Conversation with the chancellors
Leadership and life punctuate new books
Chancellors Richard Morrill (l.) and Bruce Heilman encouraged each other in the writing of their books.
BY BARBARA FITZGERALD
Editor, Richmond Now
The University’s two chancellors, both former presidents, sat down together recently, with plenty of pauses for laughter, to discuss the books each has written this year.
Dr. Bruce Heilman, president from 1971–86 and interim CEO from 1987–88, has completed an autobiography called An Interruption that Lasted a Lifetime: My First Eighty Years, which is expected to be in print by the end of the year. Strategic Leadership, the third book by Dr. Richard Morrill, president from 1988–98, was published in August as part of the American Council on Education/Praeger series on higher education.
The chancellors, who occupy adjacent offices in Boatwright Library, still work close to full time, serving on local and national boards, speaking, writing, consulting and serving the University in a variety of ways, by advising students, participating in campus programs, answering correspondence, visiting alumni, garnering good will and good publicity, and generally telling Richmond’s story. “You’re not looking at a couple of retired fellows here,” says Heilman. “The Chancellors’ Office is a busy place.”
Mutual admirers and long-time friends (Heilman supported Morrill enthusiastically to be his replacement as president), the two enjoy a warm and collegial, bantering yet respectful relationship.
Heilman: I began my book as a project to provide my children and grandchildren the story of my life, but as others read the original manuscript, they encouraged me to expand it to include more history of the times, more about World War II, the military, the Marines, more about overcoming odds and what it is to be a university president. So the whole thing just grew into more than it was intended to be. I began to see that my life is the story of lots of kids who came from the hills and the hollows to fight in World War II—that part of my story could probably represent as many as 3 or 4 million of the 16 million World War II vets.
I’m not expecting to become known as an author. I’ll be perfectly happy if I can keep the title of “the oldest living ex-president of the University.” That’s the role that I don’t want anyone to take from me.
Morrill (who is next in age to Heilman among the retired presidents), laughing: I assure you, Bruce, no one is aspiring to.
Heilman: Rich wrote a kind note to me in the copy of his book that he gave me, and I read that nice note and said, “Clearly this is a great book.” Now that I’ve read it, I see that it is a great book.
Morrill: Well, it’s a practical book, and it’s a demanding book. It came out of a career of teaching and research, my 20 years as a university president with a background in religious thought. The question was how do you use the strategic process at a college or university as a method of leadership? One way is to root the process in the university’s narrative, finding and telling the institution’s story through a collaborative process, and that becomes your touchstone for the university’s future. The vision for the future grows from the university’s defining experiences, values, culture and history—its “story.”
My initial thoughts led me to conceive of a class in the Jepson School, and as I organized the class, the book came together. The class created a strategic planning council, with different groups undertaking different concerns. One designed a new curriculum; another addressed the need for a new dining hall. Others examined why a new recreation center should be a top priority.
Heilman: In his book, he has compiled and communicated what successful people already do, what they do when they’re doing the job well, describing the processes they use without knowing they’re using them. In a sense, both of our books are “can-do” books.
Each of us in his way was right for his time as president of the University of Richmond, and each of us made a contribution that continued the progression of the institution. When I came, there was no place to go but up. Building on a credible foundation, eroded by recognized financial inadequacies, I just had to put the school in a position to operate, and that didn’t require much vision. The question to him when he arrived was, “Where do we go from here?” He needed the vision, and he had it.
Morrill: In your book, do you step back and reflect on how, from the modest beginnings you describe, you would have become so oriented toward leadership?
Heilman: There was nothing in my early life to suggest it. I have pictures of report cards in this book showing bad grades—I even got a D in conduct—and I failed algebra twice. My grandfather shot himself during the Depression, and my father had to drop out of school. This isn’t just a family story; it’s an American story—a lot of that happened back then. If World War II hadn’t intervened and I hadn’t found the Marine Corps, my life would have gone in a totally different direction. Before the Marine Corps, I couldn’t seem to do much of anything, but there I found I could even do some things that others couldn’t. I became confident and competent in my own leadership abilities.
In high school, I was at the bottom of the heap, but when I went back to my 50th reunion, I was asked to be the speaker. How do you move from a tenant house to president of a great university? In my case, a lot of it was circumstances.
Morrill: I know you well enough to say there’s nothing you couldn’t do. Writing a book, for instance, is really hard work—it’s grueling. We’ve watched each other working on these books month after month, and it was like both being pregnant at the same time. I’d come over to his office and complain that I had been asked to cut 100 pages, and he’d be cutting 100 of his own. We spent some time discussing the difficulties of dealing with publishers. The process of writing and revising and cutting and correcting seems endless. Clearly each of our books is the result of a personal need for us to do this.
Heilman: I depended on his experience on questions like how much of a poem I could quote before I had to get permission. If he was wrong and goes to jail, I’ll be right there with him. It’s been great being partners in this experience, too.
From Strategic Leadership
by Richard Morrill:
“As I reflected on the era of transformation [underway at Richmond upon arriving as president in 1988], I concluded that the University’s story of identity had become fractured and, with it, the meaning of its achievements. An institution that had been in financial distress had become rich. A place that had enrolled more than 80 percent of its students from Virginia now enrolled the same percentage from out of state. … An institution founded and governed by Virginia Baptists became independent, and the coordinate academic structure of Westhampton College for women and Richmond College for men had evolved into residential programs.
One of the ways I tried to confront these issues was by hearing, learning and articulating the University’s narrative. My aim was to attend to the sense of loss felt by many graduates and then to place the University’s identity in a larger strategic context. My goal as a leader was to enlist their understanding and commitment to the University’s ambitious vision of national leadership.”
From My First Eighty Years
by Bruce Heilman:
“It would be two days before the storm abated, and several more days after that before we managed to secure a second tent. We were wet and cold and miserable. No soldier, sailor, marine or Japanese soldier in the hills of Okinawa avoided the typhoon. We were all awash in the drenching rain that was driven by the howling winds. Only those in caves were spared the assault, though even there a seeping dampness stole any semblance of shelter. Rain was so strong that it stung the flesh, and, for hours on end, we could hardly see through the torrents or hear above the wind.
As we stood in the unavoidable pools of rain or in damp mud, the wetness soaked through our shoes and socks and saturated our feet. We tried periodically to wash and dry our socks to relieve that discomfort, but it was impossible to dry our shoes, so our feet stayed wet. Before long, the skin began to degenerate, a condition that, for me, lasted months. … Splattered raindrops still mark the letters I tried to write my mother during the storm.”