When I started to prepare for my doctoral dissertation my advisor decided it was a good time for his sabbatical to Paris. So I began this ordeal with an adjunct faculty member serving as my guide. No one prepared me for the process of researching and writing a dissertation. My “advisor” was of little help. She was rarely on campus which meant I had to request time to meet her at her home 30 minutes away. I would mail her my chapter-in-progress (this was years before email) and await an appointment. When we met she would return my typed pages with practically no comments. In fact, her usual response was “very good.”
Over the months I cobbled together a dissertation, mainly with help and advice from fellow students, and awaited my advisor’s return from overseas.
During our first meeting upon his return he briefly told me he had reviewed my dissertation, but I do not recollect any discussion or fine-tuning on my part; he told me of the composition of my committee (with no say from me) which included the adjunct advisor, and his two buddies, one, a faculty member from Movement Science (dance) and, I believe, Fine Arts Management. In other words, no one who understood my dissertation topic or the field of student affairs (except my advisor and maybe the adjunct).
The day before my dissertation defense a fellow doctoral student asked how my opening remarks were shaping up. “What,” I sputtered. “What remarks are you talking about?” He responded by telling me I had to produce an opening statement of about 15 minutes to summarize my topic. Flabbergasted, I marched to my advisor who nonchalantly admonished himself for neglecting to tell me. “Anything else I need to know,” I inquired as I subconsciously seethed. “No, that’s it,” he intoned.
My defense, the next morning, was gut-wrenching, humiliating, comical and stressful. I was lectured by faculty that had no idea what they were talking about. I could not rebut because I was a lowly doctoral student even though I was the one who had done the research and spent months on the topic. The most jaw-dropping moment came during one of Movement Science’s lambasting of something I had written. Suddenly, Ms. Adjunct piped in, agreeing with Movement and then going off on her own for a few minutes. I sat there dumbfounded. During the entire time she was advising me not an iota of criticism or suggestions. Not one page did she ask me to rewrite. Now all-of-a-sudden it was like she was awakened after a long slumber a la Rip Van Winkle. Yet, those sounds pulsating through the room weren’t thundering pins, but the noise of my teeth gnashing together as I sat there dumbstruck and trembling with rage.
In the end, I successfully defended my dissertation–”Good job,” “Nicely done”–with a line two pass which meant good, but let’s see some revisions. But it was the type of experience I would not wish upon any doctoral student.
