What I Learned Along the Way
Frank J. Landy
SHL North AmericaLitigation Support Group
This issues column represents the third installment in a series of recollections from SIOP members about various events that have influenced their professional development. As you will see, they are varied.
Jack Feldman and Rick Jacobs reflect on people and academic experiences. Dave Day and Steve Pick reflect on early nonacademic work experiences. It is my hope that SIOP members will submit similar experiences for subsequent installments. If this feature is to continue, both
Debbie Major and I need to feel confident both that it serves a purpose and that members will submit recollections. If you have enjoyed this addition to
TIP, show that appreciation both by telling us it should continue and by submitting your recollection of an event (or a person) that influenced the development of your career. You now have three installments of such examples. I have enough recollections for one more full installment (after this one), so the pipeline has plenty of room. Get your recollection in the pipe.
Jack Feldman
Georgia Institute of Technology
Humility is a good thing, but it can be taken too far. Case in point: my masters thesis. This was a study of stereotyping, a continuing interest. The idea was conceived in Joe McGraths advanced social psychology class, circa fall 1966, when I reviewed the literature on stereotypes and implicit personality theory along with the then-new ideas about attribution processes. Joe thought it would make a good thesis, and I approached
Harry Triandis to be my advisor, with the idea of using a minor tweak in the methods he had developed to study social distance. He agreed; the study was done; I got my degree in 1967 and was off working on other projects. I never thought about submitting it for publication; in fact, I thought it was such a simple idea that, although the data seemed interesting to me, I didnt imagine anyone else would be excited about them. Four years later I was on the job market, and although there were several studies (done with Harry and other colleagues) in the works nothing was ready to submit. It occurred to me I ought to at least submit an article based on my thesis, so I wrote a short version for the
Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. It was accepted without modification, which surprised no one more than me.
A follow-up study, done during my first year at Florida, was also accepted (though with revisions) and generated a very nice letter from Norman Anderson, at the time one of the leading judgment and attitude researchers in the country. It was about then that I realized that my little thesis was in fact regarded as a very creative contribution to the stereotyping and attribution literature and would have had much more impact had I submitted it 4 years earlier. In fact, my career might have taken an altogether different direction. The moral: Dont sell yourself and your ideas short. Get your work out where others can see it and let them tell you how important it is. Youre not required to believe them, but you ought to listen.
Humility is, however, often adaptive. Second case in point: the most influential paper I ever wrote.
Continuing my interest in stereotyping and attribution processes, I subsequently (19741976) tackled what today would be classified as the question of the automaticity of stereotyping. The methodology I chose for this topic, though, wasnt as convincing to reviewers, even after doing three follow-up studies over the course of 2 years or so. The final submission (in 1977) was to the
Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, edited at that time by Robert S. Wyer, then as now a leading figure in social cognition. He rejected the paper as well, which of course convinced me of his shortsightedness and lack of imagination. I grudgingly read the five-page, single-spaced letter of rejection (this was normal for him as an editor, by the way) and realized somewhere in the middle of page two that I wasnt nearly as well-informed as Id thought I was, and not half as clever. What hed sent me was a guide to the then brand new issue of automaticity and its implications for social perception. It took me 6 months of doing very little else than reading to understand the issues, the methodology, and the implications of this approach. In 1979, having been asked to submit a paper to a decision sciences conference, it occurred to me that performance judgments were a kind of social perception that would be interesting to write about. What resulted was Beyond Attribution Theory, published in 1981, and directly or indirectly, much of my subsequent career. The moral: Theres always someone out there who knows better than you, and if youre smart youll pay attention when they show up.
David V. Day
Pennsylvania State University
If I had stuck with it, I would be celebrating 27 years as an autoworker this yearonly 3 years until retirement. As it turned out, I only managed to stick it out for 8. Some people do a tour or two in the military. I did my so-to-speak service in the bowels of American industry (lower tract). Maybe that time is better described as a sentence rather than a tour of duty. By auto worker, I mean the nonskilled hourly laborer kind. I hired-in as they say in 1976 when the American automobile industry was breaking all sorts of production records making a lot of really lousy cars. I worked for Ford Motor Company (fondly known among its employees as FoMoCo) and helped it build its share of lousy cars in the 1970s and 80s. Anyone remember the Ford Fairmont? Enough said.
