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Discussion of Olin culture, policies, etc.

A Conversation with President May

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On Thursday, September 28th, Maddy (‘27) and Quinn (‘27) sat down with Olin’s newly appointed president, R. May Lee. Despite it only being the 9th business day of May’s new role, she had plenty to say and share about herself and how she’s approaching new horizons with Olin.

Quinn: 

Can you tell us about yourself, what you like to do for fun, and why you came to Olin?

May: 

I’ve been around for so long, it’s hard to know where to start. So I will start with the last of your questions, which is what I like to do for fun. I love to hike and be outside, and I’m excited to explore this whole area. There seem to be a lot of trails, and I hear Parcel B is excellent for bird watching. I love to read, knit, be with my family—although I don’t love arguing with them about what we should watch on Netflix, but that’s part of being a family!

I came to Olin because I heard so much about the innovation in engineering education that it’s been doing for the last 25 years. In Shanghai, as a dean, I sent some of my faculty from the School of Entrepreneurship and Management to Babson. I wandered over and learned about what Olin was doing for engineering faculty. I went back to Shanghai and told my fellow deans, “You really need to send your faculty to summer boot camp at Olin.” And it turns out that a few years later, they did. I was inspired by the idea that somebody would actually start a new college focused on improving engineering education. That obviously resonates with my own history, having been the person who led the team to start NYU Shanghai, and then being part of the inaugural team at Shanghai Tech. So I love the idea of folks in higher ed trying to do something new and different, that’s focused really on the students. And when this opportunity came up, I was just blown away by the ethos and sense of culture. I thought, “Oh, okay, this feels like a good fit.”

Maddy: 

You touched on some of your work with Shanghai, but we also know that you’re coming from RPI as Vice President and Chief Strategy Officer for Institutional Impact. What aspects of this work are you excited to carry with you to Olin, and how do you see your presidency at Olin as unique from that? 

May: 

One of the things that struck me over the summer as I was transitioning out of RPI and started meeting people at Olin: I realized I was going from the oldest engineering school in the country to the newest. Depending on your perspective, one funny or not funny similarity is the maintenance issues. As a 200-year old institution, RPI is constantly replacing pipes and walkways. Imagine my surprise when I received the email update about the big trench. I saw the pictures of the pipes in the parking lot and I thought, “Oh, this must be my RPI email.” And I looked at it and realized, “Oh, no, that’s actually happening at Olin too!” Maybe it feels like a non-material kind of similarity, but to me, I found it ironic that the 200-year-old and the 25-year-old institutions were wrestling with very similar things. My work at RPI was unusual in that I created a new position focused on strategy.  That was possible because I had a great relationship with the president who understood the importance of strategy and focus. And when you’re looking at a 200-year-old institution, you have a lot of DNA to work with. He pledged to start a brand new strategic planning process. I joined him to do that, and it gave me an opportunity to really introduce a whole new process of dialogue with the community. These are things that you’re really familiar with at Olin, but were really new to RPI. It’s a much bigger place, so there were more people to talk to and more iteration. Over the course of two and a half years, we managed to put together a terrific ten-year vision and three-to-five-year plan under his leadership. To some extent, I think that task also needs to be done here at Olin. You know, Olin was formed 25 years ago and we had a sort of infancy with a partner class and the first-years in the Class of 2006. Extending that metaphor, in preschool and toddlerhood, we were getting the school up and running while being innovative and amazing. Now it’s like we’re in middle school, right? The school’s been up and running long enough that we have to replace the pipes. And we need to think about, “Okay, what do we want to be for the next 25 years?” I know that we have Engineering for Everyone and CALL, which is fantastic. I hope we can refine and focus our efforts a bit across campus as to what we want to spend the next five years working towards. So in that sense, there’s a clear carryover from the work I was doing. I think the difference is maybe I won’t be the person doing all of that work, but I’ll have a team of great faculty, staff, and students. I’m hoping that I can sit in the dining hall, I can go to DesNat, I can be in the Shop, we can have informal conversations and do a bunch of those things with all the members of the community. 

Quinn: 

You talked a little bit about this, but Olin has had a lot of growing pains as the college is trying to find its footing and identity in the higher education space. How do you approach the tensions that come up when an institution tries to change its infrastructure and culture while maintaining the trust that’s necessary throughout this process with the community and the constituency of the college?

May: 

Somebody wise once said that you can only move at the speed of trust, and sometimes you have to go slow to go fast. People have asked me the same question in various forms—”What dramatic change are you going to make? What plans do you have?” My answer is that I don’t know. I’ve only been here for eight days. I have the data points that I’ve been able to accrue over eight days of these kinds of conversations. What I’m really hoping to do is ask a lot of dramatic questions and engage in a lot of active listening to get more data and to start to connect the dots and hear what people care about and what’s really core to the essence of Olin. I think it’s gonna take us some time to actually get to the place that you’re referring to. And I have to say that I’m really pleased that you have identified that getting to the essence of Olin’s identity feels like a challenge at the moment, because I think that’s one of the questions I’d like to answer with everybody. 

Maddy: 

There are, as you mentioned, a lot of things that are unique to Olin and they can also often be fun and quirky. What are some favorite weird Olin things that you’ve noticed since you’ve been here? 

May: 

You mean other than the avalanche of post-its that surround me starting with my front door? I walked up and said, “Oh, look, there’s Post-its covering my door that spell Olin, that’s cool.” I think that’s how this whole place feels to me. I’ll give you one example. I don’t know that it’s weird and quirky, but it did make me feel very welcome. When I first used the term co-creation at RPI, everyone looked at me with befuddled stares. And they’re really smart people, but that’s not the realm within which they operate. I’ve come from that world, but when I said it in my conversation with the search committee for Olin, everybody’s face lit up and I said, “Oh, this must be the place where I belong, these are my kind of peeps.” So it’s not weird and quirky so much as a pleasant surprise to actually enter a community where people were actively engaged in the practice of really ideating, prototyping, learning, trying again. I think that feels like so much a part of what Olin is about. And that is weird and quirky for a higher education institution, right? That’s not something that’s in the muscle memory of many other places. 

Quinn: 

Something that really struck me when I got to Olin was the difference in power structure with faculty and students. I mean, we talk about flipped classrooms all the time, but it’s really a flipped institution. Like professors will come and sit down in the dining hall and eat lunch with us. That wouldn’t happen at most other institutions that I’ve been at. Was that surprising and appealing for you? 

May: 

It’s definitely appealing. I was in the dining hall yesterday, and I’m hoping to be in the dining hall at least once a week for lunch. It does happen in other places, but I don’t think it happens in the same way. I think there is a kind of relationship that the faculty hope to create with the students, likely because of our size, and because of our ethos. Other places do have it, but it’s not consistent, either because of size or some other reasons. I’ve certainly experienced it elsewhere, because when you have talented educators, they’re going to create that kind of relationship, because they understand that their job is about learning. The best teachers are always learning. And the relationship between people who do high-level research and who teach, they understand that’s a holistic circle. That is an ecosystem that feeds itself. The difference here is that you really have that across the board—that’s one of the special things about Olin. 

Quinn: 

Could you tell us about a time that you felt really at home in a community and what you learned from that experience and what you took away from it?

May: 

Something important to know about me is that I grew up moving every couple of years, and it will surprise you to know that I was a very shy child. My mother would tell stories about how I was too embarrassed to say anything to anyone for the first many years of my life. But I think that the exercise of moving so frequently taught me to prioritize understanding the culture of the place that I was in and what was happening around me. I worked to understand the slang, the favorite foods, the habits—things that make up a community. It gives me comfort, and also it helps me meet people and make friends. Over time, I have learned to be comfortable with who I am, and therefore I feel at home in most places, though it took me a while to understand that it was within me and not something that I needed the community to give me. I realized if I could alter my own sense of perspective to be embracing and curious, in most cases it would be paid back. I don’t mean to paint the picture that I’m welcomed by every person in every place, but at least in my own lived experience, over time I’ve managed to feel some sense of community where ever I’ve landed. And I’m certainly feeling very welcome at Olin. I’m feeling very at home, even if I never would have expected that it would be in a suburb of Boston. 

