Email Theo		Introduction   I've had more than my share of interviews over my teaching career. Perhaps the reader can ascertain from these vignettes why I have so often been looking for a new job: if I was so utterly capable of sticking my foot firmly in my own mouth during an interview (where one could say It Most Decidedly Counted), is it not conceivable that I did so in unguarded moments while on the job as well, thereby getting my sorry ass terminated? Of course these brief accounts describe the climactic moment of various interviews - the so-called punch line. They do not detail what transpired before in exchanges between administrator and candidate. In most cases, one of two things became clear to me during the course of the interview: either the interviewer was not much interested in hiring me; and/or I realized that their school was one at which I did not much care to work. In such cases I adapted the attitude of, "Well, if it's all for naught anyway, I might at least have myself a little fun and go out with a bang!" Of course, there were those unfortunate situations where the faux pas was inadvertent. These were few in number (for some reason I'm proud of intentionally torpedoing myself) and it will probably not be hard for the reader to guess which interviews ended on such a note. I know that some readers (perhaps those who don't know me so well) will be skeptical that the things depicted in these tales actually happened. After all, the temptation to embellish after the fact is strong in most people. Who is to say that at least some of these don't fall into the category of, "If I had been on my toes, I would have said to him...?" Perhaps some do. As the years pass, it becomes harder to separate what actually happened from what we wish had happened. Much of this is due to the understandable desire to tell an entertaining story after the fact. My only defense (which of course is really a self-indictment) is that my need to make a bon mot at the close of an interview (and by definition such mots, bon or not, did effectively Terminate the Interview) usually trumped discretion. In other words, most of these accounts are true as I recount them because, quite simply, that's the way I am. For better or worse, I am an artist - that type of person who among other things likes to be in control and to entertain people. Like poor Oscar Wilde, I went a bit too far, over the top on occasion. And what did my wife Dorothy say when I returned home and recounted to her the substance of those interviews? Her reactions are lost in the mists of history, for the simple reason that I, the only reliable (ha!) historian, do not recall what she said. One response might have been incredulity; another anger. Probably her ultimate response was resignation: after all, she was by these times long familiar with the man to whom she was married. Indeed, she would always be the rock-solid bread winner, the partner who would keep her job through thick and thin - and, thus, the one who made possible my own professional (or are they amateurish?) peccadilloes. No interview she ever undertook was ever terminated due to a faux pas, intentional or not, on her part. But, then, she has no stories either! 11 February 2005 PS: I have since seen fit to include a couple of Interview stories that end in success, as a sort of ironic seasoning for the other tales. Interviews Menu Concord-Carlisle High School Duracell Framingham South High School Hamilton-Wenham High School Houghton Mifflin Lexington: Diamond Junior High Melrose High School Mont Alto The Neck Newton South High School Northern Essex Community College North Shore Community College Notre Dame Academy Pine Manor College Skidmore College Theta Chi Trinity Lutheran Church Walpole High School Wilbraham Academy Winchester Winthrop High School Interviews: The Story Concord-Carlisle High School This interview was not gong well. For some reason the Interviewer seemed to have taken a dislike to me. He asked me questions, but with the demeanor of one who wanted to trip me up. For example, when he looked at me with dull challenge in his eyes and said, "I see from your resumé that you write. What sorts of things have you written?", I had a feeling that, had I replied truthfully, "Oh, Marxist-type critiques of present day society in the style of Adorno", he might not have been overjoyed. And so, as this exercise in futility ground to a close, he asked without interest, "Do you have any other questions?" I inquired how things were in the Math Department? "Well, O.K. except for one little thing: the Men and Women aren't speaking to each other." "That's not a problem", I lightly and immediately rejoined, "I can speak to both sides - I'm androgynous!" And that most certainly terminated the Interview! Back to Interviews Menu Duracell My friend Carl Schlaikjer set me up with an interview at his company. This was one of the only private companies I ever interviewed with; I undertook it during a period of self-doubt about whether I truly belonged in the teaching profession. The job I was interviewing for had something to do with statistics - a subject I didn't know very much about. I was also concerned about having to work 50 weeks per year. Nevertheless, the interview seemed to go well. At its conclusion, the two people interviewing me offered to take me out to lunch, and I accepted. My interviewers told me that they were on restricted diets (they ordered bean sprouts and mashed yeast.) But they sincerely encouraged me to order whatever I liked. I chose teriyaki chicken and a glass of chablis. This last was unusual for me (I never had a drink until just before dinner), but I figured, what the hell, it's a Special Occasion. And besides, they're paying! I did feel a bit lightheaded, a bit woozy in the car as we arrived back at the office. Remembering they had told me that their headquarters was moving to a town a bit south of there, I asked gaily as I was getting out of the car, "Did you say you were moving to Natham or Needick?" That terminated the Interview! Back to Interviews Menu Framingham South High School This interview seemed to be going well, when the Principal suddenly said to me: "You might like to know that there is a rule in effect here in Framingham, that if for any reason a teacher takes a leave of absence for a year, their record of service goes back to zero." I immediately responded, "Oh, so in such a case would I get to behave as an ignorant first year teacher with no experience?" That terminated the Interview. Back to Interviews Menu Hamilton-Wenham High School It was a hot summer for interviews! I had dressed in my usual habiliments (suit, tie) for my interview at Lincoln Sudbury. There I was greeted by the Math Chairman Larry Davidson - in short-shorts, t-shirt, and sandals. For my next interview - at Hamilton-Wenham - I vowed not to be physically miserable again. So I wore shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers. There I was ushered into an air conditioned office by the search committee - all of whom were wearing three-piece suits. Yes, there was an interview of sorts (what I call a phony interview.) But for all practical purposes, The Interview had been terminated. Note 1: This is known as an a priori nonverbal self-torpedoing. Note 2: Hamilton has a polo ground; Sudbury does not (the sort of thing it would be well for one to research before going to an interview.) Back to Interviews Menu Houghton Mifflin This was my other interview with a private company. I went despite the fact that I had no experience in