Emerson College - Emersonian Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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THE DIGNITY OF A MAN She watched him form the word increase, in that strangely unsure writing. As he turned suddenly from the board, she wondered if the letters seemed unsteady because of his humility or because perhaps, he very often did not know. After all, he continually implied a relationship between himself and the statistic, noting that even Einstein was right only two per cent of the time. He was saying something that the girl did not fully hear, so that when his last words were left hanging in the air, she quickly offered an answer, which he with his gentleness accepted. He could easily have made her look ridiculous, b ut her ubiquitous self-confidence did not allow her the necessary objectivity to view and evaluate each momentary reaction. The answer was, of course, completely wrong. And if you could, class, what most would you like to feel you had accomplished, as a teacher retrospectively considering your life efforts? There was silence and then one or two responses offering nothing. It was a class like that, not especially alert, the great majority not even remotely interested in education — no worse than any other, certainly no better. You ' ll probably all be cross with me when you see what I ' m going to put down, he said. The girl waited with eagerness as he completed the phrase begun on the board. She was considered a bright girl, so that she showed her disappointment and incredulity when she read the words, Increase a sense of ■ dignity in Man. The bright girl did not understand, perhaps be cause she was only bright by comparison, or perhaps because this short simple man was offering his gentle wisdom to those who were too youthful, too crass to understand. As I grow older, class, he said in a voice that was not at all like his usual tone, I feel the need more and more of this sense. It becomes absolutely necessary to me to be able to reassure myself that man is essentially good, and working for the rela- tive good of all his fellows. The girl stared at him, unable to take her attention from the pale green-blue eyes that were fired with an intensity rarely glimpsed in the mild, everyday manner. She was not an intrinsically selfish person, but she did believe with every corner of her mind that things were never done properly unless you did them yourself, especially when you were fully convinced that your ability was much superior to that of those around you. Stupidity and slowness were the most abhorrent afflictions imaginable to her, and she felt secure in the knowledge that indecision and intolerance were foreign to her nature. One was always given to understand that her life was planned and there wasn ' t a living soul who could deter her from the course she had decided to follow. She had done some few good things, and perhaps even some outstanding ones; but like the class, she was no better nor worse than any of the rest of them. Actually, she was only a little quicker, getting most ideas by intima- tion rather than explanation, and probably the best that could be said was that she was destined for an orderly and lonely life by some remote seacoast where no one could rouse her ire or disturb her quiet. Therefore, she could only think, What does he mean? What is he getting at? As she desperately tried to set her mind in order to follow the turns of his thinking, his voice continued on a gentle though almost min- isterial note. He had said beforehand, in that half apologizing way, that he was going to preach for a while. It makes me happier than anything I ' ve heard in a long time to know that they ' ve discovered a new element in an undistinguished little house somewhere — something that ' s never been in the world before — something that can be made again and again and won ' t disappear after this first performance. What is he saying? she demanded repeatedly of herself. It was difficult for her to keep up v ith him. Page Fourteen

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Editors Maxwell and Dowd confer while the Business Staff enjoy a private joke, probably on Photography Editor Russell who takes all the pictures and never manages to get in any of them. Seated are De Caprio, Business Manager Plexico, and Sanderson. Standing are Surrette, Advertising Chairman Sossner and Greene. EMERSONIAN STAFF Editor-in-Chief BEATRICE DOWD Business Manager SARAH PLEXICO Literary Editor PATRICIA MAXWELL Contributing Editors CONSTANCE WHITE MILDRED SCHWARTZ Photography Editor MARY RUSSELL Advertising MURIEL SOSSNER, Chairman BONNIE SANDERSON SHIRLEY SURRETTE Publicity ESTELLE LALLY ELEANOR GREENE Friends of Emerson LOUISE DE CAPRIO Page Thirteen

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What would make me even happier now, he continued, would be to find that Stewart here, and Woods or Bates, could put the use of this element to the construction, preservation and protection of man, rather than toward his destruction. The girl ' s neighbor whispered timidly, 1 don ' t get all this — what has this dignity go to do with the atomic era and the new element and the rest of his talking? The girl did not hear, she was waiting for what was coming. She sensed it would be the most important thing of all. His voice changed and became deeper and more serious, The finest and best discovery ever made was that Stewart here had a soul. The words fell softly on the class — there was not a sound — no one breathed for a full minute. Then he drove hard, Yes, the fact that Stewart was sitting right in front of me had some small part of her worth saving, restored and increased the dignity of man. The girl ' s fingers had become white with only tiny threads of red, as she pressed them into the arm of the chair. She reached for his words and the pressure became unbearable for a pulsing had started in her head and every muscle ached with her tenseness. She sat in this rigid position listening to him. Before, only man had a soul; woman was his reflection and not a very good one. But because he one day looked at her and realized her soul was more them that of an ox, that she too, might have intrinsic good, man became a more worthy crea- ture. The throbbing increased, she could scarcely see for the pain of threatening tears, her hand hurt and she thought she might be sick. She kept thinking, if only she could run out of the room — get away, not have to listen to any more. She deter- mined she couldn ' t keep looking at him, she wouldn ' t. She was afraid he might see her face — he would know how it was and that was the last thing she wanted. There must cease man ' s inhumanity to man! Common words, trite words, yes, but someone will go on saying them until life is completely smothered. It ' s impossible to do anything about hope, you ' ll find it ' springing eternal ' in spite of its being old and hackneyed. How can we help? Give each other a leg-up in just the ordinary day to day living. Whenever I want to believe in the goodness, the worth of man, I remind myself of a little man I knew here. His name isn ' t important, but he was a fine professor who came to this college to teach. It was known by many people that he drew in advance against his salary and lived very poorly. His clothes were shabby, he almost never had more than a quarter to his name and no one understood what happened to the money he earned, which was by no means paltry. There were never outward evidences of any spending. One day, he had a heart attack and died imme- diately. It had also been noticed that a few months before his death, his circumstances had begun to improve generally, along with his manner of living. A short while later, I learned the story. It seemed that some years before, this man had interested a number of his friends in buying stock in a corporation which eventually failed. He was not responsible by law, as you well know; however, he took it upon himself within those next years to pay back every cent lost by his friends in the fiasco. It took half his life, but he died a happy man. It was a simple story, simply told. The girl jerked her head toward the window. He was like the voice of conscience, this humble professor extraordinary — of course, that was it, like the gull that flew serenely across the river, straight and peacefully. She was ashamed, deeply ashamed. He was so good — if it were not true, would it be possible for one unassuming man to pry loose the set mould of a girl who knew v hat she wanted from life? She did not want to leave anymore, but as she came back to the classroom world, she let out a long sigh and said, God . . . He was erasing the words from the board. BEATRICE DOWD. Page Fifteen