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BN: So after -- you mentioned you finished in '74; there was a lot of people on the job market at that time. Where did you end up going subsequently?

SH: Well, I had a one-year slot at the College at Brockport, SUNY in upstate New York, which, by the way, was the perfect location because it was twenty-five minutes from George Eastman House. And I knew James Card, the curator, who said he was totally whimsical in terms of his decisions about who got to look at the films in the archive. Of course, it's more bureaucratized now. Then because that was a one-year slot, I had to immediately (start) interviewing for other jobs. And this is very interesting. I was interviewed for the job that obviously was going to Mary Rothschild at Arizona State. And I think they flew me out to doctor up their affirmative action papers because I was not told until I got there that I had to make a presentation. And I thought, "Well, this doesn't pass the smell test." Right? Because I had previously interviewed for a job at New Mexico, and I was told that I had to make a presentation. So I came out with my slides and a lecture and so forth. And then I withdrew from that position because they were dealing with history using what I called the "whole hog" approach. In other words, you know, the whole world from time immemorial to now. I thought, "Well, I'm sorry, but that doesn't sound doable to me." And I wound up at Simmons College next--for a year. And living in Boston was an interesting experience. And then I was invited back to Brockport as well as, you know, being given an extension at Simmons. And I didn't know what to do, but I knew that I wanted to get back to that film archive. And I couldn't have published what I did, you know, without access to George Eastman House. And I didn't, by the way, at the time even know that I was interested in publishing. I had no idea, you know. I mean, in fact, I remember a chairman, a guy who had been recruited from the U of R to be the chair at Brockport. And I remember telling him, "I don't even know if I want to do any more scholarship." And he said, "Oh, that! We all go through that." You know. So he was very dismissive. But he was right. Eventually, you know, teaching becomes a kind of a rut. You have to try to make it interesting. But research is always interesting, you know.

BN: What kind of teaching load did you have?

SH: Oh, it was really onerous. We had three courses except when I was Women's Studies Director -- then I had released time. And then we had to do a lot of advising. And my students were working-class, lower-middle-class students -- a lot of whom were not at all prepared to be in college at all. Then, of course, we had some extremely bright people that we sent to Chicago and Yale but they were in the minority. And actually after I taught for two quarters at UCLA, I thought to myself, "Well, you know, this is really sort of a caste system." Because in the teaching institutions you have to really run twenty-four/seven. In the research institutions, I want to know if you're not publishing, why aren't you? And, in fact, a number of people in that UCLA film studies or theater department, when I was there, struck me as having been on a permanent vacation.

BN: What was the demographics of the student population?

SH: Where I taught?

BN: Yeah, right.

SH: They were all white, really. They were white students, mostly from lower-class and working-class households. I had one Black student from Rochester. Occasionally you would get some Black students. I had my white students read The Autobiography of Malcolm X, which led to quite a heated discussion in class. I think I did well teaching because I'm generally, you know, very casual and uninhibited in class. So I could get along with younger students, although I learned that I had really allowed them to cross the line a little bit too much because for a while it was possible. I used to get the athletic department's blessing and bus my students into Eastman House for a Monday screening -- during which people would be yelling at me from the back of the bus and they'd be calling me Su. So I thought, "Well, maybe I should dial this back and become a little bit more formal."

BN: Where did you live when you were teaching?

SH: Well, I lived in apartment houses, and then I met my husband at a department meeting and then we lived in a house. And I have to say, to this day, I don't understand why people think that living in white suburbia represents some sort of ideal. I think it's a form of slavery.

BN: Did you visit family often or did you come back to L.A.?

SH: Oh, yes. You know, when I was a grad student I used to substitute teach one day a week, and then one day a week I went home to my mother's house. She's sewing all week in a factory. So I would clean her house, I would take her grocery shopping, I'd take her to Macy's, etc. And, you know, I think what I did was I gave myself twenty-five years. I gave myself twenty-five years to have a career -- and then while my book was published rather late unfortunately because my husband had two children from a prior marriage and a very mentally disturbed daughter. But in any case, I did get my book published finally and at that point a lot of things changed for me. However , you know, I came home during intercession to take care of my father in a wheelchair, and I went back and I busted my arm. And I thought, "Okay, I can't do both anymore." And so I took an early retirement option. And then I was constantly on the plane. And I really made a mistake retiring here in Connecticut; I should have been in L.A. . . .

BN: So you stayed in Connecticut, but you were constantly going back and forth?

SH: I was in upstate New York, and then we moved here to Connecticut to be near my husband's family. And we maybe should have moved to L.A. to be near my family. I mean, I think his family's all right, but, you know, I'm not particularly chummy with them. And so I should have gone to be near my family, but I was worried about how he would, you knowm fit in there; he's very New England.

<End Segment 11> - Copyright © 2022 Densho. All Rights Reserved.