Been Too Long at the Fair?

image of a person looking into the distance

From Rachel Toor

Leaders: Since you’re being attacked (including by some retired colleagues) for not speaking out or “doing something,” could you please take a few minutes and email me some thoughts about this? I want to give you space next week to sound off without fear of having your funding cut or your students getting arrested.

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Given that presidential tenures ~~are now about 15 minutes~~ have declined precipitously in recent years, it may be a strange time to ask veteran leaders about their decision to leave the job.

Some institutions doing well now have presidents who defied the odds and averages to last long enough to have earned the hard-won trust of their constituents. We know how the course of true love runs, and these days it’s Class-5 rapids, with eddies, strainers, and undercut rocks.

The physical and emotional toll of this “life-shortening job” is immense, and the draw of leaving may be tempting: Return to faculty! Join corporate boards! Get to know grandchildren (or spouses)! Write books! Read books! Who can blame folks for wanting to leave?

And I can’t help but wonder about those who follow a beloved—or feared—leader. (We’ve all watched Succession.) I often ask presidents about their relationships with those who preceded and followed them. When I hear about outgoing presidents making painful and unpopular cuts before vacating the campus manse, I want to send them cookies. Or bourbon.

But really, how does anyone decide when their time should be up? If you love your job, are invested in what you’ve built, know there’s still essential work to be done, and believe only you can save the day, how do you know if hanging on means standing in the way of progress? Or if, having taken an institution through tough times, you understandably want to nosh on the fruits of your labor?

At some point I hope someone will be able to explain to me the thought processes of certain beloved public servants. I know a lot of spry 80- and 90-somethings. But I also know that the aging train goes in one direction and most of us are not as sharp as we once were.

I asked a few presidents from vastly different institutions about their decision to step away. One of the ways I can tell that they were in the job for a while is the number of spaces they type after a period. Oh, and a legacy of achievement. (Note: None of these folks are out there beating on you for not speaking up. They all get it.)

The writers are all former presidents.

I stepped away after 20 years, and only now in retrospect can I say that I stayed too long. Even across (objectively) transformative and continuing successes, the faculty started to sour after 10 years, and the board started to sour, a bit, after 15 years. I hear this pattern of fermentation from other long-term presidents.

I don’t believe I stayed past 15 years because of some Biden-esque ego situation. The pandemic started, we lost some key leaders, the board asked me to stay, and then we hit our first significant rough patch in enrollments. I did what was necessary to get us through those challenges, but I had limited capital to burn because of the souring that had occurred. I only realized how toasted I myself was after I exited.

For me, the job was great for the first 10 years, and good from years 11 to 15. Those last five years were terrible for my physical and mental health. As I currently detox, I’m still making sense of how much those years cost me, my family, and my friends.

What is the right tenure for a president? ACE found in 2022 that presidents’ average length of stay was 5.9 years, and every search consultant I know believes the tenure in 2025 is now much shorter. Five years is too tight a time frame to get anything significant done in our environments, which have long business cycles, entrenched practices, and great need for change. I strongly believe less than five years is a disaster for a college or university.

So, based on what institutions need, and generalizing from my experience with stakeholders and from when I was having fun versus pushing through third-degree burns, I’d say 10 to 12 years is the sweet spot for universities who want results and for presidents who want to exit intact. Go past 15 at everyone’s peril.

😎

I stepped away from an extremely challenging but also pretty joyful presidency after almost a decade. I had a great board that always supported me, and our international footprint was strong and growing. It was a tough decision, leaving my team and all the wonderful projects still in progress.

But staying longer than 10 years, anywhere, is a supremely bad idea; I never planned to stay longer. Universities desperately need new blood at the top or the place becomes stale and the president becomes more like a king than a leader. I did start to feel regal, more like a strongman than just the first among equals (which a president should be, vis-à-vis the senior faculty).

I always wanted to get back to teaching and research and serve the university in the most fundamental of ways, just like the faculty do, every day. And jeez, do get out before 69 or 70: Don’t pull a Biden/RBG! Drop the ego, go do something meaningful, and let the new generation have the helm, for chrissakes. Many, many other people can do your job and do it very well.

😎

Due to a family health issue, I decided to retire, giving my board a year’s notice. At the time, I found the prospect of leaving my presidency difficult.

It didn’t take me long to recognize that I was right to leave at the end of a dozen years. In lots of ways, the timing was excellent. We had recently completed a successful campaign and were running surpluses, half of which we dedicated to financial aid endowment and half for one-time projects (e.g., addressing deferred maintenance, funding new technologies).

It’s always better for presidents to leave before they are asked to do so, and especially when the campus and board don’t want them to. But it was also good for me and my family.

Once I was not working 24-7, as I had during my presidency and the previous two decades, I recognized that I was tired and really needed to catch up on sleep and personal reading. I now had time and energy to devote to my family, and I regained much of the anonymity and freedoms I had given up. It was a pleasure to be able to go out for dinner or to the movies without being recognized by students, faculty, staff, alumni, and lots in the local community.

I decided not to consider another presidency, but have continued to write and consult.

😎

Ten signs it may be time to step down from your presidency:

Your spouse can no longer finish your sentences, but your executive assistant can.
You have no remaining life skills. You cannot change a light bulb, make dinner, update a computer, or make a flight reservation without assistance.
You think the purpose of the board investment committee is to give you insider tips for your retirement portfolio.
You have aged so much that school colors no longer look good on you. Rather than dyeing your hair or retiring, you decide to change the school colors.
You no longer watch with interest who will be the new Faculty Senate chair or student government president. If they are a problem, you will just tell the board they are either deadwood or immature, selfish brats.
You think a 10 percent annual structural deficit is no big deal and have no intention of addressing it before you retire, which you will never do.
The presidential headshot on the webpage is the same one you used when you were inaugurated, and you think it is still a pretty good likeness.
Rather than greeting each new entering class with inspirational quotes, you turn to your VP for student affairs and say, “What fresh hell is this?”
You think the primary purpose of commencement is to give you time to plan your summer vacation
You wear earplugs to home sporting events and never leave the presidential box. You refuse to attend most performing arts activities because you know what real art is.

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