Campus Characters

Remember the wild-eyed, bald-headed English professor who raced into the room, paused briefly on the desk, and proceeded out the window? If you were in class that day, you surely have not forgotten Dr. Cantrell's parting explanation for his eccentric behavior: "This is a writing exercise. Record what you think you saw."

Tales of campus characters pervade Centre lore. Some become legends through their penchant for disguising teaching tools as colorful antics. Others merely display incidental quirks: an ever-present Dr. Pepper, for instance, or a distinctive word - say, "nexus" - not heard in everyday conversation. Sometimes it's an unexpected act of kindness or an endearing trait that best recalls a person's persona. For some, the most memorable campus characters walk on four legs (or three), not two. Yet all contribute to a rich mosaic of Centre experience.

Pulling a fast one

by Rich Ross '73

In 1971 I had Dr. Hazelrigg for British Literature. Dr. Hazelrigg always had a break in the middle of class and always kept us the full 90 minutes. He also laid his watch next to the podium so that he could look at his watch without appearing to. On the last day of class, when Dr. Hazelrigg came into the hall to tell us to come back in, I asked him questions about what would be on the final, without really caring what the answers were. The reason for my questions was to distract Dr. Hazelrigg while Richard Campbell '73 turned the watch up 10 minutes. We thought that Dr. Hazelrigg had noticed since time for class to end approached and he showed no sign up winding up. Abruptly, he cut the end of class, saying he was out of time. It was all that Richard and I could do to get out of the classroom without breaking up. Dr. Hazelrigg went to the Hangout for his morning cup of coffee with another faculty member, but could not understand why his usual partner wasnÕt there. Dr. Hazelrigg had a good sense of humor, but Richard and I heard that he was upset and was going to take it out on the entire class. We set up an appointment with him to inform him what had happened, but due to an illness in Richard's family, I had to go alone. When I explained to Dr. Hazelrigg what had happened, he said it was the first successful stunt in all of his years of teaching that his students had pulled on him.

Shall we dance?

by Hendy Davis Seelbach '70

I was in Dr. Hazelrigg's sophomore Brit Lit class, which met at 8 in the morning, certainly not my finest hour. One day, after I'd arrived late for class for the umpteenth time, Dr. Hazelrigg stopped his lecture and announced to the entire class that we would continue class "as soon as Miss Davis finds her seat." I was not late again. Then there was the time that I fell asleep in his class (a second mortal sin, right up there with being late), and he stopped class and quietly waited until I woke up. Needless to say, I did not do that again. But my greatest memory of this exceptional man was having him dance with me at one of the school dances. He was a wonderful dancer - and a tall dance partner (I am 5-foot-10).

Made you think

by Wendy MacPeek Havens '78

The first time I saw Dr. Walkup I definitely didn't think he was a professor. He drove an old pickup truck, dressed in old clothes and a cap, and looked as if he just came off the farm. I know how surprised I was that first time in chemistry class when he turned out to be the teacher. But he was very good. He really made you learn to think.

Beta biscuit team

by Bettie Threlkeld Poland '76

As Beta sweetheart, I was responsible for fixing all the food for the Homecoming reception at the Beta house. The night before Homecoming, I was going to baby-sit at my anthropology professor's house. Dr. Janzen told me I had full access to the kitchen after son Beau was in bed. I toted my cooking utensils and ingredients for making 300 biscuits to his house, figuring I would be done by the time the Janzens got home around midnight. My first batch of biscuits emerged from the oven bearing a marked resemblance to communion wafers. Next batch, same thing. I called my mom to see what I was doing wrong. I tried her tips. More wafers. When Dr. and Mrs. Janzen walked in at midnight I was surrounded by hundreds of semi-transparent discs, covered in flour and tears. Mrs. Janzen surveyed the situation, then calmly put us in an assembly line, sifting, rolling out, and cutting biscuits. By 3:30 a.m. we were all done, with 300-plus perfect biscuits in bags ready to go. Both of the Janzens had busy schedules the next day for Homecoming, but they came to my aid nevertheless. I remember a lot of laughing and warmth in those wee hours, and it gave me a wonderful memory of the other side to Centre.

