By Cathy Caudill
Matthew DeSantis is 29 and living in a college dormitory once more.
It’s different from the first time he lived in a dorm 10 years earlier.
To start, High Point University’s polished, condo-esque suites are far nicer than the condemned 15-by-15 dorm he inhabited with four other men at Furman College. Not to mention he has this suite all to himself.
And he doesn’t have to pay to live there.
And he is no longer a student—he is a professor among students.
DeSantis is an assistant professor of political science HPU. A few months earlier, he was asked if he would be interested in being the Faculty in Residence on the honors floor at York Hall. It was the first time the university had created a floor exclusively for honors students, and he would become the first faculty member to live on the floor with the students.
“I was really honored to be asked,” he says, and then laughs that there was only a small pool of potential candidates to begin with. Most of the faculty are married and have children, and the school couldn’t host a family in the dorm.
DeSantis is young—relatively close in age to his students—and single, therefore an ideal candidate.
His duties are pretty open-ended: to help convert the hall from an ordinary dorm into an area of intellectual discourse, and to make himself available to the students in case they need to speak to him about academic or personal problems.
It’s strange, but enjoyable to be back in a dormitory. He appreciates that he can be a resource to the students, and muses about the convenience of having a home with utilities at no cost to himself.
He laughs that his father also liked this aspect. “He knew that he could stop sending me money,” DeSantis says. He also laughs that it upset his mother, who did not view the move in the economic light that his father had.
He humorously mimics his mother’s rapid-fire rant: “You’re single at 29, you’re living in the dorms, you’re just not gonna find a woman before you’re 30.”
But aside from missing his dishwasher (“I have utensils in my sink from probably a month ago”) and the far-too-frequent fire alarms, he finds that the dorm is even nicer than his old apartment.
Faculty in Residence
DeSantis reaches for his phone: he has a text message from a student. This doesn’t surprise him—he has given his number to all of his students, even ones that don’t live on his floor. “Just don’t call me, text me,” he’d laugh. “If I see a random 336 number, I’m not going to pick up.”
This student isn’t in the honors program, but he remembers she had taken a class with him. After identifying herself, she says that she has a problem and would like to talk to him.
DeSantis glances at the time. It’s a bit late—11:00 p.m.—but he is usually up past 1 a.m. anyway. He responds that he would be glad to meet her up in one of the 4th floor lounges.
The student arrives, and she is visibly upset. She is going through a rough time with her family, and desperately needed someone to talk to. DeSantis was happy to be that someone.
They talk for nearly two and a half hours—sometimes about how she felt, sometimes about his own family experiences. When she left at 1:30 a.m., she seemed to be in a better mind-set, and DeSantis was glad to have been helpful.
This is the most important part of his job: to be available to students when they need him. He wishes that all of the university’s students could learn to be comfortable around the faculty. In the dormitory, he spends much of his time engaging in conversations with the students, putting them at ease by the sheer virtue of talking. A student may knock on his door to ask a single question and leave 30 minutes later.
DeSantis hopes that by familiarizing himself with the students, they may be able to think to themselves, “Hmm, he’s a guy that I can go and talk to if I have an issue; and if I have a problem, I can talk to him! And I don’t need to feel weird or intimidated by that.” He spends much of his time on the fourth-floor lounge, letting the students know that he is both available and approachable.
DeSantis hopes that his efforts will make the students comfortable not just with him, but with the entire university faculty. He hopes that students can recognize through him that it’s okay to approach the faculty with both academic and personal issues.
“I can’t understate how important it is that [students feel comfortable around faculty members]. I think that’s one of the most important things that this program can do—not only for the honors students, but for all of the students.”
Still he’s careful about not becoming too personal with students, politely cutting them off if they start to give him “too much information.” He also laughs about putting his head in his hands, shaking it after passing one of his students on a weeknight who reeked of alcohol. “Oh, well,” he chuckles.
Brown-Bagging It
Taylor Dodge is sitting in the lounge with about 15 other honors students. They’re not playing Apples to Apples or Quelf—they are learning about social deviance.
DeSantis has arranged for professor of sociology Dr. Hayes to speak to the students about his research and engage in open discussion. The students sit around casually but listen intently as they munch on the luncheon food that was also provided.
By the time the discussion is over, students of all majors—not just sociology—are curious to learn more. He informs them that he is teaching a class on it next semester, and a few decide right then that their names will be on his roster.
Hayes is one of the four professors who have spoken to the honors students in DeSantis’ Brown Bag Series. Professor of economics, Dr. Crofton, professor of chemistry and physical science, Dr. Titus, and professor of history, Dr. Schneid have also discussed their research with the students. The students marvel that they have actually found great interest in private insurance, physics, and Italian military history.
Dodge, who has attended most of the discussions, reflects on Crofton’s lecture on insurance: “It was actually pretty informative. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as private insurance; I always thought you had to be a member of FDIC.”
“We do [the discussions] in a very informal way,” says DeSantis. “The students are encouraged to engage with the faculty, back-and-fourth.” These informal, intellectual discussions are yet another catalyst to DeSantis’ aim of bringing down the student-professor barrier.
Meanwhile, the faculty speakers have the enjoyment of sharing their independent research with the students—research that they don’t often have an opportunity to share with their classes.
In his search for next semester’s Brown Bag lineup, DeSantis has yet to hit the bottom of the well of teachers who want to share their research. He already has 5 more professors lined up; he is hoping he can arrange time for 8.
Great Expectations
The honors floor is staging a not-so-hostile takeover of York Hall. Next year, the 3rd floor is tentatively joining the 4th in hosting exclusively honors students. Within the next two to three years, the university plans on converting the entire dormitory into an honors residence hall.
Whether the school will be able to find a faculty member for each floor is still pending, but as the staff steadily increases, DeSantis thinks they may be able to do so. DeSantis himself may stick around for another year—possibly mentor the third-floor faculty newbie—and then move back off campus at the close of the year.
But he won’t stay longer than one more year: life outside the dorm is calling him back. “You get the wonderful perks, but from a social standpoint it’s miserable,” says DeSantis. “I’ve had to put my social life on hold for several months. If they ask me to do it for one more year I certainly would, but I want more faculty members than just me to have this experience.”
In the meantime, DeSantis strives to convert his own floor into the fabled land of intellectual discourse. With school funding, they have already bought several tables that scatter the hallway and pack the lounges.
“I’ve seen so many students studying together up here,” says DeSantis, “so many working on projects, taking advice, talking to each other about things: it’s a great way for students to be able to lean on each other and help each other out.”
The tables are just the beginning of the floor’s ongoing transformation. By the end of the spring semester, the posters of grinning High Point students will be replaced by photographs of artwork: iconic images that may intellectually engage the students. They will also bear captions drawing attention to classes that the university offers.
Perhaps the controversial photo of a Buddhist monk setting himself afire may inspire a student to take an Eastern philosophy course. Across the hall, one of Frieda Kahlo’s self-portraits will promote a psychology course: “How do you see yourself?” it will say.
The honors floor is in its infancy, but it already bears the signs of success. Students on the floor are involved and engaged with each other, and it has truly become the intellectual environment that DeSantis and the people within the honors program had hoped it would become.
"Everyone is here for a reason," says DeSantis. "Everyone had to sign up. Everyone here took a proactive approach and wanted to be on this hall, so they're fostering really great relationships."
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