In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

299 turbulent odyssey for justice* Joan Loveridge-Sanbonmatsu “And do you declare yourself a pauper?” asked the judge in Rochester, New York. I nodded. My lawyer directed, “You must answer verbally for the record.” “Yes,” I whispered in a faltering voice filled with shame, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. We had no money to pay for the printing of court briefs. And so my sex discrimination court trial began with those words in 1972. Growing up in Vermont, I had been raised to be self-reliant, to have a job, to not be a burden to society. In the Beginning I was hired in 1963 as an assistant professor in Communication Studies after having worked two years in the Far East with the National American Red Cross, and having completed my master’s degree at Ohio University. It was my first full-time teaching job with a tenure-track appointment. Brockport, New York, was a small town and I lived in an apartment on College Street and walked one block to Hartwell Hall where I taught. The new-faculty orientation at State University of New York at Brockport was held in the Campus School Library. It was a crisp fall day in September with the maple trees turning golden when I walked into the library wearing my red coat. Everyone was sitting in little children’s chairs at low tables. There were several empty chairs at one table where a handsome young man in a dark suit was sitting. Destino! To my surprise, this man was going to teach in the Communication Studies Department, and even more surprising was that his assignment was to share an office with another colleague and me. Akira Sanbonmatsu and I fell in love and married. I felt so excited and challenged to be teaching at Brockport. I had begun my doctoral work at Penn State in the summers, studying with Dr. Carroll Arnold in Rhetorical Studies. At Brockport, the students were responsive and highly motivated in my Oral Interpretation classes. We traveled to many festivals and their culmination project was to present a reader’s theatre program at the Crypt, the local coffeehouse . A definite glow emanated from those early years of teaching. Just moments after my wedding, though, without my knowledge, my line Risk, Courage, and Women 300 appointment had been changed to a temporary appointment due to the nepotism policies, antiquated policies established during the Depression in the early 1930s based on the idea of one salary from the same company for each family. In the radiance of new love, what did it matter? Slowly and painfully, I learned year by year how it mattered. “You can’t serve on the Personnel Committee. You’re only a temporary,” I was told. “But you can be on the Textbook Selection for the Basic Course Committee and on special committees to develop the undergraduate majors, and graduate programs and courses.” “Search Committees?” I wondered. “No, only tenure track folks can be on those, but you can be on the committee to write departmental basic course exams.” And then during the departmental election for chairperson: “You can’t vote on any personnel decision. You’re only a temporary.” Now, the Faculty Senate was another avenue for university service, but again, rejection. I could, however, be a member of an ad hoc committee on the quality of student life, which I did. I felt like a third-class citizen. Denial of Rights and Benefits Denial of benefits, merit, and promotion opportunities followed. When it came time to do my residency requirement for my phd at Penn State, I was forced to resign and be rehired on a temporary appointment. As far as merit pay increases went, I was told that I wouldn’t get a salary raise because husbands should earn more than their wives. Again, with the birth of my first son, Jamie, I had to resign and be rehired in January. With the advent of the birth of my second son, Kevin, I requested a maternity leave which was met with the single statement that my request was moot since I was a temporary appointee. Due to the nepotism policies, I would not be reappointed. The academic environment at Brockport was ill with a malignancy which devoured professional opportunity. The president, in addressing the Faculty Women’s Association, told us that women belong in the home, raising children and cooking. Can you believe this? I was utterly shocked to hear him say this to...

Share