publishing. Yet, even before the interview began, I realized that I would prefer to teach classes of kids rather than sit in a cubicle and deal with page layouts all day. And, that I would much prefer to be the author of a textbook rather than the editor of someone else's book. The two fellows who interviewed me were both wearing three-piece suits. (My choice of habiliment favored the vest - I owned some 40 of them - and decidedly eschewed the jacket.) They had a very clubby air and seemed to be sniggering together. As I'd found out to my sorrow in other interviews, there are certain basic questions in any line of work that one should anticipate and prepare the answers for. The first question they asked me was: "Do you know any books that we publish?" Now virtually all math teachers know the authors of the books they use in their courses. We speak of using "the Forester" or "the Dolciani". But I would guess that very few such teachers know the publishers of those texts: this is the province of the math chairs who need to order new books. So I could not be sure of the publisher of any authors I knew. I could take a wild guess, but what if that author were published by a rival company? I decided not to risk this sort of faux pas. In fact, as they awaited my answer and I desperately wracked my brain, I was able to think of only one book that I definitely knew was published by Houghton Mifflin - and it it was not a math text. Would this count, I wondered? Quickly I weighed the pro's and con's. But I finally decided that it was better to give some answer rather than no answer, to show knowledge rather than ignorance. So I offered them the name of the book: "Adolph Hitler's Mein Kampf." Well, that terminated that Interview! Back to Interviews Menu Lexington: Diamond Junior High The junior high level has never been my first (or even second) choice for a teaching position. But when one desperately needs a job... I suppose that I could have prepared better for this interview. There are, after all, certain basic questions one might be able to anticipate... The Principal asked me, "What is the worst thing that has ever happened to you in your teaching?" First I said, only half-humorously, "Where to begin?!" I then painted a lurid picture of a classroom situation so horrific that it made Suddenly Last Summer look like a Sunday School picnic. The Assistant Principal then asked me, "What is the best thing that has ever happened to you in your teaching?" I thought long and hard, but I couldn't think of anything. After these exchanges I detected a certain - ennui - in the demeanors of my interlocutors. I began to pick up subtle signals that seemed to indicate that they wished the interview to conclude sooner rather than later. Finally the Principal yawned and asked, "Do you have any other questions?" The only question I could think of was, "Do you have a xerox machine available for teachers to use?" The Principal was ready for this one: "We believe in the good old chalk-and-blackboard approach!" So was I: "And do you break up the blackboards and hand them out to the students at the end of the period?" And that most emphatically terminated the Interview! Back to Interviews Menu Melrose High School Like many interviews I've had, this one was in the middle of the Summer - a time when schools are all but deserted. I entered the front door of the high school. No one was to be seen, and there were no signs to tell me how to get to the Main Office. I arbitrarily selected a door to my right, which ushered me into the Library. The only person I saw therein was a sort of grungy derelict wearing a torn dirty sweat shirt. I asked if he knew where the Office was? He motioned to the other side of the Main Lobby. A secretary welcomed me as I entered the Office. She asked whether I'd had any trouble finding them. I replied, "Well, your directions to the school were clear enough. I guess my only problem was that there are no signs telling one where the Office is. I had to ask some bum in the Library how to find you!" After a few minutes the door opened to the Principal's Office and the Principal emerged to greet me. And in seeing him, I knew that, for all intents and purposes, The Interview would be for naught. Back to Interviews Menu Mont Alto I had been let go from a teaching position at Muskingum College due to, as it was quaintly called a hundred years ago, 'moral turpitude.' (In this regard I was proud to be in the august company of such notables as Thorstein Veblen and Alexander Scriabin.) Being in need of another job, I sent out a slew of letters to every college east of Ohio that I thought would have me. About the only hopeful response I received (though see 'Skidmore College' for another) was this one from State College, PA: 'Dear Professor May: You seem like the perfect person to anchor the math department at our Mont Alto branch campus of Penn State.' So I drove to a place called Mont Alto one rainy day in the late Spring. It was nestled in the woods (I liked to say that it was 'in the center of a cultural doughnut') in the neighborhood of Chambersburg. The 'campus' consisted of one large brick school-type building, a couple of converted farm houses, and little else. I was to interview with the Director, whose office was in the brick building. He was an older man who seemed the solitary one there that day (the school year had apparently already ended.) His 'office' was in part of a large conference room which was littered with all sorts of school-related paraphernalia. Our meeting seemed scarcely like an interview at all. He told me what little there was to tell about the school: it was one of 23 branch campuses of Penn State University; students came there for the first two years, after which they went to the main campus at State College for the other two; this particular campus was the seat of the state forestry school (whenever there was a forest fire, the school would close while the students went out and fought it); surveying was also a big course of study there (thus the necessity of a good trig course); and so on. But he didn't ask me any of the questions you might expect in an interview - questions about my teaching and so on. He asked whether I had any questions, but I couldn't think of any (I was remarkably incurious about the place.) In fact, I began to suspect that some wires had gotten crossed and that this man thought I was only someone looking about. Indeed, he was in the impatient mood of one whose time was being wasted. After awhile he said he needed to do something at home and would I mind tagging along? So we drove through the rain to his house. It turned out his wife was sick. He opened the bedroom door and I saw a darkened room with a figure huddled in bed. It was a depressing situation. In fact, everything about that trip to Mont Alto seemed depressing. I could not but be struck by the difference between the school I was leaving (a genuine four-year liberal arts college with an actual campus) and this pathetic excuse for a junior college with no real campus at all. And then, too, there was the non-interview, wherein I was treated like a visitor rather than as a prospective candidate for a job. I was musing on these things (and my demeanor likely showed it) when suddenly the Director lashed out in angry exasperation: 'Well, do you want the job or not?!' And suddenly I realized that the position had been mine all along, assuming I assented to taking it. Apparently this trip was supposed to be a pro forma one to meet the Director and look around. The