E7: 1938-1940
As at Princeton, I waited until I reached Madison to make
living arrangements. This time I had a shorter trip from home and I had my car
to carry my personal luggage. I learned where North Hall, the mathematics
building, was and went there directly to announce my arrival and inquire as to
procedures to find off-campus living quarters. By good luck, a Mrs. [Adelaide]
Skinner, widow of a late department member, had a room to rent. In short order
I went to her house and rented the room (again $15 per week). Here I would be
the only roomer, and my room was very large, even equipped with a washstand.
There was no shower – only a tub – but I couldn’t expect everything. On
[Lathrop] street-parking was OK, but I later found that with 25° to 30° below
zero temperatures, a heated garage would be needed. And there was one a block
away, which I used each winter.
There were no private offices for faculty. (I had had one
since the U of C.) The building was much too small for such a large department.
(In fact, this was a gigantic University compared to those that I had known.)
Apart from about twelve mathematics faculty members with professional ranks, there
were seven instructors, of whom I was one. It turned out that the others – Don
Hyers, Dick Kershner, Bernard Friedman, Bob Wagner, Churchill Eisenhart, and
someone whose situation was special – were not regarded as slated for
ultimately permanent appointments, but that I was.
Don Hyers, Roy Wilcox, Dick Kershner
The department had no
faculty member in the field of geometry and I had been selected to work toward
the geometry slot, because of my background in that field. (Accordingly, I was
getting $400 more in salary than each of the others.) If a department of 18
members seems small for a big University it should be remembered that there are
countless graduate assistants, each teaching one or two elementary courses in small
sections. (Often, but not here, such courses are handled through big lectures
and “quiz sections.” I later came to realize that the Wisconsin system was by
far the better one.)
My teaching assignment was a bit heavy I thought (14 class
hours per week in for courses). The first year was uneventful. Teaching went
well, due in part to my previous experience; I taught only freshmen and
sophomores. Engineering majors too, a different sequence of math courses, and
the faculty for them was separate from the main (liberal arts) group, though
all were in the same department, headed by Prof. Mark Ingraham, who later
became Dean and became very active in American Mathematical Society and
organizational affairs.
My closest friends among my fellow instructors were Don Hyers,
whose mathematical and musical interests were close to mine, Bob Wagner with
whom I played billiards, and Dick Kershner. Dick and I didn’t have much in
common during my first year, except that he and his wife Amanda liked to play
bridge and sometimes invited me to “fill in.” Bob Wagner left after one year,
and our association was short, though we have kept up contacts through the
years.
But I felt it too narrowing to limit my contacts to fellow
mathematicians. A small taste of faculty club life during my U of C Summers led me to investigate the University club. While this club was designed for,
used by, and managed by faculty members, it was run as a private club with no
administrative or financial connections with the University. The building was
not even on University property, but was adjacent to the campus. I immediately
joined, so that I could eat lunch there and use the facilities. Except for
Kershner, the other male instructors had a living quarters there. Even had I
known of the existence of such quarters I would have preferred the more quiet
environment that I had selected.
It was at the club that I learned to play billiards
seriously (not pool, but three-ball,
straight rail billiards). This
activity alone got me contacts, some becoming quite important to me, with non-mathematical
people. The man who taught me what I learned (and know even now) about
billiards, was Miles Henley, English professor, who was a renowned linguist. He
specialized in American dialects and provincial usages; what a find, for one
incipient linguist such as I! I spent many hours with him at the billiard table
soaking up what I could about language. From here I first learned what “hyper
urbanisms” are and the mysteries of “virtual words.” These latter would have given
me plenty to do research on, had I carved out a career in linguistics.[1]
There were several things which were unpleasant about
Madison. First, it is a city with many hills, and the campus has its share.
