Who Runs the University?: The Politics of Higher Education in Hawaii, 1985–1992 9780824846459

Citation preview

WHO RUMS THE

UNIVERSITY?

WHO RUMS THE

UNIVERSITY? The Politics Education in Hawaii,

1985-1992 David Yount

University of Hawai'i Press Honolulu

© 1996 University of Hawai'i Press All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Yount, David (David E.) Who runs the university? The politics of higher education in Hawaii, 1985-1992 / David Yount. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8248-1786-9 (alk. paper)—pbk: 0-8248-1821-0 (alk. paper) 1. University of Hawaii (System)—Administration. 2. Politics and education—Hawaii. 3- Higher education and state—Hawaii. I. Title. LD2221.Y68 1995 378.969—dc20 95-43780 CIP University of Hawai'i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources Publishing coordination and book production by Laing Communications Inc., Redmond, Washington, and Edmonton, Alberta Design: Sandra J. Harner Editorial Coordination/Copy editing: Lori Ljubicich and Susan B. Bureau Editorial Assistance and Production: Laura Dickinson

Contents

Preface

ix

1 • Brief History and Description

of the University

1

2 • Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

13

3 • The Executive

39

4 • Reorganization

Council A Web of Tensions as a Management

Style

75

5 • The Board of Regents: How It Works and Who Runs It

111

6 •• The Budget Wars: Going After State Funds

147

7 • The Pursuit of Excellence: Going For the Gold

185

8 • Deans and Directors: Manoa's Precinct Captains

225

9 • Alphabet Soup

265

10

• Activists and Interest Groups: Dividing the Spoils

30 7

Post-mortem

349

References

361

Index

395

University of Hawaii Internal and External Influences

Preface

No one has answered the question, "Who the heck runs the University?" Is it the academic leadership? Is it the Board of Regents? Or is it the politicians downtown?' —Former Hawaii Congresswoman Patricia Saiki

This book is the first comprehensive study of the politics of higher education in Hawaii. Given this novelty, I thought it might be useful to explain how the book came to be written and, more specifically, who I am and how I came to write it. The mission of the University of Hawaii is teaching, research, and service. My own mission, as a member of the faculty, was the same. In the early years, beginning with my initial appointment as associate professor in August 1969, I spent approximately 40 percent of my time teaching physics, 50 percent of my time doing research on elementary particles, and 10 percent of my time serving on committees and assisting the Department of Physics and Astronomy and the College of Arts and Sciences in various ways. Each year, as often as I could during the fall and spring semesters, and all summer, I worked on particle physics experiments at places like the Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory, the Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory, and the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center. As I grew older, the mixture of my activities changed. I found that I was spending more of my time on committees and less on teaching and research. My research efforts were divided between research in elementaryparticle physics, which required me to commute to laboratories on the U.S. mainland, and research in undersea and hyperbaric medicine, which I could

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do in Hawaii. After I became chairman of the Department of Physics and Astronomy in July 1979, the blend of my work was approximately 30 percent teaching, 40 percent research, and 30 percent service, with the research being divided more or less equally between physics and physiology. A second turning point was reached when I became acting assistant vice president for academic affairs in January 1985 and vice president for research and graduate education in January 1986. Thereafter, I spent virtually all my time on service and none on teaching and research. Since I thought it was my duty as an employee to serve the University in whatever way the University wanted to be served, I viewed this as merely a reallocation of my efforts from one academic category to another. At no time did I think of myself as a professional administrator, bureaucrat, or politician, nor did I regard my new occupation as permanent or intrinsically superior to my previous employment as a scientist. Indeed, the thing I am most proud of in my career is my research. I owe my appointment as vice president to Albert J. Simone, who served as acting president of the University of Hawaii from June 1984 until August 1985, and as president from August 1985 until August 1992. It was his idea to have three bona fide academics as vice presidents in his administration, and I was one of those he selected. My struggle to preserve my personal values and remain a bona fide academic looms throughout this narrative as a leitmotiv. I was surprised by what I observed in my new assignment and soon discovered that the University didn't work the way I thought it did or should. And my concerns were not uniquely those of a naive professor. In the words of former Hawaii Congresswoman Patricia Saiki, " . . . no one has answered the question, 'Who the heck runs the University?' Is it the academic leadership? Is it the Board of Regents? Or is it the politicians downtown?" 1 My general response to Saiki's question would be that academics, regents, and politicians are all running the University of Hawaii, along with many others. This may not have been the case in 1907 when the University of Hawaii was founded, 2 but it was certainly true by 1973 when Richard Takasaki informed the House of Representatives Majority Seminar that the University's decision-making process was primarily political, not collégial or bureaucratic: Both the collégial and bureaucratic models by themselves seem unreal to the decision making world of the university. A third model, the political model, which recognizes the conflicts among students, faculty, departments, colleges, administration, and the external community as normal, has emerged. Under this model, decision making is viewed not as a matter of consensus as in the collégial model, or a matter of direction as in the bureaucratic model, but

Preface

x¡

a matter of negotiations, bargaining, and conflict resolution through a political decision making process.3 My specific and detailed response to Saiki's question is this book. Indeed, the politics of higher education in Hawaii revolve around these two basic issues: How is the University run, and who is running it? Because similar questions can be asked about other universities, I am inclined to view this work not primarily as a statement about the University of Hawaii, but more generally as a case study of a growing national phenomenon. Indeed, it is precisely because the examples reported here have so many parallels across the country that the political model of academic decision making has emerged. 3 What makes the University of Hawaii particularly well suited for such an investigation, therefore, is not its uniqueness but the fact that its political nature is so rudimentary and so naively exposed. It has also proved advantageous to work with a subject that is both exotic and remote since these qualities made it easier to separate internal and external variables and track the plethora of competing influences. Finally, by viewing everything comprehensively, I have attempted to produce a result that is much more lucid and compelling than a mere anthology of isolated accounts. As I worked on this manuscript, I saw myself playing four different roles. First, I wanted to be an honest reporter faithfully recording what I observed. I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and I thought it my duty to communicate what I had learned. Of course, I didn't see or understand everything that was happening, nor did I necessarily interpret what I saw in the same way that a different reporter would. However, I was mainly distinguished from my colleagues not by my observations and interpretations but by my willingness to write them down. Second, I saw myself as a scholar compiling a history of the University of Hawaii, circa 1985 to 1992. In this capacity, I endeavored to gather data faithfully, analyze them objectively, and thereby figure out what was going on. These were merely the research habits of a professional scientist, but they served me well, first as a novice vice president and later as a novice historian. Although I believe that a valuable history of the University could be written by someone who was not intimately involved in the life of the institution, the task would be daunting. It is simply not feasible to deduce the inner workings of such an organization from archives and newspaper accounts, nor is it likely that this kind of information would emerge in the course of routine interviews conducted by a third party. Being fully aware of the historian's limitations and my own advantages as an insider, I have tried to provide sufficient documentation so that the salient points of my narrative can be verified by any reader so inclined. Third, I saw myself as a political analyst examining an institution in which "decision making is viewed not as a matter of consensus as in the

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WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

collegial model, or a matter of direction as in the bureaucratic model, but a matter of negotiations, bargaining, and conflict resolution through a political decision making process." 3 The person who wrote these incisive words was a former Manoa chancellor, and he certainly knew enough about the politics of higher education in Hawaii to fill a book. I wish he had written it, but like other UH administrators before and since, he did not. My fourth role was that of a storyteller, and this was the one I liked best. My goal was to go beyond the references and archival material I had collected and deal with real people as fairly and honestly as I could. I was fascinated by their personalities, motives, and characters and hoped that they would come to life in my pages as they did in my reminiscences. This called for the stylistic conventions of a storyteller rather than the dry prose of a scholar, and I have tried wherever possible to provide them. Indeed, it is mainly my emphasis on stories and people that distinguishes this work, and it is also the feature that entails the most risk for me personally. Here I want to absolve all my colleagues, friends, and relatives from any responsibility for this endeavor. I am aware that some parts of this work may be controversial and that my willingness to expose the politics of higher education to public scrutiny is already sufficient to exclude me from further participation in academic administrations, old boy networks, and other well-meaning conspiracies in Hawaii. Furthermore, my strong desire to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth may offend some people. I am solely to blame for these circumstances, and those who wish to retaliate should limit their attacks to me. My best defense, I believe, lies in the academic freedom that university faculty traditionally enjoy. In any case, that is how I plan to spend my remaining years—not as an administrator or politician—but as a scholar. I said I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time. In sharp contrast with the preceding administration and the one that followed, the eight-year period from 1985 to 1992 was characterized by rapid growth and innovation. It was an exciting period in which the University broke free of the doldrums and began sailing before the wind. I was proud to be part of the process and wanted to explore in this book how the transformation was accomplished and why it did not long endure. It seems that sea changes are intrinsically unstable and contain within themselves the elements of their own destruction. The same forces that bring them into existence also bring them to an end. Though no one else is to blame for this work, there are many people I would like to thank. Who they are will become clearer as our story unfolds.

1 Brief History and Description of the University

Maluna a'e o na lahui a pau ke ola ke kanaka. (Above

all nations is humanity.) —The University of Hawaii motto, inscribed in both the Hawaiian and English languages on Founders' Gate at the entrance to the Manoa campus.

This chapter sets the stage for the actors and stories that will follow. Highlights of the history of the institution are presented, as well as its present status, its program activities, and its organizational structure. There are two sections: The first outlines the development of the University of Hawaii before Albert Simone became its tenth president in 1985, and the second describes the institution as he left it in 1992. The rest of the book deals with the period in between.

Historical Development: 1907-1984 The University of Hawaii was founded in 1907 when the legislature of the Territory of Hawaii established (through Act 24) a college of agriculture and mechanical arts called the College of Hawaii. Pursuant to the Morrill Acts of 1862 and 1890, this became Hawaii's Land Grant College. The first classes were held at a temporary site in Honolulu with twelve regular students and five faculty members. In 1912, the College of Hawaii moved from its temporary location to a ninety-acre site in the Manoa Valley. With the addition of the College of

2

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Arts and Sciences in 1920, the College of Hawaii became a university. The Manoa campus has now expanded to include more than 300 acres and has been transformed from a pastoral scene where livestock grazed near a small quadrangle of buildings to an urban complex of academic facilities. During the quarter of a century after 1920, the University grew slowly by adding several new units to the Manoa campus. In the period immediately following World War II, however, development of the University's academic programs and physical facilities began to accelerate. Thus, by the early 1950s, enrollment had increased to more than 5,000 students, and the institution had expanded to include the Graduate Division and the Colleges of Education, of Engineering, and of Business Administration, in addition to the Colleges of Tropical Agriculture and of Arts and Sciences. Following statehood in 1959, the University became a constitutional agency rather than a creature of legislative enactment. Under Article X, Section 1 of the Hawaii State Constitution, the state government is mandated to provide for "the establishment, support, and control of a statewide system of public schools free from sectarian control, a state university, public libraries, and such other educational institutions as may be deemed desirable. . . . " Under Section 5, "The University of Hawaii is hereby established as the state university. . . ." And under Article X, Section 6, as amended, the Board of Regents is established and given "exclusive jurisdiction over the internal organization and management of the University." Constitutional status is significant because it distinguishes the University from most other state agencies and requires that it be treated differently. However, the Board's constitutional authority to exercise "exclusive jurisdiction" is limited in Article X, Section 6 by the authority of the legislature to "enact laws of statewide concern," which makes ambiguous both the extent of the Board's authority and responsibility, and the University's role within the total state governmental structure.1 Statehood also inaugurated another period of rapid growth. During the decade from 1959 to 1969, the Manoa campus became nationally recognized in research and graduate education and experienced a four-fold increase in enrollments, slightly exceeding its present levels of approximately 14,000 undergraduate and 5,000 graduate students. Using the technical schools administered by the Department of Education as a base, the legislature created a statewide system of community colleges and placed it within the University in 1965. As this system expanded, its overall enrollment began to approach, and now surpasses, that at Manoa. By the end of the 1960s, therefore, the University of Hawaii was very different from what it had been at the decade's beginning. It had become much larger, adding students, staff, and facilities and increasing its expenditures. It had also become a multicampus, multifaceted institution with a broad range of activities extending from vocational training and community college work through advanced research, professional train-

Brief History and Description of the University

3

ing, and postdoctoral study. Accounting for more than 90 percent of all higher education in Hawaii in terms of students and funding, the University dominated the academic scene in the state. Like many of its counterparts on the U.S. mainland, the University of Hawaii experienced dissension and unrest during the 1960s and early 1970s as students and faculty became involved in the civil rights movement and in protests against the war in Vietnam. The ROTC building at Manoa was burned by student activists in 1967. In 1968, 160 students and faculty members were jailed following a demonstration in support of tenure for Oliver Lee, a Marxist opponent of the war. Lee prevailed and is still an activist faculty member in Political Science at Manoa. Thomas Hamilton, president of the University from 1963 until 1968, resigned over the incident. This turmoil affected relationships among different groups within the University and alienated some of the University's strongest supporters in the community. In the early 1970s, the prolonged period of rapid growth was suddenly replaced by a period of retrenchment and restraint. Whereas previously the legislature had been known to give the University even more than it requested, adverse economic conditions and competing demands for governmental services caused the flow of funds to dry up. Meager allotments provided by the legislature were further restricted by the governor during the course of the fiscal year, while mounting inflation reduced the buying power of the remaining dollars. Vacant positions were frozen, and at one point, all travel—even that supported by federal grants— had to be approved by the governor. University enrollment began to level off, due in part to demographic trends. In addition, with college graduates finding it difficult to obtain suitable employment, many people questioned the value of a college education. In the midst of this daunting situation, the community colleges continued to add new facilities, and professional schools in medicine and law were created at Manoa, largely in response to political pressure from the local community and largely at the expense of the College of Arts and Sciences. Similarly, the University of Hawaii-Hilo was formed in 1970, and in 1972, the founding campus was renamed the University of HawaiiManoa to distinguish it from the other units of the growing statewide system. West Oahu College, an upper division facility, opened in 1976 and was renamed the University of Hawaii-West Oahu in 1989- The Hilo campus split into Hawaii Community College and the University of Hawaii at Hilo in 1990. It was also during the 1970s that unionism and collective bargaining became a part of the environment of the University of Hawaii. In 1968, the Hawaii State Constitution was amended to grant public employees "the right to organize for the purpose of collective bargaining as provided by law." In 1970, the legislature passed Act 171 recognizing the rights of

4

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

public employees not only to organize and bargain collectively, but also to strike. With the emergence of unions, the transformation of the University's decision-making process from one that was basically collegial and bureaucratic to one that is mainly political and adversarial was essentially complete. At first, many faculty members, particularly at Manoa, were inclined to resist this change by voting against formal representation. However, their protests were overcome by arguments that, without a union of their own, faculty members wouldn't stand a chance in the newly created adversarial arena. Selection of a permanent bargaining agent for the faculty was delayed for several years because the agent initially chosen was soon voted out. In the absence of an agent, one round of collective bargaining was missed, and faculty fell two years behind other public employees in annual salary increases. Frustration about always being behind was one of the factors that motivated the faculty strike held on November 21 and 22, 1983Eventually, all University employees except those "excluded" by law from collective bargaining were organized into seven units by three unions— the Hawaii Government Employees Association (HGEA), the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA), and the United Public Workers (UPW). Members of five of the seven "included" units are considered civil service employees and are covered by the state's civil service law: (1) blue collar; (2) blue collar supervisory; (3) white collar; (4) white collar supervisory; and (5) professional and scientific other than professional nursing. Two of the "included" units are exclusive to the University and are therefore appointed by the Board of Regents: (1) faculty and (2) administrative, professional, and technical (APT) employees providing academic support services. The Board also appoints (3) executive and managerial (E/M) employees, who are "excluded" from collective bargaining.1 Harlan Cleveland (1969-1974), who replaced Tom Hamilton as president of the University of Hawaii in 1968, following the granting of tenure to Oliver Lee, used to say that the institution he led was "five years away from greatness and holding." During the presidency of Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda (1974-1984), the University slipped out of its holding pattern and began a gradual but seemingly inexorable descent. The first general fund budget prepared and defended by the Matsuda administration yielded $92.2 million in FY (Fiscal Year) 1975-1976; the last yielded $168 million in FY 1984-1985. In current dollars, this corresponds to a compounded annual growth rate of 6.9 percent. Unfortunately, this was a decade in which inflation sometimes reached double-digit levels. In constant FY 1975-1976 dollars, the yield for FY 1984-1985 was only $85.7 million, which corresponds to a net decrease of 7.1 percent and a compounded annual rate of decline of 0.8 percent. As a consequence of the decline in state support as measured in constant dollars, the University's physical plant deteriorated alarmingly

Brief History and Description of the University

5

during the Matsuda years. Routine repairs and maintenance were postponed indefinitely. Virtually no funds were available to replace instructional and other equipment, and after a decade of neglect, much of what was left had broken down or become obsolete. The loss of outstanding faculty was a particularly unfortunate consequence of this period of diminished state support. In a March 20, 1985, memo to Acting President Albert Simone, Acting Vice Chancellor for Research and Graduate Education David Morrison gave these examples of people who were leaving or had recently left: • Burton Henke, professor of Physics, who accepted a professorship at UC Berkeley and took with him equipment, research associates, and graduate students supported by grants totaling $250,000 per year; • Sidney Wolff, astronomer and associate director of the Institute for Astronomy, who became director of Kitt Peak National Observatory in Tucson and whose salary was increased from $49,400 to $70,000 per year, plus a major benefit package; • Jake Halliday, director of the multimillion-dollar, federally funded NifTAL project, who became director of the Kettering/ Battelle Plant Research Laboratory and whose salary was raised from $44,904 to more than $70,000 per year; • Richard Longfield, assistant director of the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics, who was responsible for ship operations running at more than $4 million per year and whose salary was increased from $48,824 to more than $70,000 per year when he became director of program management for the National Optical Astronomy Observatories in Tucson; • Dan Woerster, professor of American Studies, who won the 1984 Bancroft Award for his "Dustbowl: The Southern Plains in the 1930s" and was paid only $38,456 per year before he left to accept a better offer at Brandéis University; • Patricia Jacobs, professor of Anatomy and Reproductive Biology, winner of the University of Hawaii Excellence in Research Award, who took research grants totaling $200,000 to $300,000 per year to Cornell University; • Dale Cruikshank, astronomer and senior planetary scientist at the Institute for Astronomy, who was responsible for $600,000 per year in NASA funding and accepted a higherpaying position at the University of Arizona; and • Newton Morton, director of the Population Genetics Laboratory and winner of the University of Hawaii Excellence in

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Research Award, who received several offers much higher than his $56,736 salary and took to Cornell University a $200,000-per-year grant and the rest of the Population Genetics Laboratory. Newton Morton graduated from the University of Hawaii in 1951. He joined the faculty in 1962 and left his alma mater in 1985 after an association of more than thirty-five years. In an August 20, 1985, letter to then Governor George Ariyoshi, Morton spoke of the "hopelessness that pervades the faculty" after the "exciting sixties" had changed to the "disheartened eighties." In an exit interview, Morton told me repeatedly about the water stain in the middle of the ceiling of his lab, which cast a pall on his psyche as well as his experiments. The water stain got a little worse each year and thereby became for him a metaphor summarizing his affiliation with the University. The loss of outstanding faculty was only one consequence of the decline in state matching support for salaries, facilities, and equipment that occurred in the decade from FY 1973-1974 to FY 1983-1984. Extramural (mainly federal) funding for research and training grants and contracts also failed to keep pace with inflation, increasing at an average rate of 7.5 percent per year. As a result, the University's standing in federal funding for research declined from a high of rank thirty in 1975-1976 to a low of rank seventy in 1983-1984 and was still falling. Innovative programs such as Senior Tutors, Visiting Artists, New College, Survival Plus, and Overseas Careers, which were started between 1969 and 1972 at the height of the counterculture movement, were terminated by 1978, and a moratorium on new programs was declared that remained in place throughout the rest of the Matsuda years. Academic Development Plan III (ADP III) for the College of Arts and Sciences at Manoa charted the 14-percent decrease (138 positions) in the number of faculty members in that college following the promulgation of ADP II in 1969 and the creation of the Manoa chancellor's office in 1971. The plan assessed the situation existing in February 1978 in these terms: The decline of the College of Arts and Sciences, which was initiated by insufficient funds, has been greatly accelerated by an external system of administrative constraint that vitiates effective internal response to the challenge presented. . . . The immediate results of administrative constraint have been a reduction to almost zero of any meaningful autonomy in the College's internal affairs, a lack of any real options in academic development and program management, and the elimination of any significant freedom in the allocation of the College's limited resources. . . . The main sources of the external constraints on the College of Arts and Sciences are three entrenched bureaucracies: the federal

Brief History and Description of the University

1

government's, the state's, and the University's own. Their impact is exacerbated by the seemingly unlimited degree to which any bureaucratic entity is able to foist off its responsibilities upon the very clientele which it is supposed to serve and which justifies its existence, while maintaining a tight grasp on the perceived authority and limiting its own activities to gate-keeping, paper-shuffling, and nit-picking. . . . Three main factors contribute to the current state of affairs: the absence of clear-cut lines of authority, the displacement of decision-making, and the lack of administrative accountability. Time after time, the Central Administration intrudes into College affairs, mandating or thwarting programs, facilities, and appointments without substantive consultation. In some cases, it circumvents the Chancellor's Office, and in others, it engages in delaying tactics that preclude any decision. Similarly, delays and errors in judgment result from the removal of decision-making from the site of the action to the Chancellor's Office, to the Central Administration, or to some other point in the State bureaucracy. Finally, there is no mechanism for administrative cost-accountability; and during an era when College and University budgets, measured in fixed dollars, have declined, the cost of administration has increased.2 On July 22, 1982, the Manoa Faculty Senate established the Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure to examine the various structural relationships within the Manoa campus and between the Manoa campus and the central University administration. The Ad Hoc Committee concurred with the findings from ADP III and quoted them extensively, concluding: The University is suffering from a complex of problems—an administrative disease syndrome—which is the result of errors in the administrative concept and organizational structure. The administrative concept, though never explicitly stated, is to control and thereby inhibit transactions. It is negative and destructive, rather than positive and creative.3 The Ad Hoc Committee summarized its findings by saying that the administrative functioning of the University was best characterized as "bureaucratic gridlock." This sentiment was echoed in the vernacular of a disillusioned faculty member w h o informed President Matsuda shortly before the latter left office in 1984 that with Matsuda at the helm, the University was "dead in the water."

Vital Statistics: 1992 Albert J. Simone became acting president of the University of Hawaii on June 1, 1984, and president on August 8, 1985. One of his first acts

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after becoming president was to propose that the functions of the University president and Manoa chancellor be consolidated, thereby eliminating one level of the administration. This was approved by the Board of Regents on November 15, 1985, and Al Simone became the chief executive officer of the University of Hawaii and the chief operations officer of the Manoa campus. Accompanying the elimination of the Manoa chancellor's office were efforts to gain greater autonomy for the University and an internal movement to decentralize decision making by delegating authority and accountability. The positions of vice president for student affairs and vice president for university relations were created to emphasize the primacy of students and to link the University more closely with the community. Throughout the Simone administration, reorganizations occurred frequently and new programs proliferated, including, in the early days, a new School for Ocean and Earth Science and Technology and a new School for Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies. The legislative auditor used these words to describe this period: There was also a shift in basic management philosophy at UH from one heavily oriented toward hierarchical control and adherence to prescribed procedures and policies to one which placed emphasis on academic leadership and vision; which encouraged motion, flexibility, and adaptability on the part of the new management team; and which directed increased attention to UH's relations with its various constituencies, such as students, alumni, the Hawaii community, and the world outside Hawaii.4 Coinciding with the appointment of a new president, the elimination of the Manoa chancellor's office, and the introduction of a new management philosophy, the fortunes of the University of Hawaii began to change. Some of these changes, such as the massive increases in state support, were sudden and dramatic. Others, such as the even larger increases in federal support that followed, became apparent several years later. During a period of low inflation, state funding increased at an average compounded rate of 9-6 percent per year from FY 1984-1985 until FY 1992-1993, and the University's share of the general fund budget increased from 11.7 percent in FY 1984-1985 to an average of 12.6 percent over the next eight fiscal years. The deterioration in the University's physical plant was reversed by large infusions of repair and maintenance funds that averaged $11.5 million per year over four successive biennia under Al Simone but were zero during the final years of the Matsuda decade. Similar progress was made in the area of equipment replacement, where budgets averaged $5-7 million per year over four successive biennia under Simone but were also zero under Matsuda. Finally, capital improvement budgets averaged $58.5 million per year

Brief History and Description of the University

9

under Simone but only $21.6 million per year in the last two years of the Matsuda administration. Although competition for grants and contracts was becoming increasingly severe nationwide, total extramural funding for research and training grew at an average rate of 12.0 percent per year during the eight-year presidency of Al Simone. This number is deceptive because growth was negligible from FY 1980-1981 to FY 1986-1987 and very rapid during the last six years of the Simone administration, averaging 16.2 percent per year from FY 1986-1987 to FY 1992-1993- The long slide in the University's research ranking bottomed out at rank eighty in FY 1986-1987 and improved to rank seventy in FY 1991-1992. By the end of the Simone administration, the University had truly become a comprehensive system of higher education, still governed by a single Board of Regents. It consisted of ten campuses on four islands and enrolled approximately 50,000 students. The mean age of these students, some of whom were simultaneously enrolled on more than one campus, was 26.5 years. An additional 36,000 students participated in various noncredit programs. Building on its Land Grant charter, the University of Hawaii was named a Sea Grant College in 1972 and a Space Grant College in 1989, becoming one of only five universities or consortia in America that have received all three designations. (The others are MIT, the University of Alaska, the University of Washington, and the University of California System.) It is sometimes said that the boundaries of a Land Grant institution are the boundaries of the state it serves. Because the University is governed by a single Board of Regents, its Land Grant, Sea Grant, and Space Grant programs involve all ten campuses of the University of Hawaii System and are indeed statewide. The University of Hawaii at Manoa also shares with MIT, the University of Washington, and six out of nine campuses of the University of California System the distinction of being among those seventy institutions designated as "Research University I" by the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. Most such institutions offer a full range of baccalaureate programs, are committed to graduate education through the doctoral degree, and give a high priority to research. Consistent with this description, Manoa is a comprehensive university with 2,000 faculty members. It offers eighty-eight bachelor's degrees, eighty-four master's degrees, forty-nine doctoral degrees, and the degrees of Medical Doctor and Doctor of Jurisprudence to approximately 14,000 undergraduate and 5,000 graduate students. The University's commitment to research and training is suggested by extramural grants and contracts that exceeded $129 million during the fiscal year that ended June 30, 1993The University of Hawaii is an international university ranking typically in the top ten or fifteen among American universities in federal funding for international programs. Manoa faculty routinely offer instruction in forty-

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five languages and are capable of presenting over eighty, many of which are taught nowhere else in the world outside of their native countries. The University is also a minority institution: 56 percent of its students are women, and no more than 23-3 percent of its students come from any particular ethnic background. (Americans of Japanese ancestry compose 23.3 percent; Americans of European ancestry, 23.1 percent; Filipinos, 13-2 percent; Hawaiians and part-Hawaiians, 10.5 percent; and others, 29.9 percent.) The community colleges (four campuses on Oahu—Honolulu CC, Kapiolani CC, Leeward CC, and Windward CC; one each on Hawaii, Kauai, and Maui; and the statewide Employment Training Office) have 1,000 faculty members who serve another 29,000 students and their proximate districts. The community colleges provide vocational and technical education designed to meet the employment needs of the state; general and professional offerings in the liberal arts, which may be transferred to bachelor's degree programs at Manoa, Hilo, and West Oahu; and outreach programs intended to meet the career development, cultural, and intellectual needs of the communities they serve. The University of Hawaii at Hilo has 100 faculty members and enrolls approximately 2,700 students. It serves the County of Hawaii by providing a four-year liberal arts campus for those who prefer a small, residential college environment. It also has a four-year College of Agriculture. The University of Hawaii-West Oahu has twenty-six faculty members and enrolls about 700 students in its upper division Bachelor of Arts program, which offers concentrations in Humanities, Social Sciences, and Professional Studies. Among American universities, the University of Hawaii is particularly strong in tropical agriculture and tropical medicine; astronomy and planetary science; oceanography, geology, and geophysics; marine biology, conservation biology, and evolutionary biology; comparative philosophy and comparative religion; and Hawaiian studies, Pacific Island studies, Asian studies, and studies of Russia in the Pacific. These strengths reflect Hawaii's unique geography and environment as well as its historic involvement with many cultures of the Pacific rim. In FY 1993-1994, total funding for the system was around $600 million, exceeding traditional economic activities like sugar and pineapple and making it one of the state's larger industries. The University has, in fact, been described as the state's largest high-tech industry, the state's largest research and development industry, and the state's largest space industry. Of the $600 million, about three-quarters can be regarded as state funds provided mainly through the legislative process, and one-quarter as extramural funds provided mainly by the federal government. The University's general fund appropriation was $334.7 million or 11.9 percent of the state's $2.89 billion allocation for FY 1993-1994. State support was also provided through special funds, revolving funds, and pass-through accounts in other state departments.

Brief History and Description of the University

11

As noted earlier, $129 million was obtained in FY 1993-1994 through peer-reviewed grants and contracts, mostly from federal agencies such as the National Science Foundation, the U.S. Department of Energy, and the National Institutes of Health. An additional $18 million was provided by formula programs, such as the U.S. Department of Agriculture's support for Land Grant Colleges and the U.S. Department of Education's programs for Educational Opportunities, Work Study, National Direct Student Loans, and Pell Grants. Private gifts to the University of Hawaii Foundation amounted to about $8 million in FY 1993, 1.3 percent of the University's total funding. With a total endowment of less than $60 million, the University of Hawaii is not listed among the top 165 universities in this category. Bachman Hall, which houses the president's office, is located on the Manoa campus and has long been synonymous with the University of Hawaii president and his administration. Thus decisions are made by Bachman Hall just as they are made by the White House. Although the Manoa chancellor's office was eliminated in 1985, President Simone was given the additional title of Manoa chancellor in 1989Reporting directly to President/Chancellor Albert J. Simone in 1992 were eleven members of the University Executive Council: • Senior vice president/chancellor for the University of HawaiiHilo and for the University of Hawaii-West Oahu, Ed Kormondy; • Senior vice president/chancellor for the University of Hawaii Community Colleges, Joyce Tsunoda; • Interim senior vice president for academic affairs, Paul Yuen; • Vice president for student affairs, Doris Ching; • Vice president for university relations, Rockne Freitas; • Vice president for finance and operations, Ralph Horii; • Vice president for research and graduate education, David Yount; • Director for budget, Rodney Sakaguchi; • Director for planning and policy, Colleen Sathre; • Director for personnel, James Takushi; and • Assistant to the president, Diana DeLuca. Meetings of the University Executive Council were also attended by the secretary to the Board of Regents, Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu, suggesting a span of control of about a dozen people. In reality, the number was much larger. Also reporting directly to Simone were the director for intercollegiate athletics, Stan Sheriff; the director for equal employment opportunity and affirmative action programs, Mie Watanabe; the director for technology transfer and economic development, Dan Ishii; and the secretary to the president, Jean Imada. Because issues such as affirmative

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WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

action, sexual harassment, native Hawaiian rights, and the behavior of student athletes were critical during his administration and were handled by Simone personally, his involvement with these officials was often more extensive than with members of the University Executive Council. In addition, some thirty-two Manoa deans and directors reported formally to the office of the president, rather than to vice presidents per se, and they all had direct access to the president upon request. Also meeting frequently with the president were members of the Manoa Faculty Senate Executive Committee, representatives of women's groups, spokespersons for certain ethnic groups, some faculty members and students, and various community leaders, who often commanded more of his time and attention than members of the University Executive Council. Rarely has the administration of an organization of this complexity been tailored so closely to fit the needs of one individual. And rarely have the fortunes of such an organization changed so dramatically upon the appointment of a new chief executive officer, and later upon his or her resignation. The extent to which these turnarounds can be attributed to President Simone personally, or to merely occurring on his watch, is the sort of question that will keep observers of the University of Hawaii busy arguing for years. They may also marvel at the many crises that occurred during the Simone administration and at the great turbulence that was its hallmark, wondering whether they were the causes or the effects of the change, and whether they, too, might be the progeny of one man. Regardless of the outcome of such discussions, by 1993 the University of Hawaii was, to paraphrase Harlan Cleveland, five years away from greatness and moving.

2

Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

erever we went, in Europe, Asia, or Africa, we made a sensation, and, I suppose I may add, created a famine. None of us had ever been anywhere before; we all hailed from the interior; travel was a wild novelty to us, and we conducted ourselves in accordance with the natural instincts that were in us, and trammeled ourselves with no ceremonies, no conventionalities.' —Mark Twain, The Innocents

Abroad

This chapter begins with the story of how Albert J. Simone became the tenth president of the University of Hawaii. This is followed by descriptions of Al Simone as a person and as a manager. The final section is devoted to Jean Imada, his secretary, Diana DeLuca, his assistant, and Carolie Simone, his wife, who had three of the toughest jobs in the University.

How Al Simone Got to Be President In October 1983, the Board of Regents began gearing up to choose a successor to Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda when the longtime president announced he would retire in June 1984. A screening and advisory committee, consisting of seven community leaders and eight University representatives, was named in January 1984. The committee's charge was to screen applicants and nominees for qualified presidential prospects and

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present the regents' selection committee with a list of ten to twenty finalists. The regents hoped to name a new president by the end of summer 1984. 2 With Matsuda's retirement fast approaching, the Board named Albert J. Simone, the University's vice president for academic affairs since January 1983, acting president beginning on June 1, 1984. Meanwhile, the screening and advisory committee submitted ten names from more than 200 prospects to the regents' selection committee in June 1984. Among the finalists were David Adamany, president of Detroit's Wayne State University; Robert Bersi, chancellor of the University of Nevada; Richard Kosaki, the Manoa vice chancellor for academic affairs and the only local candidate still in contention; M. Cecil Mackey, president of Michigan State University; and Paige Mulhollan, executive vice president of Arizona State University. When the list was published, Mackey indicated that he was not a candidate.2 In June 1984, the regents deviated from their own guidelines, which limited them to the recommendations of the screening and advisory committee, and added three more local candidates: Mary Bitterman, director of the East-West Center's Institute of Culture and Communication; Terence Rogers, dean of the University's John A. Burns School of Medicine; and Al Simone, the recently appointed acting president. In July 1984, Paige Mulhollan was named to head a new Arizona State University campus and withdrew from contention at the University of Hawaii.2 In July 1984, Regent Stanley Mukai, a prominent Honolulu attorney fighting to stay on as chairman of the Board, was voted out in favor of Vice Chairwoman Julia Frohlich, M.D., who headed the Blood Bank of Hawaii. The tense meeting at which this change took place further disrupted the presidential search. 2 In August 1984, Wayne State's Adamany dropped out of the race. Jim Gary, chief executive officer of Pacific Resources International and chairman of the regents' selection committee, complained of "a stacked deck" that favored the acting president, and he cited "leaks, gossip, and publicity" as reasons for Adamany's decision. 2 In September 1984, some Manoa faculty members, concerned that a candidate might be selected who was unknown to them and unfamiliar with Hawaii and the University, signed a petition supporting Simone. Manoa Faculty Senate Chairman Harry Ball responded with a memo warning, "Petitioners in favor of one candidate invite supporters of other candidates to enter the petitions sweepstakes, which will only further muddy the waters." 2 In October 1984, the University of Nevada's Bersi withdrew from consideration upon signing a new contract. After intense, behind-the-scenes negotiations, including a trip by Chairwoman Frohlich to Michigan and one by Mackey to Hawaii, the regents announced their intention to ap-

Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

15

point M. Cecil Mackey as the tenth president, effective July 1, 1985. Mackey was present when the final announcement, praising his accomplishments and experience as the seated president of a major university, was made in Bachman Hall on December 12, 1984.2 Almost immediately, a controversy erupted over Mackey's compensation package. With the University president's salary limited by the legislature to a maximum of $95,000 per year, Mackey was to have been paid $80,000 in state funds with additional benefits totaling $50,000. These additional benefits included insurance and pensions supported through the University of Hawaii Foundation by downtown corporate sources.2 A breakdown of Mackey's salary package was provided to Ka Leo, the University's student newspaper, by State Representative Andrew Levin, chair of the House Committee on Higher Education and the Arts, on March 4, 1985. Two days later, Milton Holt, chair of the Senate Committee on Higher Education, released the same figures at a meeting of the state's Ethics Commission.3 Whereas the legislative committees had obtained the information through the state's sunshine law (HRS Chapter 92), Board of Regents Secretary Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu said an attorney had advised the Board that disclosures of Mackey's compensation package to the public would violate his right to privacy. Representative Levin, also an attorney, insisted it would not. Although the final total of $130,000 far exceeded the $95,000 limit imposed by the legislature, it was much less than the $207,000 figure that had appeared earlier in the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, attributed to Senator Holt. As to the sources, Regent Dan Ishii said, "I don't think any of the regents know where the money is coming from."3 There is no evidence that either Representative Levin or Senator Holt was opposed to the appointment of Cecil Mackey per se, nor was the damage they did to Mackey personally and to the University intentional. Rather, through their intrusions into the administration of the University, Levin and Holt were able to attract the public's favorable attention and cast themselves in the admirable roles of responsible guardians of public monies and vigorous defenders of the public's right to know. In April 1985, near the end of the ninety-day legislative session, Senator Holt concluded that the supplemental private funding of parts of Mackey's compensation package circumvented the intent of the legislature when it raised the ceiling on the president's salary from $50,000 to $95,000 in 1984. In response to Holt's request for a formal ruling, the Ethics Commission decided that the package violated the state law (HRS Chapter 8414) that prohibited employees from taking any official action in which they have a substantial financial interest. Since the University president serves as an ex officio member of the Board of Directors of the University of Hawaii Foundation, through which a part of the package was being supported, Mackey's appointment under these circumstances would have placed

16

WHO RUNS THE

UNIVERSITY?

him in a position to determine his own compensation. A compromise to provide for full state funding was attached to the executive pay bill, which also would have raised the salaries of dozens of state officials, but it died during the 1985 session. 2 News of the "Dump Mackey—Save MSU" bumper stickers reached Hawaii during the summer of 1984. In a Ka Leo article dated April 26, 1985, Tracy Loeffelholz argued that Mackey was nothing more than an overpriced Simone. Among the similarities she cited were a tendency toward dictatorship (illustrated by the gag orders both men had issued to their deans); a strong opposition to faculty unions (expressed by both men in numerous public statements); and a willingness to cut programs, faculty, and staff (at the University of Hawaii, Simone was poised to carry out a massive reallocation, while at Michigan State University, Mackey had earned the sobriquet "Mac the Knife" by firing 500 employees and about 200 faculty members and by eliminating about forty academic programs and seven departments). Loeffelholz concluded that the regents were "getting a bum deal on a used hatchet" and might as well offer the job to Simone. 4 In a letter dated May 29, 1985, Mackey wrote to Chairwoman Frohlich that the failure of the legislature to approve the compensation compromise "has rendered it impossible for the Board of Regents to provide a clear and credible base that would have been possible had the Regents been given the authority to meet the terms of the agreement. . . . It is with deep disappointment and regret that I must accept the reality of these circumstances and conclude that I cannot come to Hawaii as President of the University."2 While inadequate compensation and the lack of a legislative mandate were factors in Mackey's decision, the overriding issue was governance: Mackey was astute enough to realize that the Board of Regents, held accountable by the public for the administration of the University, did not have sufficient authority or autonomy to run it. And what the Board itself lacked, it could not delegate to the new president. Governor George Ariyoshi, along with Chairwoman Frohlich and prominent members of the legislature, spoke with Mackey to no avail; he had seen the legislative process first hand and had developed a clear idea of how the University fit into the community.2 House Finance Committee Chairman Ken Kiyabu missed the point entirely when he cited as evidence of "legislative support" the large increase in the University's budget just provided during the 1985 session. "If it is a question of more autonomy for the Board," Kiyabu added, "we won't give anybody a free rein. As lawmakers, we have a responsibility to see that things are carried out at the university for the benefit of all and not for individual gain." 2 Regent Jim Gary was among those who expressed concern that the reputation of the University had been hurt by the handling of the Mackey

Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

17

case. "There is a relatively tight circle of highly competent university leaders, and they know which universities and which states give strong backing to their presidents. We found that out in our search," Gary said. "They see the University of Hawaii as having a lot of potential, but they also see it as being a political university, subject to all sorts of pressures from the Legislature."2 As if to underscore Regent Gary's point, the June 30, 1985, Sunday New York Times contained an article by Wallace Turner entitled "Hawaii University Balked in Search." In Turner's words, "The University is nominally governed by the Board of Regents, whose members are appointed by the Governor. But the Legislature exercises close supervision." Turner quoted George Chaplin, editor of The Honolulu Advertiser and chairman of the screening and advisory committee, who said, "Mackey understandably ran out of patience. He wouldn't want to come here under a cloud where every action could be suspect and open to challenge." Turner also quoted Regent Gary, who concluded, "The political interference was more than he wants to deal with at this point." 5 In an article entitled "Mackey flees the sinking UH ship," which appeared in The Honolulu Advertiser on June 24, 1985, Dean Ontai described Cecil Mackey as a person "possessing the charisma and class of a Kennedy . . . possibly inspiring visions of a Manoa 'Camelot' to eager listeners." The University, on the other hand, was a "cumbersome, rudderless ship, drifting on currents of public unawareness and apathy." Ontai cited as one of the causes of this "no-win situation" the fact that "state governmental bodies have overlapping authority to control the University." Ontai also recalled that under Governor Ariyoshi, the University's budget had been "radically slashed," and in a facetious position announcement, he suggested that what was needed to "reverse this decline" was . . . a "world class" president for a mediocre state university, who will appear to have legitimate decision-making power, but in reality will be a pawn of the state, the Board of Regents, and the Legislature. Interested masochists should contact the BOR immediately.6 The announcement of Mackey's withdrawal came only one month before he was to have assumed the presidency on July 1, 1985. On June 10, 1985, the regents hastily extended the appointment of Al Simone as acting president until December 1, 1985. Also extended were Richard Kosaki, acting chancellor of Manoa; Ralph Miwa, acting chancellor of Hilo; Rex Wade, acting vice president for academic affairs; myself, acting assistant vice president for academic affairs; Jeremy Harrison, acting dean of the law school; Robert Hines, acting dean of arts and humanities; E. Allison Kay, acting vice chancellor for academic affairs at Manoa; Robert Kiste, acting director of the Center for Asian and Pacific Studies;

18

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

and David Morrison, acting vice chancellor for research and graduate education.7 Commenting on the fact that so many of the University's top executives were still acting, Simone told a reporter for the summer student newspaper Ka Nuhou Kau Wela that he viewed his own reappointment as illustrating that things were status quo. "I've been acting president, and until the presidential position is resolved, I'll continue to do my best." Kosaki expressed a similar reaction to his reappointment. "We'll continue to do our best," he said. "It's an on-going process."7 After $90,000 in total costs8 and twenty months of effort, it appeared that the "on-going process" had stalled. All the finalists from the U.S. mainland had withdrawn, and only two viable local candidates remained: acting University President Simone and acting Manoa Chancellor Kosaki. With the field narrowed to two familiar survivors, other constituencies were emboldened to express their views. In an open letter to the regents, State Senator Neil Abercrombie said he supported Kosaki for president "because he has an understanding of the problems in Hawaii and he has served both the State and the University for many years." Abercrombie further explained, "We cannot afford to have on-the-job-training" for the next president of the University.9 The twenty-four-member Board of the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA) also came out in favor of Kosaki, noting that he would receive strong support from the faculty on all the University campuses. UHPA President Byron Bender advised the regents to avoid a second national search and move in a positive manner to "repair our national reputation." Recalling that Kosaki was the only local candidate among the ten originally submitted by the screening and advisory committee, Bender wrote, "The appointment of Kosaki would be viewed as an orderly and legitimate outcome of the original national search." Kosaki responded, "If asked, I would do my best. But I'm not actively seeking the position."9 Richard Kosaki was indeed a highly experienced candidate who enjoyed strong faculty support on all of the University campuses. A native of Hawaii, Kosaki received his B.A. in 1949 from the University of Hawaii and his M.A. in 1952 and Ph.D. in 1956 from the University of Minnesota. In a career that included some thirty years of service to the University, Kosaki had authored the 1964 report entitled "Feasibility of Community Colleges in Hawaii." The report's recommendations were soon approved by President Thomas Hamilton and the Board of Regents, and the legislature funded the community college system and placed it within the University in 1965. Kosaki then served as the first community college chancellor and was known thereafter as "the father of Hawaii's community college system." Kosaki was also a respected professor of political science at Manoa and the acting Manoa chancellor, having previously served with distinction as Manoa's vice chancellor for academic affairs.

Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

19

Although Kosaki had many supporters, including some in Bachman Hall, it was said that the unsolicited endorsement from the faculty union had doomed his chances. Others recalled that Kosaki had opposed the Burns faction of the Democratic Party by backing Thomas P. Gill in a close race for governor in 1974. It was inconceivable, they argued, that a Board of Regents appointed entirely by Tom Gill's successful opponent, George Ariyoshi, would select Kosaki. A counter-argument was provided by a state law (HRS Chapter 26-11) that would not allow more than six of the eleven Board members to belong to the same political party. On August 8, 1985, the Board of Regents appointed Albert J. Simone the tenth president of the University of Hawaii, effective immediately. Insiders claimed that the tally was six to five in favor of Simone and that the real issue was control. The majority, led by Regents Bobby Fujimoto, Ken Kato, and Robin Campaniano, favored Simone, who wanted the job so badly they thought he would bend to their will. The minority, led by Julia Frohlich, Jim Gary, and Walt Steiger, favored Kosaki because they had no intention of running the University themselves and were earnestly seeking the person they believed was best qualified to assume this enormous responsibility. A crucial demonstration of Simone's malleability was provided by the appointment of Jeremy Harrison as dean of the Law School. Simone, then interim president, was about to offer the position to another candidate, but Wally Fujiyama, a prominent Honolulu attorney and former chairman of the Board of Regents (1975-1976 and 1979-1980), 1 0 intervened. Fujiyama was the community representative for Duty Free Shoppers and threatened to withhold over $300,000 in contribution checks made out to the University unless Harrison was selected. 11 When it became apparent that Simone was not behaving like a puppet of the Board, the minority gave him their support, while the majority turned against him. Throughout the eight years of his administration, Simone had the misfortune of working for a Board most of whose members did not have confidence in him personally and were unwilling—on philosophical as well as political grounds—to let him run the University. Simone was given tenure in the College of Business Administration and the maximum legislatively mandated salary of $95,000 per year. The Board insisted on granting Simone tenure although, as he frequently pointed out, he did not ask for it, did not want it, and did not have it prior to accepting his appointment as president. His salary remained at $95,000 until, six years later, the 1991 legislature removed the statutory limit and the Board increased Simone's salary to $120,000. Those pundits who interpreted this increase as a signal that the state was gearing up for another presidential search were proved correct when Simone announced his resignation on February 12, 1992, effective December 31, 1992. 1 2 1 3 Simone actually left during the summer of 1992, at which time several University employees were earning well above $150,000 per year. 14

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Al Simone, the Phenomenon Al Simone once confided to me that becoming president of a university, a large corporation, or a country involved a certain amount of luck. Certainly that was true in his case. At the same time, luck alone will not explain why a particular individual emerges from the pack and begins, without any hesitation, to act as if his or her appointment as president were a rendezvous with destiny. Albert Joseph Simone was born in Boston on December 16, 1935, the son of second-generation Italian immigrants, Edward and Mary (DiGiovanni) Simone. The ultimate dream of Simone's parents was a college education for each of their children. "If you go to college, you can be the boss," Edward used to say.15 As the owner of a small business that provided containers to farmers, Edward was up at 4 A.M. and did not return home until 8 P.M. He routinely worked six days a week and some Sundays. Although Edward was determined to earn his children's university tuition, son Al insisted on paying his own.16 In working his way through high school and college, Simone shoveled snow "for 14 hours without stopping," unloaded freight cars, delivered mail, assembled automobiles, dug ditches, pulled weeds, managed a warehouse, and was a truck driver and a bakery worker. "One of the best lessons I learned was that I didn't want to work that way for the rest of my life," he said.16 For some people, life is a piece of cake. For others it is a cup of tea, a play, a dance, a cabaret, or a struggle. For Al Simone, life was definitely a game of baseball. It molded his character, set his standards for ethical behavior, contributed to his fighting spirit, gave him an unwavering sense of fairness and sportsmanship, and showed up frequently in his conversations. Simone's early dream was to play second base for the Boston Red Sox. This dream faded when he played for the Winchester, Massachusetts, high school and decided he was not pro material. He continued his involvement by managing a Little League team for his four children over a dozen seasons.16 As president of the University of Hawaii, Simone founded and managed an executive softball team that lost only three or four games in six years against such opponents as the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH), the University of Hawaii women's softball team (the Wahine), the governor's softball team, the softball team of the State House of Representatives, the news media softball team, the U.S. Coast Guard officers team, and the teams of C. Brewer and Hawaiian Tel. In addition to his roles as manager and trainer, Simone pitched nearly every inning of every game. On special occasions, such as the President's Invitational Softball Tournament, he would lead his team to victory by pitching three successive seven-inning games on a Saturday afternoon. His greatest moment,

Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

21

however, was a win over alumni of the University's celebrated men's baseball team (the Rainbows). Simone was Phi Beta Kappa and earned his B.A. from Tufts University in 1957 with a dual major in economics and mathematics. He went on to earn a Ph.D. in mathematical economics from Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in 1962. He was a lecturer in the College of Business Administration at Northeastern University in 1958-1959; an instructor in economics at MIT and Tufts in 1959-1960; an assistant professor at Northeastern University from I960 to 1963; a professor and director of the quantitative management program at Boston College from 1966 to 1968; a professor and head of the department of quantitative analysis at the University of Cincinnati from 1968 to 1972; the dean of the College of Business Administration at the University of Cincinnati from 1972 to 1983; and vice president for academic affairs at the University of Hawaii in 1983-1984. Simone was a prodigious writer. Among his early scholarly works were five books published in as many years: Statistics as Applied to Economics and Business (with R. Wessel and E. Willett), 1965; Finite Mathematics with Applications in the Social and Management Sciences (with L. Kattsoff), 1965; Probability: An Introduction with Applications, 1967; Foundations of Contemporary Mathematics with Applications in the Social and Management Sciences, 1967; and Matematica Finita Con Aplicaciones A Las Cienias Administrativas, 1969. Simone was also founding editor and editor-in-chief of the Journal of Decision Sciences from 1970 to 1972, and he served as president of the American Institute for Decision Sciences in 1974-1975. Like Siddhartha,17 Al Simone had three unusual personal qualities that contributed to his success. The first was an "almost photographic" memory.16 Combining this gift with his lifelong interest in sports, Simone was known to give play-by-play descriptions of University of Hawaii athletic events he had watched days or even weeks earlier. Baseball was his forte, and he seemed able to remember not only the name of every batter but also every pitch, whether it was a fast ball or a curve, a strike or a ball, a hit or an error. More relevant to the job of university president, Simone remembered the name and occupation of virtually everyone he met. Within a year after moving to Hawaii, he had developed a network of colleagues, friends, and acquaintances that surpassed the networks of many experienced administrators and politicians who had spent their entire careers in the Islands. Simone's second personal quality was the ability to get by on three to four hours of sleep a night.16 As president of the University of Hawaii, he often worked twenty hours a day16 and averaged between eighty and 100 hours per week.15 In a typical week, he attended eighteen receptions and public gatherings, usually favoring each one with a welcome speech, if not a formal address. His calendar was routinely packed with meetings and appearances that extended from 7 A.M. to 10 P.M., leaving only late nights

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and weekends for paper work.. He was regularly seen leaving Bachman Hall in the evening with a large cardboard box full of documents that would command much of his attention from 3 A.M. until his first meeting of the day. Simone used weekends to catch up, and Mondays were memorable to his subordinates for the large volume of paper dispatched to them by a cadre of Bachman Hall secretaries and student helpers. A third personal quality made it possible for Simone to sustain this extraordinary effort over a period of many years. Namely, he loved what he was doing. At all times, he was deeply involved and fully engaged. Extroverted, self-confident, aggressive, and exuberant, he enjoyed being the center of attention; he enjoyed interacting with other people; he enjoyed being challenged; he enjoyed taking risks; he enjoyed being under attack; and he enjoyed fighting his way back from an impossible predicament. In situations where most people would have experienced fear, stress, anxiety, or fatigue, Simone experienced exhilaration. Subjecting Simone to new pressures or stresses was like giving wine to an alcoholic or pouring gasoline on a fire. In a piece written for Simone's exit gala on August 12, 1992, President Emeritus Matsuda acknowledged Simone's "quick intelligence, strong convictions, boundless energy, and unbridled enthusiasm and optimism coupled with impeccable academic credentials." Matsuda then revealed that Simone's single failure was his inability to achieve a publicly announced goal: Soon after he arrived, he discovered that Hawaiians love golf. He never played before, decided to take up the game, and declared that within six months he would break 90. When word got out that he was taking bets on this prediction, University staffers lined up outside his door to get a piece of the action. It cost him a small fortune in dinners.18 Simone was not only gifted, he was also a man of many contrasts. Within the erudite and prolific mathematical economist, there lived the boy still dreaming of athletic glory.16 Though near-sighted, short, and somewhat pear-shaped in build, he often described himself as a "natural athlete" and frequently used sports metaphors in his speech. He was knowledgeable about every sport and enjoyed hiking, snorkeling, jogging, and weight lifting, in addition to softball and golf.16 Equally salient was the contrast between the dignified university president and the stand-up Italian comedian, who loved to tell jokes and stories and would do almost anything to get a good laugh. A "non-stop talker,"19 Simone routinely treated such august assemblies as the University Executive Council, the Manoa deans and directors, and the Manoa Faculty Senate as if they were audiences rather than collegial bodies. Arriving late for a meeting, Simone instantly took control. Exerting his prerogative as president, he would ignore any discussion already in

Albert J. Simone: The Innocent Abroad

23

progress and begin instead by telling about the phone conversation he had just completed with the governor or the round of golf he had just played with a local CEO. When asked, "How'd you shoot?" Simone might respond, "I've had better days. I need to remember to open my stance and keep the ball back." From his "attention getter," Simone would move to whatever topic happened to be on his mind, regardless of whether or where it appeared on the agenda. Typically, the first substantial topic expanded to fill the time allotted for the meeting's completion, and meetings were routinely extended to permit those still present to rush through the remaining items. If Simone was interested in a particular subject that was covered before he arrived, he would insist that the discussion be repeated. It was evident from Simone's behavior that the primary purpose of most of his meetings was not to solve problems or deal with specific issues. Students of management strategy might have inferred that his real and appropriate objective was to build consensus, and cynics might have added "consensus around Al Simone." My own opinion was even simpler: A1 Simone, the phenomenon, liked to be the center of attention. And to hold people's attention, Simone felt that he had to keep them entertained. When I shared my thoughts with Diana DeLuca, assistant to the president, during the last five years of his administration, she informed me, "Al wants to be loved by everyone, and he's nearly done it." The unrehearsed monologues that issued from Simone's craving for attention often betrayed his humble origins and immigrant background. Many of his listeners echoed the sentiments of former Manoa Chancellor Marvin Anderson when he confided privately to his staff that "Al Simone has no class." 20 Especially embarrassing were the sexist comments and ethnic slurs that sporadically popped out—his golfing double entendre about the hooker or his careless pronunciation of local names. At a party following one such incident, Ruth Dawson, then director of the Women's Studies program, informed her guests that it would not be appropriate for Simone to tell the offensive story to a group of men on the golf course, let alone to the mixed and distinguished company at College Hill, where it actually emerged. "He shouldn't even be thinking these thoughts," Professor Dawson insisted. That Simone got away with such gaffes in this age of politically correct speech was a high compliment to his own good intentions. It also says something about the Hawaiian ethos and the aloha spirit,21 which include a high tolerance for diverse speech, pronunciation, and behavior; a robust tradition of ethnic teasing; and a broad appreciation for what popular local comedian Frank Delima calls "island humor." As another example of contrasts in his personality, this impetuous leader, who was recognized the world over as one of the founders of the field of decision sciences, was a man who had difficulty making decisions.

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His affliction was reminiscent of the hypochondriac who becomes a medical doctor or Sigmund Freud, who had serious psychological problems and fathered psychoanalysis. "Simone's well-known inability to quickly make up his mind meant that UH was without a permanent senior vice president for academic affairs—the number two job after Simone—for more than two years."15 It also meant, very often, that whoever got to him last prevailed, the "last in the door" phenomenon. As a final example, Al Simone was tough, aggressive, and successful in his efforts to raise state funds, yet he was surprisingly ineffective when it came to negotiating his own salary or managing his personal finances. The latter quality was unsuspected until, just before he left Hawaii, Simone informed me that he had exhausted his personal savings. When reminded of the royalties on his books, Simone said they had dwindled down to nothing. When reminded that he had bought a house shortly after he arrived and that prices had gone up astronomically, Simone pointed out that his house was on leased land and he wasn't even sure he could sell it. Conspicuous in a person of his intelligence and athletic prowess, Simone had several notable deficits. The first, which he acknowledged, was a limited ability to visualize objects in space. Though he sailed through courses in solid geometry and calculus, he lacked the ability to replicate three-dimensional figures in his head. And in spite of his "near photographic" memory,115 he literally could not see "the big picture," had difficulty reading maps, and often got lost or confused while trying to navigate the well-marked and relatively benign streets of Honolulu. On numerous occasions, while talking to a colleague via the cellular telephone in his state car, Simone would interrupt the conversation and ask for directions. He would then resume the conversation, intermittently describing passing buildings and landmarks as his colleague guided him vicariously to the intended destination. In addition to being spatially challenged, Simone had an impoverished sense of time. Whereas some people are temporally gifted and have an acute awareness of the time of day, the amount of time that has elapsed, or the time that something will take, Simone was deprived of all such perceptions. In my opinion, Simone was insensitive to time partly because he could not visualize the day's or the week's activities in a single frame and thus did not experience his present activity in the context of an overarching schedule or plan. In part, Simone was oblivious to time because he was so engrossed in the present moment. Conversely, he was able to focus his attention on the present moment partly because he lacked a sense of time. Since he often worked through the night as well as on weekends, days and weeks had no particular beginning, no definite end. Quitting time had no meaning because he never really quit. Starting time had no meaning because he was too engrossed to think about what was supposed to happen next.

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The most conspicuous of Simone's cerebral deficits was his lack of sophistication. Some of this can be traced to his humble origins, to the boy still living within the man. In the traditional Italian family from which he sprang, the women took care of their husbands and families and did not have professions of their own. Although he was coached for years by female staffers who managed most of the time to put the right words in his mouth and the right thoughts in his head, the wrong words and thoughts continued to emerge. He habitually said "woman" when he meant "women," introduced professional couples as "Dr. and Mrs." instead of "Dr. and Dr.," and betrayed genuine surprise whenever the career of a married woman surpassed that of her husband. And although he was involved personally in developing some of the most enlightened policies on gender equity and sexual harassment in the country, his patriarchal roots were visible to the end. Simone had grown up in a poor neighborhood, and he prided himself on his toughness and fighting prowess. He demonstrated his physical courage by flying in an F-15, by spending a day aboard a Trident submarine, and by diving to 1,000 feet in a University of Hawaii two-person submersible. The last of these adventures was the most demanding: Though Simone became violently seasick even before the submersible was launched from its support barge, he insisted on proceeding with the dive and managed to retain his composure and sense of humor throughout. Simone showed his political courage, as well as his internationalism, by traveling to China (July 1986) with a fifty-person troupe from the University's Department of Drama and Theater, the first group of American artists to present a Beijing opera in Beijing. Simone was also the first seated president of an American university since the beginning of the cold war to visit Vladivostok (August 1988), Hanoi ( J a n u a r Y 1989), and Pyongyang (August and September 1989). Each of these excursions generated a storm of criticism, both from liberals, who complained about his debriefings with the CIA, and from conservatives, who thought he was consorting with the enemy. In a letter published in The Honolulu Advertiser on July 19, 1986,22 E. K. Ching used Simone's trip to China as a vehicle to discuss the new president's shortcomings. Opining that "the mediocrity of U.H. President Albert Simone is becoming increasingly obvious," Ching claimed that "Simone's arbitrary and subjective judgments have sabotaged years of work by faculty and staff, and have turned a collaborative process of building the university into a shameful personal power play that cuts at the heart of U.H.'s potential greatness." Ching went on to say that "Simone's selfaggrandizing arrogance is nowhere more evident than in his abuse of U.H. Foundation funds to pay for a vacation in China for him and his wife." Ching concluded that "the (search) committee knew that Simone had neither the stature nor the substance to handle the job," and "sub-

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sequent events sadly but dramatically have borne out the accuracy of their judgment." Criticisms of Simone's trip to Pyongyang were particularly severe. An editorial that appeared in the Honolulu Star-Bulletin on September 8, 1989,23 stated that the trip did little for Hawaii or the University but a lot for North Korea. Recalling its aggression against South Korea in the 1950s, the editorial gave several examples to support the thesis that "North Korea is today one of the world's most repressive nations, with a well-earned reputation for sponsoring terrorism." Responding to this editorial in a letter published on September 19, 1989,24 Raymond W. Johnson asked, "Who needs warm relations with a totalitarian regime?" In the same edition,25 Bill Ward, who had written to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin eight months earlier to protest the trip to Vietnam, said, "As a taxpayer, a citizen, and a veteran, I am incensed by Dr. Simone and no less by a Board of Regents and a state administration that condones, even supports him." Like his lifestyle in general, Simone's many trips were extraordinarily demanding. His journey to Hanoi, in particular, resulted in a case of the flu and an insect bite that swelled Simone's eyes to within a fraction of total closure for several days.26 Had he not made the acquaintance of an American doctor who happened to be traveling in Vietnam at the same time, he might have lost his sight. Undaunted by illness and danger, Simone was also impervious to insults, which seemed to come from all sides. When he traveled to Israel (August 1991) to renew the University's academic agreement with Hebrew University of Jerusalem, he was accused of falling under the influence of "powerful Zionist interests in Hawaii" whose goal was "to bind the United States to Israeli policy."27 When he hosted the American-Arab Affairs Council, headed at that time by George Naifeh and more recently by George McGovern, Democratic presidential candidate in 1972, he was accused by members of the local Jewish community of supporting an anti-Semitic cover organization.28 Malama Solomon, chairwoman of the State Senate Higher Education Committee, called him a "wimp" and said he should be fired.29 The Women's Faculty Caucus demanded that he take a stronger stand against racism stating, "We have lost all confidence in your ability to provide ethical, informed, and effective leadership or to ensure a safe working environment for women and minorities."30 At a mock trial cosponsored by the Campus Center Board and various student action groups, such as Students Against Discrimination, Acquiring Control Together, Haoles for Haunani, and Hawaii Women of Color, the judge (played by graduate student Nahua Patrinos) said of the president, who was off-island, "You are just an embarrassment to the entire university community and to the human race."31 The judge's mentor, Professor of Hawaiian Studies Haunani-Kay Trask, charged, ". . . he is guilty of ignorance of Hawaiian history . . . incompetence, racism, and sexism

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against Hawaiians. . . ,"31 The student jury found Simone guilty on all counts, and it demanded, in addition to ten other remedies identified before the trial began, that he resign.31 Consistent with being impervious to insults, illness, and danger, Simone was unconcerned about his appearance and unrefined in his tastes. He was often seen wearing socks that did not match. To relieve the stress of a full stomach, he regularly loosened his belt and unzipped the top few inches of his fly when he sat down to work or to begin a meeting. And although Simone traveled far more than any other president of the University of Hawaii and had many friends in exotic lands, whose names, faces, and life histories he faithfully remembered, he remained insensitive to foreign customs and routinely made culturally insensitive remarks. For some people, a careless remark can result in the loss of a friendship, a job, or an election. In the case of Al Simone, everything was forgiven—if not by his adversaries, then at least by his many supporters and admirers. The key was his innocence. He was not vindictive by nature and could not hold a grudge. He meant well at all times and would not intentionally harm anyone. If he did not change his language and behavior with every change in fashion or venue, it was because he had nothing to hide and no guile to hide it. He was secure in his own talent and virtue and enjoyed being with other people of all types. Paraphrasing Mark Twain, he truly conducted himself in accordance with his natural instincts and trammeled himself with no ceremonies or conventionalities.1

Al Simone, the Crisis Manager Many people assume that life originated on the Earth because the Earth is the only body in the solar system that has the prerequisites to nurture and sustain life, among them an oxygen-rich atmosphere, a plentiful supply of water, and a moderate range of temperatures. A recent theory turns this argument around by suggesting that life began on the Earth at a time when these benign conditions did not prevail. Instead, it was the emergence of life that created and now sustains these benign conditions, thereby distinguishing the Earth from its neighbors Mars and Venus. If this is so, then Al Simone was like those ancient plants that sprang up unexpectedly in a hostile setting, creating their own atmosphere and environment, and growing and evolving with changing conditions largely of their own making. The particular milieu required to nurture and sustain Al Simone was a crisis. Requiring this milieu, he daily created it by neglecting routine problems until they became crises; by ignoring deadlines until there was no time left to complete the scheduled tasks; by not preparing for meetings and presentations; by canceling appointments and disregarding agendas, thereby failing to deal with essential items; by making unilateral and unrealistic promises on behalf of the University; by not informing his

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staff of such commitments; and by skirting administrative rules and procedures so that many of his actions had to be abrogated, repeated, or ratified post hoc. As a crisis manager, Simone's bent was to deal only with crises. He was so busy handling crises that he had no time for ordinary problems, no time to prepare or anticipate. He had no priorities other than crises. And beset by crises, he was forced to bypass administrative procedures and ignore less urgent issues, commitments, agendas, schedules, and meetings. In this manner, crises begot crises, and the vicious circle was sustained for eight years to the consternation of everyone but Simone himself. Using one of his favorite metaphors, Simone used to tell people that if he threw 100 balls in the air and caught fifty of them, that was twice as good as throwing twenty-five balls in the air and catching them all. My standard reply was that in some professions the rate of success is more important than the number of successes. Whereas it might be profitable for a business administrator like Simone to start 100 companies of which fifty succeed, it would never do for a surgeon to treat 100 patients of whom only fifty survive. Critics commenting privately on the 100-ball metaphor acknowledged that Simone did have 100 balls in the air at any given time, but after tossing them up, he just walked away. The only reason so many balls were caught, they said, was that Simone's staff soon became adept at detecting his random launches and predicting their trajectories. On August 16, 1985, barely a week after he was appointed president, Simone asked interim Vice President for Academic Affairs Rex Wade to prepare a proposal to eliminate the Manoa chancellor's office. Later that same day, Wade gave the assignment to his staff, consisting of Colleen Sathre, the assistant to the vice president, and myself, then acting assistant vice president. Without being asked, Colleen and I had already drafted such a proposal. Complimenting us on our foresight, Wade predicted that anyone who could anticipate where Simone was going would do well in the new administration. This proved to be prophetic as Wade left the University a few months later, and Colleen and I remained with Simone to the end. My favorite metaphor for Al Simone's administrative style was the blitzkrieg, the lightning war, conducted with such surprise, such speed, and such strength that the enemy had no opportunity to resist. Instead of continuing the defensive reconnaissance and tentative sorties of the Matsuda years, which protected the main force at the cost of a gradual attrition, Simone engaged all his troops at once, attacking 100 positions simultaneously without any warning or premeditation. There was simply no way his enemies could anticipate every strike or defend every position, and perhaps fifty of the 100 thrusts Simone had going at any given time actually broke through the enemy lines and achieved their objectives.

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Reckless as it may have seemed at the beginning of Simone's administration, the blitzkrieg brought an end to ten years of fighting in the trenches and got the University moving again. As was usual in his case, Simone's actions as a field marshal were more a matter of impulse and temperament than of strategy. Blitzkrieg was the way Simone approached most things in life, and the University of Hawaii just happened to lie in his path. In fairness to Simone, it should be noted that, prior to assuming the presidency on August 8, 1985, he was deeply involved in two activities that proved to be decisive in preparing and positioning him for that high office. The first was the development of the University's strategic plan, A Strategyfor Academic Quality 1985-95,i2 which was completed in July 1984. Although much of the credit for this document belongs to Glen Miyataki,33 director of long range planning, who served as coordinator for the Strategic Plan Steering Committee, Vice President for Academic Affairs Al Simone was Miyataki's boss and chaired the Steering Committee. Throughout his administration, Simone appealed to the consensus that had developed around the strategic plan and justified his actions on that basis. In an interview held a few weeks before he announced his resignation, Simone said, "In one sense, a long-term trajectory for me was set—to follow the strategic plan. And I believe we truly have done that."15 The second activity, initiated by Simone soon after he became acting president on June 1, 1984, largely escaped public notice. This was the era in which the Chrysler Corporation was emerging from bankruptcy. Its dramatic recovery was a result of many factors, but none was more important than Lee Iaccoca's achievement in making top executives and other employees believe that it could be done. Besides the "can-do" atmosphere, the main theme was movement toward consumer-oriented values and away from a singular focus on fiscal considerations. What Simone, as a management scholar, gleaned from Iaccoca's example was an appreciation of the importance of leadership in creating the atmosphere, tone, and sense of urgency that are required to bring about institutional change. And while the change in the University's management style was apparent to everyone, what escaped public notice was the fact that this change was premeditated and deliberate. The architect of the transformation was Gil Tanabe, associate professor of Psychology, who served as acting assistant to the president from July 1, 1984, until December 31, 1985. Tanabe's specialty was community psychology, and his sole assignment under Simone was to assess the climate and quality of the University as a community and develop strategies and techniques for enhancing effectiveness and promoting long-term, institutional change. Dr. Tanabe's prescription began with the identification and clarification of shared academic values and goals, a purpose fortuitously served by the University's strategic plan. Next came a commitment to shared

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governance, and here the strategic planning process, which involved literally hundreds of people, served Simone very well. Tanabe correctly predicted that shared values and governance would lead to improvements in the internal quality and climate of the organization, thereby increasing efficiency, improving the University's image, and ultimately enhancing public support. One of Tanabe's strategies, initiated in the fall of 1984, was a series of informal breakfast get-togethers held at the president's traditional residence, College Hill. The announced purpose was to focus attention on the major themes and directions of the University; but Tanabe's underlying purpose was to build consensus around shared University values and goals. And underlying that, one could deduce yet a deeper purpose of building consensus around acting president and active presidential candidate, Al Simone. An early topic of the College Hill Breakfast Series was "War and Peace," widely credited with having led to the eventual creation of the Spark M. Matsunaga Institute for Peace. 34 The Manoa Child Care Center is also said to have resulted from a breakfast discussion.34 Other topics were "The Pacific Community Concept: A Role for UH?" and "UH and Industry Partnerships: Opportunities and Pitfalls." By the end of the Simone administration, some 240 College Hill Breakfasts had been held, 34 an average of more than two per month for eight years. The College Hill Community Issues Series, initiated by Gil Tanabe in January 1985, complemented the Breakfast Series by focusing on community concerns and by providing yet another forum for enhancing goodwill and linkages. Topic leaders were chosen mostly from the community. Sessions were held about once a month in the late afternoon to accommodate business schedules. Tanabe was one of those people whose contributions to society are large and virtually anonymous. His hidden agenda was to transform the University, and he understood that this would demand not only the change in leadership that was already in progress, but also a change in the acting and future leader, who happened to be his boss. The various memoranda and white papers Tanabe wrote on climate and quality were widely distributed and quickly forgotten. The College Hill meetings continued after Tanabe left, but hardly anyone could recall his role in starting them. His most important contribution was even more obscure: It consisted of transforming Simone into a plausible replica of the kind of leader Dr. Tanabe's prescription required. Like the female staffers who later coached Simone on gender equity and sexual harassment, Tanabe succeeded in putting the right words into Simone's mouth without changing his innermost feelings or beliefs. Shared governance is a case in point. Whereas Simone learned to say the right things about delegation of authority and the collegial process, the admin-

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istrative structure he created and managed was highly centralized and encouraged everyone, including faculty and students, to ignore the chain of command and go directly to the president. University autonomy is a second example. Although Simone was a champion for autonomy in principle, he became deeply involved in local politics himself and encouraged the governor and the legislature to intervene whenever he thought such intervention would enhance the University's bottom line, as in the case of the governor's $50 million sports arena. To Simone's credit, Tanabe's worst fear never materialized. In a private conversation, Tanabe once explained to me that Simone was, both by nature and by nurture, a gut fighter from a poor neighborhood in Boston whose instinctive and conditioned reaction to an attack was to strike back. The ultimate test, Tanabe speculated, would be provided by an irate regent or legislator whom Simone could not afford to offend. Although Simone was subjected to the most outrageous insults and abuse imaginable, he managed to accept all such criticism with grace and aplomb. What Dr. Tanabe may have overlooked in his analysis of Simone and brief service as the first of the president's private "shrinks" are several of those personal qualities discussed earlier: Simone's basic innocence, the fact that he was not vindictive, and his extraordinary addiction to pressure and stress. Some statistics may be useful in quantifying this description of Al Simone, the crisis manager. Of 335 meetings he scheduled with me, only 146 or 43.6 percent were actually held, many after being rescheduled. Meetings were normally booked for Thursdays from 9:30 until 10 A.M., and the average delay in starting a meeting was 29.8 minutes. Simone's meetings with the thirteen-member University Executive Council were normally set for Mondays from 8:30 until 10 A.M. The average delay in starting was 18.3 minutes, and meetings frequently lasted past noon. Simone's meetings with the fifty-member group that included the Manoa deans and directors were arranged for alternate Wednesdays from 8:30 until 10 A.M. The average delay in starting was 12.3 minutes, and most meetings extended to 10:30 or 11 A.M. Recalling that the average delay in starting times was 29.8 minutes for meetings with the author, 18.3 minutes for meetings with the University Executive Council, and 12.3 minutes for meetings with the deans and directors, it seems that Simone's lateness syndrome was mitigated somewhat by having larger audiences. Nevertheless, each of these cases represents a colossal and unnecessary waste of other people's time: half a person-hour per meeting for me, 6.5 person-hours per meeting for the University Executive Council, and 10.3 person-hours per meeting for the deans and directors. Different people accommodated the president's impoverished sense of time in different ways. The usual coping strategy practiced by my secretary was to leave my calendar open from the scheduled time of any

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morning meeting until 1:30 P.M. For one-on-one meetings with the president, I prepared carefully to make efficient use of a scarce resource and then waited in my office for a call from the president's secretary. Members of the University Executive Council arrived on time, conducted business with their colleagues, and often began meetings before the president arrived. Even when meetings became excessively long, most hung on loyally until the end. Deans and directors tended to arrive on time because the seating was limited, and many left on time giving one excuse or another after losing patience with the president's monologues. Others having appointments with the president were treated in a similar fashion. The president's secretary and staff took great pains to cover for him, and many a distinguished visitor spent more time chatting with a vice president or a secretary than with the president himself. Simone was more than twenty minutes late for both of the meetings with Governor John Waihee that I attended, and he failed to show up altogether on the two occasions when a University executive was honored by Waihee as Hawaii's "Manager of the Year." Standing in for the president when Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii received this prestigious award, I was told by Waihee, "This is the second time Simone has done this to me!" Early in his administration, Al Simone embarked on a review of thirtytwo of Manoa's deans and directors. The principal elements were a written self-evaluation of the unit and the unit head, a two-hour interview of the unit head by Simone and the three Manoa vice presidents (the vice presidents for academic affairs, student affairs, and research and graduate education), and a follow-up self-evaluation and interview six to twelve months later. Analogous to the point-slope method in calculus, the initial interview and self-evaluation were supposed to reveal the unit's current position, and the follow-up activities six to twelve months later were supposed to point the direction in which the unit was going. Although program reviews are commonplace in the modern university, it was widely rumored that Simone had been brought in as a hit man and that the Board of Regents had given Simone a hit list as a condition of his employment. Defending his action as "a preliminary step in effectively managing the University," Simone insisted it was "definitely not a witch hunt."35 Adding to the anxiety that certain jobs were on the line was the fact that the four executives conducting the review were newly appointed and largely unknown to those being reviewed. I can confirm that there was indeed such a list because I saw it inadvertently at an executive session of the Board, but I do not know the circumstances surrounding its preparation and use. Speculation about who was on the list is complicated by these facts: (1) some of those on the original list survived, (2) some of those who left were not on the original list, (3) it took two or three years in some cases

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to remove an incumbent, and (4) Vice President for Academic Affairs Anthony J. Marsella had a list of his own and worked closely with Simone to implement it. Suffice it to say that approximately one-third of the twentyfour deans left office early in Simone's administration, and there were very few surprises in the University community as the names were revealed. All eight of the research directors survived. It is a high compliment to the deans and directors exposed to this process that they were able to maintain their composure throughout. Particularly daunting were the long waits outside Simone's office before the initial interview began. These silent vigils occasionally exceeded the two hours assigned for the meeting. Consistent with his management style, Simone skimmed most of the written self-evaluations and improvised his way through most of the interviews. Very few of the six-month follow-ups ever took place. These facts seemed to confirm the widely held suspicion that the main decisions had been reached by Simone, Marsella, and the Board before the reviews began, implying that the process itself was a shibai (Japanese word for a drama, i.e., a staged production). Others, noting that Simone was always late and unprepared, defended the president by saying that no malice was intended and that he had simply lost interest in the process before the cycle was completed.

The President's Secret Cabinet: Jean Imada, Diana DeLuca, and Carolie Simone People unfamiliar with the management of large enterprises may assume that the cherished responses they receive from a senator, a governor, or a university president were actually crafted by the dignitaries who signed them. Similar assumptions are often made about books, articles, and reports that bear the names of such dignitaries, speeches read by such dignitaries, and quotations attributed to such dignitaries in press releases. While the authors so identified are in some sense accountable for the materials bearing their names and may actually participate in their preparation in certain cases, a simple example will demonstrate that they could not possibly have written all or even a significant fraction of them. Suppose there are 50,000 students in the University of Hawaii system and 100,000 parents (including stepparents). If each of these parents wrote only one letter per year to the president, the president would receive from this source alone an average of 274 letters per day, 365 days of the year! Even for a person of Simone's extraordinary energy, this is too much mail to read in one day, let alone to answer. Or suppose that each parent, instead of writing a letter, insisted on meeting with the president just once a year for half an hour. This doesn't seem like a lot of time for a university president to devote to a parent until one considers that a total of 50,000 hours would be required to meet with all of them, and there are fewer than 9,000 hours in a year. It is not even possible for all parents to meet alone

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with the president only once for half an hour during the four or five years it normally takes their children to earn a baccalaureate degree! This example also illustrates why the president of the University of Hawaii receives a large box full of mail every day, why he cannot possibly read every word in those hundreds of pages contained in each box, and why he is likely to arrive unprepared for most of the meetings that fill his typical day. A third conclusion that can be drawn from this example is that the management of the University is not as straightforward as most people think. Less than one percent of what is going on is visible to the public, even in cases where no effort is being made to hide anything. Employees of the institution are likely to be somewhat better informed, but even within the middle levels of the University administration, most managers are hard pressed to handle the volume of paper that crosses their desks. They usually have a limited awareness of activities outside of their special areas of responsibility and expertise. Simone himself had at least a superficial knowledge of perhaps 10 percent of the University's activities, although he was accountable for everything that happened. All this is a consequence of the enormity of the enterprise and the limited ability of any one person to observe and comprehend his or her environment. The situation at other universities is similar. In a study of the labors of presidents at eight institutions, Dr. Marvel Williamson of the University of Iowa concluded, Monday through Friday, college presidents spend 9-03 daytime hours and 2.74 evening hours on the job. Weekends are often heavy with ceremonial and social functions. Presidents carry out 73-28 activities during a typical day, each with a mean duration of 7.39 minutes. . . . Overall, presidents spend 48.9% of their time working directly with individuals affiliated with the college, 24.8% with "external" contacts (salesmen, corporate heads), and just 26.8% working alone. "Moments of solitude appear for about 5 minutes at a time."36 At the University of Hawaii, the person at the hub of this vast apparatus was not the president, as most people would assume, but his secretary, Jean Imada. In effect, she was the nerve center for the University administration, the person who received all materials addressed to the president, read them or scanned them, and recommended appropriate action; who coordinated the flow of documents and suggested assignments; who scripted the president's calendar and called his attention to the pitfalls and dangers; and who gave the president advice on every subject from how to dress to how to deal with a foreign dignitary or an irate student or dean. Jean Imada was one of the few people who had access to information from the entire system and perhaps the only person besides Simone

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himself who knew consistently and comprehensively what the president was thinking and what he was likely to say or do in a particular situation. She had a stamp with the president's signature and broad authority to use it. While Simone was busy making ten trips a year,15 the torrent of people and information through Bachman Hall continued unabated. Problems surfaced and were resolved, assignments were made and completed, letters were received and answered, and the president's office functioned as smoothly as ever. These roles of information coordinator, office manager, and de facto chief of staff would be very challenging in any university administration— even if handled by more than one person. Two things were remarkable in Jean Imada's case: the extraordinary proficiency and dedication she brought to the job and the demanding nature of her boss, who used to brag about how he burned out one secretary after another at the University of Cincinnati, none lasting longer than six months. One of the marvels of Jean Imada, then, was her stamina. It seemed miraculous that anyone could handle the pressure of working directly for Simone for eight years, just as it seemed miraculous that Simone, with his many deficiencies and eccentricities, could stay on as president for that same period. In my opinion, Jean Imada was the person most responsible for the survival of both. Had Simone succeeded in burning out Jean Imada, as he burned out so many others, he would, thereby, have destroyed himself. While Simone was often inaccessible and scattered, Jean Imada was at her desk ten to twelve hours a day and focused. She went quickly to the heart of any problem, grasping the salient points and deducing immediately what had to be done. Giving a message to her was often more effective and always more reliable than giving it directly to Simone. Many meetings with the president ended with Simone asking one of the participants to inform Jean Imada of the outcome. This was the best way of ensuring that his decisions would be implemented and his plans carried out. Among the difficulties of working directly for Simone were, of course, the long hours that he kept and the enormous energy that he expended. Being temporally impoverished and spatially challenged, he was as insensitive to the demands that he placed on others as he was to the demands that he placed on himself. Though he might recall having given a particular assignment to a particular subordinate, he had no reckoning of the cumulative workload of any one person who reported to him. The underlying premise seemed to be that, like Simone himself, the members of his administrative team were eager to succeed and were grateful for any opportunity to work as hard as they possibly could. Accommodating the aspirations he projected, Simone continued to pile on the work until, often to his surprise, he got a message that some limit had been reached.

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One of Simone's theorems was "You can always increase your workload by 10 percent." By simple mathematical induction, it was easy to prove such corollaries as "You can always double your workload" and "You can always double the workload of anyone who works for you." His early decision to combine the duties of president of the University and chancellor of its flagship Manoa campus was a practical demonstration of the two corollaries using himself, his secretary, and his assistant as examples. The closer a person was to the president, the more intense was the pressure and the more frequent were the intrusions. Whereas a vice president might receive an occasional assignment in the middle of the night or on a weekend, such impositions were commonplace for the president's secretary and his assistant, both of whom were on call essentially twentyfour hours a day, seven days a week. Even more challenging than the maintenance of a private life under Al Simone was the preservation of a separate identity. Diana DeLuca, assistant to the president during the last five years of Simone's administration, frequently recounted how, in the early years of her service, she allowed herself to become so caught up in the limitless demands of her boss that her health was impaired and her ego was subsumed under his. Incorrectly interpreting this as a sign of her own inadequacy, she was often tempted to quit. Only when she had the courage to admit to Simone that her energy, time, and attention were not inexhaustible did her convalescence begin. Diana Macintyre DeLuca, who had a doctorate in literature from the University of Washington, succeeded Doris Ching as assistant to the president in July 1987 and became Simone's ghost writer, troubleshooter, and aide-de-camp. In her capacity as part of the president's secret cabinet, she worked privately with Simone on the drafts of approximately 170 speeches on topics ranging from simple welcomes to complex public statements on non'discrimination, internationalism, and other social and academic issues. She proposed and created a newsletter for the president, entitled UH President's Report, in which the president addressed topics of interest to the system. Seven thousand copies of this report were distributed regularly to faculty and staff on all campuses. DeLuca also prepared action memoranda for the president's signature, drafted news releases of interest to the president, revised presidential recommendations to the Board of Regents, wrote testimony for the president to deliver to the state legislature, and responded to requests from the legislature and the congressional delegation for reports and information regarding the University. In addition to her duties behind the scenes, Diana DeLuca had several visible roles. She arranged for various meetings at the president's residence and coordinated the College Hill Breakfast Series. She organized University executive retreats and created and maintained the system master lists of calendars and committees. She worked with a committee to

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present a series of public health policy forums by former Governor of Massachusetts Michael Dukakis and assisted him in producing and editing a volume of the presentations and the responses they generated. She chaired the selection committee for Matsuda Fellows and Scholars and the search committee to select the state director for vocational education. She staffed meetings of the Manoa deans and directors and the University's several executive committees and prepared minutes for each. She edited and produced volumes of essays and presentation reports, including the University of Hawaii President's Report 1989-92. Just as it would have been impossible for one person to have written all the documents attributed to A1 Simone during the course of his presidency, so too would it have been impossible for one person to have written all the documents that passed through the hands of Diana DeLuca before arriving for imprimatur at the president's desk. Taking the University of Hawaii President's Report 1989-92 as an example, several dozen people were involved in writing text, supplying data, and editing drafts. These people were supported by their subordinates and staff, many of whom were supported by yet another layer of subordinates and staff. In this way, the president's effectiveness and visibility were multiplied by about two orders of magnitude, meaning that for every hour Simone put in, DeLuca contributed maybe ten, and others perhaps 100. The net result of this endeavor was that the University was given a face—the face of Al Simone. The perception was created that he had written the report himself, that he was on top of the situation, and that the University's many accomplishments from 1989 to 1992 were a natural consequence of his hands-on style of leadership. At the other end of the administrative hierarchy, very few of those who taught the classes, made the discoveries, performed the services, and did the actual work were even aware of the report's existence. For Dr. Diana DeLuca, it seemed that dissertation was destiny. Her dissertation title was "Forgetful of Her Yoke: The Woman Warrior in Ariosto's Orlando furioso, Tasso's Gerusalemme liberata and Spenser's The Faerie Queene." What Jean Imada and Diana DeLuca did for Simone professionally, Carolie Simone did for him personally. Simone used to introduce his wife by saying that the University got "two for the price of one." Described at Simone's gala as the "intrepid College Hill hostess,"37 Carolie welcomed into their home "more than 6,000 people a year for receptions, meetings, teas, and overnight stays."38 Included in a typical week in 1987 were . . . receptions for participants in Festival Canada, the Shanghai Kunju Opera Co., and a delegation from the People's Republic of China; a breakfast meeting on the travel industry school; and a working lunch for the chief executive officer of Marriott Corp.

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Additionally, Patricia Ewalt, the newly named dean of the UH School of Social Work, began a week's stay in the downstairs guest room.39 Accompanying the Simones when they moved into College Hill in August 1985 was their fifteen-year-old daughter Laura, the youngest of their four children (Edward, Karen, Debra, and Laura). Privacy was important for any family, Carolie told a Ka Leo reporter, but "asking for privacy in this particular setting is ridiculous. . . . We have to settle for some compromise."40 Among the ways Carolie maintained a degree of privacy was to set aside certain days for the family and to designate certain rooms for family members only. An example was one small room near the kitchen, where the Simones might have doughnuts on a Sunday morning.40 Carolie was devoted to her husband and their children, and her patience was legendary. She participated in numerous community service organizations, such as the Women's Campus Club, the Lyon Arboretum Association, the Nature Conservancy, and the Historic Hawaii Foundation; and she served as president of the venerable Outdoor Circle.39 Noting that Al Simone's flight in the F-15 had occurred on July 11, 1989, their thirtieth wedding anniversary, Carolie concluded, "For a husband who goes to great lengths to avoid celebrating occasions, six miles up is overdoing it."41 Among that small cadre of loyal, dedicated, and competent people who surrounded the president and systematically compensated for his deficiencies, covered for his eccentricities, and caught many of those 100 balls that he launched in the air, Jean Imada, Diana DeLuca, and Carolie Simone were closest to him and were usually the first to anticipate a problem and come to his aid. Carolie Simone was occasionally mentioned in the local news media, but the enormous contributions of Jean Imada and Diana DeLuca were largely unknown outside of Bachman Hall. Paraphrasing Marvel Williamson, these three remarkable women were the first tier in creating the illusion that President Albert J. Simone was accomplishing much more than any one person possibly could.36

3 The Executive Council: A Web of Tensions

Sermons, subway posters, and popular psychology have conditioned us to think of human cooperation as ideally pacific, relaxing, untense. The future executive will know better. His professional destiny is not a tangle of togetherness but a web of tensions.1 —Former University of Hawaii President Harlan Cleveland (1969-1974)

This chapter explains how the Manoa chancellor's office was abolished and describes the new administrative structure that took its place. It portrays in detail several of the executives who reported directly to the president, focusing on the dynamics of our interactions with one another. About the only thing we had in common was that we were all members of the University Executive Council (UEC).

How the Manoa Chancellor's Office Was Abolished Although I joined the Manoa faculty in August 1969, I did not become involved in campus politics until the fall of 1977, when I reluctantly agreed to serve on a committee appointed by the late Dean David Contois to prepare Academic Development Plan III (ADP III) for the College of Arts and Sciences.2 As a naive faculty member, I was shocked by what I learned about University of Hawaii governance while working on this committee, and I vowed that if I ever had an opportunity, I would do

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whatever I could to improve the situation. This was the beginning of my personal administrative agenda, and I view my later service as acting assistant vice president for academic affairs (January until December 1985) and as vice president for research and graduate education (January 1986 until April 1995) in that light. The salient findings of the ADP III Committee were quoted in Chapter 1. The main issue was governance, namely, the lack of any meaningful autonomy, the absence of clear-cut lines of authority, the displacement of decision making, the lack of administrative accountability, and the frequent intrusions of the central administration into college affairs. 2 Similar points were raised by the legislative auditor in March 19813 and debated by the Manoa Faculty Congress on November 21, 1981.4 A September 25, 1982, executive workshop involving regents, administrators, and deans called for discussion of the very same questions. 5 In response to the many concerns expressed by the Faculty Congress and others, the Manoa Faculty Senate decided to appoint an Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure to examine the relationship between the offices of the president and the Manoa chancellor and make recommendations concerning the most advisable arrangement. The charge was approved by the Senate Executive Committee, chaired by Madeleine Goodman, on July 22, 1982. It began by noting that . . . the administration of the University of Hawaii may be marked by an excessive degree of administrative bureaucracy which detracts from the quality of instruction, research, and community service which the members of the faculty are seeking to provide.4 The committee members were appointed in a memo from Madeleine Goodman dated August 19, 1982, which initiated my second foray into campus politics. This time I was eager to participate. Although most of us doubted at first that anything useful would come of our efforts, I was still naive enough to see this as an opportunity to spread the ideas of the Arts and Sciences ADP III Committee and perhaps correct some of the problems we had identified. Of the hundred or more committees on which I have served, this was conceptually the most challenging and also the most illuminating. Every structure we considered had serious flaws. There were always many constituencies that had to be taken into account and some that could not be satisfied. The number of variables was vastly larger than I normally encountered as a faculty member in the physical sciences, and the sheer complexity of the institution meant that I would never achieve the degree of understanding that I routinely demanded of myself in my narrow profession. It seemed to me then that most of my fellow committee members from other disciplines knew a lot more about the University than I did. No

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doubt their interest in campus politics was of longer duration than mine. However, like them, I had many examples of administrative abuse to share, and with each new "horror story" our interest and motivation increased.6 The main obstacle we faced at the beginning was that none of us had a clear idea of the enormity of the University or how it should be managed. Only by working together and pooling our disparate knowledge did we find it possible to complete our assignment. Later we worked to keep the issue of governance alive and to pass on what we had learned about it. In addition to continuing the then existing structure, which had four chancellors (Manoa, community colleges, Hilo, and West Oahu) reporting to one president, the Senate Ad Hoc Committee considered these alternatives:7 1. Combining the positions of president and Manoa chancellor and appointing a vice president for academic affairs to manage the day-to-day operation of Manoa; 2. Eliminating the president's office and having the four chancellors report directly to the Board of Regents; 3. Separating Manoa from the rest of the system and having the chancellors for Hilo, West Oahu, and the community colleges report to the Board through a commissioner for post-secondary education; 4. Eliminating the West Oahu chancellor's office and having the three remaining chancellors report to a greatly diminished president's office consisting of twenty to twenty-five persons whose responsibilities would be limited to systemwide academic planning and coordination, financial planning and coordination, and communication and public relations. The recommendation of the Senate Ad Hoc Committee was (4) to reduce the president's office to the point where it could no longer interfere with the operation of Manoa. Failing that, the committee would have (1) combined the duties of the president and the Manoa chancellor, thereby achieving at least the minimal goal of ending the massive duplication of effort. Either of these options (1 or 4) was considered preferable to the hierarchical structure then in place. The committee never issued a final report. Instead, in December 1982, it completed a "discussion draft," dated prospectively February 1, 1983, and began circulating it widely. The idea of our committee chair, Tom Dinell, was to stimulate interest and build a consensus without alienating any of the University's many constituencies. I assume this approach reflected his background as a professor of urban planning and as the director of the Program on Conflict Resolution. In any case, members of the committee

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were dispatched like missionaries to spread the good news and, when necessary, to convert the infidels. Those contacted in the first round were Manoa Chancellor Marvin Anderson, University President Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda, and Regent Robert Fujimoto. Next we met with members of the Senate Executive Committee and the Faculty Union Executive Committee, a group of deans, and key faculty members. Revising the document as we went along, we met in the third round with department chairs, leaders of the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH), key legislators, and knowledgeable outsiders. Included in the last category were former Manoa Chancellor Wytze Gorter, former interim Manoa Chancellor Dick Takasaki, and former Board of Regents Chairmen Herb Cornuelle and Wally Fujiyama. Our fifth and final revised discussion draft, still dated prospectively February 1, 1983, appeared on January 12, 1983- Thereafter, the interviews proceeded at a slower pace, and the flow of comments and responses gradually diminished. These sequelae were reported faithfully to the Faculty Senate in an "interim report" dated April 6, 1983. On May 11, 1983, the senate passed a resolution unanimously thanking the Ad Hoc Committee and authorizing it to continue its efforts and work with the Council of Deans and with the Manoa chancellor to restructure the University. In October 1983, President Matsuda announced that he would retire on May 31, 1984. The Manoa Faculty Senate responded to this news by passing another resolution, dated November 30, 1983, that recommended the elimination of the central administration. There was considerable discussion among the regents about whether their efforts to examine the University's organizational structure should proceed in tandem with the presidential search or await its culmination. They expected the incoming president to operate within the structure determined by the Board, a structure that would be in the best interests of the total system. Nevertheless, from the standpoint of timing, it seemed likely that the successor to President Matsuda would have a personal opinion regarding the reorganization.8 In November 1983, the Board of Regents announced its plans to forge ahead by establishing an Ad Hoc Committee to Review the Organization of the University of Hawaii. The committee members were Bobby Fujimoto (chair), Steve Bess, Julia Frohlich, and Jim Gary. All four attended the meeting held on February 22, 1984, with remnants of the Senate Ad Hoc Committee. Also present were Chancellor Anderson, President Matsuda, and Board Secretary Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu. Tom Dinell's presentation at the February 22, 1984, meeting was low key and conciliatory, and I left with the impression that the regents' Ad Hoc Committee would do nothing until after the new president was selected. In our "final report" to the Faculty Senate, dated May 9, 1984, we

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summarized our adventures over the previous two years and concluded once again that "[i]t is an absurdity to continue an organizational structure that is unacceptable to the major component in the University (i.e., Manoa)." 9 On July 23, 1985, the regents' Ad Hoc Committee suddenly sprang into action and issued a draft report. Had I been more experienced in academic politics, I might have been able to guess from this singular event that something important had happened, namely, that the final decision on the new president had just been made. And from the administrative structure the Ad Hoc Committee proposed, I might even have been able to deduce which of the two remaining candidates, Richard Kosaki or Albert J . Simone, had been selected. The regents' Ad Hoc Committee shared its draft report with the University Administrative Council at a joint meeting held on July 31, 1985. The participants were Regents Bobby Fujimoto and Steve Bess, Board Secretary Pepper Shiramizu, acting President Albert Simone, Director for Finance Ralph Horii (representing Vice President for Administration Harold Masumoto), acting Manoa Chancellor Dick Kosaki, West Oahu Chancellor and Hilo acting Chancellor Ralph Miwa, and Community College Chancellor Joyce Tsunoda. As acting assistant vice president for academic affairs, I happened also to be present, representing acting Vice President for Academic Affairs Rex Wade. The other two members of the regents' Ad Hoc Committee, Julia Frohlich and Jim Gary, were not able to attend. Chairman Fujimoto began by outlining a set of guidelines that would create a strong president and compress the system and Manoa administrators into a single office. This was the clue that pointed to Simone. It seemed that the only person the Board wanted to interact with was the president. Community College Chancellor Joyce Tsunoda recalled that the primary purpose of the reorganization was to solve problems at Manoa. She reminded us that we were a system of higher education to which the community colleges contributed their share. Since the recommendation of the community colleges was to maintain the status quo, we could anticipate that they might be disappointed by the guidelines the regents proposed. Acting Manoa Chancellor Dick Kosaki was gracious and cooperative, as always. He said we should act as quickly as possible. We would need some flexibility from the governor to move budgets around, and we must begin immediately to rework the budget format. I was concerned about the lack of support from the community colleges and disappointed that the Board had chosen alternative (1) instead of alternative (4). Nevertheless, having recently moved from the faculty side of the bargaining table to the "excluded" side and having de jure transferred my allegiance from Manoa to the system, I saw this as a magnificent opportunity to continue my personal agenda and carry

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forward some of the other ideas developed by the Arts and Sciences ADP III Committee and the Senate Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure. Assistant to the Vice President for Academic Affairs Colleen Sathre and I began immediately to draft a reorganization proposal. When Rex Wade met with us on August 16, 1985, only eight days after Al Simone was named president, our first draft was already in hand. In our collaboration, I did most of the writing, borrowing liberally from ADP III2 and the February 1, 1983, "final revised draft" from the Senate Ad Hoc Committee. 7 Colleen prepared most of the charts. We exchanged ideas and materials continuously throughout this process. In the end, Al Simone kept what he liked, threw out what he did not like, and incorporated many features of his own. The essential fact unifying our disparate thinking was that the Board of Regents had abolished the Manoa chancellor's office.

Spinning a Web of Tensions While Colleen and I were busy with our charting and ghostwriting, Al Simone was busy refining his ideas of University governance in a series of meetings intended also to build a consensus. On August 16, 1985, he initiated a series of discussions with his two vice presidents, Rex Wade and Harold Masumoto, and by August 28, he had prepared a draft memo establishing the philosophies, principles, and assumptions upon which his reorganization proposal would later be based. 10 Broadening his consultative process, Simone distributed, discussed, and collected copies of his August 28 draft at meetings with the Manoa Faculty Senate Executive Committee on September 3, and with the Manoa Council of Deans and Directors on September 5. No revisions of the August 28 draft were ever produced, nor was the memo itself ever signed or released. Instead, Simone distributed a draft of his reorganization proposal to University administrators and faculty leaders on September 24, 1985, and asked for responses in time for the regents' meeting in November. 11 Although it was never formally promulgated, Simone's memo of August 28, 1985, represented a turning point in the history of the University. Taking as his subject "Basic Philosophies, University-Wide Foci, Principles, and Assumptions Underlying Reorganization," Simone wrote the following: The purpose of the University is to provide teaching, research, and education services. Faculty perform these direct functions. Academic department heads, deans, provosts, and directors are, therefore, key administrators in the University. The job of the President, Vice Presidents, and Chancellors is to provide leadership and vision, externally and internally, in sup-

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port of these activities, and to evaluate the performance of these activities. The job of the administrative staff (personnel, finance, and so on) is to support and facilitate the decisions made by the academic line. This means that administrative management is expected to (1) consult with academic management on ways to best implement academic decisions that have been made, and (2) carry forward academic management decisions, raising major questions only when there appears to be a legal or policy violation. Academic management will be judged on the academic merit of its decisions after the fact. Administrative management will be judged on the degree to which its decisions facilitate the implementation of the academic decisions. The business of the university is education. It is the direct action of the academic personnel of the university which carries forward the mission of the university. In this sense, there must be an attitude that the administrative staff works for the academic staff, with both sides working for the university.10 Simone went public with these views at the September 15, 1985, meeting of the Board of Regents when he said, . . . the proposed reorganization is based on his own philosophy and principles with the basic premise being that the "business of the university is education." Academic decisions should drive the university, and the administration should facilitate these academic decisions.12 The final draft of the reorganization proposal was dated October 28, 1985.13 The introduction recalled the essential features of the regents' charge and was followed by a section entitled "Backgrounds, Concepts, and Principles." It was under this heading that I managed to slip in my personal agenda on such topics as University autonomy from state government, delegation of authority within the University, and the need to facilitate (rather than control) transactions. I also discussed centralization versus decentralization and worried about the wise use of the president's time. Recalling the remedies prescribed for university malaise by Gil Tanabe, I added his ingredients of optimism, shared values, and a supportive climate in other sub-sections. And finally, I edited the four paragraphs quoted above from Simone's draft memo of August 28, 1985, and included them in a subsection entitled "Philosophy." Colleen Sathre's primary interest was in academic planning. Instead of an ad hoc budgetary process, Colleen believed that planning and budgeting should go hand in hand, reflecting institutional priorities. Her views

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prevailed in Simone's reorganization proposal, although I continued to argue that we should be guided more by what we know now than by what we knew at the time we made our plans. Colleen also prepared more than a dozen draft organization charts with well-defined lines of authority and responsibility and with conventional spans of control. Simone rejected them all. In their place, he substituted a chart of his own that showed the president and his vice presidents for academic affairs, student affairs, and research and graduate education in a single box called the "office of the president." In private conversations with Colleen, I referred to Simone's organizational chart as the "porcupine model." By having all the Manoa deans and directors report to the office of the president, rather than to the three Manoa vice presidents, Simone de facto had them all reporting to him. His span of control was thereby enlarged from the original thirteen officers of the University Executive Council to nearly fifty, and the three Manoa vice presidents were reduced from line officers to staff. This was not what Colleen and I had in mind when we drafted the reorganization proposal, and to us the discrepancy between our democratic narrative and Simone's imperial chart was large. We described the University Executive Council as "a team of senior executives" in a section of the proposal originally called "The First Level." In the following section, originally labeled "The Second Level," we introduced the concepts of "motion, mobility, flexibility, and adaptability." In the final draft of October 28, 1985,13 1 expanded these section headings to, respectively, "The First Level and the Team Approach" and "The Second Level and the Fluid Approach." Later, in a poetic rationale for the reorganization dated January 28, 1986,14 I linked the words "team" and "fluid," and thereafter referred to Simone's organizational concept as "the fluid team approach to management." Simone defended his proposal to eliminate the Manoa chancellor's office in a number of meetings and public appearances, both before and after it was approved. He argued that the new structure would increase efficiency, save money and positions, and improve service to students and the community. Instead of the hierarchical pyramid in which the president's office spent most of its time interacting with the Manoa chancellor's office, and vice versa, the two groups would be working together as a "fluid team." Many of the "improved services" Simone had promised would be provided by the proposed vice presidents for student affairs, university relations, and research and graduate education. His plan also included two temporary special assistants to study problems and make recommendations concerning the University's international role and its obsolete telecommunications system.13 All this was to be accomplished by reallocating Manoa positions and funds, thereby freeing administrators to work with their respective clienteles, rather than with one another.

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Simone's reorganization proposal was approved by the Board of Regents on November 15, 1985, three months after his appointment as president. And just as a football coach may adopt a particular offensive or defensive configuration to accommodate the strengths and weaknesses of the players he has on his roster, Simone had tailored certain parts of his organization to fit himself and members of his "fluid team." It was not surprising, then, when anonymous sources revealed that Simone had picked many of his cabinet members before the reorganization was approved. 15 On November 18, the names of three "administrative" vice presidents were announced: • Harold Masumoto, who continued as vice president for administration; • Ralph Horii, Jr., director of finance, who was named vice president for finance and operations; and • Kenji Sumida, Manoa vice chancellor for administration, who was appointed associate vice president for planning and budget. 1516 The University is required to advertise all executive-level positions for at least sixteen working days before a selection is made. Exceptions were permitted in the cases of Masumoto, Horii, and Sumida because Simone was merely transferring executives who were already part of the administration. "I don't think we'll have a national search for all positions, but I'm not ruling out local searches for all (of them)," Simone had said at the November 15 Board of Regents meeting. 15 At a press conference held on November 19, Simone revealed the names of four "academic" appointees: • Anthony J. Marsella, who was described by Simone as being among the "top ten faculty members" and was appointed acting vice president for academic affairs; • Joyce Tsunoda, who remained as chancellor of the community colleges; • Ralph Miwa, who was chancellor of West Oahu College and acting chancellor for UH-Hilo, and who became acting chancellor for both; • Doris Ching, who was vacating her position as associate dean of the College of Education to become the assistant to the president. 17 Simone also announced at his November 19 press conference that national searches were underway and advertisements had been placed for the "permanent" positions of vice president for academic affairs and of chancellor for UH-Hilo and UH-West Oahu. At the same time, local searches had been started to fill the positions of vice president for student affairs,

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vice president for research and graduate education, and vice president for university relations. Local searches were planned for the positions of temporary assistant to the president for international programs and for telecommunication. In conducting searches, the University has some discretion in whether it will advertise nationally or locally. Faculty must be recruited nationally as a condition for accepting federal grants and contracts. As a result, faculty members at the University of Hawaii resemble their counterparts at U.S. mainland institutions in academic qualifications, backgrounds, and ethnicity. Civil service (CS) employees and administrative, professional, and technical (APT) employees, on the other hand, are normally recruited only locally and tend to resemble their counterparts in the local community. Extrapolating to the managerial level, the University could elect to search nationwide for an "academic" vice president or chancellor, anticipating that qualified candidates would have progressed through the faculty ranks of various institutions, or it could advertise only locally, anticipating that an adequate pool of such candidates existed already at the University of Hawaii. It would normally advertise only locally for an "administrative" vice president or director, recognizing the importance of experience working in Hawaii and expecting qualified candidates to emerge from other branches of state government or from the University's own CS or APT lines. Of course, there is nothing to prevent a mainland candidate from applying and being accepted for a position announced only locally; people in Hawaii frequently inform their relatives, friends, and colleagues on the mainland about such local opportunities. The decisions to transfer Masumoto, Horii, and Sumida to new assignments and to search nationally for the permanent vice president for academic affairs and for the permanent UH-Hilo and UH-West Oahu chancellor followed the usual pattern. The decisions to search only locally for the temporary assistants and for the new vice presidents for student affairs and for university relations could be defended by noting that the two assistants were temporary and that the two vice presidents would be dealing mainly with local students and the local community. A national search might have made sense for the vice president for research and graduate education because the responsibilities of this office are national and international, as well as local. Arguing against a national search were time and money considerations and the knowledge that at least one well-qualified candidate existed in the person of David Morrison. Morrison had served two years as acting vice chancellor for research and graduate education under Dick Kosaki after being a finalist in the unsuccessful national search for vice chancellor. As acting vice chancellor, he had amply demonstrated his ability to perform the duties of that office. Simone's reorganization also affected me personally. It gave me a unique opportunity to pursue my administrative agenda, and it presented

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me with a major decision. The issue was whether to return to my occupation as an active scientist or to try for a career as a professional administrator. For someone like myself who thoroughly enjoys teaching, research, and service, there is no vocation more satisfying than being a professor at a good university. When I accepted the chairmanship of the Department of Physics and Astronomy in July 1979, I did not have to give that up. On the contrary, with excellent secretaries and committees, the department practically ran itself, and I was able to continue my teaching and research at a fairly high level. Similarly, my original appointment as acting assistant to the vice president for academic affairs in January 1985 was for six months only, and I fully intended to return to my position as professor of Physics in July. All of that changed quite unexpectedly in May 1985, when Cecil Mackey decided not to become president of the University. In the end, I decided to apply for the position of vice president for research and graduate education. It was not an easy decision. On the negative side, I was reluctant to give up my career as an active scientist, and I understood already from my limited experience in Bachman Hall that an administrative career would not enhance my reputation among my academic colleagues. The increase in pay was attractive, but it was less than some faculty earn by consulting. Certainly it was far too little to compensate for the hassles, extra work, and loss of freedom the new appointment would entail. On the positive side, I was intrigued by the intellectual content of the new job and thought it would be fun to broaden my horizons by learning more about such topics as astronomy, marine biology, and Asian drama and theater. For most of my career I had been forced to specialize in order to succeed; now I would have to generalize. I also imagined that I could multiply my effectiveness by a considerable factor. If, for example, I could increase the productivity of a thousand faculty members by as little as 1 percent, that was ten times more than I could achieve by increasing my own productivity by 100 percent. On the basis of these considerations, I was willing to serve, but only if there was a reasonable chance of success. Here my relationship with Al Simone was critical. As a charter member of his "fluid team," I truly believed in what he was trying to accomplish, and I thought that, with his support, I could continue to pursue my administrative agenda and make a contribution to the University. In characteristic fashion, Simone called me early on the morning of January 1, 1985, to tell me that I had gotten the job. That he offered it to me instead of to Dave Morrison was probably due mainly to the fact that I happened to be working for Simone during his long rivalry with Dick Kosaki for the presidency. Aside from that, I felt that Simone was choosing

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between two candidates with remarkably similar backgrounds and qualifications, Morrison having served as chair of the Astronomy Program when I was serving as chair of the Physics and Astronomy Department. Most of the job descriptions for the new organizational charts had been written by Colleen Sathre and myself, and I considered it a distinct privilege not only to be the University's first vice president for research and graduate education, but also to have written my own charge. The only other post I might have applied for in the new administration was that of vice president for academic affairs, but Simone had already appointed Tony Marsella to that position. Marsella did offer me the opportunity to continue as assistant vice president for academic affairs shortly after his own appointment was announced, but I thought I could accomplish more as a professor of Physics than I could as a university administrator stuck for an indefinite period at that level.

