Ms. Mentor

Are You Old or Are You Sage?

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Question: I want to go to grad school in history, after 20-plus years in the business world, because history is my passion. I'll be 47, or maybe even 50, when I finish grad school. Will I be too old?

Answer: Ms. Mentor gets many a plaintive epistle like yours. "Am I too old for a career in ... ?" "If I go back to grad school, I'll be 55, or 80, or 112 when I finish my degree. Dare I do it?"

Ms. Mentor always favors daring, for whether you pursue your passion or decide you're too old, you will still be 55 or 80 or 112 eventually. Do you want them to write, "He was always cautious," on your tombstone?

Certainly you will never again be 22 ("the right age") -- which means that you're unlikely to be a trumpet player, a mathematical wizard, or a ballet dancer. But Louisiana Gov. Mike Foster, 70, is currently enrolled in law school, and Ms. Mentor's circle includes many a late bloomer -- among them a 56-year-old musician earning an undergraduate degree in music and a 60-year-old physician getting his in women's studies.

Moreover, an 80-year-old retired government worker just received her Ph.D. in urban studies at the University of New Orleans. Ms. Mentor's files bulge with tidbits about the late-in-life painters Clementine Hunter and Grandma Moses, and the novelists Sara Ruffner and Helen Hooven Santmyer, whose first books came out when the authors were in their 80's. Lillian Carter, former President Jimmy's mother, joined the Peace Corps in her 60's. Col. Harland Sanders discovered the profitability of Kentucky Fried Chicken when he was already retired, and Col. Tom Parker was no spring chicken when he took on managing a raw young rooster named Elvis Presley. Mother Mary Jones turned union organizer at 50 and pummeled "the Rockefeller gang of thieves" until she was 100.

All these people were expanding on what they'd already done all their lives. They'd been using, or bending the law; they'd been playing music practically and intuitively, without a theoretical vocabulary; they'd been writing, nudging, nurturing, or selling things from the time they were tykes.

Ms. Mentor has, of course, been telling people what to do since time immemorial.

And so she asks: What do you bring to the study of history? Are you an obsessive reader of biographies and historical studies, and a devourer of the History Channel? Are you a Civil War buff, or a re-enactor? Do you write well-researched, curmudgeonly letters to the editor? Do you write well and enjoy it? Do you know foreign languages and love poking around libraries? Are you fascinated by human mistakes? Do you salivate at the thought of an intellectual argument?

Graduate school, however, is not solely an intellectual exercise, nor is it the accumulation of grades and credits toward a possible job. It is a genuine sacrifice, for earning a Ph.D. in the humanities and social sciences can easily consume eight years or more and cost $100,000 in tuition and lost income. Are you willing to put the rest of your life on hold while you pore over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore?

Ms. Mentor calls graduate school a kind of acculturation; others call it boot camp or indoctrination. Its purpose is to teach students the jargon and mores of their field, give them a glimpse of academic politics (including turf wars and sniping), and eventually equip them to compete in a desperate job market. Often graduate school socializes working-class students to fit middle-class norms ("Bella" was advised to get rid of her regional accent and hide her bowling trophies).

Ms. Mentor, who loves learning for its own sake, nevertheless advises you to consider practical questions. Are you willing to reinvent yourself to fit someone else's script, especially if it seems snotty and mean-spirited? Can you handle new roles and risks, or will you resent the lack of respect for your past achievements? Can you listen respectfully to airy pomposities from youngsters half your age without laughing or spitting? Are you resilient and resourceful enough to get something from everyone?

Suppose you are, and you've written a prize-winning dissertation, but now it's job-market time, and you'll undoubtedly run into some age discrimination. (See, for instance, part 1 and part 2 of a Career Talk column called, "I'm 50. Can I get a teaching position?")

You can outmaneuver some of it up front by omitting the date of your B.A. on your vita -- but since all signs of aging can and will be used against you in job interviews, you must come across as energetic and enthusiastic. If you're asked (illegally) about your health, say you work out every day (even if you only hoist a glass). Never mention ailments or your beautiful grandchildren. Move quickly. Focus on your own brilliance, color your graying hair, get an up-to-date haircut, and beware of dated slang and cultural references. Never tell a Nixon joke.

But do keep friends who can joke with you about the peculiarities of academe, and who can recognize and deplore terms that patronize mature adults ("still manages to keep busy," "young at heart," "spry"). Despite the risks, Ms. Mentor does not think you should abandon your passion. "She followed her dream" does read much better on your tombstone.

Ms. Mentor, who is herself as old as the hills, likes knowing that realistic, smart adults are in graduate school. Often they learn faster, because they already know so much. Often they chuckle, as she does, at the posturings of young turks and theory jocks. Adults appreciate satire, and they don't crawl into a hole at the thought of a B minus.

Most people reach a point in life where they can choose to wither or to bloom. Ms. Mentor always chooses to flower.

Question: At a panel discussion where I was the respondent, the Major Name Panelists took so much time that I could barely get out any of my carefully prepared remarks. But I did get a paid trip to the conference, a line on my vita, a lot of new knowledge from papers I heard, and some great evening hang time with new colleagues from other schools. Should I quit whining and decide it was a good thing?

Answer: Yes.

SAGE READERS: Ms. Mentor's summer mailbag remains light, with the exception of one burning question: "How do deans think?" She invites insights, gossip, and theories, especially from current and recovering deans. She would also like to know where -- and under what circumstances -- academics use the term "diaconal," rather than "deanly," to refer to deansome functions. Is it real? Is it fake?

Readers are reminded that Ms. Mentor rarely answers letters personally, but often incorporates several into her columns. Anonymity is guaranteed. Ms. Mentor will never tattle to your dean.