What are Yvonne Westdörp and Hubert Notzon actually doing?

In our ‘What are you actually doing…?’ section, members of the university community talk about their work.

They are the first faces that visitors to the HfK see, and in these times of Covid-19, sometimes the only people you actually meet in person at the university – the security staff, those who enforce the rules of conduct and provide first aid in the event of any incidents; in a word: the porters. They convey the first impression of the institution and are quickly identified with it. It could be love at first sight. A sceptical distance might also develop. Or a certain degree of rejection might take root straight away. As the first point of contact, the porters are therefore undoubtedly important for the HfK’s image. Have they come to identify with the university over the course of their careers? Why, or why not? We asked Yvonne Westdörp (YW) at Speicher XI and Hubert Notzon (HN) on Dechanatstraße.

YW: Of course I identify with the university. When it moved from its former premises at Am Wandrahm to the Speicher on 3 August 2003, that was my first day at work. I’ve grown into the role here right from the start, so to speak. Although I was hired through the external agency Siba Security Service and initially worked solely as a security guard, the role evolved after just five years with the construction of the front office, and reception duties were added.
HN: I’ve been working here since June 1998 – that’s a long time, so naturally you identify with the university, quite clearly.

Your dream job?
HN: I’m a newcomer to Bremen – a Pole of German descent who came here from Silesia in 1979. That job wasn’t a dream, but a coincidence. I used to come here to Dechanatstraße quite often to play music and would often sit around here too; then one day a security guard – they’d started work in 1998 – asked me if I could cover his shift. I spoke to his boss, then sat down here early in the morning and ended up staying on because the person who was supposed to do the afternoon shift simply didn’t turn up. And that’s how I got a contract; I still remember it was 11.11 DM an hour. 
YW: I come from an office background; I’m a qualified phonotypist, I’ve done further training in data processing and worked mainly in that field. In the 1990s, however, I was caught up in the first major wave of unemployment, when I couldn’t find a job anymore. Claiming unemployment benefit was out of the question for me. And so a friend helped me get a foot in the door in the security sector.

You do, after all, have a glass-walled workplace that can’t be moved to a home office. But many people don’t even realise what’s included in a job description. 
YW: As full-time staff, my three colleagues and I are the linchpin for everything that comes in and goes out here – phone calls, for example – 365 days a year, 24 hours a day. We connect those arriving with those already here – for example, tradespeople and their job sites, access authorisations for students and rooms, post and its recipients, car keys and their users. And, of course, we help people find their way around the building and hand out materials; you quickly come into contact with students, whether they need a hammer, a paintbrush or paint. Through all these activities, I’ve grown to identify more and more with the people here and their art. 
HN: I used to be less conspicuous; my workstation was closer to the door, under the stairs, like in a horse stable. Now, here at reception, I’m on display as if in a shop window. I start at 6:45 a.m.; that’s when the cleaning staff arrive, so I have to organise things with the master keys as well as checking people in and out. Then the students start arriving too; I hand out the keys for the 54 studios throughout the day, and sometimes I have to act as caretaker or deliver the post.

And what about security?
YW: They’ve continued with their night-time patrols of the building, checking that all rooms are locked, as well as keeping an eye out during the day for people who are misbehaving or who don’t belong here – thefts are, unfortunately, a daily occurrence. On behalf of the property management, Department 4, we have the right to enforce house rules and must do so. But even on university days or at freshers’ parties, whilst things might get broken now and then, the events have always ended peacefully – no brawls anywhere. Artists are, after all, a special bunch when it comes to sensitivity.
HN: I carry out patrols and monitor the CCTV footage. I’m responsible for enforcing the house rules here and must ensure order is maintained, and if necessary, ask people to leave the building if they’re not behaving properly. At night, however, my colleagues and I aren’t on duty, so nobody’s allowed to practise here then either. There have actually been three break-ins here over the last 20 years.

The canteen’s closed, the bakery’s a long way off, and no food van comes round – how do you get through the day?
YW: I’ve got my pot of tea with me and a portion of food to heat up in the microwave. Sometimes I fancy a pizza, so I order one from a delivery service. That’s the downside of being here – I can’t just pop out and close the shop for a bit. 
HN: I never have breakfast; it’s healthier that way. I normally never eat before 3 p.m. Then perhaps some tomatoes and gherkins. During the working day, I drink black coffee and water. I used to stuff myself with sweets in the evenings, but now I’ve cut out sugar completely; instead, I enjoy lots and lots of nuts – walnuts, almonds, cashews and hazelnuts. I never put on weight.