Tony Marsella: The Don of Academic Affairs The key appointments in establishing Simone's web of tension were the vice president for academic affairs and the vice president for administration, who must secure the extreme ends of the developing power spectrum. Harold Masumoto was an obvious choice for the latter, having defended that position successfully under Fudge Matsuda. Many people were surprised, however, when Simone announced his choice for the former.17 Anthony J. Marsella was born in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1940, and received his Ph.D. in psychology from Pennsylvania State University in 1968. His specialty was clinical psychology and psychopathology, and much of his research dealt with the psychosocial determinants of schizophrenia, depression, and other mental disorders. He began teaching at the University of Hawaii in 1970 and had published eight books and more than sixty book chapters, journal articles, and technical reports by the time he was named acting vice president for academic affairs on November 19, 1985. He had also received more than $1 million in research and training grants, had served as director of the World Health Organization's Psychiatric Research Center, and had consulted for such entities as the World Health Organization, the Veterans Administration, and the Queens Medical Center.18 As a bona fide scholar, Marsella appeared to be exactly the type of person Simone was looking for to establish the academic hegemony described in his draft memo of August 28, 1985, 10 and his reorganization proposal of October 28, 1985-13 Marsella's selection was also due in part to his close friendship with Simone and especially to the wise counsel he provided during Simone's long campaign for president. In an interview with a Ka Leo reporter, Marsella said that although he had never held an administrative position,

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. . . he always has been able to talk with President Albert Simone about various issues. It was this ability to express his opinions, and Simone's willingness to listen, that brought about Marsella's recommendation for the job. But Marsella said he turned down the offer at first because he does not see himself as a career administrator. . . . Marsella considered taking the job when Simone told him he basically would be "an idea person, a conceptualizer, a planner, an articulator of values and futures," and that he would not be involved with the bureaucracy.18 Marsella also informed the reporter that he thought his training in psychology would help him in his new position. He had spent a lot of time working with people who had serious problems, and he hoped his experience would translate to the University: "It makes a nice image—the university on a couch, and the vice president taking notes and asking them to free associate. Tell me your dreams," Marsella joked.18 Tony Marsella was not only a recognized scholar, he was also an inspiring public speaker, able to arouse an audience and rally people to his cause. Although he did not get along very well with his colleague Gil Tanabe, whom he replaced as the president's private "shrink," he articulated and personified many of the same ideas: the importance of shared academic values, the need to improve the internal quality and climate of the organization, and, above all, the need for transformation. Presenting himself as a "change agent," he spoke of education in terms of transforming students and described his administrative agenda in terms of transforming the University. 19 Where Simone was a diamond in the rough, Marsella was a polished rhinestone. Where Simone came to work in socks that did not match, Marsella arrived each day in an expensive business suit. Where Simone loosened his trousers whenever he sat down, Marsella rarely doffed his coat and tie. Where Simone was indifferent to creature comforts, Marsella was a sophisticated connoisseur who ate in the best restaurants, collected fine art, and ordered teak and leather upholstered furniture for his office in Bachman Hall. Where Simone sometimes offended audiences by saying exactly what he thought, Marsella tried to win their approval by telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. Where Simone had conflicting opinions and made many verbal slips in discussing women and minorities, Marsella was socially graceful and politically correct. Where Simone was the innocent abroad, Marsella had been to more than forty countries, including every country in Asia ex-

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cept Vietnam.18 Where Simone had many friends and supporters in the military and business communities, Marsella presented himself as a progressive champion of oppressed minorities and downtrodden masses. Where Simone rarely mentioned his Italian heritage and was as American as baseball, Marsella claimed minority status and called the president "gumba" to underscore their ethnic bond. And where Simone used up his life's savings in his service to the University, Marsella amassed a small fortune through consulting fees, book royalties, speaking honoraria, and shrewd real estate investments in Hawaii. In addition to being "an idea person, a conceptualizer, a planner, an articulator of values and futures,"17 Tony Marsella was a hard worker and set about immediately to put his ambitious program in place. An important first step was to increase the number of positions assigned to the office of the vice president. Where Rex Wade had one assistant vice president, Marsella would have two. Where Rex Wade had one assistant to the vice president, Marsella would have three program officers and one program specialist. And where Rex Wade and his assistants shared two secretaries, Marsella and his staff would have four secretaries and a fiscal officer. Coupled with Simone's edict of August 28, 1985, this expansion multiplied the power and influence of the office of the academic vice president and allowed Marsella to be more proactive than had been feasible with the limited resources available to Rex Wade. Marsella's second step was to make these appointments: 20 • Madeleine Goodman, chair of the Women's Studies Program and former chair of the Faculty Senate Executive Committee, became assistant vice president for academic affairs; • Dick Day, chair of the Department of English as a Second Language, became assistant vice president for academic affairs; • Amy Agbayani, director of Operation Manong, became program officer for new and special programs; • Mary Carol Perrot, assistant dean for student affairs in the College of Business Administration, became program officer for personnel and policy planning; • Marie Wunsch, academic assistant to the Manoa chancellor, became program officer for academic support; and • David Takeuchi, University of Hawaii student helper, became a program specialist upon completion of his Ph.D. Having doubled the size of his office and having appointed his staff, Marsella was ready to change the University. His strategy was reflected in the numerous speeches he gave to deans, faculty, students, and the community. As a conceptualizer, he often began his addresses by celebrating the more abstract dimensions of university life, which included faculty

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morale and empowerment, campus climate and culture, and institutional identity and direction. His vision was the stuff of legends, a Camelot that Simone often called "the Harvard model." As a champion for the oppressed, Marsella next acknowledged the abuses of previous administrations and called for a new paradigm in which social justice would prevail and everyone would win. And finally, as an actualizes he usually ended his orations by mentioning all the things he personally planned to accomplish for his audience—the noble deeds that would bring the new social order into being. In a short space of time, Marsella initiated, supported, and implemented a truly amazing array of programs. His Three Year Summary Profile of Accomplishments, Initiatives, Supported Efforts and Activities: 1986-8921 lists nine new academic degrees; seven new certificates and specializations; thirteen new academic and administrative units; twelve new academic and curriculum-based policies, programs, and units; four new journals published by the University of Hawai'i Press; eleven special reports and proposals; seventeen special task forces and work groups; four major innovations regarding University standards and program quality; five new student academic support services; nine new faculty academic support services; eight new collaborations with community agencies; and six academic grants valued at nearly $2 million. All this was in addition to the routine operational responsibilities of the office, which included oversight of some twenty schools and colleges at Manoa. Equally remarkable, his achievements were set in the context of a university campus that had experienced a declining enrollment and had developed virtually no new degrees or programs during the previous decade. Marsella's Three Year Summary Profile21 also mentions that he personally wrote and delivered more than 100 addresses for various University, community, and national audiences; that he published two books, five book chapters, and six journal articles; that he gave ten conference presentations; and that he wrote more than forty addresses and speeches for regents and other University officials. Meanwhile, he and his staff greeted and hosted more than seventy national and international visitors and dignitaries, mediated and resolved scores of grievances and disputes, and attended twelve national professional conferences. Again, it may appear that Marsella was exactly the type of innovative scholar Simone was looking for in an academic vice president. Unfortunately, mixed with Marsella's many talents were distinguishable liabilities. These were not discernible in most situations, nor were they apparent to most observers. In a person occupying a lesser position, they might have gone unnoticed altogether. In the position of the University's highest ranking academic officer, however, Marsella's shortcomings became both visible and administratively unacceptable, and they eventually led to his undoing.

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One of Marsella's managerial drawbacks was a tendency to take credit, rather than give it. In some cases, he took credit for work that was never completed, and in others, he took credit for work that was done mostly by other people. His Three Year Summary Profile21 contains numerous examples. The new Certificate in Peace Studies was never instituted. The Center for Aging and the new Certificate for Gerontology were established primarily through the work of Assistant Vice President Madeleine Goodman and Professor of Public Health Anthony Lenzer. The Center for Biographical Studies was formed mainly due to Professor of English George Simson. The Center for Arts and Humanities was never approved by the Board of Regents, and the Center for Translation and Interpretation was the creation mainly of Dean Dick Seymour and others in the College of Languages, Linguistics, and Literature. Marsella's personal draft for Academic Development Plan IV had to be discarded. As a consequence of his proclivity to take credit, Marsella was constantly upstaging Simone. In the other direction, he clashed with his own staff, with the deans and directors who reported to him, and even with certain faculty members. He never seemed to grasp the idea, familiar to most leaders, that credit is a means rather than an end, that he could have accomplished more by claiming less, that the best evidence of his own success would be the success of others, including, especially, Simone. A second blemish was an excessive territoriality. Not satisfied with the duties originally assigned to him in the reorganization of October 28, 1985, Marsella was continually seeking additional responsibilities. An early and persistent idea was to transfer the Graduate Division from my office to his. When Simone rejected this recommendation, Marsella proposed shutting down the Graduate Division. At my request, then Graduate Dean Howard McKaughan prepared a white paper, dated April 2, 1986, explaining why the University must have such a bureau. McKaughan's most compelling argument was that without a graduate office of some kind, the University's eighty-four master's and forty-nine doctoral degrees would no longer be accredited.22 On June 30, 1986, Al Simone showed me an organizational chart prepared by Tony Marsella and asked me what I thought about it. Particularly salient were the listings of graduate education and research under academic affairs. Graduate education was an old story by then, but when I mentioned research, Simone said that was exactly why he had shown me Marsella's proposal. He added that after six months in his new job, Tony was still trying to be an executive vice president and had trouble grasping both the purpose of the office of the president and the concept of Simone's fluid team. One impact upon my office of Marsella's approach to management was that, during his three-year tenure as vice president, we were often obliged to defend our very existence. Furthermore, the incursions we

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experienced in research and graduate education were not unique. Marsella was involved in long-term territorial disputes with most members of the executive council, including the president. This tended to unite the council against him and intensified his inherent suspicions and distrust. It also caused the president to bolster people such as myself as a way of strengthening his own defense against Marsella: To the extent that Marsella was occupied by conflicts with his peers, he would be weakened in his struggle with his boss. Like the Office of the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education, the Manoa Office of the Vice President for Student Affairs was particularly vulnerable. Ben Young, the University's first vice president for student affairs, lasted only one year under this continuous assault.23 As a psychiatrist and former associate dean for student affairs in the School of Medicine, Young had better things to do with his time than spar regularly with Tony Marsella. A second reason Simone brought Marsella's organizational chart to my attention at our meeting on June 30, 1986, was that he was already questioning Marsella's ability to serve as the permanent academic vice president. On Sunday evening, November 30, 1986, Simone called me at home to discuss his finalists for this position. He began by informing me that I was the first person he had consulted. I thanked him for the compliment and responded that my choice was Roy Weinstein, dean of the College of Natural Sciences and Mathematics at the University of Houston. I had known Roy Weinstein for nearly twenty years as a colleague in high-energy physics, and I viewed him as a capable and seasoned administrator who would emphasize the fundamentals and avoid the frills. Simone agreed with my assessment, but he said that Roy and I were too much alike. He wanted Tony to start new programs, he was counting on me to defend the core, and he saw himself in the middle. "Tony will be a constant pull in the other direction," Simone predicted, "and I will have to be the balancer." Simone's point was well taken, but it was not the central issue in his mind or in mine. He finally articulated his deepest concerns by asking me two questions: "Is Tony committed to my vision?" and "Can Tony be trusted to carry it out?" Simone said that other people had raised these questions, and he himself had been "burned" on two or three occasions. He then admitted that the problem was serious enough that he had talked to Tony several times about it, but he seemed satisfied with Tony's response. Although Simone admired Tony Marsella as a person, he was concerned about Marsella's administrative style, which he characterized as "giving personal favors—the politician's way." The common term for this is "patronage." In selecting Marsella for the acting post, Simone thought he had made a good decision concerning substance. In other words, the mental ability and the energy were clearly there, but Tony's methods and ambi-

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tions were sometimes a problem. Tacitly admitting that Tony often pursued his own agenda, Simone then added that he wanted the best possible people, even if their actions threatened his job. In retrospect, I feel that I was too discreet. Taking the high road, I reiterated my support for Roy Weinstein and avoided any direct criticism of Marsella. Simone was smart enough to grasp what I was thinking, and he ended our conversation by remarking that he was already getting the same diagnosis from the other vice presidents. Ultimately persuaded by Marsella's intelligence and boundless energy, Simone proceeded with the permanent appointment, a singular decision. Attributing his friend's administrative deficiencies to a lack of experience, Simone thought the situation would improve over time. When it did not, he blamed himself for bringing Marsella along too quickly, thereby spoiling an otherwise promising managerial career. The permanent appointment of Tony Marsella as academic vice president, effective January 1, 1987, implied, among other things, that the University had a viable successor to Al Simone. Simone's relationship with the Board of Regents was precarious from the beginning, and with Marsella waiting in the wings, it seemed that Simone might be asked to step down any day. Tony apparently exacerbated this situation by cultivating certain members of the Board. Foremost among these was Gladys Brandt, who represented the native Hawaiian community and served as Board chair from July 1, 1985, until June 30, 1989- One of the small favors Tony did for Gladys was to write many of her speeches. A much larger favor was championing the new Hawaiian Studies Center. In this way, Gladys' speeches became a vehicle for Marsella's vision, which included a strong personal commitment to Hawaiian Studies. Shortly after his permanent appointment was approved, Marsella unveiled his plans to launch the University into "a new era of excellence." 24 The two centerpieces were Hawaiian Studies and a new School of Pacific and Asian Studies.24 Eventually the former became the smallest but most vocal part of the latter. When the new school, consisting now of nine research centers, came before the Board of Regents, only one obstacle remained. To obtain Gladys' approval, a recess was called and an agreement reached on the critical final positioning of the word "Hawaiian" before the words "Asian" and "Pacific."25 Finding a permanent home for the new School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS) would prove to be more difficult. It would also expose another administrative deficiency, namely, Marsella's penchant for making commitments that were beyond his power to honor. Although such behavior violated the fundamental concept of Simone's fluid team, it often seemed to work to Marsella's advantage: If Simone backed him up, Marsella received the public recognition; if Simone did not, Simone usually got the blame.

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One of Marsella's promises to the Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific community was to construct a six-story building on the site of aging Henke Hall.24 The building was to include an international conference facility; an underground connection to Hamilton Library, which houses the University's collection of Asian and Pacific literature; and a collection of its own consisting of Hawaiian literature, records, chants, and old newspapers. 24 In making this promise in January 1987,24 Marsella exceeded his authority by committing the University to a construction project that was not part of the master plan, that had not been cleared with the rest of the University administration, and that would not be feasible for at least another decade. There was no provision to relocate the numerous tenants of Henke Hall, most of whom were researchers in the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (CTAHR). Under the old plan, the residents of Henke Hall were slated eventually to occupy the third phase of the agricultural sciences complex. Unfortunately, Ag Sciences III was still in the design stage, and it would take years to secure the funds required for its construction. Marsella was eager to move ahead and argued that the consequences of relocating the researchers would be insignificant compared to the benefits that would accrue from the new building. He also noted that the resources of CTAHR were extensive, and he insisted that the problem of resettlement could be solved to their benefit. At first, Simone accepted the arguments of his academic vice president and agreed to give the SHAPS building a higher priority than Ag Sciences III. Like Marsella, Simone was global in his outlook, and he believed that an investment in Asia and the Pacific would enhance the University's international reputation. Simone also was reluctant to pour more money into agriculture, which he knew very little about and viewed as a dying industry in Hawaii. What Simone and Marsella both failed to realize is that agriculture, not Asian and Pacific Studies, accounts for more than half of the University's international activity. It is the main reason Manoa ranks among the top ten campuses in America in funding for international programs, and it is also the main reason the University of Hawaii can call itself an international as well as a land grant university. In the course of this bitter struggle over the SHAPS building, Ned Kefford, the dean of CTAHR, informed me that 85 percent of his operation consisted of research and extension service. Both of these were in the Hawaii Institute for Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (HITAHR), which reported to me. With my rural upbringing and Ned's encouragement, I soon became a strong supporter of agriculture and was its champion on the University Executive Council. In his attempts to relocate the tenants of Henke Hall, Marsella alienated the agricultural community in Hawaii and drove them into my camp.

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He also angered the powerful local administrators, such as Harold Masumoto and Ralph Horii, who traditionally control the facilities master plan and the capital improvement budget. Finally, by creating the illusion that he was fighting hard for academic values, he gained favor with the faculty, possibly at Simone's expense. As previously noted, Simone was aware of Marsella's inexperience and some of his weaknesses even before Marsella's temporary appointment became official on January 1, 1986. Other weaknesses were revealed during the year preceding his permanent appointment on January 1, 1987. Finally, at our meeting on July 13, 1988, Simone confided that Tony had allowed his enthusiasm to get in the way once too often. He was saying things to one group about another and trying too hard with the Board of Regents. "They're having the same problems with Tony as the rest of us," Simone concluded. With the Board now on Simone's side, the issue was settled. It was time for Tony to step down. Simone informed me that he had already had his talk with Tony and that I was the only one, other than Marsella and Carolie Simone, with whom he had discussed his "firm" decision. Although the decision was firm, the timing was not. "We don't just kick people out," Simone explained, "We push them forward." Since Marsella was already an academic vice president, the most logical step forward was to become the president of another university. With such a lofty target in mind, Simone worked diligently telephoning recommendations and writing letters on Marsella's behalf. There were some near misses, but with each declining prospect, the date of Marsella's imminent departure was pushed further into the future. On January 3, 1989, Simone informed me that he would announce in February that Marsella was leaving in June. The plan was for Marsella to take a six-month sabbatical and then decide whether he would return to his faculty position at Manoa. This was a dangerous and frustrating period for the president because, while he was trying his best to "push Marsella forward," Marsella was continuing to make public comments, speeches, and mistakes that often countered Simone's efforts. Marsella's remarks on Manoa's "forgotten" programs, reported in Ka Leo on February 9, 1989, were a typical example.26 After noting that Hawaii's mental health care had been ranked fifty-first in the nation, Marsella alleged that Governor John Waihee had failed to address the needs of Hawaii's mental health care community, including funding new positions for the University. "We've been left hanging in areas such as mental health, gerontology, developmental disabilities, and social work," Marsella concluded.26 Since Governor Waihee had been in office barely two years, he could hardly be blamed personally for the way Hawaii's mental health care situation had evolved over the preceding decades. Nor was he responsible for

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the new positions Marsella had requested for Manoa since he had generously supported the University's budget in the priority order recommended by Simone and approved by the regents. The main effects of Marsella's remarks, therefore, were to embarrass Simone and Waihee and create friction between the two. Just when it seemed that this cycle might never end, it was terminated quite suddenly. Following a series of meetings with Manoa administrators, Simone informed the University Executive Council of Tony Marsella's resignation in a memo dated March 1, 1989- The March 4 edition of The Honolulu Advertiser11 reported that Marsella had resigned effective June 30, 1989, for "personal and professional reasons." The article went on to say that Marsella, who still holds a faculty position, couldn't be reached for comment. Simone also declined to elaborate on Marsella's reasons for leaving the University's No. 2 spot, a position he has held for three years. Simone said Marsella's immediate plan is to return to teaching after June 30, but he also is looking at the possibility of leaving the University. Simone yesterday praised Marsella for having "made his mark at the University," improving academic programs and organizational and personnel policies.27

Harold Masumoto: The President's Consigliere (Counselor) The other end of Simone's power spectrum was anchored initially by Harold Masumoto, who was reappointed vice president for administration, a title he had held since 1979-20 With a law degree and some twentyfive years in state government spent mostly at the University,28 Masumoto served de facto as private legal counsel to four University of Hawaii presidents. The first, Tom Hamilton, was as much a mentor as a client. The second, Harlan Cleveland, was more remote. Under Fujio Matsuda, who didn't want any trouble, Masumoto's influence reached its zenith. Under Simone, who thrived on trouble, that influence waned. Masumoto was also known as Matsuda's "hatchet man"28 and "scapegoat," two roles that Simone was inclined to play himself. Born and raised on the Big Island and a graduate in political science from Manoa, Harold Masumoto was the epitome of the "local Hawaiian administrator." He was also a role model and mentor for many of them. One attribute of the "local Hawaiian administrator" is a close working relationship with state government, that is, with leaders of Hawaii's

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Democratic Party. Before coming to the University, Masumoto was a disciple of liberal political guru Nadao Yoshinaga.28 He learned his way around power and the bureaucracy by serving in five legislative sessions as chief clerk to the powerful Senate Ways and Means Committee when Yoshinaga was its chairman. 28 At the end of 1986, after working for Simone for only two years, Masumoto left the University to accept a position as director of state planning under newly elected Governor John Waihee. In this ensuing role, Masumoto was deeply involved in such prominent issues as Hawaii's land use and regulatory system, allotments for state public works and capital improvement projects, the state functional plan, Hawaii's role in the AsiaPacific region, and Hawaii's 200-mile exclusive economic zone.28 While some observers praised Masumoto's mental toughness and hard-headed tenacity in this high-level position, others opined that he was the second most powerful person in state government and misused that power. 28 A second attribute of the "local Hawaiian administrator" is a strong desire to control transactions. Under Matsuda's rigid and highly centralized organizational structure, it often seemed to frustrated Manoa faculty that Masumoto was in control of everything. Conversely, under Simone's fluid and decentralized regime, the fear of many was that no one was in control of anything. How does a "local Hawaiian administrator" respond when access to the mechanisms for controlling transactions is denied by a boss like Al Simone? He cooperates fully but removes himself as completely as possible from the decision-making process so that he cannot be held responsible for the dire consequences that he feels are sure to follow. This is exactly what Masumoto did when faced with Simone's August 28, 1985, memo on the primacy of the academics in the University administration and his subsequent delegation of decision-making authority to Manoa deans and directors. A telling example was the massive delegation of personnel actions that went into effect on September 1, 1986. Although the authorization was signed by Simone, the details were orchestrated by Masumoto. For this reason, I have sometimes referred to the personnel delegation as "Masumoto's revenge." So complete was the transfer of responsibility that the University's Personnel Management Office, which was under Masumoto, no longer audited, monitored, or otherwise oversaw the processing of any of the delegated personnel actions or documents. This got Masumoto off the hook, but it meant that there was no longer any single office or file where one could obtain a comprehensive set of personnel records for the whole University. Since the federal government treats the entire ten-campus system as a single entity, requiring that it respond uniformly to innumerable federal rules and regulations, the resulting violations were both myriad and foreseeable.

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The contrast between Harold Masumoto and Tony Marsella was even greater than that between Marsella and Simone. This allowed Simone to characterize himself as a moderate leader forced to balance two extremes. Where Marsella's agenda was to transform the University, Masumoto's was to keep it out of trouble. Where Marsella had traveled to more than forty countries and was ready to leave Hawaii any time a better job came along, Masumoto had a personal commitment to the state that transcended professional considerations. Where Marsella liked to be the center of attention, Masumoto avoided publicity whenever possible. Where Marsella was listed in numerous biographical directories, including Prominent People of Hawaii,29 Masumoto was listed in none. Where Marsella was an inspiring public speaker able to rally large audiences to his cause, Masumoto worked in strict confidence with a few key people who had the power to accomplish his goals. Where Marsella often said more than he knew, Masumoto always said less. Where Marsella often promised more than he could deliver, Masumoto rarely promised anything. Where Marsella exhibited, published, presented, and articulated his ideas widely, Masumoto kept his thoughts to himself and rarely put anything in writing. Where Marsella was exalted by Simone's August 28, 1985, manifesto stating that the academics were running the University, Masumoto knew they were not. It was inevitable that two people as different as Masumoto and Marsella would clash. Marsella's unilateral and heavy-handed attempt to evict the tenants of Henke Hall and make room for the SHAPS building was a particularly bitter example. Within the University, it pitted the academics, led by Marsella, against the professional administrators, led by Masumoto. Externally, it pitted the international intellectual community, represented by Marsella, against the local agricultural community, represented by Masumoto. Philosophically, it pitted Camelot and "the Harvard model" against the more mundane aspirations of Asian Americans one or two generations removed from the plantation. Personally, it pitted Marsella's career ambitions against those of Sylvia Yuen, associate dean of the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources, who happened to be Masumoto's wife. Seven years later, with Masumoto firmly in control of the state's public works and capital improvements agenda, the SHAPS building was still on hold, and Masumoto had personally ordered a halt to construction of a related Marsella-sponsored project, the Hawaiian Studies building.30 Although Harold Masumoto left the University early in Al Simone's administration, his influence was felt throughout. In part, this was because of the many policies, procedures, and practices he had put in place during his years of service. Furthermore, in moving from the University to the state government, he had simply ascended to a higher position in Hawaii's one-party political system.31 Finally, Masumoto was succeeded by a cadre of administrators whom he had trained, some personally and some by

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example. Foremost among these was his direct heir, Ralph Horii, who served as vice president for finance and operations under Al Simone and was elevated to the position of senior vice president for administration under Simone's successor, Kenneth P. Mortimer. Doris Ching: The President's Protégée Three members of the president's "secret cabinet" were introduced at the end of Chapter 2. They were his secretary, Jean Imada; his assistant during the last five years, Diana DeLuca; and his wife, Carolie Simone. There was a fourth member of the president's "secret cabinet" whose career flourished remarkably under the tutelage of Al Simone. Doris Ching began as the first assistant to the president and was one of the original nineteen appointees approved by the Board of Regents on January 24, 1986.20 She served as Simone's assistant for only thirteen months, however, succeeding Ben Young as vice president for student affairs in February 1987. Her initial appointment was temporary; when the Board of Regents approved her permanent appointment on March 23, 1987, Doris Michiko Yamauchi Ching became the first woman vice president in the history of the University. Like Harold Masumoto, Doris Ching was born and raised in Hawaii.32 Rather than attending neighborhood schools, however, she went to English Standard Schools, public schools originally established for the children of missionaries.32 She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees in education from Manoa, taught in Hawaii's public school system, coordinated student teaching programs at the University, married, and bore two children.32 In 1974, she made the "toughest decision" of her life and left her husband and their two sons, then ages 9 and 11, for one year and two summers in order to earn a doctorate in education from Arizona State University.32 One of Doris Ching's strengths was her extensive involvement in community service. She was selected as a "Community Leader and Noteworthy American" in 1977; nominated for "Outstanding Young Women in America" in 1977; nominated for the Robert W. Clopton Award for Distinguished Community Service in 1980; and cited by the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii for outstanding service and dedication to students in 1983- In 1991, during her fifth year as student vice president, Ching was honored by the YWCA with an Outstanding Achievement Award as an educator, administrator, community service volunteer, and role model.33 Ching was also active in nearly a dozen professional organizations; served as a manuscript reviewer for the Journal of Teacher Education-, was a member of the editorial board of Educational Perspectives; received numerous research and training grants; was principal investigator and director of a $550,000 award and a $650,000 award for the Teacher Corps; and conducted more than thirty workshops in Hawaii, American Samoa,

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Arizona, New Mexico, New York, Iowa, Utah, and Washington, D.C., on the observation of teaching activities. In addition, she frequently served as a consultant to the Hawaii State Department of Education and on a variety of accreditation teams. Ching considered herself a student-oriented person and noted in her application for the position of vice president that students had been her primary interest and concern throughout the twenty-five years that she had served as an educator in Hawaii's secondary schools and at the University. She also saw herself as a strong advocate and adviser for students and student groups, having advised the Hui Pookela Chapter of Mortar Board for seven years and having initiated, advised, and supported the College of Education Student Association since its inception in 1981. That a person with these credentials could not reach the top of the academic ladder at Manoa is revealing. Having published no books and very few articles in refereed professional journals, Ching had failed to establish a national and international reputation and was not regarded by her faculty peers as an accomplished scholar. For this reason, her academic advancement stopped with her promotion to associate professor in 1982.

I used to tease Ben Young that he had one of the three hardest jobs in the University: A1 Simone had to deal with the athletes; I had to deal with the animals; and Ben had to deal with the students. It is not surprising, therefore, that Doris Ching refused nomination when the student vice president position was first created in 1986. A year later, Simone approached her about the job, and her reaction was, "No way!"32 As she subsequently explained to a Ka Leo reporter, "I really didn't want to deal with bomb threats at the dorms and computerized registration." 32 Eventually, she relented "because students on this campus really needed an advocate. . . . The student advocate, to me, is the person on campus w h o will do whatever is possible to help students progress—primarily in their academic development, but also in their overall development—without compromising." 32 In addition to dealing with bomb threats at the dorms and computerized registration, Ching had responsibility for admissions and records; the Bureau of Student Activities; Career Placement Services; the Center for Student Development; the College Opportunities Program; the Financial Aids Office; the International Student Office; and programs covering high school relations, the national student exchange, regents and presidential scholars, senior citizens, and veterans' affairs.32 Whereas Ben Young had resigned partly because he wanted to avoid competing with Tony Marsella and partly because he wanted to return to his career in medicine, he stated in an exit interview with Ka Leo that his decision was also partly due to his dissatisfaction with the level of funding given to student services at the University. "It's always been underfunded," he said.23

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As the protégée of Al Simone, Doris Ching was able to reverse this pattern, and during the remainder of his presidency, student affairs (UOH105) was the fastest growing line in the University's budget. Simone's beneficence enabled the Office for Student Affairs to implement more than twenty new programs and services aimed at improving student life at Manoa. Included were strategies for student recruitment, a personal safety program on campus, an Office for Non-Traditional Students, personal and academic counseling, a child care center, orientation programs for students and their parents, policies and procedures for preventing substance abuse, educational workshops, a library of informational literature, peer trainers, and health education.34 Just as the focus of Tony Marsella's "vision" was a new building for the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS), the heart of Doris Ching's "advocacy" was a new Student Services Center that would house all the assistance offered to students in one location. The difference was that Ching was able to bring her plan to fruition. Ground breaking for the Student Services Center took place on August 24, 1992, which was the first day of instruction of the 1992-1993 academic year, a time when the future of the SHAPS building was still uncertain and the founding dean of SHAPS had just resigned.35 Of the half-dozen major capital improvement projects funded for Manoa during Simone's administration, the Student Services Center was the first to begin construction. It therefore marked the end of a drought extending back more than a decade to the early days of the Matsuda administration. Simone left the University a few weeks before this first ground breaking occurred, and like Moses, who also led his people across a great desert, Simone never saw the Promised Land. Although Doris Ching was both local and an administrator, I would not describe her as a "local Hawaiian administrator." The distinction is subtle and dangerous for a "mainland haole" (White) author, but I think it's worth exploring. I mentioned in my introduction of Harold Masumoto that one attribute of a "local Hawaiian administrator" is a close working relationship with Hawaii's Democratic Party. In many respects, Ching met this criterion. She attended political fund raisers faithfully and once remarked at a University Executive Council meeting that it was part of our job as University officials to do so. She was also on a first-name basis with most members of the state legislature and listed foremost among her references for the job of vice president the name of George Ariyoshi, governor of Hawaii from 1974 through 1986. The distinction is that her relationship with the party, with the former governor, with the University president, and with power in general, was that of a protégée and not that of a broker. I gave as the second attribute of the "local Hawaiian administrator" a strong desire to control transactions. This was not Ching's style at all.

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Indeed, she was extremely positive and supportive in all her relationships. My third distinction is that Doris Ching was trained as an academic, not as a local administrator, and she had earned an Ed.D. degree from a respectable mainland university. In the war between the academics and the administrators, she usually sided with the former, for example, advocating excellence in research as a way of attracting excellent undergraduate as well as graduate students. My fourth distinction is an elaboration of my first. The "local Hawaiian administrator" is a power broker by virtue of the role he plays in the "local old boy network." As its name implies, the network is dominated by "boys." This may be true in every society, but in Hawaii, gender bias is exacerbated by the influence of Japanese culture and society, which is particularly pervasive in the contemporary state government 31 and which still finds a woman's participation in power mongering unseemly. The final attribute that distinguished Doris Ching from the "local Hawaiian administrator" was her demeanor, which I would characterize as "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." Whereas the "local Hawaiian administrator" is very shrewd about the uses and abuses of power, Doris Ching was inclined to deny their very existence. This can best be illustrated by her reaction to a memorable incident that otherwise had nothing to do with her. One of my assignments as acting assistant vice president for academic affairs during 1985 was to chair the University Advisory Committee on Computing and Telecommunications (U-ACCT). The main issue before us was the replacement of Manoa's telephone system. An assessment made by the Facilities Planning and Management Office indicated that the fifteen-year-old "electromechanical" system then being provided by the GTE Hawaiian Telephone Company should be replaced by a more advanced "digital" system, thereby improving services and saving the taxpayers about $36,000 per month. 36 U-ACCT had prepared a wish list suggesting all the desired features we would like to see in our new phone system. We sent the list to a number of companies and received half a dozen interested responses. 36 Our fondest dream was that one of these companies might enter into a partnership with the University and select Manoa as a beta test site, in which case our new system would be one of the most modern in the country and would be achieved at very little cost. The University of Pittsburgh's "Campus of the Future," developed in partnership with AT&T, was a model we often discussed. Our main appeal as a partner was our unique geography with ten campuses on four islands strategically located in the middle of the Pacific. We envisioned full-page ads in national magazines in which our corporate associate, in a Hawaiian motif, would tout its technical prowess in solving

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our incredible geographic and logistics problems. Indeed, our exploratory conversations with AT&T suggested that our selection as a beta test site was rather likely, and U-ACCT negotiated with AT&T for several months on a letter of understanding with that end in mind. Our worst fear was that GTE Hawaiian Telephone Company would sabotage our efforts to get the best possible system at the lowest possible cost, holding us forever in its power. My service as chair of U-ACCT ended upon the appointment of Jim Young as assistant to the president for telecommunications, computers, and information systems on January 24, 1986. 20 Young was executive director and general manager of KHET, the Hawaii public television station, and the term of his position at the University was only one year. In his final report on information technology at the University, dated August 14, 1986, he acknowledged that any agreement between the University and a telecommunications vendor, other than an outright gift, would have to go through the state's bidding process. However, he still urged that "every effort should be made by the University to determine legal means by which it can enter into advantageous 'partnership' agreements." 37 Our naive efforts to woo a mainland partner were swamped by bureaucratic malaise on the administrative side. Two years later, after the requests for bids finally went out, I was deeply disappointed to learn that companies such as AT&T, IBM, Wang, Northern Telecom, and Ericsson did not even respond. Moreover, the successful vendor just happened to be GTE Hawaiian Telephone. I wondered how it was possible to write a set of telephone specifications that companies like AT&T and IBM could not satisfy, and I expressed my concerns and my disappointment at a meeting of the Manoa Executive Council (MEC) held on July 26, 1988. The reaction of Doris Ching was to walk out of this meeting saying, "I can't believe what I'm hearing!" In retrospect, I had inadvertently placed Dr. Ching in an untenable position. On the one hand, she could not face the possibility that Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii, or anyone who worked for him, might be guilty of malfeasance. On the other hand, she could not assimilate what she seemed to be witnessing, namely, the other three members of the MEC, Al Simone, Tony Marsella, and I, behaving like mainland haoles and vilifying an innocent local person in her presence— which is the way it must have appeared to her at the time. At a follow-up meeting held for my benefit on August 4, 1988, Ralph Horii and Ed Yuen, director of the Procurement and Property Management Office, reviewed the history of the telephone project and outlined step-bystep how we had reached this endpoint. Their explanation was altogether reasonable. It was logical and inevitable: Like the fate of Oedipus, the outcome was foretold by an oracle at the birth of the enterprise. 38 Cut-over to the new telephone system occurred at 5:00 P.M., Thursday, May 31, 1990, about two years later. The new system proved to be

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unpopular, both in terms of service and price. In a memorandum dated May 3, 1991, Don Topping, director of the Social Science Research Institute, wrote to me to "request" (he explicitly suppressed the word "demand") that "the person(s) responsible for the University's telephone system provide for the Deans and Directors the following: (a) a full history and account of the events that have led to the current crisis that we now face, namely, how to pay the current bills; and (b) a plan to scale down the system now in place to an affordable level." At a meeting of the deans and directors held on July 24, 1991, Allan Ah San, director of Campus Operations, put up a credible smoke screen, avoiding all eight of the points Topping had raised, explaining that AT&T and IBM did not bid, and insisting that we got a very good price from GTE Hawaiian Telephone. Ah San gave three reasons for our funding problems: • The 1986 legislature cut Manoa's annual telephone budget by $360,000 in anticipation of the savings that were expected to (but did not) accrue from the new system. • Rapid growth in research meant that 1,200 lines were being charged to researchers, but there were only 600 generalfunded research people. • The additional indirect costs recovered by the University for these additional research lines were being used to stimulate further growth in research instead of being used to support the new telephone system. No one was satisfied with these answers, and most deans and directors left the meeting knowing little more than when they arrived, namely, that they were stuck with higher telephone bills and a system that was, to quote Director Topping, only "slightly improved." I was sorry to see that the success of the academics in obtaining extramural research funds was being blamed by the administrators for their own failure in procuring a modern and affordable telephone system in a timely fashion. The impacts and additional costs of the new system for students were noted a few months later by Ka Leo.19 Beginning in January 1990, the executive branch of state government made several non-bid awards totaling $9 million to GTE Hawaiian Telephone for the lease of new telephone services.40 The circumstances surrounding these leases were "so suspicious" that State Senator Richard Matsuura subpoenaed Budget and Finance Director Yukio Takemoto and others to testify under oath before his Science, Technology, and Economic Development Committee during the 1992 legislative session: Matsuura said he is particularly disturbed by the fact that the state, from 1985-1989, spent $440,000 on a series of telephone services studies, all of which recommended that the state purchase its own "PBX" telephone switching equipment through competitive bidding

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rather than continue to lease switches and services from GTE Hawaiian Tel. The last such study, an internal one for the state Department of Budget and Finance, was completed by state official Norman Okamura in May 1989 and recommended that the state pursue the PBX option because it is cheaper in the long run and provides more flexibility.40 To my knowledge, there was no connection between the University's competitively bid purchase award and the executive branch's non-bid lease awards, aside from the fact that all the contracts went to GTE Hawaiian Telephone, and I do not wish to pass judgment on either process. My reason for mentioning the former was that it illustrates the character of Doris Ching; my reason for mentioning the latter is that it had a surprising sequel that illustrates once again the extent to which state government impinges upon the University of Hawaii. Norman Okamura, who was formerly head of the Information and Communications Services Division within Takemoto's Department of Budget and Finance and who performed the most recent telephone service study for the executive branch, left state employment in January 1992 and began working with the accounting and consulting firm of KPMG Peat Marwick.40 This was merely a "holding pattern," and during the legislative session that ended in May 1992, Senator Matsuura and others were able to insert into the University's budget a new position that seemed tailor-made for Okamura. The new position was described in the legislative add-on as a "telecommunications policy specialist," and Okamura easily emerged as the best qualified candidate in a legitimate search that followed rigorous Equal Employment Opportunity (EEO) procedures. Okamura was appointed to the new position on November 19, 1992. My understanding is that Okamura was the "whistle-blower" on the non-bid lease awards and that Matsuura and his colleagues in the legislature wanted to protect Okamura from further retaliation from the executive branch. The final irony is that Okamura's position happened to be placed in the Social Science Research Institute, which was directed by the University's own telecommunications "whistle-blower," Don Topping.

Joyce Tsunoda: The Manchurian Wildcat Of all those who served on the University Executive Council under Al Simone, the person who took the longest and most improbable path to get there was Joyce Tsunoda. Her mother, Edith Nishimura, was born in Haleiwa to hard-working parents who came to Oahu as indentured servants and never returned to Japan. Edith met her husband, Yukio Nishimura, a Japanese baseball player, when he was visiting Oahu for a college game.

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She traveled to Japan in 1937 to marry Yukio, who by that time was a star pitcher with the Hanshin Tigers professional team. Tsunoda was born in Osaka, Japan, on January 1, 1938, and was christened Sachiko, or "child of happiness." 41 With a growing family to support, Yukio Nishimura left baseball and became an executive with a Japanese firm located in Manchuria. When war broke out with the United States, Tsunoda was a precocious threeyear-old already attending kindergarten. In 1944, her father was drafted into the Japanese army. Her mother, who was pregnant at the time, was never to see or hear from her husband again.41 After the war, Chinese and Russian troops retook Manchuria, leaving Tsunoda, her mother, and three sisters stranded. Tsunoda's mother cut her hair short and wore men's clothes so that she wouldn't be bothered by marauding soldiers. Schools were closed to the few remaining Japanese, but Tsunoda's mother continued to drill her daughters in math and scrounged used books for them to read. "I read everything from torrid love stories to the New Testament Bible," Tsunoda told a reporter in a Midweek cover story in 1987.41 Eventually, the family made it to Japan where Tsunoda's mother confirmed that her husband had died fighting in the Philippines. Her relatives in Hawaii sent money for first-class passage on an ocean liner to the islands, and Tsunoda entered Haleiwa Elementary School speaking only Japanese. She overtook her classmates in English when she discovered the public library, and she also proved to be a whiz in math.41 Tsunoda became a naturalized citizen in 1952, was valedictorian of her senior class at Leilehua High School in 1956, and received several scholarships to attend the University of Hawaii at Manoa. She graduated cum laude in chemistry in I960 and married Peter Tsunoda, a foreign student from Japan who was majoring in accounting.41 Following the ceremony, the newlyweds visited Japan to introduce the bride to her in-laws, a traditional family not used to competitive, outspoken women. Instead of sitting back quietly with her sisters-in-law, Tsunoda sat down with the men and joined in their conversation. Tsunoda's father-in-law accepted her teasing and camaraderie in good spirits and treated her like a son.41 A year after she started graduate school at Manoa, Tsunoda became pregnant. At first she thought of stopping with a master's degree, but her husband knew she would later regret this decision, and he encouraged her to persevere. Their first daughter, Sharon Sayuri Kusakabe, was born May 4, 1963, and their second, Brenda Yukari Tsunoda, was born on June 21, 1965. With the strong support of her husband and her mother, Tsunoda continued her studies and obtained her Ph.D. in biochemistry from Manoa in 1966.41,42 As wildly improbable as it must have seemed, Tsunoda had survived World War II and the collapse of the Japanese occupation in Manchuria,

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become a citizen of a foreign country that had just defeated her own, and prepared herself for a sterling career as a professor of chemistry in an American university. It sounds like the happy ending of an immigrant fairy tale, but here the story takes another decisive turn. Committed to remaining in Hawaii by virtue of her family ties, Tsunoda had only one professorial prospect. When a faculty appointment failed to materialize at Manoa, she was forced to abandon her dream of becoming a bona fide chemistry professor and accept a position as a chemistry instructor at Leeward Community College. To a layperson, the difference between the two positions may seem insignificant: A college is a college, and a teacher is a teacher. To some people in academe, however, the distinction is as great as that between a doctor and a nurse, a lawyer and a legal aide, an engineer and a technician. A community college is not a university, and an instructor is not a professor. Many community college faculty members do not have doctoral degrees, and Tsunoda was actually overqualified for the appointment she initially accepted. Although some courses taught in the community colleges are at the college level (Alpha 100 and above), some are vocational (auto mechanics), some are remedial (Math 26), and few rise above the sophomore curriculum (Alpha 200). And whereas students at Manoa must satisfy strict entrance requirements, the community colleges have an open door policy that permits anyone with a high school diploma to enroll. More profound than any of these differences is the expectation that Manoa faculty members be deeply involved in scholarly pursuits. Depending upon the discipline, this might include such endeavors as scientific and scholarly research; agricultural, aquacultural, and educational extension service; design, construction, and evaluation of engineering projects and devices; global environmental modeling and local environmental assessment; creative writing and literary criticism; or artistic production, dramatic performances, and musical recitals. Coupled with the expectation of scholarly activity is the fact that time is set aside for this purpose. While community college faculty members routinely teach four or five courses a semester, a typical load at Manoa is three. In fact, some full-time instructional faculty members at Manoa teach as few as one, two, or three courses a year. With this kind of temporal handicap, very few community college faculty members have achieved the scholarly productivity and recognition required of tenured faculty members at Manoa, even though—as in the case of Joyce Tsunoda—their qualifications at the point of entry may have been indistinguishable. Thus, while one can argue that Tsunoda was fully qualified for a Manoa entry-level position at the beginning of her career, one cannot demonstrate that her subsequent accomplishments—as remarkable as they are—would satisfy the requirements for tenure in a Manoa

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department. The fact that Tsunoda did not have the qualifications to be a tenured professor at Manoa was widely known, and—regardless of whether this outcome was fair or relevant to her position as community college chancellor—it would haunt her feelings about Manoa and Manoa's feelings about her for the rest of her career. Within the community colleges, Tsunoda's talent and zeal were quickly recognized. She became associate dean of community service at Leeward in 1973, was appointed provost of Kapiolani Community College in 1976, and became the first woman chancellor of the University of Hawaii Community College System in 1983- Her colleagues nicknamed her the "Manchurian Wildcat," a sobriquet she considered flattering because she had earned it by sticking to her principles and by fighting very hard for what she believed the community colleges deserved.4143 Six years after joining Leeward Community College, Tsunoda began participating in the American Council on Education leadership institute for prospective community college leaders. That was when she noticed a double asterisk next to her name: Somebody told me that I took care of two categories—minority and woman. I had lived in Hawaii all of my life, so I never thought people would look at me the way they did. I don't resent it. I just thought it was interesting. I just laugh at it now. It would not be entirely accurate if I said that things would be no different if I were not a woman or a person of color. When the opportunity came, I did not hesitate to take advantage of it. I think that all of us who are minorities have to grab at opportunities that come before us, but we have to work three times as hard so that no one can say that we don't deserve to be in the position.44 As community college chancellor, Tsunoda was responsible for six campuses prior to the separation of Hawaii Community College from the University of Hawaii at Hilo on November 15, 1990, and seven thereafter. In 1992, Manoa had 64 percent of the budget and only 40 percent of the students, while the community colleges had 23 percent of the budget and 53 percent of the students. "We're bigger than all the others put together," Tsunoda said.41 The community colleges also had higher percentages of "under-represented" students, such as native Hawaiians and Filipinos. These numerical measures of efficiency and political correctness ignore the fact that the missions of Manoa and the community colleges are altogether different. It is rather like comparing the student per capita costs of a university with those of a high school, or those of a medical school with those of a college of arts and sciences. Nevertheless, Tsunoda often cited such statistics to support her contention that the community colleges

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were not receiving their fair share. 45 Coupled with her personal frustration in not obtaining a faculty position at Manoa, they nurtured Tsunoda's profound conviction that she, and the community colleges she represented, were not getting the respect they deserved. The major elements undergirding Tsunoda's University Executive Council agenda were therefore two: The first was to increase the resource allotment for the community colleges and increase her freedom in using those resources; 45 and the second was to cbtain for community college faculty and students parity with their Manoa counterparts. One way or another, all the perceived "inequities" distinguishing the community colleges from Manoa were to be eliminated. Resource allotment will resurface later, particularly when we discuss the budget wars in Chapter 6. The "parity" or "fairness" issue will also come up again, and several short examples are given below. One of Tsunoda's frequently expressed beliefs was that community college faculty members were just as worthy as Manoa faculty members and should therefore get paid just as much. In fact, since their teaching loads were substantially higher, Tsunoda sometimes argued that community college faculty members worked harder than Manoa faculty members and should get paid more. A corollary was that Manoa faculty members were not working hard enough, hence their teaching loads should be raised. Alternatively, community college faculty members should teach less. The differing pay scales between the University's two-year and fouryear campuses came to a head in March 1988 when Senator Malama Solomon, chair of the Senate Higher Education Committee, introduced a resolution asking the legislative auditor to . . . conduct a study of the University of Hawaii faculty salary schedule and teaching loads and recommend corrective actions, as necessary, to insure that comparable salaries are paid to its faculty to reflect similar teaching loads, credentials, assigned responsibilities, and other controlling factors in the interest of equity and as a desired institutional policy. . . . 46 Simone believed that Tsunoda had put Senator Solomon up to this resolution and was furious. At a University Executive Council meeting held on March 28, 1988, he pointed out that the credentials required of twoyear and four-year faculty are quite different, that the competition for faculty positions at four-year institutions is much stiffer, and that faculty at these institutions have a strong commitment to research. What bothered Simone most was Tsunoda's "back door tactics" and her refusal to recognize that a person who had earned a Ph.D. from a top-notch university generally commanded a higher salary than one who had not. Tsunoda insisted that this was not "back door stuff," that the resolution was a natural outgrowth of community college presentations made to

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Senator Solomon at the senator's request. In a memorandum to Simone dated March 29, 1988, she repeated her view that community college faculty have the toughest job in higher education, and she proposed that the University of Hawaii, as a unique entity within the entire American higher education system, . . . serve as a pace-setter in changing the traditional attitude of "first-class"/"second-class" hierarchy. If we truly value teaching as much as we do research, we should allow those in the four-year as well as the two-year institutions who prefer full-time teaching to do just so and be rewarded accordingly. We must establish reward systems, along with their attendant workload and compensation schedules, to recognize the equal status of teaching and research.47 My main concerns were two. First, I thought it was wrong for the legislature to intrude into the affairs of the University by making recommendations along the lines contained in Solomon's resolution. The issue of faculty qualifications is academic rather than political, and since I and other academics at Manoa did not have as much influence with the legislature as Tsunoda and the community colleges, we were at a distinct disadvantage in defending our views in that arena. Second, I feared that Hawaii's local zeal in pursuing égalité might eventually preclude Manoa from competing successfully with other Category I institutions around the country. Over time, we would become even more like Hilo/West Oahu and the community colleges. In fact, one of the consequences of the single Board of Regents and the single faculty union is that salaries at Hilo, which is classified by the American Association of University Professors as a Category II institution, and at the community colleges, which are classified as Category IV, differ relatively little from those at Manoa. Historically, this has resulted in Manoa being in the bottom salary range for Category I institutions, while Hilo and the community colleges are typically in the top ranges for institutions of their respective designations. As a second manifestation of her two-pronged agenda, Tsunoda was successful in getting the titles of community college faculty changed so that they now coincide with those of Manoa faculty. The specific conversions, approved by the Board of Regents on January 17, 1992, were these: Instructor II to Instructor; Instructor III to Assistant Professor, Community Colleges; Instructor IV to Associate Professor, Community Colleges; and Instructor V to Professor, Community Colleges.48 (Due to rank and salary inflation over the years, the "Instructor I" title was no longer in use.) Although faculty members at Manoa were consulted and did not resist the change in titles as long as they were explicitly identified with the community colleges,48 the organization of the University of Hawaii as a system has blurred this distinction. Ex post facto, this has provided some

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legitimacy for the claim of one community college faculty member who identified herself in a scholarly publication as a "Professor of History at the University of Hawaii."49 To some people in academe, this coupling of "professor" with "university" without mentioning the community colleges is a misrepresentation analogous—as previously noted—to a nurse posing as a doctor, a legal aide posing as a lawyer, or a technician posing as an engineer. A third example was Tsunoda's own salary. Having served as community college chancellor since 1983, she was the most experienced academic administrator on the University Executive Council, possibly excepting Simone, and the one directly responsible for most of the students. Hence, it didn't seem fair when, at the beginning of Simone's administration, three relatively inexperienced Manoa vice presidents—Tony Marsella, Ben Young, and myself—were recruited at starting salaries higher than hers. Even more galling, by the end of Simone's administration, the salary of Doris Ching was $100,728, only 3-2 percent below Tsunoda's $104,052. 50 Stalled at the rank of associate professor in the College of Education, Ching lacked the academic stature of Marsella and myself, nor was she a medical doctor like Ben Young. In addition, the enterprise Ching managed was quite small. Under these circumstances, it was difficult to justify Ching's six-figure salary, and it seemed to many that the only explanation was the patronage of Al Simone. Adding further insult to injury, Tsunoda was the only community college employee named among the top 100 salary-makers at the University of Hawaii, and she was listed at rank thirty-two.50

4 Reorganization as a Management Style

In other words, these effective executives did not approach their jobs by planning, organizing, motivating, and controlling in a very formal sense. Instead, they relied on more continuous, more informal, and more subtle methods to cope with their large and complex job demands. The most important products of their approach were agendas and networks, not formal plans and organizational charts.' —John E Kotter, The General Manager

Reorganizations were undertaken so frequently during Al Simone's administration that they can be regarded as a routine feature of his management style. Often they were motivated by internal or external politics; hence, they illuminate the topic of this book. My purpose in this chapter is not to pass judgment on this aspect of the president's modus operandi; rather, I want to review it as faithfully as possible and acknowledge once again that Simone's many idiosyncrasies probably contributed to his success. Harlan Cleveland a n d the Theory of Horizontal Tension In previous chapters, I have described Al Simone and the University Executive Council (UEC) he created. As a scientist, I tend to regard these observations as data in an experiment, and I wonder whether there is an

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appropriate theory with which they might be compared. It turns out that there is such a theory—apparently unknown to Simone and unnamed by its author—that anticipates not only the crisis manager, but also his fluid team approach to management. 2 I shall refer to this remarkable formulation, fortuitously promulgated by a former University of Hawaii president, Harlan Cleveland (1969-1974),3 as the theory of horizontal tension. Indeed, Cleveland must have had in mind something like Simone's fluid team when he predicted that the style of future executives "will have to be adjusted to an environment which is ill described by drawing square and static diagrams on two-dimensional charts; it will feel more like a continuous chemical reaction in a liquefied solution."4 Simone himself was the epitome of "constructive ambiguity."5 Although he often professed that he was following the University's Strategy for Academic Quality;6 what he was actually doing was "improvis(ing) on a general sense of direction."7 Continuing his unwitting march along the paper trail blazed by Harlan Cleveland, Simone "deliberately induce(d) a degree of tension within the organization, enough loud and cheerful argument among its members so that all possible outcomes are analyzed, the short-term benefits are compared with the long-run costs, the moral dilemmas are illuminated, and the public relations effects are analytically examined."8 Furthermore, most of the tensions Simone introduced were horizontal rather than vertical, and he moved "away from vertical administration toward more consultative styles of operation."9 A prime example of this 90-degree rotation from vertical to horizontal was Simone's decision to replace the vertical tension that existed between the office of the University president and the office of the Manoa chancellor with horizontal tension among his vice presidents and chancellors. Mathematically, this was a true rotation of the tension vector because only the direction—and not the magnitude—was affected. Many of the same people were involved, and Simone deliberately cultivated, rather than discouraged, the inherent differences among us. An example of tension enhancement was Simone's manifesto of August 28, 1985,10 which was reaffirmed in his public statements11 and in the appendix of his reorganization proposal. 12 And whereas Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda's vertical, multitiered administration was dominated by professional administrators from the local community who believed in a chain of command, Simone's horizontal regime was driven by "bona fide academics" who saw themselves primarily as members of an international community of scholars and who were steeped in the egalitarian traditions of academe and particularly of academic freedom. Needless to say, the professional administrators strongly opposed Simone's degradation of their authority, and some were personally offended. Born and raised in Hawaii, they felt that the University was theirs to con-

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trol. Now, all of a sudden, it was being taken over by a bunch of academic "visionaries" from the U.S. mainland, who cared more about their own careers and alma maters than they did about the University of Hawaii. Nor did it make any sense for administrative professionals to work for naive faculty who had no expertise in the basic elements of management—planning, budgeting, finance, and personnel. Open confrontation is not the Hawaiian way.13 Instead of the "loud and cheerful argument"8 that Harlan Cleveland envisioned, the professional administrators tended to say very little in executive council meetings and worked very hard behind the scenes for the goals and objectives they favored. They openly backed the president and the academics whenever that was necessary and pursued their own hidden agendas when it was not. Most of the professionals had more influence with the Board, the legislature, and the governor's office than did the academics, and several had more influence than Simone. All of them knew that the University's presidents would come and go, whereas they would still be living in Hawaii and working in state government long after Simone was gone. Knowledgeable observers, noting that the professional administrators had all the power, connections, and experience, said that the basic premise underlying Simone's draft memo of August 28, 1985, was flawed. With PACMAN in vogue, they predicted that the professionals would "eat" the academics. The only person on the academic side who believed himself to be sufficiently powerful, well-connected, and experienced to enforce the new paradigm was Al Simone. With the exception of Tony Marsella, the academics were embarrassed by the August 28, 1985, draft memo and acted as if it had never been written. The professionals, on the other hand, referred to it often. In the early days, they cited it facetiously whenever it was necessary to justify an unpopular decision or explain a mistake they had made. Their initial relationship with the draft memo might be summarized as "look what you made us do." Later, as Simone's authority weakened, the attitude of the professionals was "we told you it would never work." Finally, after Simone left the University, references to the draft memo rang out like the victory slogan "Remember the Alamo!" The resurgent professionals honestly favored a vertical structure and blamed Simone's delegation of authority and his fluid team approach for many of the University's problems. There is one final irony in this comparison of experiment with theory: The vertical hierarchy that Fudge Matsuda endured for ten years and Simone demolished in a few months was created in 1971 by Harlan Cleveland. Where did Cleveland go wrong? Why, in practice, did he set up a vertical web of tensions that was the very antithesis of the horizontal web he advocated in his theory? My impression is that Cleveland, a noted futurist, was not himself an executive of the future. He accurately anticipated, but had almost nothing

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in common with, the irrepressible A1 Simone. And instead of getting his hands dirty and working with the University community as it actually existed during the last quarter of the twentieth century, he stood aloof and thought lofty thoughts about how the institution might evolve over the next fifty to 100 years. I suppose Cleveland envisioned a system resembling the University of California with a handful of major campuses, all headed by chancellors who reported to one central office. Since Hawaii has only one major campus, the structure Cleveland designed for a handful was flawed. Thus, in my opinion, the author of The Future Executive looked too far into the future and attempted to manage the University of Hawaii as if it were already "The Future University."

Ernest Boyer and the Three-Legged Stool One of the pivotal issues affecting the organization of the University is whether one governing board is sufficient to oversee public higher education in Hawaii. Hawaii is virtually unique in having a unified system that combines the community colleges, the baccalaureate campuses (Hilo and West Oahu), and the research campus or campuses (Manoa). Members of the University's Board of Regents also serve simultaneously as members of the State Board for Vocational Education. Most states have separate boards for vocational education as well as for their community colleges and their state universities. California, for example, has three separate statewide higher education boards and over seventy community college boards. Hawaii is also virtually unique in having a single Board of Education that oversees public primary and secondary education on all the islands. Among the factors that may help to explain Hawaii's unusual approach to higher education are the relatively short histories of the community colleges (1965), Hilo (1970), and West Oahu (1976) compared with Manoa (1907); the concentration of 80 percent of the state's population and productivity on Oahu, which is reflected in 65 percent of the University's budget still going to Manoa; and the state's long tradition of highly centralized government in general. There are advantages and disadvantages to a unified structure, and just as Hawaii's Department of Education has recently moved toward a system of "School Community Based Management" (SCBM), so too have various schemes been proposed to dismantle the University. The most common are a separate board for the community colleges, a separate board for Hilo, or both. "Fairness" is always declared to be the issue, and—though its share of the budget continues to decline—Manoa is always accused of taking too much. The legislature is a daunting arena in which to address such organizational thrusts. It is no good arguing globally that the unified system is

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economical, efficient, and in the best interests of the state, the University, and the students. On the contrary, these larger considerations are almost irrelevant to most legislators, who are narrowly focused on the needs of their districts and their own occupational imperative to win re-election. For those districts fortunate enough to have one, a University campus is an ideal "pork barrel" vehicle. In fact, most campuses are intimately and publicly associated with the economic development and well-being of their precincts. The one exception is Manoa, where overcrowding, a lack of parking, and other stresses of the local infrastructure have caused most residents and their elected representatives to turn against their ponderous neighbor and oppose further growth. This exacerbates the historical dissemination of Manoa's resources and functions to other campuses and particularly to the neighbor islands. Intrusions of the legislature into the affairs of the University are routine in Hawaii, and the class of 1988 was a salient example. Senator Malama Solomon, chair of the Senate Higher Education Committee, wanted to move the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (CTAHR), the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST), and the Institute for Astronomy to Hilo; and her vice chair, Senator Milton Holt, introduced a bill to create a separate board for the community colleges.1415 It made no difference to Solomon that CTAHR and SOEST were both more than twice as large as the University of Hawaii at Hilo; and it made no difference to Holt that Joyce Tsunoda, under Al Simone's delegation, was virtually running a separate community college system already. To appease Solomon, the University came up with the "Action Alliance," which increased collaboration between Manoa and Hilo,15 essentially transferring resources to the latter. To appease Holt, the University agreed to support resolutions from both the senate and the house urging the Board of Regents to study the feasibility of restructuring the University's governance system. The Board knew ab initio what the result of its governance study must be. The challenge was to elicit the requisite diagnosis and prescription from an impeccable source. In seeking the professional opinion of Dr. Ernest L. Boyer, president of the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching, the Board could not have found a more esteemed practitioner. As the former chancellor of the State University of New York (SUNY), Boyer had the knowledge and experience to understand what the Board of Regents and the people of Hawaii had at stake in a unified system. As the author of High School: A Report on Secondary Education in America,16 he had the eminence and credibility to render any recommendation compelling. Compared to his 350-page book on secondary education, however, his nineteen-page triple-spaced report on the governance of the University of Hawaii17 seemed pretty thin. Where Boyer earned his consid-

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erable pay was in defending the single, unified board in meetings with legislators and in the testimony he gave before Senator Solomon's Higher Education Committee. One of the strengths of his report was the distinction Boyer drew between substance, perception, and politics. Substance relates to an organization's actual activities, behavior, and performance. Perception is the picture various constituencies have of those activities, behavior, and performance. Politics is the overall basis upon which decisions are made. Since organizational decisions are often based on perception, Boyer stressed the importance of improving perception through advances in substance, communication, and symbolism.17 The one essential recommendation of the Boyer Report was to retain a single Board of Regents to oversee Manoa, the community colleges, Hilo, and West Oahu. Among his five reasons, Boyer pointed out that "[w]hile trustees and administrators can organize themselves into separate jurisdictions, for the student, education is a seamless web." 17 The seamless web was a gift to the regents, who saw their legitimacy validated and their prestige enhanced. A secondary recommendation was to retain the basic organizational structure, only three years old, for two more years so that a full evaluation of its effectiveness could be made.17 This was a gift to Simone, for it meant that he could run the University in his own way a little bit longer. Having preserved the system and its unique form of governance, Boyer demonstrated his genius for higher education management by dressing his two status quo recommendations in six symbolic "action steps."17 These were gifts to Senators Soloman and Holt, to Representative Brian Taniguchi, who chaired the House Committee on Higher Education and the Arts, and to other legislators Boyer had interviewed while researching his report. Boyer's purpose was to assure this powerful constituency that the University was paying attention to their concerns and moving quickly to address them. Since perception was the objective, it was not surprising that the six action steps—under Simone—had minimal effect on the substance of the University and maximal effect on the politics. Some of the action steps were worth considering, and some were not. Nevertheless, Al Simone weighed each of them carefully and responded with six "administrative adjustments" of his own.18 His purpose was damage control: He had to maintain the illusion that the University was taking Boyer and the legislature seriously without abandoning the main elements of his fluid team. As one example of this approach, the first action step was to give the president of the University of Hawaii the additional title of chancellor of the University of Hawaii at Manoa. Considering that Simone had recently terminated the Manoa chancellor's office, one might suppose that he would have objected to its immediate resurrection. Since the resurrection was

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purely symbolic, however, and since he was the recipient of the superfluous title, he did not. Boyer's first action step thus became, verbatim, Simone's first administrative adjustment. As a second example, Boyer argued that the community colleges and Hilo/West Oahu had missions distinct from Manoa's but equally important. He therefore recommended that the chancellor for the community colleges and the chancellor for Hilo and West Oahu be named senior vice presidents of the system and rotate as acting president in the president's absence. Previously, the vice president for academic affairs served as acting president if available, followed by the vice president for research and graduate education if available, and finally by the vice president for student affairs. "These moves would send a powerful signal that all sectors of the University are important and that they can, in fact, interact effectively with each other," Boyer said.17 Like the others, Boyer's second action step was aimed mainly at perception. In his compelling oral defenses, he characterized the University as a "three-legged stool" that could not long stand if any of its legs were weak. Although this was exactly what supporters of the community colleges and Hilo/West Oahu wanted to hear, the reality was that the University had danced very nicely on only one leg from its inception in 1907 until the first community college appeared in 1965. And since the community colleges were capped at the sophomore level, while Hilo/West Oahu had less than 15 percent of the students, it was very difficult to persuade partisans of Manoa that the other campuses were anything more than peripheral concessions to local convenience, local economic development, and local politics. Simone's initial response to the second action step was to offer the chancellors the additional title of vice president and withhold the embellishment "senior." 18 When the Board insisted on restoring the "S" word, Simone countered by attributing seniority to his vice president for academic affairs and by rotating the acting presidency among the now three senior vice presidents. The most substantial of Boyer's action steps was to remove the three Manoa vice presidents and several others from the University Executive Council. This would have reduced the roster from thirteen to five: the president, the two senior vice president/chancellors, a new system-wide vice president for educational planning, and a new system-wide vice president for administration and finance. Manoa would have had no voice on the UEC other than the president's; the web of tension would have been broken; and Simone's position would have become untenable. My own sense of the UEC, as a unicameral governing body, is that its membership should have been a compromise between the per capita representation of the U.S. House and the per state representation of the U.S. Senate. On a per capita basis, Manoa would have had ten times as

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many votes as Hilo, whereas on a per campus basis, the ratio would have been one-to-one. The actual UEC ratio of three-to-one was near the geometric mean of this bicameral range. The case of the community colleges was far more complicated, in part because there were initially six and later seven campuses. Manoa, on the other hand, could claim twenty schools and colleges, some of which were larger and more complex than any community college campus. This suggests a ratio of twenty-to-seven, which was approximately equal to the three-to-one ratio in total state funding. The ratio of extramural funding was about ten-to-one. The community colleges might have argued that they enrolled slightly more than half the students, but Manoa could have responded that it was educating doctors and lawyers, while the community colleges were educating carpenters and auto mechanics. This is not to say that doctors are more important to society than carpenters, merely that they are harder to train. Having participated in a number of these debates, I am again persuaded that the actual UEC ratio of three-to-one was fair. Far more important than the fairness of the representation, however, was Harlan Cleveland's dictum that the future executive should "deliberately induce a degree of tension within the organization, enough loud and cheerful argument among its members so that all possible outcomes are analyzed, the short-term benefits are compared with the long-run costs, the moral dilemmas are illuminated, and the public relations effects are analytically examined."8 The fact is that Joyce Tsunoda, vice president/chancellor for the community colleges, and Ed Kormondy, vice president/chancellor for Hilo/ West Oahu, were able to defend their constituencies, not just adequately, but extremely well. Simone, on the other hand, could not have defended Manoa on Boyer's truncated UEC without compromising his position as the wise and impartial leader of the entire system. Nor could any one of the three Manoa vice presidents have adequately defended the flagship campus, given its size and complexity and the great disparity of their three assignments. More generally, Simone needed to have information and hear the views of all thirteen members of his executive council—people whom he had deliberately appointed to the council for exactly that reason. Furthermore, he needed to receive these data in the context of "loud and cheerful argument."8 It was no good setting up a council in which the largest component of the organization had no voice, in which the "bona fide academics" were greatly outnumbered, or in which Simone had no allies who shared his basic values and priorities. It still amazes me that a person of Boyer's eminence could have proposed a system of governance that, in my opinion, was so obviously flawed. And to this day, I am not sure why he came down so hard on Manoa. Did he truly believe that Simone could defend Manoa and still be

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credible as University of Hawaii president? Was he trying to teach Manoa a lesson in humility and thereby make up for the perceived inequities of the past? My best guess is that he was merely sending another powerful signal, strengthening his one essential recommendation by demonstrating that the person making it was a true partisan of the community colleges and Hilo/West Oahu. Whereas I was amazed by Boyer's proposal to remove the three Manoa vice presidents from the UEC, I was deeply hurt by the immediate support it attracted from Tsunoda and Kormondy. In a memo to Simone dated April 11, 1989, Kormondy added insult to injury by proposing, not only that the three Manoa vice presidents be expelled from the UEC, but also that we be stripped of our vice presidential titles and henceforth called vice chancellors. 19 From unrelenting thrusts such as these, I began to understand that one reason Tsunoda and Kormondy were so effective was that—in the name of fairness—they continued to press their agendas far beyond reasonable boundaries. I suppose, by going after the whole pie, they stood a better chance of getting at least their share. Lacking their single-minded devotion, I sometimes questioned my own suitability to be the advocate for research and graduate education. Needless to say, Simone rejected Boyer's third action step, presenting six strong arguments against it. There is a limit to how much one can sacrifice to perception, and Simone needed a system of governance that would work. The administrative adjustment he offered in place of the third action step was the creation of a separate council consisting only of the president, the vice president for academic affairs, and the two vice president/chancellors. 18 This was indeed a "three-legged stool" with Simone himself comprising the seat. Eventually, after the "S" word was ascribed to the three vice presidents, this became known as the Council of Senior Executives (CSE). Under Simone, the main business of the University continued to be conducted by the UEC for reasons already given. Over time, the CSE found a niche reviewing articulation agreements, outreach proposals, and strategic plans and promoting the University of Hawaii as a system. Depending on the meeting agenda, other members of the UEC were sometimes invited to attend. In a memorandum dated December 2, 1991, Simone informed the CSE that he had decided to add me to the Council as a "full member." He gave seven reasons, including (1) that I was accountable at that time for $177 million per year, representing 30 percent of the University's total budget, and (2) that I was responsible for 6,000 graduate students, representing 32 percent of the enrollment for Manoa and 13 percent of the enrollment for the system. 20 To my copy of this historic document, my assistant, Nancy Brown, added a yellow post-it note saying, "Now we just wait for the gunfire."

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Kormondy and Tsunoda objected, of course, arguing that my presence on the CSE would give Manoa an unfair advantage. When Tsunoda accused me of "weaseling" my way in, Simone informed her that it was his idea, which I had opposed. His statement was accurate: I thought the UEC should remain the University's principal governing body, and I did not want to strengthen the CSE by becoming a member. I also find it unpleasant to "weasel" my way into places where I know I am not wanted. In a memorandum to Board of Regents Chair Howard Stephenson written just three weeks before he announced his resignation, President Simone asked the Board formally to approve the addition of the vice president for research and graduate education to the Council of Senior Executives.21 This would have upset the raison d'être for the CSE, which was to create the perception in the minds of the Board and others that the three sectors of the University were equally important. The Board wisely rejected Simone's proposal to create a four-legged stool by not putting the item on their agenda. However, at Simone's request, I continued to attend meetings of the CSE on an informal basis until he left the University several months later.

Ed Kormondy and the Reorganizations of University of Hawaii-Hilo Ironically, the only part of the University of Hawaii system that actually worked like a three-legged stool was dismantled. At the beginning of Simone's administration in 1985, the University of Hawaii-Hilo (UHH) consisted of three colleges under one chancellor: Hawaii Community College (HCC), the College of Arts and Sciences, and the College of Agriculture. With 31 percent of its students attending on a part-time basis and many working full- or part-time, UHH also maintained a Center for Continuing Education and Community Service.22 In many respects, UHH was to the Island of Hawaii in the 1970s and 1980s what Manoa had been to the entire state before the proliferation of University of Hawaii campuses that began in the 1960s. Some 80 percent of UHH's 3,400 students came from the Big Island, and another 12 percent came from neighboring islands. Ages ranged from under eighteen (4 percent) to over sixty (1 percent), the average being twenty-six. About 54 percent of the students were women, 28 percent were Caucasian (including 3-6 percent of Portuguese ancestry), 25 percent were of Japanese ancestry, 17.5 percent were Hawaiian and part-Hawaiian, and 9-6 percent were Filipino. The remainder included Pacific Islanders, Chinese, Hispanics, Koreans, and many others.22 The 214 members of the UHH faculty were also highly diverse. Their ages ranged from twenty-eight to sixty-eight and averaged forty-two. Thirtythree percent were women, well above the national average. Fifty-five percent were Caucasian, 30 percent Japanese, 5 percent Hawaiian or part-

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Hawaiian, 5 percent Chinese, 2 percent Korean, 2 percent Filipino, and 1 percent Black. 23 These figures appear to represent a blend of the national applicant pool, reflected more faithfully by Manoa faculty, and the local applicant pool, reflected more faithfully by the community colleges. The diverse backgrounds and training of the UHH faculty members were far more important than their gender and ethnic mix, however. While 47 percent of all UHH faculty members had a Doctor of Philosophy degree, 100 percent of the faculty in the College of Agriculture had one, 73 percent of the faculty in the College of Arts and Sciences had one, and only 7 percent of the Hawaii Community College (HCC) faculty had one. Equally telling, 51 percent of HCC faculty had stopped with the master's degree and 31 percent with the baccalaureate degree, which meant that 11 percent had completed none of the above. 23 In the early days of Simone's administration, problems arose at UHH on virtually every front. These problems almost always centered on conflicts between HCC and College of Arts and Sciences faculty. Among the issues were personnel, curriculum, workload, organization, and perspective. Often, the community at large was involved, including key legislators. Strong statements were being made to Simone privately that the basis of the problems was racial, ethnic, and local; that people and issues were dividing up on both sides of that particular line; that quite possibly a major public explosion would occur; and that the controversy would not be academic or educational, but racist. 24 Simone realized that the situation was out of control, and on his first day on the job as acting president, he placed a call to the then UHH chancellor, Stephen R. Mitchell. Two days later, Simone met with Mitchell in Hilo and informed him that, effective immediately, he was being reassigned to Manoa to be special assistant to the president. Ralph Miwa, then chancellor of UH-West Oahu, was given the additional assignment of acting chancellor of UHH.24 Mitchell's appointment as special assistant was an ad hoc "holding pattern" created especially for him. He moved from Hilo to Manoa and lived with his wife in the then vacant president's mansion at College Hill until he could find suitable employment on the U.S. mainland. Simone set up a blue ribbon committee and conducted a national search, which led to the appointment of Edward J. Kormondy as chancellor of UH-Hilo and UH-West Oahu in August 1986. In making this appointment, Simone was aware of the strong statement issued by a Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC) accreditation team that UH-Hilo was a loose confederation of academic entities and that, for each of these entities to fulfill its potential, they all had to be brought together to work collaboratively and cooperatively as a cohesive whole. In his letter offering the position, therefore, Simone charged Kormondy first and foremost with "establishing a clear-cut mission and identity for the Hilo campus." 24

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Chancellor Kormondy addressed Hilo's mission and identity crisis "assiduously, courageously, and creatively" throughout his seven years of service at UHH. His first effort was a singularly strong one, integrating all the activities of the campus under five administrative units: vocational studies, professional studies, general education, agriculture, and arts and sciences. 24 Whereas UH-Hilo was historically the University's truest approximation to Boyer's three-legged stool, Kormondy's proposal would have made it also the University's truest approximation to Boyer's seamless web. 17 Any student with a high school diploma could enter, move freely from one unit to another, and exit with a two-year or a four-year degree tailored to his or her specific interests and needs. Kormondy's enlightened proposal, which predated Ernest Boyer's report on University of Hawaii governance by more than a year,17 was turned down by the Board of Regents on March 17, 1988. 24 The main opposition came from HCC faculty who felt that their special mission and identity would be lost along with the name "community college." 25 There was an underlying perception that a first- and a second-class faculty existed at UHH, and some believed that there were also two distinct classes of students, rather than the continuum envisioned by champions of the seamless web. As Big Island Regent and former State Senator John Ushijima said, I know the reason why we created a community college. The reason why the community college has students to the extent that they have today . . . is (that) we gave them this opportunity . . . to go to a community college without the fear of having to stand in line with people mentally far superior than I am academically.25 Even Chancellor Kormondy admitted that there was a perception of two distinct classes on campus, which had influenced his proposal and which he described as a "peculiarity in (UH-Hilo's) 17-year history." Chancellor Joyce Tsunoda agreed with Kormondy's assessment and said he "hit the nail on the head." 25 The Hawaii Tribune-Herald was less diplomatic. In an unsigned editorial dated March 22, 1988, the Big Island's leading newspaper stated, Kormondy has lived up to his expectations. A few skeptics remain, but most of UHH's faculty members and top administrators believe in Kormondy and his goals. Unfortunately, Kormondy has discovered what past UH leaders also have had to face in Hawaii's absurdly politicized method of running a higher education system. Two committees of the UH Board of Regents last week rejected his plan to integrate HCC with UHH and set up five colleges under a single UHH banner.

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The reasons given were many, but they all boil down to selfserving politics. Influential people associated with HCC didn't want the school to lose its identity. They pressed the right political buttons, and the regents responded as they always have.26 Instead of the integrated "Model I," the Board directed Kormondy to examine two alternatives: a status quo "Model II" in which UHH would continue to consist of the three existing colleges, and a separation "Model III" in which HCC would be transferred to Joyce Tsunoda and administered separately from the rest of UHH.24 Venting his frustrations with good humor, Chancellor Kormondy announced in a memo dated April 1, 1988, that he had a new plan for reorganizing UHH that would promote the expansion of the student body and give new vitality and excitement to the faculty and staff. To avoid the attitudes and stereotypes of the past, he proposed to rename the entire Hilo campus UH-Disneyland, and its three colleges Adventureland (formerly the College of Arts and Sciences), Fantasyland (formerly Hawaii Community College), and Frontierland (formerly the College of Agriculture). A fourth college, to be called Tomorrowland, would be launched from the spaceport conceived for the southern tip of the Big Island and would offer an orbital alternative to Hilo's existing groundbased facility.27 Having been defeated in their initial offensive thrust to integrate the Hilo campus, General Kormondy and his army embarked on a strategic withdrawal designed to prevent the inevitable rout that would separate HCC from the rest of UHH (Model III). The logic of the commander-inchief was eminently sound, and his academic and economic points were all well taken. 28 He even had the support of the UHH student body in addition to the College of Arts and Sciences and College of Agriculture faculty. The support of the students was both well deserved and predictable; as Ernest Boyer later pointed out in a different context, " . . . for the student, education is a seamless web." 17 Unfortunately, good logic and good academic and economic points are no match for good politics in Hawaii. The perception of a two-class UHH society was used with equal fervor on both sides of the argument, and the duplication of effort and high cost of creating a new HCC campus and administration—far from precluding separation—actually appealed to many in Hilo who viewed Model III as yet another way of accessing state funds to subsidize the declining local economy. Under considerable pressure from the Board, Simone finally abandoned Model I "because it would mean the total dissolution and elimination of a community college on the Big Island." He was concerned about Model II because it "clouded and denigrated the community college identity," and he embraced Model III because it would give "full life to Ernie

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Boyer's concept and desired goal of the 'seamless web' for higher education." 24 By associating Boyer's seamless web with separation (Model III) rather than integration (Model I), Simone was using a type of logic that evidently made sense to politicians such as Regent John Ushijima, but made no sense at all to business people such as Regent Diane Plotts or academics such as Chancellor Kormondy. Simone submitted his recommendation to the Board on July 19, 1990. 29 The Board waited until the November 15, 1990, meeting on the Hilo campus to approve the separation of HCC from UHH. The action came on a vote of seven to three with Regents Ken Kato, Edward Kuba, Ruth Ono, Howard Stephenson, Roy Takeyama, John Ushijima, and Dennis Yamada voting in favor and Regents Momi Cazimero, Diane Plotts, and Herbert Richards voting against. Regent Robin Campaniano was absent. The vote came at the end of a well-attended session that included several hours of supporting and opposing testimony from students, faculty, and staff.30 Kormondy's professionalism and dedication to UHH were apparent in the column he wrote for the December 1990 issue of Ka Lona Hanakahv.

Most of you who know me well recognize that I am positive, optimistic, forgiving, and future-oriented. I have often commented that if one were not, there is no way the vicissitudes and vagaries of academic life in administration could be survived. Although I argued strongly for what I believed to be in the best interests of students, a united UHH, I am prepared to argue and work just as strongly now for a new UHH and a new HCC to meet the challenges laid on our respective doorsteps.31 Two subsequent UHH reorganizations are worth mentioning. The first, coming near the end of the Simone administration, backed away from the horizontal philosophy that earlier was Simone's hallmark and created a more vertical structure for UHH. Whereas Chancellor Kormondy previously had eighteen line and staff positions reporting directly to him (thirteen at UH-Hilo, one at UHH-West Hawaii, and four at UH-West Oahu), the addition of another bureaucratic layer would reduce this number to twelve (seven at UH-Hilo, one at UHH-West Hawaii, and four at U H West Oahu). 32 The stated purpose of Kormondy's vertical reorganization at UHH was to "provide the Chancellor with the time and opportunity for more directed leadership both within the two Universities and their communities." The stated cost was five new positions and $335,000 per year. 32 With the support of regents and legislators from the Big Island, the proposal was approved by the Board on July 19, 1991, funded in the 1991-1993

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biennium operating budget, and fully implemented by June 1, 1993, 33 just three months before Kormondy retired. The final UHH reorganization was merely a gleam in the eye of State Representative Harvey Tajiri of Hilo when President Simone left the University in August 1992, and it was still unresolved when Chancellor Kormondy began his retirement one year later. "The proposal is basically for the University of Hawaii at Hilo to have its own Board of Regents," Tajiri told a Ka Leo reporter. "What else does Hawaii have besides tourism? We should look for other industries, and what better industry is there than higher education? Competition breeds success. Primarily what we're talking about here is advocacy for Hilo."34 A survey of Hilo faculty found that a majority were against the separation.34 Hilo students were also opposed, and two representatives from the UHH Student Association traveled to UH-Manoa and asked the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH) for their help. Tamela Jones, UHH's College of Agriculture executive representative, said she was surprised at how quickly Tajiri's bill had passed through the House Higher Education Committee and the House Finance Committee, and she told ASUH senators that Hilo students only recently began fighting the bill because "nobody thought it would get as far as it did."35 With students, faculty, and the administration testifying against Tajiri's bill, Senator Eloise Tungpalan, chair of the Senate Higher Education Committee, agreed to hold it in committee. "It looks for now as if UH-Hilo is OK," commented John Radcliffe, associate executive director of the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA). Radcliffe also noted that the move would have destroyed a well-organized, accredited school with a good reputation locally and abroad, and he added that a duplicate system with another administration and Board of Regents might have cost $10 million to $12 million to establish.36 Presumably the $10 million to $12 million was only the beginning of what Representative Tajiri had in mind when he spoke of "other industries" and of "advocacy for Hilo."34 Like Senator Milton Holt's bill to create a separate board for the community colleges, 15 Representative Tajiri's proposal 34 to create a separate board for UHH was neither the first nor will it be the last of its genre. Another example from the 1993 legislature was House Concurrent Resolution No. 328, House Draft 1, passed by both houses, which asked the Legislative Reference Bureau both to assess the needs of neighbor island students in vocational, bachelor's degree, and professional master's degree courses, and to identify ways to bring these courses to the neighbor islands without requiring students to relocate to Oahu. Such assessments are done routinely through the University's budget process, and much of the University's 1991 Master Plan was devoted to this very issue.37 Since there was nothing new in the resolution or follow-up report, the primary

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purpose of both must have been to continue pressing the University and the state to subsidize the economies of the neighbor islands. The 1993 legislature also produced yet another bill to move the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources from Manoa to Hilo and a bill to establish a Matsunaga International Peace Academy in Hilo, paralleling the Spark M. Matsunaga Institute for Peace at Manoa. The former, House Bill 909, introduced by Representative Marshall Ige, would have cost well over $100 million; while the latter, Senate Bill 964, introduced by Senator Richard Matsuura, had a price tag of $40 million.

Paul Yuen and the Collapse of the Web of Tensions In addition to the University Executive Council, which handled most of the business of the Simone administration, and the Council of Senior Executives, which symbolized the three-legged stool, there was a Manoa Academic Council (MAC) and a Manoa Executive Council (MEC). The former consisted of the president and the three Manoa vice presidents (the vice presidents for academic affairs, student affairs, and research and graduate education), while the latter consisted of the Manoa academics plus such professionals as the vice president for finance and operations and the directors of personnel, of budget, and of policy and planning. Simone's concept of the MAC was that the academics would meet on a regular basis to share "values and futures."38 In practice, we had very little to share, and each of us relied on other alliances within the faculty and the administration to test our views of reality and keep our bearings straight. Equally important, since the professional administrators all reported to Simone, the three academic vice presidents were basically staff to the president and could accomplish very little, either separately or collectively, without appealing to his authority. With Simone missing many meetings, and with little to share and little that we could accomplish by ourselves, the MAC was intrinsically dysfunctional and rarely met. The Manoa Executive Council fared only slightly better for the same reasons. While the University Executive Council (UEC) continued to be the principal governance vehicle throughout Simone's administration, its membership and character changed profoundly over time. And because the relationship between the UEC and Simone was interactive, changes in either immediately affected the other. Thus the membership and character of the UEC tended to reflect Simone's standing as president of the University, while his standing as president tended to reflect the membership and character of the UEC. One of the first to depart was Kenji Sumida, associate vice president for planning policy and budget, who was the most academic of the professional administrators and one of the most capable. Sumida left in December 1986 and was never replaced. His position was removed from the

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organizational charts, and his seat on the UEC was filled by the two directors who formerly reported to him: Colleen Sathre, the director of policy and planning, and Rodney Sakaguchi, the director for budget. On balance, this minor reorganization added weight to the professional side of the UEC, giving it another voice and making it more controlling, more process-oriented, and more conservative. Harold Masumoto also left the University in December 1986, and he immediately became director of state planning under newly elected Governor John Waihee. Considering the key role that Masumoto played in anchoring the professional end of the power spectrum, a spectrum that extended from Masumoto to Tony Marsella, his departure had a surprising effect on its center of gravity. This was because Masumoto was succeeded by a cadre of professional administrators whose views were even more conservative than his own. With the simultaneous exit of Sumida and Masumoto, the new leader of the professional administrators was Ralph Horii, the vice president for finance and operations, who was trained by Masumoto and had worked for him for years. Rodney Sakaguchi, the director for budget, was a product of this same administrative tradition and sided with Horii on most issues. The position of vice president for administration remained on the University's organizational charts but was never filled. At first, it was held in reserve for Masumoto, who was granted successive leaves-without-pay by the Board of Regents so that he could continue his service as state planning director. Later, it was held for Masumoto's replacement, who was vitally needed by the University, but the position never materialized under Simone. Whereas one-year leaves were routine and two-year leaves exceptional, Masumoto broke new ground by requesting and receiving a full four years. Replacing Masumoto on the UEC was the University's newly recruited director for personnel, Jimmy Takushi. Takushi had been the state's personnel director under both Governor John A. Burns and Governor George Ariyoshi, and he was scheduled to go out with the old regime. However, as a loyal member of Hawaii's Democratic Party and a National Committee member, and as an "Ariyoshi campaign worker from the beginning,"39 Takushi was entitled to a position in state government. The University was willing to provide it. Whether Simone had any choice in the matter is debatable, but Takushi's appointment in the fall of 1986 appeared to be an acceptable risk as long as he reported to Masumoto. Simone paid a very high price for this particular act of political expediency. Personnel is one of the most sensitive and complex functions in any bureaucracy, and with the departure of Masumoto, it soon became the main source of friction between Simone and his Board. Not only was Takushi unfamiliar with the policies, rules, and regulations governing the Univer-

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sity, he lacked Masumoto's genius for writing and interpreting these strictures in such a way that the administration could maintain control of any situation and thereby accomplish its objectives. Where Masumoto often worked near the boundary of the legal envelope, Takushi stayed safely near its center. Where Masumoto would find a loophole, Takushi would conclude that nothing could be done. Where Masumoto attempted to negotiate salary schedules that accurately reflected the marketplace, Takushi argued that we should not even try to recruit employees whose salaries happened to fall outside our antiquated ranges. Where Masumoto revised position classifications to match the activities of University employees, Takushi contended that the activities of University employees should be modified to conform to their obsolete job descriptions. Where Masumoto often took the rap for Fujio Matsuda and was known as his "hatchet man"40 and "scapegoat," Simone often took the rap for Takushi, allowing regents to believe that a controversial action was being proposed in spite of Takushi's sound advice or that Takushi, in making a mistake, was merely following his boss's orders. Where Masumoto was a consigliere who kept four University presidents out of trouble by controlling transactions, Takushi was a funzionario who kept himself out of trouble by just saying no. As one might expect, Jimmy Takushi found his niche at the professional end of the UEC power spectrum, extending it well beyond the boundary originally set by Masumoto. This is the main reason why Masumoto's departure, coupled with the de facto reorganization achieved by leaving his position vacant for more than seven years, pulled the center of gravity of the power spectrum in the conservative direction. Rather than weaken Simone's web of tensions, however, the departures of both Sumida and Masumoto actually broadened the spectrum of opinions and increased the "loud and cheerful argument."8 The next to go was Ben Young, the vice president for student affairs, who left at the end of January 1987. He was replaced by Doris Ching, who, as the protégée of Simone, tended to migrate across the power spectrum following his lead. Behaving in such an accommodating manner, she was rarely a source of tension. She was, however, an articulate spokesperson for students and did engage in many a "cheerful argument"8 on their behalf. Ching also had great influence over Simone and was very successful in focusing his attention on the needs of students and under-represented groups. The event that initiated the collapse of the web of tensions was the resignation of Tony Marsella more than two years later. As the official "articulator of values and futures,"38 Marsella was the one person on the University Executive Council who was even more liberal and outspoken than Simone. Marsella was so liberal and outspoken, in fact, that he made it possible for Simone to pose for several years as a centrist administrator

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deftly moderating two outrageous extremes. When Marsella announced his resignation on March 1, 1989, effective on June 30, 1989, 41 the academic end of the spectrum began to give way. The second event leading to the collapse of the web of tensions was the choice of Marsella's successor. In an interview reported in Ka Leo on March 6, 1989, Simone said that he had no particular person in mind for the position and there would be a national search that could begin within one week. Simone added that an acting vice president would be needed in the interim, and he was looking within the University for someone to fill the temporary position. 42 At our meeting on January 3, 1989, during which Simone first informed me that Marsella would be leaving in June, Simone was already considering two candidates: Madeleine Goodman, assistant vice president for academic affairs, and Richard K. Seymour, dean of the College of Languages, Linguistics, and Literature. Both were well qualified, and both were articulate spokespersons for the arts and sciences core of the University. Madeleine Goodman, a geneticist and former chair of the Manoa Faculty Senate, had three years of experience in the office of the vice president and was personally responsible for many of its accomplishments. Dick Seymour, a professor of German and former chair of the Department of European Languages and Literature, had served as dean since the original College of Arts and Sciences was divided into four Colleges of Arts and Sciences in 1981. Unlike Marsella, a radical who rose in one step from a faculty appointment to the vice presidency, Goodman and Seymour represented the mainstream of Manoa and had risen through the ranks. Since both were moderate, the appointment of either would have narrowed the power spectrum. Since both were articulate, however, the spectrum would have remained vibrant and alive. At our meeting on March 3, 1989, Simone introduced another strong candidate into our discussions, H. David Bess, professor of Transportation and dean of the College of Business Administration. Bess was named International Dean of the Year by the Fellows of the Academy of International Business on October 22, 1988. 43 Like Simone, who had also served for many years as dean of a college of business administration, Bess was very experienced and very vocal. Because Bess was less central than either Goodman or Seymour, the web of tensions would have thrived with his selection. I suggested a fourth candidate at our March 3 meeting, Deane Edward Neubauer, professor of Political Science in the College of Social Sciences. Like Seymour, Neubauer was one of the founding deans when the original College of Arts and Sciences became four colleges in 1981. Unlike Seymour, however, Neubauer was also one of several deans whom Marsella had terminated for reasons that many believed were personal rather

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than professional. Since his tenure as dean of the College of Social Sciences had just ended, Neubauer's appointment would not have disturbed any other office. At our meeting on March 6, 1989, Simone informed me that Doris Ching did not want to work with Dick Seymour and would probably ask for a leave if he were chosen. Nor was she enthusiastic about Dave Bess. Her reasons were never explained to me. Ching could work with Madeleine Goodman and had no problem with Deane Neubauer. Ching and Simone had also discussed David W. Greenfield, the dean of the Graduate Division. However, Greenfield had been at the University only eighteen months, and Ching recalled that he had applied for the position of academic vice president three years earlier and had not made the final five. Tom Gething, the second assistant vice president appointed by Marsella, was another possibility, but he had been an unsuccessful candidate for the positions of graduate dean, won by Greenfield, and dean of the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies, won by Mark Juergensmeyer. Continuing our discussions at a meeting held on March 15, 1989, Simone asked me to rank the various candidates. I agreed that all those mentioned above were qualified for the interim appointment, and I put Madeleine Goodman at the top of my list because I felt she was the most competent and the best prepared for the temporary assignment by virtue of her three years of service in the vice president's office. Simone also asked me when the announcement of the interim appointment should be made. Since Marsella was not scheduled to depart until June 30, 1989, I suggested that Simone could take his time about it and announce his decision around the first of May. On April 20, 1989, Simone informed me that he was planning to choose either John P. Dolly, professor of Education and dean of the College of Education, or Paul C. Yuen, professor of Electrical Engineering and dean of the College of Engineering. Since neither Dolly nor Yuen had been seriously considered before, I found this revelation surprising. It seems that Madeleine Goodman had been knocked out of the running by doubts planted in Simone's mind by Tony Marsella, while Dick Seymour and Dave Bess had been eliminated because of reservations expressed by Doris Ching. I assured Simone that I would be happy to work with either Dolly or Yuen, although neither represented the core of Manoa. By May 4, 1989, Simone had settled on Paul Yuen. The only remaining obstacle was Board of Regents' Chair Gladys Brandt. Simone informed me that her objections to Yuen's appointment were, verbatim, those given to him already by Tony Marsella. When Simone suggested that Board Secretary Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu be asked to poll the other regents, Brandt insisted that she would do the polling. This avenue blocked, Simone got his confirmation directly from Regent Ken Kato, who succeeded Brandt

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as chair when her term and Marsella's expired simultaneously on June 30, 1989The Board of Regents formally approved the appointment of Paul Yuen as interim vice president for academic affairs at its regular monthly meeting on May 19, 1989- Yuen was expected to serve for only one year while a national search was being conducted for a permanent replacement, but he ended up serving more than four. This included a stint as acting and later interim president that began when Simone left office on July 1, 1992, and ceased when Kenneth P. Mortimer was installed as eleventh president of the University of Hawaii on March 15, 1993Some faculty criticized Yuen's appointment, saying they wanted the interim vice president to be from an arts and sciences college. Mark Takai, president of the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH), was satisfied with the selection but said it was unfortunate that the views of students were not represented. 44 Takai's observation was particularly ironic considering that the person who expressed reservations about two of the leading candidates and nominated the eventual winner was the student vice president, Doris Ching. Ching also nominated Yuen and was his chief strategist and supporter during his unsuccessful campaign for the presidency in 1992. The relationship between Ching and Yuen, like that between Ching and Simone, was one of a precocious protégée and an indulgent patron. It predated their service in Bachman Hall and developed during the period from 1983 to 1988 when Ching was chair of the Education and International Division of the Pacific Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR) and Yuen was PICHTR's acting president. Ching's fortunes were closely tied to those of Yuen because he was the only contender for interim vice president, and later for vice president and president, with whom she could have established or maintained such a relationship. In an analysis published in Ka Leo, student activist Jahan Byrne quoted a "Bachman Hall insider" who predicted that Yuen's appointment would mark a downgrading of power and prestige for the academic affairs vice presidency: "Yuen will be in the shadows; the president clearly wants to play a bigger role around here," the insider said. "Marsella openly opposed Simone on many fronts, and the president wants more of a team player. Yuen's a good choice; he has a low profile and is known for being ethical and fair."45 Considering Simone's vision of a university run by bona fide academics, his choice of Paul Yuen as academic vice president was odd indeed. Where Madeleine Goodman, who was fifteen years Yuen's junior, listed three books, seven book chapters, and more than seventy other

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publications in her curriculum vitae, Yuen had published only thirty technical articles and reports in thirty years.46 Where Goodman was broadly educated and nationally recognized for her wide-ranging studies in human biology, epidemiology, bioethics, and biophilosophy, Yuen's professional interests and expertise were narrowly focused on electrical engineering and later on administration. Where Goodman was an accomplished pianist with a connoisseur's appreciation of the fine arts and the humanities, Yuen was an accomplished golfer who routinely shot in the low eighties and played with some of the most influential men in town. Where Goodman was fluent in French and Hebrew, as well as being a native speaker of English, Yuen had mastered no foreign languages and had grown up in Hawaii speaking pidgin. Where Goodman was a superb writer who authored Simone's five-year report47 and had lead responsibility for the University's accreditation self-study48 and Manoa's academic development plan,49 Yuen often signed documents without reading them and rarely wrote a memo, a letter, or a speech himself. The easiest way to characterize Paul Yuen is to recall our discussion of the "local Hawaiian administrator" in Chapter 3. Like Harold Masumoto, Yuen had a low profile, and his name could not be found in standard references, such as Leaders of Hawaii™ and Prominent People of Hawaii.^ Also like Masumoto, Yuen had a close working relationship with the leaders of Hawaii's Democratic Party, was on a first-name basis with the governor, the former governor, and most members of the legislature, and communicated regularly with members of Hawaii's congressional delegation and their staffs. Yuen also believed in a rigid and highly centralized organizational structure and had a strong desire to control transactions. He avoided large audiences and public appearances whenever possible, rarely made any promises or put anything in writing, and labored diligently behind the scenes with a few key people to accomplish his goals. Although Yuen's academic credentials and writing skills were not outstanding, he proved to be an excellent choice for interim vice president. What the University needed at the time of his appointment was not an innovator, but a healer. Yuen was indeed "ethical and fair,"45 and his local style and basic decency restored the credibility of his office. And while Yuen saw to it that relationships with other offices and individuals were smooth, Goodman made sure that the business of academic affairs got done in an exemplary and timely fashion. Together, they formed a balanced and effective team, and I enjoyed working with them both. Paul Yuen assumed a position on the UEC power spectrum similar to that of Ralph Horii and the other professionals. Consistent with his local style, he would sit politely through meetings lasting more than three hours and volunteer nary a word. Madeleine Goodman was not a member of the UEC, nor were her views relayed to the council by her boss. To survive a little longer, Al Simone was drawn toward the new center of gravity of this

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truncated organization, and Doris Ching positioned herself strategically between her two patrons, Yuen and Simone. Suddenly, I was the liberal extremist anchoring the academic end. Although my opinions hadn't changed, everyone began shooting at me. Not only did I have to defend research and graduate education, which is challenging enough in an egalitarian society, I also became the chief advocate for excellence in any form. Outreach and access consumed our attention, and we were going to have something for everybody in Hawaii whether they wanted it or were prepared for it or not. In my new role as Manoa's principal spokesperson on the UEC, I was greatly outnumbered by the professionals and found myself justifying "values and futures" 38 so fundamental that most were accepted by the rest of academe centuries ago. With the w e b of tensions thus constricted, Simone had no room to maneuver, and the vitality of his administration was gone. His days as president were numbered, in part because his philosophy differed so greatly from those of most UEC members and most regents, and in part because he lost interest in the job since he could no longer accomplish anything in it. His monologues were as time-consuming as ever, but often they became maudlin and nostalgic as he reminisced about the triumphs of the past. The final collapse of the web of tensions occurred when Paul Yuen became acting and later interim president beginning July 1, 1992.52 He was succeeded as interim senior vice president for academic affairs by Madeleine J. Goodman on the same date. 53 Since open confrontation is not the Hawaiian way, 13 harmony prevailed, and consensus was easily reached. Yuen limited UEC meetings to ninety minutes regardless of their agendas, but this was not a problem since he eschewed monologues and since most of our discussions were brief. The UEC was virtually monolithic during this final phase. Yuen and Ching and nearly everyone else clustered around Ralph Horii at the new ideological center of the administration, and Goodman and I occupied the liberal fringe. Our structure was vertical, our roles well defined, and our options limited. We were forced to cope simultaneously with massive budget restrictions imposed by Governor Waihee and massive internal reallocations required by federal auditors—misfortunes that just happened to strike at the moment Simone left. We were also constrained by our own configuration, which did not lend itself to movement or initiative but was that of an army under siege. There were very few discussions about "values or futures" 38 as we hunkered down in our foxholes and tried to protect the core of the University. In practice, this meant undergraduate education; the rest of the enterprise— research and graduate education—suffered severely.

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Hamilton McCubbin and the Return of the Native Son Soon after Tony Marsella announced his resignation on March 1, 1989,41 A1 Simone told a Ka Leo reporter that the search for a permanent replacement might begin within one week.42 Nothing happened, of course, and a year went by before Ka Leo concluded that the search had "stalled."54 Once the problem was brought to his attention, ASUH President Mark Takai took immediate action to remedy it. He informed Simone that if Simone did not provide a timetable for the search by April 30, 1989, ASUH would start the search independent of the administration. Takai also said that advertisements would be placed in education journals and Applications would be directed to the student senate office, where a committee comprised of students, faculty, staff, and administrators will be set up to review the applications, using established equal opportunity and affirmative action procedures.55 From the point of view of the administration, the problem was not the stalled search, but Takai. Defending both Yuen and Simone, Doris Ching told Ka Leo, "It's totally inappropriate for a student to do this." Ching insisted that even if Takai presented Simone with a short list of candidates, Simone would still have the prerogative of not accepting any of them.55 Takai met with Simone and was assured the administration would start the search by the end of the semester. To demonstrate his good intentions, Simone noted that he had already appointed the search committee earlier in the year. The committee was chaired by Robert Hines, dean of the College of Arts and Humanities. Following their meeting, Takai said he was "basically satisfied" with the present search process and added, "I'm sure President Simone would appoint someone who will be capable of carrying through Yuen's initiatives."55 These exchanges bought Simone another year. With no permanent academic vice president in sight, Simone had no obvious successor. However, as the "healing process" continued, Ka Leo continued to point out that the search was "overdue."56 Finally, in a press release dated March 20, 1991, the long awaited search was proclaimed.57 On April 1, 1991, the position of senior vice president for academic affairs was posted in the University Bulletin. What were needed, according to the Bulletin, were candidates with "a record of accomplishment achieving affirmative action and cultural diversity" and "the proven ability to work with different groups." Almost as an afterthought, candidates were also required to have "a commitment to excellence in higher education."58 By September 10, 1991, the pool of eighty-five applicants had been reduced to four finalists.59 Six weeks later, it was reduced to two.60 One

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of these was Paul Yuen, w h o based his candidacy o n his long service to Hawaii and o n his k n o w l e d g e of the system and h o w it worked: I've been here well-nigh 30 years, and, so to speak, I've paid my dues. . . . I've gone through all the hoops and rings to get to be a full professor. On the administrative side, I've been a chairman, an associate dean, an assistant to the chancellor, and I've been a dean. I've been vice president for two years now. In fact, my title now is senior vice president. . . . I think one of the things that I bring is a knowledge of the Manoa campus and a knowledge of the UH system. I think I know w h o the people are, I think I know how the system works, I think I know how the state works. I know how the bureaucracy works. I think I know how to get things done. 60 The other penultimate candidate w a s Hamilton McCubbin, then serving as d e a n of the School of Family Resources a n d Consumer Sciences at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. Although his school w a s o n e of the smallest at Madison, with only 1,200 students o n a c a m p u s of 44,000, McCubbin did hold o n e strong card that, in the end, w o u l d trump any that Yuen could produce. 6 1 Thirteen years younger than Paul Yuen, McCubbin was also born a n d raised in Hawaii, having g r o w n u p in Kaimuki, which borders o n Manoa. However, w h e r e a s Yuen w a s of p u r e Chinese ancestry, McCubbin w a s mainly of Hawaiian a n d J a p a n e s e descent. 6 1 McCubbin's q u a n t u m of native Hawaiian blood was never mentioned, nor did it matter. He h a d gradua t e d f r o m K a m e h a m e h a S c h o o l s in 1959, a n d that w a s e n o u g h t o authenticate his roots and ensure that h e would have the enthusiastic support of the native Hawaiian community. 6 0 In an interview with Ka Leo, McCubbin said, I'd like Islands is only ies and

to believe that there is something very special about the and the University of Hawaii that has yet to surface and now taking shape through the efforts of Hawaiian StudSHAPS [School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies],

And being from the Islands—and this I say not from a purely ethnic view point, but more from w h o I am than what it has to do with Hawaiian politics—I would like to believe that history, which is in the blood or the mana—as people would say—has a place in academic administration. It's nothing you can put your finger on, but it really is there. I think the time is good for somebody like myself to make a contribution to the academic administration.

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So often people will say we have Hawaiians in leadership roles. I would like to say, we need more Hawaiians in academic administry [sic].60 By Wednesday, November 20, 1991, Simone had made his decision. He had been talking with Paul Yuen all week, and he finally called McCubbin Wednesday night to make him an offer. The next day, Simone discussed his selection with certain regents, who were split on his choice and did not agree with the salary Simone proposed. Such disagreements were a routine feature of Simone's relationship with his Board, and he could have managed these without incident had Ka Leo not also put in a call to McCubbin on Wednesday night just after Simone. The long-distance interview with Ka Leo was reported on Friday, November 22, 1991, the day after McCubbin and his wife Marilyn left for Italy to visit their daughter. McCubbin was critical of the University's efforts in areas such as sexual harassment, affirmative action, and pay inequity, and he indicated that he had been chosen to correct these and other problems. "It's not enough to place ads in newspapers and journals," McCubbin said. "Affirmative action policy needs to go beyond the newspaper . . . and hold administrators fully accountable." McCubbin also discussed the terms of his appointment, still under negotiation, including an invitation extended by the UH Nursing School to his wife.62 Simone was alarmed by what he read in Ka Leo and called an emergency meeting of the UEC, held at College Hill on Saturday afternoon, November 23, 1991. The entire UEC was invited except for Paul Yuen. Simone began by apologizing that he had lost control of the process—that the offer to McCubbin was reported in Ka Leo and elsewhere before he had a chance to inform the UEC. The negotiations were supposed to be confidential, and McCubbin had let them out of the bag. Not only did this embarrass Simone and undermine his relationship with the Board, it tied his hands and narrowed his options. If McCubbin's demands were not met or he chose not to come, Simone would be blamed for not making a strong enough offer. Nor could Simone discreetly fall back to Paul Yuen, since it was now known that Yuen was merely Simone's second choice. It wasn't clear to those assembled at College Hill whether McCubbin was simply naive and inexperienced or whether his statements to Ka Leo were part of a deliberate strategy to force Simone to accept his terms. Someone recalled reading a salary figure of $125,000 in one of the local newspapers and noted that, although Simone had put nothing in writing, McCubbin now had Simone in a box where he couldn't back down. Others said that Simone should make McCubbin a salary offer so low that he couldn't accept. There was also concern that McCubbin had become an "instant expert" on all of Manoa's problems, while, in fact, he "didn't even know what he didn't know." Comparisons with Tony Marsella were rife.

