Graduation day at the University of Georgia in 1968. It was a proud
moment for my mother, Mamie, and father, Hugh, whose families had
been devastated by the Great Depression and the collapse of the cotton
economy of east Georgia upon which their own families had relied. A
National Defense Education Act Fellowship had enabled me complete
not only a college degree, but to earn a doctorate from a major university
and begin a career as a university professor. That degree prepared me
for more than academic work, as time would reveal.

       After fifteen years as a history profssor at a state university, I left college teaching. I My reasons for leaving academia were complicated, but they became clearer after I jumped ship. Though I enjoyed teaching and watching students mature, I asked myself what other careers might be open to me. After teaching the same freshman class for (literally) the 114th time in 15 years, becoming tenured and promoted to a “full” professorship, I contemplated taking the big step: looking for employment outside of academia. I was still under forty. Might there be a different and rewarding career awaiting the second half of my professional life?   I started applying for jobs outside of academia that would be both “challenging and rewarding” (a euphemism for “Teaching is great, but there must be more to life than this”). 

     Where to look? I responded to many job postings: resident editor of a famous politician’s papers, a federal job with the National Endowment for the Humanities, an analyst for the CIA (much of my training had been in Russian history and language), directorship of a museum, CEO for a state historical organization, and I even applied to Yale Law School (I was turned down, Ph.D. and all). No bites.

     Out of the blue came a call from a foundation to which I had sent an inquiry two years earlier.  I was invited to submit a current resume and references. They were seeking an executive director. The foundation oversaw a huge family estate and was generously endowed. They wanted someone to provide administrative leadership for its new mission as a nonprofit foundation and historical interpretive site, hire a small staff to receive visitors, recruit a volunteer corps, and oversee its of grounds staff, house keepers, and maintenance workers -35 people in all. Engaging with advertising, construction, forestry, and security contractors was all to fall under my general supervision.   

     My interview went well, and I was offered the position, as well as a house, a car, health insurance and a generous bonus for agreeing to pass up my summer teaching and come as soon as possible to get the place ready to open to the public. This marked the beginning of my career in what is increasingly known as “cultural resource management.” It is one made up of people from a variety of backgrounds. Often, they are humanities and arts graduates. They work in or manage museums, galleries, historic properties, cultural funding agencies, nonprofit foundations devoted to the arts and humanities, and research institutes.

     Over the next twenty-five years I discovered that this was a field that suited me. “Cultural resource management” describes very well the positions at which I labored. When we are educated in the humanities, we are often unaware of the skills we have gained so dearly in academia.  For example, managing a historical property, state-wide historical society or a museum demands that one be well read in the subject matter with which the hiring institution deals. Their trustees expect that you will be able to acquire a detailed knowledge of the history and culture that has given rise to their institution, and perhaps write books or articles related to their site or organization. I did all hose things with some success.

      Sometimes there is a perfect fit -a naval historian gets a job with the Navy Department; a colonial historian is hired to manage Monticello or Mt. Vernon. But there are also some universal practices that must be acquired beforehand or while engaged in any new career. Thankfully, there are associations for every imaginable professional practice.  Membership and involvement with those associations can help you develop new and more specialized skills as well as keep you generally informed about changes in professional practice. Stop and think: isn’t this why physicians join the AMA?

     Historical study accomplishes little if we do not learn to write and speak about it. Historical organizations require leadership that is literate, professionally current, and able to speak and write to inform its board, its member, its donors, and the public. These are all skills that carry over from the classroom experience.

     Grant writing, which seems to strike a certain dread in people who have never done it, is relatively easy to learn (though perhaps tedious to accomplish) since it involves writing convincingly about the needs of your institution or project and how it will fulfill the intentions of the granting agency. Because they have never undertaken such a thing, it may take a while to catch on to the second of these; that is, they forget to state clearly how the granting agency or donor will advance its own goals by funding the project your institution plans to undertake. Innovative ideas help, but in truth, successful grant applications result from applications that assure the grantee that the funding agency’s own institutional needs are met. They are not shy about telling applicants exactly what those needs are. Granting agencies are anxious to receive good proposals. I have found that giving them a call and asking questions is acceptable and desirable. They are glad to dissuade you from preparing inappropriate requests. They do not want to pour over an application that misses the mark.

