THE CHRONICLE OF HIGHER EDUCATION Leadership at HBCUs

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THE CHRONICLE OF HIGHER EDUCATION

Leadership at HBCUs

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

H istorically black colleges and universities have a special mission to educate African Americans, and they face many challenges in doing so. Their students are disproportionately from low-income families and are often academically underprepared. The colleges themselves have limited financial resources. Strong, inspired leadership is needed to help the institutions thrive and, sometimes, even survive. The seven articles in this collection look at the issues that presidents of historically black institutions must contend with, including problems that are common to many colleges and others that are particular to HBCUs.

4

Walter Kimbrough's Higher Calling

Black colleges need someone to carry their banner. This pastor's son is stepping up.

12

Feud at Florida A&M Has Echoes of Governance Issues at Other Black Colleges

Experts wonder if governing boards at HBCUs may be particularly prone to overreach.

14

Retired HBCU Presidents Start Search Firm for Black-College Leaders

The new firm hopes to help solve historically black colleges' leadership woes.

17

With Faculty Diversity on Everyone's Radar, HBCUs Worry About Losing Scholars

College officials say they can make a convincing case for faculty to stay where they are.

19

21 22

Why an HBCU Leader Felt Compelled to Speak Out on Race and Policing

John S. Wilson Jr. hopes his experience can inform a new generation of black men.

Lessons From an HBCU's Demise

The pressures that forced Saint Paul's College to close are not unique.

Black Colleges, Teetering on the Brink, Must Chart a New Path

State disinvestment and scandals have jeopardized the institutions' future.

Cover photograph of Walter MC.oKveimr pbhrooutoghbyJr.E,rpicreTshidayeenrt, oTfhDe iNllaerwd YUo.r,kbTyimAleysssa Schukar for The Chronicle

22 R e i n i n g I n F r at e r n i t i e s

the chronicle of higher education / september 2017

?2017 THE CHRONICLE OF HIGHER EDUCATION INC.

Walter Kimbrough's Higher Calling

By ADAM HARRIS

On an overcast day in February, Walter M. Kimbrough Jr. stepped off a plane in Washington, D.C., for one of the highest-profile meetings of his professional career. The Trump administration had invited the leaders of more than 60 historically black colleges and universities, Mr. Kimbrough among them, to a White House "listening session" with Betsy DeVos, the newly appointed education secretary. It was an unprecedented opportunity for HBCUs, long ignored in the public conversation about higher education, to tell the nation why they mattered.

Mr. Kimbrough, the president of Dillard University, approached the visit with a sense of cautious optimism. Here was an administration that had said glancingly little about higher education during the campaign, making HBCUs an early target for support. It was the kind of overture that black-college leaders had hoped for under President Obama.

But the opportunity came with plenty of risk. The invitation was an unexpected move by an unpredictable administration. Only a small number of black people had supported Mr. Trump, who rose to political prominence by questioning the legitimacy of the first black president and seemed to

During a trip to Chicago, Walter Kimbrough meets with administrators at Urban Prep Academy, a charter school. He also spoke, one on one, to several students about their college plans.

ALYSSA SCHUKAR FOR THE CHRONICLE

appeal consistently to white nationalism during

also needed a spotlight. Once they had a spotlight,

his 2016 campaign.

they needed someone who was willing to step into

Still, black colleges rely on money from the fed-

it.

eral government, and right now they needed more

Mr. Kimbrough, a 50-year-old pastor's son who

of it. The Dillard president was looking forward to

goes by the Twitter handle HipHopPrez, isn't shy

telling Ms. DeVos why.

of the stage. He harnessed the frustration over the

He never got to talk, and she hardly got to listen. DeVos visit, honed it into an argument for black

Instead, in a last-minute surprise, the chancel-

colleges, and took that argument to NPR, CNN,

lors and presidents were pulled into the Oval Of-

The New York Times. "I hate that people feel --

fice. There, they posed for a photograph with Mr.

that the students feel -- a sense of betrayal," he

Trump. Almost immediately, the picture went viral told a Times reporter.

on social media: Rows of HBCU leaders flanked

The meeting "was a great opportunity to help

a beaming president while a White House advis-

the new secretary," he said. But it was also a

er, Kellyanne Conway, her feet on the Oval Office

chance to press a case to the country. In an opin-

couch, looked down at her cellphone. The optics

ion column later that week, Mr. Kimbrough found

were bad. The visit began to look like a bizarre fi-

the silver lining of an otherwise trying trip: It had

asco. On historically black campuses,

students and professors were furious. You got played, many of them said.