Maddy: 

Life takes us crazy places, like Needham Massachusetts. 

May: 

Yes, exactly. What you learn is sometimes it’s about the geographical place, and sometimes it’s about the spiritual place, right? People say, “Where do you consider home?” My family would say New York City. Sometimes that’s how we define home. For me, home right now is Olin. It happens to be in Massachusetts. And I’m committed to learning about Boston and this whole area. I was really confounded by the idea that I had spent my whole life committed to living in cities and living in New York, and now I would be in the suburb of all suburbs. It’s very quiet at 8 pm here. You can’t walk out and go to the corner deli and get a quart of milk. It took me a while to go from being anxious or worried about that to thinking “Okay, this is going to be an adventure.” I did get lost on my first run. I went out without a phone thinking I’d just run straight and come back… that’s not what happened. Then I realized that every street was looking the same. Every house was looking the same. I had no idea where I was. 

Quinn:

Have you gotten to explore any parts of Boston at all? Have you taken the T?

May: 

Our daughter is a rising sophomore at Tufts, so we have spent some time navigating the Somerville, Medford, Cambridge part of Boston. And last year when we were here visiting, you know, we took the T, explored some areas of Boston, went to the Isabella Gardner Museum. I would not say that I am fluent in Boston yet. I think that will come with time. 

Quinn: 

Understandable!

[As our interview devolved into delightful conversation, the topic of Collaborative Design at Olin came up.]

May: 

I taught a version of Collaborative Design when I was in Shanghai, so I kind of have a sense of the class. I’d love to see how it’s taught here. 

Quinn: 

That’s awesome. What are some highlights from that experience, teaching that class similar to CD? 

May: 

I taught it in Shanghai to Chinese students who were engineers and scientists. They weren’t like you guys. You came into this excited about that, but they came to the class thinking, “Oh my God, this has nothing to do with math or engineering. Why are they making us take this?” The first semester was an unmitigated disaster. They hated it! And I had folks from IDEO teaching all the things that you love—the Post-its, the brainstorming, the put-yourselves-in another’s shoes, go out and do the field interviews, all that—my students hated it. To them, it just was a giant waste of time, and they were not shy in saying that. So I had to cancel the spring semester classes and redesign the whole class. I had to start from scratch. I had to really think about what was the essence of what we were trying to teach. Who were we trying to teach? What was it going to take to kind of get them there? What was the balance of direction versus exploration? They had a much longer road to get to the  starting point for most Oliners, and culturally, they were in a very different place. Asking people about their feelings is not something that really happens in Asian cultures and certainly not in China, right? So there was a lot of just going back to the brass tacks of, well, what are we really trying to achieve here? And then the second piece of that was how big the class was. How many students are there in CD here? 

Quinn: 

About 100, with teams of four to five. 

May: 

Right. Where I came from, you’d have 24 people in a section, and then they would break up into teams of four or five. The leadership in China said to me, “We have over a billion people here, so doing things 25 people at a time is not very sustainable.” And so what they said was, you have to do it with 100 kids in one classroom at a time. So I had to figure out how to break them into teams, and then I had to figure out how to manage the teams. Just think about what you do in CD if you are in a team, and you’re reporting back out and getting feedback. If you have 20 teams and you have one hour to do that, it’s not very much. 

Quinn: 

Here, there’s four faculty dedicated to that process and a whole host of student workers. 

May: 

Right. So I got to a place where I thought, okay, I can do this with two teaching faculty members, but we had no student workers. But it was really gratifying. It was amazing to see when we finally got it right, the “Oh, this is why it matters”. That was almost 10 years ago when I started, and now those students in those first two or three classes are all getting their PhD’s, and I think really embracing the spirit of what we taught them. As a teacher, the most gratifying thing that you can see is that somehow it made a difference in their lives and how they think about their work, which I think is how faculty members here feel about you guys. 

Quinn: 

Yeah, definitely. I hope you get to see part of the CD process in the spring because it’s really quite magical, I think, to see all of that just sort of unfold.

May: 

Yeah, I mean, I’m hoping that I get to. I’m going to sit in on DesNat, and ModSim. I thought my first couple weeks I’d spend more time with the team and the faculty and the students, just trying to get a sense of the place. 

Quinn: 

Is there stuff that you’re going to do to try to maintain that connection, aside from the first couple of weeks? Because students graduate, faculty turnover, and staff turnover. How are you going to keep that fire going throughout your time here?

May: 

My hope is to have at least one lunch a week in the dining hall. When my schedule settles down—let’s say after the first three months—my hope is that I also have regular office hours, one afternoon a week for students who can just drop by and chat about anything. Though it’s also a good learning for people to think, “Oh, I can actually make an appointment and go to the president.” So we’ll see. I think having regular sessions where people could attend, and then opening up so that, whether it’s for Halloween or Chinese New Year—maybe trying to do parties at the President’s house so students have a place to come and be social more than 15 feet away from West Hall. I’m thinking about those things and I’m open to ideas if folks have suggestions.

Quinn: 

It’s awesome that you’re thinking about this; it’s really encouraging. 

May: 

Yeah, I’m thinking a lot about it. I feel that being in community physically together is an important thing for us. 

Quinn: 

Looking broadly in five years when it comes to the end of your term as president, regardless of whether you continue—I hope you do. You seem really awesome and great for this community. What things do you think you’ll be thinking about to determine whether you’ve had a successful term as president of all? 

May: 

I think if we can successfully answer the question, “What is Olin’s identity for the next 25 years?”, and we have some clarity about how we want to do that in five years, that would be a success. So I would include in that, getting us to a place where we’re feeling financially resilient. We’re running an operating deficit right now; we’re spending more money than we’re bringing in. And I’m not saying that every decision has to be driven by financials, but we can’t make decisions without thinking about financials. Getting that balance right and having the community see that and understand it, and getting us to a place in five years where we’re spending what we bring in, or we’re bringing in more than we’re spending, is a really important goal for us to hit in five years. If we want to be responsible stewards of this institution that we love, then we want to make sure that it’s here for another 25, 50, or 100 years. You don’t spend more money than what’s in your bank account; it’s not responsible. And then I think really being able to execute on Olin’s identity and who we are in the next five years, whatever those two or three things are, would feel successful. I would say the final piece, and I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I do sense—both in your questions and what I’ve heard—a sort of yearning for us to be together more as a community, to have a degree of trust and to really be able to have a dialogue. I think if we get to that place in five years, I would be really happy. 

Quinn: 

I would also be very happy to see that. 

Maddy: 

That is definitely important to us. Probably one of the top things on everybody’s minds right now is having that. 

May: 

The other thing that I said to another large group is that as great as some aspects of the Olin culture are, I think that we are not as fluent as we could be in addressing conflict. Often people think, “Oh, I don’t want to speak up because people won’t like me,” or “They’ll disagree” or “They’ll yell at me” or whatever it is. I would like us to work on that. In this moment, we need to learn how to disagree with each other and still be in community. There are many people in my life who, they may not be my best friends, but they are people with whom I’m friendly. They are neighbors. They didn’t vote for the same person, they probably don’t believe necessarily in the things that I believe in, I don’t believe in the things that they believe in, but we’re in the same community, and so we have to find ways to be able to do that. I think that happens less and less. I don’t know if you’ve seen the work that’s been done on migration patterns in this country, but what you’re starting to see is people are moving to places where other people agree with them. If I look back at all the places where I grew up, I realize we likely lived with folks with a totally different worldview t, and yet we were still neighbors. We had potlucks together. We had block parties together. We played with their kids. The adults carpooled. Whatever it was, we managed to live together, even though I’m pretty sure now you would find us completely different in almost everything. But we were neighbors. That’s important for us to do here at Olin. And the truth is, we’re a lot alike here because we all co-create, and so meeting somebody who has no patience in co-creation says, “Look, I just want to decide.” What do you do when you’re faced with that? 