combination of the surprise of the outburst and my depressive ruminations caused me to stutter a bit in response. Indeed, I didn't really want to work there! On the other hand, there were no other job possibilities on the horizon (I had blown an interview at a genuine college a week or two before.) It looked like this was going to have to be It for me. So I mustered all my resolve to give the man my hand (I even managed a weak smile) while reassuring him, 'Of course I want the job!' P.S. My two years of teaching at Mont Alto turned out to be happy ones. The teaching was sufficiently challenging (there was one course called Technical Mathematics, which ran from Basic Algebra to Calculus in one year; and I taught a course in Logic) and the faculty friendly. When I did leave after two years to pursue a degree in music, the Director tried to persuade me to stay ('I know you need to get ahead, but still...') You see, by then he liked me. Back to Interviews Menu The Neck Whenever a teenage girl introduces a young man to her father, there is an implicit assumption that there is a double audition going on. The young man is auditioning for possible son-in-law status; while the father is auditioning (or interviewing) for the position of potential father-in-law. The following is an account of such an 'interview' that I deliberately flunked, for reasons that should become clear. Midway through high school, our daughter Gretchen began dating a fellow whom we called 'The Neck.' The reason for this nickname was clear from his appearance: he had a thick bull neck. They say 'Physiology is Destiny,' and in this fellow's case it was most certainly true. For he was a football player; and having such a neck guaranteed that it would not be broken even if a hundred or more players were to pile on top of him. Of course a personality came along with the neck, and you might say that they were in close harmony, viz: he seemed to be a bit obdurate, unless the topic of 'conversation' happened to be sports. (NB: This was the period when our daughter seemed to be dating boys who were burdened by bizarre physical characteristics. She would nickname her next boyfriend 'Monkey Boy' due to his excessive hairiness.)(Our other daughter dated a fellow we called 'Muscle Boy' - but that's another story.) You might say that I had already 'auditioned' The Neck by hearsay and found him wanting. But what about my 'interview' with him? We would meet one cold evening in late January when he came to pick up Gretchen for a date. She was still upstairs getting ready when he arrived. He and I stood awkwardly together in the living room (my wife was upstairs helping Gretchen.) I must give him credit for breaking the conversational ice: 'So, uh, who do ya think is gonna win da Super Bowl, Mistah May?' I did not hesitate for a second with my response: 'The Celtics, definitely!' Well! The look he gave me! At first it was incredulous, as if he hadn't heard correctly. But it didn't take long for there to spread over his rough countenance an utter contempt, with a bit of real hatred mixed in. And what those looks said to me was: 'If you think I'm going to spend the next thirty years of my life eating Sunday dinner with you and listening to your inane attempts at sports talk, you're crazy!' That was the first and last time I saw The Neck. Soon enough Gretchen tired of him. One evening we heard her yelling into the phone using the inimitable Medford accent she would reserve for such occasions: 'You're a LOU-ZAAH!' Back to Interviews Menu Newton South High School I had taught at the Oak Hill Middle School in Newton with success for three years, until the money which financed my position ran out. I had a couple of interviews after that over the Summer, but they led nowhere. Then, over Labor Day weekend, I heard about this last-minute opening at Newton South High, located just across the field from Oak Hill. I was also told that they were already interviewing candidates for the position. So I was not very hopeful. In fact, I was so devoid of hope (or was I merely a caffeine addict?) that, on the day after Labor Day, after leaving a message of interest for the Math Chair, I went out for coffee. She called me back, and asked me to come in for an interview that very morning. It was a hot day; and so a few minutes later I called her back to ask whether it'd be all right to wear shorts (this is called "not making the same mistake again.") So in I went dressed in shorts and with resumé in hand. I worried about the Math Chair's reaction to the sight of me in a wheelchair - though without prompting she had advised me on the phone about handicapped parking in front of the school. She met me at the door and pushed me up to the Math Office. I handed her my resumé, but she tossed it casually (or was it disdainfully?) aside without glancing at it. At that point I feared the worst: a pro forma interview which she would - what is the word? - terminate as soon as she could. Then a man appeared whom she introduced as the Principal of the school. He grasped my hand warmly and declared, "I just want to tell you how tickled I am to have you here!" (I was tempted to counter, "How can you be? I didn't touch you!" but I decided for once not to indulge myself.) And suddenly, through the fog of my incredulity, I realized that they had already known all about my teaching at Oak Hill, and that they had decided to hire me before I had even entered the school. The interview had been pro forma because, in fact, it was not an interview at all but a get-acquainted meeting. Within a few minutes I was sitting as the newest member of the Faculty in my first Math Department meeting at that school. Back to Interviews Menu Northern Essex Community College I had begun my teaching "career" at two colleges, and I had fond memories of light schedules and well-disciplined students. So I approached this interview with great anticipation and care. (This was one of two colleges at which I interviewed after I was unceremoniously terminated at The Rivers School. The other interview was similar to this one in that, after seeing examples of projects my students had done at Rivers, they deemed me in effect "overqualified".) It was the Summer of 1998 and so I was still walking, albeit with the aid of my cane-chair. I was deliberately vague about my disability, hoping they might think it a mere case of the gout. I was ushered into the interview room by a full committee: this included the Math Chair, who was a frail older woman. Someone asked me what sorts of things I enjoyed teaching. I told them that I had taught two sections of Introduction to Calculus this past year. That I had integrated (Pun intended!) the graphing calculator into the course content through the use of a lab manual in addition to the regular (if inexpensive) textbook. And that the year had culminated in group projects wherein each group attempted to design a roller coaster with the greatest thrill (defined in terms of slope, etc.) I passed around some of the better efforts I'd received. "Is this the sort of thing you had in mind?" I asked with the smug self-confidence of one who is secure in the knowledge that that was indeed the sort of thing they most certainly had in mind. The Math Chair replied, "Actually, we were more interested in finding someone who could teach Subtraction of Whole Numbers." Shocked, I recovered enough to stammer, "Five minus three, or three minus five?" But she persisted, "Seriously, how would you go about teaching this?" I said, "I intend no irony in what I am about