Haverford College - Record Yearbook (Haverford, PA)

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, WILLIAM R.SMITH

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ERNIE PRUDENTE The big man in the red sweat pants and white peeler glanced up in the middle of a pushup and said, Alright you guys on the end of the line there, don ' t goof off. Remember, I got good PER-IF-FER-AL vision. You like that word, huh? It ' s my new word for the day. Every day I add a new word to my vocabu- lary. Got to build up that vocabulary so I can talk to you guys. Ernie smiled and kept putting us through our paces. That was my first day as a Haverford jock, preseason 1961. I was a gung-ho kid, a high school star whose head was full of dreams of glory. I soon found that there wasn ' t much glory in being a jock at Haverford, and, as time passed, most of the other icons of jockdom were destroyed by the Haverford way of life, but Ernie lived on. There was always the Prudente smile, the gentle admonition — When the going gets tough the tough get going, and the word of encouragement accompanied by a slap on the butt. Some- times I wonder how long I would have kept with it if Ernie wasn ' t around. A little over a year later that same big man was standing in front of his famous bod class, (the class that made men out of boys and gave you that washboard stomach). A very undersized freshman at the back of the room was struggling with a set of weights. What ' are ya straining for? asked Ern laughing, It ' s all a question of mind over matter ... I don ' t mind and you don ' t matter. The class hissed and the freshman smiled, because he and everyone else knew that in Ernie ' s book everybody mattered, and that the Big E. cared as much about the wimp in his bod class who couldn ' t do two pushups as he did about his top basketball star. The other day I looked out of my window and saw a giant of a man in those same red sweat pants striding across Walton Field to the tennis courts. It was a long easy stride, and the tennis racquet looked like a ping pong paddle in his big hand. He was on his way to his daily match with the greats of the intra- mural league. I remembered the first day I discovered that Ernie was on the academic standing committee. I was a bit surprised and asked him if it was really true. Sure I know all about that stuff, he said, After all when I was at Penn the only thing I passed was in and out of doors. I smiled. That ' s what made him such a giant; he was humble. One day a kid came into the field house looking for a Mr. Prudente. I knew he was a stranger be- cause he called him by his surname. I told him that Mr. Prudente was the big man working out with the basebcill team at the other end of the building. I knew that when that kid came back he would know that big man ' s name was Ernie and he ' d know just how big he was. It takes you about two minutes to find oul that Ern ' s name isn ' t Mr. Prudente. It takes you just another minute to discover that he is a much bigger man than he looks. Ernie is a bigger man than any Mr. Prudente could ever be. — Chuck Lawrence 15

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A one hour class at Haverford cosls each studenl about three dollars. It ' s questionable whether most of the money is well spent. I, tor one, think not. If a student isn ' t motivated to work, and many undergrad- uates aren ' t, it ' s the job of the teacher, at a school this small, to attempt to attract that student ' s interest, to arouse him, and if necessary, to make him mad enough to produce. ' Too many dull classes are conducted at Haverford under the guise that the student is mature and inttUigenl enough to grasp the weakly pre- sented material. Dull classes have nothing to do with maturity or intelligence. But they have something to do with motivation. For although a student ' s involvement with a subject must come from within, his inler- est is generated, or exterminated in the classroom. This year William Smith opposed the abolition of grades. His reasons were sound. But Smith expects and gets more from the student than most professors and is, therefore, in a position to make an accurate assessment. He is the exception — and he is exceptional. Smith hardly knows the problem of academic lethargy among the students, for he is too interesting. His lack of sympathy for the whining Haverfordian is justified. For it ' s nearly impossible to leave a Smith class without being involved. Smith ' s own interest and personal vitality come across — sometimes rather forcefully — and they speak FIRST to the student, to each student since you can expect to be called on, and second to the work. It seems to me that this is the way the real teacher operates. Haverford needs the youthful vitality of those who know how to deal with undergraduates. If there were more classes like Smith ' s there might be less talking and more learning going on. But that ' s a lot to ask, that most teacher ' s be first-rate. Or is it? At any rate, the classes continue, dull and otherwise. And as the students catch on. Smith ' s courses be- come increasingly more crowded. Some leave class offended at having been reduced to unthinking clods; and some begin to think about literature for the first time. In either case, it ' s well worth the three bucks. Clay Stites 17