Tufts University - Jumbo Yearbook (Medford, MA)

Page 10 text:

DEDICATION Rather than just another faculty story, the dedication of the Yearbook is something extremely special. It spotlights a man whose life is exemplary in some fashion, a man who has made an outstanding contribution to Tufts and its students. Such a man is Paul H. Doleman. In a real sense he has achieved greatness in his own time, both among his peers and among the students. There is no more highly respected man on campus and in turn no man more interested and devoted to the lives of the students. Dr. Paul Doleman has been at Tufts since 1922 when he registered as a freshman. He received his first appointment to his Alma Mater in 1926 and then completed his graduate study at M.I.T. He has been at Tufts continuously since 1931. It is impossible to accurately recount his 40 years here but perhaps some insight into the man can be found in his own thoughts. “Well 40 years is a long time. By my count I have about two years left. At 65 one can retire but some people stay on until they are 70. They don’t know when to quit. They like getting paid a nice salary even if they can’t produce the goods. Like Koufax, he is quitting now at the peak of his career. Of course those are strenuous circumstances but you ha ve to know when to stop.” Concerning his teaching career, Doc said, “Well if I had it to do all over again, I would.” “You know students today aren’t really any better than they were in the thirties. They don’t inherently know more. The courses are just taught differently. There is only a certain amount of time in a course and if you put something new in then you must leave something fundamental out.” “If you asked me if I thought the faculty was more remote today than back then, I would say emphatically yes. There has been an increase in faculty detachment. Today a young professor comes out of graduate school and he thinks he knows it all—and if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t want to be told so.” “The teacher should always be available to his students. Sometimes you can’t find me, but I am always available. Some teachers want to be close to their students but just can’t. They just don’t know how to relate to them,” “Some teachers are like a vaudeville act. They come on when the bell rings and exit into the wings as the music fades softly not to be seen or heard from again until the next act.” A music enthusiast, a great squash player, a true sports¬ man; the list is endless. Let it suffice that it is our privilege to be able to honor in a small way “Doc” Doleman.

Page 12 text:

Alexander Elias Alexander Elias was born on July 24, 1945, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and died on October 19, 1966, from in¬ ternal injuries sustained in a motor scooter accident near his home in Watertown. To attempt to fully expound on the life that Alex lived is, totally, impossible; to merely highlight those twenty-one years, on the other hand, is to leave too much unsaid. What is left now is to attempt to realize our own mortality by trying to understand the life of someone who was very much alive, very close, and very real to many of us. Though ultimately his death cannot really be understood, at least his life can remain a memory alive within us. And if we are to learn from anyone, certainly we can learn from the man that was Alex. Alex graduated Watertown High School in 1963 where he was honored as the outstanding student athlete in football, baseball, and basketball. At Tufts, Alex was a major in political science, intending to study for a law degree, was first baseman on the varsity baseball team, and was house chairman of his fraternity, Alpha Epsilon Pi. In addition to having taught Sunday School, Alex was on his way to becoming a Big Brother to a fatherless youth in the Boston area. His interests were diverse, his personality was dynamic, and his positive effect on people was lasting. Tenderness and strength, pride and humility, joy and sorrow were so delicately blended within Alex that he seemed a product of the best in all of us. The selfless love he wore so casually never faltered. With a glance or a smile, or a wink of his eye, Alex made your world alive, and you felt yourself hugging him with all your might, not caring at all if anyone was watching. How can words now make that feeling real? Phonse — you were a fine son, a close friend, and a very good man. 6