After 20 years in higher education, I had reached a milestone in my career: I had become an associate vice president in a branch of student affairs at a small private Midwestern university, managing four departments and a staff of 60. I was one of only a few African-American males in my area of the profession, and I was elated at the promise that the position held for my future aspirations.
My elation evaporated just a year later when my job was eliminated, and I found myself seeking employment in a tight job market. I figured that this would be just a minor setback; with my credentials it would not be long before I was employed again.
But after many months of sending out applications, I still had no job. Finally, I made the short list for a deanship at a community college. I could only characterize the position as a lateral move at best, but I still wanted the job.
On the day of the interview, I arrived early and felt assured of my candidacy -- so assured that my thoughts wandered to relocation and to whether I could live in this particular city. A greeting from the search chairman interrupted my thoughts. He quickly took me into his office and introduced me to his secretary. After a few minutes of small talk, the secretary gushed, "I just got to ask you this."
I smiled, not knowing the question to come but thinking that perhaps she was intrigued by something on my vita. Maybe she wanted to know about the research I conducted in Great Britain, or my experiences at Harvard where I completed a postgraduate program, or possibly about my dissertation.
Instead she asked, "Did you play football?"
I must admit that I was somewhat taken aback by the question, but my smile remained intact. When the chairman chimed in, "I was thinking the same thing!" my heart sank.
It is difficult to hold on to a scholarly demeanor when those who will eventually judge your candidacy inform you, in so many words, that you remind them not so much of an academic as a lineman. Trying not to let on how much the question had unnerved me, I stammered, "I played high-school football but that was over 25 years ago, and besides I wasn't this big then."
"Oh, I see," the chairman replied. He appeared somewhat disappointed that my playing days had not included a more glamorous stint at the collegiate or professional level. I figured that if these people were bold enough to ask me such a stereotypical question, my interview was going to be an uphill struggle.
The first question from the hiring committee came from a male departmental director who asked me which professional football team I rooted for. I gave him the benefit of the doubt since it was probably an icebreaker question, though I wondered if this would have been the first question posed to a female candidate. Since it seemed that football was on everyone's mind, I thought, perhaps, that I had better not share that I did not actually follow the sport.
The rest of the interview went well, though the "did you play football?" question kept nagging at me. Less than a week later the chairman called to inform me that I had not made the final cut.
Undaunted, I applied for other positions and landed a telephone interview for an executive director's position, overseeing a multimillion-dollar grant. This time, a search firm conducted the interview. It went very well, and I received word that the search firm wanted to bring me in for a face-to-face interview with an associate and a vice president of the firm.
The interview was supposed to last about 45 minutes, but with the two of them finely combing through my résumé, it lasted nearly 90 minutes. My confidence was buoyed as they explored every aspect of my professional career and appeared quite impressed with my positions as well as my national awards.
As I shook the vice president's hand at the close of the interview, she said, "I've got to ask you something: Did you play football?"
We had just spent over an hour talking about my background and at no point had I shared anything remotely related to sports. Caught off guard again, I gave my pat "oh, I played many years ago in high school, but I wasn't this size" response. She continued, "It's just that your shoulders are so broad."
I was fuming, thinking to myself, "Isn't that comment illegal?" I place it on the same level as commenting on the anatomy of a female candidate. I did not know if the other associate was embarrassed, but she had a weak smile on her face waiting for a comment from me. Trying to steer the conversation back on course and help the vice president remove her foot from her mouth, I responded that my size would definitely help me take control and provide leadership in board meetings.
She responded, "Oh, yes, I can see it helping you work with student athletes."
Of course, the position for which I was interviewing had nothing to do with student athletes. I realized then that my first mistake had been pandering to stereotypical and inappropriate remarks.
I could not imagine that same vice president asking a viable female candidate, "Were you a model? It's just that your eyes are so striking!"
Why would rational, educated professionals persist in viewing me through the prism of athletics? Beyond the obvious stereotypes about black males and athletics, there was something else that compelled those individuals to place the sports tag on me, even in the face of pages of academic credentials. I think that the celebrity of athletes and of athletics today may also motivate people to ask the "sports question."
An African-American male colleague of mine is a high-ranking officer in the Marine Corps, teaches business courses as an adjunct professor, and is finishing his doctorate. He, too, is asked the "did you play sports?" question. Unlike me, he relishes the attention he receives. In his past life he played on a "semipro" football team in which players purchased their own uniforms, provided their own transportation to games, and basically received about $50 a game, if that. He muses that at least when he's asked the sports question, he can respond that he has played semipro ball. People are usually impressed.
Facetiously, he offered me this advice: If the question comes up again, give the employers what they seem to want. Tell them I was on one of those semipro teams. According to my friend, the teams come and go and there is no real evidence that many of the semipros have ever played.
Now, I've heard of people padding their résumés with phony degrees, but bogus sports careers, for a position in academe? I would only hope that a spurious football career would not trump my professional experience and achievements in higher education. I have secured another interview, so time will tell.
