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When people think about who makes the University run, their minds usually jump to
the school's officials: the President, the Board of Regents, the Athletic Director and a
host of other higher-ups who give Michigan its fame. But there are also those without
whom the Univeristy simply could not function: the secretaries, administrative
workers, and the janitorial staffs, to name a few, who keep the school running around
the clock. Three of our writers, News editor Alex Gordon, Ed Krachmer, and
Milo Tarchinski
Laureen Keefer
U
Oliver Bollar
Weekend co-editor Alyssa Lustigman interviewed five
essential in...
Makin9
University
of these people whose work is
the
Tick
Ed Klum
WEEKEND/JOSE JUAREZ
The line snakes outside the en-
trance door, winding down the long,
darkly-tiled corridor and past the
glass showcase bearing a description
of the coming week's menu-
grilled cheese and tomato soup,
meatless mousakka, chicken patty
special - a plethora of fine cuisine
to satisfy even the pickiest diner.
The hum of hungry, impatient.
students fills the air, as the anxious
diners fidget and socialize until the
line slowly creeps up to the door-
way.
They are greeted at the cafeteria
entrance by a warm, pleasant older
man, who chats and laughs with the
students as they enter the dining
hall. Milo J. Tarchinski, known as
Milo to all, has worked as an en-,
trance clerk at West Quad cafeteria
for the past six years.
"I check all the students' IDs. If
they don't qualify, they don't get
in," said Milo, laying down his
credo.
A studious-looking diner hands
her meal card over to Milo to enter
into the computer. Most of the time,
the computer will neatly register
what type of meal program the stu-
dent has and if he or she is eligible
to dine at that meal. In this case, as
usual, the light goes on and the stu-
dent enters the dining hall.
Of course, there have been prob-
lems. The previous week, for exam-
ple, Milo said the dining hall lost
power twice, rendering the electronic
service inoperable. And on more
than one occasion, a student will try
to scam a free meal off the
But generally both Milo and the
students have a warm relationship.
The cafeteria serves about 2,700
meals a day, and each lunch and sup-
per diner is greeted by Milo's smil-
ing face. In fact, Milo's favorite part
about his job is working with stu-
dents.
"I try to draw out the loners, and
talk to the students," he said. "Most
people are very friendly." And while
Milo meets many new faces each
year, he sees some for four straight
years, and others in various off-cam-
pus locales.
The worst part of his job, Milo
said, is its repetitiveness. "It can get
quite boring sometimes," he main-
tained.
"But usually, the job is made
more interesting by talking with the
students. They're cute. Last year,
some of the dorm houses named me
'man of the month,"' he said, grin-
ning proudly.
Milo has, in fact, spent most of
his life working with students.
Before coming to work for the
University, he spent eight years
working as a bookstore manager for
Concordia College, a small Lutheran
school located in Ann Arbor. And'
before that, he worked for many
years for a bookstore on State Street
But after suffering a heart attack,
Milo decided to take an easier job -
but one that still allowed him to
work with students.
"I'm a very people-oriented per-
son," Milo said.
Few phenomena are more dis-
paraging then losing your paper on a
computer. Unfortunately, it's hap-
pened (or will soon) to all of us at
least once in our college careers.
As you face that blank terminal at
4 a.m., your options seem quite lim-
ited. You could think of the glass as
"half-full" and look at your mistake
as one of those "growth" experiences
that your parents sent you to college
for.
More than likely, though, you'll
be thinking of ways to sue Apple
inventor Steve Wozniack.
But there's a third option avail-
able which could save you a lot of
grief, growing experience and also
cost a lot less in legal fees. Simply
ask a University computer consul-
tant for help.
"My job is to help people find
answers to their problems," said
consultant Laureen Keefer. For $10
an hour ($5 minimum) Keefer, or
any consultant, will attempt to res-
cue your paper from the mysterious
depths of that floppy disk.
"Learning disc recovery has been
the most exciting part of the job,"
Keefer said, "it's a good feeling to
know you've rescued someone."
Not even Keefer can recover ev-
erything. "It depends on how exactly
they lost it. A disc problem is nearly
impossible to get back."
Keefer has a word to the wise.
"People have to learn to practice safe
computing." That doesn't mean you
have to wear a condom while you
type that next history paper, but
rather you should save whatever
you're typing on a back up disc.
"And never wait until your done,"
she warns, "I've lost a lot of things
myself."
See Keefer, Page 12
University. See Milo, Page 12
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Homecoming, 1980. As the
clock winds down, the Michigan
football team surges downfield. The
score is deadlocked at 21 all.
Bo is forced to use his last time
out, and with six seconds left things
look grim for the Maize and Blue.
Michigan hurries desperately to get
off the final snap, when suddenly the
referee throws down a flag on the
play- offsides, Indiana.
With the penalty, the referee sig-
nals that the clock be reset to show
six seconds remaining. Bo, taking
advantage of the extra time it takes
to reset the Michigan Stadium clock,
diagrams one final play for quarter-
back John Wangler.
Play resumes, and in a miracu-
lous finish Wangler follows the play
that was just devised - connecting
for a 45-yard touchdown pass to
Anthony Carter and giving Michigan
the victory.
