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http://chronicle.com/jobs/news/1999/08/99082701c/careers.html Friday, August 27, 1999
Your First Month In A New Job
Ms. MentorWords of wisdom about academic culture
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Question: I'm a new assistant professor who's worried about how to behave. Is it possible to mess up so badly in the first semester that your career never recovers? What are the unforgivable sins?
Answer: Poor fashion sense isn't one of them, Ms. Mentor is happy to report. Jeff, for instance, attended his very first faculty meeting sporting an unironed shirt that he hadn't buttoned correctly. And so, when he stood up to be introduced as the new department golden boy, a bright and shining new Ph.D. -- his round, hairy tummy was the first thing everyone noticed.
But Jeff was a mathematician, hired by people who pride themselves on keeping their heads in the clouds and ignoring mundane reality. After a round of mild snickering, Jeff simply looked down and rebuttoned himself. The show was over.
Other faux pas, though, can linger and fester -- and eviscerate a career.
As Jeff learned, no one is invisible at that first, fateful department meeting in late August or early September. The entrenched senior professors are rested enough to stay awake and gaze about, testing their new bifocals on whoever's new, diverting, or nubile. Mid-level professors sit down impatiently, drumming fingers, eager to get back to their labs or libraries.
But you -- if you're new on the job, you're almost certainly in a frenzy. In the last six months, you've defended your dissertation, moved to a new part of the country, placated or junked relationship-mates, dealt with child and elder care, struggled with landlords, stood in line to register everything, tried to remember dozens of new colleagues' names, and developed new environmental allergies hitherto unknown to humanity.
You've also found you can't digest the local mussels, and the hard water leaves a scummy film in your hair. You thrash around half the night, obsessed with your syllabus and your courses and what to wear. You're sure you don't know enough to be a college professor. You know you'll be unmasked as a fraud.
Nevertheless, on that first day when everyone's watching you -- you must try to look like you fit in.
Unless you're an artist at a very unconventional college, dress conservatively and professionally, so that the world will little note nor long remember what you wore. Don't sport nose rings, skimpy shorts, or huge peacock tattoos. Don't be like the young sociologist with the untamed beard who never lived down his first-week nickname ("Wolf Man"). And definitely don't wear a T-shirt saying, "English teachers do it with class." You'll be forever harassed, and never taken seriously. (See a story from The Chronicle on academic fashion.)
Besides fitting in sartorially, you'll need to show that you're "collegial" -- friendly, knowledgeable, interesting, and a pleasure to be around.
At the first meeting, or before, introduce yourself to everyone you see in the halls of your building. That includes secretaries and staff people. If you're shy, practice saying your name with a smile, handshake, and conversational tag: "I'm Jane Tolliver, a new assistant professor in art history, and I've just come from Midwest State."
You'll keep getting the same reactions: "Where's that?" and "Great football team" and "Oh, yes, do you know old Percy Ravenswood?" But each chat makes you memorable, and encourages your fellow chatterers to see you as a pleasant individual with a life history.
In your first semester, Ms. Mentor decrees, your job is not to opine, but to listen. Avoid taking sides, since you don't know who's feuding with whom, or why. Ask privately about department procedures. Never use meeting time to display your own ignorance.
Don't make invidious comparisons, however tempting. Never say, "Why, at Elite Private U., we had so many more computers on campus. This place is SO backward."
Perhaps so, but you must assume that your Rural U. colleagues have been resourceful with the money and space they've been given. You weren't hired to be a White Knight rescuer, or to be a scold, whiner, or instant expert.
Your role, especially in your first year, is to be a sponge, a grateful guest, and a visiting anthropologist studying the lore and habits of the natives.
Meanwhile, start your Tenure Diary at home, putting with it all contracts, memoranda, and professional documents. Include copies of your school's tenure and promotion policies, and study them. Quietly, non-confrontationally, keep track of whether the rules are being followed. If things go awry, you'll need proof. (See Ms. Mentor's tome for examples.)
Your Tenure Diary is also the safe haven for your raw, unvarnished opinions: "Professor Q is very thoughtful, but Professor R works hard at seeming befuddled -- what a clever ploy to avoid committee work!"
Study those who've recently gotten tenure. Use them as role models and learn about their teaching and research. Ponder these scenarios that Ms. Mentor finds in her files:
Russell, who came from a culture of complaining, was used to bemoaning, belittling, and satirizing. In his first department meeting, Russell groaned and rolled his eyes during the chair's announcements. At the reception afterwards, he groused loudly about "this hick town we're stuck in." His new colleagues felt wounded and insulted.
Nelly, paralyzed by worry about her new colleagues, threw up three times on the morning of the first faculty meeting. Once she was introduced, she stood up, smiled, and had to race from the room again.
Jared, who exuded self-confidence, snagged the seat next to Cherie, a lovely and newly tenured associate prof. He couldn't resist smirking while a much older professor at the front of the room declaimed about outrageous salary discrepancies, unfair teaching loads, and perfidious deans. Jared leaned over and murmured kissingly to Cherie: "Who's the old goat?" She smiled glacially. "He's my husband."
Rude Russell went on to alienate so many colleagues that he was never even invited to lunch -- a sure sign that he was being frozen out. After three years, his contract was not renewed.
Nervous Nelly was more promising and much luckier, for she had senior colleagues who cherished her and wanted her to succeed. They got her into a writing group, with deadlines, rules, and stern criticism; they protected her from too many committee assignments; and they shared teaching strategies and portfolios. By the time she received tenure, Nelly was beaming and self-confident. Ms. Mentor congratulates both Nelly and her colleagues.
As for Jared, he immediately became the butt of a thousand jokes -- but his faux pas was so hilarious that it also became a beloved part of department folklore. Jared's high spirits made him popular with students, and he was wise enough not to date them, ever.
By the time Jared's contract was renewed, he'd grown a goatee, and happily announced that he looked forward to becoming an old goat himself.
In short, Jared and Nelly were good and cheerful department citizens who learned from their mistakes. Russell was annoying, boring, and apparently unteachable.
Ms. Mentor needn't mention that you can kill your career spectacularly -- through felonies, for instance. Or you can watch it ooze away, as Russell did, because you don't know enough to learn as well as teach.
Being a little awkward or naïve can be charming. Thinking you know it all is unforgivable.
