I spent eleven years (1974-1985) living and working at a place called Pendle Hill, near Philadelphia, where I served as Dean of Studies. Pendle Hill is a Quaker living-learning community—founded in 1930 and going strong to this day—where some 80 people share a daily round of classes, communal meals, physical work, silent worship, communal decision-making, outreach to the larger world, etc. When signed on at Pendle Hill, I was 35 years old, married with three children, and I had a Ph.D. from Berkeley. But as Dean of Studies, I made the same base salary as everyone else who worked there—including the 18 year-old who worked in the garden or the shop for a year or two while seeking a post-high school direction in life. In those days, that meant $4,000 per year, plus room and board. Like all members of the community, I had a daily job related to the communal meals—washing dishes after lunch. As Dean of Studies, I had to be off campus every now and then to raise money, or give a talk, or meet with potential partners. But that did not alter the fact that every time I needed to be absent at lunchtime, I had