Word: thoughtfulness
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Indeed some of the students we talked with objected to professionalism itself as a goal for graduate study though it was by no means clear what goal that thought would be preferable. For our part we see no acceptable alternative to it, nor are we disposed to seek one. It is popular nowadays to assail academic professionalism for its "sterility," "narowness," or "irrelevance." All would agree that a sterile, narrow, person without a proper sense of relevance is a defective human being, but a far worse one is a soi-disant scholar who does not know his business. We think...
...most fundamental such factor is the one that has already been referred to: neglect. There are some 3,000 graduate students as against 4,800 undergraduates; yet it seems fair to say that we devote a far smaller proportion of our thought or facilities to the Graduate School than we do to the College. All members of the Committee are thoroughly committed to the Harvard tradition that the College is the heart of the University, and ought to be. But we do believe that the Graduate School merits, both in numbers and importance, more attention than it has ever received...
None of the students we spoke to thought that the Center should be residential. They thought of it as serving meals, providing space for social events of all sorts and sizes, and facilities for informal--and formal--groups to meet for discussion, to show films, perhaps to put on plays. It seemed of the highest importance to them that it be in or very close to the Yard. They thought that its success would depend largely upon its convenience...
...didn't like the Boston Garden last Tuesday night. I thought I would. But I didn't like the smell of the old wooden floor that is rotting from years of Coke, popcorn, cigar butts, and spittle...
Brother Frank was lying face down on the floor of the stage, not moving a muscle, as what seemed to be the entire population of northeast Tennessee tried to reach him for one last swing or kick. Finally the cops quieted the crowd, which must have thought the old man was dead or dying. The curtains were drawn, and I waited for the wail of an ambulance, for surely Pop was in need of medical aid. But the sly possum suddenly jumped to his feet, not a mark on him, and strode into the dressing room with a sinister grin...