When I was in high school, I knew that my school cared.

By this, I’m not talking about my friends and how they cared about me, but rather, I mean the actual school. I knew that every day, the teachers, the advisers and, most importantly, the administration legitimately cared about my education and my development.

I must admit that I went to a small school. In the entire K-12 school, there was little more than 1,000 students, with about 100 teachers. My school’s concern over my well-being and the well-being of my classmates came from more than just the teachers, however, as our administration was always there to help. For instance, the president of the school has personally written several recommendations for one of my friends who is intending to get his Ph.D., and also helped another friend find a place to live and work in California. He didn’t do things because he had to, but because he was personally invested in us. He wants to see me, my friends and all of our alumni do their best to become the best they can be, and he intends to help anyone who asks along the way.

This was a sheltered way to go through school, but that does not necessarily mean it’s a bad way. When I came to UT, it became obvious that I was in a different environment completely. Actually, before I even arrived on campus, I had a sour taste in my mouth from UT’s bureaucracy.

A month before move-in day, I received two calls a week from one or the other. The first was to inform me that my Hope Scholarship no longer applied to me because my birth date was reported as being a month before it actually was, so the discrepancy led to a mix-up with the funds, and the second was to say that I had been moved from my intended room to a different hall with random roommates. Looking back, I might have overreacted, but in just one week I had essentially been told that I would have to pay $5,000 extra and also would be moved into a room away from my friends and put with people whom I didn’t know anything about. After hours of frantic calling, and luckily the intervention by one of my suitemate’s well-meaning and at the same time terribly intimidating mothers, I was able to get the forms necessary to correct these mistakes. But I realized that day, while there were many people who were willing to help, overall it felt like there was a sense of apathy and indifference here. I have had great teachers and great advisers, but I have still been let down by not having the same support I had grown accustomed to.

This of course brings me around to UT’s current slogan drive for “Big Orange, Big Ideas,” and its plan to transform UT into a top 25 public research university. While I can’t speak to whatever depths the plan that Chancellor Cheek and his staff have, I can’t help but feel even more disconcerted and disconnected from the administration. It seems to me that attaining the top 25 brand name is just another attempt for administrators to show how good they can be. But in aiming so high, the administration is abdicating its duty to fix the little things. There aren’t enough chairs in many classrooms, as in one of my history classes where many students hope at least two classmates play hooky so as to allow for everyone else to get a seat, BlackBoard flickers on and off, and half of the classrooms have outdated electronic equipment. How can we challenge stalwarts like Cal-Berkley if we can’t even put every student in a seat and keep every classroom lit properly?

By trying to jump ahead several steps in the development of this university (a school I do truly love and believe in), we are shortchanging our own students. Our administration seemingly is ignoring the daily grievances that plague our time here, and instead covers them up with fancy shirts, specially-packed M&M containers, and the promise of big changes and big advancements. UT is a very good school, maybe even a great one, but we can never be a top 25 school unless we truly work together to solve our problems both big and small.

Ultimately, we need the same small-school environment that I was blessed to be in during high school. Lower the teacher-to-student ratio, increase student participation in SGA (whose current leaders were elected by only nine percent of the student body), and increase the sense of community and connectivity between students, faculty and administration. With a little more caring, this school and its students can both get the most out of the other.

— Preston Peeden is a junior in history. He can be reached at ppeeden@utk.edu.