Jumping off the Adjunct and onto the Full-Time Track in the Time of COVID-19
by Andrew M. Abernathy
Nearly one year ago, before COVID-19 engulfed us all, something spectacular happened—the long awaited call came. After more than two years of a nationwide job search, I finally had the chance to become a “real” college professor at a major, R1 university. It was a good fit. The job aligned with my teaching, research and service interests. The offer meant I finally had the chance to break free of the adjunct ranks after nearly five years. It also meant cautiously stepping away from a 13-year career in strategic communications. No longer would I just be the guy who came in a few days a week to teach the 4 p.m. copywriting class. I would be a full member of the faculty. The job offered the perks and privileges that many contingent faculty long for: an office in the building, class preferences, a respected voice in meetings, startup funding, votes on committees, a teaching assistant and opportunities to collaborate with colleagues. The trappings that make adjuncts feel more like hired hands than real professors.
The assistant professor of practice job came with a full load. Teaching a four-four is demanding. However, in my old life, I worked full-time as a communications manager at a major university while adjunct teaching one-to-two classes each semester. I was also chipping away at a doctorate during evenings and on weekends. The stress could be excessive, and at its height, I mostly stopped sleeping and my blood pressure skyrocketed. But in November 2019, the offer arrived as my doctoral coursework was ending. While my day job exhausted me, my teaching sustained me. Sometimes I jumped out of bed at night to jot down ideas for an upcoming lesson.
For about three months at the end of 2019 and early 2020, I envisioned my future life as a full-time college professor come Fall 2020. I expected to be standing in the classroom a few hours a day, lecturing on media writing and helping students polish their copy. I would fly to academic conferences. Maybe I could develop a study abroad course? As a faculty member, I would have longer breaks between semesters, so, yes, I would find time to finish my dissertation. Perhaps I’d move into a tenure-track job one day? It felt like years of toxicity were slowly evaporating. Short bursts of hope and optimism replaced the exhaustion and self-doubt.
And then, the world changed. COVID-19 sent higher education into mission critical status just weeks after I turned in my resignation. As my wife and I sold our house and packed our belongings, we watched as our previous university implemented a hiring freeze and cost-saving measures. Like many people, we found that conducting our professional lives via Zoom in the confines of our house was challenging, especially when our 3-year-old son screamed for help in the bathroom in the background, or cats prowled the keyboards of our colleagues and students, occasionally logging them out of the feed.
I knew that leaving my university, where for the past 16 years, I’d worked as a student, graduate student, staffer and instructor, would have been nerve-wracking in the best of times. But it was especially true as my wife and I watched colleges and universities struggle nationwide. I recall an especially sobering moment last spring, when Ohio University laid off more than 140 employees. Less than one year earlier, I had been devastated when a faculty search committee at OU passed me over for another candidate. Foreboding thoughts emerged: What if I had gotten that job? Would I have been laid off with a family, mortgage and car payment? Will higher education survive this pandemic? But, I was among the fortunate. My new boss assured me that my job would be safe and my colleagues were eager to welcome me. Students would be waiting. There was good and meaningful work to be done.
We made the leap and bought a modest house in our new college town. My wife received funding to start a Ph.D. full-time. Today, roughly halfway through the first semester, my life as a real college professor is both exciting and a constant struggle. Everyone is adjusting, to say the least. The new faculty orientation was on Zoom, and the welcome back barbecue was cancelled. We’ve had limited opportunities to meet new people in our new town. Campus buildings are sparsely populated. Masks fog our glasses. Sometimes I forget to hit the record button at the beginning of the lesson. The faculty who are in the office, much like myself, seem starved for hints of normalcy and excited to make small talk across the hallway and reclaim some small parts of pre-COVID life. And, it’s good to be reminded that many of us have struggled against the current this year—adapting to new norms, pushing off plans, and missing old routines.
Like many teachers, I learned a lot about online instruction last Spring. I can better encourage and engage with students remotely. At the same time, teaching a mixed-delivery class is a struggle. There’s a blend of guilt and confusion that grows inside me as I lecture through a sweaty mask to a sparsely filled room of students sitting six feet apart while hoping the asymptomatic students, live streaming in quarantine, are actually learning something. Some students are streaming in from hotels. Some are at a family vacation house. I worry most about the students who don’t show up at all, but who plan to download the video later and review the PowerPoints.
The most important realization I’ve had this year is that, just like my colleagues who have been starved for a whiff of normalcy, our students desperately need candid interaction, too. I’ve always prided myself on creating a student-centered classroom. Using insights from constructivist theory and cognitive science, I try to make each class into its own community where learning is socially-driven. If we want to help students create new knowledge, we first need a place where it’s safe to ask questions, make connections and, yes, even air a few grievances with the group.
Just last week I sent out a call for grievances and one of my students expressed frustration over lost wages due to her quarantine. Within minutes, my students were sending her links in the chat feed to apply for CARES Act funding for students with lost employment, and sharing their own stories. Creating this social chemistry has helped make this section one of my best discussion groups this semester. So, here’s my first priority as a real college professor this year: Even though it’s more difficult to engage with students on Zoom, and there are certainly more than awkward silences than usual, I am going to keep asking my students to turn on their cameras, tell me how they are doing, air their grievances and actively engage with the group, the material and their thoughts.
