By Milton Greenberg

"I'm not sure that I am cut out for this kind of work," I told the vice-president for academic affairs six weeks after assuming the chairmanship of my department. He chuckled and said, "You are right on schedule."

My chairmanship came after 13 years of full-time teaching and lasted four years. This was followed by a 24-year administrative career that took me to three other universities as a dean of arts and sciences, a vice-president for academic affairs and, finally, as a provost (a position defined as both chief academic and chief administrative officer). I also served more than a year as an interim president.

Over those years I made it a practice to elicit the views of new chairs and first-time deans on their altered status. With almost perfect regularity I was able to say with a broad smile, "You are right on schedule."

It doesn't take long for new administrators to experience the on-schedule moment when they realize that the administrative role is only remotely connected to their experiences as students, teachers, and scholars. While this is somewhat less true for department chairs than for deans, provosts and presidents, the differences are matters of degree.

Many studies of the professoriate show a shared vision of why the academic life was chosen -- the autonomy to pursue one's interests through teaching and scholarship. Studies also reveal the inevitable disappointment that a substantial percentage of faculty members experience. Frustration is aimed at "the administration," which allegedly loses sight of the true mission of university life and behaves like a group of "businessmen and corporate managers." Surveys show an alarming distrust of administrators by faculty members even though professors played a major role in selecting their leaders.

The mythology of academe views administration as a necessary evil and rejects the concept of "management" as anti-academic. Like it or not, administration is the art of managing people and money. Both personal and institutional success or failure rest upon an administrator's capacity to accept responsibility and accountability for the people and the money. The myth and the reality provide differing perceptions of the enterprise.

If you choose the administrative life as the major element of your academic career, do it with your eyes open about the academy and, more importantly, yourself. Here are six things to watch for -- both negative and positive -- should you decide to become an administrator:

• You will immediately notice a change in your relationships with friends and colleagues old and new. You will be identified by the position you hold, the powers you might exercise, and the privileges you now have, such as secretarial help, administrative aides, and a nicer office. The changes in behavior are subtle but evident in body language and verbal expression. Even your spouse will be treated differently.

  I have never talked to any rookie administrator who did not quickly become uncomfortably aware of these changes. Many gain new appreciation of the administrative predecessors whom they had criticized. This is the major eureka that makes one wonder, "Am I cut out for this type of work?"

  If you move to a new campus as an administrator, these relationships are immediately in place. You will be viewed as a person who was born into the position and the environment you now occupy. On numerous occasions I wanted to respond to faculty or student claims that "the administration doesn't understand" with "I wasn't born a provost, and I really was a student and a faculty member, and I do understand."

  If you become an administrator at an institution where you have spent many years and decide to return to your faculty position in your department, you will have a relatively easy transition among your former colleagues. But should you move to another institution (the more common practice for higher positions), you will face a very difficult transition back to an unfamiliar faculty should your situation demand it. This explains in large measure why many deans, provosts, and presidents become itinerant administrators.

• There is a major physical dimension to academic administration: long days, frequent evening engagements, often several days a week, much of it social or political, attending to the infinite aspects of university life on campus (you are expected to be there), in the local community (you are expected to be there) and in the broader community (ditto). I found very few of my administrative colleagues needing or getting eight hours of sleep any night. If you treasure lots of sleep and control of your time and energy, higher administration is not for you.

• The cherished doctrine of shared governance will take on new meaning for you. Carefully guarded faculty prerogatives on such issues as personnel policies, curriculum, and participation in budget matters work well in the absence of controversy. But in controversy, only you are expected to be responsible for the consequences of any decision. Simply put, authority is shared but responsibility is yours. Board members do not react favorably to the president or provost who explains an unfavorable decision as the advice of the faculty.

  This feature of campus life requires patience, a sense of humor and love for the peculiarity of faculty-administrative relationships. You will find that no one is ever adequately consulted until the decision goes his or her way. Administrators face similar situations in their relationships with other administrators and "team players" quickly become protectors of their turf.

• Your learning curve will go way up with each new and presumably higher position. You will love learning about the needs and practices of disciplines distant from your own. Involvement in many non-academic matters will enhance your sensitivity to physical-plant issues and to student life outside the classroom.

  The totality of skills necessary to run a campus will impress you, especially when you realize that the full-time faculty is only a small percentage of all campus staff. Many compare it to being the leader of a major business or even a city or county (you even have a police force).

  This is one of the lasting benefits of administration. It provides a heightened sensitivity to the world about you and enhances your understanding of the human condition and the difficulty of establishing priorities. After a few years, you will, in the words of the old song, know a little bit about a lot of things.

• It won't take long to realize that your own days as a scholar and teacher are temporarily or probably permanently over unless you are one of those rare workaholics who can control every minute of your time and energy. Teaching a course now and then will not maintain or improve your teaching performance, and you are unlikely to hit the major journals with your research findings.

  Much of your intellectual interests will be redirected to issues in higher education and to mulling over the strange experiences you endure with faculty members and students. Unfortunately, campus life is filled with encounters that are not terribly rich or unencumbered by self-interest.

  This change in your lifestyle and interests is difficult. Your old faculty colleagues will lament the loss of your contributions to disciplinary interests, while your new, younger colleagues will assume that you probably never were much of a scholar anyway. Neither will evidence much interest in higher education as a major national enterprise or have any idea about how you spend your days and nights.

• Regardless of all the limitations of academic administration, you will be expected to be a leader, establish an agenda, promote the "right" causes, and resolve conflicts. If you seek love and admiration, this is not the pathway for you. But if you see the university as a special, treasured, and fragile social instrument, there is no better place to be.

  If you agree with the all-too-pervasive academic notion that administration is simply a nuisance, you will be incapable of leading professional people and maximizing their potential. But if you can take pleasure in promoting institutional and professional interests, you will gain enormous satisfaction but not necessarily credit or praise, at least not until your retirement.

  At my retirement celebration I said, in response to the words of praise that mark such occasions, "I never was sure whether I was cut out for this type of work."

Milton Greenberg is professor emeritus of government at American University in Washington, D.C., where he formerly served as provost and interim president.