Parking on campus was impossible unless one was a Dean or a Regent; I couldn’t
even wangle a permit out of a M. Wilcox, in charge of campus grounds. So I made
a practice of parking near the University Club, except during the cold weather,
i.e. most of the winter, when I walked the mile or so to and from the campus,
leaving the car in the garage. Also, my abode was across the street from the
athletic field, the source of much noise at times. (I had learned at Princeton
to try to get out of town on football weekends and of course here I could do
the same by spending such weekends in Wilmette.) But there is no denying that
Madison was a beautiful city, with three lakes nearby, one right next to the
campus. (North Hall was so named because Lake Mendota precluded any building
north of that building.).
The year was a smooth one; I had plenty to do, with my
teaching, research work, and recreational activities, including tennis
principally with Don Hyers, flute duets with Don, evenings with the “gang” at a
local pub, etc. As to feminine company I thought that my experiences with the
dearth of it during my E4, E5, E6 periods would not be repeated, since a State
University would teem with females. The U of W was no exception: hordes of
girls covered the campus, and it was said about their climb up the hill toward
North Hall, with the statue of Lincoln (seated) at the top, that he would rise
whenever a virgin reached the top. But I soon learned of the roadblocks. It was
against University policy for (male) faculty members to date undergraduate
students. Mathematics had a few female graduate students who were normally
sought by the younger (male) graduate students. There were townspeople, a
hospital with courses, even a nursing school, but there was no ready way to get
acquainted with these people (unless one went to church or joined some local
organization). Of my instructor friends only one, Bob Wagner, seemed to make
out. Churchill Eisenhart eventually made out by cozying up to a waitress at a
local restaurant and then marrying her. Somehow Don Hyers got acquainted with a
girl at the nursing school, whom he dated a bit. On one occasion I joined him
on a blind double date. But she wasn’t too bright or attractive, and, although
I later accepted her invitation to her school dance, I had no interest in
furthering the matter.
Occasionally one learns an important principle respecting
one’s behavior; after all, one isn’t born wise. My first lesson along this line
I learned at the end of my first Madison year. While elementary courses were
large, they were taught in grade sections, as already noted. But final
examinations were common, held in large rooms, and were designed by those
teaching the course. In the second semester I taught such a course and all the
remaining were graduate assistants. During the writing of the examination, the
other instructors insisted on including a question on a book outside the course
syllabus, all of them had covered it, but I had not. My negative vote carried
too little weight. So at the examination time I announced that students in my
section would not be required to answer that question. Chairman Ingraham
learned of this later and called me on the carpet. I argued my case, but he
claimed that I should have been more forceful in trying to keep the question
off the examination. He was wrong, of course. More than that, the procedure was
wrong in two ways: first, examinations should be separate for separate
sections, since students should be tested over only the material they were
exposed to; secondly, if common exams are given, they should result from a
unanimous decision of the group. Here I learned that one must be more creative
in going along with existing policy, however stupid it might be. It would take
more experience to direct me toward a good personal policy for dealing with
such matters. Later items relevant to this should get described in E8 and E9.
The next summer was spent in Wilmette where I worked on my
research projects and enjoyed a vacation. There was swimming with Mort
Mergentheim in Winnetka, and I was able to play billiards, since the University
club had reciprocity compacts with the faculty clubs, and I could get a summer
membership at the club at Northwestern University. There I played often with a
returned professor who was a good match for me. During this summer the Pontiac developed
transmission trouble and so I traded it for a 1936 Chevrolet two-door sedan.
Again, price was $365 (less trade in).
My second Madison year was an eventful one indeed, good and
not so good. On the first day I met Bob Coe, who was enrolling as a graduate
assistant in our department. He had been a theater organist until sound films
knocked him out of his profession, had briefly worked for the telephone
company, and then decided to get a college education at Carroll College,
majoring in mathematics. He was found so capable there upon graduation he was
recommended for graduate work at the U of W – Madison. The day I met him, we
conversed briefly, and then he told me about his background. I made a comment
something like “So you are a tibia roller.” He perked up, knowing that I was no
novice regarding the theater organ. This began our close friendship and association
lasting until his death in [April] 1982.