to say. If faced with such a task, the first person I would consult would be my wife: She is a superb second grade teacher who has helped countless students love doing math." That pretty much terminated the interview. The committee murmured its thanks and I arose to go. One of my legs had fallen asleep during the interview. As I stood, the leg collapsed beneath me. I lurched for something to break my fall - and found myself desperately grasping the shoulder of the Frail Older Female Math Chair. Back to Interviews Menu North Shore Community College Some of the happiest teaching of my career happened when I was part-time at Bradford and Salem State Colleges simultaneously in the 1980's (the two together made for a full-time load in teaching, but only a fraction of the pay.) At some points, the math department of each school took it upon itself to recommend me for a full-time position. (I frankly don't know which school I would have chosen had both these happened: the two schools were so different, and yet I enjoyed being at each one.) But both administrations turned down the request on the grounds that I didn't have a doctorate. (Ironic, in that virtually no one in either department had such a degree!) And so, by dint of grim necessity (paying the mortgage on a newly-purchased house), I was forced to take a full-time teaching position at a public high school which was offered to me in mid-year. The school was Peabody Veterans Memorial High School. It was during one summer (perhaps around 1991) when I was at Peabody (of course – I was always yearning for greener pastures when I was there) that I spotted an ad in the Boston Globe for a full-time math position at North Shore Community College in Lynn. I saw this as one of my last chances to land a full time college job. So I wrote a letter of application. When the math chair called me to arrange an interview, he told me that he wanted me to present a lesson to the math department. He gave me four major topics to choose from. I remember choosing the derivation of the Quadratic Formula as my topic. For some reason I cannot now fathom, I made the decision to derive the special case where the coefficient of the quadratic term is 1. I have no notion as to why I decided to do this, but I remember thinking that I was being enormously clever. It was as if I were asked to give a lecture on the book Tom Sawyer and I decided to talk about Becky Thatcher. (Now, over 15 years later, I realize what I probably should have done: I should have begun with simple concrete problems and worked gradually toward solving the most complex ones. Only then would I have effected the derivation with the abstract algebraic symbols – and of course with the quadratic coefficient any number 'a'.) Anyway, I showed up for the interview in the habillement I used for teaching: one of my 40 vests and a tie, but no suit jacket. My mother would not have approved. (By the way, I had a piece of chalk in the pocket of each of those vests!) For some reason (perhaps because I was dressed a bit less formally), I adapted a casual, jocular air – this despite the fact that my interviewers were all uniformly serious. During the interview I did something that betrayed bad manners: I interrupted the department chair while he was speaking to make some kind of inane remark of my own. Neither he nor the rest of the department seemed pleased by this gaucherie. When it came time for me to teach the lesson, they offered me a piece of chalk. 'Voila!' I exclaimed and drew one from my vest pocket with the flamboyant gesture of a magician. I thought this was very cute, but no one laughed or even smiled. What does one do when one believes oneself to be utterly charming, but it becomes obvious that no one else thinks so? I guess in that case one decides to play it serious. So I began a serious, careful, and reasoned derivation of the Quadratic Formula. Or at least an abbreviated, condensed, truncated (emasculated?) version of that venerable Formula. Of course, my explanation of what I was about to do was greeted with exclamations of surprise and disbelief. I saw only frowns and grimaces. But I was allowed to complete my demonstration, much as a condemned man is allowed to smoke a cigarette before he is hanged. And that is how I blew an interview that, with sterling recommendations from two four-year colleges, I had every reason to think was a formality. Back to Interviews Menu Notre Dame Academy I hesitated about applying for this job at a girls' Catholic high school. For I wasn't Catholic, nor did I have any particular attraction to this religion (not least because it used the organ less than any Protestant denomination.) I had also heard about the low pay in Catholic schools; I was (and still am) a fervent believer in coeducation; and, not least, I am a confirmed atheist. Nevertheless, I was in a somewhat desperate need of a job. Beggars cannot be choosers, as the saying goes. I had been told that I would be interviewing with the Principal of the school, one Sister Margaret Ann. As I drove up to Tyngsboro, I pictured in my mind the usual Mother Superior: an older woman inhabiting a severely starched black-and-white habit, with rimless glasses and all the rest of the accoutrements of such a personage. So imagine my shock and surprise when the door to the principal's office flew open and out flounced an attractive young woman in a flower-print dress! Flustered as I was, I was yet able to greet her: "Sister Ann Margaret, I presume?" And so, while we went on to have a very pleasant chat about how I could teach catechism in homeroom and all the rest, for all practical purposes, The Interview had been terminated! Back to Interviews Menu Pine Manor College (Note: This interview occurred at about the same time as 'Northern Essex' - and it has a similar feeling of being 'over-qualified.') This was one of the interviews undertaken as a result of having been fired from Rivers. At that point (late Spring 1998) I was still walking, though with difficulty (I was using the cane-chair - a cane which folded out into a three-legged chair should I need to rest.) The interview was in a room off the library. I was not able to park very close to that place, and there was an impending thunderstorm. But it held off and I managed to make it to the library. I recall that my two biggest worries were not about my potential conduct in the interview itself (I had confidence, for essentially the first time in my life, that I could impress the committee with what I had accomplished in my teaching), but rather about my ability to walk to the interview site and whether I would look like a fool doing so. The committee chair met me resting near the stacks. 'Come with me,' she directed. I followed her down an interminably long corridor, all the while being thankful that she wasn't looking at me as I staggered. We finally reached an oval conference room with many windows. We talked about various things. Midway through the interview, a tremendous thunderstorm blew up outside. When the question came up about what I had taught, I began to speak proudly of the Math Topics course I'd taught two sections of that year. I explained that I had developed 13 original projects (one for each chapter covered in the text) which were not research-oriented, but rather consisted of practical hands-on problem-solving. These projects were done in groups 'so that weak kids don't get completely hung out to dry.' I passed around samples of some of the better write-ups I'd received. 