Adventures of an Adjunct Professor
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I managed to finish college at age 40. By my mid-fifties, I was back to school. I was a desperate man. Thirty years of busting my hump in the labor movement, and we are weaker than when I first punched in at General Electric Co. I started work as a second shift grinder in February 1979. Margaret Thatcher was elected prime minister of Great Britain in May that year, and Ronald Reagan was elected president in November. So you get the picture—my life in the labor movement has coincided precisely with the neoliberal assault. I’m looking for some help.
The master’s degree in union leadership and administration (ULA) at the University of Massachusetts (UMass) has been great. Demanding, expert teachers. Serious, fellow union students. Respect for each other regardless of union or politics—a self-defined safe space for those searching for answers. And did I mention the books?
Things took a surprising turn, though, when I was asked to teach an undergraduate class. They needed someone to fill in as an “adjunct” professor. I was seen as a “practitioner” expected to have some expertise in the field of instruction, not a regular professor. I had thought of teaching, maybe a few years down the road. This was now.
