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(11/17/13 8:02pm)
In July and September of this year, the Princeton Alumni Weekly celebrated the long life and upcoming demolition of the Butler Apartments: the barrack-like tract of small frame houses, first opened on Christmas in 1946, that replaced Princeton’s polo field. Apparently made of ticky-tacky, these little shacks have housed generations of Princeton students. At first many married returnees from the Second World War lived in them, but from the 1960s on, Butler has been graduate territory.
(10/13/13 8:36pm)
It's fall again. I can tell, even though I'm not in Princeton to see the leaves change color, but on leave in an undisclosed location 50 miles away. In a professor's life, fall is not the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. It's the season of transcripts to scan and personal statements to edit, the search for the telling anecdote and the scramble for the unhackneyed adjective — not to mention the realization that you can't describe each of three students as the best one you've worked with in your career.
(09/15/13 9:04pm)
Last Sunday, I arrived at Princeton Junction around 9:30 at night. On the New York platform I recognized someone: a recent alumnus standing with a distinguished-looking couple, whom I took to be his parents. We began to talk, pleasantly. It emerged that my student’s mother had also been my student: the sort of thing that gladdens an old professor’s heart.
(12/11/11 11:00pm)
"Ah yes,” said my genial editor at Oxford University Press as she looked at the massive manuscript of my book — a very long and detailed study of a Renaissance classical scholar, “they don’t call Oxford the home of lost causes for nothing.” The sales (well, the lack of sales) proved her right, of course. And yet, she didn’t mean to discourage me. In fact, she said it with a smile. Her job, as she understood it, was publishing lost causes: books of high scholarly quality that could not possibly sell more than a few hundred copies and which could be printed only by an enterprise that saw losing money as part of its reason for being.
(11/13/11 11:00pm)
In the 19th century, Americans who wanted to master an academic subject went to Germany. American professors taught what they had learned in college. German professors did research and made discoveries. American professors held recitation classes where they tried to catch the slackers who hadn’t prepared. German professors held seminars where they taught students how to analyze texts, ran laboratories where students learned how to study nature and offered lectures that attracted students from many fields.
(10/09/11 10:00pm)
Back in the day — back in the summer of 1973, to be precise — my wife and I went to London, where I was to work on my doctoral dissertation and she to do research on Shakespearean theater. It was a dark, strange city, far less familiar than London seems now: a city still pocked by bombsites, where you couldn’t have tea in the morning or coffee in the afternoon. But the bus from our apartment to Piccadilly cost something like 15 pence and the cheapest seats in West End theaters went for less than a pound. We had a wonderful time.