'These can help the students' writing skills as well.' I noticed that the members of the committee did not seem very interested in the projects. In fact, they had become a bit grim. Then one member said bluntly, 'Our students can't do this sort of thing.' 'Oh, these are normal everyday kids who wrote these reports,' I replied. 'They were in this course because they didn't feel confident to take Precalculus. That's the nice thing about this Math Topics course - it allows this sort of kid to shine.' But the woman shook her head and said again: 'Our students can't do this sort of thing.' I asked why they couldn't: 'Are they from other cultures and thus feel unsure of their skills in English?' But this was answered with the same grimness: 'Our students can't do this sort of thing.' I didn't know what else to say. And, indeed, it seemed clear that the interview had been essentially terminated. I thanked them and rose to go. As I left limpingly, I could feel their despising eyes burning into my back. I dreaded the long walk back down the hall and out to my car. At least I had missed the thunderstorm! Back to Interviews Menu Skidmore College When I was forced to leave Muskingum College, I set out to find another four-year college that would have me. But the only interview I got at such a school was at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, New York. I had recommendations from administrators and colleagues at Muskingum which told of my sterling record as a teacher and colleague. Unspoken - the elephant in the room - was my relationship with the female student there. (The official reason for my dismissal was that I didn't have a doctorate.) This silence was a good thing, since Skidmore was an all-female college at the time. But the great-teacher accolades were nonsense too. No one had ever observed me at Muskingum and so they didn't know what a terrible teacher I was (although I think a few adverse reports from students had filtered back.) I was teaching at least one subject (in Foundations) that was over my head because I'd never had a course in it. Then too, at the time, I 'taught' as I had been 'taught' by most of my college professors: by adapting a haughty mien and lecturing over the students' heads. In short (to sum it all up succinctly), I was an arrogant ignoramus who had the potential to be a serial seducer. This was the individual the female math chairman was unwittingly interviewing that day. But the interview went well. None of the above seeped out as I chatted with her. I was able to present myself as erudite and charming, one who would make a worthy addition to any math department. Then I frankly asked her how the interviews seemed to be going, and what my status might be amongst the applicants. She replied that she was interviewing four people; I was the third. 'And so far you are my top choice.' That certainly buoyed my ego! Really, how good could that fourth person be? Not very good, most likely. I felt like I essentially had the job already! I was introduced to two (male) members of the math department, whose job it was to show me around the campus and answer any questions I might have. The only place I recall visiting was the faculty room: this was a beautifully appointed room with a fireplace, leather Morris chairs, and so forth. But the thing I most remember was the fact that there was a decanter of sherry available for the faculty to imbibe. Well, I was feeling at home already! With the words 'I could really get used to this!', I dispensed myself a glass of sherry from the cut-glass decanter into an exquisite little crystal glass, took it over to a leather Morris chair the color of ox blood, and placed the glass on a little mahogany side table. I sat myself down and kicked up my feet onto a hassock which matched the chair. Then I lit up a long green Garcia y Vega cigar. The two math professors stared at me. I saw one give the suggestion of a raised eyebrow. When I called about the status of the job a couple of weeks later, the female math chairman told me that they had hired someone else. No details of the decision-making process were provided. But I can just imagine. P.S. As was the case for many of my interview fiascoes, not landing this job proved to be a blessing in disguise. By default I wound up at the Mont Alto campus of Penn State. There I flourished, precisely because that school lacked the pretense of an elite private college. Mont Alto had at least one other advantage over Skidmore: it was within driving distance of a certain girl living near Philadelphia who most likely would not have become my wife had I resided in the more remote town of Saratoga Springs. Back to Interviews Menu Theta Chi I did my undergraduate work at Lehigh University from 1961 to 1965. In that era Lehigh was still an all-men's school. (My mistake in going there: women were my favorite sex.) Now at Lehigh in the 1950's (I was seeking a bid in 1962, but sociologically we were still part of that earlier era) the social life of upperclassmen was rooted in the fraternities. Lehigh had no fewer than 31 of these self-centered havens for troglodytes (do my resentments show?) But I wanted to be a troglodyte too! I wanted to belong to an exclusive club and look down my nose at those who didn't! I wanted to pay huge dues to finance silly parties! I wanted a bunch of half-wits (whom I'd be calling my 'brothers') to distract me from studying when I didn't even know how to study when it was quiet! I wanted to be sent out to do stupid inane things as a pledge, so that I could send out other pledges to do the same sorts of inane things the next year! Yes I did! Well, not necessarily. The truth is, I remember myself being decidedly ambivalent about all that: I was attracted and repulsed. (I was particularly repulsed by the fact that most of the fraternities had national charters that excluded Blacks and Jews.) But Theta Chi seemed to be an exception. It had a reputation for being the 'intellectual fraternity', an oxymoron. It did accept Blacks and Jews. The biggest attraction for me: most musicians of any caliber (what is the caliber of an oboist?) belonged to Theta Chi. Indeed, many of my compatriots in the Glee Club were members there. So this seemed like the place for me. And, given my connections, one would think that I was a shoo-in. I received a dinner date. I went. I ate. I conquered - I thought. I don't remember the dinner portion of the evening. No doubt there was food and conversation. At the time I think that I ate a bit too ravenously and spoke a bit too haltingly - neither of which would have suited the refined atmosphere of that fraternity. After dinner there was singing with guitars around the fire in the living room. This I do remember. All the songs were ones that I knew well - because we always sang them at parties following the concerts with women's colleges. So I sang out with gusto and assurance, breathing new life into the vapid ditties of the Kingston Trio and others. I think I even wailed forth with a couple of solo verses - all the while clapping my hands to show I'd got good rhythm. A friend of mine from high school had been there with me (I pitied him because he could neither talk nor sing.) After we left, he assured me that I was virtually assured of a bid for membership: 'You were the life of the party!' So I was understandably disturbed when a second dinner date did not come my way. My friend had the ready reason for my rejection: 'You were too good!' he exclaimed. By that I assumed he meant that I would constitute a threat to my fellow brothers with my superior social and vocal skills. Yes, that was the explanation that soothed my wounded vanity and allowed me to accept the prospect of a dismal social life for the next three years: I was TOO GOOD for even the best fraternity! But of course even a cursory examination of this 'reason' would conclude that it is absurd. Fraternities, as is well known, attempt to pledge the best recruits they can. No fraternity would reject someone because they are 'too good' - on the contrary. The sad probable truth is, that I was judged NOT GOOD ENOUGH. In short, I was too emotionally, mentally, and, yes, physically callow for that fraternity. Or any other, for I received exactly zero bids to join a fraternity. So I went to live in drab Taylor Hall for my last three years. The University proudly touted this gray moldy edifice as 'the first poured concrete building in the United States' {one depressing look would verify this.