Mentorship Is Overrated—Unless You Redefine It

The best professional development doesn’t come from programs. It comes from great bosses who care.

I’ve always tried to lead by investing deeply in people—especially those who might not stand out on paper. I take chances when hiring, build deliberate career paths, and believe the work itself is the best training ground. I stay close to my team, sweat the details with them every week, and work hard to stay aligned with academic leadership. That’s the kind of leadership I work to bring to higher education.

But I didn’t invent this approach—I learned it by watching others. In today’s Dispatch, I reflect on what real mentorship looks like in practice: not formal programs, but the everyday influence of great bosses who lead by example.

Why it matters

We spend a lot of time in higher education talking about mentorship—structured programs, scheduled check-ins, and formal pairings. We spend too much on consultants to help with this. But, that’s not where the real growth happens.

The most impactful development doesn’t come from a defined mentor-protégé relationship. It comes from working for someone who believes in you, gives you room to grow, and models leadership in the way they work, solve problems, and show up.

You don’t sit across a table and get mentored. You watch. You absorb. You grow. Great bosses don’t sit you down to explain how leadership works—they let you see it in action. And if you’re not working for someone like that—find a better boss.

Looking back, I can trace much of my growth to the people I worked for—not because they were assigned mentors, but because they led by example and I watched and learned. These six stand out. Here’s what they revealed to me every day:

Bob Mann: Take a chance on people

As a grad student at Texas A&M, I wasn’t exactly thriving. I had a supportive mentor and did well in a few standout classes, but I didn’t fit the academic mold. What I did love was helping students and managing the department’s advising website. Building things and solving problems energized me in a way academia didn’t.

I reached out to Bob in central IT to ask if his team might support improving the site. He met with me immediately and mentioned they’d just lost their technical lead. We talked about some technologies I hadn’t heard of—so that night, I stayed up learning them. I applied what I’d learned the next day and emailed Bob to say this was the kind of work I loved—and that I was interested in the job.

Two months later, he hired me. A year in, we were building a web-based admissions system for all of Texas A&M. We would later add online payments and built middleware to connect web servers to the mainframe. By the time I finished my PhD, I was earning twice what assistant professors made. I sold my academic books and never looked back.

Bob took a chance on me. No credentials. No experience. Just curiosity and drive. That’s shaped how I have hired ever since. I don’t just look for experience—I look for mindset. Skills can be taught. Hunger can’t.

Steve Williams: Sweat the details—together

Two years into my time at Texas A&M, our team expanded. Bob Mann—always generous—advocated that I start reporting to his boss, Steve Williams, a retired Army colonel. Overnight, Bob became a peer, and I stepped into a new level of leadership under someone who believed in precision, discipline, and teamwork.

Steve held a weekly Wednesday meeting with all his direct reports—no exceptions. It wasn’t for show. That’s where the real work got done. We tracked progress, solved complex problems, and helped each other navigate tough stakeholders. We were expected to be invested not just in our own work, but in each other’s success.

That experience stuck with me. To this day, I hold weekly staff meetings with my direct reports—and I’m often surprised how rare that is in higher education leadership. But I’ve learned this: we can’t deliver if we’re not sweating the details together. Alignment, accountability, and shared momentum don’t happen by accident.

When I finished my PhD, Steve threw a celebration for me with the whole department. But by then, I knew—my calling wasn’t being a professor of sociology. It was building high-performing teams like his.

Tom Putnam: Give people more than they’re ready for

I never reported directly to Tom, he was Steve’s boss, but his influence shaped me profoundly. He was the #2 in IT at Texas A&M—what we’d now call a Chief Technology Officer. An engineer with patents to his name, Tom brought deep technical insight but never led with ego. He pushed us to think beyond the systems we built and focus on the end-user experience. He gave us room to lead, room to stumble, and space to grow.

Tom had a habit of handing big, high-stakes projects to people before they were “ready.” That included me, many times. He wasn’t a micromanager, but he was always present—quietly reinforcing standards, guiding from behind. I learned more in those years than I ever could have under a more cautious boss.

Once, I deployed a public API without fully thinking through the security implications. When a similar API led to a data breach at the University of Texas, I realized we had the same vulnerability. I called Tom, sick with worry. He didn’t flinch. Our network team verified we hadn’t been compromised, and Tom simply said: “That’s professional development you couldn’t pay for.” He never brought it up again, and he didn’t tighten the reins. I was still trusted to lead the big projects.

I often ask myself if I could be that generous in my current role. Tom showed me what real trust looks like—and how much people can grow when they’re given more than they think they can handle.

Tom died in 2022, and I think of him often.

Pierce Cantrell: Align with the people who carry the weight

Five years into my role at Texas A&M, many of the projects I was leading—like SEVIS—had reached the desk of Pierce Cantrell, the university’s Vice President and CIO. An electrical engineer by training and a longtime faculty leader, Pierce had a deep respect for the academic mission. He believed students were the heart of the university, and because faculty work closest with students, they had to be at the center of shared decision-making.

