This is the op-ed I published in the Eugene Weekly, October 9, 2025 

Last spring, in these pages (EW, April 17), I suggested that the Lane Community College (LCC) Board of Education might resolve its dysfunction by electing some new members. Six months later, I’ll admit that my optimism was misplaced. While we now have a couple of new faces, the Board remains divided, unproductive and, at times, an embarrassment to our community.

Several others have also recently weighed in on the College's status. First, former faculty member Steve McQuiddy (EW, September 4) reminded us that the institution once thrived on trust, cooperation, and a commitment to the collective good. Then, College President Stephanie Bulger (EW, September 11) and Faculty Union President Adrienne Mitchell (EW, September 25) both described LCC as being at an “inflection point,” though they disagreed on what that might mean. Bulger argued that “expenses have risen faster than revenue” and announced annual budget reductions of $3 million through 2029. Mitchell countered that reserves have “increased by $1 million over the last two years while revenue exceeded expenses, not the other way around,” and that the administration has sidelined both the Board and public, pointing to the unilateral pause of the Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN) program. 

But let’s back up. I contend the cracks in Board governance first became public when the body failed to fill the vacancy left by Trustee Lisa Fragala’s resignation late last year. Four qualified applicants stepped forward, but the Board deadlocked and left the seat empty — an early sign of its inability to act decisively.

More troubling conflict soon followed. In early April 2025, then-Vice Chair Kevin Alltucker read a letter into the record accusing then-Chair Zach Mulholland of abusive and bullying behavior toward President Bulger. The College commissioned an independent investigation, which in late June substantiated the complaints. The report found Mulholland verbally abusive, hostile, and intimidating toward Bulger, as well as a student, while also noting broader dysfunction within the rest of the Board.

The community responded swiftly. At the September 3 Board meeting, more than two dozen citizens, including two former LCC presidents and a former trustee, spoke with one voice: Mulholland had lost the confidence of the public and should resign. Instead, the Board voted to censure him. Now, while serious in theory, censure is largely symbolic. It leaves the censured member in office with credibility unaddressed.

Meanwhile, the Board has stumbled in other areas of its responsibility. This fall, trustees have struggled to define their role in decisions about academic programs. The temporary suspension of the LPN program, implemented by the administration without a formal Board vote, illustrates this challenge. The Board’s discussions sparked by this move have been disorganized, poorly informed, contentious and often disrespectful. Then, at the September 30 meeting, the President’s goals, up for official approval, included those annual $3 million budget cuts mentioned above. During the public comment portion of the meeting, it had been suggested that this Presidential goal circumnavigated the prescribed institutional budget-development process, so during consideration of this item there were exchanges that clearly illustrated the divisions within the Board — as well as the power struggle between the Board and the President.Taken together, these issues are examples of the dangers discussed by Mitchell, because when transparency and shared governance are sidelined, students, faculty and the College’s mission are put at risk.

McQuiddy’s reflections provide a constructive contrast. Faculty and staff have long prioritized collective success over personal gain, demonstrating trust, collaboration, and commitment to the broader community. If the Board emulated such an ethos, it could rebuild confidence and make decisions rooted in LCC’s shared mission.

So here’s why I’m making the effort to offer up this analysis: I believe that Lane Community College is not just another local institution. It is a cornerstone of opportunity in Lane County. Thousands of students rely on LCC each year to launch careers, retrain for new jobs, or prepare for university transfer. For it to thrive, it needs a Board that can work together with professionalism, focus, and respect. Right now, that is not the Board we have.

Instead of steady leadership, the Board has become a source of instability. Instead of strengthening public trust, it has damaged it.

One next step is clear: Trustee Zach Mulholland should voluntarily step aside. The public has lost confidence in his leadership; the investigation’s findings make his continued service unwelcome. His resignation would show some degree of accountability and help rebuild trust in the Board.

But this move, by itself, will not suffice. The dysfunction extends well beyond a single individual. It is systemic. Trustees must address procedural weaknesses, clarify roles, and commit to transparent, respectful governance. This will not be easy work.

Lane Community College has a proud history of service to our community. It deserves a Board that honors that legacy, provides thoughtful leadership, and works together in the best interests of the people it serves. The future of the College, and the opportunities of thousands of students, depend on it.

-----

I graduated from high school in 1965, right in the middle of that turbulent, unforgettable decade. Last month, I made the cross-country trek from Eugene, Oregon to Rice Lake, Wisconsin for my 60-year reunion.

Traveling to rural northern Wisconsin isn’t easy. These days, I take two days just to get there. This time I flew to Minneapolis via Seattle, rented a car, and drove to a nearby hotel in the dark. Car rentals, of course, come with their own set of challenges. I drive a 2020 Subaru Crosstrek at home, so when I found myself behind the wheel of a 2025 Nissan Rogue, I had to pause in the airport lot, dig out the 600-page manual, and acquaint myself with the vehicle’s basics. Eventually, I made it to the airport Holiday Inn Express, tired but in one piece.

