What’s Up Doc?

- Or – Exploring Personal Titles Before Pronouns Became a Political Flashpoint

Four years ago, in September, 2021, I got an email inviting me to make a small contribution to a book. The book was described as a compilation of essays from members of the LGBTQIA+ community within my denomination (Unitarian Universalism) and their experiences in that religions context – whether positive or not. As I recall, the deadline was fairly short, but I already had something that was about the needed length and actually had lots of detail about my professional relationship (as a trans woman) with the denomination – it was the sermon I’d written a couple of years earlier for the occasion of a congregation I had served in the 1990’s conferring upon me the title of minister emerita.

How that honor came to be, and my complex and rocky road in parish ministry is a long story in itself. But it is not really my focus at the moment (although I may return to it in some future essay).

A few months ago, I got an update about the book. Someone from the denomination’s publisher wrote to tell me that things were going ahead quickly (well, quickly now) and that I needed to proofread the text they had of my work, as well as answer some editorial questions. One of the things I noticed about the text was that, I was listed as: “Rev. Gwendolyn Howard.” While that is certainly correct and I am entitled to be called “Reverend” (another long story), but what was surprising to me was how disappointed I was that I wasn’t listed as “Rev. Dr. “ When I asked about this, I was informed that there was an editorial policy that that such titles were not being used for anyone.

At the start of the 1980’s, I was contemplating going to seminary. One of the factors that profoundly influenced my choice of which school to attend was that the seminary where I would eventually become a student had a program that allowed one to attend the University of Chicago Divinity School’s master’s degree program and work on a doctorate in ministry at the seminary.

In my third year at school, I began the work of preparing a proposal for my dissertation topic. My materials were then submitted to the faculty. When I was called into a meeting with the faculty to discuss my work, the dean was quite clear that he didn’t think it was something I should pursue. He told me that it was the experience of the faculty that the students needed to be “truly passionate” about a subject if they have any hope of completing the necessary work, and he didn’t see any evidence that I cared very much about the topic I’d proposed.

In one sense, he was right. I found my topic fascinating, but, then again, I could say that about a lot of things. Yet there was something he didn’t know which I couldn’t tell him.

As soon as I had begun to contemplate the idea of getting a doctorate, I was obsessed. One part of it was the idea of doing the intense work and study (yes, that does appeal to me) and the other part was that, although I was barely out to myself at the time, I knew in my heart and in my soul that I could not stand going through life as “Mr.” Here, before me was an opportunity to earn a gender neutral title. This was where my passion was.

While the faculty meeting didn’t go well (even my own advisor decided to throw me under the academic bus when he saw the way the dean was headed), one other faculty member took me aside later and told me that while the faculty didn’t say “yes” to my proposal, they didn’t actually say “no.” He offered to help me rewrite and tighten up my proposal and, if the faculty accepted it, he’d agree to be my dissertation advisor.

With his kind and generous help, my proposal passed a second faculty review and I got to work. The time was short and intense and I had more than a few challenges thrown at me by my dissertation advisor, but I completed the work on time and it is something I’m still proud of.

Even after the completion of my work, however, there was one last hiccup. Every year Doctor of Ministry students were invited to present précis of their dissertations to a public forum at the denomination’s annual General Assembly. The dean was so certain of my lack of commitment, that when asked by the folks from the General Assembly’s planning committee which students would be presenting, he’d left my name off the list. I did go to the presentations, but only to show support for fellow students.

But, despite roadblocks and setbacks, when it came time for graduation, I discovered my name was listed in the program, not only for earning my degree, but also for winning the “Frank Charlton Doan Prize in Philosophy and Religion.” The prize was a $200 check. Forty years ago, that seemed like real money. I still have a copy of that check on archival paper.

And, more importantly, I got the title. It will always mean a great deal to me.

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A note on the title of this essay:

While there are various versions of the story, I’ve read that the writers and animators who developed Bugs Bunny had him use the term “doc” because it was used extensively by their colleague, Tex Avery. I can’t speak to the truth of this, but there is evidence that “doc” was used in some parts of the country, perhaps as far back as the late 1840’s, to refer to just some person, a little like that later use of, say “buddy” (“Hey buddy!” “What’s up, buddy?” etc.). Ironically, my father, who was originally from northern, rural Alabama sometimes called me “doc” when I was a child. I don’t think this was necessarily prescience, but it does sometimes still make me smile. However, I do prefer “Dr.”