At the recent meeting of the American Historical Association, I met dozens of grad students and recent Ph.D.'s all looking for "the job."
At one point, I inadvertently descended into what must have been one of Dante's forgotten circles of hell: the job registrar, where colleges interview hundreds of candidates, cafeteria-style. I was there because I had a scheduled interview the next day, and I wanted to scope out the space.
What I saw was shocking: 20 or so young historians clutching their briefcases, staring straight ahead in a trance-like gaze, rehearsing their interviews. No sooner had I reached the bottom of the escalator than did I return as quickly as possible to the main lobby. All of these people looking for jobs, and I was once again like them.
But it was different for me: I already have a job. Until now, I had always thought of my job as temporary. I realize that hundreds of faculty members think the same way. They see the institutions at which they work as second rate, dreaming of one day soon teaching at the "right place." Even faculty members at "the right place" think this way. Why?
Graduate schools and senior faculty members create a culture that breeds such attitudes. They do this unintentionally through their efforts to recreate for their students their own world. Few recent Ph.D.'s will be able to find fulfillment in this world.
Instead, scholars of this generation are bitter and contemptuous of their colleagues, always thinking that the grass is greener on the other campus.
I know. I was once one of them.
Four years ago I accepted my position teaching history at a rural public college of technology. It was not what I had in mind when I entered graduate school at an urban Northeastern research university, and I did not expect to stay as long as I have. I figured I would finish my dissertation, gain valuable teaching experience, (not to mention health insurance), and leave quickly for greener pastures.
Looking back, I see that I was premature in my job search; in fact, I gave it little thought. I naively believed I would be finished with my dissertation in a few short months; most colleges recognized my foolishness right off. When the chair of the department that ultimately hired me invited me to a campus interview, I had no idea where the school was, nor did I remember applying to it.
I went for the interview in April, and by May they had made me an offer. Because I had little else in the offing, and did not want to spend a year as an adjunct, I accepted. I realized something right away: A job teaching full time was better than no job. Even if the college was not what I considered "good." After all, as one grad-student friend reminded me, it was just "one step above high school."
I had watched too many of my friends refuse to apply for certain jobs that they felt were beneath them. I then watched as they tried to patch together lives as adjuncts at as many as four schools per term, never having enough time or energy to finish their dissertations. I decided long before, that I -- the son of working-class parents -- would accept any academic job offered.
Before I knew it, I had left the city for the country, all the while thinking that this would be temporary. I spent my first year complaining to friends about the backward nature of the college and the intellectual isolation. And they responded with a chorus of "I told you so."
Nothing in my grad-student experience taught me the skills that I needed to be an effective faculty member at this institution. So I spent the first year adjusting to the countryside, teaching the students, and living away from my friends and family. While it was not what I expected, I began to enjoy it. I was working and trying to write.
A full-time position at any college provides one with a sense of permanence that an adjunct position or grad school does not provide. It is home base, allowing one to take control of certain aspects of one's life. For instance, I have developed courses that I wanted to teach. I have worked closely with students, finding the role of mentoring very rewarding. I have developed friendships with my colleagues. I have also learned to rely on the support of others: secretaries, librarians, and deans.
Now, while I am waiting for phone calls to see if I am to move to another college, I am in a better place than I was a few years ago. I am happy where I am. I will not be devastated if no one calls to offer me another position. I have learned to call where I am home for now.
We must face up to some facts. First, we cannot recreate the world of our own mentors, no matter how much we wish we could. That time has passed. And, second, we must learn to find happiness where we are. It took me four years to learn those lessons.
I can't say that my experience is universal. I know it not to be. But we no longer operate in one profession, but several. The person who teaches at Yale is not in my profession. We share certain interests and professional proclivities, but we are worlds apart. We can't, and shouldn't, convert our schools into miniature Yales.
Accept these smaller schools for what they are, embrace their missions, and do your best to fit in. Increasingly, the jobs today are at poorly supported two-year and four-year colleges. Instead of seeing this as a temporary sentence, look at it as an opportunity. You can teach students who desperately need you at a school where you can make a real difference. Those of us already there will welcome you.
Barney Rogers is a pseudonym.
