Tucked away in UT�s library are thousands of theses and dissertations examining everything from improved cookstoves to cyclohexanedicarboxylic acids

by Joe Tarr

On the sixth floor of the University of Tennessee's Hodges Library is an academic temple. Six aisles stretching from floor to ceiling are crammed with theses and dissertations that earned thousands of graduate degrees. Bound in either black or green covers, each bears the name of the student author engraved on the edge.

The stillness of the library and the afternoon sun cutting through the windows enhance the sacred aura of the place. You can imagine a lost freshman stumbling across this section of the stacks. Noticing the uniformly bound volumes, he might pause and rub his fingers over the names of the venerated. He will inhale the dusty, worn scent of the older volumes. Hesitantly, he will pull one down from its altar.

Slowly turning its cover, he will read a title like this: "Experimental and Theoretical Investigation of Multiaxial Elongational Flow and Processing of Polymer Melts."

The freshman will jam the book back into place and flee, taking away only the knowledge that he must avoid all electives that have anything to do with whatever subject that was.

Often esoteric, sporadically ground-breaking, and sometimes silly, graduate writings are the summation of academic pursuit. But they are little used once finished, and few outsiders can understand the texts themselves, let alone the agony required to write them.

It is an endeavor completed behind the vaulted doors of the ivory tower, a rite of passage for those who would join the rarefied ranks of M.S., M.A., and Ph.D. But after the degree is awarded and the work filed away, what becomes of them?

GETTING SHELVED

Scanning name after name of graduate students in the library, you can't help thinking about the years of sweat, sleepless nights, and paralyzing panic sacrificed to higher education. Printed on 100 percent cotton paper, many of the books contain extras: photographs pasted to the pages, foldout maps, cloth samples, video and audio tapes, even barbed wire.

Books bound in black are theses; those in green are dissertations.

Many of the subjects are so beyond comprehension to the untrained mind that it can be downright comical to read their titles, and it's hard to imagine anyone attempting to read the text. Consider these random samples from the library stacks:

"A Mechanistic Spray Dryer Mathematical Model Based on Film Theory to Predict Sulfur Dioxide Absorption and Reaction by a Calcium Hydroxide Slurry in the Constant Rate Period," or "An Analysis and Interpretation of the Faunal Remains from Eight Late Middle Woodland Owl Hollow Phase Sites in Coffee, Franklin, and Bedford Counties, Tennessee," or "Part I: A Study of the Catalytic Hydrogenation of Hydroxybenzenes Over Platinum and Rhodium Catalysts; Part II: The Kinetics of the Acid-Catalyzed Hydrolysis of the Dimethyl Esters of Cyclohexanedicarboxylic Acids."

Others, while obscure and immersed in the language of academia, manage to arouse curiosity— "A Phenomenological Study of the Experience of Having Stories Told About Oneself," (which examined the psychological effect of relatives and friends telling anecdotes about someone in their presence) or "The Impact of Improved Cookstoves on the Demand for Fuel Wood in Sub-Saharan Africa, And Its Relation To Deforestation" or "Loneliness and Depression and Their Relation to Parasocial Interaction" (which explored the pseudo-relationships people develop with TV characters).

A few dwell in the much more accessible realm of mass culture, such as one that looked at the changing impressions of the Vietnam War in film and literature, and another that examined the decision to drop advertising from Ms. magazine and its effect on editorial content.

Many of the older writings deal with education. Some seem dated in their way of thinking, like one written in the '20s that asserted most juvenile delinquents had low intelligence. Other earlier theses appear simple by today's standards—such as one that catalogued East Tennessee's trees and shrubs.

A dozen or so empty shelves sit next to the full ones. They are expected to be filled in the next 10 to 15 years with more graduate works, says Aubrey Mitchell, associate dean of UT's library. "The quantity is unbelievable in a sense, to realize that every one represents a person who has completed a graduate degree at the University of Tennessee," he says. Mitchell's current count of theses and dissertations in the stacks is 26,249.

Many never leave the shelves once they are placed there. Most of the frequently circulated writings are about local history and culture, and those related to the Great Smoky National Park, Mitchell says.

The dissertations from all colleges and universities are catalogued in files you can access at libraries across the country or on-line. Interested researchers around the world can buy microfilms of the full text, if they want.

However, there is very little exchange or knowledge of what master's work is being done, since no organization catalogues these. There is now a movement to have all the country's theses made available on-line. UT is participating on an experimental basis, soliciting volunteers to publish their work on-line. (Electronic publishing can easily accommodate more dynamic media like video and audio. One thesis available over the Internet includes parrot calls.)

WILL IT EVER GET DONE?

