December 9, 2024
Congratulations to the individuals, projects, and publications that received AIA Awards. They will be formally recognized at the 2025 AIA Awards Ceremony, which will take place during the 126th Annual Meeting. We have contacted this year’s winners to gather insights about their projects, experiences, and what inspired them to pursue a career in archaeology.
Robert Stephan (University of Arizona)
Award: Excellence in Undergraduate Teaching Award
What drew you to archaeology?
My first introduction to archaeology, like most of us, was not in front of the class as a professor but rather in the back of the class as a student. I’d sit in the nosebleed section of the lecture hall trying to figure out what was important for the exam, playing the snake game on my flip phone, and thinking about what I should do with my life. But “Intro to Field Archaeology” was different. I ventured as far up as the fourth, maybe third, row (first row was still a bridge too far), and I hung on every word the professor spouted about dusty tombs and broken pottery and scattered bones. It was like someone had dropped me in the middle of a National Geographic special.
Fifteen years later I was a professor of Classical Archaeology. Looking back on it, part of it was the material – I still find archaeology fascinating – but so much of it was the passion and enthusiasm with which the professor conveyed that material. She was so enthralled with each topic, it seemed to me, that this must be the greatest part of her week, getting to tell us all about Pompeii or King Tut or the Oracle of Delphi.
That professor, Sue Alcock, just happens to be the 1999 recipient of this very same Excellence in Undergraduate Teaching Award. Her AIA award bio not only highlights that very same course (shout out to CLARCH 323, it really was that good!), it concludes with a glowing student testimonial and a prediction, that the her teaching impact was “a healthy sign that the future may hold yet another archaeologist for the profession, the ultimate legacy of a good teacher.”
At the time, I never imagined that I would be one of those “future archaeologists.” But as I’ve come to understand, teaching archaeology is like running a dig—helping students excavate curiosity and knowledge, layer by layer, until they uncover the rich story beneath the surface. Now, I hope to convey that thrill of discover to my own students, so that they leave each class having unearthed something profound—not only about archaeology but also about their own passion for learning about the world.
Tell us about your history with the AIA:
My first experience presenting at the AIA was in 2005 in Boston, where I co-authored a paper on papyrology and archaeology with another incredible professor from the University of Michigan. Standing in front of such an accomplished audience was both thrilling and intimidating—sharing my ideas felt daunting with so many experts in the room. But that moment also opened my eyes to the generosity of the AIA community, where seasoned professionals are eager to engage with newcomers and help them refine their arguments and perspectives.
I stayed connected to the AIA throughout grad school, participating in archaeological projects across Sicily, Cyprus, Armenia, England, and Greece. Those years of fieldwork were incredibly formative, and fieldwork remains the highlight of my year. There’s nothing quite like teaching and inspiring students in the field and working alongside true friends and colleagues with the vivid blue waters of the Aegean as our backdrop.
Since joining the University of Arizona in 2016, I’ve had the pleasure of serving on the board of the AIA’s Tucson and Southern Arizona chapter. As a team, we work hard to inspire lifelong learners and budding archaeologists alike, hosting speakers and offering engaging programming for our community. It really has been an honor to give back to an organization that has been so central to my own journey in archaeology.
What’s next for you professionally?
I look forward to continuing my journey to teach as many undergraduates at the University of Arizona as I can about the wonders of archaeology. A big part of this is, as Jim Harbaugh once said, bringing an “enthusiasm unknown to mankind” to every single lecture. But another vital part is exploring new ways to make archaeology exciting and relevant for a new generation (and a new demographic) of students, especially those who may never get to see these sites in person. Economic constraints, caretaking responsibilities, and work obligations often prevent students from traveling to Italy, Greece, or Egypt, so my mission has been to bring those places to them.
To that end, I’ve been experimenting with video games as a teaching tool, especially games like Assassin’s Creed that feature detailed historical landscapes. These games allow students to virtually experience the cultural and natural landscapes of ancient Greece, providing a vivid, interactive layer to our classroom discussions. I’m also developing a virtual study abroad project called Seven Wonders of Ancient Greece, which uses 360-degree on-site videos recorded at key locations in Greece. With a VR headset, students can immerse themselves in sites like Athens, Delphi, or Olympia, giving them a taste of these incredible places without leaving campus. In the future, I hope to expand the Seven Wonders project to other regions—Italy and Egypt would be logical next steps. While most of my students won’t major in Classics, History, or Archaeology, the more people who have an appreciation for archaeology and the diversity of world cultures, the better off we are as a society. Teaching archaeology in these accessible, interactive ways is my way of building that appreciation.
