This is the second post in our “Honoring Hilmes” series, celebrating the career and legacy of Michele Hilmes on the occasion of her retirement. 

Post by Ben Aslinger, Bentley University

Much will be said of Michele Hilmes’ internationally known and known to rock a microphone scholarship, but in honor of her commitment to advising and mentorship, I’d like to focus on how Michele’s intellectual curiosity and willingness to mentor a diverse array of projects has helped so many of us find our academic voices, establish our careers, and refine the goals of professorial life. Without a doubt, Michele has trained a veritable army of media studies scholars, whose institutional affiliations and academic interests span the globe as well as a range of disciplinary and interdisciplinary pursuits.

In this post, I focus on three moments from my own interactions with Michele. About halfway through my dissertation, I walked into Michele’s office in a panic. I had been reading a lot of work in queer popular music studies and queer musicology, and everyone was referencing Adorno. “Do I need to read Adorno’s corpus to finish this dissertation chapter?,” I asked with more than a little anxiousness. Without missing a beat, Michele responded, “No.” I knew that Michele did not mean that Adorno’s work wasn’t valuable. She saved me from going down a rabbit hole, a detour that would have taken me a month or more and that might have added little to the dissertation chapter that needed to be finished. And pulling someone back from the rabbit hole is what good advisors as well as colleagues and friends do.

Another moment. Dropping off a dissertation chapter at her condo, Michele invited me in for a cup of coffee. Over conversation, she related an anecdote about a recent tenure case she had reviewed. She never revealed the name or any other details, ever being the ethical professor; she simply stated, “Everybody thinks that you have to write that much. You don’t have to write that much. You just have to write enough to get tenure and to get full.” This past year, those words have come back to me, as I and so many of my friends struggle to articulate for ourselves what a sustainable academic career is and how to be happier in our scholarly pursuits even as the neoliberal corporate university seems to demand ever more of us.

A final, recurrent moment. In response to some of our graduate school disidentifications with the label “media historian,” Michele persistently reminded us that regardless of the labels that might be attached to us as scholars or that we might attach to ourselves, that we are all historians. The continual reminder to historicize stays with me even though many of the texts and phenomena I study are contemporary.

Our doctoral experiences are obviously individual and idiosyncratic, so I invite Michele’s numerous advisees to chime in below with their memories to provide further evidence of how Michele provided us a model of mentorship that was compassionate, dedicated, and demanding and that modeled intellectual promiscuity and curiosity in the best sense. And knowing that mentorship isn’t confined to the department, in the spirit of “Honoring Hilmes,” I invite those outside the Madison orbit to share their stories too!

I suspect it might be the same for all of us, as increasingly colleges—even the research 1s—are being “brought to accountability” for improving the overall student “experience” as economic forces beyond our control place pressure on every level of academia. How do we as maintain professional productivity while also committing fully to pedagogical aims (truly the latter being what drove most of us through graduate school)? I offer here a few tips, admittedly from someone at a teaching-oriented college, but one that has been emphasizing more traditional research goals as well. (I also speak as someone tenured, realizing that the pressures are significantly different pre- and post-.)

1) Find someone in your department with whom to build a trusting relationship…and be that person for someone else. Both before and after tenure, there will be times when you feel overwhelmed…Sometimes by the sheer amount of hours needed in a semester to plan classes and conference presentations and write papers and develop that book….Sometimes by the curveballs that life can throw you with health, family, and golden opportunities that you can’t pass up. You need one person you can spill your guts to, no questions asked and no judgment proffered, who can a) make you feel better and b) intercede on your behalf when necessary. I recently witnessed a stellar teacher killing herself to finish a documentary, teach a new multi-departmental class, write a report for a new administrator, and all while dealing with (no exaggeration) a brain tumor that needed to be removed. I stressed to her that one semester of a lackluster class wouldn’t kill her—but not removing a brain tumor might. Sounds logical, but you all know you’ve been paralyzed similarly (if not as extremely) by the pressures to actually teach meaningful classes, deliver professional productivity, and have a literal or symbolic “life.” Have a sounding board and a mediator—it will mean all the difference. By the same token, think of your department humanistically: be there for someone else when you are able and it will come back to you.

2) Know yourself as an academic, in the most glorious sense of this position—and then know your limits (and those of your institution). We know there are certain things we must do to achieve tenure and maintain our employment. But we often become so obsessed with this—or the next step up after—that we forget to consider our reasons for going into the field to begin with. What are your priorities in terms of your career? Are you more driven by research? More by teaching? Equally so? Do you aspire to periodic forays into administration?  Is it important to you to be connected with the local community in which you work? Figure this out—in short, figure out what makes you happy as an academic, and then foreground that in your choices. A caveat: your priorities might shift—as might those of your institution (the latter clearly more nerve-wracking). Allow this to happen; Freud be damned, we keep developing way past 4 years old. Changing with the times, your personality, your environment, and your life circumstances doesn’t make you fickle—it is what makes you better at what you do. Students know if you don’t care; your family and friends know if you don’t care…in the end, you need to know what matters at any given moment and choose your activities accordingly.

3) Lay claim to your rights and needs as a human being…but realize you’re not an island. This is admittedly easier after tenure, but see #1! There are only so many hours in a day. Your health matters, your relationships matter. And no matter what your priorities (see #2), your happiness as a scholar matters as well. We sacrifice a lot to go into academia—better pay elsewhere, deferment of other activities, buying a house instead of a student loan :D…And most of us do this with noble intentions. Take pride in this—and remind others to respect your choices. And quite frankly, minimize your exposure to those who don’t respect your choices. This means at times saying “no”—to the committee invitation, to the request to serve administratively, to the pleas to review a book or article, to the student demands for a new class…You get the drift. A second caveat, however: Your choices impact others—your colleagues, your students, your family. Take heed of the fact that you are in academia—in other words, you work in conjunction with a complex of people who are human beings trying to do the best they can. Respect them—but make sure they respect you, no mater where you are on that ladder.

So, much is vague here, yes? How do I survive wanting to teach—loving to teach—but also yenning for time to research and write (and yes, even administrate)? I don’t have all the answers yet…but what lets me breathe is accepting that not having all the answers and making the occasional mistake is ok. This fall I’ll figure out what to embrace letting go of; I may sleep a little less, but in the end I’ll also sleep better knowing that I’m not trying to do it all.