Recently, an old friend died. For my first fifteen years, he led our department as chair and dean. Dale Bengtson was a wise man, offering good advice and a listening ear. He valued collegiality, the idea that the music faculty ought to work as a team. He once asked, “Would all those who work with music education students, please raise your hand?” The same for music performance, church music, and music business. In each case, we all raised our hands. We understood we were all tasked with serving all students of music. At the time, there were no special enclaves, there was no “A” team or “B” team. Dale’s message was clear to me: We must all work together on behalf of our students.
It was a great complement when Dale called me an “educator.” He mentioned that he knew some professors who seemed interested in their advancement or striking some kind of ideological pose. He appreciated those who looked for educational value rather than opportunities to take credit for student achievements. I know this sounds old-fashioned in an era of transactional relationships, but he tried to help us become like a family. Dale routinely came to lunch with us, used department resources to provide breakfasts for meetings, and regularly invited the whole department to his home. He made a habit of sending us handwritten notes of congratulations or thanks. His wife, Linda, also did all she could to be welcoming and encouraging. The essence of Dale’s management style was that he promoted social connections as much as professionalism. During his tenure, I felt privileged to be a part of the music faculty.
Dale once told me his approach to dealing with student complaints about professors. He said he would ask the student whether they had spoken to the professor before coming to him. If the student had not taken up the matter with their professor, he simply refused to talk about it unless prior direct communication failed. He wanted to make sure the student had at least tried to resolve the problem before stepping in. I think he did not want to appear to take sides, much less treat a colleague unfairly. He wanted students to act with integrity, not just come to the dean whenever they didn’t get their way. I appreciated the fact that Dale always had my back. When he left, the old saying, “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” came to mind.
Since that time, I’ve heard many horror stories about administrators, and witnessed a few instances myself. None of these were true of Dale Bengtson. He was a fine administrator and a caring gentleman. When he retired, I sent a note of thanks for his memory book. I wrote that together we went through what I called, “The Wonder Years.” I recall I said it was a “wonder” that we made so much progress with so few resources. I think we did so because Dale never gave up on us. He always tried to make us feel included, a part of his team. Without a man like Dale on our side, I doubt that we would have come so far. His life was a wonder, and I am honored to have known him and worked with him. Thank you, Dale, for everything you did to help me as a young faculty member. May angels sing you to your rest.
MurrayWorks 