FIRST PERSON

An Alien in the North American Market

A Ph.D. in the sciences loses his complacency and rediscovers his confidence in his search for a tenure-track position

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By GEORGE CURTIS

I had revised my CV. I had sharpened my teaching and research statements, which outlined the brilliant teacher-scholar that I hoped to become. I had polished my cover letter, and had it vetted by my references. I was ready to go on the North American job market.

To top it off, on that cold morning last December, I had just learned that not one, but two of my recent articles had been accepted for publication at the most prestigious venue in my field. How could I fail? I asked myself as I put the finishing touches on my application package.

Let me give you some context. I am a postdoctoral fellow in the sciences with a Ph.D. from a university in my European country, and I've been doing research at a prestigious institution in another European country. For three years I had been dreaming about breaking into the North American market, and preparing myself during almost every waking moment.

I thought I had figured out most aspects of the hiring process: Build a strong publication record in international venues, cultivate North American references, network at conferences and workshops, and make sure that my application materials conformed to North American standards. I had gone on that market the previous year with meager results, but figured that was because I was not fully prepared, having just having finished my Ph.D.

This year it would be different. Right?

I wanted to work at a research university. So during that week in early December, I mailed out some 30 applications to major research universities in the United States and Canada. I focused on highly ranked universities because I thought their faculty members would be the most familiar with my Ph.D.-granting university and my postdoc institution.

Having been on the American job market the previous year, I thought I had a firm grasp of the kind of candidates that get hired, and I judged myself to be comfortably within that range.

In other words, it was with a fair amount of optimism and, dare I say it, complacency that I sent out my applications.

December stretched into January. News of some top-ranked departments requesting letters of recommendation from my references temporarily bolstered my confidence, but the resounding silence that followed that brief burst of activity started to worry me.

Was there anything wrong with my application package, my CV, or my letters of recommendation? Maybe one of my referees had torpedoed me? Maybe some embarrassing typo in my cover letter caused it to be discarded out of hand or placed at the bottom of the pile?

Still, I determined not to worry too much, knowing from experience that most faculty searches in my field do not get truly under way until the spring term has begun.

January turned into February with still no word. I was now sick with worry. Prominent job candidates in my field were proudly sporting travel schedules on their Web sites, complete with the names of the universities they were visiting. Many of these universities were places I had applied to, and I was starting to realize that the first round of invitations had come and gone, and I had not made the list.

My complacency and confidence about finding a tenure-track job were long gone, and I started contemplating the frightening possibility that I would be without any job at all when the summer was over.

I sent out additional applications to places I had shunned as beneath me (no longer!). My references advised me to start looking for backup positions as a postdoc or a visiting faculty member.

I started conjuring up my own conspiracy theories. What on earth could cause search committees to discard my applications when seemingly similar candidates received interview invitations? I carefully compared my publication list with those of successful candidates, I scoured CV's for discrepancies with my own, and I obsessively visited department Web sites to check for telltale seminars by competing job candidates.

By March I was at the end of my rope. I had lined up some interviews for possible temporary positions, but I was secretly disgusted by the thought of another year of uncertain financial footing, of having to look for another temporary home in an unknown place, of having to prove myself to a new postdoc adviser all over again, and of not knowing where I would be working the next year.

Perhaps most sickening was the thought of having to go through the hiring process all over again. I tried to keep up outward appearances for the benefit of my family and my spouse, but I broke down in tears at least once, to my spouse's dismay. It was a hard time, my darkest period since starting graduate school. I can only thank my spouse for providing the support and reality check I so desperately needed at the time.

Then one morning, everything turned. A dean from one of the top research universities I had applied to e-mailed me about a phone interview. In quick succession, four more institutions contacted me with similar requests.

That was in mid-March, surprisingly late even for my field, but I wasn't complaining. My desperation faded and some of my self-confidence returned — maybe all of my hard work had not been in vain, maybe my credentials were up to par.

In the end, I traveled to five campus interviews in the United States and Canada during a mad three-week dash across the continent. I ended up with four offers, and after a month of negotiation, have accepted one. My new department is ranked among the top 10 in my field, is filled with awesome faculty members with whom I will be thrilled to work, and gives me enormous potential for building a strong and independent research program. I simply cannot believe my luck.

Why did so many institutions, many of them lower ranked than the one I ended up at, discard my application? I still don't know the answer to that question, but my best guess is that it was a combination of my Ph.D. degree coming from a foreign university and my physical location outside North America.

It does cost more to fly in an overseas candidate for a campus interview, and that would be a major constraint, especially for the many departments now struggling with tight budgets. What's more, hiring an international candidate requires the university to jump through all the tedious and costly hoops of sponsoring a visa and, ultimately, permanent residency for the successful candidate.

But perhaps blaming the international aspects of my candidacy is too convenient. Maybe some departments lost their first-choice candidates to other institutions or were dissatisfied with those interviews, and my application began to look more attractive.

It could be that my application simply did not fit with the needs of the many departments that never got back to me. Certainly many American Ph.D.'s get overlooked in the same way and experience the same disappointments and setbacks. Let's face it, for most of us, the default outcome of an academic job application is a rejection or, more often than not, no word at all.

As I prepare myself for an international move and for hitting the ground running at my new university, I think back to my job search with a shiver. I am forever grateful that things turned out the way they did. But maybe the experience has given me a more nuanced view of the hiring process, and of academe as a whole.

George Curtis is the pseudonym of a postdoctoral researcher in the sciences at a European university. He will be joining a U.S. university as an assistant professor in the fall.