On Going to The AHA as an Ex-Academic

This Friday and Saturday I went to the American Historical Association's annual conference (held this year in NYC, if you didn't know.) Many of my friends were perplexed as to why I would do such a thing. I am no longer a professor and even when I was I knew my fellow academics saw the conference as something best to be avoided.

Back then I understood, because I only went to the AHA to interview for jobs and shop my book project to university presses. I typically spent the weekend in a near constant state of crushing anxiety. My usual problems in that area went completely off the charts, and the week after I got home from the conference was usually accompanied by a horrible depression brought on by all of my emotional reserves having been drained.

When I left the profession in 2011 I assumed I would never be back, but I've managed to come back twice, mostly because I live in the New York area, so why not? I enjoyed it last time, and I enjoyed it this time, too. I got to see many dear old friends who sadly live far away from me. I got to hear scholars I admire discuss their ideas. I got a bunch of new insights into how to teach certain subjects with my students. I bought a bunch of interesting books at rock bottom prices and discovered a whole lot of stuff I did not know about before.

There are precious few times anymore that I get to be a scholar. I have a couple of projects going, but I have so little time and so few resources for research that it's next to impossible to get anything done. (That's why I write stuff for the internet instead!) In any case, I am probably a better person for spending my spare time with my children, rather than working furiously to complete a book no one will read. But I still yearn to learn new things and investigate the past, and once you strip all the bullshit away, an academic conference can be really good for that.

I also really have no shits to give anymore about the status game of academia. I gave a paper at the first conference I went to after leaving the profession (the panel had been accepted the year before) and was so worried about how people would treat me. Now I just don't care. I have a job I love living in a place I love with a family I love. That sounds like success, not "failure." Because none of the people at the conference can make or break my career anymore, my anxiety just melted away. I no longer have to fear judgement. It's been liberating. (Twitter, which is hugely democratizing and has put me in touch with fellow rats who jumped ship, has also helped.)

All that said, my feelings at the conference were not entirely positive. The decay of the historical profession was constantly on my mind. When I went to the book exhibit I talked with a friend about how many great new works were being created in the midst of the jobs crunch. This is not a sign of health, but sickness. Young contingent scholars are working harder to get their stuff out in hopes of getting a tenure track job. Most won't, and so will never have the resources to continue producing new work. All those glittering new monographs represent nothing more to me than the massive squandering of talent and potential perpetuated by the strangling of the academic humanities.

Of course, the bigshots in the profession who set the cultural tone of the AHA probably didn't notice that. Just last week the organization's new president gave an interview where she seemed to think that the problem with the job market was that candidates were being offered jobs too early in the process, not that most young scholars will never get one. As much as going to the AHA has changed for me, being confronted by a profession incapable of taking collective action on behalf of its most vulnerable members has not.

My AHA Signature Cocktail

Surprised that the hipsters haven't tried to revive this bourbon label

A former student of mine who is now working on her PhD posted an article to Facebook about the "signature cocktails" this year at the annual American Historical Association conference in Atlanta.  These will be served at the various conference hotels, with cute in-joke names like "The Bourbon Restoration."

The article made me chuckle, and not just because of the cocktail names.  When I went to the AHA, I did my fair share of drinking, but very rarely in the overpriced hotel bars.  I was either a broke-ass graduate student or a barely less poor junior scholar, already having to foot the bill for plane tickets and expensive hotel rooms.  For that reason, my signature AHA cocktail was Evan Williams from a bottle bought across the street at a liquor store mixed with warm coke, usually served in a plastic hotel room cup and consumed with other similarly situated friends.  Evan Williams is indeed some cheap, rotgut stuff, but it is the king of cheap rotgut bourbon.  Why?  Because while alone it burns without any smooth bourbon sweetness, mixed with the sugar of the coke it becomes the best twelve dollars ever spent.

I still remember my last night at the DC AHA in 2008, exhausted and punchy hanging out with friends in our room above its legal occupancy to save money, turn of the century tenement style, downing this concoction while speculating if any of our interviews were going to lead to a future job.  (They didn't, but that's another story.)  Unlike those other signature cocktails, it doesn't have a name, but what it lacks in panache it more than makes up for in affordability.