} It was something out of a Bronte novel. My attraction {if this is not too strong a word) to this dorm was precisely its quasi-ruined bucolic state, with a nice quadrangle out front. This latter was framed by trees and by the U-shape of the building; it was champs du guerre for many a lusty games of frisbee. Taylor, I soon found, drew to it the eccentrics of Lehigh: nerds, misfits, misanthropes, introverts, anarchists, pickpockets, cutthroats, and other such assorted lowlifes. The dorm itself mirrored its residents: it was itself eccentric. In an era of blandly uniform room design (as was true of the other upper class dorm}, this place had rooms of at least relative character: doubles, two- and three-person suites - and of course (the main attraction of the solipsistic set) a plethora of singles. Many of the rooms had eccentric shapes as well, thanks to the four 45-degree turns of the building. It was only in my senior year that I realized that Taylor Hall had one distinct advantage over even the fraternities. This was during Houseparty weekends, when any Lehigh man worth his salt had a date. Now in that era those parties were heavily chaperoned by middle-aged women, who attached themselves to virtually every living unit and made regular inspections of bedrooms and the like. (I recall one tale of a matron catching a couple in flagrante. The hapless miscreants could only attempt this pathetic excuse: 'We were only making out in the nude!') There was one place, however, to which chaperones were not assigned. Taylor Hall had no parties during Houseparty weekends, for the simple drear reason that its residents had nothing to celebrate. Everyone knew that those occupants were too misanthropic to have dates, too nerdy to feel they needed to blow off steam after a hard term of studying. Indeed, the dorm emptied and was virtually dark those weekends as its residents fled the drunkenness and debauchery on campus. But I didn't leave those weekends. And on the lovely spring weekend of my senior year I actually had a date. After visiting a few of the fraternity parties up on the hill (I did not envy the freshmen pledges who would have to clean up those messes on Sunday) I brought my date back to my dorm room (a single), where no chaperone would be interrupting our frivolities. And so then, finally, at the very end of my college career, I realized I was genuinely glad that I did not get into Theta Chi! Back to Interviews Menu Trinity Lutheran Church I had been living in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania for a year when I heard about this opening for an organist. I was a bit hesitant about applying, since I had not been playing much for the past two years. But I finally decided to audition for the experience if nothing else. Now that (1969) was the year before I was married. I was slim (skinny?), had long windswept (greasy?) hair, and a raffish mustache. I was told I vaguely resembled Egyptian actor Omar Sharif, the lead in "Dr Zhivago" of four years before; and I encouraged the resemblance by wearing a Russian black fur hat in the winter. In short, I thought myself dashing. Probably I most resembled a lothario in a silent film melodrama! I entered the church nave and the music director, a friendly young woman, came up to greet me. She asked me to play something. I wanted to give her a taste of the breadth and depth of my repertoire. So I played the Bach A Minor Prelude (by memory) as an example of the Baroque; a salient part of the Franck Choral No. 3 from the Romantic repertoire; and a movement from the Second Sonata by modern composer Paul Hindemith. I played well all the hymns she placed in front of me, even improvising an interlude for one on the spot. And I showed myself to be a sympathetic and versatile accompanist in vocal pieces, as well as someone apt in sight-reading choral parts. In short, I acquitted myself admirably in every domain (if I do say so myself!) I had scarcely finished playing when the music director came striding down the aisle, grasped my hand warmly, and declared me to be the new organist for Trinity Lutheran Church. Of course I was elated to have gotten such a job on the spot (I've found that usually I had to wait days or weeks - if not forever - to hear about my fate after interviews.) So I was frankly curious as to what I had done to tip the scales (so to speak) so decisively in my favor. Had it been one of the solo pieces? The hymnody? My accompanying? She laughed. "None of those really mattered. Oh yes - of course it was good to hear that you could actually play the organ. But the simple fact is, I knew you were the one I wanted the moment you walked through the door!" Needless to say, I would never again duplicate this - sudden success - in subsequent interviews! Back to Interviews Menu Walpole High School I got up out of a sick bed to undertake the one-hour drive to this interview. As a result, I probably appeared even more pale and neurasthenic than usual! My public school teaching experience at this point in my "career" was scant - mainly substitute teaching in a couple of schools. At Walpole High School I was admitted into the Principal's office. And the very first thing he said to me was: "I see that you've worked at Lincoln Sudbury Regional High School." "That's a very liberal school; they let kids get away with murder there." "If you think that this is that kind of school, maybe we'd just better forget the whole thing right now!" I visibly took my right hand, pinched my left arm, and said, "Have I made a mistake and wound up at Walpole State Prison?" And that terminated a decidedly short Interview! Back to Interviews Menu Wilbraham Academy I interviewed at this boys private school for a position of Organist and Glee Club conductor. But the more the interview "progressed", the more I got the sense that the purpose of this institution was to instill prissiness and priggishness into its charges. For example, when for some reason the question of smoking came up, my interlocutor declared sniffily, "We don't believe that young gentlemen should smoke in public." I replied, "Well then, it will certainly cause them to doubt my character when they observe me strolling down the street smoking a cigar!" That terminated the interview! Back to Interviews Menu Winchester I was looking for a new teaching job after the money for my position at Oak Hill Middle School in Newton had dried up, when I noticed no less than three math positions at Winchester High School advertised in the Boston Globe. By this time I had been in a wheelchair for nearly three years, and I was pessimistic about getting another job. The reasoning behind this feeling was pretty well founded. In the wake of being fired from The Rivers School three years before, I was at first up front about my illness in all the applications I sent out; consequently, the phone did not ring. So finally I decided not to mention it, and then I began to get interviews. But once they saw my fitful walking (see 'Northern Essex' and 'Pine Manor'), I think they shied away from me. If my dear friend Murph Shapiro hadn't hired me at Oak Hill, I doubt that I would have gotten a job back then. Now, three years later, it was worse. But I thought that I had at least a shot at getting a job at Winchester High not only because of the multiple jobs, but also because I knew Sue Morse, the principal, pretty well (from church) and I knew she liked me. It took about seven minutes to get from my house to the high school, and I remember thinking how convenient that would be. When I arrived, I found the commute into the building to be less than easeful: the high school was a sort of island built up on a platform. So anywhere one chose to enter, there was a steep incline of brick. It was to me like a sort of moat. I only managed to get up in my manual chair by traversing this incline obliquely. Inside I met the Math Chair Eileen in a large open area stacked with returned textbooks. She was friendly, even bouncy, and we hit it off right away. She asked what I liked to teach, and I told her of my Math Topics course at Rivers and the fifteen projects I had devised. She seemed excited by that, as such a course was already being taught there (though, since it is not in the mainstream math curriculum, no one wanted to teach it.) When she asked what else, I mentioned my Introduction to Calculus classes, wherein I integrated ('pun intended!') the graphing calculator. This excited her too ('I don't see why we can't rotate the calculus around and let new people teach it!') In short, the two courses that I had had the most success with in my whole career were perfect matches for their department there. Eileen and I were bonding. I dared to joke about her name ('Is one of your legs shorter than the other?') And I strongly inferred that I would be one of those hired ('Where would be the room in which I'd be teaching?') We kidded one another as we walked down to meet with the principal (which I knew would be a mere formality.) Then abruptly she told me that the principal had gone on medical leave the day before to be treated for acute leukemia. Suddenly the mood had turned somber: I was distressed for my friend, and uncertain as to what to expect. Eileen told me I would be meeting with the Acting Principal. That gentleman was cold and abstracted. I'm sure he had a lot on his mind. Suffice it to say that the meeting with him was not a formality. The one exchange I recall was when the subject of part time came up: When I remarked, 'I think that two classes would be the most I'd like to teach, given my stamina,' he growled in retort, 'You'd teach three if we decide that's what we need!' I went home with doubts but hoping for the best. After all, there were three positions open. And I had hit it off so well with the department Chair. After a week of not hearing anything, I called the school and asked for the Math Chair Eileen. The secretary replied, 'Oh, she's gone to Martha's Vineyard for the summer.' For The Summer?! Didn't she have three positions in her department to fill? The secretary knew nothing about the status of the jobs. During the next couple of weeks I called the school a few more times asking to speak to the Acting Principal. But he was either 'out' or 'too busy' to take my call. I never even received a letter informing me I hadn't been hired. Apparently from the standpoint of Winchester I had become, (to use George Meany's immortal phrase about Nixon), 'a non-poisson.' P.S. As with so many other instances in my teaching career, this implicit rejection was a blessing in disguise (although of course it was well disguised at the time.) For it made me available for the job at Newton South High School - a place enormously sympathetic to my plight. I got that job (crunch time!) the day after Labor Day. The interview (see 'Newton South') was essentially the opposite of the one described above. Oh yes - at Newton South I taught two courses. As four courses is a full load there, this means I was half-time. So on a base salary of $60,000, I was making $30,000. Whereas at Winchester, where five courses is a full load, I would have only made $24,000 for teaching two courses. So I made 25% more by teaching in Newton. Back to Interviews Menu Winthrop High School I had lost my teaching position at Lincoln-Sudbury nearly a year before and I was desperately in need of another job. Now, gone was the mindless aplomb, the devil-may-care hubris described at the end of that Journal entry 30 March 1983. Now I was running scared! This one at Winthrop High, to fill in the rest of the year for a pregnancy leave, was to open in March 1984. This school, otherwise undistinguished (though there was an excellent camaraderie amongst the faculty) attracted me because it was a literal stone's throw from the ocean. (Of course I would never see that ocean, being occupied as I was with my classes. But my students would see much of it - especially on lovely spring days when they should have been in my class!) Now I had learned my lessons from all the failed interviews of the past. I prepared for all possible (and some impossible) questions that I could be asked - including the inevitable one on discipline. My interview was with the principal in his office. I had met all kinds and sorts of principals in my extensive career of job searches, including those who resembled thugs and bums (see selected vignettes above for confirmation.) This gentleman - for such he was (I regret not remembering his name) - was utterly different. He was nattily dressed in a sporty three-piece suit. He sat back comfortably and casually in his swivel chair. In his hand was a pigskin pipe; and on his face was a big welcoming smile. He exuded the confident air of a secretary of state (at least those secretaries of state who are confident!) He asked me about seven or eight questions (one of them had to do with discipline, of course. And, no, I did not use the word "seduce"!) I answered each one thoughtfully and eloquently. He signaled that not only was the interview over but I was to be hired when he said, "Well, you have answered to my satisfaction the question that interested me the most." I asked him which question that had been, even as I mentally raced over the various queries and my responses. "It was 'Can you teach Trigonometry?'" My "thoughtful and eloquent" answer had been: "Yes". PS: I almost lost the Winthrop job before I began it. A secretary gave me a sheaf of papers to sign. One of them was a loyalty oath wherein I had to swear I wouldn't try to overthrow the government. I asked her: "Do I have to sign this?" She was taken aback: "I don't know - no one has ever refused to sign it before!" I said, "Well, why don't we just pretend I never saw this and forget about it!" And I replaced it down in the pile. But at home the next day I received a call from the superintendent (whom I'd met when I interviewed: he looked like James Arness of "Gunsmoke" fame.) He asked me why I hadn't signed the oath. I said that I thought it an ill-conceived instrument. "Look, there are three kinds of people who would sign such a thing: those who lack the mind to imagine a situation wherein it would be one's patriotic duty to overthrow an unjust and tyrannical government; those too cowed to refuse to sign; and hard-core Communists who are willing to lie in order to get a foot in the door." He replied, "Well, it'd be a shame if you couldn't come to Winthrop and teach!" I got the point. I signed - "UNDER PROTEST". PPS: There was another community that (in 1976) demanded I sign a loyalty oath in order to work there: Lexington, Massachusetts. I thought that was fittingly ironic! (When I asked what would happen if I didn't sign, the secretary replied that I was welcome to teach there - I just wouldn't be paid!) Back to Interviews Menu Interviews (1981) He decided, after all, to dress up. Not elaborately, but carefully and correctly, complete with tie and jacket. It would have been nice to have gone casually (but neatly) -- he knew he'd feel most at ease that way, most himself. But uncertainty as to what was expected, what would weigh the balance in his favor -- or against it -- made him decide to take no chances. "Better slightly overdressed than underdressed!" was the motto he had heard somewhere -- probably from his mother. After much hesitation he chose the thick scotch plaid -- he winced at the thought of wool encircling his neck in the middle of the hot summer; but with its delicate lines of red and gold the tie completed and complemented admirably the blandness of the navy blue suit and shirt. The interview went well, he thought afterwards -- much better, in fact, than he had dared hope or expect. He had fielded their questions with calm, deft assurance, inserting just enough humor to show them that as an employee he would be pleasant but not frivolous. Yes -- he had even asked a few questions himself, subtly calculated to show a penetrating interest in the school system, and of course to indicate not only a willingness to accede to their authority, but to give them a chance to exercise their knowledge for him. In his response to questions concerning his own field he had replied with the use of just enough terminology to show an all-embracing familiarity. When the inevitable question of discipline reared its ugly head, he was prepared to state, "Yes, of course discipline is important, essential in fact, but necessarily in the service of learning; of course if a teacher is able to seduce his students into wanting, even needing, to address and solve a problem, then discipline usually takes care of itself". A brilliant and clever answer; and he even believed it. He did not even eschew showing a pragmatic side -- "I suppose I should ask the inevitable mundane question as to the salary level". At the end they all shook hands with him and expressed their pleasure at having met and spoken with him. In the car on the way home (he drove slowly, drinking in the exhilaration of having "sold himself admirably"), he afforded himself the luxury of feeling the choice was now up to him. He finally decided, after indulging in a few bagatelles of criticism of certain aspects of the job, to accept it when it was offered. As soon as he left and the door was shut behind him, the three members of the Search Committee began to discuss critically the candidate they had just interviewed. The Principal (who happened to be a woman) remarked that he seemed "a nice, personable young man". The Math Chairman (who happened to be a man) nodded uneasily, while the Personnel Director (another man) disclaimed, "Yes, I suppose -- but they all are, aren't they? I mean, if personableness were all we were after..." The Principal hastened to say that, of course, she hadn't meant that this was all she was looking for -- "he did seem to know a lot about his Field, for example..." Math Chairman: "Yeah -- he knew the jargon, but that can be picked up in a day, from a course catalog -- we hire someone, only to find out later he doesn't know anything after all -- just jargon!" Personnel Director: "Well -- and take his responses on discipline..." Principal: "Yes -- I think he was bull-shitting -- pardon my English -- but, let's face it: discipline is discipline -- and..." Math Chairman: "...not seduction?" All laughed bitterly. Principal: "He can use words like that, and all those young girls he'll be teaching -- seducing -- !" Math Head: "Well, he did seem to have a sense of humor -- we could use that in the Department!" Personnel Director: "He didn't make me laugh! Some people try to be funny and it just falls flat -- ever notice? Now, where's the humor in Math, I ask you? If a fellow knows what he's doing with those equations, he won't need humor -- it's always a crutch!" Principal: "Yes, I believe that, too -- they try to cozy up to the students with their stupid little jokes -- it's the pupils that stand to lose, even if they think they've gained a friend!" Math Head: "We certainly need to build up the Department with solid academic types. This guy, the sick jokes aside, seems to have a pretty impressive background, though -- taught everything under the sun!" Personnel Director: "That's it -- Jack of all Trades, Master of None!" Principal: "Well -- it'd certainly help of we could observe him teach!" Personnel Director: "If we can't tell everything we need to know about someone from an interview, then forget it! Now this guy -- seemed like a bit of a con man-- you know, he came on strong but not too strong -- there is such a thing as a Professional Interviewer, ya know -- people who take courses in the thing!" Math Head: "He seemed to know all the answers. And all the right questions too, I might add! It did seem suspicious, just a bit..." Personnel Director: "More than suspicious, I'd say!" Math Head: "He was pretty slick!" Principal: "Yes, he was -- personable, presentable -- just a little too much so for my taste". Personnel Director: "Frankly, he was perfect -- showing he'd fit right in and get along with everyone! We don't need people like that -- it's not human anyhow -- yes, he interviewed too well for my money!" Principal: "Well, I myself felt a bit inferior, if you will -- I mean, I know my own faults, but he doesn't seem to have any. I don't know as I'd like to have someone like that around -- it's an unspoken accusation in my book!" Math Head: "Yes, he'd fit right in the Department -- but that's the problem -- we have our problems, our little squabbles -- every Department does -- I can't see a person like that, being everyone's friend -- it doesn't happen in Real Life." Personnel Director: "Decidedly not. He asked for our opinions, but you could tell he thought he knew it all. And as far as I'm concerned, that cute little question about the mundane salary -- I mean, who does he think he's kidding? Money is money, you don't beat around the bush about it -- it's too important! Anybody who can't speak straight about it doesn't deserve to work for it -- that's my opinion!" Principal: "Well -- he seemed well-dressed enough -- but that's presentability again, I guess..." Math Head: "But that's the whole point -- math teachers don't dress like that, somehow -- I mean, navy! My god, how long would that guy last with a piece of white chalk?!" Personnel Director: "Yeah, he was dressed fine -- correctly. That's it in a nutshell right there! He wasn't overdressed, or underdressed; he was dressed just right -- too right. Which is to say, wrong! Well, I mean, that seems to decide it, doesn't it? He interviewed too well, he was dressed too right, he spoke too well -- what else can I say -- I rest my case!" A week later the candidate received a xeroxed rejection form letter in the mail. Back to Interviews Menu