Quinn: 

And how do you resolve that conflict?

May: 

That’s the question. I think the answer is that yes, you won’t always get what you want, and they won’t always get what they want, but understanding how to do that is important. 

Quinn: 

It’s really awesome to hear that you’re thinking about this in a transparent way. Hearing from the next leader of the college that we need as a community to be better at conflict is really encouraging. 

May: 

I have said that to other people. So far, nobody has hit me (literally or metaphorically speaking). So I think that’s a good sign. 

Quinn: 

Well, thank you so much!

May: 

No, thank you guys. Thank you for making the effort. I’m glad we could make it work. I look forward to seeing how silly I look in print.

Title: “To First-Years: A Word Of Warning About Formula”

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To First-Years: Don’t join Formula. Or Rocketry. Or Baja. Or any other project team.

To preface, I do not despise Formula, nor any project team for that matter. I refer to Formula throughout this article simply because they are the most clear example, but most observations are true for all project teams. I also write this opinion piece in, well, an opinionated way, but I don’t think any project team is all awful. I think they have their good qualities and their bad qualities. Their triumphs and their failures. I certainly don’t have a problem with any of the people in them—many of whom I look up to and who are my close friends—and to be fair, in my conversations with project team leaders, most of them are relatively forthcoming about the shortcomings of their teams and receptive to criticism and change. 

But there is a difference between hearing those shortcomings from someone who likes project teams and who is trying to recruit you, and hearing the shortcomings from someone who dislikes them. And for all of the very, very vocal proponents of project teams abound at this school, I find there are very few vocal opponents. 

I’ll avoid most of the common critiques as best as I can: the interpersonal conflicts and drama caused by tightening the Olin bubble even further, the weirdly obsessive and borderline manipulative recruitment of first-years, the embarrassing gender ratios, the many, many safety hazards and near disasters that project teams have caused and then shrugged off, and others that I’m sure we’ve all heard. I’ll instead focus on what I feel are the three main interconnected problems in Formula: the work culture, the trends in leadership, and the subsequent definition of engineering that it gives to its members.  

The work culture is well known, so I won’t dwell on it for long. We’ve all had friends who can’t hang out because of an “important” deadline, teammates in class projects who have missed meetings for Formula, and we have all heard of the late, sleep deprived nights, where the LPB doors are propped long after 2am. I won’t try to prove that Formula members are often if not always overworked—just ask any of them. Hell, many have bragged to me about their sleepless nights showing their “work ethic and commitment”. I’ll get to that later.

This work culture affects all in the club, but I have seen it cause the most damage in the trends of the leadership for these teams. Leads have the responsibility of coordination, mentorship, lead engineering, project managing, and countless other tasks. Many go into it with very little experience leading and get “thrown in the deep end.” In theory it’s a valid enough tactic for learning, but Formula is going into this year with no upperclassmen leadership. Upperclassmen know well that sophomore year isn’t a walk in the park, and yet the upperclassmen members are so unpassionate or checked out or burned out to step into those roles. To me, that is not a smoking gun for any failure from any specific individual in Formula, but for a much larger, systemic problem with leadership culture and trends.

It makes me sad, but it doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen the story play out well over a dozen times now. Sophomore lead enters excited from a fun first year. They get thrown in the deep end. Classes ramp up. Stress ramps up. But they like Formula. They love the people or the project or whatever else but it just gets to be so much. They talk about it in the exact same way they would talk about a toxic relationship. And in every case, for every person I’ve seen fall by the wayside—guilty, miserable, and overworked—the last reason they won’t let go has always been feeling that they are letting the team down.

Honestly, it sometimes seems that overwhelming guilt at letting the team down is the lifeblood of what keeps people in Formula. But the guilt of leaving a club is not a reason to stay, and good friendships should hold whether they are team members or not—that is true whether you are a casual member or the project manager. You want my hot take? If any organization depends on one person to keep existing, it shouldn’t keep existing.

And all of this leads to what I have seen as the most pervasive effect of project teams: the definition of engineering it gives to its members and to the school. Because project teams’ main selling point is that, yes, they are learning mechanisms for engineering. My first year, each project team marketed itself as a different environment to learn engineering, and importantly, each one told me that I would learn more engineering with them than I would in any of my classes first year. I’ve heard this repeatedly every year since. That Formula will fast-track you on learning engineering, when you want more “engineering” than your classes provide. Which I totally get. When you’re a first-year and you are presented with going outside to draw a bug in DesNat and with building a car in Formula, one feels more engineering. 

But DesNat is an engineering class. And a good one at that. Formula feels more engineering because it matches more the conventional definition of engineering: move fast, build a car, get it to drive. But Olin’s education is not the conventional definition of engineering—we have specifically stood out as a top-ranked school because of an unconventional approach. One that puts DesNat hoppers before complex machinery analysis. That isn’t some half-thrown-together placeholder from the faculty. The entire curriculum is put together to build upon ideas and to build specifically an unconventional definition of engineering. 

But when the connotation is made in the first year that Formula is more engineering than classes, part of that buy-in is lost. That buy-in is important because it builds on itself all throughout Olin. I’ve seen a clear correlation between project team participation and generally having less buy-in for design courses like CD, for engaging in AHS concentrations, or participating in larger engineering reflections. It’s not the engineering they’re learning in their teams, so there’s less need to dedicate as much time and attention to it.

It’s not the engineering that goes on within project teams, so there’s less need to dedicate as much time and attention to it. 

And what is the engineering that supersedes the curriculum’s? What is Formula’s practiced definition of what it means to be an engineer? It is one that is defined by work and burnout. By spending sleepless nights to finish some arbitrary deadline for some arbitrary project. And that seeps into how everyone here defines engineering. I’m not denying that there is passion and learning, but an all-consuming work culture and guilt has been built into the foundation of what keeps Formula going. That anxiety—not work ethic, anxiety—affects what people perceive engineering should be. That “proper” engineering is inherently stress and late nights, and that the more stressed and overworked you are, the better an engineer you become. 

It’s a great way to get burnt out, I’ll say that much. If you keep it up after Olin, it’s a great way to get used by others. 

I’m not saying that Olin’s curriculum is perfect. While I think there’s something to be said about the difference between a learning experience crafted by Ph.D. professors versus overworked sophomore leads, Olin’s curricular definition of engineering is not perfect for anyone. That definition is something each person has to find on their own, but the activities and priorities you choose will inherently affect what engineering, work, and life all mean to you. 

I’m sure you can put any large group of Oliners together and with enough motivation—whether that motivation comes from passion or feelings of obligation or crippling stress—they’ll be able to make an electric car in a year. Or anything else they set their minds, time, bodies, and mental health to. But I also know that in that same time, they could learn and reflect about what actually makes them passionate. They could get more out of their classes, both in that time and in the future. And I know they could all still learn and demonstrate technical concepts that really interest them while still maintaining a work-life balance.

