Killing the Messenger
On the shameful persecution of University of Texas regent Wallace Hall

Wallace Hall


Kevin D. Williamson

The Texas legislature is for the first time in its history contemplating the impeachment of a member of the board of regents of a state university, in this case Wallace Hall, appointed by Governor Rick Perry to the University of Texas board in 2011. Mr. Hall’s crime is embarrassing the university by investigating a number of scandals, including a secretive slush fund used to augment the salaries of law-school professors, questionable accounting practices, and the bending of admissions rules — notably, the reversal of admissions decisions in the law school — at the behest of elected officials. Impeachments of volunteer appointees are all but unheard-of in Texas, which has previously seen impeachments limited to judges and the notorious case of governor James E. “Pa” Ferguson — who also was impeached after getting on the wrong side of the University of Texas, having vetoed the school’s appropriations bill in 1917.

Mr. Hall has been dogged in investigating what he describes as “financial malfeasance” at the university, and has said that, given the opportunity, he would vote to remove university president William Powers over the tripartite scandal that has unfolded under his administration. The importance of this case is not limited to the University of Texas — New York University and other institutions have engaged in similar practices, though Texas is the only state with an impeachment case on the horizon.

The accusation that will garner the most attention (because it is the easiest to understand) and that is believed to be the impetus behind the move to impeach Mr. Hall (because it will personally embarrass elected officials) is arguably the least important: the admissions favoritism shown to friends and relatives of powerful Texas politicians. Mr. Hall says that he is able to document one case in which the adult child of a member of the Texas state house was rejected by a graduate program at the university and told that any possible future admission would be contingent upon retaking the entrance exam or enrolling in another school and showing adequate academic performance. After the representative contacted the school, the student was admitted without retaking the exam or doing coursework elsewhere. In a similar case, a state senator intervened in the case of an applicant who had been rejected and, in the words of Mr. Hall’s attorney, “reminded the UT Austin official of recent legislative action taken to benefit the university.” In both cases, Mr. Hall’s attorney identifies the program only as a “graduate school,” but people familiar with the case say that in both cases the institution in question is the university’s highly competitive law school.

Mr. Hall’s attorney, Stephen Ryan of McDermott, Will, and Emery, says that these cases are different from the usual recommendations from elected officials and other public figures in that the communication did not take place with the admissions staff but with the administration. It is one thing to have a state senator write a letter of recommendation for a student and for the admissions committee to take that into consideration; it is a far different thing for a state senator to demand a quid pro quo from the dean of a school. Mr. Hall has so far chosen not to make the names of these elected officials (and, hence, the students they patronized) public.

The second scandal has to do with the university’s use of forgivable loans to boost the pay of favored law-school professors, including a half-million-dollar grant to the dean of the law school, Larry Sager, who was pressured to resign when the bonus became public. (Mr. Sager has since threatened to sue Mr. Hall for suggesting that the practice was improper and possibly illegal.) The arrangement came to light in a classically collegiate fashion, with a group of female faculty members complaining that the slush fund was used “to pay mostly white males” to the exclusion of non-white and non-male faculty.

Disparities in faculty pay have long been a contentious issue at the University of Texas and similar institutions. (As a young reporter at the campus newspaper, I wrote about these issues in the 1990s, and they already were ancient.) Professors with lucrative non-academic career options — in law, science, medicine, engineering, and the like — generally are paid more than professors with less attractive career options — meaning those in the arts, humanities, gender studies, journalism, etc. Rather than accept that academic salaries are set in part by supply and demand, professors from the lower-paid fields demand that some sort of moral calculus be used to make compensation determinations. These differences also persist within fields, too: Law professors who are experts in tax and corporate law often are paid better than those who concentrate on things like critical legal theory or First Amendment law. But it is politically embarrassing for the university to pay them much more, particularly if they are white and male, hence the creation of the slush fund. New York University has been embroiled in a similar controversy with sweetheart mortgage deals for favored faculty, including one of nearly $3 million for a law-school professor. In a comic twist, the actress Anna Deavere Smith, possessor of an MFA from the American Conservatory Theatre and current artist-in-residence at the Center for American Progress, is listed as a member of the NYU law-school faculty and has been given a $1 million mortgage through the same program.