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Simone informed us that, although the UEC was unanimously for Paul Yuen, the deans and directors were split fifty-fifty, and the search committee, the Faculty Senate, and the faculty favored McCubbin. McCubbin's major weaknesses were his inexperience, his non-central discipline, and the small size of the school he administered. Among McCubbin's strengths, Simone cited a strong record of scholarship and the fact that McCubbin would bring new blood to Hawaii. Simone also mentioned that McCubbin was the highest ranking native Hawaiian in the country, and we needed the support of the Hawaiian community. Later, Simone confided to me privately that John Waihee, the state's first native Hawaiian governor, was also backing McCubbin. In plain and simple terms, Waihee told Simone that if they didn't appoint McCubbin, everything they had worked for all these years would be lost. In the back of everyone's mind, of course, was the possibility that McCubbin might someday become the University's first native Hawaiian president. Hamilton McCubbin's appointment as academic vice president was approved by the Board of Regents at their regular monthly meeting on Maui on December 22, 1991-64 During the spring semester, faculty appointments with tenure for both Hamilton McCubbin and his wife were rigorously processed by the University, although Marilyn McCubbin never did sign her tenure application. At their meeting on May 21, 1992, the Board of Regents' Personnel Committee formally approved a waiver of the probationary period and the granting of tenure to Hamilton McCubbin, effective July 1, 1992. Also on May 21, 1992, a similar action for Marilyn McCubbin was withdrawn from the Personnel Committee agenda by Hamilton McCubbin at her request.65 On May 22, 1992, Simone received a fax from Hamilton McCubbin saying that neither he nor his wife was coming. Various explanations of this decision were promulgated. In an interview with television station KGMB held on May 26, 1992, Hamilton McCubbin cited "unspecified personal problems at the University of Wisconsin."66 A University of Hawaii press release dated May 27, 1992, stated that "major personal, budgetary, and programmatic responsibilities demand(ed) his presence at the University of Wisconsin."67 In an interview reported in The Honolulu Advertiser on May 28, 1992, Simone expressed his surprise and disappointment at McCubbin's decision and suggested that McCubbin might be rejecting the University's second-highest position because of uncertainty over whether he would fit the new leadership team after Simone left.68 On May 29, 1992, The Honolulu Advertiser reported that McCubbin had declined the offer "because UH President Albert Simone's promises over terms of hiring McCubbin and his wife were broken."69 On May 30, 1992, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin reported that McCubbin had turned down the post of senior vice president and withdrawn his wife's application for tenure because he was not fully informed by Simone of the University's tenure policies.70

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Finally, on June 1, 1992, Ka Leo reported that McCubbin resigned "because we didn't want to get caught in the middle of the raging battle between the board and the president."71 There may have been some truth to all these explanations. On May 29, 1992, McCubbin took sole responsibility for his decision and absolved Simone and the regents. McCubbin also revealed that his wife had cancer and would undergo surgery. My wife's well-being is an important consideration in my life. And it weighed heavily on what future we had in the Islands. That's why tenure was of great importance. I needed any future moves to have an element of security.72 It is also helpful to recall that Simone had announced his own resignation on February 12, 1992, effective December 31, 1992,73,74 and that most of the problems with McCubbin surfaced after that date. Furthermore, less than one month after his announcement, Simone recommended to the Board yet another reorganization—one in which the roles of University president and Manoa chancellor would again be truly separate. Under this new plan, the Manoa chancellor would join the other chancellors and vice presidents and report directly to the president, thereby disconnecting the vice president for academic affairs from Manoa. As McCubbin correctly surmised in a telephone interview with Ka Leo, "The position for which I was appointed would essentially no longer exist."75 McCubbin added that he had "second thoughts about coming to the University under such ambiguous circumstances."75 The door finally closed for McCubbin when the Board approved the appointment of Paul Yuen as interim president on May 22, 1992, effective July 1, 1992.76 It was public knowledge that this item was on the regents' agenda; hence, McCubbin did have time to make his final decision and fax his withdrawal just before the May 22 meeting began. McCubbin's reasoning seems quite clear. Presumably within one year, a new and unknown chancellor would be running Manoa, and McCubbin would become merely staff to a new and unknown president. If he applied for the chancellorship or the presidency himself, he would be at a great disadvantage by virtue of his lack of experience and the well-publicized controversy that surrounded his own initial appointment. If he did not apply, there was still no assurance that he could continue as vice president. And even if he did stay on, he might be trapped in a staff position for the rest of his career, subject to the whims of the Board, the new Manoa chancellor, and the new president. Worst of all, during his first year in office, while his fate was being decided by others, McCubbin would be working for Paul Yuen, the man he had just defeated in a close race for senior vice president. Although the fax from McCubbin was received just prior to the Board's meeting on Friday, May 22, 1992, his withdrawal was not made public

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until Tuesday, May 26, 1992. That morning Simone held a post mortem with Madeleine Goodman, Ed Kormondy, Colleen Sathre, Joyce Tsunoda, and me in Bachman Hall, and that evening he met with news people at College Hill. The University's press release was dated May 27, 1992.67 All those attending the post mortem were relieved to learn that McCubbin wasn't coming. Joyce Tsunoda urged Simone not to let the Board or anyone else prevent this event from running its course. Madeleine Goodman suggested that the Board had made a miscalculation: By forcing Simone to leave early, they had inadvertently lost McCubbin. My interpretation was the other way around: Although Simone knew he was on the way out, he had pre-empted the Board by announcing his resignation and by securing a position as president of Rochester Institute for Technology before the regents were ready. Either way, the Board was now in an embarrassing predicament: The regents had lost both Cecil Mackey and Hamilton McCubbin, and people on the U.S. mainland must be wondering what kind of an institution they were running. Simone confided that people had expressed similar concerns before he came, but he decided to come anyway because he was attracted by the University's internationalism and its Asian and Pacific programs. The post mortem ended with speculation about whether Paul Yuen would succeed Simone as president, whether Madeleine Goodman would succeed Yuen as vice president, and whether Center for Hawaiian Studies Director Haunani-Kay Trask would be successful in fomenting an uprising of the native Hawaiian community. I thought Ka Leo summarized the situation very neatly when it published an editorial a few days later entitled "No McCubbin: Deja vu."77

The School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies Like success, the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS) had many progenitors. One of its forebears, certainly, was A1 Simone, whose personal commitment to internationalism was reflected not only in his decision to come to Hawaii, but also in his historic trips to Beijing, Hanoi, Pyongyang, and Vladivostok. In his action memorandum to the Board of Regents,78 Simone noted that the proposed school would support two of the five major dimensions of the University's strategic plan— a plan developed on Simone's short watch as academic vice president— by establishing an international focus, especially in the Asian and Pacific region, and by serving the needs of the State of Hawaii.79 A second progenitor was Tony Marsella, who had primary responsibility for SHAPS within the University administration and fought long and hard on its behalf.80 His three-year summary of accomplishments81 lists many directly related to this initiative, and his "keen interest" and "considerable support" are warmly acknowledged in the original SHAPS proposal.82

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Also contributing to the birth of SHAPS was Board of Regents Chairperson Gladys Brandt, who gave this "calabash child" of many parents and ancestors its final name. Whereas the original proposal called for a School of Pacific, Asian, and Hawaiian Studies, Brandt persuaded the administration and the rest of the regents that the Hawaiians should come first.83 "If not in Hawaii, then where?" Brandt used to ask. The actual authors of the SHAPS proposal were the eleven members of the Center for Asian and Pacific Studies (CAPS) Council, which was chaired by Donald Rubinstein. Roland Fuchs, special assistant to the president for international programs, was working concurrently on a comprehensive survey of the University's international programs84 and on a strategic plan for international education,85 and he frequently participated in CAPS Council meetings.82 Auspiciously pacing to and fro in the waiting room were patrons such as the newly elected governor, John Waihee, who strongly supported the University's budget requests for SHAPS, who led a College Hill Breakfast on "Hawaii's Role in Asia and the Pacific" on August 6, 1987, and who hosted 700 participants at the Governor's Congress on Hawaii's International Role on December 6 and 7, 1988.86 Another benefactor was A. A. "Bud" Smyser, contributing editor for the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, whose white paper on Hawaii's Future in the Pacific helped to precipitate the governor's congress and had a seminal influence on local perceptions of Hawaii's future.87 SHAPS was also a child of the times. During the 1980s, universities across the country were busy strengthening their international programs. Such programs were needed to internationalize faculty, and such faculty were needed to internationalize students. It was necessary to internationalize students because the world was rapidly changing and because educators responsible for training "the leaders of tomorrow" envisioned a future that was increasingly international. What distinguished the University of Hawaii from most of its peers was that its outlook was international from the beginning. Departments of Japanese and Chinese languages and literature were established barely a dozen years after the founding of the University in 1907. By 1930, the University already ranked third among all colleges and universities in the United States in the number of its courses related to Asia. A School of Pacific and Oriental affairs was created in 1931, and an Oriental Institute was approved by the Board of Regents four years later.88 Among the early pioneers in Asian studies were Paul Bachman, Charles Moore, Shunzo Sakamaki, and Gregg Sinclair. These names are very familiar to students and faculty at Manoa because two University of Hawaii presidencies and four Manoa buildings are associated with them. SHAPS was interdisciplinary as well as international. During the 1980s, universities across the country were tearing down the barriers, erected over

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many generations, that separated traditional departments, schools, and colleges. They were organizing themselves in new ways to improve coordination, administrative support, and academic leadership. In the case of SHAPS, for example, the University had identified nearly 300 faculty members in ten distinct area-studies centers and programs offering six degrees. The goal of the new school was to provide greater visibility for these activities and greater coordination of these resources, thereby permitting the individual area-studies centers and programs to develop to their full potential. 78 Included under the SHAPS umbrella were four units that were the only ones of their kind in the country: • Center for Hawaiian Studies, • Soviet Union in the Pacific and Asian Region Program, • Center for Pacific Island Studies, and • Center for Philippine Studies. Three others were the largest of their kind: • Center for Chinese Studies, • Center for Japanese Studies, and • Center for Southeast Asian Studies. Three remaining components brought the total to ten: • Center for Korean Studies, • Center for South Asian Studies, and • Buddhist Studies Program. These eight area-studies centers and two area-studies programs reported to the dean of SHAPS and were housed administratively within the Colleges of Arts and Sciences at Manoa. 88 Although grand and historic in its concept, SHAPS was not without its problems and critics. One of its problems was that the whole was less than the sum of its parts. The parts, in fact, were mostly parts of other schools and colleges, and SHAPS could only legitimately call its own 110 students, a dozen faculty, and a dozen courses. 89 The same faculty member who brought these statistics to the attention of President Simone noted that similar programs at Berkeley, Michigan, Harvard, and Columbia were headed by internal people on part-time appointments, and he wondered why an enterprise of such "little significance" needed a dean. "We feel, depending on our personalities, amused, angry, or contemptuous about the whole Dean of SHAPS business. It is a common perception that the decision to search for a high priced Dean was foolish." The faculty member ended by predicting that "SHAPS, insofar as it has any function at all, will not long outlive your tenure as President." 89 Uncertainties about the future of SHAPS may be said to reflect much

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larger uncertainties about the future of the University and the state. In the decades immediately following World War II, the Asian-Pacific region depended on America both for economic assistance and for military security. As America's western outpost and as the geographic and cultural bridge between East and West, Hawaii had a special role that virtually guaranteed its rapid growth and success. Manoa also had a special role: As the nearest bona fide American university, it was a beacon that attracted students and illuminated the entire Asian-Pacific region. By the end of Simone's administration, the Asian-Pacific region was economically the most dynamic in the world. It was no longer a protégé of the United States, but a true partner in every sense. With direct flights linking Asia and the U.S. mainland and telecommunications linking every continent, Hawaii was no longer needed as an ocean bridge or even as a stable political and economic base. Other destinations could produce sugar and pineapple more cheaply, and their beaches were nearer at hand. Manoa also lost some of its competitive advantages. Many Asian campuses had become excellent, and Asian students who once came to Hawaii were being admitted to and could afford to attend the most prestigious institutions of higher learning in the world. The economic imperative of this new global environment was that Hawaii and the University had to learn to compete successfully or b e bypassed. This point was thoroughly understood by leaders like Simone and Waihee, and it was precisely what SHAPS, 82 the governor's congress, 8 6 and the papers by Roland Fuchs 8 4 8 5 and Bud Smyser 87 were about. Whether SHAPS succeeds or fails, therefore, its creation must ultimately be viewed as an attempt to project into the next century Manoa's historic mission to be one of the leading international universities in the world.

The School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology The final example of the Simone administration's propensity for reorganization is provided by the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST). And whereas the raison d'etre for SHAPS was to facilitate Manoa's mission as one of the world's leading international universities, the charge to SOEST was to promote Manoa's mission as one of the world's leading research institutions. Like SHAPS, SOEST was a child of the times as well as a "calabash child" of many parents. Unlike SHAPS, however, SOEST had full control of all its parts, making it one of the largest and most dynamic enterprises in the system. In fact, with total funding running around $44 million in Fiscal Year 1992, of which $28 million was extramural and $16 million was provided by the State of Hawaii, SOEST accounted for nearly half of all research being done by the University. It was arguably larger and more complex than any community college campus and more than twice as large as the Hilo and West Oahu campuses combined.

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The proposal for SOEST evolved under the auspices of the Marine Council, first appointed by Acting Chancellor Richard H. Kosaki on March 22, 1985. The council was headed by Lorenz Magaard, who also chaired the Department of Oceanography, then part of the College of Natural Sciences. The primary mission of the council was "to be the focus for UH marine scientific activities before a new organizational structure for such activities is established." 90 Following the reorganization that eliminated the office of the chancellor on November 15, 1985, the council reported to the president through the office of the vice president for research and graduate education. The assistant vice president for academic affairs, Madeleine Goodman, and I also served as ex officio members. Although I took my membership seriously, I am embarrassed to confess that I was not present at the historic meeting on April 23, 1986, when Simone arrived unexpectedly just before adjournment and electrified the council by demanding an action plan that would make the University number one in the country in marine science and technology within five years.91 The circumstances were quintessentially Al Simone. At 1 P.M. on that momentous afternoon, Simone was scheduled to meet with Bob Pecsok, dean of the College of Natural Sciences, as part of a comprehensive review of all Manoa deans and directors. Following the usual format, vice presidents Tony Marsella, Ben Young, and I were also invited. Also as usual, Simone was running late, which meant that Pecsok was left waiting for more than an hour outside the president's office while three vice presidents sat in their own nearby offices waiting to be called. The appointment with Pecsok, originally scheduled for two hours, was mercifully short and ended just after 3 P.M. I left the Pecsok interview thinking that the meeting of the Marine Council, scheduled for 2 P.M., must be nearly over. Given the hour, it seemed pointless to attend. To my chagrin, I found out later that Simone and Pecsok had proceeded directly to the meeting of the Marine Council, arriving, according to Magaard's careful minutes, at precisely 3:15 P . M . 9 1 What electrified the council was not Simone's vision of a new school or college or even his aspiration to be number one in five years. Indeed, the scientists and engineers who sat on the council were skeptical by nature, training, and profession, and they had heard such propaganda before. Far more inspirational than Simone's vision and aspiration, therefore, was his charge to the council to think big—to think of a new building for ocean sciences, an additional $10 million per year in operating funds, and 100 new positions! This story was often repeated in the days that followed. In my regular weekly meeting with Simone on April 24, 1986, he outlined his international/research agenda for Manoa, said that he didn't want his vice presidents to be merely maintenance people, and concluded that we must

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set lofty goals and go after them. SOEST needed a honcho, a vice president with nothing to protect, and since SOEST would consist mainly of organized research units and graduate programs, he was considering me. My only problem, he said, was that I was a "homogenizer" who lost impact and thrust by going with the consensus. With so much turf at stake, Tony Marsella tried very hard to persuade Simone that SOEST should belong to him. Such pleading only reinforced Simone's inclination to distribute authority as evenly as possible among his competing vice presidents, thereby strengthening the horizontal tension that characterized his administration and dissipating any vertical tension that might pose a threat to him. More generally, given the disparate ambitions and personalities of the two candidates, Simone had to build me up and hold Marsella down in order to foster the balance of power he sought. This kind of reasoning was not for public consumption. Rather, Simone defended his decision by pointing out that the Marine Council and about 85 percent of SOEST reported to me already, and the existing distribution of responsibility would merely continue under the proposed reorganization. He also noted that I was a physical scientist with strong credentials in several SOEST disciplines, whereas Marsella was a social scientist with little knowledge of the marine area. Most of the proposal writing was done by members of the Marine Council. My office contributed an early draft, and the council later made substantial revisions in response to constructive suggestions from President Simone, the Manoa Faculty Senate, and others. Many within SOEST who thought that the reorganization was a mistake were willing to support it publicly as a means of attracting additional state funds to SOEST units. Many outside of SOEST who thought it was a good idea were publicly opposed for the same reason. Included in the new school were four departments—Geology and Geophysics, Meteorology, Oceanography, and Ocean Engineering; four organized research units—the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics, the Hawaii Institute of Marine Biology, the Hawaii Natural Energy Institute, and the Sea Grant Program; the Marine Option Program; and the Waikiki Aquarium. The controversial decision to include Ocean Engineering was made by Simone himself. The whole point, he said, was to bring marine scientists and engineers together. The relocation also pleased the ocean engineers, who felt that, under then Dean of the College of Engineering Paul Yuen, they were being treated as little more than a support group and resource stockpile for the larger Departments of Electrical, Mechanical, and Civil Engineering. Simone also chose the name. I thought it awkward to have "and" appear twice in one title and was inclined to drop the words "and technology" at the end. Simone said our job was not to write poetry but to

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acquire and transfer knowledge, and he insisted that both word pairs, "ocean and earth" and "science and technology," be included. We also quibbled about whether it should be "ocean" or "marine," "earth" or "geological." The Marine Council examined more than a dozen organizational charts without agreeing on any. At the heart of the matter was a dilemma. Prior to the reorganization, the four institute directors reported to a vice president, which meant that they had the status of deans, attended deans' and directors' meetings, and received executive salaries. If they henceforth reported to the dean of SOEST, they would be one step further removed from the president and would therefore be downgraded to the level of department chairs, who are considered regular faculty. Of even greater concern than the status and salaries of the directors, however, was a technicality of the University's personnel system that would force a reclassification, retrenchment, or downgrading not only of the directors, but also of their staffs. Since this would make it impossible for SOEST to recruit and retain directors, administrative officers, and secretaries with the skills and experience of people already on board, such a reorganization would weaken, rather than strengthen, the University's marine programs. One way out of this dilemma would have been to make the dean of SOEST a vice president. This was unacceptable to regents who had insisted only a few months earlier that the chief executive officer for planning and budget be classified as an associate vice president and who felt that the proliferation of vice presidents had already gone too far. In a brilliant stroke of "constructive ambiguity," 5 I proposed that the organization of SOEST be modeled after that of the president's office. Whereas deans and directors reported to the office of the president, a box that included the Manoa vice presidents as well as the president, I would have the four directors in SOEST report to the office of the vice president for research and graduate education, a box that would include the dean of SOEST as well as the vice president. Since the charts for SOEST would show the directors reporting to the vice president as well as to the dean, the executive classifications of the directors and their staffs would be preserved. The central ambiguity in this construction was that the directors' reporting lines were dual. Recalling Simone's fluid team approach to management, 2 I argued that, just as the deans and directors had access to the president and normally worked with their vice presidents, all within the office of the president, the four directors in SOEST would have access to their vice president and normally work with their dean, all within the office of the vice president. And just as talking to a vice president was supposed to be equivalent to talking to the president, talking to the dean of SOEST should be equivalent to talking to the vice president for research and graduate education.

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In practice, a team is a group of people working together. And just as the efficacy of the president's office depended on the character and personality of the executives Simone assembled, the success of SOEST as an organizational structure would depend in large measure on the character and personality of the new dean we were later to recruit. Part of my responsibility as honcho for SOEST was to keep as many as possible of the magnificent promises Simone had made to the Marine Council. Over the next six years, we were able to obtain $22 million in state funds and $26 million in federal funds for a new $48 million Pacific Ocean Science and Technology building, an additional $1.9 million per year in operating funds, and thirty-five new positions. Although the last two figures were much less than the $10 million per year and 100 new positions Simone had conjured up for the Marine Council on April 23, 1986, they were enormous by University standards. As one example, these increases alone exceeded, respectively, the total FY 1992 operating budget and personnel roster of the West Oahu campus that opened in 1976. While state funding increased by $1.9 million per year, which was about 13 percent, federal research and training grants for the units in SOEST more than doubled, increasing from $11,510,163 in FY 198792 to $28,351,429 in FY 1992.93 This high yield on the state's investment suggests that the concept underlying the SOEST reorganization was basically sound. It can also be argued, however, that although the final proposal was completed in September 1987,92 SOEST was not formally approved by the Board of Regents until July 22, 1988, and the new dean, Barry Raleigh, did not come on board until October 1, 1989- By this time, the state had already invested $1.1 million of the $1.9 million in new money and provided twenty-six of the thirty-five new positions. In addition, federal funding had already increased from $11,510,163 in FY 198792 to $25,064,975 in FY 1989.93 These data suggest that the choice of dean and the detailed structure of SOEST were incidental to its success and that the real generators were the state's infusion of resources into the marine area and, to a lesser extent, the excitement produced by Simone's vision and aspirations.

5 The Board of Regents: How It Works and Who Runs It

ere shall be a board of regents of the University of Hawaii, the members of which shall be nominated and, by and with the advice and consent of the senate, appointed by the governor. At least part of the membership of the board shall represent geographic subdivisions of the State. The board shall have the power, as provided by law, to formulate policy, and to exercise control over the university through its executive officer, the president of the university, who shall be appointed by the board; except that the board shall have exclusive jurisdiction over the internal organization and management of the university. This section shall not limit the power of the legislature to enact laws of statewide concern.' —State Constitution, Article X, Section 6

In this chapter, w e shall examine the role and composition of the Board of Regents as it existed and evolved during Albert J. Simone's administration, circa 1985-1992. Particular attention will be given to the "interface problem," the "autonomy issue," and the character and personality of the Board secretary and some of the Board members. Readers who wish to pursue this topic in more depth, both historically and statistically, are referred to Robert E. Potter's 155-page monograph, which investigates the role and composition of the University of Hawaii Board of Regents from 1907 to 1982.2

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The Role of the Board of Regents The Board of Regents is ultimately responsible for the quality and integrity of the University. The Board is also the principal interface between the University and the community. It follows from these two essential facts that the Board of Regents is central to the politics of public higher education in Hawaii regardless of whether its members view themselves as political figures and regardless of whether they choose to act as advocates primarily for the University, the community, or some other constituency. What the Board does in principle is specified in the Hawaii State Constitution,1 the Hawaii Revised Statutes,3 and the Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies,4 What it does in practice is determined mainly by the character and personalities of the Board secretary, the Board members, and the University president. When does an item require Board of Regents' approval? Whenever the Board secretary or key Board members say that it does. And when does the Board get involved in the detailed management of the University? Whenever it wants to. To a lesser extent, the behavior of the Board of Regents is also tempered by its own history and precedents as well as by the culture and environment of governing boards in general and academic governing boards in particular. In other words, the possible roles of the Board of Regents cover a wide spectrum, ranging from very passive to very active and depending on many factors, including, especially, the people involved. The ideal is probably near the center of this range, somewhere between the "rubber-stamp board" that pays no attention to the endeavors and aspirations of the institution and the "nit-picking board" that insists on controlling every transaction. The one major executive function of a governing board is the appointment and removal of the president.5 Among a board's other functions are these: demonstrating support for the president; monitoring the president's performance; clarifying the institution's mission; approving longrange plans; overseeing the educational program; ensuring the financial solvency and fiscal integrity of the institution; preserving institutional independence; enhancing the public image of the institution; interpreting the community to the campus; serving as a court of appeal within the institution; and assessing its own performance as a board.6 Boards may also be involved in setting tuition rates, working with the alumni association, running athletic programs, and executing business transactions, such as the purchase of real estate and the acceptance of gifts, grants, and contracts. Coupled with these powers and functions of a governing board are a number of possible abuses: too much involvement in administering the institution; submission to political and social pressure; conflict of interest with outside activities—business, political, social, religious, and so on, most especially dictating appointments to the faculty; promoting special programs or personnel within the institution because of personal interests;

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failing to attend meetings regularly or to do necessary homework; abdicating responsibility to either internal or external forces; and interfering with instructional or research programs that objectively treat issues about which board members may have preconceptions.7 Just as the participation of a board in the management of an institution can range from very passive to very active, the internal politics of a board can also vary widely. At one extreme, perhaps, is a board dominated by a single person—a university president, a board secretary, or a board chair. At the other extreme, a board may be so fractionated and so diverse that it can't agree on anything. Again, the ideal is probably near the center of the range—in this case, somewhere between a dictatorship and anarchy. Regardless of whether they are passive or active, dominated or diverse, most boards and board members are concerned about their own reputations and their relationships with the community at large. Like partners in a marriage, most board members would like society to think that they are happy, compatible, responsible, consensual, reasonable, sensible, wise, fair, thoughtful, concerned, considerate, balanced, open, and well meaning—whether such adjectives are accurate or not. One result of this natural human tendency is that most boards and board members would prefer to discuss controversial issues and resolve disputes in private so that they can present to the public a facade that is at all times pleasant and harmonious. Herein lies a dilemma, a fundamental conflict between two valid, important, and competing priorities. Whereas the natural human tendency is to deliberate and decide in private, exposing only the finished product to public scrutiny, Hawaii's "sunshine" laws require that every meeting of all state agencies, boards, commissions, and the like shall be open.8 Exacerbating this dilemma is the fact that the word "meeting" is so broadly defined. It would include, for example, any telephone conversation or chance encounter between two or more board members in which any matter of official business is discussed. Indeed, this is a marriage in which the partners can't speak to one another about anything important without giving the office of the lieutenant governor and the neighbors at least six calendar days' advance notice of the time, the place, and the items that will be discussed, and inviting them all to join in. Furthermore, an item cannot "be added to the agenda if it is of reasonably major importance and action thereon by the board will affect a significant number of persons."8 Privacy can facilitate the decision-making process by creating a setting that encourages frank and honest discussion, protects confidential information, permits the exploration of controversial and unpopular issues, lets discussants privately endorse positions for the common good that may be counter to the narrow self-interest of the constituents they represent, allows participants to change their minds or back down without losing face, and generally fosters communication, compromise, and

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eventual agreement. Openness is also desirable because, in a democracy, the people are vested with the ultimate decision-making power, and opening up the governmental processes to public scrutiny and participation is the only viable and reasonable method of protecting the public's interest.8 The Board of Regents routinely violates the letter of the "sunshine" laws, if not the spirit. It is simply not feasible to make progress or resolve controversial issues if members are not permitted to communicate with one another about matters of official business without holding a public hearing. Nor is it feasible for the president and the University administration to keep the Board informed and to involve the Board in the decisionmaking process without engaging in private conversations with key Board members. As pointed out in a Ka Leo editorial, [alnyone who is familiar with the Board of Regents can attest to the general uselessness of their meetings. There is rarely any meaningful discussion or debate. Some important decisions by the regents are made in advance, behind closed doors, which render the public meetings as mere exercises to fulfill legal requirements.9 The existence of this fundamental dilemma is recognized in those provisions of the "sunshine" laws that permit the Board to hold executive sessions to consider individual personnel actions, litigation, land acquisition, or the progress of collective bargaining negotiations. For items outside of these categories, however, the dilemma is real and inescapable, and the discrepancy between the way the Board is statutorily authorized to work and the way it actually works is large. As in the heroic Japanese no theater, most of the action takes place offstage, and the dance performed by the regents for the public is mostly shibai (Japanese word meaning drama, that is, a staged production). Just as the participation of a board in the management of an institution can range from very passive to very active and just as the internal politics of a board can range from a dictatorship to anarchy, the degree of openness of a board can also vary widely. And again, as in the first two cases, the ideal is probably near the center of the range. In this third instance, it is somewhere between a conspiracy and a town meeting. Whereas the relationships between members of a board often resemble those between partners in marriage, the relationship between a president and a board is likely to be even more intimate, intense, and interactive. Typically, each partner will attempt to mold and influence the other, the board choosing and cultivating a president who will lead the institution in the "right" direction, and the president educating and building a board that can perform its duties effectively, strike a reasonable balance among managerial involvement, internal politics, and public awareness, and support the president's administrative agenda.

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As in a marriage, honesty between the president and the board is probably the best policy, although a certain amount of well-meaning discretion, diplomacy, and even flattery is probably necessary at times to smooth the way. Thus, the president will publicly praise and thank that troublesome regent whose obstructive term is finally coming to an end, and the regents will enthusiastically endorse and pass a resolution extolling the virtues of that president they have just fired. The role of the board is one of the central issues of higher education management.2 The board's role is also ubiquitous in this case study of higher education politics, surfacing in one form or another in virtually every chapter. In the sections that follow, we will have an opportunity to examine two related issues that are pervasive in America and salient in Hawaii.

The Interface Problem Academia is often characterized as an ivory tower, a quiet place reserved for study and instruction, a retreat, a cloister, or even a monastery. Allegra Goodman created just such a setting for her short story in the August 9, 1993, issue of The New Yorker. Our Institute is a very unique place, not only bridging the gap between Christians and Jews but also between academics and clergy. Time, rules, and public speaking are not a concern here. Our tradition is not structured or formal but, rather, informal to the highest degree. And what we require—the only thing we require—is that all of you speak from the heart, talk with total honesty and sincerity, express the beliefs you hold deepest within you. . . ,10 Like the fictional St. Peter's College in Goodman's story,10 many institutions of higher learning are intentionally established at isolated locations so that scholars pursuing their academic aspirations will not be disturbed. Others, like Princeton and Stanford, begin in isolation and later beget intellectual communities that embrace and nurture them. Manoa has a more prosaic environment: It is a commuter campus located in a large city. Indeed, most of the residents of Honolulu have skills and values altogether different from those of the academy. Many have never left the Islands, and most have not continued beyond the twelfth grade. Of course, it is not the citizens of Honolulu who are eccentric, but the faculty of Manoa. Like other members of academia, they are understood to be a breed apart, sheltered inhabitants of a separate reality not only in mind, but also in spirit. Most faculty members at Manoa have earned the highest degree offered in their respective fields of study, be it a Ph.D., a Dr.P.H., an Ed.D., an M.D., a J.D., or an L.L.M. They earned these degrees by making good grades in high school, by scoring in the top one or two percent on scholastic aptitude tests, and by being admitted to excellent universities from which many graduated cum laude. On

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the basis of their college transcripts and high scores on the graduate record exam, they were admitted to excellent graduate schools, where they spent another five years or longer successfully completing their formal educations. Once launched on their academic careers, they met the strict criteria for promotion and tenure by further demonstrating their remarkable gifts and creativity and by gaining international reputations in their chosen disciplines. As citizens of the international community of scholars, most Manoa faculty members have traveled widely, have attained at least a reading knowledge of two or more foreign languages, and have more professional associations and personal loyalties abroad than they have in Hawaii. Although they are notable for their personal generosity and commitment to public service, they favor the institutions from which they graduated and the professional societies to which they belong. Unaware of the needs of the local community, they tend to give to non-profit organizations on the U.S. mainland. One consequence of this is that the University of Hawaii usually ranks dead last among the branches of state government in per capita giving to the Aloha United Way. Academia is primarily a merit-based system that rewards talent, hard work, and high intellectual achievement. Hawaii, on the other hand, is more of a patronage-based system that honors family ties, life-long friendships, personal commitments, and common heritages and goals. In academia, it's what you know; in Hawaii, it's who you know and who your relatives are. In academia, success is an achievement earned by a select few; in Hawaii, it's an entitlement shared by many. Closely related to merit and patronage is an equally vast cultural difference that pits the sometimes excessive individual ambitions of academics against the traditional self-effacing modesty and group loyalty of Hawaiians. Several recent examples of the former are provided by a Nobel Prize-winning physicist, Carlo Rubia,11,12 a Nobel Prize-winning biologist, David Baltimore, 1314 and a two-time winner of the Lasker award for basic biomedical research, Robert Gallo. 1516 An example of the latter is provided by four-time Olympian Duke Kahanamoku, who set world's records and won gold medals in swimming events at the 1912 and 1920 Olympic Games. 17 People who knew Duke Kahanamoku say that his times could have been even faster, but he always swam just fast enough to beat his competitors. After one such race, he said he did that because he felt bad about beating other people. 17 At a 1990 symposium honoring the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Kahanamoku, UH Professor of Hawaiian Studies Lili Kameeleihiwa explained that "[flor Hawaiians, it was always custom to do things as a group. It would be rude if an individual strayed away or tried doing something totally different."17 This cultural disparity was underscored by another speaker on the same program, author-publisher John Dominis Holt, who observed that "Duke Kahanamoku was

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much more admired by important people from the outside world than by his own people."17 Other instructive examples can be found among those individuals I have highlighted in previous chapters. Tony Marsella and Madeleine Goodman are recognized internationally for their academic achievements, whereas Paul Yuen and Doris Ching are respected locally for their modesty and loyalty. There are also permutations and combinations: Ed Kormondy was an academic from the mainland who earned the respect of the Hilo community, and Hamilton McCubbin was a high academic achiever who happened to have impeccable local connections. University faculty members also differ from other citizens of Hawaii in their ethnic mix. Because most faculty searches are conducted nationwide, they tend to attract qualified candidates from an applicant pool that is national or even international as well as local. The result is a blend that resembles those at comparable mainland institutions but is enriched by having higher than average concentrations of Asians, native Hawaiians, and other Pacific Islanders. The data summarized in Table 5.1 show that UH students form yet another mixture.18,19 The ethnic distributions of Manoa (UHM) faculty and students20 are compared with data for the community19 in Table 5.2. There are more Caucasian faculty members at Manoa because a higher percentage are

Table 5.1. University of Hawaii Ethnicity in Percent1819 UH Faculty

UH Students

Community

Caucasian

59.0

23.1

33.4

Japanese

18.3

22.0

22.3

Chinese/Korean

9.1

10.7

8.2

Hawaiian/Part-Hawaiian

4.2

11.0

12.5

Filipino

1.9

13.6

15.2

Other

7.5

19.6

8.4

Table 5.2. University of Hawaii at Manoa Ethnicity in Percent1920 UHM Faculty

UHM Graduates

Community

69

16.1

33.4

Japanese

13

38.3

22.3

Chinese/Korean

10

16.7

8.2

Caucasian

Hawaiian/Part-Hawaiian

2

5.8

12.5

Filipino

1

7.6

15.2

Other

5

15.5

8.4

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recruited nationally. There are more Japanese and Chinese students because these are the most affluent groups in Hawaii. According to the 1980 Census, for example, the median family income was $29,215 for Japanese and $28,433 for Chinese, but only $20,792 for Caucasians, $20,519 for Filipinos, and $19,463 for Hawaiians. 21 My purpose in comparing University faculty members with other citizens of Hawaii is not to pass judgment, but to point out the enormous gap that separates the two. In their formal educations, professional goals, world views, personal motivations, and even ethnicity, University faculty members are as different from the average citizens of Hawaii as the rich are different from the poor. This gap is especially large for the research campus at Manoa, but it also exists for the baccalaureate campuses at Hilo and West Oahu and, to a lesser extent, for the seven community college campuses. The chasm separating University faculty from the community is one example of what I shall refer to as the "interface problem." By representing both parties, the Board of Regents is supposed to bridge the chasm and be the "interface solution." Unfortunately, the Board represents neither the faculty nor the community so much as it reflects the people in power. This is amply demonstrated in Robert Potter's analyses of the regents' ages, ethnicity, genders, education, vocations, places of birth, residences during term of office, political affiliations, and religious preferences. 22 Whereas 56 percent of University students are women, 18 [mlost of the Regents have been men "of substance." Women have been in a decided minority. The business and professional vocations have dominated. In the early years, Caucasians were most prevalent, although there has been a sprinkling of "Orientals" over the past fifty years, and a majority of the Board has been "Oriental" in the 1970-1982 period. Except for a few part-Hawaiians, other ethnic groups have been virtually unrepresented.23 Throughout the Simone administration, circa 1985-1992, the elevenmember Board consisted of eight men and three women. As if by formula, a majority of six were always Japanese, three were Caucasian, one partHawaiian, and one Filipino. The Board began with four lawyers and ended with six. The lawyers were joined typically by four or five business people, one educator, and another educator or a medical doctor. Statistically, at least, this body was as different from the community as was the University faculty. An unbiased sampling of the community would have produced five or six women, two or three Japanese, and at most one lawyer. In its composition, what the Board resembled more than anything else was the legislature. Evidently, the gorge that Governor George Ariyoshi's and Governor John Waihee's Board of Regents was designed to bridge was not the one that separated the University from the community but the one that sepa-

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rated the University from the people in power. Configured in this way, the Board can be viewed either as a mechanism for enlisting the support of powerful people of Hawaii on behalf of the University or as a device for giving these same people control of that institution—or both. Former Hawaii Congresswoman Patricia Saiki put the matter very well at a recent forum of the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA) when she noted, Over the years, the university has been viewed by many as the dumping ground for leftover politicos. . . . It has been viewed by others as a means to fulfill personal agendas, pet projects, and pork barrel prizes. . . . The most important quality a regent should have is that his or her best interest must be with the university.24 Although he did not articulate the "interface problem" in these terms, A1 Simone worked very hard to address it in all its many incarnations. As discussed in Chapter 2, he was readily accessible to people from the media and the community; he averaged eighteen receptions and public gatherings per week; he welcomed more than 6,000 people to College Hill; he hosted some 240 College Hill Breakfasts; he delivered more than 170 speeches; and he issued the UH President's Report periodically to more than 7,000 recipients. He also established a vice president for University relations, reconstituted the Alumni Association, personally supported the University's athletic events, and obtained funds to produce television spots highlighting the University's teaching, research, and service. Turning his attention to the interface between faculty and students, Simone met regularly with leaders of the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH), the Graduate Student Organization (GSO), and other student groups; he appointed student representatives to numerous faculty committees; he emphasized the primacy of students in public addresses as well as in private meetings; and he established a vice president for student affairs and appointed two successive local role models, Ben Young and Doris Ching, to that office. Recognizing that gaps existed between the faculty and the Board and between students and the Board, Simone arranged for administrative and student representatives to work with each of the Board's eight standing committees; invited Board Secretary Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu to attend University Executive Council (UEC) meetings on a regular basis; hosted two-day retreats and led one-day workshops for Board members; and instituted half-day orientation sessions for new regents. Simone also strengthened the connections between the University and the Board and between the University and state government by moving toward an Executive Council whose gender and ethnic mix was similar to that of the Board of Regents and the legislature, rather than the faculty,

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Table 5.3. UEC, Board, and Legislature Ethnicity in Percent2526 UEC

Board

Legislature

Caucasian

30.8

27.3

22.1

Japanese

53.8

54.5

46.8

Chinese/Korean

7.7

0.0

10.4

Hawaiian/Part-Hawaiian

7.7

9.1

13.0

Filipino

0.0

9.1

5.2

Other

0.0

0.0

2.6

the students, or the community. At the end of his administration, nine of the regular UEC attendees were men, and four were women. Seven were Japanese (Doris Michiko Ching, Judith Inazu, Ralph Horii, Jimmy Takushi, Joyce Tsunoda, Rodney Sakaguchi, and Pepper Shiramizu); four were Caucasian (Ed Kormondy, Colleen Sathre, A1 Simone, and David Yount); one was part-Hawaiian (Rockne Freitas); and one was Chinese (Paul Yuen). The ethnicities in percent for the UEC, the Board, and the legislature25,26 are compared in Table 5.3By modeling his administration after the Board of Regents and the legislature, Simone established a link with the people in power that was within Bachman Hall, rather than between Bachman Hall and the state capitol. The situation was analogous to the one created by the Soviet Union during the war in Afghanistan when it built a highway to give the people of Kabul direct access to Moscow. It did not go unnoticed, of course, that such a road also gave the people in Moscow direct access to Kabul. The advantage of Simone's approach to the interface problem was that the many connections he established were usually made in his presence and on his own turf. The disadvantage was that the people in power, who already controlled the Board of Regents, also gained control of the University administration. The results were twofold: State support for the University increased, and the autonomy of the University decreased.

The Autonomy Issue The role of the Board of Regents is critical, not only in addressing the interface problem, but also in confronting the "autonomy issue." A crude statement of the interface problem is that the University is an ivory tower of haole faculty imbedded in a multiracial community run by Japanese politicians. An equally blunt formulation of the autonomy issue is that the haole academics and the Japanese politicians both think they should be running the show. Autonomy is a multifarious issue in Hawaii precisely

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because the University's interface is multifarious, and the complexity of the former accurately reflects the complexity of the latter. In 1978, partly in response to criticism contained in several accreditation reports from the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC), the state constitution was amended to give the Board of Regents "exclusive jurisdiction over the internal organization and management of the University."1 Unfortunately, this ringing declaration of freedom, independence, and sovereignty was immediately followed by the caveat: "This section shall not limit the power of the legislature to enact laws of statewide concern."1 Considering the ambiguities implicit in the two provisions just quoted, it is not surprising that the 1978 amendment failed to bring about the degree of autonomy its sponsors had sought. What the sponsors were looking for was a solution to an issue that has plagued the University since it was founded in 1907; what they got was merely a statement of that issue in which both sides were briefly but faithfully expressed. The long-standing view of the WASC accrediting association, as well as most other authorities on higher education management, is that schools and colleges must be free from outside interference in order to protect the quality and integrity of the institution, the effectiveness of the administration, and the morale of the faculty. The prevailing view of the governor and most legislators is that they must intervene from time to time on behalf of the people of Hawaii. Whereas most educators across America believe that the interests of the people are best served by protecting the quality and integrity of higher educational institutions, most politicians in Hawaii believe that their "statewide concerns" transcend the narrow goals of academics at the University of Hawaii and should prevail whenever differences of opinion arise. Instructive illustrations of the autonomy issue can be found throughout this study. In the previous chapter, for example, we described the efforts of certain legislators to create separate boards for the community colleges and for Hilo, and to transfer the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources and the Institute for Astronomy from Manoa to the Hilo campus. We also noted the efforts of Governor Waihee to influence the selection of the senior vice president for academic affairs and mentioned several instances when the University has been used "as a dumping ground for leftover políticos."24 These are all cases involving "the internal organization and management of the University," cases in which the governor or the legislature has intervened against the University's best interests, and cases in which the "exclusive jurisdiction" of the regents has thereby been violated.1 It is important to acknowledge that opinions vary widely in Hawaii, not only on the autonomy issue itself, but also on interventions of the types just cited. University students, faculty, and administrators were uni-

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formly critical of Harvey Tajiri's proposal to create a separate board for Hilo because it had no academic merit. Nevertheless, many residents of Hilo supported it, believing that it would help the local economy. In evidence here are two fundamentally different value systems, one based primarily on merit and the other based primarily on patronage. Meritversus-patronage is just one aspect of the interface problem, but like the others, it has immediate implications for the autonomy issue. Although the 1978 amendment to the state constitution was hailed as a great victory at the time of its passage, the WASC visiting team of 1985 was alarmed by the University's inability to demonstrate significant advancement in its implementation.27 Instead of renewing the accreditation for another five years, which is the usual practice, the WASC Senior Commission called for an interim visit the following year and issued a "warning to the University of Hawaii at Manoa that it must show progress toward freeing itself from such interference." 28 The executive director of WASC and a former member of the Senior Commission visited the University of Hawaii on August 1-2, 1985, to clarify the meaning of the warning for the Board of Regents, the University administration and faculty, the governor, and various legislative leaders. One week later, on August 8, 1985, the Board appointed Albert J. Simone president and began to establish its right to administer itself.28 In letters to the governor dated August 22 and September 17, 1985, President Simone identified the specific constraints that encumbered the University. Governor George R. Ariyoshi promptly responded in a letter of September 24, 1985, stating, "I am prepared to have the University assume greater administrative responsibilities," and directing various state offices to work with the University in delegating major responsibilities (where permitted by law) to the University. This bold step, remarkable in any state and without precedent in Hawaii, set the stage for legislative action.28 Four bills designed to provide the Board with greater flexibility and autonomy were introduced during the 1986 legislative session. The two giving the University jurisdiction, respectively, over its civil service employees and over disbursing, payroll, and direct payment of expenditures failed. The two giving the University greater flexibility in its fiscal procedures passed as Acts 320 and 321. However, significant changes were made by the legislature, and the acts had a life of only three years. Both were extended for another five years by the 1989 legislature, but there was still no assurance that the University would permanently retain these partial elements of its constitutional authority when Simone left office in August 1992.29 Following the clear, sweeping, and well-publicized delegation from Governor Ariyoshi, it was a common belief at the University of Hawaii

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that the goal of institutional autonomy had finally been achieved. However, whereas Acts 320 and 321 were supposed to confirm and extend Ariyoshi's decree, they had the opposite effect. As one example, the final provision of Act 320, like the concluding statement of Article X, Section 6, of the state constitution, is a caveat: It prohibits the University from using "current appropriations in any manner that would result in the expansion of programs or the initiation of new programs which may require any future increase in the commitment of state resources, without the specific prior concurrence of the Legislature and advice of the Governor."29 Because it is impossible to accomplish anything at the University without using current appropriations, such as those for personnel, facilities, and equipment, this final provision of Act 320 is potentially applicable to everything the University does. And it is equally unlikely that an expansion, an initiative, or even a reallocation would not have at least the possibility of requiring a future increase in state support. Under these circumstances, it appears that prior concurrence of the legislature and advice of the governor are required for any program change the University might wish to make, including those that result from the solicitation and acceptance of federal grants and contracts.29 Many examples demonstrate that the University has had limited success in implementing even the modest delegations of Acts 320 and 321. In 1990, the University formally asked the legislature to transfer from Hilo to Manoa one position that was mistakenly allocated to Hilo by the legislature in 1989- The position was for the Marine Option Program, a systemwide activity based at Manoa. The transfer seemed to require legislative approval because the original appropriation was in the instructional budget at Hilo, whereas the Marine Option Program is in the research budget at Manoa.29 Act 320 gave the University the authority to make transfers from one campus to another, but it was unclear in the Marine Option case whether it permitted transfers between budget lines, such as research and instruction, with dissimilar objectives. In ambiguous situations such as this, the University usually plays it safe and does not attempt to exercise the full autonomy it may have been given. As some administrators have said, "The Legislature has a long memory."29 More generally, the University is loath to take any action that may violate "legislative intent." Although this term is not well defined, it often includes transfers of funds "among programs with the same or similar objectives." The transfer of funds from a "legislative add-on" to an ongoing program in the same budget category is permissible. But such transfers typically lead to outrage and a storm of letters, not only from the constituency served by the "add-on," but also from its legislative sponsors. Contrary to the wishes of many legislators, however, the University has

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apportioned mandated budget cuts more to legislative "add-ons" than to the general operating budget. The legislature retains the power to expand existing programs or create new ones without "the specific prior concurrence" of the University. It can do so simply by changing or adding a line-item in the University's budget. In principle, the University can veto the item by returning the money, but such actions have been extremely unusual. Recent examples of academic units initiated by the legislature include the Travel Industry Management's Tourism Research Program, which received five positions and $200,000 for FY 1988-1989; the Hawaii Bishop Research Institute, which received $500,000 in FY 1988-1989; the Women's Center at Manoa, which received $70,000 for 1989-1990 and $100,000 for 1990-1991; and the Women's Center at Hilo, which received $50,000 for 1990-1991. It must also be said, however, that all these programs had some faculty and administrative support on campus. The introduction of enabling legislation was in concert with or even at the encouragement of special interest groups acting informally and outside the formal budget process. 30 The only feature of the autonomy issue that is immutable is its ambiguity. What the constitution giveth, the constitution taketh away; and what the legislature giveth, the legislature taketh away. It is also true that what one governor giveth, another taketh away. In a letter to Acting President Paul Yuen dated November 27, 1992, Governor John Waihee suspended Act 370/89 (which amended Act 320/ 86) and thereby terminated, albeit temporarily, the University's administrative flexibility in the budget execution process.31 Executive Memorandum Number 92-14, attached to Waihee's letter, prohibited out-of-state travel, the hiring of consultants, the rental of office space, and the purchase of new and replacement furniture and equipment unless approved by the governor through the Department of Budget and Finance. 32 Executive Memorandum Number 92-14 treated the University like every other state department. Since the University is not like any other state department, the edict created more problems for Waihee than it solved. There was no point in freezing out-of-state travel, for example, since most of it was supported by extramural grants for research and training and since these out-of-state funds were helping the state's sagging economy. The governor could make exceptions, of course, but in this category alone, he would have to make thousands each year. Similar observations could be made about each of the other categories. In a memorandum dated December 29, 1992, which responded to a request from Interim President Yuen dated December 16, 1992, Governor Waihee rescinded his suspension of Act 370/89 for FY 1993 and exempted the University from the provisions of Executive Memorandum Number 9214.33 Although the University lost its administrative flexibility for barely one month, the point was made. How much autonomy does the University

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have? Only as much as the governor and the legislature say it has. How much do they say it has? Nobody knows since the answer changes with the people and the times. Reflecting on this remarkable example of "constructive ambiguity," 34 I find it helpful to consider the autonomy issue from three points of view. The first I shall refer to as the "paper delegation," which is the written record consisting of Article X, Section 6 of the Hawaii State Constitution, the September 24, 1985, Ariyoshi letter to President Simone, and the latest versions of Acts 320 and 321. Despite the honorable intentions that motivated each of these documents, opponents managed to insert enough caveats so that the true "paper delegation" may be narrow while the range of interpretations is wide. Second is a kind of "operational delegation," by which I mean those innumerable interactions between state government and the University that occur almost daily. These interactions reveal in a practical way the degree of autonomy that is actually in force. Because the range of interpretations of the paper delegation is so broad, the operational delegation is determined mainly by personal relationships and mutual consent. University administrators tend to exercise less autonomy than they could legally claim in order to win favor with their friends and patrons in state government. Officials in state government tend to grant more autonomy than the University traditionally has if they happen to like and trust the people at the interface. As we have seen in Chapter 4, as well as in the previous section, by the end of the Simone administration, the people at the interface were mostly "Japanese managers," rather than "haole academics," and many of the connections were being made in Bachman Hall. Confidence of state officials in University administrators was therefore high. This had the paradoxical result that the operational delegation reached its zenith at precisely that point in Simone's administration when the influence of the "haole academics" reached its nadir and interest in autonomy as an issue was nil. Third is a "hypothetical delegation," which is that theoretical limit of autonomy the University would have if it chose to exercise its rights to the fullest. Here it should be noted that the University has never tested its autonomy through litigation, nor has the issue been clarified in any way by the courts. In fact, since the University is not permitted to hire its own lawyers without approval of the state attorney general, it may not have sufficient autonomy even to defend its autonomy. Being hypothetical and Utopian, this third aspect of autonomy is mainly of interest to students of higher education management. It should be noted, however, that autonomy, like freedom, is a condition that depends as much on the will of the subject as it does on the resistance of the environment. Thus, in the case at hand, it depends as much on the actions of the Uni-

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THE

UNIVERSITY?

versity and its many constituents as it does on the actions of the governor, the legislature, and the larger community. Extension of the paper delegation was not regarded as an urgent matter for the University after the initial triumphs of the Simone administration, and thereafter it was neglected in favor of more immediate and tangible goals. The hypothetical delegation was never explored. The operational delegation increased in certain respects and decreased in others. As previously noted, the gains in the operational delegation came about mainly because the confidence of state officials in their University counterparts was high. The losses, on the other hand, were marked not only by the frequent intrusions of the governor, the legislature, and other influential people in Hawaii, but also by the myriad actions of those students, faculty, and administrators who invited them in. Some examples of these actions are seeking funds directly from the legislature for items that did not survive the University's budget process, asking powerful friends to lobby regents and administrators, bringing other kinds of external pressure to bear on regents and administrators, creating incidents and situations that enticed legislators and others to intervene, contacting the news media about problems that were already being handled internally, and actively participating in political campaigns. All these activities are perfectly legal, of course, and the people who engaged in them often did so under the dual banners of the democratic process and their own moral crusade. Many were advocates for autonomy and didn't realize they were violating it. Most of the people driving this vicious circle of politics and patronage were well-meaning and believed they were doing wonderful things. Simone, focusing on the bottom line, accepted the extra money when it came in, yielded to pressure when necessary, and tried to use the local patronage system to help the University. Could something be done by the University to change its political environment? I discussed this question with former University President Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda (1974-1984) during a field trip to Tonga, Western Samoa, and American Samoa, May 7-15, 1989- Fudge was the executive director of the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH) at that time, and I was an ex officio member of the RCUH Board of Directors by virtue of my appointment as vice president for research and graduate education. Although it was Matsuda's presidency that culminated in the 1985 warning from WASC,27,28 he himself was a strong believer in autonomy. He reminded me of this during our conversation in Pago Pago and expressed his opinion that the University could secure its independence from state government if the president were willing to fight for it. When I wondered what would cause the governor and the legislature to back down, Fudge pointed out that the University was the only game in town.

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Still skeptical, I asked Fudge how long the realization of autonomy would take. At first he said one legislative cycle ought to be enough, but later he guessed two. I was certain, however, that without the support of the governor and the legislature, the president would be out of a job in less than two full cycles, which is four full years. My observation was both a manifestation of the autonomy issue and an explanation of why it won't soon be resolved. The Board, as an artifact of Hawaii's political system, is not likely to oppose that system. Indeed, most regents view the autonomy issue as an accreditation problem, a problem of keeping WASC at bay. Furthermore, no president is likely to take a stand, although every recent president has announced that he is in favor of autonomy. Above all else, university presidents want to be successful, and they can't be successful in Hawaii without playing the game.

The Regents' Gallery The last section of this chapter on the function and composition of the Board of Regents consists of a series of portraits of the major players. Recalling my earlier metaphor, I see individual regents first as characters in the heroic Japanese no theater and second as actors who happened to be cast by George Ariyoshi and John Waihee to dance and chant these dramatic roles. My goal in portraying them is to capture both the public and the private aspects of their temperaments and personalities and relate the two. Since the regents could claim the entire book as their stage, I have limited the sketches in this section typically to one or two scenes per actor. I have also limited my selection, focusing on those performers and behaviors that, taken together, best represent the whole. The complete gallery, circa 1982-1995, is catalogued in Table 5.4, which extends Bob Potter's Appendix A, circa 1907-1982,35 to June 1995. By July 1995, five new regents were appointed by newly elected Governor Benjamin J. Cayetano. I have a theory that in every group, every role will be played. What this means in the present case is that the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii probably has a lot in common with other boards at other times and institutions. It also means that my representation need not be exhaustive in order to be informative. I hope my theory is correct because this is one of those instances in which Al Simone would tell me that I knew only one-tenth of what he knew, and what he knew was only onetenth of what was really going on.

Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu: The Secretary Shogun Patrolling the interface between the University administration and the Board of Regents was Board of Regents Secretary Pepper Shiramizu. Like Harold Masumoto, who was arguably the most powerful person in the Fujio Matsuda administration and later became arguably the second most

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powerful person in the Waihee administration,36 Pepper Shiramizu was arguably the most powerful person during the Simone administration— more powerful even than Simone. The reason was the same. Administration in Hawaii is done by controlling transactions, and Shiramizu and Masumoto were both masters of the art. Whether by instinct or by training, they were drawn to positions where they didn't have to create anything and where they could veto everything. Shiramizu was also similar to Masumoto in style and personality. Though quiet and self-effacing, he radiated a powerful presence at any meeting he attended. He always said less than he knew, and he rarely volunteered anything. His main agenda, in priority order, was to keep himself, the Board of Regents, and the University out of trouble. These priorities were reflected in the official minutes he kept of Board of Regents' meetings: They were terse, pristine, and complimentary regardless of what transpired. He seldom revealed his own thoughts and feelings, and he never put them in writing. In executing the covert operations inherent in his occupation, he labored in strict confidence with a few key people, leaving the false impressions that his job wasn't very demanding and that he wasn't working very hard. Undergirding Shiramizu's rise to power were his local connections and orientation; his sensitivity and ability to articulate the views of local Board members; his longevity (twenty-three years as Board secretary as of March 20, 1995); his ability to control the flow of information between the administration and the Board; his ability to indoctrinate, control, and manipulate Board members; his knowledge of the University, which greatly exceeded that of any regent; his position as interface and power broker between the president and the Board; his presence at University Executive Council meetings; the fact that he could devote all his professional time to these activities; the fact that he became Board secretary long before Simone and his contemporary regents were appointed and would still be in place long after they were gone; and the fact that, by law, the Board hires and fires the president and generally runs the University, albeit via a delegation to its chief executive officer.

Julia A. Frohlich: Private Person in Public Posts The person who was chairing the Board of Regents when Al Simone was hired as president on August 8, 1985, was Julia A. Frohlich, M.D.37 Frohlich replaced Honolulu attorney Stanley Y. Mukai at a tense meeting held in July 1984, some nineteen months into the thirty-two-month search, and she stayed on as chair just long enough to see it completed. Born and raised in the Midwest, "Frohlich spent a somewhat rustic childhood in a smallish Iowa town on the banks of the Mississippi where she had pet chickens, went haying, and once tried to talk her parents into buying a horse and keeping it in the garage."37 After obtaining her M.D.

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degree from the University of Iowa in 1966, she completed her internship in surgery at Queen's Hospital in Honolulu and moved into a four-year residency in pathology there. In 1972, she joined the Blood Bank of Hawaii as medical director; and in 1983, she became its executive director. Her first concern was making sure the community had an adequate supply of safe blood.37 Through her dedication to altruism, Julia Frohlich sincerely embodied Pat Saiki's dictum that "[t]he most important quality a regent should have is that his or her best interest must be with the university."24 She believed in excellence and once told a Honolulu reporter, "There's not such a thing as getting too much quality."37 Adding poise and refinement to her credentials, Frohlich was also eminently presentable. With such virtues as these, she was well cast as Board of Regents chair, and her presence at the interface helped both to improve the image of the University and to mask the politics inside. Offstage, Julia Frohlich was "an intensely private person" who "found herself at the storm center of controversy."37 "As point-woman for the Board, she had to take the heat because the search was so lengthy and [because it was necessary] to placate legislators critical of the extra $35,000 insurance and retirement compensation package regents arranged for incoming president M. Cecil Mackey over and above his $80,000 salary."37 Frohlich took the heat again several months after Mackey's compensation package was revealed when two bills giving the University a legal right to supplement salaries from non-state sources failed to pass the legislature. The failure of these bills was a signal to Mackey and others that the Board of Regents did not have sufficient autonomy even to carry out its most important executive function. The legislature, by setting the salary of the president, retained ultimate control. While Julia Frohlich was improving the image of the University and masking the politics inside, others were quietly but effectively running the show. Thus, as discussed in detail in Chapter 2, Julia Frohlich, Jim Gary, and Walt Steiger were among the minority of five who favored Richard Kosaki, while Bobby Fujimoto, Ken Kato, and Robin Campaniano were among the six who appointed Simone. Gladys A. Brandt: The Living Treasure Succeeding Julia Frohlich as chairperson in August 1985 was seventynine-year-old Gladys Kamakakuokalani Ainoa Brandt. Brandt had retired in 1971 after more than forty years of involvement in education. She made history as the first woman high school principal in Hawaii, serving the people of Kauai for nineteen years in that capacity. From this position, she rose to district superintendent of public schools on Kauai and later became principal of the Kamehameha School for Girls and director of Kamehameha's high school division.3839

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Brandt was truly a remarkable person, a person who devoted a lifetime of service to the children of Hawaii. In her roles as educator, administrator, community leader, and humanitarian, she touched and enriched the lives of thousands of people. Always giving freely of her time and energy, she shared her wisdom and provided thoughtful counsel across a spectrum that extended from toddlers to university presidents. She was revered as a kupuna (grandparent or ancestor) by the native Hawaiian community and recognized as a "living treasure" by the Historic Hawaii Foundation.40 Committed to preserving Hawaii's cultural heritage and traditions, she became an important part of them. During her six years as a regent, Brandt served an unprecedented four consecutive terms as chair. Since her chairmanship began with Simone's presidency, it was on her watch that most of his successes were achieved. Included were the establishment of the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies, the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology, the Center for the Study of Active Volcanoes, the Center on Aging, the Peace Institute, and the Agricultural Action Alliance; expansion of the University's presence in West Hawaii; negotiation of a Collaborative Cancer Research Agreement; the establishment of new programs such as the Associate Degree in Nursing at Kapiolani Community College, the Television Production Program at Leeward Community College, the Electronics Technology Program at Kauai Community College, the SkyBridge Outreach Program at Maui Community College, and the Teacher Training Program at UH-Hilo; the initiation of a major commitment to expanded educational opportunities for the West Oahu communities; and the signing of many international affiliation agreements.41 Unlike Julia Frohlich, Gladys Brandt loved to be the center of attention and usually was. Because she insisted on being addressed as "Madame Chairman," rather than "Chairwoman," "Chairperson," or "Chair," I see no harm in breaching politically correct speech and describing her as a great "showman" who usually stole the show. In her starring role, Brandt provided a perfect cover for those regents who were actually running the Board and preferred to make their deals in secret. At the same time, though she lacked their political potency offstage, Brandt was very skillful in keeping wayward regents in line at public meetings. She did this by treating them like school boys and by demanding that they treat her like their kumu kula (schoolteacher). Brandt also used her position to make a few deals of her own, usually on behalf of the native Hawaiian community. Her role as one of the progenitors of the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies was noted in the previous chapter: Though Regents James Gary, Roy Takeyama, and Herbert Richards objected to the process and called it "unprofessional," Brandt got her way and succeeded in having the smallest of the three programs named first in the SHAPS title.39 And although the Hawaiian Studies

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Program began as one of the smallest in the University, it made significant gains in resources and prominence under Brandt's patronage. More than any other regent, Brandt was concerned about decorum, appearances, and the reputation of the Board. Her main agenda, therefore, was to moderate the conduct of her more outrageous colleagues and present to the public a facade that was at all times pleasant and harmonious. The useful byproduct of this schoolteacher's manner was that Simone's opponents were more restrained than they might otherwise have been, and they experienced greater difficulty in obstructing his proposals. Brandt's performances were by no means limited to Board of Regents' meetings. As a retired person, she spent a great deal of time at the University delving into the day-to-day operations; attending receptions, conferences, and other gatherings; giving welcome speeches; presenting awards; and honoring distinguished guests. She had a quick wit, and her good-natured roasting of Al Simone became a regular and memorable part of her act. When they were on stage together, which was often the case, Simone referred to Brandt as his "boss" and wisely let her get the best of him in their many verbal exchanges. Monti W. Cazimero:

The Graphic

Designer

When Gladys Brandt left the Board in June 1989, Governor John Waihee appointed his first cousin, Momi Cazimero, to fill the "native Hawaii seat." Nepotism, patronage, and racism notwithstanding, Cazimero proved to be a distinguished regent. Like Julia Frohlich, she believed in excellence and sincerely embodied Pat Saiki's dictum that "[t]he most important quality a regent should have is that his or her best interest must be with the university."24 Asked by a reporter to name the driving force in her life, Cazimero answered emphatically, "perfection."42 A successful business woman in her own right, Momi Cazimero graduated from Kamehameha Schools and earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from the University of Hawaii in advertising design. Her artistic talent was widely recognized and immediately apparent in her unique style of dress and exquisite taste. She founded Graphic House, Inc., in 1972, and was its president when she became a regent in 1989. By then, her company had spread to five business locations and boasted a clientele that included the Honolulu Academy of Arts, the Bishop Museum, Castle & Cooke, Kapiolani Medical Center for Women and Children, and Pankow Development Inc.43 Like Julia Frohlich and Gladys Brandt before her, Momi Cazimero brought to the position of regent an outstanding record of community service. She had been president of the Bishop Museum Council, chairperson for the governor's Small Business Advisory Council, vice chairperson of the Judicial Selection Commission, a director of Volcano House, and secretary for Aloha Week Festivals, Inc. She was also a member of both

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the Honolulu Community College Advisory Council and the Hawaii Pacific College Advisory Council, as well as the Hawaiian Businessmen Association, and the Organization of Women Leaders.44,45 As a newcomer to the Board, Cazimero told a Honolulu Star-Bulletin reporter it was far too early to discern, much less pass judgment on, the University's critical issues. "First I want to learn what my job is, as well as the philosophy and objectives of the board, then see how I fit into the plan."42 Cazimero's open-mindedness, cooperative spirit, and willingness to learn—all evident in this early quotation—were personal qualities she manifested throughout her tenure as a regent. Another trait that Momi Cazimero shared with Gladys Brandt was a deep concern for decorum, appearances, and the reputation of the Board. She was not the kind of regent who would ridicule the Manoa faculty, deliberately humiliate an administrator, or exacerbate an embarrassing situation. Unlike Brandt, however, Cazimero did not wish to be the center of attention and was content in the role of supporting cast. She worked hard, attended meetings regularly, and went out of her way to participate in University activities and functions. Kenneth N. Kato: The Pruner

of Manoa

The person who succeeded Gladys Brandt as chairman of the Board in July 1989 was Dr. Kenneth Nobuo Kato. Since Kato had more seniority than Brandt, having been appointed to the Maui slot previously held by Tom T. Shibano in July 1982, there were many who believed the order of their chairmanships should have been reversed. Moreover, while Brandt was treasuring the top billing for an unprecedented four full years, it seemed that Kato's turn might never come. After Brandt finally did step down, Kato remained as chair for another two years. With nine years of continuous service and the last two as chair, Kato was the most powerful regent of the Simone era and also the most daunting. Ken Kato was born on Maui, received a Bachelor of Science degree from Washington University in St. Louis, and earned a doctorate in zoology from the University of Hawaii at Manoa in 1968.46 Like Joyce Tsunoda, who completed her doctorate in biochemistry at Manoa in 1966,47 Kato had prepared himself for an academic career at a major research university. Also like Tsunoda, Kato was unable to obtain a faculty position at the only research university in Hawaii. Unwilling to settle elsewhere, he, too, was forced to abandon his dream and pursue another calling. Whereas Tsunoda accepted a position as a chemistry instructor at Leeward Community College, Kato eventually went into business. His research on the regulation of salt and water balance in crabs46 gave him an entree into the field of aquaculture. At the time of his initial appointment to the Board in 1982, he was president of Pacific Aquaculture, Inc., a Mauibased company that operated under the name Fish Farms Hawaii.48 From

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there he moved into landscaping. Profiting from Hawaii's rapidly growing tourist industry, Kato became a millionaire and was chairman of the board for Hawaiian Foliage and Landscape, Inc., when he left the Board of Regents in June 1991. As the designated regent from Maui, Kato was expected to be a partisan of the community colleges and make sure that the "valley island" got its share. Often this involved pruning Manoa and distributing the fruits of this labor to other campuses. Having been spurned in his efforts to join the Manoa faculty, Kato brought to this task a diligence and determination that was truly remarkable, even for a "neighbor islander." The flap over the awarding of honorary degrees to four Americans of Japanese ancestry was one of those instances where the depth of Kato's feelings was exposed. The honorees were Wallace Fujiyama, an attorney and former UH regent; George Fukunaga, chairman and chief executive officer of Servco, Inc.; Y. Baron Goto, a former vice chancellor of the EastWest Center; and Masaji Marumoto, a former associate justice of the Hawaii Supreme Court. The four were chosen specifically because of their ethnic backgrounds as part of Hawaii's year-long commemoration of the arrival of the first contract laborers from Japan (the Kanyaku Imin) a century earlier.49 The Manoa Faculty Senate was critical of the way the honorees were selected and the fact that the recommendations of the faculty advisory committee were "disregarded." In addition, many in the academic community were upset that Fujiyama, who often criticized the Manoa faculty during his tenure as a regent, headed the list. Regent Kato, who chaired the Committee on Campus and Community Relations that made the selections, was furious. He cited Manoa's opposition as an "example of the Faculty Senate's immaturity," and added, "It's the same crybabies crying. They don't have anything else to cry about so they're crying about this. I think it's disgraceful."49 A second incident will serve to demonstrate Kato's power and the way he used it. Actually, there was nothing unusual about a regent doing what he did; however, it was the way he did it. Kato's proposal was to insert into the University's biennium budget request for 1989-1991 two positions and $250,000 per year to be assigned permanently to the Maui Research and Technology Park in Kihei. The request could be given a low priority so as not to displace other items, and the legislature would do the rest. When Regent Kato met with Simone in the president's parlor on December 16, 1987, he was accompanied by Mamoru Yamasaki, chairman of the Senate Ways and Means Committee, and Joe Souki, chairman of the House Finance Committee, both from Maui. Kato used the word "reciprocity" and made it clear that if Simone wanted the Board of Regents and the legislature to support the rest of the University's budget request, he had

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better cooperate with this modest embellishment. Under the circumstances, Kato's offer of two positions and $250,000 per year seemed very generous. It was, in any case, an offer Simone could not refuse. I was present when Simone received the Maui delegation. My assignment, after the meeting ended, was to devise a necessity that could mother their wasteful invention. What I came up with was a senior scientist supported by a secretary. These two positions were eventually assigned to the Institute for Astronomy, which operates the Mees Observatory on Maui's Mount Haleakala. Caught between two worlds—the world of the haole academics and the world of the local politicians—Kato exhibited some characteristics of both. His haole side was manifested in his anxious pursuit of the chairmanship as well as in his golf. Indeed, like nearly every male regent, Ken Kato was an avid golfer. Following their regular monthly meetings, he and his fellow regents would tee off, accompanied usually by Simone and a few of the local administrators, such as Pepper Shiramizu, Rodney Sakaguchi, Jimmy Takushi, and Ralph Horii. Kato loved to win, and although the money that changed hands was insignificant, he was notorious for formulating interlocking bets so ingenious and complex that only he could keep track of them. Regent Kato's local side was evident in his generosity and in the lavish parties he gave in conjunction with the Board meetings held once each year in Maui. It seemed the whole island was invited. Following one such bash, Kato presented each of his guests with a magnificent box of Mauigrown protea. My wife, who dearly loves flowers, is still talking about them. When Ken Kato left the Board in June 1991, he was praised by fellow regents for the development and adoption of a master plan for Maui Community College; the establishment of policies and programs intended to promote equity and understanding such as Women's Centers at the Manoa and Hilo campuses and the adoption of a broader policy on nondiscrimination and affirmative action; the initiation of a faculty housing program; the adoption of Academic Development Plan IV for Manoa; and the realization of substantial legislative appropriations to strengthen existing programs and begin several initiatives in response to state needs. 50 Kato was also praised for providing the impetus leading to the development and adoption of a master plan for the University of Hawaii, "A Statewide System and Beyond." This plan, prepared with the assistance of former Manoa Chancellor Dick Kosaki and Dick's wife Mildred, prescribed a course for the University and public higher education in Hawaii over the next decade, placing particular emphasis on diversity, access, internationalism, and image, in addition to the more traditional objectives of undergraduate education, research, and community service.51 Other gratuitous features of the University's master plan were its recognition of the growing demand on Maui for upper division and gradu-

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ate instruction and its recommendation that Manoa's office of the senior vice president for academic affairs work with Maui Community College to facilitate the delivery of such programs. 51 This was interpreted by many people as a mandate for transferring even more resources from Manoa to Maui and eventually for developing a four-year campus there. University of Hawaii students also acknowledged Kato's many contributions and were especially grateful for the regents' and presidential scholarships established under his leadership. In addition, they praised Kato's "open mind to student concerns" and "his devotion to the progress of our University and deep appreciation for the complexities of a multi-campus institution of higher education [that] did not inhibit his soft humor, wit and caring for students."50 Robin K. Campaniano: The State Insurance Commissioner Standing solidly behind Ken Kato on virtually all issues was Robin K. Campaniano, who occupied the Board's Filipino seat until the last months of the Simone administration. In his political affiliations and voting record, Campaniano was like other governmental officials of Filipino ancestry who found a niche within the ruling Democratic coalition dominated by Americans of Japanese ancestry. Campaniano was born in Honolulu, received a baccalaureate degree at the University of Hawaii, and earned a law degree at the University of San Francisco in 1976. One year before becoming a regent in June 1984, Campaniano completed a masters in business administration at Manoa. He was appointed State of Hawaii insurance commissioner in 198752 and held that post until November 1991, when he resigned to accept a position as president of AIG Hawaii Insurance, the state's second-largest auto insurance company. 53 Campaniano's reputation as a dedicated public servant was tarnished, albeit briefly, by the fact that eight months before he left the commissioner's office, AIG Hawaii Insurance was allowed to raise its rates by 44 percent. An editorial described this as "an unseemly situation" and suggested that "reasonable people will wonder if there is a connection between AIG's rate hike and the job offer."53 As a regent, Campaniano was a formidable interrogator: tough, meticulous, and pedantic. In his use of language, he was more recondite than any of the academics in Simone's administration, and in his analysis of issues, he was more legalistic than any of the Board's other lawyers. Campaniano served on several standing committees and chaired the Long-Range Planning and Budget Committee. As budget committee chair, he was influential in defining the University's mission and setting institutional priorities. Upon completion of his eight-year term on the Board, Campaniano was praised by his fellow regents for his experience working in the judicial system and as a state administrator, for his

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ability to grasp and articulate complex issues, and for his contributions and insight.54

Dennis R. Yamada: The House Majority Leader I mentioned earlier in this chapter that, in its composition, what the Board of Regents resembled more than anything else was the state legislature. A sterling example of this correspondence was Regent Dennis Yamada, who was born and raised on Kauai and represented that island throughout the Simone administration. Yamada spent two years as an undergraduate at the University of Missouri before transferring to Drake University, where he received a bachelor's degree in business. He went on to get his law degree from Drake in 1968.38 Whereas Yamada's name cannot be found in standard references, such as Prominent People of Hawaii, he has five citations in Land and Power in Hawaii,55 This is consistent with my observation that many of the prominent people in Hawaii, such as Gladys Brandt and Momi Cazimero, have very little power, whereas many of the people who are powerful, such as Ken Kato and Dennis Yamada, are not very prominent. A second paradox involving Yamada is that he began his career as a Republican. The reason, evidently, is that in 1969, just one year after he completed his law degree, he became an associate and later a partner of former Republican Senator Clinton Shiraishi.56 Following the usual pattern, Clinton Shiraishi is not listed in Prominent People of Hawaii but has twenty-two citations in Land and Power in Hawaii,55 According to one of these, the executive who retained Shiraishi to represent Leadership Housing before the Land Use Commission (LUC) in 1974 believed that Shiraishi was simultaneously handling five other petitions before the LUC that concerned projects in which sitting LUC members were secretly involved financially.56 Yamada was still a Republican when he was first elected state representative in 1970. By 1974, however, he had seen the light, and he ran for and won a House seat as a Democrat that same year. Yamada continued to hold the seat through 1982, chairing the powerful House Judiciary Committee in 1979-1980 and rising to the post of house majority leader in 1981-1982 before retiring from the legislature in 1982.56 Dennis Yamada was also paradoxical as a regent. I would vote him the regent most likely to embarrass the president, surprise the chair, disrupt a meeting, or ask a question no one was willing or able to answer. He was truly "off the wall," as Simone often used to say. In his total disregard for decorum, appearances, and the reputation of the Board, Yamada was also the antithesis of Gladys Brandt. This, too, was ironic considering that Yamada had been one of Brandt's students when he was growing up on Kauai and she was a high school principal there. Certainly their early, formative relationship reinforced Brandt's tendency to treat Yamada and

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his pals like school boys while demanding that they treat her with respect. Yamada's conduct regarding the Cono Sur agreement is a good example of his irascible behavior. Cono Sur Initiative, Inc., was established as an independent not-for-profit corporation by the University of Miami and the University of Hawaii to finance scientific research in Latin American countries through conversion of foreign debt. In this case, a major funding opportunity was almost lost because the Board's six lawyers— prodded and led by Yamada—spent nearly a year quibbling about the wording of the joint agreement and the articles of incorporation. When Dennis Yamada left the Board in June 1993, he was praised by his fellow regents for his long and meritorious record of commitment to higher education, beginning when he was a member of the state House of Representatives and continuing through his eight years as a member of the Board of Regents. He served on several standing committees including the Committee on Personnel Relations, the Committee on Finance, and the Committee on Community Colleges, which he chaired for several years. In his role as committee chair, Yamada endeavored to foster better communication between the Board and the faculty of the community colleges through meetings with faculty leaders that afforded them "direct input to the Board."57 John T. Ushijima: The Senate President Regent John T. Ushijima, who represented the Island of Hawaii throughout most of the Simone administration, was even more prototypical of the people in power—epitomized by both the legislature and the Board—than Regents Kato, Campaniano, and Yamada. Born in Hilo in 1924, Ushijima graduated from Hilo High School in 1941, just in time to join the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, the most decorated unit in the U.S. Army. Surviving several years of distinguished military service, he resumed his education and earned a B.A. degree from Grinnell College in 1950 and a J.D. degree from George Washington Law School in 1952.58'59 With a curriculum vitae such as this, Ushijima was ideally positioned to play a central role in the new political establishment that emerged in Hawaii after World War II. Indeed, having earned twenty-one citations in Land and Power in Hawaii,55 Ushijima can now be regarded as a historical figure—one of those post-World War II legislators specifically named by Cooper and Daws as outstanding examples of the genre: Japanese strength among the ruling Democrats in the Legislature tended to mean that Japanese rose to leadership positions in great numbers: senate president, house speaker, chairman of a finance, judiciary, or ways and means committee. Between 1955 and 1984, 42 men and one woman held these positions. Of the 43, 55% were

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Japanese—about double the average percentage of Japanese in the population over that period. Of those Japanese leaders, some 63% were attorneys. Also just about 63% were born on the outer islands. Of the Japanese leaders 1955-1975, 39% were veterans of the 442nd or 100th. (By 1975, most though not all of these veterans had left the Legislature.) So a picture emerges of the typical successful legislator of the post-World War II period: a Burns Democrat; of Japanese background; nisei-, likely to have been born on an outer island, meaning essentially in a plantation community; an attorney; often with war service. Among well-known names fitting this pattern are Spark M. Matsunaga, John T. Ushijima, and Nadao Yoshinaga. Matsunaga became a congressman and US senator, Ushijima president of the state Senate, Yoshinaga one of the leading legislators of the entire post-World War II era.60 Ushijima's character and personality were predictable consequences of his background and experience. Like Harold Masumoto, he was smart, careful, and influential. As expected, Ushijima became a steadfast member of Kato's ruling coalition, both in the things he favored and in those he opposed. However, whereas Kato, Campaniano, and Yamada were often loud and unruly in their criticism of Simone and Manoa, Ushijima was generally quiet and judicious in his. I will illustrate Regent Ushijima's modus operandi with a personal example. The incident was provoked by my attempt to replace the director of the Lyon Arboretum, a distinguished horticulturist who had held the director's post for more than twenty years. On the basis of anecdotal reports, annual evaluations, and a formal review conducted by an outside consultant, my staff and I concluded that the arboretum had become a fiefdom and could not achieve its full potential under its existing leadership. Although the reasons for making the change were compelling, they were also immaterial since the arboretum director, like other high-level University officials, serves "at the pleasure of the institution." In principle, this meant that I could assign the director different duties without having to give any explanation. My plan was simply that the incumbent would return to his faculty position with no loss of salary or benefits. What should have been a routine changing of the guard stretched into a three-year saga when the incumbent refused to cooperate. Saying this another way, the incumbent's intransigence bought him three more years in a job where his services were no longer wanted. Indeed, the fact

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that he viewed the directorship as an entitlement was indicative of the problem we were trying to solve. Being politically well-connected, the incumbent was able to appeal, not only to the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA), which is accessible to all faculty, but also to prominent members of the community, the legislature, and the Board of Regents, who are not. This bushbeating campaign yielded dozens of letters and phone calls, as well as numerous meetings with representatives of various constituencies. I was the primary target, of course, but Simone also took some of the flak. My principal goal in responding to these confrontations was to protect the integrity of the University's administrative process. Right or wrong, I had to give a plausible justification for my decision even though none was formally required. I also wanted to protect the reputation of the incumbent, which proved to be particularly frustrating at a time when he was wholly engaged in destroying mine. Most of the incumbent's supporters sensed my dilemma and were satisfied just to put in a good word for their friend and move on. Lacking any defensible basis, the formal grievance filed by the incumbent through UHPA was eventually settled. My interaction with Regent Ushijima was of an altogether different nature. On January 19, 1989, he cornered me in the men's bathroom at Bachman Hall and demanded a full explanation. By then we were several months into our process, and I was hoping that the transfer could be completed by June 30, 1989, the end of our fiscal year. Ushijima said he needed to have the answers when people asked him what was happening. I invited Regent Ushijima into my office and offered to discuss the matter with him confidentially. He refused my offer and insisted on having the explanation in writing. From this I concluded that he was not interested in answers per se, but was looking instead for hard evidence that could be used in some way to assist his client. Regent Ushijima had not been authorized by the full Board to speak to me on its behalf, nor was it appropriate for him to contact me directly about a business matter without going through Simone. In taking on the role of advocate for a particular employee, he was manifestly submitting to and applying political pressure; dictating the terms of a faculty appointment; promoting an individual because of personal interests; and interfering with the University's instructional and research programs.7 Of course, these considerations meant nothing in the men's room of Bachman Hall, and what I experienced was a lifetime of racial anger directed unexpectedly at me. Ushijima didn't refer to the injustice of the internment camps created for Japanese Americans during World War II,61 the casualties suffered by the 442nd Regimental Combat Team,62 or the power of the ruling' Democratic Party in Hawaii,55 but I felt them anyway.

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In my efforts to protect both the integrity of the University's administrative process and the reputation of the incumbent, I was reluctant to put my reasons for replacing Yoneo Sagawa in writing. Regent Ushijima forced the issue in a letter dated January 24, 1989, 63 and a follow-up dated February 6, 1989-64 His requests for a full written report were typed on the stationery of Ushijima & Ushijima, Attorneys at Law, and they read like subpoenas. Whether they were subpoenas or not, the practice of the Simone administration was to acknowledge every written request with a written reply. Consulting with my boss, I prepared a four-page, single-spaced summary with four attachments,65 marked it confidential, and sent it forward on January 30, 1989. 66 Simone conveyed my summary to Board of Regents Secretary Pepper Shiramizu the following day. The dilemma was now in Ushijima's court: If he insisted on showing my report to his client and his friends, my side of the argument would be aired, and the charge that I had acted without justification would be discredited. If he chose not to circulate it, this particular incursion into the University's administrative process would have been thwarted. In a memorandum dated March 2, 1989, 67 Pepper Shiramizu asked President Simone two questions on behalf of Regent Ushijima: (1) Was the process used in evaluating Dr. Sagawa consistent with current Board policies and practices, and (2) was Dr. Sagawa given an opportunity to respond to the evaluation? Simone answered affirmatively to both inquiries and quoted those policies and procedures that applied. Since I drafted Simone's reply,68 the dialogue was still between Ushijima and myself. However, by forcing Ushijima to communicate with me through proper channels, which now included Shiramizu and Simone, we exposed his activities to the risk of public scrutiny and thereby brought them to an end. Eventually, I won the battle for the Arboretum, and some would say I thereby lost the war. I won the battle because I was not part of the old boy network, had no desire to be a part of it, and could not, therefore, be intimidated by it. In my academic value system, the power and patronage of Regent Ushijima were not qualities to be admired or cultivated. Simone had picked me to be one of his three "academic vice presidents" precisely because I had these values, and he stood by me when they were tested. Those who believe I lost the war could argue that any hopes I might have had of someday becoming president of the University of Hawaii were left in the men's room of Bachman Hall on January 19, 1989- Though I tried to keep a low profile, I am sure that my values and character were sufficiently well known to the Board that any such aspirations had already become unrealistic. And I suppose my actions in this incident were just as enigmatic to Regent Ushijima as his were to me. Dr. Sagawa managed to retain the director's position until December 31, 1991, just six weeks before Simone announced his own resignation. I

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was forced to endure Ushijima's poorly concealed contempt until I returned to my faculty position in April 1995. Roy Y. Takeyama: The Land Use Attorney Rounding out the core of the Board of Regents' power structure as it existed during the Simone administration was Roy Y. Takeyama. Born on Maui in 1928, Takeyama was a bit too young to have served in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team.62 Although he represented Oahu on the Board, he nevertheless qualified as a Burns Democrat of Japanese ancestry from an outer island. He was also an attorney, having graduated from the University of Michigan's Law School. In addition, he had attended Bradley University and the University of Illinois, where he earned a bachelor's degree in business administration and a master's degree in educational administration.69 While following the usual pattern, Takeyama was unusual in several particulars. First, he had served as special assistant to the president under Tom Hamilton, and this gave him an insider's view of the University. Second, he had served as secretary to the Board of Regents prior to Pepper Shiramizu, and this give him an insider's view of the interface. Finally, he had served as the deputy state attorney general assigned to the Land Use Commission (LUC) under Governor John A. Burns,70 and this gave him an insider's view of the community. After working with the LUC, Takeyama resigned from the attorney general's office and established an extensive law practice regarding land and development matters.70 He must have been very good at what he did because he achieved eleven citations in Land and Power in Hawaii55 and was identified by Cooper and Daws as one of only two persons who "had a 100 percent record of full or partial approval of redistricting petitions they represented as private attorneys before the LUC."71 The success rate for petitions involving advocates who were not "politically well-connected" was only 63 percent.71 Like other members of Hawaii's "power elite,"72 Roy Takeyama believed in what he was doing. At a reception and dinner held at College Hill on Saturday, January 12, 1992, to honor Tatsuro Matsumae, president of the Tokai University Educational System, Takeyama spoke with some pride about his role in assisting Tokai in obtaining the necessary permits to build its Honolulu campus. Surely Tokai was wise to chose a land use attorney with Takeyama's experience and connections. Regent Takeyama was also good to the University of Hawaii. As perennial chair of the Committee on Physical Facilities and Planning, he achieved a breakthrough in the area of faculty housing that had seemed unattainable for decades. No other regent of his era had the motivation, experience, and connections to pull this off, nor could the University have done it without Takeyama's help.

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It is axiomatic that housing is more expensive in Hawaii than anywhere else in the country. Furthermore, the situation is growing worse. Whereas median home prices in Honolulu were running about three times the median annual income for Manoa faculty in 1970, making home ownership very difficult, this ratio had climbed to more than ten to one by 1990, making it nearly impossible. Of course, what was happening to Manoa faculty was also happening to other residents who dreamed of owning their own homes. Indeed, the high cost of real estate affects everyone in Hawaii, either directly or indirectly, and it is the main contributor to the state's astonishing cost of living. Since everyone is affected, it was difficult to persuade the legislature and the governor that they should address the problems of a single group, especially a group consisting of academics who were mostly haoles from the U.S. mainland. There were two valid answers to this objection. First, Manoa faculty were performing an essential service for the people of Hawaii; hence, everyone in the state would benefit from their recruitment and retention. Second, Manoa was unable to recruit and retain distinguished faculty in the international marketplace under the prevailing circumstances. Simply put, if Hawaii wanted to have an excellent University, it would have to do something about faculty housing. Compared with what had been done before, Takeyama accomplished a lot; compared with what needed to be done, he accomplished very little. Among the things he achieved were thirty for-sale condominiums; 144 twobedroom, two-bathroom rental units; and six three-bedroom, two-bathroom units in Manoa Valley budgeted at $23 million. Also planned was a $52 million housing project to be constructed at the old campus of Kapiolani Community College providing eighty-four studio, eighty-four one-bedroom, and six three-bedroom rental units. In addition, the 1991 legislature approved $1.2 million per year over five years for a faculty housing assistance program that could eventually help subsidize rents for faculty members. 73 Regent Takeyama brought what he thought was welcome news to the Manoa Faculty Congress on Wednesday, February 19, 1992. Unfortunately, faculty members expressed discontent over the housing proposal and said, in effect, that it was too little and too late. Many of those attending were in need of mortgage assistance and had no interest in rentals. Some said the program did not address the needs of new hires, and others recommended a type of equity sharing in which the University would be a co-owner and in turn receive a portion of the equity. Those favoring equity sharing argued that such a program would allow faculty to "join the club." 73 As an observer at the congress, I was ashamed that my faculty colleagues were so ungrateful. I also felt sorry for Regent Takeyama. He was

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like that thief of Bagdad who let the genie out of the bottle after two thousand years and was repaid with the genie's wrath for taking so long.74 Furthermore, Takeyama was not in any way to blame for the high cost of housing in general. On the contrary, although he profited from the process of land reform that swept the Islands following World War II, he was a bona fide participant and had been working for several decades to make land and home ownership more accessible to ordinary people. 55 H. Howard Stephenson: The Banker of Hawaii H. Howard Stephenson was one of five regents who joined the Board in July 1987 and left in June 1995. The other four were Edward M. Kuba, Ruth M. Ono, Roy Y. Takeyama, and John T. Ushijima. Stephenson succeeded Ken Kato as chairman in July 1991, was serving in that capacity when Al Simone announced his resignation in February 1992, and continued serving in that capacity until July 1994, when he was succeeded by Roy Takeyama. Born in Wichita, Kansas, in 1929, Stephenson earned a B.A. degree from the University of Michigan in 1950, served in the U.S. Army from 1950 to 1952, and completed a J.D. degree at the University of Missouri in 1958. Specializing in foreign trade, he worked for financial institutions in Kansas and New York before joining the Bank of Hawaii in 1959-75,76 Stephenson rose to the very top of his profession in Hawaii, holding such appointments as president, chairman, and chief executive officer of Bancorp Hawaii and its principal subsidiary, the Bank of Hawaii. Although he had no citations in Land and Power in Hawaii,55 his total compensation during 1992 was just shy of $1.5 million, making him the highest paid executive and marking him as one of the most influential people in the state. He gained an additional $2.36 million by exercising options to acquire 31,965 shares of Bancorp Hawaii stock.77 Among the attributes Howard Stephenson brought to the Board of Regents were his management skills, his professionalism, and his thorough understanding of the way such corporate entities are supposed to function. His other obligations were both numerous and demanding, yet he attended Board meetings on a regular basis, frequently participated in University receptions, and did his homework as required. Given these sterling characteristics, Stephenson's election to three successive terms as chair made perfect sense. He was, after all, the best qualified candidate. But that was not why he was chosen. To understand what was really going on, it is useful to recall that an election is a political process, that meetings of the Board are shibai, and that the chair is merely playing a role. From a purely political point of view, Stephenson was a rich Republican from Kansas, just as Julia Frohlich before him had been a rich Republican from Iowa. So why, on four occasions out of ten, did the six

Table 5.4. Board of Regents, Circa 1982-1995 Name Robert M. Fujimoto

Years of Service

Governor Who Appointed

7 / 7 9 - 6/87

George R. Ariyoshi

Chairperson

7/81 - 6/83

Stanley Y. Mukai

7 / 7 9 - 6/87

Chairperson

7/83 - 6/84

George R. Ariyoshi

Burt K. Tsuchiya

5/81 - 7/85

George R. Ariyoshi

Stephen G. Bess

7/81 - 11/85

George R. Ariyoshi

Julia A. Frohlich, M.D.

7/81 - 6/87

George R. Ariyoshi

Chairperson

7 / 8 4 - 8/85

Walter R. Steiger

7/82 - 11/86

George R. Ariyoshi

James F. Gary

7/82 - 6/89

George R. Ariyoshi

Kenneth N. Kato

7/82 - 6/91

George R. Ariyoshi

Chairperson

7 / 8 9 - 6/91

Daniel M. Ishii

7/83 - 5/86

George R. Ariyoshi

Gladys A. Brandt

7/83 - 6/89

George R. Ariyoshi

Chairperson

8 / 8 5 - 6/89

Robin K. Campaniano

6 / 8 4 - 6/92.

George R. Ariyoshi

Dennis R. Yamada

7 / 8 5 - 6/93

George R. Ariyoshi

Herbert M. Richards, Jr.

6 / 6 8 - 7/76

John A. Burns

11/85 - 6/92

George R. Ariyoshi

Albert S. Nishimura

4 / 8 6 - 6/87

George R. Ariyoshi

Edward M. Kuba

7/87 - 6/95

John Waihee

Ruth M. Ono

7/87 - 6/95

John Waihee

H. Howard Stephenson

7/87 - 6/95

John Waihee

Chairperson

7/91 - 6/94

Roy Y. Takeyama

7/87 - 6/95

Chairperson

7 / 9 4 - 6/95

John Waihee

John T. Ushijima

7 / 8 7 - 6/95

John Waihee

Diane J. Plotts

7 / 8 9 - 6/93

John Waihee

Momi W. Cazimero

7/89-

John Waihee

Lee Ohigashi

7/91 -

John Waihee

Larry S. Tanimoto

7/92 - 7/93

John Waihee

Joseph F. Blanco

7/92 -

John Waihee

Clyde T. Kodani

7/93 -

John Waihee

Lily K. Yao

7/93 -

John Waihee

10/93 -

John Waihee

David B. Ramos

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nisei Democrats, who at all times controlled the eleven-member Board, select a wealthy haole Republican to be their manifest leader? And why, on four other occasions out of ten, did eight men with no Hawaiian blood elevate an elderly Hawaiian woman to the starring role? Finally, why, on only two occasions out of ten, was the true power structure of the Board revealed through the selection of Ken Kato, a male Democrat descended from plantation workers , of Japanese ancestry? The key to this mystery lies in public service. Like both Frohlich and Brandt, Stephenson had an outstanding record in this area. He was, for example, a director for the Maunalani Hospital, chairman of the board of directors for the Aloha United Way, and co-chairman of the Ellison Onizuka Memorial Scholarship Fund.76 In addition, on July 21, 1994, he was selected as Hawaii's Distinguished Citizen. Among the twelve previous recipients of this prestigious award for good citizenship and community service were Senator Daniel K. Inouye, Senator Spark M. Matsunaga, Governor John D. Waihee, and Honolulu Mayor Frank F. Fasi.78 Through such activities as these, Howard Stephenson exhibited a strong commitment to the people of Hawaii. Even more important, he demonstrated an ability to work with those middle- and lower-class Democrats who came to power after World War II and who had taught themselves over the last several decades how to work with rich Republicans. 79 Stephenson had one additional qualification for the role of chair, a qualification he also shared with Frohlich and Brandt. Namely, he was eminently presentable. Following in their footsteps, he kept the peace, protected the reputation of the Board, and presented to the public a facade that was at all times pleasant and harmonious. In other words, if meetings of the Board are viewed as pure shibai, then Stephenson, like Frohlich and Brandt, was ideally cast to improve the image of the University and mask the politics inside. The opposite was true of Ken Kato, who became chairman of the Board simply because he wanted the job badly and had the votes to get it.

6 The Budget Wars: Going After State Funds

A s we proceed to implement the provisions and appropriations authorized for the fiscal biennium 1987-89, we must, above all, continue to be mindful of our fiducial responsibility to the people of this State. As such, we are obligated and duty bound to promote the efficient management of our respective programs and to insure the appropriate utilization of public funds.1 —Hawaii Governor John Waihee (1987-1995)

The budgetary process is the University's most important and most direct interaction with the community. It is the most important because three quarters of the University's funding is obtained through this process. It is the most direct because the University has a "line-item budget" and must, in principle, defend and account for every entry in public hearings of the Board of Regents and the state legislature. The budgetary process is also the main activity by which a UH president is likely to be judged and the one in which A1 Simone achieved his greatest personal triumphs. Focusing on the bottom line, he could honestly claim at the end of his administration that he had increased state funding for the University at an average compounded rate of 9-6 percent per year, more than doubling it in just eight years. This record is particularly remarkable considering that inflation was running at an average rate

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of only 4 to 5 percent per year during his tenure and that many institutions of higher education on the U.S. mainland were experiencing funding declines. In this chapter, I shall describe the budgetary process and outline some of the strategies Simone followed. I shall also give a number of examples of budgetary requests and how they fared. At one level, the situation is exceedingly simple; at another, it is exceedingly complex. And like so many undertakings affecting the University, what is purported to be occurring is often quite different from what is actually happening, and what one can clearly discern as an outside observer is often but a small fraction of the whole. That is why examples are necessary. I believe that the story they reveal is more accurate than the one presented in budgetary documents, policy papers, legislative reports, and the Hawaii State Plan. The term "budget wars" appears in the title of this chapter because that is how I experienced our efforts to obtain state funds. A1 Simone was more sanguine about these matters, and his life's metaphor was baseball: Perhaps he experienced our annual campaigns as a series of pennant races in which he tried to win as many games as possible. The impact of our diverse views on this chapter is a mixing of metaphors, which I shall try in advance to reconcile by noting that baseball is, for aficionados like Simone, not a game, but a ritual combat.

The Budgetary Process At the simplest level, the University obtains state funds by assessing its needs and preparing a request called the Board of Regents' budget. The regents' budget is submitted to the governor, who incorporates parts of it into the executive budget and submits it to the legislature. The legislature incorporates parts of the executive budget into the General Appropriations Act, which becomes the state budget when it is signed by the governor. Budgets passed by the legislature and signed by the governor become state law. The amount of money set aside by law for a specific public purpose is called an appropriation. The amount actually released to the expending agency is called an allocation. Governors George Ariyoshi and John Waihee routinely took several percent of various appropriations to cope with financial problems elsewhere and to create "efficiency savings" (which they used for other purposes). In Hawaii state government, budgets are authorized in odd-numbered years for periods of two fiscal years or one biennium (BI). Each fiscal year (FY) begins on July 1; hence FY 1987-1988 extended from July 1, 1987, until June 30, 1988, and was the first year of BI 1987-1989, which extended from July 1, 1987, until June 30, 1989- The budget for BI 1987-1989 was authorized by the legislature in a 90-day "regular session" that met from January 21 to April 30, 1987, shortly before the 1987-1989 biennium began. A "special session" met from July 24 to July 30, 1987, after the new

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biennium was underway, to consider such matters as the ceiling on general fund expenditures, liability insurance, and tort reform. In even-numbered years, such as 1986, the legislature authorizes supplemental budgets for the second year of the biennium, in this case, FY 1986-1987. Supplemental budget requests are normally limited to emergencies, health and safety items, and other critical needs that were not addressed in the original biennium budget. If times are good, there may be opportunities to obtain additional state funds for program initiatives. If times are bad, the supplemental budget may be restricted, and it may be necessary to fund critical needs through internal reallocation. In good times or bad, there is an "expenditure ceiling" on the total appropriations allowed in any fiscal year.2 The "current service base" is the amount of money provided to the University to support the existing level of service. If additional funds are needed to maintain this level in the subsequent year, a "current service adjustment" should be forthcoming. The cost of offering the existing level of service to a larger clientele should be covered by a "workload increase," while the cost of offering an improved level of service or a new service should be covered by a "program change request" (PCR). Finally, a "legislative add-on" is an item that somehow appears in the state budget even though it was not formally requested by the governor or the University.3 When salaries are raised as a result of collective bargaining, the enhancements should be covered automatically by a current service adjustment. As student enrollments grow, a workload increase should be provided. If the University's Hawaii Institute of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (HITAHR) wants another extension agent, it should prepare a PCR for consideration by the Board of Regents, the governor, and the legislature. And finally, if an extension agent is allocated to HITAHR without a formal request, the allocation will be called an add-on. 3 Often state funds are not released until months after the fiscal year has begun. Gubernatorial "restrictions" and "freezes" may be imposed at any point during the fiscal year, even though most of the initial allocation may already have been spent. Restrictions are usually absorbed as acrossthe-board percentage cuts in the remaining allocations of the major units. Items commonly "frozen" are the hiring of personnel, equipment purchases, and out-of-state travel. The practices of releasing funds after July 1 and imposing restrictions and freezes later in the fiscal year intensify the impacts of periodic shortfalls in state revenue. This is because such practices leave harried administrators with fewer resources and less time to respond to the problems that financial vicissitudes create. If administrators try to anticipate restrictions by limiting expenditures early in the fiscal year, they run the risk that money may be left over at the end. This is one of the worst mistakes an administrator can make in Ha-

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waii, because any surplus must be returned to the state's general fund and a like amount will probably be subtracted from that administrator's current service base the following year. It is also a wasteful feature of state government, because it encourages administrators to expend surpluses they might otherwise save. Prior to FY 1985-1986, repairs and maintenance (R&M) and equipment were treated as emergencies and handled on an ad hoc basis. This resulted in a massive backlog of R&M and equipment items, as existed when Simone was appointed interim president on June 1, 1984. Among the physical manifestations of such a backlog are roofs that leak, walls that need painting, and tools and machinery that can no longer be used. Beginning in FY 1985-1986, R&M and equipment were given explicit lines in the University's operating budget. This was a significant advance, but it did not entirely solve the problem for two reasons. First, operating funds are normally obtained from current state revenues and are therefore tightly coupled to changes in the state's economy as well as changes in quarterly revenue projections. Second, to protect salary lines, R&M and equipment are often cut preferentially when budgetary restrictions are imposed. Although it is never openly acknowledged, the State of Hawaii follows a number of practices that systematically erode the University's current service base. Examples of such "cost-cutting measures" are the failure to allocate 100 percent of the salary increases negotiated in collective bargaining; the failure to provide funds for increased costs of utilities, supplies, and journal subscriptions; the failure to provide funds on a regular basis for preventive repairs and maintenance of aging facilities and equipment; and the failure to provide funds to recruit personnel. A typical response to the continuous erosion of the University's current service base is to leave certain positions vacant and use the "salary savings" to cover growing shortfalls in other categories. The usual response of the Department of Budget and Finance (B&F) and the legislature is to blame the University for the problem they themselves created and attribute the erosion of the base to the practice of filching funds from vacant positions. As a punishment for this reckless but unavoidable practice, B&F or the legislature intermittently recaptures vacant positions and the salaries associated with them. Of course, this further erodes the current service base since the funds allocated for these salaries are then no longer available to mitigate the existing shortfalls in other budget lines. At one point during the Simone administration, the shortfall in the current service base became so large that the University pled nolo contendere to the charge of creating the problem, asked the governor and the legislature to restore the current service base, and promised never to sin again. Indeed, the highest priority in the regents' budget for BI 19891991 was a current service adjustment for exactly this purpose. Since most

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of the factors contributing to the erosion were beyond the University's control, this merely reset the budget mechanism to zero and allowed the next cycle of erosion to begin. A separate budget request is prepared for capital improvement projects (CIP). Included are funds to replace or renovate old facilities; funds to design, construct, and equip new facilities; and funds for land acquisition. The distinctions between CIP, R&M, and equipment are often subtle. For example, projects are normally "capitalized" if they involve significant alterations or structural changes that increase the usefulness, efficiency, or asset life of existing buildings. Included are all permanently attached fixtures, machinery, and other appurtenances that cannot be removed without cutting into walls, ceilings, or floors, or otherwise damaging the building or the items so removed. Components that can be removed without the need for costly or expensive repairs or alterations to the building are normally classified as equipment. 4 Ordinarily, the University cannot use CIP funds to cover a shortfall in operating funds or vice versa. Nor can funds allocated for one CIP project be reallocated to another. The University does have some authority to transfer funds from one line in the operating budget to another. However, as discussed in the autonomy section of the previous chapter, even this delegation is severely limited. Ideally, planning and budgeting are closely interwoven. As stated in the Board of Regents' Policy, "[t]he proposed biennium budget shall be one component of a comprehensive system of planning, programming, and financing the programs of the University." 5 From the University's ten-year strategic plan 6 and master plan, 7 a two-year Agenda for Action should be prepared to implement specific objectives. Based on these and other documents, a budget policy paper should be developed by the president for review and approval by the Board. 5 The purpose of the budget policy paper is to guide the preparation of the biennial budget by describing the environmental context and setting forth the management objectives. Included among the environmental factors are national issues, economic trends, demographics, and enrollments. Typical management objectives during the Simone administration were enhancing the learning climate for undergraduates, improving articulation among the different campuses, addressing the shortages of nurses and teachers, and strengthening the relationship between research and graduate and undergraduate instruction. Upon the Board's approval of the budget policy paper, the president should issue formal instructions and pertinent policy statements for the preparation of the biennial budget. Requests for funds are normally prepared by Level V units (at Manoa these units are headed by deans and directors), and they should include a clear statement of the activities and objectives of each unit as well as the clientele served, a discussion of the

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efficiency and effectiveness of current operations, an analysis of emerging trends, and a list of planned accomplishments for the next biennium.5 The process should begin in October of an odd-numbered year. Using the 1987-1989 biennium as an example, that odd-numbered year would be 1985, and the budget policy paper would be submitted to the Board in November 1985. In December 1985, the Board should act on the budget policy paper, and in January 1986, the president should issue instructions for the preparation of the biennium budget for 1987-1989- By May 1986, the major units should submit their recommendations to the president, and by June 1986, the president should submit the administration's recommendations to the Board. The Board should act on the regents' budget in July 1986, and the president should submit it to the governor in August 1986, about ten months after the process started. Not mentioned in the Board of Regents' Policy5 is the fact that the governor usually issues budget preparation instructions to the University and to other state agencies after the University's process is supposed to have been completed, for example, in September 1986. Since the governor's instructions change from year to year and arrive so late, they often necessitate a complete reworking of the regents' budget. A second consequence of their late arrival is that the University is typically given as little as one month to respond. This will leave several months for B&F to review the requests from all the state departments and prepare the executive budget for the governor to submit to the legislative. Returning to our example, the legislative committees should hold hearings and begin their review of the executive budget in January 1987, a week or two before the session has officially started. One way or another, the legislature will also be given copies of the regents' budget. Official spokespersons for the University are usually permitted to testify in favor of both. People who wish to testify in favor of legislative add-ons are supposed to indicate that the proposed additions are not in the regents' budget and that the views they express are not necessarily those of the University. The assumption underlying this policy restricting testimony is that the total appropriation for the University is fixed, for example, at a certain percentage of the state's expenditure ceiling. If this is the case, then any add-ons approved by the legislature will simply displace items that are near the funding "cut-off" and contribute nothing to the University's bottom line. It follows that those well-meaning lobbyists who try to help the University by pushing their own pet projects through the legislature are actually doing great harm. They are poachers rather than philanthropists, and they are the anathema of anyone who believes in an open process or a level playing field. As a common variation on this theme, one state department will often try to insert an add-on into the budget of another. If the Department of Business, Economic Development, and Tourism (DBED&T) wants to con-

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duct research on slant drilling under beachfront property, it will extol the University's proficiency in this esoteric occupation and insist that no one else in Hawaii has the necessary expertise. University spokespersons will accept the compliment, praise the project, and offer to do the work; but they will, in turn, insist that the money be inserted into the budget of DBED&T so that it can be received by UH as an extramural grant or contract, rather than a legislative add-on. The process of circumventing the University's hypothetical budget cap has been made routine for the College of Agriculture and Human Resources (CTAHR) through the creation of the Governor's Agriculture Coordinating Committee (GACC), which channels money into CTAHR on behalf of Hawaii's formidable agriculture lobby. The Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR) was separated from UH and is now funded through DBED&T for the same reason. Returning one last time to our example, the 1987 legislature should pass the General Appropriations Act before the regular session ends on April 30, 1987, and the governor should sign it so that it can become the state budget before the fiscal year begins on July 1, 1987. In the months that follow, which is nearly two years after the process began, B&F should allocate these funds to the University on the basis of the amount appropriated, the conditions of the appropriation, and the revenues available. As previously noted, restrictions and freezes may also be imposed at any time during the fiscal year. The role of budgeting as a planning mechanism has already been noted. The budget is also a control apparatus that can be used to hold managers accountable for institutional objectives and programmatic decisions. And because information is transmitted up and down the administrative hierarchy during the budget process, it serves as a communication device that extends from the lowest to the highest levels and can be effective in either direction. Finally, the budget process is a decision-making system for setting priorities, solving problems, and charting a course for the University. Moving from the managerial to the political realm, we may regard the budget as the means by which fiscal authority and accountability are transferred from one branch of government to another, i.e., from the legislature to the governor. It is the process by which public resources are allocated to satisfy public needs and through which conflicting wants, values, and priorities are reconciled. From this point of view, the budget is the bottom line—that permanent record of political activity, political decisions, and political success that distinguishes winners from losers regardless of how they played the game. I will end this section by defining some terms that are closely identified with funding sources. The expression "state funds" refers to all revenues the state receives. A "fund" is an account where such revenues are

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deposited. The "state's general fund" is the primary account into which tax revenues are deposited and from which most programs at the University of Hawaii are financed. A "trust fund" is an account "in which designated persons or classes of persons have a vested beneficial interest or equitable ownership, or which was created or established by a gift, grant, contribution, devise, or bequest that limits the use of the fund to designated objects or purposes." 8 In the case of UH, such assets can be accepted and expended either by the institution itself, through its endowment trust fund,9 or by the University of Hawaii Foundation. "Revolving funds" and "special funds" are established by law to serve as depositories for specific types of revenue. A "revolving fund" is an account "from which is paid the cost of goods and services rendered or furnished to or by a state agency and which is replenished through charges made for the goods or services or through transfers from other accounts or funds."8 A "special fund" is an account "dedicated or set aside by law for a specified object or purpose, but excluding revolving funds and trust funds."8 Revolving funds are usually self-sufficient, whereas special funds often require subsidies from other sources. The Research and Training Revolving Fund (RTRF) is an account into which is deposited 50 percent of the reimbursements for the indirect costs incurred by the University in the administration of extramural grants and contracts the previous fiscal year. The RTRF is expended "for research and training purposes which may result in additional research and training grants and contracts and for the purposes of facilitating research and training at the University."10 An example of a special fund is the one created for the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH). By setting up an account for depositing and disbursing moneys from public and private grants, contracts, awards, and gifts, this statute enables RCUH to function as an independent corporate body. 11 The typical funding sources for CIP projects are general obligation bonds, revenue bonds, and federal grants and contracts. The sale of longterm bonds is an appropriate way to finance CIP projects because it is expected that such projects will benefit the future generations who will be paying for them. Payments on general obligation bonds are usually made from the state's general fund.8 Payments on revenue bonds are usually made using income or user taxes generated by the respective projects. 8 To maintain its excellent credit rating and concomitant ability to borrow money at low interest rates, the state limits its total bond indebtedness. In favorable economic times, current revenues or "cash" may be used for CIP projects in order to avoid exceeding this limit. Prior to 1995, ordinary tuition was not a revenue source for the University. Rather, all the tuition collected for regular courses of instruc-

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tion was deposited in the state's general fund. Tuition rates were set by the Board of Regents following public hearings. There was little incentive to raise them since UH didn't retain the money. As a result, tuition rates barely kept pace with inflation and are still among the lowest in the country, running typically around 15 percent or less of the amount paid by the state for the student's education. Rates for nonresidents, both undergraduates and graduates, are required by law to be at least twice the rates for residents and not less than two times the undergraduate tuition rate for residents at Manoa. 12,13 Tuition charged for special programs of instruction, such as Summer Session or evening courses, is normally deposited in revolving funds or special funds created for this purpose. This is because such programs are required to be self-supporting and must therefore live directly off the revenues they generate. When times were hard, legislators sometimes hinted that the Board of Regents should raise tuition dramatically. Legislators could, of course, have assumed this "fiduciary responsibility" themselves, but as elected officials concerned about winning the votes of UH students and their parents, they did not. Instead, having the power to intervene (not to mention the power to decrease the University's budget), the legislature constituted an unobtrusive but effective counter-force whenever the Board was confronted by the student lobby.