What has changed in your role since the coronavirus outbreak?
HN: Before, anyone could just walk in; now everyone has to ring the bell and I let them in. I have to make sure everyone is wearing a mask and remind them to do so. I also hand them out. And I have to step in when people hug each other. I tell them they have to keep their distance; they say they’re from the same household, but I tell them that doesn’t matter – here in the building, you have to keep your distance. I make that absolutely clear to couples too. 
YW: Making sure everyone checks in and out is now an absolute must. But you do miss the buzz here in the place. Before the pandemic, when everyone was allowed to move about freely in the building, they’d walk through here in droves, just passing by; you’d witness little tragedies and, on rare occasions, love stories, but you usually couldn’t even really remember their faces – there were simply too many of them. It sounds silly, but it’s true: before the pandemic, we had far less to do with the students than we do now, when far fewer come here, but each one comes on their own, and they sign in before they get creative, and then sign out again afterwards. You see and talk to everyone.

Do you know any students personally?
YW: Of course, precisely because many of them live in the neighbourhood like me; I grew up in Ostertor and still live there. 
HN: I can greet almost everyone by their first name. Although there’s quite a bit going on here – when about ten or twenty people a day come into Speicher XI, many times that number pass by here. I used to go to students’ end-of-term concerts and parties too, but I don’t do that anymore; after working eight hours, I just want some peace and quiet – besides, the age gap between me and the students is getting bigger and bigger; I’m 60 now and they’re still in their twenties – how am I supposed to party with them? In any case, you have to be careful that getting too close doesn’t turn into cronyism. At work, I represent the university’s rules, not the students’ wishes; I’m on the opposite side to them and have to show that.

What were, and what are, the most common questions and problems you’re faced with?
YW: Before the pandemic, questions about where to find things were the most common. Now it’s mainly about access authorisations. 
HN: In the past, people would pop round and ask, ‘Do you have a free room?’ These days, you just pick up the keys for the room you’ve booked.

Does the system work?
YW: At the start of the lockdown, it was difficult – there were still plenty of people turning up unannounced, and we had to discuss it with them until we reached the point where we said, ‘Enough is enough; you must accept that we can only grant authorisation to enter rooms based on the advance booking list sent to us daily, and we cannot make any exceptions.’ But things have settled down now. It’s hardly necessary to take a different tone anymore. First-year students don’t even know any different from this procedure.
HN: It’s well organised, but the rooms aren’t always fully booked; the students can see that on their mobiles too, so there’s always something available at short notice.

Did you have to get used to the artists at first?
YW: No, I’d already had experience of that at home. A good friend of mine was a painter, and a second cousin of mine was also an artist.
HN: No, I like it. I do regret, though, that there’s far less socialising because of Covid. And now they’ve even put an extra pane of glass between me and the students; that naturally creates a barrier, and the acoustics are much worse – often you simply can’t hear each other anymore.

Do you have any artistic interests yourself?
HN: I studied music 40 years ago – specifically jazz and baroque trumpet – at the Konservatorium am Osterdeich, which was integrated into the University of the Arts as the Department of Music in 1979. But the standard back then is nothing like it is today. The way I played back then, I wouldn’t have stood a chance of ever passing the entrance exam today. Despite graduating, I couldn’t really make a living as a professional musician – I could just about keep my head above water. A long time ago, I used to practise now and then in my room here on Dechanatstraße; now it’s too loud, too echoey and simply too hectic. But sometimes I’d play a fanfare through the microphone into the building to call out to students when their practice room became available. But I haven’t touched my trumpet for years now. I still enjoy listening to bebop, big-band jazz and trumpeters like Maynard Ferguson – he taught a course here in 1990 – and Wayne Bergeron. 
YW: I used to take a lot of photos and develop them myself; I also dabbled in drawing, did some graphic design on the computer using Corel Draw, and created photomontages – some really quirky things came out of that. I also take a look at what students are getting up to at the university, for example in the Fashion Department, where I take photos of things I really love. Sometimes students invite me to exhibitions as well.

What do you look forward to every day?
HN: I don’t really think about that sort of thing. I get up, get dressed, then drive here from Vahr and go to work. That’s just my normal job here. Do I get any particular joy out of it? No. Oh, wait, on Mondays and Tuesdays I’m on duty until 6 p.m., and on Wednesdays I can go home as early as 3 p.m. – that makes me happy. 
YW: I look forward to my lunchtime walk during my break, pushing the trolley round to deliver all the parcels in the building – which also means having a natter here and there.

It’s clear, of course, that we can only reopen the university and keep it open if everyone adheres to the social distancing and hygiene rules. Are they working? What’s your impression?
HN: When the check-in system was launched, everyone had received an email explaining how it worked, but the vast majority of people who arrived here knew absolutely nothing about it – they hadn’t even read the email – so I had to explain a great deal, which left me quite exhausted by the evening; fortunately, a student assistant now handles the explanations. What still isn’t working so well, however, is: Now, whilst most people do check in properly, they forget to check out again. And for me, keeping the room booking lists up to date is, of course, much more work than before. 
YW: There’s another security firm on site to ensure compliance; we can only keep an eye on things in the foyer. But I’ve never seen anyone come in without a mask there. Students and staff are very strict about following the rules; they’re more likely to say to me, ‘Hey, put your mask on…’