Prelims 

For the 4 people who actually read this blog, please indulge me as this could be a rather lengthy entry.

In the spring of 1993, I was in the process of graduating from UW-Milwaukee with a degree in economics. I had applied to several schools for graduate study and was glad to accept the offer from Washington University in St. Louis (Wash U) to begin my doctorate training in the fall of 1993. Wash U was ranked about 40th in economics which meant it was a pretty highly regarded program. For reference, economics at the University of Alabama was around 90 and at the University of Oklahoma, around 95.

I showed up early at Wash U for what was called “Math Boot Camp”. I was well aware of the level of mathematics needed to do graduate level economics. A Masters in mathematics or statistics wouldn’t hurt. This program started about 3 weeks before the semester started and lasted for 3 to 4 hours a day. It was supposed to help prepare us for what was to come when we started taking our core economics theory courses where this level of mathematics would be expected and needed. I was struggling as were my 15 other classmates. By the end of those three weeks, the program had claimed its first victim. My good friend who I had known before the program, Robert, dropped out. It was a blow to me for a lot of reasons. He was Hispanic and the only other minority in the program and he was someone who I knew. Yet I endured on.

In the first year of our program we had to take Microeconomic Theory, Macroeconomic Theory and a Statistics course. I remember having only been in the program about a month when I had to take the first exam in Micro. I was the last one to turn my exam in so there was no one left in the room but me and the professor. As I handed him the paper he asked, “So Mr. Hoover how did you do?” I responded “I feel I did okay.” He looked at me queerly then responded, “Oh, Mr. Hoover we don’t care how you feel. We only care about how you do. So once again, how did you do?” I was rather shocked and simply said, “I passed.” That was my first clue that I was probably in over my head.

The rest of that fall semester of 1993 was pretty grim. I was studying hard by myself. I’d hear that the other students were having study groups and I’d ask to join but they would all pretend to not be invited themselves. The Asian kids seemed to have had their own network where they’d pass down old notes and exams to new entering Asians. They pretty much kept to themselves and had little problem with the actual class work. What I learned later was that they would sometimes struggle writing a dissertation where structure was given over to them to design their own course of study and write an original dissertation. It didn’t help that I was the only black person in the program. Heck, I was the third black ever in the PhD program there. Small micro-aggressions would happen such as when I’d go to the library to try to copy an article out of a journal that we needed to read for class only to find it had been cut out of the journal with a razor. However, that hurt all students who came behind and not just me so I can’t say that I was targeted. The environment was not healthy. That I know. What struck me as odd was that we were all on full fellowships so there was no need to compete for resources.

As the fall semester was coming to an end, it was clear that I was not doing well in any of my classes. I expected to only pass one of the three that I was taking. It wasn’t for a lack of trying. The material just seemed so foreign to me. Some would argue that it was my lack of mathematics training but that wasn’t it. If I sat in a math class and was told to solve questions from the back of the book, I could do that. What I couldn’t do was look at an economics problem then set it up to look like a problem from my math class. In essence, I never got to use my math skills because I couldn’t see the problem.

In December of 1993, the department chair called me to his office. He told me that my first year professors were impressed with my work ethic and the improvement that I made over the course of the semester but that there was no way that I’d pass Prelims that next summer. Preliminary exams or Qualifying exams, as they are sometimes called, are exams that students must take after their first year of study. They are exams that cover basically everything covered in those first year courses. It’s supposed to see if you’ve mastered the basics enough to go on and start taking courses in areas of expertise of the faculty. Some departments don’t have Prelims. They reason that if you pass all of the first year courses then you must have learned the material. Wash U was not one of those places.

I could tell that he was troubled. My fear was that he was going to tell me that since there was no way that I’d pass Prelims that coming summer, he was going to kick me out of the program. I wanted the chance. I told him that if he let me stay, I’d study even harder and give my very best effort on the Prelims. I then told him that if he was going to kick me out, that he should do it over Christmas break. I reasoned that maybe I could apply back at UW-Milwaukee and be enrolled for the spring of 1994. If not, I’d just be a first year student again in the fall of 1994. At this he perked up. He asked if I’d be willing to start over again at Wash U even though my classmates would know that I was being sent back. It would be embarrassing. I told him that I didn’t give a damn. I wanted to do economics and I’d be studying it somewhere.

He devised a plan for me. In the spring of 1994, I’d sit in and audit the courses that I’d have taken regularly. I’d see the material that was coming and familiarize myself with it. Those courses would be Microeconomic Theory II, Macroeconomic Theory II, and Econometrics. In addition, he was sending me to take undergraduate Macroeconomic Theory and a Masters level mathematics course. It would be a lot but hopefully prepare me to do it all over again the next year and pass. To be honest, that spring of 1994 was a blur. I was taking the classes and studying. My friend Robert, had left St. Louis to go back home so I knew no one and was pretty lonely and miserable.

When the summer of 1994 came, my classmates sat for the Prelims. It was a total blood bath. Of the 16 of us who started as first year students in the fall of 1993, only 3 had passed Prelims and were there that next fall. Of course, I was there but I had been relegated to repeating and others had dropped out before ever getting to Prelims. I spent the summer with a tutor (paid for by the department) trying to learn more math and going over problems that I was likely to encounter in classes the next year.

When the “Math Boot Camp” started in the fall of 1994, I felt much better prepared. In fact, I passed the class with a B that time. I was a bit concerned that it wasn’t an A, given how much studying I had done over the last year but it was better than last time. In addition, no one dropped out so that was a good sign.