I admit that I write this from a position of bias. I’ve seen so many of my friends, my residents, my classmates delve into these project teams, work themselves to the bone, and burn out. It hurt me seeing them go through that and I knew it hurt them more. I don’t want to see it happen again, and I’ve held out hope each year that it would be the year where all the positives that these teams can bring shine and all the negatives get washed away. Those who know me know I’ve been wanting to write this article for two years now, and I’ve waited in optimism because I didn’t want to unnecessarily give any team a bad name as they were on the cusp of change. I have that same optimism this year, but I write this piece as a warning of trends that I cannot ignore.

Because I can’t take another year of standing by. Of supporting my friends as they gradually reach their breaking point, beat up and burnt out from project teams they once enjoyed. So for all the people yelling at you right now to “Join Formula! Or Rocketry! Or Baja!”, I will get up on my small soapbox here between the pages of this Frankly to shout as loud as I can: 

“DON’T join Formula! Or Rocketry! Or Baja! Or any other project team!” 

Am I biased? Sure. But I will be a vocal opponent this year. And if you’re a first-year who wants more perspectives before joining a project team, you can come find me. If you’re a sophomore in a leadership position who feels the tendrils of burnout start reaching out, you can come find me. And if you’re a junior or senior or anyone else who reads this and vehemently disagrees, you can come find me. I’ll happily talk about my observations and reflections, about where you are right and where I am decidedly wrong. But for all of the people surrounding you and declaring that project teams are the best ways to get good jobs or make friends or learn engineering, just know that you are always welcome to find me if you want to hear the opinion of someone who, frankly, doesn’t think they do a great job at really any of those things.

Tragedy of the Project Team II (I Was Wrong)

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Two years ago, I published an article titled “Tragedy of the Project Team” in Frankly Speaking, which was a slight vent on how project teams at Olin were operated. If you haven’t read that article, I do strongly recommend it for context to the following. The article served as the framework for how I approached team leadership during my time as PM/lead on AERO and Rocketry, and it has been quoted back to me by future leads who have bought into its conclusions. In one unique instance, a sophomore told me that the article made him decide to come to Olin to co-create that kind of future. I am honored by the support I have received and Oliners’ eagerness to co-create, but I want to explore that article’s pitfalls by teaching you what I’ve learnt in the past two years about how to build a team and a culture.

How can a company with a small name, competitive-yet-not-extravagant compensation, and greater-than-average volatility to market performance attract and maintain top-notch employees? This is what I was asking myself this summer while I worked at Second Order Effects, a small engineering services firm based out of LA. The employees (and founders) had stacked resumes including SpaceX, Google, and the rest of Big Aerospace and FAANG. These phenomenal engineers had no shortage of opportunities, yet they came to SOE, they stayed, and they rated it well on Glassdoor. The company had amazing culture and morale, teams that executed in harmony, and a respect for the individuality and humanity of its employees. I think we can learn a lot from SOE and apply it back to Olin project teams to understand retention and loyalty precisely because SOE has to rely heavily on team culture to survive in a world of Goliaths. 

SOE has something I haven’t seen on Olin’s project teams or seen executed properly at other companies I’ve worked at—people management. Oftentimes this role is folded into engineering management, so you don’t see it advertised, but you can always feel its effects. Let’s talk about some definitions. Project management, which you all are familiar with, is making sure deadlines are met, budgets are kept, and quality is assured. People management is about managing team dynamics and hiring, career growth and development, and creating a team/company vision. Project managers become senior project managers, people managers become CTOs. Both of these are critical roles for any team—at SOE, like many firms, they’re kept separate. Each project has an assigned project manager and each employee has a direct mentor/manager that does the people management. Lower-level managers balance managerial duties and day-to-day engineering, while higher-level managers do only mentorship/management.

Having strong people management is the key to a better culture and reduced turnover—it creates lasting loyalty between the team and the individual and vice versa. At Olin you often hear project teams leading with their projects; contrastingly, you rarely hear them lead with a people-before-project focus. In this article I will dive into five factors of people management I learned from SOE: team bonding, learning opportunities, mentorship, goal setting, and reflection. Then, I will focus on how we can improve in these areas without changing our team structures or adding significant work for our leads. Even tiny shifts in the ways we think about our teams can make a huge impact.

At Olin we do a good job with team bonding; unfortunately, we often look to it as a one-size-fits-all Band-Aid for our other problems. While it can support social cohesion on a team, it does not tackle structural issues or promote behaviors that drive loyalty. While team bonding is critical at companies and larger schools, Olin’s small size reduces its efficacy by eliminating two major value propositions: networking and friendship. At a larger school, you won’t have these same people in your classes, projects, and the dining hall—so team bonding builds strong friendships and expands your professional network. At Olin, project teams don’t have to position themselves to be friend groups—attempting to force that is time better spent on the other factors.

The second factor, learning opportunities, is where I need to discuss my conclusions from “Tragedy of the Project Team.” I had claimed that the solution to member retention and interest boiled down to novel projects, more engineering freedom, and less structure. I have seen this in action; SOE as a services firm has rotating projects and these novel projects can spur co-learning amongst engineers across all levels. But in the article, this was mistakenly presented as the sole factor; I was reflecting on what I thought motivated me and gave me purpose. At Olin, I think we can still improve on project novelty and rotation, but this is no longer my main concern regarding our teams’ health.

The third factor is mentorship. This is the chicken-and-egg problem of project teams; mentorship supports retention, and retention creates mentors. A team needs to provide strong mentorship across all fields from technical to operational. Right now, this is the factor that scares me, seeing that in my time at Olin we have had a massive upperclassman exodus from project teams and now have almost ubiquitously sophomore leads. In order to improve here, we need access to upperclassmen who give mini lectures, explanations at whiteboards, and tutorials. While this necessitates focusing less on their own projects, mentorship should be considered desirable, especially for the type of engineers Olin attracts. Teaching and leadership are both rewarding experiences that make for well-rounded engineers. Often these come with learnings of their own; for instance, teaching can help foster a deeper understanding of the subject and allow for exploration of new ideas. How do we jumpstart our way out of this Catch-22? I hope that by focusing on the remaining factors, a stronger team culture and loyalty will emerge, and in turn naturally grow mentors from within.

The fourth factor is goal setting, which is critical to career and technical development. This involves a difficult, but pivotal decision: put people over projects. A team should assign tasks and deliverables based on individual goals and create new projects off the critical path if necessary. It should not sacrifice a person’s goals for timeline or to fit to a Gantt chart—especially those of new members. Loyal members will pay it back by occasionally doing tasks which do not align with their goals, but a new member given an arbitrary task will simply leave and never feel any loyalty. At SOE, I clearly outlined my goals to learn Altium over the summer and when a quick-turn project from a client came through, I was assigned to it despite never having used the software. My coworkers respected my autonomy and never got involved beyond reviewing my work. Did the schedule slip slightly? Yes. Did the final product have some minor issues and inaccuracies? Yes. But do they now have a skilled employee who can operate independently and is loyal to the team? YES. Investing in your people builds a strong set of dedicated future engineers, leaders, and team-builders. 

Lastly, we have perhaps the most important factor: reflection by design. As humans we suck at being optimistic, and we also suck at remembering what has happened (side note: this is why we all should write gratitude journals). Reflecting on learning highlights the value and growth in the experience, reflecting on goals better directs personal focus, and reflecting on areas of improvement creates space to act upon growth opportunities in a safe environment.

