Confessions of a Wayward Academic

by Tom Corbett

  I can well remember attending a university-sponsored event where several leading academics were discussing a very controversial topic…whether there was scientific support for racial differences in intelligence. The book The Bell Curve, had recently been published, placing this explosive topic back on the political screen. I was standing in the back with a sociology colleague who would later become the dean of Letters and Sciences when we realized that our congressional representative, a Republican, was standing next to us. I had met the congressman before when Bobbi Wolfe and I tried to secure his support for continued IRP funding, a rather hopeless quest though he was quite courteous as he turned us down.

  The former director of IRP, an eminent sociologist, was one of the main speakers. His presentation would have been dynamite for an audience of his peers. This, however, was a mixed audience that included undergraduates and many members of the public and press along with the usual array of eggheads. The topic, as I said, was topical. As he droned on about methodological and statistical issues, I could see our congressman slowly falling into a deep stupor. Let me stress that politicians listen to crap all the time, you are really doing something special when you get one of them to tune out visibly. I began to panic, why would he ever expend political capital on a research institute where their better representatives could easily compete with nationally known sleep aides. I wanted this man to think good things about IRP. In desperation, I pointed out that the current speaker was a member of the National Academy of Sciences which seemed to impress our congressional representative not at all. Once again, I felt like the idiot I fully knew I was.

  The point of this extended discourse is that the professional silos are becoming narrower and narrower, the communication between the silos less effective. The traditional academic departments are separating from the professional schools (e.g., economics and political science from public policy schools) and universities are increasingly distancing themselves from the real world. I suspect, rather I know, that the gap between my policy and academy worlds grew further apart during my long tenure at the university. I could see it in who was hired and promoted in the several departments associated with IRP. The troubling part of this evolutionary tale is that the breakdown in understanding and communication occurs not only between members within and outside the academy. I had been in the academy for a long time. Yet, because I did not follow all the cultural expectations, I felt misunderstood and, in the end, rejected, though never formally. Make no mistake, you are punished for not following all the rules, even the unstated ones. Sadly, even within the academic culture, the barriers between silos are becoming increasingly rigid, the ability to communicate and understand the other less likely. Not surprisingly the chances of effective communication from those ensconced within the academy with those in the real world is becoming increasingly remote.

  I can still recall a conversation with Bob Haveman one day. He told me that the Economics Department had treated him well over the years. At the same time, he would not be hired now nor, if he had, could he possibly have achieved tenure. This department was desperately aping the theoretical aspirations of all the other top disciplinary departments. That is understandable though there is a cost. The Wisconsin Economics Department no longer has many faculty that might contribute to solving a major societal problem like poverty. Applied economists no longer need apply. I still vividly recall a brownbag where a hot economics faculty recruit was making a presentation to the IRP family. He was being touted as a future affiliate. Toward the end of his highly theoretical talk, the IRP editor turned to me and exclaimed with more than a little anguish, “How the hell could we ever turn something like that into a Focus article?”

  The story embedded in this chapter saddens me, rather deeply, though not from a personal perspective. I love the old stories about how academics were heroes on the other end of State Street when scholars would willingly expend time and energy to tackle policy problems. Doing the public’s good was once something of value. We should never lose that sense of sacrifice and commitment. To recapture those halcyon days, though, we must get inside our own cultures and better understand how they shape who we are and how we think. Perhaps, in the future, we can once again entertain the possibility of permitting someone like myself to sit down at the main table in the academy.

  I don’t want to be overly pessimistic. There may be some hope in that regard, as I suggested earlier while pointing out caveats about the vignette employed to make my earlier points. Perhaps small steps are being taken to make the academy more inclusive. Wisconsin’s tenure process in the School of Social Work now permits what they call an “integrated tenure” case to be made. From what I understand, this is designed to accommodate tenure-seekers who evidence balance in their scholarly pursuits between knowledge production with application and distribution. Those budding scholars who wish to synthesize existing research, or bring it into the real world, or find ways for educating broader audiences about what we are discovering within the academy no longer need to hide their secret proclivities in a sock drawer or under the pillow.

  It is a small step and I hope this innovation succeeds. I have no idea whether it is a sufficient step. The whole point of my essay on institutional and professional culture is to emphasize how sticky and impervious this phenomenon can be to change. Embedded cultural norms and tendencies are remarkably resistant to change. I recall the time when the need to upgrade the quality of undergraduate teaching became the cause du jour among the university community. Such fads seem to spontaneously erupt on occasion. The fear was that the obsession with research had led to neglect of the basic teaching mission at elite universities, at least for undergraduates. Mission statements were rewritten, and new reward systems were sought out. Amidst all this, I recall one eminent scholar from Stanford saying, “The administration can make all the noise about this they want but, if they get serious about prioritizing undergraduate teaching here, all the top researchers will just leave.” More than once, pessimists have argued that the cultural divide between the teaching and research cultures is too wide, that we need to separate these two functions and have them operate as distinct entities, each with their own personnel. Perhaps that overstates the challenge, I don’t know. My point—substantive cultural change ain’t easy, that is why it is so important to understand.

