The Fund Raiser

Early Decision

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By Mark J. Drozdowski

As elite universities balance social equality with magazine rankings in the debate over early-admission programs, I, too, am wrestling with a question of early decision.

I have unsuccessfully pondered my question quite often, and recent forays into hiring have brought it to my attention once again. Now I would like some answers. My question is this: At what point should you end an interview with someone who is clearly unqualified for the job?

During the past 16 years, I have been a part of countless job interviews -- as a candidate, a search-committee member, and a hiring manager. I would guess the number of interviews I've been involved in lies somewhere between 105 and 219, give or take a few.

Interview marathons usually follow a familiar formula of phone interrogation, in-person grilling by the search committee, and a beauty-contest parade around the campus. Typically we subject three or four people to that treatment, collect reactions from our colleagues, call handpicked references, and attempt to reach a decision based carefully on a complex prescription consisting of one part scientific algorithms and two parts navel gazing.

I may seem jaded, but I remain faithful to the approach and appreciate its utility, especially as it relates to positions in the advancement field. Professionals working in fund raising, alumni relations, and communications interact with numerous departments across the campus and various external audiences, so it is critical to ensure widespread approval before an offer is extended.

In other words, we don't want to hire creeps.

And we certainly don't want meeps. What's a meep, you ask? A meep is a timid fellow or gal, a shrinking violet, a wallflower, a person of spare words who elevates shyness to an art form. Meeps suffer from an acute lack of self-confidence, don't make good eye contact, and mumble incoherently, as if conducting a conversation with an inner voice. They derive their name from Beaker, the shivering character from The Muppet Show, who could muster only "meep" when confronted. Fans of the movie Office Space will recognize the character of Milton -- protector of the red stapler -- as the quintessential meep.

This world would be diminished without meeps, but, sadly, they have no place in advancement, at least not in positions requiring frequent interaction with donors, boards, and large gatherings of alumni. Personality does matter in our field, as does the ability to make small talk, the art of uttering words without actually saying anything. We in fund raising and alumni relations excel at that.

So you can imagine what it's like to interview a meep for one of these positions, as I did not long ago. Somehow this individual, a perfectly pleasant and knowledgeable chap, managed to conceal his meepness during the phone interview, convincing us that an on-campus appearance was indeed warranted. In turn, we crafted a half-day visit involving the aforementioned bevy of campus constituents, including the president.

The morning kicked off with a one-hour interview with the search committee, which I led because the person hired to fill the position would report to me. I'll edit for brevity's sake, but here's essentially how the conversation began:

"So," I asked, "tell us more about your background and relevant experiences."

"Meep."

"Uh, can you elaborate on why you're interested in this position?"

"Meep meep."

With roughly 56 minutes left, I wondered if I should call it quits following that session. Parade this guy in front of colleagues and alumni-board members? The president? What will they think of him? What will they think of me? And I'm taking him to lunch? If I have to carry the conversation, when will I eat?

Then again, I thought, the guy could just be suffering from a whopping case of the nervous Nellies. Even the most polished candidates can find certain interview settings intimidating.

We were, for the record, lounging on couches and loveseats in a venue chosen to put visitors at ease. I envisioned a free-flowing conversation, not a structured exercise with prefabricated questions. What we got was a soliloquy by yours truly, punctuated by staccato responses and stretches of excruciating silence. Nerves or not, this was painful.

Back to my dilemma. Should I have sent him packing or given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he would eventually rise to the occasion and impress us with his sparkling personality and industry acumen? I chose the latter.

While part of me wanted to take him aside, thank him for his interest, pat him on the fanny, and shove him out the door, the more sober side of me let the process -- the charade -- proceed. Maybe I'm too nice, or maybe I fear the possible repercussions of violating the HR-office mandate of treating all candidates equally. Whatever my reasoning was, I opted to endure the balance of the day.

The candidate, of course, continued to flaunt his meepnees to everyone's chagrin and embarrassment. I caught some flak ("Nifty call, pal. Can't wait to see the next one."), though thankfully the president maintained his professional posture and talked at the candidate for his appointed half-hour. A simple roll of the eyes confirmed my suspicions. And yes, lunch followed me home in a doggy bag.

I suppose that's why we have these interviews and don't hire people based solely on résumés and references. You just never know what you're going to get. Consider them candidate test drives or tuxedo fittings. But I can tell within five minutes if I don't like a car or if a suit doesn't fit. Why prolong the agony?

Perhaps next time I'll don my managerial hat and, in deference to efficiency, end a poor interview session early. Ah, who am I kidding? I'll never have the gumption. Nor has anyone else I've encountered, for that matter, because I've never seen it happen, and I've been privy to plenty of disastrous interviews, some of which have featured me as the candidate.

What I will do, however, is more carefully evaluate candidates in person before parading them around the campus. No more day-long dalliances following a brief phone conversation. Even if it means bringing someone in twice from long distance, so be it. I may, as a result, extend an already-lengthy hiring process but I will potentially save time and face, and will undoubtedly weed out meeps along the way.