So how can our teams focus on these factors with minimal extra effort? First, we can implement regular 15-minute meetings between each member and mentors, keeping in mind that mentors should be different from one’s subteam lead and generally not PM. One-on-ones are opportunities for reflection, goal-setting, and feedback both for the team and for the member. This article is too short to go into the art of running one-on-ones—contact me to learn more. Members should be empowered to set varied goals across: domain-specific technical learning, cross-disciplinary skills that make for well-rounded engineers, soft skills, networking, etc. Members should be required to brainstorm and work towards 4-6 concurrent goals, refreshed and updated as they are completed or need changes throughout the year. Importantly, their tasking should reflect these goals, not a Gantt chart. Next, we can focus on making learning opportunities more explicit, obvious, and efficient through mini-lectures at the start of meetings. This can give people the guarantee that they will learn something new every time. These could be as little effort as 15-minute brain dumps about whatever one of the leads finds cool and insightful (even if completely irrelevant to the team’s project, such as a LinkedIn workshop). If nothing comes to mind, try polling members about blockers on their projects and expand on those as a team. Need help getting a loft working? Continue that CAD tutorial with a lecture on swept bodies and guide curves. Consequently, this reduces open work time at meetings—we should embrace this and prioritize learning and planning over unstructured work time. In a team with strong people management and loyalty, work is mostly done outside of meetings and blockers are resolved impromptu by sending an Outlook invite or DM to relevant resources like a coworking group or leads. Hence, this should not be viewed as a sacrifice, but an investment. Lastly, we can provide notebooks/journals for members and encourage note-taking during lectures and research/project work. These can be filled front-back technically and back-front with goals and reflections. This can ground learning in a quantitative medium. All of the above suggestions are low-effort for the leadership team, but are incredibly impactful to the overall team culture.

I hope that this article serves to highlight some of the ways in which we can think differently about team-building and team culture on project teams, and perhaps Olin in general. I have explained why factors like team bonding play a minimal role and how factors like learning opportunities, mentorship, goal setting, and reflection need to be more thoughtfully engaged with. I don’t believe Olin project teams have ever had a people manager (AKA engineering people manager or engineering manager) and it shows. Recently, our project teams have dwindled due to factors within our control such as culture, and factors outside our control such as difficulty fundraising, problematic space allocations, and time-consuming safety audits. It is now more important than ever to turn our focus inward as project team leadership. To ride out these external turmoils we need people and cohesion more than ever. Thankfully, those are outcomes we can influence directly when we put our minds and hearts into those around us. Even if it means making sacrifices elsewhere on timelines, scope, complexity, etc., start being people-obsessed, not project-obsessed, and slowly, success shall blossom.

Remember Why You Came To Olin

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Three years ago, I stepped on campus, suitcase in hand, to move into my home for the next four years. I was excited to meet new people, explore the local area, and work in the machine shop. Since that day, there have been many life-changing moments, favorite memories made, and days that went on for too long. There were times when Olin and life were very frustrating. I got tired of being here and wanted a break. I felt that Olin was far from what I loved it to be. 

When you have these days, I urge you to remember why you came to Olin. Reflect on what made you excited in your first few weeks. Remind yourself of your favorite moments. Who were you with? What were you doing? Why were you doing it? Now go do those things! See those people. Take a break from your schoolwork and extracurriculars. Enjoy this college that you will have attended for four years. Experience your favorite parts of Olin again. 

Here is a list of what I do to remember why I love Olin, reset, and take a breath:

  • Go on a night walk around Needham with friends
  • Read or join OCF in prayer on the benches overlooking the marsh
  • Cut out a fun shape out of scrap wood in the green shop and paint it
  • Sew a new dress or skirt in the library
  • Take an early morning walk in Parcel B
  • Get lunch with my favorite faculty or staff member
  • Ice cream trip to one of many local ice cream shops
  • Walk around Milas Hall offices and meet new people
  • Double-decker hammocks between CC and West Hall
  • Visit my communities outside of Olin (e.g. my church)

These are my favorite things to do on those long days. I hope you can find your own things, share them with others, and remember why you want to be here.

Olin Faculty Leave at Nearly Twice the National Rate

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Olin is losing faculty at an alarming rate. Since 2018, sixteen regular faculty1 have departed voluntarily. Over the same time period, Olin has also lost a large number of critical staff members. In this piece, we focus on regular faculty losses.

A departure of nearly half the regular faculty in eight years is a staggering statistic for academia, where voluntary departure (besides retirement) is rare. One survey shows that tenure-track faculty voluntary turnover nationally has been roughly 2.3-3.7% annually since 2017 (the upper bound of which corresponded with the COVID-19 pandemic).2 Olin’s annual voluntary turnover since 2018 has been 5%, assuming a stable regular faculty size of 40 members and excluding 5 retirements. Despite the intrinsically small sample size, a binomial test suggests that this turnover rate over this period has only a 5.46% chance of being observed due to random chance (if Olin faculty matched the national population). Since information regarding people’s employment is considered confidential, we estimated these numbers based on our collective knowledge as faculty who know the people who have left. This method has its limitations, as we do not have access to official records.

Although the sample size is small, there is a strong signal; Olin faculty are leaving at nearly twice the national rate. These faculty losses have the following costs.

Costs to students and community: The high turnover of faculty results in a tearing of our community fabric. Many students and college communities benefit from stable faculty groups who can carry institutional knowledge and meaningfully shape their individual expertise into the context of the campus culture. Experienced faculty have more advising expertise and their classes are more polished and optimized. With this high turnover, we have many new peers who are doing excellent work adapting to Olin, but have less experience and have fewer connections to colleagues and students. The student learning experience is compromised by the revolving door of faculty members.

Monetary costs: When Olin hires new faculty, it offers startup funding, which is standard in academia. Traditionally, it is intended to allow researchers to start up a research program and obtain grants. When a grant is obtained, the college receives a cut of that grant, which pays the college back for the startup investment. Although Olin has a broad definition of “external impact,” Olin receives little payback for these investments if faculty depart quickly. Startup fund amounts vary, but are generally tens of thousands to over one hundred thousand dollars. We estimate that Olin’s investment in the Assistant faculty who left before being promoted to Associate rank was at least half a million dollars, which includes startup packages, summer salary, and student stipends.

Time costs. As Olin loses faculty at nearly twice the national rate, it follows that we must hold faculty searches nearly twice as often. In fact, almost every year, Olin has a faculty search. These are time-intensive for the faculty search committee and community. Instead of opportunistic searches that seek the best candidates, Olin’s searches are reactionary in response to departures. While the former can afford to leave a position unfilled if a strong candidate is not found, the latter must fill the position so that critical courses can continue to be covered. Course scheduling is more challenging and takes more time, as these faculty departures often occur after student enrollment. Given the time commitment required by the entire faculty body for these searches to be successful, Olin faculty end up having less time to do the work of building and sustaining the college and building strong relationships within the faculty. 

Reputational costs. Perhaps most concerning is that Olin could develop a reputation as an unstable place to work and learn. A high faculty turnover rate means students have uncertainty about what classes will be available, which faculty will be around to teach those classes, and more broadly increases the perception that the college is at risk of closing. Although departing faculty often gave polite reasons for departure (“moving close to family,” “a great opportunity”), the broader trend is telling– sixteen departures over eight years in a school with only roughly forty faculty members. In private conversations with Olin AAUP members, some departing faculty cited, among other reasons, lack of faculty representation and transparency in decision-making as stressors that contributed to their ultimate departure. Many faculty members made lateral moves to similar jobs at other institutions and were not motivated by possible advancement. Academia is a small world, and we may soon be unable to hire top candidates due to an adverse reputation.

There’s much work to be done to increase faculty retention. To start, faculty perspectives should be considered in institutional decision-making. Therefore, we ask that two faculty members, elected by the faculty, be invited as non-voting participants to every full Board of Trustees meeting. At the time of publication of this article, we are in conversation with members of the Board of Trustees regarding the participation of faculty members in their meetings.