  Ultimately, my belief is that we need for members of the academy to look about the world with way more imagination than they currently do. Albert Einstein, the one member of his university physics class not to get an academic appointment upon graduation, transformed our understanding of the world because he integrated imagination with analytical skills like no one else. He employed what we call lateral thinking to understand the world about him. Time to take off the blinders and see opportunities to do things differently for once, as Albert did. Time to take a chance or two. Academics like to believe they think outside the box. True, that does happen, but there remains a helluva lot of encrusted, traditional thinking. Think about the following for a moment. What other professional group still wears robes harking back to the fourteenth century?

  I truly was a wayward academic. I fell into the arms of the academy without ever intending to become an academic. I simply found it a great institutional base from which to ply my policy skills and to impart my knowledge to the next generation. It was all serendipity and opportunism. Looking back though, I provided the academy with a perfect role model for addressing the cultural drift that was separating knowledge producers from knowledge consumers. At a time when more bridge builders are desperately needed, at least part of the academy could not see nor appreciate someone who was uniquely suited to perform this role of communicating across the cultural divide.

  That saddens me. Unfortunately, I can be overly passive when it comes to pushing my own causes. I find selling myself unsettling at best. Still, I remain disappointed that those about me back then apparently could not see the need for my potential contributions nor the opportunities I offered them
. If Stephanie Robert is correct, my experience would be different now. But that is a counterfactual we cannot test. It is now up to the next generation to find a way forward.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE “SHELTERED” WORKSHOP

  But the Wisconsin tradition meant more than a simple belief in people. It also meant a faith in the application of intelligence and reason to the problems of society. It meant adeep conviction that the role of government was not to stumble along like a drunkard in the dark, but to light its way by the best torches of knowledge and understanding it could find.

  —Adlai E. Stevenson

  I often have called the Institute for Research on Poverty (IRP), my professional home for over four decades, a sheltered workshop. That term, as you may recall, typically is used for places where those with diminished capacities are given an opportunity to perform useful tasks for society and to hopefully realize some measure of independence and self-respect. As such, they are worthwhile institutions indeed for those challenged in some fashion. Does IRP fit under this rubric. Barely, I suspect. Many would argue that the work performed has little societal value, but the tasks performed do keep the affiliates occupied and therefore from doing more general harm.

  Now, think about this! Where else could I have been kept productively focused, busy at least, for over half my life? With respect to keeping the marginally employable out of mischief, it has been a wonderful institution. In fact, over the years I have noticed that people are loath to leave the place. When they do, they often return, for good or at least for visits. There is something comfortable and soothing and safe in its venerable halls, attributes often associated with many sheltered workshops.

  I consider IRP to be the physical location for my allegorical policy candy store. True, it is primarily an academic institution but has served as an ideal site from which to sate my favorite private vice…mucking around in matters about which I am clueless as I seek to improve society. Still, I must say that the setting of my private sweets-filled paradise is ideal. The main offices are on the third floor of the Social Science Building which is situated along the shores of Lake Mendota on the University of Wisconsin-Madison campus. For six, maybe seven months a year, it really is an Eden-like place, until arctic blasts turn the lake into a frozen tundra akin to wastelands of outer Siberia.

  As my career wound down, I would drive from our home to my campus parking spot in twenty or so minutes, with most of the journey taking place adjacent to serene Lake Mendota in Shorewood Hills. Along this idyllic road, I would weave past lakefront mansions and along the pristine, green fairways of Blackhawk Country Club where my wife and I played golf for many years. Then I would pass through Eagle Heights, the graduate student housing complex, before descending onto the west end of campus. Eagle Heights is a mini-version of the United Nations where kids can grow and play in an international community composed of young families drawn from around the world to complete their graduate educations.

  After meandering through one of the more beautiful campuses in the country, I would settle into lot 34, perhaps 300 or so yards from my destination, the Social Sciences Building. Typically, I would get there very early on most days, long before the campus came to life. In mid-summer the sun might just be peaking over the eastern edge of the lake. Yet, the UW rowing crews already would be out practicing for their next competition. There was nothing quite like it, walking along the shoreline path adjacent to a calming lake touched by the amber blush of dawn as sleek boats skimmed over the water’s surface guided by the encouragement of the coxswain or the instructions of a coach from an adjacent boat. Is there a better place to study poverty and societal dysfunction? Really, you never have to see any of the poor, unless you count students up to their eyeballs in debt among the nation’s destitute. I doubt they count though.