That drink is a reminder of how the AHA's annual conference, perhaps more than anything else, highlights the division between the haves and the have nots among professional historians.  Job seekers are the ones who most desperately need to go to the conference, since their livelihoods depend upon it.  However, they are more likely to be required to pay their own way, despite being the group who can least afford to go.  Those who have secure positions in the professoriate usually have institutions paying their way, which leaves a lot of surplus dough for downing cocktails in the hotel lounge.

I went to the 2015 conference because it was being held in New York and I would get to see a lot of my friends.  It was a wonderful experience.  I took in some cool panels, scouted some good books, and caught up with old grad school chums.  It was entirely liberating to be there because I wanted to, and to have enough money that I wasn't in a constant state of anxiety over what things were costing me.  All I had to do to have a pleasant AHA was to quit the profession.

Guilt And Shame At Top Prices: MY AHA Memories

The American Historical Association's annual conference is approaching, and this year it will be held in Washington, DC.  Although I will not be attending, this does bring back some strong memories of the last time it was in DC, in 2008.  That year I landed a tenure-track job (though not from an AHA interview), and had a major haul of six, that's right SIX, interviews at the conference.  I thought I was on top of the world.  In a way I was, because when I tried to escape my unsatisfactory tenure track job in the aftermath of the financial meltdown, I got a grand total of two AHA interviews over the next three years combined.

That particular conference in 2008 is a particular reminder to me of how many sacrifices the academic job market demands.  In the first place, I had to get to DC and pay the big $$$ to stay at the conference hotel.  At the time I was a visiting professor, so at least, unlike when I was a grad student, I wasn't having to sacrifice food or run up the credit card too much go on the trip.  However, I wanted to avoid paying money for plane tickets, so a visitor colleague and I drove from Michigan to DC.  This is where it gets tricky.  The day before I left Nebraska, where I was visiting my family for the holidays, and hit a nasty winter storm from the time I crossed the border from Iowa to Illinois.  By the time I got to Gary, Indiana, the roads were covered with snow and ice, and I was driving in the ruts made by the cars in front of me.  After about Benton Harbor, Michigan, I could barely see, and saw multiple cars go into the ditch.  I kept driving, against all better counsel and sanity, so I could leave for DC the next day.  When I finally arrived at my apartment in Grand Rapids sometime after midnight, I collapsed out of sheer relief of having survived about six hours of stressful driving.

Needless to say, when I finally made it to the conference, I wasn't exactly well rested.  I almost fell asleep during one interview, partly due to my fatigue, partly due to the rote, uninterested tack taken by the interviewers.  Something that has always struck me about many conference interviews (though not all), is how much of their limited funds and excess energy the candidates put into them, and how little those conducting the interviews seem to care sometimes.

Here's a scorecard of my different AHA experiences.  Feel free to compare to your own.

2006: Philadelphia
Transportation: I drove out to Philly from Illinois with a grad school friend.  Despite the fact that I come from Nebraska, and he from China, we shared our mutual love of Johnny Cash all the way across the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  The drive there and back was maybe the best part of the trip.

Number of Interviews: Four.  One at an R1 in Texas, two at urban Catholic colleges in desirable locations, one at a SLAC in the South.  Three were in hotel rooms, one was at the job center.

Best Moments:  I loved going to my school's reception, it felt like I was on the cusp of finally being a member of The Club, a club I had always felt was out of my reach.  As an ABD on the cusp of defending, seeing my former colleagues who had gone on to get jobs gave me hope.  Downtown Philly also has a large number of quality Irish pubs, so it was great to eat lamb stew and down some pints with my friends in a different town for a change.

Worst Moments:  Pretty much everything else.  I failed horribly in my interviews, due to paralyzing anxiety and poor preparation.  I was scared and it showed.  Who would want to hire some bumbling weirdo who was practically whispering because his vocal cords were so tight?  I have had a total of fourteen AHA interviews, not a single one resulted in a campus invite.  Quite a record, huh?

2007: Atlanta
Transportation and Lodging: I was in my first year as a visitor, and flew from Michigan.  I did not have a roomie at the hotel, and was consequently lonely and depressed.  I have since learned that Atlanta is an amazing city, but could not discover such joys during the AHA, which was headquartered in the blandest, most corporate section of downtown Atlanta.  Looking back on it, these were some of the most depressing days of my life.  As a first year professor, I was putting in eighty hour weeks to be repaid by tenured colleagues who would not even acknowledge my presence.  I had then come to an awful, overpriced location to have my hopes crushed.  Not fun.

