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Unwilling to Move

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By Charles E. Winchester

You would think that I have enough going for me to land a tenure-track job this academic year. I'm from a top department, I have a famous adviser, I've organized panels and delivered papers at major conventions, published in leading journals, and will graduate this fall. But I've got a secret: I'm not willing to move.

I'm not talking about being selective about where I'll go for a job. I'm not willing to move to Palo Alto. I'm not willing to move to Austin, Madison, or Ann Arbor. I'm not willing to move to Chicago, Los Angeles, or Boston. Not even to New York City. I'm just not moving, period.

It's not that my current town is so great. Among townsfolk, the term "Starbuck" fails to evoke coffee, much less Herman Melville. City Hall is bankrupt and no member of the school board has attended college. The main road is a hamburger highway dotted with innumerable auto body shops that, from what I've heard, are particularly adept at insurance fraud.

But I'm settled here, and I love my neighborhood. Most of the year it is lush with dense, old-growth trees. We are blessed with an abundance of azaleas, rhododendrons, peonies, lilies, roses, hydrangea, and more. Real corn and tomatoes are down the road. The ocean makes the winters mild, and when it snows the flakes are big and beautiful and melt fast.

Despite the deficiencies of the town, a great city is one hour away, and a good one is close by. But I don't regret not living in the great city. At one time or another I've lived in most of the cities mentioned above, and an old song best sung by Joan Baez captures my feelings about it:

Oh, I'm a rake and ramblin' boy
There's many a city I did enjoy
But now I've married me a pretty little wife
And I love her dearer than I love my life.

Which brings me to the main reason for my refusal to move: My spouse wants to stay put. This issue has caused more than one divorce among my ambitious academic friends. If the conflict itself did not break them up, then over the long term the stresses and temptations of living apart did.

I'm lucky in that I do not want to move either. While my wife works full time as an administrator at a nearby university, I care for our children, cook our meals, conduct research, and adjunct as much as possible. Because I do many of the household chores, my wife has far more time to be a mother to our children than most working moms. In addition, our neighborhood is loaded with kids and wonderful parents who are more open-minded, generous, and well-rounded than most graduate students.

Given these considerations, I am not willing to accept a teaching position more than one hour from our house. Of course, this choice decimates my chances of landing a good tenure-track position. In fact, it decimates a decimation by taking something like 99 percent of the North American landmass out of contention. In addition, my area of expertise (history) is not exactly in high demand.

This is a real cost, as being a tenured professor, especially at a good college, would be a dream come true. To achieve that dream I sacrificed lots of money and seven years of my life, and I endured the costs of studying in a top department with one of the Great Men of my field. Such departments can be pressure-cookers, especially regarding grant money, and the Great Men and Great Women who rule often put the bar very high, and then higher, in their efforts to turn promising students into junior Great Men and Great Women.

As an economic historian, I know that all goods have a price, and that one is constantly evaluating the relative value of one thing over another. During graduate school I fell in love, had children, and made a home. Another set of valuables began to compete with the dream, and soon they surpassed it.

Having it all would mean landing a tenure-track position at one of the many colleges and universities near my town. That is my goal this year. Luckily, according to my preliminary research, many local colleges expect retirements in areas related to my field and chronological strengths.

But I've got a problem. I cannot tell my adviser these revelations because he may not work to secure me a tenure-track position if he knows that being a junior Great Man in the field of economic history is not my main priority. He has invested much time and effort in cultivating my potential over the years in part to send out into the profession a reflection of himself, as he has done successfully with many before me. If he knows my preference for the local college over Yale, he may understandably not work to get me any job at all, including the local ones I desire.

I have not, and will not, mislead the Great Man, whom I greatly respect and admire. He does not know my current valuations because he has not asked. He assumes that my main priority is academic glory and that relocating would be a small price to pay. If he asks me about it, I will tell the truth and accept the possible consequences. Indeed, this column may tip him off and result in uncomfortable questions.

This past summer, our contact was minimal, and the issue did not arise. However, as the academic hiring season begins, the issue will be hard to evade. My chances for local positions rest in large part on his weighty recommendation. Will this column tip him off? Will he ask about my plans? Will my answer affect his efforts on my behalf? Soon we shall see.