Spencer Heath Archive

Item 2847

Two typed items, one narrated by Heath and the other typed by F.A. Harper, both submitted by Spencer MacCallum to the Saturday Evening Post for their feature, “The Perfect Squelch.” A typed note from Harper at The Foundation for Economic Education, Inc., Irvington-on-Hudson, New York, to MacCallum introduces the latter.

August 27, 1958

 

 

This refers to a time when my youngest daughter, Lucile, was to take some back work at Columbia University. She went to Teachers’ College and joined a large class, some eighty-odd in the class. At the first session, a professor was holding forth on the platform. He had the reputation for being a very hard disciplinarian on the teachers; he thought teachers ought to live a hard and rugged life. His manner betrayed that tendency to some extent — so much so that when my daughter, who sat on the extreme right in the front, answered some question or something of the kind, he said, “Speak up! Speak up! I’ve always noticed that people with weak voices have weak minds!” Now Miss Roma Gans, a teacher sitting near my daughter but on the other side of the platform, said, “Oh-ah Professor!? What was that you said? We couldn’t hear you over here.”

 

____________________________

July 1, 1957

Dear Spencer:

After I touched up the Warren item, I decided the imposition of my handwriting on an innocent soul to be too tyrannical, so had it retyped for you.

 The other item, as I recall, you gave me permission to keep?

 I hope that you can find time to pay us a visit, now that you have found the way without detour.

Best wishes,

(Signed) FAH

 

An Effective Squelch (as related by F.A.H.)

This story has to do with academic life.

 Dr. G. F. Warren, who happened to be the one who attracted me
to Cornell in the first place, was at the time Head of the Department of Agricultural Economics. He had the reputation for being a very, very strict teacher, and the other professors in his Department also required a great deal of work of the students in their courses — a great many hours of work in tough courses.

 There developed over the years, among members of the various Departmental faculties, complaints about the amount of the students’ time that was being required in the courses in Dr. Warren’s Department. Finally they decided to make a protest — an official protest — and try to get something done about it.

 They decided to bring it up at Faculty Meeting and planned their strategy all out, with certain professors assigned to make the protest speeches in an arranged order.

 The Faculty Meeting started off. Professor So-and-So arose and laid the groundwork, about how Dr. Warren’s courses were infringing upon the time of the students, so that something ought to be done about it. And then someone else came on for speech number two, and so forth.

 Now Dr. Warren was a very quick-witted man, a man of unusual wisdom, who expressed an amazing amount of wisdom per spoken word. He always had a concise way, a sharp way, of saying things.  So when the planned speeches were completed and the Dean called on Dr. Warren for a word from the accused, he arose,  hesitated about two seconds — which  was about all the time it ever took him to get his feet under him on such an occasion — and said, “Well, all I have to say is, it seems to me somebody ought to take up the slack.”

 That ended the discussion abruptly, and the Faculty Meeting was able to proceed on to more important business.

 

July 1, 1957