Winning Strategies A1 Simone would be the first to admit that luck played a role in his presidency, as it does in the game of baseball. However, while good teams sometimes lose and bad teams sometimes win, good teams win more often than bad ones. Simone had definite ideas about what he wanted to accomplish. He worked diligently to achieve his goals, and his actions contributed significantly to his success. But he also was, and saw himself as, the leader of a "fluid team" 14 and only one of many players in a complex political arena. The ideas, goals, and actions that emanated from his presidency were often intertwined with, and ultimately indistinguishable from, those of his colleagues. Simone's private strategy was to score as many runs and win as many games as possible. He took advantage of every scoring opportunity and was particularly drawn to projects and ideas that he could sell to the governor, the legislature, and the U.S. Congress. This private strategy worked well, but Simone was often criticized for being unfocused, for pursuing objectives that were not central to the mission of the University, and for ignoring problems that were. Simone's public strategy coincided with the University's strategic plan. 6 His personal identification with the plan was legitimate because he chaired

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the steering committee that shaped it and because it was developed under his leadership as vice president for academic affairs.6 But legitimate or not, Simone's public strategy was merely a means; it was his private strategy that defined the ends. The strategic plan was promulgated in July 1984, 6 one month after Simone was named interim president.15 He immediately commandeered it as a campaign vehicle and rode it into the presidency. Throughout his administration, Simone justified his actions by referring to the plan. Shortly before he announced his resignation in February 1992, he summed up his goals and accomplishments by saying, "In one sense, a long-term trajectory for me was set-—to follow the strategic plan. And I believe we truly have done that."16 The public plan for achieving the University's mission centered on five "strategic dimensions." The first was to serve the State of Hawaii. Under this heading were such "strategic objectives" as access, articulation, outreach, and continuing education—items that traditionally appeal to a broad political constituency in Hawaii.6 The second strategic dimension, achieving program quality, emphasized the fundamental disciplines, areas of comparative advantage, research, faculty and staff development, and facilities enhancement. 6 These strategic objectives were especially appealing to academics who wanted to strengthen the University as a whole, and to partisans of Manoa, where most of the research and most of the comparative advantages over both local and U.S. mainland institutions of higher education resided. Third was the establishment of an international—especially Pacific/ Asian—emphasis. The related strategic objectives were to become the research, training, and cultural center of the Pacific Basin; to become a leader in international and cross-cultural education; and to serve as a bridge between the cultures of East and West.6 Though he never said so, I believe Simone was the main constituency to which this dimension appealed. Not only would it make UH strong, it would make Simone president of one of the notable universities of the world. The fourth strategic dimension was to adapt to scientific and technological change. Telecommunications systems were to be incorporated selectively into all aspects of the teaching and research mission of the University; the library system and the administration were to be automated; educational delivery was to be enhanced through the use of media technologies; and students were to be prepared for the impact of technology and related social change. 6 Though expensive, the commitment here was merely to keep abreast of the latest technologies and not permit the University's physical plant to become obsolete—a goal everyone could endorse. The last strategic dimension, enhancing the "essence" of the University, was at once lofty and mundane. On the lofty side, it included empha-

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sizing the primacy of students and ensuring their success from entry through graduation; gaining greater autonomy for the University; improving collegiality and faculty and staff participation in University governance; and providing incentives for recruitment, retention, renewal, and vitality. The more mundane objective was to increase private funding, federal funding, and funding from other countries while working to increase state-appropriated general funds. With this last strategic objective, the plan came full circle, merging ends with means and suggesting that the main purpose of the exercise may have been to increase financial support for the University. The plan was needed to raise additional funds, and additional funds were needed to execute the plan. Indeed, faculty members did not need a strategic plan to tell them what to do, nor did many of them bother to read it. What they did need was adequate funding and an academic environment that was relatively free from political interference. Like most blueprints promulgated by the University, the strategic plan of 19846 attempted to build consensus by appealing to the widest possible constituency. To hold this motley electorate together, it was necessary to pretend that all the strategic dimensions and objectives were compatible and that the University could indeed move forward on five broad fronts simultaneously. Such equivocation is the woof and warp of public documents, but this particular strategic invention was unusually successful, both in uniting the academic community and in directing Simone's presidency. What I see beneath the plan's facile consensus are two great armies locked in mortal combat. One is dedicated to improving the quality of life for the people of Hawaii. Among its battle flags are the objectives of the first and fifth strategic dimensions: ensuring the primacy and success of students; providing access, articulation, outreach, and continuing education; and serving the local community. Its banner states that "the University's fundamental mission is to provide all qualified people in Hawaii an equal opportunity for quality college and university education."6 The second army is less concerned about creature comforts for the masses and more concerned about greatness for the institution. It recognizes that the world is becoming increasingly international and interdependent, and it worries about the University's role. Among its battle flags are some of the strategic objectives of the second and third dimensions: emphasizing areas of comparative advantage, research, and faculty and staff development; becoming the research, training, and cultural center of the Pacific Basin; becoming a leader in international and cross-cultural education; and serving as a bridge between the cultures of East and West. Its banner contends that the University's "special mission is to provide the leadership necessary to assure that Hawaii and its people are full participants in the Pacific arena."6

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There is only one front separating these two armies inside the University, but it is part of a larger battle line that traverses the entire state and nation and could determine the future of all three. At the national level, it is domestic versus foreign policy, isolationism versus internationalism, and the War on Poverty versus a trip to the moon. At the state level, it is environmental protection versus economic development, housing assistance versus technology transfer, human services versus education. Within the University, it is undergraduate advising versus astrophysics; a separate Hilo Community College versus a new School for Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS); and a new campus for Kapiolani Community College versus a new Pacific Ocean Science and Technology (POST) building for Manoa. It is essential to the future of the University that neither army lose. Indeed, maintaining the balance of power was one of the principal functions of the strategic plan and the main reason for its equivocation. If the first army ever loses, many people in Hawaii will be disenfranchised by their University, and only a privileged minority will be served. Eventually, without the broad support of the local community, the University will falter, and any regional prominence it may have attained will fade. If the second army loses, Manoa will come increasingly to resemble a parochial state university; Hawaii's best students will leave the state for better opportunities abroad; and good students from other places will bypass Hawaii altogether. Those who do attend UH will be disadvantaged because the best teachers will have left and because their classmates will be people like themselves who have been denied access to research and active researchers, to graduate students, and to the international community of scholars. Manoa's role as an engine for economic development in Hawaii will decline because there will be no incentive or mechanism for faculty to sharpen their skills or to work at the forefront of their disciplines. Simone's job was to lead both armies and avert a civil war. To be successful, he had to be local as well as international in his outlook, to think of creature comforts as well as future greatness, to rise above the narrow self-interest of his numerous constituencies and reconcile their fundamental differences. Indeed, it was eminently possible to reconcile the philosophical differences dividing Simone's armies by embracing two premises: first, that the University must serve all the people of Hawaii and, second, that it is in the best interests of all the people of Hawaii to be served by an international university excellent in research as well as instruction. It is also worth noting, particularly in the context of Simone's private strategy, that both of the armies he led were capable of winning battles. To win as many as possible, he planted one foot squarely in each camp, hoisted their respective banners, and proceeded to lead them forward as a single fighting force. Instead of prioritizing strategic objectives, such as A versus B for the two armies, Simone went after both A and B for the

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University. He hired undergraduate advisors and astrophysicists; he separated Hilo Community College and created SHAPS; he obtained funds for Kapiolani Community College and the POST building. The other great strategic document of the Simone era was the master plan, "developed by the Board of Regents to guide the growth of the entire University in the 1990s."7 While publicly praising the authors and pledging his support, Simone privately regarded this second document as both a personal and an institutional disaster. To understand why the master plan was a personal disaster for Simone, we need only recall that it was promulgated in January 1991, four years before his ten-year strategic plan had run its course. Appearing so early, it sent a clear signal that the Board was dissatisfied with the direction Simone was heading and intended to make a change. This interpretation was underscored by two salient facts. First, rather than rely on its chief executive officer to produce the master plan for the University, the Board hired outside consultants. Second, those outside consultants were Richard Kosaki and his wife, Mildred.7 Dick Kosaki had been Simone's principal rival for the presidency in 1984. Though eminently qualified for the assignment, Dick and Mildred Kosaki were bound to tilt the master plan in the direction of their own philosophical bent, which was well known to the Board, just as Simone had tilted the strategic plan in the direction of his. Thus, like the presidential salary increase facilitated by the legislature and granted by the Board in the spring of 1991, the master plan was a precursor, if not a precipitator, of Simone's resignation, announced thirteen months later. Simone regarded the master plan as an institutional disaster because it favored creature comforts for the masses over greatness for the institution and thereby upset the delicate balance he had established between the two. Having no interest in creature comforts himself, Simone was constitutionally biased in favor of greatness, but a reasonable balance was possible under his leadership because most members of the legislature and the Board were on the other side. Superficially, the Board's master plan appears to be quite similar to Simone's strategic plan. Indeed, such similarity is to be expected, given that they were contemporaneous designs for the same institution and given my earlier observation that equivocation is the woof and warp of public documents. Thus, whereas the strategic plan had the five "dimensions" outlined above, the master plan covered the same ground with seven "major goals": striving for excellence in undergraduate education; continuing to gain prominence in research; revitalizing service to the state; enhancing the international role of the University; maintaining diversity by clarifying campus missions and coordinating campus plans; expanding access to educational opportunity throughout the state; and improving the organization, financing, and image of the University.7

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Beneath the surface, the master plan was a populist document, both anti-Manoa and anti-research. Its banner was "acting as a system,"17 and its major thrust was to accelerate the dissemination of resources and functions from Manoa to the other campuses. Recommendation E-7 would authorize the Hilo campus to offer select graduate programs; recommendation E-ll would allocate resources to expedite the site selection and planning for UH-West Oahu; recommendation E-19 would provide student housing for the community colleges; and recommendation E-20 would encourage the community colleges to explore and sponsor education and training programs longer than two years in duration.7 Other examples are E-21, calling for Honolulu Community College to pursue its goal of becoming the "Technological College of the Pacific;" E-34 and E-37, encouraging Maui Community College and Kauai Community College, respectively, to facilitate the delivery of upper division and graduate programs; and F-l, urging that a large permanent site be secured in West Hawaii for yet another campus. 7 Deleted from the final draft at the request of Simone was an even more telling recommendation: Through the establishment of the University educational extension sites on the neighbor islands, and the expansion of distant education, the considerable educational resources of the Manoa campus will be shared with Hawaii's citizens geographically isolated from the Manoa campus.18 While endorsing the master plan in his public statements, Simone realized that it signaled the end of his presidency. This was reflected in his sudden willingness, after many refusals, to be considered for the presidency of other universities.19 He was also aware that the "army of creature comforts" had won a great victory and that the "army of future greatness" was in retreat. His only hope was to pick up the new banner, "acting as a system," and try to reposition himself at the head of the resurgent populist forces. As one example of this futile effort, Simone joined other members of the Council of Senior Executives in sponsoring a master plan conference, 17 which was held just four months before he announced his resignation. It was already clear, however, that the master plan called for a new kind of president—one who was prepared philosophically to build up Hilo, West Oahu, West Hawaii, and the community colleges at the expense of Manoa. Kenneth P. Mortimer, Simone's eventual successor, was indeed such a person, 20 and in this sense, the master plan proved to be a self-confirming prophecy that both provoked and foreshadowed the end of one presidency and the beginning of another. Moving closer to the point of action, Simone had a specific strategy for every budget year and every legislative session. He typically requested two or three times as much in new funds as he expected to get, and re-

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gardless of the governor's instructions, he always came in with a long list of University needs. When forced to take the defensive, he fought hard against restrictions and freezes. All this was done in good faith because Simone truly believed it was his duty, in every situation, to make the strongest possible case for the University. Even more important, he was fully convinced that the University was both under-funded and the highest and best use of the state's limited resources. Unlike most governmental agencies, the University was an investment in Hawaii's future, a revenue generator rather than a revenue dissipater. In calling these circumstances to the attention of the governor and the legislature, Simone was doing the people of Hawaii a favor. Some highlights of Simone's biennium budget strategies were these: • When he was still interim president in the spring of 1985, Simone persuaded Governor George Ariyoshi and the legislature that they ought to welcome President Designate Cecil Mackey with a robust budget for BI 1985-1987. • In preparing his first biennium budget as president, Simone asked newly elected Governor John Waihee to assist the University in implementing the goals of its recently adopted strategic plan.6 He also requested massive increases in repairs and maintenance and equipment funding to begin rebuilding the University's long-neglected physical plant, and he cut a deal with Waihee whereby the University agreed to reallocate approximately five percent of its current service base over the next several years while Waihee agreed to recommend program change requests amounting to five percent of the University's budget for BI 1987-1989- 21 • In the spring of 1989, with Waihee facing re-election in the fall of 1990, Simone charged forward with a team of "horses" to carry the governor into his second term. Simone's "horses" were glamorous University programs that the governor had supported in the past and that needed his blessing in BI 19891991. Hidden under all the rhetoric were massive current service adjustments, which amounted to 17.6 percent ($39-3 million) in FY 1989-1990 and 11.0 percent ($28.9 million) in FY 1990-1991, and large requests for repairs and maintenance and equipment to continue the restoration of the University's physical plant begun the previous biennium. 22 • Although there were already signs that the Japanese investors were pulling out of Hawaii and that the state's surging economy was beginning to falter, Simone argued in the legislative session of 1991 that the University would lose its newly acquired momentum and be "knocked off its path towards

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excellence" if its budget for BI 1991-1993 were not significantly increased. Repairs and maintenance and the replacement and modernizing of equipment continued to be top priorities; and basic instructional programs, academic advising, and student support were high on Simone's list.23 A significant feature of Simone's strategic armamentarium was his active participation in local political campaigns. Particularly salient was his endorsement of Lt. Governor John Waihee during the gubernatorial primary in the fall of 1986. One week before the primary election, former Hawaii Congressman Cecil Heftel still had a 21 percent lead in the polls,24 and Simone took a major risk that could have ended his presidency and hurt the University had he guessed wrong. Simone also attended numerous fund-raisers and bought tickets even when he could not attend. Having long since resolved the moral dilemma of whether or not to engage in local politics, Simone jumped in with his usual gusto and publicly supported a plethora of candidates, some of whom he probably opposed in the privacy of the voting booth. The success of Simone's run-scoring, game-winning strategy is evident in Tables 6.1, 6.2, and 6.3. Table 6.125 shows that the University's operating budget increased at an average compounded rate of 9-6 percent per year, more than doubling during the eight years of his presidency. Because of Hawaii's biennial budgetary process, the biggest increases were experienced during FY 1985-1986, FY 1987-1988, FY 1989-1990, and FY 1991-1992. The collapse that occurred in FY 1993-1994, just after Simone left the University of Hawaii, is particularly striking because it was the first year of a new biennium, BI 1993-1995. Table 6.226 shows that state appropriations for repairs and maintenance and equipment reached unprecedented levels during Simone's presidency, following many years of neglect. Such items are popular with the governor and the legislature when state revenues are high because they are funded on an annual basis and involve no long-term obligations. Simone was well aware of this fact, and it did influence his decision to target them. State appropriations for capital improvement projects (CIP) are shown in Table 6.3. 26 General obligation (GO) bonds are the usual means of financing these enterprises. Revenue bonds may be issued in cases where the project is expected to produce sufficient income to pay them off. General funds are sometimes provided for CIP items, particularly when state revenue projections are high. Conversely, the presence of general fund entries in the state's CIP budget, as well as in Table 6.3, is an indication that these were years of unusual prosperity. Total CIP appropriations, which were typically about $20 million per year near the end of Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda's administration, averaged $58.5 million per year under Simone and returned to the $20 million per year level as soon as he left. Included among Simone's major projects were an

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entire campus for Kapiolani Community College (costing well over $75 million), a theater for Kauai Community College, and relocation of Hilo Community College; a new baseball stadium and a research and technolTable 6.1. State Operating Funding Patterns25 (in millions of dollars)

UH G-Fund Allocation

State G-Fund Allocation

UH Percent of State

UH Percent Increase

1984-1985

165.2

1,410.7

11.7

0.6

1985-1986*

182.2

1,495.7

12.2

10.3

1986-1987*

183.8

1,534.2

12.0

8.8

1987-1988*

226.4

1,735.6

13.0

23.2

1988-1989*

240.2

1,809.4

13.3

6.1

1989-1990*

277.2

2,126.3

13.0

15.4

1990-1991*

279.3

2,200.3

12.7

0.8

1991-1992*

333.9

2,624.4

12.7

19.5

1992-1993*

344.7

2,890.5

11.9

3.2

1993-1994

351.7

3,049.6

11.5

2.0

FY

'Fiscal years for which Al Simone had overall responsibility for preparing and defending the University's budget. The average compounded rate of increase during the eight-year period from FY 1984-1985 to FY 1992-1993 was 9.6 percent.

Table 6.2. State Appropriations for R&M and Equipment26 (in thousands of dollars)

FY 1983-1984 1984-1985

Repairs and Maintenance 0* 0*

Equipment 0 0

1985-1986**

4,603

2,997

1986-1987**

2,800

2,615

1987-1988**

15,671

6,400

1988-1989**

14,900

5,500

1989-1990**

13,665

9,232

1990-1991**

12,931

7,805

1991-1992**

12,931

7,958

1992-1993**

6,296

3,164

1993-1994

6,084

3,164

•Prior to FY 1985-1986, repairs and maintenance and equipment were treated as emergencies and handled on an ad hoc basis. *'Fiscal years for which Al Simone had overall responsibility for preparing and defending the University's budget.

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ogy park for UH-Hilo; new structures for Architecture, Hawaiian Studies, Ocean Sciences and Technology, Agricultural Sciences, Student Services, and parking for Manoa; a 10,000-seat arena for Manoa; and an improved access road to Mauna Kea Observatory. Among the major renovations funded under Simone were Building 803 at Honolulu Community College; College Hall and Building 381A at Hilo; Bilger, Crawford, Dean, George, Webster, and Wist Halls at Manoa; and energy conservation measures, asbestos removal and encapsulation, and handicap access across the entire system. Skeptics have argued that Simone was just lucky. They say that his presidency happened to coincide with a period of rapid economic growth in Hawaii and that he shouldn't be given any credit for the funding patterns shown in Tables 6.1, 6.2, and 6.3. I agree that the state's favorable economy was the most important factor influencing these data, but I must also point out that Simone was the right kind of president to exploit such an opportunity. One measure of Simone's impact is that the University's share of the state allocation, shown in the fourth column of Table 6.1, rose from 11.7 percent immediately before Simone took office to an average of 12.6 percent during the eight years of his presidency, and dropped to 11.5 percent as soon as he left. The difference of 1.0 percent of the state's total general fund may seem insignificant, but it amounted to about $20 million per year or $160 million over eight years. As previously noted, Simone's imTable 6.3. State Appropriations for UH Capital Improvements26 (in thousands of dollars) FY 1983-1984 1984-1985 1985-1986* 1986-1987* 1987-1988* 1988-1989* 1989-1990* 1990-1991* 1991-1992* 1992-1993* 1993-1994

General Funds

13,046 22,148 42,348 23,206 17,058

GO Bonds 20,376 19,907 19,296 34,565 19,084 42,290 25,056 55,842 87,020 53,477 17,339

Revenue Bonds 2,850 1,157

12,000

Total 20,376 22,757 20,453 34,565 32,130 64,438 67,404 79,048 99,020 70,535 17,339

'Fiscal years for which Ai Simone had overall responsibility for preparing and defending the University's budget.

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pact on the CIP budget may have been as large as $40 million per year or $320 million over eight years. Even people who grudgingly acknowledge that Simone was remarkably successful in raising state funds for the University have criticized him for bungling the job by getting money for the wrong programs or projects. Typical examples are SHAPS and the 10,000-seat special events arena. It is argued that the University should have chosen basic infrastructure and Hamilton Library Phase III instead. In response to this kind of criticism, I point out that most of the increases in operating funds that Simone obtained did go into basic infrastructure. Salient examples are the repairs and maintenance and equipment figures given in Table 6.2, the numerous renovations mentioned in connection with Table 6.3, and the system-wide restoration of the current service base, which was a prominent, if not unique, feature of his overall budget strategy. These items were among the most basic and sorely needed in the University and did not entail program expansions requiring future commitments of state funds. The arena, which was priority thirty-seven in the University's CIP budget for FY 1990-1991, was presented to Simone by Waihee as a "take it or leave it" proposition. Simone took it and got $32 million from the 1990 legislature, although the original request was for $18.9 million. It is not plausible that Waihee would have traded the arena for an extension to Hamilton Library, which received no funding in FY 1990-1991 at Board of Regents' priority nineteen.27 One of the implications here is that budgeting is not a zero-sum game for the University or even a rational process. Rather, it is a political contest with clear winners and losers, albeit the state is nominally working within an "expenditure ceiling" and there is said to be a "cap" on the University's budget for any given year. The fluidity and unpredictability of the situation will become even more apparent in the case histories that appear in the remaining sections of this chapter. Graduate Assistant Stipends Recalling the two metaphors I have mixed throughout this chapter, I tend to regard the entries in Tables 6.1, 6.2, and 6.3 as the historical records of military campaigns, whereas A1 Simone might be inclined to think of them as the statistical summaries of his pennant races. Extending these metaphors to the remaining sections of the chapter, I plan to move closer to the point of action and describe some of the budget wars we fought, some of the budget games we played. I wish I had the space, the knowledge, and the skill to recreate, with play-by-play immediacy, the frenzy and excitement of the budgetary process. At the center, of course, is the state legislature, which controls the purse strings and hands out the funds. Buzzing around it are people from

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all over the state, and from all walks of life, including many of us from the University, beseeching the members to be generous and compassionate. As supplicants, we are at their mercy and must accept whatever comes down. Literally thousands of bills are submitted each year, and the University alone is involved in hundreds of them. I suspect that all such interactions deserve our attention and could teach us something about the politics of higher education in Hawaii. My problem as a narrator is that there are just too many issues and needs, too many legislators and supplicants, and too many interests and agendas to permit a comprehensive review. Given these circumstances, I have decided to limit this account to four case histories, hoping that together they will faithfully illustrate the whole. Even for this small sample, however, I must confess that I didn't always understand what was happening, who all the soldiers were, or what they thought they were accomplishing. It seems there is always another layer to the political onion, and in this chronicle, I am peeling only two or three. My first example of a budget war is the one that we fought over graduate assistant stipends. During the Simone era, the University of Hawaii had around 5,000 classified graduate students, all enrolled at Manoa, the system's only research and graduate education campus.28 About 1,000 of these, or 20 percent, were graduate assistants (GAs) who typically worked under the direction of Manoa faculty and held half-time appointments (0.5 full-time equivalent positions or FTE) that paid a subsistence wage in exchange for twenty hours of work per week.29 At more prestigious institutions, such as Harvard or Stanford, virtually all graduate students are offered assistantships or fellowships, whereas peer institutions of UH typically support about half of their graduate students in some fashion. There are three main categories of supported graduate students at the University of Hawaii. The first includes 350 state-funded teaching assistants (TAs), who usually serve as instructors in undergraduate classrooms, laboratories, and studios. The second consists of 400 extramurally funded research assistants (RAs), who are supported by extramural grants and contracts and work on specific faculty projects. In the third category are nominally 275 graduate fellows sponsored by the East-West Center as part of their educational program, a number that began to drop precipitously in 1992. Faculty salary lines are also used to support graduate students on an ad hoc basis, and the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH) generously supports six graduate research assistants through its endowment fund. Not only was the percentage of graduate students sustained by assistantships relatively small when Simone took office, but the stipend level for all but the East-West Center grantees was unconscionably low. Some of

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the reasons for this were similar to those limiting faculty salaries, repairs and maintenance and equipment budgets, and the current service base. Others were peculiar to graduate students in Hawaii and, as we shall soon see, reflected the politics of higher education in this state. Together, they made graduate stipends and assistantships two of the most daunting issues in the budgetary realm. Since virtually all state-funded graduate assistants are involved in teaching undergraduates, one might think that their stipends would be coupled to faculty salaries. Unfortunately, they are not. And whereas faculty received ten raises totaling 80 percent during the ten-year period from 1977 until 1987, graduate assistants received only six stipend adjustments totaling 40 percent. When cost-of-living factors were considered, GA stipends at UH were next to the lowest offered by twenty institutions surveyed in 1987.30 The reason GA stipends are not coupled to faculty salaries is that the Board of Regents and the legislature do not want students siding with faculty in collective bargaining situations. This is a consequence of a more general academic theorem stating that it is easier to say "no" to faculty members than to students. Furthermore, graduate assistants are not represented by a union of their own. In practice, increases in faculty salaries are treated like current service adjustments by the governor and the legislature, and once the contract has been signed, funding is virtually automatic. Increases in GA stipends, on the other hand, require amendments to state law and must compete with other PCRs in the University's budget. Furthermore, since changes in the stipend schedule must be approved by the Board of Regents and funded by the legislature, a chicken-and-egg situation exists in which the Board is reluctant to authorize an increase because the legislature hasn't provided the money, and the legislature is reluctant to provide the money because the Board hasn't authorized an increase. A question invariably asked when GA stipend increases are deliberated by the Board of Regents and the legislature is what fraction of Manoa's graduate students are local. The percentages for Fall 1986 are given in Table 6.4, where it can be seen that about half of the University's 5,000 graduate students are from the U.S. mainland or from foreign countries, and the rest are from Hawaii.31 Since 86 percent of the University's 50,000 students are considered to be residents,28 one can deduce that about 90 percent of the University's 45,000 undergraduates are local. The origin of graduate students is one of those issues that cleanly divides the "army of creature comforts" from the "army of future greatness." The former insists that the people of Hawaii should not have to pay for the educations of nonresidents, while the latter insists that it is in the best interests of everyone concerned, especially our local students, to have such exchanges.

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WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

The "army of creature comforts" is also biased in favor of undergraduates because they are 90 percent local, whereas the "army of future greatness" is inclined to give graduate and undergraduate students equal status. This issue is pervasive at state-funded universities across the country, but it takes on racial overtones in Hawaii because the ethnic mixtures of local and U.S. mainland students are so different.32 Lost among all the complaints about nonresident interlopers is the fact that many residents go abroad for their educations and hence are subsidized by other states or countries. In my testimony before the Board and the legislature, I usually point out that such exchanges are both healthy and reciprocal—that they are good for those students who have an opportunity to go abroad and also for those who stay behind. Rather than see it my way, regents and legislators tend to express their concerns that the errant youth of Hawaii may never return. Most faculty members are indifferent to the ethnicity, origins, or resident status of their students, and their main goal is to attract the brightest and the best to their classrooms, disciplines, and institutions. Since only 350 of the 1,000 supported graduate students are stateassisted, one might think that the stipends of most GAs could be raised without approaching the legislature for additional funds. Not only would this be unfair to the 350 who are left out, but this option is precluded by federal policies that prohibit the federal government from paying more than the going rate for a particular service. It is then incumbent upon the University to adopt a uniform schedule applicable to all graduate assistants except those fortunate enough to be East-West Center grantees. In April 1987, President Simone appointed a fifteen-member task force to review problems related to low stipends and recommend remedies. The task force was chaired by Walter Steiger, emeritus professor of Physics and Astronomy, who had also served a term on the Board of Regents following his retirement. Of course, everyone knew what the problem was and how to solve it: All the University had to do was increase stipends enough to make up for the 40 percent by which GA stipends had slipped with respect to faculty salaries during the period from 1977 to 1987. The purpose of the task force was to document this situation and help the University administration build a consensus around it.30 Appealing always to the recommendations of the task force, w e were able to push a token 5-percent increase (costing $141,746) through the 1987 legislature by first giving this item our highest priority in the research and graduate education budget and then shepherding it through the Manoa budget, the president's budget, the Board of Regents' budget, the governor's budget, and both houses of the state legislature.30 At every stage, the GA stipend increase was in competition with other PCRs seeking approval at the new level. The process is so cumbersome and fraught with hidden dangers that I always marvel when anything gets through.

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Table 6.4. Origins of Graduate Students in Fall 198631 Local

U.S. Mainland

Foreign

Applied

23%

33%

44%

Admitted

34%

29%

37%

Arrived

45%

30%

25%

Enrolled

50%

28%

22%

Our willingness to adopt the GA stipend increase as a high priority for research and graduate education was crucial in this campaign because the item actually appears in the instructional budget (UOH-lOl) and should have been funded out of the academic affairs cap. Since it didn't cost him anything and enhanced his bottom line, Vice President Tony Marsella supported our request fully. Interpreting the 5 percent provided by the legislature as a mandate, we asked the Board of Regents to approve an 8.7-percent increase in the first step of the salary schedule, bringing it up to $7,080 for a nine-month, half-time appointment. We obtained the missing 3 7 percent, amounting to $94,810, from reallocation and salary savings.30 We also asked the Board to approve a new stipend schedule that increased the number of steps from four to nine. The increments between these steps were 4 percent; hence, step nine of the nine-month schedule for July 1, 1987, was $9,684. In practice, only the first four steps of the new schedule were used for state-funded TAs, but the higher levels permitted some faculty with extramural grants or contracts to pay their RAs more.30 Cycling back and forth between the legislature and the Board of Regents on an annual basis, we were eventually successful in raising GA stipends to a fair and competitive level. The specific increases over three biennia were 8.7 percent in FY 1987-1988, 18 percent in FY 19881989, 8 percent in FY 1989-1990, 8 percent in FY 1990-1991, 8 percent in FY 1991-1992, and 8 percent in FY 1992-1993. I regard this steadfast effort as one of the most important and revealing accomplishments of the Simone era. Unfortunately, our equally persistent efforts to increase the number of GA positions bore very little fruit. When we clustered them together to give them visibility and a uniformly high priority, they became an easy target for the "army of creature comforts." When we hid them away in various units, they tended to be downgraded by unit commanders allied with the "army of future greatness." After GA stipends reached a respectable level, we attempted to lock them in at a certain percentage of faculty salaries. A final setting of 43 percent of the negotiated instructor (12) rate was recommended in the

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original task force report.33 This effort was strongly resisted by the Board of Regents and the legislature for reasons already mentioned. Our momentum in raising graduate assistant stipends could not be sustained on an annual basis. With the onset of financial exigency that coincided with the departure of Al Simone in August 1992, the consensus was broken, and the modest increase we requested for FY 1993-1994 was not forthcoming. I suppose we are facing one of those long periods in the University's history when GA stipends will again be ignored until the problem reaches an unconscionable level.

Summer Session For purposes of this chapter on budget wars, it is illuminating to examine the University's Summer Session from two points of view. Academically, it can be regarded as a summer instructional program at Manoa offering more than 1,200 graduate and undergraduate courses. Each year, it enrolls some 22,000 students from nearly every state and from more than fifty countries, making it one of the largest such programs in the nation.34 In addition to the two six-week semesters that inundate Manoa with students between late May and early August, Summer Session hosts New Intensive Courses in English (NICE), the Elderhostel Program, conferences, workshops, seminars, institutes, internships, and field studies of varying duration throughout the year. The quality of its offerings is high, and in 1991, Summer Session was awarded Western Association of Summer Session Administrators (WASSA) citations for excellence in certain credit and non-credit programs, as well as in administration.34 Financially, Summer Session can be viewed as a special fund. This defines Summer Session as a quasi-business activity by providing it with a license and a mechanism both to keep the money that it generates and to accumulate more than it spends. Although the Summer Session account is explicitly acknowledged in Hawaii Revised Statutes (HRS) in several places,35 it appears to have been established by the University without the approval of the territorial legislature and governor when the Board of Regents authorized President David L. Crawford to conduct Manoa's first Summer Session on a self-support basis on February 18, 1927.3S It has since been "grandfathered in" via HRS cross-referencing. As usual, the tuition rate is set by the Board of Regents following public hearings. What is unusual is that the University keeps the money and sets the rate high enough so that Summer Session is "self-supporting" through its own tuition charges. The account that makes this possible is properly considered to be a special fund, rather than a revolving fund, because the financial stability of the enterprise is dependent upon the use of Manoa facilities. Summer Session is, in fact, an integral part of Manoa's educational program, and over 78 percent of the summer enrollment is made up of Manoa students.34

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Even in the case of special and revolving funds, the legislature and the governor retain control. Thus, Summer Session appears as a line in the University's budget and must defend its annual "allocation" like any other program. This may seem strange, considering that Summer Session is also obliged to earn its own revenues and does not compete with other units for general funds. Special and revolving funds appear in the University's budget because whenever money is involved, so are the politicians. In practice, the budget "allocations" provided for Summer Session are "ceilings" set just above the expected expenditure levels by the legislature and the governor. This prevents Summer Session from doing anything of significant scope without their approval. The Summer Session allocation is labeled with a "B" in budget documents, as well as in the Hawaii Revised Statutes, to indicate that the means of financing (MOF) is a special fund. 37 Because the program is popular and well managed, and because the Board is prudent in setting tuition rates, Summer Session tends to generate a surplus each year. At times the account balance has become so large that it has attracted the attention not only of the legislature and the governor, but also of other programs within the University. This has resulted in sporadic raids on Summer Session assets, both by bureaucrats within the University and by politicians outside. Such raids are the moral equivalent of theft, and they deter entrepreneurship within the University just as they would in the private sector. One way of coping with this business hazard is to exhaust the special fund balance before someone else gets hold of it. However, because of the ceiling set by the Summer Session allocation, this is not an easy task. Like any other program change request, a hypothetical scheme to utilize the Summer Session surplus would have to work its way through the regular budget channels, thereby attracting the attention of other deans, the University administration, the Board of Regents, the legislature, and the governor, all of whom might be tempted to use the money for some other purpose. The effectiveness of the special fund allocation as a budget ceiling is illustrated by the Krauss Hall Complex Renovation. This appears as a $2,873 million item in the University's CIP budget for FY 1993-1994. The letter "B" under "means of finance" confirms that special funds earned by Summer Session will be used to renovate this historic wooden structure at Manoa, part of which has been condemned because of termite damage and part of which currently houses the offices of the Summer Session dean. The letters "AGS" under "expending agency" indicate that the project will be managed by the state's Department of Accounting and General Services (DAGS). 37 Another fact we can deduce from the appearance of this item in the University's CIP budget is that the Summer Session surplus had grown large

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UNIVERSITY?

enough by FY 1993-1994 not only to finance a major renovation, but also to push expenditures well above the allocation ceiling and thereby trigger the intervention of the legislature and the governor. Somewhat less obvious is the fact that the existence of the special fund permits Summer Session to keep any interest generated by its $2,873 million. Once this money has been transferred to DAGS, an important source of revenue will be lost, and Summer Session will be at DAGS' mercy. A recent example of what can happen when DAGS oversees a project is provided by the $3.1 million Waikiki Aquarium renovation. The work began November 30, 1992, and was scheduled for completion July 8, 1993. By December 17, 1993, this seven-month undertaking was stretching into seventeen months with an estimated completion date around May 1, 1994. Although the state had provided $500,000 to cover the loss of revenue during the scheduled seven-month closure, this fell far short of the amount ultimately required. 38 One way or another, the University and the Aquarium had to pay the bill for a financial disaster over which they had no control. The University's contribution included a $345,600 reallocation of Manoa operating funds. The Aquarium, meanwhile, exhausted its own $300,000 cash reserve, painstakingly accumulated from private donations over many years. It also contributed through an extensive private fund-raising effort that involved "Exhibit Sponsorships" and an annual campaign. In addition to the massive loss of revenues caused by the extended closure, there was an overrun in basic construction costs from the original $2,212 million to $2.41 million, primarily because of unforeseen problems with the foundations for the shark tank.38 I have chosen the Summer Session budget war as one of my examples not only because it illustrates the workings of a special fund, but also because it demonstrates how the efforts of well-meaning managers are often sabotaged in Hawaii. Among those things that are missing are meaningful budgetary autonomy for the University and a strong connection between authority and responsibility throughout state government. As it now stands, the dean of Summer Session, who is a superb manager, is impeded by the knowledge that any surplus he might generate through improved efficiency will make his program a target, while any innovative spending ideas he might contrive cannot be implemented without bringing the existence of the surplus to the attention of his adversaries. The Board of Regents, on the other hand, has the power to raise Summer Session tuition rates to marketplace levels but is unwilling to do so because the University isn't supposed to make a profit on anything and can't be sure of keeping the surplus in the event that one is created. DAGS would like to take over the Summer Session funds as soon as possible but has little incentive to complete the renovation of Krauss Hall

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on time or within budget. If the architect and the contractor chosen by DAGS fail to deliver on their promises, Summer Session or the University will have to pick up the tab. Neither DAGS nor the attorney general will have much incentive to enforce the contract because the construction industry is a major supporter of the Democratic Party in Hawaii39 and because any damages collected for its breach will revert to the state's general fund. Such recompense should, of course, go to the Summer Session special fund, which will have suffered the loss in the likely event that there is a cost overrun. Finally, it seems that whenever assets held in special funds or revolving funds are seized by people who didn't actually generate them, they are treated as "windfall" profits and casually frittered away. Such assets are invariably used more effectively by the hands-on managers who generated them, that is, by people who are closer to the point of action and feel personally responsible for the wise investment of their own hard-earned capital. As a group, front-line managers, such as deans and directors, also tend to have a better understanding of specific opportunities and problems facing the University. The Research and Training Revolving Fund The Research and Training Revolving Fund (RTRF) may very well be the single most important factor accounting for the rapid growth in extramural support that occurred during the Simone administration. Half of the RTRF has traditionally been available on a competitive basis to all University faculty for equipment matching, seed money, faculty travel, and project development, while the other half is returned directly to those units that received extramural support the previous year and thereby generated the indirect cost reimbursements from which the RTRF is annually replenished. This creates a strong incentive, both for individual faculty and for units, to solicit additional extramural grants and contracts, and it is the primary reason the RTRF was created. Indirect, or overhead, costs are incurred in such expenses as utilities, libraries, computing centers, maintenance, and administration that support sponsored research and training activities in a general way but cannot be divided accurately among specific projects. Direct costs, on the other hand, are identified explicitly in project budgets and include salaries, research and training equipment, travel, and certain types of operating expenses. A 44-percent overhead rate means that for any dollar that the University receives for the direct costs of a project, it can charge the extramural sponsor no more than forty-four cents for indirect costs.40 Overhead rates are negotiated annually with the "cognizant" federal agency. The cognizant federal agency for UH is the Office of Naval Research (ONR). In principle, the University is fully reimbursed on a no-gain, no-loss basis for the indirect costs it actually incurs, but in practice, the

174

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return has been much less, in part because the University is unable to document all the services it provides. It is also true that UH negotiators have not bargained very hard with ONR to maximize the reimbursement. Some faculty and administrators prefer a lower indirect cost rate because, when a sponsor is committed to a ceiling on total expenses, it leaves more money for direct charges. Others have argued that our lower-than-average rate40 makes the University more competitive and that, being so far from our nation's capital, we must offer such concessions in order to level the playing field. Finally, it should be noted that there are half a dozen overhead categories at the University, and most of them have rates much lower than the maximum. Thus, the rate for work done at Mauna Kea Observatory is only 3 percent; other off-campus rates are about half of the corresponding on-campus rates; and no overhead is collected on equipment purchases. In addition, overhead is often reduced or waived voluntarily by the University in order to facilitate the completion of individual projects that are not adequately funded. Some private foundations refuse to pay any overhead whatsoever, and when they tell us we can take their money or leave it, we usually take it. The net result of all these factors is that, although the University's nominal rate for FY 1992-1993 was 44 percent,40 the actual recovery was less than 8 percent. More specifically, the reimbursement for indirect costs incurred in FY 1992-1993 was only $10 million on $129 million worth of extramural grants and contracts. The RTRF was originally established by the 1974 legislature, which amended Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii) by adding a new section, Section 304-8.1 (Research and Training Revolving Fund). The objectives were to ensure the success of research and training and to enhance the intellectual and economic benefits both bring to the people of Hawaii. The amount initially provided was 10 percent of all overhead reimbursements up to a maximum of $200,000. The remainder was to be deposited in the state's general fund. 41 The RTRF was increased to $600,000 in 1979,42 to $1 million in 1981,43 and to 30 percent of the total indirect cost recovery in 1984.44 The 1984 bill, which later became known as Act 283, also set aside $2.5 million, derived from overhead sources, to be used for "advance funding" of reimbursable costs incurred in connection with federal projects. The bill introduced a lapsing clause requiring that any RTRF funds unencumbered as of June 30 of each fiscal year be deposited in the state's general fund. 44 The advance-funding provision in the 1984 bill was good because most federal grants and contracts are cost-reimbursable, and UH needed to have a "working capital reserve" in order to execute projects in a timely fashion and invoice sponsors later. The lapsing clause was bad because it encouraged administrators and faculty to expend RTRF bal-

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ances hastily near the end of the fiscal year to ensure that they wouldn't expire. One of the earliest and most significant achievements of the Simone administration was the passage of House Bill (H.B.) 1665, which became Act 322, in 1986.45 By raising the RTRF from 30 percent to 50 percent of the overhead collected and by removing the lapsing provision,45 Act 322 increased both the magnitude and the effectiveness of the state's investment and, in retrospect, practically guaranteed that there would be significant growth in extramural funding during the rest of Simone's term. The return on Act 322 proved to be much larger than anyone had expected. This reflects the fact that there were many things happening at once during Simone's administration that tended to stimulate faculty productivity, and the increase in RTRF was only one of them. Furthermore, the causal relationship between investment and yield is neither direct nor inevitable. The usual rule of thumb is that one dollar invested by the State of Hawaii will attract two dollars in extramural funds. Assuming, for the sake of discussion, that the total overhead return is $10 million, the increase from 30 to 50 percent would raise the RTRF from $3 million to $5 million, and the additional $2 million in RTRF should attract an additional $4 million in grants and contracts. Instead, the University went from $52.4 million in FY 1986-1987 to $129.1 million in FY 1992-1993, an increase of $76.7 million or 146 percent. The compounded rate of increase was 16.2 percent per year averaged over six straight years.46 It is also significant that extramural funding actually decreased in FY 1986-1987, the first year after Act 322 passed. This is not surprising because investments in research and training require several years to bear fruit, and what occurred in FY 1986-1987 was mainly a continuation of what had been happening in the recent past. To illustrate this point, suppose that someone has a promising research idea and requests RTRF "seed money" from the University Research Council (URC) to carry out a pilot study. If faculty colleagues on the URC approve the request and the pilot study is successful, a formal proposal will be written, submitted to an extramural sponsor, and "peer-reviewed" by other experts in the field. A year or two after the request for seed money was submitted, the "principal investigator" may be awarded a major grant or contract to carry out a full-blown research project. The converse is also true. When investments in research and training decrease, many existing grants and contracts will continue, thereby masking the damage for several years. Because of these long delays, administrators sometimes forget that there is a causal relationship between investment and yield, believing when times are favorable that their research tariffs are doing no harm and when times are unfavorable that their research subsidies are doing no good.

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The 1986 legislative campaign was particularly memorable to me, partly because it was my first as a vice president of the University, partly because so many important battles were fought (including the landmark autonomy acts, Acts 320 and 321), and partly because their outcomes could make or break Simone's budding presidency. I also had different and intense feelings about each of the battles in which I was personally engaged. For example, in testifying in favor of H.B. 1741, which increased GA stipends for the first time in many years, I felt that our cause was just and my witness unimpeachable. Whether the bill passed or not, I knew we were in the right. In testifying in favor of H.B. 1665, however, I had serious reservations because I knew that even if the legislature increased the RTRF, we might not be able to reverse the University's dismal performance in extramural funding. My style was also a problem, especially in the beginning. As an inveterate academic, I wanted to be open and honest about everything, to express my doubts and uncertainties whenever I had them, and to present both sides of every issue. I quickly learned that reflection and objectivity are not highly valued by the legislature and that my assignment—short of lying—was to make the strongest possible case for increasing not only the level and the number of the GA stipends, but also both the magnitude and the flexibility of the RTRF. Although I am proud of the role that I played, it would be misleading for me to suggest that H.B. 1741 and H.B. 1665 got through the 1986 legislature because of my sterling performances in public hearings before the House Higher Education, Senate Higher Education, House Finance, and Senate Ways and Means Committees. That is not how the system works. On the contrary, whereas I probably could have crippled our legislative agenda, whether through inadvertence or in some other way, I certainly did not have the power to get any part of it approved. Without being privy to the details, I am sure that the real work of guiding H.B. 1741, H.B. 1665, and the autonomy bills (S.B. 1780 and S.B. 2127) through the 1986 legislature was done by Vice President for Administration Harold Masumoto, Vice President for University Relations Josh Agsalud, Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii, and Associate Vice President for Planning and Budget Kenji Sumida. They were the strongest "local Hawaiian administrators" of their era, and together they constituted arguably the most powerful legislative liaison in the history of the University. Unfortunately, Masumoto, Agsalud, and Sumida all resigned less than one year after the 1986 session ended. Masumoto became director of state planning and Agsalud became administrative director under newly elected Governor John Waihee around January 1987. Sumida took a job at the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR) a short time later.

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H.B. 1741 and H.B. 1665 also had considerable intrinsic support within the legislature itself. In a long and thoughtful letter published in the Honolulu Star-Bulletin seven months before the 1986 session began, Representative Jim Shon, who signed both bills, took up the banner of the "army of future greatness" and defended the University's autonomy as well as its international, research, and graduate missions. In calling for immediate action, Shon acknowledged that "the University of Hawaii is in trouble. Faculty morale is low, research moneys have diminished, and the number of graduate assistantships falls far short of our needs."47 Getting H.B. 1665 through the 1986 legislature was a great victory for Al Simone, Jim Shon, and the "army of future greatness," but it was certainly not the end of the RTRF war. On the contrary, if Yogi Berra were your narrator, he would probably insist that while budgeting is like a game of baseball because "it ain't over 'til it's over," it is also unlike a game of baseball because "it ain't ever over." We have seen this feature already in the cases of the GA stipend increase and the Summer Session special fund, where persistence and vigilance are the main requisites for success, and it is especially true in regard to the RTRF. For one thing, the University's overhead return is a salient target that comes before the legislature in some form or other virtually every year. Not only is the entry large, but it appears on the income side of the ledger. This means that claims made against it, though they reduce state revenue and have the same effect as expenditures, are usually not counted against the state's expenditure ceiling. It also means that raids on the overhead return are most likely to occur when income projections are weak and the ceiling is low. In addition, there is a widespread misunderstanding of the purpose of RTRF by people in government who are geared to spending state revenues for human services rather than investing them for future gain. My office became increasingly reluctant to initiate overhead legislation after several of our brave forays ended in rout. In each case, we were barely able to retain the 50 percent we already had. Two measures that others pushed through were an amendment to deposit 4 percent of the total overhead reimbursement into the existing "discoveries and inventions revolving fund" and an amendment to deposit 12 percent into a newly created "housing assistance revolving fund." These changes are recorded as Act 297 of the Regular Session of 1991.48 The discoveries and inventions revolving fund was originally created by Act 40 of the Regular Session of 1988 to support innovation, research commercialization, and the patenting, copyrighting, licensing, and marketing of discoveries, inventions, and technologies developed at the University.49 In effect, it permitted the University's newly established Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development (OTTED) to function as a quasi-business activity. The person most responsible for the discoveries

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and inventions revolving fund was OTTED Director Dan Ishii, a former student body president at Manoa, a former administrative assistant to Governor George Ariyoshi, and a former regent. Dan Ishii had already been all these things and was only thirty-six years old when he was first hired as Al Simone's special assistant for technology transfer and economic development in 1987. 50 The housing assistance revolving fund was the brain child of Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii and Vice Chairman of the Board of Regents Roy Takeyama. As discussed in the previous chapter, the $1.2 million per year that went into this fund from indirect cost reimbursements was only one part of a more comprehensive faculty housing assistance program.51 The ability of Ishii and of Horii and Takeyama to create revolving funds is indicative of their enormous political power. Indeed, they were three of the most politically influential people associated with the University at the time their revolving funds were created. And although the respective 4 percent and 12 percent liens they established against the University's overhead reimbursements have lapsing clauses causing them to terminate at the end of FY 1996, 48 my guess is that both will be extended. There were also many attacks on the RTRF within the University. Barry Raleigh, dean of the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST), was a particularly daunting and relentless antagonist. His primary objective was to gain control of all the overhead collected on SOEST's grants and contracts. Failing that, he wanted at least to control all the RTRF associated with SOEST. One example of Dean Raleigh's many thrusts was a memorandum to me dated May 4, 1992. After referring to the 50 percent that traditionally goes to faculty as "your discretionary funds," he said, "The fundamental problem is that it is your office's discretion over money earned by SOEST scientists that prevents me and my Directors and Chairs from exercising appropriate managerial control over the discretionary funds."52 I was deeply hurt by Dean Raleigh's reference to "your discretionary funds." He made it sound as if I had misappropriated funds that rightfully belonged to SOEST scientists. Instead, the half of the RTRF that traditionally went to faculty on all campuses was distributed by an open and competitive system of peer review. The system was established by the University and approved by the governor long before I became a vice president. If Raleigh had his way, the peer-review system would be abolished and that portion of the RTRF that went to SOEST scientists would henceforth be controlled by the dean. Administrators are not supposed to cry out when they have been wounded in battle, nor may they publicly accuse one another of foul play. I, therefore, couched my formal response in technical terms, beginning

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with the observation that overhead is not "earned by SOEST scientists," but is rather a reimbursement to the State of Hawaii for various services the state has provided. Strictly speaking, RTRF is not "returned overhead" but "seed money" the state has chosen voluntarily to invest in research and training activities. That RTRF is set at a certain percentage of the indirect costs recovered does not alter the fact that those recoveries belong to the State of Hawaii. I ended by pointing out that the RTRF is a systemwide account created by the legislature, and the formula for distribution is set by the governor in consultation with representatives of the University.53 Raleigh's allegation that I was frittering away money that should have gone to SOEST scientists was also unfounded from another point of view. An analysis done by Director of Research Moheb Ghali showed that SOEST faculty were highly successful in open competition with their colleagues in other units and that, while SOEST generated 35 percent of the overhead collected in FY 1990-1991, it received 43 percent of the overhead returned.54 Raleigh's unwillingness to accept Ghali's statistics merely underscored the fact that the real issue for him was control. He did not want RTRF to go directly to his faculty, and he did not want to share the governance of the RTRF with the University Research Council or with other administrators. Dean Raleigh renewed his attack on the RTRF when Paul Yuen became interim president and again when Ken Mortimer was appointed president. In these efforts, Raleigh solicited the support of legislators, regents, and the president without my prior knowledge. Since the dean of SOEST reported to the vice president for research and graduate education, this was a clear violation of standard administrative practice. Dean Raleigh and I also had different views concerning the role of SOEST within the University. My notion was a kind of noblesse oblige, where it was the duty of SOEST and big science in general to lift up the whole institution. Dean Raleigh, on the other hand, tried to distance his unit from the rest, believing perhaps that they were dragging SOEST down. In our debate over RTRF, this was reflected in Raleigh's reluctance to share "money earned by SOEST scientists" with other members of the academic community, some of whom were in disciplines where extramural grants and contracts are practically nonexistent. A person who was successful in getting a sizable piece of the RTRF was Ralph Horii. As the University's vice president for finance and operations, Horii was in a position to cut off the RTRF at any time, and he chose to exercise this prerogative the moment Al Simone departed. The vehicle was a memorandum from Interim President Paul Yuen to me dated July 31, 1992. Imagine my shock and consternation when I learned, after the fact, that Horii had withheld $3.1 million of what should have been a $5.5 million allocation in order to cover legal fees, audit costs, possible reductions in overhead rates for FY 1991, FY 1992, and FY 1993, and possible disallowances in federal grants and contracts for these and prior years.53

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Director for Research Moheb Ghali, my assistant Nancy Brown, and I met with Yuen on August 3, 1992, to bring our concerns to his attention. It was obvious to us that Yuen was not familiar with the issues involved and had signed the July 31 memo, which was written by Horii, without understanding all of its ramifications. Such was the power of Horii and the "local Hawaiian administrators" at this point in time, and such was my weakness as the only remaining "bona fide academic" on the University Executive Council. We did have two arguments on our side as we tried to mitigate the damage. The first was Governor Waihee's "warm body" policy, which prohibited state agencies, such as the University, from terminating employees in response to our looming financial crisis. The second was the fact that most of the RTRF had already been committed, much of it to continue paying the salaries of local people. Ralph Horii and Board of Regents' Secretary Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu were furious when they learned that most of the RTRF was beyond their grasp, and they vented their anger by criticizing the way the RTRF was being managed. At fault, they said, were people like Dean Raleigh, who were using their RTRF to hire secretaries, technicians, and other support staff the University had failed to provide. By implication, I was also at fault for letting them do so. In the end, Horii had to settle for $1.3 million that had not yet been committed from the FY 1992-1993 account, plus $400,000 that was left over from previous years. Another $1 million was subtracted from the RTRF to cover the growing shortfall in general funds allocated to pay the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH) management fee. This left faculty with about half the RTRF they should have been awarded in FY 1992-1993. In a subsequent thrust, Horii managed to have written into the Waihee budget for BI 1993-1995 respective RTRF transfers of $3.5 million in FY 1993-1994 and $1.7 million in FY 1994-1995. These transfers were to be used to purchase a new computerized accounting system, but fortunately they did not survive the legislative process. At no time did Vice President Horii suggest taxing either Dan Ishii's discoveries and inventions revolving fund or his own housing assistance revolving fund. In the 1993 legislative session, three bills were introduced that would have increased the amount of the RTRF (H.B. 192, H.B. 1709, and S.B. 1150); one was introduced that pertained to Horii's housing assistance revolving fund (S.B. 333); and six were introduced that would have abolished the RTRF altogether (H.B. 35, H.B. 628, H.B. 994, H.B. 1429, S.B. 243, and S.B. 842). 56 This plethora reflects the "frenzy and excitement" of the legislative process; the wide range of possible outcomes, once the process is triggered; the fact that budget wars are never over; and the reason my office became so reluctant to bring the RTRF to the legislature's atten-

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tion. The only RTRF bill that passed both houses in 1993, H.B. 192, was strongly supported by the University and later vetoed by Governor Waihee.

The University of Hawaii-West Oahu It is remarkable feature of the standard page that it can support, with equal ease, depictions—both written and visual—of objects larger than galactic clusters and smaller than hydrogen atoms. So appealing is ordinary paper as a leveling device that it has been used for decades in strategic plans and organization charts to demonstrate, for example, that the University of Hawaii is "a complex system encompassing diverse, constituent units with unique yet equally important missions,'"3 "a system of heterogeneous but equally important units that have diverse missions but common goals," 57 and a "three-legged stool." 58 Stretching the imagination furthest is the notion, proclaimed incessantly for more than two decades, that the University of Hawaii-West Oahu is on an "equal footing with Manoa." 59 The proof is that both show up on UH organization charts as standard boxes on a standard page. Tracing the history of these boxes, one can verify that since Dick Kosaki was appointed the first chancellor of West Oahu in 1970, both campuses have sometimes had their own chancellors and sometimes not. 60 Minor differences notwithstanding, it is politically correct in Hawaii to give West Oahu and Manoa equal status in executive councils, commencement addresses, and budget hearings. West Oahu's "equally important mission" is bolstered by a splendid mission statement: The University of Hawaii-West Oahu provides baccalaureate degree programs in the liberal arts and professional studies, targeting the communities of West Oahu, Maui, and Kauai. It stresses innovative programs designed to meet the rapidly expanding educational needs of both recent high school graduates and non-traditional students. It emphasizes quality teaching in small classes, offers a wide selection of courses and schedules them during the day, evening, and weekend. A major goal of the institution is to nurture lifelong learning, thus enabling students to pursue career-related education coupled with the values, ideas, and challenges of the liberal arts.61 Though it won many battles in a war fought with words, boxes, and mission statements, the army of West Oahu is still moiling in its barracks. For more than a decade, this much maligned fighting unit has remained merely "an upper division college located in temporary buildings on the parking lot of Leeward Community College." 61 Hardly anything changed in 1989 when the Board of Regents expanded West Oahu to a four-year campus; it was still de facto "an upper division college located in tempo-

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rary buildings on the parking lot of Leeward Community College" five years later.61 Generals came and went; Ralph Miwa succeeded Dick Kosaki in 1975; Ed Kormondy succeeded Ralph Miwa in 1986; and Ken Perrin became the fourth West Oahu chancellor in 1993-60 All were capable leaders, yet in spite of their best efforts, West Oahu had only twenty-six faculty members and 692 students in the Fall of 1992 and was, therefore, smaller than many Manoa departments.28 It is not surprising, in a war fought with words and boxes, that the foremost weapon proved to be collective mendacity. How can anyone possibly believe that twenty-six faculty members and 692 students garrisoned in a parking lot are just as important as 2,438 faculty and 19,865 students engaged in teaching, research, and community service on the Manoa campus? Or, saying this another way, why aren't twenty-six faculty members and 692 students selected at random from Manoa just as important as twenty-six faculty members and 692 students who happen to be stationed at West Oahu? And if they are just as important on a per capita basis, what about the rest of Manoa's faculty and students? I also fault a system of university governance in which bad decisions are made because academic leaders are constantly being harassed by politicians to build yet another campus; in which academic leaders spend much of their time massaging data and inventing needs in order to provide these politicians with the post hoc justifications they require; and in which academic leaders who ignore political persuasion and focus strictly on educational necessities and values are considered to be hopelessly narrow and naive. Of course, the real reason the army of West Oahu has been confined to its Leeward barracks for so many years is that it had no better place to go. Recalling the "territorial imperative," we may view the faculty and students of West Oahu as refugees of their long war and state categorically that they will have no future and no respect until they find their promised land.62 West Oahu's need for a campus of its own was also clearly recognized by the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC), which is the University's accrediting commission. WASC first granted West Oahu candidacy for accreditation in June 1977, and this was extended in June 1979. Full accreditation status was granted in February 1981 on the understanding that a new campus was about to materialize. When nothing happened, a warning was issued in March 1989, stating that West Oahu's status as a fully accredited institution was in jeopardy unless substantial progress could be demonstrated within three years.60 The progress report submitted by Chancellor Kormondy in February 1992 mentioned the addition of a third portable building, additions to the instructional time provided in the weekend college program, improvements in library and computing services, an increase in student services, the

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completion of an Academic Development Plan for the 1991-1997 time period, an expansion of the faculty to help meet the needs of a growing student body, and a reduction of faculty teaching loads from four courses per semester to three. Costly as these items were, they did not address the fundamental issue WASC had raised. 63 Consideration of various sites began as early as 1967, when the consulting firm of Healt, Hobson, and Associates recommended establishment of a four-year college somewhere in Central Oahu on 500 acres of land, with the campus to be developed into a full university as quickly as possible. In January 1976, the first classes were offered as after-work courses in three high schools in Leeward and Central Oahu, and later that same year, the Board approved the lease of facilities in Aiea to offer day and evening classes. The migration to Leeward took place in 1981.64 The Board of Regents committed to the development of a full fouryear campus in March 1989 and renamed West Oahu College the University of Hawaii-West Oahu. In March 1992, the Board approved a seven-year academic development plan, and in July 1993, the consulting firm of DPD Associates, Inc., reported the findings of a survey and evaluation that identified seven possible sites for a permanent campus. After holding five public meetings at various locations in Central and Leeward Oahu, the Board selected a permanent site on December 9, 1993.64 Governor John Waihee announced the state would give the University 500 acres in Kapolei on March 3, 1994. Waihee said the key to the new agreement was a gift of 200 acres of sugar cane land to the state from the Campbell Estate—183 acres bordering the state land in Kapolei, and a 17-acre sliver that will be part of the West Oahu campus. The Campbell Estate, with its extensive landholdings in Ewa, could benefit from having a major college campus in the area. State Planning Director Harold Masumoto said the 200 acres would help the state meet requests for land in the area, for example, from the Department of Hawaiian Home Lands. . . . UH President Kenneth Mortimer said it may be the turn of the century before buildings go up at the campus site. But the new school will relieve pressure at Manoa campus and Leeward Community College.65 In reporting on this fourth and final example of a budget war, I have said very little about the University's interactions with the legislature and the community. In part, this is because I was not privy to them and can only imagine the struggles that must have ensued over the last quarter century. Even more important is the fact that this particular war is just beginning. As the West Oahu campus is built up over the next fifty or more

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years, its share of the CIP budget may exceed 50 percent at certain times, and its share of the operating budget may grow from its present 0.6 percent to well over 10 percent, mostly at the expense of Manoa. No doubt there will be budget battles that will make those already fought by West Oahu look like mere skirmishes. My personal hope is that the "army of future greatness" will survive these encounters and regain a reasonable balance and accommodation with the now ascendant "army of creature comforts."

7 The Pursuit of Excellence: Going For the Gold

ese institutions were classified as Research Universities I by the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. Most offer a full range of baccalaureate programs, are committed to graduate education through the doctoral degree, and give a high priority to research.' —The Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching

In the previous chapter, I asserted that Al Simone achieved his greatest personal triumph in the budgetary realm. Through a mixture of luck, hard work, and constant attention to the bottom line, he was able to increase state funding for the University at an average compounded rate of 9-6 percent per year, more than doubling it in just eight years. To introduce this chapter, I would argue that the rapid increase in extramural (mostly federal) funding, averaging 16.2 percent per year and totaling 146 percent over his last six years,2 was the greatest achievement of the Simone administration. I make this distinction between the President and his entourage because, while Simone was deeply and personally involved in raising state funds and knew by heart every item in the regents' budget, he depended upon dozens of research administrators and thousands of scholars to raise extramural funds. So numerous and disparate were the University's grants and contracts that no one, not even the vice president for research and

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graduate education, could claim to be familiar with all of them. In fact, hardly a month went by when I did not learn of some new thing being done in some exotic place by someone I had never heard of. For reasons discussed in the previous chapter, the rapid growth in federal funding lagged behind the rapid growth in state funding by about two years. It also persisted for a couple of years after the rapid growth in state funding ceased. They were, however, closely related. Both federal and state funding owed much to the support of Governor John Waihee and the rapid rise in the state's economy, and both thrived under Al Simone. By eliminating one layer of the University's bureaucracy, adopting a fluidteam approach to management, instilling a climate of trust and optimism, delegating authority and responsibility, and diminishing controls and interference, Simone succeeded in fostering initiative and entrepreneurship across the system. Arguably, it was the intangible aspects of Simone's leadership that produced the most tangible results. From this point of view, we may regard the extraordinary increases in state and federal funding as facets of a single achievement and assert that together they provide the best and final measure of Simone's performance. Of course, there is a downside to decentralized authority and responsibility, which is why reasonable people still disagree about the wisdom of Simone's management style and the balance he struck between autonomy and accountability. Toward the end of his tenure, the pendulum swung sharply in the other direction, restoring the advantage to those who believed in controlling transactions. Regulators and centralizers began attacking universities across the country. In Hawaii, the assault by the federal Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA) was particularly destructive, and it was the single event that, more than any other, precipitated Simone's resignation. The first two sections of this chapter will describe how the University and its Research Corporation (RCUH) were organized to carry out extramurally funded projects during the Simone years. The third section recounts how this organization was challenged by the DCAA and found to be inadequate. The final section follows the money trail of the Pacific Ocean Science and Technology building, a joint project that eventually attracted $26 million from the U.S. Congress and nearly $22 million in matching funds from the state legislature.

Manoa: The Carnegie I Research University The importance of undergraduate education to the people of Hawaii is recognized by everyone. What is much less clear is why the University is so deeply involved in graduate education, research, and extension service. Why does a state with just over one million people support a campus that has the distinction of being among those seventy institutions in America

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classified as a "Research University I" by the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching? 1 Why is the University of Hawaii one of only five institutions or consortia in America with all three Land Grant, Sea Grant, and Space Grant designations? Why are UH faculty working in Laos and Lesotho, and why does the University have more than seventy-five formal academic agreements worldwide? Why is UH routinely ranked among the top ten or fifteen American universities in terms of federal funding for international programs? One of the reasons Hawaii has a major research campus is because this possibility is intrinsic in the gifts of nature, geography, and culture that characterize the state and the region. Some examples are Mauna Kea and Haleakala, tropical climate and soils, active volcanoes, the Pacific Ocean, cultural and biological diversity, and unique ecosystems. These gifts are so unusual and so outstanding that they attract and challenge scholars the world over. Hawaii could have chosen to be merely an exotic field station for investigators from the U.S. mainland, but instead it has become not only an active participant, but also the leader in its own exploration and advancement. A second engine that drove the State of Hawaii to cultivate a Carnegie I Research University was public need. As the economic development of the state has come increasingly to depend on knowledge and technology, the University has also grown to become an essential partner with government, business, and industry to conduct basic and applied research in numerous key areas such as agriculture, aquaculture, astronomy, space sciences, biotechnology, conservation biology, geophysics, volcanology, marine technology, ocean resources, renewable energy, and travel industry management. In addition to its central role in developing the economy of Hawaii, the University is deeply involved in complex issues affecting the quality of life. These are often associated with growth and economic development, and they become more challenging as growth and economic development continue. Again, the University is increasingly called upon to cooperate with state agencies in solving problems and establishing programs and policies in environmental, medical, and social areas. These categories include the prevention and treatment of AIDS, cancer, and tropical diseases; earthquake, tsunami, and hurricane prediction; coastal zone and exclusive economic zone (EEZ) management; preservation of endangered species; energy needs; industrial relations; Pacific relations, networking, and communication; and youth and family research. The fourth and most important contribution the research and extension units of the University make to public need is training the people of Hawaii in these and other areas that are critical to the economy, social health, and well-being of the state. Faculty members create new knowledge through their research. They then transmit this knowledge to their

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undergraduate and graduate students, who translate this knowledge into tangible and intangible benefits for the community. So fundamental is the research mission of Manoa that special entities have been created to foster it. One example is the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG), which was established by the territorial legislature in 1957. According to the legislation that enables it, "The institute shall undertake basic research and training in geophysics, and shall disseminate knowledge of geophysics affecting Hawaii, and to the extent its facilities permit, may serve to apply the results of its research to geophysical problems in the State."3 The Institute for Astronomy (IFA), previously a division of HIG, was created by the Board of Regents in 1969 to conduct research in astronomy and astrophysics and assist in graduate training. It operates observatories on Haleakala, Maui, for solar, satellite, and lunar ranging studies. It also conducts planetary, stellar, extragalactic, and infrared studies on Mauna Kea on the Big Island using telescopes operated by the University as well as by Canada, France, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and other countries.4 The Pacific Biomedical Research Center (PBRC) was created by the state legislature in 1962. It conducts interdisciplinary research on cell structure and function, Hawaiian evolutionary biology, neuro-behavioral biology, retrovirology, biotechnology, and molecular endocrinology. It maintains core facilities in molecular biology and electron microscopy and fosters undergraduate research for minority students (e.g., Minority Access to Research Careers, Minority Biomedical Research Support, and the Minority High School Research Apprenticeship Program). PBRC maintains the Kewalo Laboratory, the Bekesy Laboratory of Neurobiology, the Behavioral Biology Laboratory, the Retrovirology Laboratory, and the Hawaiian Evolutionary Biology Laboratory. It also serves as the locus for the Research Centers in Minority Institutions (RCMI) program conducting basic, epidemiological, and clinical research on HIV and HTLV1, as well as research on native Hawaiian health problems. 4 Entities such as HIG, IFA, and PBRC are referred to collectively as "organized research units." According to Board of Regents' Policy, An organized research unit (ORU) is a Board of Regents' approved extra-departmental administrative structure which provides a locus for faculty, staff and students to engage in focused, collaborative research and training activities. ORUs exist at the level of a School or a College, are supported in part by the Organized Research Budget, and are expected to generate significant grant and contract funding.5 Other examples of organized research units at the University of Hawaii are the Hawaii Institute for Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources

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(HITAHR), the Hawaii Institute of Marine Biology (HIMB), the Lyon Arboretum, the Social Science Research Institute (SSRI), the Water Resources Research Center (WRRC), the Industrial Relations Center (IRC), the Cancer Research Center of Hawaii (CRCH), the Hawaii Natural Energy Institute (HNEI), the Curriculum Research and Development Group (CRDG), and the Sea Grant College Program. The Environmental Center is attached to the Water Resources Research Center, and the Center for Youth Research and the Oral History Project are located within the Social Science Research Institute.6 In addition to these "Board of Regents approved" structures, there are approximately 100 extra-departmental entities that call themselves institutes, centers, programs, offices, units, groups, laboratories, galleries, services, partnerships, consortia, and the like. Some are larger than several schools or colleges, while others are little more than the letterhead some faculty member has commissioned for his or her private stationery.7 The focal point for extramurally funded research and training projects is the Office of Research Administration (ORA). ORA was established by the Board of Regents in 19277 to assist faculty in processing applications for extramural grants and contracts; to maintain a record of all active projects; to serve as a liaison for the University with federal, state, and private funding agencies; and to provide administrative services, general supervision, coordination, and encouragement in support of faculty efforts.8 In the performance of these functions, ORA serves as a single point of contact between the University and all funding agencies. Proposals for funding are reviewed by ORA for compliance with University, state, and federal policies, for appropriateness, and for possible duplication or collaboration among units. As a single point of contact, ORA centralizes the necessary information on proposals and awards for the entire system. In this manner it guarantees the completeness and accuracy of the reports made each month to the Board of Regents by the vice president for research and graduate education. 8 ORA also hosts faculty workshops and training sessions on how to obtain extramural grants and contracts, and it oversees a number of important committees and services. Among those mandated by the federal government are the Committee on Human Studies, the Biological Safety Committee, the University Ethics Committee, the Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee (LACUC), the Animal Care Advisory Committee (ACAC), and the Laboratory Animal Service (LAS).8 The director for research co-chairs the University Patent and Copyright Committee (PCC), along with the Director for Technology Transfer and Economic Development. The PCC is charged with all decisions and actions on inventions and materials that might be subject to copyright, and it also makes policy recommendations and suggests procedural changes.8 The University Research Council (URC) is another ORA committee. Its primary function is to award 30 percent of the Research and Training

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Revolving Fund (RTRF) to faculty members to start new projects (10 percent), to match extramural equipment grants (10 percent), and to travel to professional meetings (10 percent). The URC also participates in the allocation of certain institutional grants and awards, and in the development of research policies for the University.8 ORA is the financial manager for the entire RTRF.8 It processes all of the awards and prepares a report for the Legislature at the end of each fiscal year detailing all of its expenditures. 9 An important part of this report is an analysis of the benefits that have been accrued. The largest category of RTRF is the Facilitating Services Fund, which amounts to 50 percent of the fund and is returned to the units in proportion to their indirect costs recoveries. The smallest category, which amounted to only 2 percent, is the Research Relations Fund. This is awarded by the director of research relations and the Research Relations Committee to support scholarly activity in areas such as the arts and humanities where extramural funding is rarely available. The Research Relations Fund was created by the Office of the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education (OVPRGE) in 1986 after the RTRF was increased from 30 to 50 percent of the indirect cost recovery.10 Without changing the dollars allocated to ORA for RTRF administration, it became feasible to reduce ORA's portion from 5 to 3 percent and to assign the difference to the Office of Research Relations (ORR). The remaining 15 percent of the RTRF comprises the Project Development Fund, which is distributed by OVPRGE. Its purpose is to encourage new endeavors, to provide start-up funds for new faculty, and to permit the vice president to respond to unexpected problems and opportunities as they arise. As the overall manager and steward of the RTRF, the vice president has the financial resources necessary to be a successful broker and investor in the University's research and training market. The vice president is strongly supported in this endeavor by the system of RTRF categories, managers, and committees already described. Although the RTRF had grown from $200,000 in FY 1974-1975 11 to more than $5 million by FY 1991-1992, the University was still left with far more opportunities than it had the means to exploit. The positive side of being "opportunity rich" and "capital poor" is that nearly every investment the University makes in research and training bears fruit. The negative side is that there are still many good ideas and projects that go unfunded. In addition to accountability for ORA, ORR, and all the University's organized research units, the vice president for research and graduate education has specific line responsibilities for the Graduate Division, the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST), and Industrial Security. The University's Space Grant program was initiated by OVPRGE, and its Land Grant, Sea Grant, and Space Grant programs report

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through OVPRGE. More generally, the vice president is responsible for overall leadership, planning, administration, and management of research and graduate programs across the system. Surprisingly, although OVPRGE is partially or fully responsible for nearly one-third of the funding for the University of Hawaii system, it is a relatively recent innovation. To enhance research and training activities, it was included in the reorganization that abolished the Manoa Chancellor's office on November 15, 1985.12 It began operations in January, 1986, and it took its final shape when its formal organization chart was signed by President Simone in September 11, 1986. By creating OVPRGE, the University of Hawaii recognized that research is central to its mission, and that research and graduate education are inseparable in the context of a Carnegie I Research University. In 1981, the Manoa Faculty Senate had debated this very issue and had expressed its strong support for an Office of the Vice Chancellor for Research and Graduate Education, which was then being proposed. So convinced were the faculty senators of the inseparability of these two functions that they actually voted thirty-four to three that Graduate Education should be placed under the proposed Vice Chancellor for Research rather than under the then existing Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs. Similarly, in a memorandum dated September 13, 1985, members of the Research Advisory Council (RAC) informed President Simone that they had voted unanimously in favor of creating the position of vice president for research and graduate education. In their endorsements of these respective offices and titles, both the Manoa Faculty Senate and the Research Advisory Council argued that the word "research" should precede the words "graduate education" to indicate that the vice chancellor or vice president should focus on the former while the dean of the Graduate Division should continue to focus on the latter.13 RCUH: The University's Research Corporation Although extramural awards are received by ORA and reported to the Board of Regents by the vice president for research and graduate education, they are immediately transferred to another office under another executive for financial management. Oddly, faculty have two choices: they can either forward their projects to the Contracts and Grants Management Office (CGMO), which is under the University's vice president for finance and operations, or they can send them to the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH), which is headed by an executive director who reports to a separate board of directors.14 The existence of two distinct offices, both under the University and both charged with managing the University's contracts and grants, is a symptom of a much larger problem. One aspect of this problem is that the state government doesn't work very well in Hawaii. Another is that the fed-

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WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

eralgovernment doesn't work very well in Washington. These parallel circumstances must be well-known because both Governor John Waihee and President Bill Clinton have acknowledged them. Indeed, "reinventing government" was the central theme of Governor Waihee's Turn-of-the-Year VII Conference, which featured noted author Ted Gaebler at Manoa, August 5-6, 1993-15 Among the reasons given by David Osborne and Gaebler why modern governments don't work very well are their sluggish centralized bureaucracies, their preoccupation with rules and regulations, and their hierarchical chains of command—all of which are salient in the University's management of federal grants and contracts. In addition, Osborne and Gaebler believe that governments have become bloated, wasteful, and ineffective. Governments simply do not function well in a rapidly changing, information-rich, knowledge-intensive society and economy.15 Whereas Osborne and Gaebler have given a historical argument that modern governments became ineffective because they developed during the industrial era and are not well-suited to the knowledge age, 15 1 believe governments have a natural tendency to become ineffective because they are compromises between efficiency and control. More precisely, governments around the world and throughout history have tended to increase control, both internally and over their citizenry. They often go beyond the point that they don't work well, and usually stop just short of the point that they don't work at all. Control is the objective, not only of many people in government, but also of many people who view government as an instrument for solving their personal problems and satisfying their personal needs. In the rapidly changing, information-rich, knowledge-intensive society described by Osborne and Gaebler,15 there are indeed a lot more players, technologies, and variables. Many individuals and private enterprises are flexible enough to cope with the burden of two governments that don't work very well. Others profit from the situation, living off government largesse or playing one government against the other. However, because the state government in Hawaii and the federal government in Washington are both very inflexible, they often have difficulty coping with one another. This is especially apparent in the management of the University's federal grants and contracts, where the flaws of the two sovereignties overlap. When nothing can be accomplished without breaking one set of rules or the other, it is usually the weaker bureaucracy that yields. In this case, the State of Hawaii yielded by creating a mechanism called RCUH that permits the University to legally violate state law. Evidently this was easier than admitting that state law is flawed and truly reinventing it. The result of this artifice is that CGMO and RCUH, which both manage contracts and grants for the University, follow two different sets of

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rules. In particular, CGMO must conform to the same rules as most other state agencies in Hawaii. On the other hand, RCUH has been exempted by the legislature from various state laws that are so impractical and inflexible that the University would not be able to compete successfully for many types of extramural grants and contracts if it were required to follow them. The rules in question pertain mainly to the hiring of personnel and the handling and disbursing of moneys by the various branches of state government. This may sound like a little, but it is actually a lot. In fact, people and money are huge topics in state law, and whole HRS chapters are involved. RCUH has been granted the following specific HRS exceptions: 1. Sections 36-27 and 36-30, relating to special fund reimbursements to the state general fund; 2. Sections 103-22 and 103-42, relating to advertising for bids and purchases to be made in Hawaii whenever public moneys are expended; 3. Chapter 76, relating to civil service; 4. Chapter 77, relating to compensation; and 5. Section 78-1, relating to public employment. 14 Although the purview of RCUH's enabling legislation centers on "conducting scientific investigations and research," it is broad enough to cover "all other branches of learning" and, arguably, all other activities of the University: The objects for which this corporation is organized are to promote all educational, scientific, and literary pursuits by encouraging, initiating, aiding, developing, and conducting scientific investigations and research in the physical, biological, and social sciences, and humanities, and all other branches of learning by encouraging and aiding in the education and training of persons for the conduct of such investigations, research, and study, by furnishing of means, methods, and agencies by which the investigation, research, and study may be conducted, by assisting in the dissemination of knowledge by establishing, aiding, and maintaining professorships, or other staff positions, fellowships, scholarships, publications, lectures, by other means to make the benefits of investigations, research, and study available to the public; and by any and all other acts reasonably designed to promote the above purposes in the interest of promoting the general welfare of the people of the State.14 Of course, the whole University would like to be free of burdensome governmental controls and operate more like the RCUH. There is no doubt UH would be more efficient and more effective if it had such flexibility.

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Indeed, this is one of those instances where the compromise between efficiency and control can readily be demonstrated and studied. Thus, although there is nothing in the enabling legislation to prevent the University from service-ordering all its contracts and grants to RCUH, the two institutions have "voluntarily" signed the "Internal Agreement by and between the University of Hawaii and the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii," severely limiting this function.16 The main purpose of the internal agreement is to assure the legislature and various special interest groups in Hawaii that the University is not being any more efficient or effective than is absolutely necessary to manage extramural projects within the time frame contracted for them. Only by imposing such controls on itself could the University hope to retain, for its most critical projects and services, all the flexibility RCUH can provide.16 The internal agreement allows two ways of evoking RCUH. The first is to "service-order" projects, and the second is to "purchase-order" services. The University can service-order these types of projects to RCUH: a. Projects involving private organizations; b. Projects in which there are unusual procurement problems, such as for major items of special equipment or for complex equipment construction; c. Projects in which much of the operation will lie outside the state; d. Projects in which there are personnel problems that might be handled more effectively outside the state or University personnel system; e. Projects in which there are a substantial number of ship operations, technical shop-type operations, computer services, and the like; f. Projects involving research facility management where any combination of the previously mentioned problems exists; or g. Projects in which other special problems are present that may be better resolved through the services of the RCUH.16 The University can purchase-order these types of services to RCUH: a. Chartering vessels; b. Procuring special items of research equipment; or c. Hiring or providing the services of technical personnel such as consultants, instrument makers, technicians, draftsmen, research aides, and computer specialists, (particularly where the need is urgent and the period of time relatively short).16 Although RCUH was created in 1965 to resolve certain governmental conflicts between efficiency and control, these issues have remained an

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important part of the RCUH environment all these years. The reason, as I have previously opined, is that such conflicts are generally inherent in governments and hence are never truly settled. Three examples were particularly salient during the Simone era: the erosion of state general funds to support RCUH, the attack of the Hawaii Government Employees Association (HGEA), and the probe conducted by the federal Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA). The first two are covered in the remainder of this section, and the third is the subject of the following section. Not only did the DCAA investigation precipitate Simone's resignation, but it also threatened the very existence of the RCUH. Table 7.117,18 is a summary of the University's research (RES) and nonresearch (NON-RES) extramural funding (excluding non-competitive U.S. Department of Agriculture awards) from FY 1982-1983 through FY 1 9 9 3 1994. Also shown are the dollars and percentages of the University's business going to RCUH. Although Simone left UH early in FY 1992-1993, he did have overall responsibility for preparing and defending the University's budget for that fiscal year. And because the rapid growth in extramural funding lagged behind the rapid growth in state funding by about two years, he is the president most logically associated with the rapid growth in extramural funding that began in FY 1987-1988 and persisted through FY 1993-1994. The management fee (FEE) paid to RCUH by the University from FY 1982-1983 through 1993-1994 is given in the second column of Table 7.2. 1718 The general funds (G FUNDS) budgeted to the University by the legislature for this purpose are given in column three. The shortfall in the RCUH fee was paid with RTRF (R FUNDS), as shown in column four. The salient features of these data are as follows: 19 • The volume of business at UH rose from $52.4 million in FY 1986-1987 to $129.1 million in FY 1992-1993, an average rate of increase of 16.2 percent per year compounded over this six-year period. 2 Among the factors contributing to this high rate of increase were Al Simone's broad delegation of authority to Manoa deans and directors, and the legislature's decision 10 to increase the RTRF from 30 per cent to 50 percent of the indirect costs recovered by the University on extramural grants and contracts. Both of these events occurred in 1986, contributing to the increase in the RTRF gross from $2,199,150 in FY 1985-86 to $3,599,575 in FY 19861987. • One of the delegations implemented in 1986 was the transfer from ORA to deans and directors of the final decisionmaking authority to service-order projects and purchase-order services to RCUH. Following this delegation, the fraction of

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WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

the University's extramural funding that was service-ordered to RCUH increased from 45.4 percent (averaged over FY 19821983, FY 1983-1984, and FY 1984-1985) to 67.4 percent (averaged over FY 1987-1988, FY 1988-1989, FY 1989-1990, and FY 1990-1991). • RCUH accommodated this rapid expansion by adding personnel and equipment as necessary, and by passing the costs on to the University. No prior approval by the University was required. As a result, the RCUH management fee nearly tripled from $661,000 in FY 1986-1987 to $1,801,500 in FY 19921993- Because the general funds provided by the Legislature did not keep pace with the rapid increases in the RCUH management fee, a shortfall developed amounting to $926,500 in FY 1992-1993. • Beginning in FY 1990-1991, one-half of the shortfall in the RCUH management fee that was taken out of the Facilitating Services Fund (FSF) was prorated among the eight largest users of RCUH, while the remaining half was taken off the top of the non-FSF allocations. The decision to prorate meant, for the largest users, that RCUH was no longer free. This was the main reason for the sharp decrease in th e fraction of the University's business going to RCUH, which dropped from 66.2 percent in FY 1990-1991 to 48.7 percent in FY 1991-1992. Table 7.1. University of Hawaii Business Going to RCUH1718 (in millions of dollars or percentages) FY

RES

NON-RES

TOTAL

RCUH $

RCUH %

1982-1983

33.9

11.9

45.8

17.9

39.1

1983-1984

30.2

17.8

48.0

25.7

52.2

1984-1985

36.7

16.6

53.3

23.3

43.7

1985-1986*

35.8

18.2

54.0

25.6

47.4

1986-1987*

35.8

16.6

52.4

29.8

56.9

1987-1988*

39.4

22.1

61.5

40.3

65.5

1988-1989*

47.0

24.9

71.9

52.9

73.6

1989-1990*

49.4

35.0

84.4

54.3

64.3

1990-1991*

58.1

47.3

106.2

70.3

66.2

1991-1992*

61.7

58.5

120.2

58.5

48.7

1992-1993*

58.9

70.2

129.1

52.5

40.7

1993-1994

73.1

64.8

137.9

58.0

42.1

'Fiscal years for which A i Simone had overall responsibility for preparing and defending the University's budget.

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Table 7.2 Payment of the RCUH Management Fee17-18 FEE

G FUNDS

1982--1983

420,000

420,000

1983--1984

450,000

450,000

FY

R FUNDS

RTRF GROSS

RTRF NET

0

1,000,000

1,000,000

0

1,000,000

1,000,000

1984--1985

503,500

503,500

0

1,928,700

1,928,700

1985--1986*

632,000

632,000

0

2,199,150

2,199,150

1986--1987*

661,000

661,000

0

3,599,575

3,599,575

1987--1988*

695,000

695,000

0

3,801,788

3,801,788

1988--1989*

763,225

763,225

0

3,934,000

3,934,000

1989--1990*

958,885

758,770

200,115

5,328,000

5,127,885

1990--1991*

1,146,292

788,637

357,653

5,070,000

4,712,347

1991--1992*

1,581,670

1,118,191

463,479

5,295,000

4,831,521

1992--1993*

1,801,500

875,000

926,500

5,525,000

4,525,000

1993--1994

1,813,912

875,000

938,912

4,926,500

3,987,588

'Fiscal years for which Al Simone had overall responsibility for preparing and defending the University's budget.

Hidden in these data is the fact that CGMO did not adjust to the rapid expansion in extramural funding by adding personnel and/or by modernizing equipment. Presumably this would have required budgetary action by the legislature or, failing that, an internal reallocation of general funds by the University. Saying this another way, the burden of accommodating the rapid expansion in extramural funding that occurred during the Simone era was carried almost exclusively by ORA and RCUH, both of which more than doubled their volumes of business. The growing shortfall in state general funds allocated to pay the management fee w a s bound to discourage both the use of RCUH and the University's quest for extramural funds. While some found this disturbing, others were delighted. Indeed, there were many within the UH system w h o felt that research w a s growing too fast, that Manoa's diminishing share of the budget was not diminishing fast enough, and that the general funds needed to pay RCUH could be better used by other programs and campuses. Nor did the rapid increase in the volume of business conducted by RCUH escape the attention of Hawaii's labor leaders, w h o suspected the University w a s deliberately circumventing state civil service rules, University personnel policies, and various collective bargaining agreements. Obviously the University would have preferred to circumvent them if there were no impediments because these limits were all very restrictive and cumbersome compared to the RCUH personnel system. This is not treason

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WHO RUNS THE

UNIVERSITY?

on the part of the University, but merely another manifestation of the fundamental conflict between efficiency and control: In this case, those who were using RCUH wanted more of the former, and those who were limiting its use wanted more of the latter. Not only does RCUH have broad flexibility in hiring and firing employees, it can recruit them quickly and pay them higher salaries. The higher salaries are possible because, although the classifications and pay ranges are comparable, RCUH is not required to recruit at the entry level. RCUH can also offer retirement benefits after one year of eligible service, whereas the state requires ten years of eligible service before retirement is vested. Many RCUH employees are reluctant to apply for state-funded positions because they do not want to work for lower salaries, change retirement systems, or join a union. In some cases, non-union RCUH employees work side by side with union members who have similar duties and qualifications but different salaries and benefits. In other cases, general-funded positions have been purchase-ordered to RCUH because they could not be filled with suitable candidates recruited within the state's archaic civil service system or the University's rigid personnel system after several years of effort. Needless to say, these occurrences did not go unnoticed in a state that has been run by a single, labor-aligned party since the "Democratic revolution" of 1954.20 Hawaii requires most of its public employees to be covered by collective bargaining agreements and to pay union dues whether or not they choose to be union members, 21 and a full 33 percent of the civilian labor force in the state are union members. 22 In my opinion, the state is one of the most centralized, bureaucratic, and protectionist in the country. There were several reasons why the unions and the legislature paid very little attention to RCUH early in the Simone administration. The first was that the rapid increases in extramural funding and the concomitant rapid increases in the use of RCUH lagged behind the rapid increases in state funding by about two years. Furthermore, people conditioned by a decade of stagnation were slow to recognize that the growth that began in FY 1987-1988 was anything more than a temporary aberration. The second reason was a lack of understanding of RCUH, its relationship with UH, and extramurally funded activities in general. Lacking this understanding, the unions and the legislature were reluctant to mount an all-out assault for fear of damaging an esoteric mechanism that was bringing money and jobs to Hawaii. Indeed, the unions and the legislature have often demonstrated that they have the power to do great harm to the University, and the fundamental question has always been whether they would use it. A third reason, closely related to the second, was that the unions and the legislature weren't quite sure how to proceed. Looking this situation

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squarely in the eye, the 1992 legislature added to the General Appropriations Act a section providing that the UH president establish an ad hoc task force to review University procedures governing the use of RCUH to hire personnel to provide support services. A prominent feature of this provision was the explicit requirement that the task force include representatives of bargaining unit 8 (personnel of the University of Hawaii other than faculty), alias the HGEA.21,23 Meanwhile, the United Public Workers (UPW) of bargaining unit 1 (non-supervisory employees in blue collar positions) 21 were approaching the problem from a different angle. Their state director, Gary Rodrigues, was appointed to the RCUH Board by Governor John Waihee in July 1991, and was elected Chairman two years later. Rodrigues' predecessor as Chairman of the RCUH Board was Tom Yagi, who served two terms beginning in July 1991 and ending in June 1993. With eleven entries in Land and Power in Hawaii,20 Yagi must be considered a historical figure in the state's labor movement. Prior to joining the RCUH Board in July 1989, Yagi had previously served as a member of the State Land Board and as International Longshoremen's and Warehousemen's Union (ILWU) division director for Maui.24 He was awarded an Honorary Doctor of Humane Letters Degree by the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii in December 1992.25 The successive elections of Yagi and Rodrigues as chairmen of the board reflected both their leadership qualities and their service to the RCUH. As board members, they had helped to assure the labor community that the situation at RCUH was under control. They had also acquired a clear understanding of the requirements of federal research and training grants and contracts, and recognized that many of them could not be implemented without RCUH. Any loss of federal contracts and grants would translate into a loss of jobs at RCUH, which were all non-union, and ultimately of jobs in the community, some of which were in their bargaining units. Aware that action by the legislature was looming, Simone had already appointed an RCUH task force on March 27, 1992. The HGEA was represented by its executive director, Russell Okata. In his charge, Simone stated the fundamental issue quite bluntly: I want to make it absolutely clear that in requesting personnel actions from RCUH, no attempt is to be made to deliberately circumvent the collective bargaining agreement. Rather, I want to be assured that actions are undertaken in accordance with State and UH policies. These policies provide that RCUH is to be utilized only as necessary to implement efficient and effective hiring procedures and actions in order to assure that Federal research and training grants and contracts can be met in the time frame contracted for them.26

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The most revealing phrase in Simone's charge is "only as necessary." Once again, it is incumbent upon the University, like the rest of state government in Hawaii, to be no more efficient or effective than is absolutely necessary. The primary beneficiaries of this particular compromise between efficiency and control were the HGEA and, to a lesser extent, the UPW. The primary victims were the University and the people of Hawaii. The RCUH Task Force Report was a model of enlightened damage control. Even Russell Okata recognized that it would be impractical to require RCUH employees paid by ephemeral grants and contracts to join a union. There were, however, some thirty core staff with stable appointments, and there remained that embarrassing cohort of long-term, statef u n d e d e m p l o y e e s w h o s e p o s i t i o n s had, in d e s p e r a t i o n , b e e n service-ordered. Acknowledgment of the latter by the RCUH Task Force merely resulted in a benign recommendation that "appropriate changes be made in the existing University system and State Civil Service System to better serve [the University's] research and service mission."18 The 1994 legislature provided yet another example of the fact that the conflict between efficiency and control is never really over. House Bill (H.B.) 2882 and its companion, Senate Bill (S.B.) 2017, would have required that other state agencies wishing to use RCUH obtain prior approval of each request by the Board of Regents. These bills made no sense because other state agencies were already required to obtain the approval of the governor before establishing projects with RCUH. Furthermore, because regents are appointed by the governor, it would not be appropriate for them to review his decisions. Finally, the Board has neither the time nor the expertise to review dozens of such requests, all of which would be delayed by a minimum of one or two months if such a review were mandated by the legislature. Dr. Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda, the executive director of RCUH, and I testified against these bills at several house and senate hearings, but our views were largely ignored. Following our comments at the February 16, 1994, hearing of the Senate Committee on Higher Education, Culture, Arts, and Historic Preservation, Chairperson Eloise Tungpalan stated that she could not send S.B. 2017 forward because no one had shown up to testify in its favor. Her solution was to call a recess and contact HGEA. Chester Kunitake arrived a few minutes later and informed Tungpalan that he could not testify on S.B. 2017 without first discussing it with Russell Okata. Because Okata was out of town, Tungpalan kept the RCUH bill alive until he returned. At a hearing of the Senate Higher Education Committee held on March 16, 1994, Senator Tungpalan relegated H.B. 2882 to the end of an agenda that lasted more than three hours. By the time it came up for discussion, Dr. Matsuda had left for a dinner party he was hosting that evening, and the only remaining witnesses were Chester Kunitake and myself. After lis-

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tening to our testimony politely for a couple of minutes, Tungpalan informed us that she was deleting the clause requiring Board of Regents' approval of non-UH projects and adding a new clause requiring that RCUH employees be members of bargaining unit 89, which I later learned is yet another affiliate of HGEA. So much for the democratic process in Hawaii. Although it completely changed the substance of H.B. 2882, I was not given the opportunity to testify against the amendment, nor were there any observers of what happened other than Kunitake, a couple of committee staffers, and myself. In the hallway outside the hearing room, I asked Chester whether the Tungpalan amendment referred to all RCUH employees, which would have rendered RCUH impotent, or merely to the core staff. He said it referred to everyone. Obviously, Senator Tungpalan was getting her marching orders from other legislators, other members of the Democratic Party, or perhaps directly from HGEA. Being a graceful person, she had done what she had to do as politely and discreetly as possible. Confiding to Chester at the hearing, she had said her amendment was only a start, and there would be more to come in subsequent years. Later in the 1994 session, HGEA withdrew the amendment. The version of H.B. 2882 that finally passed merely added to Chapter 307, a section requiring that RCUH contracts with state agencies include such innocuous information as the termination date and the intent and purpose. DCAA: The Federal Audit Wars It is fitting to begin this section by recalling some of the issues developed earlier. In Chapter 3, for example, I contrasted the University's mission, which is teaching, research, and service, with various support activities such as planning, budgeting, and accounting. The pivotal document was A1 Simone's memo of August 28, 1985, which was never officially promulgated. In it he articulated his views on the primacy of the academics. In his words, "The job of the administrative staff (personnel, finance, etc.) is to support and facilitate the decisions made by the academic line."27 A commercial formulation of Simone's position might be that teaching, research, and service are primary activities comprising the University's product, whereas planning, budgeting, accounting, personnel, and finance are costly secondary activities that have no intrinsic value and are justifiable only to the extent that they support the primary mission. If the University were a business whose survival depended upon the efficient use of resources, it would naturally strive to enhance its product and reduce its costs. In Chapter 4, I compared Al Simone's management style and penchant for reorganization with the theory of horizontal tension developed

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by former University of Hawaii president Harlan Cleveland (1969-1974).28 Among the prominent issues that emerged in that context were Simone's fluid team approach versus vertical bureaucratic hierarchies, and his delegation of authority to deans and directors versus review by a central office. An important issue in Chapter 5 was autonomy for the University versus intervention by the governor and the legislature. Chapter 6 contrasted Simone's concern for enhancing the University's bottom line with his neglect of internal priorities designed merely to give one unit or another a bigger share of a fixed allocation. Chapter 6 also chronicled the struggle between "the army of future greatness" and "the army of creature comforts." Finally, in the previous sections of Chapter 7 I opined that governments don't work very well because they are compromises between efficiency and control. What we will see again in the remainder of this section is that these are all counterparts of national issues, and are intrinsic to administrations and governments in general. Thus a short summary of what follows is that during the Simone administration, the federal government moved in the direction of being less efficient and more controlling, of being less great and more comfortable, of doing less research and more accounting. With the University moving in the opposite direction under Simone, it is not surprising that a crisis arose in which one side or the other—in this case Simone and the University—had to yield. Before we become too deeply mired in the murky sump of contracts and grants management, controls, compliance, and federal disallowances, there is something I should note. After the expenditure of literally millions of state and federal dollars on auditing, not a single instance was uncovered where any individual or group was found to benefit personally from any of the infractions that were revealed. In the words of the accounting firm KPMG Peat Marwick, Without exception, University and RCUH staff and faculty have been cooperative and helpful. Where problems and issues exist, it appears that individuals were not aware of certain rules or may have taken the shortest path to accomplish their goal which in turn violated a control or regulation.29

I hasten to add that there was one instance during the Simone administration in which two people did benefit personally from infractions of state and federal laws relating to contracts and grants management, but the case of Wasim Siddiqui and Susan Lofton was already under investigation two years before the federal audit wars began.30 Based on this one data point, I estimate that the incidence rate for theft of federal funds at the University of Hawaii is on the order of 0.05 percent. This is a reasonable order-of-magnitude estimate of both the percentage of faculty who

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were involved in theft and the percentage of federal money that was stolen during the Simone era. Meanwhile, I note in Tables 7.1 and 7.2 that during FY 1992-1993, RCUH charged the University $1,801,500 to manage $52.5 million in grants and contracts. This corresponds to a General and Accounting (G&A) rate of 3.4 percent. When the University's costs for projects service-ordered to RCUH are included, the overall G&A rate increases to about 5 percent, which is two orders of magnitude larger than the percentage lost to theft. The point I want to make with this mathematical digression is that theft is negligible in comparison with other costs of managing federal contracts and grants at the University of Hawaii. From this I deduce that the primary purpose of the federal laws regarding contracts and grants management is not to prevent theft as a naive person might suppose. Nor is it to promote the productive use of federal tax dollars, because the net effect of recent federal laws is exactly the reverse. Rather, I believe that the main purpose of such regulations is to give the federal government more control—some would say more power—over those states and institutions that accept federal funds. With greater control, of course, there is an inevitable loss of efficiency at federal, state, and University levels. The more centralized and bureaucratic the federal government becomes, the more centralized and bureaucratic must those entities become that accept federal support. It is important to make this point because many faculty members complain about the increasing costs of the University's administration without realizing that nearly all that increase is in direct response to the proliferation in federal and state bureaucracies and regulations. Some examples from the Simone era were the scientific misconduct sections added to the Health Research Extension Act in 1987, the drug-free work place legislation of 1988, and the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) of 1990. In addition to ADA, there were many other expansions of the affirmative action and equal opportunities laws, and changes in the 200-page Animal Welfare Act were too numerous to mention. As one illustration of how these things work, the director for research, who heads ORA, must now sign a "certification" on every proposal submitted to a federal agency assuring that the University of Hawaii—with ten campuses, 50,000 students, 4,000 faculty members, and 2,500 staff members—is drug-free. This statement is absurd, of course, but it permits the federal government to claim that it has cleaned up the drug problem at UH. Should that ridiculous claim prove false, the inspector general (IG) can suspend payments to the University for "compliance violations" and file criminal charges against the research director. A partial list of such "assurances" is given in Table 7.3- If the director for research loses his nerve and refuses to sign, he will be replaced.

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Table 7.3 Partial List of Assurances* The director of research at the University of Hawaii must assure the federal government that the University meets standards in the following areas: equal opportunity

drug-free work place

use of human subjects

minorities in the work force

care and use of animals

women in the work force

diving safety

the use of small business

biohazards

minority business

handicapped access

women-owned business

misconduct in science

federal debt

lobbying activities •This list, compiled by the Office of Research Administration at the University of Hawaii, is incomplete. Many of these assurances flow down to subcontractors. Some involve criminal sanctions, implying that the Director for Research could go to jail if anything goes wrong.

Otherwise, the University would forfeit its federal grants and contracts, which amount to well over $100 million per year. What impact such regulations will have on the state's economy remains to be seen, but it is probably worth mentioning that the growing of marijuana is a multi-billion dollar industry in Hawaii, estimated by some to be second only to tourism. The Uniform Information Practices Act (UIPA), which went into effect in 1989, is an example of bureaucratic and regulatory proliferation at the state level. Among its many provisions, UIPA requires that state agencies open all governmental records to public inspection unless access is restricted or closed by law. They must also prepare public reports describing these records. To oversee UIPA, the legislature created a new bureaucracy called the Office of Information Practices (OIP).31 To cope with OIP, UIPA, and the massive work-load increases these entail, the University, like most other state agencies, has allocated or reallocated additional bureaucrats of its own. Before focusing more specifically on the federal audit wars as we experienced them in Hawaii, I want to underscore my earlier generalization that these wars were indicative, not only of an era in American history, but also of a concomitant national predilection to be less efficient and more controlling, to be less great and more comfortable, and to do less research and more accounting. And just as the academic side gave way to the administrative side at the University of Hawaii, so too did program officers in Washington who supported excellence in research give way to auditors in their own agencies who thought it was more important to be excellent in accounting.

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One of the leaders of this national movement was Representative John D. Dingell, Chairman of the House Subcommittee on Oversight and Investigations. In a widely quoted editorial acknowledging that Dingell and his subcommittee had "unearthed a seeming billion-dollar cesspool of mischarges and overcharges at Stanford University, M.I.T., Yale, and other universities," the New York Times nevertheless noted, as I did earlier, that there was "as yet, no venality." The Times also opined, as I did earlier, that "the cost of such improprieties is a pittance—a fraction of 1 percent of research monies." 32 Of course, what the auditors had in mind was much larger and far more insidious: They want to mail Stanford a bill of about $200 million for ordinary overhead reimbursements (not flowers and yachts) it received under contracts the Government signed in the 1980's. The auditors now claim those contracts are inequitable to taxpayers and, therefore, unenforceable. That claim is outrageous. If the government doesn't like contracts it signed, it should renegotiate them when they come due— and fire the officials who originally signed them. Surely it's wrong to break a contract unilaterally, thereby threatening to undermine vital research facilities.32 But the most important point made in the Times editorial was this: By twisting minor indiscretion into a broadside indictment of scores of universities, Mr. Dingell and Government auditors threaten to destroy the crown jewels of the economy. Taxpayers haven't wasted money on university research; it's the best investment taxpayers can ever make in America's future.32 Hawaii's incarnation of the spirit of John Dingell was John P. Malony, Honolulu branch manager for the Western Region of the Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA). My first contact with Malony was at a meeting held in Bachman Hall on February 12, 1990, to discuss the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR). John Riordan, a senior auditor of DCAA, was also present, as were retired admiral Ron Hays, president and chief executive officer of PICHTR; retired UH President Fujio Matsuda, executive director of RCUH; Ralph Horii, vice president for finance and operations at UH; and Dr. Moheb Ghali, director for research at UH. The meeting was scheduled by Ralph Horii, and although I was aware of the DCAA investigations already in progress at other universities, I naively assumed that the target of this particular inquiry was PICHTR, not UH. Fourteen months later, on April 4, 1991, John Malony called me in my Bachman Hall office and asked me to set up a two-hour meeting with

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"a small number of high-level people to discuss some issues and problems involving UH and RCUH." By then, I had forgotten who John Malony was, and I wondered why he was calling me. Malony described the problems as "somewhat serious" and said he would bring John Riordan and Warren Lum, also a senior auditor at DCAA. I agreed to schedule the meeting and said that I would invite Ralph Horii and Moheb Ghali. Ghali, in turn, invited his Assistant Director for Research Paul Kakugawa. The meeting took place in Bachman Hall at 9:00 A.M. the following day. Here I must express my grudging admiration for John Malony's cunning. Like one of those espionage agents invented by Len Deighton or John Le Carré, he was a master at deception and never revealed what he was actually thinking. I know this from personal experience since he outwitted me on several occasions. As one example, I might inquire why, after working with Ralph Horii's office for more than a year, Malony asked me to set up this historic meeting. The reason, it turned out, was that the vice president for research and graduate education serves as an ex officio member of the RCUH Board of Directors. Thus my presence permitted Malony to claim in his April 8, 1991, "Memorandum for the Record" that he had met with representatives of both RCUH and UH, even though no one employed by RCUH knew that the meeting had taken place. 33 Similarly, whereas I naively thought the purpose of our meeting was to discuss various unspecified and "somewhat serious" problems, the real objective was to create that five-page, single-spaced "Memorandum for the Record" that would prove first that DCAA had found some irregularities in the University's accounting system, and, second that DCAA was acting vigorously and appropriately to correct them. Getting such a memorandum into the DCAA file had suddenly become extremely urgent for the Honolulu branch office because the Naval Investigative Service was busy looking into criminal charges related to Stanford's accounting practices and the failure of Office of Naval Research (ONR) auditors to correct them. With other federal auditors facing criminal charges, it was essential to establish that the Honolulu branch office was not derelict in its duties. Turning this hazard into an opportunity, the Honolulu branch manager had a rare chance on this singular occasion to be creative, to exercise initiative, and perhaps to gain personal recognition at the national level. The format of the April 5 meeting was also instructive. John Malony did most of the talking, reading from a prepared script that must have served as the first draft of his "Memorandum for the Record." In some cases, according to the "Memorandum," the "contractor" agreed to furnish answers and documentation later. In other cases, the "contractor" did not respond at all, and Malony's allegations were simply recorded by Malony as facts. In those few instances where representatives of the University

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had the temerity to volunteer information or reply extemporaneously, Malony's account differs markedly from my notes. I believe this is because Malony was determined to fit any UH comments into his template, whereas I, not knowing where Malony was going, simply wrote down what people said.34 From this discrepancy between Malony's "Memorandum" and my notes, I will extract the third example of how he exploited my naivete. Waxing poetic, I opined at the meeting that ideally research would flow freely like a river, whereas, unfortunately, federal funding usually comes in chunks, like blocks of ice. Typically these tranches support one year of project activity—they arrive months after the project was supposed to have begun and they cannot be expended after the project termination date.34 The University works hard to make the funding river flow as smoothly as possible so that work can continue, so that we don't lose good researchers, and so that loyal employees don't lose their jobs. Examples are the provision of start-up funds for new faculty, bridging funds for faculty between grants, and overhead waivers for faculty whose projects are under-funded. I suggested that some of the alleged abuses might be related to this well-meaning effort, and I gave as examples the transferring of personnel from one grant to another so that their pay could continue, and the correcting of journal entries so that all the funds in each grant would be exactly 100 percent expended. 34 Malony's rendering of my lyrical reflection was as follows: Dr. Yount, as a former PI [Principal Investigator], expressed his belief that the problem may be that the Pis concentrate on research to the exclusion of the required paperwork and, often, the contracts/ grants periods of performance do not coincide with the flow of the research project. It is, therefore, difficult in Dr. Yount's opinion for the Pis to understand the need for timely processing of SF [Standard Form] 5Bs.33 Most of these stereotypical attributions originated in Malony's template. I did not say, for example, that it was difficult for Pis to understand the need for timely processing of SF 5Bs. On the contrary, because SF 5Bs are used routinely to document all personnel actions at UH, virtually every UH employee knows what they are and that they should be handled promptly. Meanwhile, missing from Malony's record was the fundamental fact that the main cause of delays in processing federally sponsored SF 5Bs was the federal government itself.34 My lingering sense of the meeting was that the federal accounting rules, coupled with the inability of the federal government to perform on grants and contracts in a timely fashion, had created a Catch-22 for the University in which it was almost impossible to get anything done. Had the University been less willing or less able to accommodate the perver-

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sity of the federal government, the whole enterprise would have broken down. 34 On August 30, 1991, John Malony promulgated the most extraordinary document of the Simone era. Addressed to a three-page distribution list that included virtually all the University's federal sponsors, it directed recipients to withhold future payments against the University's contracts and grants and not issue any more letters of credit or advance funding. 35 In one stroke, a GS-13 mid-level civil servant had single-handedly terminated all the University's federally funded projects, put several thousand people out of work, and forever tarnished the reputation of a great public institution.36 Alex Malahoff, director of the Hawaii Undersea Research Laboratory (HURL) and formerly a Washington bureaucrat himself, went right to the heart of the matter when he asked in a letter to the Honolulu StarBulletin. Why did Mr. Malony have such extraordinary power? Did he have no conscience, no perception of the work of a university? Probably not. Why did he do it? Because of differences in opinion on accounting procedures between himself and the university. Had our government gone insane? Who gave this power to Mr. Malony? The answers lie in obscure corners of our federal bureaucracy, where there is more concern for enhancing the power of bureaucrats and none for the stewardship of science education, research, and our universities.36 The University's official response to the twenty-seven issues raised in Malony's memorandum was deeply rooted in Hawaii's historical plantation culture in which several generations of immigrant laborers did what they were told and kept any criticism of their employers to themselves. Thus, in sharp contrast to Malahoff s ringing exercise of his own academic freedom, Ralph Horii and his staff simply pled nolo contendere and agreed to work closely with DCAA auditors to resolve any problems. By following this traditional Hawaiian-plantation strategy, the University prudently avoided embarrassing the DCAA and permitted the agency as a whole to claim a great victory in the fight against future greatness. Even more important, it gave Malony's supervisors the excuse they needed to recall his unprecedented "Notice of Suspension" so that research and training at the University could resume. While Vice President Horii had no more choice in this matter than did the plantation workers in their situation, I am inclined to describe his decision as being politically correct and morally wrong. It was politically correct because it conformed with the national predilection to be less

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efficient and more controlling, to be less great and more comfortable, and to do less research and more accounting. It was morally wrong, not only because it was shibai (a Japanese word meaning drama, or a staged production), but also because it enhanced the power of people like John Dingell, John Malony, and the federal auditors at the expense of American higher education, due process, and the democratic system. By the same token, the initial decision of Stanford University to assert its innocence and to contest the unilateral claims of its federal auditors was morally right and politically incorrect. It was morally right for reasons such as those given in the New York Times editorial, and it was politically incorrect because it did not conform to the national predilection. Because political crimes are punished far more severely than ordinary venality, the Farm was soon overrun by federal agencies and auditors37 who could politically not afford to lose the battle with Stanford and were determined to fight to the death. The financial ruin of one of America's finest universities was averted through the resignation of its president, Donald Kennedy, which gave the auditors the symbolic victory they needed and also permitted the institution to swallow its pride and become more accommodating. Two years later Stanford's indirect cost rate was still in litigation.38 However, in October 1994 the U.S. Navy ended its threat to make Stanford pay back $185 million in research overhead compensation and concluded that it "does not have a claim" that Stanford engaged in "fraud, misrepresentation, or other wrongdoing." In return, Stanford dropped its claim that the government owed it $56 million, and it agreed to pay back $1.2 million, in addition to the $2.2 million it had returned earlier.39 These final payments represented less than two percent of the amounts in question and were insignificant in comparison with the legal and accounting costs incurred by the two parties. In his response to the Times editorial,40 Representative Dingell had denied that agencies, auditors, and other governmental officials such as himself were "vicious or vindictive," but his denial merely added to the evidence. Vindictiveness was manifested locally in the performance and financial audit of a UH ship conversion. The audit was carried out by the inspector general (IG) of the U.S. Department of Commerce (DOC). In reviewing the period from February 1987 to February, 1993, the DOC IG attributed to this one project an amazing total of $3,795,458 in questioned costs. While the outcome of this investigation is still pending, one can already say two things with certainty. First, no venality will be found, and second, the real target was neither UH nor RCUH, but the politically incorrect PI on the DOC ship-conversion enterprise, Alex Malahoff.41 No doubt the DOC IG would deny that Malahoff's letter to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin36 was in any way related to the UH ship-conversion

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investigation. In response, I would point out that this account had already been thoroughly audited both by the DCAA in 199135 and by KPMG Peat Marwick in 1992.29 Nothing approaching the $3,795,458 in questioned costs was found. Indeed, although this exercise may have achieved its political objectives, I believe its financial payoff will be nil. Ralph Horii, Fudge Matsuda, CGMO, and RCUH were already overloaded by state and federal regulations as well as by the rapid increases in extramural funding that occurred during the Simone administration. As a result, they did not have the excess capacity to respond to the DCAA auditors in any meaningful way. Nor would their responses have been accepted, given that they were the subjects of the federal investigation. Vice President Horii's solution was to hire an independent management consultant, KPMG Peat Marwick, and let chips fall where they may.29 In its 203-page report,29 KPMG Peat Marwick grouped Malony's twentyseven issues into four major categories. These are listed below with a brief commentary on each: 1. Specialized service facilities and revolving funds. Because RCUH has a special fund of its own and is exempted from HRS Sections 36-27 and 36-30 relating to special fund reimbursements to the state's general fund, 14 it has the power to set up revolving funds for self-sustaining shops, laboratories, and other facilities at UH. When federal projects use these facilities, a host of federal policies and procedures apply. For example, a federal project cannot be billed a flat rate or an annual fee for unspecified services just to keep an essential facility running; an advance payment cannot be made before a service is rendered; and, with certain exceptions, the rates charged to federal projects must be similar to other equivalent costs of the University.29 2. Equipment inventory reconciliation. RCUH was using a different inventory system and code. In addition, at the request of UH it was reconciling its inventory with UH on an annual, rather than a daily, basis. At the time of the DCAA audit, RCUH could not immediately account for approximately $3 million of equipment purchased by RCUH for UH.35 Given sufficient time and effort, however, KPMG Peat Marwick was able to track down all but one $8,500 item in the whole sample. It went to the U.S. mainland without proper documentation. Because such equipment normally reverts to the original institution at the end of the grant period, an undocumented transfer to another university is considered to be theft from the original institution.29

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3. Journal transfer analysis. Journal vouchers (JVs) are typically used to change the billing of an item, for example, switching from one grant to another or from one purpose to another, after the fact. UH had an unusually high number of JVs compared with other universities, and, if lateness was included, the error rate was about 30 percent. Some of these changes were made more than 700 days after the grant had terminated. The purpose seemed to be to ensure that exactly 100 percent of the funds in each grant were used while keeping the research going smoothly and continuously. 29 4. Internal controls and compliance. KPMG Peat Marwick found two issues of significance in their review of internal controls and compliance. First, original effort certification reports were being retained by departments instead of by CGMO. As a result, CGMO was not able to monitor the timeliness, accuracy, and appropriateness of effort reporting practices. Second, the RCUH payroll department was allowed to modify the project number of the time card as reported by the staff member, significantly reducing the accuracy of effort certifications at RCUH. Later, through the use of journal vouchers, many of these payroll costs were transferred back to the project number originally certified by the RCUH staff member. Responses to these revelations were mixed. Academics were proud of their research and training accomplishments and thought their expenditures of federal funds should be judged mainly on that basis. UH fiscal officers were torn between their desire to facilitate the work of their academic colleagues and their professional obligations to follow a system of rules they knew significantly compromised productivity. Because the federal auditors had no interest in productivity or in research and training per se, they found it easy to focus exclusively on the way money was being managed and were outraged about the many errors that were found. As one might expect, the federal audit wars were extraordinarily divisive within the University. Forgetting that we were all victims of a national calamity, the academics tended to blame the accountants and fiscal officers for what they had done, and the accountants and fiscal officers tended to blame the academics for making them do it. Higher up the chain, CGMO pointed its finger at ORA, while Ralph Horii, who reported directly to the president, pointed his finger at me. There was also an elaborate effort to service-order the blame to RCUH, but this was only partially successful because, as everyone but John Malony35 agreed, RCUH was part of UH. At the very top, local regents began by defending Ralph Horii and the local accountants, and ended by attributing the University's accounting problems to Al Simone and his band of headstrong academics. In support

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of this local interpretation of the national phenomenon, they cited Simone's August 28, 1985, memorandum on the primacy of the academics, his fluid team approach to management, and his delegation of authority to academic deans and directors. All these years, the local critics said, Simone had been governing the University in the wrong way. I have little doubt that the federal audit wars were the primary cause of Simone's resignation, although this was never officially acknowledged. Fortunately for Simone, Hawaii's traditional strategy of appeasement and conciliation facilitated a smooth departure and allowed him to move immediately into another presidency.42 The initial cost of the KPMG Peat Marwick "Grants and Contracts Management Review" was $1.6 million. An additional $100,000 was spent on legal fees. This money was obtained from the Research and Training Revolving Fund (RTRF), and therefore constituted a direct transfer of resources from research and training to accounting. On September 30, 1992, the board of directors of RCUH voted to reimburse $300,000 of the $1.7 million, tapping its working capital reserve in order to reduce the drain on RTRF to $1.4 million.43 In 1993, the legislature appropriated to Ralph Horii's office additional sums of $3,748,716 and five positions for FY 1993-1994, and $1,921,791 and five positions for fiscal year 1994—95 to replace the University's financial management system.44 Additional sums of $1,755,482 and 20 positions for FY 1993-1994, and $549,862 and 20 positions for fiscal year 1994-1995 were provided for various control and compliance functions.45 Because some of these state expenditures could be included in the University's indirect cost pool, and because the new accounting system would permit the University to document and pursue indirect cost reimbursements more aggressively, the overhead recovery from the federal government was also expected to increase. In addition, the University adopted a deliberate policy intended to place more stringent control over indirect cost reductions and waivers for extramural (mostly federal) projects. 46 There were two important external results of the audit wars. First, the spirit of cooperation that had characterized federally sponsored research and training at UH for many decades was broken. Second, the federal government and the State of Hawaii were both paying more and getting less for their research and training dollars. By massively increasing its accounting, controls, and compliance capabilities, the new regime—headed by Ralph Horii—was also well positioned to repress those embarrassing behaviors that had permitted scholarly activities to flow more freely in the past and thereby ensure that even those dollars that went directly into research and training would be used less efficiently in the future. The most insidious result within the University was the total defeat of the academics by the local administrators. This set the stage for a new

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kind of presidency in which Ralph Horii and Joyce Tsunoda would have the strongest voices, and Manoa and its troublesome vice presidents, deans, directors, and faculty could safely be ignored. I will end this section with two additional observations. The first relates to Dr. Fujio Matsuda, the embattled executive director of RCUH, w h o postponed his retirement for several years in order to see the audits through. Although he was often blamed for the many problems uncovered at RCUH, I find this judgment unfair. Rather, it seems to me that Dr. Matsuda had no way of anticipating the reversal of federal research policy that characterized the early 1990s, and had the extreme misfortune to be sitting in the RCUH executive director's chair when it happened. By standing his ground, Dr. Matsuda showed his mettle and rendered a great public service. His whole intent during the decade he spent as RCUH executive director was merely to serve the University in the way the University wanted to be served. Having observed first-hand how he dealt with a difficult situation not of his own making, I gained a deeper appreciation for his equally embattled decade as UH president. My last observation relates to a parallel and contemporaneous development at the national level. Here I will quote Dr. Wolfgang K. H. (Pief) Panofsky, w h o directed the highly successful Stanford Linear Accelerator Center (SLAC) from 1962 until 1984, and who made this comment about the 1993 decision by the federal government to terminate construction of the Superconducting Super Collider (SSC): The sheer volume of oversight, reviews, appraisals, audits, and other investigations of the SSC was unprecedented. Counting personnel from the DOE [Department of Energy] site office, the DOE inspector general, staff from the General Accounting Office of Congress, URA's [University Research Association's] overseers and Congressman John Dingell's subcommittee staff, well over 100 people involved in such activities visited or populated the SSC Laboratory, which had to dedicate equivalent manpower in response. Short deadlines and review meetings preempted the time of senior laboratory personnel. Most insidiously, much of the technical personnel of the laboratory was preoccupied with responding to these pressures.47 I have quoted Dr. Panofsky in part because he was my boss and mentor for many years both at Stanford and at SLAC, in part because, as a high energy physicist, I was stung by the closure of the SSC, and in part because he articulated so well the very point I have tried to make again and again in this section: during the Simone administration, the federal government moved in the direction of being less efficient and more controlling, of being less great and more comfortable, of doing less research and more accounting.