"You don't want to be

Few black college leaders were eager

to talk about the meeting in its immediate aftermath. Mr. Kimbrough was

the young president

an exception. In an essay posted online later that

day, the Dillard president gently chid-

who messes it up for all

ed the White House. "There was very little listening to HBCU presidents to-

the young presidents."

day," he wrote. Then he laid out what

he would have said if given the chance.

He wrote about the Pell Grant pro-

gram, and why preserving and expanding it was

pulled black colleges out of the shadows.

good not just for black colleges, but for all of high-

"With this new platform, allow me to reintro-

er education.

duce you to HBCUs," Mr. Kimbrough wrote. "We

Overnight, Ms. DeVos created another stir. In an are uniquely American."

Education Department news release, she claimed

that black colleges were pioneers of school choice -- a favorite talking point of the charter-school champion. Black-college advocates quickly re-

Two institutions, perhaps more than any others, loom large in the black community: the church and black colleges. Both have

butted the secretary's assertion: After all, the in-

served as beacons for hope: Churches built a com-

stitutions were born to serve black Americans who munity for families that had been fractured by

had been shut out of higher education.

slavery. Black colleges offered the promise of up-

Mr. Kimbrough was again among the few

ward mobility to members of that community.

HBCU presidents to speak out, and he kept his eye

Walter Kimbrough Sr., a dynamic young pastor

on the ball. Sure, he admitted, the remark rubbed

with a knack for building strong black churches

him the wrong way. But he was more troubled by

out of the ruins of abandoned white ones, moved

another line in the same press release, which sug-

his family to Atlanta in 1972. The city was rapid-

gested that boosting financial support to black col- ly changing. Catalyzed by desegregation efforts,

leges wouldn't be a top priority of the Trump ad-

white people had fled in droves. Maynard Jackson,

ministration. "This has to be a funding issue," he

the first black mayor of Atlanta, would be elected

told The Chronicle.

a year later.

In the national conversation about higher educa-

Mr. Kimbrough was assigned to Cascade Unit-

tion, black colleges often languish in the shadows.

ed Methodist Church, a struggling church with a

Critics question not just their relevance but their

membership of fewer than 100 in 1974. The pastor,

necessity. The civil-rights battle has been fought

a graduate of the historically black Morris Brown

and won, the thinking goes; if black students can

College, set out to rebuild, visiting 30 to 40 local

attend any college, why do black colleges need to

schools a year, doing community service, forming

exist?

relationships, making a name for Cascade Unit-

Not enough people knew why they were still im- ed. Marjorie Kimbrough, his wife, had taught him

portant.

the value in working with children. "When parents

They needed federal money desperately, but they can see that their children are happy, that's where

november 2017 / the chronicle of higher education

leadership at historically black colleges 5

they want to be," the elder Mr. Kimbrough said. His son, Walter Jr., was by his side, watching

and learning. At 11 years old, Walter Jr. was delivering speeches during Sunday services. Congregants suggested that he grow up to be a preacher like his dad. He pushed against those expectations. His father supported him.

By 1985, Cascade had grown to roughly 2,000 members, and Walter Jr. was salutatorian of Benjamin Mays High School -- named for a black-college icon, the former president of Morehouse College. He had options, including Clark Atlanta University, a black college where his mother would later teach philosophy and religion. But he wanted to be a veterinarian. The University of Georgia seemed like the best way to achieve that goal.

The institution had been forcibly integrated only in 1961, but that didn't dissuade Mr. Kimbrough, whose mother had graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the University of California at Berkeley. He knew what he was getting into. But two decades of integration had not solved two centuries of racial hostility. When black students petitioned for an African-American cultural center, the student newspaper ran an editorial cartoon saying that they already had one: the basketball court.

