Joshua: Two years ago, my wife, Kathleen, and I chronicled our search for a solution to our academic two-body problem. We had survived five years of a long-distance relationship and had finally landed two tenure-track jobs in the same region. I was an assistant professor of psychology at a state university in the Midwest. Kathleen had given up tenure at an institution out West to take a tenure-track job at a nearby liberal-arts college. Now we just needed tenure.
At the time, my tenure situation looked pretty good. I had just chalked up my first truly independent publication, and I felt optimistic about a number of manuscripts in the pipeline. Kathleen, on the other hand, was worried.
Kathleen: I had negotiated a shortened track to tenure at my new college, but things were looking a little bleak. In the summer of 2002, my department chairman expressed concern that I wasn't going to make it. He felt that I hadn't really engaged with the campus, that I wasn't around enough, and that I needed to be doing some things differently. I should have already recruited students into my research group. I should have said yes to more service opportunities. I should have been more visible on the campus.
As you can imagine, I was extremely upset to have such harsh judgment passed after being on the job for only a few months. The issue of not being around enough was somewhat unfair. I had taught several night courses, so I was around -- albeit at 10 p.m., rather than 10 a.m. But appearances are everything.
Regarding my service work -- or perceived lack thereof -- the problem was that after becoming tenured at my previous institution, I had learned how to say no. But that's not exactly what is expected of a new untenured faculty member at a small college.
My chairman's concern over my visibility on campus could not be overlooked either. My campus works somewhat like I imagine a small town does: Everyone expects to know what everyone else is up to. I was repeatedly told that it was important to be "known" on the campus to receive tenure. Joining the faculty midyear made that substantially more difficult.
Great. Josh had a job he loved, and his prospects for tenure looked good. I had given up a tenured position for a job back on the tenure track, and was feeling far from optimistic about my future. I needed to change impressions quickly.
Joshua: By the fall of 2003, our situations had reversed. Kathleen and I were both up for tenure in the 2004-5 academic year, and I was the one who was worried. I'd had a busy year. I'd collected a ton of data. I'd written and submitted six manuscripts. And I'd received an equal number of rejection letters.
Apart from an ever-increasing number of papers oscillating between "in preparation" and "under review," my vita looked much as it had the previous year. So when my senior colleague and informal mentor stepped into my office and closed the door, I was not expecting good news.
The tenured faculty members in my department had just completed their annual review of those of us on the tenure track, and my colleague wanted to give me feedback from the meeting. He began with an assurance that I was well liked, and that the faculty wanted me to earn tenure. Then he took a deep breath and uttered the word that inevitably follows such statements: "but." But, he said, if I continued on my present course, I was going to be denied tenure. It came down to numbers. I had published in some of my field's top journals. I had demonstrated quality. But my quantity was insufficient.
I tried to maintain my composure as I asked whether my situation was recoverable. He offered a sports metaphor: It's the fourth quarter and the home team's behind. He even gave me the score. My final tenure file was due in 16 months. The department wanted to see four additional publications in peer-reviewed journals by then. He recommended that I start getting far more selfish with my time. No more committees. No more advisees. No more updates to my already prepped classes.
I thanked him awkwardly for his candid feedback, and he left. I sat there feeling like a failure.
Kathleen: In the meantime, things had turned around somewhat for me. The campus-visibility problem, which I thought was going to be the most difficult challenge, ended up being the easiest problem to solve. I put together a Web site for a new event on the campus in which a large number of faculty members and students were participating. Normally that type of thing would be a thankless job, but it turned out to be high-profile and gave me the visibility boost I needed. I also served on some committees and participated in several on-campus research symposia, which helped highlight my work.
My problem of not being around the department enough magically disappeared when I had to teach some morning classes. I received an internal grant and had a student do summer research with me. I designed a modern-looking Web site for the department. I received good teaching evaluations and connected with the students.
A few months after Joshua's meeting, I had a pre-tenure review. It went fairly well. The review was a constructive one, aimed at advising me on what I needed to do in the next year and a half, and I received some excellent advice on how to frame my case for tenure. At that point, I needed to focus on getting some of my current projects out and under review.
Joshua: After getting my feedback, I spent a few weeks feeling sorry for myself. Then I received a ray of hope. I had been invited to present some of my research at a two-day interdisciplinary conference. The studies I had planned to present had been soundly rejected by a journal earlier that year. Nevertheless, I decided to soldier on and present that work anyway. It turned out to be a fortunate decision.
My presentation went well. The audience seemed quite receptive to the work, and their enthusiasm rekindled my own interest in the research. Best of all, at dinner that evening, one of the conference organizers approached me and asked whether I might be interested in submitting the studies to a journal he edited.
I donned my best poker face and replied that I would have to consult with my fellow authors, of course, but yes, I would certainly consider his journal as a venue for our work. We exchanged cards, shook hands, and I promised to be in touch. As we parted company, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. One down. Three to go.
Kathleen: Meanwhile, a few other things were changing in our lives. Last November, I was laying on a table in an exam room in my obstetrician's office. Josh was by my side. We were peering at the ultrasound screen, trying to get the first glimpse of the heartbeat we were hoping to see. I noticed something odd. I said to the technician, "That's two, isn't it?" She smiled and nodded.
Joshua: Twins. I'd better get tenure.