  Once, we held a conference at the historic Edgewater Hotel which is situated on Lake Mendota not too far from the campus. A local media wag drew up a cartoon making fun of this conference on poverty being held at a somewhat upscale hotel. I am not exactly sure why this one was selected from the hundred other gatherings IRP had convened over the years, but there you have it. A cartoon was published in the local paper centered about a tramp dressed in hobo-looking clothes with flies buzzing around his head. Some officious-looking character looking like a moderator was at a podium with the Institute for Research on Poverty prominently displayed on the front. The moderator, referencing the bum, is saying, “Our next speaker needs no introduction.” It was funny, if a bit demeaning to the poor. We had the cartoon blown up and prominently displayed for many years at the institute. I am afraid it is lost now. I should look for it one of these days

  There have been other political shots taken at IRP. Bob Haveman told me that a reporter looked up his salary when he was IRP Director in the early years, even before I got there. We are talking the very early years. The reporter pushed the story line of the “scandal” that some academic was making so much money from studying those who had so little. Apparently, this was considered fair game at the time.

  Similarly, a reporter sought me ought when I was acting director and wanted to know what the position of director was paid. Knowing Bob’s story, I suspected where he was going with this question. The conversation could have been ended if I simply told him my salary, which barely put me above the poverty line. That would have been disingenuous, though, since all other directors did receive decent compensation. So, I chuckled lightly as I explained there was no salary as such for being director. The position reduced your teaching load by one course per semester. In truth, being IRP director was taking on more work than you got paid for, sort of like picking the short straw when the general was looking for a suicide volunteer. I could literally hear his disappointment on the other end of the line. No story appeared in the paper.

  For me, and others I believe, IRP has become an iconic institution. Not that long ago, it celebrated its golden anniversary, fifty years of doing cutting edge research on one of society’s most compelling and enduring issues. William Proxmire represented Wisconsin in the U.S. Senate for several decades. He was known as a fiscal hawk always campaigning against pork-barrel spending and budgetary earmarks. He was also known for spending virtually no money on his own campaigns. I recall some of his later campaigns when he listed total expenditures of a few hundred dollars at most. That is inconceivable in today’s electoral climate where campaigns for county coroner seem to cost more than the GDP of smaller countries.

  Proxmire was best known for his “golden fleece” awards where each month he would select some federal expenditure for scathing ridicule. Once, he focused on a UW sociology professor who had a federal grant to explore equity theory as it applied to love relationships. Apparently, Bill was not a romantic. I found it noteworthy, then, when I examined the only two projects the senator pushed for his home state, the kind of pork that is a staple of most politicians. One was some boat project in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, located on Lake Michigan. The other was for this little-known research entity, according to the article on this topic, called the Institute for Research on Poverty at the University of Wisconsin. We must have done something right to deserve such a singular honor.

  While IRP may not have been a household name to the public, it was quite well known among the rather large set of social scientists and policymakers interested in poverty, inequality, and issues related to the social-safety net. As I traveled extensively around the country during my career, I seldom had to say more than I was from the Poverty Institute. Everyone seemed to know what that meant. The mere mention of the name would open doors.

  Not that many years ago I looked up a good friend from college and my childhood neighborhood after not seeing him since the early 1970s. He had been a sociology professor at Providence College in Rhode Island for decades. During my visit, he and his spouse, whom I also met in college, both mentioned how they kept seeing a Thomas Corbett in Focus (the IRP publication I have noted throughout). They were avid readers of o
ur publication and had wondered if that was the same guy they knew from the old days. It was indeed, I affirmed, basking in the glow of reflected glory. Yet, I could see a look of amazement in their eyes. I had seemed like such a loser back in college. While they were not wrong, I was clever in fooling folk.

  Speaking of Focus, I was always taken by how popular it was. One day, during the time I served as acting director, I was off to Washington for another of the seemingly endless trips there. Someone, probably Betty Evanson who was our top editor, stuffed a draft copy of the next Focus into my hands as I left the office. I was to look it over one more time and call back with a final blessing before it would hit the streets. I recall standing with several high-level analytical types from a couple of federal agencies (Census and Labor Statistics I believe) when one asked if that was the new Focus I was holding. I said yes but cautioned that it was not final yet since I was doing one last proof. “Could I make a copy anyways?” she asked. As she ran off to a copy machine, the others in the group shouted out their order for copies. Their enthusiasm made me feel so good about the care that went into its production and about its impact on the policy community.

  I first learned of IRP when I was working in state government in the early 1970s. I had been sent to D.C. on some state business. As I waited for the return flight, I noticed a guy sitting nearby. To pass the time I often like to guess something about the people I observe around me. Obviously an academic, I mused. Either that or he was an accountant suffering from a bad hair day or perhaps a mad scientist whose latest experiment had gone terribly awry. I was proud of myself when my guess was confirmed as we were seated next to one another on the flight. The “obvious” academic turned out to be Irv Garfinkel who was then director of IRP. Being anti-social, I don’t normally chat on airplanes, but this would be an exception. I mean, we were both in the welfare business and it occurred to me that this place he ran might be a good resource for my state work. It never occurred to me that I would be situated there in less than a year and never leave except for brief excursions.