When Richard Polhemus began work on his archaeology dissertation in 1986, he expected it would take six months to complete his field dig, and a little while longer to earn his doctorate.

But the months rolled away and so did the years. Polhemus spent six years digging up the remains of a Native American village buried under a Jefferson County farm. Years more would fall to studying the artifacts he uncovered and analyzing his data. Meticulous and persistent, Polhemus kept grinding away, working archaeological jobs on the side—all the while paying his tuition. His efforts finally came to an end this month, some 13 years after he started the project.

"It seems very strange not to have that lurking in the shadows anymore," he says. "Most people don't take as long as I did."

Polhemus used a type of archaeological analysis that he'd never done before and it turned out to be much more time-consuming than he anticipated. The village he partially unearthed originated around 1200 and was destroyed in a fire sometime between 1450 and 1500. The inhabitants never returned, for reasons Polhemus has not been able to ascertain. He dug the remains of three houses in the village, which were contained in a 100-foot square area. He catalogued 100,000 fragments, including burnt clay roof patches, food material, tools, pottery, and bones.

"When you put everything through a quarter-inch screen, there's a lot more than you ever thought there would be: everything from fish scales and bones to all kinds of animals that lived there at one time, including elk and bear," he says.

Though it took a comparatively short year and a half for Nicole Corsaro to finish her master's thesis, it was none-the-less agonizing and stressful. A student of sociology, she studied 30 murder-for-hire cases in Tennessee and how they differ from other murder cases—in the race, age, and gender of the solicitors, hitmen, and victims, and their relationships to each other. Among her findings were that men and women hire hitmen at an equal rate, and that the hitmen are usually white males.

Structuring and composing her argument was more taxing than her actual research.

"I would sit down and write, thinking, 'I've nailed it. This is it.' Then I'd hand it to my professor, and he'd cross all this stuff out, and say, 'This is good, but re-write all this.' There were many revisions," Corsaro says. "I really didn't think it could all get done. There was a point when I hadn't seen my friends in two months. But I'm glad I did it."

Ann Lacava has never written a thesis or a dissertation. But she's helped thousands through the process. For 13 years, she's been UT's thesis/dissertation consultant. Prior to that, she ran a typing service that specialized in preparing these documents to the college's strict standards (a trade made obsolete by computers and laser printers).

"I tell the male students that this is the closest they'll ever come to childbirth," Lacava says.

She is sitting in her broom-closet of an office in the Student Services Building. The shelves on her walls are lined with the 130 theses and 100 dissertations just completed this semester. They will soon be sent to be bound. Unlike an undergraduate degree, there is no set pattern or time period for completing these documents.

Students first must find a professor to guide them—someone who shares their interests and who they believe they could work well with, Lacava says. The two work on selecting a narrowly-defined topic and enlist two to three other professors to be on the committee that will review the student's work.

A research methodology is determined. It could involve surveys, interviews, field work, scientific analysis, historical research, applying critical theories, among many other techniques. (Graduate work in creative arts like writing is an entirely different beast).

The actual analysis and writing of a thesis or dissertation takes at least two semesters but could span years, Lacava says. Master's candidates write theses, doctoral students compose dissertations. Dissertations are generally more in-depth than theses. However, theses can be just as grueling and take just as long to write, and some are as ingenious as dissertations.

"The overriding thing surrounding each one of them is the isolation. There's so few people that do know what graduate students go through," Lacava says. "Most of their families say, 'You're doing what?' It's the most isolating thing I can imagine. You can't share it with anyone."

Corsaro agrees: "My boyfriend would be like, 'When are you going to be done? How much more do you have to do?' There isn't a deadline. It's finished when I've articulated everything I can on it and done my best."

Reggie Murphy just completed a dissertation on exploring how radio stations' web sites affect listening habits. He agrees the process takes a lot out of you.

"Your social life takes a back seat. You don't necessarily give up your friends and colleagues, but you spend more time on the weekend in the library. You give up your leisure time," he says. "If you're a person used to a big social life, you have to give that up. Sometimes relationships are hard."

Lacava watches the students go through a dramatic transition.

"They start out very enthusiastic and as time goes on they become very tired. A lot of work is done when they are exhausted," she says. "But they keep on it and eventually it gets done."

Even if these documents never do get used, they presumably have served some purpose to those who wrote them.

Polhemus hopes to publish his as a book and continues contracting for archaeological jobs. Corsaro now plans to work toward a doctorate. Murphy will soon start a job at a television consulting firm in Iowa.

Lacava says it's an astounding accomplishment no one can take away.

"Once you have your degree, it absolutely belongs to you," Lacava says. "You can become a homeless person, but you're still going to have your degree."