In August, Denise A. Battles stepped down after more than 10 years as chancellor of SUNY Geneseo to take a position in the SUNY system, which means my term as her presidential spouse has come to an end. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my ten years in this character, the joys and heartbreaks, the triumphs and tragedies, even the title… First Man? First buddy? It’s a strange profession because across the country, job descriptions either don’t exist or are as diverse as the agencies spouses and partners serve. My purpose here is to offer some observations based on my experience and that of my peers, and humbly offer some advice to current and future executive spouses and partners.
Dennis and I met at a new teacher orientation, which seems like a lifetime ago, and grew together as scholars. She chose administration early, and I taught for decades before giving up teaching to become a full-time scholarship director. As she rose through the ranks from dean to provost to president, my role as the administrative “traveling” spouse changed in subtle and obvious ways at each new institution, but at its core it was always rooted in our dedication to the university we served and to each other. We were fortunate to have been employed by the same university and had our job offers presented to the recruitment committee in a package deal. Many of my colleagues have given up their careers to become dedicated presidential spouses and partners, or to hold roles in the business world or outside organizations. For some, their connection to the school comes down to the occasional student performance or alumni meet-and-greet, as well as a few calendar events that require planning and dressing up. Others show up on campus nearly every day, even though doing so can be fraught with danger. What is an old saw? Why was the president fired? House and spouse (laughter).
Being the spouse or partner of a president can create a sense of isolation, as nearly everyone in the agency or surrounding community seems to either work for the president or chancellor in some way, or is related to or knows someone who does. There is a distance, an unspoken space, between this reality and campus and community acquaintances and even those considered friends. I discuss this situation frequently with other board members who are affiliated with the Spouses and Companions Group of the American Association of State Colleges and Universities (AASCU), where I have served for more than a decade. Even with the myriad of social outlets associated with the role—entertainment, dinners, social and sporting events, arts performances, donor visits, local clubs and organizations—many people still feel a sense of alienation. The pandemic has left many of us questioning the roles we play as presidential spouses and partners, and what the future holds for our ghostly campuses, overworked partners and largely absent student bodies. In many ways, that anxiety hasn’t changed much.
My wife and I are fortunate to live in a stately, historic presidential mansion on Main Street in a quaint village in Western New York, just steps from campus. We would often sit on the front porch and say hello to passing students and villagers, even the mayor… although it was pleasant, we never forgot that we were living in someone else’s house. I’m still working remotely, providing scholarships for the college’s phased retirement plan, and have recently found myself missing the buzz of campus and community, attending campus events, and even wearing a gold name tag to show I’m part of the campus team.
During Denise’s tenure as principal, I mostly only saw her at the end of the day, when she was dealing with a tough personnel issue or one of the myriad other pressing issues on campus, and when she was still digesting the impact and looking for solutions. We adhere to strict confidentiality and professionalism guidelines when discussing these issues, which means I often have no idea what might be going on. In casual conversations with the campus and rural communities, I made a point of referring to Dennis as “President,” subtly signaling that I was not some kind of conduit of information and that I knew very little. After a while, people stopped asking.
Most presidential spouses and partners are eager to do more to help their loved ones, but they know that unconditional support is the best strategy. They are not vice presidents or backdoor channels because there are many people on campus who can perform these duties. College presidents and chancellors do, of course, get paid well for their work, but the drudgery provides little respite, time for personal life or an escape from never-ending crises. Due to stress, the average life span of a university president has been shortened to just 5.9 years. Faculty, staff and administrators are being asked to do more, even as they feel anxious about what the future will bring for their families and positions. Perhaps unprecedentedly, our campus must find a unifying purpose to confront the impact of domestic politics and world events.
When a crisis arises, presidential associates often face unexpected challenges as they can become targets of disaffected and mentally unstable individuals on campus and in the community, a disturbing and terrifying reality that I have unfortunately experienced on many occasions. Early on, I decided to avoid social media entirely because the viciousness and ignorance there was both relentless and completely predictable. These potentially harsh truths characterize the work, but in the absence of some kind of direction or guidance, many partners are left to deal with these situations alone, with no one to confide in except their anxious president, who can express sympathy but may be legally and ethically prohibited from reciprocating.
Like many presidential couples, my wife and I have been together virtually day in and day out since we entered academia. But “together” is a bit of a misnomer, because even though we’re under the same roof, work never ends, emails only increase, and if possible, our time together as a couple talking about day-to-day matters and the future becomes even more fleeting. The stories I heard from fellow spouses and partners across the country echoed this reality—presidential relationships are being tested like never before.
So here is my advice to current and future Presidential Partners, advice that I humbly offer over a decade on the job. I could list 20 more points, but these seem to be the most important.
- Make the character your own. Since there is no template, you get to choose what to do or not do regardless of what your ex did or did. No Garden Club membership is required and you can miss the regular season. Take your time before making a commitment, and remember you can always say no.
- Find supporters and confidants in your spouse and fellow partners. Family and friends often mean well, but as with many professions, they can’t truly understand what you’re going through. AASCU’s Spouse and Partner Program provides a safe and confidential circle of fellow travelers who are more than willing to listen and offer their own experiences to help you through your difficult times, just as you have helped them through their difficult times. I highly recommend membership.
- Help your president or prime minister. Listen, but don’t try to fix anything. Doing this is probably the hardest part of the job. Sometimes they just need to vent, especially at the worst of times, and if they seem frustrated or a little hostile, it usually has nothing to do with you. You’re not an administrator; you’re not hired to provide advice, and doing so might make things worse. They know some information that frankly has nothing to do with you, until it doesn’t concern you, and if so, they tell you what you need to know.
In writing this article, I am not looking for pity or sympathy for spouses and partners. I fully acknowledge the privilege I enjoy as the President’s spouse and am deeply grateful for the opportunity to serve the University and the community. I have spent my entire career in academia as an educator, and with this article I just want to make the larger academic community aware of the nature of this work and provide advice to those who may be in this role at some point. Presidential spouses and partners will continue to live in a strange kind of uncertainty as they try to support their presidents and prime ministers, often surrounded by acquaintances but still largely alone and somewhat unsure of what their roles really entail.