To the average fan, Carter,
Wangler or even Bo was the hero of
the game. But just as responsible for
the Michigan victory was Michigan
Stadium timekeeper Ed Klum.
Ed Klum?
At least that was Indiana's ath-
letic director's assessment. "He just
abused us something fierce," said
Klum, of the reaction of the visiting
team's leader. "It was just one of
those things that happen."
Klum has been the chief of the
timekeeping corps in the stadium for
the last 20 years. Klum runs the
main clock, while his assistant Lou
Bertsos keeps a backup stopwatch.
They both take turns at each task in
order to reduce fatigue and avoid er-
rors at critical times.
Charlie Brine rounds off the crew,
operating the 25-second clock.
Klum, a retired high school
teacher and basketball coach, gradu-
ated from Michigan in 1950.
In 1967 he was invited to run the
back up clock by then-athletic direc-
tor Lou Holloway. In 1970 he took
over as the official clock operator.
"We've never really messed up
completely," Klum said. "But, occa-
sionally you will goof. We like to
feel we don't mess up any more than
four or five seconds in the course of
the game."
14
In order to maintain objectivity,
Klum and his associates are in no
way "officially connected to the
University," he said. Klum admits,
though, that its very difficult not to
get caught up with the action on the
field.
Clock operating can get tense.
"We always feel the pressure of mak-
ing a mistake at a crucial time," he
said.
"Our major concern is we don't
want to screw up and cost someone a
game." ..
Technically, the timekeepers are
part of the officiating team. Before
each game they meet with the offi-
cials to discuss the rules and to syn-
chronize their watches.
While the fieldreferees are very
conspicuous on the field, Klum op-
erates in obscurity. "The only people
watching the clock are the three in
the booth."
"The fans have never gotten on
the case of the clock operators,"
Klum said. Although assant
coaches have often disagreed, KIum
See Kum, Page 12
Oliver Bollar spends all day
shopping. As an assistant purchas-
ing agent in the business division of
Administrative Services, Bollar es-
timates that he buys four to five
million dollars of equipment for the
University each year.
From his office in the
Administrative Services Building,
located near Michigan Stadium,
Bollar handles the purchasing of
nearly all of the high cost non-medi-
cal laboratory equipment at the
University.
A veteran of fifteen years of
University purchasing, Bollar deals
with over one thousand different
suppliers.
Bollar spends much of his time
trying to get the best deal he possi-
bly can. "I try to look at it as if it
was my personal money," he said.
"Would I rush out and spend it?"
It typically takes about four full
weeks between a department's initial
equipment request and actual delivery
can't get an imprint," said Early.
Card imprints are a required part of
the University bill-paying procedure.
Often students loose their cards
right in their own rooms, but request
a duplicate after fruitlessly searching
for it.
Without that little yellow card,
students are virtual nobodies in the
University's eyes, and regaining that
identity comes only after wading
through some red tape. Only after
coming to the registrar's office, fill-
ing out a form, paying a five dollar
fee at the cashier's window, and
then bringing the temporary ID
(which the cashier issued) back to
the registrar's office, along with an
additional form of identification, will
a new ID - and a regained sense of
self - be received. Early said that if
See Early, Page 12
of the order. Assuming that the de-
partment is able to wait the four
weeks, the first step in the purchas-
ing procedure is a two-week bidding
process, where various companies
who asked to be placed on the bid
list for the requested item are given a
chance to make their lowest offer.
The purchasing department is al-
ways recruiting minority- and fe-
male-owned and operated firms to add
their names to the bid list, said
Bollar.
One to two weeks after the order
has finally been placed, it typically
takes another couple of weeks for the
equipment to arrive, Bollar esti-
mated.
Not all of the requisitioners are
pleased with the four-week delay,
Bollar said. In many cases, the
equipment is needed immediately,
forcing him to curtail the bidding
process and order the item from a
supplier who can deliver immedi-
ately.
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Jean Early
Although it may be uncharted ter-
ritory for most students, the
University's Office of the Registrar
provides countless indispensable ser-
vices. Jean Early, who is one of four
of Associate Registrar Douglas
Woolley's support staff, wiorks to
help students solve some of the ad-
ministrative problems they en-
counter during their years at the
University.
The office's services include help-
ing students with name changes,
Wayne State University dual regis-
tration, disenrollment, and a host of
other situations.
Sometimes the work takes on a
more mechanical aspect. Early is
partly responsible for those unex-
pected envelopes students receive
over the summer, containing an
unofficial copy of their transcript and
a duplicate course schedule.
The two items, distributed to
each of the 30,000-plus returning
students, are the result of two weeks
of paper folding and envelope stuff-
ing done by the Registrar's office
staff.
Each year, approximately 25,000
course schedules and 34,000 tran-
scripts are mailed. The process
sometimes involves as many as 16
employees, who work entire days on
the project, while also performing
the regular day-to-day functions of
the office.
Handling requests for replacement
student ID cards is one of the more
frequently requested services of
Early's office. Many times, she said,
an ID does not have to be missing
for a student to still need a duplicate.
"Generally the card goes through
the dryer and it flattens all of the
numbers. It still can be read, but we
Page 8
Weekend/September 22,1989
Weekend/September 22, 1989