After an event celebrating the SEVIS launch, I found myself walking across campus with Pierce, Tom Putnam, and Steve Williams. Tom asked, “What’s next?” and Pierce casually mentioned the new Qatar campus. I asked what that was—and learned that Texas A&M was opening a full branch campus in Doha. That night, after discussing it with my wife, I emailed Pierce to say I was interested in the CIO role. A few months later, after a final interview with Pierce and his team, the job was mine. Soon after, we moved to Qatar, where I became responsible for everything IT that a campus needs—from infrastructure and enterprise systems to classroom tech and support.

What stuck with me most from working with Pierce was his clarity about where leadership truly happens. He believed that deans are the operational core of a university. They handle budgets, faculty, enrollment, fundraising, and outcomes. In his view, if you’re not aligned with them, you’re not aligned with the institution.

That philosophy has shaped how I lead. At Pepperdine, I met monthly with each of our five deans. At UGA, I meet with most of our 20 deans at least three times a year. Those conversations create the alignment necessary to deliver real impact. In higher ed IT, if you want to move the mission forward, you have to be in sync with the people carrying the weight.

Nancy Magnusson: Understand the hidden burdens

After three years in Qatar, Gail and I were ready to return. The experience had been life-changing, but I missed the kind of collaborative leadership I’d known at the main campus. The executive leadership in Qatar rarely operated as a team, and the demands of working across time zones meant we were regularly putting in 12-16 hour days. It was clear we needed a change.

That summer, two CIO roles opened at major institutions—Marist College and Pepperdine University. I assumed Marist was the better fit: a smaller college and a more technically focused role, given its deep, long-standing partnership with IBM. Pepperdine felt out of reach, but I applied anyway, hoping to land an interview. What changed everything was the connection I made with Nancy Magnusson, Pepperdine’s Senior Vice President for Planning. She supervised IT, the library, and institutional research, and from our first conversation, we both knew we’d found individuals we could partner with. A former dean herself, she immediately connected with the philosophy of alignment I’d learned from Pierce. She took a chance—and hired me over a finalist from a far more prestigious institution.

Nancy was one of the most supportive leaders I’ve worked for. She gave me the space to grow into the role—room to make hard decisions, learn from mistakes, and build confidence through a challenging PeopleSoft implementation and the 2008 financial crisis. I had to lay off some of the organization and later outsource more. Nancy didn’t love either move—but she backed me and she supported me through the political blowback that reached the president’s office. She trusted me to lead, and when she left Pepperdine, I was entrusted with most of her responsibilities.

But I also began to see how leadership could be different—and harder—when you’re a woman. Nancy was brilliant, strategic, and deeply respected. Still, I noticed how some ideas didn’t land the same way coming from her, or how certain colleagues gave her less deference than they gave her male counterparts. It wasn’t overt. But it was real.

Watching Nancy navigate that with strength, grace, and conviction left a lasting impression. It opened my eyes to the quiet burdens some leaders carry—and it’s made me more intentional about how I support and advocate for others who may be carrying more than they let on.

Jere Morehead: Love the place you lead

We loved Pepperdine. The president and provost gave me the opportunity to step into Nancy Magnusson’s role—an elevation some didn’t think I deserved. And we enjoyed Los Angeles too—except for two things: the housing market made it nearly impossible to afford a home with a yard, and the commute was relentless. So when a recruiter from the University of Georgia reached out, I took the call.

At the time, UGA’s IT organization was seen as being in crisis—though it was stronger than its reputation suggested. Jere Morehead had been provost for just under 18 months, after holding nearly every major job at the university: assistant to the president, director of legal affairs, dean of the Honors College, vice president for instruction, and then provost. He knew the institution from every angle—and he trusted that I was the person to help turn things around. He backed me early—through some initial missteps and political tensions—standing by me when others weren’t so sure.

Two years later, Jere became president, and under his leadership, UGA has flourished in ways few thought possible. What’s always stood out to me is how much he loves the university—not just the job, but the whole of it: the people, the purpose, the community, the place. He carries a deep understanding of what UGA means to students, faculty, alumni, and the state of Georgia—and he leads with that at the center. You see it in the way he listens, in the way he solves problems, and in the pride he takes in the university’s progress. For 14 years now, I’ve watched him do this daily.

That taught me something simple but lasting: great leadership starts with love for the institution. Not just respect or responsibility—real care. For the mission. For the community. For the place itself. If you don’t feel that for the organization you lead, your leadership will always have limits. And if you do, that love becomes contagious—it shows up in everything you do.

The bottom line

Formal mentorship programs have their place—they can open doors, create structure, and offer valuable guidance. But in my experience, the most meaningful mentorship happens day-to-day, by working alongside great bosses who invest in you, challenge you, and model the kind of leadership you want to grow into.

If you have a boss like that, pay attention. Watch how they lead, how they communicate, how they handle pressure—and absorb everything you can.

And if you don’t? Start looking. Because in the long arc of your career, who you work for may matter more than any plan you make.