My time served with Ford began in Cleveland Engine Plant #1 assembling straight-6 truck engines (I still remember those miserable clutch housing assemblies to this day) as well as the 302 V-8 engines. The straight-6 work was a two-person job. One person placed the clutch housing over the flywheel assembly on the engine and the other used a large hydraulic gun to tighten simultaneously the eight or so bolts holding the assembly to the engine. Skill variety consisted of trading places every half hour. The work in the engine assembly plant was gravy compared to my next stop on the FoMoCo career development paththe notorious Cleveland Casting Plant.
Ben Hamper wrote what I think is the best and most accurate portrayal of life as an autoworker in his book,
Rivethead. In it he remarked that the foundry (aka casting plant) is a lot like being sentenced to work in Satans private bakery. No truer words have been written about foundry life. It surely would be one of Dantes rings of hell had he written his tome in the industrial age. Hot only begins to describe it. Because the primary work of a foundry is to melt iron and pour it into molds, it is also dirty work. Maybe not as bad as coal mining but dirty nonetheless. The chemicals added to the iron to make it hotter or colder, as needed, would go straight into our lungs. Expectorate was a deep black color that matched the sand used in the molds and the air in general in the plant.
One of my jobs during this time was as a metal crane operator. It was easy (relatively speaking) because it involved no real lifting or the mind-numbing repetition of the assembly line. An overhead monorail circled between the giant cupolas and the mold lines for the various parts being cast (e.g., cylinder heads, crankshafts, engine blocks). Approximately 34 metal cranes operated on this monorail at the same time delivering the iron to smaller buckets on each line that would be used to manually pour the iron into the molds. The crane was attached to the monorail guide by means of two cables front and rear. There was an iron bucket in the front and a small operators cabin separated by some heavy-duty safety glass (but not heavy duty enough to actually stop the iron if your rear cable broke). The controls consisted of forward/backward, up/down, and a lever for operating the bucket to pour the iron into smaller line buckets.
The main thing to rememberand to never forgetwhen doing this kind of work is that molten iron has a temperature of 1,550 degrees Celsius or about 2,800 degrees Fahrenheit. Metal splashes can be deadly. People were killed doing this work. Fortunately, it wasnt me, and I didnt see anyone die on the job. But I did see several people hurt badly either through spills or being caught in or crushed by equipment.
One of the most trying times on this job was filling up the crane bucket from the cupola. This was done manually (of course) by operating a handheld controller that would tilt this giant cupola until metal started pouringhopefully into the bucket. This is something that became pretty straightforward with practice, but not so much fun when still in the novice stage. Regardless of expertise level, what really put you on edge was when you poured iron into a dry bucket. If the crane had been parked for a shift a two for repair or a new bucket had been attached or the old one refurbished, the first pour always was an exercise in faith. If any waterand I mean ANY moisture at allwas still in the bucket it would let rip with an ear splitting KABOOOOOM as soon as the iron hit the water followed by liquid iron flying everywhere. This usually wasnt deadly though, just terrifying. My t-shirts from that time (worn under coveralls despite the worst August heat) had scores of pinpoint holes in them from the sparks that flew even from the noneventful pours.
In the early 80s FoMoCo was pushing its Quality is Job 1 rhetoric, which we all thought was pretty hilarious. The only time we had a quality meeting was when the line went down and we couldnt actually work. The meetings usually consisted of the general foreman and foreman haranguing us in so many ways about what lazy and irresponsible scuts we were. Once our general foreman asked for questions. I had one: Why do we get a different foreman every week? How are we supposed to have any consistency if the boss keeps changing? I might have even said something about the advantages of leadership stability or some such thing. He glared at me. It dont matter who your [expletive deleted] supervisor is, just do your [expletive deleted] job. So much for quality and so much for modern management practices at FoMoCo.
From those years it is probably easy to understand why I see the academic life as pure gravy. I learned a lot from those years, and mainly I learned valuable lessons about what work is. It gave me a somewhat unique (and no doubt twisted) perspective on the whole concept. FoMoCo is a main reason why I became an I-O psychologist. Now I probably could have learned similar lessons in, oh, 2 or 3 years and not 8, but I guess I always will be a slow learner.
