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Every time I listen to the radio it seems like there is a new story about sexual abuse and harassment, and the people telling the stories (many of them women) are actually being heard. The perpetrators are losing their jobs and going to jail – it’s incredible and long overdue. Yet in the midst of all this, my PhD program is putting up a plaque to commemorate the life and work of a misogynistic professor who passed away last semester. Or, at least, one professor is trying to have the plaque approved by the dean of the college.
One month into the fall semester, an email informed faculty and students in our department that one of our oldest professors (we’ll call him Professor C), had passed away at the age of 73 due to cancer. Five people replied all to express their sadness, while many of us chose to make no public comments. After all, we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, even if the person who died was a sexist curmudgeon.
The sad irony is that the professor who wants to commemorate this man with a plaque (we’ll call her Professor A) often bore the brunt of his gibes and attacks. During my second year of graduate school, I attended a methodology focus area meeting, as I did every month, to spend two hours being nerdy with other quant students and professors. The gender representation at this particular meeting was odd: I was one of only three women, including the group’s faculty advisor, Professor A, in a room of about eight men. Approximately 85% of the grad students in my program are women, so it felt odd to be outnumbered. Perhaps it was the lack of women in the room that prompted Professor C to include the following gem in his presentation on publishing in academic journals: “this might sound sexist, but it’s harder for women to publish, because when they get a rejection they spend all day in bed crying.” This statement was met with horrified silence, which Professor C ignored, acting as though nothing had happened while continuing his diatribe about publishing. I sat there wondering, “why isn’t Professor A saying anything?” Not only was she our faculty advisor, she was also the editor of one of the most prestigious journals in quantitative psychology. I couldn’t even look at the other woman grad student in the room – I felt so uncomfortable.
But I shouldn’t have been surprised by this behavior – Professor C had “taught” a class I took my first semester in grad school, during which he would only answer questions posed by men. In other classes, he would casually use pornography laws as illustrative examples. The man has been described by other faculty members as “the bully in the room” at departmental meetings. He routinely referred to women, including Professor A, as “broads” (a derogatory word used to refer to women sex workers) and almost always had at least one beautiful blonde woman graduate student serving as his fully-funded research assistant. Older students told me horrifying stories about Professor C, such as the time he slapped the a** of the woman who was to become his second wife in front of a group of grad students at a welcome back party.
After the “it’s hard for women to publish” incident I avoided Professor C as much as I could. He regularly attended the methodology focus area meetings but never again made a blatantly sexist comment to the group. Instead, he spoke of the importance of big data initiatives on campus, interrupted Professor A frequently, and only paid attention when the men in the room introduced themselves.
When he died, a menacing presence left our program; the man who sat around basking in his self-importance while treating women like an old piece of gum he couldn’t quite scrape off his shoe was gone. But when I found out that Professor A wanted to put a plaque outside of the quantitative consulting lab to commemorate Professor C, I was upset. I don’t want to be reminded of a man who made me feel less than my male peers every time I enter the lab and use my skills to help faculty and students with their research design and statistical analyses.
The plan to commemorate this man has been temporarily put on hold, though I’m sure Professor A’s tenacity will prevail in the end. At least when it happens, I’ll be able to smile at the fact that everyone entering the quant consulting lab will be greeted by a memorial that, if it could talk, would say in Professor C’s growl: “quantitative consulting has no value.” But only a few of us know what Professor C believed and, maybe, in the future when someone mentions his name others will reply, “oh, you mean the guy who did quant consulting or whatever?” His real work will be forgotten, and his legacy will become entwined with a service he despised. Maybe I’ll start a memorial fund in his name to help women graduate students.
Written by Valerie Ryan
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