Number of Interviews: Two.  One at a rural Southern SLAC to replace a friend who had left it (danger! danger!) and another at an R1 in Texas whose job ad I didn't really fit, and whose standards I did not meet at that point in time.  All in all, a big, expensive waste of time to make myself feel miserable.  One hotel room interview, one job center interview.

Best Moments: None, really.

Worst Moments: Getting yelled at by Atlanta cops, paying insanely high prices for everything, lack of inexpensive dining, interviewing for one job I didn't want and another that I knew I wasn't going to get.  If there is a hell and I am sent there, it will be reliving this conference over and over again for eternity.

2008: Washington, DC
Transportation and Lodging: I mentioned the transport above.  Lodging was at one of the conference hotels with my friend Justin and an old mutual friend of ours from my Chicago days.  That cut down on the expense, and instead of going out, we ordered pizza and made ourselves Cokes spiked with a contraband bottle of Evan Williams.  It was pretty cool.

Number of Interviews: Six.  King of the world, baby!  Or maybe not.  As I mentioned, I was at this time a terrible interviewer, so frightened of screwing up that I just withdrew into a semi-catatonic state.  Two were at directional state unis in Illinois, one at a directional state uni in Connecticut, one at a Southern flagship, one at a commuter school in Indiana, and one at a state uni in North Carolina.  Three were in the job center, three in hotel rooms.

Best Moments: Six!  SIX!  It was a huge stroke to my ego.  I also had some awesome Moroccan food with some friends in DuPont Circle, and the gathering of my buddies in our hotel room on the last night fueled by pizza, cola, and cheap bourbon was one of those laid-back good times I wish I could have back again.

Worst Moments: Fucking up most of those interviews.  As I said, I had a hard time staying awake in one.  In another, I sat awkwardly while my interviewers talked amongst themselves in heated tones about the fractious politics of their department.  In another interview, one of the members of committee was shooting me daggers of hate the entire time, and one of the others asked extremely ridiculous questions based on three-decades old historiography.

2009: New York City
Transportation and Lodging: I had acquired a tenure track job in Texas the year before, but was back on the market, trying to get a job closer to my fiance (now spouse) and to escape what was fast becoming an untenable job.   I flew out to Jersey for the holidays, and stayed with my fiance in Newark.  It was by far the best lodging situation at any AHA I'd been to.

Number of Interviews: Two.  Both were SLACs in eastern Pennsylvania, in Dunder Mifflin country.  One was in a hotel room, the other at the job center.

Best Moments: Before the conference my good friend Brian stayed with us in Newark, and we took some trips into the city that I thoroughly enjoyed.  Having spent some time in NYC, I had a good time being the local expert for my friends, many of whom were present at this AHA.  I also got to see another friend present a kickass paper, and I was really happy for and proud of her.  Best of all?  I spent minimal time at the conference itself.

Worst Moments: In one of my interviews I faced an extremely hostile interviewer who made snide, snarky comments about what I had to say.  In the other, one of my friends was interviewing me, which made things rather awkward, although he did his best to mitigate it.  This was by far my least painful AHA, mostly because I already had a t-t job, and because I barely had any contact with it.

2010: San Diego
Transportation and Lodging: I flew in from Newark (where I was visiting Lori) and stayed at a cheap non-conference hotel that was surprisingly ritzy.  I roomed with my friend Brian, and we were within walking distance of much of the nightlife.

Number of Interviews: Zero.  I had two articles in print, and another accepted at this point.  I soon learned the goalposts had been moved, and hastily acquired a book contract.  That led to zero interviews the next year as well, although I got a couple of late phone interviews with R1 schools after the AHA that turned into nothing.

Best Moments: Getting together with my friends and meeting some of their cool friends who worked in the publishing side.  Getting interest from potential publishers.  Having a hilarious conversation on the rooftop of some bar where we joked about how out of touch the tenured faculty were with our struggles.  We envisioned a junior scholar revolt, and the elites grabbing jet packs to send them back to their leafy campuses.  For some reason the term "jetpack" kept us in stitches for days.  At the airport on the way home I came up with a schema for a long gestating book project that will now probably never see the light of day.

