University of Virginia Library

Phil Chabot

The Case Of The Vanishing Classrooms

The University
Administration seems
determined to get new
academic buildings–even if
they have to throw students
out on their ear to do it.

Within the last two years
there has been a substantial
increase in student "irritation"
over the size of classes and
over-crowded class conditions.
Even fourth year students
frequently report that they
cannot get courses with fewer
than fifty students in their
major subject. (So much for
the myth of "upper-class
seminars.") And, no matter
how large the class, it's hard
taking notes on a window
edge.

The problem is that
according to the state's funding
formulas, U.Va. has a surplus of classrooms. There will be no addition state funds for new
classrooms in the College until
that surplus is erased.

The student reaction to this
has been to conclude: Stop
Expanding! If we are already
experiencing shortages at the
same time the state says we
have enough class space for
6,000 more students, we
should stop right where we are
and not make matters worse.
Rather, we should concentrate
on improving existing facilities.

The University, however,
sees it differently. They have
begun a program to eliminate
the surplus–not just by adding
more students, but by also
eliminating classrooms.

The University. it turns out.
has a smaller surplus of office
space than classroom space. So.
classroom space is being
converted into office space in
order to support a bi-annual
request for more classroom
space!

This sort of "Catch-22"
logic is no stranger to the new,
administrative model of the
University of Virginia.

The conversion program and
its rationale were set forth in
last spring's report of the
Committee on the Future of
the University. It is worth
noting that the "reservation"
Larry Sabato and other student
members of that committee
expressed about the report did
not specifically include this
curious practice

All this is only part of the
University's strange way of
doing business. The new law
school (the location of which
was vigorously protested by
law students and faculty) will
soon be completed. Clarke Hall
will then be converted into an
undergraduate library–despite
the fact that a prominent
librarian commissioned by the
University found it unsuitable
for such use. If any extra
classrooms are made available
in that move they too will
probably have to be converted
into offices so as not to make
our class surplus any greater or
cancel-out the conversions
already begun

It is not at all untypical of
the University's decision
making process that nobody in
the Administration has taken
the time to ask the most basic
question: Just why do we want
a new building? All agree it
would be nice, but is it
necessary? And, given the fact
that it can only be obtained
through overcrowding in the
meantime, is it practical?
Equally important, what effect
would a new academic building
have on the prospects for a
residential college program?
Nobody in a position of
authority has bothered to ask.

The Administration quickly
denies that it is seeking
buildings for the sake of
buildings. But, in light of the
conversion program and its
effects, such a denial seems
shallow.

Someone around here must
dearly love the sound of
bulldozers and the smell of
fresh concrete; they must be
infatuated with Robert E. Lee
Construction signs.

Wouldn't it be nice if
someone turned that fetish
into the establishment of a
residential college in a
respectable location? That
would, at least, provide
housing and, perhaps, some
academic influence to
undergraduate life, not just the
mere satisfaction of someone's
mortar and brick lust.

But the chances seem
remote.

Last spring there was a
rather respectable demand for
the University and the Student
Council to cooperate in setting
up an experimental residential
college over the summer to
begin this fall using existing
buildings. No one in authority
did anything.

Aeterna et in omne
tempore, Amen.