Now it happened that Bob had a connection with the firm that
owned the Capitol Theater* in town
which he knew had a fine organ, which had undoubtedly deteriorated. Through
some conniving he got permission to repair the organ and use it for his
enjoyment. I was to be his assistant and thus have the opportunity to play on
it. So from 8 to 12 AM [unclear if this
is really 8 AM – 12 PM or 8 PM – 12 AM; the transcriptionist suspects the
latter since the author was not a morning person] twice a week we worked
through most of the 1939 – 40 year bringing the organ up to par and having
great fun. I learned much from Bob not only about repairing and tuning but also
about playing techniques. The manager was opposed to this project (since power
use cost him money), but he had been overruled. Now one part couldn’t be
repaired there, but had to be taken out. It was a heavy box; and we had sneak
it out lest the manager see us “stealing” theater property. So one morning Bob
enlisted three of his student friends; we parked by the rear theater door which
was open. Luckily the theater was dark: Bob and I went to the balcony where the
organ chamber was located, secured the box, tied a long electric cord around
it, let it down over the balcony front to the fellows below. They received it
and rushed it to my car. We had noted that the manager was there (an unusual
event so early), and we knew that if the electric cord broke we would all be in
the soup. What luck we had! The repair was made by the time of our next
scheduled visit to the theater; we knew that no secrecy was now needed, since
the manager wouldn’t object to our bringing
something in.
The second important event stemmed from the fact that Don Hyers
was no longer dating the nurse, but had become acquainted with a girl in
Milwaukee, Wanda Deming, in whom he had become quite interested. One day he
asked whether I’d like to join him in a double date: Wanda had a friend,
Virginia Johnson, who would be my date. Don and I would drive to Milwaukee (in
his car), and plan to stay in a hotel overnight. We could thus see the girls
both Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon before returning to Madison. Answer:
yes. (As it developed, the answer should have been YES!!)
Virginia’s family was by no means an academic one; in fact
her father was …?... though a business man, and a good one. But she had an
academic orientation having graduated from Carroll College (my second “contact”
with Carroll) and had a Master’s degree in journalism from Marquette University
in Milwaukee. I was especially struck by her voice – not deep but very sonorous
and distinctive.
I looked forward to possibly more dates with her; if – and
this crossed my mind – we were to see each other further, there was the
advantage of dissimilarities in our educational and professional backgrounds.
Of course there were indeed several double dates thereafter, Don and my
cars alternating. I planned to spend the Christmas holidays in Madison, and so
I tried to get a date with Virginia for New Year’s Eve. No soap, since she
already had one. Oh well. So I spent the evening with Bob Coe and his friends.
But the following spring things picked up with even some single dates in
Milwaukee. Then it developed that Don and Wanda were to be married in April
(1940); he asked me and I agreed to be his “best man.” After the wedding,
Virginia and I had another date – an important one, based on some careful
consideration by me of the pros and cons of single life. We planned to marry in
December.
Throughout the academic year, Dick Kershner and I became
better acquainted. Initially he and I didn’t see eye to eye on some basic
mathematical ideas.[2] But
slowly he was coming around to my position, and by my second Madison year we
were very much in harmony; he even proposed that we might take some steps
toward dissemination of the “gospel.” Suffice it to say here, we agreed to
write a book and started on it the following summer. Because of WWII, we didn’t
get to complete it and have it published until 1950. More on this elsewhere.[3]
Our affinity led to closer social relations between me and the two Kershners.
So when Virginia would come to Madison, for our date or a dance at the
University Club, she would stay at the Kershners. So even before our marriage,
the Kershners and Wilcoxes became very close friends.
Of course, Virginia met Bob Coe, and they hit it off quite
well. On one of the visits to Madison, Bob took us to the Capitol Theater
where, by that time, the organ was in superb condition. She and Bob sat in the
balcony, and I serenaded her. Since the theater, as usual, was dark, I always
suspected that she didn’t listen very much but instead conversed with Bob
throughout the “concert.” Oh well; there would be times later when ignoring my
playing wasn’t so easy. Clearly Bob was the right guy to play the organ at our
wedding, which would be at Virginia’s church in Milwaukee.