Sincerely,

Olin College Chapter of the American Association of University Professors (AAUP)
85% (17/20) of members endorsed

  1. Regular faculty refers to faculty on long-term contracts, the closest to what institutions that grant tenure call “tenure-track.” ↩︎
  2. Higher Ed Workforce Turnover, https://www.cupahr.org/surveys/workforce-data/higher-ed-workforce-turnover/. We compare our turnover rate to tenure-track faculty data. While Olin has no formal tenure process, our roles are culturally tenure-like. ↩︎

The Wood Shop is Moving!

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Greetings Olin community; the Shop has very exciting news! The Wood Shop is migrating from MAC 129 to MAC 113! The moving process will occur over the Summer of 2025 and the space will be open for use in the Fall of 2025. This change will provide space for more Wood Shop users, tools, and accessibility. Additionally, there will be an office between MAC 109 and MAC 113, and two of the Shop Instructors (Shop Adults) will work there: supervising the two rooms. This will mean increased access to the Wood Shop and the CNC Shop, so students can work there in a similar manner to the main shops (Welding, Spinning Metal, and Laser) during the weekdays. 

The Wood Shop is relatively new. It seems like it has always been a part of Olin’s campus, but Robin Graham-Hayes, a 2022 graduate, helped create it. Robin used to begin every Wood Shop Orientation with the phrase: “Welcome to the Wood Shop; it is the youngest Shop space at Olin!” That line has been revised since then, as the Proto room and the CNC Shop have opened more recently. Since its creation, the Wood Shop has obtained additional tools, shop assistants to hold open hours, and a suite of trainings to ensure that everyone knows how to use the tools safely. 

The Wood Shop is now used for a variety of class projects. Courses that use the space regularly include: DesNat, MechProto, PIE, MechDes, and Form, Space, Grain: Wood as a Sculptural Medium, but many other classes have cases where students make use of the Wood Shop. While the capabilities of the Wood Shop partly overlap with the Green Shop, more specialized tools allow for students to foray into more advanced techniques. This space is perfect for prototyping and revising, but it is also used for precise cutting and thorough finishing. 

The Wood Shop receives a lot of traffic for personal projects, passionate pursuits, and non-class related matters as well. Cutting boards, rolling pins, chairs, spoons, shelves, and much more, can all be made in this space.  

The Wood Shop has been integral to my time at Olin. It is a place to develop my technical skills, but it is also a place where I can create more than just functional pieces. I’m a maker by nature and came to engineering for a profession. The confluence of these two is most evident here at Olin and in the shops. In high school, I woodworked by experimentation. I carried that drive to create here, learning so much more than I ever could on my own. 

As a Shop Assistant, I have seen the community that the Shop builds around it. People who are shy and self conscious about their lack of experience realizing that they don’t need to know everything. They just need to be kind, curious, and ready to grow. In my Shop Assistant interview, Jordan asked, “Why do you want to be a Shop Assistant?” And I answered, “The Shop makes me feel like I belong at Olin. It quiets imposter syndrome voices, and I want to help others feel this way as well.” One of my greatest accomplishments at Olin is contributing to the Shop’s accessibility. 

The new Wood Shop is an amazing development for everyone who works there and people who use the space, but it will also help to draw more people who haven’t used it in the past, and who may not have used it in its current state. It will serve as a space where more people can create great things and grow their confidence. While I’ll be graduating in a couple of weeks, I’m confident it will contribute to the Olin experience of many students to come.

An Interview With Alisha

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[Quotes edited for clarity and brevity by Alisha and the editorial team.]

Quinn: To start us off, thank you for meeting with us. It’s super exciting.

Alisha: Thank you for inviting me! 

Quinn: It’s a great honor to be able to talk to you on your last couple of days at Olin, which is so sad. How’s it feeling getting ready to head off to something new?

Alisha: It’s pretty weird because I’ve been here for most of my professional life, which is longer than some of our students have been alive. I have a lot of different feelings. It was really nice having two going-away parties! At the faculty and staff party, it was really touching, because a bunch of people, some I’ve worked with for decades, talked about ways that I had impacted their life. It was really nice to realize I’ve had an impact. People have always asked, “why do you stay so long?” I’ve always said, ”because of the people!” And because I’ve gotten to keep growing personally, and to make positive change. It’s been nice reflecting back on that and having it reflected to me. 

Quinn: In what ways do you think you’ve grown? In the many, many years you’ve been here. What are the notable growth moments?

Alisha: From a purely professional standpoint, I started as this regular faculty member doing bioengineering research, trying to figure out how to grow cells with undergraduates—which turns out to be really hard—and was hugely influenced by all these amazing educators who were really thinking deeply about education and good pedagogy. And so I got to thinking about those things, but also figured out that I really like being an administrator. I have this distinct memory of Mark Somerville, as an associate dean, walking into my office in 2011 and asking me if I wanted to be the associate director of SCOPE. I still felt “new,” had never thought about leadership, and I was still pretty quiet, which I know is hard to believe. I went home and thought about it over the weekend, and I was like, “actually I do want to do that.” Back then, many students felt like it was very disconnected from the Olin curriculum, and had this feeling of kind of “selling your soul”.  As SCOPE director, I focused on how it really is a capstone to our curriculum (and I started drawing pictures of capstones, and telling the story of how the stuff in ModSim, ISIM, P&M, CD, design depths, major classes, et cetera, built up to this capstone experience, and how it was really different than the capstone experiences at other schools where they were like “yeah, do all this stuff at the very end.” But it also made me realize I liked doing that kind of culture change work, and program work, and figuring out how to have an impact on students and colleagues that was bigger than just teaching bioengineering classes with five students. That led to being an associate dean, and then more surprisingly to being a dean of student affairs. I got to do all of these different jobs, and that it made sense in the Olin context. I love that I can see my impact on these different areas. I also need to give a shout out to human-centered design as an approach that aligns with my values and has shaped my research as well as my work as an administrator.

On a more personal note, it has been getting to work with all these cool people—colleagues and students—to have so many different conversations and learn from them. This part about the close-knit community has been incredible. There are still former students who are grown adults with children and lives, and we’re still in touch. Being able to learn from people and also have a positive impact on individuals has been so rewarding.  

Quinn: Do you think you’re gonna miss doing that sort of nitty-gritty technical teaching, like about specific subjects?

Alisha: I haven’t done that in a long time. The last class I taught was Biomedical Device Design in the spring of 2021. I do think I’m gonna miss working super closely with students; that’s gonna be a really big change going forward, because my primary focus will be faculty development. But I also know that if I’m thinking about faculty development, it’s about teaching students, so I’m still going to figure out how to get where the students are. I probably won’t miss having to deal with the shenanigans part of it! I’m excited to go back to focusing on the teaching and learning piece of it, as much as I’ve been an educator when having different conversations with individual students or groups. As Dean of Student Affairs, sometimes that educational conversation is something like, “maybe doing that thing was not a good idea, and let’s look at the bigger picture, and the impact on other people and the community.” Bringing all of that knowledge of what’s going on for students outside the classroom, at school, with their family, in the world, is going to be huge, because it’s not a vantage that most faculty get. 

Quinn: Can you tell us about what you’re doing after Olin and how that relates to what you have been doing here?

Alisha: I’m going to be the executive director of the ATLAS Center—Advancing Teaching, Learning, and Scholarship – at Wentworth Institute of Technology (WIT). The teaching and learning center already exists at WIT, but right now it lives in IT, so they’re kind of seen by the community as the tech support for their learning management system (ours is Canvas). But they’re also trying to do all this great instructional design and support for faculty teaching and learning scholarship. There’s all this great stuff happening, so they’re rebranding it with a new name and moving it under the provost’s office so it’s seen as a more academic department. I’m excited to think about how to elevate that teaching and learning piece, and about faculty development and student outcomes. This comes back to the culture change piece that I enjoy doing.  Wentworth is all about student outcomes, in an OG hands-on learning way, focused on preparing students for engineering careers.  Being mission-driven in this very pragmatic way that makes STEM education more accessible is very values-aligned for me.

