giving up only when the body finally sank under the demands of an indefatigable spirit. Weve had a few of these scholar-teachers over the years but really not many. I vividly remember the one faculty member who, to paraphrase Edward Arlington Robinsons Richard Cory, was a gentleman from sole to crown, clean-favored and imperially slim, the quintessence of urbanity and style. How it must have amused him to move about amongst us clods. But he was kind, considerate, long-suffering, and one helluva pool player. When he draped his elegant length over the expanse of green felt the balls fairly leaped to his bidding. Ive seen him clean the table more than once. He and Minnesota Fats could have been the Mutt and Jeff of billiards. Of course I refer to the inimitable M. Thatcher Allred, who doubled in speech and drama, directing plays and teaching speech to thousands of students for about forty years. He was to me both teacher and later colleague. He loved to sift the language through the long sinewy fingers of his mind. He and his delightful wife and companion, Pearl, for many years reviewed books weekly at the downtown Carnegie library (northwest corner of Washington and Twenty-Sixth). She was as civilized and charming as he. For many years they were members of what President Dixon like to call the Weber family. Ill always recall another ardent lover of the written word, Marian Read, who taught Freshman Composition and Childrens Literature. Before the end of any particular class the blackboard was a maze of phrases, sentences, straight lines, curved lines, rough diagrams. Toward the end of a session she would likely as not see a connection between something she was writing on the lower left-hand side of the board and something else at the upper right-hand side. She would walk from one end of the long board to the other, chalk in hand drawing a long diagonal line between the two somethings and circling each. It was easy to nap in class but for those staying awake the careful, methodical working of her mind was traced out on the board. She was truly a master with chalk. Miss Read was a peripatetic teacher, walking back and forth in front of the board, turning frequently to reinforce her points with chalk. But, alas, again most of us too often failed to perceive that granite character that marked so many of Webers faculty in those days long ago. As she approached the end of a long career, she experienced more and more acutely the excruciating pain of arthritis, but few ever knew about it. Later, when I was a younger colleague, I learned that many days she ate hardly anything but aspirin. I remember so well the day she told me I would enjoy reading Anatole Frances The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard, in fact, insisted on giving me her own copy. Im not sure she had another. Hearns introduction noted that any writer who touches the spring of generous tears by some simple story of gratitude, of natural kindness, of gentle self-sacrifice is surely entitled to our love. Marian is one of those who taught them all her days, dedicated, persevering, gentle, interested, possessed of beauty radiating from the depths of her very soul. We heard she was disappointed in love and consequently never married. What a loss to someone! The stunning portrait of her that now hangs in the special collections section of the library was done by Farrell Collett and catches much of her moral and spiritual 225 grandeur. If I live to be a hundred Ill never forget Dr. Whitney Young about whom we tiptoed because he was a kind of rarity on the faculty in those days. He had a genuine, all-American, one hundred percent, pure, unadulterated Ph.D. And like so many of the other faculty he also left us with much more than mere subject matter. He taught us all about bugs in ten-dollar words that almost always ended in optera and about biology and zoology. What sticks in my mind is one particular experiment we did one day to find out the degree of acidity or alkalinity, I cant remember which, in saliva. It was all associated with digestion. We each had a glass container and proceeded to expectorate, thats right, spit in it till several students actually had to stop because of nausea. Everybody had to get an inch or so in the bottom before Doctor Young was satisfied we could do the experiment right. Aside from that we were all impressed by the humor, sparkle, and content of his discussions. We sensed, rightly, that here indeed was a vast ocean of knowledge about anything that crawled, walked, or flew. We had, besides Thatcher Allred, another polished, gentlemanly faculty member who taught me, or at least tried, accounting. He was Guy Hurst who doubled for many years as an emcee for most of the programs featuring artists and speakers brought from outside. Like virtually all faculty members of that day Mr. Hurst appeared genuinely dedicated to his subject field. There was a certain urbanity and poise that set him apart. Somehow accounting seemed too mundane a subject for him, but I treasure the knowledge he imparted to me about T-accounts, net worth, liabilities, assets, reserves. I can remember staying up into the wee hours many a night trying to find a few cents to balance an account as part of an assignment. He led discussions standing behind one of those bulwark-like structures with a U-shaped silver tube and basin at one end. The Administration apparently thought accounting could be taught under most any condition. One of my English teachers was a slow-spoken young man who later became Postmaster for Salt Lake City, David Trevith-ick. He seemed absolutely unflappable. He probably wasnt too many years older than his students. As a freshman, I was in his debate class. He substituted that year for Leland Monson who was on sabbatical in Chicago getting his M.A. in English. His trousers were always creased razor-sharp and as he spoke at that painfully slow pace it was a wonder we stayed awake. A slow typist could easily have kept up with him. That year the editor of the yearbook, Acorn, was a fellow named Melvin Jennings who spoke as slowly as Trevithick, if not more so. I remember being in a big hurry one day to talk with Mr. Trevithick and having to wait while he and Mel finished discussing a layout problem for that years Acorn. If the Civil War had had to wait until those two formulated battle strategy that tragic conflict would probably have been averted. Listening to them converse was about as exciting as watching the formation of a stalagmite. With Mr. Trevithick as advisor and Mel Jennings as editor, one of the seven wonders of the Twentieth century has to be the publication, on schedule, of that years Acorn. Miss Read always pronounced it eh-kern, with the er as in brother. I checked it