REFLECTIONS OF A LIFE, Chapter 7: Leaving Target and Seeking the Ph.D.

Chapter 7

Leaving Target and Seeking the Ph.D.

            The Target opportunity was intriguing and challenging, yet I increasingly felt alienated from retailing, unless it would be entrepreneurship, and this would require far more money than I could muster.  We opened four Target discount stores by the spring after our wedding, with half a dozen others in the planning stages.  Three of the original eight central buyers had by now been replaced, and I was the fourth, getting the word in early June 1963.  They said I was not aggressive enough in wringing concessions from vendors. 

            They gave me three months severance pay, saying this should be plenty of time to find another job. 

            "Bob, don't you think now is the time to get out of retailing, to go for the Ph.D.?" Dorothy asked.

            That thought was to change our lives forever, and all for the better, despite a few bumps along the way.  "We can live on my salary," she said.

            So with excitement in my heart I explored Ph.D. possibilities at Minnesota, planning on the University of Wisconsin as a backup.  But the professors at Minnesota told me I need look no further, that they would admit me to the program, with full scholarships and a $2,500 fellowship as a Teaching Associate, for which I would need to help with research and teach a few classes.

            As I look back on those days, and the initial shock to the ego of being fired, I have to wonder at the Divine Providence that allowed it to happen, and directed me to a far more satisfying life where my talents and deep interests were.  The realization had lain dormant all these years since Drake, not fully recognized amid the economic sacrifice that seemed necessary to achieve a doctorate.  But dear Dorothy was the brave catalyst, and made possible the realization.

            For two years she was the major source of income, although I had a little money coming from the fellowship and occasional small consulting opportunities.  I vowed I would strive to get straight "A's" in the academic program, and did except for one class in marketing research where the new instructor gave me a "B" and years afterwards at a marketing conference apologized for this as due to his "inexperience."  Well, so be it.   But I had several other concerns en route to a Ph.D.

After the coursework, two major "comprehensive" 6-hour written exams were required, then an oral examination before a five-person committee.  Only after passing all these could one be officially admitted to the program.  Then the climax would be the dissertation and its oral defense before again a five- or six-person committee.  Many candidates never made it to that point but became ABDs (All But Dissertation).  Such was the kiss of death for a career path in academia, and usually relegated a person to teaching high school or at best in some junior college.

            All my life I had known I was so much better in writing than talking, being especially weak in thinking on my feet.  I had no trouble with the written comprehensives, passed them with flying colors, but the oral exam was something else.  Before the committee, as each probed for weak spots, I showed up poorly.  They didn't flunk me, though they probably thought about it, but my performance on the written comps and my good grades convinced them that I had promise.  So they passed me conditionally with the provision that I sit for another comprehensive oral exam at the time of my dissertation defense.  In the worst scenario that would mean I could come to the very end of the program only to have everything destroyed by another dismal showing on this repeat.  Talk about having a secure future, this was the ultimate precipice that awaited, a sword hanging over our heads.

            With the course commitments finished and the comprehensive exams done with, I was free to seek an academic position in other schools.  While everyone advised staying at the U of M until I finished my dissertation, since being on campus usually meant a quicker completion, we needed far more income than a teaching associate position could provide.  Especially now that Dorothy was pregnant with our daughter, Connie, and had to quit her job.  Connie was born in a blizzard on January 15, 1965, and we had for some months been living mostly on Dorothy's retirement pay.  At that time I still did not have a dissertation topic approved, and had to be months or even a year or more from finishing.    

            I knew that most Ph.D. candidates got full-time jobs while they were finishing their dissertations in absentia, sending partial manuscripts back for approval by the various committee members.  So I would hardly be an exception to do likewise.  I made contact with interested schools at several academic conferences. That winter and spring while working on my dissertation, I visited St. Louis University, Boston College, Kent State University, University of Florida, and George Washington University in Washington, D.C., and had serious talks with people from several other universities, including Notre Dame, but decided not to visit them. 

            I accepted a position at George Washington University for several reasons:  First, I found great rapport with Dean Dockeray, a fatherly figure, who seemed particularly interested in my background of some thirteen years in management.  "At our university," he told me, "We have a strong need for professors with business experience, ones who know the real world and not just the theory."  Second, living in our nation's capital seemed exciting to Dorothy and me, particularly since we had never lived in the East with its centuries-old heritage.  The third reason was that they offered me $10,000, a salary several thousand dollars more than the going rate for new Ph.Ds., and I didn't even have my degree yet.  I believe the reason for this fantastic salary was that in addition to impressing Dean Dockeray I had also impressed the president of the university.  Let me tell you about that.

            I had felt all along that I had wasted far too many years in the business world, some thirteen years, time I could have better spent in furthering my academic career.  I expressed this thought to both men, as well as others who interviewed me.  "I feel compelled to try to make up for the lost years," I told them.  I had indeed done this in my academic work up to this point, finishing the course work in record time, but now facing the bottleneck of the dissertation, and this would turn out to be a far worse bottleneck than I ever expected.

            "But your business experience is compatible and very desirable for teaching in the business school," they said.

            "Some would be.  But thirteen years . . .?"

            "Well, maybe a little bit much."  The white-haired president looked keenly at me.  "But I think you will more than make it up."   

            So we moved to Washington, D.C. the next September, with my dissertation months away from being finished.  I assured the dean that I would have it done by the end of the academic year (next June) at the latest.