Gia: You’ve been exposed to many kinds of – you used the word – shenanigans in your shifting roles at Olin. What shenanigans make Olin “Olin”? How has that informed your work, what you’ll take with you to Wentworth, etc.?

Alisha: I’m going to try to come back to your actual question, but I wanted to reflect on something interesting that’s embedded in that. It’s something I’ve thought about at many different stages, but especially as I’ve gotten involved in the student affairs community: we’re not that special. There are some really funky things about how our culture plays out, mostly with our size, but in terms of the overall stuff that we’re dealing with, I think we collectively have a tendency to think that we’re very different, and therefore we need to do things differently. Going to student affairs conferences and talking to people from all kinds of other schools—everyone’s dealing with the same stuff. People who are 18 to 22 are always pushing boundaries and trying stuff, and people at engineering schools tend to be problem solvers in all sorts of interesting ways. I think our uniqueness comes from a somewhat intentional and somewhat organically-grown lack of certain pieces of infrastructure. Our culture has fostered a real feeling of “students need to do all these things themselves”. This can cause many difficulties and tensions in how students are encouraged to spend their time and energy. 

My biggest focus in the last four years has been trying to build trust. When I started, the thing I heard over and over was “we don’t trust StAR.” And if Oliners don’t trust this entire set of people, even if it’s about one or two people, they’re not going to come for the resources. And we know they need the resources! It’s not all perfect; it’s not sunshine and flowers all of the time, but a lot of progress has been made in that space. 

Back to your question: some of the specific shenanigans are around different opinions about what is appropriate behavior, and what is appropriate for students to do. In some ways, that’s true everywhere. Sometimes when you have those conversations, it’s a total surprise. Whereas I think at other schools, people would be like, “yeah, okay, I kind of knew I broke the rules.” Olin students are like, “There are RULES?!” I mean, I’m overstating that, but I think that’s some of the funny stuff to figure out. 

Gia: Can you tell me more about what you mean by policy and risk? [mentioned in ramblings that were cut]

Alisha: Student group safety! That’s the thing I worked on a lot last year. This has been interesting because I do have a lab safety background and a project advising background through SCOPE, and so I was able to bring some of that in a way that spans some of the different areas, which is not typical in student affairs. But we had not built enough of an integrated infrastructure to provide appropriate oversight of some of the things students are working on. Something hard, and sometimes novel at Olin is that sometimes we’ve had to say “no, we can’t actually support this thing, because we don’t have the space or it’s actually hazardous in a way we cannot support.” I do think it’s this thing where we were okay in the beginning, and then we just didn’t really… stay…

Quinn: We didn’t stay with the times.

Alisha: We didn’t stay with the times! And now we’re sort of trying to catch up. Especially with all of the continuity lost during COVID, there’s been a little bit of a “wild west.” Trying to get that under control in a way that maintains student autonomy and all the things that are beautiful about having these groups, and also brings us into the modern world in a way that creates a manageable infrastructure is super challenging. Because of that, in my last weeks I’ve been working on all these transition documents and trying to pass stuff on for the next dean.

Quinn: You can feel it out?

Alisha: Yeah. I kind of know what’s going on. And there’s so much transition and work that spans student affairs. I think Frankly Speaking is a great example of the evolution of things. There’s a thing that Frankly Speaking used to be, and that doesn’t have to be exactly the thing Frankly Speaking is in the future, while also keeping the really important essence of what Frankly Speaking is. I think that’s what you all have shepherded so well this year, thinking about that, and really leaning into “we don’t have to stick to this tradition—we can keep the stuff that’s integral and modernize.” 

Quinn: How has being in this administrative role, dean of student affairs, changed your perspective of Olin academia and academia as a whole?

Alisha: I think it’s really rare to have both a faculty perspective and a staff perspective. While I always have that faculty perspective, I feel fully immersed in the staff world. In higher ed, there’s usually a divide—it’s a lot smaller between faculty and staff at Olin, but it still exists, and I think it’s something that staff tend to be much more aware of than faculty. I know I was totally clueless when I was purely a faculty. We often talk about how support work is like an iceberg. You see the top stuff, but there’s all this stuff happening underneath that tends to be invisible if it’s going well. 

Quinn: Given all of this context and development and learning that you’ve done, what do you hope to see Olin do with all of that in the next five, ten years?

Alisha: I do hope that folks continue to understand the important role that student affairs plays in the student experience, and that resource that appropriately. I think understanding how much the high-touch services are part of what we are offering to students, and part of that value proposition that students and their families are really looking at with their money and their choices about where they go—that’s an important piece of the puzzle.

Gia: Looking back, what are some things that you’re proud of? You said that you feel like you have your fingerprints in a lot of places, what are places that you look at like “wow, I’m super proud that I did this; this is something that I’m glad has happened here”?

Quinn: Things that current Olin students might not know about at all.

Gia: Yeah, big or small.

Alisha: I think there’s so many phases. I’m super proud of the stuff I did in SCOPE. I led changing the faculty advising model, and grading to make it more consistent for both students and faculty. I started the work to shift the narrative of “SCOPE is all defense and robotics” by really focusing on a broader portfolio of projects to match the interests and values of more students. So much of what I’ve done over my time here is in the equity and inclusion space, starting from when I was a visiting professor. I got immediately involved in the gender and engineering co-curricular. I was one of the people who was focused on that work inside and outside of Olin. When we had our first openly trans student, I put together a training, and I was like “okay we’re gonna do Trans 101, friends!” Initially, there were just these ad hoc things, and then that was a big part of my portfolio when I became associate dean of faculty—faculty development, but also really thinking about equity and inclusion in the classroom. When we had the new strategic plan, we formed a group called the “DEI Champions”, and a lot of what we did is more focused strategic planning of like “here’s what we need—here’s the path for thinking about cultural competency for advising, here’s the path for making sure people are getting the training and education they need for thinking about inclusivity of belonging in classrooms,” and I think that’s been a really core part of what I’ve done, and obviously a core part of what I’ve brought into my work in student affairs. Many of my colleagues are doing incredible work, but I think that’s one of the biggest places I’ve had formal and informal impact. 

I think it’s a lot of little things too, the stuff that I’m proud of. What people have been reflecting over the last weeks, I’m like “oh wow, I didn’t even think about that.” A student was like “yeah, I was going through my emails and my first email from you was doing name change stuff before I came.” Sending 15 emails back and forth to get it right is at the core of how to do this work for me.

Quinn: As we’re wrapping up here, is there anything you want to say to the Olin community as sort of a last goodbye?

Alisha: I think my primary feeling towards the bulk of the Olin community is just a real sense of gratitude. Especially to students, who don’t have to trust me with their shit. For all of it, for the vitriol, and the thanks, and moments of getting things, and being able to witness people grow and change. Because I see it as passion for this community, and that is a shared value that I appreciate. 

Quinn: Thank you so much. We are going to miss you.

Alisha: Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.

Quinn: I hope that you keep reading Frankly Speaking. :)

Alisha: Oh, I will.

Transferring and the Sunk Cost Fallacy

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I spent a number of years at Olin. During that time, I had a lot of conversations about how Olin wasn’t a good fit. There are plenty of valid academic and non-academic reasons to want to transfer, ranging from “I need to be closer to home to support relatives” to “Olin can’t really support my major,” to just not vibing with the campus culture. Yet, whenever the possibility of transferring to another college came up, everyone just assumed that Olin credits would not be accepted (“what even is a QEA cycle”), that it would be a huge waste of time and money.

That’s why I’m writing this article, to let people know it is possible. If this article were published during my first or second years, I would have started the transfer application process then. Sunk cost is a fallacy.

