So, here's the story in a nutshell. 

A long-time professor of organic chemistry, Dr. Maitland Jones, Jr., got himself unceremoniously retired from a part-time job teaching organic chemistry at New York University. Jones, who is 84, had taught at Princeton during a long and highly distinguished career in the classroom, but had worked as an adjunct at NYU, a designation given to all kinds of people who are given classroom jobs at often low compensation. Generally, adjuncts come in two flavors--those who absolutely have to teach to put food on the table, and those, like Jones, "adjunct" (used as a verb) because they simply don't want to leave the classroom.

I would hope to think I could "adjunct" if I wanted to, even though it's been ten years since I left teaching. If I did, I'd cost the college where I taught far less money because I'd be doing it because, quite simply, I missed the classroom.

It seems Professor Jones wrote the book on organic chemistry, literally. That's the cover of his book's fourth edition (up top)--it's now had five. His competence as a professor was never in question. What was in question was his grading. Professor Jones believed--and he may be right--that his students, Generation Z--weren't competent, that they didn't take advantage of the multiple learning experiences he offered (that means, they could get extra help in variety of ways, including on-line), and that they didn't work as hard as their predecessors (the students Professor Jones had earlier in his career elsewhere). Professor Jones found them, well, lazy--and must have come close to calling them so.

Professor Jones had a point, obviously. I mean, he should be able to make that kind of evaluation. He's taught organic chemistry for most of his long life. Are today's students not making the grade? The person to ask, you might think, is Professor Jones. The man has been around.

Here's the story: NYU heard the students' complaints and decided to show Professor Jones the door. Wasn't pretty, and people are still talking about it.

Now I've got no dog in this hunt, but some salient facts about the story are worth mentioning. 

a) The man is 84 years old. You get crusty--trust me. It's not hard to think the world is going all to pot when you look around and see not that many people you're age and, mostly, none of them care two hoots about you. Some of Professor Jones's ex-students complained about his being crass, about his showing no compassion or understanding--being snippy. True? I don't know. Possible? Darn right. It's entirely possible Professor Jones has become a card-carrying old fart.

B) Organic chemistry, I'm told, is the kind of course that should be tough and often is: if students want to do heart surgery, they'd better do well at organic chemistry. That particular class traditionally raises a high bar because some course--well, some courses--just have to. Who wants a flunky oncologist? Some maintain, I'm sure, that Professor Jones maintained high standards because organic chemistry always does.

C) Generation Z has gotten their share of free passes. Many are graduates of classrooms where failure is a dirty word, where failure is failure, where learning styles are often far more sweetly tended than competence. Who cares whether the student can read T. S. Eliot? Did they find the experience rewarding?

D) The NYU administration knows darn well that its students are paying big bucks to get a diploma. Their students aren't just students, they're customers who expect certain things for the mountain of dollars they shell out for tuition. They've invested way too much cash to be told they're idiots. NYU is a business. It has to care about its customers.

Once upon a time long ago, in a high school classroom, I assigned novels that were in all likelihood too thick and tough for kids to find their way through. When it was perfectly clear to me that a goodly percentage of them simply weren't reading those novels, I gave out some less-than-distinguished grades. That year, the Greenway High School annual was dedicated to Mr. Schaap. I was, by all accounts, a good teacher. But the superintendent called me into his office to tell me that something had to change--it was too dang hard for Greenway students to get a good grade in senior English.

There were other reasons for leaving, but that accusation at my professional competence really rankled me. The Schaap family left Arizona at the end of the year, came back to Iowa, even though that same administrator begged me to stay at Greenway. 

That was a half-century ago. I can't help think that my requiring Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure was not a great idea. Was my pride part of my anger at his accusations? Yes, it was. 

Was the problem my fault? Yes.

Was it the students' fault? Yes, too. 

But, had I stayed, I don't think I would have assigned Jude the Obscure again.

What happened at NYU shouldn't have happened--a man like Professor Jones should not have been pink-slipped, but that doesn't mean NYU didn't have cause to do what they did. In all likelihood, it's time for Professor Jones to gather his commendations along with his textbook royalties and get a place in the country where he can put up some lovely bird-feeders, maybe write a memoir for his great-grandchildren. 

Life can be good post-retirement. That's what I say.

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You can read the NY Times story here.