I know how my friend, Marvin the Martian, feels. For the second time in 28 months I’m getting
kicked to the academic curb and I have absolutely no plan. Teaching jobs are likely out of the question
(see below), so I am considering directing my talents elsewhere: academic
publishing, guiding academic tours, perhaps even offering private Latin lessons
to high school and home schooled students.
My life coach asked me what I’m most afraid of right
now. First I said, “Losing my insurance,”
which is true to some extent. Until the
pre-existing condition clause of Obamacare goes into effect, I’m going to be at
risk (Damn skin cancer. And Barrett’s. And fibrocystic disease). But what really terrifies me is the possibility
of making another mistake... I’d go so far as to say this fear is paralyzing my
next move.
I finished my PhD in 2003 while teaching three classes (when
I write “Dissertations for Dummies” Step One will be “Secure outside
funding: take out a loan, borrow from
your parents, marry rich; but under no circumstances try to complete a graduate
degree while teaching full time.”). The
next year, the department came to me and said they needed me to teach four
classes to cover for a dear colleague who died.
Of the four classes, I had taught only one before. Four classes, three new preps, including
upper level Latin and upper level Greek.
I asked the section head, “But when am I going to find time to publish?”
And he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Oh, if you can teach this
variety of courses you will be marketable anywhere.” He lied.
I believed him. Mistake #1. It wasn’t until a
job opened up at that same institution that the bubble burst and the chair
said, “We can’t even justify interviewing you without publications.”
I tried to make my escape in 2006, and ended up as a
Fulbright U.S. Teaching Assistant in Austria. As I sat in my $275 rented
apartment earning half of what I made as a Latin instructor, I made the
conscious decision that I did not need a job at a high powered research
university to be happy. And I packed up
my research on Pliny the Younger and gave 100% to my assistantship. How could I have known that I would be fired upon
my return to the U.S.? That was Mistake
#2. Mistake #3 was not staying in
Austria when I had the chance - but again, I couldn’t in my wildest dreams have imagined that the university would fire someone with my qualifications: Latin, Greek, Classical Studies (including Women in Antiquity, Tragedy in Translation, and cross-listed
courses in Anthropology), German, Study Abroad, Academic Advising, Residential
Colleges. If you’re going to fire people
during a financial crisis, wouldn’t it be in the best interest of the
institution to keep the person who can give you the most bang for your buck?
Perhaps I should have taken that semester off and worked on
publications - but I was in survival mode.
I managed to work two full time jobs (as a tax preparer and an adjunct
at a community college), earning a whopping $11,000 which had to stretch until
September. And then, a deus ex machina - the Greek and Roman
art historian left abruptly and recommended me as a replacement. I applied, I negotiated, I rose to the
challenge. I even submitted an article
for a proceedings that first semester.
My colleagues respected me and treated me well. And when my job was converted to a
tenure-track position, they strongly encouraged me to apply.
Mistake #4: Their encouragement got my hopes up that my hard
work might pay off after all.
O.K., so my publication record is a little sparse. But I did publish an article when it wasn’t
expected or required of me, and I did research last summer at the University of
Graz which landed me a poster presentation at an international colloquium in
Bucharest - a trip which the university is sponsoring to the tune of
$2000. But my application was Not. Even.
Considered. I’m the inside candidate, a known quantity, and I didn’t even make
the first cut.... or the second cut for that matter. It’s not because I’m not a good teacher. I have high academic standards, it’s true,
but if you just do the work you’ll end up with an A or a B in my class. I guess I think the world should work that
way, too. Do the work, receive the
reward. The problem is that in the
business of higher education the only thing that’s valued is research and
my research isn’t good enough for a tenure-track position. Without publications, my degree is worth
exactly $36,000 a year before taxes.
Taking into account that teaching three courses is by far more than a 40
hour per week job (including class prep, meeting with students, teaching,
grading and administrivia), I make exactly half of the annual mean wage for my
chosen profession.
So everything I thought I was doing to secure a place for
myself in the world has blown up in my face like the Illudium Q-36 Explosive
Space Modulator.
Meet you back at the old drawing board, Marvin, my friend.
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