A new college president waited for several months before appearing before the faculty at the small teaching institution. Finally he appeared at a regularly scheduled faculty meeting, he read a short statement and then left the meeting. The academic leadership had been a part of his interview process, but he had remained rather aloof from the greater faculty since his hire. Only six months into his presidency, he faced the prospect of a confidence vote from the faculty. When he went to defend himself, one of the faculty leaders asked something like, "How can we have confidence in you: who are you?"

When I read this true story recently, I immediately thought of King Henry IV's advice to his son Prince Hal in Shakespeare's classic play: "By being seldom seen, I could not stir but like a comet I was wondered at, that men would tell their children 'This is he'; others would say 'Where, which...

I enjoy visiting new faculty members in their offices during the first semester of teaching. For many of these folks, their office is the first non-cubical space they've ever been granted. That decor gives me some fresh insights into their personalities, interests, and even work habits.

The cultural-studies geek in me enjoys reading office space as a kind of text that provides me with insight into its "author." When I was in the business world, I briefly had a creepy boss who kept a collection of "nudie" coffee mugs on his shelves. Over the years, I've seen academic leaders whose offices held personal athletic trophies, elaborately framed newspaper articles, and taxidermy-prepared animals. I've seen staff offices with loads of cross-stitch work, sun catchers, antique book collections, and family relics. I've seen faculty offices with mementos of foreign travels, student-produced artwork, ...

Recently I had the opportunity to visit a campus where I had taught for seven years. I hadn't been back in almost six years and it was a little surreal to see my old office, my old classrooms, and my dear colleagues (who somehow did not look old). I enjoyed my visit immensely, leaving campus thankful for the friendships that had been forged during that time. We still exchange e-mail occasionally, making sure everyone knows of family deaths, professional successes, and other news. I am glad whenever their e-mails show up in my inbox; they are like members of my extended family.

I think that of all professions, teaching creates one of the strongest senses of fraternity/sorority. Something about those committee meetings, shared grading assignments, and curriculum battles bonds us closely. Add in personal tragedies and family emergencies and the bonds are strong indeed.

When I left that...

A student comes to the dean's office to complain about a professor's temper/political rants/harassment/dementia/use of profanity/racism/(you fill in the blank). The student notes, "I have a voice recording app on my phone, as well as a video camera. I am going to start documenting these events. If you won't do anything about this, I am going to upload this to the Internet. I don't care what the syllabus or the student handbook says about recording in class, I'm fed up with all of this behavior."

You'd be amazed at how often such threats come up. Certainly there are legal issues attached, but once such a recording or video is uploaded, it's a part of the infamous "permanent record" that now has fresh meaning in the age of digital records. I'm surprised, in fact, that such uploads haven't happened more frequently.

We all have heard the lessons of e-mail and social-networking sites: always as...

Since we are approaching the end of the year, the season for "asking" is in full swing. Donations to institutions have never been more necessary, even as the funds that provide such gifts have never been so stressed. I've noticed that many institutions are postponing capital campaigns, which caused me to ponder my experiences as a faculty member regarding fund raising among campus employees.

Each institution with which I've been affiliated has run a capital campaign that has included a faculty/staff element. I've always given gladly to these, in part because I have believed in their specific missions and in part because I know that it really does have an effect on donors when they hear that on-campus folks are participating. As a junior faculty member, I chose to designate my gift to my department, figuring that my dollars could be used by the department chairperson to supplement our...

Several health-care providers over the years have employed my title when I was in their offices, even correcting their assistants from time to time, emphasizing that I should be called "Dr." One dentist in particular noted, "This guy studied as long as I did for his doctor's degree. He deserves that title just as much as I do." He even gave me a professional discount on his services. I thought that was pretty nifty.

Having said that, there is one experience that drives me crazy: I can't count the number of times that most of my time spent with a doctor has been spent fielding questions about grammar, writing, literature, or even motivating children to do better in their high-school subjects. As one English professor lamented, "One time I actually clocked the conversation: the doctor spent 14 minutes on my checkup and 19 minutes asking me for my professional opinion, which was based on my ...

Somewhere in my mother's files, she still has a copy of the "What I Want To Be When I Grow Up" essay that I wrote in second or third grade. Even that far back I declared that I wanted to be a college professor. I have no idea where I got the idea. My folks aren't academics, though they both hold degrees, and while many of my relatives are teachers, none are professors. All I can think of is that I was living in a college town and had one friend whose father was a math professor. In any case, I made my mind up early and it was my plan all through school.

I'm always amazed at how many colleagues likewise knew at an early age that they wanted to be professors. Sometimes there are other stories, which sound like semi-religious conversions to the profession, but in my network, at least, I keep running into other early deciders.

So, when did you decide that you wanted to be a professor? Do you...

At a conference I recently attended, a sizeable wave of paper presenters failed to attend. The papers were submitted back in February, but travel funds had since vanished and, in some cases, wages had been cut and the presenters could not afford to pay for the airfare/hotel out of their pockets. In the past, a no-show was the kiss of death toward future presentations, but I had the definite sense that most of the attendees felt genuine empathy toward the folks who were unable to attend.

As I pondered this reality, I also remembered that next year's travel budgets are already gone. The academic conference as we know it is about to undergo a substantial transformation. After all, how long can we support giving faculty members $1,000 to read a paper to a half-dozen other professors in a small conference room in a distant city? Note that I'm not saying that it's a worthless experience: this...

As I perused the stacks of books in the exhibition area of a recent conference, I started eavesdropping on a nearby conversation between two young men who were discussing their dissertations. I chuckled when I heard their exchange of dissertation-ese that was loaded with jargon and used overly complicated sentence structures.

Several past threads in the Chronicle forums have noted the importance of understanding that job candidates must learn to use care in discussing their dissertations in job interviews. The reality is that while their dissertations are the most important things in their lives at the moment, once defended, those dissertations will pass into a kind of academic purgatory. For most faculty members, especially those at teaching institutions, new projects will come along, new course preps, and even new theories in the discipline. One of my doctoral mentors frequently urged...

The days of research sabbaticals and teaching-load reductions are taking, shall we say, their own sabbatical for a while. For those who are employed at teaching-intensive institutions and strive to maintain active scholarly agendas, this is a significant problem, especially if the cuts to such programs are timed with a book contract or significant grant opportunity.

There are other load tricks, however, that sometimes can help faculty members who are trying to sustain their scholarly production. I've seen teaching schedules consolidated to three or four days to allow for at least a bit of extended time to write. I've seen course assignments altered to reduce the number of preps in a given semester. I've seen enrollment caps in sections quietly reduced to cut down on grading loads. I've even seen courses shifted from fall or spring semesters to summer terms to free up a bit of time.

I am...