Worcester Polytechnic Institute - Peddler Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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time. We never had anything against him as a Prof however, in fact we doubt whether we ever had a better or more energetic one. The trouble is that his work of the past year has left such a good taste in our mouths that we fain would have it continue as his work indefinitely. Perhaps he has other ideas on the subject. If anyone had told us last spring that the sum of a hundred thousand dollars could be raised for a Gymnasium from the Alumni in one year we would have called that person a—well, we should have doubted the veracity of his statement. Ecce! Out goes Arthur D. and in come the big orange pledge slips with all kinds of fabulous sums attached thereto. Why he even came around to one of our class meetings, the Class of 1912, mind you, and said, “ Sign up.” You should have seen the way we fell over one another to get into that Alumni Association office in Boynton Hall. Every third fellow was in tears because he hadn’t come a day earlier. That’s the kind of irresistible fellow he is, and that’s why the Gym is a tangible proposition at this time. We struck Butterfield in Sophomore Calc and there surely was no funny business or bluffing in that subject. We developed some of our now evident timidity when we saw him “ arbitrarily select a point ” or enlarge the dimensions of an equals sign, while waiting for an answer, until it cov¬ ered nearly the whole blackboard. The way he could draw those long snake¬ like integral signs and solve problems amid showers of chalk dust was a caution to us to fight shy of “ pure ” Mathematics. The best part of that course was the little journey to the home of this gentleman, where we toasted marshmallows, devoured “ shrimp wiggle ” and laboriously told fit stories. Butterfield is surely a fine, manly man, and when he comes around for those cold samoleons one class, at least, is going to pass them over partly for the love of “ Alma Mater,” and partly because of the respect that we have for one of the finest men from one of the finest classes ever graduated from one of the finest schools in the land. Here’s to the prosperity of “ the man who broke the Brown line in ’93.” Howard Chapin Ives, C.E., Assistant Professor of Railroad Engineering “ Reddy’s ” request that there be some originality in this, his annual short biography, is a hard one to fulfill owing to the self evident lack of that form of vegetable in our Hero’s make-up. Far be it from us, however, to describe in glowing terms his broad, delicately tinted brow, surmounted by sinuous masses of roseate glory! We repeat, far be it! Rather would we fondly dwell upon those little idiosyncrasies that have so endeared him to the men, who, under his able tutelage, have had so many “ little points cleared up.” 28

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year we have tried in vain to escape the snares with which he has so patiently attempted to entangle our feet. Starting with the Zeuner diagram he led us a merry chase around a circle, from which we emerged only to find our¬ selves deep in the mazes of the temperature—entropy charts. The journey has been painful and wearisome at times not only to us but to our guide as well. We did not take kindly to his adiabatic changes and often in the midst of some strange cycle of events awakened to find that he had been putting on the pressure and also that the indicator cards at the office showed that most of the events of our strokes came too late. The little side trips which we were forced monthly to take, much against our wills, would have been far pleasanter if it had been possible to have conducted these gruellings without the watchdog’s (Sammie’s) presence. However these events are all forgiven and overshadowed by the joyful event which occurred at his last exercise in Steam. Although Professor Read did not always succeed in making the subject under discussion interesting still he is to be given credit for his patience and conscientious endeavor. Just how lenient he has been we will never know. Furthermore we will never ask, but will leave our thanks and best wishes with him as we depart. Arthur W. Ewell, Ph.D., Professor of Physics Far and wide over the Hill the monosyllable “ Punk ” brings forth a smile; perhaps in some cases it is a grim, sickly smile, but it is a smile. Any time in the day one can see his graceful cosmos flitting around the Physical Labs or hear his harmonic, though scarcely harmonious, overtones as he conducts brilliant recitations. We might suggest that the interfer¬ ence of sound waves can hardly compare in complexity with the well remem¬ bered interference of his pedal extremities, which brought forth the inevit¬ able “ ’Schuseme.” Most any time he might appear with his neck heavily bandaged, indicating a cold, or with one foot concealed in a heavy overshoe, indicating another attack of “ ’Schuseme.” His greatest passions are the use of colored chalk and the radiation correction. Word for word like the textbook is the only correct recitation in his class, and more discussion is entered into over the wording of answers than of the correctness of the idea. Nevertheless, perhaps it goes with the Science, for Doctor Ewell is recognized as one of the foremost physicists in the country. Arthur D. Butterfield, M.S., A.M., Professor of Mathematics We had almost forgotten that Butterfield was a Prof. It seems too bad to think that he has got to come down to that menial work again some-

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“ Recldy’s ” past is like an open book, which he who runs may read without having to turn a page. When he came to us, or more humbly put, when we went to him we marvelled at his learned discourses and dictations, and we have marvelled ever since. When we struck his “ Pamphlet ” on turnouts, undoubtedly his “ coup de maitre,” we thought we had reached the ultimate in mental density, but as all understood it equally it was decided that there was yet hope. Junior railroads was a marvelously conducted course. When “ Reddy,” with his dictations covering ten or more pages of blue foolscap, cleared up the methods of changing from a one to a two-pusher grade we collectively floated away to some shady dell beside a babbling brook, until rudely awak¬ ened by the remark, “ Are there any questions or remarks on what we have been over? ” Naturally there were none. Thus passed many hours with “ Reddy ” in charge. In Water Supply he would say with his character¬ istic directness, “ Er-we’ll-er-clear up a few of these points and-er-verify some of the er-the er—formulas.” During the elapse of the next half-hour the class would sleep peacefully while “ Reddy ” still cleared, “ ered ” and verified. Despite the many laughs we have had at his expense and despite the bluish tinting of the atmosphere that at times his acts have caused we have got to hand it to Professor Ives for doing and saying what he thought was right. He has a conscience, and it would be far from justice if we should leave Tech without some appreciation of profitable hours spent under his instruction. David L. Gallop, M.E., Assistant Professor of Gas Engineering Back in the year ’01 a Salisbury prize man received his B.S. in the M.E. course, and from our experiences we would say that the memory of those days still rankles. He evidently does not believe in letting anyone else get honors so easily. With a gas engine catalogue for a textbook and a walking encyclopedia of gas engines for a teacher a forty-eight-hour course was presented us to study all kinds of combustion engines, and three hours were allowed to write it all down. When “ Davy ” can spare time he gets into his inverted mud scow with the Franklin Engine, which was a gift to the Institute, and comes to Tech to teach. His lectures on gas engines concern themselves with features of engines not mentioned in the above noted catalogue, and are delivered by various members of the class under rather sarcastic, but skillful, cross examination. “ Davy ” believes that we came to Tech to learn things for ourselves, and he will never tell us any¬ thing more than the denomination of the answer. His habit in Mechanics 29