An Interview with President Mike Adams

by Sarah Royal

I wait in the Administration Building on North Campus on a stuffy, striped couch to see the president. Assured he will be there soon, I ponder Michael Adams' job, trying to imagine it from his perspective. I can only arrive at on firm conclusion: there is something both justifiably wonderful and insanely pitiful about choosing to lead any group - large or small, radical or mainstream, young or old, small-time or big-time. Think about it. Leading people is tough business. But as soon as you obtain the office, you can taste the power like a big, juicy steak right off the grill. The job is undeniably satisfying at the end of the day, with a fat paycheck, useful connections, and an additional big-ticket item on a résumé. Presidents also receive the credit and congratulations for an organization's improvement. More attention brought to an organization by its progress adds to the approval by the masses, in turn creating a positive situation for the one in charge.

Imagine the opposite situation: the agony, the slander, the mess. Competing interests will always persist: between Adams' own and the vast numbers of constituents to whom he answers. Inevitably, massive amounts of criticism will abound. Some say Adams exercises too much power, others, not enough, or that his administration's paycheck is too high, or that choices he makes do not reflect the group opinion. Fair-weather fans can mar efforts toward improvements in any situation. These and other people associated with The University of Georgia are ignorant to the complete tasks of the head the institution, and therefore can't possibly have realistic expectations of the position. Finally, leading a group takes a personal toll, be it rising blood pressure, graying hair or weakened family ties and friendships. So, I wonder, is it really worth it?

Welcome to the limbo of Dr. Michael Adams. "Hi, Sarah, sorry I'm running late. Do you want a cup of coffee?" asks Adams, UGA mug in hand, looking eager for his caffeine fix. He guides me to his office - the most beautifully decorated one on campus - and sits in his oh-so-presidential wing-back chair, legs crossed, pondering the good life, and the bad that inevitably comes with it by lead of my questions. His plights are not plights after much scrutiny; they are just part of the job that he insists he enjoys. His duties are extensive and trying, and I wondered aloud how the president deals with them. All that he does constantly makes him examine a special hierarchy he lives by; "faith, family, and friends." Because of the multitude of job demands, Adams can appear enigmatic to those who do not take the time to see his side and fully understand his job.

He is the man of the hour, and has been since he became president. In the media portrayal, his eight years here have been mired in controversy. Those angry with Adams consider him a power-hungry, cold man with his own agenda. Maybe this is true. Why would someone desire to preside over such a boundless organization? Some think Adams just wants the immense amount of power, the seemingly gluttonous paycheck, and the pretentious clout one associates with a university president. While some of his past actions could confirm this assumption, other dealings in his job disprove this theory.

In response to the topic of controversies thus far in his administration, Adams said he made "more right than wrong decisions" in his eight years here. "Life has steadily gotten better," he asserted. He addressed these doubts of his leadership without a defensive attitude, but labored earnestly to explain to students his duties. "Most students compare me with their high school principal, expecting me to walk down the halls and pat them on the back." They don't realize that Adams must deal with a "myriad of constituencies" on a daily basis. Imagine someone being pulled in every direction: toward the Alumni Association, the Board of Regents, Sonny Purdue, the Faculty Board, the Athletic Association, the State of Georgia, and the students. Dr. Adams always makes his decisions with three questions in mind: "How will this impact the students? What will be the faculty reaction? Finally, at the end of the day, will I be able to live with this decision?"

One thing is for sure: Adams holds steadfast to his decisions. After the media's explosion over Dooley's contract renewal affair, he did not break down and renew it; when the men's basketball team threatened to sue the University after Adams and Dooley forfeited post-season play, did they end up playing a minute in the playoffs? Perhaps these strong leadership skills come from his belief in himself as president. He claims to have something that many people think they have but have not searched for: self-revelation. He said resolutely, "If you're going to do this job, you've got to know yourself" and have a strong "value system and support base." His knowledge of his ways and his character, plus his security in his beliefs and decisions, further demonstrates the obvious solidity of his support group.

Adams sets some quiet resolutions that benefit the University in ways incomprehensible unless seen from a completely objective viewpoint. They have occurred over time, starting in 1997, the year Adams became president. Obviously, HOPE scholarship brought many of Georgia's best and brightest to the University. But one must realize that Adams's leadership has an immensely important impact on the University. In the $1.2 billion budget on which the University operates, Adams asserted that "55,000 checks - the most ever in the University's history - were written last year in contribution. That's a strong statement." As president of Centre College in Kentucky before coming to UGA, Dr. Adams increased their number of monetary gifts as well. Maybe Adams has a green thumb for growing funds. One cannot ignore that great aspect of his leadership, like him or not. "There's a pride factor here," says Adams of the University's improvement. "I take pride in it, and I hope you do, too. Student quality is up. So is faculty quality." The future, in essence, looks good.

Adams can't do it all: meet-and-greet, administrate, head all of the groups that he does, and fundraise without prioritizing at various times. With this in mind, I ask, "How do you want us to view you?" He stops to think intensely. "I want for students to think that I'm a person of integrity and that I truly care." A problem arises here: Adams' wishes can't be too apparent when he's on campus only a few days a week, when it seems that the media only quotes him to account for some incident that has caused uproar in Athens or Atlanta, when the men's basketball team can't go to the NCAA Tournament, or when he does not renew Vince Dooley's contract. What about the other time he spends in Atlanta, or in Washington, D.C.? Maybe those parties he throws and dinners he attends really are for the students' best interests; how else will the 55,000 checks come in? In other words, many times the President goes about his job dutifully, serving students through certain obligatory and indirect ways. If students could grasp this idea, their criticism of Adams would probably decrease sharply.

Adams talks about retiring in Athens, about his family being a "Bulldog family," and about the University police officer who drives him around town. He does not sweat from nervousness; he does not rush. He apologizes about our meeting late, explaining how he had to sign the appeal to the NCAA's punishment with the lawyers then. There is a genuine part of Adams that most students can't see. He knows something about us, this odd group of 32,350 extremely different individuals who are somehow united by our matriculation at UGA. He seems to know the struggles that we have: the balancing act of college life, the abilities and the goals of the students. It doesn't quite come out in the meaty part of the conversation, or even in his body language; it comes out in the small talk about the homecoming parade and his family, his interaction with his staff, and his interest in the disciplines I plan to study. Without warning, I lose control of the interview, and the president asks me for advice. Worried that I've offended him somehow and caught off-guard, I stare at a pumpkin on a table between two chairs painted red and black, considering budget cuts, Dooley, the future of the University, and what I wanted out of the president. I reply, "Keep up what you've done in this interview. Labor to come across as genuine and as caring to my peers as you have here with me." The President brushes his hair across his forehead and looks out the window, at something unknown to me. He smiles, telling the window, "That's probably good advice."