Job Market Flashback: Part 8

Welcome back to my semi-regular attempt to wrestle with what it has been like to be on the academic job market.  If you want to read the whole saga, you can treat yourself to a few thousand words of distraction here.

In fall 2014, I was teaching four classes, comprised of three different preparations (speech, intercultural communication, and TV/Radio), at a Small Liberal Arts College (SLAC) in Ohio.  I was working on a year-to-year contract and making a salary that was about ten thousand dollars less than the student loan debt I had accrued during my doc program (which was less than you might expect).  I was working in a city about 150 miles from my family and crashing with a family friend (who is a saint) Monday-Thursday.  Nothing about my situation was ideal, but I was, at least, a professor.  Given the brutality of the academic job market, I felt pretty good about that.

I felt less good about my long term prospects at the SLAC since the college didn’t have tenure but did have paltry pay the pay and no hope of getting a raise—on my first day, a long-time faculty member related the story of his promotion a few years prior that included an $800/year raise… and a pen.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, I updated my CV, burned the midnight oil revising articles and book proposals, and scoured the job boards in search of an escape route.  

Welcome to job market run number 2.

My second run at the job market was remarkably better than my first.  It ended with me landing a tenure-track position where I would eventually earn tenure and promotion, direct a graduate program, and work alongside a cohort of stellar colleagues who became even better friends—proving at once that there is some truth to the adage that it’s easier to get a job if you have a job and also that the brass ring can be pretty great if you’re fortunate enough to hang onto it.  The outcome was better than I could’ve hoped for, but even then, the process was horrible.  I won the game, but I hated playing it.

Having applied to around 75 jobs in my first run at the market, I was in no hurry to redouble that effort.  The second time around, I made it a point to apply only to positions that were equal to or better than the job I had—which was, frankly, most of them.  Unlike my first, desperate attempt to secure employment, I was also much more selective in terms of required specialty and geography.  I applied to jobs in far flung places, but only the ones that were really good fits for my specialty and career.  Otherwise, I focused my search on universities closer to family (Ohio and Indiana).  Even though I wasn’t thrilled about my employment situation, I was fairly secure in my position at the SLAC—as one of only a handful of fully credentialed professors at the entire college—so my desperation wasn’t quite to the same level as it was the year prior.

In all, I submitted twenty-three applications in my second run at the market.  More than two-thirds were for rhetoric, speech, or argumentation positions and the remaining few were generalists with rhetoric as an optional specialty.  The positions were skewed toward SLACs, but included a fair number of mid-sized or large regional comprehensive universities and a couple of big research one-type gigs.  All but one of those positions was for an Assistant Professor and most were tenure-track.  Even so, the the cycle was every bit as disheartening the previous year.  Out of twenty-three apps, I landed three screening interviews. Batting .130 isn’t very good in any league, but it was at least a slight improvement over my .120 the previous year.

As I look back through my notes from 2014-2015, I remember being really, really excited about two positions—one a SLAC in Ohio and another a Big State University (BSU) nearish to family.  Neither was the position that I ended up getting (more on that in another post).

The SLAC that caught my early in the cycle is about an hour from where I grew up and has an established program in rhetoric with an excellent reputation.  I was a great fit in terms of teaching and research.  I was living and working in Ohio and I was as familiar with the region as anyone could be.  Hell, before the football coach landed at the university, he was my middle school gym teacher (seriously). Even better, the job posting came up in August with an early September deadline—the first wave—so the process would be wrapped by the end of fall semester.  I couldn’t wait to tell my story on the interview that I would surely get, land this gig, and jump off the job market carousel by the holidays.

I didn’t even get a phone call.  

I’m not sure I can adequately relate how devastated I was at not even having a chance at this one.  I got over it—and myself—as time passed, but I had convinced myself that it was perfect for me.  It was near my family.  It was in my area.  It was a SLAC not unlike where I did my undergraduate work.  Frankly, it was perfect.  Unfortunately, it was more perfect for someone else.  That said, I’d send my materials their way if they opened up again… and I did.

