Why I’m Actually Not a Professor
Today’s problems in the academy were already on full display in the ‘90s.
For nearly as long as I’ve been in the marketing/communications trade, I’ve found myself in education-related roles.
At my first agency gig, I created a program for getting new employees spun up on the basics of semiconductors. At another firm, I started a reading seminar focused on books that addressed some of The Big Issues in tech. (The participants, I suspect, ranged from genuinely interested to the politely indulgent.) At the World’s Largest PR Firm, I ran a learning lab, developed an immersive learning series, and eventually an online certification system about which I’ve come to have mixed feelings. I ended up as the firm’s de facto liaison to the actual academics in my field, which yielded connections and friendships that I maintain even today.
I joke that I’m an academic not by training but by temperament. On one level, I get it. I value opinions and ideas based on logic, inquiry, and research more so than whatever strategy-unburdened bolt of inspiration someone — anyone — claims to have gotten in the shower that morning. My A.I.-based, Zoom-invading speech tutor informs that my careful speech cadence falls just under what it considers acceptably peppy words-per-minute levels. (Valuing both qualitative and quantitative measures, the A.I.’s weekly tally of my “colorful metaphors” perhaps betrays some of my casually less-than-academic word choices.) The second or two that I require to carefully, thoughtfully respond to a question has occasionally caused performative Type-A hustlecritters to mistakenly regard me as a mere chin-stroker. (The fact that I’m nearly always the first one to roll up their sleeves very quickly disabuses people of that notion.)
So, people often ask “Why aren’t you a professor? You’ve done well in your field. People cite what they’ve learned from you. We’ve seen you teach. You’re published and well-referenced. You even sound like one! So, why not?”
Sure, I’ve played at it. I lectured at Kent State (formally) and San Francisco State (very informally). I‘ve spoken to many student groups. I’ve contributed to papers and textbooks.
And during my undergrad studies, I was certainly cajoled in the direction of academic life by many professors I admired. “What are your grad school plans?” I was asked, as if that were my inevitable path.
Truth is that I had no such plans. After all, this was coming out of Reality Bites, the persistent ennui of grunge, and the recession of the 1990s. I wanted a job, not more school.
The fact is that I would have happily gone in the direction my professors had set out for me if great aptitude for teaching and research were the only criteria for success.
But such aptitude clearly wasn’t sufficient criteria. In fact, I began to wonder if was even necessary criteria. So much of the job-related and quasi-job-related expectations of a professor had so very little to do with the stated mission of a university that I began to wonder.
I hear what you’re saying, I thought as a professor tried to convince me how well-suited I was for their profession. And I know it’s coming from a good place. The best of places, even. But I’ve heard you and your colleagues talk about your workdays and you and I both know you are all absolutely miserable!
First, there is the necessity of committee assignments, which I imagined as little more than highly erudite HOA meetings based on my professors’ telling. Though often attributed to Henry Kissinger, Sayre’s Law states that “Academic politics is the most vicious and bitter form of politics, because the stakes are so low.” While I understood their importance, I was convinced that committees with names like “Rank & Tenure” provided the origin of this maxim. My school’s “Educational Technology Committee” had, by my count, maybe two actual technologists. One member famously bellowed, “Why are we spending so much time talking about computers? Last week I was able to teach class without chalk!”
Second, the only growth appeared to be in non-academic, administrative, or athletic-related roles. If a dollar of philanthropy or tuition came into a school, it felt almost certain that it would fund a gymnasium before a laboratory, or an assistant vice provost for campus pet health before an associate professor of political science.
Third, there were the rigid expectations not only attached to the professors’ beliefs, but their willingness to loudly extol them in class, in meetings, and in the work-product. You had to show that you were One Of Them and with the very latest newspeak manual committed to memory. You were obligated to conspicuously shout down heresy and noncompliance rather than reason with or explore it. “Calling out” replaced “calling in.” Go along to get along. (In fairness, this characterizes the factory settings of the media and the marketing business in general, lacking as they are in their patience for nuance while insisting they possess nuanced, enlightened views.)
By the time wrenching the steering wheel of my life toward pursuing a doctorate appeared possible, I was well past the point of wanting one. Besides, why work so hard to earn the acceptance of a group that wouldn’t actually want someone who holds my beliefs and values? It has been a bit more than a quarter-century since those conversations and, to be blunt, the above three sources of hesitation have only gotten worse near as I can tell.
Instead, I have been fortunate enough to divine ways to indulge those academic tendencies in non-academic environments. Approaching my trade as an educator has helped in innumerable ways as well. After all, no one wants to be explicitly sold to, but most people will at least pretend they want to learn, better if it means they’ll be entertained. For me, this mindset has been incredibly valuable in everything from media relations to business development.
As the trends point to the ever-greater severity and entrenchment of the current norms, any of my commitments to academic life must remain where they are. So, for these and many other reasons, I will continue to cheer on my fiends in academia, if perhaps from the sidelines as a fan rather than on the field as a colleague.
Recommendations
“Who Killed the Fudge King of the Jersey Shore?” The Atavist — If you want to curl up with a proper whodunit, stop right here. This is an incredible first-person reporter’s journey about a long-cold case, taking place against the backdrop of mid-20th-century attitudes regarding sexuality and vices.
“They Studied Dishonesty. Was Their Work a Lie?” The New Yorker — After Freakonomics gave us that well-ackshually genre of safe-yet-contrarian vanilla-hip airport bookstore fare, scores of authors flooded the market in hopes of similarly taking over Hudson Books endcaps. This, of course, creates a lot of incentive for fraud. Here, the evidence of fraud is mostly circumstantial, and yet is substantial enough to inspire smoke-equals-fire questions.
“The End of Amps?” Alex Skolnick — I maintain that guitarist Alex Skolnick is truly one of the metal community’s very few public intellectuals, which is what keeps this exploration of digital amp-modeling from descending into a onanistic gearhead wankfest. I’m far from a purist myself, but consider that the age of new, iconic guitar tones may be behind us. Decades ago, amp manufactures could only hope for quality components that were still several percentage points out of spec — a few more ohms here, a volt less there, and so on. With such wide tolerances, each amp had a very unique character. Today, not only can components be delivered with incredible precision, but that precision can be further replicated in software. Does this mean “the end of amps?” I’m torn. I’d have said “hell no” before reading this.
“The Man Who Thinks He Can Live Forever,” Time — They say it isn’t so much about the years in your life as it is the life in your years. No one told tech millionaire Bryan Johnson, though, who eats dinner before noon, drives at a maddening 16 MPH, goes to bed at 8:30 p.m., and drinks carefully prepared sludge in his quest to slow, stop, and even reverse the process of aging. Sure, he may live forever, but I’m enjoying a glass of some truly excellent Tempranillo right now and he isn’t.
Bottom Story
I write this edition of A Penny Ahead on the 777th day of my Duolingo streak. It would appear that YouTubers have… different ideas about how to teach Portuguese. It doesn’t matter if you can understand what this song is saying about confusing homonyms, homophones, and turns-of-phrase that sound bizarre to English-speaking ears. The song will stick in your head despite your best efforts.
Suffer.