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POST: Building Pacific Ocean Science and Technology Thus far, our exploration of the University's pursuit of federal funds has centered around the acquisition and management of peer-reviewed grants and contracts, that is, grants and contracts for which the decision to provide federal funds is based largely upon the reviews and recommendations of scholars working at the forefront of their respective disciplines. There is another way of securing federal assistance, namely through direct appropriations by the U.S. Congress. During the Simone administration, the University of Hawaii followed this second avenue with such vigor and such success that it was repeatedly cited in the national debate over "peerversus-pork,"48 and was occasionally featured in exposés of the subject.49 My narration of how we got involved in this controversial enterprise will provide additional examples of various theorems of higher education management. Four that are particularly salient can serve as an outline of this section: • The higher you rise in a university administration, the more you will be called upon to re-examine and compromise your academic values. • It is much easier to decide what has to be done than to do what has to be done. • The system is resistant to change and tends to weed out or restrain administrators who are willing to take risks and accept responsibility. • A project isn't finished until all the money has been spent. To explain my position on the issue of pork-barrel funding, I should first note that I earned my bachelor's degree at Caltech and my master's and Ph.D. degrees at Stanford. From there I went on to become an assistant professor at Princeton University, and later a research associate at the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center. It follows that my entire career before coming to the University of Hawaii in 1969 was spent at several well-established universities that already had excellent facilities and a long history of federal support. Together with other top-twenty institutions, they provide more than half of the peer reviewers and capture more than half the peer-review funds. Indeed, as the primary beneficiaries of the peerreview system, the institutions and their faculty members are also its most zealous advocates. And before I became a UH administrator, I considered myself to be one of them. The strongest arguments in favor of peer review are that it is open, fair, and objective, and that the best research decisions are likely to be made by well-informed scholars rather than by governmental bureaucrats and politicians. An argument against peer review is that if peers make all the decisions, only the leading "peer" institutions will be successful, and the nation's research endeavor will be restricted largely to them.50

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A strong argument in favor of direct appropriations is that the U.S. Congress can—as a matter of public policy—broaden our nation's research base by providing new buildings, facilities, and equipment to developing universities. Such provision of state-of-the-art infrastructure will permit these emerging institutions to compete effectively for extramural support, thereby increasing the competition for peer-reviewed dollars later on. A strong argument against pork-barrel funding is that it wastes resources that could, over the short term at least, be better spent by investigators at the forefronts of their fields.50 Although I worked hard during my tenure as a UH administrator to obtain direct appropriations for several facilities that reflected long-term University, state, and national priorities, I continued to favor peer review for individual research and training projects. My notion was that the U.S. Congress should be involved in broad policy questions such as whether ocean science and technology will flourish in Hawaii, and it should leave to the peers such detailed decisions as, for instance, which of several thousand AIDS proposals to support. A stunning example of what can be accomplished by pork-barrel funding of facilities is provided by the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG). Without federal assistance, it is virtually certain that the University would not be the world leader in geology, geophysics, oceanography, planetary science, and astronomy that it is today. In the words of George P. Woollard, HIG's first director, Although the concept of having a geophysical institute in Hawaii was conceived by members of the faculty of the University of Hawaii in the early 1950's, the concept got its impetus from an NSF blue-ribbon panel study of Hawaii as a site for conducting research in the earth sciences. The members of the panel were William Benson, Phil Abelson, Cecil Green, King Hubbert, and the late William Rubey and A. E. Eckhardt, and the year was 1954. The panel report was favorable, and bills were introduced in Congress in 1956 and 1957 by the Congressional representative for the Territory of Hawaii to have funds appropriated to the National Science Foundation for the construction of a laboratory building for the Institute at the University. Although the 1957 bill passed with a recommended appropriation of $2,500,000, NSF elected to include a $3,000,000 item for this purpose in its FY I960 budget.51 Having thus compromised my academic values on peer-versus-pork in favor of direct Congressional appropriations for research facilities, I was now prepared philosophically to assume my duties as vice president for research and graduate education, and initiate a formal Washington connection. Indeed, the necessity of such a liaison had been discussed for

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more than a decade, and it was one of the main justifications for appointing first an acting vice chancellor for research and graduate education (David Morrison), and later a permanent vice president (myself). In practice, neither Dave Morrison nor I was able to be in two places at once. Our respective duties in Hawaii proved to be full-time, and this left unresolved the question of how best to represent the University in Washington. While everyone acknowledged that a UH presence in some form could bring significant benefits of information, advocacy, and funding, there was no agreement on what form that presence should take. Some favored a two-person Washington office, costing perhaps $200,000 per year. Others thought that it would be easier, cheaper, and more effective just to hire a professional lobbying firm. This long-standing debate was settled early in the Simone administration under terms and conditions dictated by a single project.52 Shortly after assuming office, I concluded that Manoa's research facilities were overcrowded and obsolete, and that future growth was limited by the available space. Furthermore, whereas state funding for the University's Capital Improvement Projects (CIP) had averaged only $20 million per year during the last several years of the Matsuda administration, the immediate needs identified at the beginning of the Simone administration included ninety-eight items totaling just over $355 million. A second list of twenty-eight items totaled $79 million. Under these circumstances, it was obvious that our chances for obtaining state funds for a major research facility were slim.52 The most urgent needs of the research community were to expand the engineering laboratories located in Holmes Hall and the earth and marine science laboratories located in the 25-year-old HIG building. Because Holmes Hall and HIG faced each other across a small parking lot, the expansion of both could be accomplished by constructing a single, joint facility in the open space between them.52 This $48 million project, later named the Pacific Ocean Science and Technology (POST) building, was first brought to my attention by the HIG Director Charles E. Helsley in January 1986. Helsley also had a plan for raising the money, half of which was to come from the U.S. Congress. The possibility of obtaining federal matching funds was expected to appeal to the governor and the legislature, reducing state costs to a manageable level. The key was to hire Cassidy and Associates, a Washington, D.C.-based lobbying firm with an impressive record of acquiring federal funds for its university clients.52 Persuaded by Helsley's arguments, I decided during the first few months of 1986 that POST was an important goal for the University and spent the rest of my vice presidency trying to achieve it. Indeed, POST was a logistics problem of the highest order, so intricate, subtle, and in-

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tractable that I wouldn't have attempted it had I known at the beginning of my service what I knew by the end. This loss of innocence and the willingness to take personal risks reflects the dark side of my administrative experience and would have been, perhaps, a sufficient reason to step down. Before relating some of the specific difficulties we encountered, I would like to recall our discussion in the previous chapter and note by way of overview that all the perils and tribulations of obtaining state funding for a single item in a single year were compounded manyfold in the case of POST. In part, this was because the project was so large that it affected many constituencies and could not be hidden in anyone's budget. More important, the legislative process stretched over several biennia and involved numerous state and federal entities that had their own agendas and did not trust one another. In addition, everything depended first on creating, and later on nourishing, a fragile partnership between state and federal officials whose skepticism was high and whose credibility was low. And even after all the money had been approved by the legislature and the U.S. Congress, there were some who tried to sabotage the project and others who failed to do their jobs in a timely fashion. Oddly, in this huge arena of state and federal power brokers, the biggest obstacle we had to overcome was our own Board of Regents. On July 10, 1986, Helsley called me to say that if UH were to get any support for the Holmes/HIG facility in the next federal biennium, we would have to move quickly since congressional committees would begin to exchange budget bills on July 14. Helsley recommended that we hire Cassidy and Associates immediately for this specific project. I asked Helsley to take the lead in such an effort, and his first act was to prepare a memo to Simone, dated July 10, 1986. In it, he stressed the urgency of the situation and reminded the president that "Jerry Cassidy is active in fund-raising for Senator Inouye, and it is clear that Senator Inouye would 'appreciate' being lobbied by Cassidy and Associates."53 At a Board of Regents' luncheon held at College Hill on Friday, July 11, 1986, to discuss the University's CIP requirements, I described the Holmes/HIG proposal and outlined the need for federal funding and possibly federal lobbying, noting that we were looking into the matter. Following the luncheon, Simone and I discussed Helsley's memo of July 10 as we drove back to the campus, and he agreed to study it carefully over the weekend. Unfortunately, the University Executive Council (UEC) meeting scheduled for Monday, July 14, was canceled, and Simone left for a tenday trip to China on July 15 without approving the plan to hire Cassidy.54 Believing that our analysis of the situation was correct and that our window of opportunity was rapidly closing, Helsley and I negotiated a limited contract with Cassidy and Associates in which we agreed to pay $5,000 per month for six months ($30,000 for July through December 1986),

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and then renegotiate an extension at an increased rate (i.e., $10,000 to $15,000 per month).54 Fudge Matsuda was an essential partner in this negotiation because Helsley's half of the $30,000 fee was coming out of an account HIG had set up at RCUH using private funds. My half was coming out of an account set up by RCUH to assist the vice president for research and graduate education with project development. It was important that no federal funds be used to lobby the federal government, and Dr. Matsuda assured me personally that this requirement would be met and that this use of the funds RCUH had provided to my office would be consistent with his Board's intent.54 Ten days into the congressional mark-ups of federal appropriations bills, Simone returned from China. We met on the morning of Thursday, July 24, 1986, and I was relieved to learn that he agreed with my decision. Cassidy and Associates signed the contract with RCUH on July 29, 1986, but their efforts to secure federal funds for the Holmes/HIG facility had already begun. 54 Although our decision was sound, our execution was flawed. In our haste to meet a congressional deadline, we had violated a Board of Regents' policy requiring Board approval of all consultant contracts exceeding $25,000.55 It was no good arguing that the contract with Cassidy was actually signed by RCUH rather than by UH; that none of the funds were derived from state or federal sources; or that we could cancel the contract with one month's notice, if necessary terminating it well before the $25,000 limit was reached. Nor did the Board give any weight to our claim that we were merely trying to keep the possibility of obtaining federal matching funds alive until the Board had a chance to act on it. The Board interprets its own policies in its own way and decided in this case to teach the new administration a lesson. By insisting that we terminate the Cassidy contract before it was even discussed in an open meeting, the Board transcended the petty issues raised in our specific request and asserted its constitutional prerogative to exercise control over the University. Simone tried to take the blame for the mistakes I had naively made, but he informed me later that several regents were asking for my resignation.56 Looking beyond the Board's power struggle with its president, which became a routine feature of the Simone administration, one can observe that the hiring of Cassidy introduced a new player of formidable reputation into Hawaii's political scene. At the very least, Cassidy might be expected to influence the CIP priorities of the University. Much worse, considering the firm's well-known affiliation with Senator Inouye, Cassidy and Associates might become the Senator's instrument in Hawaii as they were already in Washington. And although I was initially blamed for the fiasco and had the illusion that the decision to hire Cassidy was entirely my own, there is a distinct possibility it was made on Capitol Hill.

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The second time around, we touched all the bases and jumped through all the hoops. From August to October of 1986, Cassidy initiated work on a prospectus, discussed strategies with Hawaii's four congressional offices, and obtained promises of support from several members of the U.S. Senate's Appropriations Committee. Simone briefed newly elected Governor John Waihee, and I met with his special aide, Richard Kosaki. We gave Holmes/ HIG a high priority in the University's CIP budget request and wrote it into the Governor's first "State of the State" address, given in January 1987.52 When Waihee and Kosaki visited Hawaii's congressional delegation during the last week of February 1987, Holmes/HIG was their highest priority. I arrived a few days later to provide more detailed information to Hawaii's four congressional members and their staffs, all of whom reported the Governor's strong support for the proposed facility and promised to help.52 I also asked for advice concerning Washington lobbyists in general and Cassidy and Associates in particular. The offices of Senator Inouye and Representative Akaka encouraged the University to go ahead, while the offices of Senator Matsunaga and Representative Saiki said they had no objections. Long before the item reached the Board of Regents' agenda for May 21 and 22, 1987, it was a fait accompli.52 The first indication that our plan might succeed was a $1,659 million appropriation from the state legislature for architectural design in May 1987. In response to this overture, the U.S. Congress provided $5 million for design and construction in December 1987.57 Cassidy and Associates had recommended the National Defense Stockpile Transaction Fund as a source of funding for the POST building, and then-Congressman Akaka, as a member of the House Appropriations Subcommittee on Treasury-Postal Service-General Government, was successful in inserting $5 million in the House version of the FY 1988 appropriations bill.57 When the Senate took up its version of the appropriations bill, Daniel Inouye obtained approval of $4 million to begin POST. Unfortunately, when the House-Senate conference committee met in December to reconcile the differences between the two bills, an attempt was made to delete the University of Hawaii project along with several others. Cassidy and Associates alerted Senator Inouye and Congressman Akaka to this danger and also brought it to the attention of other members with similar interests. In this way, Cassidy guided the successful effort to defeat the motion to reduce or eliminate these funding awards.57 The State Legislature, now completely satisfied that its federal partners were acting in good faith, provided $20 million for construction in May 1988, and this was matched by $14 million in federal funds for construction and equipment in September 1988, and by another $1 million provided for the same purpose in September 1989- A final increment of $6 million in federal funds was awarded for equipment in September 1990.

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One might think that such a project would go smoothly once all the money was in hand, but I will now give three examples of things that could and did wrong. The first had to do with the payments to Cassidy, which eventually exceeded $250,000 per year. Although it would have been perfectly legal to use state funds for this purpose, the Board was unwilling to expose such an item to legislative debate by including it in the University's operating budget request. Helsley and I had exhausted our small discretionary accounts in the first round, and this made it necessary to reach an understanding with the Board of Regents and the University of Hawaii Foundation (UHF) that the latter would cover any future lobbying costs. To my chagrin, the Foundation was unable to raise additional private monies for POST. During the first several years, Simone tapped his own UHF discretionary funds for this purpose, and I chipped in what I could from my RCUH project development account. Eventually, the Foundation's ability to raise unrestricted funds declined to the point where it could no longer cover even its own operating expenses, and we began making payments directly from the Research and Training Revolving Fund with the Board's full knowledge and consent. The second example was the lapsing of approximately $18.9 million of the $20 million the state legislature had provided in matching funds for construction. These funds were authorized in May 1988. They lapsed on June 30, 1990, and the University was informed of the lapsing by the Department of Accounting and General Services (DAGS) on February 11, 1991.58 Aware of the relevant provisions of the state's CIP appropriations, the University had initiated action during the 1990 legislative session to prevent the lapsing of the POST authorization. Furthermore, the Legislature had responded favorably, giving the Department of Budget and Finance specific instructions to prevent lapsing and also including the necessary language in the 1990 Session Laws of Hawaii.58 The attorney general was not persuaded by these declarations of legislative intent, and he concluded that the exception to the constitutionally imposed lapsing requirement approved by the legislature applied only to general obligation bonds needed to qualify for federal assistance. Because $18.9 million of the state's $20 million appropriation for POST construction happened to be coming out of current state revenues, they expired. 59 Of course, the lapsing of the POST funds was taken into account by the Department of Budget and Finance in preparing the budget submitted by Governor Waihee to the 1991 Legislature. This meant that the lapsed money for POST had already been spent and that various state departments, possibly including the University, had de facto already divided up the spoils. Budget Director Yuki Takemoto denied any knowledge of this affair, but I found it implausible that a transaction of this magnitude, ex-

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ecuted within his own department, could have escaped his attention. Rather than lose the $26 million in federal matching funds, the 1991 Legislature came up with another $18.9 million.60 My final example of things what could go wrong was the University's inability to complete Standard Form (SF) 424 and its accoutrements in a timely fashion. Not that this was an easy task, for it has occurred to me that this inch-thick, bureaucratic labyrinth of instructions, certifications, assurances, provisions, and environmental assessments was devised by the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) to punish anyone foolish enough to seek or accept federal assistance. SF 424 is also an effective mechanism for recapturing federal funds earmarked for faint-hearted recipients, and no doubt it acts as a strong deterrent to subsequent raids on the U.S. treasury by naive administrators such as myself. My first encounter with SF 424 took place in Congressman Akaka's Washington office on February 12, 1988. The meeting was arranged by Pat McGeary, Akaka's legislative director, to establish interfaces between the University and, respectively, the General Services Administration (GSA) and the Defense National Stockpile Center (DNSC). The former was represented by GSA Deputy Director of Budget Nancy Potter, and the latter by DNSC Strategic Materials Management Specialist Cheryl Deister. Because the federal match for POST was being funneled through DNSC, Cheryl was assigned to work with UH and soon became our main contact for the project. I handed Ralph Horii one copy of SF 424 when I returned from my Washington trip on February 16, 1988, and because nothing happened, I sent him another copy with a detailed written explanation on April 7, 1988.61 The upshot of the February 12, 1988, meeting was that we should begin spending the first $5 million as soon as possible. This would demonstrate that we were making good progress and lock in the money so that it would not be subject to Gramm-Rudman cuts by Congress or to recision by President Reagan. In case I still didn't get the message, I was also told a number of horror stories about institutions that had lost their federal grants through raids and reallocations executed by saboteurs within the sponsoring agencies. 61 To initiate the expenditure, a simple letter requesting advance funding would suffice. The letter should (1) identify the cost areas, (2) estimate the costs, and (3) explain in one or two paragraphs what the project entailed. No documentation of the cost estimates was required. Additional information and a time schedule were given on page 3 of SF 424, and an outline of this preliminary letter was given on page 35. A good and sufficient reason for advance funding was that we needed the money to complete the federal forms.61 Following this sage advice, the University reached out and touched its first $225,000 in August 1988. This initial advance for "planning and design" was received six months after the interface with GSA and DNSC

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was established. Completing SF 424 and getting it approved by the federal bureaucracy would take another four years. The main thing that happened in Washington during the first two years was the transfer of DNSC from the Treasury Department to the Department of Defense (DOD). Cheryl Deister and POST went with DNSC, and all three were put under DOD's Defense Logistics Agency (DLA). The DNSC Administrator, John Wayne Kulig, was enthusiastic about our project, but he was also aware that the SF 424 was long overdue. Accompanied by Cheryl Deister and Ellie Hockaday, Kulig visited the University of Hawaii from March 29 to April 2, 1990, to help Ralph Horii and his staff complete the Standard Form. Ralph's first submittal of SF 424, dated October 5, 1990,62 was not accepted, and little or no progress was made during the following year. With DAGS planning to go out for bids in April, 1992, a decision was made to appeal Hawaii's case to a higher authority. Marie Blanco, a legislative assistant to Inouye, spoke with Cheryl Deister on March 2, 1992, and two days later, Cheryl responded by submitting to the University a list of recommended changes in the environmental assessment report that were "quite significant" and needed to be incorporated in the final document. Cheryl also promised that DNSC would expeditiously process the required federal paperwork so that SF 424 could be executed within 50 days from final submission.63 A revised submittal of SF 424 dated April 10, 1992, was still pending when DAGS went out for bid on April 30, 1992.64 The decision on the part of DAGS and the University to forge ahead put considerable pressure on Cheryl Deister, now a Grants Award Officer at DLA, but she stood her ground and "directed" Ralph Horii in a letter dated June 9, 1992, "to suspend the solicitation until all issues pertaining to the execution of the SF 424 are adequately resolved.'"55 Suspending the solicitation at this late date was not a viable option. Two weeks after the June 26, 1992, deadline for submitting bids, Cheryl Deister informed Ralph Horii that the environmental assessment had been reviewed and found to be satisfactory. A Finding of No Significant Impact (FONSI) was being prepared and would be published shortly. Barring negative comments from the public, Cheryl expected to execute SF 424, Federal Assistance, some time in late August or early September 1992, four years and six months after our first meeting in Congressman Akaka's Washington office. Upon execution of SF 424, the administrative tasks associated with the POST grant would be transferred to the Office of Naval Research (ONR).66 Groundbreaking for POST took place on January 18, 1994, almost exactly eight years after the project was first brought to my attention. Among the participants in the ceremony were Senator Daniel K. Inouye, Senator Daniel K. Akaka, Governor John Waihee, and President Kenneth P. Mortimer.

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Notable by their absences were former UH President Al Simone and former HIG Director Chuck Helsley.67 There was one lingering problem: By the time the bids finally came in for this eight-story, $48 million facility, the price had risen to $53 million. Rather than delete one of the floors, a decision was made to "loft" the basement, first, fourth, and fifth floors, and finish them later, as soon as the missing $4.8 million could be found. 67

8 Deans and Directors: Manoa's Precinct Captains

purpose of the University is to provide teaching, research, and education services. Faculty perform these direct functions. Academic department heads, deans, provosts, and directors are, therefore, key administrators in the University.' —University of Hawaii President Albert J. Simone (1985-1992)

If we view President Simone himself as the top echelon of his administration, and the various executives and councils that reported to him as level two, then Manoa deans and directors, Hilo and West Oahu deans, and community college provosts can be regarded as level three. Having served as dean of the College of Business Administration at the University of Cincinnati for nine years, 2 Simone was habitually attracted to this third level, which he viewed as the most entrepreneurial and therefore the most important. Though it increased his span of control from the original thirteen officers of the University Executive Council to nearly fifty, Simone insisted that all the Manoa deans and directors must report to the office of the president.3 Given his personality and interests, he would have worked with them directly in any case. However, if he needed a formal entrée into their realm, it was provided by his joint appointment, first de facto and later de jure, as both the UH president and the Manoa chancellor. In this chapter, we will examine the duties and activities of seven of

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Manoa's deans and directors. Though they had different styles and objectives, the academic leaders responsible for organizing, managing, and assuming the risks of major elements of the University had much in common with business executives and venture capitalists. Indeed, they lived by their wits and were among the brightest and most creative members of the community. They were also exceptionally skilled in the art and science of government, which provided most of their funds, and hence they all had much in common with professional politicians.

Ned Kefford: The Diversified Plant Physiologist The history of the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (CTAHR) closely parallels the development of the University. The Morrill Act, passed by the U.S. Congress in 1862, mandated at least one college in each state to "teach such branches of learning as are related to agriculture and the mechanic arts." This provision was extended to the Territory of Hawaii by the Second Morrill Act in 1907. Previously, experiment stations had been established under the Hatch Act of 1887.4 Also in 1907, the Territorial Legislature established the College of Hawaii, UH's forerunner, as the College of Agriculture and Mechanical Arts of the Territory of Hawaii. In 1914, Congress passed the Smith-Lever Act providing for the establishment of the Cooperative Extension Services, which would "give instruction and practical demonstrations in agriculture and home economics." 4 Between 1920 and 1992, the College underwent many transformations and reorganizations. Constantly renewing itself, CTAHR added, consolidated, and eliminated whole departments, programs, and degrees. In an effort to fully integrate the human resources component with other units in the College, the Board of Regents in 1978 voted to change the name of the College of Agriculture to the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources. 4 A child of the political process, CTAHR is more vulnerable to governmental interference than any other segment of the University. Its programs are founded on no less than fourteen federal and state statutes mandating broad scientific programs intended to assist a wide assortment of beneficiaries. Together these statutes define agriculture, modes of service, clienteles, organization, budgeting, responsibility, and mechanisms for priority setting and project review.4 It follows that CTAHR is accountable, not only to the University administration and to the local agriculture and aquaculture communities, but also to the state and federal governments for its instruction, research, extension, planning, and implementation programs.4 Within Manoa, CTAHR is answerable both to the vice president for academic affairs on matters relating to its instructional programs and to the vice president for research and graduate education on matters relating

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to its research and extension services. Within the community, CTAHR must try to satisfy the needs of industries as diverse as livestock, poultry, sugar, pineapple, cut flowers, putting greens, textile manufacturing, and fashion design. During the 90-day legislative sessions that begin around the middle of each January, the CTAHR dean spends most of his time at the state capital, providing nearly half of the testimony given by UH employees. 4 At the federal level, CTAHR receives funding from, and is accountable to, the Department of Agriculture, the Agency for International Development, the National Science Foundation, the Department of Energy, the Department of Health and Human Services, the National Institutes of Health, and the Department of Education, among others. During the Simone administration, Manoa routinely ranked among the top ten or fifteen American universities in federal funding for international programs, more than half of which were in CTAHR.4 CTAHR offers ten B.S., ten M.S., and six Ph.D. degree programs in eleven academic departments. General fund expenditures were approximately $20.7 million in FY 1992; and between 1988 and 1992, the College generated more than $163 million in extramural grants and contracts for a variety of instructional, research, and extension activities covering the State of Hawaii and the American Pacific. Most of these research and technical assistance projects were conducted in close collaboration with the Hawaii Institute of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (HITAHR), the College's research and extension arm. 4 Faculty members in CTAHR typically occupy instructional (I), research (R), extension agent (A), specialist (S), or librarian (L) positions. Many hold split appointments, such as I-R or R-S, with various fractional assignments. Instructional faculty are usually paid out of the instructional budget (UOH101), researchers out of the organized research budget (UOH-102), and agents out of the extension service budget (UOH-103). UH faculty are represented in collective bargaining situations by the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA), and although many do not have tenure or even occupy tenure-track positions, tenure can be awarded in all five of the categories. The fact that UH can award tenure, not only to traditional instructional faculty attached to academic departments, but also to full-time researchers, agents, specialists, and librarians, many of w h o m are in extra-departmental units, is typical of Land Grant universities in general. It reflects the fundamental importance these institutions attach to their research and service missions, and it gives them an edge in recruiting and retaining personnel who, for example, may be gifted researchers or service providers but might not wish to pursue teaching careers. The existence of separate budget lines for instruction, organized research, and extension services is, of course, closely related to the existence of I, R, and A positions. It provides further evidence of the high priority

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UH gives to these endeavors. Similarly, the fact that the organized-research and extension-service budgets are managed by the vice president for research and graduate education rather than the vice president for academic affairs implies that these endeavors have a dedicated spokesman in the president's office and are well positioned to compete with other UH programs for state funds. Because of its size, complexity, diversity, multiple reporting lines, disparate clienteles, and political sensitivity, CTAHR is the most difficult component of the University to manage. It follows that the job of the CTAHR dean is second only to that of the president in its challenges and demands. During the Simone era, the job was made even tougher both by the decline of Hawaii's sugar and pineapple enterprises and by Simone himself, who knew little about agriculture and tended to write it off as a dying industry. The person who successfully met these challenges was Noel Price Kefford, who served as dean of Agriculture from 1981 until 1995- Kefford was born in Melbourne, Australia, and earned B.S. and M.S. degrees in Plant Physiology from the University of Melbourne. He completed his formal education in Europe, where he received a Ph.D. in Plant Physiology from the University of London in 1954. 5 The essential elements of Kefford's survival kit were his high intelligence, his complete dedication to the College, his consummate skill in the art of obfuscation, his ability to absorb an enormous amount of punishment, and his keen sense of humor—not often revealed—that allowed him to accept reality gracefully and cope with some of the most daunting personal and professional problems imaginable. Two examples of the former are his coronary bypass surgery and a cancer diagnosis, both of which he overcame. As the first example of the latter, Kefford was faced with an 8 percent budget reduction at the very beginning of the Simone administration. This was a consequence of the deal Simone cut with newly elected Governor John Waihee to internally reallocate approximately 5 percent of the University's current service base in exchange for a 5 percent increase in the total operating budget for BI 1987-1989. 6 Given Simone's ignorance of the subject and his pessimistic views about the future of agriculture in Hawaii, CTAHR was an obvious and unavoidable target. However, by stretching the planned 8 percent reduction over several years, Kefford was able to limit his losses during the first year to about 3 percent and have the rest conveniently forgotten. And even during that first year, Kefford received enough legislative add-ons so that the College came out ahead. Dean Kefford's mastery of the art of obfuscation was also evident in CTAHR's use of split appointments, an option that was perfectly legal but not available to most of Manoa's schools and colleges. In the College of Natural Sciences, for example, virtually all faculty hold regular instructional

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(I) appointments. When their teaching loads are computed, 1.0 full-time equivalent (FTE) position is added to the denominator for each such person, even though half of that person's time may be devoted to research. In CTAHR, on the other hand, such a person would be assigned 0.5 FTE for instruction and 0.5 FTE for research, and the number added to the denominator would be only 0.5 FTE. This has the appearance of doubling the teaching load of both the person and the college. I think it is fair to say that Kefford took some delight in the fact that the number crunchers in the Management Systems Office never quite succeeded in fathoming this particular system, which remains in place today. I think he also enjoyed the intellectual challenge of playing cat and mouse with Al Simone, at least to the extent that such an amusement is possible for the mouse. Nor did Simone regard Kefford's behavior as insubordination: having been a dean himself for so many years, he knew very well what they are about. As the second example of his ability to cope with daunting professional challenges, Kefford was eventually able to persuade Simone that neither CTAHR nor its undergraduate programs should be moved to Hilo. Although Simone's "original leaning" was toward making the transfer, he later changed his mind.7 The estimated cost of such a move in 1989 was $70 million, but this was an incentive rather than an impediment to the Hilo community, which favored the idea as a way shoring up its sagging economy. 8 Proposals to move CTAHR date from 1972, only two years after the Hilo campus was formed. They continue to serve as a warning to those who view appeasement as a viable mechanism for conflict resolution. In fact, human nature works the other way around, and the main result of providing governmental subsidies to special interest groups is that they grow larger and stronger when they come back for more. This lesson was repeated in 1974, when the legislature and the Board of Regents agreed to establish a College of Agriculture on the Hilo campus. Although their expediency and redundancy may have bought a little time, the ultimate result was positive reinforcement of Hilo's demands. 8 In 1987, the matter surfaced again. Malama Solomon, who represented North Hawaii and East Maui, was chairing the Senate Higher Education Committee, and she pushed hard to move the entire College to her district. By the end of the legislative session, however, she had retreated a little and was willing to settle for Manoa's undergraduate agriculture program. Simone managed to delay her plans by asking for time to appoint a task force to study the proposal. 7,8 Eight months later, Solomon told a reporter that she had been "betrayed by Simone" because she expected the ten-member task force, headed by Assistant Vice President for Academic Affairs Madeleine Goodman, to study how the transfer of undergraduate agriculture should be done and

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not whether it should be done. The conclusion of the task force was that the University's ability to offer educational opportunities to students, as well as its financial situation, would be adversely affected, and that the elimination of the interaction between graduate and undergraduate students would be to the detriment of both. 78 At its regular monthly meeting, held in Hilo on December 17, 1987, the Board of Regents refused to support Simone's decision to retain CTAHR and its undergraduate programs at Manoa, ordering him to rethink his opposition over the next two months.7 Though narrow, this window of opportunity gave Kefford and Simone the time they needed to come up with the ransom. It took the form of an "Agriculture Action Alliance" that legitimized the transfer of Manoa resources to Hilo in exchange for the release of the Manoa College held hostage by Senator Solomon and several of the regents. When the Board finally approved the concept of the Agricultural Action Alliance on March 18, 1988, the danger ebbed.8 Whereas the periodic assaults on CTAHR by Big Island legislators, regents, and community leaders were politically motivated and rather contrived, the collapse of sugar and the decline of pineapple were rooted in a global economy that was beyond the reach of local politicians and all too real. Hawaii's solution, if indeed there was one, was to diversify its economy and transform its agricultural sector. As the main engine for agricultural innovation in the State, CTAHR was expected to play the leading role.9 The goals of the transformation were to a. broaden Hawaii's economic and employment base; b. enhance the economic contributions of tourism; c. make Hawaii competitive in global markets; d. generate industry discipline and organization for competitiveness; e. preserve agricultural natural resources and infrastructure; f. coordinate public/private inputs of resources and expertise; g. meet society's concern for a green environment; h. assure a safe, healthy food supply and home environment; i. ameliorate the impact on communities of transitions from a plantation to an open society.9 As my final example of how Dean Kefford earned his pay, I will say a few words about Ag Sciences III, better known in Washington, D.C., as the Center for Tropical and Subtropical Agriculture (CTSA). Because this project has much in common with POST, which was discussed in detail in the previous chapter, I will be brief. Like POST, CTSA was a joint state and federal project. The matching ratio was exactly fifty-fifty, and the actual numbers were $13.5 million and

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$13-5 million for a total of $27 million. As was the case with POST, these resources were assembled incrementally over a period of years during which the two sponsors, acting in tandem, gradually increased their respective commitments until the prescribed levels were reached. CTSA also differed from POST in several respects. First, CTSA was never a high priority for Simone, and Tony Marsella was actually against it. Under these circumstances, Kefford and his colleagues were forced to work on the project almost in secret. This proved to be feasible partly because CTSA was so low on the University's CIP list that Simone and Marsella were not aware of these efforts, and partly because it nevertheless had the support of the local UH administrators, particularly Ralph Horii. By the time the request for construction funds attracted Simone's attention, much of the design work had been done. He had to go along because there was a formidable constituency behind CTSA and because the federal matching funds would add significantly to his bottom line. Second, although CTSA was formally included among the projects listed in the two-year Cassidy and Associates contract that extended from July 1, 1989, until June 30, 1991, most of the arrangements had already been made. In fact, the main Washington lobbyist for CTSA was not Cassidy, but Chauncey Ching, who directed HITAHR from 1984 until 1993. Beginning in 1990, Ching took an extended leave from his post at UH, moved to Washington, and has worked closely with Senator Daniel Inouye's office ever since. The use of close personal contacts was a hallmark of Kefford's administration, and this approach proved to be effective largely because Kefford and Ching and their colleagues were willing to make the extra effort and because they enjoyed the respect and the confidence of the agricultural community. Third, the CTSA proposal was thoroughly reviewed by a U.S. Department of Agriculture Panel that visited CTAHR in January, 1989. By working closely with the prospective federal sponsor from the very beginning, Kefford was able to avoid the hostile reaction that federal agencies usually have when their funds are earmarked by the U.S. Congress against their wishes. The site visit was meticulously planned and executed by CTAHR staff, and I was privileged to be among those who addressed the evaluators. The success of Kefford's strategy became apparent when the project received very high marks from the review team and won the full support of the Department of Agriculture before it was presented to the U.S. Congress. These distinctions suggest that CTSA would have succeeded with or without the help of Cassidy and Associates. In virtually every respect, CTSA has gone smoother than POST, attesting not only to the strength of the agriculture lobbies in Washington and Honolulu, but also to the thoroughness, professionalism, and political acumen of Kefford and Ching. Compared to them, Charles Helsley and I were mere amateurs obliged to learn our craft as we went along.

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Don Hall: The Magic Mountaineer Situated like a fixed point 4,200 meters (13,800 feet) above the Pacific Ocean, the summit of Mauna Kea (White Mountain) on the Island of Hawaii is generally considered to be the finest site on the planet for optical, infrared, and submillimeter astronomy. Among the reasons for that are clarity, darkness, and stability. Skies are clear because the summit is a desert 1,500 meters above the tropical inversion layer. Skies are dark because the summit is far from any city and because strict zoning laws limit light emission on the Big Island. Skies are stable because the summit is above 40 percent of the Earth's atmosphere and 90 percent of its water vapor, and because Mauna Kea is a shield volcano caressed by gentle trade winds predisposed to laminar flow.10 The conditions on Mauna Kea are particularly advantageous in studies of planetary and stellar atmospheres, of star formation and the interstellar medium, and of extragalactic astronomy and distant galaxies. Haleakala on the Island of Maui provides an attractive alternative for projects and facilities that do not require the extreme characteristics of Mauna Kea, and it is the site of the Mees Solar Observatory and the Lunar Ranging Facility.10 Like many of Hawaii's scientific resources, Mauna Kea is a gift of nature so unusual and outstanding that it has attracted scholars the world over. The fundamental issue, once the resource was discovered, was who would manage its development. Would it become merely an exotic field station for investigators from Oxford, Caltech, and Princeton, or would Hawaii participate fully in its own exploration? Assuming the latter, would it be controlled by officials in state government or by the University? And finally, assuming the University would manage it, would it be run by professional administrators or by competent researchers? The first characterization of Mauna Kea as a site for astronomical research was done in January 1964 by Gerard Kuiper, then director of the Lunar and Planetary Laboratory at the University of Arizona. At the urging of Kuiper, Mitsuo Akiyama, and others, Governor John A. Burns set aside money for a Mauna Kea access road limited to science-related traffic. Using the new road, Kuiper completed the installation of a 32-centimeter test telescope in June 1964, and the University of Hawaii sponsored a pair of 61-centimeter working telescopes that saw first light, respectively, in 1968 and 1969- These early initiatives established a pattern of UH participation and state infrastructure support that has typified the development of Mauna Kea Observatory (MKO) ever since.11 By the end of the Simone administration, MKO had more optical and infrared telescopes than any other observatory in the world; it also had the largest. Those facilities existing and proposed as of April 1992 are summarized in Table 8.1. Together they contributed to the Big Island's economy approximately 200 jobs, $30 million per year for operating expenses, and $60 million per year for construction. The payoff for the University was

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control of several of the smaller instruments and a guarantee of 10 percent or more of the viewing time on all the rest. 12 The manager of this vast scientific enterprise was Donald N. B. Hall, w h o in 1984 succeeded founder John Jeffries as director of the Institute for Astronomy (IFA). Hall came to Hawaii from the Space Telescope Science Institute in Baltimore, Maryland, where he was serving as deputy director. 13 Years later, w h e n asked h o w the ground-based facilities at Mauna Kea compared with orbiting telescopes such as the Hubble and the Galileo, Hall's standard reply was, "I voted with my feet." Although Hall earned his Ph.D. in Astronomy from Harvard University in 1970, has b e e n a member of the space science board of the National Academy of Science since 1984, and is one of only two dozen UH employees listed in Who's Who in America,13 it would be wrong to leave the impression that he was a stereotypical Ivy League professor. Indeed, his shelves were not filled to capacity with books and important papers; his desk top was not an archaeological dig consisting of sedimentary strata of unanswered letters and works in progress; and he did not spend his days with pipe in hand and feet p r o p p e d up, comfortably clad in tradition, veneration, and Harris Tweed. Table 8.1 Mauna Kea Observatories Facilities Circa 199212 Optical and Infrared Telescopes Size

Telescope

Sponsor

(Operational) Capital* Operating* Date

UH 24-inch No. 1

0.61 m

UH

0.3

UH 24-inch No. 2

0.61 m

UH

0.3

UH 88-inch

2.24 m

UH/NASA

NASA Infrared

3.0 m

NASA

Canada/France/Hawaii

3.6 m

UK Infrared

3.8 m

W.M. Keck I

10.0 m

Caltech/UC

1969

10.0

2.5

1979

Can/Fr/Haw

30.0

5.0

1979

U. Kingdom

5.0

2.5

1979

94.0

4.3

1992

Japan National

10.0 m 8.0 m

Millimeter/Submillimeter

Construction)

93.0

3.0

1996

170.0

10.0

1999

Caltech/UC Japan

1970

8.0

Optical and Infrared Telescopes (Under W.M. Keck II

1968 1.37

Telescopes

(Operational)

Caltech

10.4 m

Caltech/NSF

6.0

2.0

1987

James Clerk Maxwell

15.0 m

UK/Neth/Can 32.0

3.0

1987

'Capital investments and annual operating costs are in millions of 1990 dollars. A m o n g the proposed facilities under consideration in April 1992 were the 8-meter optical and infrared Gemini telescope; the six-antenna, 6-meter-diameter Smithsonian Submillimeter Array; and one 25-meter-diameter element of the centimeter-wavelength Very Long Baseline Array.

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A more apt stereotype, in my opinion, would be Crocodile Dundee. 14 Born in Sydney, Australia, Don Hall was a complete original: inner directed15 and in harmony with his unique environment, secure in his own talents and abilities, and sure of his own goals and objectives. He was always alert and moving, and was a man of very few words and very many actions. As the head of IFA, Hall was responsible for a capital investment on Mauna Kea and Haleakala that grew from $50 million in 1984 to $500 million in 1992, and is expected to reach $1 billion by the year 2000. Hall and his colleagues at IFA also built an academic program that emerged from relative obscurity in 1984 to surpass those of all other state universities. By 1992, it trailed only Caltech's and Princeton's programs. Finally, as an astronomer of the first rank, Hall provided intellectual leadership for a team of world-class scientists and engineers in the areas of astronomical observation, development and implementation of advanced astronomical technology, and research in space astronomy.16 In addition to his remarkable intellectual gifts and practical managerial skills, Hall had an uncanny ability to get things done. This involved working closely with a wide-ranging constituency that included astronomers and astronomy students; engineers and technicians; federal, state, and county officials; entrepreneurs and economic developers; conservation and environmental groups; and distinguished visitors and interested laypeople from all over the world. In preserving Hawaii's astronomical resources and assuring University access to Hawaii's astronomical facilities, he was one of the toughest and sharpest negotiators in the business.16 The purely physical demands of Hall's occupation were more than most people could have endured. As an astronomer, he literally worked night and day, as well as on weekends, and he routinely experienced large changes in altitude. Between managing facilities on three different islands; negotiating leases, contracts, and agreements with institutions in Japan, Great Britain, Canada, France, the Netherlands, and the U.S. mainland; and serving on various national and international boards and panels, Hall had by far the most strenuous travel schedule in the University and probably in the state.16 An example of technical innovation that occurred during Hall's service as director of IFA was the development of the world's largest charge coupled device (CCD) in collaboration with silicon foundries in California. CCDs are used in modern detector arrays in place of photographic plates, just as video cameras utilizing similar detectors are replacing film cameras. A format of 4096 x 4096 provided over 16 million pixels and gave more detail than 100 simultaneous TV cameras or an IMAX screen. 16 One outstanding scientific and media event that occurred on Hall's watch was the total eclipse of July 11, 1991. This was the first time the phenomenon has been viewed from a major astronomical observatory, and

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on Mauna Kea it won't be repeated until the year 2106. First Contact was at 6:31 A.M., Totality extended from 7:28 A.M. until 7:32 A.M., and Last Contact was at 8:29 A . M . Astronomers were pleased that the eclipse arose with the sun because early morning is the time when the earth's atmosphere tends to be most stable. The eclipse also happened about the time of maximum solar activity, which peaks every 11 years and is marked by solar flares, sun spots, and spectacular explosions.17 Although Don Hall was indeed an extraordinary manager living in complete harmony with his unique environment, there were some circumstances that even he could not control. One of these was the eruption of Mount Pinatubo a few weeks prior to the eclipse, which lifted particles of volcanic dust 75,000 feet in the air and produced colorful sunsets around the world. These particles came between the astronomers gathered at Mauna Kea and their quarry, compromising some of the observations. Scientific viewing was also placed briefly in jeopardy by a mysterious white blanket of mist that rose quickly from the slopes of Mauna Kea but drifted on to its sister volcano, Mauna Loa, just in time.17 Meanwhile, below the inversion layer, many thousands of visitors to the Big Island did not get to see the eclipse at all. Some had reserved their hotel rooms more than a year in advance, while others without a place to stay had spent a sleepless night. A partial eclipse was expected to be visible from Haleakala, but efforts to observe it were frustrated because all of Maui was obscured by clouds.17 Fortunately, all ten of the scientific experiments planned for Mauna Kea obtained useful data. A silhouette of the UH 88-inch telescope was beamed to several hundred million viewers in 100 countries, and the eclipse on Mauna Kea was featured on national evening newscasts in the United States, Japan, Canada, Australia, and the United Kingdom, as well as on ABC's "Prime Time Live" that evening. Also that same evening, Hawaii Public Television reinaugurated its series "Facets" with a half-hour eclipse documentary.18 Most major national newspapers with science reporters were represented on Mauna Kea, and the Hawaii eclipse reached the front page of the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Boston Globe, the Los Angeles Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, and the San Jose Mercury News. It also received prominent coverage in Time and Newsweek, was featured in National Geographic and Sky and Telescope, and occupied a full segment of PBS's "NOVA."18 The logistics of accommodating eighty scientists, 115 members of the media, and a number of county, state, and federal officials were handled by IFA and Mauna Kea staff. Of course, this was in addition to their regular duties. A media coordinator was hired using resources obtained from the UH Space Research Committee and the Project Develop17

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ment Fund, but an additional $60,000 for brochures, temporary telephone lines, portable toilets, shuttle vans, luncheons, car rentals, photography, and other items had to be paid out of the president's reserve. Indeed, this was one of those cases where the University performed an important public service but could not legitimately use state funds to cover many of the costs. 18 Space does not permit a fuller account of Director Hall's activities and, more generally, of the history of astronomy in Hawaii. There is enough material on that topic to fill another book. Suffice it to say that although Don Hall reported to me for more than nine years, we both knew that his job was much more demanding than mine. My goal as his boss apparent was simply to do whatever I could to help. On the eve of Simone's departure, I nominated Don Hall for State Manager of the Year, and he was selected as the University's candidate for 1992. 16

Jerry Michael: The Public Health Admiral The School of Public Health is in many ways a child of the political process evolving in parallel with the University. The Democratic revolution of 1954 set education as one of its highest priorities, and the subsequent improvement of the University accelerated Hawaii's admission as a state in August 1959-19 In its first semester in the fall of 1962, the new Department of Public Health offered only six courses. There were two master's degree candidates, three full-time faculty, and several part-time lecturers. In October 1964, the department was accepted by the Association of Schools of Public Health as an associate member, and in September 1965, it was formally designated a School of Public Health. 19 The Pacific Biomedical Research Center and the College of Health Sciences and Social Welfare were established at about the same time as the School of Public Health. The first of these spawned the School of Medicine, and the second ultimately embraced the new School of Medicine as well as the founding Schools of Nursing, Social Work, and Public Health. 19 Over the three decades of its existence, the School of Public Health has earned an international reputation in many fields relevant to its location, diverse population, and strong ties to Asia and the Pacific Basin. Among these are Biostatistics, Epidemiology, Maternal and Child Health, Public Health Administration, Public Health Education, Public Health Laboratory, Public Health Nutrition, and Public Health Engineering. 19 The impact of the school on the region has been greatly enhanced through linkages with other agencies and academic institutions. Examples include relationships with the State Department of Health, the Western Consortium for Health Professionals, the Thai Ministry of Public Health, Mahidol University's Faculty of Public Health, and the Indonesian Ministry

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of Health. The Asia-Pacific Academic Consortium for Public Health was formed in 1985, and now includes public health institutions in Hawaii, Indonesia, Korea, Malaysia, Nepal, the People's Republic of China, the Philippines, Singapore, Sri Lanka, and Thailand. 19 Retired Assistant Surgeon General Jerrold M. Michael joined the school as associate dean and professor of Public Health in January 1971. This followed a twenty-year career with the U.S. Public Health Service in Washington, D.C., where he held the rank of rear admiral. Known as a prolific writer and pioneer in instructional programs for medical paraprofessionals and laypeople, Michael has received numerous honors and awards including a Distinguished Service Medal, a Meritorious Service Medal, and a Commendation Medal from the U.S. Public Health Service, a Distinguished Service Award from the Association of Schools of Public Health, and honorary doctoral degrees from Mahidol University in Thailand and Tulane University in New Orleans.19'20'21 Michael assumed leadership of the school as acting dean in 1972, and was appointed permanent dean in 1973- During the Simone administration, he was the most senior dean in all of the twenty-four accredited schools of public health in the United States, and was one of the most highly regarded. 19 Indeed, Michael had served more than twenty years in that office by the time he returned to a faculty position in the school's Department of Community Health Development on August 3, 1992.21,22 Some high points of Michael's career as dean of Public Health were the approval by the Board of Regents of the school's Ph.D. program in Biostatistics and Epidemiology in 1975; the formation, with UC-Berkeley and UCLA, of the Western Consortium for Health Professionals in 1975; the approval by the Board of Regents of the School's Dr.P.H. program in 1979; the establishment of the Health Careers Opportunity Program to assist individuals from disadvantaged backgrounds in 1979; and the establishment of the Health Professions Recruitment Program for American Indians and Alaskan Natives in 1979-19 Departmental status was granted to the International Health Program in 1979. The school assumed its present organizational structure in 1984, and since then has consisted of the Department of Community Health Development, the Department of Public Health Sciences, the International Center for Health Promotion and Disease Prevention Research, and the Pacific Environmental Health Research Center.19 In 1985, the school was identified by the World Health Organization (WHO) as a Collaborating Center for Health Leadership Development, and in 1988 it hosted the WHO Second Interregional Dialogue on Leadership Development Conference. Among the participants were members of the WHO Leadership Task Force, the Research Committee on the Sociology of Health, the WHO Collaborating Centers for Nursing Development, the

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Network of Community-Oriented Educational Institutions for Health Sciences, the Asia-Pacific Academic Consortium for Public Health, and other committed health professional and consultants.23 On March 29, 1990, Senator Daniel K. Inouye announced the signing of a cooperative agreement initiating a master's internationalist program that allows simultaneous application to the U.S. Peace Corps and the School of Public Health. Present at the signing ceremony in the President's Room of the U.S. Senate Chamber in the capitol were Senator Inouye, Peace Corps Director Paul Coverdell, and Dean Jerry Michael.24 The ink was barely dry on the University's cooperative agreement when Timothy Swanson, a Peace Corps volunteer serving in the Philippines, was abducted by the communist New People's Army on June 13, 1990. The U.S. State Department ordered the immediate evacuation of 26l Peace Corps volunteers, about 225 of whom passed through Hawaii on their way home or to their new assignments. Many of these stayed at the Hale Wainani dormitory at Manoa while they underwent briefings and mandatory paperwork at the Campus Center. Director Coverdell attributed the withdrawal to the collapse of a long-standing agreement between the Peace Corps and the Filipino guerrillas. He and other Peace Corps officials thanked the University of Hawaii for its assistance and said, "We couldn't have pulled this off anywhere else." 25 It must be evident from the discussion thus far that Jerry Michael was a Washington insider, thoroughly familiar with the way the system worked and extraordinarily well connected. Indeed, based on my own observations I am convinced that he had direct access to the highest levels of the federal government, and particularly the National Democratic Party, and that he worked on a scale much grander than most of us in academe could ever have imagined. In the remainder of this section, I will give several examples of this. On January 9, 1987, as I was just beginning my second year as a vice president, I met with Jerry in my Bachman Hall office to ascertain his views on the advisability of hiring Cassidy and Associates. Jerry responded with a candid tutorial that explained in layman's terms how things actually get done in our nation's capital. Sincerity and merit are important, he acknowledged, but access is obtained through the political process. A well-meaning person could be successful without participating directly in partisan politics, but the odds greatly favored those who did. It was precisely this difference, Jerry said, that distinguished then Dean of the School of Medicine Terry Rogers from himself. To illustrate the value of an effective lobbyist, Jerry mentioned the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC), which manages political action committees (PACs) across the country. AIPAC was a big contributor to Senator Inouye, Jerry said, and while Inouye didn't need the money to win reelection, he did need it to become senate majority leader.

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Next, Jerry mentioned that he was a member of the campaign committees for both Senator Inouye and then-Senator Spark Matsunaga. He talked to Pat De Leon, Inouye's administrative assistant and a specialist on health-related legislation, virtually every day; and he talked to Cherry Mitano, Spark Matsunaga's administrative assistant, and Pat McGeary, then Representative Dan Akaka's administrative assistant, about once a week. Naively assuming that their conversations were limited to the School of Public Health, I wondered how they could find that much to talk about. On August 21, 1990, I attended a fund raiser for Dan Akaka held at the Aloha Tower in Honolulu from 5:30 P.M. to 7:30 P.M. Akaka had been sworn into the U.S. Senate in May 1990 to fill the seat vacated by Senator Matsunaga's death, and he was running a close race with Republican Pat Saiki for the full six-year term. 26 Grateful for Akaka's assistance on the POST building, I greeted him with the sentence I had formulated while awaiting my turn in the reception line, saying, "I figure I owe you about $20 million." "And there's a lot more where that came from," he replied. Still uneasy about my sporadic direct participation in political campaigns, I proceeded from the senator to the food, where I happened to run into Jerry Michael. As we sat down together for the usual Hawaiianstyle fund-raiser dinner consisting of such local favorites as Spam, Mahi, chicken, rice, and macaroni salad, I joked that I had paid $50 for this meager repast. Jerry was not amused. Continuing my instruction, he opened the envelope he had been carrying in his coat pocket and showed me a check for $5,000 made out to "Friends of Daniel K. Akaka." He said it was from a PAC he had set up "in the Jewish community" and added that he would total more than $100,000 by the end of the campaign, all out of state. "That's the only way to get anything," Jerry insisted. With Pat Saiki still leading in the polls one week before the election, Massachusetts Senator Edward Kennedy rushed to Akaka's assistance. Two of Kennedy's public appearances were held at the University of Hawaii at Manoa on October 31, 1990, both arranged by Jerry Michael. In the first, Kennedy received an Excellence in Leadership Medallion from the AsiaPacific Academic Consortium for Public Health, an organization by then consisting of twenty universities in fifteen countries. In the second, he gave a 30-minute speech at the John F. Kennedy Theater attended by more than 800 people. 27 The medallion was, of course, presented by Jerry Michael. In a ceremony held in the School of Public Health courtyard at the Biomedical Sciences Building, Dean Michael praised Kennedy's leadership in the field of public health and said it was only the second time in the history of the Consortium that such an award had been given. "Many in Asia know Kennedy and his work, but couldn't name the president of the United States," Dean Michael added. 27

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And Kennedy's address was, of course, a blast at the GOP leadership. Championing the causes of education, civil rights, health care, and long-term care for senior citizens and the disabled, Kennedy attacked military spending and said that "President Bush's shameful veto last week of the Civil Rights Act of 1990 was a sad day for America's ideals and for all of us who believe in equal justice under the law."27 On a softer note, Kennedy also recalled his late brother's aloha for the Islands and his generous support for the University and the East-West Center. My final example concerns the appointment of former Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis as a visiting professor at Manoa in the spring of 1991- The highlight of his visit was a series of public lectures and faculty-student dialogues arranged by Jerry Michael. Dukakis praised Hawaii's health care system and recommended it to the nation as a model of uniform health insurance. More recently, as the debate over universal access and adequate care has centered on the Clinton health plan, the trailblazing experience of Hawaii continues to be frequently cited.28 Though highly effective, Jerry Michael's style of leadership was unpopular with some of his own faculty. This became apparent when a survey of current and former faculty conducted by the Public Health Faculty Senate Executive Committee in 1991 cited "the dictatorial control by the Dean of all activities" and gave Michael low ratings in a number of areas including collegiality, research support, faculty morale, fairness, intimidation, and job security.29 Michael announced his resignation as Dean on December 22, 1991, eleven days after the Office of the Attorney General agreed to an out-ofcourt settlement against Michael of a defamation of character case filed by former UH faculty member Dr. Arthur Manoharan. The settlement included about $150,000 in damages. The defamation charges concerned 1988 statements made by Michael to former Chairwoman of the Board of Regents Gladys Brandt over allegations of sexual misconduct by Manoharan in 1980. Michael's statements to Brandt were made when Manoharan was applying for a position as associate professor at the School of Public Health.29 Although Michael's remarks were confidential and off the record, the lawsuit was viable because Brandt had mentioned them in public. It is obvious from these examples that Jerry Michael used his position as dean to aid and support his favorite political causes, including Israel, Hawaii's Congressional delegation, and the National Democratic Party. It is also obvious, conversely, that he used his enormous influence with the Jewish community, Hawaii's Congressional delegation, and the National Democratic Party to help the University and strengthen his School. Recalling that the purpose of this chapter is not to pass judgment on the character and behavior of Manoa's deans and directors, but simply to examine their duties and track their maneuvers in a variety of situations, I will summarize this section by saying that Jerry Michael was one of those

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people w h o were deeply involved in the politics of higher education, both nationally and in Hawaii. His involvement tended to be at a very high level, and he strongly believed in what he was doing and did it very well. It is also true that in a state where patronage is the norm and where one political party has controlled the legislature since 1954 and the governorship since 1962, Dean Michael's behavior was widely accepted and often praised.

Fred Greenwood: The Minority Institution The primary mission of the Pacific Biomedical Research Center (PBRC) is to conduct scientific investigations on such interdisciplinary topics as cell structure and function, Hawaiian evolutionary biology, neuro-behavioral biology, retrovirology, biotechnology, and molecular endocrinology. First established as the Institute of Health Research (IHR) in 1961 and given its present name in 1963, PBRC is also a catalyst for change. It has initiated such endeavors as the John A. Burns School of Medicine in 1967, and the Cancer Research Center of Hawaii in 1971.30 It is PBRC's primary mission that provides the people, the sites, and the resources required by its secondary mission, which is educating undergraduate, graduate, and postdoctoral students. Salient features of this secondary endeavor are the integration of research and instruction, the synthesis of knowledge acquired from didactic lectures with the technical skills acquired in a working laboratory, and the creation of career trajectories for minority students that extend from high school to the post-doctoral level.30 The University of Hawaii at Manoa was formally recognized as a minority institution when PBRC received its first Minority Biomedical Research Support (MBRS) grant for college juniors and seniors in 1974. This was followed by a Minority Access to Research Careers (MARC) grant that began in 1978 for graduate student fellows, by a Minority High School Student Research Apprentice (MHSSRA) grant that began in 1981, by a Research Centers in Minority Institutions (RCMI) infrastructure grant that began in 1986, and by a MARC grant for college freshmen and sophomores that began in 1991- Enhancements of the core RCMI grant included an AIDS supplement for clinical trials and basic retrovirology that began in 1989, and a Native Hawaiian mental health grant that began in 1990.30 The stated purpose of the RCMI program is to expand the nation's research capability in the health and behavioral sciences by enhancing the research environments of predominantly minority institutions offering doctoral degrees in these areas. The additional human and physical resources provided by RCMI are intended to make such institutions more competitive, both in conducting biomedical research and in obtaining extramural grants and contracts for that purpose. 31 As a Carnegie I Research University at which only one quarter of the students identify themselves as Caucasian, Manoa easily qualifies.

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The facts that the majority of Manoa's students are of Asian ancestry, that Asian students are well represented in American colleges and universities generally, and that Manoa already had a competitive research capability in the health sciences were conveniently overlooked because the National Institutes of Health, which funded the RCMI program, and the historically Black colleges and universities, which lobbied for it, welcomed the support of Hawaii's Senator Inouye. 32 Although it is primarily Manoa's Asian students who qualify the campus as a minority institution at the federal level, the local interpretation of minority is usually limited to ethnic groups that are "under-represented" in Hawaii. And because this statement may appear to be tautologous to those accustomed to defining under-represented groups as "everybody except White heterosexual males," 33 I will add one further qualification and note that at UH the terms "minority" and "under-represented" usually refer to Native Hawaiians, Filipinos, and Pacific Islanders. In any case, these are the groups that have been targeted by Manoa's RCMI program. The entrepreneur who planted and cultivated most of the University's biomedical programs for minority students was Fred Greenwood, who accepted a position as professor of Biochemistry at UH in 1968. Greenwood became PBRC Director in 1973, succeeding Georg von Békésy, Manoa's only Nobel Prize winner, after his death in 1972. Greenwood was born in Portsmouth, England, and earned a Ph.D. in Biochemistry from University College, London, in 1953, and a D.Sc. in Endocrinology from the University of London in 1967. Prior to coming to UH, he headed the Protein Chemistry Section of the Imperial Cancer Research Fund in London. His research has focused on steroid biochemistry and its clinical applications, peptide hormones, and chemistry and measurements in biological fluids.34 Like IFA Director Hall, who has a Harvard degree but is not a stereotypical Ivy League professor, PBRC Director Greenwood has a classical British education but is not a stereotypical British don. On the contrary, although the British system has done its job and furnished Greenwood's mind with erudition, culture, and refinement, the person dwelling therein is revolutionary, radical, and anarchist. As a result of this bizarre amalgamation of the British intellectual and working classes, witnessing one of Greenwood's performances was like attending a Beatles concert in Carnegie Hall. And like those of the Beatles, his shows were loud, outrageous, and brilliant, and his audiences were delighted, horrified, and moved. Indeed, Greenwood was the dean or director most likely to change the course of any discussion, to risk that heretical comment others were repressing, and to cut through the general mendacity and get to the truth inside. To convey some sense of this phenomenon, I have collected a number of comments Greenwood made over the years at meetings of the Manoa

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deans and directors chaired by Al Simone. Greenwood's willingness to sally forth in this sharp-tongued and quick-witted company already says a lot about his courage and motivation. The things he volunteered—even stripped of their proper background and context—reveal still more. His remarks also impart some idea of the give and take of this supposedly august body under Simone. • May 6, 1987. "If the movement of Trop Ag to Hilo is a given, we will have to rethink our Biotechnology Task Force." • July 1, 1987. "Cutting only PCRs (program change requests) will wipe out all the strategic planning we did the last two years." • January 27, 1988. "Our meeting with Malama (Senator Malama Solomon, Chair of the Senate Higher Education Committee) went better than last year. It was a think tank on how to save the Big Island." • February 24, 1988. "The University of Hawaii at Hilo doesn't want outreach or partnership with Manoa; it wants control." • May 18, 1988. "Sending proposals through the UH Foundation is just another hurdle. The last time I did it, they misspelled my hormone, which was very unprofessional from my point of view." • July 27, 1988. "Are we recruiting clones of the deans we had before, or are we taking this opportunity to move in new directions?" • February 8, 1989- "I like the document (new policy on ethical conduct in research). It's totally cynical, but some of the misconducts are incongruous with my job as a research administrator. Is there a separate document for administrators?" • March 22, 1989- "This is the first time in the last several years I have heard the dreaded words 'consolidation' and 'stabilization.' I prefer the roller coaster to stagnation. And this is also the first time I have heard from Al any thoughts of mortality—of a finite term in office. I like hearing it because I think Al will last longer if he doesn't over extend himself." • September 6, 1989. "We've all vented. Now let's get on to the next agenda item." • September 18, 1989. "Al's (organization) chart could have worked with the right personnel. In fact, it has worked on the research side. I need to see Al only twice a year." • November 29, 1989- "We need to recruit the best people, people with Ph.D.s who can get grants. We are not a philanthropic institution set up to create jobs for local people."

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• January 24, 1990. "The fact that the Department of Personnel Services is rejecting 26 percent of our reclassification requests and only 5 percent of the requests from other state agencies suggests that we are different from those other agencies." • October 3, 1990. "We are forgetting that this is a university. The faculty carry out searches for new faculty, and the faculty choose. You can hold deans and directors responsible for the process, but not for the result." • October 30, 1990. "I'm happy to have decisions made by someone (Al Simone) who has an intimate knowledge of Manoa by virtue of those interminable College Hill breakfasts. Deans and directors follow the money. If Yount didn't have money, I wouldn't bother him." • October 30, 1990. "I'm in favor of shutting down academic departments. A department is a mutual protection society against innovative deans. Departments are good for parking, not for research. They clone the departed department member. Changing them is like making love to an elephant: There is very little pleasure in it; you are likely to get squashed; and it takes two years before you get any results." • December 19, 1990. "At this university, the term 'budget process' is an oxymoron." As a research director, Greenwood epitomized the adage that you can accomplish almost anything as long as you are willing to give other people credit for it. In characteristic fashion, he described the May 17, 1988, site visit for the AIDS supplement as a "team effort" and attributed its success to no less than forty-one people representing the state legislature, the Department of Health, the Queen's Medical Center, and the Life Foundation, as well as various schools, colleges, and organized research units at the University.35 By making Al Simone the principal investigator for the RCMI infrastructure grant in 1986 and the AIDS supplement in 1989, Greenwood was able to persuade program officers in Washington and peer reviewers across the land that our proposal had the backing of the UH administration at the highest level. Conversely, when his requests for $450,000 in state matching funds were accorded, respectively, priority 363 and priority 365 in the University's budget, Greenwood was able to appeal to Simone, get these priorities changed, and have the items funded. 36 In his testimony before the U.S. Senate Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services, Education, and Related Agencies, Greenwood credited all seventeen RCMI universities for their contributions to the biomedical research knowledge base and their high quality research

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training environments. And rather than dwell on Hawaii's needs, he cited the disproportionate incidence rates for AIDS among Blacks and Hispanics, ethnic minorities that together constitute less than two percent of Hawaii's local population. 32 In an effort to give other undergraduates an opportunity to gain practical research experience in the University's biomedical laboratories, Greenwood masterminded a merit-based proposal that would allow sophomores and juniors to work with faculty mentors in the College of Natural Sciences and the John A. Burns School of Medicine as well as PBRC. 37 Along with Caltech, Harvard, and UCLA, the University of Hawaii was one of only forty-two schools to receive a grant from the Howard Hughes Medical Institute for this purpose. This $1 million award was credited to the College of Natural Sciences rather than PBRC, and the principal investigator was Christopher Womersley, associate professor of Zoology, rather than Fred Greenwood. 38 Native Hawaiian populations are known to be at increased risk for such health factors as cancer, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease, but they are often reluctant to participate in epidemiological studies intended to quantify the prevalence of these widespread problems. In recruiting volunteers, it is important to assure candidates that they are not merely the subjects of a scientific investigation, but have a real opportunity to benefit personally and collectively from the experience. 39 For many years, the RCMI program has served as a vehicle to enhance cooperation. Native Hawaiian professionals trained by RCMI have greater access and credibility, and they also have a better understanding of the populations involved. Healani K. Chang, associate activity leader for the Native Hawaiian Health Research component of RCMI, has been particularly effective in this effort. She joined the RCMI program as an undergraduate and expected to complete the requirements for a doctorate in public health in 1996. On June 17, 1994, while still enrolled as a graduate student at Manoa, she reported to the Board of Regents on her first training grant as a principal investigator for MBRS.40 By the end of the Simone administration in 1992, PBRC was attracting over $5-3 million per year in extramural funds and leveraging its current service base of $1.8 million by about three to one. Most of these funds were being used to support PBRC's primary mission, which is research, but the impact on PBRC's secondary mission, which is teaching, may ultimately prove to be greater. Among those taught in the past twenty years were thirty-five minority high school students, 373 minority undergraduates, and a handful of minority graduate students, many of whom are continuing to pursue biomedical careers that would otherwise have been inaccessible. Indeed, Greenwood's main regret as Director of PBRC was that Manoa could not create similar opportunities for all of its students. 30

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Chris Gulbrandsen: The Problem-Based Learner Named after John A. Burns, a founder of the modern Democratic party and governor (1962-1974), the School of Medicine was established in 1965 to provide an opportunity for medical education previously unavailable to residents of Hawaii and other Pacific islands. The medical school expanded from a two-year to a four-year, M.D.-degree-granting institution in 1973, and graduated its first class of sixty-two physicians in May 1975.41 The School of Medicine includes a number of basic science departments such as Anatomy and Reproductive Biology, Genetics and Molecular Biology, Pharmacology, Biochemistry and Biophysics, Pathology, Physiology, and Tropical Medicine and Medical Microbiology. This is in addition to the usual clinical sciences: Surgery, Medicine, Psychiatry, Pediatrics, Obstetrics and Gynecology, and Family Practice and Community Health.41 One of the unusual aspects of the medical school's curriculum is that it bases clinical instruction in affiliated community hospitals and clinics rather than operating a university teaching hospital. This modus operandi was dictated partly by economic necessity because there was no money to build and operate a university hospital, and partly by opposition from local hospitals and clinics because they did not want to admit another competitor. Making a virtue of necessity, one can also point out ex post facto that university hospitals are costly and difficult to manage. The UH curriculum involves community physicians and other health professionals in the training of future physicians, thrusting students into clinical situations right from the start.41 Affiliated hospitals include Kapiolani Medical Center for Women and Children, St. Francis Medical Center, Queen's Medical Center, Tripler Army Medical Center, Straub Clinic and Hospital, Kuakini Medical Center, Shriners Hospital, Kaiser Medical Center, and Rehabilitation Hospital of the Pacific. In addition, Leahi Hospital, a chronic disease institution, is operated by the state and houses the Department of Tropical Medicine and Medical Microbiology as well as elements of the Departments of Pathology and Pharmacology. The school is also affiliated with the U.S. Veterans' Administration and the Hawaii State Hospital.41 In line with the overall University policy of selective excellence in fields in which Hawaii has particular advantages, the School of Medicine excels in Tropical Medicine and Medical Microbiology, in Undersea Medicine, and in Epidemiology. Cross-cultural Psychiatry is another area of strength facilitated by Hawaii's multiethnic population. The school's midPacific location, its ties to the Pacific island nations and to Southeast Asia, and the state's multiethnic and multicultural population all combine to give the school its distinctive flavor and opportunities.41 With a student body made up of men and women of many ancestries—European, Chinese, Korean, J a p a n e s e , Hawaiian, Filipino, Samoan, Micronesian, and

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Chamorran—it may, in fact, be the only genuinely multiracial medical school in the world.42 The School of Medicine plays an extensive training role in locations outside Hawaii. In the scattered islands of Micronesia, the school has trained both physicians' assistants and health assistants to bring primary care to a widely dispersed population. In collaboration with local government authorities, a major training program for medical officers has been developed on Pohnpei. Similar training supported by the U.S. Agency for International Development is conducted in Papua New Guinea, Latin America, and Africa. On Okinawa, the school conducts a residency training program for graduates of Japanese medical schools, a program financed by the prefectural government. 41 Following the retirement of Dean Terence Rogers of the School of Medicine in 1988, 43 Al Simone appointed a blue ribbon committee made up of University and community leaders to recommend a replacement. One year later, the field had been narrowed to six semifinalists with outstanding credentials and diverse visions for the future of the institution. While all agreed that the school had great potential, five said it was woefully underfunded and could not hope to achieve its long-term goals without a massive infusion of additional resources. According to their estimates, the state was providing only 20 percent to 40 percent of what it would take to run a typical medical school with comparable enrollment on the U.S. mainland. What was missing, of course, was the hospital. In addition, research activity was negligible in comparison with mainland institutions, some of which attract more than $100 million per year in extramural funds and account for a major portion of their parent university's total research endeavor. Acknowledging that the state was getting a plethora of doctors for its small investment, one of the candidates characterized the medical school as the cheapest money could buy. The specific issue facing Simone was whether to strive for excellence in medical research as well as medical instruction, or settle for less. Choosing less, he invented the term "excellence with balance," which really meant excellence without additional state funding. In a letter dated June 8, 1989, he offered the permanent job to the one remaining candidate who was comfortable with this inexpensive paradigm, Acting Dean Christian L. Gulbrandsen. 44 For those of us who were accustomed to working with Terry Rogers, the contrast between the incumbent and his successor was immense. And because Rogers had personified the School of Medicine so completely, it was as if the school itself had changed, undergoing a transformation so fundamental and so abrupt that it challenged the imagination. Here it may be useful to recall that Terry Rogers was appointed acting dean of Medicine in 1971 43 and was dean of Medicine when the medical

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school became an M.D.-degree-granting institution in 1973 and graduated its first class in 1975. He preceded Jerry Michael and Fred Greenwood by a couple of years and was therefore Manoa's most senior dean or director during the early and most innovative phase of the Simone administration. Like Michael, Rogers was very well connected, and like Greenwood, he was very outspoken. In fact, so formidable were Roger's political qualifications that he routinely served as the "dean" of Manoa's deans and directors and even made an impressive run for the UH presidency. 45 Chris Gulbrandsen, on the other hand, was quiet and self-effacing. Where Rogers was a man of the world born in London, England, 46 Gulbrandsen was a man of the Midwest born in Westby, Wisconsin.47 Where Rogers was a Ph.D. physiologist specializing in such exotic research topics as electrolyte metabolism, arctic survival, and starvation,46 Gulbrandsen was a practicing physician who earned his M.D. in Internal Medicine at the University of Wisconsin Medical School in 1963, did a residency in medicine at Boston City Hospital in 1964-1965, and was a fellow in Hematology at Harvard from 1965 until 1971.47 Where Rogers was confrontational and had the temerity to take on local politicians,43,45 Gulbrandsen was accommodating and tried his best to get along with everyone. While Gulbrandsen's soothing bedside manner might have been a handicap in another setting, it served him well in Hawaii. It helped him to earn the confidence of the local community, and it made it easy for him to accept Simone's economical agenda of "excellence with balance." It allowed him to welcome the challenges of his new occupation, and it prepared him to exploit the opportunities. Gulbrandsen's greatest assets, however, were his physician's commitment to public service and the fact that he truly cared about the welfare of his patients, his faculty, and his students. To the surprise of many who were misled by his mild and sympathetic demeanor, Chris Gulbrandsen proved to be one of Manoa's most energetic, innovative, and creative deans. Under his bold leadership, the John A. Burns School of Medicine soon abandoned its traditional curriculum, and, in the fall of 1989, became one of only a handful of schools across the nation to convert to a problem-based format.48 Whereas traditional medical education emphasizes teacher-directed learning, passive student participation, and rote memorization of massive amounts of information, problem-based learning is active and dynamic, self-motivational and self-directed. Instead of congregating in crowded, impersonal lecture halls, students meet in small problem-based groups with a faculty tutor.48 The primary objective of problem-based learning is to accumulate the concepts and facts of medicine in a clinical context, basing the need to know on relevant problems. Students are trained to think critically, to evaluate new information and research data, and to apply their new knowledge to the issues at hand. In this way, they become actively involved in

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their own learning process, and are not simply passive recipients of seemingly irrelevant and inconsequential instruction. 48 When Gulbrandsen's problem-based innovation is combined with the medical school's traditional community-based instruction, an interesting synergism results. Health care professionals in all sectors are brought together in community partnerships at an early stage, and medical students learn to see themselves as generalists actively engaged in care-providing teams, not as specialists working in isolation. This has both short-term and long-term implications for medical practice across the nation, and it provides a way of addressing such issues as the increase of costs, liability, and litigation, and the decrease of quality, availability, and accessibility.48 Building upon its experience in community-based instruction and problem-based learning, the School of Medicine launched a major effort to enhance its relationship with the community that surrounds and nurtures it. Named "Community Partnerships with Health Professions Education," this initiative was funded by a competitive $6 million grant from the Kellogg Foundation, and was one of only six selected out of 111 proposals. Bringing the diverse partners together was a diplomatic feat of the highest order and attests to effectiveness of Gulbrandsen's accommodating manner in the local environment. 48,49 The gentle revolution fomented by Gulbrandsen and his colleagues has made Hawaii a leader in innovative medical education across the country. This fact was acknowledged by The Chronicle of Higher Education, which noted that "[s]ome U.S. schools have changed their curricula to emphasize case studies rather than memorization, but so far Hawaii's changes have been the most dramatic, according to medical-school administrators." 50

Pat Takahashi: The Renewable Energy Source Whereas CTAHR Dean Ned Kefford was born in Melbourne, Australia, and succeeded William Furtick, w h o was born in Salina, Kansas, and was recruited to Hawaii from the United Nations' Food and Agriculture Organization in Rome, Italy;51 and whereas IFA Director Don Hall was born in Sydney, Australia, 13 and succeeded John Jeffries, w h o was born in Kellerberrin, Australia;52 and whereas Public Health Dean Jerry Michael was born in Richmond, Virginia,20 and succeeded Edward O'Rourke, known as "the Irish Dean," w h o was recruited to Hawaii from New York City;19 and whereas PBRC Director Fred Greenwood was born in Portsmouth, England,34 and succeeded Nobel Laureate Georg von Bekesy, w h o was born in Budapest, Hungary; 53 and whereas Dean of Medicine Chris Gulbrandsen was a Norwegian American born in Westby, Wisconsin, 47 and succeeded Terry Rogers, who was born in London, England; 46 Hawaii Natural Energy Institute (HNEI) Director Pat Takahashi was born in Honolulu, Hawaii54 and succeeded Paul Yuen, w h o was born in Hilo, Hawaii.55 5

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I offer these tidbits of demography as evidence that deans and directors of CTAHR, IFA, the School of Public Health, PBRC, and the School of Medicine, like Manoa faculty in general, are normally recruited both internationally and nationally while directors of HNEI tend to have deep roots in Hawaii and strong political connections. One reason for this distinction is that HNEI is a child of the Hawaii State Legislature, created at the height of the oil embargo in 1974. Its purpose is to coordinate and develop nonpolluting renewable energy sources such as geothermal, solar, ocean thermal, wind, and waves, and thereby to 1. diminish Hawaii's total dependence on imported fossil fuels; 2. meet the state's increasing energy demands with little or no environmental degradation; and 3. contribute to the technology base for finding solutions to the national global energy shortage. 56 Takahashi's preparation for the job of HNEI director was superb. It was also completely different from that of Kefford, Hall, Michael, Greenwood, Gulbrandsen, and their predecessors. After receiving his baccalaureate degree in Chemical Engineering from Stanford University in 1962, Takahashi returned to the Islands as a sugar processing engineer for C. Brewer and Company, Limited, from 1962 to 1967, and worked as a computer applications project leader for the Hawaiian Sugar Planters Association from 1967 to 1968.54 These appointments gave him access to, and intimate knowledge of, one of the most powerful lobbies in the State. Having gained valuable experience in local politics as well as industrial engineering, Takahashi went back to school and earned his master's degree in 1969, and his Ph.D. in 1971, both in Chemical Engineering from Louisiana State University. Because Manoa teaches Chemical Engineering courses but lacks a Chemical Engineering Department, Takahashi was hired as an assistant professor of Civil Engineering in 1971.54 Takahashi's academic advancement was interrupted, and later facilitated, by a three-year assignment in Washington, D.C. There he served as special assistant for energy, higher education, and technology to Hawaii's late Senator Spark M. Matsunaga from 1979 to 1982. Takahashi was promoted to the rank of professor in 1982. He became associate director of HNEI in 1982, and director in 1984.54 With his strong ties to state and federal government, Takahashi was extraordinarily well positioned to obtain funding for HNEI directly from both the legislature and the U.S. Congress. He was also very knowledgeable and very well liked. As a result, he had many opportunities to testify as an expert witness, to serve as a consultant, and to influence energy and environmental policy both locally and nationally.

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Early in 1986, during the first several months of my appointment as vice president, Pat took it upon himself to introduce me to a number of his energy friends. Following our usual format, Pat and I would rendezvous in my office, he would drive us to his friend's place of business, and we would chat for half an hour to an hour about what the University should be doing to help the people of Hawaii. Among the community leaders I met in this way were Hideto Kono, chairman of the Hawaii State Public Utilities Commission; Edwin Sau Nin Wong, senior vice president of the Matson Navigation Company; C. Dudley Pratt, Jr., president of the Hawaiian Electric Company; Richard J. Lyman, Jr., Bishop Estate/Kamehameha Schools trustee and former senate president of the Territorial and State Legislatures of Hawaii; Randolph Graves Moore, president of Oceanic Properties; Senator Richard M. Matsuura, chairman of the Energy Committee and later senate majority leader; John Dooley Bellinger, president of the First Hawaiian Bank and chairman of the board of the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR); Herbert Cumming Cornuelle, a trustee of the James Campbell Estate and former president of the Dillingham Corporation; and Richard Lyle Griffith, chief executive officer of Amfac Incorporated. It was an interesting measure of our different worlds—mine mainly academic and Pat's mainly political—that I had not even heard of most of these people before Pat introduced us, whereas Pat was an old friend of all of them. Pat was also kind enough to include me in one of his legendary tours of Big Island energy and technology facilities, which featured geothermal, ocean thermal, solar, wind, and biomass. The particular occasion was a meeting of the Fellows in Renewable Energy Engineering (FREE) Board held on March 31, 1986. Our two-day junket, which—for a scientist like myself—surpassed anything offered by the visitor industry in Hawaii, followed on April 1 and 2. The FREE program was conceived by and named in honor of Senator Spark M. Matsunaga, a champion of alternate energy in the U.S. Congress and Pat's former boss. Senator Matsunaga chaired the FREE Board until his death in April, 1990.57 Taking advantage of Hawaii's appeal as a tourist destination, HNEI hosted an extraordinary number of visiting scholars during the Simone era. In a letter addressed to State Senator Mamoru Yamasaki, chairman of the Committee on Ways and Means, Takahashi lists fifty-three scientists who were guests of HNEI during 1985 alone.58 Many of them were treated to the tour of Big Island energy and technology facilities, or parts thereof, and all left—I am sure—with a warm feeling of aloha for HNEI, the University, and Hawaii. HNEI also hosted two dozen international conferences and workshops during the Simone era, an average of about three per year. Included among the topics were biomass engineering, thermochemical energy conversion, wind energy, biofuels, electric vehicle maintenance, battery charging, geo-

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thermal technology, ocean thermal energy, hydrogen photoproduction, renewable transportation, very large floating structures, marine geology, off-shore mariculture, underwater mining, and energy costs and planning.57 Reversing roles, Pat became a sightseer himself when he served as the scientific advisor for a group of state legislators on a field trip to high technology and energy sites in and around Tokyo. Among the facilities inspected were Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, Kobe Steel, the Materials and Energy Research Institute of Kogakuin University, the National Chemical Laboratory for Industry at Tsukuba Science City, the Chuo Denki Hashima Plant, and the New Energy Development Organization. The legislators in the party were Senator Richard Matsuura, chairman of the Energy Committee and later Majority Leader; Senator Ann Kobayashi, then a leading Republican and later, after becoming a Democrat, the senate vice president; Senator Norman Mizuguchi, vice chairman of the Ways and Means Committee and later senate president; and Representative Ken Kiyabu, chairman of the Finance Committee.59 Pat testified before U.S. Congressional committees an average of twice a year. Included among his topics were national energy policy and priorities, energy research and development, renewable energy technology, fuel cell systems, hydrogen research and development, ocean thermal energy, biofuels, and energy plantations—both terrestrial and aquatic. With his enormous enthusiasm and drive, Pat Takahashi was the very incarnation of that Utopian renewable energy source he and the rest of the world have long been seeking. His numerous political contacts, legendary Big Island tours, inviting international workshops and conferences, and frequent testimony before the state legislature and the U.S. Congress are good examples, but the most telling manifestation of this embodiment was the astonishing proliferation of organizational structures, programs, and projects under his direction. FREE, attributed to Spark Matsunaga, has already been mentioned. Among many other structures and programs are the International Research Center on Wind Energy Applications (IRCWEA), attributed to D. Richard Neill; the Blue Revolution 2000; the Center for Ocean Research and Technology (CORT); the Pacific Ore Research and Technology (PORT) group; the Center for Pacific Ocean Resources Technology (CPORT); the Engineering Research Center on Resource Utilization (ERCRU); the Materials Research Laboratory (MRL): the Marine Minerals and Technology Center (MMTC); the Materials and Resource Systems (MARS) program; the Materials and Applied Science (MAS) group; the Institute for Materials and Applied Science (IMAS); the Energy Research Center (ERC); the Renewable Resources Research Laboratory (R3L); the Center for Ocean Resource Engineering (CORE); the Center for Ocean Mining and Minerals Engineering Technology (COM2ET); the Center for Marine Materials and Surface Science (CM2S2); the Mining and Mineral Resources Research Institute (M2R2I);

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and the Pacific Institute of Natural Energy, Environment, and Resources (PIONEER). In addition to these activities initiated by HNEI, Pat was deeply involved in the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR), where he served as vice president for development, and the Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii (NELH), also known as the National Seacoast Test Facility. Only about half of his inventions survived long enough to be mentioned in the HNEI twenty-year report, and some existed only on paper. One, PIONEER, was so grand in its conception and so inclusive in its scope that it could easily have incorporated SOEST, if not the entire University. Not to worry: HNEI was expected to evolve into PIONEER by the year 2000.57 HNEI differs from other Organized Research Units (ORUs) at UH in obtaining much of its extramural funding through direct appropriations (earmarking) from the state legislature and the U.S. Congress. In addition, its hosting of conferences, workshops, and visitors is a salient endeavor, and HNEI institutes, centers, groups, and programs are as evanescent as soap bubbles. Under these circumstances, one can surely doubt whether the quality of the science is high. My own reviews of HNEI were mixed. While some of its activities are truly outstanding, others are not. Recalling my observation in the previous chapter, I have learned to accept this situation as a predictable consequence of state and federal policies: we are going to have a broad range of energy research in Hawaii whether peer reviewers think the quality is high or not. While unique in many respects, HNEI does resemble other ORUs at the University of Hawaii because it is both interdisciplinary and highly leveraged. It draws upon the expertise of faculty and staff from throughout the system to investigate technical, cultural, environmental, social, legal, and economic aspects of renewable energy and ocean resources; and its ratio of extramural-to-University funding is greater than three-to-one. With more than $3 million per year in grants and contracts in FY 1991-1992 and only nine full-time equivalent positions, HNEI was generating more than $330,000 per year per employee, the highest per capita yield in the University.60

Barry Raleigh: The Man in the Sea In creating the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST), Al Simone joined the sea with the land and combined research and instructional programs previously scattered across the Manoa campus. Although it might take several decades to reap the promised harvest of 100 new positions and $10 million per year in new operating funds,61 many in the assembled host were astonished, and some were sore afraid because he actually did secure 35 new positions and an additional $1.9 million

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per year in operating funds before he left in 1992. Like manna from heaven, this outcome was widely hailed as the work of divine providence, and combined with $48 million for the new POST building, it heralded the resurrection of ocean science and technology in Hawaii. The University's advertisement for a distinguished scholar-administrator to head the new school appeared in the November 30, 1988, issue of The Chronicle of Higher Education. The closing date was February 17, 1989.62 On April 17, 1989, Cecil Baring Raleigh, the director of LamontDoherty Geological Observatory of Columbia University, called me from New York to say that he had just been informed by his associate director that he had been nominated for the position and his name had risen to the top of the list. Raleigh's primary concern was that he would become a lame duck at Lamont if people found out he was willing to leave. He also inquired whether our search was truly open and whether SOEST would have the University's full support. Delighted that we had attracted a candidate of Raleigh's stature, I assured him the search was indeed open and summarized the resources Simone had promised to provide. Barry Raleigh and I have known each other since childhood. Further, he entered Caltech in the fall of 1952, and I entered in the fall of 1953. Our career trajectories parted company when he transferred to Pomona in the fall of 1954, and they did not intersect again for another 35 years. During those intervening decades, Barry's research focused on the experimental deformation of rocks at high pressure and temperature, studies of earthquakes triggered by fluid injection, plastic deformation of rockforming minerals, and rock mechanics. He was employed by the Institute for Advanced Studies of the Australian National University and by the National Center for Earthquake Research of the U.S. Geological Survey before he accepted the appointment as director of Lamont-Doherty in 1981.63 Because Lamont was widely recognized as one of the top two or three geological and oceanographic institutions in the country, it was often cited as a model for what SOEST aspired to become. Al offered Barry the job on July 3, 1989, and they settled on twelve additional positions for SOEST and a salary for Barry that was 50 percent higher than Simone's.64 Barry's appointment reached the Regents' Committee on Personnel Relations on Thursday, July 20, 1989, where it was discovered that although the Board had indeed approved SOEST, it had never formally established the position of the dean.65 A request to do so had been submitted to the Board on January 3, 1989, six months earlier,66 but no action had been taken. Because I was rarely invited to attend executive sessions of the Board of Regents' Personnel Committee and because my office had not yet received a signed copy of the January 3 memo or any sequelae, we had no idea what was going on. As usual, rather than support the president they

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had appointed, several of the regents took advantage of this opportunity to enumerate his shortcomings and let him know once again who was really running the University. Barry assumed the duties of SOEST dean on October 1, 1989, relieving Chuck Helsley, the director of the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG). Helsley had served as acting dean since August 1, 1988, 67 and as "overseer" since August 3, 1987, 68 when the final draft of the prospectus for SOEST was completed. 69 Barry's immediate agenda was to reorganize the school. He began by dismantling HIG, which was once 65 percent of SOEST. Next, he attempted to replace Helsley as HIG director and Phil Helfrich as director of the Hawaii Institute of Marine Biology (HIMB), but these actions were delayed for several years because deans and directors are hired and fired by the Board of Regents upon the recommendation of the president. (To his credit, Barry had enough political savvy to leave Pat Takahashi, the director of the Hawaii Natural Energy Institute, alone.) Barry's most telling decision was to revise the organizational compromises that had made SOEST possible. 69 He declared the dual reporting lines of the research directors to be unworkable and formally withdrew from the office of the vice president for research and graduate education, which—imitating Simone's fluid team—we had modeled after the office of the president. 69 He tried to bypass the University's budget process and the research vice president, to gain control of all the Research and Training Revolving Funds (RTRF) generated by SOEST, and to manage the school's affairs independent of the rest of the University.70 In the course of reorganizing SOEST internally, Raleigh expressed his view that tenure should be the prerogative of academic departments and that institute faculty should not be eligible. Having thus established a two-tiered society in which only teachers could be viewed as first-class citizens, and researchers as second, he invited all his faculty to choose which caste they would join. 71 Most elected to be associated with subunits that could offer tenure, the academic departments. This further weakened SOEST's Organized Research Units (ORUs). What Raleigh was replicating was a system of governance similar to the one he had known at Columbia University. I shall refer to it as the Ivy League or German model and note that it features an academic hierarchy dominated by a small number of omnipotent professors. Graduate students, post-doctoral students, and junior faculty, who do most of the work, are at the bottom of the pyramid, and they serve at the pleasure of the powerful professors at the top. Institutes are normally headed by such professors, who may also be department chairs. These professors, in turn, are under a dean or a chair or some other academic official. As a traditional Land Grant institution, the University of Hawaii was founded on a different model. Among its features described in the first

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section of this chapter are ORUs that exist at the same level as schools and colleges; separate budget lines that support these ORUs and give equal weight to the University's tripartite teaching, research, and service missions; and researchers (R), specialists (S), and extension agents (A) who are all considered to be faculty and have the same rank and privileges as instructors (I). Because faculty status and tenure can be awarded in all these categories, the power of the once omnipotent professors is broken in the Land Grant model and widely distributed. Apart from the sociological implications of these disparate academic systems, one may wonder which of the two—feudalism or anarchy—is ultimately more productive. As one example of this dialogue, research barons can be very effective in marshalling the resources of their fiefs to address the major scientific problems of the day such as cancer or AIDS. However, the discovery of a new phenomenon such as x-rays or radioactivity is more likely to be made by a single, highly motivated entrepreneur. Indeed, there are advantages and disadvantages to both systems, which is probably why neither has completely disappeared and why actual universities—whether Ivy League or Land Grant—often combine the two. If we were to carry Barry's model to the extreme at UH, we could place the Cancer Research Center of Hawaii (CRCH) and the Pacific Biomedical Research Center (PBRC) under the dean of Medicine, the Institute for Astronomy (IFA) under the dean of Natural Science, the Social Science Research Institute (SSRI) under the dean of Social Science, and so forth. There would be no need for a research vice president, and ORUs, if they survived at all, could be headed by instructional faculty and abide at the level of academic departments rather than schools and colleges. Without a voice at the vice presidential or even the deans' level, the University's research and extension service mission would be subordinated to its instructional mission; it would be even more difficult to obtain state and federal funding for these activities; and both would probably decline. In a letter to Governor John Waihee dated August 27, 1991, Dean Raleigh took some pride in the fact that the extramural funding for SOEST exceeded $36 million during the second full year of his administration, FY 1991 72 What he failed to mention was that it more than doubled during the two years of Chuck Helsley's administration, increasing from $11,510,163 in FY 1987,69 to $25,064,975 in FY 1989.73 And what he failed to foresee was that it would subsequently decline, falling from $36,535,861 in FY 199173 to $28,351,429 in FY 199273 and $27,722,416 in FY 1993-74 Does this comparison prove that one dean or one model was superior to the other? Probably not. As I opined at the end of Chapter 4, what these data seem to indicate is that the choice of dean and the detailed structure of SOEST were incidental to its success. The most important determinant was state funding, which increased rapidly in FY 1988 and FY 1989 and decreased rapidly in FY 1993- Similarly, the initial optimism

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produced by Simone's vision and aspirations was a positive factor on Helsley's watch, while the final pessimism that followed his departure was a negative factor on Raleigh's. Along with his Ivy League notions of university governance, Raleigh brought to Hawaii what I shall henceforth refer to as an Ivy League style. Many of his problems resulted from a clash between two strikingly disparate cultures which he apparently was unable to avoid or resolve. Almost from the moment he arrived, Barry became deeply entangled in a space war with Reg Young, the interim dean of Engineering. To place this confrontation in its proper context, it is important to recall that the dean of Engineering, Paul Yuen, was then serving as interim vice president for academic affairs and that the College of Engineering was still very much his responsibility just as SOEST was mine. A conflict between these two deans was thus likely to escalate to the vice presidential level and require resolution by the president. Fortunately, Paul and I were on very good terms, but there was still a strong possibility that Barry's manner might upset the fragile alliance Helsley and I had put together and nurtured over the last four years. The seriousness of this encounter was evident in a memo Reg Young wrote to Paul Yuen on June 5, 1990: I will remind you that the College of Engineering conceded 5000 SF of space in the POST building for Ocean Engineering in return for only about 2550 SF in Holmes Hall. I further remind you that I gave up some 1600 SF of office area on the Fourth Floor of the POST building to SOEST, a move that was not necessary since that space was within this College's original program allocation. This area was offered in an effort to help SOEST resolve its space allocation problems. The total area relinquished to SOEST is some 6600 SF, not counting 800 SF of lab area on the Fourth Floor which was replaced by a previously unassigned area on the Third.73 Young's conclusion is even more striking: Again, I am not seeking a trade. I don't have anything more to give. One can easily tell that a sharp traveling salesman has come through my office and already taken me for a ride on this space business. I just want to get back some area that once belonged to this College.75 I cannot read this final paragraph without being reminded of the Northern carpetbaggers who migrated to the South after the American Civil War, seeking their fortunes at the expense of the defeated inhabitants. Nor can I read it without being sensitive to its racial overtones, for here is this mainland haole (Caucasian), newly arrived in Hawaii, and one of the first things he does is appropriate aina (land) belonging to the local people.

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While the ethnic difference between Reg and Barry was replicated quite precisely at the vice presidential level, the problem was not between Paul Yuen and myself so much as it was between Barry Raleigh and vice president for finance and operations Ralph Horii. Horii just happened to be the principal investigator for the POST project and the one person Barry had to accommodate if the project were to proceed. In my discussion of POST in the last section of Chapter 7, I noted that it took Ralph and his shop four years and some timely assistance from Senator Inouye's office to complete Standard Form 424, a federal labyrinth that had to be negotiated successfully before construction of this project could begin. N o w it may seem that I am holding Ralph responsible for these delays, but I am sure that if Ralph were telling this story, he would hold Barry accountable. In a memo to President Simone dated September 19, 1990, Ralph does not even mention Interim Dean Young, but he refers to Dean Raleigh on four occasions stating that "[o]ur planning staff is still working with Dean Raleigh to finalize space assignments and relationships" and that "changes in space assignments are being requested by the users under Dean Raleigh. This will result in additional work by the design consultant if the user changes are approved by the Dean."76 Similarly, in a memo to Acting President Yuen dated March 8, 1993, Ralph announced his intention to go ahead with the POST construction even though the University was approximately $5 million short of the low bid for the project. This decision was predicated on the willingness of the principal tenants to sign a joint agreement relating to the reduced space that would initially be available. Implying that the many delays of the past were caused by the absence of such harmony, Ralph stated that "[t]he willing attitude as reflected in the memorandum of understanding for compromise and cooperation on this important project by Dean Raleigh, Interim Dean Young, and Interim Dean Hayes is appreciated."77 Barry's interactions with Dean Young, Interim Vice President and later Interim President Yuen, Vice President Horii, and their staffs created a situation within the University that made it extremely difficult for him to maneuver. Nor was there very much I could do to help because my own influence declined rapidly after Al Simone left in August 1992. Barry's problems within the University paled in comparison with those outside. The future of SOEST depended on the support of Senator Inouye. The need for an additional $5 million to complete POST has already been mentioned. SOEST also needed a new ship to replace the Moana Wave, which was scheduled to be retired by the U.S. Navy in 1997. The estimated cost of this earmark in 1991 was $38 million.78 While $38 million may seem like a lot of money, the project that best illustrates Barry's stature and vision, as well as the frustrations he encountered in dealing with the local culture, was several times larger. Before

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discussing it, I should recall my statement earlier in this chapter that Simone regarded Manoa's deans and directors as the most entrepreneurial and important administrators in the University. Indeed, Simone hired Dean Raleigh and paid him a salary 50 percent higher than his own precisely because Barry had already demonstrated his ability to be entrepreneurial on a very large scale. As its name implies, the Center for a Sustainable Future (CSF) was proposed by Barry and his colleagues to address the challenge of sustaining an acceptable quality of life on earth, indeed life itself, in the face of rapidly increasing population and rapidly decreasing resources. By studying the optimum uses of global assets, CSF would discover a sustainable means of production and consumption in an environmentally acceptable manner. 79 The plan was to locate CSF on 30 acres of ocean-front land near Keahole Airport on the Island of Hawaii. This land had a market value estimated to be in the neighborhood of $60 million, and it would be leased to CSF at a nominal fee of $36,000 per year by the Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii Authority (NELHA). In addition to paying the rent, the state would provide $1.2 million up front for architectural design and $2.6 million per year in operating funds. 79 The support of NELHA and the State of Hawaii were presumably assured because Barry was then serving as chairman of the NELHA board. Private sources were expected to provide $23.2 million towards the construction of the $53-2 million laboratory facilities and visitor housing as well as $7 million per year in operating funds. 79 The latter was to come from an endowment, presumably exceeding $70 million. Such an endowment would be created by gifts from the Tokyu Corporation and the Friends of the Future, among others. Tokyu had recently purchased the nearby Maunalani Beach Hotel and was known to be inclined to make a major public relations investment in the local community. Two of the Friends, Kenneth F. Brown and the late Tommy Holmes, were closely associated with the Maunalani Beach Hotel, and both were listed as co-authors on the CSF proposal. 79 The federal share of the CSF budget would include $30 million for construction and $7.5 million per year for operations. The former would be obtained by assimilating the fledgling Spark M. Matsunaga Renewable Energy and Ocean Technology Center. At least $6.9 million per year of the latter would be provided by competitive grants and contracts.79 The Spark M. Matsunaga Laboratory was intended to be a gift to the island of Hawaii from Senator Inouye and Senator Akaka, who introduced authorizing language into the National Energy Security Act of 1991 and the Energy Policy Act of 1992 to honor their late colleague and friend. 80 The capital start-up budget of $53-2 million would be used to construct three buildings with a total area of 120,000 square feet. The annual

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operating budget would provide $14,957 million for an applied research laboratory specializing in renewable energy and ocean resources, and $2 million for a think tank and an educational institute to work out the most enlightened agenda for a sustainable future and convey this knowledge to the world. These activities would employ approximately sixty Ph.D. scientists and engineers and an equal number of support staff.79 The authors state in their proposal that there is presently no wellestablished or broad-based framework, either conceptual or institutional, that is designed to take a multidisciplinary, global, scientific look at world problems and formulate a new paradigm that would allow for a sustainable future.79 In my opinion, SOEST itself is such a framework, not to mention HNEI and PIONEER. Moving outside the University, it is my opinion that the applied research priorities of CSF broadly overlap those of the Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii (NELH), the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR), and the Oceanic Institute (OI). Similarly, the visionary functions of the CSF think tank and educational institute are covered very nicely by the East West Center (EWC), which has been studying global demographic, environmental, energy, and communication problems for more than three decades. What was motivating Barry's proposal? Why would the Dean of SOEST seek to establish yet another center that would compete for funding, talent, and recognition with a number of organizations already present in Hawaii, including his own? Conversely, why couldn't he achieve his research and humanitarian objectives more effectively by using the readily accessible and more abundant resources of SOEST and the University? I believe that there were two underlying reasons. First, CSF would attract "top scientists and scholars—economists, social scientists, philosophers, humanists, politicians and world leaders, theologians, spiritual leaders, and the like—from East and West, North and South, [who] would come together in a spirit of cooperation and trust to identify and address problems and issues of science and technology." 79 From this defining statement, I deduce that Barry didn't believe that people of the caliber he sought were already here. Saying this another way, nor did he believe that the people in SOEST had the stature and vision required for such an undertaking, and neither did the people in NELH, PICHTR, OI, and the EastWest Center. The second underlying reason was that CSF would be an independent not-for-profit corporation. Although it could accept financial support from state and federal government sources, industry, and an endowment, it would retain a good deal of autonomy. I think this arrangement appealed to Barry and his coauthors, not only because it would permit CSF to seek funds from foreign governments and corporations, but also because they did not want to report to those meddling bureaucrats at the

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University. The proposal states, in fact, that CSF was already incorporated in Hawaii and that its permanent board included C. Barry Raleigh, James R. Gaines, Kenneth F. Brown, Tommy Holmes, and former Governor George Ariyoshi.79 The credentials of these authors were outstanding. Nevertheless, there were still a few details that needed to be worked out. For one thing, although the Energy Policy Act of 1992 served as the starting point for Barry's proposal, the scope and title of the CSF were different. And while it might have been acceptable to enlarge the agenda beyond renewable energy and ocean technology, it was difficult to see how the late Senator Matsunaga could be memorialized by CSF when neither the center nor any of its components bore his name. Equally disturbing, the language creating the Matsunaga Laboratory suggests that it will be administered by "a qualified research institution . . . located in the State of Hawaii that has demonstrated competence and will be the lead organization in the State in renewable energy and ocean technologies." 80 This can only mean the University of Hawaii, and it certainly does not mean that CSF will be an independent not-for-profit corporation. On March 25, 1993, there occurred one of the strangest meetings I have ever attended. It was called by Jennifer Goto and Richard Collins of Senator Inouye's office, and it was arranged by Paul Yuen, who had earlier informed me on various separate occasions that he does not get involved in politics and that he has lunch with Jennifer once a week. I suppose the three of them worked out the meeting agenda in advance, but I still am not certain what it was. The other people present were all from Oahu and nearly all from Manoa. The one thing they had in common was their interest in obtaining congressional earmarks with the help of Senator Inouye. Among them were Ned Kefford, Len Cowie representing Don Hall, Fred Greenwood, Barry Raleigh, Dan Ishii, the director of the University's Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development, and Hub Hubbard, the interim president of PICHTR. People like Community College Chancellor Joyce Tsunoda and UH Hilo Chancellor Ed Kormondy, who were also actively involved in earmarking, were notable by their absence. The first message conveyed by Richard and Jennifer was that the University needed to coordinate its efforts to raise funds from the U.S. Congress. Second, it was Senator Inouye's desire to move resources out to the neighbor islands (i.e., to Joyce and Ed), and Manoa was short-circuiting this process. Third, the University should not interfere with on-going items, nor should it attempt to intercept items intended for other constituencies. Fourth, while the Senator wanted to know what the University's priorities were, he was not going to be bound by them. The essence of these four points was repeated more diplomatically in a follow-up memo from Jennifer Goto to Paul Yuen received on May 3, 1993-81

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As usual, Paul said almost nothing, saving his thoughts for those private sessions with Richard and Jennifer when they would really matter. My research colleagues were also strangely silent, and I found myself responding naively on behalf of the University and our new president Kenneth P. Mortimer, who had just come on board on March 15, 1993, and was too busy to attend the meeting on March 25. It occurred to me later that the real purpose might have been to strengthen Paul's position by sending a signal to Mortimer early in his administration that Paul was Senator Inouye's preferred contact with the University. Another possibility was that the meeting was called to chastise one or more of those present. Indeed, I felt as if I had been scolded by the time the meeting was over, though I didn't know why. On June 9, 1993, RCUH Executive Director Fudge Matsuda reported to his board that he had attended a meeting that same morning with Jennifer Goto, Paul Yuen, and Vice President for University Relations Rockne Freitas, the person selected by President Mortimer to be the University's liaison with the U.S. Congress following the March 25 meeting. Although the plans were still preliminary, Dr. Matsuda informed us that the U.S. Department of Energy was going to allocate $7.5 million to Hawaii, of which $5 million would go to the UH College of Engineering and $2.5 million would go to RCUH to support unspecified marine-related activities along the Kona Coast.82 Aware that these funds must be the residue of the Spark Matsunaga Laboratory, I expressed my surprise that $5,000,000 was going to the College of Engineering. President Mortimer volunteered that "Barry might be bent out of shape." Later that afternoon, Vice President Freitas told me privately that the Senator was furious at the four authors of the CSF proposal and had decided to close out the Matsunaga account. The $5 million was a gift to Paul Yuen and the $2.5 million was a gift to Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda for their loyalty and service. On July 7, 1993, I received a call from Sherwood Maynard, director of the Marine Option Program (MOP), who told me about a conference being held in Kona July 12 and 13, 1993- The conference was being organized by Paul Yuen and Ellen Boneparth, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at UH Hilo, and Sherwood had agreed to coordinate a session on marine education. Also on the program were Senator Inouye, SOEST Associate Dean Lorenz Magaard, and Kelton McKinley and Director Patrick Takahashi of HNEI.83 The purpose of Sherwood's call was to ask me to sign his travel forms. It seems that Barry was unwilling to sign them and had asked SOEST faculty not to attend the conference, requiring that they pay their own way and take vacation time if they insisted on going. Barry's reason, given in a July 1 memo addressed to Paul Yuen and Ellen Boneparth, was as follows:

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By not asking me to name people who might participate on a subject of such clear relevance to the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology, you have breached normal University protocol. Compounding this, you failed also in the courtesy to inform me about the conference or your invitations.84 Attached to the copy of the conference agenda which Sherwood later sent me is a memorandum from Ellen Boneparth dated May 12, 1993- It is addressed to the HORDE (Hawaii Ocean Resource Development and Education) Group and poses this question: If you were to be given five million dollars, how would you spend it on the Oceans National Park and/or related activities in order to educate people in your area of interest?85 On Thursday, July 8, 1993, Barry asked me assume the role of "an honest broker" and "extend an olive branch" to Paul Yuen. Although Barry felt that Paul had insulted him grossly, he was willing to attend the Gifts from the Sea Conference in order to show solidarity within the University. Why the University would want to be associated with such a "flaky" endeavor Barry couldn't imagine, but I encouraged him to participate, saying that the meeting was going to take place anyway, and we might as well try to make something useful out of it. Paul was gracious, as always, and said he would call Barry on Friday. Barry attended the conference, which began the following Monday, and did his best to mend fences. Unfortunately, he arrived late and missed the keynote address, which Jennifer Goto read on behalf of the absent Senator Inouye. On Wednesday, July 14, the day after the conference ended, Paul informed me that everything had gone well, but Barry had neglected to correct the travel/vacation problem he had created for Sherwood Maynard. Lorenz Magaard, Kelton McKinley, and Patrick Takahashi chose not to attend. Paul ended his report by suggesting that Barry's "olive branch" must be the result of someone in Inouye's office coming down hard on him. He gave several reasons and concluded that Barry was obstructing the Oceanic Institute (OI). Though it appeared to be a non sequitur, I took this last point as a personal warning that the Senator was protecting OI. It also served as a reminder that I knew only a fraction of what was going on between Barry and the Senator and my interpretation of all these events could be wrong. Meanwhile, Paul Yuen, Rockne Freitas, and others have told me that SOEST will not receive any more gifts (federal funds) from Senator Inouye as long as Barry is Dean.