I was back in the same three classes that I had been in the year before. I won’t say that they were easier but I think I understood what was going on. At least I had a clear idea of what the answers should look like and sometimes I even knew why. I’d often struggle to get the right answer but I mostly knew when it was wrong. The students in this class were much more willing to work together. I found them nice. In fact, my office mate was an Asian lady who gladly shared materials if she thought that they would be helpful.

By December 1994, I had passed (barely) all of those first semester courses. That had me feeling a bit apprehensive given that Prelims were coming. The spring of 1995 was a different story. The classes were an order of magnitude more difficult. Looking back, I probably didn’t pay as much attention as I should have since I was auditing the courses the year before. I did not pass them all. That was troubling to me.

When the semester ended, we had about 3 or 4 weeks before Prelims. These exams were a beast. It was a two-part exam with each part lasting 5 hours. You’d be tested on both Microeconomics and Macroeconomics. On that Monday you’d be given the Micro exam. They had what they called a “reading hour”. You could look at the exam, ask questions about the questions, and even scribble down some notes or answers. Then you’d be given a special type of paper where you would write your formal answers. You had 4 hours to turn in your formal answers on this paper. Anything that you wrote during the “reading hour” that was not on the special paper didn’t count. The same thing would happen on that Friday with the Marco exam.

I put my TV in my closet and spent the next few weeks studying. They had given us the last 10 years worth of Prelim exam questions and we also had our notes and exams from the first-year courses. It was a lot to get through. The outcome was pretty simple: if you didn’t pass this exam you got kicked out of the program. On one of the two exams you needed to get a “high” pass or a “PhD” pass. On the other you needed a “low” pass or a “Masters” pass. If you didn’t get at least two low passes you got kicked out with nothing. If you got two low passes you got kicked out with a Masters degree. You only got to stay for the second year if you had two high passes or a high and a low pass.  

So when the day came in June for us to take the exam, I was nervous but as ready as I could be. I took the Micro exam on that Monday and the Macro exam that Friday and waited for about 10 days to hear what happened. I found out that I had scored two low passes. I was heartbroken but knew that I was allowed to go talk to my professors who had graded the exam. One of them whose class I had failed that spring was rather upbeat. He said “Hoov, you were really close! We didn’t think you had a chance. If you work at this, you could actually pass.” That is what passed as a compliment at Wash U.

As always, there were several of us who didn’t pass Prelims. This thing did damage every year. There was a guy from southern Illinois in the program with me named Dan. In the summer, we had become office mates. Dan had not passed either although he was much better prepared and came much closer than I did. We knew that people who wanted to could take a re-take in about 5 or 6 weeks. We signed up for our last chance to pass and decided to study together.

We decided that we wanted no distractions so we moved into our office on campus. His father had this old army cot which he gave to us. That meant that, at most, one of us could sleep while the other studied. We’d (occasionally) shower at the gym on campus. Mostly we studied. We’d go take walks around campus and to the cafeteria for meals but given that these exams were 10 hours long, we could do one a day and that would have been a long day in itself but more studying had to be done. The undergrad students on campus would avoid us since we were quite funky, unshaven, and partially crazed because we were talking about economics constantly. In fact, we were so pathetic that the people at this church I attended made a list so that various families would bring us home cooked meals a few times a week. They wouldn’t stay to talk, given the smell but it was nice.

They say that there are 7 stages of grief but I believe that I experienced about 400 of them that summer of 1995. It was not a fun time. By the time that Monday arrived to take the Micro exam I just could not bring myself to care. I knew that I had done it all. If they kicked me out, there was nothing I could have done to stop it. I had a massive headache at the end of those 5 hours but no time to make it feel better. Me and Dan and the others who had taken the re-take went to have dinner then back to that stinky room to continue studying for the Macro exam on that Friday. That Friday was a repeat of Monday. I won’t say that I was calm. I was mostly a Zombie. After that exam, I was spent. I wanted to finally go back to my apartment and sleep in a bed. However, some of the folks (including Dan) wanted to go have a beer. Click here to see a picture of us.

About a week later we had heard that the exams had been graded and that the formal letters would be put in our mailboxes before noon. Not surprisingly, we all were hanging around in the mailroom waiting. When the secretary walked in, she casually started putting the letters in the mailboxes even though she could have handed them to us. One lady who had taken the re-take was Kristin, she’s the only woman in that picture above. She gets her letter and is about to walk out when the secretary tells her to open it and read it. Kristin says that she promised to take it home and that her and her husband would open it together. However, the secretary is insistent that Kristin open it then. We all knew instantly that she had passed. No way, she gets called out like that if she had failed. Of course, Kristin had passed.

The secretary then looks at me and sees me holding my envelope. I’m waiting for her to tell me to open mine. Instead she just smiles at me says “Hey, Hoov” and leaves the room. So, I open it and I see that I passed. To be honest, I don’t even remember the numbers by which I passed. I simply sit down on the sofa in the room and cry. It had been a rough two years. I had gone through so much.

Looking back on it now almost 30 years later, I’m still not sure how I feel about Wash U. Sure, they did help me out in many, many ways. It seemed like they genuinely cared that I got through but that constant pressure to kick us out has not left me feeling fondly of the place. I never felt that I belonged and I feel that torture of Pelims was not necessary. I’ve gone back to give research seminars there and some of my old professors remain but I never want to feel that way again. In addition, I was the last black person to ever get a PhD in economics from that place. Not surprising.