E-nough to E-Mail From Colleges!

By ROBERT A. BONFIGLIO

At last count, there are more than 400 unread e-mail messages from colleges and universities in the electronic in box that my son William and I share. When I print out the in-box summary, it is 22 pages long.

Like many high-school juniors, William took the PSAT's in October. That triggered the e-mail onslaught, which began January 31.

The first message was from a small, new university less than an hour from where we live. "X University has what you are looking for!" cried the subject heading. In fact, my son is hoping to broaden his horizons beyond western New York State, and he indicated in his College Board questionnaire that he expects to attend a college at least 100 miles away from home. Maybe that explains why he did not open the message.

The next one, from a college in New Hampshire, was at least geographically correct. And the subject line "Find answers to all your college questions" hinted that the message might also be more helpful to him. But William did not read it either.

In early February, the first of a number of messages arrived from a major research university. "You have a choice to make," the subject line read. But William's choice was not to read further.

Flattery didn't budge him. He also ignored subject lines like "You're important to us, William" and "We're interested in you, William."

Don't colleges know that typical 16-year-olds do not pay much attention to e-mail messages? To most high-school students, they are only one small step above spam. While the inclusion of William's name was obviously an attempt to lend a personal tone to the recruiting process, the messages still seemed like junk mail to him.

This February it snowed every single day in our town. The daily blizzard of e-mail only added to the dreariness of the season.

The colleges' approaches varied. Some messages were solicitous, with one providing advice on "how to ace the campus visit." The 120th sender offered William a pamphlet so he could figure out "Which college is right for you?" After 120 messages, I thought, William might need some help figuring out the answer. But No. 120 went unread, too.

After two more messages, whatever hope I had had that William would read at least some of them shattered like the icy crust on the slushy puddle that I stepped in, while getting out of my car at the end of work that day. "Hello again, William," read the subject line of the latest message. William had not responded to that admissions officer's first message why would anybody expect a response this time?

In fact, what busy high-school student would have the time and interest to respond to all those messages? William's afternoons and evenings are filled with schoolwork, volunteer work, part-time work, household chores, piano practice, play practice, arguing with his little brother, walking his dog, and maybe even a little leisure reading, television watching, and Web surfing.

A couple of days later, a heavy snowfall signaled that there was no end in sight to winter. The same was true of the e-mail. The subject of one message was, "I haven't heard from you yet." Neither had William's aunt or uncle, who had sent him a generous Christmas gift that had yet to be acknowledged, despite my prodding. He'd better not write that admissions officer before he writes his aunt and uncle, I thought.

More of the messages at that point were promising helpful hints. One college tried to inform my son "how to have a great year." Another offered "five interview tips." William was not persuaded to read beyond the subject lines. I could only imagine how many dollars colleges were wasting to produce the e-mail.

Most of the colleges and universities William heard from were in the Northeast or Middle Atlantic states. It was not until the week before his winter break in February that he got a message from a university in California. That place had it right, I thought. What kid (or middle-aged parent, for that matter) does not want to fantasize about escaping winter? But the message from California also went unread.

Late February ushered in the third stage of the e-mail onslaught. For many admissions officers, it was now evidently time to play hardball.

"Urgent: please read" was the subject line of a message from a relatively well-regarded liberal-arts college. The wording spoke volumes about how the current year's recruitment process must have been going for that college, but William found no need urgent or otherwise to open the message.

A college that told him at the beginning of February, "It's a great time to be YOU," sent a second message informing William that he had "been specially selected." My son's lack of response must have perplexed that college. Its next subject line asked, "Is this William?"

Although he did not respond, the college's subsequent message had the subject line "Great News, William." Unfortunately, the great news was not that they had decided to give up. The next week, their e-mail message was "Here's another chance."

Another college that sent frequent messages gave William the option to "Request snail mail." When they got no reply, they sent a message whose subject was, "Last chance to request info."

Last chance? That college had actually been on my short list of institutions to mention to William, as places worth his consideration. But after that ultimatum, they were off the list.

Along with other alarmist messages "Time is running out," "Time is almost up," and "Don't miss out," for example came one with the unusual subject line of "Our apologies." Here is a leader in the field, I thought, a college that realizes how misguided and ineffective the blizzard of e-mail really is.

I couldn't help myself. I opened the message.

Why was the college's admissions staff apologizing? The previous week, they had sent William a message that addressed him in the body of the message as "Alex." Not having opened that message, he did not know about the mistake. But I realized that the college had committed a cardinal sin: When all the institutions that sent William e-mail were trying to convince him that they knew him and would be a good fit for him, that college had gotten his name wrong.

Then there was the college that offered a "free quiz." The last thing an over-tested high-school student needs or wants is another quiz.

Two months after the e-mail offensive began, out came the heavy artillery. Messages now had titles like "From the Dean of Admissions" and "Greetings from the Vice President." William ignored those, too. I was not surprised: I hold the title of vice president, and he ignores me.

Other messages offered free booklets, posters, "search kits," and subscriptions. Thank goodness William did not answer those messages. If he had, we would have needed another cardboard box like the one for the hundreds of college brochures that the U.S. mail was delivering to our house.

The material that came via snail mail each day did hold some excitement for William, and he looked through most of the brochures he got. He also read a college guidebook from cover to cover, folding over the corners of some pages, inserting bookmarks, and scribbling notes on the inside cover. He has asked me some good questions about selecting a college. He seems inquisitive and open-minded.

But he obviously wants to learn about colleges on his terms.

Now he has received his SAT scores. He was pleased with his performance, and it was clearly a relief to him to know where he stood. He could now begin to choose which institutions to focus on. Yet I fear that his scores will bring another batch of e-mail that will overshadow his relief. The day the SAT scores arrived electronically, William also got 11 new messages from colleges.

If the institutions that claim to be concerned about William really cared, they would stop the e-mail barrage. Solicitous messages that give way to threats with subject lines such as "Last chance" and "Time is running out" only exacerbate the worries of high-school students who are already in the throes of a difficult decision.

How much do the tactics of electronic overkill and false deadlines help William, and hundreds of thousands of others like him, choose a college that will best suit him as an individual? Not one iota.

Robert A. Bonfiglio is vice president for student and campus life at the State University of New York College at Geneseo.