Since the emotionally traumatic events of my thesis and thesis defense, requiring a re-write, it has become very clear to me that such things are extremely common. A thesis, journal articles and books all get proofread and are re-written routinely. My minor re-write and proving one assumption seemed to me at the time as a failure. But it is really part of the rite of passage for many Ph.D. theses. My committee members and Dr. Myer were not being mean. They had an opinion and a duty to ensure that the thesis produced was of a high quality and caliber consistent with an advanced degree. Subsequently, I believe that episode has also made me sympathetic and supportive to students when I have had to engage in similar requests for improving theses or strengthening a thesis defense.

When my degree was finally approved, I called Ann, called my parents and called my grandparents. I was the first doctorate in my family. My departure date for Paris was unchanged.

Renee would meet me at the airport at 8:00 A.M., as I was taking a redeye to Paris. She had arranged temporary accommodations for me and would take me directly to the lab upon my arrival and to my accommodations later that day.

Things were winding down for me in Lansing. My thesis was on the books and I was officially Dr. Clark. The flight to Paris was scheduled; my stuff was either shipped to France, in storage, with Ann or coming with me on the flight. Dr. Dillon had scheduled a celebratory lunch for just him and me two days before my flight. The day before my flight, I was spending with Ann as our last hours together were dwindling. I met Dr. Dillon at the restaurant with a list of notes and info for him regarding things in the lab. I also had a list of last-minute errands for me to finish after lunch. We went to my favorite Mexican restaurant, ‘El Azteco’. I ordered my usual taco salad, extra salsa and a beer. El Azteco was a great student hangout and had quickly become my regular restaurant in Lansing. The waiters and waitresses were generally college students and often very entertaining. Whenever you attended a student play or performance in the park you would recognize more than one of the wait-staff performing up on the stage. All the best performing arts students waited tables at El Azteco.

Dr. Dillon and I chatted about plans for papers and my research in France. He re-emphasized that I could call him to ask for help, recommendations or input. It was a very pleasant lunch. I gave him the information I had concerning the lab, my lab books and research protocols. It was important that future employees be able to reproduce the research I did so that the lab could continue without me. The check came and he paid for it. I offered to help but he politely refused.

When we stood up to leave and shook hands, I said, “Good-bye and thanks, Pat.”

The words came out of my mouth clumsily, not because I was choked up, but because I had called him by his first name. Dr. Patrick Dillon smiled, as he knew it was the first time I had done so and that was part of being a successful Ph.D. I had earned the right to call Dr. Dillon, Pat. During the whole meal I never called him by name, as I was too nervous to exercise that right and still felt like his student. But I had resolved to call him Pat before I left, and did just that. I would never need to call him Dr. Dillon again. I am now a peer and part of the relatively exclusive club of those who have earned the right to be called, “Doctor.” I do not request that my own students or employees call me, Dr. Clark, however. I ask them right away to call me Joe. I believe that familiarity like this breeds trust, whereas some people keep the Dr. title because they feel that familiarity, such as using a first name, breeds contempt. I almost never introduce myself as or call myself Dr. Clark. On one occasion some family members were present when a student asked me a scientific question and I launched into a student-appropriate answer on enzymes and biochemistry. When I was finished my cousin said she was impressed—she had never seen the “Dr. Clark” side of me in action. Some people have called me Dr. Joe and some kids have called me Dr. Silly. That familiarity I think is thoroughly enjoyable and something that I actively embrace with all my colleagues and their children.

There were two big days pending for Ann and me. One was of course the flight to Paris, when we would be separated. But the one before that was a requisite step and that was my Ph.D. defense papers. The big stack of handwritten pages had been converted to electronic text with Ann’s help, complete with figures and data all assembled into a double-spaced textbook of 164 pages. What needed to be done was the ceremonial burning of all the different drafts of my thesis. On a cold January evening in Michigan Ann and I burned the drafts of my thesis. Some of the handwritten pages brought back memories of the work we put into the thesis. Many of the annotated pages from Pat Dillon started long conversations about my thesis with Dr. Dillon echoing in my head. There was a lot of paper and we would add one large stack after another. Some of the paper produced ash that flew up into the night sky glowing like a million lightning bugs released from the confines of the burning paper. It gave me a release and a sense of accomplishment that those pages served a purpose and now I was letting them go.

Ann and I had a nice quiet dinner at home on my very last day in the USA. It was somber, but we also had to discuss final arrangements for our temporary time apart. It should only be about 6 months before I would get things ready for Ann to follow me to Paris. The next morning she drove me to the airport in silence, with tears in her eyes. I tried to reassure her that we would be together soon, but it seemed like a lifetime right now. Ann and I sat very close to each other in the airport, alternating between embracing and holding hands in silence. Finally the boarding of my flight was announced and it was time to go. I kept thinking of those three main concerns I had about my year in Paris. I wanted to be successful in the research, to maintain my relationship with Ann, and to be there if my family needed me. As Ann and I embraced, I still couldn’t stop thinking about them.

We kissed, then I waved goodbye as I walked towards the plane that would take me away. As I turned to wave one last time, she was crying openly now, her left hand wiping tears and her right hand raised above her head waving. Little did I realize that two of my three biggest fears about this trip would come to pass.