9 Alphabet Soup

A Child of the Legislature PICHTR was established by the Legislature in 1983 as a state-run educational and research organization whose focus was to be on technologies that could be adapted for use in the Pacific. On October 23, 1985, PICHTR filed articles of incorporation setting itself up as an independent non-profit corporation. Five signatures appear on the incorporation papers: Governor George Ariyoshi, U.S. Senator Spark Matsunaga; John D. Bellinger, president of First Hawaiian Bank; Dr. Fujio Matsuda, erstwhile president of the University of Hawai'i and executive director of the Research Corporation of the University of Hawai'i; and Paul C. Yuen, Dean of the College of Engineering at UH and PICHTR's acting president.1 —Patricia Tummons in Environment

Hawaii

In this chapter, we will continue our exploration of the relationship between the University and the external political community. Among other things, this will illustrate how the University is being used by various business and political leaders to promote "economic development" and their own business and political interests. In this endeavor, the University can be viewed as a quarry being mined by these business and political leaders, which is a double entendre because there is, in fact, a quarry on

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the Manoa lower campus that was mined by the surrounding community for years. Coincidentally, Manoa's athletic facilities are all located in the lower campus quarry, and their primary function appears to be to entertain the local community. This is demonstrated by the 3,500-seat Rainbow (baseball) Stadium (1984) and the 10,000-seat Arena (1994). Both are salient examples of recently constructed facilities that had low academic priorities for the University but were nevertheless funded by the governor and the legislature. Meanwhile, facilities with high academic priorities such as Hamilton Library Phase III have been ignored. Although the Research Corporation (RCUH) can be viewed as an ingredient of Hawaii's alphabet soup, I have elected to discuss its role and activities in Chapter 7 in connection with the pursuit of federal funds and the concomitant federal audit wars. In addition, RCUH is legally part of the University and can be considered an essential cost of doing business. The same cannot be said of the morsels treated in this chapter. For example, whereas the UH Foundation may be considered essential, it is not part of the University; and whereas the Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development (OTTED) is part of the University, it is certainly not essential. Also in evidence in this chapter is the Duke Kahanamoku phenomenon: 2 as soon as Manoa swims too far ahead, it either slows down of its own volition, for example, by spinning off the East-West Center (EWC) or the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR), or other swimmers, such as the Maui Research and Technology Center (MRTC) or the Oceanic Institute (OI), grab an arm or a leg. In the final chapter of this book, we'll see this phenomenon again when we confront directly the issues of access and dividing up the spoils. At the level of individual activists and special interest groups, it may seem that many are asking, "What can the University do for me?" while few are asking, "What can I do for the University?" In my opinion, the University could do more for everyone, including the activists and special interest groups, if the political intrusions were fewer and their intensity less.

UHF: The University's Private Foundation The University of Hawaii Foundation was incorporated in 1955 by the Board of Regents led by Chairman Philip E. Spalding. Its purpose is to benefit the University of Hawaii, its faculty, and its students; to improve its standards . . . and its usefulness in Hawaii; to grant scholarships . . . to young men and women of promise; to encourage and provide funds for research; to provide funds for . . . securing lecturers, writers, and other persons of standing, competence,

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and ability; . . . and to promote the general welfare of the University of Hawaii.3 The event that precipitated the creation of the UH Foundation was the transfer of the Harold L. Lyon Arboretum, in trust, to the Board of Regents by the Hawaiian Sugar Planters Association in 1954. The Arboretum had its origin in 1918 as an experiment station located at the mauka (mountain) end of Manoa Valley where the rainfall averages 165 inches per year. The property came to be called an arboretum because the Association used it to conduct reforestation research. Over the years, the living collection expanded, and today it resembles more closely that of a botanical garden than an arboretum.4 During FY 1986, the first full fiscal year of the Al Simone administration, the Foundation received $7,958,248 in gifts from individuals, corporations, foundations, and other private sources, of which $448,075 were unrestricted.5 During FY 1992, the last full fiscal year of the Simone administration, the Foundation received $8,073,533 in total contributions of which $455,272 were unrestricted.6 The net increases over the six-year period from FY 1986 to FY 1992 were, respectively, 1.4 and 1.6 percent, and the corresponding average annual compounded rates of increase were 0.24 and 0.27 percent. Recalling that state funding for the University increased at an average compounded rate of 9-6 percent per year during the Simone administration, while extramural (mostly federal) funding increased at an average compounded rate of 16.2 percent per year over his last six years, it is puzzling that private giving increased by less than 0.3 percent per year. This mystery is heightened by the fact that Al Simone prided himself on his ability to raise private funds and was extraordinarily successful in raising them while he was serving as dean of the College of Business Administration at the University of Cincinnati before coming to UH. It was inevitable that the failure of UH Foundation to keep pace with the rest of the University would be associated with the change in leadership that occurred in 1987. The appointment of Edwin Penn as executive vice president in place of Donald C. Mair was also marked by a profound change in leadership style. Whereas Don Mair was low key and laid back, Ed Penn was high strung and hard driving. Whereas Don Mair was cheerful and accommodating, Ed Penn was somber and unrelenting. Whereas Don Mair was egalitarian and made friends with everyone, Ed Penn was elitist and only cultivated potential donors. Whereas Don Mair thanked people personally for their thoughtful gifts, Ed Penn honored them publicly by setting up a hierarchy of six "giving clubs" and by mounting plaques in Bachman Hall especially tailored to each. 7 Whereas Don Mair tried to maximize the net

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by minimizing the Foundation's expenses, Ed Penn tried to maximize the gross by hiring a cadre of development officers to work with the most promising campuses, schools, and colleges. Whereas Don Mair was committed to serving the University, Ed Penn was focused on the Foundation's bottom line. The change in leadership at UH Foundation was motivated in part by tentative plans to embark on a major capital fund-raising campaign. And although FY 1986 was a record year, it was widely believed that the total of approximately $8 million was far less than one had a right to expect for an institution the size of UH. In the words of John Grenzebach and Associates, who undertook a review of the University's private fund-raising programs in 1987, . . . there are a number of talented professionals on the Foundation staff, but we believe broader expertise and greater preparation will be required to successfully launch a major campaign at any dollar level.8 A telling example of Ed Penn's leadership style was provided by a memo he sent to his "Bachman Hall Neighbors" on February 14, 1989: On February 15, 1989, from 5:30 P.M. to 7:30 P.M., President Simone will host a reception for President's Club members in the foyer of Bachman Hall. This reception marks the first formal showing of the acknowledgment plaques that were installed in Bachman in December. Set up for this reception will begin after noon on Wednesday. Delivery of tables, chairs, plants, sound equipment, food and beverage equipment, and vendors looking for Bachman 101 may cause a disturbance. We ask your indulgence. Musicians will set up on the second floor, food and beverage service on the first floor. We would appreciate having those of you who leave after 5:00 P.M. exit by the back stairway and door if possible. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you, and thank you for your cooperation. 9 Ed Penn's memo was very polite, but many who received it were insulted by the idea that they were not g o o d enough to mix with fashionable members of the President's Club and might be an embarrassment to the UH Foundation. Nor did they see any need to conceal the fact that work was still being done in Bachman Hall after 5:00 P.M. Indeed, a more egalitarian leader might have viewed this as an opportunity for members of the President's Club to observe the University administration in action and possibly meet some of the people involved.

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Although Ed Penn presented himself as the kind of fund raiser who could lead the University in a major capital campaign, a clear signal that things were not working out that way was provided by the early resignations of Mary Ho and Ko Miyataki. It would be difficult to name two women who were better connected or more highly respected in the local community, and their departure left a void at UH Foundation that has never been filled. By the end of the Simone administration, the cadre of UH Foundation development officers was consuming all of the Foundation's unrestricted funds, and the amount left over for the University had dwindled to zero. Not only did this wipe out the president's discretionary fund, which had supported such activities as the College Hill Breakfast Series, the original hiring of Cassidy and Associates, and the deans' and directors' retreats, it also compromised or aborted a number of Foundation-sponsored programs. Among these were educational enrichment through the President's Advisory Funding Committee, the cash awards accompanying Board of Regents' Medals for Excellence in Teaching and Excellence in Research, and the prestigious grants formerly offered to Matsuda Scholars and Fellows. I mentioned in Chapter 7 that the Foundation was not successful in raising the private donations needed to pay the consulting fee for Cassidy and Associates, and we had to cover these expenses with Research and Training Revolving Funds (RTRF). Even more disappointing, UH Foundation was able to raise only a fraction of the $2.25 million required to match the $750,000 Challenge Grant we received from the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH). Equally frustrating, while it is appropriate for the Foundation to accept private gifts on behalf of the University, UHF also routinely intercepted private grants and contracts. The apparent motive was to enhance the Foundation's bottom line. To illustrate why this distinction is important, it is useful to consider three cases and what should happen in each: 1. Grants and contracts, whether from governmental agencies or private sources, should be solicited by the University and managed by the University or by RCUH. 2. Private gifts that enhance and enrich the University but do not involve a commitment of University resources can be solicited and managed either by the University or by the Foundation, although in certain cases, such as the naming of a building or a chair in honor of a donor, the concurrence of the Board of Regents would be required. 3. Private gifts that involve a commitment of University resources can be solicited and managed by the University, and they can also be solicited and managed by the Foundation providing all the terms and conditions of the gift are approved in advance by the University.10

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It is improper for the Foundation to solicit or receive a grant or a contract on behalf of the University. Because UHF does not actually do research and training itself, it cannot, as a private entity, legally commit the University to meet the sponsor's terms and conditions. Under HRS Sections 304-7 and 304-8, only the Board of Regents can make such a commitment, which it does at its regular monthly meetings when it formally accepts all grants and contracts received on behalf of the University by the Office of Research Administration (ORA) during the previous month. A memorandum of agreement defining gifts, grants, and contracts and specifying the functions and responsibilities of the Foundation for contributions that require a commitment of University resources was signed by Don Mair and Al Simone on May 15, 1987.10 Ed Penn arrived a few months later, and thereafter the 1987 agreement was ignored. Despite more than a dozen drafts, we were unable to negotiate a new one throughout the rest of Simone's administration.11 The February 15, 1989, issue of The Chronicle of Higher Education listed the top 315 American colleges, universities, and foundations according to the June 30, 1988, market value of their endowments. The University of Hawaii was ranked No. 172, with a market value of $42,514 million, up 77 percent from the previous year's figure of $24,027 million.12 The reason for the 77 percent increase was that Simone made a decision, based on Ed Penn's advice, to combine the endowments for UH and UHF and report a single entry. The premise underlying Simone's decision was that the higher ranking and larger reported endowment would help UHF in its fund-raising efforts.13 UHF also managed a number of "improper accounts" that should have been handled by RCUH or some other arm of the University. Although their existence was discovered early in the Simone administration, they persisted to the end.1415 Some examples of impropriety include the following: • Whereas HRS Section 103-2 provides that all revenues of a state agency shall accrue to the state general fund unless specifically appropriated to other purposes, income from certain UH programs was being deposited in UH Foundation accounts without such authorization. • Whereas moneys earned by the University pursuant to contracts for goods and services should be payable to the University in accordance with HRS Sections 304-7 and 304-8, some grant and contract payments were being diverted to the Foundation. • Whereas the University has statutory authority under HRS Chapter 304 to use RCUH to provide financial and personnel services, there is no statutory authority to use the Founda-

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tion for these purposes. Not only was UHF being used for these purposes, it was retaining the interest income or "float" accruing on UH program funds. Such interest is public money that should have been deposited in the appropriate revolving fund, special fund, or general fund. The straw that finally broke the camel's back was an Internal Revenue Service (IRS) audit of the UH Foundation for the 1988, 1989, and 1990 tax years. While many of the operations of the Foundation were investigated, the issue of most significance was whether UHF improperly classified some UH personnel as independent contractors rather than employees. The distinction is important because employees are subject to state and federal withholding taxes including FICA, the social security tax. Independent contractors must also pay these taxes, but they are not regularly withheld by the employer. The amount in question was $435,000 plus penalties and interest.16 Three months after this matter was featured in Ka Leo, Ed Penn resigned as president of the UH Foundation "to pursue new challenges."17 And reflecting the chaos reigning at this time, the Foundation failed to produce an annual report for FY 1993Related to the Foundation's inability to persuade the IRS that it had been handling personnel compensation in compliance with federal requirements, the University itself has now followed the Foundation's lead and imposed extremely onerous requirements on those of its units—including student organizations—that wish to bring lecturers, performers, consultants, and site visitors to campus and pay them an honorarium for their services. As one example of this phenomenon, novelist Amy Tan was recently required to obtain a tax clearance and a general excise license before she was permitted to give a public lecture at the Manoa Campus Center Ballroom.18 Obviously such people are not UH employees, but neither are they, in general, independent contractors who make their living like peripatetic medieval tumblers and lute players, traveling from court to court or campus to campus. As a state agency, the University is not about to challenge such governmental interference no matter how intrusive or inappropriate to academic life it may be.

PICHTR: High Tech Research as a Business It is no accident that the only signed memorandum of agreement that ever existed between UH and the UH Foundation was the one we negotiated and promulgated in 1987.10 Giving credit where credit is due, I hasten to acknowledge that the true and legitimate father of this abandoned child was Moheb Ghali, who directed the University's Office of Research Administration (ORA) from 1982 until 1993. Moheb informed me of his hidden aspirations for the UH Foundation (UHF), the Research Corporation (RCUH), and the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR) soon after I became the

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University's first vice president for research and graduate education in January 1986. During his service as research director, Moheb had encountered many examples of the improprieties discussed in the previous section, and he brought to my attention analogous cases for PICHTR and RCUH. Encouraged by the appointment of a new president and the elevation of research to the vice presidential level, Moheb believed it was an auspicious time to begin ordering our relationships with these three impenetrable entities. Although we chose not to amend the internal agreement between UH and RCUH that was signed by then UH President Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda and then RCUH Executive Director Richard K. C. Lee in 1973, 19 we did make significant changes in the structure of our relationship. This was done by transferring from ORA to Manoa deans and directors the final decisionmaking authority to use RCUH; by giving deans and directors permission to approve advance funding of RCUH projects with the understanding that they would be held responsible if the money did not come through; by removing some of the limitations on the types of projects that RCUH could manage; and by developing contingency plans in the event that overdrafts occurred. Heartened by our early successes with RCUH and the UH Foundation, Moheb and I turned our attention to PICHTR in April 1987. By June of 1987, we had identified the following problem areas:20 • Although PICHTR was legally an independent non-profit corporation, its offices were located in the College of Engineering and it paid no rental fee for that privilege. The acting president of PICHTR was UH Dean of Engineering Paul Yuen. Paul received no salary from PICHTR, but his dual role raised questions about possible conflicts of interest and suggested that the University's full-time dean was now functioning only part-time. • The majority of the administrators and personnel listed in PICHTR's annual report for FY 1986 were UH employees. 21 It appeared, therefore, that the University was paying the salaries, not only of PICHTR's acting president, but also of most of PICHTR's staff. • PICHTR was prodding UH faculty to submit their research proposals through PICHTR rather than through ORA.22 If the faculty member succumbed to this pressure, PICHTR would receive the extramural grant or contract, collect any indirect cost reimbursements paid by the sponsor, and use UH personnel and facilities free of charge. The University, on the other hand, would provide the necessary personnel and facilities, collect no reimbursements for its indirect costs and

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services, and receive no credit for the grant or contract it won. • Our review of extramural funding patterns in the College of Engineering revealed that the total had fallen from $2.3 million in FY 1979-80 to $900,000 in FY 1985-86, a decline of 61 percent. This was prima facie evidence that PICHTR was siphoning off UH grants and contracts, that PICHTR was receiving extramural funds for work being done in UH laboratories by UH faculty and staff, and that PICHTR's relationship with UH was basically parasitic. It also demonstrated that Paul's conflict of interest was not merely potential but very real. To put an end to these abuses, Moheb and I prepared a memorandum of agreement (MOA) between PICHTR and UH and discussed it with Paul on June 25, 1987. Also present were Al Simone, Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii, Budget Director Rodney Sakaguchi, and RCUH Comptroller Gilbert Oshima. Gilbert had been invited by Paul, who referred to Gilbert as "PICHTR's Moheb Ghali" and later asked him to work with Moheb on the next draft of the MOA. I began the meeting by reviewing our concerns. Paul responded by explaining that PICHTR was a private non-profit corporation created by the state legislature to promote high technology in Hawaii. Since PICHTR had no contracts and grants management office, it subcontracted everything down to RCUH, which charged a management fee of 5 percent. This was added to PICHTR's 20 percent indirect cost reimbursement rate, which was set unilaterally by the PICHTR Board, bringing the total to 25 percent. A 25 percent total indirect cost reimbursement rate is virtually unheard of among research institutions. In particular, the rate which the University painstakingly negotiates each year with the Office of Naval Research is around 45 percent of the allowable direct costs, and industry routinely charges well over 100 percent. These indirect costs are normally added to the allowable direct costs to determine the project's total budget. Under these circumstances, the lower rate gave PICHTR an enormous competitive advantage since it meant that both the UH principal investigators and their sponsors could get more science for their extramural buck if they ran their contracts and grants through PICHTR. Moheb and I both protested that this arrangement was tantamount to stealing the University's 45 percent, but Paul explained that the PICHTR Board did not see things our way. At Paul's very first meeting as acting president of PICHTR, Board Chairman John D. Bellinger had asked him, "Where's your profit, and how do you replenish the $1,000,000 the State put in?" As president and chief executive officer of First Hawaiian Bank, Bellinger evidently viewed the state funds poured into PICHTR as an in-

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vestment, and it followed quite logically that the "profit" he was seeking was that portion of PICHTR's indirect cost reimbursement that exceeded PICHTR's actual indirect costs.22 Meanwhile, Kent Keith, another member of the PICHTR board who was a Rhodes scholar, a former director of Hawaii's Department of Business and Economic Development, and later president of Chaminade University, had a different point of view. He thought PICHTR was a device for circumventing the state's budgetary process in order to bring additional money into the University. Moheb and I had to agree with Paul that if PICHTR was indeed making it possible for UH faculty to do the kind of work they wanted to do, we should support it. The final draft of the MOA was signed by Albert J. Simone on January 28, 1988, and by Paul C. Yuen on February 1, 1988.23 A revised MOA was signed by Albert J. Simone and Ronald J. Hays on July 15, 1991-24 Though often ignored, the MOA has remained in effect to this day. Basically the MOA is a set of guidelines governing the relationship between UH and PICHTR in situations that involve a commitment of UH resources. When PICHTR is a funding source, it is subject to the same indirect cost policies as state agencies that sponsor projects at UH. When PICHTR is the prime contractor and UH a subcontractor, the terms and conditions must be mutually agreeable. PICHTR can also be an independent research center that makes occasional use of UH personnel and facilities, in which case it pays a reasonable fee. Faculty involved in PICHTR projects on their "one day a week" consulting time are not considered a commitment of UH resources and can be compensated by PICHTR directly.23'24 Paul Yuen asked to be relieved of his duties as the unpaid acting president of PICHTR in July, 1988, but he continued to serve as a charter member of the PICHTR board. Another charter member, RCUH Executive Director Fudge Matsuda, assumed the acting position on a half-time basis until October 1988, when a permanent president and chief executive officer was appointed. The person so named was retired U.S. Navy Admiral Ronald J. Hays, a former commander in chief of the Pacific.1 As a patriotic American, I tend to regard admirals and generals as national heroes. Certainly Ron Hays was a man of that genre—a person so possessed of those qualities of leadership, intelligence, diplomacy, and humanity that lesser beings would gladly follow him into battle and willingly place their lives in his capable hands. At the same time, I have to acknowledge that Admiral Hays was not well matched to the task he was given. Indeed, he was much too fine a sailor for the craft he was navigating, and ultimately he was forced to abandon his leaking tub on Hawaii's shores. The problem lay not with the Admiral but with the statute, HRS Section 304-65, which created PICHTR to

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promote educational, scientific, technological, and literary pursuits . . . by fostering . . . interchange between students and scholars . . . by encouraging, initiating, aiding, developing, and conducting scientific investigations and research . . . by encouraging and aiding in the education and training of persons from the United States and other nations for the conduct of such investigations, research, and study . . . by assisting in the dissemination of knowledge by establishing, aiding, and maintaining professorships or other staff positions, fellowships, scholarships, publications, and lectures . . . by other means to make the benefits of investigations, research, and study available to the public . . . ,25 Although the statute limits PICHTR's scope to high technology, which might apply to only half of Manoa, what it describes is in all other respects a major research university. HRS 304-65 also states that The center shall seek, receive, and accept from public and private sources, whether located within or without the United States, grants, gifts, devises, bequests, or otherwise money and property, real, personal, or mixed, tangible or intangible, absolutely or in trust, to be used in carrying out the purposes of the center.25 With a mandate like this, it was inevitable that PICHTR would someday compete with UH. The inevitable became tangible w h e n PICHTR was incorporated in 1985, and imperative w h e n PICHTR was cut off from most of its College of Engineering subsidies in 1988. Since 1988, therefore, PICHTR's survival has d e p e n d e d mainly on earmarks from the state legislature, earmarks from the U.S. Congress, and whatever indirect cost reimbursements it could generate on extramural grants and contracts. In all three of these fund-raising endeavors, PICHTR is in direct competition with the University. 1 PICHTR suffered three additional setbacks in 1989. The first was the death of Johnny Bellinger, its perennial board chairman and o n e of its founding patrons. 1 The second was the departure of Kenji Sumida, its director of administrative services. 26 And although Bellinger was immediately replaced both as chairman of the board of PICHTR and as president of First Hawaiian Bank by Walter A. Dods, Jr.,1 there was really n o one available w h o could replace Sumida. To observers of the local political scene, the departure of Kenji Sumida from PICHTR in 1989 was as revealing and pivotal as the departure of Mary Ho and Ko Miyataki from the UH Foundation in 1988. The very clear message was that PICHTR and its new president were in trouble. And w h e n Sumida accepted a position as treasurer and director of administration at the East-West Center, 26 PICHTR also lost its most effective lobbyist with the state legislature and much of its credibility with local politicians.

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It's not that PICHTR was doomed, for in addition to Walter Dods its board still included such luminaries as Akio Morita, chairman of Sony Corporation, and William M. Keck II, a nephew of the Superior Oil magnate, W. M. Keck, whose foundation provided the bulk of the funds for the two largest telescopes atop Mauna Kea. Notable among the remaining members were Masao Sawaki, a former Japanese ambassador to the United States, A1 Simone, and five old boys: George Ariyoshi, Harold Masumoto, Fujio Matsuda, Paul Yuen, and Pat Takahashi. 1 While serving on the PICHTR board, Pat Takahashi held concurrent appointments as vice president for development at PICHTR, as a member of the advisory board of the Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii (NELH), as a professor of Civil Engineering at UH, and as director of the Hawaii Natural Energy Institute (HNEI).27 Indeed, his conflicts of interest were potentially as large and multifarious as those that besieged Paul Yuen. The third setback experienced by PICHTR in 1989 was a shift in its state funding paradigm. Prior to July 1, 1989, the Department of Business and Economic Development (DBED) acted merely as a conduit for funds earmarked for PICHTR by the legislature and imposed no detailed reporting requirements. After July 1, 1989, DBED instructed PICHTR not only to file detailed progress reports on all of its state-financed projects, but also to prepare a detailed budget justifying any expenditures of state funds in advance. 1 The person demanding greater accountability was then-DBED Director Roger Ulveling, who refused to release PICHTR's state funds until he was satisfied with the terms and conditions of their new relationship. At stake were combined appropriations of $7.56 million for FY 1990 and FY 1991- After seven months of negotiation, a contract was signed by Ulveling and Hays on February 9, 1990, retroactive to July 1, 1989- The contract stipulated that DBED would withhold payments to PICHTR for FY 1991 until PICHTR submitted, and DBED approved, a budget for that period. This did not occur until late in April 1991, barely two months before the end of FY 1991.1 PICHTR also agreed to deliver to DBED within 90 days of the close of the fiscal year an annual financial statement with an independent auditor's report, a report on the system of internal accounting controls prepared and issued by an independent accountant, a report on compliance with contractual provisions prepared and issued by independent auditors, and a report by an independent auditor listing separately the direct and indirect costs charged to each project with an opinion of the validity of each. The rigorous determination of allowable overhead charges was expected to resolve a longstanding dispute between DBED and the PICHTR board. 1 During his thirty-nine-month tour of duty, Admiral Hays' flagship was assailed from many directions. Some additional examples of the kinds of onslaughts he endured are these:

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• In his August 30, 1991, memorandum instructing federal sponsors to withhold future payments on UH grants and contracts, 28 John Malony of the Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA) identified PICHTR as a shadow organization of the University rather than as a private non-profit corporation. 29 This placed the Center directly in the federal auditor's line of fire. • Resolutions were introduced in the legislature calling for the legislative auditor to review the expenditure of state funds by PICHTR. By the end of FY 1991, the total exceeded $18 million, and since PICHTR had only a skeletal research staff, most of this money was subcontracted to private consultants, UH faculty and students, and other entities that included many directed by PICHTR officers or board members. 1 • Several UH faculty, accustomed to circumventing University procedures in order to take advantage of PICHTR's lower indirect cost reimbursement rates, became irate when their research was adversely affected by a series of management decisions that Hays made to cut costs and improve PICHTR's efficiency and accountability. In general, these faculty failed to understand that, through their own doing, the University was not a party to the arrangements they had negotiated with PICHTR and therefore had no legal basis upon which to intercede. They also failed to appreciate that the privileges and academic freedom they enjoyed at the University did not extend to PICHTR, which was forced by its articles of incorporation and by economic necessity to operate much like a private business. • In the most conspicuous case, UH Professor of Mechanical Engineering Joel Fox, w h o had served two years as acting director of PICHTR's Information Technology Division, cast himself in the role of whistle blower and charged Al Simone, Paul Yúen, and many others with conflict of interest when PICHTR failed to provide $41,000 per year in matching funds for his project 30 and recaptured some of his equipment. 31 Fox took his case to various constituencies within the University,30 to the attorney general, 31 to the Ethics Commission, 32 and to both houses of the legislature.33,34 His most original tactic, however, was to instigate an "anti-administration rally," which, though poorly attended, was actually held in the free speech area at the Manoa Campus Center on November 2, 1990. • In a superb job of investigative reporting, Environment Hawaii devoted one entire issue to Ocean Thermal Energy

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Conversion (OTEC), which was PICHTR's largest project. Referring to OTEC as "the world's biggest pipe dream" and as "money down the tube," Environment Hawaii examined both the economic and the environmental impacts of OTEC and raised serious questions about the propriety of many of PICHTR's relationships. Those with the Sanki America Corporation, with ICMG, Inc., with Takenaka & Co., and with Hayward Associates (the private consulting business of Admiral Thomas B. Hayward, retired) were particularly salient.135 I have been told that the legislature lumps the PICHTR budget into that larger pot of money that also supports organized research at UH. If this is indeed the case, then PICHTR is at best a zero-sum game that gives local business leaders greater access to the resources of the University. Because there is no evidence that PICHTR does research more efficiently or more effectively than the University, I must agree with the assessment of Environment Hawaii that PICHTR "is not the way to attract high technology."1 Admiral Hays resigned his commission as PICHTR president on January 29, 1992.36 Appealing his case to a higher authority, Joel Fox announced that he would challenge incumbent Neil Abercrombie for a seat in the U.S. Congress. Interim Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs Paul Yuen said he was surprised by Fox's candidacy and commented, "Joel is an excellent mechanical engineer."37

OTTED: Technology Transfer and Economic Development The creation of PICHTR by the state legislature in 1983 was only one of many concurrent efforts to bring the resources of the University to bear more effectively on the economic development of Hawaii. Together, these enterprises may be regarded both as a reflection of the times during which Al Simone served as UH president and of his presidency, which was shaped and molded by those times. As a person totally engaged in his vocation and closely coupled to the business community, Simone was both mover and moved, both shaker and shaken, both cause and effect in all these endeavors. The essential economic fact in 1983 was that the rapidly growing visitor industry already accounted for 62 percent of the state's export income, while defense had declined to 28 percent, and sugar and pineapple to less than 10 percent.38 In terms of employment, the largest industries were trade and service, both heavily oriented toward tourism. State and local government, including schools and colleges, was third; and federal government, two-thirds of which was defense-related, was fourth.39 Given these statistics, the need to diversify Hawaii's economy was obvious. And while some analysts believed that aquaculture and anthuriums, coffee and macadamia nuts, and guava and papayas could rescue

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Hawaii's declining agrarian sector, most did not. A far better candidate for economic diversification, it seemed, was high technology, which—in Hawaii—resides mainly at the University and consists primarily of such endeavors as astronomy, ocean sciences, natural energy, tropical agriculture, and geosciences. 39 The central issue, then, was how to transfer this technology from the University to the private sector. In the early days of the Simone administration, technology transfer was addressed on an ad hoc basis by a small cadre of high-level administrators. Among these were Emeritus Professor of Economics and former Manoa Chancellor Wytze Gorter, RCUH Executive Director and former UH President Fujio Matsuda, Vice President for Administration Harold Masumoto, Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG) Director Charles Helsley, ORA Director Moheb Ghali, and myself. Al Simone was also personally involved. Some of the questions we asked were these: • Should the University and the state permit their employees to establish private companies to exploit the results of their research or special competence? • Should they be permitted to sell their products or services to each other and to state agencies? If so, should there be any special regulation of the foregoing activities? • Should the University permit private use of its facilities, equipment, and personnel? If so, should there be any requirements or restrictions? • Should the University establish a special incubator facility where members of the faculty and others could engage in activities designed to bring promising inventions to economically feasible status? • Should the University and/or the state share in revenues derived from an invention developed at the University? If so how? • Should the University create an Office of Technology Transfer to assist University inventors with patent matters and the exploitation of their inventions?40 On November 18, 1985, the University contracted with NCHEMS Management Services, Inc. (NMSI) to assess the educational needs of hightechnology industry in Hawaii and the capacity of the University to meet those needs. The over-arching recommendations of the NMSI report were these: • The centers of excellence already existing at the University should be strengthened and two more should be added, one in software engineering and another in sensing and measurement.

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• The resources of the University should be made more readily available to various constituencies central to the development of high technology and technology-related industries. • The University and the State of Hawaii should pursue more aggressively the mission of serving as a bridge between the U.S. mainland and the rest of the Pacific Rim.39 Throughout 1985 and 1986, our small cadre of high-level officials continued to work on technology transfer on a part-time ad hoc basis. Harold Masumoto issued four new sets of administrative procedures relating to copyrights, patents, invention identification, and research on human subjects.41 A1 Simone promulgated a new executive policy concerning the implementation of the Board of Regents' policy on patents and copyrights.42 Moheb Ghali drafted a bill for the 1986 legislative session that would have established a revolving fund for technology transfer,43 and Harold Masumoto drafted a master agreement that would have specified the terms and conditions for the assignment of works that could be patented or copyrighted to RCUH for exploitation.44 We also participated in various activities intended to nurture the business/academic partnership. Some examples are the following: • On May 2-3, 1985, the University joined the Maui Economic Development Board (MEDB) and the Department of Planning and Economic Development (DBED) in cosponsoring a symposium on the Valley Isle that explored ways and means of enhancing Maui's economic future and promoted plans for the Maui Research and Technology Park (MRTP) at Kihei.45 • On October 8-9, 1985, the University joined the Hawaii Island Economic Development Board (HIEDB) in co-sponsoring a symposium on the Big Island that examined University and community involvement in the economic future of Hawaii island and recommended the establishment of a technology park on 200 acres of vacant land adjacent to the UH-Hilo campus.46 • On April 28-30, 1986, Moheb Ghali and I attended a symposium on university-related research parks held at Arizona State University. As a consequence of this meeting, UH became a charter member of the Association of University Related Research Parks (AURRP). On the last Sunday of 1986, an ad appeared in the Star-Bulletin and Advertiser for an assistant to the president for technology transfer and economic development.47 Reacting immediately, Pacific Biomedical Research Center (PBRC) Director Fred Greenwood proposed that an Office for Technology Transfer and Economic Development (OTTED) be created in the main research channel (that of the vice president for research and gradu-

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ate education) and that the assistant to the president be reassigned to head the new office.48 The appointment of Daniel Michio Ishii as Al Simone's special assistant for technology transfer and economic development was a turning point in the University's efforts to diversify the economy of Hawaii. Whereas previously these endeavors were undertaken by a small cadre of high-level administrators who contributed part of their time on an ad hoc basis, they would henceforth be pursued by a growing army of professionals who devoted all of their time to this task and who, through Ishii's extraordinary political connections, had a direct pipeline to the state's treasury. Born in Honolulu, Dan Ishii was elected treasurer and later president of the Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH) in 19741976. He served as administrative assistant to Governor George Ariyoshi in 1976-1982, completed his BBA in International Business at Manoa in 1983, was a private consultant for international business in 1983-1985, and accepted a second assignment as administrative assistant to Ariyoshi in 19851986. Ishii was appointed to the Board of Regents (BOR) by Ariyoshi in 1983 and began his long service on the Board of Directors of the Japanese American Citizens' League in 1984.49 These credentials marked Dan Ishii as one of the youngest old boys in Hawaii, and certainly one of the most promising. He resigned his position as regent in May 1986 to make room for Albert Nishimura, Ariyoshi's last BOR appointment, and he became Al Simone's special assistant on March 1, 1987.50 Simone's charge to Ishii was to identify programs that showed potential for economic development in Hawaii, establish viable contacts and networks with key faculty in these programs, and broker their ideas to the government and business sectors. Ishii was also asked to formulate appropriate policies relating to patents and copyrights, the use of faculty as consultants, the use of University facilities, and classified research. He was to be aided by a knowledge of what other universities were doing to establish successful partnerships with government and business. The ultimate objective was to increase Hawaii's tax base and number of jobs.50 Friday, November 13, 1987, was Ishii's lucky day. That was the day newly elected Governor John Waihee hosted a meeting in his office at the state capital to discuss research at UH. Although Ishii did not attend, the University was well represented by its ubiquitous cadre of high-level, parttime economic developers, which on this occasion included Al Simone, Chuck Helsley, Institute for Astronomy (IFA) Director Don Hall, and myself. Among those sitting across from us on the governor's side of the table were former Vice President for Administration Harold Masumoto, former Vice President for University Relations Josh Agsalud, and former UH Budget Director Yukio Takemoto.

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Governor Waihee's message was simple. He had just returned from a field trip to Japan where he was struck by how much the Japanese were spending on technology transfer as compared to the paltry sums Hawaii was investing. It was time for Hawaii to wake up and start thinking big. Waihee's idea of "big" was $20 million per year, which he said was only the beginning. At our regular weekly meeting on November 16, 1987,1 recommended that Simone assign the task of writing "The Governor's Initiative on Economic Development" to Dan Ishii. I knew that Dan was already working on such a proposal for the 1989-91 Biennium Budget, and I was sure he could have something ready in time for the Governor's message to the 1988 Legislature, in which case funds could be included in the FY 19881989 supplemental budget and released soon after July 1, 1988. I also knew that Dan had a much better chance of getting support from the governor and the legislature than I did. Simone gave the ball to Ishii, and he did run. In 1988, the Legislature appropriated approximately $6 million for the University's new Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development, and on April 14, 1989, the Board of Regents approved its establishment and organizational structure. Initially OTTED employed eight persons full-time and consisted of the director's office; the Intellectual Property, Technology, Licensing, Economic Development, and Education Support Program; and the Administrative and Fiscal Services Office. Of the $6 million, $2.95 million were deposited into the new Discoveries and Inventions Revolving Fund (DIRF).51'52'53 In 1989, the legislature expanded the functions of the DIRF to allow for the receipt of donations, gifts, grants, and fees from private and public sources. It also authorized the expenditure of such funds to facilitate economic development through education and research undertaken at the University.54 And, to insure that the DIRF would continue to be well stocked regardless of whether there was any return on OTTED's various investments, the 1991 legislature decreed that henceforth four percent of the total indirect cost reimbursements received by the University during the prior fiscal year would also be deposited therein.55 With indirect cost reimbursements averaging around $10 million per year since FY 1992, OTTED's four percent has amounted to about $400,000 per year. This is in addition to the fifty percent deposited into the University's Research and Training Revolving Fund (RTRF) and the twelve percent deposited into its Housing Assistance Revolving Fund (HARF). Here it is instructive to note that although the RTRF, HARF, and DIRF all derive from the same source, only the RTRF has been tapped to cover recent shortfalls in the RCUH management fee, penalties and disallowances on grants and contracts, the purchase of a new financial management system, and other obligations, which have totaled as much as $3 million

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per year. The fact that the DIRF and HARF have never been touched attests not to the greater importance of these funds to the University, but to the greater political clout of their principal sponsors, Director Dan Ishii and Regent Roy Takeyama, respectively. Since its inception in FY 1989, OTTED has expanded faster than any other component of the University. Within four years, it outgrew its temporary quarters in Bachman Hall, and in March 1993, it joined RCUH and PICHTR as one of three anchor tenants in the newly completed Manoa Innovation Center (MIC).56 OTTED's organizational chart for FY 1992-1993 names twenty-two employees. Its allocations to the DIRF for that year totaled $5,932,139, and funds available totaled $9,647,643. Of the latter amount, royalty income accounted for only $179,074, external library services for only $90,949, and software sales for only $5,396.57 In terms of total state support, OTTED was entirely comparable with its new neighbors, RCUH and PICHTR, by the end of the Simone administration. It was also larger than several of the University's organized research units, and it even rivaled the creation and buildup of SOEST, which was Simone's largest initiative and ultimately received thirty-five new positions and an increase in operating funds of $1.9 million per year. Mirroring the State of Hawaii during this expansive era, OTTED quickly proliferated its own alphabet soup of centers and programs. These are some examples: • TTDC: Targeted Technology Development Centers; • IPTLP: Intellectual Property and Technology Licensing Program; • SCIP: Seed Capital and Innovation Program; • SDMP: Software Development and Marketing Program; • ITTEP: International Technology Training and Education Program; • TLEAP: Technology, Legal, and Economic Assessment Program; • MRBDP: Market Research and Business Development Program; • EDEP: Economic Development and Education Program; and • TAP: Technical Assistance Program. With unprecedented speed, Dan Ishii had created a bureaucracy. He had also achieved the five indulgences every worthy bureaucrat craves: space, positions, money, flexibility, and autonomy. Of the five, the most important and revealing was the last. For in addition to being the fastest growing unit in the University, OTTED was also the most autonomous. Indeed, it was yet another manifestation of Ishii's political prowess and acumen that OTTED was granted so much autonomy.

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Before Ishii was hired, people like PBRC Director Fred Greenwood conceived of OTTED as an office for the administration of applied research, just as ORA is an office for the administration of basic research. It followed that both OTTED and ORA should be in the main research channel under the vice president for research and graduate education. 48 The confluence of these synergistic activities was supposed to result in a continuum of effort extending from basic to applied research, and from the principal investigators to the funding agencies. 58 Although OTTED first appeared in the University's budget request for organized research (UOH-102), Ishii asserted from the beginning that it must be housed in the office of the president and receive system-wide institutional support (UOH-903). Granting that Simone had no time to oversee yet another activity, Ishii nevertheless insisted that this designation was necessary because the mission of OTTED was to serve the entire system.59 Ishii's reasoning was obviously spurious because ORA is housed in OVPRGE and serves the entire system very nicely. However, such observations from people like Fred Greenwood and myself became irrelevant as soon as the OTTED budget request reached the legislature. At a meeting held at the state capital on January 28, 1988, Senate Higher Education Committee Chair Malama Solomon informed members of the University Executive Council that she had talked with Dan Ishii the previous day, that our placement of OTTED in the organized research (UOH-102) budget line was based on a misunderstanding (presumably mine), and that the new office must be system-wide (meaning UOH-903). No doubt Senator Solomon made this decision partly out of respect for Dan Ishii. It is also true that she did not like Al Simone and would support almost any proposal that showed promise of embarrassing him in public or of moving resources from Manoa to the Neighbor Islands. But most important, by taking personal responsibility for OTTED's budget line and by increasing its state funding far beyond the amount the University had originally requested, Senator Solomon served notice that OTTED was in her custody and would, in effect, report directly to the legislature. Simone accepted this verdict without any discussion. As he explained to me later, OTTED was aimed at economic development and really had very little to do with research institutes or with Manoa. Besides, Danny had the legislature's confidence, and because of his skills in politicking, we were going to get a lot more money than we had requested. I was concerned that with separate lines reporting to the president, the University would henceforth have two research vice presidents, one applied and the other basic. I suggested to Simone that this would be like having two maestros conducting the same orchestra. I also expressed my fear that OTTED, like PICHTR, would get its state funding out of the larger pot of money that supports organized research at UH.

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If this proved to be the case, then OTTED, like PICHTR, would not be a sound investment. I suppose it is my duty as narrator to draw some conclusions about OTTED, but I am not quite ready to do so. In part, this is because OTTED is so graced with autonomy—so removed from the University's normal reporting lines—that neither I nor anyone else in Bachman Hall really knows what OTTED has accomplished. It is also true that the success or failure of such an endeavor may not be evident for decades, as was the case at Stanford, greater Boston's Route 128, and the North Carolina Triangle. I will therefore close this section by making two distinctions. The first is that there is a difference between the ability to attract state funds and the ability to spend them wisely. The second is that there is a difference between building a bureaucracy and transferring technology. Perhaps at some future date we will all have a clearer understanding of whether these distinctions apply to OTTED. By then Dan Ishii will be at a safe distance from the enterprise he created: on September 22, 1995, he was formally appointed Secretary of the Board of Regents, replacing Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu, who retired on June 30, 1995.60 DBEDT: Business, Economic Development, and Tourism Like OTTED, the Department of Planning and Economic Development (DPED), which was renamed the Department of Business and Economic Development (DBED) in 1988,61 and the Department of Business, Economic Development, and Tourism (DBEDT) in 1990,62 is by itself an alphabet soup richly endowed with centers and programs. Many of these arose during the Simone administration, and most of them involved the University, which is the state's largest reservoir of intellectual talent and its principal resource for innovation in science and technology.39 In this section, I'll give a number of examples of the interaction between DBEDT and UH, then focus on one in particular, which we called "the Governor's initiative in space." My purpose is to illustrate how two departments of state government worked together, acknowledging at the onset that the relationship between DBEDT and UH was generally cordial, always well-meaning, and sometimes even productive. The birth of the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR) within UH, its later incorporation, and its eventual oversight by DBEDT have already been discussed. In that context, Ocean Thermal Energy Conversion (OTEC), which is PICHTR's largest project, and the Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii Authority (NELHA), which reports to DBEDT and oversees OTEC as well as the Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii (NELH), were mentioned. The University has also worked closely with DBEDT and NELHA in the development of geothermal energy in Hawaii, testifying in favor of it

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at the State Legislature, conducting geothermal resource explorations and assessments, and taking much of the criticism from environmentalists, Pele (volcano goddess) worshipers, and marijuana growers, who were unanimous in saying "not in my back yard." The Scientific Observation Hole (SOH) project, completed in June, 1991, is a specific instance of successful UH/DBEDT/NELHA cooperation: it yielded regional and site-specific data on rock types and structures within the rift zone, the depth to potential reservoirs, the depth and composition of underground water, and the temperature of the rock and fluids. It also proved that SOHs can be drilled successfully to depths exceeding 6,800 feet, and at temperatures exceeding 660°F.63 Several examples of the University's participation in Hawaii's burgeoning research parks and innovation centers have already been mentioned. Although Dan Ishii discontinued our membership in the Association of University Related Research Parks (AURRP) barely two years after we joined,64 preferring his own "local approach" to technology transfer, we did continue to support such parks and centers whenever that was feasible. Our principal partner in most of these endeavors was the High Technology Development Corporation (HTDC), which is another branch of DBEDT. During the Simone administration, the executive director of HTDC was William Martin Bass, Jr., who had earned B.S. and M.S. degrees in Civil Engineering from Marquette University and the University of Wisconsin, respectively, and had retired from the U.S. Navy Civil Engineering Corps with the rank of commander after 21 years of service.65 The Kaimuki Technology Enterprise Center (KAITEC) was Hawaii's first high-technology incubation facility, and one of its most successful. Located approximately one mile from the Manoa campus, KAITEC opened its doors for business in April 1988. It owed its rapid start largely to GTE Hawaiian Tel, which began converting its analog switching equipment to digital in 1986. This freed space at GTE Hawaiian Tel's Kaimuki Central Office, and HTDC quickly transformed it into an incubation facility using operating funds provided by the legislature in 1987. As expected, many of KAITEC's tenants have been associated with the University.66 HTDC also developed and manages the 547-acre Hawaii Ocean Science and Technology (HOST) Park, which is on the doorstep of NELH at Keahole Point; the Maui Research and Technology Center (MRTC), which is the nucleus of the 330-acre Maui Research and Technology Park (MRTP) at Kihei; and the 42,550-square-foot Manoa Innovation Center (MIC). All three of these enterprises emerged during the Simone era and involve the University. The respective dates of the ground-breaking ceremonies were November 13, 1986,67 May 4, 1990,68 and August 28, 1990.69 Land for the MIC was donated by the University, and several of us testified in favor of this project at meetings with the Manoa Valley Neighborhood Board as well as at hearings of the State Legislature. The initial

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response of Manoa Valley residents was "anywhere but here," but we eventually won their support by noting that our original aspiration for the three-acre MIC parcel was a student dormitory.70 To complete this sketch of a unique period in Hawaii's economic history, I will mention two other facilities. The first is the 256-acre Mililani Technology Park (MTP), which is being developed in Central Oahu by Oceanic Properties Inc., a subsidiary of Castle and Cooke. The second is the 200-acre UH-Hilo Research Park, which is being developed by the University. The MTP master plan includes both commercial businesses such as restaurants and professional offices, and high-tech activities such as light manufacturing and assembly, research and development, distribution and administration. The UHH University Park will be an environmental and astronomical complex supporting research activities on Mauna Kea as well as the Big Island economy. Ground was broken for the MTP on July 21, 1987,71 and for the UHH University Park on November 1, 1991.72 In retrospect, "the Governor's initiative in space" probably should have been called "the senator's initiative in space" or, better still, "the Matsunaga-Kondo initiative in peace." For although Hawaii's senior senator, Dan Inouye, was a pragmatist who chaired the U.S. Senate's powerful defense appropriations subcommittee and was noted for bringing home the bacon,73 Hawaii's junior senator, the late Spark Matsunaga, was a visionary who won the B'Nai B'rith International Year of Peace Award in 198674 and whose chief concern was the survival of the planet.75 Matsunaga was particularly apprehensive that the United States and the Soviet Union would extend their nuclear confrontation beyond planet Earth. To avert this catastrophe, he introduced a series of Congressional resolutions based on the premise that countries that work together are less likely to fight one another. The key resolution, which was passed by Congress and signed into law in 1984, called for a wide range of joint ventures with the Soviet Union and other nations. Matsunaga subsequently proposed an International Space Year (ISY) for 1992, the five hundredth anniversary of Columbus' voyage, and a manned mission to Mars.75 A further catalyst in Hawaii's involvement in space was the seminal speech given by Senator Matsunaga's friend and colleague Tetsuo Kondo at the opening ceremony of the first symposium under the joint auspices of the American Astronautical Society (AAS) and the Japanese Rocket Society (JRS). Speaking as a member of the Japanese Diet, Representative Kondo called for greater international cooperation in space and offered to organize Japanese support for an international effort to construct and operate a Pacific spaceport, a Pacific space city, and a Pacific space university. Because the symposium was being held in Honolulu on December 15-19, 1985, all three of Kondo's proposals seemed tailor-made for Hawaii.76 On January 20, 1986, I received a call from Harvey Meyerson, who introduced himself as Senator Matsunaga's legislative counselor and direc-

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tor. Because he had no administrative responsibilities, Harvey was free to generate new ideas and work on special projects. From my present vantage point nearly a decade later, I am inclined to think of Harvey not only as an idea man but also as a consummate insider, that one person in the senator's office who knew everything the senator knew and quite possibly a whole lot more. Harvey was an innovator on a very large scale, but because he rarely took credit for his own work, his name is not likely to appear in any history but mine. Harvey Meyerson was also a superb writer. The very first thing he talked about, and the thing that obviously interested him the most, was The Mars Project,75 which he said was based on a theme of cooperation as an alternative to confrontation in space, and which would be published both in the United States and in Japan in a couple of months. Considering that he was the senator's idea man and wrote many of his speeches, I have to assume that Harvey was the true author of this visionary work. In the same call, Harvey Meyerson named all the players and laid out the future of space endeavors internationally, nationally, and in Hawaii over the next fifty years. Some of his observations were these: • Representative Kondo's speech would shift Hawaii's space enterprise into high gear. Harvey and Sparky were in contact with the State Department and hoped to get a sympathetic response from President Reagan. • The ISY was timely since it would come thirty-five years after the International Geophysical Year (IGY) and 500 years after Columbus. More important, however, it would secure NASA's budget for the next seven years. We would kick it off in Hawaii since it was Sparky's idea. • In 1988, the United States would approach the Soviet Union about a joint mission to Mars. NASA would prepare a report recommending that future missions be coordinated, and Congress would write this into the NASA authorization. We would try to involve Hawaii in every phase. • Unlike PICHTR, which began with us, the cooperative space initiative began with the Japanese. The Japanese wanted space and did not want PICHTR. We mustn't dilute space and try to sneak in something else they did not want. • The Big Island was a major component of space. The best launch site was at South Point. No doubt Hilo would object, but this shouldn't just be pork for Hilo. It was an international project that shouldn't turn on the basis of Hilo politics. Mainlanders preferred Kona in any case, and we could always upgrade UH-Hilo later and put more science and technology there.

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• Space was something the senator really wanted to push. Renewable energy just wasn't happening, so the senator was shifting to space. The two were related since both had important implications for the environment. • Sparky wanted the thrust to come from the University. As the recently appointed vice president for research and graduate education, I was the man to do it. Harvey conceded that Dave Morrison, an astronomer who was previously the acting vice chancellor for research and graduate education, was more knowledgeable about space, but I could do more for Al. Harvey and Sparky were glad things were settled at UH. On January 30, 1986, I received a telephone call from a staffer named Mark in State Senator Andy Levin's office, who asked for the name of our space committee. Because we didn't have one, I made up a title on the spot and said it was the "University Advisory Committee on Space Exploration." On February 6, 1986, Institute for Astronomy (IFA) Director Don Hall suggested several participants and assured me it would be all right with him if I asked Dave Morrison to serve as chair. Don did insist, however, that we were researchers rather than explorers, so I changed the title to the "University Advisory Committee on Space Research." Later that same day, Dave Morrison accepted the new assignment and agreed to draft a charge, prepare a slate of members, and check with Andy Levin about support. Our bill providing $100,000 for the UH Space Committee was hastily prepared and did not survive the 1986 legislative session. However, with a new administration coming in, we remained optimistic about our chances of obtaining additional resources for several of the University's premier programs and began working closely with DPED on an appropriate vehicle. Our first success was in getting newly elected Governor John Waihee to include a space initiative in his State of the State Address to the 1987 legislature. In this inaugural declaration, Waihee acknowledged the foresight of Senator Matsunaga and spoke of a "Governor's Conference on Space which will have access to international experts on the subject." This conference was expected to produce a detailed blueprint for action on the development of a spaceport, the particulars of which Waihee would submit to the 1988 regular session, together with a package of related multiyear funding requests.77 The 1987 legislature responded by providing DPED with $450,000 in FY 1988 to "conduct a preliminary . . . feasibility study analyzing the necessary land infrastructure and support services and identifying possible environmental and social impacts which would be created by a space

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technology industry in Hawaii based on research activities, commercial activities, a satellite launch facility, and related services."78 The study was completed by Arthur D. Little, Inc. in August 1987,79 and, following its recommendations, the 1988 legislature established within DBED a new Office of Space Industry COSI).61 The University's share of the governor's 1988 initiative consisted of 4.0 FTE positions and $360,000 for the Institute for Astronomy (IFA); 3.0 FTE positions and $180,000 for the Planetary Geosciences Division (PGD) of the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG); and $168,800 for UH-Hilo. An additional $40,000 was provided for the UH Advisory Committee on Space Research. A community college request for $388,000 to set up a Space Training Institute was dropped. Because IFA and PGD are two of the University's most productive units, I had no doubt that the money we funneled into them through the Governor's initiative in space would be well spent. And regardless of the merits of the UH-Hilo request, its inclusion could be defended as a preemptive concession to Big Island Senators Andy Levin and Malama Solomon, who had recently replaced Levin as chair of the Senate Higher Education Committee. I did have some reservations, however, about spending money on a faculty committee, a practice virtually unprecedented at this university. My long-standing rationale for providing the Space Committee with a permanent allowance has been that the three successive astronomers who have chaired it since its inception have treated any money left over from the $40,000 annual appropriation as a subsidy for IFA. If this was a violation of legislative intent, it was at least a well-meaning and productive one. And although I would not welcome a detailed audit of how its funds were actually spent, I will note that the Space Committee has to its credit several stunning successes, any one of which might provide a sufficient budget defense. The first is the preparation and annual update of a University of Hawaii Space Directory, which summarizes programs and personnel involved in space-related research and teaching projects. Like the Space Committee itself, this publication has been instrumental, not only in linking the University with the international space community, but also in collecting and publicizing the University's multifarious contributions to this important field.80 The second is the co-hosting of a number of conferences and workshops that have helped to keep Hawaii at the forefront of the ISY movement. Among these were the Governor's Symposium on Space, which was held in Honolulu November 17-18, 1988;81 the first Pacific ISY Conference, which was held in Kona August 19-21, 1987; 8283 the first Workshop on U.S./ Japan Cooperation in Space, which was held in Honolulu November 30December 1, 1990;84 the second Pacific ISY Conference, which was held in Kona October 13-15, 1991 ;85 and the second Workshop on U.S./Japan Cooperation in Space, which was held in Hilo November 5-6, 1992.86

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Here I should acknowledge that the chief architect of both ISY conferences was the ubiquitous Harvey Meyerson. He worked on the first while employed as a UH consultant, and he worked on the second while serving as the president of the U.S. ISY Association (US-ISY), which he helped found.82,85 The third and most significant accomplishment of the Space Committee consisted in having the University identified as a Space Grant College by NASA in 1989. This was a very close call, and although UH was not among the first 17 selected, it was among the remaining four.87 The coveted designation also placed UH among only four universities and consortia in the country that had at that time all three—Land Grant, Sea Grant, and Space Grant—classifications. The others were MIT, the University of Washington, and the University of California System. Since its inception, the Hawaii Space Grant College Program has been directed by Peter Mouginis-Mark of the Planetary Geosciences Division. PGD has proved to be an ideal home for the new institution partly because it also houses the NASA Pacific Regional Planetary Data Center and can make the Center's unique resources accessible to students across the UH System. The Space Grant Program has won high praise from NASA and is one of the most successful and popular innovations of the Simone era. When we learned that we were not among the first 17 institutions selected, no one at UH was particularly surprised. Indeed, we were informed by NASA that our proposal was weak in three areas: industrial collaborators, university collaborators, and connections with aerospace companies—none of which is readily accessible in Hawaii. Naturally, I wondered what had caused the situation to change so dramatically. At a post mortem held in Al Simone's "parlor" on December 21, 1989, the same day the final four selections were announced, Don Hall explained that NASA found the money in spite of Gramm-Rudman. Because the press release quoted NASA Administrator Richard H. Truly as saying that NASA was able to designate the remaining four "as a result of Congress appropriating additional funds," I asked Don if UH was selected because Inouye intervened. He said, "Sure." I then inquired whether someone at UH had requested Inouye's assistance, to which Don replied, "No." Don then informed us that Inouye was aware UH was turned down in the first round and decided to give us a hand. Although it took a lot of arm twisting, no one at NASA was unhappy with the final outcome because Inouye and his colleagues in Congress gave NASA the additional funds. Don acknowledged that this was a blatant violation of peer review, but noted that the practice was less dangerous at NASA than it would have been at NSF. Our role as University administrators was merely to do the best we could with the opportunity thus presented.

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MHPCC: Centering High Performance Computing on Maui The origins of the Maui Research and Technology Center (MRTC) can be traced to the symposium on the business-academic partnership held on the Valley Isle on May 2-3, 1985. As one might anticipate from the topic, there was general agreement among symposium participants that the planned Maui Research and Technology Park (MRTP) needed a University connection, and the only question was how that connection would be made. 45 Addressing the problem through the local political process, the Maui Economic Development Board (MEDB), led by its President, Donald G. Malcolm, and its chairman, the late Colin C. Cameron, proposed to newly elected Governor John Waihee that a state-financed University of Hawaii Maui Research and Training Center (UHMRTC) be constructed. The earliest draft I have of this proposal is dated December 13, 1986, 88 barely two months after Waihee and others blessed the Kihei MRTP site.89 The UHMRTC was expected to house appropriate portions of the University's research and development activities already existing on Maui. Among these were tropical agriculture, solar astronomy, and renewable energy. It would also provide "incubator space" to enhance the transfer of technology from the University to the private sector. The State of Hawaii would purchase five acres of land in the MRTP for this purpose, and the University would design and construct a 40,000 square-foot structure on the five-acre site in accordance with special design guidelines approved for the MRTP by Maui County.88 From its inception, the MEDB proposal was plagued by two fundamental problems. The first was that UH had no money for design and construction, estimated at more than $6 million, and the second was that UH had no need for space at Kihei. As President Simone wrote to Governor Waihee on March 27, 1987, While I support the idea of a University-Local Government-Industry partnership to develop research and technology parks, the University of Hawaii is not prepared, at this time, to commit itself to locate any of its programs at any R&T Park in Hawaii.90 On the same day he wrote to Governor Waihee, Al Simone tendered his resignation as a member of the MEDB, effective immediately. Citing potential conflicts of interest, Simone thanked Chairman Cameron for the courtesies extended during his brief tenure on the Board and promised that UH would continue to participate fully in the economic development of the State. Simone ended his letter to Colin Cameron by designating his new assistant for technology transfer and economic development, Daniel M. Ishii, to be the University's liaison with the MEDB.91

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In my profile of Regent Ken Kato in Chapter 5, I referred to a meeting that was held in the president's parlor on December 16, 1987. Although the meeting was called by MEDB President Don Malcolm and attended by Senate Ways and Means Committee Chairman Mamoru Yamasaki and House Finance Committee Chairman Joe Souki, all from Maui, it was Regent Kato who did most of the talking. He used the word "reciprocity" and made it clear that if Simone wanted the Board of Regents and the legislature to support the rest of the University's budget request, he had better include two positions and $250,000 per year for the MRTP. Malcolm summarized the December 16, 1987, meeting in a confidential memorandum to the MRTC file, noting that it lasted one and a half hours and that Dan Ishii from UH and Art Henderson from Maui were among those present. The memo also states that "A1 Simone was quite receptive to the concept" but preferred a "business-like approach" in which the University would select the areas most likely to pay off. In response, "Ken Kato indicated this was not the basis of our request; we were requesting a commitment on a regional (Maui) basis."92 Refining Kato's point in his memo to the file, Malcolm further explained: Thus, our request is not appropriately addressed via such a centrally driven process which in all probability would merely extend the current technologies and interests at the Manoa campus. Our request is based on the University making a strategic decision to participate in developing extant UH-related opportunities on an economic development partnership basis with the state and private sector. A person who is technically qualified, credible, and measurable is needed on Maui, not right away but six months to a year ahead of completion of the structure in order to start project and program development activity. Senator Yamasaki and Representative Souki stated their support for the project.92 As I reflect on President Malcolm's memo eight years later, I am struck by the exquisite irony of this situation. While the original purpose of this memo was to document the University's commitments to MEDB, it now documents the behavior of the Maui delegation. And to the extent that Malcolm tried to hold Simone accountable for his actions, I shall now hold Malcolm and his colleagues accountable for theirs. For what exactly are they accountable? These are the main points as I see them: • The term "strategic decision" was a euphemism: what MEDB was actually asking the University to do was disregard its normal budgetary process and academic priorities and henceforth, as a matter of institutional policy, channel some of its resources to Kihei. • The term "reciprocity" was also a euphemism: if Simone

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refused to accept the MEDB proposal, he risked losing the support of the Board of Regents and the legislature. • The term "conflict of interest" had opposite meanings for Simone and Kato. To Simone it meant that he could not remain on the Maui Economic Development Board without compromising his higher commitment to the University. To Kato it meant that he must remain on the Board of Regents in order to advance his higher commitment to Maui County. • In all such encounters, and there were many, Kato held the upper hand. In part this was because the Board of Regents hires and fires the president, and in part it was because Kato's highest priority was Maui while Simone's was the University. Ground was broken for the Maui Research and Technology Center on August 28, 1990,68 and the project was completed on November 26, 1991, at a cost of $10 million. HTDC was the developer, and MEDB the managing tenant. Maui Community College and the University of Hawaii, identified as separate entities, were also conspicuous occupants. The purpose of the center, according to an MEDB brochure, was "to serve as the nucleus of the 330-acre Maui Research and Technology Park, creating an integral network of ideas, manpower, and technologies."93 On June 15, 1990,1 received a telephone call from Michael Boughton, a former classmate of mine at Caltech, who told me he had just been elected president of the Caltech Alumni Association. Mike had recently retired from TRW (formerly the Ramo-Wooldridge Corporation), where he had spent 30 years working on launch trajectories and tracking networks, and he was now employed by the MEDB. His primary responsibility at MEDB was the MRTC, scheduled for lift-off barely two months later. We reminisced about old times, and Mike extended a cordial invitation to join him on an alumni tour of the geothermal resources in Yellowstone Park, which I politely declined. Of course, the real purpose of Mike's call was to secure University resources for the MRTC. I assured him that we fully intended to keep the promises Al Simone had made to the MEDB in 1987, and I explained that during the 1988, 1989, and 1990 legislative sessions, our main objective had been to help the HTDC obtain the state funds it needed to construct the MRTC. With those monies now in hand and with the project scheduled for completion in late 1991, it was time for the University to develop a proposal of its own. I offered to prepare something plausible and insert it into the Board of Regents' budget request for BI 1991-93, and Mike promised to work closely with Senator Yamasaki and Representative Souki to ensure that it got funded. Asking for positions and money is relatively easy; actually getting them is another matter. The University's request to establish an Institute

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for Astronomy (IFA) outpost at the MRTC was listed as priority 38c and consisted of two positions and $248,000 for FY 1992, and two positions and $272,000 for FY 1993. The 1991 Legislature responded with $90,000 in FY 1992 and a similar amount in FY 1993, but to our consternation, Yamasaki and Souki failed somehow to provide the two positions. To correct this oversight, the University came back with a request for three positions and $134,880 the following year. By then, austerity had set in, and the 1992 legislature said no. Without the positions, the $90,000 allocated to IFA for FY 1992 and FY 1993 lapsed in FY 1994. Coincidentally, the 1991 legislature did provide two positions for the Mees Observatory on Haleakala. IFA Director Don Hall insists that these positions had nothing to do with the MRTC request and were simply a Maui "add-on" arranged by Representative Souki and IFA Haleakala High Altitude Site Supervisor Wayne Lu without Hall's knowledge. Mike Boughton has never accepted this explanation, and because Souki and Lu were working outside the University's budgetary process, the actual circumstances may never be revealed. Although Director Hall has no intention of assigning IFA personnel to the MRTC, Dan Ishii, then director of the University's Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development (OTTED), stationed two of his employees there. In this sense, the promise Al Simone made to the Maui delegation in 1987 was finally kept, albeit seven years later. While MEDB was pursuing its destiny through local channels, it was also exercising its political muscle at the national level. I first became aware of these efforts on August 15, 1991, when Mike informed me that he and his colleagues were going after federal funds for a supercomputer to be installed at the MRTC. The proposal made no sense from a scientific point of view, but it was obvious that a federally funded supercomputer would be a great windfall for the economy of Maui. All that was required from the University was a letter saying we needed a white elephant, and Senator Inouye would do the rest. I am afraid this was one of those instances when I allowed my vice presidential obligations to override my scientific judgment. And although Mike was not very enthusiastic about the restrained letter of endorsement I sent him on September 11, 1991,94 it apparently did no harm. On November 20, 1991, Mike informed me that there would be an Inouye press release announcing a $19-5 million defense appropriation to install a massively parallel computer at the MRTC, and the matter was faithfully reported in The Honolulu Advertiser the following day.95 A naive person might expect that this would be the end of the story, that with massively parallel state and federal funding now secure, the Maui High Performance Computing Center (MHPCC) would ruminate happily ever after. From our discussion of the Pacific Ocean Science and Technology (POST) building in Chapter 7, however, we can anticipate

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that the opposite would be true, that the tale of the MHPCC was just beginning when Senator Inouye succeeded in earmarking Department of Defense (DOD) funds, and that the project won't be over until all the money has been spent. Mike Boughton launched his telephone call on January 14, 1992, by telling me that "Don Hall did something pretty bad." He then accused Don of proposing to the U.S. Air Force—without first informing Mike—that the entire $19-5 million go to UH. This was exactly what MEDB had been afraid of all along, and it fully justified the decision made by MEDB and Senator Inouye to keep UH ignorant of the MHPCC plans until the last possible moment. Because I didn't believe that a proposal of this magnitude could have gotten through our Office of Research Administration (ORA) without my knowledge, I told Mike there must be some mistake. What Don actually did, according to Mike, was provide the Air Force and Phillips Laboratory with sufficient information for a high-level briefing/presentation in Washington. Mike then explained that although the $19-5 million was nearly a line item, it was a two-step process, and the money had to go through an agency, in this case, the DOD and Phillips Lab. A friend of Don's who didn't want to spend Air Force funds for a supercomputer on Maui was using information supplied by Don to obstruct the process. The thing that alarmed Mike most was the fact that Don had acted unilaterally. This was the ethics problem Mike had referred to at the beginning of our conversation, and it was a pattern of behavior Mike had to correct. Don also created two outcome problems, namely that Hawaii might get distributed work stations instead of a supercomputer, and they might not be located at the MRTC. These outcomes were not at all what the Senator had in mind when he entrusted the MHPCC to the MEDB, and by trying to divert the Air Force funds provided by Inouye, Don was biting the hand that fed him. Continuing his diatribe against Don's end run, Mike said he could not tell me how disappointed he was and described his emotions as "extreme." The only written evidence that emerged during my subsequent investigation was an internal memorandum from IFA Associate Director Len Cowie to IFA Haleakala High Altitude Site Supervisor Wayne Lu stating that [t]he IFA review of the Paragon super computer system concluded that, while there are a few possible astronomical uses of the system—such as real time speckle imaging, these are not in areas where the IFA presently works or plans to work in the future. For almost all our applications, the optimal system is a distributed set of highend work stations, such as the silicon graphics machines combined with massive archival storage.96

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Of course, as soon as Don Hall heard about the accusations, he called MEDB President Don Malcolm to repudiate them. Malcolm dutifully recorded this disavowal in a letter to Hall dated January 15, 1992: Thanks for your forthright statement that you are fully supportive of the Paragon INTEL program. As mentioned, I found it inconceivable that you could be quoted as being opposed to funding of the proposed super computer project and also proposing an alternative use of the appropriated funds via the University of Hawaii. As we discussed, we need to develop a way to correct this unfortunate misunderstanding within the Air Force. I have asked Mike Boughton to work with you on this. We shall look into the problem of the position count we discussed.97 As a scientist, I am certain that Hall did not "fully" support the Paragon INTEL program and that his statement, whatever it may have been, was anything but "forthright." Nevertheless, Malcolm was quite safe in making these claims because it truly was "inconceivable" that Hall or I or anyone else connected with the University administration would openly oppose a project we knew to be supported by Inouye. The fact that there were few possible astronomical uses of the MHPCC as originally conceived was simply irrelevant. The references to the "Paragon super computer system" and to the "Paragon INTEL program" are also of interest because they identify a particular vendor prior to any bidding process. The close association of Paragon INTEL with Caltech was well known in high-performance computing circles, and this line of discussion reflected Boughton's personal aspiration that a consortium led by his alma mater would eventually implement and manage the MHPCC. In addition to Caltech, two other entities responded to the Broad Agency Announcement (BAA) issued by Phillips Laboratory on November 27, 1992. 98 The first was a consortium led by the University of New Mexico (UNM), and the second was the University of Hawaii. Caltech and New Mexico both invited UH to participate in their proposals, but in a great leap of hubris, Hawaii decided it didn't need any help. This decision was made by the MHPCC core team appointed by Interim President Paul Yuen, and it was motivated in part by the belief that Hawaii would get more out of the center if UH alone got the bid. 99 The approach of the core team was to implement the center, not as a research project, but as infrastructure that would support research, education, and economic development throughout the state. This would require dramatically improved telecommunications among the islands and between Hawaii and the U.S. mainland, and this enhanced telecommunications capacity would, in turn, help the University meet its other educational networking needs and create new opportunities at all levels. 99

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Considering its reputation and leadership in the field of high performance computing, one might expect that Caltech would win the bid. Failing that, the local entry might have a chance. When Mike called me on May 7, 1993, to review the final outcome of the BAA process, the expression he used was "utterly surprised." According to Mike, the failure of the UH proposal was predictable because none of the people who worked on it knew anything about supercomputers. To make matters worse, Mike continued, they were arrogant and went around insulting everybody. The damage they did to the University's reputation would take years to repair. The only thing that could make matters worse would be for our people to interfere. If I got any indication that this was happening, I should inform Mike and he would kill the intrusion instantly. I may have been the only person in Hawaii who was not surprised when New Mexico got the bid to develop and manage the MHPCC. During the week of September 13, 1992, Frank Gilfeather and Brian Smith, codirectors of the UNM High Performance Computing, Research, and Education Program (HPCERP), visited UH and met with researchers, chairs, deans, and myself. Their trip report, submitted to Captain Heidi Beason of the Air Force Phillips Lab, read like a local who's who of computing and networking. Because we had never prepared such a compendium ourselves, it was quite possible Gilfeather and Smith knew more about this aspect of UH than we did.100 The very first copy I received of the BAA issued on November 27, 1992, was faxed to me by Gilfeather and Smith. This was followed by a telephone call from Jim Thompson, dean of Engineering at UNM, who reiterated their interest in working with UH and inquired about our plans. When I informed Dean Thompson that I would be in Tucson for a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Consortium for International Development (CID) on Wednesday, December 9, 1992, he immediately offered to meet me there. 100 To spare Dean Thompson some trouble and expense, I proposed instead to meet with him and his colleagues at UNM on Thursday, December 10. As soon as my reservations were made, I gave Dean Thompson's secretary a window extending from my arrival at 9:10 A.M. to my departure at 8:00 P.M. and suggested they fill it in any way they liked.100 I am still amazed that so much activity could be packed into an interval of 11 hours. And while our four morning meetings at UNM went about as I expected, our afternoon visits to the high- performance computing facilities at Sandia National Laboratory (SNL) and to the Advanced Computing Laboratory (ACL) at Los Alamos National Laboratory (LANL) were truly extraordinary. The latter entailed a forty-five-minute excursion from Double Eagle Airport to Los Alamos in a four-person aircraft furnished

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and flown by Randy Krall of UNM. The other two passengers were Gilfeather and Smith. Our return down the Rio Grande Valley at sunset was one of the most beautiful flights I have made.100 At Los Alamos, we were shown the world's most powerful operational computer, a CM-5 produced by Thinking Machine Corporation. At Sandia, we were told they were going to install an even more powerful computer, a Paragon INTEL, a few months later. I'm not sure who's ahead at the moment, but I have no doubt that the race to excel, clocked in gigaflops and recorded in gigabits, is still going on.100 In addition to its own resources and the strong backing of SNL and LANL, UNM promised to provide access and proximity to Phillips Lab, the funding channel for MHPCC headquartered at nearby Kirkland Air Force Base. All this was documented in the informal feasibility study UNM prepared for my visit. In addition to providing cost estimates for two highperformance machines and a cost-sharing plan, the feasibility study also gave ten arguments in favor of a UNM-UH-SNL-LANL collaboration and listed eleven benefits UNM and UH could expect to receive. UNM even offered to let UH decide who would be the prime contractor.100 Some of the conclusions I have drawn from my MHPCC experience are these: • Contrary to the impression I formed by reading C. Wright Mills101 when I was an assistant professor at Princeton University in 1965, the military-industrial complex is no longer being run solely by graduates of the Ivy League. People like Daniel Inouye and Pete Domenici also have a voice. • Contrary to the impression I formed by reading Tony Hillerman102 and admiring Georgia O'Keeffe, 103 New Mexico is much more than one vast Navajo nation sheltering the occasional avant-garde artist in a world of arcadian simplicity. In fact, New Mexico has per capita more Ph.D.'s, more computing power, and more military spending than any other state. • Contrary to the impression I formed by reading various political commentaries since the Cold War ended in 1989, there won't be any "peace dividend." Now that the arms race is over, the U.S. Congress is racing to turn swords into pork. • Contrary to the visitor information I have been exposed to since I moved to Hawaii in 1969, the aloha spirit is not a monopoly of the Aloha State. On May 11, 1993, just four days after my post mortem with Mike Boughton, Frank Gilfeather called me from Albuquerque to invite UH once again to join the now successful UNM consortium. There was one residual of the bitter BAA competition: to eliminate potential friction

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between UNM and the core team that had put the UH proposal together," Frank said he would like to keep me as their main point of contact.

EWC: Bridging East and West Following World War II, the international policy of a number of countries included a desire to win the hearts and minds of other people around the world. The focus was on students, and the hope was that, by educating them, a host dominion could secure their loyalty when they returned to take up leadership positions in their own homelands. The U.S.S.R. created its Friendship University for precisely this purpose.104 By the late 1950s, the United States feared that it was losing the cold war in Asia. The 1959 Mutual Security Act included a provision calling for an investigation of the possibility of establishing an entity equivalent to the Soviet Friendship University somewhere in the U.S. The resulting report recommended the creation of a national educational center to be maintained and operated at "an appropriate institution in the State of Hawaii." These were code words for UH, and, in I960, the U.S. Congress approved the Center for Cultural and Technical Interchange Between East and West, alias the East-West Center (EWC), subsequently located on the Manoa campus.104 The mission of the East-West Center is to promote better relations and understanding between the United States and the nations of Asia and the Pacific through cooperative study, training, and research. So broad is this mandate that it could describe a university, a Peace Corps training program, a research institute, a think tank, or even a monastery. It could also explain why the Center has had an identity crisis since its inception. Viewed in a more positive light, this flexibility can be regarded as a lasting opportunity to adapt to the rapidly changing conditions that have become the hallmark of the Asia-Pacific region.104 Initially, EWC was operated by the University of Hawaii under a grantin-aid from the U.S. Department of State. In 1975, it was transferred from the University to an educational non-profit public corporation established by the legislature for this purpose. The corporation was named the Center for Cultural and Technical Interchange between East and West, Inc., and the act that created it105 was developed through close consultation and negotiations among the U.S. Department of State, the University of Hawaii, and the East-West Center after a general agreement had been reached to give the center independent status.106 In I960, when the center was formed, the University's budget was about $30 million and the EWC appropriation was about $10 million. UH had virtually no foreign students, and the EWC was expected to bring in several hundred of them. With UH and EWC having complementary assets and aspirations as well as a funding ratio of three-to-one, the relationship

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had all the characteristics of a true partnership. In a small sense, it was between the two institutions, but in a larger sense, it joined the state and federal governments. 104 By the time of incorporation in 1975, the proportions in this relationship had changed dramatically. The UH budget was $120 million; the EWC appropriation was $12 million; and the funding ratio was ten-to-one. Manoa had more than 1,000 Asian students, and EWC was supporting less than 300 of them. 104 The ratio of core funding for the two institutions reached eighteento-one by the end of the Simone administration, and the fraction of Manoa's foreign students supported by EWC continued to decline. During FY 1992, when UH received $433 million in state operating and capital improvement funds,107 the direct Congressional appropriation for EWC was only $24.5 million. 108 While core funding such as that provided by an endowment or by a line in the state or federal budget can be decisive in determining institutional success and survival, the ratio of extramural to intramural support is often a more telling indicator of institutional identity. This ratio is around two-to-one for typical organized research units at UH and around one-tothree for the University as a whole. Thus peer-reviewed grants and contracts totaled $120 million in FY 1992, while the University's operating budget was $334 million.107 The East-West Center obtained only $5.5 million in grants and contracts in FY 1992, which can be compared with its direct Congressional appropriation of $24.5 million. 108 The ratio is one-to-four, which suggests that if the EWC is searching for an identity as a research institute or think tank, it is not having much success in finding it. Indeed, viewed in terms of peer-reviewed projects, EWC most resembles a public university with other and more pressing obligations. 104 According to Dr. Fujio Matsuda, who was president of UH at the time of separation, the process began in the early 1970s not because the institutions had changed, but because the U.S. Department of State was having problems working with the University's arcane accounting system. To satisfy its sponsors, EWC was required to keep two sets of books, one following federal rules and the other following rules made by the State of Hawaii, and they proved to be irreconcilable. In addition, urgent EWC matters were being held up by the Board of Regents. 104 Matsuda concluded that for EWC to reach its full potential, it needed to have the characteristics of a truly independent organization with an international purpose and full international participation. As discussions between the U.S. Department of State and UH progressed, opposition to change developed on the Manoa campus and among members of the Board of Regents and the state legislature. One of the more complicated issues in these negotiations was the division of the physical assets between the

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State of Hawaii and the U.S. Government. Another was the future of the student program.104 The nature of the new relationship was defined by four agreements between the U.S. Government and the UH Board of Regents; between the U.S. Government and the EWC Board of Governors; between the UH Board of Regents and the EWC Board of Governors; and between the UH and the EWC, respectively. The last of these has been revised on several occasions and signed by the presidents of the two institutions or their designees. It covers mutual obligations and services such as libraries, computers, maintenance, utilities, parking, security, and joint appointments. It also pledges EWC to support a minimum of 275 degree-seeking students at UH, provided sufficient appropriations are received by EWC from the U.S. Congress.106 In the final months of the Simone administration, a crisis was building at EWC that promised to be even more serious than the one that emerged in the early 1970s and led to incorporation in 1975. The person most closely associated with this crisis was Michel Oksenberg, who in January 1992 succeeded Victor Hao Li (1981-1990) as president of EWC. However, the crisis was not of his making. Indeed, as Oksenberg began to take stock of the organization he headed, he soon came to the conclusion that while the world had changed profoundly over the previous thirty years, the Center had changed very little.109 By failing to adapt, EWC had created major discontinuities in three sets of its relationships. The first was with the U.S. Government and particularly the U.S. Congress. The second was with the University, its students, faculty, and administrators. The third was with various countries and constituencies in the Asia-Pacific Region.109 One activity of vital interest to the University will serve to illustrate the whole. Prior to Oksenberg's arrival in January 1992, EWC had faithfully honored its commitment to support a minimum of 275 students at UH. This, de facto, was the American Friendship University, and its impact on the region has been profound. EWC grantees have indeed risen to high positions throughout Asia and the Pacific, and their goodwill is now an American resource of inestimable value.109 By 1994-1995, the number of EWC students at UH had fallen to 212, and it was expected to drop to 128 in 1995-1996 if, as President Oksenberg was recommending, no additional students were accepted for that academic year. The reason the number could decrease so rapidly was that there were very few doctoral candidates left in the pipeline, and most of the remaining EWC students had short-term appointments.110 As the number of EWC students went down, morale at the center also plummeted. The deepening sense of despair and suspicion was reflected in the formation of the EW Emergency Fund111 and the "Group to Oust Oksenberg." 112 Common Cause Hawaii also got involved.113 Mean-

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while, EWC fellows, alumni, and students were savaging Oksenberg in local newspapers. Recalling that he had served (1977-1980) as a senior staff member of the National Security Council in Washington, D.C., with special responsibility for China and Indochina, critics were quick to accuse him of focusing on military issues and violating the Center's traditional neutrality.114 And far from adding to his stature, Oksenberg's "secret mission" to Beijing with Zbigniew Brezenzinski in May 1994 added to his pyre.115 While it is universally acknowledged that EWC achieved its historic mission in the past, this does not mean that it can have a comparable impact in the future. Thirty years ago, there were approximately 15,000 students from Asia enrolled in American universities, and the 300 or so supported by EWC grants constituted two percent of the total. There are now nearly 300,000 Asians enrolled in American universities, and the share supported by the EWC has dropped below 0.1 percent. On this basis alone, one could argue that an American Friendship University is no longer necessary and that the potential influence of EWC grantees has been diluted by a factor of twenty.109 The large number of Asian students in America also attests to the ability of their home countries to support them. Indeed, some members of Congress are now referring to EWC as a WPA project for UH104 and asking why the U.S. taxpayer should continue to subsidize students from wealthy countries like Japan, Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore that have strong economies and large trade surpluses with the U.S.109 Although EWC was chartered as national educational center, it is certainly true that EWC fellowships have been a great boon to UH. In recent years, most of them have gone to graduate students in the social sciences and humanities, where assistantships funded by extramural grants and contracts are rare. Because the University has only about 350 state-funded and 400 extramurally funded graduate assistantships altogether, the additional 275 supported by EWC represent a significant fraction of the total. Moreover, in several departments, EWC grantees comprise a majority of the funded graduate students and may even be required to sustain the academic programs in these areas.109 Recalling that EWC was a child of the cold war and that the cold war is now over, one might ask whether it is still important to win the hearts and minds of other people. Granting that it is, one may still question whether EWC has anything more to contribute. In an era characterized by interactive television, the Internet, and universal connectivity, American culture and values may already be too ubiquitous for EWC to add anything further. In fact, so interdependent has the world become that the U.S. Government itself may have little influence on foreign hearts and minds.109 During FY 1994, the operating budget of EWC was $26.5 million of which $11.69 million was for research, $5-374 million for education, $1,907

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million for outreach, $250,000 for public relations, and $7,279 million for administration, including electricity, maintenance, and the like. An additional $6.5 million was obtained from extramural grants and contracts, bringing the total to about $33 million. The appropriation bill passed by the U.S. House of Representatives early in 1994 would have reduced the EWC operating budget for FY 1995 to $20.5 million, a loss of $6 million.116 Faced with the possibility of massive cuts in the EWC appropriation, President Oksenberg and his staff spent much of 1994 trying to find a niche that would allow the Center to survive. What they came up with was a strategic plan laying out "choices for a sustainable future." Appropriately enough, the focus was on the dynamics of change in the Asia-Pacific region and the interpretation of these dynamics to scholarly, policy, and public audiences. The main goals were to remain a premier resource for the region and to continue to provide high-quality and relevant research and educational programs.117 By October 1994, the Congressional budgetary process had run its course and EWC emerged from the fray with a FY 1995 appropriation of $25 million. Through the good offices of Senator Inouye, the $6 million cut originally approved by the U.S. House of Representatives had been reduced to a manageable $1.5 million, and it seemed that the reports of EWC's impending demise were premature.116 In November 1994, the American people elected their first Republican Congress since EWC was founded in I960. Bill Clinton was still president, of course, but the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) was listening to a different drummer and recommending massive budget reductions. One of these would result in an EWC appropriation of $15 million in FY 1996 and $10 million in FY 1997.118 On February 22, 1995, Michel Oksenberg resigned as president of the East-West Center in order to return to research, writing, and teaching. Because the effective date of his resignation was March 1, 1995, ending his term abruptly in the third year of a five-year contract, most observers assumed that he was forced to leave. This was denied by the center, and Oksenberg explained that China, his field of expertise, was approaching a critical period and that further delay from its study would "jeopardize" his academic career.119 As the need for an American Friendship University has eroded over the years, the influence of EWC has declined. Its only counterpart, the North-South Center (NSC), has already been abolished. Whether the same fate awaits EWC remains to be seen. It is clear, however, that the outcome will not be determined by an academic process such as the crafting of a visionary strategic plan or the preparation of a brilliant research program; nor will it be settled by a administrative process such as an analysis of cost effectiveness or of program efficiency. Rather, a political process will pre-

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vail, involving many players and many agendas. The most important player is Senator Inouye, and the most important question is whether he will still have enough clout in a Republican Gongress to keep the East-West bridge intact.

IO Activists and Interest Groups: Dividing the Spoils

It is the policy of the University of Hawaii to provide equity of opportunity in higher education, both in the educational mission and as an employer. The University is committed to comply with all State and Federal Statutes, rules, and regulations which prohibit discrimination. The University is committed to a policy of nondiscrimination on the basis of race, sex, age, religion, color, national origin, ancestry, handicap, marital status, arrest and court record, sexual orientation, or veteran status. This policy covers admission and access to and participation, treatment, and employment in the University's programs and activities. Sexual harassment is prohibited under this policy. The University shall promote a full realization of equal opportunity through a positive, continuing program of nondiscrimination and affirmative action on each campus.' —University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies

In the previous chapter, w e saw h o w certain exotic creatures swimming in Hawaii's alphabet soup live in various degrees of symbiosis and parasitosis with UH. Other robust specimens, both indigenous and foreign, were described earlier. In this final episode, we'll move a little farther d o w n the food chain, leaving behind the pelagic marlins and sharks in order to examine the behavior of the reef morays and scorpionfishes.

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What all these predators have in common is their hunger for a bigger piece of the host.

The Politics of Access One of the hallmarks of the Simone era was the extraordinary prominence of political activists and special interest groups. They took up much of the president's time and strongly influenced the course of his presidency. As usual, what the University of Hawaii experienced was both general and specific, and it reflected both national and local concerns. An example of something general and national was our moral and legal obligation to comply with federal statutes prohibiting discrimination. An example of something specific and local was the absence of large Black and Latino constituencies and the presence of an indigenous population with real political clout. The material I have collected on activists and interest groups is not only extensive and relevant to this book, it is also controversial and emotionally charged. As I tried to work my way through it, I realized that I was facing a dilemma that had to be resolved. On one hand, the topic was too important to omit, but on the other, I knew I was not the person best qualified to write about it. Indeed, my opinions about such matters as race and gender tend to be so naive that I usually hesitate to express them. Furthermore, because I have failed to assimilate many of the terms and premises of the national debate, I fear that I could easily be trapped in one of those semantic pitfalls dug for people like me by my more zealous colleagues. This has amplified my inherent reluctance to proceed. My response to this predicament has been to introduce the final chapter with this essay on the politics of access. The purpose of the essay is not to revolutionize the world's thinking on this enigmatic topic, but, by defining terms and delineating parameters, to assist the reader in separating the basic facts in my report from any biases that might creep in. While I do not regard myself as a racist or sexist, neither am I politically correct. I like to think that if there were a category for people who don't fall into any other category, that is the one I would fall into. My ethical ideal is a level playing field, and my present goal as narrator is simply to be as rational and objective about this topic as I would be about any other. I have chosen the term "politics of access" rather than terms like "ethnic factor"2 or "women's empowerment" 3 because, in the context of the University, it appears to embrace the rest. What it means, exactly, I shall now attempt to explain. Politics can be defined as the art or science of government. Included in this definition are the art or science of influencing government and the art or science of gaining control over government. 4 Because this is a book about the politics of higher education in Hawaii, its dominant theme has

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b e e n the art or science of influencing and gaining control over the University. This theme remains dominant in the final chapter b e c a u s e the activists and interest groups I have c h o s e n to portray w e r e and are d e e p l y involved in the same endeavor. Access can b e defined as the permission, liberty, or ability to enter, approach, communicate with, or pass to and from or make use of something. It can also b e a w a y or means of approaching s o m e entity, or the action of g o i n g to or reaching it.5 B e c a u s e the commodity being accessed in this text is everything the University has to offer, the politics of access is potentially as large a topic as the politics of higher education itself. T o the extent that equal access is s y n o n y m o u s with equal opportunity, the University has both a moral and a legal obligation to m a k e it available to a n y o n e w h o is academically qualified to take advantage of it. Laudable as this goal m a y seem, however, it is impossible to achieve. T h e reason is that the demand for access is always much greater than the supply, and the University and the State of Hawaii d o not have sufficient resources to satisfy the needs and desires of all their clients. An example of geographic access w a s provided in the previous chapter w h e n Regent K e n Kato asked President Al Simone to m a k e a commitment to Maui o n a regional basis. 6 Obviously p e o p l e w h o live o n the Valley Isle, the site of a two-year community college, have less geographic access to higher education than p e o p l e w h o live o n Oahu, the site of a Carnegie I Research University. Hawaii is fortunate to have e v e n o n e institution of the caliber of Manoa, and certainly it cannot afford to build another. It is implicit in this e x a m p l e that access is not something o n e either has or doesn't have; rather, it something e v e r y o n e has to a limited and variable degree. Just as p e o p l e living on Oahu have more geographic access to higher education than p e o p l e living o n Maui, so too d o p e o p l e living o n Maui have more geographic access to higher education than p e o p l e living o n Molokai or Lanai. In effect, there is a scale of geographic access to higher education that extends from zero to o n e hundred percent, and e v e r y o n e in Hawaii falls s o m e w h e r e o n it. I am n o w ready to define the politics of access as that ubiquitous human struggle to achieve a more advantageous position o n various scales of opportunity through political means. A n d w h e n I argue that the goal of equal access is impossible to achieve, I am simply asserting that it is impossible to place e v e r y o n e at the same point o n every scale of opportunity. Other relevant factors are personal wealth, ethnic identity, gender, cultural background, religious affiliation, age, and physical disability. Like g e o g r a p h y , they range from zero to o n e hundred percent in their effect o n opportunity. In each of these cases, access to higher education is intrinsically unequal for a variety of reasons, and it will always remain s o n o matter h o w many laws w e pass and no matter h o w hard w e try.

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This is not to say that we should stop trying. Rather, we should be honest about our goals and values, and realistic about what we hope to achieve. A reasonable starting point for the University is the Board of Regents' policy on nondiscrimination quoted at the beginning of this chapter. What it says, in effect, is that the University should not be part of the problem: it should not make the intrinsic inequities of life even worse by practicing or tolerating discrimination. Assuming that the University can form a consensus around the Board of Regents' policy on nondiscrimination, the question is this: how much farther should it go to alleviate inequities not of its own making? What should it actually do to ". . . promote a full realization of equal opportunity through a positive, continuing program of nondiscrimination and affirmative action on each campus?" 1 Usually such questions are addressed as ethical imperatives because it is assumed that inequities of any kind are immoral and must be eliminated entirely. I believe these issues are mainly political and economic because no institution will ever have the power or the resources to complete this task. The best we can hope for in this situation is that the University will make prudent use of whatever power and resources it may have. Here I part company with my colleagues in academe who are politically correct. I simply do not believe that it is immoral to disagree with them about institutional priorities. Nor do I believe that such disagreement brands me as a racist, sexist, fascist, elitist, pervert, homophobe, cretin, Neanderthal, or whatever. The notion that people who disagree with me are necessarily immoral is just as pernicious as the notion that people who disagree with me are necessarily stupid. Here, too, the politics of access comes into play. What the activists and interest groups are actually doing, in my opinion, is competing with one another for more power and a larger share of the available resources. The most common justification is that their cause is morally right and their opponents are morally wrong. The people of Maui are demanding a fouryear campus because it is morally right. The people of Hilo are demanding a separate community college and a full complement of graduate programs and research activities because it is morally right. And the people of West Oahu and West Hawaii are demanding their own 500-acre campuses for the same reason. If I argue that the University has other needs that are more urgent, I may be branded as morally wrong. The Board of Regents and the University administration are facilitators in the politics of access. Their usual response is to try to appease the activists and interest groups by acknowledging the moral righteousness of their respective causes and by sending them home with assurances that the Board and the administration are behind them 100 percent. A more honest approach would be to admit that the State of Hawaii cannot satisfy everyone's needs and must be highly selective in utilizing its assets.

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Lost in all the rhetoric is the fact that higher education is a precious commodity that is costly to provide and difficult to acquire. Furthermore, what is acquired depends mainly on the student, who must be willing to make financial and other sacrifices and devote many years of effort to the task. Because academic resources are limited and so much depends upon the qualifications and the behavior of students, the University cannot promise to turn every aspiring applicant into a medical doctor or a rocket scientist. The process of selection is closely coupled with the issue of access and is often synonymous with it. Some examples are students who are not admitted to law school or medical school; faculty who are not promoted or tenured; and candidates who are not chosen to fill University positions. In each of these cases, the applicant may insist that because he or she was not selected, access has been denied. And if the applicant happens to fall into one or more of the protected categories, this assertion is likely to materialize as a formal grievance or lawsuit claiming discrimination on that basis. If not, reverse discrimination may be charged.7 So powerful and pervasive are the laws and policies protecting certain groups that members often view selection as an entitlement rather than the result of a fair and open process. To take an extreme and hypothetical case, a person convicted of child molestation may insist that the University has violated its policy on nondiscrimination by not disregarding his arrest and court record and offering him a job in the Children's Center. The applicant's case will be stronger if he can show that child molesters are under-represented at the center and that the center has a pattern of discriminating against applicants who have been convicted of child molestation. In the remainder of this chapter, I will be dealing with activists and interest groups who are not hypothetical. In many instances, my own goals and priorities are altogether different from theirs. I am comfortable with diverse opinions and believe they are indicative of a healthy and vital academic community. I hope my final chapter will be received in that same spirit. Indeed, as I indicated earlier in this essay, my goal as narrator is not to be politically correct but to be as rational and objective about this topic as I would be about any other. Collective Bargaining and the Faculty Union The main battles in the long war to organize University of Hawaii faculty were fought on Governor Ariyoshi's watch before Al Simone became president on August 8, 1985. The first was over the selection of a bargaining agent, which is the subject of a definitive study published by Edwin C. Pendleton and Joyce M. Najita in 1974.8 The second was the faculty strike of November 21-22, 1983, which is the focal point of a doctoral dissertation completed by James Daniel Kardash in 1994.9 Together these key references comprise a rich history of faculty unionization and its

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impact on University governance. Much of what follows in this section is derived from them. It is not surprising that a state which has been run for many years by the Democratic Party and which has one of the highest percentages of union membership in the country would extend this privilege to its own employees. It is, however, paradoxical because it casts the party in a management role with respect to organized labor, its traditional power base. The risk that this could foster an adversarial relationship has been offset by the party's success in uniting most government employees and elected officials under a single, Democratic banner. The introduction of public-sector collective bargaining into higher education in Hawaii has presented the Democratic Party with a different set of problems and opportunities. The main problem is the University's insistence that it must be autonomous because it is unique. The main opportunity is to gain greater control over the University by proving that it is not. Under both Governor George Ariyoshi (1974—1986) and his successor, Governor John Waihee (1986-1994), the practice has been to treat the University like any other state agency and to treat its employees like any other government workers. This is consistent with the Democratic Party's egalitarian ethos, but it is inconsistent with academic norms across the country. A simple example is the state's requirement of ten years of public service before a government employee's retirement earnings are vested. For local people who plan to spend their entire careers in the Islands, this is rarely a hardship. University faculty, on the other hand, tend to be highly mobile, and many hold successive appointments at several institutions before they attain a tenured position. For this reason, the academic norm for retirement vesting is only one year. To understand how collective bargaining, coupled with the "egalitarian" policies of Ariyoshi and Waihee, has given the governor greater control over the University, it is necessary only to recognize that it is really the governor who makes the final decisions on wages and other cost items. This has bifurcated the role of management and compromised the autonomy of Board of Regents and the UH administration, who are nevertheless held accountable if anything goes wrong. In their efforts to harness the University, Ariyoshi and Waihee had the formidable backing of both the legislature and the other public employee unions. Because of the legislature's failure to implement the University's constitutional autonomy and the Board of Regents' failure to challenge the state's interference in the courts, the main obstacle they all had to overcome was the faculty union, better known as the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA). The role of the other unions in this melee was to drive home the point that in Hawaii, at least, faculty are not different from janitors and

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garbage collectors and should be treated the same. Any arguments to the contrary are usually dismissed as elitist and self-serving, and since faculty tend to have higher salaries than janitors and garbage collectors, they are often accused of being ungrateful, if not downright immoral. Many faculty are unaware that the emergence of unions in the early 1970s completed the transformation of the University's decision-making process from one that was basically collegial and bureaucratic to one that is mainly political and adversarial. Indeed, many faculty still insist that they are not like other state employees, nor is the University like any other state department. Much of the history of the faculty union, therefore, has centered on the efforts, initiated by Ariyoshi and continued by Waihee, to force the faculty to conform. Of course, this uneven contest has been both political and adversarial, and the governor, the legislature, and the other public employee unions have won. Their overwhelming victory has deprived UHPA of any meaningful role in University governance and reduced it to a special interest group that was hardly worth mentioning in my previous chapters. The existence of UHPA, in turn, has contributed to the pervasive impotence of faculty senates across the system, and they too have hardly been mentioned. Another, rather ironic measure of the party's success is the fact that UHPA, like virtually every other public employee union in Hawaii, has consistently endorsed Democratic candidates for elective offices. Among these were gubernatorial aspirants Ariyoshi and Waihee, and, most recently, Ben Cayetano.10 Indeed, so vigorously has UHPA pursued this partisan agenda that some of its own members have accused the UHPA Political Action Committee of using coercive and unfair tactics to amass a fund that has grown to be one of the largest of its kind in the State.111213 The salient events leading to the unionization of UH faculty were these: • In 1968, the state constitution (Article XIII, Section 2) was amended to grant public employees "the right to organize for the purpose of collective bargaining as provided by law."14 • In 1970, the legislature passed Act 171 (HRS Chapter 89) recognizing the rights of public employees to organize and bargain collectively and to strike.15 • In November 1972, the faculty chose as its bargaining agent the Hawaii Federation of College Teachers (HFCT), an affiliate of the American Federation of Teachers (AFT) and the only candidate advocating the trade union model.16 • In November 1973, the faculty rejected the agreement negotiated by the HFCT, thereby missing one round (two years) of salary increases and becoming the only public bargaining unit without a contract.17

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• In a decertification election held in March 1974 and runoff election held in October 1974, the faculty voted to replace HFCT with UHPA, an affiliate of the American Association of University Professors (AAUP) and the National Education Association (NEA).18 • In March 1975, the first faculty collective bargaining agreement was signed, covering the period from March 1975 through June 1977.19 Factors leading to the UHPA strike of November 21-22, 1983 included the following: • Having experienced great difficulty in reaching agreement on four previous contracts (1975-1977, 1977-1979, 1979-1981, and 1981-1983), the leaders of UHPA were convinced that, in sharp contrast to Ariyoshi's stated vision of a more open government, the state's interpretation of Chapter 89 did not include good faith negotiations or a joint decision-making process for faculty.20 • The scope of topics that could be bargained was very narrow, and such issues as workload, work assignment and reassignment, classification and reclassification of faculty positions, retirement contributions and optional plans, and health plans were excluded. 21 • The state's "best, only, and final" salary increase proposal amounted to 0 percent the first year and 2.88 percent the second. 22 • The state's bargaining team did not enter into serious discussions until hours before the Legislature adjourned, which it did in April 1983 without ratifying any faculty contract.22 • After three additional months with no progress, the fourth agreement was allowed to expire on June 30, 1983-22 • In the fall semester of 1983, faculty authorized a strike with a 71 percent approval rating.22 The fall semester of 1983 also marked the beginning of A1 Simone's employment at UH. He was therefore present both when the faculty voted to strike and when the strike actually occurred. However, as the newly appointed vice president for academic affairs, Simone had only a peripheral role in managing the crisis, and President Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda gave this telling assignment to Harold Masumoto. Among the legal issues still under appeal when Al Simone became President on August 8, 1985, were these: • The employer's denial of wages during the two-day strike on November 21-22, 1983.23

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• The 1982 Board of Regents policy (BORP 9-15) that called for periodic evaluation of all Board of Regents' appointees, including tenured faculty.24 • The 1982 Board of Regents policy (BORP 9-16) which established standard teaching assignments for instructional faculty based upon semester credit hours taught. 24 All three of these cases were decided in favor of the University soon after Simone became president. 23 24 The first required no further action, but the second and third left Simone with the onerous tasks of implementing new policies on employee evaluation and faculty workload whether UHPA liked them or not. Here it is important to note that Simone's hands-on approach to the faculty union was quite unorthodox and altogether different from those of his predecessors, Harlan Cleveland (1969-1974) and Fujio Matsuda (19751984). In a memorandum dated April 2, 1974, Cleveland, the author of The Future Executive,25 reported to the Board of Regents on topics of interest at a recent meeting of the Western College Association and summarized his views of the unionization process with these words: The second major topic was collective bargaining, and here the University of Hawaii story was the centerpiece. A long front-page article in the Chronicle of Higher Education [March 11, 1974] had described the U.H. mess and the recent election campaign, so everyone wanted to know how it was all going to come out. The votes had not then been counted, so I could not satisfy my colleagues' curiosity. I did, however, narrate the story of the past two years—the passage of the collective bargaining act, the free and open decision of the faculty to opt for bargaining under the law, the faculty's failure to read the law (and especially its tough management rights clause), the difficulty of fitting the many-sided, consultative, implicit, horizontal governance of the major University into the two-sided, adversarial, legalistic, vertical, industrial-union model required by the law. "In ancient mythology," I said, "the giant Procrustes had to force his victims to lie down in his bed. In Hawaii, the faculty has voluntarily leaped into a Procrustean bed, without first making sure that it would fit." One proposition seemed to be agreed by all who spoke: Hawaii has made more of a mess of collective bargaining than any other state.26 Recalling my assertion in Chapter 4 that Simone was the incarnation of Cleveland's executive vision, while Cleveland himself was merely its prophet, it is easy to understand why Simone did everything he could to lift the faculty out of its old-fashioned, two-sided, adversarial, legalistic, vertical, industrial-union-model Procrustean bed and into the mod-

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em, many-sided, consultative, implicit, horizontal era. I hasten to add that it was the faculty per se that Simone wanted to elevate, and not their union, which he tended to treat as a third party with its own agenda. Two examples of these efforts, discussed in detail in Chapter 3, were Simone's insistence on the primacy of the academics 27 and his decision to appoint three bona fide scholars as vice presidents in his cabinet.28 He also held regular meetings with the Manoa Faculty Senate Executive Committee, hosted numerous receptions at College Hill, and was on a firstname basis with literally hundreds of faculty across the system. A striking example of Simone's horizontal, hands-on approach to collective bargaining was the two-day retreats which he sponsored at the Turtle Bay Hilton for representatives of UHPA and the UH administration. At the first, held on August 8-9, 1986, participants noted that it is exceedingly difficult to negotiate collective bargaining contracts and agreed that many of their common objectives could be achieved more easily through an "exchange of memoranda." 29 It was also during this first retreat that the Hawaii Supreme Court announced its decision to affirm the October 5, 1984, ruling by the Hawaii Public Employees Relations Board (HPERB) that the University did not violate legal prohibitions by adopting policies on employee evaluation and faculty workload. What HPERB had decided, in effect, was that the Board of Regents and the University administration could do whatever they liked until their actions had an impact on faculty, at which point they became negotiable.24'29 At the second retreat, held June 6-7, 1988, participants discussed issues that ranged from the role of the union and faculty senate to the future of the University. By then, the periodic evaluation of faculty was well underway, 30 and it was cited as an example of enlightened cooperation by both parties.31 With an appeal rate of less than five percent, Hawaii's implementation of a fair and responsible system of post-tenure review eventually attracted national attention.32 The Board of Regents' policy on faculty workload took longer to implement, but it too went very smoothly once the informal, collegial channel had been reopened between UHPA and the administration. A new administrative policy on teaching assignments for instructional faculty was promulgated without any fanfare on October 1, 1990.33 Simone also adopted a horizontal, hands-on approach to contract negotiations. By persuading Governor Ariyoshi that the University was losing some of its best faculty because of Hawaii's high cost of living and Manoa's low salaries (Manoa was in the 40th percentile among full-fledged universities with graduate and research programs), he managed to get an extra $2 million for FY 1985-1986 and $4.19 million in FY 1986-1987 "to stop the hemorrhaging."34,35

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Here is it important to note that Ariyoshi was willing to make these supplemental funds available only if the University agreed to use them for the purposes intended. The administration responded by identifying four specific objectives: to preserve and enhance quality, to achieve market adjustments, to prevent the loss of key faculty, and to strengthen key programs. So pervasive was the need, however, that more than 600 faculty eventually received these enhancements, and every campus was represented.3435 Although the "special salary adjustments" awarded to "high-demand faculty" were over and above the five percent across-the-board annual raises already accepted by both sides as part of the BI 1985-1987 agreement, they too were a negotiable item requiring UHPA approval. Because I had drafted the plan by which these monies were to be disbursed and had worked hard to broaden the eligibility beyond big science and Manoa, I was surprised and disappointed when UHPA President Byron Bender informed me in a private conversation that the vote of his bargaining team had been very close and that many of my faculty colleagues were critical of both the methods I had developed for making awards35 and the Ariyoshi/ Simone philosophy behind them. One of the arguments Byron alluded to was that it would be more difficult to raise faculty salaries generally if the pressure to retain highdemand faculty were alleviated. I thought it would be easier because the special salary adjustments would call everyone's attention to the problem. Indeed, I regarded the special salary adjustments as a breakdown of Ariyoshi's strategy to treat faculty like other public employees and thought they might open the way to larger across-the-board increases in the future. Our conversation ended when I confided that I did not understand how one group of faculty could, in good conscience, vote against raises for another group of faculty, even if the first group did not expect to benefit directly. Byron reacted with shock and dismay, for my remark revealed a profound ignorance of the union movement and everything UHPA was trying to accomplish. I have since learned that solidarity is what unions are all about and that it is only by sticking together that they can accomplish their ends. This is also the characteristic that has marked UHPA as a third party distinct from its members, and defined it as a special interest group instead of an effective participant in University governance. As long as UHPA's highest priority is UHPA rather than the faculty or the University, this situation is not likely to change. One of the successes of the enhanced collegiality that characterized the Simone era was the eighth faculty contract. Instead of covering a biennium, it extended from July 1, 1989, until June 30, 1993, a full four years. Several controversial items dealing with teaching equivalencies, community college teaching assignments, and faculty ineligible for tenure were

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covered by memoranda of agreement. The eighth contract also yielded salary increases substantially larger than those provided by previous faculty agreements, as well as those negotiated contemporaneously by the other public employee unions. The total enhancement over four years was 35-99 percent, which is equivalent to a compounded rate of increase of 8 percent per year.36 Jim Kardash has described the eighth faculty contract as "the national model for higher education." 37 He has also cited it as "an example of what can be done when the Governor seeks to contractualize the principles of good governance." 38 I believe that Al Simone's horizontal, hands-on approach to collective bargaining and his vigorous efforts to restore a collégial relationship between the University administration and the faculty were equally important elements. Although the unprecedented 35.99 percent increase was evenly spread across the system, one of its effects was to raise faculty salaries at Manoa from the 40th to the 80th percentile among its peer institutions. As a consequence of the union movement and the Democratic Party's egalitarian ethos, Hilo, West Oahu, and the community colleges had long ago achieved this status among theirs. On July 19, 1989, less than three weeks after "the national model for higher education" went into effect, UHPA filed a prohibited practice complaint with the Hawaii Labor Relations Board (HLRB) alleging that the Board of Regents had unilaterally adjusted or attempted to adjust the salaries of individual bargaining unit 7 employees without first negotiating with UHPA. The beneficiaries were mostly faculty who had firm offers in writing from another university, and the Board's objective in ratifying Simone's counteroffers was merely to entice them to stay.39 UHPA withdrew its complaint after the two parties agreed to negotiate temporary procedures governing salary adjustments, and a memorandum of understanding (MOU) to this effect was executed on May 14, 1990. When the temporary procedures lapsed on September 30, 1990, representatives of UHPA, the Board of Regents, and the University administration became involved in negotiations to develop permanent procedures. 39 During the 1991 legislative session, State Senator Mike McCartney introduced Senate Bill (S.B.) 1865, which provided for an appropriation of $4.9 million to UH for salary adjustments for UH employees, where warranted, based on principles of retention, market, equity, or merit. By letter dated February 14, 1991, McCartney also requested a legal opinion on the ramifications of his bill from James Yasuda, chief negotiator of the Office of Collective Bargaining (OCB). 39 On February 21, 1991, Yasuda responded that the bill appeared to circumvent the intent of HRS Section 89-10, which states that during the life of the agreement, the parties shall not reopen any provision in the contract which is defined as a cost item. Yasuda also noted that passage

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of the McCartney bill would encourage other unions, after first negotiating a master agreement, to pursue additional salary adjustments for some of their members through the MOU and legislative channels. 39 Ignoring Yasuda's opinion, the Board of Regents adopted a new policy on September 20, 1991, authorizing the president to grant special salary adjustments "on the basis of retention, market, equity, and/or merit." Of particular concern were faculty who had firm offers in writing from another university.40 Meanwhile, the negotiations among UHPA, the Board of Regents, and the UH administration were continuing, and they culminated in a tentative agreement initialed by representatives of the three parties on January 16, 1992.39 The UHPA Board of Directors and the UH Board of Regents formally approved the tentative agreement without incident, but the State of Hawaii (specifically the OCB) refused to comply. 39 In this way, the state demonstrated once again that the role of management is bifurcated in Hawaii's collective bargaining process and that the Board of Regents is not running the University because it does not have sufficient autonomy to do so. In this instance, because the Board did not have the authority even to determine, negotiate, or adjust the salaries of its own employees, it had no legal means of countering attractive job offers from competing institutions. I hasten to add that it is not the players but the system that is flawed. Indeed, having worked with various aspects of Chapter 89 for more than a decade, I have to agree with the HLRB that the state's refusal to ratify the tentative agreement on special salary adjustments was "clearly appropriate and indeed mandatory under the circumstances."39 Governor Waihee and the State of Hawaii did what they had to do under the collective bargaining law, and when UHPA responded by filing another prohibited practice complaint, the HLRB did what it had to do and rejected it. In the process, the HLRB did recognize and candidly acknowledge that "Conceptually, there is no question that salary adjustments for UH faculty, based on equity, retention, merit and market factors are necessary in order to maintain excellence in the curriculum of the university."39 In this section, I have focused on several milestones in the history of the faculty union and reported some of the effects that collective bargaining has had on the University. Since UHPA is deeply involved in the politics of access, aligning itself sometimes on one side of an issue and sometimes on the other, many additional examples will be given in the sections that follow. Equal Opportunity and Affirmative Action In my opening essay, I noted that access is often synonymous with opportunity and asserted that it is impossible to place everyone at the same point on every opportunity scale. I chose geographic access as an example

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because, although it is a serious enough matter in Hawaii, it .seems innocuous in comparison with the topics that lie ahead. Full of trepidation, therefore, I will begin the third leg of this final, perilous journey by defining equal employment opportunity (EEO) and affirmative action (AA) as objectively as I can, relying on a physicist's metaphor to help me along. What I have in mind is a beam balance in which a uniform bar is suspended at its exact center upon a knife edge set at right angles to it. The knife edge is called the fulcrum. Two identical pans are suspended from the beam at points equidistant from the fulcrum. Like Justice, w e can now weigh the evidence by placing the qualifications of Candidate A in the pan on the left and the qualifications of Candidate B in the pan on the right. Whichever candidate is best qualified gets the job. One of the attractive features of this device is its simplicity. Another is its intrinsic symmetry and fairness; if w e interchange pans or candidates, the best qualified candidate will still get the job. There are several ways w e could modify the ordinary beam balance to serve as a model for affirmative action. We could add extra weight to one of the pans, w e could move the fulcrum, or w e could move one of the pans. If w e are not careful, these actions could compromise our ability to choose the best qualified candidate, but they might be appropriate if there are biases elsewhere in the system w e wish to correct. Examples of such biases are the effects of past or present practices, policies, or other barriers to equal employment opportunity. The fact that adjustments to the beam balance can be large or small serves as a reminder that affirmative action, like opportunity, is a continuum rather than a dichotomy. And when affirmative action is viewed as a continuum, the issue is no longer whether w e are for it or against it, i.e., whether w e are moral or immoral, but how far along the affirmative action scale w e ought to go. A second implication of the metaphor of the beam balance is that there is no way w e can act affirmatively with respect to Candidate A without acting negatively with respect to Candidate B. Although it is not politically correct to admit this, it is a simple matter of fact that if Candidate A gets the job, Candidate B will not. Interpreting affirmative action narrowly, one might eschew discrimination and yet adhere very strictly to the principle of equal opportunity by attempting to recruit the best qualified candidate without giving much weight to factors such as race and gender except when two or more candidates are equally qualified. Though narrow, this interpretation is spacious enough to accommodate such activities as implementing the Board of Regents' policy on nondiscrimination, increasing the number of minority applicants, advertising in minority journals, and encouraging women and minorities to apply. It is also compatible with the notion that affirmative action policies ought to be based solely on socioeconomic disadvantage, rather than gender or race.

