When Women at the GSB Were Few

First Woman to Earn Tenure on the GSB Faculty

by Joanne Martin

I came to the GSB in 1977 as an assistant professor. For the first five years, I was the only, or one of two, women on the GSB faculty. Let me tell you some stories about those times.

All GSB faculty who wanted to teach a quarter in Paris were invited to meet a professor from the Sorbonne. When I arrived at the Faculty Club for the lunch meeting, I saw a large table crowded with GSB faculty. The GSB professor hosting the event walked across the dining room to welcome me. How nice of him, I thought, until he escorted me to the back of the room, where, at a separate table, his wife and the wife of the visiting French professor were waiting for me. My host said, “I thought you’d be more comfortable here.” The two wives were not professors. We had a fine chat, but I never got to meet the professor from the Sorbonne. Later, when I got back to the GSB, I knocked on the host faculty member’s door, and explained why, if he continued to treat me in such a separatist way, my career would be hurt. He had intended, he said, only to make me comfortable (this, I think, was true), and promised to never treat me unequally again. He kept this promise, although every time I passed him in the hall he would compliment my clothes or my “Victorian figure.” I’ll leave it to your imagination what he meant.

It’s easy to see what is wrong in a story like this. However, there were other incidents that might seem trivial to you, but that had a greater cumulative impact on me. For example, I went to the library for the first time, wanting to borrow a book. The librarian refused to let me in, saying, “You don’t have your ID.”

“But faculty don’t need an ID to borrow books. I am a faculty member.”

“Students must have an ID to enter the library.”

“But I’m not a student.”

“Staff also must have an ID to enter the library.”

“But I’m not a staff member.”

“If you are a faculty member, show me a faculty ID.”

Well, faculty didn’t have faculty IDs then, so I went upstairs, got my GSB business card and a copy of my GSB stationery for proof, and returned to the library. Grudgingly, the librarian let me in.

So, you might think, that’s a minor incident. But every time I wanted a book, I, and no other faculty member, had to bring a faculty ID. More importantly, these kinds of incidents, and all the letters I got addressed to Professor Joseph Martin and Professor John Martin, made it clear that the world at large questioned my identity as a female professor at the GSB. Often, when the phone rang, this is how the conversation would go:

“Hello, this is Professor Joanne Martin.”

“I would like to speak with Professor Martin.”

“This is Professor Martin.”

“I would like to speak with Professor Martin at the GSB.”

“I am Professor Martin at the GSB.”

“Could I speak to your boss, please?”

I was tempted to forward the call to the dean, but I didn’t. The deans had their hands full, given the number of students who walked out of my required core class on the first day, complaining to the dean, “I didn’t spend all this money on tuition to have a woman teacher.”

Years later, I was the first GSB faculty member to be pregnant, first woman to earn tenure, first to be promoted to full professor, and first to be given an endowed chair. Now, in 2006, with 16 women out of 102 GSB tenure-line faculty members, we have a long way to go before we attain the same percentage of women faculty as other first-tier business schools and before we fully integrate research and cases featuring women into the MBA curriculum.

 

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The Envelope

by Barbara Loeb, MBA ’77

When the thin envelope arrived, 30 years ago, telling me that I was accepted to the GSB, I can’t say I was surprised. I always was a top student. Four years earlier, armed with my Ivy League BA in English, I thought all I could be was a secretary. But, thanks to Gloria Steinem, Betty Freidan, and my enlightened boss at a small ad agency, I put together the start of a career.

Stanford was a wonderful world. Stimulating professors. Interesting students. Academic challenges. But with a grading system that encouraged cooperation. Pot-of-gold salaries coming soon. Because of the case-study method, I had a chance to play CEO many times a week. Big picture. Daunting. Exhilarating. We could do it all.

I got what I thought was the best marketing job possible in the Bay Area: a brand assistant at Clorox. It was a jolt to realize that the job was mostly crunching numbers and writing one-page memos that circulated up through the tiers of brand management, then back to me for corrections, and up the chain again and again. Because we didn’t have personal computers, my secretary needed an arsenal of tools to incorporate the chain’s comments on those memos: pots of white-out, scissors, and glue for cutting and pasting, occasional strategic reductions to a smaller font so the memo fit on one page. It was a far cry from playing case-study CEO.

I worked hard and got promoted. With my husband, a young-lawyer, we bought a house in the Oakland Hills, ate in a lot of restaurants, went to Europe twice. Something was missing.
At Clorox I was the first woman in brand management to become pregnant. The state required six weeks’ disability leave for new mothers. Clorox’s only accommodation was to let me work part time for two months after my leave. Then it would be back to 55-plus hours a week, numbers, memos, review chains, white-out. Once my daughter was born, it was an easy decision. Clorox wasn’t an option. I looked for a part-time job.

I’ve been lucky. Through the years and two more children, I found part-time jobs, not the most fascinating jobs, but I chose the “mommy track” years before anyone coined that phrase.

Usually, when I thought about the work-versus-family bargain I struck with my inner devil, I couldn’t imagine working full time. I wanted to be there for my children not just during the fringes of after-office hours. Still, I dreaded getting the Stanford Business alumni magazine. Our class column boasted of recent promotions and Wall Street Journal-worthy achievements. In every issue, there they were: CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, executive directors of national nonprofits, techies that made a fortune in dot.com businesses. Hey, wasn’t I in class with them? They weren’t any smarter than I am. Usually, when the magazine came, I felt disturbed, conflicted. Once in a while, I put the magazine directly into the waiting jaws of the recycling bin without opening it.

Thirty years after I received the thin envelope with my Stanford admissions offer, more admissions envelopes arrived at my house. My youngest child was going to college. The kids’ rooms are mostly as they left them, filled with books, games, trophies, souvenirs, a stuffed animal or two. Still comfortable and waiting for them. It’s not often, though, that they are home. Now when the Stanford Business magazine comes, I don’t dread opening it. Finally, I know I made the right choice.

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FEATURES IN THIS ISSUE

• Work-Life Integration
• When Women at the GSB Were Few
• Why Some Ideas Stick: It's Simple
• Boomers Transplant to Nonprofits
• Father-Daughter Team Tilts with Quixote
   

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These essays are 2 of 15 solicited by student planners of the May 2006 Women in Management banquet. The other essays can be read online at alumni.gsb.stanford.edu/women/