Many years later I had the chance opportunity to meet a poet named Philip Levine
(http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/levine/). Most folks have never heard of him despite his having won a Pulitzer Prize for poetry. Fame is fickle that way, I guess. Like me, Levine dropped out of college and worked a series of industrial jobs before turning to teaching. He writes a lot about work, including these opening lines from his poem What Work Is (1991, Knopf):
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work isif youre
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you.
Forget you, indeed. Levines point is that we need work, even lousy work. For that reason I owe a debt of gratitude to all the lousy bosses and even lousier jobs I experienced at FoMoCo. I am grateful for learning what work is, despite the pain of those lessons. This wasnt serving coffee at Starbucks after all. That was nasty work. And because of that I am even more grateful for what I call work now, which probably wouldnt even be considered work by many of my former FoMoCo colleagues.
There is a line from the Richard Russo book Straight Mana wonderful send-up of life in academiathat pretty much sums up my feelings about my present occupation: But the room containeda group of academics and we couldnt quite believe what had happened to us. I feel pretty incredulous myself looking back on how I got to where I get to do what I now call work.
Rick Jacobs
Pennsylvania State University
In looking back over the 30 years I have been working in this field, it is clear that mentoring has been a major influence. Throughout my career large and small kindnesses by knowledgeable colleagues have helped me build my experience and knowledge bases. One particular memory recurs and puts a smile on my face. In 1979 at APA in San Francisco,
Shelly Zedeck, my PhD chair, took me to the meetings. I had been working with Shelly for 3 years and during that time he had taught me about research methods and statistics, performance appraisal and selection, how work gets published, consulting, and helped me to understand the importance of working systematically and becoming known as an expert in one or two areas. At this 1979 meeting he trotted me around from one well-known I-O psychologist to another. He introduced me to the people who had written the articles I read for my comprehensive exams and dissertation research. He told them about me, he praised my accomplishments, and he explained to each that we had a review article coming out in
Personnel Psychology. I was embarrassed, those listening to Shelly were patient and kind, and I realized that this is the way it should be in our discipline. More experienced scholars and practitioners taking time to learn about and help the newcomers. It was a day filled with a variety of new experiences. I sat and listened to paper sessions and discussants. My understanding was enhanced when Shelly explained why a particularly aggressive discussant was making his points. A lot of behind the scenes information helped me better understand what was said and also what was not said. A beer with two people, both of who had written texts I had used in courses, rounded out my day of learning more about my new field. It was a great day. As a result, I have tried to return this favor to some of my students. I have been fortunate but I know I am not alone in what has come my way. It is the method of I-O psychology and it is the result of the members of our Society and their commitment to building the future of our discipline. It has become a routine manner for so many of us who have been part of I-O psychology to help those who want to become our colleagues.
I look around the rooms and the hallways every time I go to our annual conference and I see mentors and those they are guiding: a faculty member with a recently minted PhD introducing her to two luminaries in our field, a well-known consultant with a new hire standing in a circle of people, many of whom have been part of our landscape for decades. I see those with more experience helping those who are taking on new roles. We are an inclusive group and the process of sharing is contagious. It is not restricted to the graduate student/faculty relationship. I see new faculty members being helped by those who have been around the block a few times. I see professionals in organizations looking for opportunities to facilitate the learning of those who are new to the job. I see consultants sharing their expertise with their clients and in many cases the reverse is equally so. Mentoring simply makes sense. If you are in Chicago this spring, watch the crowd. You will see mentoring at its finest. Take a little time to stop those who have mentored you and say thanks. Im certain lots of us will be pleased at how many people we have to thank and how many others extend thank yous our way.