The second position that I let myself dream about was a BSU that is ideally located almost equidistant from our families.  They were hiring for a rhetoric-type scholar on the tenure-track.  They have a graduate program.  They tend to be more under-the-radar in the field—not a heavy hitting grad program (and certainly not in rhetoric) but their name carries enough weight to be instantly recognizable. 

Honestly, I didn’t think I had a legitimate shot at this job until the big annual conference.  In fact, because I hadn’t secured a single conference interview in my second job cycle, this BSU included, I had given into the assumption that the opening—like all of the others in waves one and two—was already filled.

At the conference that November, I trudged down to the meat market that is the job fair and, to my surprise, found BSU holding down booth advertising the search with literally no one in their queue.  I did a double take.  I walked past twice just to be sure it wasn’t a mirage.  I couldn’t believe it.  But, I wasn’t about to throw away my shot.

I spent probably ten or fifteen minutes chatting with the search committee folks at the booth. I let slide that I had applied to the position, gave them an extended version of my elevator speech, and prodded for information about their timeline.  It was great.  They were warm, they were gracious, and, more importantly, they were receptive to my teaching and research.  My confidence was growing by the minute. 

And then, quite unexpectedly, one of them mentioned being a BGSU grad—just like me.  Oh, how the networking gods smiled.  BGSU isn't a very big program and it produces scholars with a wide range of academic expertise, but most of us land at primarily teaching institutions.  It’s not everyday that I run into someone I don’t already know who passed through those halls, and certainly not someone in or adjacent to my area of expertise.  This was my in.  And even better, I had an ace in the hole.  At the time, BGSU was still in the habit of hosting an open house at the convention, so I used the opening to invite the search committee to the open house.  “Did you get an invitation?  No?  Here, take mine.  I hope you get a chance to catch up with some folks from BG.  Take care.” 

Even though the rest of the job fair was the typical carnival of dehumanization, I walked out buzzing.  I wanted this gig. I had an in. And, I nailed the job fair.  Nailed it.

Under normal circumstances, I treat conference open houses like most conference goers—a chance to catch up with friends, float around, and awkwardly network while trying to score free drinks and remain sober enough avoid being referenced on the discipline’s listserv (NCA New Orleans was a real doozy for CRTNET shade… it’s archived, too, so you should look it up).  If BGSU has an open house, I always try to drop by, but I usually only stay for a little while before heading back out into the swirling confusion that is conference networking.  Imagine my surprise when I bought a round of drinks for some underemployed friends at BGSU’s open house and saw the search committee from BSU stroll in.  The networking gods smiled again!

Not only was I now certain that I had scored points at the job fair, but I was about to get some free airtime.  It’s pretty common for job seekers to drop by open houses to press the flesh—been there, done that, didn’t get that job either—but I never expected, not in a million years, that the search committee would to come find me.

After they’d had a chance to grab some snacks and a drink, I wandered over to thank them for dropping by and to see if I could help them catch up with any old colleagues.  We talked for probably half an hour.  We laughed.  We cried.  We exchanged cards.  It was beautiful.  I felt more in control of my job market future than I ever had during my first run.  I made this meeting happen and I was positively on fire.  I left the conference bursting with confidence and with a spring in my step.  My escape plan from my SLACker job was coming together and my career was about to get big boost.

And then… crickets.

I didn’t even get a phone call.

In hindsight, I can understand why the committee moved my application to the “no” pile.  I know who they picked up, and they’re doing just fine without me.  Nevertheless, my ego really wanted this gig.  I wanted it so much that when I didn’t get it, I applied again five years later (and didn’t get an interview then either).  My ego still kind of wants this gig, but I’m not bitter.  

Eh, who am I kidding?  I’m a little bitter.  Isn’t that kind of the point of blogging?