Worcester Polytechnic Institute - Peddler Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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o destroy his pets? How foolish he made us feel, when he loosened up one morning and told us what he thought about our artistic efforts on the stonework of the Institute, and did n’t he get us out with scrubbing brushes and chemicals to remove the marks of our childish¬ ness? We’ve often wondered whether it was the earnestness of his lecture on that subject or the indignity of scrubbing stones and cement that made such a lasting impression on us, for never again did our numerals decorate (?) the property of the Institute. Many things will make us stand by Coombsie, long after his Beowulf and his other dead pets have been relegated to the realms of oblivion, for he won our affection at a time when we were lonely and unacquainted with the mysteries of Tech, and his cheery greeting, every man by name, will live long in our minds. ,NE of the professors with whom it has been our mis¬ fortune not to become acquaint¬ ed is Harold B. Smith, head of the Department of Electrical Engineering. He is a graduate of Cornell; he first became head of the Electrical Engineering Department of Arkansas State University, remaining but a year, when he accepted a position with the Elektron Manufacturing Co., and a pro¬ fessorship at Purdue University. In 1896 he came to W. P. I. and under his efficient manage¬ ment the course developed from a mere side-study into a full- fledged department. A two years’ leave of absence was granted him shortly after our arrival at the Institute and his absence continued during the whole of our course, thus denying us the privilege of contact with one of the brainiest and most influential men on the Hill. P ROF. French, the elongated head of the Civil Engineering Department is a product of New Hampshire where he was brought up on tacks. Correcting for temperature stresses he has an elevation of something like seven feet above his abutments. Before he came to 27

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the same sentences had described and amused preceding classes for years before. And what does it matter? It served a purpose and kept us good natured through the remainder of the hour, which was worth a great deal. He was our best-beloved then, and won our undy¬ ing devotion by his loyalty to athletics; winning or losing, he was always cheery in his out¬ look for the Future, —the teams which we would turn out when we obtained better facilities,— the remarkable showing we were making under existing conditions, and his enthusiastic recitals of the attitude of the Alumni at the last banquet he attended; how they hung on every word about the struggle the teams were making under such adverse circumstances, how they cheered and clapped in appreciation of our efforts, and the joy with which they too looked forward to the Gymnasium. It was Coombsie who made himself immortal by his single-umbrel- lad attack upon the struggling mob before Boynton Hall, and like the warriors of old, “his mighty weapon rose and fell with untiring strength upon the awed and helpless enemy, who in their efforts to escape the fell blows of this most mighty of warriors, turned and trampled friend and foe beneath their feet, that they might escape the havoc of his terrible progress.” And how we smile when we remember his annual lecture upon smoking and his poor misguided plants who did their darndest to make him embrace the noxious weed. Can you imagine him Sunday morning seated before his plant-stand, a rubber bulb in his hand, lustily forcing air through a pipe that he may, without injury to himself, smoke to a suitable death the vile lice which would 26

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f - Tech he spent his time travel¬ ing from coast to coast. In this way he has worked in every city, tackled every kind of a job, and become acquaint¬ ed with every engineer on the face of the earth to-day. Thus qualified he has entered our portals to tell us of things that are. When we first came to the Institute, “Prof” was an en¬ thusiastic bicyclist and not unlike Silas Marner he would ‘gallup’ off on his mechanical horse with his coat tail in a horizontal plane and his elbows flapping in the wind. How¬ ever, since then “Joe” Phelon has converted him into an ardent follower of the four- wheel buggy. “Prof” has two indoor sports which he delights in, especially as a winter pastime. One is in kidding “Doc ” Bonnet and the other one is in telling “Joe” Phelon funny stories. “Doc” and “Joe” have daily reserved seats in “Profs” office, which they occupy from 3 to 6.30 p. m. He is a worker, and surely knows how to get the work out of others. He believes in getting results regardless of consequences, if he thinks himself in the right; and in this respect he is like Nero, of ancient Rome, who, unable to convince the people that the city should be rebuilt, said, “To Hell with the people. I will rebuild the city if I have to burn it down.” It is doubtful if “Prof” can be ap¬ proached on the Hill as an instructor. NE other gentleman with whom every man in the Institute comes into more or less intimate contact is A. Wilmer Duff, D. Sc., Professor of Physics. Another scientist of the first water, he is one of the few men on the Hill who wanders about unnicknamed and un¬ moved by the occasional storms of enthusiasm or protest that sweep and eddy about the School. Always the same, and calmly caressing his chin and cheek, he can be found in his sanctum, delving into the recent theories of Physics. 28