Outside of the classroom, I have focused on advocating for contingent faculty, both at the University of Arizona and, hopefully in the future, through the AIA as well. These are often the faculty who teach the large introductory archaeology courses, providing students with their first glimpse into the fascinating world of excavation and survey. It’s crucial that we work towards salary equity, job security, and advancement opportunities for these educators, who play a fundamental role in spreading and sustaining our discipline. Often, their contributions go unrecognized, yet they’re the ones sparking that initial excitement about archaeology in so many students. This award is a wonderful step in that direction, and I’m committed to advocating for further support and appreciation for contingent faculty who inspire the next generation of archaeologists.
What is your favorite class to teach?
Right now, my favorite class to teach is CLAS 150C1: Pyramids and Mummies, our intro to ancient Egyptian history and archaeology class at the University of Arizona. A few years ago, I developed an online version of this course, spending a full year scripting lectures, turning my guest bedroom into a recording studio, and learning to edit videos in Premiere. Having those lectures pre-recorded now gives me more time to spend working with the students on their assignments and course project, which asks them to act as the pharaoh of a previously undiscovered dynasty and to lay forth a manifesto of ruling advice for their descendants. It’s awesome (and hilarious) to see what they come up with!
What is your favorite moment as a teacher?
So, this goes back to my first year teaching the big Classical Mythology class at the University of Arizona. It was Fall 2017, and there were about 500 students in the course. And even giving it my all up on the stage, attendance was still hemorrhaging by the end of the semester. At the same time, about 90% of the emails I’m getting were about students asking for extensions, explaining absences, or being disgruntled about grades. Not the most fun thing to deal with.
Throughout the course, students had been working on their projects, which basically asked them to create something, really anything, cool that had something to do with Classical Mythology. On the last day, students could volunteer to share what they came up with. I had no idea what would happen, and to be honest, after the end-of-semester grind, my expectations weren’t too high.
What some of these students came up with was downright unreal, and that day is seared into my mind. An architecture student built a 3D model of the entire acropolis that you could fly a plane through, and it would auto-narrate about the buildings as you went. Another student created what I still think is the funniest video of all time—a 1990s, cheesy, Bill Nye-style documentary about Demeter with copious amounts of green screen action. I still use a lot of those techniques in my online teaching today. A third student built a complete WebMD database, where you could input your symptoms, and then choose whether you wanted to go the mythological or scientific route; then, it’d give you the entire diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment plan from Hippocrates or Asclepius.
These projects not only restored my faith in the students, but they’ve really encouraged me to give them more creative, exploratory freedom than I previously had provided. That class in December 2017 still jumps out as one that made me smile the most.
Can you share a funny anecdote from your years in teaching?
My first day teaching was back in 2014 in Stanford’s Program in Writing and Rhetoric. I was nervous but determined, ready to stride confidently into my first class ever. I show up ten minutes early to settle in, set up…and the classroom door is locked. The students start gathering in the hallway, glancing at their phones and then at me, while I’m doing my best impression of “calm and collected” as I frantically scan the hallways for anyone from maintenance or facilities to rescue me from what’s already, in my mind, a full-blown crisis. “Maybe someone comes by at exactly 10:00am to unlock the door,” I futilely hope as the hourly bell from Hoover tower clangs in the distance.
At this point, I’m start trying to pick the lock using a credit card because I once saw it happen on an episode of “Law and Order.” Needless to say, that did not work at all. So, I start sprinting down the hallway, practically kicking down doors, and finally interrupt another class mid-lecture to get the right phone number to call. Meanwhile, I’m imagining my students already wondering if they should just cut their losses and switch sections. Finally, about twenty, sweaty, panicked minutes later, we’re inside the classroom. To the students, it was probably no big deal—heck, they were probably thrilled about a late start to class. But to me, it was like I could see my authority and credibility melting with every unsuccessful turn of the doorknob. This guy is supposed to teach Stanford students, and he can’t even open a door! Luckily, my teaching has improved since then, if only because I pre-program the “help line” numbers into my phone before the semester ever begins.
Questions? Learn more about AIA Awards here or reach out to awards@archaeological.org