Not long ago when I thought back to the days when apprenticeships were the common means for breaking into a profession, I was envious of the way in which aspiring young people could sit at the feet of a craftsman and learn a trade. It was the norm for carpenters, bricklayers, electricians, plumbers, and more to pass on skills to others through managed work experiences. Instrument makers, my personal interest area, in Cremona, Italy in the 17th and 18th centuries, craftsman like Nicolo Amati, Guiseppe Guarneri, and Antonio Stradivari all worked to build what has become the standard for violins. In their shops, life-long skills were transferred from one generation to the other. More recently in this country there has been a resurgence of lutherie, the building of guitars. This movement can be traced back to John DAngelico, who himself apprenticed with his uncle, and DAngelicos apprentice, James DAquisto, who is credited with finishing his mentors last 10 guitars during the 1960s. In all these forums mastery of craft was transferred, careers were launched, and wonderful outcomes were realized from generation to generation. On occasions, history documents the ultimate in training, where the student outdistances the teacher. I always thought those days were restricted to craftsmanship or times long ago. Now I realize we are engaged in this noble activity and it makes me proud. Above all, keep sharing knowledge and experiences; it is a truly wonderful gift to give to others. It may not make music but it is building our legacy.
Stephen Pick
Office of Personnel Management
When I was 17 and a freshman at college, I was caught drinking at homecoming.My punishment was to perform 10 hours of community service.
I found a group that volunteered at the state mental hospital. When I asked to participate in the volunteer group to fulfill my community service requirement, the head nurse told me that to join the group, I needed to commit to more than the required 10 hours.The patients would become accustomed to my visits, and it would not be fair to them if I only came for half a semester and left. These weekly visits were the highlights of the patients weeks. I agreed to continue volunteering once my community service requirement was fulfilled.
I volunteered for over a year and a half, and as a result, I changed my major to psychology.The state hospital was the end of the line for most patients. People often ended up there because they had no money and no where else to go. I remember one man who had severe motor skill difficulties. A veteran volunteer told me that he was in a car accident and because he never had money for physical therapy, he did not heal correctly. Another patient lost his short-term memory after being stabbed in a fight. He survived the stabbing because he fell into the snow and the cold slowed down his heart and organs, but he lost vital brain functioning. There was nowhere else for these men to go. It was a sad place and it turned me off to what I knew about clinical psychology. I knew that I wanted to help people but was not sure how I could be most effective.
In addition to studying psychology, I was also a history minor. One of the books assigned in my Industrial Revolution to Modern Times course was
Rivethead by Ben Hamper. It is a modern day version of Upton Sinclairs
The Jungle dealing with Detroits automobile-making plants. Hamper described the boredom, drugs, and degradation that occupied his life as a worker on an assembly line. After reading his book, I left as if I had found my calling. It was inconceivable to me how people could exist in mind-numbing jobs day to day, year after year. I thought that since people spend so much of their lives at work, they deserved something better. I wanted to help people improve their work lives.
decided to learn about psychology in applied settings. I found two professors in the business department who received I-O degrees from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. I was learning about a whole new world because my university did not offer any courses in I-O psychology. Instead, I was taking Learning and Motivation and trying to teach rats to bar-press for pellets. The most closely related business school course was called Management and Organizational Behavior, and it was geared for students interested in an MBA. I spent three semesters working with Don Conlon and
John Sawyer. I enjoyed working one-on-one with professors and learning about the field of psychology and why they chose to work in the business department as opposed to the psychology department. I helped John with his experiment in group decision making and worked with Don on his study involving procedural justice.
As I approached my senior year, it sunk in that I would not have much of a future if I did not go to graduate school and specialize. Its funny how they leave that out of the intro books. I applied to I-O and organizational psychology programs. I studied hard for the GREs, was pleased with my score, and had my choice of graduate programs. After my father convinced me to attend the interview day at Rutgers School of Applied and Professional Psychology, I had to decide between Rutgers, George Washingtons I-O and applied social program, and Columbias organizational psychology program. Living in NYC would be too expensive, but I did not know how to decide between Rutgers and GW. It was something that Bob Kaplan, former head of GWs program, said to me that made my decision. He said, Steve, if you have any reservation about statistics and math then this is probably not the program for you. I told him thanks, called up
Clay Alderfer at Rutgers, and told him that I would like to be in his upcoming class of students.
So, how did I end up in DC? One of my professors, Cary Cherniss, was the cochair for the Consortium for Emotional Intelligence and knew a consortium board member at the Office of Personnel Management. Of the hundred or so jobs that I applied to in New York and New Jersey, I got a job in DC, two blocks away from the GW campus. I like Washington DC and am learning many ways to use my degree in organizational psychology to help people and hopefully improve their working environments.
Life is funny in its twists and turns. I never would have guessed that my 10 hours of community service would be life changing.
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