Some people who come to graduate school expect it to be an extension of their undergraduate years. It is not.

I came to Harvard in 1986 after four years at Princeton University and a year at the the London School of Economics.

My room that first year was in Child Hall. Imagine my boundless enthusiasm upon learning this was an infamous "Walter Gropius building." It was the smallest single I've ever seen--with a wooden plank instead of a box spring frame and walls so thin my next door neighbor regularly could wake me with his snoring.

But the real killer was the fact that an R.A. lived on the floor. Twenty-three year old college graduates do not need mollycoddling, or so I thought. The guy never had a moment's rest, and I thought maybe I had missed the "psychosis" box on the application.

To escape, I volunteered as my floor's representative on the Graduate Dormitory Council (goose-pimply again). The first meeting, held around the end of September, went something like this:

Chair: "Our first picnic will be next Saturday outside Richards Hall."

Unidentified Anal Idiot: "What if it's raining?"

Chair: "The rain date will be that Sunday, same time and place."

Anal Idiot: "What if it's drizzling?"

(Chatter... commotion... dumbfoundedness)

Chair: "Our spring picnic will be Saturday, May 22 outside Richards Hall."

The first two years of any graduate program consist mostly of coursework and qualifying exams. You find out very quickly just how much you enjoy your field. Gone are the days of liberal arts education. Your transcript has an unenviable monotony of course titles.

While the notion of a social life tends to vanish quickly, I was able to find refuge in two of my most favorite activities, singing and teaching. I joined the Harvard Glee Club my first year and have not regretted a minute of my association with the group. Rehearsals are great therapy, and traveling to Europe, Canada and other parts of the U.S. made my work much more palatable.

If there are lessons to be learned as a graduate student, one of them must be to keep your avocations alive. Every member of GSAS needs some release, and convincing yourself you no longer have time for a favorite extracurricular is a big mistake.

For the past four years, I was a section leader for Ec 10, an experience that has been as rewarding as anything I've done at Harvard. Teaching Ec 10 was never a job for me. Sure, it paid the bills, but I didn't approach teaching as something I had to do; it was something I wanted to do. Again, a big mistake.

Murphy's law of GSAS: enjoyable work expands to fill ALL available time. I've kept in touch with most of my students and have written their recommendations for fellowships, medical school, law school, graduate school--you name it. More necessary and enjoyable work; more time to put off finishing.

For me, Ec 10 became part of a crusade to expose Harvard undergraduates to good teaching. They certainly do not get too much of it from tenured faculty, or so they tell me. It is in this quest I have become immensely confused. Good teaching clearly is valued by tenured faculties at major research universities only slightly higher than good penmanship.

The Danforth Center (now the Derek Bok Center) does an extensive and excellent job training teaching fellows and tutorial leaders. I wonder how many junior or senior faculty have ever been videotaped? Some professors refuse to distribute CUE guide questionnaires because they claim they cannot devote class time for them. That's a good one. Afraid of something?

If I had to do it again, and if I had wanted a position at a top university, I should have concentrated on my research only--no teaching.

It does strike me as ironic that extensive, quality undergraduate teaching experience does not mean much in the hiring process at many top universities. Maybe that's because most of their tenured faculties don't know what it is. But it's not their fault; it wasn't what got them tenured.

If any of my former students are reading this, they know how much I love to teach, and how much I've enjoyed teaching Ec 10. I don't regret any of my time in the classroom; it's helped me keep a sense of perspective and just a bit of my sanity intact.

Last year, I joined Mather House as the resident economics tutor, and that position brought into focus the real reason GSAS exists: to keep the students away from the tenured faculty! I sign study cards, I advise young economics concentrators, I run review sessions for the major courses, I talk about career plans, I write recommendations.

I really wish the faculty were more involved with these undergraduates. Not because I think it's their job (which I do), but because it's very rewarding. Without sounding like the catalog, these students are intelligent, vibrant, driven young people who love to talk about their interests.

It has taken years off my life living in close contact with them, and I don't think my time in GSAS would have been the same without them. Maybe the house system took a page out of the Business School's book--the resident tutors make a perfect middle management staff.

Well, in perfect Faulknerian style, I have shared a few impressions and memories of what GSAS has meant to me. I don't regret a minute of my time at Harvard, but if I had it to do over, I wouldn't have come to graduate school.

How much of that sentiment is endemic to Harvard? Probably not much. After all, Harvard did offer me the chance basically to teach my own class for three years, and to do the sort of advising usually reserved for deans or professors.

I think the key to my survival has been trying to balance necessities and amenities. I'm not teaching this year because the scales have tipped a bit too far to one side. Maybe if I'm particularly diligent, I will see some of my peers back in June for graduation.

Uh oh...What if it's drizzling.

David Johnson has taught Ec 10 for three years.