendent-be appointed "to investigate the issue of merit rating plans and employee performance appraisal systems with a view to identifying and awarding larger increments to outstanding teachers." The motion passed unanimously among the voting members of the committee-the seven board members. Dellaquila's parting observation before they moved on to another item of business, which she announced with a faint air of mischievousness, was that Frederick Herzberg had found money not to be a motivator. Several people smiled-a few had no idea who or what she was talking about-but not one bothered to pursue the point.

At first blush, nothing seemed particularly ominous about the formation of the ad hoc committee. In its Wednesday edition, the Pritchard Observer, the bi-weekly newspaper which routinely covers board meetings, merely reported that the discussion had taken place. But later in the week, when teachers began to talk about the committee's purpose, apprehension began to mount among some of them. Battle lines were quickly drawn. There were those who favored the notion of rewarding the "best" teachers, but a larger number were opposed. The feelings of the opponents could be summarized by these typical statements: merit increases are unfair and destroy morale; there is no satisfactory way of measuring teacher effectiveness; and favoritism inevitably enters into evaluation. Before long the teachers were in a state of turmoil over the issue.

When he arrived back at the media center, Anthony Datto whisked straightway into his glass-enclosed office, to the right of the entrance. Instead of going to his desk, he proceeded to the window and lingered there idly watching the rain spatter on the pavement outside. The sky was completely overcast. He looked up and descried a gym class, all wet and draggled, scurrying back across the sodden football field. But his mind, stimulated by the emotions of the encounter with the principal, ranged beyond his present world and sought satisfaction in the possibility of fleeing from her clutches. He perceived that his life threatened to be an interminable succession of these mortifying interviews unless he could discover a way or ways to deal with her surly and terrorizing ferocity. But how? He knew that he could not truckle to her forever. But what could he do? He did not want to leave. Quitting! The universal cure-all, employed by those who are not in the situation. He had signed a two-year lease on an apartment-unbreakable-and was making heavy monthly payments on a car. There were no jobs available at the public library or at the university. And anyway he wanted to be a media specialist in a high school. And he liked everything else about Pritchard High. It was out of the question. Think of what it would mean! No, he was not one to take off like a deer at the first warning of certain dangers. But why had he said he offered to do the work for the superintendent when in truth she had initiated the request? Why had he lied? The laconic question weighed upon him with a crushing weight. Why had he committed such an imprudence? Life is full of pitfalls, into which the innocent often tumble. Was it Mathilda Panopoulos' manner of making people feel like irrational children, guilty, apologetic, foolish, so that they bring disaster on themselves? Should he tell her the truth? But what difference did it make who the initiator was? Was the offense that monstrous? His thoughts covered again the round of questions, and again, and yet again.

A hesitant knock sounded at the door, bringing him with a shock to the level of earth. "Come in," he called out automatically, and looking around saw two of this three professional assistants, Madge Beck and Dorothy Lehmann, entering the office. Madge Beck, a middle-aged woman with 18 years service, vaguely apprehending trouble, spoke first. "When you walked in here, Tony, you looked as if you had just seen a ghost. Anything wrong?"

"Oh, I'm okay, I guess," volunteered Datto cautiously. "I just had a royal dressing down by Tilly." The assistants exchanged a quick glance.

"Need someone to talk to about it?" inquired Lehmann solicitously. She had been on the staff for a year, but had not applied for the head position because she felt unready for the challenge. The third assistant, Alfred MacIntosh, was recovering from a hernia operation and would not be back for two weeks; he has been on the staff for four years and, like Lehmann, did not aspire to the position. Lehmann and MacIntosh are in their late twenties.

"Yes . . . thanks," replied Datto, as he removed an insecure pile of books from one of the two guest chairs. "Perhaps at the same time you could fill me in on some of our procedures."

The three sat down. Datto gave an account of both incidents-again omitting to mention that it was Dr. Dellaquila who had made the original suggestion. When she had finished Beck said reassuringly: "Don't let old Tilly bother you. She can be a rotter at times. She's a Jekyll and Hyde, if ever there was one. One minute she's fine; another, she's a monster. When you've been here a while, you'll see that it's hard to avoid run-ins with her."

Lehmann spoke up. "Alf is convinced that she chews broken bottles and wears barbed wire next to her skin." They chuckled. She continued: "You know, of course, that your predecessor left because she couldn't take her."

"No, I didn't know that," confessed Datto with surprise. "When Tilly interviewed me, she merely said that she had left to take a job in a college library."

"That's true," intervened Beck. "But the Hun drove her out of here. She stood it for two years. That was as long as she could take."

"And you've never wanted to be head," Lehmann reminded Beck, who nodded.

"I couldn't report directly to her," Beck grimaced. "I need a buffer between me and her."

"Funny," (he meant strange), "you didn't warn me about her when I spent some time with you during my interview. I've never encountered anyone like her in my life."

"We thought of it," the older assistant responded, "but we liked you and wanted you to take the job."

"Thanks a bunch!" he said, smiling self-consciously. "Actually, I'm flattered and pleased to hear that."

"And we certainly hope you won't consider leaving," interjected Lehmann, with an appealing, serious smile.

Beck concurred with an assenting nod. She continued: "We decided it wouldn't be professional to speak disparagingly to a stranger-which you were at the time-about a colleague, which after all she is." She smiled archly at her phrasing.

Lehmann's voice came in: "You remember we fudged when you asked about her. If I remember Alf did say something about her being a stern taskmaster, but that was all we indicated."

