Resident assistants morph into crisis managers

By David Bellis, USA TODAY

	By Robert Deutsch, USA TODAY
	Naeha Dixit, a resident advisor at Columbia University, has dealt with a fair share of pranks on her watch.

A week after Sept. 11, international students living in a University of Massachusetts dormitory felt a bit jittery, like most Americans. So when someone placed a suspicious package on the dorm's steps, they panicked.

Then it exploded.

"All hell broke loose," recalls Cristal Cruz, a resident assistant on duty that day. As RAs often do, she immediately morphed from student to crisis manager.

Though the blast caused no injuries, the rumor that someone had targeted foreigners echoed through the halls. Cruz had to find some way to comfort the students, who were thousands of miles from home. She and the rest of the resident-life staff called an emergency meeting to quell the students' fears, and she visited them, room by room, just to sit and talk.

In college dormitories across the country, RAs react to crisis situations large and small. Their job is to help students manage their lives, and in today's world, that can be a challenge.

			A labor of love
			Resident assistants see it all. Their doors often stay open as they look and listen for policy violations, cries for help and pranks. So they usually have a few stories to tell. "Anything from loaning out vacuums to giving the Heimlich — you wake in the morning and you don't know what to expect," says Angela Biniecki of Siena Heights University in Adrian, Mich. "But that's why I do it." Naeha Dixit, a Columbia University RA, let a student borrow a vacuum cleaner. In return, the residents gave her a laugh. They refused to return the vacuum cleaner and left a whispered message on her answering machine, demanding a ransom. Then they slipped pictures under her door of them posing with the kidnapped vacuum cleaner at various locations in New York. Dixit played along and posted "Wanted" pictures of her vacuum around the hall. Pranks like these make the job worthwhile, she says. "Who's creative enough to kidnap a vacuum cleaner?" Jonathan Carter of Hampton University in Virginia says his stint as an RA has made him a good detective. When several vending machines had been broken into, Carter easily caught the thieves when he overheard them discuss the screwdriver they used. "The funny thing is that they always do something to get themselves caught. They always act suspicious," Carter says. "Residents like to test RAs," says RA Jeremy Buenviaje of the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, recalling how a student repeatedly flushed a toilet to flood the hallway and adjacent rooms. Then there was the time University of Virginia RA Lillian Lacey had to tell her residents to catch the mice they had let loose to run throughout the hall. But RAs deal with more than just pranks. Alcohol can lead to difficult and dangerous situations. A few weeks ago, Biniecki followed a trail of vomit down the stairs to a first-floor bathroom, where there was more mess. Biniecki found a girl passed out with her head on the toilet. "From as much vomit that was there, I'm surprised the person was still alive," says Biniecki, who shifted from janitor to paramedic. "The first thing you think is 'Oh, my God, is she OK?' But right away your instincts and training kick in, and you call for help." Last Halloween, a student wearing vampire makeup returned from a costume party after drinking too much. His buddies, a scarecrow and a country singer, carried him to Buenviaje. "I knew I had to think and act fast," he says. Buenviaje shed his own costume, and the RA beneath dealt with the situation. And there are the sad or downright ugly stories that RAs are reluctant to tell. In Dan Oltersdorf's first year as a resident assistant at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, a student tried to kill herself by cutting her wrists in the shower. He took her to counseling over the ensuing weeks, leading to her recovery and a continuing friendship between them. And on Sept. 11, Dixit and many RAs across the country supported their residents. By late afternoon, Dixit sensed the students could not stand to watch the news any longer, so she invited them to the lounge to watch movies and eat brownies together. "It was hard to balance your job and your personal emotions," she says. "When I decided I wanted to deal with it myself, I went in my room and shut my door because I didn't want my residents to see me crying." — David Bellis

The RA is a police officer and caregiver, medic and hairdresser, counselor and tutor — all wrapped up into one young student as inexperienced in life as the residents who need assistance.

Though RAs have been roaming dormitory halls for generations, resident-life officials say their responsibilities have increased in recent years.

So much so, in fact, that UMass RAs voted last month to form a union, a national first. They say their responsibilities warrant better treatment from the administration. "I've had police officers tell me they wouldn't want to do this job," says RA and union organizer Patrick Colvario.

The UMass administration has resisted the union formation. "RAs are seen more as student leaders than hourly employees," says spokeswoman Kay Scanlan.

At other colleges, many RAs liken their duties to a full-time job, though none has formed a union. They often say the compensation, plus the personal gratification of the job, rewards them fairly for their headaches.

Most colleges give RAs some type of monetary payment, ranging from just a few hundred dollars a year to free room and board plus hefty stipends.

In most places, the job is highly coveted. This year, about 700 applied for 260 open positions at Michigan State University.

Applicants there must meet the minimum 2.75 GPA requirement, then go through a fairly rigorous hiring process.

Resident-life officials are placing higher expectations on their RAs because the problems that college students encounter seem to be mounting.

"Students across the country are coming in with a lot of issues, in a greater volume than I saw in the past. We're paying closer attention to the student population," says the University of Virginia's director of resident life, Angela Davis.

"Students are coming to campus with much more complicated lives," says Cindy Helman, acting director of department of resident life at Michigan State.

Just how complicated are their lives?

A 2000 study by the American College Health Association says 10% of college students have been diagnosed with depression. Eight percent said they had seriously considered attempting suicide at least once in the past school year.

About 45% of students living in non-substance-free residence halls are binge drinkers, according to a Harvard School of Public Health study released in March.

Officials say more resident-life supervisors are realizing that RAs, most of whom live with the residents, are positioned perfectly to help students handle these problems.

Years ago, a University of Virginia student locked herself in her room, Davis recalls. It was an RA who opened the door with the master key just in time to grab her from the windowsill and prevent her from jumping.

"The staff members who live with these students, they're on the front lines when dealing with these issues," Davis says.

Dana Christmas, RA at Seton Hall University in South Orange, N.J., was severely burned while alerting sleeping residents to a fire that killed three in January 2000.

And at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, when a depressed resident had been cutting her arms, it was RA Dan Oltersdorf who learned about it and referred her to counseling.

Oltersdorf, who has since written several books about resident life, calls RAs "referral agents," likening them to concierges responsible for connecting students to the college's resources.

Many resident-life offices spend weeks training RAs, bringing in counselors, physicians, professors and even coaches to brief them about dealing with student issues.

Oltersdorf, now a graduate hall director at Florida State University, uses a popular training method that puts RAs through crisis simulations. "Behind Closed Doors" gives RAs experience while allowing them to say, "Timeout, I don't know what to do here," he says.

In real-life crises, such as the bomb incident at UMass, RAs such as Cruz are called to put their training to the test. And in the real world, they don't have the luxury of calling timeout.

"It was really hard, because I didn't know what happened," Cruz says, "and because I was more scared than the residents were."