Now came the first setback in my career. In April, a new
governor was elected in Wisconsin – a “self-made” plumbing goods manufacturer,
Julius Heil. Now Heil had no idea what a university was or how one operated. So
he sneaked around the campus to find out. When he found that professors were
often not in their offices on “working” days, he decided that the university
was mismanaged and should have its funds reduced. (He might have asked a few
questions and learned that professors are often in libraries or teaching
classes, or attending seminars or meetings or working at home; but he didn’t
have sense enough for that.) He had no trouble getting the State Legislature
(largely ignorant farmers) to vote a 10%, across the board, decrease in the
University appropriation. When this news reached our department, there was
consternation, since costs had to be reduced. I still don’t know how Chairman
Ingraham planned to deal with this disaster; the tenured faculty would be
secure of course, except for possible payouts; but we little guys could be dispensed
with. In my conference with the Chairman I was told that my job wasn’t in
jeopardy, but there could be no promise of the future for me as had been
envisaged. After all, no one could know how long Heil would remain as governor
or how long it would take to restore proper level of financing the University.
(As it turned out, Heil was voted out of office two years later; but it took
ten years before the University got back to where it had been, in size, scope,
quality, and the level of funding.)
My decision was clear: I would put out the word that I was
available. And it was clear to me that, if I had a choice, I would prefer a
private rather than public university, because too many uninformed and
disinterested people could exercise power over the latter, while the former
would be managed by an interested and, one hopes, an informed board of
trustees. Our marriage plans remained in place; as a last resort my Madison job
would be in hand; after marriage we could get an apartment and live there. The
next summer, while I was spending some time at Virginia’s family’s summer home
at Beaver Lake, Wisconsin, a phone call came to me from a Dr. Grinter,
vice-president of Armour Institute of Technology on the South Side of Chicago
(in the process of combining with a liberal arts college to become Illinois
Institute of Technology). Would I be interested in considering an assistant
professorship at $2400 a year? If so, when could I confer about it with him at
the Armour campus? Answer: yes, and as soon as convenient.
I knew little about Armour Institute, except that I had seen
from the “L” its “campus” – a few old buildings and a big vacant lot (for
athletic events): hardly an impressive-appearing place. But teaching in Chicago
would have its advantages, since I already had friends there, including the U
of C people. I knew only one faculty member at Armour, a U of C PhD, who was
rather kooky. Also, the assistant professor rank was appealing. The interview
was a pleasant one; apparently the VP Grinter was satisfied with my background
and promise. He turned me over to the President, Henry T. Heald, for an hour’s
conference. He also presented his long-range program to me: expansion of IIT
into a true University, enlargement of the 7.5 acre “campus,” upgrading faculty
– especially by adding promising young PhD’s to the very meager thus …[looks like “audified”...] existing
faculty and weeding out deadwood. With this story and Heald’s compelling
personality, I became almost enthusiastic to accept. Leaving the President I then
went to talk to the mathematics Chairman, Lester Ford. This interview was a
minor detail, for he told me almost immediately that my appointment was up to
the higher-ups; he evidently had no voice in the matter. In due course I got
the appointment letter: things were looking up.
I had often in the past attended summer meetings of the
American Mathematical Society. The meeting in 1940 was in Madison, a sort of
last hurrah for me. With the opening of the fall term I would live at home in
Wilmette and commute to IIT by car or train until the Christmas holidays,
during which the big event would take place.
Maybe my career hadn’t been set back a great deal after all;
much would depend on how Pres. Heald’s vision of the future of IIT would
materialize. After all, life is made up of gambles: now I was gambling on a new
career, the effectiveness of college President, and shortly a new life as a
married man. Possibly this new gamble would be a success, as early will ones
had been.
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