Can I actually transfer Olin credit?

Yes! You will lose some time, but nowhere near as much as I originally thought.

Let’s use UMass Amherst as an example (because they were the first school to send a credit evaluation).

UMass Amherst accepted 3 years worth of Olin courses… with the sole exception of Circuits. Some courses were marked as satisfying a general education requirement; for example, TLAB1 was marked as satisfying the Biology requirement. Unfortunately, for the courses that were not marked as general education, I do not know how many of these I can apply towards a major. They run a more detailed evaluation after you accept (and I’m still weighing my options).

Don’t forget about potential credits that Olin didn’t accept from high school: community college, AP exams, credits from another institution earned through a high school program (for example, RIT takes credits from PLTW2… if you had to endure PLTW in high school, I offer my condolences).

In the end, if UMass is my final choice, I can probably graduate in 2 years if I choose so. If I returned to Olin, it would most likely take 1.5.

I can’t tell you about any private institutions yet, sorry. They don’t handle transfers on the same rolling basis state schools do. From what I understand, most private institutions limit transfer credits to four semesters, so I will lose two years.

So, you want to transfer:

Here’s some advice that you can’t just Google.

  • Download important records that are behind Microsoft Single Sign On. IT will disable yournamehere@olin.edu. Most important for transferring is to download every syllabus from Canvas (or the course website). Some schools require a syllabus when evaluating your courses for transfer—I forgot to do this, and have been reaching out to professors and my remaining student contacts. This is frustrating.
  • Olin has a prepared letter explaining what the QEA+ISIM+ModSim cycle covers. This was intended for people applying to graduate school, but you can add it as an additional document upload in your transfer applications.
  • Don’t re-use your high school college application essays. One of mine literally made me vomit upon rereading it.
  • Visit campuses. I applied to college during peak ‘rona, and online “tours” really did not influence my top choices. It actually helps to have a sense of the neighborhood (or lack thereof), and how alive the campus feels.
  1. Think Like a Biologist ↩︎
  2. Project Lead the Way ↩︎

An Unpaid Opportunity to Respect Others

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It’s a beautiful Saturday morning here in one of the blander corners of New England. The sun is shining, we can finally see the grass again, Babson’s trees are looking fantastic, and I once again stumble into a community Go-Bike left outside leaning against a bike rack. My instinct, as the neighborhood bicycle hall-monitor, is to send a somewhat snarky email to one of my favorite list servs – once again not quite screaming, but recommending – into the void that is your collective Outlook inboxes. I mount the bicycle, point it towards East Hall, and start cruising. Wind blowing through my hair, I’m once again reminded how nice it is to ride a bike. When I return to my room though, my email-writing zeal is not where I left it. Instead, I’m left feeling something closer to reflection. The gist of which, as obvious as it may seem, is as follows: you don’t get anything for returning the bikes. Smug satisfaction is not a reward, nor is negotiating the often cluttered bike/ball room. And further, no one is going to get punished for not doing it; I’m not going to use my awesome detective skills to track you down and honor board you or otherwise scold your inaction.

As much as I would like to make this all about bikes, the issue at hand has nothing to do with them. How often do you think about how lucky we are to be here? Or more precisely, how astounding it is that we have as much latitude as we do? Take issue with admin all you want, I kvetch my heart out too, but don’t lose sight of how much faith and trust is endowed in us as a student body. 24-hour access to 3D printers, liquid nitrogen, a materials science lab, beautiful study spaces, a pool room, professional audio equipment, cameras, bikes, you name it. All with limited or zero oversight or restrictions. This is not inclusive of all the non-24-hour things we are trusted to use responsibly, and is certainly not an exhaustive list. The key word being: trusted. At the same time, it feels that year-over-year, this sense of community responsibility is eroded bit by bit. This is not the least bit speculative. For the second consecutive academic year, the shop has issued a lengthy email imploring more responsible use of the 3D printers. A trackable increase in emails sent by our wonderful library team points to a growingly ungovernable, irresponsible student body.

Most recently, it took the threat of an honor boarding for a lounge couch in East Hall to be returned. I won’t bore you with the numbers on missing bikes again. It’s easy to run this through the typical modern-times Olin student framework of redirecting the blame towards administration, which avoids the simpler explanation: that simply students lack respect for our communal resources. Nobody knows how to just ‘chill out’ anymore. Or perhaps we just can’t continue justifying paying for missing materials that would have been a blissful write-off in the “good old days” none of us personally experienced. In reality, though, it’s hard to deny that we have a role to play in all of this. It’s not in any way inconceivable that some of these open doors we all gleefully tell prospective students about will be under lock and key by the time we graduate. 

Trust is not something we are inherently endowed or owed. I am well aware that sincerity is uncool, and that what I am about to say is somehow even less cool than that, but do you remember that document we all signed during orientation? As jaded as you might feel, I would suggest that it does, at some level, mean something.

Editor’s Note: On Change

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Oliners have a lot of thoughts. Frankly Speaking aims to be a platform for Oliners to share some of those thoughts with the broader Olin community, beyond their immediate social circles. By contributing your writing to Frankly Speaking, you are empowered to help shape our community through narrative and conversation: sparking widespread discussion, challenging assumptions, lightening someone’s mood, and more. 

Writing is an important act of creation and discovery, through which we can achieve greater understanding of ourselves and the world around us. Even when you’re not the author, critically engaging with written opinions and narratives is a crucial part of staying connected with your community. Through our distribution process, the publication team hopes to encourage this aspect of participating in a community.

We have entered a new era of Olin, one in which the needs of our community and the conversations we need to have are changing rapidly. Frankly Speaking was built to fit a different set of community needs, during a time when we were asking the question: “What should Olin contribute to the world?” However, the Olin we know today is one where we are looking inward more than ever, evaluating our existing infrastructure and the once-dormant tensions that are now bubbling to the surface. The rift between leaders and the broader community requires trust that can only be built with greater transparency, communication, and clarity. Over two decades after Frankly Speaking was founded, Oliners find themselves asking a more urgent and fundamental question: “What should Olin be to itself?” Olin was created as a response to problems intrinsic to traditional engineering education, but now we are faced with problems intrinsic to Olin. 

We are lucky to reach a broad audience: students, staff, faculty, board members, and even people outside the Olin community. Because of this, we have a responsibility to uphold the legitimacy and integrity of our publication. Historically, this structure has rarely been explicit, or came about during a time when there were different and more avenues for communication. But our community has changed, and so too has the role of Frankly Speaking. So, let’s start building a model that can better serve us.

One way we hope to increase clarity is by defining what types of writing might be seen in Frankly Speaking. Submissions tend to fall into a few categories. These differ greatly from each other and should be held to different content standards. Here’s how you’ll see this going into the next academic year:

  • First-person experience
    • Opinion pieces and/or calls to action 
    • Reviews 
    • Narratives, or pieces with no explicit takeaway
  • Fact-based reporting
  • Informational 
  • Interview
  • Games, comedy, satire, etc. 

When a member of the Olin community submits a piece, they must classify that piece as one of the above categories and acknowledge that they have, to the best of their ability, held their writing to its respective standard. (Official guidelines changes are in the works!)

As with everything at Olin, Frankly Speaking will never see a final version. Our work as a publication team is never done. To keep doing it, we need your involvement! Tell us what you think about a recent issue, or walk us through an article you’d love to write. Better yet, join us in producing Frankly Speaking by becoming a staff writer or editor. If you’re interested, we would love to hear from you. Most of all, don’t stop being an active member of the community that makes Olin such a special place. 

Happy reading, 

Maddy Fahey ‘27, Executive Editor

Quinn Verrill ‘27, Editor

Gia-Uyen Tran ‘25, Editor