Mr. Putney was, in short, my first humanist—though that word didn't come to me till another day, when I began to read about the Renaissance. But he was more than a humanist. He was humane. He was human. That underlay the fact that, with the affectionate disrespect of youth, he was known among ourselves as "Put." Disrespect, however, was never what we felt toward the principal of the Academy. Indeed, the first time I ever saw him, when I was a new boy of sixteen, he impressed me as being a rather awesome person. As long as I knew him his dignity and his firmness never failed to impress me. Yet about that dignity there was nothing aloof. That firmness was not hardness; it had no cutting edge. He meant what he said. That was all. No idle or disobedient boy flattered himself that "Put" was to be trifled with. Every boy felt, however, that "Put" was just. Firm as he was, he had too a great gentleness. And I think he had the kindest and most patient eyes I ever looked into. They were very shrewd. They could look through a boy as if he were made of glass. But they were also very wise, and they knew how to overlook a great deal of folly and thoughtlessness. Moreover there was in the bottom of them a twinkle—of a most individual kind. It was no broad Irish twinkle, nor yet an ironic Latin twinkle. You saw it sometimes when you had made a particularly egregious translation; but it didn't dishearten you.
I have never forgotten that quiet, that comprehending, that rare twinkle. After all, what happier light could a man cast on the cloudy ways of youth—or shed upon his own character?
H. G. Dwight, '94.
Coming East from Dubuque to Chicago, it is inspiring to an Eastern man to see how the life of this busy metropolis of the West is guided and influenced by the Eastern-trained man and woman. On the same street with the great University of Chicago is Chicago Theological Seminary. I had a delightful interview with the man who presides over this institution, training the virile young men of the West for the work of the Christian ministry and also for work in the mission field. This man is Dr. Ozora S. Davis, a graduate of St. Johnsbury Academy and of Dartmouth College. Dr. Davis attended St. Johnsbury Academy during the principalship of that gifted and consecrated Christian gentleman, Charles E. Putney, Ph. D. A powerful influence for righteousness exerted by the quiet but inspiring personality of this educational leader is now felt throughout the world. Truly the fourth verse of the nineteenth Psalm is applicable to this former principal of a New England academy: "Their line is gone out through all the earth and their words to the end of the world."
H. Philip Patey, '86.
Journal of Education.
It is fitting that Mr. Putney's work and influence as an officer in the church in whose service he was so constant and faithful should receive some mention. While serving as principal of St. Johnsbury Academy during some of its most prosperous years and largest enrollment, he found time to serve actively on the board of deacons of the South Church, to teach a large class of students in the Sunday school, and to be unfailing in attendance upon the mid-week meeting. He was a pillar in the church he loved. And while in the Academy he maintained the religious traditions on which it was founded, he recognized that it was in the church that these traditions found their source and inspiration.
On his removal to Burlington he took up similar relations with the College Street Church, and continued them to the end of his career, loyal to its interests and liberal in its support. If fine distinctions are to be made between vocation and avocation it would be difficult to determine to which institution the terms should be applied as his life is reviewed.
C. H. Merrill,
Vermont Missionary.