Article written by Alexa Selter, senior at Newhouse and DPS Communications and Marketing Assistant
Two years ago, I moved into Watson Hall as a sophomore at Syracuse. I was living with a roommate I barely knew, nerves running through me, and the person who made me feel most welcome was the man sitting at the front desk.
His name is Don Plantz, and he is a Residential Community Safety Officer at DPS. My roommates knew him. My friends knew him. My parents knew him. And when I sat down to interview him this spring for this spotlight, he squinted at me and said, “You do look a little familiar.”
That is very on brand for Don.
Walk into a residence hall on Don’s shift and there is a good chance he already knows who you are. That is not an accident. Every day, he sets a goal for himself: learn five new names. He thinks about them on the drive home, matching faces to names until they stick. By the end of the semester, he is not just waving you through the door. He is calling you by name.
“I don’t want to just say hi, how are you,” Don says. “I want to call them by their name.”
Don has been an RCSO at DPS for five years, working across five different halls. He is currently stationed at Orange Hall, and if you stop by his post, you will likely find a candy bowl waiting for you, a seasonal display, maybe a jelly bean dispenser. The decorations and candy were his idea from day one. When he first got the job, he thought about the students who would be living in his hall, many away from home for the first time, some who could not make it back for the holidays.
“I said, I know what I want to do. I want to decorate my post every holiday and put candy out every night.”
I remember that candy bowl. I remember how it felt to come back to the dorm after a tough day and have someone at the desk who actually looked up, smiled, and asked how you were doing. Not because it was in the job description, but because that is just who Don is.
His road to DPS was not a straight one. Don was born and raised in Syracuse, graduated from Paul V. Moore High School in Central Square in 1975, and went into the Air Force for five years. He was stationed at Lakenheath Air Base in London, an experience that broadened his world considerably.
After the Air Force, he worked a range of jobs, including a long stint as a travel agent and trainer at Rosenbluth International out of Philadelphia. A company executive’s words stuck with him and have guided him ever since.
“He said, everybody thinks making a lot of money is what makes you happy, but it’s not that. He said, you have to have a passion for whatever you do.”
The actual path to DPS came through a regular customer at the Nice & Easy convenience store in Fayetteville where Don was working at the time. That customer, then DPS peace officer, now Commander of Community Engagement Jeremy Welling, noticed Don was ready for something new.
“He said, you ever thought about working at SU?” Don remembers. “I said, what would I do at SU, Jer? I don’t have a degree.”
Welling told him about the RCSO program. Don applied, was selected, and has not looked back.
“It has been the best job I have had.”
Don will be turning 70 in November and when people ask when he plans to retire, he has a simple answer.
“As long as I have a passion for working, I’m going to work. The students are keeping me young.”
That passion shows up in the small things and the big ones. He brings extra food deliveries inside so students do not come down to find them missing. He follows up on lockouts all the way through, not just handing someone a phone number. He holds the door open during fire alarms and waves off anyone who offers to take over.
He also takes seriously the security side of his role. Not long ago, he caught an unauthorized visitor who had followed a student into the building and could not produce a valid room number. Don sent him out immediately and called DPS when the man returned later that night.
“I am always constantly looking out for the students as far as their safety,” he says.
But moments that clearly mean the most to him are the ones no job description could anticipate.
There was a student in Brewster hall who had passed away during the school year. After the passing, Don had been hoping to meet her parents to tell them how much she had meant to him. He came into his shift that night and a couple approached his post asking for him by name. The student had told them all about Don.
“I woke up that morning hoping I would get a chance to meet you,” he told them, “to let you know how much she meant to me.”
There was one InclusiveU student in his hall who would always pass the candy bowl without taking any. Don noticed. He thought about it and tried something different. The next time they came in, he held the candy out directly to her. Now every time the student passes the elevators, he can hear her telling the other students: the guard at the desk just gave me candy.
“It just warms my heart. It really does.”
I was one of those students who benefited from Don’s presence without fully being able to put it into words at the time. I just knew that Watson Hall felt safer and more like home because of him. My parents would ask about the man at the front desk. My roommates still bring him up. That kind of impression does not come from just doing your job. It comes from genuinely caring about the people in front of you.
Outside of DPS, Don works as a cashier at Target, goes to Syracuse Mets games, and makes regular trips to Binghamton, where his wife Joanie is in a nursing home. He visits on his days off, sometimes staying overnight to keep her company. He has told his students about her, and without fail, their first question when he returns is: how is your wife? A few have already asked if they can make the trip down to meet her.
Don has been married for 38 years, and he shares one piece of advice with students regularly: never go to bed mad.
“My biggest fear would be if one of us should pass and we never had a chance to say I’m sorry. And it was probably over something really stupid.”
Ask him what he wants the campus community to know about him, and he does not talk about safety protocols or check-in procedures.
“I actually get excited every night that I have to work,” he says. “I know I’m going to see all my friends.”
That is what he calls us. His friends.
I am graduating next month, and I will not be walking past Don’s desk anymore. But I will remember what it felt like to have someone in that building who actually knew my name, who genuinely wanted to make my day a little better just by being there. That is not something you forget.
And if you are a current student living in Orange Hall, go say hi. There might be jelly beans.