      In the academic fields 0f the humanities and arts, grants are sometimes based on Byzantine applications and plans to conduct research on subjects of little or no interest to the larger world. On the other hand, cultural funding is often pursued by a combination of personal contacts and persuasive letter writing. Grantors expect you to exhibit vison and relevance-exactly what you would anticipate. They are usually supportive and helpful in the process. Larger grantors, I have come to believe, are reluctant to fund activities unless the applicant has a track record, so first applications are not always successful. Again, phone calls and text exchanges in preparation for subsequent submissions are likely to bring greater success and are  certain to improve your skill at formulating proposals.

      I did not say there were no challenges. In fact, mediating conflicting interests is what board meetings are all about. Leadership and compromise are skills to be honed on the job. Remember, you will be dealing mostly with adults, not adolescents or very young adults. Most are willing to listen -and eager to share their own point of view. A few will be as passionate as you are. Your challenge is to help your board members become informed advocates who are willing to solicit help from their social and business associates, families, and friends.   

    If you are contemplating a move into a parallel career related to your teaching experience, you will be glad to know that public speaking is expected of directors of cultural organizations. You have given a few-perhaps many- lectures, right? Historical, heritage, civic and fraternal groups are eager to have you speak (at least the first time).  And there are professional societies for cultural organizations, just as there are for historians. You are already prepared for this and know how to stand at the rostrum, tell a story, convince people what is important, while hopefully providing enough entertainment to keep your audience awake after a fundraising dinner. Sound familiar?

     All this requires some adjustments. General audiences are less interested in where the ball fell into the tall grass (i.e., your lingering research interests) than they are about what you and your organization are up to and how it might impact them. Deliver the goods with a leavening of humor and self- deprecation. If you are not at ease, no one else will be. Interact with some members of your audience before you begin, then personalize this contact in your presentation.  I suspect you have already practiced these skills with the end in view of earning high marks on student evaluations.

     As historians, we are urged to examine things dispassionately. Of course, this does not work so well in the larger spheres of life. Boards and members of cultural organizations expect their director to be passionate about their mission, their collections, their grand old house, and the cause of preservation. They expect to be honored, praised occasionally, challenged, and even inspired to give money.  We give to what we love. And, just as importantly, we give to those we love. Historical and other cultural organizations thrive on passion. Trustees will even sit through (brief) lectures about their collections, their historic house, and their mission. They are the committed. It will be your job to amplify this commitment. You will not be able to do this without passion of your own. Think back – how did you kindle the passion to complete a challenging curriculum to become a college instructor?

     You will also find there is considerable respect for your academic training among your board members and your membership. Treasure it. It is capital that can be spent to build up the institution you serve-through writing, research, speaking, and the daily work you do. When you were an academic, so were most of your colleagues. Your new world calls for engagement with new colleagues who do not necessarily share your point of view or experience.  It is they who can be of great help, advising you of how to deal effectively with your board members, grants and other issues common to all in this new circle of friends and colleagues. Again, this will remind you of the collaborative relationship you likely shared with fellow graduate students, and possibly with fellow faculty members. But this goes far beyond salary compalints and scheduling problems, and far beyond the intricacies of your research specialty. Frankly, I found these new circumstances much more exciting and challenging -in a good way.

     Many cultural and historical organizations can only afford one academically trained person on their staff. They may think you are able to do many things for which you have little or no training (just as it was when you began teaching). A historian for example is usually not a curator or event coordinator, a bookkeeper, or an exhibit designer.  He or she is not typically a public relations specialist nor experienced as a volunteer coordinator. You will have to look to your board and volunteer corps to accomplish many things that you must learn to do alongside them. Creating this symbiotic relationship likely will be the most difficult (and rewarding) aspect of your new career.