Sometimes I wish I’d gotten the degree, but I’ve done okay without it.
In the last few years, as I’ve crisscrossed America as a consultant, I’ve gotten a rare glimpse into hundreds of American K-12 classrooms, a view most people never get to see. I’ve always said it felt like I was getting a second master’s degree, one centered on the best practices and not-so-best practices I was observing daily.
And I started thinking, “What if I could pull together my experiences and insights into a graduate program? What if I could dive into a course of study supported by educators at the top of their game and see where it takes me? Maybe it’s time to take another look at getting that Ph.D….”
But I travel all the time, so a regular program with traditional teaching in a classroom wasn’t an option, and really, there’s no way I’m sitting through traditional college classes ever again. A blended program, maybe. That’s not meant to slight professors in the universities or students who go that route, but I’m a 21st century learner: I won’t be held hostage to a schedule, four walls, and a university parking permit.
So, I started looking at online options. I Googled “Online Ph.D’s,” and I found one from a major, highly respected university on the West Coast that offered online classes, a two-year program, and only required a few days each year of onsite for “immersions.” A mandatory trip to Hollywood each year to walk under palm trees as I strolled across campus? Could be worse.
I went back to their site and did some more digging, and I gave them my contact information so I could receive information about the program. Then the sales pitch started. They were all over me. I got the first phone call, which went to my voice mail, and I meant to call them back, but I was hyper-busy. Then I got the second phone call in my voice mail a few days later, and then the emails started coming, and then more phone calls I let go to voice mail.
I really meant to respond and ask them questions about the program. I didn’t mean for them to have to try to contact me so many times, but part of me was morbidly fascinated by how hard they were trying to recruit me. To be clear, they knew nothing about me. I was just a name, an email address, and a phone number. It’s not like they really cared about me or thought I had attributes they wanted in their program. They just knew I was interested in their doctoral program — which carried an $89,000 price tag.
To them I was a big fish circling the baited hook, and they wanted to reel me in.
I kept going back and looking at their website, and the more I saw, the less I liked about the program. The course titles didn’t appeal to me. I’ve lived a lot of the content. To be clear, I still have MUCH to learn about leadership, teaching, learning, and schools, but I wasn’t sure I could learn it in their online classes. I want a program built around my needs, not their traditional topics. I want guidance, people who can challenge me, and ways to explore and write.
And I realized something: I’ve evolved into a new type of learner. I’m more Gen Z and Millennial than Baby Boomer. I need some choice and a strong purpose for sitting through what they want to show me. If not, I can’t buy into it.
I had just about decided the program, and its hefty price tag (that’ll buy a lot of shrimp baskets and beer, ya know?) wasn’t worth it.
Then I got an exasperated message left in my voice mail from one of the recruiters (there was a group of them, they were taking turns contacting me like tag team wrestlers). “You said you wanted information about the program,” she said. “Perhaps we have the wrong phone number...”
I looked at the website again, formed some questions, and went online to make an appointment to call her. She had lots of available times. Apparently, there aren’t too many people looking to spend almost a hundred grand in two years on a degree they might not ever really need. Go figure.
To help her learn more about me, I sent her a link to my LinkedIn page before the call. She looked at it. For how long, I don’t know, but at least she made an effort.
But when the call started I saw I was not really an individual. I was a potential pay day for the university. The conversation didn’t go well. Here are some of my questions and her answers.
Me: Is there any flexibility in the course alignment? Are there other courses I could substitute?
The recruiter: No. The course progression is set and can’t be adjusted.
Me: Did I read that I have to attend two online classes each week?
The recruiter: Yes, the classes are taught in the evenings and on Saturdays.
Me: I travel a lot, and I live on the East Coast. So will I be logging into classes at 10:00 at night because that’s 7:00 on the West Coast?
The recruiter: You’ll have some choices in days and times. A lot of people like the later classes because the kids are in bed.
Me: It says there’s a writing requirement for admission. I’ve written two books that have been published by a major publisher. Can the writing requirement be waived?
The recruiter: No. The professors want to know the students can write. You’ll have to take a 30-minute timed writing test. You’ll sign in, be given a prompt, and then write an essay.
Me (getting a little, um, frustrated): How do I know these professors can write?
The recruiter: I’ll send you a link with their bios.
Me: The program requires I get three letters of reference. Can’t they just look at my LinkedIn page and look at my accomplishments? Maybe I could send them a chapter or two from my books?
The recruiter: No. That’s a requirement.
I think she knew this fish wasn’t taking the big tuition bait. When we finished the call, I sat there thinking, “Two online lessons each week. No flexibility in admission requirements, regardless of what I’ve done in my career. No discernable ways or even any interest to really build the course progression around my needs. Wow, this would be a great program — if it were still 1998.”
But it’s 2020, and all kinds of learners, including Baby Boomers like me, are calling for a lot more flexibility, personalization, asynchronous options, and highly relevant content. Yes, I could have some flexibility in the dissertation, but the other half the program would be set in concrete and when I got to the dissertation I’d be paying tens of thousands of dollars to them to write a book for them. That program would be absolute torture for me.
I got a polite email from the recruiter a few days after the phone call. She wanted to know if I had any questions. She also said if I weren’t interested, I could let her know so she could “close out” my request. Basically, they could leave me alone and rebait the hook for someone else. I wrote back and said the program might be great for some people, but it wasn’t the right fit for me.
I don’t know of a Ph.D. program that would work for me at this point in my career. I understand the need to have high standards in awarding advanced degrees, but high priced, lock step programs don’t work anymore for a lot of people. For $89,000, I should be able to sit down with someone, look at the program, and find ways to create a path that works for both me and the university. I know the universities have high standards; I do, too.
I’ve said the clock is ticking on K-12 education. We need to transform or perish. Well, the Alarm Clock of Doom is about to ring for graduate programs like that one, too. The rise of the individual and the demand for value will push them to evolve or become graduate school dinosaurs. Don’t they have some ancient tar pits in L.A. that trapped animals for thousands of years? Maybe that’s where this program is headed.
I’d still be interested in getting a Ph.D., but I need to keep searching. If anyone knows of a flexible, student centered program, let me know.
For now, I think I’ll go out and get a shrimp basket.