The Chronicle of Higher Education
Athletics
Friday, November 2, 2001

First Person

Struggling For an Honest Search

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"I'll so offend to make offense a skill, Redeeming time when men think least I will." (Shakespeare, Henry IV Part I, 1.2.204-5)

Prince Hal set it up perfectly. His plan was to deceive others by acting irresponsibly so that when he revealed his true colors -- his bravery, strength of character, and loyalty -- all the world would be amazed at the transformation. Now in my first column, I wrote with some bravado of my intention to dive into the fray that is the academic job search. But the reality of it is settling in, and I've found I'm feeling funny about it.

Suddenly I feel less like Prince Hal and more like Macbeth: I'm deceiving colleagues at the college where I am currently a faculty member by acting loyal to them even as I actively pursue my own self-interested course -- a tenure-track job at a new institution.

This sense of deceit became more apparent as I began contemplating who would be my references. Thankfully, one of them would be easy -- my dissertation director. I've kept up with him over the years (and it hasn't been too many); he has continued to serve as my mentor, offering insight and suggestions on conference presentations and publication matters. And he has, in fact, agreed to be a reference.

But the other two to make up the requisite three: Whom to pick? I must have references from my current employer, for not having such references sends all sorts of wrong messages. At the same time, I of course want to keep my search confidential at this point; I don't want it blabbed across my small campus that I'm bailing out -- that wouldn't do me any good now or in the future. So I have made an obvious and appropriate choice: my department chairwoman. I knew she could speak well of me -- she values me as a colleague and teacher and respects what I've done (and I've done quite a bit for my department). She is professional about such matters and would keep my request private, and she is both honest and candid.

When I did approach her about being a reference, I got a reminder of this candor: Her immediate response (honestly) rhymed with "hit." Then she said, "I knew it was coming. You're too good for this place -- we just can't keep top-notch faculty. And in all truth I'd be looking too if I were you. I would be delighted and honored to write a recommendation for you."

I was simultaneously flattered and guilt-ridden. I know she doesn't want to lose me; she thinks of me as a genuine asset, someone who can help the program grow and develop. I do have a commitment, a personal and even emotional investment in the department. More broadly, in fact, the college and I have a relationship, and it's tough to walk away from a relationship of several years, even if it is one that qualifies as just "good enough."

Actually, upon further reflection, I need to amend that thought: I don't have a relationship with the abstract "college;" I have relationships with the people here. The college may be just "good enough," but the people are much more than that. I have friends here from across campus; I have colleagues I respect and enjoy working with. We've worked hard together on committees and programs in an effort to make this college better than "good enough." I just can't walk away from these people.

Or maybe I can. Or maybe I should. Wouldn't my walking away make a statement about the college's -- or, more precisely, the administration's and the trustees' -- poor relationship with and appreciation for the faculty? Wouldn't it show that the college needs to get its act in gear if it wants to keep faculty members like me? And anyway, it's not personal, it's only business, right? People change jobs all the time in business.

Except that I'm in the business of education, and I have devoted myself to making this college experience real and effective and intellectually profitable for me and my students. That's not business, that's passion. I've made my investment here. I've made my relationships. It won't be so easy to walk away.

And thus, as I search for that third reference I find myself asking things like, "Should I ask my best friend from across campus, the one I have lunch with every week?" or "Should I ask a colleague in the department, the one who's working with me on a seminar proposal for next year?" or "Should I ask her, the one who's helping me develop the honors program?" or "Should I ask him, the one who's co-authored a still-pending grant proposal with me -- the one who might lose the grant if I'm no longer here?"

These are the people I'm being deceitful toward. I keep making plans for next year, knowing that I may not be here next year (and also realizing that I might!). What does my department chairwoman -- whom I've asked to help me in my search -- now think when I talk to her about a course I'd like to propose for next fall? I feel as if I'm living a split life, a life of deceit, and the decision for that third referee just keeps getting tougher.

But I do have to look out for my own professional well-being and growth. I do have to provide for my family, not only in terms of finances but also in terms of their personal opportunities. And I will remember -- and act upon -- the advice of my brother-in-law, also an academic: "Don't turn down a job you haven't been offered."

I will keep at the search. I just might not enjoy it as much as I had hoped.

Harry Lancaster is the pseudonym of an assistant professor of English at a Southern college. He will be writing regularly about his job search over the course of this academic year.