Day two was the drive to Rice Lake. I stopped in Menomonie to see my friend “BA,” a classmate I’ve known since I was 12. We’ve been in steady contact — often over Zoom during and since the pandemic — so our conversation flowed easily, even if it wasn’t about anything in particular. Politics and religion are off-limits between us, so our chatter resembled a Seinfeld-style “conversation about nothing.” Still, it was grounding to reconnect before the busy weekend ahead.

On day three, I had breakfast with another classmate, “CJ.” We first reconnected at our 40th reunion and in recent times have grown a bit closer through regular Zoom calls. Our conversations are different from most — personal, probing, unafraid of difficult topics like family dynamics, belonging, and the choices that shaped our lives. Sitting across from her in person gave those exchanges a richness I rarely find elsewhere.

That evening was the first group gathering at a local pizza place. I had gone in with low expectations, and still, the chaotic setup surprised me: thirty or so people crammed into the back corner of a bar with no clear plan for how to mingle or sit together. Consequently, BA and I retreated to a booth for dinner before cautiously rejoining the group once the crowd thinned. To my relief, I found a few familiar faces and even received a warm hug from a female classmate who had been reading my writings over the years. Those small moments of recognition helped balance out the initial frustration.

The next morning, BA and I met again for breakfast, this time joined by “WJ.” Our conversation took a surprising turn when, at one point, he asked, “Do you believe in vaccines?” The question startled me, but to my relief, all three of us agreed. Still, it was a reminder of the cultural divide I often feel when I return to Rice Lake — a blue-leaning visitor navigating a visit to a deeply red part of the country.

Saturday night was the main event at Lehman’s Supper Club, the classic Rice Lake venue for special occasions. Drinks started at five, but I stuck with ginger ale while classmates sipped their cocktails. I chatted briefly with a few people, but the connections felt fleeting. Dinner was buffet-style, serviceable but unremarkable, and I found myself at a table where conversation was scarce. By 7:30, much of the room had emptied out.

There was no program to speak of, aside from WJ’s attempt to spark discussion about future reunions. He floated the idea of meeting every year at Lehman’s. To me, that seemed unrealistic, for how many of us in our late seventies are going to make an annual pilgrimage back to Rice Lake? Still, he made an effort to keep something alive.

The highlight of the night was another chance to talk with CJ, this time in the middle of the busy dining room. While classmates milled about, we found ourselves absorbed in yet another meaningful exchange, the kind that lingers long after the event ends.

Looking back, I left the weekend with mixed feelings. Unlike past reunions where unexpected conversations left me energized, this one felt quieter, thinner, as if the spark had dimmed. Most classmates seemed eager to head home early, and true reconnections were rare. Was it me? Or was it simply the reality of our age, our numbers dwindling, and our capacity for long evenings fading? I honestly don’t know.

One regret lingers: I could have picked up my phone and taken photos. As an old event photographer, I had the skills and opportunity to document the gathering and share it on our class Facebook page. Instead, I sat passively, missing a chance to contribute. That realization stings.

And yet, in the end, the reunion gave me what I’ve come to value most in these years — small moments of closeness with a few old friends. A booth dinner with BA. A searching breakfast with CJ. Even an awkward question from WJ that revealed common ground. Perhaps that’s what reunions are really about: not the big group photos, or the banquet meals, but the quiet exchanges that tend to remind us who we were, and who we’ve now become. 

-----

I have written three previous descriptions about my class reunions and you can find them here:

40^th reunion: https://technomonk.squarespace.com/journal/2005/12/28/the-class-of-65.html

 45^th reunion: https://technomonk.squarespace.com/journal/2010/10/10/social-media-whatever-happened-to-the-class-of-65.html

 50^th reunion: https://technomonk.squarespace.com/journal/2015/4/10/not-as-young-as-i-once-was.html

Here are my remarks made before the Lane Community College Board of Education on September 3, 2005

Chair Folnagy, Members of the Board, President Bulger, Colleagues: 

Good evening. My name is Jim Arnold. I’m a Lane County resident, a retired university and college administrator, and someone who sincerely cares about the future of Lane Community College.

First of all, congratulations to the re-elected and newly-elected Board members. I think it’s especially great to see Jesse seated to the Zone 7 position, for which I was an applicant last December.

Tonight I stand here as an ally of both the college’s faculty AND, well, the Board of Education too, because I am very concerned about the wide gap between the bargaining positions of the LCCEA and the administration. I worked in higher education for decades and I know how essential it is to have a stable, respected, and fairly-treated faculty if we want our students to succeed.

The proposals brought forward by the faculty union are thoughtful, forward-looking, and clearly rooted in student success. They’re calling for more support for students — including better access to advising, tutoring, and mental health services. They’re advocating for inclusive facilities, safe classrooms, and working conditions that allow faculty to focus on teaching and mentoring students.

On the other hand, the administration is proposing to reduce job security, eliminate long-standing agreements, and reserve the right to reopen pay discussions at almost any time, under vaguely defined conditions. That kind of unpredictability doesn’t just harm morale — it makes it harder to recruit and retain good faculty. 

Now, I offer these comments in the context of a recent finding that the administration has engaged in unfair labor practices. Of course, at the same time, one of the continuing priorities of the president is to improve campus climate. Frankly, I’ve really been trying to wrap my head around all that.