"I'm one of the few who survived," Mr. Kimbrough told a group of black high-school students on a recent recruiting trip. "And I use the word `survived' deliberately."

A lifeline was Alpha Phi Alpha, a black fraternity founded in 1906 as a refuge for black students at Cornell University. Mr. Kimbrough became student assistant vice president for the fraternity's Southern region.

Something tugged at him. He had grown up following his father to church; the children of Maynard Jackson and the civil-rights leader Andrew Young came to his neighborhood to play football. Now he found himself embedded in another strong black community, meeting regularly with university presidents and leaders of industry.

Perhaps he could be one of them too.

Mr. Kimbrough earned a doctorate in higher education and, after stints at Emory, Old Dominion, and Georgia State Universities, he landed his first job at a black college -- vice president for student affairs at Albany State University. He became an expert on fraternities and hazing. He published Black Greek 101, which quickly became the go-to book on the culture of black fraternities and sororities.

Then Philander Smith College, a small black college in Arkansas affiliated with the United Methodist Church, needed a new president. The college thought Mr. Kimbrough was the right fit.

At just 37 years old, Mr. Kimbrough had become the leader of a black college. Philander Smith was once a gem among HBCUs, but it had fallen

into dire straits. There were the financial issues: unpaid bills and an investigation into the potential improper distribution of federal financial-aid funds. And a more fundamental issue: The college was struggling mightily to recruit and keep students.

A week into the job, he was already daunted by its breadth. "You don't want to be the young president who messes it up for all the young presidents," he says. People were watching to see how he performed. "If I did well, it would open the door for other people."

He called a guy whom he knew would understand: his dad. Early in his career, Walter Sr. had been named the first black pastor of Calvary Methodist Church in Chicago as it was undergoing a racial transformation. At first, he wasn't sure he was up for the task. It had made him angry at God. His wife, Marjorie, whom he had met during seminary, emphasized the importance of trials and tribulations.

"If you started at an easy place," he recalled her telling him, "and later on in your ministry, you went to a tough place, you wouldn't be able to handle it."

Walter Sr. passed that advice to his son. "This is a blessing," he told him. "You're r eally going to be able to show what you can do."

Philander Smith's young president got to work. His personal touch, honed from years of watching his parents tend to their congregations, became a calling card. He invited students to text him. He popped up at the teams' away games and checked in personally with student athletes. When a group of students needed to get to a conference 445 miles away, he gave them a ride. The college's retention and four-year graduation rates improved. By just about all measures, the institution's stock was rising -- and so was Mr. Kimbrough's. He was heralded as a fresh voice in higher education.

In 2012, another black college affiliated with the United Methodist Church came calling: Dillard University, in New Orleans.

Mr. Kimbrough, once intimidated by the prospect of protecting the legacy of black colleges, was now certain he could handle the pressure. He'd complained to his father years earlier about the task. His father called it a blessing.

"And he was exactly right," he says.

Philander Smith's issues weren't unique to the college. They were broadly indicative of the challenges that plague many of the 107 black colleges today. The sector is often dogged by criticism. Many institutions struggle with limited finances; many others face questions about how well those finances are managed, as well as the quality of the education they provide.

Diversity pushes by predominantly white institutions have exacerbated dwindling enrollments

6 leadership at historically black colleges

the chronicle of higher education / november 2017

ALYSSA SCHUKAR FOR THE CHRONICLE

When he speaks to high-school students, Walter Kimbrough emphasizes the individual attention and care that historically black colleges can provide, compared with large universities.

at many black colleges, driving some HBCUs to admit more international and nonblack students. Graduation rates have lingered near the bottom of the barrel. Many black colleges have made strides in correcting these issues, and several posted enrollment gains this fall. But in many ways, the most challenging problem confronting black colleges is a matter of public perception -- a sense that, in an era of integration, they're less relevant than they once were.

Black colleges tend not to appear in the news unless there's bad news -- there's not enough money, the students aren't graduating, or they're at risk of losing their accreditation. So leaders of the institutions are often reluctant to speak to the media. Why be a party to yet another narrative of failure?