Anthony Datto signified that that was so.

"Alf thought we should have warned you, but telling you she was a taskmaster was as far as we agreed we should go," Lehmann explained.

"You know, Tilly wasn't bad during my interview with her," Datto said pensively. "A bit gruff, perhaps, but not bad. Inconsistent, I'd say. One moment she was fine, and the next . . . well . . . crotchety." And he added hurriedly: "I felt I could work with her though."

"If Alf had had his way," Beck supplied, "we would have given you the lowdown on Tilly the Hun."

"Well, you're certainly to be applauded for your loyalty," sighed Datto.

"I know that loyalty question is one that bothers Alf," Lehmann said. "We talked about it quite a bit."

Beck said, "I've always felt that professionals should stick together and not wash their dirty linen in front of others-particularly strangers."

"Even friends and relatives!" Lehmann chirped in.

Beck acknowledged the other's contribution, and went on: "I'd be disappointed to learn that my boss or subordinates-or peers for that matter-told tales out of school about me to others. I'd hate to have what they think are my faults broadcast around." "I feel, too," Lehmann inserted, picking up on the sentiment, "that if we have a problem at work we should discuss it among ourselves and not go spreading it all over the neighborhood."

"Just one further point on this topic if I may," Madge Beck said, sensing that it was time to draw the discussion to a close. "I feel that librarians tend to be terribly critical and unsupportive of each other. Much as I hate to admit it," she added, her face creasing in a knowing smile, "some of my best friends are librarians, and I can't get over how they tear their colleagues to shreds when they're together. It makes one flinch sometimes."

"I know what you mean," Anthony Datto acknowledged. "It bothers me, too. I suppose it happens in every profession." Then, changing the subject, he wondered aloud whether he would be better off reporting to the assistant principal. Madge Beck said that the assistant had only as much authority as the principal gave him, and that was not much. "Besides," she appended, "his is a staff position, and he'd only have to clear everything with Tilly the Hun anyway." She added that she felt sorry for the assistant because he had so little power. Datto then said that if the system had a coordinator of media centers, he, too, would have a "buffer of sorts" between him and the principal. But this was just idle chatter he concluded; he would have to find a way to work with Mathilda Panopoulos. That said, he turned to a different topic.

"While I have you here," he said, "I wonder if you'd fill me in on how you've been evaluated and assigned increases in the past." The assistant media specialists explained that no formalized appraisal procedures existed, and that previous LMC heads had merely engaged in informal (and infrequent) chats with them about their performance, individual strengths and weaknesses rarely being identified or discussed. They admitted that they did not evaluate their technicians and aides, and confirmed that increases were automatic and the same "across-the-board"; superior performance was not rewarded, nor inferior performance punished. Anthony Datto thanked them for having permitted him to unburden himself; after a few desultory remarks about the nasty weather and nothing in particular, they parted. Thereupon, he reached for a pen and a foolscap pad and began to make some notes about the Pritchard High School Media Center and to draw a rough sketch of the organization chart (Appendix I).

When he had finished he looked down fixedly at his markings, but he did not see them. He fell again into a puzzled wonder as to how he should proceed with the principal's requests, and what he should do about the promise he made to Dr. Dellaquila. His mind flew back to the humiliating episode with Mathilda Panopoulos. It gave him to think most unpleasantly. How was he to explain her behavior? Would kinesics help? He had always viewed with suspicion the claims of nonlinguistic sign readers. As far as he was concerned the study of nonverbal communication, like the talk of "life positions" employed by the adherents of transactional analysis, was a pseudo-science, the work of dilettantes and other futile souls. And yet, had not the great Charles Darwin himself explored the meaning of facial expressions among humans and animals. And had not other serious investigators-eminent anthropologists, psychologists, sociologists, ethnologists-followed the Master's lead and delved into the syntactic language of gesture and movement. And are not the concepts of Eric Berne and Thomas Harris, the "I'm OK-You're OK" people, coming into their own as themes worthy of investigation? The thought of the "games people play" which Berne and Harris speak of brought a smile to his face. It occurred to him that both fields of endeavor might have something to teach him on how to understand and communicate with Mathilda Panopoulos, and he resolved to pursue them both thoughtfully posthaste. He would also complete the principal's desiderata. After all, it was his job to do so, regardless of his personal feelings toward her. There was also something not quite right about his discussion with his assistants. There seemed to him that they had violated some of their rules. But like Scarlett O'Hara, he would think of that tomorrow. He began to probe himself again for answers to the Amanda Dellaquila matter. The bell rang. A new class would be arriving. He got to his feet and walked out into the media center, the Dellaquila matter unresolved.

Students: 1,100

Professional staff: all library school graduates
all properly certified
tenured: Beck & MacIntosh

Head of the LMC: Datto (equivalent to department head)

Media Professionals: Beck, MacIntosh, Lehmann (equivalent to teachers)

Media Technicians: Gottstein; Nesbitt; Wright, J.; Sharp (equivalent to skilled maintenance personnel)

Media Aides: Wright, P.; Welch; Foley (equivalent to clerks, office staff)

Student Assistants: 4

Responsibilities:

Datto: Overall administration

Beck: Technical services, circulation

MacIntosh: Planning and implementing curriculum, instruction (for students) and in-service (for teachers), reference and reading services

Lehmann: Production and design

Case written by Written by Dr. A. J. Anderson, Professor Emeritus, GSLIS, Simmons College
Taken from Problems in Library Management, Chapter 10