Worst Moments: Feeling like a complete loser every time someone asked how many interviews I had.  I decided to go anyway because 1. I was forced to because interview requests often come right before the conference and 2. I wanted to get a book contract.  The whole time I felt a sense of impending doom, especially when I strolled by the job center and it looked barren.  The book area was also strangely empty.  It was at this point that I began to wonder if it was worth trying to maintain a foothold in a dying profession.

***
The next year I did not plan ahead and go the AHA.  I got zero interviews, and pretty much decided that it was time to leave academia.  I did, and I am all the happier for it, not least because I do not have to spend my first weekend of the year blowing money on overpriced hotel room and airplane tickets, just so I can have my guts kicked in.

Re-Run: Reasons to Be Glad I Am Not Attending the American Historical Association's Annual Conference

This weekend the American Historical Association's annual conference takes place in New Orleans.  My experience at the conference came mostly from being a job applicant for six awful years. It took me three cracks to get a tenure-track job, and then three increasingly futile stabs at finding an escape from that nightmare of a job. I spent about six months of each year in a six year period wracked with anxiety and self-doubt and an extra layer of stress on top of an already stressful existence. In 2010 I went to the conference in San Diego without an interview because I was flogging a book manuscript. Later on in the hunt some phone interviews and an on campus interview at least materialized. For the 2010-11 search, I did not get a single interview for a university position, AHA or not, despite having better qualifications than ever (more on that below.) I had yet another article in print and a book contract, but apparently that didn't mean anything.

Not being on the market feels liberating, but strange. Last year, like some kind of sick junky, I watched the job ads and looked closely at the ones I could apply to. This year I looked maybe once, mostly because I have made peace with the fact that I am never going back to a university position.  This year I thought of going, partly to reenergize my scholarship, but mostly to see old friends and a city (New Orleans) I never visited before.  I soon came to my senses, and remembered that caring for my daughters and avoiding the pit of bullshit and despair that I knew awaited me in the Big Easy were more important.

Below you'll find what I wrote about the annual AHA conference this time two years ago, without the knowledge that I would find a wonderful teaching position at an independent high school in New York City. Although I rue my exit from the profession I spent my adult life a member of, my feelings about the AHA conference are pretty much the same today as when I wrote this post.

 *****

 This coming January will be the first since 2005 that I will not be attending the American Historical Association's annual conference. Because none of the schools where I applied invited me to dance, and because my book manuscript is now under contract (eliminating the need to kiss the asses of publishers), the expense didn't seem justifiable. I am little bummed that I am passing up a chance to see Boston (a place I've never been), and certainly wish I could see many old friends who will be attendance. However, I have plenty of good reasons to be happy about not going.

First and foremost, I will not miss the job annex, a place emanating a most powerful musk of fear and desperation. It represents much that has gone wrong with my profession: young scholars must humiliate themselves in an academic meat-market where they compete in a Darwinian struggle for a dwindling number of tenure track jobs. It's especially great if you have to deal with committee members who are out to lunch, senile, or just plain hostile.

Largely because of my rural, lower-middle class upbringing, I have a strong distaste for brown-nosing, status mongering, social climbing, pretentiousness, intellectual dick-waving, and institutionalized elitism. All of these are on display to rather disgusting extremes at the AHA. I loathe watching people check out the name tags of others, to see if they're worth talking to. My stomach turns when I overhear smug children of privilege brag about their number of job interviews. And I positively gag when I attend panels where someone who attended the same Ivy League institution where they now teach prattles on about some obscure tradition at that place like the rest of us should fucking care about it. The next person who tells me that academia is a meritocracy is going to get a neck-punching.

Last but not least, I can no longer simply stomach the sound of a violin playing in the midst of a great fire. Never has the metaphor of emperor Nero been more apt, despite recent efforts by the organization to address the jobs crisis. Last year the book display had an ominous number of empty spaces, and the job annex looked less like a bustling hive of anxiety and more like a lonely nave of dead dreams. As I have said many times before, the university-based historical profession is dying before our eyes, but the vast majority who have managed to get tenure-track jobs have preferred to relish their place in the lifeboat rather than to do anything for their peers who are drowning to death all around them. The lifeboarters will survive and get to live the great academic dream; my only solace is, to paraphrase Dante, that the hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of moral crisis, do nothing.