Yet the absence of their voices has allowed others -- lawmakers, pundits, potential students -- to fill the void with their own perceptions of the sector. Many people now view black colleges as aloof -- doomed, even. Not enough are sure of their continued significance.

The few presidents who have fashioned roles as national spokesmen tend to stand out: David Wilson at Morgan State University, Michael Sorrell at Paul Quinn College, and Mr. Kimbrough, among them. "The people on the ground need to speak," he says. And, he adds, they need to speak about

more than just themselves. Black-college leaders are regularly called on to talk about black-college issues. Black colleges, however, are not just a parochial offshoot of higher education; they are an integral part of it. They have been among the first to grapple with thorny issues -- the line between campus safety and free speech, the scourge of fraternity hazing, the fight to secure funding, and the need to rethink enrollment strategy -- that tend to pop up later on across higher education.

"There is a diversity of experiences" within black-college leadership, Mr. Kimbrough says, "and we can talk about a range of higher-ed issues that aren't HBCU-specific." If black colleges stand to benefit from adopting a more-public profile, there are also a lot of things that other sectors could learn from them.

Inspiration is a funny thing: Sometimes you find it; sometimes it finds you. One way or another, Walter Kimbrough Jr. kept crossing paths with Benjamin Mays.

Mr. Kimbrough was born in Chicago in 1967. Months later, Mays resigned as the president of Morehouse College after a term of 27 years. Mays was, by any definition, a heavyweight: He has been identified as the "intellectual conscience" of the civil-rights movement. Martin Luther King Jr.,

november 2017 / the chronicle of higher education

leadership at historically black colleges 7

who attended Morehouse, called Mays his "spiritual mentor."

Mr. Kimbrough's eyes light up when discussion turns to Mays. "People don't talk about their college president like that anymore," he says.

Mays's mentorship of the civil-rights era's most enduring icon is part of what appeals to Mr. Kimbrough. "The man with the dream attended an HBCU and was inspired by his college president to address the social injustices of his time," he wrote in an op-ed.

But beyond the mentoring, he admires the late leader's fearlessness and resolve to speak hard truths regardless of criticism. Mays's autobiography was titled Born to Rebel. He was a prolific writer -- a fierce critic of white liberals who claimed to support civil rights but didn't fight for them, and a passionate advocate for nonviolence even as black militants derided that approach as passive and unrealistic.

Mays described his outspokenness not as a bid for attention but as a calling. "I have never done anything for the purpose of being honored, to have my name on the front pages of the newspapers," Roger Wilkins, a civil-rights icon in his own right, recalled Mays saying. "I have done what I believe I was sent into the world to do: worship my God and serve my fellow man."

Mr. Kimbrough met Mays once, when he was young. Now Mays is gone, and Mr. Kimbrough's

not so young anymore. The once-37-year-old college president now looks the part, his hair dotted with specks of gray. He acknowledges that he's not on Mays's level, but he wants to be.

"I don't think we speak out enough on our issues," he says. If we don't advocate for our institutions, who will?

Listen to Mr. Kimbrough as he speaks about the legacy of Benjamin Mays, and it's not hard to see the contours of an argument about what it takes to lead a black college in 2017. Plenty of the sector's leaders have some of the community-building aplomb of Walter Kimbrough Sr. -- including Walter Sr. himself, who took over the reins of Gammon Theological Seminary this year. But few fit the mold of Benjamin Mays.

Black colleges need a shepherd to tend to the flock and an outspoken proselytizer to reach beyond it. They need a personal touch and national advocacy.

Mr. Kimbrough believes he can do both. But that's a tall order.

For Walter Kimbrough, taking up the mantle of leadership often means issuing challenges to his own community. In 2009, when the Associated Press interviewed Mr. Kimbrough about graduation rates at black colleges, the Philander Smith president said his sector had gotten "lazy." The graduation

Walter Kimbrough heads for his flight after visiting a high school in Chicago. He admits that his busy schedule keeps him away from his family more than he would like.

8 leadership at historically black colleges

ALYSSA SCHUKAR FOR THE CHRONICLE

the chronicle of higher education / november 2017

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