Every day in every year, I suppose, has a special meaning and interest for some one or more of the great human family. The day of the present week that has a particular interest and meaning for me (and without doubt for many others whom I know) is Friday the twenty-six. Why? Because nearly thirty years ago when I was an awkward, spindling boy, thirsty and hungry for an education, without means and not in very good health, I wrote a letter to the principal of St. Johnsbury Academy, telling him of my ambition to enter the Academy as a student and asking him if he thought I could find work by means of which I could earn enough to pay my way at the Academy. When I was writing the letter I was half discouraged and rather feared and expected that I wouldn't receive an answer, because I knew the letter was not very well written or expressed, and I was almost sure that so great a man as I supposed the principal of St. Johnsbury Academy to be, wouldn't pay much attention to such a letter.
In a short time, however, I received a very encouraging reply expressing a friendly interest in me and advising me to come to St. Johnsbury in season to take an entrance examination and stating that a willing boy could most always find work.
The letter was not dictated nor was it typewritten. It was written in long hand and by the principal himself. The spelling, grammar, and punctuation were, I felt sure, absolutely perfect; but the handwriting, to my great joy, was no handsomer than mine. This and the kindly tone of the letter helped me to a quick and firm determination to pack all of my worldly possessions, including some cookies, loaves of bread, etc., into a rough wooden box and start for St. Johnsbury in season for the opening of the fall term.
Within an hour after my arrival I found myself in the home of the principal sitting quite near him, hearing him say in a quiet, sincere voice, that he was glad I came; that he had found work for me; that he wanted me to know that he was interested in all boys who came to the Academy with a desire to work and to learn. I went from him to the family where I was to live and work, inspired with confidence in him and respect for him.
Master editor, these things happened nearly twenty years before your birth, and in all these years the only change in my feelings toward this principal of St. Johnsbury Academy that I am conscious of, is an increased and unbounded faith in him as a Christian gentleman, love and respect for him as a true friend, gratitude and admiration for him as a teacher and wise counsellor who has ministered generously to the physical and spiritual needs of many besides myself.
You know, of course, that I refer to Prof. C. E. Putney who was principal of St. Johnsbury Academy in the days when it ranked with Andover and Exeter and for a number of years has been teaching Latin and Greek in the Burlington, Vermont, High School. February 26, will be his seventy-fifth birthday. This is why that day has a particular meaning and interest for me and many others.
Roland E. Stevens.
Hartford, Vermont,
February 22, 1915.
On Mr. Putney's seventy-fifth birthday the teachers of Edmunds High School presented him with a beautiful loving cup. This note accompanied the cup: