MS. MENTOR

Mr. and Mrs. Bully

She thought her tormenters were gone forever, but now they may be coming back to town

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Question (from "Ella"): A smart but jealous colleague ("Victor") moved away, to universal rejoicing. Some of us even wrote truthful but noncommittal letters of recommendation for him. We did not mention that he undermined anyone he saw as a competitor or that his wife ("Vera") coerced students into cleaning her house. We thought that his new job path would take him out of the classroom, and that he would do less harm as an administrator. He is one of those virulently negative people who's only happy putting someone down.

But now he's applying for a job in our area (we think he may have alienated everyone in his new vicinity). He has used us as references. We are, as it were, freaking out.

Shall we withdraw as references? Shall we be more forthcoming than we were formerly? That seems dastardly. We are in a horrible moral quandary. If he moves back, a number of us will have to say, up front, that we cannot have anything to do with him for the sake of our own mental health. He is unaware of his effects on others, and we don't want to make him miserable. But we shudder at the thought of having him around again.

Answer: Long-term readers of Ms. Mentor's column may remember how it all began. Ella first told her story back in 2001 when she was a brand-new assistant professor (see http://chronicle.com/jobs/news/2001/04/2001042701c.htm). She was dogged by the "Watchdog Wife," an energetic and underemployed faculty spouse who took Ella's classes, frequently interrupted Ella's teaching with "daily advice and criticism," and incited two student rebellions.

Vera's husband, Victor, denounced Ella to their department head, while Vera secretly tried to enlist Ella to spy on Victor. It was all too much for Ms. Mentor, who suggested lamely that Ella try a let's-make-nice lunch, the need for which became moot when Victor and Vera left town for better jobs.

Ms. Mentor likes to think there was a lovely farewell party at which everyone laughed a lot, declared that things would never be the same, eagerly drove Victor and Vera around on their final errands, and assembled to wave "Bon voyage!" as their van left town. Maybe those left behind even had a second farewell party, a blowout bash with better champagne. And then, like Ella, they went about being tenured and serene for nearly a decade, until ....

Sometimes nothing is so peace-shattering as a request for a recommendation.

Somewhere, Ms. Mentor thinks, there are probably some naïve idealists who think that letters of recommendation are simple and honest assessments, like grade reports: A in spelling, B in math, D in "works and plays well with others." But the further one ascends the status ladder in academe, the more convoluted and Machiavellian the system of recommendations becomes. Sometimes, the rare rave ("stupendous at everything!") is warranted. More often, though, such celebrations are, well, fraught.

One problem is that no one can really grade what a teacher produces. The notorious RateMyProfessors.com is filled with semiliterate rants from disgruntled students ("to many reading's!") or obvious warnings from teachers seeking only the best students ("he'll love you if you love ceramics"). Any foe can post an opinion, and any friend can post a chili pepper for "hotness." (Ms. Mentor is sure that some profs are their own warmest fans.) Likewise, teaching awards may be given to honor innovators, reward workhorses, or console those denied tenure or raises.

Other letters of recommendation — for grants, for tenure — should be dispassionate intellectual evaluations. Most are, but confidentiality also protects those who like to drop mean hints ("Although she is by no means a top researcher, she has improved greatly in spite of personal obstacles that might have felled someone less aggressive"). Ms. Mentor deplores such knifing, but the letters of praise are the ones that have gotten Ella and her friends into their current ethical pickle.

The only way to get rid of a cantankerous tenured colleague is to get him hired somewhere else. And so, in flush times, a Dr. Cantankerous who's a well-known researcher can keep hopping up the prestige ladder. Everyone writes that Dr. Cankerous's research is "cutting edge," and colleagues everywhere laud his expertise and his international reputation. "We so hate to lose a colleague of his caliber," letter writers may say, "but we know that he has to go."

Positive, noncommittal letters propelled Victor and Vera to leave, and Ella and her friends reveled in their freedom. New faculty members were no longer savaged in their own classes. Students weren't dragooned into housework. Crude undergraduates became suave, kittens were born, lilacs bloomed. Men stood tall and walked in the sun.

But now?

Ella and her friends can be polite — or they can be ruthless.

Sometimes, a candidate's critics make sure that hometown newspaper reporters hear the bad news about an applicant. Likewise, backhanded rumors about a colleague's current job performance ("Oh, no, I never heard he was an embezzler, drug trafficker, or pedophile") can sometimes sink a candidacy. Even neutral comments ("He came to work just about every day") can be read as damning. But baldly negative letters ("He's a carbuncle on the behind of mankind") are considered gauche, unbefitting an academic mind. Being so open, so tactless, also makes everyone feel tacky, as well as guilty. What might blunt comments do to someone's self-esteem?

Ms. Mentor senses that Ella is wavering ("we don't want to make him miserable"). But the alternative is to make herself and her colleagues into martyrs. Do they want the soaring blood pressure, the clenched fists, the aching jaws from teeth grinding at night? Does Ella want to hide in her office again, lights out, or cross the street to avoid belittling remarks that will spoil her day?

Sometimes being nice isn't even its own reward.

Ella and friends can withhold support: "No, I'm not willing to write a letter" makes a strong statement in a world where people shy away from overt negativity. Sometimes, too, there are opportunities for confidential interviews with search committees — at which Ella should tell all. Tenured and secure, she has nothing to lose, and she can protect the weak. She is not, after all, rising above her own principles, as academics often do when they give false praise to those they're desperate to palm off on someone else.

She may not be able to brag about it until her own retirement party, but Ella has the chance to do the right thing.

Ms. Mentor hopes she will.

***

Question If I can ever afford to retire, should I finally post all my secret bloggings about backstabbing colleagues, greedy relatives, and vile pseudofriends?

Answer: Sure.

***

Sage Readers: Ms. Mentor continues to welcome rants, queries, and suggestions for staying alive, cheerful, and solvent. Ms. Mentor can rarely answer letters personally, confidentiality is guaranteed, and identifying details are disguised. Ms. Mentor will not recommend you to anyone for anything.

Ms. Mentor, who never leaves her ivory tower, channels her mail via Emily Toth in the English department of Louisiana State University at Baton Rouge. She is author of the recently published Ms. Mentor's New and Ever More Impeccable Advice for Women and Men in Academia (University of Pennsylvania Press). Her e-mail address is ms.mentor@chronicle.com. For an archive of her columns, see http://chronicle.com/jobs/news/archives/columns/ms._mentor.