First Person

A Search Committee Starts Over

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By Jack Z. Blake

Last fall, I wrote about a failed search to fill a faculty opening in my department of journalism and mass communication. A candidate had accepted the position only to pull out two weeks before the fall semester started because of fears about life in the rural South. My colleagues and I also suspected that our four-course-a-semester teaching load had something to do with his aboutface.

When I described the denouement of the search in the article, I candidly described my institution's desire for someone who could bring diversity to our predominantly middle-aged, white male department. That admission brought a flood of e-mail accusing us of age discrimination, reverse discrimination, "political correctness," and various other angry, wistful, sad, and sometimes confused expressions of catharsis from academic job applicants in many fields. The vehemence and frustration of several middle-aged and older white guys who had had trouble on the job market particularly resonated with me. After all, I am 44 and white.

So, in the months that followed, as I reviewed the new batch of applications in our second attempt to fill the position, the voices from the many e-mails I had received echoed in my head.

And when a 50ish, well-established applicant with a doctorate turned up in this year's pool, I felt compelled to be a bit of an advocate, and I admitted this to my fellow search committee members. The applicant had been a high-powered executive back in the '80s and '90s in a major media company at which I was a lower-than-bottom-rung peon. Then came the downsizing, after which the applicant had followed a career in consulting.

Of course we had other applicants, including the competent and hard-working mother of two preschoolers who, on extremely short notice, had agreed to fill the job for the year. But the pool was still small. Few applicants seemed interested in working at our institution, because of its less-than-sexy location and its heavy teaching load.

Our position sought someone with either a Ph.D., or with five years of serious professional experience and a master's -- preferably both the doctorate and the serious experience. After advertising in the requisite journals and making direct phone calls to graduate-school directors in our field, as well as personal calls to any potential minority candidates at the behest of our diversity director, we found ourselves with a total of 10 applicants.

At the search committee's first meeting, we narrowed the pool to five. Two were internal candidates: the current instructor hired to fill the job temporarily and a second temporary instructor who was well thought of but young and who was filling in for a professor on leave. The other three were outside candidates: the 50-something former executive; a technology instructor with a doctorate but no real communications background who indicated he was Native American; and an established professor in the field who was on the verge of tenure at a large public university. With a solid track record of publication, years of experience in media management, and relevant teaching experience, the established professor was the clear top choice. He was also from East Asia, so he would add some international diversity to our department.

Once we had our pool, we began to make some informal background checks. I have worked on other committees that make the reference calls the final step, but our department head has found that early checks help us get to know our candidates so we can do a better job in the dreaded conference-call interviews. The early background checks also help us prioritize our shortlist, especially when we can't afford to fly everyone in for an interview.

The background checks solidified our top candidate's position. At his current institution, his fellow professors reported him to be collegial and dedicated to both research and teaching. They reported that some students had had difficulty with his language skills early in his career, and that while his teaching had improved, some of those student perceptions lingered. That cultural discomfort (his colleagues admitted that some of their students would be uncomfortable with just about anybody from another culture) truly bothered the candidate, who later admitted he was worried that some negative teaching evaluations might adversely affect his tenure possibilities.

The application from the 50-something former executive seemed too substantial to be true at first, so we began informal background checks shortly after his dossier arrived. Our inquiries raised some serious red flags. Former colleagues at the major university at which he taught more than a decade ago reported that -- well, let's just say that whatever his problems were, self-esteem wasn't among them. The lack of support from at least one former colleague was vehement, and downright profane. (Note to potential job applicants: Count to 10 before you antagonize anyone. Coworkers have very long memories.)

Of course, we didn't need to do background checks on our two internal candidates. Both had earned their master's degrees in our department, and we had worked with them as colleagues for a year. We liked both, but the powers that be made it clear that they wanted a Ph.D. in the position. The search committee viewed the more experienced of the two instructors as our "default candidate," should one of the Ph.D.'s turn us down. And the woman filling the job temporarily planned to pursue her doctoral studies whether or not she got the job. As for the Native-American technology instructor, he had a Ph.D. in industrial technology. But without any real media experience, we decided to keep his application in reserve. We'd revisit it, and others, if our top candidate didn't work out.

We did the obligatory conference call with the top candidate, and we were pleased to hear that his English, though accented, was quite clear. We repeated often that, while we value research, this is primarily a teaching position. A year earlier, in another department in our college, we had hired a research-oriented recent Ph.D. who was so overwhelmed by the teaching load -- and the lack of technical prowess of our first-generation-college students -- that he returned to his native South Korea in midsemester, choosing possible nuclear attack over facing another day with our students.

Chastened by this experience, we made our situation clear. Our candidate still wanted to come, so we scheduled a campus visit, which went well. The candidate listened, asked good questions about teaching and research opportunities, the nature of the community, and the possibilities for tenure. If anything, we undersold ourselves. We admitted that sometimes our students lack motivation and that they often work outside of school and have trouble with attendance and homework. And we made the point that while research is required, it's a challenge to balance a solid research program with the four-course teaching load.

But we were also our nice, supportive, good-listening selves. Our students were, too. During his lecture presentation to my design class, the students were attentive and asked good questions. The candidate spoke well, even compellingly. He covered the material in a very knowledgeable fashion.

After he left, the committee sat down to deliberate on what to do. Since he was our top candidate and he had acquitted himself quite well, we couldn't really not offer him the position. But we were concerned that his research priorities might not coincide with our teaching requirements. Nevertheless, we unanimously decided to make him an offer.

The candidate asked for a week to mull it over. I knew of at least two similar positions at other colleges with lighter teaching loads that we were pretty sure he had applied for. Anticipating that we would be turned down again, we were beginning to look again at other candidates.

A week after we made the offer, our candidate accepted it. Enthusiastically.

I only hope that he maintains that enthusiasm after his first semester of teaching twice as many courses as he's used to.