In closing, I urge you all, as a Board, to strongly encourage your bargaining team to move toward a settlement that reflects Lane’s espoused values of integrity, relevance, learning, support and transformation. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if LCC’s espoused values were the ones we actually enact. So, even in these resource-challenged times, my advice to you is to choose to invest in students and in faculty.

Thank you for your time.

What follows below, in collaboration with ChatGPT, is a review of my two decades of work here on this blog. Provided for your amusement and entertainment. And my ego, I suppose.

-----

To read Technomonk’s Musings is to discover a mind that insists on thinking in full sentences, even when the subject is uncomfortable. The essays — ranging from meditations on aging and love to reflections on politics, memory, and the quiet absurdities of everyday life — form less a blog than an ongoing correspondence between the author and the world.

Jim Arnold’s voice is cultivated yet conversational, curious yet unsentimental. He is equally at home unpacking a fleeting personal moment as he is interrogating the failings of institutions or the fragile scaffolding of social norms. What keeps the writing compelling is its refusal to settle for tidy conclusions. The essays often begin in one emotional key — wistful, amused, irritated — and end in another, as if the act of writing is itself a form of discovery.

A former love interest of Arnold, in what may or may not have been an act of generosity, once described a unifying theme of Musings as “rejection.” It’s not a baseless observation. Across the archives, one finds stories of relationships that drifted apart, ideals that proved brittle, ambitions met with indifference. But rejection here is rarely a wall; it is more often a window. Arnold treats these moments not as defeats but as turning points, scenes in which the self must adapt, recalibrate, and — crucially — remain willing to engage.

Still, to reduce the work to that single lens would miss the vitality of its range. The through-lines are more complex: a search for authenticity in human connection, a fascination with how memory shapes identity, a dry wit that can slice neatly through pretense. In his hands, personal anecdotes double as cultural commentary; a chance encounter or a scrap of overheard dialogue can spiral outward into reflections on the nature of intimacy, the economy of attention, or the slow-motion erosion of public trust.

The style borrows from essayists who value rhythm and structure but resists their tendency toward detachment. There is warmth here, even when the subject is loss. When the tone sharpens, it is not cruel; when it softens, it does so without sentimentality. This balance — between empathy and precision — gives the prose its staying power.

If the blog has an overarching effect, it is the sensation of being let in on someone’s interior weather report: not just the forecast, but the shifting cloud patterns, the brief breaks of light, the gathering storms. That Arnold makes space for rejection is less a fixation than an acknowledgment that to live authentically is to face, again and again, the places where we are not met in kind. What matters, the essays suggest, is what one builds in that aftermath.

In the end, Technomonk’s Musings offers neither an idealized self-portrait nor a manifesto. Instead, it is an ongoing ledger of encounters — personal, political, philosophical — kept with a level of care that suggests the act of recording is itself an act of connection. And that, perhaps, is the truer theme: not rejection, but persistence.

Here are my remarks made before the Lane Community College Budget Committee on May 21, 2025

Chair Patterson, Members of the Budget Committee, President Bulger, Colleagues, and Friends:

Hello again. My name is Jim Arnold. I’m a Lane County resident and a retired community college dean. In my last full-time position, I had responsibility for six academic departments plus athletics. I managed the personnel and budgets for everything from physics to football. I have a deep appreciation for the financial woes we face in higher education.

I’m here to follow up on my comments from last week, offer a few observations, and make another recommendation along the way.

At the last meeting, I asked why the projected 3.1 million dollar deficit had not been shared with us sooner — especially since the earlier proposal from the Budget Development Subcommittee didn’t reflect a shortfall. I also urged this Committee to request a revised budget — one that’s balanced and doesn’t rely on reserves.

I appreciated Mr. Isaacson’s candor in expressing confusion — which echoed my own — about what changed so suddenly to throw the budget out of balance. The administration cited a variety of factors, including shifting assumptions, the need for various refinements, and a lack of time for more thoughtful decision-making. I, for one, was not entirely persuaded by these arguments.

I also heard other Committee members express real discomfort with budgeting for a deficit while relying on administrative mid-year corrections. Mr. Mital observed that this could be interpreted as a “not to exceed” budget — but I contend that setting an artificially high ceiling doesn’t make an unbalanced plan a responsible one.

Now, it seems the administration is hoping for approval of their budget tonight. My recommendation is simple: take a step back. Hit the pause button, engage your most curious selves and inquire: “is that the right thing to do?” I ask you to give the process another week for serious, transparent deliberation.

Adrienne Mitchell’s latest analysis — which was made available to you yesterday via email — includes various scenarios that show a balanced budget is within reach. These alternatives deserve an honest review before any final decision is made. Perhaps you could consult administration and ask, “what’s wrong with these numbers?”

So, in conclusion, a gentle reminder: it’s the Board of Education — not just the administration — that is ultimately responsible for adopting the College’s budget and deciding on any reductions. This Committee and the Board play a vital role in public oversight. You are not here to rubber-stamp a proposal without knowing what’s at stake. I believe that you are here to ensure transparency, accountability, and stewardship of the college’s future.

Thanks so much.