CHAPTER VI
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND THE ARTS
As the University grew, the first Faculty of two members gradually increased, though for years the roster was far from impressive. What this first Faculty lacked in numbers, however, it made up in character and ability. One has only to read the whole-hearted and loving tributes of early graduates to discern the powerful personalities which inspired them. It is true that for the most part they were scholars of an older school, content to hand on the classical learning of the contemporary college course, rather than original investigators. But how well they performed this task! They inspired a real enthusiasm and love of knowledge for its own sake in those they taught, and furnished them, as well, an ideal for right living—all for five hundred dollars a year. We of a later generation cannot honor them too much.
About these men, strongly individualized in the minds of their students, have clustered stories which have become almost classic. Sharply contrasted in particular characteristics, they have lived as vivid personalities for future college generations in the memories of those students, "who studied syllogisms under the noble Whedon, who polished Greek roots for the elegant Agnew, who bungled metaphysics to the despair of the learned Ten Brook, who murdered chemistry under the careful Douglas whose experiments never failed, and who calculated eclipses of the moon from the desk of Williams, the paternal." This characterization by a member of the class of '49 is paralleled in a more caustic estimate of a somewhat later Faculty by a member of the class of '65 who speaks of "Boise the precise, Frieze the effusive, Williams the plausible, and White the thinker."
Always first in any reminiscences of the early days was Professor George Palmer Williams, the first real member of the Faculty, always known to his students as "Punky," possibly, as Professor D'Ooge suggested, because of the "dryness of his wit." Freshmen were even known to address him as "Professor Punky," only to be pardoned with a never to be forgotten kindliness when they discovered their awful mistake. Professor Williams was a graduate of Vermont (1825) and came to the University from the Pontiac branch to take the Professorship of Natural Philosophy. He was especially loved, not only for his fatherly kindness and genuine sympathy that won the confidence of his students, but also because "the college student pays unstinted admiration to a witty teacher, for no teacher ever had more ready wit and such genuine humor." The Rev. Theodoric R. Palmer of the class of '47, who for ten years was Michigan's oldest graduate, told how Professor Williams on discovering a goose occupying his chair remarked: "I see you have a competent teacher," and wished the class "Good Morning," leaving them to discover the point of their joke.
Professor Williams' strong religious spirit did not prevent an apt employment of examples from the Scriptures on occasion, as his rebuke to an overgrown and too active freshman showed: "Sir, you remind me of Jeshurun; the Bible says 'Jeshurun waxed fat and kicked.'" But in the class room he was traditionally lenient. One student who found himself unable to fit his carefully prepared notes and the examination questions together, finally handed them both in and was passed, but only because it was the "wrong year"; "I condition one every other year and if I conditioned you I would have to have you again next year."
Professor Williams served the University long and faithfully, and only resigned his active work in 1875. In 1876 the alumni established a Williams Professorship Fund which eventually amounted to nearly $30,000. This eased his last years until his death in 1881 at the age of 79 years. Although the fund was subsequently greatly lessened by very careless administration, it now amounts to something over the original sum and is administered by the Regents in the form of a retiring allowance, the holder being nominated by the Alumni Association.
The Rev. Joseph Whiting, Yale, '23, under whose charge was the classical training of the six youngsters of that first class, was a man of different type. A fine scholar, he made Greek and Latin "glow with life and beauty," and by his distinguished bearing formed a happy complement to the "jovial and rotund" Williams. His death while he was serving his term as the annual President just before the first class was graduated, was recognized as a great loss by the students, as well as by the Regents, who acknowledged "his urbanity and gentleness of manners," and "his knowledge of character and other properties which especially fitted him to act the part of a governor and counselor of youth."
Professor Douglass Houghton died during the same year, 1845. The services of these two men, as well as those of Charles Fox, Professor of Agriculture, and Dr. Samuel Denton of the first Medical Faculty, are commemorated by the little weather-beaten monument with the broken shaft, which has doubtless aroused the idle curiosity of thousands of students, who have never taken the trouble, however, to decipher the Latin inscriptions which set forth the life records of these early professors.
In 1842 Dr. Abram Sager, a graduate of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute (1831), who later became the first Dean of the Medical Faculty, came to the University as Professor of Zoölogy and Botany. He was then about thirty-two years of age and had for some time been connected with the State Geological Survey as botanist and zoölogist. His contributions to the University while in that position formed the foundation of the present zoölogical collection. One of his students speaks of him as "of exceedingly sensitive mind and heart and of very high and pure morality." A Professor of Intellectual and Moral Philosophy, the Rev. Edward Thomson, Pennsylvania, '29, was appointed in 1843, but served only one year. He was succeeded by the Rev. Andrew Ten Brook, Madison University, '39, who took a vigorous part in the University's life until his resignation in 1851, not to return until 1864 as Librarian—and historian of the University's early days. Professor Ten Brook was of the Baptist persuasion, exceedingly well read, particularly in the literature of his chair. Ordinarily in his classes he was master of the situation, "so long as he had Dugald Stewart's Metaphysics before him," but when discussion became free in his classes and "scholastics were let loose" one of his thought students they "got a little the better of him." That he was a shrewd and honest observer with remarkably little personal prejudice—even in memories of trying times, is shown by his book on "American State Universities" which offers much that is fascinating to those interested in the first days of the University.