First Person

Should I Apply?

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By Lauren Moore

Perched on the edge of the low sofa in the president's office, I resisted the urge to wring my hands. It was the spring of 2001 and I'd been summoned -- no reason given. Although the president and I were the same height, his chair or some trick of perspective made him seem a head taller. Or maybe I'd shrunk.

I couldn't decide what to do with my legs. Cross them? Twist them elegantly to the side, like the femmes fatales in old movies? But their shoulder pads and cigarette holders might have acted as ballast. What if I toppled over in my attempt to emulate their sang froid?

My mind scrambled to assemble excuses and explanations for something I must have done that was so potentially damaging to the college that only the president could deal with it, and me. I eyed the doorway, expecting security to arrive and escort me from the campus in ignominy.

The president thanked me for coming -- as if I'd had any choice. "Now that we're going to be searching for a vice president for marketing," he said, seemingly unaware of my rigid alertness, "would you prefer to work for whoever we hire for the position or continue reporting to your dean?"

As a director of marketing communications, I had been reporting to a series of deans of the College of Arts and Sciences. They had all treated me well -- when they remembered me -- giving me large annual budgets to spend on advertising and publications. But they didn't know anything about marketing, so they pretty much ignored me, even forgetting to invite me to staff meetings. They didn't seem to know where my office was; I could have been manufacturing bootleg in a bathtub, for all they knew. And whenever I showed them something I was working on, they smiled vaguely and murmured, "Oh! That's very nice." Undirected, my skills were stagnating.

Now the president was offering me the opportunity to have a boss in my field, who could teach me to use the latest marketing tools and practices. It took me less than a nanosecond to respond. "I'd like to report to the new VP," I replied, feeling very adventurous, since no one knew who the vice president would be.

Like most colleges just after the turn of the millennium, the various schools and departments at my institution created their own brochures, newsletters, and the like -- none of which bore any resemblance to one another, nor to those created elsewhere in the college. There had been an attempt a few years earlier to upgrade and standardize the college's viewbooks, travel pieces, and academic brochures, but it had been limited in its effects and reach. Our small college needed to express itself with a unified look and bold language; the new vice president was to create a brand capable of holding its own against the towering institutions in our city's exceptionally competitive higher-education environment.

I wanted to be part of that branding effort. I also wanted an up-close view of what it took to be a vice president.

Four years later, I can happily say that I made the right choice. Working closely with the new vice president, I helped introduce branding to the college, deal with faculty assertions that "we're not selling toothpaste here," lead the complex organizational change that such a seismic culture shift involves, and ultimately, define and develop a brand that resonates with our audiences. And since my boss generously shared information about her job, I also learned a lot about what being a vice president involved.

Now the vice president is leaving, and I need to decide if I should apply for the position. Her mandate had been to build the brand. Her successor's will be to extend it and maintain the high marketing standards she imposed -- tasks not as strenuous as building, perhaps, but requiring vision, tenacity, and finesse, nonetheless. I believe I possess those qualities.

As an internal candidate, I would have an edge. My contributions to the organization are documented. After all, I've been working at the college for nine years, and I've got my performance evaluations as evidence of my capabilities. But just as my colleagues are familiar with my strengths, they also know my weaknesses.

However, in addition to the matter of how I am perceived by those in influential positions at my college, there are more pressing complications to my applying.

One of my peers has been appointed interim vice president until a permanent replacement is hired. Should I take that as the organization's vote of confidence in him -- and lack of confidence in me?

He's hobnobbing with the deans and other vice presidents, building relationships and learning arcane practices that I'm not privy to. Barring any major screw-ups, doesn't he have a distinct advantage over other internal candidates? If by some fluke I were to get the vice president's job, would he consider for a moment reporting to me? For that matter, would any of those who are now my peers want to report to me? What would happen if I applied, but didn't get the job? Would the person who did suspect me of resentment or sedition? Would I have to leave?

Then there's the race issue. I am African American. Vice presidents are members of the executive council at my college, but since I've worked there, the council has never had an African-American member. Such an appointment would be a resounding demonstration of the college's appreciation of diversity. But, although the college has reason to be proud of its diversity initiatives, it could do a better job of attracting and advancing people of color.

I have my own conundrum in this area. Because of the dogged complexities and convoluted psychology of race in this society, I know that I would oscillate between wanting to represent minority views to the council so that they would not be overlooked and not wanting to be expected to address every issue with a racial overtone to it. That would be problematic, I admit, but race is problematic.

I've always thought that, aside from the benefits to the college of promoting an African American, the college would benefit from promoting someone from the directors' ranks to the executive council. Let's face it: Most directors are in dead-end jobs. When I've brought up to executive-council members the subject of career paths for directors, even offering some suggestions, I've been met with the frank admission that that isn't on their radar screens.

Within the past year, two new administrators have been hired as senior director and executive director, respectively; some time ago, three directors were promoted to assistant vice president or assistant dean. But it's virtually impossible for any of the rest of us to earn a change of title -- or even to find out what is required to achieve it. There seems to be an assumption that if you want to advance up the career ladder, you have to leave.

Besides considering my readiness and suitability for a vice president's role, I wonder if I would I fit into the peculiar culture of the executive council. If I got the job, I would have to cancel my membership in the long-suffering, middle-management class. Now I'm an outsider; once on the council, I'd be one of them.

I haven't always agreed with the council's decisions, some of which have seemed arbitrary or unnecessarily burdensome for directors. I might support those decisions if I had a chance to know the reasoning behind them. Or, I might not. (But I'd certainly miss grousing about them.)

The president of my institution is leaving, so the executive council itself might not be stable. Who knows what that body will look like under the new regime?

Fortunately, I have a number of good reasons for delaying a decision about applying for the vice-president's position. For one thing, the new job description hasn't even been written yet. For another, the new president will select the vice president for marketing. She might not be impressed with my qualifications. She might have her own candidate in mind for the position. Or, I might not want to work for her. And maybe I know too much about the difficulties of being a vice president to want the job.

Every day, I find more reasons for and against applying for the vice president's position. To save my sanity, I had better think of this opening as just another job opportunity, to be scrutinized and weighed against all other possibilities.

The next time I'm in the president's office it'll probably have a different sofa, installed by the new president. If I'm a vice president by then, I might not feel so diminutive.