Blackboard Physics

by Laurie Miller Tarr '89

I was fortunate enough to have several physics classes with Jack Kineke, some of them with only one other student. He held some of these small classes in his office. We sat next to his desk while he leaned back in his chair and explained the intricacies of electronics, or told stories of his days in the military. I didn't realize what an impact he had on me until I was a graduate assistant and found myself emulating him in the classroom. He taught me this wonderful strategy of filling the blackboard from right to left, so he was never standing in front of what he wrote. Centre experienced a great loss when Prof. Kineke died. I am sure that his students remember him fondly, and miss his off-color jokes, his cardigan sweaters, and his cone-shaped paper coffee cups.

Reigelman reality

by Joanne Kellar Bouknight '75

Before anyone coined the term "virtual reality," I experienced it in Dr. Reigelman's American Lit class. We drank in Thoreau's "tonic of nature " under a tree outside Doherty on one of the last warm days of October. In lieu of recreating Baltimore in the 1920s, Dr. Reigelman came to the H.L. Mencken class with his hair parted down the middle and greased flat. Our synesthetic experience with Edgar Allen Poe occurred in the newly built Regional Arts Center, when we sat up high in the darkness, waiting. Suddenly, Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (you know, what Captain Nemo played on the Nautilus) came crashing around our ears (it was Dr. Weaver at the keyboards, I think). After that, Dr. Reigelman sat in a spotlight on the darkened stage and we discussed "The Raven." I recall another bit of virtual realism from Dr. Reigelman's class. We were taking the final exam and the focus was on Mark Twain. Suddenly, a senior threw down her pencil, tore up her blue book, and loudly repeated Huck Finn's own declaration as he ripped up his note revealing the slave Jim's whereabouts, "All right then, I'll go to hell!" I always wondered if this was a setup.

News wise

by Ted Jaeger '41

I remember with gratitude Dr. C.E. Allen, professor of history and political science, who taught me how to read/listen to the news. Whenever he lectured on an event in history he dealt with it by pointing out its social implications, its political implications and its economic implications, and he wanted that same pattern whenever you answered any of his exam questions. I find that a good way to read/listen to the news. Personally, I have added a fourth - the moral/ethical implications. Consequently I thank Dr. Allen for giving me a good pattern. Now I think I'll go listen to the news!

Slow, but resourceful

by Martha Donahue '58

There was a white mongrel dog whose name, I think, was Slow. He regularly attended classes, especially Dr. Heck's. Slow was quite respectful although sometimes he did doze off. Since Dr. Heck always had the time slot of Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday at 8 a.m., other students were known also to nod off. Slow also attended classes on the women's campus, which he got to by riding the Centre bus that connected the two campuses. Dr. Heck taught history, but he also taught writing. On one of my papers, he lowered my grade for starting a sentence with "however." I have never done that since; however, I see that others, including English faculty on the campus where I spent most of my professional life, do.

Song and dance routine

by Anna Goodman '94

Dr. Newhall's performances of the can-can are legendary. Fewer people know that he also conducted Stravinsky. During our Europe: Bismarck to the Great War class, he once threw an album - I believe it was "Rite of Spring " - on the turntable and conducted his heart out, looking not unlike Bugs Bunny in the Leopold cartoon. The gleam in his eye as he went at it was worth a million words.

Not necessarily a dismal science

by Julie Shankle '95

I still remember the day before Thanksgiving break when Dr. Johnson gave us a quiz in Econ 11. Thinking he was being mean and forcing us to come to class when many of us could have been on our way to turkey and dressing, we got our paper out for the quiz. He began "Number One," and proceeded into a paragraph-long question about supply and demand or some such thing, and ended with "Write your name." And so on and on the quiz proceeded until we were rolling with laughter. We all got 100 percent, and everyone who was not in class took a goose egg.

Tripod of inspiration

by Tom Austin '63

Around 1960-61, when fraternities were still off campus, the Dekes were in the old red house on the back side near the athletic fields. A small dog hung around who had lost about half of one of his rear legs. Tripod was a fixture on the scene there for a considerable time, and later when we transferred to the first on-campus dorm-like housing across the street. I remember him as a friendly, durable pup whose demeanor seemed to ignore his disability. The Dekes adopted him informally as something of a mascot. He had survived and risen above the trouble he got himself into - a perennial Deke theme.

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