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Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Catalyst

Raising the Research Bar?

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You don't visit Death Valley in August without a good reason. Perhaps you've always wanted to know what 120-degree-heat feels like. Or you want to be able to drive all day without seeing another car. Or you're chasing tenure.

Paula Messina, an associate professor of geology at San Jose State University, has spent many sweltering summer days mapping the famous moving boulders at the Racetrack Playa in Death Valley. These rocks, some of which weigh upwards of 700 pounds, creep across the flat plain, leaving telltale paths in the sand. (Messina believes the rocks are powered by wind alone, but some researchers speculate that moving sheets of winter ice also play a role.)

Messina would love to visit the boulders in March or October -- or just about any time outside of summer. But she's not really in control of her schedule. Her teaching load -- and her commitment to students -- keeps her tethered to campus for most of the year. "During the semester, it's virtually impossible to do any research, unless I want to ignore my students," she says. In other words, Messina and her colleagues have only a few weeks out of the year to keep their research careers alive.

Steady Teaching Loads, Heavier Burdens?

Like other institutions in the California State University System, San Jose State is primarily a "teaching" university. CSU faculty members expect to teach a heavier load -- and usually get one -- compared with their counterparts at the University of California. Messina, who spent 20 years teaching high school in New York City before pursuing her Ph.D., is teaching three courses this semester.

While teaching loads at San Jose State have remained a constant over the years, she believes that the expectations for research at the university have increased. Papers and grants are prerequisites for getting ahead. "I gave up my life, my weekends, and my summers," she says. "I wanted tenure, and I wanted to do whatever it took to get it." Her efforts finally paid off last spring. She won tenure and, for the first time in years, took part of the summer off.

The story is the same all over the country. Thanks to budget crises from California to New York, many public institutions -- including ones that emphasize teaching -- have become increasingly dependent on research dollars. (Messina says the budget crunch in California has created "an air of doom at every department meeting.) Public institutions need faculty members in the sciences who can run projects, write papers, and, most of all, bring in grants.

But are teaching-oriented universities really demanding more research of faculty members? It depends on whom you ask. While many campus administrators insist that their expectations for faculty research haven't changed, many scientists at the starting line in the tenure race definitely feel a crunch. Most end up with multiple classes to teach, growing piles of half-written papers, and a strong feeling that they don't have enough hours in the day.

Dan Walker, associate dean for program and faculty development at San Jose State's college of science, says some universities boost research requirements during hard times, but, in his view, San Jose State has managed to hold steady. New faculty members are expected to do about as much research as they did 10 years ago, he says.

Still, he says, many young scientists -- coming from doctoral institutions with relatively low teaching loads -- are shocked by the workload when they first arrive. "If you are a vibrant university, it's more than a 40-hour week," he says. "It's more like a 60-hour week, and they don't realize that until they get the job."

Brad Shuster, an assistant professor of biology at New Mexico State University at Las Cruces, is just starting his quest for tenure. New Mexico State expects high scientific productivity despite limited resources. "I was told that the balance between teaching, research, and service should be about 50-45-5," he says. "But the expectations for research are enough to keep a person busy all year."

Shuster feels fortunate because he has been able to use grant money to "buy out" of two courses each semester, leaving him with just one to teach. In addition to those courses, he supervises seven undergraduates in his lab and serves on a long list of committees.

Buying out of classes gave him some precious time, but he's not sure how it will sit with his tenure committee down the road. He could potentially lose points for not spending enough time in the classroom, he says. But if he had stuck with his original teaching load, he probably couldn't have kept his research going, he adds.

Jumping Ship

Messina and Shuster are holding up under the pressure -- for now -- but not everyone is willing to stick it out. At some point, universities risk losing the very researchers who are keeping them afloat.

Jim Strickland recently made the difficult decision to leave his tenured position at New Mexico State to become the research leader of a new U.S. Department of Agriculture project in Lexington, Ky. Strickland, a nutritional toxicologist who specializes in toxins found in animal forage, made the move for several reasons. He was ready for a new challenge, and he wanted to be closer to his hometown of Springfield, Mo. Still, the time pressures at New Mexico State -- pressures that seemed to grow over the years -- definitely helped push him out the door, he says.

Strickland says he was "young and naive" when he took his first university position at the university. He wanted to teach and do research, and he just assumed there would be enough time for both. During his eight years at New Mexico State, Strickland taught three to four classes each year. (He developed about 10 courses himself.) Almost all of the classes were graduate level, so it was often impossible to find qualified replacements even if he did want to buy some more time in the lab.

He was still able to conduct his research, but Strickland says he wasn't nearly as productive as he wanted to be. "I still have papers waiting to be written, and I passed up on grants because I didn't have the time," he says. "I was slipping away from the kind of career I envisioned."

Time wasn't the only constraint. New Mexico State tries to support its researchers as much as possible, but its resources only go so far. Strickland says he never had any trouble getting a graduate student or a $25,000 piece of equipment. But if he wanted a postdoc or a technician, he had to come up with the money on his own.

It's definitely possible to have a successful, well-balanced career at a place like New Mexico State. "There are always going to be individuals who have it all together," Strickland says. "They have excellent people there, and they get a lot done with the resources they have." Still, he says, many faculty members wind up feeling like they can't do everything they aspire to do.

While Strickland struggled to find the time and resources to conduct his research, he sensed that the pressure to bring in grant money had steadily increased. However, as is often the case, faculty and administrative perceptions on that matter don't always match up. Dan Howard, chairman of the biology department at New Mexico State, doesn't believe that the workload had changed in recent years. "We have very dedicated researchers who work themselves to death," he says, but it's the life they choose. "Science is our passion."

Back at San Jose State, Messina can relax a little bit, now that she has tenure -- but not much. She still has boulders to map and students to teach, and her next trip to Death Valley is bound to be in the dead of summer. She'll pack a couple of spare tires and lots of extra water. If her car ever broke down, it would take a while before anyone would come around to help.

As she puts it, only crazy people visit Death Valley in August. And academics.

Chris Woolston is a freelance science and medical writer in Billings, Mont.