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A broad interpretation of affirmative action, on the other hand, might encourage such practices as hiring the fourth-ranked candidate because she is a woman of color, not filling a position because the only qualified candidates are white males, targeting positions for certain ethnic categories, and paying off-scale salaries to recruit and retain highly-sought-after employees in under-represented groups. Other examples are the admission of minority students with low SAT scores, setting lower standards for minority students in grading, designating certain scholarships and awards for minority students, and awarding degrees to minority students who have not met the standard graduation requirements. I stress again that the issue is not whether w e are moral or immoral, but how far on the affirmative action scale w e ought to go. My own interpretation of affirmative action tends to be narrow. As a scientist, I eschew biases and discrimination in any form, even when they are intended to correct previous biases and discrimination. I also believe, as a practical matter, that society can approach equal opportunity more effectively by following a "pursuit curve," that is, by aiming always at this target. When w e practice discrimination, traditional or modern, w e pit one group against another and quickly lose sight of the fact that equal opportunity is the only goal all parties can pursue in common. Al Simone's interpretation of affirmative action was very broad. Summarizing his accomplishments in a four-hour interview with the editorial board of Ka Leo, he stated, "In my judgment, there's no one more committed to affirmative action than I am." 41 Indeed, under Simone's leadership, the University as a whole invested about one order of magnitude more time and energy in this endeavor than it had during any previous administration. In every aspect, Simone was personally involved. Some examples of affirmative action under Simone are the following:

1986

• The first vice president for student affairs was appointed. • The Hawaiian Task Force was created to study the needs of Hawaiian students; the Kau'u report was produced.

1987 • The first female vice president was appointed. • The Filipino Task Force was created to examine the needs of Filipino students on campus; the Pamantasan Report was produced. • The Hawaiian Studies program was expanded and reorganized as the Center for Hawaiian Studies with additional positions and funds. • The Health Careers Opportunities Program was started to serve sixty-five undergraduate minority students, specifically

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Hawaiian, Filipino, Samoan, Pacific Islanders, and/or low income students. • The UH-Manoa Child Care Center was opened. • The UH-Manoa Clerical Association was formed. 1988 • Operation Kua'ana was created to increase enrollment of Hawaiians. • Operation Manong was expanded and provided with additional tuition waivers to support further enrollment of Filipino students. • The Office for Non-Traditional students was made permanent with state funds. 1222 • The Pre-Freshman Engineering Program (PREP) was funded to provide enrichment to seventh-grade Hawaiian and Filipino students. • Federal funds were obtained for the Minority Encouragement of Research and Graduate Education Program to prepare minority juniors and seniors to enroll in graduate studies. • Creating Options for a Rape-Free Environment (CORE) was established jointly with the Sex Abuse Treatment Center.

1220 • The $10 million Project HOPE was approved by the legislature to provide financial support for selected minority students who were third graders in 1991• The position of Director for Minority Student Affairs was created and filled. • A new Manoa sexual harassment policy was approved. • A faculty mentoring program with an emphasis on women assistant professors was created.

mi • The Women's Center at Manoa was opened. 41 The President's budget request for BI 1991-1993 contained a comprehensive affirmative action plan. Included among the initiatives were additional staff support for the EEO/AA Office; a sexual harassment program to handle complaints and to provide education, counseling, and advocacy; a "targets of opportunity" program or pool of positions to appoint excellent women and minority scholars; research funds for equity studies on faculty and other employees; and faculty mentoring, a dual careers program, and teaching assistantships for minority graduate students as several

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means of addressing the problem of getting and keeping women and minorities in the pipeline.42 The President's affirmative action request was second only to academic advising among the University's priorities. Elsewhere in the budget were proposals to strengthen campus security and improve architectural access for persons with disabilities. Unfortunately, very few of these items made it through the legislative process. Among those that did were additional staff support for the EEO/AA Office, funds for the equity studies, and the sexual harassment advocate.42 Despite this budgetary setback, a number of important innovations were implemented during the last year or so of Simone's presidency. These are some examples:

1221 • A vice presidential review and sign-off was required for all faculty hires in "under-utilized ranks." (Under-utilized ranks are employment categories for which the representation of women and minorities in the employer's work force is not equitable when compared to relevant labor market data.) • An evaluation of affirmative action efforts and results was formally included in the annual reviews of academic deans' and directors' salaries. • The Board of Regents EEO/AA policy was revised to include sexual orientation as a protected category and new language to specify sexual harassment as a type of discrimination. This was followed by a new system-wide executive policy on sexual harassment. 1992 • A new, permanent Commission on Diversity was appointed. • The Commission on the Status of Women received a separate budget for the first time and was able to present a series of programs that included a Rape Awareness Week, a president's reception for women legislators, and a Women's History Month speaker. • A pilot study of salary equity for instructional faculty at Manoa was completed in-house, and a comprehensive follow-up study was begun by an external consultant.42 It is an ironic feature of the politics of access, and of appeasement in general, that success augments demand. There are many reasons for this. The most basic is that rewards positively reinforce the particular pattern of behavior that generates them.43 Recipients are conditioned to come back for more because their experience teaches them that more will be forthcoming. A second reason, evident in the creation of a University campus

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in Hilo or a Center for Hawaiian Studies at Manoa, is that a special interest group may be established, nurtured, or empowered where previously one scarcely existed. Recalling that this is also a chapter about Hawaii's reef morays and scorpionfishes, I should point out that such creatures often bite or sting the hand that feeds or caresses them. Seen from this point of view, the response of the University's special interest groups to the unprecedented largesse of the Simone administration can best be described as a feeding frenzy. A perceptual consequence of this quirk of nature is that the times may seem to be at their worst precisely when they are at their best, and vice versa.44 At the time of Simone's four-hour interview with the Ka Leo editorial board, his EEO/AA output was near its peak, yet thirteen campus groups, including Operation Kua'ana and Operation Manong, were demanding a stronger affirmative action program, and several were calling for his resignation.41 A few months earlier, Malama Solomon, the native Hawaiian chairwoman of the State Senate Higher Education Committee, had called Simone a "wimp" and said he should be fired.45 The Women's Faculty Caucus had demanded that he take a stronger stand against racism, stating, "(w)e have lost all confidence in your ability to provide ethical, informed, and effective leadership or to ensure a safe working environment for women and minorities."46 And the Campus Center Board and various student action groups such as Students Against Discrimination, Acquiring Control Together, Haoles for Haunani, and Hawaii Women of Color had cosponsored a mock trial in which Simone was found guilty of a dozen charges, including incompetence, racism, and sexism against Hawaiians, and was sentenced to resign.47 I will end this section with a specific example that seems to embody many of the characteristics of the University's EEO/AA experience during the Simone era. I should preface my remarks by noting that I have never met the complainant and was not involved in her case in any way. My views are therefore entirely my own, and they are based solely on my understanding of such public documents as I now shall cite. Early in 1988, the William S. Richardson School of Law advertised the position of director of the Pacific Asian Legal Studies Program. Out of approximately 100 applicants, the search committee selected four finalists. One of these was Maivan Clech Lam, a woman born in Hue, Vietnam, of French and Vietnamese parents, who was at that time employed as the associate director of the school's Law of the Sea Institute.48,49 During the course of the search, Lam filed her first complaint with the University's EEO/AA Office and charged UH with violating hiring procedures. This act, which should have been confidential, was widely noted and controversial within the law school and the University. After an early poll produced no clear leading candidate, the law school faculty members voted to cancel the search, and the UH administration complied.48,49

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A year later, a second search was begun. This time Lam was not among the finalists. In February 1989, she filed her second complaint with the UH EEO/AA Office, this time charging the search committee with retaliation for her earlier complaint and accusing the University, President Simone, and law school Dean Jeremy Harrison of unfair hiring practices and of discrimination on the basis of sex, race, and national origin.48,49 Lam was granted the right to sue the University, and she filed her first complaint in federal court in May 1989 asking for back pay, placement in the directorship or an equivalent position, and other damages. An amended complaint was filed in May 1991-48,49 In August 1991, Judge Harold Fong called the University's selection process "unorganized and inefficient," but concluded it did not violate any laws against discrimination. More precisely, Judge Fong dismissed Lam's claim that the 1988 search was canceled to avoid hiring her, and he ruled that he could find no evidence that Lam wasn't chosen because of "discriminatory or retaliatory motives."50 Shortly before the trial, Lam argued her case in an "Open Forum" article published in Ka Leo. Claiming she was "singled out for special discriminatory attention," she said the original search was canceled due to "procedural and moral violations" combined with the "efforts of Jon Van Dyke (a professor in the law school) and Jeremy Harrison (the dean) to undermine my candidacy with personal and professional attacks."51 Turning her attention to the way her complaint had been handled by the University, Lam said, " . . . the grievance procedure itself frustrates by harassing and discriminating." She accused Vice President for Academic Affairs Anthony Marsella of condescension. She also said that the "Marsella commission" charged with investigating her allegations questioned her for less than 30 minutes, more than 10 of which probed not the substance of the violations, but how she learned about them. Lam's requests to bring a colleague of her choice to meetings with Marsella had to be argued and fought over each and every time, and President Simone wanted only his version of "politically correct" persons at her meetings with him.51 Lam accused Vice President for Student Affairs Doris Ching and EEO/ AA Director Mie Watanabe, who handled various stages of the investigation, of becoming "the public relation persons for Bachman Hall." According to Lam, once the UH grievance process was exhausted and the matter became public, Ching and Watanabe "answered the press, state senators and representatives, who questioned Bachman Hall about the case, and conducted 'damage control' to salvage the image of the University."51 Raising her sights a little higher, Lam fired another salvo at the president of the University: In my own case, for example, if UH President Albert Simone had simply posted a sign on the law school door that said, "No Viet-

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namese women with left wing politics allowed," my life would have been quite simple (although his would have become quite complicated). As it is, Simone does post signs, but they escape notice because they read instead, "The best-qualified candidate only." These smarter, second-generation signs have the advantage over firstgeneration, exclusionary signs because they deflect the attention from the sign maker to candidates such as myself, who never seem to qualify as "the best."51 Lam was "shocked and angry" when Judge Fong failed to rule in her favor. She concluded that he had made a "major error." In a post-trial interview with Ka Leo, Lam said she had hoped that Fong, who is of Asian ancestry, would have been more sensitive to her situation and claims, and she suggested that "politics may have played a role in his decision."50 I have not had an opportunity to examine Maivan Lam's application, nor have I seen her curriculum vitae. Nevertheless, based on the material cited above, and especially the article she wrote for Ka Leo, I am convinced that she would be a poor choice to hold any administrative position at UH. My reasons are these: • UH officials serve at the pleasure of the University. Their appointments are based on the needs of the institution, rather than the needs of the candidates. It is thus a prerogative of the University to select such administrators as it may require to direct and manage its affairs.52 • Lam apparently viewed the position of director of the Pacific Asian Legal Studies Program primarily as an opportunity for personal advancement rather than as an opportunity to perform a service. The issue for her was "What can the University do for me?" rather than "What can I do for the University?" • Lam also viewed the directorship as an entitlement that should have been reserved for people like herself. If she didn't get the directorship she applied for, an equivalent position and damages were due. Indeed, the very notion that the University would seek "the best-qualified candidate," instead of automatically offering the position to a qualified woman of color, if one happened to apply, was antithetical to her way of thinking. • While claiming that she was a victim of personal and professional attacks, discrimination, and retaliation, Lam savaged everyone involved in her case who did not see things her way. Among the victims of her personal and professional attacks, discrimination, and retaliation were members of the

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law school search committee, members of the "Marsella commission," Professor J o n Van Dyke, Dean Jeremy Harrison, Director Mie Watanabe, Vice President Doris Ching, Vice President Tony Marsella, President Al Simone, and federal Judge Harold Fong. Although Lam might claim that the right to behave in this manner is protected as a component of her academic freedom, she would not enjoy such liberties as a UH administrator. • Institutional victims of Lam's crusade included the University of Hawaii, the William S. Richardson School of Law, the Pacific Asian Legal Studies Program, the Law of the Sea Institute, and the federal judicial system. It is difficult to imagine that a person who could assail all these organizations with such impunity and fervor would ever be well suited to a management role in one of them. • Particularly telling was Lam's hope that Judge Fong, who is of Asian ancestry, would be more sensitive to her situation and claims. As an attorney herself, Lam should have had more respect for American jurisprudence than to suggest that a federal judge may have been playing politics when he failed to rule in her favor. I am sure there are many who will disagree with my appraisal of the Lam case. My objective in presenting it is not to change their minds, but merely to demonstrate how one activist, supported by legislators, reporters, and colleagues, as well as by more than a dozen special interest groups, including some created specifically to assist her, engaged in the politics of access and of higher education in Hawaii. It is my opinion and my thesis that such efforts to influence and gain control over certain elements of the University were both divisive and counterproductive, in this instance exacerbating, rather than mitigating, racism and sexism on campus.

Gender Equity and Sexual Harassment In its simplest form, the relationship between an employer and an employee can be viewed as a contract in which each party agrees to do something for the other. The two parties concur because they perceive that it is in their best interests to do so. Each party enters the relationship freely, and, subject to the conditions of their original compact, each is free to leave. These primitive circumstances can be summarized by saying that the relationship is based on mutual consent. One of the striking features of the Lam case was her notion that she could force the University to employ her even if it didn't want to, and even if the search committee, the faculty, the dean, the academic vice president, and the president were opposed. And regardless of what their

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views may have been when Lam applied for the directorship in 1988, it seems obvious, for the reasons I have just given, what they must have been when Lam finally went to trial in 1991. The Lam case was viable because employment at the University of Hawaii is no longer merely a consensual relationship between two parties. Indeed, the nature of such affiliations is now dictated mainly by outside entities, the sum total of which comprise society as a whole. Modern laws, rules, and regulations demonstrate the extent to which jobs in America have become collective assets of society. We usually look to society rather than to individual employers to create jobs; to regulate salaries, benefits, and working conditions; and to solve any problems that may arise such as unemployment, disabilities, and health care. Because society is widely perceived to be the source and guardian of all jobs, many people believe it owes them one. In some countries, moreover, society owes everyone a living, whether they are employable or not. From this perspective, it is easy to see how a "Vietnamese woman with left-wing politics" might come to view a directorship at a public university as a personal entitlement instead of an opportunity for the best qualified applicant to perform a service for an autonomous employer. While the Lam case is a striking example, it was merely one of many garlands that adorned the women's movement during the Simone era. A more typical and lasting embellishment was the effort to identify and correct faculty salary inequities at Manoa. It will become apparent shortly why the community colleges and Hilo were not initially involved. Women's issues at UH seemed to reach a crisis around the time of the 1990 legislative session. That was the session in which Malama Solomon, then chair of the Senate Higher Education Committee, introduced Senate Resolution 129 and Senate Concurrent Resolution 143, calling for the University to develop and implement both short-term and long-term plans to increase recruitment of qualified women and minorities for faculty positions. House Resolution 342 and House Concurrent Resolution 103, introduced by Representative Brian Taniguchi, were similar to those proposed in the senate except that they referred only to Manoa. The showdown occurred at the Senate Higher Education Committee hearing held on March 22, 1990. The agenda was long, and the session lasted more than three hours. Although it included such familiar items as the creation of a separate president and budget for Hilo, most of it was devoted to women's issues, and most of those who testified were women from Manoa. Senator Solomon set the tone for the meeting by stating at the onset that she did not understand why the University advertises for Ph.D.'s nationally. It was clear from her question that the only women and minorities of interest to her were those who live in Hawaii. President Simone responded that we are trying to recruit the best people, and EEO/AA Director

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Mie Watanabe added that we are required to conduct national searches for doctoral faculty as a condition for accepting federal grants and contracts. Mie won the Senator's approval when she noted that we have been successful in convincing the federal government that we should be permitted to limit recruiting of non-faculty employees to local searches. Implicit in this exchange was the notion that the University, like other state agencies in Hawaii, would prefer to hire only local candidates if it were permitted to do so. Although this view was not shared by Simone nor by most academics at Manoa, it was prevalent among members of the Board of Regents and the legislature at that time. Speaking for Students Against Discrimination, Alison Yap said the organization she represented wanted faculty of the same color and gender as themselves. She cited sexual harassment as one of the products of male domination of the Manoa faculty. Barbara Allen, an assistant professor in the School of Architecture, reviewed the ways she had been harassed and concluded that the Simone administration was institutionalizing gender discrimination. A former student submitted written testimony that she had been violated at Manoa. Miriam Sharma stated that EEO had been used against her by the administration to deny her right to stand for tenure. Later I learned that Sharma's appointment was not tenure-track. To stand for tenure, she would have to be transferred to a different position, and federal EEO rules require that any newly created or vacant tenure-track doctoral positions be advertised nationally. Maivan Lam recounted the multifarious ways she had been mistreated by the University, and she testified in favor of a resolution reprimanding the law school for not offering her the job of director for the Pacific Asian Legal Studies Program. Senator Solomon tabled this particular resolution, noting tactfully that the Lam case was still in litigation. Speaking for the Women's Faculty Caucus, Larene Despain complained that the campus environment showed no commitment to gender-based issues. General policies were useful only to the extent that they protected individuals. Unfortunately, very few victims were willing to come forward, and the Susan Hippensteele case was the only one she knew of that had reached fruition. Hippensteele, who completed her master's thesis on rape-related attitudes and behavior in 1989 53 and her doctoral dissertation on sexual harassment in 1991, 54 reported that she had been sexually harassed at Manoa for a year and a half. "I was harassed as a graduate student by my graduate adviser," she later recalled, "and I didn't know I was being harassed for some time." 55 Working within the existing UH process, Hippensteele had filed a grievance against her professor and won. She also filed a federal grievance and won. While ruling in her favor, the federal authorities determined

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that the grievance procedures provided for students by the University were inadequate. "That's why UH has this new [sexual harassment] policy," she informed a Ka Leo reporter in October 1992.55 The interview with Ka Leo was only one of many that took place after Hippensteele became the sexual harassment student advocate for Manoa in May 1992.55 As usual, Simone endured his long and painful beating calmly. Later he told a reporter from the Honolulu Advertiser, "I can take all manner of personal abuse and unprofessional assaults. But when, in my judgment, that behavior crosses the line and unfairly discredits the university or when it tends to undermine the integrity and effectiveness of the office of the president, I have to speak out."45 On March 22, 1990, President Simone did not speak out. Instead, because the University depends upon the decisions of people like Senator Solomon for its funding, Simone permitted her and the other women who packed her hearing that afternoon to attack him at will with their written and spoken testimony. What disturbed me most, after I had listened to their statements for nearly three hours, was that people who had been the victims of harassment showed no mercy when given an opportunity to harass a UH president as innocent as themselves. Responding as positively as he could, Simone graciously invited all those who had just testified against him and the University to work with him to correct the problems they had described. Senator Solomon interrupted and said she was "offended by this attempt to use my hearing as a forum." She then chastised Simone for not working with these women all along. Malama's emotionally charged hearing ended when Simone promised to develop the short-term and long-term plans mentioned in her two resolutions, at which point she withdrew them. Simone later accused Solomon of being on a "witch-hunt," and she said she would rather be a "witch than a wimp."45 Senator Solomon was the elected representative of Kona, Kohala, Hamakua, and Hilo on the Big Island, as well as part of East Maui. She was also a former teacher at Hawaii Community College and UH-Hilo.45 No one was surprised, therefore, when the community colleges and Hilo emerged unscathed from her hearing. Following Solomon's lead, Chancellors Joyce Tsunoda and Ed Kormondy took the position that the University's sexual harassment and gender equity problems were confined to Manoa. At subsequent meetings of the University Executive Council (UEC), Simone waived his right as president to mandate cooperation and tried instead to persuade Tsunoda and Kormondy that they should address the problems of gender equity and sexual harassment as a system. Given a choice, they declined, arguing that we already had a system-wide affirmative action plan in place and shouldn't jeopardize it just because there were some complaints at Manoa.

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At the UEC meeting on April 16, 1990, Tsunoda said that she didn't want "to be dragged into the emotions that were driving the Manoa revisions." Simone finally gave in and agreed to let the community colleges and Hilo go their own way. He rationalized this feeble decision by saying that the new short-term and long-term plans for Manoa were merely local implementations of the existing system-wide Board of Regents' Policy (BORP) and Executive Policy (EP) on affirmative action. Simone asked Assistant Vice President for Academic Affairs Madeleine Goodman to draft the plans for Manoa. Working with her were EEO/AA Director Mie Watanabe, Academic Affairs Program Officer Amy Agbayani, Office of Faculty Development and Academic Support (OFDAS) Director Marie Wunsch, and many others. The first draft was completed in May 1990. It was immediately presented to the New Affirmative Action Coalition (NAAC), which criticized it severely.56 In the course of several succeeding drafts, a study to "review the pay, classification, and title of women and men employed in comparable jobs under comparable circumstances" was added.57 Here it should be noted that if the proposed pay equity study found any discrepancies, the University would be required by law to correct them. Furthermore, until the data analysis was completed, the cost of such remediation would not be known. Several members of the UEC pointed out that we were under no obligation to proceed with the investigation and strongly advised against it. On August 15, 1990, Simone released $110,000 to fund additional affirmative action initiatives at Manoa. Of this, $70,000 was for preparation of the internal data base needed for the salary equity study.58 Sociology Department Chair Kiyoshi Ikeda was appointed project director. The Ikeda report, released on September 25, 1991, found that when faculty of similar education and experience were compared, men were paid an average of $1,700 per year more than women. Japanese faculty earned below average salaries and Chinese faculty, above average. Hawaiian and Filipino faculty were not considered separately because of their small numbers, but the two groups combined did not differ in pay from the white majority.59 A companion study on barriers to retaining tenure-track faculty was also completed in September 1991- The leader of this second project was Linda Johnsrud, an assistant professor in the College of Education, who also participated in the first study. Johnsrud and her colleagues surveyed 229 of the 325 faculty members who were hired for tenure-track positions at Manoa between 1982 and 1988. Of the 325, ninety-three left, 127 were still on probationary status, and 105 had received tenure. Among the discriminatory barriers identified by women in the Johnsrud survey were the lack of support for ethnic and gender-related research, policies on sick and maternity leave, personal discrimination, and tokenism.60

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A request for proposals (RFP) to review, critique, and refine Manoa's on-going analysis of institutional data on equity appeared in The Chronicle of Higher Education on November 13, 1991 61 University of Wisconsin Professor Robert Hauser was selected as the outside consultant, and on January 17, 1992, one month before Simone announced his resignation, the Board of Regents approved the administration's petition to hire Hauser "at a cost not to exceed $50,000."62 Dr. Hauser discussed his report with the UEC on December 14, 1992. Dr. Karen Mason of the East-West Center and Dr. Kiyoshi Ikeda, both of whom participated in the study, were also present. The meeting was chaired by Interim President Paul Yuen, and the three guests were introduced by Interim Vice President for Academic Affairs Madeleine Goodman, who also served as the project sponsor and administrative liaison with the research team.63 Hauser began his briefing by commenting that his findings confirmed those of Dr. Ikeda. Next he outlined his methodology, noting that it was possible to quantify and compare such factors as discipline, date and initial conditions of hire, experience, and progress through the ranks. Because merit and productivity were difficult to measure, these parameters were ignored.63 Turning his attention to the results, Hauser reported that the magnitude of the gender-based salary differential ranged from 2 to 3 percent, depending on how the data were viewed.63 Because one step in the faculty salary schedule is 4 percent and because individual inequities often exceed two or three salary steps, I was surprised and relieved that the differences in the averages for men and women were so small. The last portion of the presentation dealt with remediation. Hauser estimated that it would cost the state an additional $350,000 per year to permanently raise the average salary of women faculty at Manoa by 3 percent. The more difficult questions were where this money would come from and how it would be spent. Noting that the differentials were pervasive, that is, they comprised a series of small differences made in numerous cases over time, Hauser recommended a mixture of across-the-board and case-by-case adjustments.63 Hauser also confirmed that there was a substantial ethnic differential with faculty of Chinese ancestry receiving higher salaries than those of Caucasian or Japanese ancestry. The differential between Chinese and Japanese faculty was roughly equivalent to that based on gender, namely, 2 or 3 percent.63 Reactions to the Hauser report64 varied widely. Director for Research Moheb Ghali, a highly respected economist and statistician in his own right, questioned the methodology and pointed out that there were flaws in at least five categories: model mis-specification, use of improper statistical techniques, mistreatment of data, uncritical acceptance of unreasonable

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computer tabulations, and selective reporting and selective interpretation of results.65 Because it was not politically correct to suggest that women and minorities might not be disadvantaged at UH, I was surprised that anyone would have the courage to criticize the Hauser report. In responding to Ghali's charge of model mis-specification, Dr. Hauser pointed out that his equity study did not control for differences in productivity between men and women because such differences could not possibly be intrinsic and would therefore have to be the result of discriminatory treatment at some earlier stage. The examples he cited were the differential provision of research support, research assistance, and released time to do research. 66 What Hauser et al. were saying, in effect, was that men and women are intrinsically equal and should be paid the same. Any salary differences revealed in the equity study must therefore be due to discrimination. Our task was not to determine the etiology, but merely to cure the disease. From the oral presentation, I had the impression that merit and productivity were ignored because they were too difficult to quantify. 63 On the other hand, I did not accept Dr. Ghali's hypothesis that men might be paid more than women because they were more productive. 65 My reason was that salary trajectories at UH are determined mainly by collective bargaining, not by merit or productivity; hence differences in merit and productivity could be significant factors only at the time of hire. Hauser was aware that salaries at UH are locked in by collective bargaining and that the critical event in determining them is the initial appointment. Nevertheless, he rejected the hypothesis that differences in merit and productivity could have been factors at this pivotal stage: I think it is fair to say that we do not believe there are such differences—that initial rank and salary differentials are far more likely to have been influenced by recruitment and negotiation strategies of the University and of job candidates.66 This leads me to what I shall call "the evil deans' theory of discrimination." The idea is that deans and directors do most of the faculty hiring at Manoa; hence they must be the source of the equity problem. Proponents of this theory are quick to point out that most of Manoa's deans and directors are white males, and everybody knows that white males have a natural tendency to discriminate against women and minorities. I invite anyone who subscribes to the evil deans' theory to have another look at my chapter on Manoa's precinct captains. My own impression, having worked with many of them on a regular basis for more than a decade, is that Manoa's deans and directors are among the strongest supporters of affirmative action. Faculty search committees, on the other hand, tend to have very little interest in "the politics of access" and persistently recommend the best qualified candidates regardless of their race or gender.

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I should also note that anyone involved in hiring state employees has a fiduciary responsibility to the taxpayers of Hawaii to negotiate the lowest salaries that market economics will allow. Indeed, people running their own businesses would do precisely that. And while it is very easy to recruit if one is willing to pay too much, it is very difficult to reach agreement if one is offering too little. That is why newly recruited faculty tend to receive higher salaries than comparable faculty already on board, and why faculty who have a history of leaping from one job to another are usually paid more than those who do not. Peter Garrod, an agricultural economist who became the Interim Director for Research after Moheb Ghali left, has argued that women and minorities are intrinsically just as skillful at negotiating starting salaries as anybody else, but many of them are "place-bound" and will accept a lowerpaying job rather than leave Hawaii. This explanation, which Garrod refers to as "a hypothesis of compensating differences," merely confirms the conventional wisdom that if you want to get paid more, you have to change jobs, or at least be willing to do so. 67 Dr. Garrod's hypothesis is particularly applicable to spouses and Japanese Americans, and it could account for the difference in Japanese and Chinese faculty salaries because many of the former were residents when they were recruited, whereas many of the latter were not. By lumping Hawaiian and Filipino faculty together, Hauser and Ikeda may have inadvertently merged a group that was "place-bound" with one that was mobile, thereby washing out any differentials that might have existed in these small data samples. 67 The University's budget proposal for BI 1993-1995, prepared during the last summer of Simone's presidency, contained a request for $1 million in FY 1993-1994 and $1 million in FY 1994-1995 to correct salary inequities at Manoa.68 This greatly exceeded the $350,000 per year calculated by Hauser for women because it included funds for minority men. In addition, increases were expected to be awarded solely on a case-by-case basis, and the amount needed to bring every below-average individual salary up to the majority standard was considerably larger than that required to equalize the average salaries of all the identified groups. When it seemed at first that additional funds might be forthcoming, Chancellors Tsunoda and Kormondy abandoned their "not in my backyard" postures and demanded their fair shares. Later, when we learned that state funding for the University would be level over the next biennium and that any equity salary adjustments would have to be handled by internal reallocation, Tsunoda and Kormondy reverted to their original positions and reminded everyone that there was no evidence such adjustments were needed on their campuses. The amount finally reallocated for equity adjustments within Manoa's operating budget for FY 1993-1994 was $775,360.® The amount actually

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needed would not be known until the review process that began in the final months of 1993 was completed. At the center of the review process was a panel of thirty-six Manoa faculty members who were asked to evaluate candidates and recommend salary increases where appropriate. Those subsequently approved by the administration would be retroactive to July 1, 1993- Eligible for consideration were 214 women and 164 non-Caucasian males who were earning at least 4 percent less than the median pay for Caucasian male faculty. 68 One of the salient features of this approach was that, if everything went according to plan, the only faculty remaining at Manoa with salaries at least 4 percent less than the median for Caucasian males would be Caucasian males. Furthermore, because the amount being spent on equity adjustments was much greater than the amount needed to bring the average salaries of women and minorities up to the majority standard, it was foreseeable (though never publicly acknowledged) that Caucasian males would soon become the lowest paid group. In particular, women, Filipino, and Hawaiian faculty members would all forge ahead of the Caucasian male majority, and the previous advantage of Chinese faculty would grow even larger. People who view equity as a moral imperative are likely to agree with Dr. Hauser that salary differentials should be rooted out regardless of the origins or costs. People who view equity as a matter of resource allocation, on the other hand, might very well side with Tsunoda and Kormondy and conclude that the University has better things to do with its limited money and time. Indeed, the funds set aside for equity salary adjustments could just as well have been used to hire more women and minorities; to support women and minority graduate students preparing for academic careers; and to provide women and minority faculty with research support, research assistance, and released time to do research. Unlike equity salary adjustments, all these uses would have enhanced the productivity of the University. Nor is it certain that the people who held those lower-paying jobs were being treated unfairly. Indeed, they accepted employment at the University freely, and if mutual consent were the sole basis of this relationship, neither party would have cause to complain. Furthermore, if Dr. Garrod was right, many of the lower-paid employees were "place-bound" and were therefore receiving other forms of compensation, such as the opportunity to maintain family ties and life-long friendships, that UH could not provide their higher-paid counterparts recruited from Asia, Europe, and the U.S. mainland. It is easy to believe that such amenities could offset salary differentials that averaged only 2 or 3 percent. Interestingly enough, when an analysis of faculty salaries in the community colleges was finally completed, no systemic gender-based or ethnicity-based inequities were found. 70 Some people have interpreted this

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as further evidence that the inequity problem lies with those "evil deans and directors" at Manoa, but I find Dr. Garrod's explanation far more compelling: because community college faculty are not required to have Ph.D.'s, the majority are recruited locally and fall automatically into that place-bound category of people who are willing to accept a lower-paying job in order to remain in Hawaii. Earlier in this chapter, I described how the University's efforts to retain faculty who had firm offers in writing from another institution were frustrated for several years by the state's collective bargaining process. With this narrative still fresh in mind, the reader may be wondering whether it would even be lawful for Manoa to correct the salary inequities associated with race and gender. Basically there were two conditions that had to be met: UH and the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA) had to agree on the process, and the Office of Collective Bargaining (OCB) had to agree that, in reaching such an understanding, UH and UHPA were not reopening any cost items not already covered in their original contract. The first condition was satisfied when UH and UHPA negotiated an MOA on gender and minority salary equity adjustments, and the second was satisfied when Jimmy Yasuda, chief negotiator of the OCB, signed it.71 The MOA did not reopen any cost items because it was dated December 16, 1993, seven months after the 1993 legislature had approved the University's request for $1 million in FY 1993-1994 and $1 million in FY 1994-1995 to correct salary inequities at Manoa.68 The fact that the University's total funding was level and the money had to be obtained through internal reallocation69 was irrelevant because the critical element was legislative intent. Nor did the MOA alter the terms of the master agreement for BI 1993-1995, since that document wasn't signed until February 14, 1994, some two months later.72 It is also worth noting that the master agreement for BI 1993-1995 contained a new section (Section XVIII-F on page 76) dealing explicitly with special salary adjustments: The Employer and the Union agree that the Employer may grant special salary adjustments in accordance with procedures jointly developed and approved by the parties. The procedures will be developed and approved by May 1, 1994.72 Although this section72 and the ensuing memorandum of agreement (MOA) on procedures, dated June 1, 1994,73 were outcomes of the long struggle to address problems of retention, market, equity, and merit, their wording was sufficiently vague that both documents could plausibly be used to cover gender and race. This confluence suggests that it may be possible to circumvent HRS Section 89-10 by routinely inserting similar, all-purpose sections on special

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salary adjustments into all public employee master agreements. Jimmy Yasuda may have had this possibility in mind when he informed Jimmy Takushi, then director of personnel at UH, "I am a little confused by the apparent reference to the 'gender/minority pay equity adjustments' in association with 'special salary adjustments based on retention, merit, equity and recruitment.'"74 Two highly regarded astronomers were the first recipients of special salary adjustments awarded for retention under the MOA on procedures dated June 1, 1994. Their raises were approved by President Kenneth P. Mortimer on November 15, 1994, and UHPA concurrence-was obtained on November 28, 1994.75 This was more than five years after UHPA filed its July 19, 1989 prohibited practice complaint with the HLRB alleging that the Board of Regents was raising faculty salaries unilaterally.39 Meanwhile, the Office of the Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs (OSVPAA) had reviewed 307 women and minority faculty under the MOA on procedures dated December 16, 1993- Of these, sixty-nine who were not satisfied with the decisions made by OSVPAA were appealing their cases to the president, and those who were not content with the University's internal efforts were busy filing formal complaints with various agencies created by the state and federal governments to address such needs.76 Although UHPA did finally permit some of its members to accept special salary adjustments, albeit subject to UHPA concurrence on a case-by-case basis, it has remained adamantly opposed to the University's new policies and procedures on sexual harassment. Focusing on the three-member investigative panels that were conceived in 1990 as a direct result of student fears that the University's EEO/AA office would be partial to the administration, UHPA claimed that faculty participation would create a conflict of interest and alter disciplinary procedures and workload unilaterally.77 A deeper concern, perhaps, was that referral of a sexual harassment case to a lay panel would breach traditional confidentiality in the investigation of such a complaint. It would also increase the probability that the allegations might be disclosed to the general public, constituting a significant variation from past practice in the bargaining unit.78 Here I should note, in defense of UHPA's position, that the mere disclosure of a sexual harassment allegation could ruin a respondent's reputation regardless of the seriousness of the charges or the likelihood of their validity. For many, in fact, disclosure was the most serious form of punishment the University could administer. Given these circumstances, the unveiling of an allegation prior to any investigation was tantamount to punishing the defendant prior to any trial, and even male faculty who were as innocent as lambs lived in fear that they might unintentionally give offense or be falsely accused. Simone promulgated his new Executive Policy on August 1, 1991,79 slightly more than three months after the Board of Regents amended its

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policy on nondiscrimination and affirmative action expressly to prohibit sexual harassment.1 Implementation was delayed, however, because UHPA and the Hawaii Government Employees Association (HGEA) were opposed. When meetings involving union representatives, UH administrators, and faculty failed to produce a consensus, Simone decided to push ahead with the panel system despite union opposition. 77 The prohibited practice complaint that UHPA filed against the Board of Regents on May 14, 1992, was dismissed by the HLRB on August 4, 1993, because the complainant failed to prove by a preponderance of the evidence that implementation of the panel option would have a material and significant impact on the terms and conditions of employment or would alter the existing terms of the collective bargaining agreement. 80 The prohibited practice complaint that UHPA filed against the Board of Regents on August 31, 1993, was dismissed by the HLRB on October 8, 1993, because it involved the same parties, the same subject matter, and the same issues as the complaint filed on May 14, 1992.78 UHPA had claimed that the class of faculty it represented in the first case was different from the class it represented in the second, that is, that the class selected for participation on the panels was different from the class being investigated by the panels. However, the HLRB said this was a distinction with no difference. 78 Since October 8, 1993, therefore, UHPA has limited its rearguard actions to defending faculty accused of sexual harassment and continuing to discourage faculty from serving on the investigative panels.81 One of the consequences of A1 Simone's unprecedented commitment to affirmative action was that the number of discrimination complaints and civil actions involving the Manoa campus increased more than fivefold during his administration, going from ten in calendar 1984 to fiftyfive in calendar 1992. The most common allegations were sex discrimination and sexual harassment, followed by discrimination based on race or ethnicity. Slightly more than half of the formal charges were filed with state or federal agencies, with the balance being filed under campus procedures. 82 Although the increases in complaints of all kinds may seem paradoxical given Simone's strong commitment to affirmative action, they are perfectly consistent with the models and metaphors already developed in this chapter. The essential point is this: just as there are various scales of opportunity, so too are there various scales of discrimination, and they also extend from 0 to 100 percent. Taking sexual harassment as one example, behaviors such as ogling and teasing would probably rank very low, while behaviors such as murder and rape would obviously rank very high. What happened during the Simone administration was not that human behavior degenerated and sexual harassers went berserk, but merely that the threshold for filing grievances, lawsuits, and complaints was moved toward the low end of every discrimination scale.

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Haunani-Kay Trask: The Hawaiian Sovereign I mentioned in my opening essay that one of the qualities that distinguishes Hawaii from the U.S. mainland is the absence of large Black and Latino constituencies and the presence of an indigenous population with real political clout. Among the native Hawaiians who figure prominently in this book are Governor John David Waihee, III; Representative, and later Senator, Daniel Kahikina Akaka; State Senator Leiomalama Solomon; Board of Regents Chairman Gladys Kamakakuokalini Ainoa Brandt; and the University's first vice president for student affairs, Benjamin Young, M.D. The Kamehameha Schools, which accept only Hawaiian or part Hawaiian students, are supported by a multi-billion dollar endowment that is much larger than that of any other educational institution in America, including such places as Harvard College and Stanford University. Indeed, the Bernice Pauahi Bishop Estate counts among its various assets approximately 23 percent of the land in Hawaii. 83 Its Trustees, who are usually Hawaiian or part Hawaiian, each receive more than $850,000 per year in commissions, 84 a level of compensation that places them ahead of all but five or six of Hawaii's highest paid chief executive officers. 85 According to the 1980 Census, the median family income was $29,215 for Japanese and $28,433 for Chinese, but only $20,792 for Caucasians, $20,519 for Filipinos, and $19,463 for Hawaiians. 86 This suggests that Hawaiians are economically disadvantaged compared to Japanese and Chinese, but that the extent of their disadvantage is about the same as that of Caucasians and Filipinos, who are frequently denied equal opportunity in Hawaii on the grounds that they aren't "local." 87 "For many people, the standard definition of local in Hawaii is: Born here. Raised here. Brown skin." 88 These statistics demonstrate that the native Hawaiian community is neither rich nor poor so much as it is economically heterogeneous. Indeed, some of the richest and most powerful people in the state are Hawaiian or part Hawaiian, and also some of the poorest and least powerful. The same can probably be said about all the major ethnic groups I have mentioned. Though it may sound like an oxymoron, the native Hawaiian community is also racially heterogeneous. For although 17.9 percent of the state's population are part Hawaiian, only 1.0 percent are unmixed Hawaiian. 89 Part Hawaiian mixtures are themselves quite diverse, reflecting numerous immigrations and extending perhaps to the discovery of the Islands by Europeans more than two centuries ago. The first contact was made on January 20, 1778, when Captain James Cook anchored two ships off Waimea, Kauai, and boldly came ashore, a thousand years or more after the original settlement by Polynesians. 90

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Like the term "local," the term "native Hawaiian" is not very precisely defined. For example, it excludes most of the people who were born and raised in Hawaii, and it includes many who have never been to the Islands. The U.S. Congress established a legal definition when it used a blood quantum to divide Hawaiians into two categories—those with 50 percent or more Hawaiian, who could apply for Hawaiian Home Lands, and those with lesser quanta, who could not.91 The academic definition used by Kamehameha Schools is more forgiving: proof of Hawaiian ancestry is required for admission, but there is no minimal amount.92 The U.S. Bureau of the Census lets individual respondents choose their own ethnic identity. Based on this definition, Hawaiians accounted for 11.9 percent of the state's population in 1980 and 12.5 percent in 1990. The 0.6 percent increase is probably significant, but considering the voluntary nature of the identification and the fact that Hawaiians and part Hawaiians comprised approximately 19 percent of the state's population in 1980, some of it may be due to a growing Hawaiian awareness. 93 The University of Hawaii follows the same practice as the U.S. Bureau of the Census, and 11.6 percent of the students it enrolled in the fall of 1993 self-identified as Hawaiian or Part-Hawaiian.94 This is remarkably consistent with the 11.9 and 12.5 percentages determined by the Bureau of the Census for the general population. However, the agreement is probably fortuitous since the Hawaiian or part-Hawaiian enrollments at some campuses were significantly higher than 11.6 percent, while those at Manoa were significantly lower.95 The most under-represented groups at UH were Blacks and Caucasians, who comprised, respectively, 2.5 percent and 33-4 percent of the state's population in 1990,93 but only 1.1 percent, and 23.1 percent of the University's regular students.95 Filipinos did somewhat better, comprising 15.2 percent of the state's population93 and 13.2 percent of the University's regular students.95 As one might expect, the college attendance rates for various ethnic groups were closely correlated with their median family incomes. Just as native Hawaiians are economically and ethnically heterogeneous, so too are they politically, socially, and culturally heterogeneous. It follows that there is no single person or group that can legitimately speak for all native Hawaiians any more than there is for all Asians, all Africans, or all Europeans. One of the native Hawaiian voices that made a lasting impression on me during the Simone administration was that of Dan Akaka's brother Abraham Akaka, who served as pastor of the Kawaiahao Church in Honolulu for nearly two decades. The date was April 12, 1988, and Malama Solomon was presiding over a joint hearing of the State Senate Committees on Higher Education, Tourism and Recreation, Planning and Environ-

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ment, and Human Services. 96 Testifying in favor of a Senate Resolution (S.R. 189) requesting that the University initiate actions to host a conference on peace, Reverend Akaka delivered a homily on the meaning of aloha, which I shall summarize as follows: ALOHA is more than just a greeting word, it also means love. It is often said that God is ALOHA, which means that God is love. ALOHA is the spirit of these Islands. And because of this spirit, space and place become inclusive, not exclusive. We are many ethnic groups, but one people—the people of ALOHA, which means the people of God, the people of love. It is our destiny to teach the spirit of ALOHA to the world. An international conference on peace, to be held in Hawaii, would be a good beginning. The rest of this section is charged by a native Hawaiian voice completely different from that of Abraham Akaka. I have been told by Donnalyn Johns, a native Hawaiian student that the militant alternative, no matter how audible, speaks for not more than five percent of Hawaii's indigenous people. 97 However, it is a voice that seriously challenges the canons of academe, as well as traditional American values, and is therefore worthy of our attention. It is also, I might add, a voice that wreaked havoc during the Simone administration, thereby illustrating once again the extent to which political endeavors such as the Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement influence higher education in the Aloha State. The alternative voice was that of Haunani-Kay Trask, director of the Center for Hawaiian Studies at the University of Hawaii, who acknowledges her intellectual and genealogical antecedents in a recently published book on colonialism and sovereignty in Hawaii: Intellectually and politically, I am indebted to some of the greatest thinkers and revolutionaries of the twentieth century: Frantz Fanon, Malcolm X, and Ngugi Wa Thiongo. Genealogically, I am indebted to those many chiefs of old, from the Pi'ilani and Kamehameha lines especially, who believed that the dignity and inheritance of the Hawaiian people could only be taken in war. I am descended from these chiefs, in whose memory I have written these words.98 Later, in a chapter entitled "Racism Against Native Hawaiians at the University of Hawai'i," Trask describes in three acts how she completed her doctorate in political science at the University of Wisconsin and was hired by the "department of un-American Studies" at UH; how she filed a sex and race discrimination grievance and subsequently became, as part of the settlement, the first full-time faculty member in the fledgling Hawaiian Studies Program; and how—with the further help of the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA)—she ultimately prevailed and was awarded tenure. 99

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As is usual in these situations, the complainant built her case as she went along. This is evident from her chapter because she charges virtually everyone who came in contact with her appointment of some form of abuse. Her first American Studies chair, who happened to be a Caucasian male, was both racist and sexist, accusing Trask of "straining collegiality" in the department. Her second chair, who happened to be a Caucasian female, was both racist and condescending, referring to Trask as "our little Hawaiian." When UHPA voted to pursue her complaint, both chairs "badgered" the UHPA Board and protested the unfairness of the UHPA grievance committee procedures. Meanwhile, "most of the American Studies faculty behaved like colonial settlers on the outskirts of empire enduring their postings until a better opportunity came along."99 Elsewhere in the same chapter, Trask discusses the genocide committed against the Hawaiian people by White colonialists, and notes that the real culprits responsible for the violent overthrow of the monarchy and the illegal annexation of the Islands were American imperialism, predatory Christianity, and exploitative capitalism. She also concludes from her "political analysis of historical events" that the "genocide against American Indians [was] comparable to Nazi genocide against Jews." 99 Among those who complained about such statements as these were some of her students in the Department of American Studies. The original male chair, an American Jew, was doubly offended by Trask's comparisons and tried to persuade the Department to censure her formally. She responded to the "forces of racism and political suppression in the department" by defending her right to be a "Hawaiian activist and critic of the United States." Years later, Trask summarized the Department's reluctance to support her application for tenure by saying, "I was a public person in a little colonial university where public dissent, especially on the side of Natives, is perceived as outrageous and threatening."99 As part of the settlement of a racism/sexism grievance, Dr. Trask was transferred to another unit in the fall of 1986: Between my hire and my transfer, I lived through a five-year battle (with student-community support) against all manner of oppressive and exploitative conditions: racism by individual faculty and by the institution as a whole; attempts to prevent my written and verbal expressions of critical political views; violation of the academic freedom to teach certain subjects and ideas, and petty daily harassment on the job. At times, even the recognition of my humanity as a Hawaiian was at issue.99 In her next chapter, entitled "The Politics of Academic Freedom as the Politics of White Racism," Trask examines "the violence of educational colonialism, where foreign haole values replace native Hawaiian values; where schools, like the University of Hawai'i, ridicule Hawaiian culture

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and praise American culture; and where white men assume the mantle of authority, deciding what is taught, who can teach, even what can be said, written, and published." "In colony Hawai'i," Trask adds, "the University of Hawai'i stands atop the educational pyramid of the state. Like the military, the university is a guardian of white cultural dominance."100 Although Professor Trask has chosen to interpret her experience at UH as a continuation of her life-long struggle against racism, sexism, oppression, exploitation, imperialism, capitalism, and genocide, her appointment also raises questions about the mission of a publicly supported university. Some examples are these: • Who, in fact, should decide what is taught, who can teach, what can be said, written, and published at a public university? • Is it appropriate for a political activist of any persuasion to use his or her publicly supported faculty or administrative position as a platform from which to advance a partisan cause? • Is it appropriate for a teacher to indoctrinate a captive audience of impressionable students, systematically excluding, ridiculing, and stifling any ideas with which that teacher disagrees? • Is it appropriate for a teacher to train a captive audience of impressionable students to become political activists for a partisan cause? • Granting that the statements and opinions of university faculty are broadly protected under the rubric of academic freedom, does their expression, regardless of how erroneous, outrageous, or threatening, constitute a form of scholarship worthy of promotion and tenure? • Are there standards of behavior, accuracy, tolerance for diverse opinions, and respect for the rights of colleagues and students that should guide the activities of every faculty member? Although these issues may appear to be pedantic and of little interest outside the teaching profession, they were broadly and hotly debated during the last several years of the Simone administration when ethnic tensions erupted on the Manoa campus. In addition to attracting world-wide media coverage,100 this outbreak resulted in a series of seven public forums on ethnic harmony sponsored by the Matsunaga Institute for Peace in the spring of 1991, and a book featuring the contributions of the thirty-nine scholars who participated. The book, Restructuring for Ethnic Peace, also provides a chronology of the events leading up to the forum, a list of fifty-nine

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print media reports covering these events, and complete reproductions of three seminal documents.101 The ethnic controversy that engulfed Manoa was neither unique, nor was it initiated by Simone, although it undoubtedly thrived in the open and activist environment he promoted. The parallel experiences of other American campuses have been reported in a best-seller by Dinesh D'Souza,102 and they were also the focus of a cover story in Time.10i An even wider context was provided by "the decline of the Cold War and its universalist ideological pretensions," in the aftermath of which, "ethnicity and nationalism have once again taken the center stage in domestic and international conflicts throughout the world."104 It is also relevant to note, in this wider context, that the collapse of communism did not perturb activists of the academic left at Manoa, who have followed the national pattern and simply continued "their day-to-day criticism of American society, culture, and capitalism . . . enriched by Marxist concepts and vocabulary."105 Two examples prominent in this chapter are Maivan Lam and Haunani-Kay Trask. The person who inadvertently facilitated the attainment of a heightened level of ethnic strife was Joey Carter, an undergraduate majoring in philosophy. In an "Open Forum" column published in Ka Leo on September 5, 1990, Carter complained that he had been "chased and beaten by groups of locals" and called for an end to such "haole bashing." He also opined that "racism is not an exclusively white endeavor" and noted that the word "haole" is used in Hawaii very much like the word "nigger" was used when he was growing up in Louisiana. Condemning racism of all kinds, Carter concluded that the use of such terms as "haole" and "nigger" to classify whole groups of people was "incredibly ridiculous."106 The reader may be wondering how ethnic strife could possibly be enhanced by a well-intentioned student's article condemning racism of all kinds. The essential point is that "racism," like the terms "local" and "native Hawaiian," has exotic and paradoxical meanings in Hawaii, and "haole bashing" is usually not one of them. Joey Carter was too new to the Islands to know this, but Haunani-Kay Trask, always seeking opportunities to promote her cause, was willing to set him straight. Her response to Joey Carter's request that "we stop using our own description of him in our own land," was published in Ka Leo on September 19, 1990.107 Trask began by pointing out that if Carter was indeed White or Caucasian, as he had indicated in his "Open Forum" article, then he was certainly haole and always would be. Having dealt with the taxonomy issue, she next reviewed the history of white power and supremacy and stated that "the hatred and fear people of color have of white people is based on that ugly history." Under these circumstances, the hostility Carter experienced was not haole-bashing, but "smart political sense honed by our deep historical wounding at the hands of the haole."107

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Trask went on to say that Carter's "very presence in Hawaii, and before that in Louisiana, is a luxury provided him through centuries of white conquest that visited genocide on American Indians, slavery on Africans, peonage on Asians, and dispossession on Native Hawaiians." Her letter ended with the suggestion that if Carter did not like being called a haole, he could return to Louisiana. "Hawaiians would certainly benefit from one less haole in our land. In fact, United Airlines has dozens of flights to the U.S. continent every day, Mr. Carter. Why don't you take one?"107 Feeling increasingly threatened by attempts to trace him through Ka Leo, Carter followed Trask's advice and returned to the U.S. mainland on October 5, 1990. On October 17, faculty in the Department of Philosophy passed a unanimous resolution accusing Trask of racial harassment and, more specifically, of "condoning violence against a member of the university community solely because of his social identity and opinions." In committing these offenses, she had betrayed her most basic professional responsibility "to protect and sustain the fragile atmosphere within which ideas can be assessed on their merits."108 The Department of Philosophy resolution was published in a Ka Leo "Open Forum" on October 26.108 A copy was sent to Interim Vice President for Academic Affairs Paul Yuen with a cover letter from Philosophy Department Chair Larry Laudan asking that Professor Trask be removed from her position as director of the Center for Hawaiian Studies.109 The subsequent charges, counter-charges, grievances, and lawsuits that attended the Joey Carter controversy raised many questions and have been examined from many points of view, both locally101 and nationally.110 In the end, Carter's grievance accusing Trask of discrimination and of creating a hostile environment was rejected; it was determined that Trask's actions did not merit a reprimand; the Manoa Faculty Senate's investigation of the Philosophy Department's complaint was tabled in committee; and the grievance filed by five students against Professor Laudan for creating an intimidating, anti-Hawaiian atmosphere was dismissed.109 In the course of this affair, there were many threats of physical violence, but the actual cases were minimal as most of the combat took place in local newspapers. The public forums sponsored by the Matsunaga Institute for Peace near the zenith of the controversy101 were a significant and commendable part of the healing process. While the Philosophy department had good reason to be concerned about protecting and sustaining "the fragile atmosphere within which ideas can be assessed on their merits," Manoa responded with a mixture of sensitivity and a resiliency that was truly admirable. The one feature of this incident that still disturbs me five years later is not Trask's day-to-day criticism of virtually everything haole, including Joey Carter and Al Simone, but her definition of racism. While Carter thought

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that epithets like "haole" and "nigger" are symmetric and stated that "racism is not an exclusively white endeavor," 106 Trask insisted that Mr. Carter does not understand racism at all, another common characteristic of white people. For racism is a system of power in which one racially-identified group dominates and exploits another raciallyidentified group for the advantage of the dominating group. People of color in America don't have enough power to dominate and exploit white people.107 What Carter was saying, in effect, is that anyone can be racist depending on the situation. When Carter was bashed by groups of locals because he was a haole, they were the racists, and he was the victim. What Trask was saying, in effect, is that because racism is a system of power, only those in power can be racists. And because the people in power in America are white, only the white people in America can be racist. Haole-bashing cannot be racist because the people who do the bashing are not white. In fact, if I understand Trask correctly, all white people in America are necessarily racist by virtue of their history. It makes no difference what they say or do. Furthermore, only white people can be racial harassers, and only men can be sexual harassers. Trask, on the other hand, can say or do whatever she likes: she cannot possibly be a racist or a harasser because she is a woman of color. Ironically, although Trask sees nothing wrong with this asymmetrical way of thinking when it applies to her, she is quick to point out its fallacies when she thinks it applies to somebody else. An example was one of her colleagues who, she says, insisted it was impossible for him to be a racist because of his heritage as a J e w . " Elsewhere in this text, I have discussed Dr. Trask's efforts to rid her land of Al Simone. The mock trial in which Simone was found guilty of racism and sexism against Hawaiians is but one example. 47 Speculation that he might step down was fueled by criticism of his handling of the Joey Carter controversy, and his "ineffective leadership" in the areas of academic freedom, affirmative action, and sexual harassment was often cited. 111 I have been told that, several months after Simone had announced his resignation, when it appeared that he might get an offer from Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT), Trask and others were still hard at work trying to ruin his chances. That they did not succeed was attributed partly to members of Manoa's Philosophy department, who were able to explain what had happened and assure the Rochester search committee that Simone was strongly committed to affirmative action and had a long list of accomplishments to prove it. Is this story true? What I'm sure of is that Trask despised Simone and would have enjoyed his discomfiture had he not gotten the job at RIT. I

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can also imagine that, in her eyes, total victory in Hawaii should have included Simone's defeat in New York. But the facts will remain in Rochester, where they are no longer germane to Manoa.

Post-mortem

1 came into this office on the 15th of March, in the middle of the legislative session, so the budget was already before them. My job is to implement it. —University of Hawaii President Kenneth E Mortimer in an interview with Midweek Magazine 1

It would be difficult to name two academic leaders more disparate in style and personality than Albert J. Simone and the man who succeeded him. Viewing this extraordinary managerial discontinuity in the most positive light, one might argue that there is more than one right way to run a university and that the optimum choice depends as much upon the times and the circumstances as it does upon the qualifications of the candidates who happen to apply. Viewing it more pessimistically, one might be concerned that the person selected becomes a cause as well as an effect, and when you gear up for hard times, you're going to have them. Kenneth P. Mortimer did have a few things in common with his predecessor Al Simone. Both were born and raised in Massachusetts, and both had parents of modest means and educations. "We didn't consider ourselves poor," Mortimer recalled in an early interview, "We just didn't have any money." 1 Mortimer's father completed the eighth grade. Like Simone, Mortimer worked his way through college. He was the first in his family to attend, he participated actively in sports, and he reached the pinnacle of the academic hierarchy against great odds. Finally, Mortimer and Simone were both strong advocates for access and diversity, which

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had facilitated each of their own advancements, and both viewed public universities as the embodiment of the American Dream.1,2 The differences were far more numerous. Where Simone's parents were second-generation Italian immigrants, Mortimer was third- or fourthgeneration English-Irish on both sides. Where Simone was insensitive to creature comforts, Mortimer spoke often about raising his own and other people's "comfort levels." Where Simone accepted the job at $95,000 per year and had to live on that amount until it was raised to $120,000, signaling the end of his presidency, Mortimer successfully negotiated a salary of $150,000 per year plus a start-up bonus of $50,000.1A3'4 Where Simone was careless about his speech, manners, and dress, Mortimer was meticulous in these and all other matters. Where Simone was a quick study who remembered names after one introduction, Mortimer was methodical and continued, after more than two years in office, to misname people he encountered daily. Where Simone confidently improvised and took many chances, Mortimer cautiously prepared and wanted no surprises. Where Simone was a crisis manager who created and thrived on controversy, Mortimer was a long-range planner who systematically purged or quelled any dissidents. Where Simone was a softball player addicted to pressure, Mortimer enjoyed fly-fishing and scrupulously avoided stress.1'2,3,5 Where Simone was readily accessible, meeting regularly with people at all levels, welcoming more than 6,000 guests to College Hill, and averaging 18 receptions and public gatherings per week, 6 Mortimer was highly selective in his calendar, invitations, and appearances, judiciously targeting the most important and influential groups. Where Simone habitually pushed himself to the limit by taking on more than he and his "fluid team"7 could handle, Mortimer conserved his energy and attempted only what he and his administrative hierarchy could realistically accomplish. Where Simone was reluctant to set priorities because he was planning to do everything, Mortimer focused on a small number of objectives and constituencies and delegated the rest. Where Simone did many things in parallel and juggled 100 balls at once, Mortimer tended to work sequentially and catch the first ball before launching the second. Where Simone fought to preserve the University's budget whenever it was threatened, always coming back asking for more, Mortimer anticipated large reductions and prepared to make them years before they were actually imposed. 8 Where Simone's administration began as a blitzkrieg and gradually ran out of gas, Mortimer's started as a Maginot Line and two years later was still moldering in the trenches. Mortimer's childhood dream was to go to Harvard. When he wasn't accepted, he attended another Ivy League school, the University of Pennsylvania, where he earned a bachelor's degree in English. He holds a master's degree in Business Administration from the University of

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Pennsylvania's Wharton School of Finance and Commerce, and a doctorate in Higher Education from the University of California at Berkeley. 15 Returning to the East Coast, Mortimer rose through the ranks and became a vice president and vice provost of Pennsylvania State University, where he also directed the Center for the Study of Higher Education from 1976 to 1981. From 1983 to 1985, he chaired the Study Group on the Conditions of Excellence in American Higher Education that prepared the nationally acclaimed report, Involvement in Learning: Realizing the Potential of American Higher Education}9 Mortimer was also the author, coauthor, or editor of five books or monographs on higher education and approximately sixty other papers on this subject. Particularly revealing among his titles are The Three "r's" of the Eighties: Reduction, Reallocation, and Retrenchment-,10 Governance in Institutions with Faculty UnionsFaculty Bargaining and the Politics of 12 Retrenchment, and Faculty Bargaining, State Government and Campus Autonomy,13 All of these works attest to Mortimer's expertise in managing declining budgets and in coping with faculty unions. Arriving at the beginning of a state-wide recession, he was received as both the man of the hour and the harbinger of things to come. To add to the gloom, the last publication includes a chapter called "Faculty Bargaining at the University of Hawaii," which Mortimer co-authored with Kenneth K. Lau, Emeritus Professor of Business and Law. Dr. Lau was the University's chief spokesperson during the early years of collective bargaining.14 Although the search for the new president was conducted in secret and gave faculty and students no opportunity to meet the four finalists,1516 Mortimer's published views toward unions attracted considerable attention once his name was revealed. "I think it's good policy for a president to keep his hands off the details on the bargaining table," Mortimer insisted, but the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly was not reassured. 1 Mortimer was serving his fifth year as president of Western Washington University when he was named the eleventh president of the University of Hawaii and chancellor of the University of Hawaii at Manoa.5 He had accepted his position at Western with the caveat that he could consider leaving if the UH presidency became vacant. 3 Mortimer's appointment at UH was announced on November 25, 1992, and his term began nominally on March 1, and actually on March 15, 1993-1 Having devoted his career to the theory and practice of higher education management, Kenneth P. Mortimer was fond of saying that he had spent his whole life preparing for his new assignment. The other finalists were Dr. Roy E. McTarnaghan, executive vice chancellor of the state university system of Florida; Dr. Gregory O'Brien, chancellor of the University of New Orleans; and Dr. Joyce S. Tsunoda,

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chancellor for the community colleges of the UH system.5 Paul Yuen, a semifinalist who was then serving as interim president of the University of Hawaii and interim chancellor of Manoa, was conspicuous by his absence. When I expressed my surprise in a private conversation, Paul explained that his interviews did not go well because he knew too much about the University's problems and was too honest to pretend that they did not exist or that he could easily solve them. Though it too was eventually unsuccessful, the candidacy of Joyce Tsunoda was also very instructive. Because so much of the search was conducted in secret, 1516 I can only speculate about what actually transpired. One line of argument is that Tsunoda should have been eliminated in the first round because she did not have the academic credentials to be hired as a professor at Manoa. Lacking what some considered to be a minimum qualification for the presidency of a Carnegie I research university, she nevertheless became a finalist because she was local and a woman. I reject the first part of this hypothesis because I believe most regents are insensitive to such academic niceties and consider community college and Manoa faculty to be of equal stature. Indeed, they made this quite clear when, on the eve of Simone's departure, they changed the titles of community college faculty so that they now coincide with those used at Manoa.17 Furthermore, the Board was unaware of the anxiety Tsunoda's candidacy provoked on the flagship campus and wouldn't have given it much weight anyway. Indeed, Tsunoda herself said that the initial apprehension she caused at Manoa was "totally removed" during the time she was an active candidate.18 The second part of the argument is also wrong. Whereas it was a definite advantage for Tsunoda to be a woman of Japanese ancestry raised in Hawaii, and whereas she played these cards to the hilt,18 Paul Yuen also had strong local credentials. Indeed, the main thing that distinguished the two politically was that Tsunoda was willing to use her power and influence to advance her own candidacy, where Yuen was not. It is also true that Tsunoda yearned for the job, where Yuen did not. Finally, although there is a tendency in searches of this type to retain women and minorities in the applicant pool as long as possible to appear to champion the cause of affirmative action, this form of reverse discrimination is often revoked in the final selection. Once Mortimer had been chosen, Tsunoda was quick to mend fences. With her own job now on the line,19 she told a Ka Leo reporter that she was "swept into the candidacy" and speculated that "several individuals or groups" had nominated her. She also said "I am glad I wasn't selected and Dr. Mortimer was because he'll make a good president."18 A salient feature of her fence-mending effort was a special "chancellor's message" saluting "our new president."20

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Mortimer accepted the olive branch that Tsunoda proffered and gave her some plums in return. The table was set when Mark Juergensmeyer, dean of Manoa's School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS) and assistant to the president for international programs, resigned effective July 1, 1993-21 Tsunoda immediately assumed a dominant role on the President's Committee on International Programs (PCIP), formerly chaired by Juergensmeyer; and Sharon Narimatsu, Tsunoda's assistant, replaced Traudl Li, as committee staff.22 Overlooking the international experience within SHAPS and the fact that 90 percent of the University's global network and expertise is based at Manoa, Mortimer picked Tsunoda to conduct a review of international endeavors in September 1993.22 She presented her findings to the Board of Regents on December 16, 1993;23 and on January 12, 1994, Mortimer formally appointed her "to oversee and coordinate programs and activities in International Education for the University of Hawaii System," effective July 1, 1994. 24 Having thus been selected as the University's first "international vice president," Tsunoda achieved a level of eminence and respectability that was beyond her reach as a community college chancellor. She also grasped the Office of International Programs and Services (OIPS), formerly part of SHAPS, and added that to her growing empire. Meanwhile, Traudl Li, who had worked at Manoa since September 15, 1986, and had served as director of OIPS since February 1, 1989, was terminated on December 10, 1993, effective June 30, 1994, "because of the Tsunoda factor."22 Because Dr. Li had no fall-back position and had worked at UH for less than the ten-year minimum required for vesting, she lost not only her job, but also her life insurance and the retirement benefits she had been accumulating for nearly eight years. Though her dismissal was unkind and ungrateful, it violated no contractual obligations, and the grievance the University of Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA) filed on her behalf was rejected.22 The various peace treaties Mortimer concluded with Tsunoda gave a clear indication of his system-wide priorities and set a new course for the University. The message that Manoa was in for some hard times25 was confirmed symbolically when he invited her to set up a second office in Bachman Hall. The offer was doubly attractive because he gave her the suite historically occupied by the vice president for academic affairs and resettled Interim Vice President Paul Yuen in the alcove formerly assigned to the president's assistant. Meanwhile, to satisfy his own territorial imperative26 and make his presidency loom as large as possible, Mortimer abandoned the cramped quarters Simone had used for eight years and set up shop in the adjoining parlor, once a quasi-communal domain. What most obviously distinguished Kenneth Mortimer from Roy McTarnaghan and Gregory O'Brien, the two other finalists from the U.S.

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mainland, was his wife, Lorraine, who was born in Honolulu and graduated from Roosevelt High School. Mortimer took advantage of their yearly vacations in Hawaii to learn about the University and its faculty union and to serve as a consultant on collective bargaining.27 His principal contacts at UH were Harold Masumoto and Kenneth Lau.14 Mrs. Mortimer's late father, Dr. Ernest Murai, was district director of customs in the 1960s and 1970s,5 and is described by George Cooper and Gavan Daws as "one of the founders of the modern Democratic Party which controlled state government."28 In August, 1993, Mortimer and Tsunoda were joined by Dr. Kenneth L. Perrin, who had known Mortimer for many years. He became chancellor for the UH-Hilo and UH-West Oahu campuses as well as one of four senior vice presidents for the UH system.29 Ralph Horii was elevated to the position of senior vice president for system administration in September 1993, and thereafter, the Council of Senior Executives consisted of Mortimer, Tsunoda, Perrin, and Horii, with Yuen painfully lingering on as the lameduck interim senior vice president for academic affairs and interim executive vice chancellor for Manoa.25 In a press release, Mortimer said the new organization would implement key recommendations of the master plan and counter the perception that Manoa had an unfair advantage over other campuses.30 Thereafter, West Oahu with 700 students and Manoa with 20,00031 would be on a "equal footing."25 In fact, although it was never publicly announced, West Oahu, Hilo, and the community colleges would henceforth be even more equal than Manoa because Mortimer was planning a massive transfer of resources to the former from the latter. It was to expedite this reallocation process that he retained the title of Manoa chancellor.25'30 Paul Yuen wanted out as soon as the names of the finalists in the presidential search were announced. At the urging of Mortimer, he agreed to stay on until a permanent senior vice president could be found. Yuen would have been a strong candidate, but after his unsuccessful campaigns for senior vice president and later for president, he no longer had any desire to apply. On August 1, 1994, he returned to his position as dean of Engineering and was succeeded by Carol Eastman, formerly dean of the graduate school and vice provost at the University of Washington.32 One of the finalists for the job of academic vice president was Madeleine Goodman, who had served as assistant vice president since 1986, and as interim senior vice president in 1992-1993- With this background and experience, Goodman was clearly better prepared for the position than Eastman, but she had two fatal flaws. First, she was too closely associated with the previous administration, having been part of it since its inception. Second, she was known to be a strong partisan of Manoa, where she had received her doctoral degree in Genetics in 1973, and had worked for the past 25 years. Rather than use her skills to bolster yet another vice president who knew less about the Manoa campus than she, Goodman ac-

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cepted a position as dean of the College of Arts and Science at Vanderbilt University, an appointment that also began conveniently on August 1, 1994.33 Although my situation was similar to those of Yuen and Goodman in many respects, I planned to return to the faculty when my service as vice president was over and made no effort to find an alternative. Indeed, some of my colleagues were urging me to stay on, and I was willing to continue as long as I could be an effective voice for academic excellence and values. When it became obvious to Mortimer that I did not support his political agenda to build up West Oahu, Hilo, and the community colleges which I felt would be at the expense of Manoa, he asked me to resign. Mortimer's leadership style was also a factor. Where Simone was a "future executive" 34 who encouraged "loud and cheerful argument" 35 and saw himself as the captain of a "fluid team," 7 Mortimer was a seasoned bureaucrat w h o discouraged debate and preferred to work with a chain of command. And where Simone was one of the founders of the field of decision sciences 36 and learned how to manage universities by observing the chief executives of modern corporations, Mortimer was a traditional higher education specialist w h o learned about academic governance as a graduate student. 37 Exacerbating our fundamental problem was the fact that Mortimer and I did not have regular meetings. All of that stopped when he decided to conduct most of his business through his four senior executives. Thereafter, Vice President for Student Affairs Doris Ching and I had quasi reporting lines through the senior vice president for academic affairs and executive vice chancellor for Manoa.25,30 Mortimer implemented a similar reorganization on the administrative side by creating a new position of senior vice president for administration for Ralph Horii. This was accomplished by eliminating the position of vice president for administration, held vacant all these years for Harold Masumoto, and combining its functions with those of the vice president for finance and operations, Horii's old position. Henceforth, Director for Personnel Jimmy Takushi and Director for Budget Rodney Sakaguchi would report to Horii rather than to the president. 25,30 Showing little respect for Takushi's political connections, Horii relocated him to Hawaii Hall and took over the spacious Bachman Hall acc o m m o d a t i o n s that o n c e b e l o n g e d to Harold Masumoto. This act, accomplished with no dissent from other administrators, demonstrated both symbolically and in fact that Horii was now the second most powerful person in the UH administration. 25 Takushi was resurrected barely one year later when his party's gubernatorial candidate, Ben Cayetano, was elected to the state's highest office in November 1994. By appointing Takushi director of the Department of Human Resources and Development, Cayetano elevated him to the level of President Mortimer and placed him one step above Ralph Horii, who—

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in the idiom of state government—was only a "deputy director." Because Takushi had served as personnel director under Governors Burns and Ariyoshi, the political nature of his eight-year stint at UH became rather transparent.38 One consequence of Mortimer's formal training in higher education management was a life-long professional interest in such measures of academic productivity as student-faculty ratios, average class size, and cost per student credit hour. While these data would probably be of little importance to an academic leader whose background was in literature, science, or even business, they were, for Mortimer, both the essence of a real university and the tools that one needs to run it. The only person in Bachman Hall who shared Mortimer's professional orientation was Director of Planning and Policy Colleen Sathre, and she quickly gravitated to the center of his administration. Her assignment as staff to the Council of Senior Executives (CSE) gave her access to the highest level, and when Mortimer appointed her chair of the System Academic Affairs Council (SAAC), she became de facto the system academic vice president. This further undercut Manoa's senior vice president for academic affairs and made it virtually impossible for the flagship campus to exercise its leadership role. The new order was set in concrete when Sathre was given the title of vice president for planning and policy, effective January 16, 1995.39 Efforts to recruit my replacement were stalled for more than a year by yet another reorganization. In this case, Mortimer's objective was to establish a closer working relationship with the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH) by having its executive director report to the vice president for research and graduate education. In recognition of these enhanced responsibilities, my successor would be given the title of senior vice president.40 This plan was frustrated because the Hawaii Revised Statutes give the RCUH Board of Directors the legal power and authority to administer the affairs of the corporation and to appoint an executive director and such other officers as may be necessary for that purpose.41 In an effort to finesse a reorganization of RCUH without actually challenging the enabling legislation, the position announcement states that "[t]he Executive Director reports to the Board of Directors of RCUH on policy matters and reports to the President of the University through the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education on administrative matters."42 I wrote the ad, but this sentence was Mortimer's. Although none of the directors openly contested Mortimer's conclusion that UH is ultimately responsible for the actions of RCUH, most of them, including Chairman Gary Rodrigues, privately favored an independent corporation. Their true feelings were revealed when Mortimer permitted the Board of Directors to act as the search committee and when Harold Masumoto decided to apply. Mortimer had insisted all along that

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the search committee was merely advisory, but he lost control of the situation because this was a committee that was bound to pick Harold if given that opportunity, and because Harold was the one person Mortimer could not deny. Indeed, all of us serving on the RCUH Board of Directors were aware that Harold Masumoto, Kenneth Lau, and Joyce Najita were old friends of Kenneth Mortimer and that they were the ones who had nominated him for the job of UH president. Masumoto, in turn, was nominated for the job of RCUH executive director by the incumbent, Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda,43 as well as by one of the directors, Bill Yuen. With so much going for him, Masumoto was considered by informed observers at RCUH, at UH, and within the community to be a done deal. It is also true that Masumoto was superbly qualified, and the reader may wonder why there would be any objection to his appointment, regardless of who was backing him. Most especially, the reader may wonder why President Mortimer would object. The selection of Masumoto meant that RCUH would henceforth have a strong leader who, in turn, would empower the Board of Directors. Working together, a strong Board and a strong executive director could successfully resist assimilation. Mortimer's plans for RCUH would then be thwarted, and Masumoto and his allies would set the course, not only of RCUH, but also of much of the University. Though he did not like this scenario, Mortimer had to endorse Masumoto's appointment enthusiastically. He could not afford to be seen in public as being ungrateful to an old friend or as snubbing the old-boy network that brought him to Hawaii. Indeed, this was a litmus test for Mortimer that would indicate whether he was truly a part of that network or not. In backing Mortimer for the presidency, people like Harold Masumoto, who nominated him, and Gary Rodrigues, who served on the presidential search committee, obviously thought he was. Mortimer's fundamental miscalculation was that he didn't think Masumoto would want such a mundane job. Indeed, the position as Mortimer conceived it was not a job that a person of Masumoto's stature would take. One must remember, however, that Masumoto had the power and connections to ensure the independence of RCUH and, with the support of the RCUH Board, tailor the job of executive director to suit his own needs. Like Fudge Matsuda before him, Masumoto could make a good thing out of the position by using RCUH as a powerful base for other operations. On a more personal level, the Waihee administration was winding down, and Masumoto, generally considered to be the second most powerful member,44 needed another job. Because employees of RCUH are not employees of the University or the State of Hawaii, Masumoto could take advantage of the recently passed incentive early retirement,45 join a new retirement system with one-year vesting, and get a substantial increase in salary all in one stroke.

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The selection of Masumoto was, of course, unanimous. Though I privately favored another candidate, I saw no point in openly confessing my heresy and thereby undermining my boss's contention that he and the rest of the University welcomed Masumoto's candidacy from the beginning. As a matter of fact, Mortimer did not attend the Board meeting when Masumoto was formally chosen, but that was not a problem because he had previously assured Chairman Rodrigues that he was solidly behind the Board's widely anticipated decision. The implication of this action for my successor was that the senior vice president for research and graduate education would henceforth be accountable for a renegade unit over which he or she would have no control. Indeed, I found it ludicrous to imagine a person like Harold reporting to a person like myself, that is, to a person with "an earned doctorate," "a strong scholarly record," and "full professorial rank."40 I also wondered if anyone knowledgeable about this situation would have the temerity to apply. T w o consequences of Mortimer's efforts to gather all the power of his administration under a handful of senior vice presidents were that his span of control was narrowed by about one-half and another layer was added to the organization. The result was an arrangement that was increasingly bureaucratic and vertical, rather than fluid and horizontal. Mortimer obviously preferred to work with a small number of senior executives at the top of an administrative hierarchy rather than shoulder-toshoulder with a team of experts closer to the point of action. I attributed this predilection partly to Mortimer's more deliberate management style as compared to Simone, and partly to his more formal training in higher education management. A larger concern at this early stage of Mortimer's administration is that his understanding of the University and the state is still so limited and that he's taking a long time to engage. Although he avoids risks and does not like surprises, he is rapidly increasing his risk of being surprised. He is doing this by relying too heavily on his previous experience and training on the U.S. mainland and not recognizing that much of it does not apply to Hawaii; by narrowing the range of his advisors; by systematically discouraging "loud and cheerful argument";35 by "contributing to the 'culture of secrecy' that pervades the UH administration";46 by focusing so much of his attention on "raising the comfort levels" of the Board; and by ignoring the concerns of faculty, deans, and directors on his flagship campus, which represents approximately 70 percent of the enterprise he is managing. On October 18, 1995, President Mortimer emerged from his bunker in Bachman Hall long enough to address the Manoa Faculty Congress, which comprises all faculty on the flagship campus. He chose as his topic a recently completed report by the Focus on Manoa group under the leadership of Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs and Executive Vice

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Chancellor for Manoa Carol Eastman. Although the issues raised in the report were familiar—things like quality, access, mission, revenue enhancement, and Manoa as a place to be—the economic environment in which it was promulgated was arguably the worst in the history of the University.47 The crux of the matter was a $50 million cut in the budget for BI 1995-1997. 4 7 This was in addition to the series of massive cuts that began around the time Al Simone left UH in 1992. Mortimer summarized the University's predicament very succinctly in his comments to the Board of Regents on August 3, 1995: Over the last five years, the University's enrollments have swelled to 52,000 students (about 10 percent growth), while its budget has been cut by 20 percent. While the University has less than 10 percent of the state's budget, we are taking almost 20 percent of its cut. If the projected cuts for the next year are actually implemented, state support for the University will have nosedived by 30 percent, while we educate 5,000 additional students.48 To deal with this unprecedented situation, the University has recently been granted unprecedented (for UH) powers. Act l 6 l , passed by the 1995 legislature, added to the Board of Regents' traditional authority to set tuition rates the new authority to keep the money. The immediate result was an administration proposal to increase the tuition ceiling by 75 percent. 47 The prospect of an unprecedented increase in tuition was only one of the factors that motivated more than 5,000 demonstrators, including an estimated 4,000 students and 400 professors, to participate in the Death (of Education) March that was held on Halloween, October 31, 1995. The march itself took nearly two hours, as the procession—stretching nearly two miles—moved slowly down University Avenue and Beretania Street from Manoa to the State Capitol.49 Still pending at the time this manuscript went to the typesetter was the question of how the next round of budget cuts would be apportioned. When Governor Ben Cayetano addressed student, faculty, and public concerns at an open forum held at the Manoa Campus Center on November 3, 1995, he stated that no UH employees had yet been laid off and insisted that it was time for UH to make vertical cuts instead of horizontal ones. "Get rid of some (programs) and strengthen others," Cayetano recommended. 50 Now it may seem strange that after more than thirty months in office, the University's leading expert on "reduction, reallocation, and retrenchment" 10,12 still hadn't laid anyone off or eliminated any programs. 50 The point is that Mortimer is only one player among many, and he may not have the power to put his ideas onto practice. As my last illustration of this fundamental observation, I will quote Haunani-Kay Trask, head of the Hawaiian Studies Program. Like Governor

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Cayetano and others, Trask has her own ideas about how the University should be run and who should be running it. In her remarks to the participants in the Death March, she spoke out against the recent movement to abolish tuition waivers, particularly within the Hawaiian Studies Program, and stated, "Part of the education system is valuable; part of it is not. We don't need a School of Business. We don't need TIM (Travel Industry Management)." 49 While Mortimer and Trask were in agreement that Manoa has too many deans and directors, the College of Business Administration (CBA) and the School of Travel Industry Management (TIM) were not on his list. Instead, he asked Senior Vice President Eastman to bring forward recommendations for the School of Public Health, the School of Library and Information Studies, the Graduate Division, the College of Continuing Education and Community Service, and the Office of Research Administration.47 I have tried in this post-mortem to take a peek at the administration that followed Al Simone's. While it would be grossly unfair to pass judgment on Ken Mortimer while he is facing some of the most daunting problems in the history of the University, I found it interesting to examine his character and style. Perhaps he will set a new course for the University and forever change its fate. My feeling is he will not. If there is one lesson I have learned from this study, it is that there are too many players—students, faculty, staff, departments, colleges, administrators, parents, corporations, elected officials, and governmental agencies—for any one person or constituency to determine the outcome. Al Simone came as close as anyone, but already the memories of him are fading and his monuments are wasting in the sand. It is my thesis and my conclusion that no single person or constituency is running the University, nor should any single person or constituency be held accountable for the result. As Dick Takasaki pointed out more than twenty years ago, decision making at the University of Hawaii is not "a matter of consensus as in the collegial model, or a matter of direction as in the bureaucratic model, but a matter of negotiations, bargaining, and conflict resolution through a political decision making process." 51 Regardless of how it should be, that is the way it is.

References

Preface 1

2

3

Vickie S. Hotema. "Saiki to UHPA: UH needs honest leadership." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 12, 1993. Robert E. Potter, The University of Hawaii Board of Regents, 1907-1982: Its Composition and Roles Compared with Other Boards Governing Public Universities. Higher Education Policy Study, College of Education, University of Hawaii-Manoa. December 1982. Richard Takasaki, "Issues in University Governance." House of Representatives Majority Seminar on Program Issues. December 5, 1973, p. 7. (Takasaki served as chancellor of the University of Hawaii at Manoa from 1963 until 1973 )

Chapter 1 1

Management Audit of the University of Hawaii: Organization, Planning, and Personnel Management. A report to the governor and the legislature by the legislative auditor of the State of Hawaii, Report No. 81-9, Chapter 2, Background, March 1981, pp. 7-21. 2 E. Alison Kay, Charles Lamoureux, Ed Langhans, James Linn, V. Dixon Morris, Richard Seymour, Patricia Steinhoff, Judy Van Zile, Robert Stauffer (co-chairperson), and David Yount (co-chairperson). Third Academic Development Plan of the College of Arts and Sciences, Chapter 3, Governance, February 1978, pp. 16-17, 19. 3 Harry Ball, Addison Bowman, Robert Buchele, Tom Dinell (chairperson), Judith Gething, Richard Green, Robert Kane, Patricia Lee, Shelley Mark, Kazutoshi Najita, Ruth Nishimura, Robert Potter, and David Yount. Findings and Recommendations of the Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure at Manoa, February 1, 1983, pp. 7, 14. 4 An Updated Review of the Administrative Reorganization of the University of Hawaii Authorized by the Board of Regents on November 15, 1985. A report to the governor and the legislature by the legislative auditor of the State of Hawaii, Report No. 88-5, January 1988, p. 8.

Chapter 2 1

2

Mark Twain. The Innocents Abroad or New Pilgrim's Progress. The MacMillan Company, New York, 1930, Vol. II, p. 530. For a chronology u p to June 10, 1985, see Floyd K. Takeuchi and Robin Phillips. "Mackey's

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'definite' no to UH comes in spite of Island pleas." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 10, 1985, p. 1. Jay McWilliams and Leilani Corpus. "Regents upset by pay disclosure." Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 11, 1985. Tracy Loeffelholz. "Big Mac attack or second coming." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 26, 1985. Wallace Turner. "Hawaii university balked in search." Sunday New York Times, June 30, 1985". Dean Ontai. "Mackey flees sinking UH ship." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 10, 1985. Jay McWilliams. "Regents reappoint Simone to acting post." Ka Nahou Kau Wela, June 24, 1985. Jay McWilliams. "After a lengthy search, regents choose Simone." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 4, 1985. Jay McWilliams. "UHPA backs Kosaki as president." Ka Leo O Hawaii, July 22, 1985. Kani Evans and Peter F. Senecal (editors). "Wallace S. Fujiyama." Leaders of Hawaii. Senecal and Associates, Inc., Honolulu, 1983, p. 84. Gilfred Tanabe. Open communication sent by electronic mail to Manoa faculty. November 11, 1994. Paula F. Gillingham. "Simone quits." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 13, 1992. Cynthia Kaneshiro. "President says mahalo." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 13, 1992. Tim Ryan. "40 at UH receive six-figure salaries." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, July 29, 1992. Susan Hooper. "Simone says." Hawaii Business, February 1992. Ceil Sinnes. "Going to bat for the University of Hawaii." Midweek Magazine, January 8, 1986. "Sehr wohl. Und was ist es nun, was du zu geben hast? Was ist es, das du gelernt hast, das du kannst?" "Ich kann denken. Ich kann warten. Ich kann fasten." "Das ist alles?" "Ich glaube, es ist alles!" Herman Hesse. Siddhartha. The MacMillan Company, New York, 1961, p. 72. Fujio Matsuda. "He had a single failure." Honolulu Star-Bulletin AI Simone Gala Edition, August 12, 1992. Prepared by the staff of The Honolulu Advertiser. "Simone Q and A: Berkeley and Michigan are still ahead of us. . . ." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, February 6, 1991. Nancy Ellen Brown, assistant to the vice president for research and graduate education and former assistant to Chancellor Marvin Anderson. Private communication on numerous occasions. Michael Haas. "The Hawaiian ethos: What is it and how did it develop?" (Preprint received October 6, 1992.) E. K. Ching. "Simone's shortcomings." Letter to The Honolulu Advertiser, July 19, 1986. Editorial. "UH president's North Korea visit." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, September 8, 1989. Raymond W. Johnson. "Who needs warm relations with totalitarian regime?" Letter to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, September 19, 1989. Bill Ward. "UH president's trip incenses Army veteran." Letter to the Honolulu StarBulletin, September 19, 1989. A. A. Smyser. "Vietnam trip moves UH toward greater Asian role." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, March 14, 1989. Chris Oliver. "Faculty opposes renewing ties with Israel." KaLeo O Hawaii, October 23, 1991. Moheb Ghali, director of research. Private communication. January 5, 1993. Peter Rosegg. "Who's a witch? Who's a wimp?" The Honolulu Advertiser, April 27, 1990. James J. Porcelli. "Caucus slams Simone inaction." KaLeo O Hawaii, February 20, 1991. Rindraty Celes. "Students call for Simone to resign." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 30, 1990. University of Hawaii. A Strategy for Academic Quality 1985-95, July 1984.

References

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Jay McWilliams. "10-year plan applauded." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 9, 1985. Diana M. DeLuca. "Albert J. Simone: Reflections on a presidency." Malamalama, Volume 17, Number 1, Fall 1992, pp. 4-8. Jay McWilliams. "Evaluations ordered." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 11, 1985. Marvel Williamson. Quoted in "How college presidents use their time." Administrator, the Management Newsletter for Higher Education, Volume 7, Number 1, January 11, 1988. Photo caption in the Honolulu Star-Bulletin Al Simone Gala Edition, August 12, 1992, p. 4. Susan Essoyan. "The University's hard-driving CEO." Hawaii Investor, December 1987, pp. 8-9. June Watanabe. "College Hill has the Simone look." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, July 11, 1987, p. A-3. Benjamin Seto. "Simones start move to house on the hill." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 4, 1985, p. 11. Kevin Hand and Bryant Fukutomi. "Simone says." Honolulu Star-Bulletin Al Simone Gala Edition, August 12, 1992, pp. 2-3.

Chapter 3 1

Harlan Cleveland. The Future Executive. Harper & Row, New York, 1972, pp. 16-17. Harlan Cleveland was in the middle of his presidency (1969-1974) w h e n this book was published. Simone never mentioned it and was probably not aware of it. 2 The committee comprised Professors E. Alison Kay, Charles Lamoureux, Ed Langhans, James Linn, V. Dixon Morris, Richard Seymour, Patricia Steinhoff, Judy Van Zile, Robert Stauffer (co-chairperson), and David Yount (co-chairperson). Third Academic Development Plan of the College of Arts and Sciences. February 1978. 3 Management Audit of the University of Hawaii: Organization, Planning, and Personnel Management. A report to the governor and the legislature by the legislative auditor of the State of Hawaii, Report No. 81-9, March 1981. 4 Charge of the Senate Executive Committee to its Ad Hoc Committee on the Administrative Structure of the University of Hawaii at Manoa. July 22, 1982. 5 Administrative Action Plan for 1982-1983- This plan resulted from the University Executive Workshop held on September 25, 1982, and was promulgated by Regent Robert Fujimoto and President Fujio (Fudge) Matsuda on November 5, 1982. 6 My own favorite horror story had to d o with an unannounced cash count of the Department of Physics and Astronomy's $100 petty cash fund. The paper trail extended all the way u p to the Manoa chancellor and back. Thirteen employees were involved, including the chancellor, the vice chancellor for administration, the system director of finance, the director of fiscal services, a treasury officer, a disbursement officer, and myself, then department chair. During more than twelve years of continuous operation, with total expenditures exceeding $10,000, the account had never before been reviewed. The internal auditor brought this egregious omission to the world's attention in a sixpage memo with three attachments. Altogether there were four violations, the most serious of which was a $0.10 overage that, according to the Business Manual, should have been returned to the Treasury. Recalling a work by Beethoven, my wife named this story "Der Zorn iiber den verlorenen Groschen." 7 The committee comprised Professors Harry Ball, Addison Bowman, Robert Buchele, Tom Dinell (chair), Judith Gething, Robert Kane, Patricia Lee, Shelley Mark, Kazutoshi Najita, Ruth Nishimura, Robert Potter, and David Yount. Findings and Recommendations of the Faculty Senate Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure. February 1, 1983. 8 Robert M. Fujimoto, chairman of the regents' Ad Hoc Committee on Reorganization. Letter to Tom Dinell, chairperson of the Faculty Senate Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure. February 6, 1984. 9 The committee comprised Professors Tom Dinell (chairperson), Harry Ball, Addison Bowman, Judith Hughes, Robert Kane, Patricia Lee, Shelley Mark, Kazutoshi Najita, Ruth

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Nishimura, Robert Potter, and David Yount. Final Report to the Faculty Senate of the Ad Hoc Committee on Administrative Structure. May 9, 1984. Albert J. Simone. "Basic Philosophies, University-wide Foci, Principles, and Assumptions Underlying Reorganization." Draft memorandum addressed to Vice President Harold Masumoto and Acting Vice President Rex Wade. August 28, 1985. Jean Imada. Private communication. January 20, 1993. I am grateful to Jean Imada for carefully reconstructing and documenting the circumstances surrounding the preparation and uses of the August 28, 1985, draft memo. Jay McWilliams. "Bachman setup to change." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 17, 1985. Albert J. Simone. "Proposed Reorganization of the University of Hawaii." October 28, 1985. Anonymous. "Reorganization: The flowering of a university." January 28, 1986. This piece begins with the epitaph of Rainer Maria Rilke, composed by himself and inscribed on his tombstone in the churchyard at Raron: Rose, oh the pure contradiction, delight, to be no one's sleep under so many lids. (Rainer Maria Rilke. Selected Works: Volume II, Poetry. Translated by J. B. Leishman. New Directions Books, New York, I960, p. 354.) Anonymous. "Simone fills posts." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 18, 1985. Kenji Sumida had the duties of a vice president but was appointed associate vice president because the number of vice presidents had already grown from two to five and the Board was reluctant to approve any more. This differential treatment was a factor in Sumida's decision, made early in Simone's administration, to seek employment elsewhere. As vice chancellor for administration at Manoa, Sumida had earned the respect of the Manoa faculty and was considered by many to be the one person on the administrative side who understood the academic mission of the University and agreed with Simone's draft memo of August 28, 1985. Benjamin Seto. "Simone names five members to executive staff." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 20, 1985. Jay McWilliams. "Psychology professor second in command." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 11, 1985. In the agenda for the College Hill Breakfast he led on December 1, 1987, Vice President Marsella described undergraduate education as "the most critical challenge facing higher education today" and said, "The issue is transformation." Jay McWilliams. "Regents approve 19 appointees." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 29, 1986. Anthony J. Marsella. Three Year Summary Profile of Accomplishments, Initiatives, Supported Efforts and Activities: 1986-89. Internal report dated June 15, 1989. Howard P. McKaughan. "The Need for a Formally Organized Administrative Unit for Graduate Education at the University of Hawaii." White paper dated April 2, 1986. David Stroup and Gordon Pang. "UH official resigns." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 30, 1987. David Stroup. "Two Pacific plans await approval." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 30, 1987. Robert Hollis. "UH gets $1 million back; regents name new school." The Honolulu Advertiser, July 25, 1987. Joseph Davoust. "Programs 'forgotten,' Marsella says." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 9, 1989Anonymous. "Marsella resigns UH VP position." The Honolulu Advertiser, March 4, 1989. John Griffin. "Harold Masumoto: Gov. Waihee's 'point man.'" The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, April 3, 1988. David Watumull, publisher/editor. "Marsella, Dr. Anthony J." Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988, p. 132. Darren Pai. "Work on UH Hawaiian Studies building to stop." The Honolulu Advertiser, July 3, 1993. George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and Power in Hawaii: The Democratic Years. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1990. Patti Killelea-Almonte. "Vice president rates advocacy for students her first priority." Ka Nuhou Kau Wela, July 5, 1988.

References

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50

365

Anonymous. "5 women leaders honored." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, October 29, 1991. Patti Killelea-Almonte. "Doris Ching plans new center, programs for UH." Ka Leo O Hawaii, August 22, 1988. Anonymous. "UH dean to become prof at UCSB." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 21, 1993. Ann Murakami. "UH to change phone system." Ka Leo O Hawaii, December 11, 1985. James B. Young. Windows of Opportunity: Information Technology at the University of Hawaii. August 14, 1986, p. 37. This aspect of Oedipus Rex has been emphasized by Jean Cocteau in his modern retelling of the ancient legend entitled La Machine Infernal. Editions Bernard Grasset, Paris, 1934. Briggs Smith. "New university telephone system is not toll free." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 3, 1991. James Dooley. "Senator wants testimony under oath in phone probe." The Sunday StarBulletin and Advertiser, March 29, 1992. Carol Clark. "Setting a wildcat loose on campus." Midweek, May 27, 1987. David Watumull, publisher/editor. "Tsunoda, Joyce Sachiko." Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988, pp. 205-205. James Gonser. "Community college system marks 25-year anniversary." Pacific Business News. April 24, 1989. Ed Wiley III. "Dr. Joyce S. Tsunoda: 'I'm aggressive in a positive way.'" Black Issues in Higher Education. August 29, 1991. Joseph Davoust. "Community colleges not getting share?" Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 23, 1988. Malama Solomon et al. "Senate resolution requesition the Legislative Auditor to conduct a study of the University of Hawaii faculty salary and teaching load." Senate Resolution 91, Senate of the Fourteenth Legislature of the State of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1988, introduced March 22, 1988. Joyce S. Tsunoda. "Community College Faculty." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. March 29, 1988. Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. Minutes of Regular Meeting of the University of Hawaii Board of Regents. January 17, 1992, pp. 8-10. Barbara Bennett Peterson. America in British Eyes. Hawaii Chapter, Fulbright Alumni Assoc., Honolulu, 1988, p. 267. Tim Ryan. "40 at UH receive six-figure salaries." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, July 29, 1992.

Chapter 4 1

2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9

John P. Kotter. The General Managers. The Free Press, a Division of Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., New York, 1982, p. 127. Anonymous. "Reorganization: The flowering of a university." January 28, 1986. Harlan Cleveland. The Future Executive. Harper & Row, New York, 1972. I am grateful to Alex Malahoff, professor of Oceanography at the University of Hawaii, for bringing this book to my attention early in Simone's administration. Although I did not get around to reading it until after Simone left, Alex instructed me on Cleveland's ideas about horizontal tension and correctly predicted that Tony Marsella's behavior would eventually lead to his undoing. In support of this forecast, Alex provided several extraordinary examples from his own service in the federal bureaucracy. Ibid., p. 14. Ibid., p. 24. University of Hawaii. A Strategy for Academic Quality 198595- July 1984. Cleveland, p. 29. Ibid., p. 22. Ibid., p. 31.

366

10

11 12

13

14 15 16

17

18 19

20

21

22

23

24

25 26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Albert J. Simone. "Basic Philosophies, University-wide Foci, Principles, and Assumptions Underlying Reorganization." Draft memorandum addressed to Vice President Harold Masumoto and Acting Vice President Rex Wade. August 28, 1985. Jay McWilliams. "Bachman setup to change." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 17, 1985. Albert J. Simone. "Proposed Reorganization of the University of Hawaii." October 28, 1985. Michael Haas. "The Hawaiian ethos: What is it and how did it develop?" Unpublished working paper. Received October 6, 1992. Rodney Williams. "Solomon looks to the future." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 8, 1988. Stanley Kubota. "Solomon on campus." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 29, 1988. Ernest L. Boyer. High School: A Report on Secondary Education in America. Harper & Row, New York, 1983. Ernest L. Boyer. Creativity and Coherence: A Report on the Governance of the University of Hawaii. April 5, 1989. Albert J. Simone. Boyer Report: Reactions and Recommendations. August 8, 1989. Edward J. Kormondy. "Boyer Report." Memorandum addressed to Albert J. Simone. April 11, 1989. Albert J. Simone. Untitled. Memorandum addressed to the Council of Senior Executives: Interim Senior Vice President Paul Yuen, Senior Vice President/Chancellor Edward Kormondy, and Senior Vice President/Chancellor Joyce Tsunoda. December 2, 1991. Albert J. Simone. "Addition of Vice President for Research and Graduate Education to the Council of Senior Executives." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson Howard Stephenson. January 21, 1992. Edward J. Kormondy. "UH-Hilo reports: a UHH overview." Hawaii Tribune-Herald, September 9, 1987. Edward J. Kormondy. "UH-Hilo reports: the high-caliber UHH faculty." Hawaii TribuneHerald, September 23, 1987. Albert J. Simone. "Evolution of my thinking regarding UHH/HCC reorganization." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson Kenneth N. Kato. July 25, 1990. Rodney Williams. "Reorganization proposed." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 8, 1988. Anonymous. "Tribune-Herald opinion: a setback for UHH." Hawaii Tribune-Herald, March 22, 1988. Edward J. Kormondy. "New Reorganization Plan." Memorandum addressed to UH-Hilo faculty and staff. April 1, 1988. Edward J. Kormondy. "Report to the Board of Regents on Alternatives to Reorganization at the University of Hawaii at Hilo." Memorandum addressed to Albert J. Simone. May 23, 1988. Albert J. Simone. "Separation of Hawaii Community College from the University of Hawaii at Hilo." A recommendation submitted to the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii. July 19, 1990. Anonymous. "BOR approves separation of HCC from UHH." Ka Lono Hanakahi, December 1990. Edward J. Kormondy. "Chancellor's column: Onward and outward." Ka Lono Hanakahi, December 1990. Albert J. Simone. "Administrative Reorganization at the University of Hawaii-Hilo." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson Kenneth N. Kato. May 6, 1991. Edward J. Kormondy. "Administrative Organizational Changes." Memorandum addressed to the University of Hawaii at Hilo Executive Council, et al. June 4, 1993. Martha Shade. "Bill may allow Hilo to split from UH system." Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 1, 1993. Ruth Shiroma. "ASUH opposes proposed UH-Hilo separation." Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 5, 1993. Charles Chong. "Senate committee holds bill, kills plan to separate UH-Hilo." Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 17, 1993.

References

367

University of Hawaii Board of Regents. A Statewide System and Beyond: A Master Plan for the University of Hawaii. Honolulu, January 1991. (In preparing this plan, the Board was aided by its consultants, Richard H. and Mildred D. Kosaki.) 38 Jay McWilliams. "Psychology professor second in command." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 11, 1985. 39 George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and Power in Hawaii: The Democratic Years. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1990, p. 401. 40 John Griffin. "Harold Masumoto: Gov. Waihee's 'point man.'" The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, April 3, 1988. 41 Anonymous. "Marsella resigns UH VP position." The Honolulu Advertiser, March 4, 198942 Joseph Davoust. "Marsella resigning from post June 30." Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 6, 1989. 43 Ann Auman. "University of Hawaii dean named international dean of the year." Press release from the College of Business Administration, University of Hawaii at Manoa. October 20, 1988. 44 Jahan Byrne. "Yuen replaces VP Marsella: Engineering dean moves up." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 7, 1989. 45 Jahan Byrne. "Yuen replaces VP Marsella: An analysis of the no. 2 post." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 7, 1989. 46 Office of University Relations. "Finalists for UH Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs Announced." University of Hawaii News Release. September 6, 1991. 47 Albert J. Simone (Madeleine J. Goodman, executive editor). "Building Alliances for Hawaii in the Pacific." A report submitted to the Board of Regents. February 1990. 48 The University of Hawaii Manoa Campus (Madeleine J. Goodman, steering committee chair). A View of Manoa: Self Study Report for the Western Association of Schools and Colleges. August 1990. 49 University of Hawaii at Manoa. "Academic Development Plan IV 1991-1997." Approved by the Board of Regents. April 19, 1991. 50 Kani Evans and Peter F. Senecal (editors). Leaders of Hawaii. Senecal and Associates, Inc., Honolulu, 1983. 51 David Watumull, publisher/editor. Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988. 52 Vickie Ong. "Yuen gets Simone job in interim." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 23, 1992. 53 Office of University Relations. "UH Appoints Interim VP for Academic Affairs." University of Hawaii News Release. July 17, 1992. 54 Justin Chin. "Search for academic affairs VP stalled." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 6, 1990. 55 Justin Chin. "Takai urges Simone to speed search for academic affairs VP." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 23, 1990. 56 Anonymous editorial. "Vice President search is overdue." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 21, 1990. 57 Office of University Relations. "UH Begins National Search for Vice President for Academic Affairs." University of Hawaii News Release. March 20, 1991. 58 Office of University Relations. "Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs." Position Vacancies: a supplement to the University Bulletin, April 1, 1991. 59 KaLeo Staff. "Group to quiz 4 finalists for top VP post." KaLeo OHawaii, September 10, 1991. 60 Ka Leo Staff. "Vice presidency narrowed to two." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 25, 1991. 61 Jahan Byrne. "Choice will reflect Simone's priorities." KaLeo O Hawaii, November 21, 1991. 62 Susan Miller. "McCubbin offered VP position." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 22, 1991. 63 Cynthia Kaneshiro. "University makes McCubbin an offer." Ka Leo O Hawaii, December 10, 1991. 64 KaLeo Staff. "Regents OK McCubbin appointment." KaLeo O Hawaii, January 15, 1992. 65 Albert J. Simone. "Faculty appointments and tenure for Hamilton and Marilyn McCubbin." 37

368

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson H. Howard Stephenson. June 1, 1992. 66 Associated Press. "McCubbin says no to UH post." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 27, 1992. 67 Office of University Relations. "McCubbin to Remain at Wisconsin." University of Hawaii News Release. May 27, 1992. ® Esme M. Infante. "McCubbin's 'no' surprises UH." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 28, 1992. ® Esme M. Infante. "McCubbin says UH broke promises." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 29, 1992. 70 Tim Ryan. "McCubbin blames UH tenure process." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, May 30, 1992. 71 Anonymous. "McCubbin resigns to avoid BOR-Simone war." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 1, 1992. 72 Esme M. Infante. "McCubbin absolves Simone, Regents." Honolulu Advertiser, May 30, 1992. 73 Paula F. Gillingham. "Simone quits." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 13, 1992. 74 Cynthia Kaneshiro. "President says mahalo." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 13, 1992. 75 Steve Miller. "Manoa faculty worried about proposed chancellor change; McCubbin's vice president position tenuous." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 30, 1992. 76 Vickie Ong. "Yuen gets Simone job in interim." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 23, 1992. 77 Anonymous editorial. "No McCubbin: Deja vu." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 1, 1992. 78 Albert J. Simone. "Establishing a School of Pacific, Asian, and Hawaiian Studies at UHM." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson Gladys Brandt. June 1, 1987. 79 University of Hawaii. A Strategy for Academic Quality 1985-95, July 1984. 80 David Stroup. "Two Pacific plans await approval." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 30, 1987. 81 Anthony J. Marsella. "Three Year Summary Profile of Accomplishments, Initiatives, Supported Efforts, and Activities: 1986-89." Internal report dated June 15, 1989. 82 The Council of the Center for Asian and Pacific Studies (CAPS) comprised David Chappell, Gene Kassebaum, Benjamin Kerkvliet, Robert Kiste, Daniel Kwok, Albert Moscotti, Donald Rubinstein (chair), Wilhelm Solheim, Patricia Steinhoff, John Stephan, and Dae-Sook Suh. A Proposal for a School of Pacific, Asian, and Hawaiian Studies. June 1987. 83 Robert Hollis. "UH gets $1 million back; regents name new school." The Honolulu Advertiser, July 25, 1987. 84 Roland J. Fuchs. International Studies and Programs at the University of Hawaii 19851987. November 1987. 85 Roland J. Fuchs. International Education at the University of Hawaii: A Strategic Plan. November 1987. 86 Albert J. Simone. "Preliminary Report on the Governor's Congress on Hawaii's International Role." Testimony presented before the House Committee on Intergovernmental Relations and International Affairs. January 24, 198987 A. A. Smyser. Hawaii's Future in the Pacific: Disaster, Backwater, or Future State? March 15, 1988. 88 School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies. Annual Report of the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies 1987-1988. December 1988. 89 Brian E. McKnight. "SHAPS Deanship." Memorandum addressed to President A1 Simone. February 2, 1989. 90 Anonymous. "New Marine Council created." University Bulletin, May 20, 1985. 91 Lorenz Magaard, chairman, Marine Council. "Minutes of the eighth meeting, April 23, 1986." April 30, 1986. 92 The University of Hawaii Marine Council. A Prospectus for a School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology. September 1987. 93 Brian Taylor (editor). SOEST 1991-92 Report. Tongg Publishing, Honolulu, April 1993.

Chapter 5 1

State Constitution, Article X, Section 6: Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1980 Supplement. Section 26-11.

