First Person

A Lateral Move

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By Maria Myers

All year we dreaded it, the very thing that every academically inclined couple is supposed to desire: tenure. Pete, the full-time academic of our two-Ph.D. household, would receive tenure, we were sure. And then where would we be?

Stuck, that's where, according to Pete.

Well, maybe he didn't use that specific word, but he certainly implied it. Once he was an associate professor, it would look odd for him to apply for jobs at the assistant rank, Pete insisted, with all the resignation of a lifer. His tenure would only work against him if potential employers thought he expected higher pay.

Tenure is supposed to be a protection and celebration of academic freedom, not the albatross weighing down any hope we had of moving to a better place. We tried to focus on the positive. In six years at Small Private University, we had made some wonderful friends and fixed up our house. In addition to tenure, Pete was due for a sabbatical and a promotion. As a grant writer at the same university, I, too, was in line for a promotion (not necessarily for my great fund-raising skills but because a colleague had finally gotten fed up and left for better shores).

Two promotions, tenure, and a sabbatical were on our horizon, and it felt so deliciously good to turn them all down.

In one last fling on the job market, Pete had applied to a few jobs, sabbatical appointments, and research grants in places that we wanted to live and work, even if only temporarily. With so much at stake, we both became highly superstitious about "The Search," refusing to speak of the possibilities to others and even between ourselves for fear of jinxing Pete's chances. I lit candles and the occasional stick of incense in my office.

At the same time, Pete and I secretly stalked desired locations via the Internet. I fantasized about my triumphant escape from my job, which could crush the spirit of even the most optimistic soul with its Dilbert-like atmosphere and rigid schedule.

For his part, Pete, in the few moments when he would discuss The Search, imagined how his career might take off if he could just land that one big grant or a coveted position at a top research university.

Last spring, Pete had what seemed to be a successful telephone interview, but the second call never came. A crushing rejection from a federal grant agency arrived soon after.

As the season progressed, though, things began to look up. Pete made it on a few shortlists and went on two interviews. One job would have taken Pete back to his hometown. The other, at Golden U., was in a location where we both dreamed of living. Our hopes for that position, however, were severely tempered when we learned that an inside candidate with five years' visiting experience was also in the running. They're just bringing outsiders in for show, we kept telling ourselves.

Amazingly, Pete's one and only job offer came from Golden U. The offer arrived on the very day that he received a short, generic letter on out-of-date stationary from Small Private U. awarding him tenure and promotion. At the height of its effusiveness the letter pointed out that Pete was "a good teacher."

Friends would later pepper us with questions: Did you ever hesitate? Did you march into the dean's office and try to leverage a raise? What about Maria's career? Pete's offer had come from a university rather like the one we were leaving, at least in size and stated mission. But Golden U. promised bright students, a solid academic philosophy, and firm financial standing.

Did we hesitate? Not even for a moment.

In many ways it all came down to climate, both geographic and institutional. Pete and I both have academic backgrounds in a discipline that emphasizes place and culture. That sort of academic training can be both helpful and painful when you end up in a place you grow to dislike.

You can take an odd sort of pride in telling friends and relatives how often famous meteorologists descend on your state to track extreme weather events or how diverse your garden's mosquito population has become. On the cultural front, you can step back, play the role of participant observer, and make nonjudgmental observations such as, "Look at the interesting intersection of gender, class, and culinary history displayed in that coleslaw-wrestling match."

The trouble comes when reality hits, and you realize that you're not the ethnographer visiting an interesting culture. Rather, you're fated to be the perpetual outsider or, worse, you'll eventually cave and go native. From there, it's just a short slide down to food-based wrestling, early-bird buffets, and weekends at the school-bus demolition derby (not that there's anything wrong any of that).

The physical and cultural climate of Small Private U. would not have seemed so bad if it had had a better academic climate. Every place has its challenges, to be sure, and many have far worse problems. My perspective from the administrative side combined with Pete's view from the faculty, however, made the depth of Small Private U.'s problems all too apparent.

For years, top administrators have given little thought to actual academics and have mismanaged money to the point that just keeping the lights on has become a primary fund-raising goal. The "development" office has struggled through an unusually high rate of turnover (even for development offices) and oddly misguided notions about fund raising in general.

Resources for teaching and faculty development are slim, and faculty pay has stagnated while benefits costs have soared. Tenure and promotion for Pete brought with it a stunning raise of approximately $2,000, leaving him a good $15,000 to $20,000 behind the average salary of a newly minted Ph.D. in his field.

Pay is certainly not everything, especially in teaching. What was truly upsetting was the mix of an unrealistic and deeply ingrained administration on one side and a grimly pessimistic faculty on the other. When we left Small Private U., we truly felt like we had escaped from a marooned, if not sinking, ship.

Now that the fall semester is getting under way at Golden U., we realize that not all here is golden. I have yet to find a new position and have returned to freelancing, which, though it offers flexible hours, is not exactly steady work. Pete has already seen hints of the thorns inherent in most academic situations -- the tensions between research and teaching in a small-college setting; the debate over what constitutes an "active" member of the academic community; the fear of how new deans and presidents may disrupt the status quo.

Pete now faces a brand new slate of classes and essentially another full term before possible tenure and a sabbatical. Even more vexing is that his class load is, if anything, even more intense here than it was at Small Private U.

Some would say that we have sacrificed the security of tenure for a lateral move. However, our new environment just seems better. Golden U. has significantly more resources for teaching, as well as a generally optimistic institutional climate.

The surrounding town also feels like a place where we will want to stay, even though we've already met certain bitter academic types who complain about the area's lack of "culture" and good food. We merely assume that these good folks haven't encountered many overcooked buffets or conceived of cream corn as a wrestling medium.