            But it was not to be.  The first major problem had been coming up with an acceptable dissertation topic, but the Committee finally agreed to my "Critical Look at Marketing Research in Retailing," before we left Minneapolis. To get primary data I would conduct personal interviews with major executives at 52 department stores and chains, and I spent that fall and winter at GW traveling to major cities for research-gathering on the days when I did not have classes.  Dorothy still talks about the time she had to pick me up at National Airport on a busy Friday night in pouring rain.  Connie was screaming while she cruised around desperately trying to find a parking place. 

            After I gathered the data and began analyzing and writing it up, the drawbacks of being a thousand miles away from my dissertation committee became all too evident.  Each member of the committee had to approve what I had written before I could proceed further, but the manuscript sat on various desks far too long.  By the time the cherry blossoms were in bloom, the dean was asking about the progress almost every time he saw me in the hall.  "I'm not getting any action on my material.  It's been over two months since I sent in the data analysis, and I've still heard nothing," I told him.

            "Have you contacted your dissertation adviser about this?"

            "He said two members are still looking at it, and told him they would want some changes, but they're still deciding."

            He looked at me and shook his head.  "Well, dissertation committees have a habit of dragging their feet, especially when the candidate is not there to pester them."

            "Do you think I should try to pester them?"

            "What do you think?" he asked.

            "I'm afraid to.  I don't want to get them riled at me."

            "You're probably right.  You should have had more of your dissertation done before you came on the job market."

            "I know, I know.  But we were scrapping the bottom of our savings as it was."

            This was to be a dark cloud over our heads, for the dissertation dragged on for another year, and Dorothy and I had to wonder how much longer George Washington University would tolerate my non-degree status.  I felt sorry for Dean Dockeray since my failings had to be a reflection on him and his judgment.  But it seemed nothing could hurry the process.

            Finally, the next May word came that the committee had approved everything and I would go back to Minneapolis to defend my dissertation, and also to retake the oral comprehensive exam that I had handled so miserably two years before.   

             

            The dissertation defense. -- I flew into Minneapolis the day before the exam so I could get a good night's sleep before the one o’clock ordeal.  But there was little sleep that night, not even after a stiff nightcap.  I’m not sure what worried me the most, the retake of the oral comprehensive, or the oral defense of my dissertation.

            Since the oral comp could cover almost anything, I could hardly prepare any more for this, so I directed most of my last-minute efforts to reviewing my dissertation and trying to deduce what diabolical questions they might ask about it.  The next morning I felt baggy eyed and hung over, and my anxiety was undiminished.  I fled my hotel room and went to the campus about noon and walked around until it was time to meet the committee.

            They were friendly, but solemn as they arranged themselves along the large rectangular table facing me at one end.  They decided to interrogate me first on my dissertation and that took about three hours.  After a fifteen minute break the interrogation began on the comprehensive exam.  I was rapidly coming to the point where I just wanted this ordeal to end, regardless of outcome.

            Finally, they ended the questioning and sent me out of the room while they conferred.  Out in the hall I paced up and down, then finally found an empty classroom to sit while I waited.  Fifteen minutes went by, then twenty minutes.  Now it was approaching thirty minutes.  By now I had rubbed my forehead almost raw.  I had to think that for the committee to take such a long time for the decision could not bode well, and I practically reconciled myself to a negative verdict, which would be the end of this career.  Finally one of the junior members of the committee looked into the room.  His face was sober as he said, "The committee would like to see you now."  I was barely able to stand as I started the walk to hear my fate.  Now the young professor smiled and clasped me on the shoulder.  "It's all right, Bob, you passed."  I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself and calm my racing pulse.  Could it be?

            I looked at him, "The comp, too?" 

            "Yes, both exams.  Congratulations, Doctor Hartley."  We walked into the examining room and everyone congratulated me, and then quickly left.  My dissertation director, Dr. Lewis, the one most responsible for my efforts, stayed behind to talk with me.  "I was afraid I didn't pass," I told him.

            "Well, you didn't exactly pass with flying colors.  But you were credible enough, and they all signed off.  Your grades and your strong showing on the written comps were the deciding factors.  Your dissertation was maybe above average, but you still don't do a good job expressing yourself orally in pressure situations.  Several committee members, while admitting that your writing skills were well above average, wondered how good you could be in the classroom.  I reminded them that lecturing to a class is far different than defending yourself before a critical committee or board.  And they had no problem signing off."

            "Thank you, Dr. Lewis," I said contritely.

            "It's Ed.  You can call me Ed now."

            As I prepared to leave, he asked, "What do you intend to do now career-wise?"

            "I'm going to write, like a man possessed—journal articles, and probably even books."

            "Make us proud of you, Bob," he said as we departed.

            I never saw Ed Lewis again.  He was close to retirement, and I learned he died only a few years later.  I had to think he was responsible for my getting the Ph.D., despite my poor oral performance.  Through the years I did everything possible to improve my oral skills, and believe I became quite good in the classroom.  But on occasions when I had the opportunity to be a well-paid expert witness in lawsuits, I seldom did a good job of it.  I didn't bear up well under cross-examination, and finally got to the point where I refused opportunities to be an expert witness.

            I called Dorothy with the good news, and then treated myself to a steak dinner.  I still felt my performance was sub-par and that I had passed in spite of it, but maybe didn't deserve it.  So my relief and joy was muted.