References

369

Robert E. Potter. The University of Hawaii Board of Regents, 1907-1982: Its Composition and Roles Compared with other Boards Governing Public Universities. Higher Education Policy Study, College of Education, University of Hawaii-Manoa. December 1982. 3 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 4 (State Organization and Administration, Generally), Chapter 26 (Executive and Administrative Departments), Section 26-11 (University of Hawaii). 4 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. "University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies." Revised July 30, 1993. See especially Chapter 1 (General Provisions), pp. 1-1 through 1-7. 5 Potter, p. 8. 6 Management Audit of the University of Hawaii: Organization, Planning, and Personnel Management. A report to the governor and the legislature by the legislative auditor of the State of Hawaii, Report No. 81-9, March 1981, p. 57. (This list of governing board responsibilities is cited and quoted by Potter, p. 15.) 7 Potter, p. 5. 8 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 8 (Public Proceedings and Records), Chapter 92 (Public Agency Meetings and Records), Sections 92-1 through 92-7. ? Anonymous editorial. "Regent's meetings are ineffective." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 29, 1990. 10 Allegra Goodman. "Mosquitoes." The New Yorker, August 9, 1993. 11 Gary Taubes. Nobel Dreams: Power, Deceit, and the Ultimate Experiment. Random House, New York, 1986. 12 Michael D. Lemonick. "How to win a Nobel Prize." Time, February 9, 1987. 13 Pamela S. Zuer. "Scientific whistleblower vindicated." Chemical and Engineering News, April 8, 1991. 14 David L. Wheeler. "U.S. Attorney will not seek indictment of researcher accused in 'Baltimore Case."' The Chronicle of Higher Education, July 22, 1992. 15 Randy Shilts. And the Band Played On: Politics, People, and the AIDS Epidemic. St. Martin's Press, New York, 1987. 16 John Crewdson (Chicago Tribune). "AIDS research fraud reported." The Honolulu Advertiser, August 12, 1991. 17 Scott Ishikawa. "Legacy of Duke Kahanamoku." Ka Leo O Hawaii, August 27, 1990. 18 University of Hawaii Office of Institutional Research. "Facts." December 1992. 19 Stu Glauberman. '"Minorities rule' still holding true in Isles." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 14, 1991. 20 Ryan Ozawa. "Faculty diversity contrary to student numbers." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 29, 1993. The data for Manoa graduates are for 1989-1990, while the data for Manoa tenured and tenurable faculty are for Fall 199121 Anonymous. "Most Asian American ethnic groups out-earn whites." The Sunday StarBulletin and Advertiser, July 17, 1988. 22 Potter, p. 2. 23 Ibid., p. 9. 24 Vickie S. Hotema. "Saiki to UHPA: UH needs honest leadership." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 12, 1993. 25 GTE Hawaiian Tel. Telephone Directory of Elective Officials: State of Hawaii 1993- January 1993. To obtain the ethnic percentages shown for the legislature in Table 5 3, I reviewed and grouped the names given for senate and house members in this reference. I estimate that the uncertainty of this procedure is about one member or one percentage point for each ethnic group. 26 Gerry Keir. "The story is much different in Hawaii." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, December 6, 1992. For all of Hawaii's state and federal elected officials, Keir estimates that 27 percent are Caucasian, 42 percent are Japanese, 8 percent are Chinese, 14 percent are Hawaiian/part-Hawaiian, and 7 percent are Filipino. These numbers are similar to those given for the legislature in Table 5.3. 2

370

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

The WASC visiting team comprised Donald L. Garrity (chair), Daniel J. Julius, Gerald Scherba, and Joseph Kraut. Team Report: University of Hawaii at Manoa. June 24, 1985. 28 The WASC interim team comprised Kay J. Andersen (executive director of WASC), Harold Enerson, and William B. Baker. Interim Team Report: University of Hawaii at Manoa. May 29, 1986. 29 The University of Hawaii Manoa Campus (Madeleine J. Goodman, steering committee chair). "Standard 3: Governance and Administration." A View of Manoa: Self Study Report for the Western Association of Schools and Colleges. August 1990. pp. 39-62. 30 Ibid., pp. 44-45. 31 John Waihee. "Suspension of the Provisions of Act 370, SLH 1989, for Fiscal Year 1993." Memorandum addressed to Acting President Paul Yuen. November 27, 1992. 32 John Waihee. "Executive Memorandum Number 92-14: Supplement to Executive Memo No. 92-09, 'Fiscal Year 1993 Budget Execution Policies and Instructions.'" Executive memorandum addressed to all department heads. November 27, 1992. 33 John Waihee. "Suspension of the Provisions of Act 370, SLH 1989, for FY 1993." Memorandum addressed to Interim University of Hawaii President and Interim Manoa Chancellor Paul Yuen. December 29, 1992. 34 Harlan Cleveland. The Future Executive. Harper & Row, New York, 1972, p. 24. 35 Potter, pp. 152-155. 36 John Griffin. "Harold Masumoto: Gov. Waihee's 'point man.'" The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, April 3, 1988. 37 Beverly Creamer. "Julia Frohlich: Pivate person in public posts." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, February 17, 1985. 38 Anonymous. "Board of Regents on parade." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 30, 1985. 39 Robert Hollis. "UH gets $1 million back; regents name new school." The Honolulu Advertiser, July 25, 1987. 40 Ed Cassidy and Janice Otaguro. "Kupuna and Punahele." Honolulu Magazine, August 1993. 41 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Resolution—Gladys A. Brandt." Board of Regents Minutes. June 16, 1989. 42 Donne Dawson. "Regent aims at perfection." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, June 13, 1989. 43 Anonymous. "Three at the top: Hawaii's women mentors." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, July 22, 1990. 44 Brett Lomont. "New BOR members to be approved." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 24, 198945 David Watumull, publisher/editor. Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988, p. 29. 46 Kenneth Nabuo Kato. Neuroendocrine Regulation of Salt and Water Balance in the Gropsid Crab Metopograpsus messor (Forskal). A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Division of the University of Hawaii in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in zoology, June 1968. The chair of the dissertation committee was Fred I. Kanemoto. 47 Joyce Nishimura Tsunoda. The Study of the Active Center of Chymopapain. (Chymopapain is a sulfhydryl enzyme found in fresh papaya.) A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Division of the University of Hawaii in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in biochemistry, January 1966. The chair of the dissertation committee was Kerry T. Yasunobu. 48 June Watanabe. "Ariyoshi chooses 3 as Regent nominees." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, April 9, 1982. 49 June Watanabe. "Regent chides faculty senate in flap on honorary degrees." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, May 15, 1985. 50 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Resolution—Kenneth N. Kato." Board of Regents Minutes. June 21, 1991. 51 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. A Statewide System and Beyond: A Master Plan for the University of Hawaii. Honolulu, January 1991. (In preparing this plan, the Board was aided by its consultants, Richard H. and Mildred D. Kosaki.) 27

References

371

52

Watumull, p. 25. Anonymous editorial. "Ethics: Many investigations at hand." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, December 22, 1991. 54 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Resolution—Robin K. Campaniano." Board of Regents Minutes. June 19, 1992. 55 George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and Power in Hawaii: The Democratic Years. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1990. 56 Ibid., p. 73. 57 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Resolution—Dennis R. Yamada." Board of Regents Minutes. June 18, 1993. 58 Watumull, p. 207. 55 James J. Pfister (president). Who's Who in America. Marquis Who's Who, Wilmette, Illinois, 1988, p. 3149. 60 Cooper and Daws, p. 43. The word nisei in this quotation refers to the first generation of Japanese ancestry born in the U.S. and thus American citizens. 61 Daniel S. Davis. Behind Barbed Wire: The Imprisonment of Japanese Americans During World War II. E.P. Dutton, New York, 1982. 62 Ibid., pp. 98-112. 0 John T. Ushijima, member, BOR. Personal communication to author dated January 24, 1989. 64 John T. Ushijima, member, BOR. Personal communication to author dated February 6, 1989. 65 David Yount. A Summary of Events Resulting in the Replacement of the Arboretum Director. January 30, 1989. 66 David Yount. "Lyon Arboretum." Cover memorandum for the previous reference. Addressed to President Albert J. Simone. January 30, 1989. 67 Tatsuki Shiramizu. "Dr. Yoneo Sagawa." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. March 2, 1989. 68 Albert J. Simone. "Dr. Yoneo Sagawa." Memorandum addressed to Secretary of the Board of Regents Tatsuki (Pepper) Shiramizu. March 14, 1989. ® Hency Yuen. "New regents profiled." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 4, 1987. 70 Cooper and Daws, p. 31. 71 Ibid., p. 99. 72 C. Wright Mills. The Power Elite. Oxford University Press, New York, 1959. 73 Greg Young. "Faculty discontent over regent housing proposal." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 24, 1992. 74 Alexander Korda (producer). The Thief of Bagdad. Alexander Korda Films, Inc., Los Angeles, 1940. 75 Watumull, pp. 194-195. 76 Pfister, p. 2972. 77 Kit Smith. "Executives' pay rises, falls with firms' profits." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, May 2, 1993. 78 Aloha Council, Boy Scouts of America. "H. Howard Stephenson: Hawaii's Distinguished Citizen 1994." Program for the award ceremony and dinner held on July 21, 1994. 79 Cooper and Daws, p. 7.

53

Chapter 6 1

2

3

John Waihee. "General Budget Execution Guidelines and Policies for FY 1988." Memorandum number 87-8 addressed to all department heads. June 29, 1987. Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 5 (State Financial Administration), Chapter 37 (Budget), Part V (General Fund Expenditure Ceiling). Rodney Sakaguchi. "Definition of Current Service when Preparing Budget Requests." Memorandum addressed to members of the University Executive Council and to Manoa deans and directors. March 15, 1988.

372

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Ralph Horii. "Capitalization Policy Guidelines." Business Affairs Circular No. 786 addressed to University administrators and chancellors. April 15, 19915 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. "Biennial Budget (Operating and Capital Improvements)." "University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies." Revised July 30, 1993. Chapter 8, Section 3, pp. 8-3 through 8-7. 6 University of Hawaii. A Strategy for Academic Quality 1985-95. July 1984. 7 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. A Statewide System and Beyond: A Master Plan for the University of Hawaii. Honolulu, January 1991. (In preparing this plan, the Board was aided by its consultants, Richard H. and Mildred D. Kosaki.) 8 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 5 (State Financial Administration), Chapter 37 (Budget), Section 37-62 (Definitions). 9 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-7 (Gifts). 10 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and Training Revolving Fund). 11 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 307 (Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii), Section 307-7 (Special Fund). 12 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-4 (Powers of regents; official name). 13 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8 (Appropriations; accounts; reports). 14 Anonymous. "Reorganization: The flowering of a university." January 28, 1986. 15 For a chronology up to June 10, 1985, see Floyd K. Takeuchi and Robin Phillips. "Mackey's 'definite' no to UH comes in spite of Island pleas." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 10, 1985, p. 1. 16 Susan Hooper. "Simone says." Hawaii Business, February 1992. 17 University of Hawaii Office of Planning and Policy. Acting as a System. Proceedings of the University of Hawaii Master Plan Conference held on October 11, 1991. 18 Albert J. Simone. "Building a Statewide System and Beyond: Preliminary Comments on Master Plan Recommendations." Memorandum addressed to the Council of Senior Executives and the University Executive Council. November 23, 1990. 19 Stu Glauberman. "Simone seeking new post? Reportedly in running to head Colorado University." The Honolulu Advertiser, March 20, 199120 Don Chapman. "Kenneth Mortimer: The new guy on campus." Midweek Magazine, July 7, 1993. 21 Albert Simone. "Budget Request for BI 1987-89 " Memorandum addressed to The Honorable John D. Waihee, governor, State of Hawaii. December 22, 1986. 22 Office of the Director for Budget at the University of Hawaii. "General Fund Appropriations, Including Collective Bargaining, FY 1981-82 to 1992-93." January 3, 1991. 23 Albert J. Simone. "Overview." Testimony presented before the House Committee on Finance, Hawaii State Legislature, January 8, 1991. 24 Gerry Keir. "Poll shows Heftel leads Anderson." The Honolulu Advertiser, September 17, 4

1986. 25

These data were compiled by the office of the director for budget at the University of Hawaii. Most were presented by Interim President Paul Yuen in testimony given before the Senate Committee on Ways and Means, Hawaii State Legislature, on January 12, 1993. The UH allocation for FY 1993-1994 was obtained from testimony presented by President Kenneth P. Mortimer to the Senate Committee on Ways and Means, January 11, 1994. The 0.6 percent increase shown for FY 1984-1985 is an estimate I made by comparing the University's general fund appropriations for FY 1983-1984 and FY 1984-1985 as given in Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Sessions of 1983 and 1984, and the respective General Appropriations Acts for those years. Although my estimate is probably not very accurate, I am satisfied that the increase was quite small in FY 1984-1985, as is usually the case in the second year of a biennium.

References

26

27

28 29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

373

I compiled these data from Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Sessions of 1983 through 1993, and the respective General Appropriations Acts for those years. As noted in the text, allocations are often less than appropriations. Dennis Nishino, UH budget specialist, informs me that prior to FY 1985-1986, repairs and maintenance and equipment were treated as emergencies and handled on an ad hoc basis. This explains why they do not appear in the General Appropriations Acts for FY 1983-1984 and FY 1984-1985 and also why the entries for these fiscal years are zero in Table 6.2. Ralph T. Horii, Jr. "Supplemental CIP Budget." Memorandum addressed to President Simone, Secretary of the Board Tatsuki Shiramizu, and the University Executive Council. May 1, 1990. University of Hawaii Office of Institutional Research. "Facts." December 1992. June Watanabe. "They're indispensable and cheap, but that may soon change for graduate assistants at UH." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, September 16, 1987. Office of the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education. "BOR approves GA stipend increase." Research Report, November 9, 1987. (The Research Report appears as an insert in the University Bulletin of the same date.) Private communication. These data were compiled by the Graduate Division, University of Hawaii at Manoa, Fall 1986. Michael Haas. Institutional Racism: The Case of Hawaii. Praeger, Westport, Connecticut, 1992. (See especially Chapter 6, which deals specifically with institutional racism at the University of Hawaii.) Walter R. Steiger, chairman, Task Force to Study GA Stipends. Untitled memorandum addressed to David E. Yount, vice president for research and graduate education. May 19, 1987. "Summer Session." 1993-95 General and Graduate Information Catalog. University of Hawaii at Manoa, Honolulu, 1993, pp. 262-263. See, for example, HRS Chapter 36, Section 27 (transfers from special funds for central service expenses), HRS Chapter 36, Section 30 (special fund reimbursements for departmental administrative expenses), Chapter 304, Section 4 (powers of regents; official name), and Chapter 304, Section 14.5 (educational assistance for senior citizens). Albert J. Simone. "Amendment to the UH Summer Session Tuition Schedule, Summer 1992 through Summer 1995." Memorandum addressed to H. Howard Stephenson, chairman, Board of Regents. August 29, 1991Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1993- Act 289 (General Appropriations Act of 1993), p. 632. Walter Wright. "Another repair delay leaves aquarium cash flow at sea." The Honolulu Advertiser, December 17, 1993. George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and Power in Hawaii: The Democratic Years. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1990. Colleen Cordes. "Lower Overhead Costs." The Chronicle of Higher Education, December 8, 1993. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1974. Act 189 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Higher Education). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), p. 401. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1979. Act 109 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Additional Support to the University of Hawaii from Extramural Funds). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), p. 258. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1981. Act 58 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the University of Hawaii). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), pp. 87-88. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1984. Act 283 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the University of Hawaii Research and Training Revolving Fund). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), pp. 669-670. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1986. Act 322 (A Bill for an Act Relating to

374

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

the University of Hawaii Research and Training Revolving Fund). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), pp. 678-679. 46 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Gifts, Grants, and Contracts." Board of Regents Minutes, July 16, 1993. 47 Representative Jim Shon (Democratic member of the House Committee on Higher Education). "How to stifle a university." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, June 10, 1985. 48 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1991. Act 297 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Higher Education). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund, Section 304-8.92 (Discoveries and inventions revolving fund), and Section 304- (a new section to be titled: University of Hawaii housing assistance revolving fund), pp. 896-898. 49 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1988. Act 40 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the University of Hawaii). Chapter 304- (a new section to be titled: Discoveries and inventions revolving fund), pp. 66-67. 50 David Watumull, publisher/editor. Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988. p. 93. 51 Greg Young. "Faculty discontent over regent housing proposal." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 24, 1992. 52 C. Barry Raleigh. "Research Training and Revolving Funds." Memorandum addressed to Dr. David Yount, vice president for research and graduate education. May 4, 1992. 53 David Yount. "Research and Training Revolving Funds." Memorandum addressed to Barry Raleigh, dean, School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology. May 8, 1992. 54 Moheb Ghali. "Return of Indirect Cost." Memorandum addressed to Dean of SOEST Barry Raleigh. October 27, 1992. 55 Interim President Yuen. "FY 1993 Allocation to the Research and Training Revolving Fund." Memorandum addressed to Vice President Yount. July 31, 1992. 56 David Yount. "The Research and Training Revolving Fund." Memorandum addressed to Interim President Paul C. Yuen. February 12, 199357 Kenneth P. Mortimer. Quoted by the office of the vice president for university relations. "UH administrative reorganization proposed." University of Hawaii News Release. September 16, 1993. 58 Ernest L. Boyer. Creativity and Coherence: A Report on the Governance of the University of Hawaii. April 5, 1989. 59 Kenneth P. Mortimer. Quoted by Paula Gillingham. "Administrative shuffle approved; $29 million gifts, grants accepted." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 20, 1993. 60 Office of Planning and Policy, University of Hawaii. History and Future Evolution of University of Hawaii-West Oahu. September 1993. 61 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. A Statewide System and Beyond: A Master Plan for the University of Hawaii. Honolulu, January 1991. p. 31. 62 Robert Ardrey. The Territorial Imperative: A Personal Inquiry into the Animal Origins of Property and Nations. Antheneum, New York, 1966. 63 Stephen S. Weiner, executive director, Western Association of Schools and Colleges. Letter addressed to Edward J. Kormondy, chancellor, University of Hawaii-West Oahu. July 7, 1992. 64 Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "Site selected for University of Hawaii-West Oahu campus." University of Hawaii News Release. December 19, 1993. 65 William Kresnak. "State taps Kapolei land for UH-West." The Honolulu Advertiser, March 4, 1994.

Chapter 7 Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. "Leading Research Universities." Chronicle of Higher Education Almanac, September 5, 1990. 2 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Gifts, Grants, and Contracts." Board of Regents Minutes. July 16, 1993. 1

References

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Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-42 (Geophysics institute; director and staff). 4 "Research, Service, and Instructional Support Units." 1993-95 General and Graduate Information Catalog. University of Hawaii at Manoa, Honolulu, 1993- pp. 73-76. 5 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. "University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies." Revised July 30, 1993- Chapter 5 (Academic Affairs), Section 3 (Research), Part h (Establishment and Review of Organized Research Units), pp. 5-14 through 5-15. 6 Office of the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education. "1993 Annual Update of Organizational Charts and Functional Statements." June 30, 1993. 7 Rudolf B. Schmerl. "Inventory of UH Centers, Institutes, and Other Research Units." January, 1990. 8 Office of Research Administration. "1993 Annual Update of Organizational Charts and Functional Statements." June 30, 19939 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and Training Revolving Fund). 10 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1986. Act 322 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the University of Hawaii Research and Training Revolving Fund). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), pp. 678-679. 11 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1974. Act 189 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Higher Education). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.1 (Research and training revolving fund), p. 401. 12 Albert J. Simone. "Proposed Reorganization of the University of Hawaii." October 28, 1985. (The proposed reorganization was approved by the Board of Regents on November 15, 1985.) 13 University of Hawaii Research Advisory Council. "Statement [on Reorganization]." September 13, 1985. 14 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 307 (Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii). 15 Ted Gaebler. "Why Reinvent Government?" Governor's Turn-of-the-Year VII Conference, held at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, August 5-6, 1993. See also Ted Gaebler and David Osborne. Reinventing Government: How the Entrepreneurial Spirit Is Transforming the Public Sector. Addison and Wesley, Reading, Massachusetts, 1992. 16 "Internal Agreement by and between the University of Hawaii and the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii." Article I (Appropriate Undertakings and Services to be Provided the University by the Corporation). The Internal Agreement was signed by then UH President Fujio Matsuda on behalf of the University and by then RCUH Executive Director Richard K. C. Lee on behalf of the Research Corporation. It went into effect June 12, 1973. Dr. Matsuda was executive director of RCUH from 1984 until 1994; thus he occupied this post throughout the Simone administration. 17 The data in Tables 7.1 and 7.2 were compiled by the Office of Research Administration (ORA) at the University of Hawaii, circa 1982-1994. Some of them appear in the "RCUH Task Force Report" (following reference). 18 The RCUH Task Force was comprised of Allan Ah San (director, campus operations for Manoa), Madeleine Goodman (chair and assistant vice president for academic affairs), Charles Helsley (director, Hawaii Institute of Geophysics at Manoa), Larry Ishimi (deputy director, state Department of Personnel Services), Russell Okata (executive director, Hawaii Government Employees Association), James Takushi (personnel director for UH), and David Yount (vice president for research and graduate education for UH). "RCUH Task Force Report." November 18, 1992. 19 My outline of the salient features of Tables 7.1 and 7.2 parallels that given in the "RCUH Task Force Report" (previous reference). 20 George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and Power in Hawaii: The Democratic Years. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1990. 21 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 7 (Public Officers and Employees), 3

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28 29

30

31

32 33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Chapter 89 (Collective Bargaining and Public Employment). See especially Sections 894 (Payroll deductions) and 89-6 (Appropriate bargaining units). Joyce M. Najita, Director, Industrial Relations Center, University of Hawaii. Private communication. May 4, 1994. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1992. Act 300 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the State Budget), Section 106.18. p. 823. George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Ibid., p. 173. Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Awarding of Honorary Degrees." Board of Regents Minutes. December 18, 1992. Albert J. Simone. "Consistency of RCUH Personnel Actions (as Initiated by UH) with University of Hawaii Policy." Charge to the RCUH Task Force. March 27, 1992. (The members of the RCUH Task Force are named in reference 18.) Albert J. Simone. "Basic Philosophies, University-wide Foci, Principles, and Assumptions Underlying Reorganization." Draft memorandum addressed to Vice President Harold Masumoto and Acting Vice President Rex Wade. August 28, 1985. Harlan Cleveland. The Future Executive. Harper & Row, New York, 1972. KPMG Peat Marwick. "University of Hawaii and Research Corporation Grants and Contracts Management Review." Report draft, August, 1992. (See especially the Executive Summary, pp. 1-24.) Christian L. Gulbrandsen, Dean of the John A. Burns School of Medicine. Confidential memorandum to the file. October 26, 1988. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1989. Act 192 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the Uniform Information Practices Act), Chapter 92 (Public Agency Meetings and Records), Section 92F-15-5 (Alternative method to appeal a denial of access), Section 92F-27.5 (Alternative method to appeal a denial of access), Section 92F-18 (Agency implementation), Section 92F-25 (Correction and amendment; review procedures), Section 92F-26 (Rules), and Section 92F-42 (Powers and duties of the office of information practices), pp. 366-370. Editorial. "Crown jewels at risk." The New York Times, February 9, 1992. J. P. Malony, branch manager, Honolulu Branch Office, Western Region, Defense Contract Audit Agency. "Meeting with University of Hawaii (UH) and Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH) on 5 April 1991" Memorandum for the Record. April 8, 1991. David Yount. "Meeting with John Malony." Confidential memorandum addressed to Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii. April 22, 1991. J. P. Malony, branch manager, Honolulu Branch Office, Western Region, Defense Contract Audit Agency. "Inadequate Cost Accounting System—University of Hawaii." Memorandum addressed to a distribution list with twenty-six entries that included virtually all of the University's federal sponsors. August 30, 1991. Alexander Malahoff. "News stories exposed move to halt university research." Letter to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, October 2, 1991. Karen Grassmuck. "What happened at Stanford: Key mistakes at crucial times in a battle with the government over research costs." The Chronicle of Higher Education, May 15, 1991. Colleen Cordes. "Lower overhead costs." The Chronicle of Higher Education, December 8, 1993. Colleen Cordes. "Settlement for Stanford." The Chronicle of Higher Education, October 26, 1994. John D. Dingell, chairman, Subcommittee on Oversight and Investigations. "Rectifying how tax dollars are spent." Letter to The New York Times, February 17, 1992. Ralph T. Horii, Jr. "Audit of the National Undersea Research Center (HURL) by the Department of Commerce Inspector General's Office." Confidential memorandum addressed to President Mortimer. February 22, 1994. Editorial. "Simone set UH standard for high energy, devotion." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, August 12, 1992.

References

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46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

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David Yount. "Additional Support for URC, RRC, and PDF Programs." Memorandum addressed to Director of Research Moheb Ghali and Director of Research Relations Rudy Schmerl. October 1, 1992. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1993. Act 289 (A Bill for and Act Relating to the State Budget). Section 91. p. 577. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1993- Act 289 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the State Budget). Section 92. p. 577. Ralph Horii, Jr. "Indirect Cost Waivers and Reductions." Memorandum addressed to Senior Vice President and Chancellor Edward J. Kormondy, Senior Vice President and Chancellor Joyce S. Tsunoda, Deans, and Directors. October 5, 1992. Wolfgang K. H. Panofsky. "The SSC's end: What happened? And what now?" Letter to Physics Today, March, 1994. Benjamin Schönberger. "Campus projects receiving 'earmarks.'" The Chronicle of Higher Education, February 27, 1991. Colleen Cordes. "Washington lobbyists continue to sign up university clients, capitalizing on academe's demand for political expertise." The Chronicle of Higher Education, October 9, 1991. Albert J. Simone. "Peer versus Pork." Memorandum addressed to Vince Peterson, Professor of Physics. July 16, 1986. (Needless to say, I drafted this memo. Because Vince Peterson was the person who recruited me to do high-energy physics at UH in 1969, the memo went from my new boss to a former boss.) George P. Woollard. "Historical Review of the Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG)." Hawaii Institute of Geophysics Biennial Report 1973-75. July, 1975. David Yount. "Washington Representation and Federal Funding for Holmes/HIG Building." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. March 20, 1987. Charles E. Helsley. "Legislative Consultant (Lobbyist) for Holmes/HIG Building." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. July 10, 1986. David Yount. "Decision to Acquire Services of Lobbyist for Holmes/HIG Building." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. August 11, 1986. University of Hawaii Board of Regents. "University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies." Revised July 30, 1993. Chapter 8 (Business and Finance), Section 8-1 (Contracts and Official Documents), Part c (Consultant Contracts), p. 8-1. David Stroup. "Lobbying attempt provokes debate." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 19, 1986.

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Vincent M. Versage, Cassidy and Associates, Inc. "Congressional Approval of First Phase Federal Funding for Ocean Engineering Facility/Report on Cassidy and Associates Activities." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. January 15, 1988. Albert J. Simone. "Pacific Ocean Science and Technology, University of Hawaii at Manoa, DAGS Job No. 12-31-2036." Four letters on this topic were addressed, respectively, to David Y. Ige, chairman of the House Committee on Higher Education and the Arts; Mike McCartney, chairman of the Senate Committee on Education; Joseph M. Souki, chairman of the House Committee on Finance; and Mamoru Yamasai, chairman of the Senate Committee on Ways and Means. March 20, 1991. Warren Price, III, attorney general. "Appropriation for the Pacific Ocean Science and Technology Center (POST)." Letter addressed to President Albert Simone, University of Hawaii. Attached to Price's letter was the original opinion rendered by Deputy Attorney General Charleen M. Aina in a letter addressed to Russel Nagata, Comptroller, State of Hawaii, on the same subject and date. April 23, 1991. Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1991. Act 296 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the State Budget), Section 165 (Capital Improvement Projects Authorized), p. 847. David Yount. "Advanced Federal Funding for POST." Memorandum addressed to Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph Horii. (Attached to this memorandum was the infamous SF 424. I sent it to Ralph Horii because, as the person responsible for all the University's capital improvement projects, he was named as the principal investigator on the federal grant.) April 7, 1988.

378

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Ralph T. Horii, Jr. Untitled cover letter for SF 424. Addressed to Cheryl Deister, Defense Logistics Agency, Defense National Stockpile Center. October 5, 1990. Cheryl A. Deister, grants award officer, Defense Logistics Agency, Defense National Stockpile Center. Untitled letter addressed to Marie Blanco, legislative assistant to Senator Daniel K. Inouye. March 10, 1992. Russel S. Nagata, Comptroller, State of Hawaii. "Notice to Contractors." (Request for sealed bids for the POST building.) April 30, 1992. Cheryl A. Deister, grants award officer, Defense Logistics Agency, Defense National Stockpile Center. Untitled letter addressed to Vice President for Finance and Operations Ralph T. Horii, Jr., University of Hawaii. June 9, 1992. Ibid. Donica Croot. "New ocean science building a little short." Ka Leo O Hawaii. January 24, 1994.

Chapter 8 1

Albert J. Simone. "Basic Philosophies, University-wide Foci, Principles, and Assumptions Underlying Reorganization." Draft memorandum addressed to Vice President Harold Masumoto and Acting Vice President Rex Wade. August 28, 19852 Susan Hooper. "Simone says." Hawaii Business, February 1992. 3 Albert J. Simone. Proposed Reorganization of the University of Hawaii. October 28, 1985. 4 Noel P. Kefford. "Briefing Paper on the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (CTAHR)." April 30, 1993. 5 Stephen L. Torpie, managing editor. "Noel Price Kefford." American Men and Women of Sciencei 18th Edition). R.R. Bowker, a division of Reed Publishing, Inc. 1992. Vol. 4, p. 266. 6 Albert Simone. "Budget Request for BI 1987-1979." Memorandum addressed to The Honorable John D. Waihee, governor, State of Hawaii. December 22, 1986. 7 Rod Stone Thompson. "Simone gets no help in ag college fuss." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, December 17, 1987. 8 Jon Yoshishige. '"Action Alliance' unites colleges." Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 6, 1989. 9 College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources. "Toward an Expanded, FullyDiversified, Environment-Enhancing Agriculture for Hawaii." CTAHR Action Plan. 1992. 10 Gwen Battad and Scott Ishikawa "Exploring mysterious galaxies." Ka Leo O Hawaii, May 7, 1991. 11 Bernadette Kagawa. "Mitsuo Akiyama." The Hawaii Herald, June 7, 1991. 12 Donald N. B. Hall. "President Kenneth P. Mortimer Visit." Briefing materials prepared for President Kenneth P. Mortimer on the occasion of his site visit to the Institute for Astronomy, May 24, 1993. 13 James J. Pfister, president. "Donald Norman Blake Hall." Who's Who in America. Marquis Who's Who, Wilmette, Illinois, 1988. Vol. 1, p. 1278. 14 John Cornell, producer. Crocodile Dundee. Film. Paramount Pictures. Los Angeles, 1986. 15 My use of the term "inner directed" derives from: David Riesman in collaboration with Reuel Denney and Nathan Glazer. The Lonely Crowd: A Study of the Changing American Character. Yale University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, 1950. 16 Albert J. Simone. "Nomination of Donald N. B. Hall, Astronomer and Director of the Institute for Astronomy, as State Manager of the Year." Memorandum addressed to Ms. Diane Sumida, Employee Assistance Branch, State Department of Personnel Services, June 30, 1992. 17 Chad Blair. "Totality: An Eclipse of the Sun." Malamalama, Fall, 1991. Vol 16, pp. 4 - 8 and cover article. 18 Donald N. B. Hall. "Eclipse Expenditures." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. August 15, 1991. 19 Carol W. Arnold. "A School of Public Health Retrospective." Pacific Health. The School of Public Health, University of Hawaii at Manoa, 1986. Volume 18, pp. 4-7. 20 Kani Evans and Peter F. Senecal, editors. "Jerrold Mark Michael." Leaders of Hawaii 1983Senecal and Associates, Inc., Honolulu, 1983. p. 167

References

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379

Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "Former Dean Jerry Michael honored for public health service." University of Hawaii News Release. November 12, 1992. 22 Susan Miller. "Michael to resign from dean position." KaLeo O Hawaii, January 15, 1992. 23 Lawrence K. Koseki, editor. "Proceedings of the Second Interregional Dialogue of Resource Network for Health for all Leadership Development." Held in Honolulu, Hawaii, August 29-September 2, 1988. WHO Collaborating Center for Leadership Development for Health for All, School of Public Health, University of Hawaii. 1989. 24 International Center for Health Promotion and Disease Prevention. "Peace Corps Agreement with the University of Hawaii School of Public Health." Center Focus, May 1990. 25 James J. Porcelli. "UH houses Peace Corps evacuees." Ka Leo O Hawaii, July 9, 1990. 26 Steven Arashiro, campaign chairman. Two $50.00 fund-raiser tickets were enclosed in this untitled letter sent to Friends of Daniel K. Akaka. July 20, 1990. 27 Jahan Byrne. "Kennedy blasts GOP leadership." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 1, 1990. 28 Diana DeLuca, editor. "Health Policy and a National Health Strategy." A report based on the public lectures and faculty-student dialogues by Michael Dukakis, visiting professor, University of Hawaii at Manoa, and former governor of Massachusetts. March 13, 1991April 17, 1991. 29 Susan Miller. "Michael to resign from dean position." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 15, 1992. 30 Frederick C. Greenwood. "Summary for Visit by Senate Education Committee." Briefing materials prepared for the State Senate Committee on Education on the occasion of its site visit to the Pacific Biomedical Research Center. June 3, 1991. 31 National Center for Research Resources, National Institutes of Health. "General Policy and Information Statement: Research Centers in Minority Institutions Program." May 1991. 32 Frederick C. Greenwood. "Minority Health Initiatives." Testimony given before the United States Senate Appropriations Subcommittee on Labor, Health, and Human Services, Education, and Related Agencies. The Subcommittee was chaired by Senator Thomas R. Harkin of Iowa, and Senator Daniel K. Inouye of Hawaii was a prominent member. May 3, 1989. 33 John Leo. "The new verbal order." U.S. News & World Report. July 22, 1991. (This reference is quoted in: Henry Beard and Christopher Cerf. The Official Politically Correct Dictionary and Handbook. Villard Books, New York, 1992. p. 62.) 34 Stephen L. Torpie, managing editor. "Frederick C. Greenwood." American Men and Women of Science (18th Edition). R.R. Bowker, a division of Reed Publishing Company, New Providence, New Jersey, 1992. Vol. 3, p. 355. 35 Frederick C. Greenwood. "RCMI-AIDS Supplement and site visit." Memorandum addressed to Albert J. Simone, principal investigator, RCMI. May 24, 1988. 3i Frederick C. Greenwood. "Status of the RCMI/AIDS infrastructure proposal: impact on UH AIDS initiative." Memorandum addressed to Albert J. Simone, principal investigator, RCMI/AIDS Supplement, and University of Hawaii president. January 26, 1989. 37 Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "UHM receives $1 million grant to give undergraduates research experience." University of Hawaii News Release. May 27, 1992. 38 Shirley Iida. "Grant money will f u n d undergrad research." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 2, 1992. 39 Marilyn Dunlap. "University of Hawaii at Manoa Research Centers in Minority Institutions Program Advisory Committee: Minutes of Meeting held January 18, 1994." May 23, 1994. 40 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Gifts, Grants, and Contracts." Board of Regents Minutes. June 17, 1994. 41 "Organization and Distinctive Features of the John A. Burns School of Medicine." 199394 Bulletin of the John A. Burns School of Medicine. University of Hawaii at Manoa, Honolulu, 1993. pp. 6-9. 42 Daniel K. Inouye. "The 25th Anniversary of John A. Burns School of Medicine." Congressional Record—Senate: Proceedings and Debates of the 102nd Congress, Second Session. June 23, 1992. Vol. 138, No. 91, p. S 8598.

380

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THE

UNIVERSITY?

Joanne Yow. "Dean says farewell." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 10, 1988. Albert J. Simone. Confidential letter addressed to Christian L. Gulbrandsen, M.D., acting dean, John A. Burns School of Medicine. June 8, 1989. 45 Floyd K. Takeuchi and Robin Phillips. "Mackey's 'definite' no to UH comes in spite of Island pleas." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 10, 1985. p. 1. 46 Stephen L. Torpie, managing editor. "Terence Arthur Rogers." American Men and Women of Science (18th Edition). R.R. Bowker, a division of Reed Publishing, Inc., New Providence, New Jersey, 1992. Vol. 6, p. 271. 47 American Board of Medical Specialties. "Christian Lyder Gulbrandsen." The Official ABMS Directory of Board Certified Medical Specialists. Marquis Who's Who. A Reed Reference Publishing Company, New Providence, New Jersey, 1994. Volume 1, p. 1589. 48 The John A. Burns School of Medicine. "World-Class Medicine, A Community Approach." Pamphlet. University of Hawaii at Manoa, Honolulu, 1992. 49 Star-Bulletin staff. "UH medical school picked for model program work." Honolulu StarBulletin, March 14, 1990. 50 Susan Dodge. "'Problem Based' Medical Curriculum Replaces Memorization at U. of Hawaii." The Chronicle of Higher Education, October 17, 1990. 51 Compiled by the editorial staff of F. Hodgson. "William R. Furtick." Who's Who in World Agriculture. Longman Group Limited, Harlow, Essex, United Kingdom, 1979- Vol. 1, p. 228. I am grateful to the Hawaii Institute of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources for providing me with a copy of Dr. Furtick's résumé circa 1976. 52 Adele Hast, editor in chief. "John Trevor Jefferies." Who's Who in Frontiers of Science and Technology (2nd Edition). Marquis Who's Who, Inc., Chicago, Illinois, 1985. p. 245. 53 Bernard S. Schlessinger and June H. Schlessinger, editors. "Georg von Békésy." The Who's Who of Nobel Prize Winners. Oryx Press, Phoenix, Arizona, 1986. p. 103. 54 David Watumull, publisher/editor. "Patrick Kenji Takahashi." Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1998. p. 198. 55 Stephen L. Torpie, managing editor. "Paul Chan Yuen." American Men and Women of Science (18th Edition). R.R. Bowker, a division of Reed Publishing Company, New Providence, New Jersey, 1992. Vol. 7, p. 890. 56 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1974. Act 235 (A Bill for an Act Establishing the Hawaii Natural Energy Institute and Making an Appropriation for Planning the Structure and Operation Thereof), pp. 690-691. 57 Mary Kamiya, Lois Nagahara, and Tracie Nagao, production and project coordinators. HNEI at 20: Hawaii Natural Energy Institute 1974-1994. Hawaii Natural Energy Institute 20-year report. April 20, 1994. 58 Patrick K. Takahashi. Untitled letter addressed to Senator Chairman Mamoru Yamasaki, Senate Committee on Ways and Means. April 7, 1987. 59 Patrick Takahashi. "Technology Tour of Japan." Memorandum addressed to David Yount. May 25, 1986. 60 Patrick Takahashi. "Hawaii Natural Energy Institute (HNEI), a unit of the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST)." Briefing materials prepared for the University of Hawaii budget hearing held on May 5, 1994. 61 Lorenz Magaard, chairman, Marine Council. "Minutes of the eighth meeting, April 23, 1986." April 30, 1986. 62 Anonymous. "Positions available." The Chronicle of Higher Education, November 30, 1988. 63 R.R. Bowker, publisher. "Cecil Baring Raleigh." American Men and Women of Science. R.R. Bowker, a division of Reed Publishing, Inc. 1992. p. RALL/35. 64 Tim Ryan. "40 at UH receive six-figure salaries." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, July 29, 1992. The 1991 salary listed in this article for C. Barry Raleigh was $159,540. Raleigh's starting salary in 1989 was $140,000. The salary of the UH president remained at $95,000 until the 1991 Legislature removed the statutory limit and the Board of Regents increased it to $120,000 a few months later. 43 44

References

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Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Appointment of C. Barry Raleigh as Dean of the School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. July 18, 1989. 66 Albert J. Simone. "Recommendation to Establish the New Dean, School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST) at Salary Range M13-E." Memorandum addressed to Mrs. Gladys Brandt, chairperson, Board of Regents. January 3, 1989. 67 Stu Glauberman. "Helsley named acting dean." The Honolulu Advertiser, August 3, 1988. 68 Albert J. Simone. "Acting Dean for SOEST." Memorandum addressed to Director Charles Helsley, Hawaii Institute of Geophysics. July 29, 1988. 69 The University of Hawaii Marine Council. A Prospectus for a School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology. September 1987. 70 C. Barry Raleigh, dean. Untitled memorandum sent directly to Interim President Paul Yuen. December 18, 1992. 71 C. Barry Raleigh, dean. "Institute Staffing." Memorandum addressed to SOEST Faculty. May 7, 1990. 72 C. Barry Raleigh, dean. Untitled letter addressed to The Honorable John D. Waihee, governor, State of Hawaii. August 27, 1991. 73 Brian Taylor, editor. SOEST 1991-1992 Report. Tongg Publishing. Honolulu, Hawaii, April, 1993. 74 University of Hawaii Office of Research Administration. Private communication from Dean C. Barry Raleigh to Governor John Waihee, State of Hawaii. August 9, 1994. 75 Reginald H.F. Young, interim dean of Engineering. "VP Yount's 5/24/90 'Post Building' memo to you." Memorandum addressed to Interim Vice President for Academic Affairs Paul C. Yuen. June 5, 1990. 76 Ralph Horii. "Vincent Versage's FAX to Vice President Yount Dated 08/28/90 and Your Note to Me (See Attached)." Memorandum addressed to President Albert Simone. September 19, 1990. 77 Ralph T. Horii, Jr., vice president for finance and operations. "Pacific Ocean Science & Technology Building." Memorandum addressed to Acting President Paul Yuen. March 8, 1993. 78 Albert Simone. Untitled letter to Senator Daniel Inouye. October 22, 1991. 79 Kenneth F. Brown, James R. Gaines, Tommy Holmes, and C. Barry Raleigh. CSF: Center for a Sustainable Future ". . . t o enrich humankind." Proposal for a center. March 1, 1993. 80 U.S. House of Representatives, 102d Congress. "Energy Policy Act of 1992." Conference Report to accompany H.R. 776. October 5, 1992. 81 Jennifer Goto, chief of staff for Hawaii Operations, U.S. Senator Daniel K. Inouye. "University of Hawaii Priority System." Undated memorandum addressed to Dr. Paul Yuen, senior vice president for academic affairs, University of Hawaii. Received May 3, 199382 Brenda K. Kanno. "Report of Executive Director." Board of Directors Minutes, Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii. June 9, 199383 Ellen Boneparth and Paul Yuen, conference organizers. "Gifts from the Sea Agenda." Gifts of the Sea Conference, Kona, Hawaii, July 12 and 13, 1993. 84 C. Barry Raleigh. Untitled memorandum addressed to Dean Ellen Boneparth, College of Arts and Sciences, UH-Hilo and Dr. Paul Yuen, senior vice president for academic affairs. July 1, 1993. 85 Ellen Boneparth. "Gifts from the Sea Conference." Memorandum addressed to the HORDE Group. May 12, 1993.

Chapter 9 1

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Patricia Tummons, editor. "PICHTR: long on funds, but short on accountability." Environment Hawaii, Volume 1, Number 11, May 1991. Scott Ishikawa. "Legacy of Duke Kahanamoku." Ka Leo O Hawaii, August 27, 1990. For a more elaborate explanation of the Duke Kahanamoku phenomenon, see pp. 116-117.

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The University of Hawaii Foundation. "Celebrating the Past. . . Building the Future: 1992 Annual Report." June 30, 1992. p. 2. 4 Lorin I. Nevling. "Harold L. Lyon Arboretum of the University of Hawaii at Manoa: A Report Prepared for the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education." Museum Management Consultants. Monticello, Illinois. April 19895 The University of Hawaii Foundation. "Creating Opportunities: 1986 Annual Report." June 30, 1986. p. 4. 6 The University of Hawaii Foundation. "Celebrating the Past . . . Building the Future: 1992 Annual Report." June 30, 1992. p. 14. 7 University of Hawaii Foundation. "UHF Giving Clubs." Pamplet. July 1, 1988. The clubs and their respective membership requirements were as follows: President's Club ($10,000 outright gift for 10-year membership, or $1,500 per year for 10 years, or $50,000 deferred gift for 10-year membership); President's Circle ($20,000 outright gift for 10-year membership, or $3,000 per year for 10 years, or $75,000 deferred gift for 10-year membership); President's Cabinet ($50,000 outright gift for 10-year membership, or $7,500 per year for 10 years, or $150,000 deferred gift for 10-year membership); Founders' Club ($100,000 outright gift or $250,000 deferred gift); Founders' Circle ($500,000 outright gift or $1 million deferred gift); and Founders' Cabinet ($1 million outright gift or $1.5 million deferred gift). 3

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John Grenzebach and Associates. "A Brief Program Review Prepared for the University of Hawaii Foundation." John Grenzebach and Associates, Inc. Chicago, Illinois. September 1987. Edwin Penn. "President's Club Reception, February 15, 1989." Memorandum addressed to Bachman Hall Neighbors. February 14, 1989Donald C. Mair and Albert J. Simone, signatories. "Memorandum of Agreement between the University of Hawaii and the University of Hawaii Foundation Regarding Gifts and Contributions Received by the U.H. Foundation to Support Activities at the University of Hawaii." May 15, 1987. Rudolf B. Schmerl. "UH Relations with UH Foundation." Memorandum addressed to President Kenneth P. Mortimer, April 27, 1994. Liz McMillen. "College endowments grow by just 1.3 pet. in year; is it the 'end of an era' of substantial increases?" The Chronicle of Higher Education, February 15, 1989. Ralph T. Horii, Jr. Untitled memorandum addressed to Rudolf B. Schmerl, director of research relations. February 16, 1989. Ralph T. Horii, Jr. "Financial Transactions Involving the University of Hawaii Foundation." Business Affairs Circular No. 728. June 4, 1990. Ralph T. Horii, Jr. "Follow Up to Our Meeting of January 3, 1991, Regarding the UH Foundation." Memorandum addressed to President Albert Simone. January 16, 1991. Jahan Byrne. "UH Foundation could face $435,000 tax bill." Ka Leo O Hawaii, December 10, 1992. Anonymous. "UH Foundation head Edwin Penn resigns." The Honolulu Advertiser, March 26, 1993. Martha Shade. "Author to speak at UH ballroom." Ka Leo O Hawaii, August 30, 1994. Richard K.C. Lee and Fujio Matsuda, signatories. "Internal Agreement by and between the University of Hawaii and the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii." June 12, 1973. David Yount. "PICHTR: Preparation for Meeting 6/25/87." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. June 4, 1987. The Pacific International Center for High Technology Research. "1986 Annual Report." August 31, 1986. Suresh S. Patil, director UH Biotechnology Program and chairman PICHTR Biotechnology Division. "A proposal to resolve current ambiguities in the relationship between the Biotechnology Program of the University and that of PICHTR." Memorandum addressed to Dean Paul Yuen, acting president of PICHTR, June 8, 1987.

References

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Albert J. Simone and Paul C. Yuen, signatories. "Memorandum of Agreement between the University of Hawaii and the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research Regarding Support of Research Activities at the University of Hawaii." February 1, 1988. 24 Ronald J. Hays and Albert J. Simone, signatories. "Memorandum of Agreement between the University of Hawaii and the Pacific International Center for High Technology Research Regarding Support of Research Activities." July 15, 1991. 25 Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-65 (Pacific international center for high technology research; established), pp. 323-324. 26 Anonymous. "Sumida named to EWC post." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, October 15, 198927 David Watumull, publisher/editor. "Patrick K. Takahashi." Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988. p. 198. 28 J. P. Malony, branch manager, Honolulu Branch Office, Western Region, Defense Contract Audit Agency. "Inadequate Cost Accounting System—University of Hawaii." Memorandum addressed to a distribution list with twenty-six entries that included virtually all the University's federal sponsors. August 30, 1991. 29 Warren Price, III, attorney general. "Corporate Status of Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR)." Memorandum addressed to PICHTR President Ronald J. Hays, President Albert J. Simone, and DBED Director Murray E. Towill. September 16, 1991. 30 Joel Fox. Untitled memorandum addressed to "Faculty via Dept. Chairs." November 15, 1990. 31 Joel Fox. "Equipment Purchased with PICHTR Funds." Memorandum addressed to David Yount, August 22, 1990. 32 Albert J. Simone. Untitled letter addressed to Daniel J. Mollway, executive director, State Ethics Commission. The Simone letter is dated April 22, 1991- It responds to a letter from Mollway dated March 12, 1991 that refers to concerns raised by Joel Fox on November 27, 1990. 33 Joel S. Fox. "Testimony before the Senate Education Committee." A copy of this testimony was transmitted to me by Vice President for University Relations Rockne Freitas via a memo dated February 21, 1991. 34 Joel S. Fox. "Testimony before the House Higher Education and Arts Committee." A copy of this testimony was transmitted to me by Vice President for University Relations Rockne Freitas via a memo dated February 21, 1991. 35 Patricia Tummons, editor. "Trench at Keahole Point takes toll on marine life." Environment Hawaii, Volume 1, Number 11, May 1991. 36 Walter A. Dods, Jr., chairman. "Resignation of Ron Hays." Memorandum addressed to the PICHTR Board of Directors. January 29, 1992. 37 Steve Miller. "Professor's bid conflicts with policy." Ka Leo O Hawaii, May 6, 1992. 38 The State of Hawaii Data Book, 1985. Department of Planning and Economic Development, 1985. p. 385. 39 John W. Bartram, Dennis P. Jones, Jana B. Matthews, and Roland C. Rautenstraus. "Report to the University of Hawaii: Recommendations for Action that Contribute to Economic Development." NCHEMS (National Center for Higher Education Management Systems) Management Services, Inc., Denver, June 1986. 40 Albert J. Simone. "Technology Transfer—The Role of the University of Hawaii." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson Gladys Brandt. August 21, 1985. 41 Harold S. Masumoto. "Administrative Procedures A5.500, A5.501, A5.502, A5.503." Administrative Procedures Memorandum No. 85-5. March 18, 1985. 42 Albert J. Simone. "Executive Policy E5.500, Administration of the Patent and Copyright Policy." Executive Memorandum No. 85-1. March 18, 1985. 43 Moheb Ghali. "A Bill for an Act to Establish a Technology Transfer Revolving Fund." The bill would have amended HRS Section 304-8. January 21, 1986.

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Harold S. Masumoto. "Master Agreement of General Terms and Conditions for Assignment of Patentable and Copyrightable Materials for Exploitation." Memorandum addressed to Ralph Horii, Fujio Matsuda, and David Yount. July 8, 1986. 45 Bill Eger and Jeanne Skog, editors. "Proceedings of a Symposium/Workshop Exploring the Business/Academic Partnership." Maui Economic Development Board, Inc. May 2 3, 1985. 46 Robert Hollis. "UH-Hilo high-tech park suggested." The Honolulu Advertiser, October 13, 1985. 47 University of Hawaii. "Assistant to the President for Technology Transfer and Economic Development." Job advertisement. The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, December 28, 1986. 48 Frederick C. Greenwood. "Assistant to the President for Technology Transfer and Economic Development." Memorandum addressed to President Albeit Simone. December 30, 1986. 49 David Watumull, publisher/editor. Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988. p. 93. 50 Albert J. Simone. Untitled letter offering the position of "Special Assistant to the President for Technology Transfer and Economic Development" to Daniel M. Ishii, effective March 1, 1987. February 20, 1987. 51 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1988. Act 40 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the University of Hawaii). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 3048.92 (Discoveries and inventions revolving fund), pp. 66-67. 32 Albert J. Simone. "Proposed Reorganization to Establish the Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents' Chairperson Gladys Brandt. April 5, 1989. 53 Brett Lomont. "New office to help researchers." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 20, 1989. 54 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1989. Act 352 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the Discoveries and Inventions Revolving Fund). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.92 (Discoveries and inventions revolving fund), pp. 1020-1021. 55 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1991. Act 297 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Higher Education). Chapter 304 (University of Hawaii), Section 304-8.92 (Discoveries and inventions revolving fund), pp. 896-897. 56 Catherine R. Pimentel. "New center for commercial spinoff ventures, university research opens." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 5, 1993. 57 Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development. "Report to the Hawaii State Legislature." October 31, 1993. 58 Frederick C. Greenwood. "Governor's initiative for technology transfer and economic development." Memorandum addressed to Dan Ishii. November 30, 1987. 59 Daniel M. Ishii. "Supplemental Budget Work Sheet for the Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development (OTTED) and the Discoveries and Inventions Revolving Fund (DIRF)." Memorandum addressed to UH Budget Director Rodney Sakaguchi. December 9, 1987. 60 Anonymous. "Regents Report." Ku Lama, September 29, 1995. 61 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1988. Act 355 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Business and Economic Development), pp. 685-686. 62 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1990. Act 293 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Tourism), pp. 642-649. ® Mary Kamiya, Lois Nagahara, and Tracie Nagao, production and project coordinators. HNEI at 20: Hawaii Natural Energy Institute 1974-1994. Hawaii Natural Energy Institute. April 20, 1994. p. 46. 64 Daniel M. Ishii. Untitled letter addressed to Chris Boettcher, executive director, Association of University Related Research Parks. August 29, 1988. 65 David Watumull, publisher/editor. "William Martin Bass, Jr." Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988. p. 12. 44

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Bruce Combs, KAITEC manager. "A First in Hawaii." Genesis: A Newsletter for the Kaimuki Technology Enterprise Center. High Technology Development Corporation (HTDC), Volume 1, Number 1, Spring 1991. 67 Ceil Sinnex. "Clean cold and about to be sold." Hawaii High Tech Journal, Volume 4, Number 1, January 198968 Maui Research and Technology Center. "Ground Breaking Program." Ground breaking ceremony program. August 28, 1990. ® Manoa Innovation Center. Ground breaking ceremony. May 11, 1990. 70 Brian Siler. "Think Tank Gets Unneighborly Reception in Manoa Valley." Honolulu StarBulletin, November 6, 1986. 71 Anonymous. "Ground-breaking rites held for high-tech park at Mililani." The Honolulu Advertiser, July 22, 1987. 72 UHH Administration. "Ground-Breaking Ceremony for Research and Technology Park." November 1, 1991. 73 Pete Pichaske. "Sen. Inouye once again is Senate's top spender." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, April 8, 1994. 74 David Watumull, publisher/editor. "Spark Masayuki Matsunaga." Prominent People of Hawaii. Delta Publishing Company, Honolulu, 1988. p. 134. 75 Spark M. Matsunaga. The Mars Project: Journeys Beyond the Cold War. Hill and Wang, a division of Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, New York, 1986. 76 Tetsuo Kondo. "A New Aspect of Space Activities in the Pacific Basin and the Japanese Viewpoint." Keynote address given at the Joint American Astronautical Society (AAS) and Japanese Rocket Society (JRS) Symposium, Honolulu, December 15-19, 1985. 77 Governor John D. Waihee, III. "State of the State Address: Let's test our dreams and stretch our imaginations." Speech presented at the Special Concurrent Session of the Fourteenth State Legislature, January 26, 1987. 78 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of 1987. Act 244 (A Bill for an Act Relating to Space), pp. 783-785. 79 Arthur D. Little, Inc. "Evaluation of the Potential for Space-Related Activities in the State of Hawaii." Final Report to Hawaii Department of Business and Economic Development, August 1987. 80 Advisory Committee on Space Research. "University of Hawaii Space Directory." August 1994. 81 High Technology Development Corporation. The Governor's Symposium on Space. Honolulu, Hawaii, November 17-18, 1988. 82 Thomas B. McCord, editor). "Report on the Pacific ISY Conference: A Planning Meeting for the International Space Year." University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1987. This conference was held in Kona, Hawaii, August 19-21, 1987. 83 Jim Borg. "1992 envisioned as year of global space cooperation." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, August 23, 1987. 84 Lucy Howton, contact. "New Initiatives for Space Cooperation Developed for the U.S. and Japan." The Johns Hopkins Foreign Policy Institute News Release. February 15, 1991. The workshop reported in this news release was held in Honolulu, Hawaii, November 30-December 1, 1990. 85 Danelle K. Simonelli, editor. "2nd Pacific ISY Conference: Preparing for the 21st century." ISY News, U.S. International Space Year Association, Washington, D.C., JanuaryFebruary, 1992. The second Pacific ISY Conference was held in Kona, Hawaii, October 13-15, 1991. 86 Office of Space Industry. "Japan-U.S. Cooperation in Space Workshop." This workshop was held in Hilo, Hawaii, November 5-6, 1992. 87 Terri Sindelar. "NASA Designates 4 Additional Space Grant Colleges/Consortia." NASA news release. December 21, 1989. 88 Maui Economic Development Board, Inc. (MEDB). "Proposal for a University of Hawaii Maui Research and Technology Center." The earliest draft I have of this proposal is

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dated December 13, 1986. A draft dated January 19, 1987, was presented to Governor John Waihee by MEDB President Donald G. Malcolm and MEDB Chairman Colin C. Cameron on February 17, 1987. 89 John Waihee. "Remarks at the Project Blessing of the Maui Research and Technology Park." Speech. October 1, 1986. 90 Albert J. Simone. Untitled letter addressed to the Honorable John Waihee, governor of Hawaii. March 27, 1987. 91 Albert J. Simone. Untitled letter addressed to Mr. Colin Cameron, chairman, Maui Economic Development Board. March 27, 1987. 92 D. G. Malcolm. "University Commitment in Regard to Participation in the Proposed R&T Center in the Maui R&T Park." Confidential memorandum addressed to the R&T Center File. December 16, 1987. 93 E. Michael Boughton, MRTC on-site manager. "The Center." Update, Maui Economic Development Board brochure, received May 6, 1991. 94 David Yount. Untitled letter of endorsement for the Maui supercomputer. The letter was addressed to E. Michael Boughton and dated September 11, 1991. 95 Edwin Tanji. "Maui high-tech park to get 'super computer' center." The Honolulu Advertiser, November 21, 1991 96 Len Cowie. "Maui High-Tech Park Computer System." Memorandum addressed to Wayne Lu. December 19, 1991. 97 D.G. Malcolm. Untitled letter addressed to Don Hall. January 15, 1992. 98 Phillips Laboratory. "Computation Capability for Scalable High Performance Computing and Image Information Processing." Broad Agency Announcement. November 27, 1992. 99 David Lassner. "Maui High Performance Computing Facility." Memorandum addressed to the University Executive Council, deans, directors, and provosts. December 16, 1992. The core team that developed the UH proposal for the MHPCC is listed in this memo. It consisted of Gerard Fryer, associate professor of Geology and Geophysics; Dan Ishii, director of the Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development; David Lassner, director of Information Technology; Torben Nielsen, associate specialist in Information and Computer Science; and Clyde Sakamoto, provost, Maui Community College. 100 David Yount. "Trip to Phoenix, Tucson, and Albuquerque." Memorandum addressed to Interim President Paul C. Yuen. December 15, 1992. 101 C. Wright Mills. The Power Elite. Oxford University Press, New York, 1956. 102 Tony Hillerman. People of Darkness. Harper and Row, Publishers, Inc., New York, 1980. 103 Jack Cowart and Jaun Hamilton. Georgia O'Keeffe Art and Letters. The National Gallery of Art, Washington, 1987. 104 Kenji Sumida. "Minutes of the April 4th Meeting of the Joint University of Hawaii/EastWest Center Committee." April 4, 1994. This was the first meeting of the joint committee. It began with introductory remarks by UH President Kenneth Mortimer and EWC President Michel Oksenberg, and it consisted mainly of an oral history of the center with particular emphasis on the principles and negotiations associated with its establishment as an independent corporation in 1975- The three speakers were former EWC President Everett Kleinjans, former UH President Fujio Matsuda, and former counsel for the EastWest Center and the U.S. State Department Gerald Sumida. 105 Session Laws of Hawaii, Regular Session of1975. Act 82 (A Bill for an Act Relating to the Establishment of an Educational Non-Profit Public Corporation to Administer and Operate the Center for Cultural and Technical Interchange Between East and West), pp. 143154. 106 Kenji Sumida. "UH-EWC Background Information." Memorandum addressed to Bob Nagao. August 30, 1993. 107 For a detailed discussion of UH funding patterns, please see Chapters 6 and 7 and the references therein. 108 Michel Oksenberg, president. "East-West Center Annual Report 1992." East-West Center. February 1993. p. 41.

References

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109

David Yount. "Trip to Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, and Singapore." Memorandum addressed to President Kenneth P. Mortimer. March 23, 1993. Most of the EWC data contained in this memo were provided by Michel Oksenberg during the course of our journey. 110 David Yount. "EWC Board of Governor's Meeting October 25, 1994." Memorandum addressed to President Kenneth P. Mortimer. October 21, 1994. 111 EW Emergency Fund. "An Open Letter to the EWC Board of Governors." Full-page ad in Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 3, 1994. 112 James Patton, member, Group to Oust Oksenberg. "Discharge 'Dr. Strangelove' as head of East-West Center." Letter to Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 26, 1994. 113 David Yount. "Meeting with Larry Meacham, Jennifer Goto, et al." Memorandum addressed to President Kenneth P. Mortimer. March 7, 1994. The meeting was arranged by Jennifer Goto at the request of Larry Meacham, an EWC alumnus employed by Common Cause Hawaii. The meeting was held in the Honolulu Offices of Senator Inouye. Also present were Adele Tasaka, representing Senator Daniel Akaka, Steve Beaudry, representing Congressman Neil Abercrombie, and Colleen Saiki, representing Congresswoman Patricia (Patsy) Mink. 114 Kris M. Tanahara. "Turmoil, trouble at East-West Center." Sunday Special in The Honolulu Advertiser, July 31, 1994. 115 Los Angeles Times staff. "Oksenberg trip called secret China mission." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 14, 1994. 116 David Yount. "East-West Center (EWC) Budget Meeting." Memorandum addressed to President Kenneth P. Mortimer. July 14, 1994. Most of the EWC data contained in this m e m o were provided by EWC Vice President for Research Bruce Koppel. 117 East-West Center. East-West Center Revised Strategic Plan: Strategic Choices for a Sustainable Future. The revised plan is intended to cover the period 1995-1998. My copy was received on September 29, 1994. 1,8 Rod Ohira. "Proposed budget cuts at East-West Center are 'a jolt.'" Honolulu Star-Bulletin, November 30, 1994. 119 Rick Daysog. "Chief of East-West Center quits." Honolulu Star-Bulletin, February 22, 1995.

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University of Hawaii Board of Regents. "University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies." Chapter 1 (General Provisions), Section 1-5 (Policy on Non-Discrimination and Affirmative Action). Adopted February 13, 1976, and revised April 19, 1991. Peter Rosegg. "The—sssshhh!—ethnic vote factor." The Honolulu Advertiser, September 11, 1994. American Civil Liberties Union of Hawaii, Hawaii Women Lawyers, Hawaii Women's Legal Foundation, League of Women Voters of Hawaii, and Planned Parenthood. "Voter's Guide: Candidate Position Statements on a Range of Issues Important to Women and Their Families." September 11, 1994. Philip B. Gove, editor in chief. Webster's Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary. G. and C. Merriam Company, Publishers, Springfield, Massachusetts, 1970. p. 657. Philip B. Gove, editor in chief. Ibid. p. 5. D. G. Malcolm. "University Commitment in Regard to Participation in the Proposed R&T Center in the Maui R&T Park." Confidential memorandum addressed to the R&T Center File. December 16, 1987. Lynn S. Frachter, Lawrence Newman, and Rena C. Seplowitz. "Regents of the University of California (Petitioners) v. Allan Bakke (Respondent)." Brief of the American Bar Association, Amicus Curiae, in the Supreme Court of the United States. June 1977. I am grateful to Rudy Schmerl for providing me with a copy of this historic document. Joyce M. Najita and Edwin C. Pendleton. Unionization of Hawaii Faculty: A Study in Frustration. Occasional Publication 106, Industrial Relations Center, University of Hawaii, 1974.

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9

James Daniel Kardash. "The Impact of Collective Bargaining Policy Upon Faculty Participation in University Governance: A Historical Review and Commentary on the University of Hawaii Experience." A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Division of the University of Hawaii in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Political Science, May 1994. The chair of the dissertation committee was Deane E. Neubauer.

10

Ka Leo News Staff. "UHPA backs Cayetano.i' Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 16, 1994. Michael Tsai. "Funds may violate faculty's rights." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 20, 1990. Anonymous. "UHPA charged on PAC excess." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 15, 1992. (Reprinted with permission from the June 1992 issue of the Hawaii Monitor newsletter.) Anonymous. "UHPA endorses 48 candidates." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 3, 1992. The Constitution of the State of Hawaii, As Amended and in Force January 1, 1985. Article XIII (Organization; Collective Bargaining), Section 2 (Public Employees), p. 153. Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 7 (Public Officers and Employees), Chapter 89 (Collective Bargaining and Public Employment), pp. 456-479. Joyce M. Najita and Edwin C. Pendleton. Ibid. p. 17. Joyce M. Najita and Edwin C. Pendleton. Ibid. p. 32. Joyce M. Najita and Edwin C. Pendleton. Ibid. pp. 34-37. James Daniel Kardash. Ibid. p. 76. James Daniel Kardash. Ibid. p. 175. James Daniel Kardash. Ibid. p. 179. James Daniel Kardash. Ibid. p. 180. Harold S. Masumoto. "Strike Pay—Arbitrator's Decision." Memorandum addressed to President Albert J. Simone. October 9, 1986. Albert J. Simone. "BORP 9-15 (Evaluation) and BORP 9-16 (Teaching Equivalencies)." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents' Chairperson Gladys A. Brandt. August 14, 1986. (The August 8, 1986 ruling of the Hawaii Supreme Court was attached.) Harlan Cleveland. The Future Executive. Harper and Row, New York, 1972. Please see my Chapter 4 for a fuller discussion of both this reference and the "Theory of Horizontal Tension." Harlan Cleveland. Memorandum addressed to the Board of Regents. April 2, 1974. (This memorandum is quoted in the Occasional Publication written by Joyce M. Najita and Edwin C. Pendleton in 1974. Ibid. pp. 40—41. Albert J. Simone. "Basic Philosophies, University-wide Foci, Principles, and Assumptions Underlying Reorganization." Draft memorandum addressed to Vice President Harold Masumoto and Acting Vice President Rex Wade. August 28, 1985. Albert J. Simone. "Proposed Reorganization of the University of Hawaii." October 28, 1985. David Yount. "Retreat Summary." Memorandum addressed to participants of the retreat held at the Turtle Bay Hilton Hotel and Country Club, August 8-9, 1986. The memorandum is dated August 11, 1986. University of Hawaii Professional Assembly. "Procedures for Evaluation of Faculty at UH-Manoa." Update. February 20, 1987. Diana Deluca. "Minutes of the UH/UHPA Retreat." The retreat was held at the Turtle Bay Hilton Hotel and Country Club, June 6-7, 1988. Madeleine J. Goodman. "The review of tenured faculty." Journal of Higher Education, Vol. 61, No. 4, July/August 1990. pp. 408-424. Albert J. Simone. "Administrative Policy on Teaching Assignments for Instructional Faculty." Memorandum addressed to the University Executive Council. October 1, 1990. Albert J. Simone. "Special Salary Adjustments for BU 07 Faculty." Memorandum addressed to Board of Regents Chairperson Gladys A. Brandt. August 19, 1985. Sun-Ki Chai. "Faculty questions methods used for salary adjustments." The Honolulu Advertiser, February 24, 1986. University of Hawaii Professional Assembly and University of Hawaii. "Tentative Agreement." August 27, 1989.

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James Daniel Kardash. Ibid. p. 216. James Daniel Kardash. Ibid. p. 215. 39 Bert M. Tomasu, chairperson; Russell T. Higa, member; and Gerald K. Machida, member Hawaii Labor Relations Board. "Findings of Fact, Conclusions of Law and Order." The University of Hawaii Professional Assembly was named as the Complainant, and the State of Hawaii (Specifically the Office of Collective Bargaining) and John D. Waihee, III, governor of the State of Hawaii, were named as respondents. May 6, 1993. (This document reviews the history of salary adjustments beginning with the complaint filed on July 19, 1989, and ending with the complaint filed on September 18, 1992.) 40 Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Proposed Board of Regents' Policy on Salary Adjustments." Board of Regents Minutes. September 20, 1991. 41 Ka Leo editorial board. "Albert Simone: A supporter of all students." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 4, 1991. This was the second of a three-part series reporting on the editorial board's four-hour interview with Simone. 42 Mie Watanabe, director, EEO/AA Office. "Executive Summary of the 1992-93 Affirmative Action Report." Memorandum addressed to Manoa deans, directors, and department heads. October 20, 1992. The full 400-page report covering all employees was distributed to deans and directors at a later date. 43 B. F. (Burrhus Frederic) Skinner. WaIden Two. Macmillan Company, New York, 1962. 44 Charles Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities. Oxford University Press, London, 1949- p. 1. The opening lines of this novel could very well describe the University of Hawaii during the Simone administration: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, . . . 45 Peter Rosegg. "Who's a witch? Who's a wimp?" The Honolulu Advertiser, April 27, 1990. 46 James J. Porcelli. "Caucus slams Simone inaction." Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 20, 1991. 41 Rindraty Celes. "Students call for Simone to resign." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 30, 1990. 48 Meena Ishikawa. "Former professor takes administrators to court." Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 30, 1991. 49 David Seki. "Discrimination suit pending." Ka Leo O Hawaii, May 28, 1991. 50 Shannon Tangonan. "Maivan Lam loses discrimination suit." Ka Leo O Hawaii, August 28, 1991. 51 Maivan Clech Lam. "Why is Maivan Lam going to court against UH and Simone?" Ka Leo O Hawaii, April 17, 1991. 52 University of Hawaii Board of Regents. "University of Hawaii Board of Regents Bylaws and Policies." Chapter 9 (Personnel), Section 9-14 (Executive/Managerial Personnel Policies), Part III (Recruitment and Appointment of Executive/Managerial Personnel), pp. 9 82 through 9-84. 53 Susan Hippensteele. "Validation of Constructs Relating to Rape-Related Attitudes and Self-Reported Behavior." A thesis submitted to the Graduate Division of the University of Hawaii at Manoa in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in psychology, August 1989. The chair of the thesis committee was Daniel Blaine. 54 Susan K. Hippensteele. "Sexual Harassment in Academia: Scenario Construction and Gender Differences in Students' Behavioral Definitions and Judgments." A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Division of the University of Hawaii at Manoa in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in psychology, December 1991. The chair of the dissertation committee was Alison Adams. 55 Ryan Ozawa. "Woman continues harassment fight." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 12, 1992. 56 New Affirmative Action Coalition (NAAC). "Affirmative Action Proposals made by President Simone on 5/7/90." Memorandum addressed to President Albert Simone and Dr. Madeleine Goodman. May 15, 1990. 37

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Anonymous. "Affirmative Action Plan: Action Oriented Programs for the Manoa Campus." J u n e 1, 1990. p. 3. (The plan was drafted by Amy Agbayani, Madeleine Goodman, Mie Watanabe, Marie Wunsch, and others.) Albert J. Simone. "Expenditure Plan for Affirmative Action Enhancement 1990-91." Memorandum addressed to Budget Director Rodney Sakaguchi. August 15, 1990. Kiyoshi Ikeda, Maria Lourdes Magsaysay Ira, Linda K. Johnsrud, Lloyd Kuniyoshi, Karen Oppenheim Mason, and Kalma K. Wong. "Technical Report: Preliminary Faculty Pay Equity Analysis FY 1990-91." September 25, 1991. Christine D. Atwater and Linda K. Johnsrud. "Barriers to Retention and Tenure at U H Manoa: The Experiences of Faculty Cohorts 1982-1988." Technical report. September 1991. University of Hawaii at Manoa. "Request for Proposals (RFP)." The Chronicle of Higher Education, November 13, 1991. Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Consultant to Conduct a Pay Equity Project for the University of Hawaii at Manoa." Board of Regents Minutes. January 17, 1992. Diana M. DeLuca. "University Executive Council." Minutes of the UEC meeting held on December 14, 1992. Madeleine J. Goodman, Robert M. Hauser, Kiyoshi Ikeda, Linda K. Johnsrud, Lloyd Kuniyoshi, Lisa Lim, Karen Mason, and Kalma Wong. "The University of Hawaii at Manoa Faculty Pay Equity Study: Gender and Ethnicity Pay Equity Analysis." January 31, 1993. Moheb Ghali. "Pay Equity Study." Memorandum addressed to Interim Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs Madeleine Goodman. February 18, 1993. Robert M. Hauser. Untitled letter addressed to Professor Kiyoshi Ikeda. March 6, 1993. Peter V. Garrod. Untitled letter addressed to President Kenneth Mortimer. August 19, 1993. I am grateful to Dr. Garrod for developing his salary equity hypothesis more fully during our weekly staff meetings. Anonymous. "Panel to review UH salaries for inequities." The Sunday Honolulu StarBulletin and Advertiser, January 23, 1994. Rodney Sakaguchi. "Final Internal Allocations for FY 1993-94 and Supplemental Budget Request for FY 1994-95." Memorandum addressed to President/Chancellor Kenneth Mortimer, August 27, 1993. University of Hawaii Community Colleges. "Faculty Pay Equity Study: Gender and Ethnicity Pay Equity Analysis." November 22, 1993. The University of Hawaii Professional Assembly and the State of Hawaii-University of Hawaii. "Memorandum of Agreement between the State of Hawaii-University of Hawaii and University of Hawaii Professional Assembly: Procedures for Gender/Minority Salary Equity Adjustments, Fiscal Year 1994." December 16, 1993. The University of Hawaii Professional Assembly and the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii. "1993-1995 Agreement." February 14, 1994. The agreement covers the period from July 1, 1993 until June 30, 1995. The University of Hawaii Professional Assembly and the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii. "Joint Memorandum of Agreement on the Procedures for Special Salary Adjustments." June 1, 1994. James H. Yasuda. Untitled letter addressed to Mr. James Takushi, director of personnel, University of Hawaii. August 31, 1993. J.N. Musto, executive director, University of Hawaii Professional Assembly. "UHPA Concurrence with Requests for Special Salary Adjustments." Letter addressed to Dr. Kenneth P. Mortimer, president, University of Hawaii. November 28, 1994. Office of the Senior Vice President for Academic Affairs. "Status Report on Faculty w h o have Appealed to the President on the Gender/Ethnic Minority Pay Equity Decision." November 15, 1994. Wayne Y. Akiyama. "New policy for sex harassment case investigations." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 9, 1993. Bert M. Tomasu, chairperson; Sandra H. Ebesu, board member, and Russell T. Higa, board member, Hawaii Labor Relations Board. "Order Granting Respondent's Motion to

References

391

Dismiss." October 8, 1993. The University of Hawaii Professional Assembly was named as the complainant, and the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii was named as the respondent. (The original complaint was filed on August 31, 1993 ) 79 Office of the President. University of Hawaii Systemwide Executive Policies. Chapter II (Administrative Policies), Title El (General Provisions), Policy El.203 (Sexual Harassment Policy and Procedural Guidelines), promulgated by President Albert J. Simone. August 1, 1991. 80 Bert M. Tomasu, chairperson, Russell T. Higa, board member, Hawaii Labor Relations Board. "Findings of Fact, Conclusions of Law and Order." The University of Hawaii Professional Assembly was named as the complainant, and the Board of Regents of the University of Hawaii was named as respondent. August 4, 1993- (The original complaint was filed on May 14, 1992.) 81 Anonymous. "Sexual harassment panel forms, UHPA discourages participation." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 15, 1992. 82 Office of Equal Employment Opportunity and Affirmative Action. "Discrimination Complaints and Civil Actions: Calendar Year 1992." August 24, 1993. 83 Department of Geography, University of Hawaii. Atlas of Hawaii. Second Edition. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1983- p. 153. As the state's largest private landowner, the Kamehameha Schools/Bernice Pauahi Bishop Estate owned 341,546 acres in 1981, which is 23 percent of the 1,477,886 acre total. 84 James Dooley. "Bishop Estate staff did zoning work for trustee." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, February 5, 1995. 85 Kit Smith. "Executives' pay rises, falls with firms' profits." The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, May 2, 1993. 86 Anonymous. "Most Asian American ethnic groups out-earn whites." The Sunday StarBulletin and Advertiser, July 17, 1988. 87 Michael Haas and Peter P. Resurrection, editors. Politics and Prejudice in Contemporary Hawaii. Coventry Press, Honolulu, 1976. p. iii. It is the thesis of this collection of newspaper articles and commentaries that proponents of "local culture," while ostensively trying to preserve the lifestyle that pervades Hawaii, are now openly excluding Filipinos and Whites for equal opportunities on the grounds that they were not born in Hawaii. 88 Beverly Creamer and Esme M. Infante. "What does it mean to be local?" The Honolulu Advertiser, February 12, 1995. 89 Department of Geography, University of Hawaii. Ibid. p. 112. The population data presented in this reference were compiled by the U.S. Bureau of the Census in 1980. 90 Department of Geography, University of Hawaii. Ibid. p. 97. 91 Keith Haugen. "Definition used to divide people." Letter to Ka Leo O Hawaii, February 3, 1993. 92 Kamehameha Schools Admissions Department. "Applying to Kamehameha." Kamehameha Secondary School: Educating Tomorrow's Leaders. Kamehameha Schools/Bernice Pauahi Bishop Estate, Honolulu, July 1992. pp. 2-3. 93 Stu Glauberman. '"Minorities rule' still holding true in Isles." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 14, 1991. 94 Institutional Research Office and Office of the Vice President for University Relations, University of Hawaii. "Facts." January, 1994. In the fall of 1993, there were 5,819 Hawaiian and part-Hawaiian students at UH, which is 11.6 percent of the total enrollment of 50,229. 95 Colleen O. Sathre. "1992 Legislative Session Notes." January 23, 1992. In the fall of 1991, Hawaiian and part-Hawaiian enrollments ranged from 6.4 percent at Manoa to 16.7 percent at Hilo. 96 The Senate, Fourteenth State Legislature, Regular Session—1988. "Notice of Joint Public Hearing." April 12, 1988. 97 Donnalyn Johns, student representative to the University of Hawaii Board of Regents. Private communication. November 17, 1994.

392

98

99

100

101

102

103

104 105

106

107 108

109 110

111

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Haunani-Kay Trask. From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai'i. Common Courage Press, Monroe, Maine, 1993. The statement quoted here is the final paragraph of Dr. Trask's acknowledgments. Haunani-Kay Trask. "Racism Against Native Hawaiians at the University of Hawai'i: A Personal and Political View." Ibid. pp. 201-224. Haunani-Kay Trask. "The Politics of Academic Freedom as the Politics of White Racism." Ibid. pp. 225-243. Majid Tehranian, editor. Restructuring for Ethnic Peace. Spark M. Matsunaga Institute for Peace, University of Hawaii, Honolulu, 1991. Dinesh D'Souza. Illiberal Education: The Politics of Race and Sex on Campus. The Free Press, New York, 1991. (Referenced in the Preface to Majid Tehranian (Editor), Ibid., p. ix.) Sam Allis, Jordon Bonfante, and Cathy Booth. "Whose America?" Time, July 8, 1991- pp. 12-17. (Referenced in the Preface to Majid Tehranian (Editor), Ibid., p. ix.) Majid Tehranian, in the Preface to Majid Tehranian, editor. Ibid., p. ix. Paul Hollander. "Communism's Collapse Won't Faze Marxists in Academe." The Chronicle of Higher Education, May 23, 1990. Joey Carter. "The white male: Being haole in Hawaii." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 5, 1990. Haunani-Kay Trask. "Caucasians are haoles." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 19, 1990. Faculty of the Philosophy Department. "A Statement on Racism in Academe." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 26, 1990. Majid Tehranian, editor. "A Chronology of Events." Ibid., pp. 173-175. Carolyn J. Mooney. "Exchange at U. of Hawaii Sparks Debates Over Academic Freedom." The Chronicle of Higher Education, November 28, 1990. Sihl Chung. "Is Simone looking for new job?" Ka Leo O Hawaii, March 22, 1991.

Postmortem 1

2

3

4

5

6

7 8

9

Don Chapman. "Kenneth Mortimer: The new guy on campus." Midweek Magazine, July 7, 1993. Ceil Sinnex. "Going to bat for the University of Hawaii." Midweek Magazine, January 8, 1986. Teya Maman. "Mortimer ready to take over UH reins." Ka Leo O Hawaii, December 4, 1992. In 1991, the legislature passed Act 310 amending Chapter 26, Section 52 of the Hawaii Revised Statutes by eliminating the $95,000 a year ceiling on the salary of the UH president set by the Board of Regents. A "sunset clause" was also added: It provided that effective July 1, 1996, the salary would once again be set by the legislature. The Board responded by raising A1 Simone's salary from $95,000 to $120,000 a year. In 1992, the legislature passed Act 203, which further amended Chapter 26, Section 52 by extending the sunset date until July 1, 1998. I presume the legislature created this window of opportunity for the Board because it anticipated Simone would soon be leaving and the Board would have to recruit a replacement whose term might be expected to extend another six years, that is, until 1998. Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "Kenneth P. Mortimer Named UH President." University of Hawaii news release. November 25, 1992. Diana M. DeLuca. "Albert J. Simone: Reflections on a Presidency." Malamalama, Vol. 17, No. 1, Fall 1992, pp. 4-8. Anonymous. "Reorganization: The flowering of a university." January 28, 1986. William Kresnak. "UH explores budget 'scenarios.' Mortimer seeks views on a 7% cut." The Honolulu Advertiser, April 28, 1993. Study Group on the Conditions of Excellence in American Education (Kenneth P. Mortimer, chair). "Involvement in Learning: Realizing the Potential of American Higher Education." National Institute of Education, U.S. Department of Education. Washington, D.C., 1984. (Distributed by Superintendent of Documents, U.S. Government Printing Office, October 1984.)

References

393

Kenneth P. Mortimer and Michael L. Tierney. "The Three "r's" of the Eighties: Reduction, Reallocation, and Retrenchment." Prepared by the ERIC Clearinghouse on Higher Education, George Washington University. The American Association for Higher Education. Washington, D.C., 1979. 11 Kenneth P. Mortimer and Richard C. Richardson. "Governance in Institutions with Faculty Unions: Six Case Studies." Center for the Study of Higher Education, Pennsylvania State University. University Park, Pennsylvania, 1977. 12 Mark D. Johnson and Kenneth P. Mortimer. "Faculty Bargaining and the Politics of Retrenchment in the Pennsylvania State Colleges." Center for the Study of Higher Education, Pennsylvania State University. University Park, Pennsylvania, 1977. 13 Kenneth P. Mortimer, editor. "Faculty Bargaining, State Government, and Campus Autonomy: The Experience of Eight States." Education Commission of the States., Denver, 1976. 14 Kenneth K. Lau and Kenneth P. Mortimer. "Faculty Bargaining at the University of Hawaii." In: Kenneth P. Mortimer, editor. Ibid., pp. 62-75. 15 Anonymous editorial. "Secrecy discredits any BOR selection." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 16, 1992. 16 Teya Maman. "Faculty, students react to missing list of names." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 19, 1992. 17 Tatsuki Shiramizu. Board of Regents Minutes. January 17, 1992, pp. 8-10. 18 Kimberly W. Moy. "Tsunoda anxious to work with President Mortimer." Ka Leo O Hawaii, December 9, 1992. 19 Charles Chong. "UH vice presidents may be asked to give resignations." Ka Leo O Hawaii, October 27, 1992. 20 Joyce S. Tsunoda. "A salute to our new president—and to the non-traditional among us." Community Colleges, December 1992. 21 Anonymous. "UH dean to become prof at UCSB." The Honolulu Advertiser, May 21, 1993. 22 Traudl R. Li. "Chronology." July 21, 1994. 23 Joyce S. Tsunoda. "Enhancing the International Role of the University of Hawai'i: Progress Report on the University Regents' Master Plan Initiative." Presentation before the UH Board of Regents, Maui Community College. December 16, 1993. 24 Kenneth P. Mortimer. "International Education." Memorandum addressed to Senior Vice President and Chancellor for Community Colleges Joyce S. Tsunoda. January 12, 1994. 25 Paula Gillingham. "Administrative shuffle approved; $29 million gifts, grants accepted." Ka Leo O Hawaii, September 20, 1993. 26 Robert Ardrey. The Territorial Imperative: A Personal Inquiry into the Animal Origins of Property and Nations. Antheneum, New York, 1966. 27 M. Infante. "Mortimer accepts UH post." The Honolulu Advertiser, November 24, 1992. 28 George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and Power in Hawaii: The Democratic Years. University of Hawai'i Press, Honolulu, 1990. p. 71. 29 Paula Gillingham. "Perrin named, changes in works." Ka Leo O Hawaii, June 24, 1993. 30 Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "UH administrative reorganization proposed." University of Hawaii news release. September 16, 1993. 31 University of Hawaii Office of Institutional Research. "Facts." December, 1992. 32 Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "UHM Senior Vice President/Executive Vice Chancellor Named." University of Hawaii news release. April 22, 1994. 33 Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "UH administrator tapped for Vanderbilt post." University of Hawaii news release. June 6, 1994. 34 Harlan Cleveland. The Future Executive. Harper & Row, New York, 1972. 35 Harlan Cleveland. Ibid., p. 22. 36 James J. Pfister, president. "Simone, Albert Joseph." Who's Who in America. Marquis Who's Who, Wilmette, Illinois, 1988. p. 2859. 37 Kenneth P. Mortimer. "Academic Government at Berkeley: the Academic Senate." A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Division of the University of California at Berkeley

10

394

38

39

40

41

42

43 44

45 46

47 48 45

50

51

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Higher Education. Berkeley. 1969- The chair of the dissertation committee was T. R. McConnell. Associated Press. "Takushi takes pay cut for cabinet post." The Honolulu Advertiser, December 18, 1994. Tatsuki Shiramizu, secretary. "Appointment, Changes in Appointment, and Waiver of Minimum Qualifications for Promotion." Board of Regents Minutes. January 13, 1995. Office of the Vice President for University Relations. "Senior Vice President for Research and Graduate Education." Position Vacancies: A Supplement to the University Bulletin, May 16, 1994. Hawaii Revised Statutes, 1985 Replacement, Title 18 (Education), Chapter 307 (Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii). See especially Section 307-3 (Powers of the board) and Section 307-5 (Employees of the research corporation). RCUH Board of Directors. "Executive Director of the Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii." Position Vacancies: A Supplement to the University Bulletin, April 18, 1994. Anonymous. "UH post for [Masumoto]?" Honolulu Star-Bulletin, May 30, 1994. John Griffin. "Harold Masumoto: Gov. Waihee's 'point man.'" The Sunday Star-Bulletin and Advertiser, April 3, 1988. Kevin Dayton. "Retiree bonus bill now law." The Honolulu Advertiser, June 23, 1994. Jahan Byrne. "Waihee staffer to lead UH public affairs." Ka Leo O Hawaii, January 14, 1994. Kenneth P. Mortimer. "Focus on quality." Ku Lama, November 10, 1995. Kenneth P. Mortimer. "The University of Hawaii redefined." Ku Lama, August 11, 1995. Robert Hsiung, Kellie Onaga, and Ryan Kawailani Ozawa. "Marchers lash back at cuts." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 1, 1995. Susan Loui and Jennie Tom. "Ball put in University court." Ka Leo O Hawaii, November 6, 1995. Richard Takasaki, "Issues in University Governance." House of Representatives Majority Seminar on Program Issues. December 5, 1973. p. 7.

Index

A

B

Abelson, Phil 215 Abercrombie, Neil 18, 278 Academic Development Plan II (ADP II) 6 Academic Development Plan III (ADP III) 6-7, 3SM0, 44 Acquiring Control Together 26, 324 Ad Hoc Committee to Review the Organization of the University of Hawaii 42-43 Adamany, David 14 Agbayani, Amy 52, 331 Agsalud, Josh 176, 281 Ah San, Allan 67 Akaka, Abraham 340-341 Akaka, Daniel K. 219, 221-222, 239, 259, 339-340 Akiyama, Mitsuo 232 Allen, Barbara 329 Anderson, Marvin 23, 42 Ariyoshi, George R. 6, 16-17, 19, 64, 91, 118, 122-123, 125, 127, 144, 148, 161, 178, 261, 263, 265, 276, 281, 311-314, 316-317, 356 Arthur D. Little, Inc. 290 Associated Students of the University of Hawaii (ASUH) 20, 42, 62, 89, 95, 98, 119, 281 AT&T 65-67

Bachman, Paul 104 Ball, Harry 14 Baltimore, David 116 Bass, William Martin Jr. 286 Beason, Heidi 298 Békésy, Georg 242, 249 Bellinger, John D. 251, 265, 273-275 Bender, Byron 18, 317 Benson, William 215 Bernice Pauahi Bishop Estate 339 Berrà, Yogi 177 Bersi, Robert 14 Bess, H. David 93-94 Bess, Stephen G. 42-43, 144 Bitterman, Mary 14 Blanco, Joseph F. 144 Blanco, Marie 222 Board of Regents ix, x, 2, 4, 8-9, 13, 16-19, 26, 32, 36, 41-45, 47, 54, 56, 58, 62, 73, 78-80, 84, 86, 89, 91, 95, 101, 103-104, 110-145, 147-149, 151-152, 155, 159, 167-172, 181, 183, 188-189, 191, 199-201, 217-220, 226, 229-230, 237, 245, 255, 266-267, 269-270, 280-282, 293-294, 301-302, 307, 310, 312, 315-316, 318-320, 323, 329, 331-332, 337-338, 352-353, 359

396

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Boneparth, Ellen 2 6 2 - 2 6 3 Boughton, Michael 2 9 4 - 2 9 9 Boyer, Ernest L. 7 8 - 8 4 , 8 6 - 8 8 Brandt, Gladys A. 56, 94, 104, 110, 129-132, 136, 139, 144-145, 240, 339 Brezenzinski, Zbigniew 303 Brown, Kenneth F. 259, 261 Brown, Nancy 83, 180 Burns, J o h n A. 19, 91, 138, 141, 144, 232, 246, 356 Byrne, Jahan 95

c

C. Brewer and Company, Limited 20, 250 Cameron, Colin C. 292 Campaniano, Robin K. 19, 88, 129, 135-138, 144 Campus Center Board 26, 324 Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching 9, 79, 185, 187 Carter, J o e y 3 4 4 - 3 4 6 Cassidy, Jerry 217-220, 231 Cassidy and Associates 216-219, 231, 238, 269 Cayetano, Benjamin J. 127, 313, 355, 359-360 Cazimero, Momi W. 88, 131-132, 136, 144 Center for a Sustainable Future (CSF) 259-262 Center for Asian and Pacific Studies (CAPS) 17, 104 Center for Hawaiian Studies 105, 321, 324, 341, 345 Center for Tropical and Subtropical Agriculture (CTSA) 2 3 0 - 2 3 1 Chang, Healani K. 245 Chaplin, George 17 Ching, Chauncey 231 Ching, Doris 11, 36, 47, 6 2 - 6 6 , 68, 74, 92, 9 4 - 9 5 , 9 7 - 9 8 , 117, 119-120, 325, 327, 355 Ching, E. K. 25 Cleveland, Harlan 4, 12, 39, 59, 7 5 - 7 8 , 202, 315 Clinton, Bill 192, 304

College Hill Breakfast Series 269

30, 36,

College Hill Community Issues Series 30 College of Business Administration 19, 21, 52, 93, 360 College of Hawaii 1 - 2 , 226 College of Languages, Linguistics, and Literature 54, 93 College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (CTAHR) 57, 61, 79, 90, 121, 153, 226-231, 249 Collins, Richard 2 6 l Contois, David 39 Contracts and Grants Management Office (CGMO) 191-192, 197, 210-211 Cook, James 339 Cooper, George 137, 141, 354 Cornuelle, Herbert Cumming 42, 251 Council of Senior Executives (CSE) 8 3 - 8 4 , 90, 160, 354, 356 Coverdell, Paul 238 Cowie, Lennox L. 296 Crawford, David L. 170 Cruikshank, Dale 5

D Daws, Gavan 137, 141, 354 Dawson, Ruth 23 Day, Dick 52 De Leon, Pat 239 Defense Contract Audit Agency (DCAA) 186, 195, 201-213, 277 Defense National Stockpile Center (DNSC) 2 2 1 - 2 2 2 Deister, Cheryl 2 2 1 - 2 2 2 Delima, Frank 23 DeLuca, Diana 11, 13, 23, 33,

36-38, 62

Department of Accounting and General Services (DAGS) 171-173, 220, 222

Department of Budget and Finance (B&F) 68, 124, 150, 152-153, 220 Department of Business, Economic Development, and Tourism (DBEDT) 152-153, 274, 276, 280, 285-291

Index

Department of Education 2, 11, 63, 78, 227 Despain, Larene 329 Dinell, Tom 41, 42 Dingell, John D. 205, 209, 213 Dods, Walter A., Jr. 275-276 Dolly, John P. 94 Domenici, Pete 299 D'Souza, Dinesh 344 Dukakis, Michael 37, 240

E Eastman, Carol 354, 359-360 East-West Center (EWC) 14, 133, 166-168, 240, 260, 266, 275, 300-305, 332 Eckhardt, A. E. 215 Employment Training Office 10

F Fanon, Frantz 341 Fasi, Frank F. 145 Fong, Harold 325-327 Fox, Joel 277-278 Freitas, Rockne 11, 120, 262-263 Freud, Sigmund 24 Fröhlich, Julia A. 14, 16, 19, 42-43, 128-131, 143-145 Fuchs, Roland 104, 106 Fujimoto, Robert M. ("Bobby") 19, 42-43, 129, 144 Fujiyama, Wallace 19, 42, 133 Fukunaga, George 133 Furtick, William 249

G Gaebler, Ted 192 Gaines, James R. 261 Gallo, Robert 116 Garrod, Peter 334-336 Gary, James F. 14, 16-17, 19, 42-43, 129-130, 144 General Appropriations Act 148, 153, 199 General Services Administration (GSA) 221 Gething, Tom 94 Ghali, Moheb 179-180, 205-206, 271-274, 279-280, 332, 335-336

397

Gilfeather, Frank 298-299 Gill, Thomas P. 19 Goodman, Allegra 115 Goodman, Madeleine 40, 52, 54, 93-97, 103, 107, 117, 229, 331-332, 354-355 Gorter, Wytze 42, 279 Goto, Jennifer 261-263 Goto, Y. Baron 133 Graduate Student Organization (GSO) 119 Green, Cecil 215 Greenfield, David W. 94 Greenwood, Fred 241-245, 248-250, 261, 280, 284 Griffith, Richard Lyle 251 GTE Hawaiian Telephone Company 20, 65-66, 68, 286 Gulbrandsen, Christian L. 246-250

H Hall, Donald N. B. 232-236, 242, 249-250, 261, 281, 289, 291, 295-297 Halliday, Jake 5 Hamilton, Thomas 3-4, 18, 59, 141 Haoles for Haunani 26, 324 Harrison, Jeremy 17, 19, 325, 327 Hauser, Robert 332-335 Hawaii Community College (HCC) 3, 71, 84-88, 158-159, 163, 330 Hawaii Federation of College Teachers (HFCT) 313-314 Hawaii Government Employees Association (HGEA) 4, 195, 199-201, 338 Hawaii Institute of Geophysics (HIG) 5, 108, 188, 215-219, 255, 279, 290 Hawaii Institute of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources (HITAHR) 57, 149, 189, 227 Hawaii Labor Relations Board (HLRB) 318-319, 337-338 Hawaii Natural Energy Institute (HNEI) 108, 189, 249-251, 253, 255, 260, 262 Hawaii Public Employees Relations Board (HPERB) 316 Hawaii Women of Color 26, 324 Hays, Ronald J. 205, 274, 276-278

398

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Healt, Hobson, and Associates 183 Heftel, Cecil 162 Helfrich, Phil 255 Helsley, Charles E. ("Chuck") 216-217, 220, 223, 231, 255-257, 279, 281 Henderson, Art 293 Henke, Burton 5 Hines, Robert 17, 98 Hippensteele, Susan 3 2 9 - 3 3 0 Historic Hawaii Foundation 38, 130 HNEI 276 Ho, Mary 269, 275 Hockaday, Ellie 222 Holmes, Tommy 259, 2 6 l Holt, J o h n Dominis 116 Holt, Milton 15, 7 9 - 8 0 Honolulu Community College 132, 160, 164 Horii, Ralph 11, 32, 43, 4 7 ^ 8 , 58, 62, 66, 91, 9 6 - 9 7 , 120, 134, 176, 178-180, 205-206, 208-213, 221-223, 231, 258, 273, 3 5 4 - 3 5 5 House Finance Committee 89, 293 House Higher Education Committee 89 Hubbard, Hub 2 6 l Hubbert, King 215 I Iaccoca, Lee 29 IBM 6 6 - 6 7 Ige, Marshall 90 Ikeda, Kiyoshi 331-332, 334 Imada, J e a n 11, 13, 3 3 - 3 8 , 62 Inazu, Judith 120 Inouye, Daniel K. 145, 217-219, 222, 231, 238-239, 242, 258-259, 261-263, 287, 291, 294, 298-300, 302, 305 Institute for Astronomy (IFA) 5, 121, 134, 188, 233-235, 242, 249-250, 256, 281, 289-290, 2 9 4 - 2 9 6 Ishii, Daniel M. 11, 15, 144, 178, 180, 261, 281-286, 292-293, 295

J Jacobs, Patricia 5 Jeffries, John 233, 249

J o h n A. Burns School of Medicine 14, 241, 245, 248 J o h n Grenzebach and Associates 268 Johns, Donnalyn 341 Johnson, Raymond W. 26 Johnsrud, Linda 331 Jones, Tamela 89 Juergensmeyer, Mark 94, 353

K Ka Lona Hanakahi

88

Kahanamoku, Duke 116, 266 Kakugawa, Paul 206 Kameeleihiwa, Lili 116 Kamehameha 341 Kapiolani Community College 71, 130, 142, 158-159, 163 Kardash, James Daniel 311, 318 Kato, Kenneth N. 19, 88, 94, 129, 132-138, 143-145, 293-294, 309 Kattsoff, L. 21 Kauai Community College 130, 160, 163 Kay, E. Allison 17 Keck, W. M. 276 Keck, William M., II 276 Kefford, Noel Price ("Ned") 57, 226-231, 249-250, 261 Keith, Kent 274 Kennedy, Donald 209 Kennedy, Edward 2 3 9 - 2 4 0 Kiste, Robert 17 Kiyabu, Ken 16, 252 Kobayashi, Ann 252 Kodani, Clyde T. 144 Kondo, Tetsuo 2 8 7 - 2 8 8 Kono, Hideto 251 Kormondy, Edward J. 1 1 , 8 2 - 9 0 , 103, 117, 120, 182, 261, 330, 334-335 Kosaki, Mildred 134, 159 Kosaki, Richard H. 14, 17-19, 43, 4 8 - 4 9 , 107, 129, 134, 159, 181-182, 219 Kotter, J o h n P. 75 KPMG Peat Marwick 68, 202, 210-212 Krall, Randy 299 Kuba, Edward M. 88, 1 4 3 - 1 4 4 Kuiper, Gerard 232

Index

Kulig, John Wayne 222 Kunitake, Chester 200-201 Kusakabe, Sharon Sayuri 69

L Lam, Maivan Clech 324-329, 344 Land and Power in Hawaii 136-137, 141, 143, 199 Lau, Kenneth K. 351, 354, 357 Laudan, Larry 345 Lee, Oliver 3-4 Lee, Richard K. C. 272 Leeward Community College (LCC) 70-71, 130, 132, 181-183 Lenzer, Anthony 54 Levin, Andrew 15, 289-290 Li, Traudl 353 Li, Victor Hao 302 Loeffelholz, Tracy 16 Lofton, Susan 202 Longfield, Richard 5 Lu, Wayne 295-296 Lum, Warren 206 Lyman, Richard J. Jr. 251 Lyon Arboretum 138-140, 189, 267 Lyon Arboretum Association 38

M Mackey, M. Cecil 14-17, 49, 103, 129, 161 Magaard, Lorenz 107, 262-263 Mair, Donald C. 267-268, 270 Malahoff, Alex 208 Malcolm, Donald G. 292-293, 297 Malcolm X 341 Malony, John P. 205-211, 277 Manoa Academic Council (MAC) 90 Manoa Executive Council (MEC) 66, 90 Manoa Faculty Congress 40, 142, 358 Manoa Faculty Senate 7, 12, 14, 22, 40, 42, 44, 93, 108, 133, 191, 316, 345 Manoa Faculty Senate Executive Committee 12, 44, 52, 240, 316 Manoharan, Arthur 240 Marine Option Program (MOP) 108, 123, 262

399

Marsella, Anthony J. 33, 47, 50-59, 61, 63, 65, 68, 74, 77, 91-95, 98, 100, 103, 107-108, 117, 169, 231, 325, 327 Marumoto, Masaji 133 Mason, Karen 332 Masumoto, Harold 43-44, 47-48, 50, 58-62, 64, 91-92, 96, 127-128, 138, 176, 183, 276, 279-281, 314, 354-358 Matsuda, Fujio ("Fudge") 4-9, 13-14, 22, 28, 37, 42, 50, 59-60, 64, 76-77, 92, 126-127, 162, 200, 205, 210, 213, 216, 218, 262, 265, 269, 272, 274, 276, 279, 301, 314-315, 357 Matsumae, Tatsuro 141 Matsunaga, Spark M. ("Sparky") 138, 145, 219, 239, 250-252, 259, 261, 265, 287-289 Matsunaga International Peace Academy 90 Matsuura, Richard M. 67-68, 90, 251-252

Maui Community College 130, 134-135, 160, 294 Maui Economic Development Board (MEDB) 280, 292-297 . Maui High Performance Computing Center (MHPCC) 292-300 Maui Research and Technology Center (MRTC) 266, 286, 292-296 Maui Research and Technology Park (MRTP) 133, 280, 286, 292-294 Maynard, Sherwood 262-263 McCartney, Mike 318 McCubbin, Hamilton 98-103, 117 McCubbin, Marilyn 100-101 McGeary, Pat 221, 239 McGovern, George 26 McKaughan, Howard 54 McKinley, Kelton 262-263 McTarnaghan, Roy E. 351, 353 Meyerson, Harvey 287-288, 291 Michael, Jerrold M. 236-241, 248-250 Mills, C. Wright 299 Mitano, Cherry 239 Mitchell, Stephen R. 85 Miwa, Ralph 17, 43, 47, 85, 182

400

WHO RUNS THE

UNIVERSITY.?

Miyataki, Glen 29 Miyataki, Ko 269, 275 Mizuguchi, Norman 252 Moore, Charles 104 Moore, Randolph Graves 251 Morita, Akio 276 Morrison, David 5, 18, 48-50, 216, 289 Mortimer, Kenneth P. 62, 95, 160, 179, 183, 222, 262, 337, 349-360 Mortimer, Lorraine 354 Morton, Newton 5, 6 Mouginis-Mark, Peter 291 Mukai, Stanley Y. 14, 128, 144 Mulhollan, Paige 14 Murai, Ernest 354

N Naifeh, George 26 Najita, Joyce M. 311, 357 Narimatsu, Sharon 353 Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii Authority (NELHA) 259, 285 Nature Conservancy 38 NCHEMS Management Services, Inc. (NMSI) 279 Neubauer, Deane Edward 93-94 New Affirmative Action Coalition (NAAC) 331 Nishimura, Albert S. 144, 281 Nishimura, Edith 68 Nishimura, Yukio 68-69

o O'Brien, Gregory 351, 353 Oceanic Institute (OI) 260, 263, 266 Office of Faculty Development and Academic Support (OFDAS) 331 Office of Management and Budget (OMB) 221, 304 Office of Naval Research (ONR) 173-174, 206, 222, 273 Office of Research Administration (ORA) 189-191, 195-197, 203-204, 211, 270-272, 284, 296, 360 Office of Research Relations (ORR) 190 Office of Space Industry (OSI) 290

Office of Technology Transfer and Economic Development (OTTED) 177, 261, 266, 278-285, 295 Office of the Vice President for Research and Graduate Education (OVPRGE) 55, 107, 109, 190-191, 255, 284 Ohigashi, Lee 144 Okamura, Norman 68 Okata, Russell 199-200 Oksenberg, Michel 302-304 Ono, Ruth M. 88, 143-144 Ontai, Dean 17 Operation Kua'ana 322 Operation Manong 52, 322, 324 O'Rourke, Edward 249 Osborne, David 192 Oshima, Gilbert 273 Outdoor Circle 38

P Pacific Asian Legal Studies Program 324-327, 329 Pacific Biomedical Research Center (PBRC) 188, 236, 241-242, 245, 250, 256, 280 Pacific International Center for High Technology Research (PICHTR) 153, 176, 205, 251, 253, 260-261, 265-266, 271-278, 283, 285, 288 Pacific Ocean Science and Technology building (POST building) 110, 159, 186, 214-223, 239, 254, 257 Panofsky, Wolfgang K. H. 213 Patrinos, Nahua 26 Pecsok, Bob 107 Pendleton, Edwin C. 311 Penn, Edwin 267-271 Perrin, Kenneth L. 182, 354 Perrot, Mary Carol 52 Pi'ilani 341 Plotts, Diane J. 88, 144 Potter, Nancy 221 Potter, Robert E. I l l , 118, 127 Pratt, C. Dudley Jr. 251 R Radcliffe, John

89

Index

Raleigh, Cecil Baring ("Barry") 110, 178-180, 2 5 3 - 2 6 3 Ramos, David B. 144 Research Advisory Council (RAC) 191 Research and Training Revolving Fund (RTRF) 154, 173-181, 189-190, 195, 197, 212, 220, 255, 269, 282 Research Centers in Minority Institutions (RCMI) 188, 241-242, 244-245 Research Corporation of the University of Hawaii (RCUH) 126, 154, 166, 180, 186, 191-203, 205-206, 209-211, 213, 218, 262, 266, 269-273, 280, 282-283, 356, 357 Richards, Herbert M., Jr. ("Monte") 88, 130, 144 Riordan, J o h n 2 0 5 - 2 0 6 Rodrigues, Gary 199, 3 5 6 - 3 5 8 Rogers, Terence 14, 238, 2 4 7 - 2 4 9 Rubey, William 215 Rubia, Carlo 116 Rubinstein, Donald 104

s Sagawa, Yoneo 140 Saiki, Patricia ix, x, xi, 119, 129, 131, 219, 239 Sakaguchi, Rodney 11, 91, 120, 134, 273, 355 Sakamaki, Shunzo 104 Sathre, Colleen 11, 28, 4 4 - 4 6 , 50, 91, 103, 120, 356 Sawaki, Masoa 276 School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS) 5 6 - 5 7 , 6 l , 64, 94, 99, 103-106, 130, 159, 165, 353 School of Ocean and Earth Science and Technology (SOEST) 79, 106-110, 130, 178-179, 190, 253-258, 260, 262-263, 283 School of Public Health 236-240, 250, 360 Senate Higher Education Committee 26, 72, 7 9 - 8 0 , 89, 200, 229, 243,

401

284, 290, 324, 328 Senate Ways and Means Committee 60, 133, 176, 293 Seymour, Richard K. 54, 9 3 - 9 4 Sharma, Miriam 329 Sheriff, Stan 11 Shiraishi, Clinton 136 Shiramizu, Tatsuki ("Pepper") 11, 15, 42—43, 94, 119-120, 127-128, 134, 140-141, 180, 285 Shon, Jim 177 Siddiqui, Wasim 202 Simone, Albert J. v, x, 1, 5, 7 - 9 , 11-38, 4 3 - 6 4 , 66, 68, 7 2 - 9 8 , 100-103, 105-111, 118-120, 122, 125-131, 133-134, 136, 138-140, 143, 147-148, 150, 155-170, 175-179, 185-186, 191, 195-203, 208, 210-212, 217-220, 222, 225, 228-231, 236, 243-244, 247-248, 253-255, 257-259, 267-268, 270, 273-274, 276-284, 291-295, 309, 311, 314-318, 321, 323-332, 334, 337-338, 344-347, 349-350, 352-353, 355, 3 5 8 - 3 6 0 Simone, Carolie 13, 33, 3 7 - 3 8 , 58, 62 Simone, Debra 38 Simone, Edward (father of Albeit) 20 Simone, Edward (son of Albert) 38 Simone, Karen 38 Simone, Laura 38 Simone, Mary 20 Simson, George 54 Sinclair, Gregg 104 Smith, Brian 298, 299 Smyser, A. A. ("Bud") 104, 106 Solomon, Leiomalama ("Malama") 26, 7 2 - 7 3 , 7 9 - 8 0 , 229-230, 243, 284, 290, 324, 328-330, 3 3 9 - 3 4 0 Souki, J o e 133, 2 9 3 - 2 9 5 Spalding, Philip E. 266 State Board for Vocational Education 78 Steiger, Walter R. 19, 129, 144, 168 Stephenson, H. Howard 84, 88, 143-145 Students Against Discrimination 26, 324, 329

402

WHO RUNS THE UNIVERSITY?

Sumida, Kenji 4 7 ^ 8 , 9 0 - 9 2 , 176, 275 Swanson, Timothy 238

T Tajiri, Harvey 89, 122 Takahashi, Patrick 249-253, 255, 262-263, 276 Takai, Mark 95, 98 Takasaki, Richard x, 42, 360 Takemoto, Yukio ("Yuki") 6 7 - 6 8 , 220, 281 Takeuchi, David 52 Takeyama, Roy Y. 88, 130, 141-144, 178, 283 Takushi, James 11, 9 1 - 9 2 , 120, 134, 337, 3 5 5 - 3 5 6 Tan, Amy 271 Tanabe, Gil 2 9 - 3 1 , 45, 51 Taniguchi, Brian 80, 328 Tanimoto, Larry S. 144 Thiongo, Ngugi Wa 341 Thompson, Jim 298 Topping, Don 6 7 - 6 8 Trask, Haunani-Kay 26, 103, 339-347, 3 5 9 - 3 6 0 Truly, Richard H. 291 Tsuchiya, Burt K. 144 Tsunoda, Brenda Yukari 69 Tsunoda, J o y c e 11, 43, 47, 6 8 - 7 4 , 79, 8 2 - 8 4 , 8 6 - 8 7 , 103, 120, 132, 213, 261, 330-331, 3 3 4 - 3 3 5 , 351-354 Tsunoda, Peter 69 Tummons, Patricia 265 Tungpalan, Eloise 89, 200-201 Turner, Wallace 17 Twain, Mark 13, 27

u UHH Student Association 89 Ulveling, Roger 276 United Public Workers (UPW) 4, 199-200 University Advisory Committee on Computing and Telecommunications (U-ACCT) 6 5 - 6 6 University Executive Council (UEC) 11-12, 22, 3 1 - 3 2 , 39, 46, 57, 59,

64, 68, 72, 7 4 - 7 5 , 8 1 - 8 4 , 9 0 - 9 2 , 9 6 - 9 7 , 100-101, 119-120, 128, 180, 217, 225, 284, 3 3 0 - 3 3 2 University of Hawaii at Hilo (UHH) 3, 10-11, 17, 41, 4 7 - 1 8 , 71, 73, 7 8 - 9 0 , 106, 118, 121-123, 130, 134, 160, 164, 229-230, 243, 280, 287-288, 290, 318, 328, 330-331, 354-355 University of Hawaii at Manoa (UHM) 2 - 4 , 6 - 1 0 , 12, 14, 18, 22, 36, 3 9 - 4 4 , 46, 53, 55, 5 7 - 5 9 , 6 3 - 6 5 , 67, 6 9 - 7 3 , 7 8 - 8 5 , 8 9 - 9 0 , 93, 96, 99-100, 102, 104-107, 115-118, 121-124, 132-135, 138, 142, 151, 156, 158, 160, 164, 166-168, 170-172, 181-184, 186-192, 197, 213, 216, 225-230, 239-245, 253, 261, 266, 275, 283-284, 286, 293, 300-301, 309, 3 1 6 - 3 1 8 , 322-323, 328-336, 338, 340, 343-344, 346-347, 351-355, 3 5 9 - 3 6 0 University of Hawaii Foundation (UHF) 11, 15, 154, 220, 243, 266-272, 275 University of Hawaii Maui Research and Training Center (UHMRTC) 292 University o f Hawaii Professional Assembly (UHPA) 4, 18, 119, 139, 227, 312-319, 336-338, 341-342, 351, 353 University of Hawaii-West Oahu (UH-WO) 3, 10-11, 41, 4 7 - 4 8 , 73, 78, 8 0 - 8 3 , 85, 88, 106, 110, 118, 130, 160, 181-184, 318, 3 5 4 - 3 5 5 University Research Council (URC) 175, 179, 189 Ushijima, J o h n T. 143-144

86, 88, 137-141,

V Van Dyke, J o n

325, 327

w Wade, Rex 17, 28, 4 3 ^ 4 , 52 Waihee, J o h n David, III 32, 58-60, 91, 97, 101, 104, 106, 118, 121, 124, 127-128, 131, 144-145,

Index

147-148, 161-162, 165, 176, 180-181, 183, 186,\ 192, 199, 219-220, 222, 228, 256, 281-282, 289, 292, 312-313, 319, 339 Ward, Bill 26 Watanabe, Mie 11, 325, 327, 329, 331 Weinstein, Roy 5 5 - 5 6 Wessel, R. 21 Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC) 85, 121-122, 126-127, 1 8 2 - 1 8 3 Willett, E. 21 William S. Richardson School of Law 324, 327 Williamson, Marvel 34, 38 Windward Community College (WCC) 10 Woerster, Dan 5 Wolff, Sidney 5 Women's Campus Club 38 Women's Center at Hilo 124 Women's Center at Manoa 124, 322 Wong, Edwin Sau Nin 251

403

Woollard, George P. 215 Wunsch, Marie 52, 331

Y Yagi, Tom 199 Yamada, Dennis R. 88, 136-138, 144 Yamasaki, Mamoru 133, 251, 293-295 Yao, Lily K. 144 Yap, Alison 329 Yasuda, James 3 1 8 - 3 1 9 , 3 3 6 - 3 3 7 Yoshinaga, Nadao 60, 138 Young, Benjamin 55, 6 2 - 6 3 , 74, 92, 107, 119, 339 Young, Jim 66 Young, Reg 257, 258 Yuen, Bill 357 Yuen, Ed 66 Yuen, Paul C. 11, 9 0 - 1 0 3 , 108, 117, 120, 124, 249, 257-258, 261-263, 265, 272, 274, 276-278, 297, 332, 345, 3 5 2 - 3 5 5 Yuen, Sylvia 6 l